#not sure if there's anything i can do about that except keep practising

[mimicteruyo]

Characters: *spend nearly 1000 words waffling about something like it’s a Major Plot Point*

Me, halting mid-word: ...hold on, this has nothing to do with the plot

[vagabond-umlaut]

a battle well begun is the war half won

gojo notices you. you notice gojo. [the boy wants your eyes on him at all times.]

teen!gojo x fem!reader; first meetings; love at first sight[??]; lovesick gojo[??]; mostly fluffy; 1 small discussion on death; reader is in 1st yr whilst gojo is in 3rd yr; gojo has a very... unique definition of romancing in his brain; 'one-sided enemies to lovers' vibes; 2.2k wc

belongs to the series 'fictitious force' but can be read as a stand-alone if you wanna

the og saying is smthng else, yeah... ik. i js tweaked it a bit for fic title purposes, hehe. also, pls no comments on how i named this series... i used to hv a love-hate thing with pseudo-force problems in physics during my hs... and i'm srsly out of ideas :D

header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

the sky bleeds green, the first time gojo sees you fight.

it isn't anything enthralling. your movements, far from well-practised. your twisted expression screams unease at best, extreme discomfort at worst— you are definitely not one of the best sorcerers the boy has seen so far—

yet he finds himself utterly transfixed.

feet rooted to the earth as an even brighter green beam cuts through the forest. and the second mountain of cursed energy becomes a few wisps of smoke. your form slumping to the ground not long after—

were the boy a better person at heart, he reckons he would've rushed to help you. but he isn't. not really.

so he keeps to his vantage point. blue eyes narrowing a touch behind his shades, as they watch you slowly heave yourself off the mud, face shifting into a scowl as you trudge towards a tree and plop down with no ceremony in front of it—

a barely-there rustle to his left.

followed by the appearance of the steady simmer of a cursed energy, all too familiar.

"yo, nanamin!" gojo greets, wearing a wide beam the second the said kouhai comes before him, feet carefully and soundlessly treading the rugged terrain— the latter's perpetual glower turns into a momentary flicker of surprise.

but it's vanished before the older boy can comment on it.

nanami's face flattens back to its usual state of annoyed indifference.

"the tournament is already over. yaga-sensei wants us all to report to him in another ten..." the boy trails off. rather abruptly. rather strange for him— aha! so nanamin has finally spotted you in the valley below, huh?— gojo wraps an arm around his kouhai's shoulders, allowing his gaze to return to you as well.

you look pretty cute when you're yawning...

"she's from kyoto, isn't she?"

"yes," the younger boy replies, pinning gojo under a curious look. but it's gone all too soon, all too swiftly like the ones preceding. he drops the arm resting on his shoulder.

gojo lets him. simply pouting in response, before he hums, "do you know her?"

"personally, no," nanami is quick to answer, "but from what i've heard from others... she's somewhat peculiar, if i may say so."

this is honestly one of the best opportunities he will ever get to tease that stoic underclassman of his, even more 'cause since when did he, the nanami kento, start gossipping like old geezers!?— but gojo opts to let this chance pass by.

getting more deets on you is way more important for him.

he doesn't bother to hide his burgeoning interest from his tone. "you know her name by any chance?"

nanami does. and as far as gojo knows, your surname doesn't belong to any of the sorcerer clans. none of the major clans, he is pretty sure of that— you might be from a minor one. or, what his gut feelings are telling him, you're from a non-sorcerer background.

not that it matters to him. he is better than the elders of his clan.

"and which year is she in?"

"first year."

wow. you haven't been in school for more than a few months, but you have already managed to make people talk about yourself, huh? quite impressive, gojo thinks as he steals another glance of you.

this time, no longer yawning. just staring vacantly at your keds—

except those muddy shoes are no longer the object of your attention. it is him— really, so very him— your bright, blinding, blindingly bright gaze, every ounce of it focused on him, as your back straightens. and he spots your shoulders tense, brows furrow—

gojo satoru doesn't run away.

he is one of the strongest duo of jujutsu sorcerers. the boy does not, he cannot, he must not run away... yet that's what he does when his gaze collides with you the first time.

grabbing nanami's hand and wasting not one moment to warp them both to the school rooftop, his kouhai's yelp of surprise goes with an ear-piercing whistle of the winds— gojo releases his hold on the boy, the moment his feet touch the concrete— and turns to him, eyes the calmest he can make them seem.

"tell me everything you know about her— like, right now— or i will tell your dear geto-senpai you were the one who finished his melon pan— quit glaring and start speaking, nanamin!!!"

****

turns out, nanami's heart has a very soft corner for gojo's best friend.

also turns out, the third-year need not wait till the breakfast at 10 am tomorrow, to approach you— you amble into his life, dressed in a tad too washed-out set of pajamas and a terrible hairstyle— gojo reckons an angel too would look the same, when you flip the kitchen lights on, making the clock seem a halo-ey thing behind your head.

you stop. suck in a sharp breath.

the boy swallows the last bit of his mochi. and grins.

"heeey! you're the newbie from kyoto, right? heard a lot 'bout you!"

honestly? it was less of hearing and more of extracting info, but gojo decides not to mention it. you don't have any business knowing that, whatever can be the case— ten painfully slow seconds tick by before you return him a response—

a stiff smile.

an even stiffer bow.

followed by you turning on your heel.

were gojo any slower, you would've slipped from the kitchen without any doubt. but he isn't. which is why not even four seconds can pass before he stills you again, this time not by his tall figure lounging in a terrifyingly dark kitchen but by his fingers grasping your wrist.

thumb pressing into the dangerously frantic pulse beneath your skin.

you try to snatch your hand away. and the boy lets you. only 'cause he was too distracted by the furious warmth of embarrassment creeping into your pretty face— no, it is not for how your skin felt a tad too soft beneath the callouses of his palm...

you're the first one to speak this time. voice so quiet... so firm.

"i don't think i can help you with anything, senpai. please don't bother me this way. let me go... please."

no way in hell is gojo bothering you right now— the indignant retort is the first thing the boy can think of. but he resolves to bite it back.

a stupid argument isn't how he wants his story with you to start. sure, there might and will be those later on, but not now. no. he shoots the second grin of his this night, your way.

"aw, i don't need your help with anything— but yeah, you're right. i'm not supposed to stop you like this... you need to sleep enough before tomorrow's one-on-one duels, don't ya?"

"yeah," you agree easily, eyes drifting to your shoes in a small nod.

gojo's grin widens.

maybe like a cheshire cat.

maybe like a victor cat who finally got the rat right where he wanted: in his paws.

"but you won't be needing a lot of rest if you're already determined to lose the match tomorrow— will you now?"

no, you won't. you obviously won't. gojo has learnt enough about you to predict this much accurately; but maybe not too accurately. given you don't show any sliver of shock or fear in return.

just two eyebrows raised, only to slowly descend to their original level a moment later. your tone feels firmer this time. "what exactly are you trying to tell me, senpai?"

"nothing too serious," the boy hums easily, stuffing his hands into his trousers pockets. why do they start being so cold, so clammy now of all times??— "just that it doesn't take a hell lot of work to maintain an image of being an incompetent idiot, like the one you always seem to be— c'mon," the boy coaxes, making his voice seem extra petulant at noticing still no emotion whatsoever on your face, "you do know what i'm speaking of, don't you?"

in retrospect, maybe... he should have handled you with greater care. you're not only new to your school, but also to the world of sorcery in general. pressing you so hard will hurt you, if not break you entirely— but gojo doesn't let such concerns form in his mind. not even for one whole second.

not when he wants to see something, anything come to life in those bright eyes of yours. he is dying to see a spark in them.

you fold your arms across your chest. brows nearing in a mild scowl. gojo doesn't really understand, but loves the sense of joy the sight is bringing him— "what exactly are you trying to tell me, senpai?" your adorable voice repeats, stonier than before.

he resists the urge to pinch your cheeks. or worse, coo at you.

the boy removes his hands from his pockets. copying your stance as he says, "i cannot really tell you anything, y'know— you're almost as smart as me— i mean, tricking those stinking geezers into believing you're just some weakass, with neither a cursed technique nor good fighting skills, despite the insane amount of cursed energy you've..."

"why did you never curb your cursed energy, by the way?" the query slips past his lips into the space in between: horribly genuine. a fact that doesn't escape your eye, he grasps when you reply— in spite of the not-too-little reluctance marking your features.

"the higher-ups were aware of my high cursed energy before i even knew what the hell it was— it was honestly too late," you state in an awfully matter-of-fact tone, "they would have noticed if i tried to do anything to it."

the 'and they would have harmed me or my family' goes unsaid, but gojo doesn't need to hear it to know it. not entirely intentionally, his voice grows softer with the next question.

"but you tampered with something that no one knew anything of yet— you lied about having no cursed technique, didn't you?"

your hesitation overpowers you this time, however. brows furrowing for a beat at him, before they flatten again. you offer a curt nod.

few more seconds borrowed until you speak again, "but my horrible fighting skills weren't a lie entirely... i really am shit at fighting— you saw that today, did you not?"

he did. he so did—

but that very moment, he also saw just how strong your technique is. surely not as powerful as his. but pretty much capable on its own— it frankly won't be a serious issue even if you keep fighting how you did today—

the sound of a yawn breaks his internal musings.

those big eyes of yours blink up at him. so bleary, so bright. he stifles the urge to pinch your cheeks again. deciding to shoo away the sleep in your eyes by throwing the next ask his brain has cooked up. one he knows, has the biggest 'yes!' ever for its answer—

"you're very scared of dying, aren't you? that's why you always make yourself seem so weak— so much so that you aren't assigned to any mission— don't you?"

— only to question his brain when he notes the easy smile twist your lips. it sharpens at the edges as you answer, "dying's rather easy and uncomplicated, senpai. it doesn't really scare me, except maybe, the pain i might have to suffer— but do you know what's scarier??"

"no," gojo says back quietly. honestly. your smile grows something an awful lot similar to pity— the boy detests it usually... but coming from you, he thinks he will take it.

he will take any look you're willing to give him.

as long as it's you on the other side—

your words reach him quieter than the breeze outside. "what's more terrifying is the worry of what is going to happen to your loved ones, should you just die someday— death is inevitable, but i just want to stave it off for as long as i can. just so i may live with my family... you know what, senpai?" you interrupt yourself abruptly, voice becoming the sharpest in these last fifteen minutes.

a feeble sound escapes the boy.

he isn't sure if it's because of that sincere little hum in your words or if it is the gleam of the moonlight on your face. perhaps, both...

yeah, both— it is rather difficult to distinguish between the beauty of your inner self from that of your outer self— the smile simmers down to a subtle twitch of your lips.

something stutters and stumbles inside gojo's chest.

"i know you see me as nothing more than a coward right now, but i believe... it's better to be a coward and alive, than to be a hero and dead— isn't it, senpai?"

[you're pretty bold, however.

far braver than he could ever deem you to be, the boy muses later to himself with a wry smile, an ice bag on the big toe of his right foot— this poor thing swollen and bruised from how mercilessly the heel of your slipper stamped onto it earlier—

okay, fine— the sorcerer concedes to the imaginary angel perched on his shoulder. something between a grumble and a sigh escaping— he shouldn't have asked you out on a date, in return for him to keep your secrets.

it was really inappropriate, he admits. and gojo likes to see himself as a gentleman... yet, yet, yet.

the need to see that placid mask of yours crack— let it be by a glower and not by the smile, he has never seen on you but knows will be just as lovely as you— that need was too overwhelming then as well...

shushing the angel and fist-bumping his guardian devil, gojo tosses the ice bag away. and falls back into his bed—

a very happy, a touch too giddy grin splitting his face into halves:

you really are a peculiar girl, heh!]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[ja3yun]

Melting Point | P.SH | CH.6

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: fluff, angst, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (m. rec), fingering, dirty talk, switch!ynhoon leaning on dom!hoon, mentions of panic attacks and anxiety, unloving mother, confrontation, anything else lmk! ch. 6 synopsis: after sunghoon's injury, you're making it your mission to care for him, but a surprise visits from his mum and shocking revelations lead you to question everything you have ever felt. wc: 16.6k previous | masterlist | next a/n: surprise! i am gifting you this all a day early <3 i have so much to do over the weekend so you can thank my work for scheduling me crazy hours for this early update. ynhoon stans...i'm sorry. this chapter is a rollercoaster so buckle yourselves in. thank you so much for the love on the last chapter, seeing all your reactions to minhee was...yeah. again, likes, reblogs, feedback is always appreciated!

The day after the incident, you finally summon the courage to visit Sunghoon.

You’ve been in an emotional battle with your head and your heart, wrestling with the decision of whether to give him space or to be there for him during this setback in his career. As his girlfriend, you know you should show support when he needs it most, so you listen to your heart. 

However, you’re still conflicted about one thing: whether to reveal Minhee's involvement in the reason for his injury. The whole ordeal yesterday has left a bad taste in your mouth. Minhee and your mum had planned this sabotage but you have no clue why.

You sense there's more to this than meets the eye, something you don't comprehend, so you’re choosing to keep it hidden for the time being. It's not an easy decision because you've never lied to Sunghoon before but your mind rationalises it as a temporary withholding of information rather than a flat-out lie.

On your way out, you double-check you have everything, but while you’re preoccupied with checking your trusted lip gloss is in your bag, you bump into Minhee.

The atmosphere around you is thick with tension as your eyes meet. You’ve spent the entire night going back and forth in your mind as to why Minhee would do this, mostly because you want to believe he’s a decent human being who wouldn’t sabotage someone else for his own success. 

That’s the part you can’t wrap your head around, the idea that this is for his benefit because there is nothing to gain except getting Sunghoon benched for Nationals. 

Would he stoop so low just to get a better chance at winning first place? It’s so out of character for him. Minhee has always worked exceptionally hard to get the things he deserves, which was evidenced only in the last month with the extra hours practising and perfecting his routine. No logical person would put in hours and hours of grafting just to take the easy way out and eliminate their biggest competition. Even when you both watched the documentary about Tonya Harding, he was the first to say how stupid it would be for anyone to sabotage another skater because the ban would never be worth it if you really loved the sport.

Maybe you just don’t know your brother as well as you think you do, maybe this is his true side coming out. After all, he didn’t know about making it on the Olympic team if he skated well yesterday, and since Minhee’s dream is to be placed on the South Korean skating team, getting Sunghoon out of the way is a sure way to guarantee a spot - he could have conjured up this scheme with your mum.

It’s these conflicting thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind as you look him up and down. Regardless of any reason, he still did what he did, so you snub him, walking past in haste.

“Y/N, where are you going? Why do you have a bag?” he questions your pink overnight bag that you use for long weekends away at Rina’s. You ignore him and boost down the flight of stairs to get your shoes on, “Are you going to his?”

The tinge of sadness in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, it’s similar to yesterday although anger has seemingly flushed from him, replaced with a guilty conscience. 

“You know I am so why are you asking?” you spit back.

“Are you going to tell him?” he queries quietly.

You can practically feel his heart gaining speed as he asks the question. He knows if you tell Sunghoon, his career is effectively over. It’s why you have such conflicting thoughts about telling your boyfriend because until you know the whole story, is it really worth ending Minhee’s future like that so easily? 

Standing up, you grab your coat, “Why shouldn’t I?” The question is posed to let Minhee tell you exactly what is going on, it’s up to him to let you in on the reason for his actions.

He rubs his face in his hands and shuts his eyes, you can see he’s fighting himself, “I…I don’t know.”

“Really?” you scoff, “You aren’t even going to give me a reason not to say anything? Then what was this all for, Minhee?”

He doesn’t answer, hanging his head down in shame. It’s the glimpses of him like this that are what are going to stop you from telling Sunghoon. The look on his face wasn’t just guilt he got caught but for his actions.

“Tell Mum I’ll be home in a few days,” With that, you walk out and slam the door behind you. 

You take two buses to get to Sunghoon’s side of town which takes about an hour if there’s traffic but luckily for you, there wasn’t. As you stand outside Sunghoon's flat, your heart leaps with excitement and concern. The rhythmic beat of rock music in your headphones works as a distraction. Sunghoon taught you this trick when you first started to hang out, the loudness of the base helps ease your mind, especially if it was flooded with any nagging thoughts about Minhee. 

You've come all this way to be by Sunghoon's side, realising that your attention should be on him rather than getting caught up in the complexity of Minhee's situation. You slightly curse yourself for not just being with him earlier, you should have been here as soon as he got home yesterday.

Chapping the door, you wait for someone to answer; It’ll either be Jay or Jake because you know Sunghoon will be resting, or at least you hope he will be, your boyfriend always had a habit of defying instructions. The loophole he found to start this whole relationship was a huge giveaway.

The door opens, revealing Jake on the other side. His eyes are filled with relief as he recognises your face, "Hey," he says with a small smile, "Sunghoon's resting, but he'll be glad to see you."

You nod in understanding, a part of you thought maybe the almost 16-hour silence would have put him in a sour mood with you. As you enter the quaint flat, you remove your earbuds and catch sight of Jay in the living room, absorbed in his reading. The subdued atmosphere tells you that everyone is attempting to retain a sense of normalcy in the aftermath of recent events.

It’s funny, you didn’t consider how his closest friends would have reacted, this must be hard for them too considering the three of them are inseparable, each in their own field of sports; Jake in football and Jay in rugby, all of them meeting in the same major at University. You’re appreciative of them, they could empathise with him in ways you couldn’t.

The short walk to Sunghoon's room feels like an eternity as your mind races with thoughts about how to comfort him. How do you approach this? Especially knowing what Minhee did. 

Why are you always harbouring a secret from someone you love?

You gently push the door ajar, revealing Sunghoon lying on his bed, his leg bandaged and propped up on a pillow. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, meet yours, and a small smile plays on his lips as he registers your presence, “Baby,” he exhales softly and outstretched his arms. 

Closing the door, you walk over to him and envelop him in a tight squeeze. You let the gravity of the situation sink in as he nuzzles his nose into your neck, it wasn’t just his ankle that was hurting but his heart.

“I should have come earlier, I’m sorry,” You confess, drawing back to sit on the edge of the bed, “I didn’t know if you needed space or not.” 

Sunghoon shuffles to sit up straighter, wincing as his ankle subsequently moves with him, “I get it, Sweets, really. You don’t have to apologise…it’s a weird situation, y’know?” He widens his eyes for a moment, inviting understanding without verbalising the implications. It was a fucked up scenario, Sunghoon hasn’t once had an injury in his whole career.

Interlocking your fingers with his, you ask the dreaded question, “What did the doctor say?”

“I have 4 days to live,” he jokes in an attempt to make the air lighter between you both but you don’t find it very amusing. You know he’s hurting inside and you can’t stand when he hides it. Sunghoon is strong and dependable but he rarely admits any vulnerability unless it’s got anything to do with you.

Slapping his chest, you narrow your eyes, “Shut up, I’m serious, Hoonie.”

Sunghoon sighed and looked down at the damaged ankle, “It was just a twist, I should be okay in 1 to 2 weeks but that can take me right up to Nationals. I can’t be on my ass for that long, Y/N.” Anger seeps into him, almost as if he’s realising the severity of what lack of training will do to his chances at Nationals.

Can he even go to Nationals now? Did Minhee and your mum get what they wanted? Maybe you should just tell him about Minhee, an eye for an eye and all that other stuff. 

But you need to investigate first and figure it all out before you jump the gun on this. It’s difficult considering Sunghoon is in front of you, cursing at himself for not stopping the practice, this wasn’t his fault. 

As his mouth keeps moving, you slowly start to tune back into what he’s saying once his skate is mentioned, “You saw my skates the night before, they were perfectly fine!” he exasperates, pointing to them at the bottom of the bed. Somehow, being confronted with the evidence of your brother’s crime brings a moistness to your mouth as if you could vomit right there.

The way your face goes a little paler causes Sunghoon to stop his rant, his hand bringing your face to meet his, “Sweets? What’s wrong?” You’ve spent so much time with him that you’re starting to curse how he can read you easily. If he catches a flash of guilt or withholding in your eyes, he’s never going to drop it.

Standing up with purpose, you advance over to where the skates are, curling your fingers around them. "I think having these in your line of sight isn't healthy for you mentally. I'm going to put them away," you say, opening his cupboard and tucking them in. In actuality, you feel compelled to throw them away, realising that their main purpose now is to serve as a horrible memory. With your back to him, you muster the bravery to bring up the topic of Nationals.

“Coach Lee said if I rest it and can get back on the ice just before the competition, hammer in a few practice sessions and see how it goes since I’ve already officially qualified anyway,” The perks of being the best skater in the city, you suppose, “But Coach Kim says it’s too risky and that I could break my ankle if I go back too fast.” 

"Did the coaches say anything about Nationals? Can you compete?" The avoidance of eye contact becomes a shield, a method to ease the weight of the question from your chest. The guilt you harbour is overwhelming as if you were the one responsible for shattering his skate.

It seems you’ve not been the only one fighting with conflict.

"What are you going to do?" you inquire, returning to his side, your hand soothingly rubbing his thigh, a silent promise of support regardless of his decision.

He bites his lip, determination sparking in his eyes. "I'm going to Nationals, I don't care," he declares with unwavering resolve. "I need to do this. I've finally rediscovered my passion, and I can't bear to watch it disappear again, Y/N. I know that if I miss Nationals and the Olympics, I’ll lose the love I have for it, I feel it."

Nodding in understanding, you convey your unwavering belief in him, your smile a testament to your faith. Taking his hand, you bring it to your lips, planting a soft kiss on his knuckles, the action makes his heart skip.

For Sunghoon, the past few hours have been consumed by self-loathing, but your presence breathes new life into him. He hadn’t decided to try to get fit for Nationals right after the doctor gave him the news, it was only after he saw you walk through that door. You were the reason he wanted to prove he could do it because you always brought him back to life.

"Can I help with anything?" you offer, breaking the tender moment.

"You can give me a kiss," he cheekily responds, a playful smirk gracing his face.

Rolling your eyes in mock exasperation, you shuffle closer to his side and lean in, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. The synchronicity of your hearts creates a natural rhythm as they engage in their own intimate conversation.

Grabbing your sides, he guides you to sit over his lap, the new angle giving you more leeway to fully capture his lips, melting them with yours. His hands snake under your top, rubbing the skin of your back, grabbing lightly at your sides.

“I love you, Hoonie,” you murmur into his mouth and you feel him smile happily.

“I love you so much more, you’ve got no clue,” he presses your chest flush to his creating little distance between you. As he goes to buck his hips up, the pressure on his ankle makes him cuss and yelp out in pain.

Drawing back, you look behind you, “Sunghoon! Can you watch your ankle please?” You argue with him, trying to climb off but he holds you there in his lap.

"No, don't," he whispers, stealing another kiss, "I need this ankle to heal up quickly." Groaning, he shifts it into a more comfortable position.

"You'll be back on the ice in no time, baby," you offer a reassuring smile, but he looks at you with confusion.

“I wasn’t talking about that. I mean so I can fuck you,” The tender moment takes an unexpected turn as he expresses a different desire. The tone of his voice was offended, Sunghoon didn’t understand why that also wasn’t your first thought. Sometimes, he really is just a man.

His admission catches you off guard, and you playfully chide him, "You can wait, Hoonie." Cradling his face in your arms, you rub his nose with yours.

He doesn’t seem to like that idea.

______

"Hoonie, baby, do you want a cup of tea?" you call out from the kitchen.

You've been taking care of Sunghoon for the past five days, tending to every one of his needs. Part of this is due to your position as his girlfriend, but there is a deeper purpose lurking beneath the surface. You are well aware that your attentiveness is tinged by a desire to make up for your brother's mistake. You don't know why you're carrying the burden for your brother but you're living with it.

As you hear Sunghoon's ‘yes please’ response, you set about preparing the warm brew. The rhythmic clinking of the spoon against his mug becomes a backdrop to the quiet surrounding the flat. 

“Y/N, can you make me one too?” Jay asks while shoving his gym bag on the counter beside you, a flask in his hand. 

Accepting the flask you fill it up with some tea from the pot and add a dash of vanilla milk, just how he likes it.

Living with the three boys for nearly a week hasn’t been as challenging as you once thought. They’re respectable, clean enough, and have created unspoken boundaries to make sure you are as comfortable as possible. Obviously, you knew Jay and Jake before you moved in temporarily to look after your boyfriend but this continuous time with them has made you realise that Sunghoon surrounds himself with only good people, a reflection of his character.

Handing Jay back the flask, he raised it in a silent expression of thanks before walking away, “See you both later. I made extra lunch so eat it before it goes off,” he points to the pot of curry on the stove before he twirls out the door. 

Entering the room with the steaming cup in hand, you find Sunghoon gazing out the window, lost in thought. He has been getting better at a rapid pace, now able to stand confidently on his ankle, albeit not for a long period of time, particularly when he’s standing still, however, the progress he’s making for his recovery is astounding. 

He had a home visit from the doctor at Belmore to check his ankle and he said he might as well be a superhero with how well he is doing. He also said Sunghoon had a high likelihood of getting back in the rink for Nationals, as long as he kept doing what he was doing.

His attention turns from the outside world to you as he graciously accepts the tea from your hands, "Thanks, Sweets," he murmurs, planting a tender peck on your lips before making his way back to the bed. Seating himself at the edge, he glances over at you, curiosity in his eyes as you plonk down on his desk chair.

"Are you going to class today? Jay could have given you a lift," he inquires, taking a sip of his tea, his gaze lingering over the rim as he watches you.

You've willingly abandoned everything - school, work, even Rina and Allen. The neglect of your actual life becomes a mere consequence of your guilt-ridden state; until Sunghoon is better, focusing on anything else seems impossible. You've informed your professors that you're completing all assignments from home, citing an illness that keeps you from attending classes. Another lie to add to your bank.

Shaking your head, “No, not today. I’m all caught up anyway.”

With a sceptical look, he puts the mug down and walks over to you, each of his arms on the rests of the chair, effectively trapping you in, “Sweets, I love you and I love that you’ve taken care of me this week, but you’ve done enough. You can go to University and I promise I won’t break.”

Deep down, you know he’s right but your guilty conscience aside, this was also a lot more fun. The ability to spend everyday with Sunghoon, waking up to him and making him breakfast in exchange for him making dinner, the random shows you’ve both binged and laughed at, learning every intricate detail of him - it’s been the best time you’ve had in years. It gave you a glimpse into the future of what it would be like to live together.

You meet Sunghoon's gaze, your eyes reflecting a mixture of reluctance, "I know," you concede, "but it's been...nice. Taking care of you, being here with you.” 

“Trust me, I appreciate it more than anything, but I’m fine I promise,” Sunghoon tries to give you some comfort by looking into your eyes and assuring you. You can feel his genuine care for you and your own life. He watches your eyes shift as you look away from him, “It’s not just me, is it? There’s something else going on?”

People on Twitter cry out for a man as attentive as him, they crave it because men these days don’t notice anything. Taylor Swift and Adele aren’t top artists on people’s Spotify because men are great at listening. 

But right now you wish he wasn’t so attuned to you, that he didn’t know you so well because you don’t have the energy, nor the words, to explain to him that you know he’ll be fine, you just can’t face going home.

Because that was the real issue here, wasn’t it? 

You can lie to yourself all you want but that house is the last place you want to be. That house is a labyrinth of unresolved issues. Minhee's actions have put you in a difficult position with your boyfriend, secrets linger in the cracks of the house that only he and your mother are privy to, and you feel like a stranger in your own home. Here, in Sunghoon's space, you can simply pretend that the world consists solely of you and him. It's a comforting illusion, shielding you from complicated family drama.

Sunghoon bends down, despite the strain on his ankle, trying to get eye level with you,

“Baby, you can talk to me.”

"You need your eyebrows fixed," you say quickly, seeking to change the subject. His astonished reaction causes you to quickly break into laughter, "They're getting a little wild, Hoonie."

He tilts his head and furrows his brows. "You want me to believe that my eyebrows are what's bothering you, not something a little more serious?"

You eventually stare into his eyes, mentally pleading with him to drop it and accept that your concern is indeed about his brows. The last thing any of you need is for you to reveal the information you're keeping hidden; it might jeopardise the calmness of this week and, potentially, your entire relationship.

His eyes soften and a small but understanding smile tugs at his lips. He relents, knowing you’ll speak to him sooner or later about your worries, “Alright, come on then,” he slaps his palms against his knees and slowly rises, ignoring the shooting pain that courses from his ankle to his knee. It might only have been a twist but fuck did it hurt.

With sparkling eyes and relief, you follow him into the bathroom, excited to get to work on his brows. It might have been a quick scapegoat to change the course of conversation but his brows did actually need to be tidied up. In only a week they’ve become unruly, the true curse of bushy, perfect, luscious eyebrows.

Opening the cabinet door, he reaches for a new hair shaper; you had bought the pack for yourself just in case that one chin hair made an appearance while you stayed here. He goes to hand it to you but yanks it away before you can grab it, “If you even think of shaving them thin I will 100% break up with you,” his tone tells you he’s joking but his eyes are deadly serious.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say with a lighthearted giggle and stand in front of him, putting a few dollops of his moisturiser on your fingertip before rubbing it on the area you plan on attacking. There aren’t many straggling hairs but his eyebrows are a trademark, you can’t let them sit even the slightest bit unruly. 

Taking the razor you pop the cap off and reach up to sculpt his brows. Sunghoon is tall but it’s never really been an issue until now as your line of sight is constantly covered by your hand, no matter how you angle yourself. With a little pout, you assess your options.

Sensing the struggle, he chuckles and decides to take matters into his own hands, literally. He sweeps you off your feet, lifting you effortlessly and placing you on the bathroom sink, “Is that better, Sweets?” From this elevated position, you now have a perfect vantage point to tackle his eyebrows. 

Nodding, you place one kiss on his nose before beginning your venture into his bushy brows, cautious not to shave too far in or knick him. With each swipe, you concentrate more and more, pleased with your work. A sudden surge of adoration pings in your heart as you see the way he’s looking at you, accompanied by his thumbs tracing over your hips. In times like this, you wonder how you could ever be so lucky to have someone like him love you.

While you continue working, Sunghoon is thinking the exact same thing. It’s so strange how as soon as he started to spend time with you all those months back, a valve opened up in his heart to pour love out, and as he’s observing you now, he realises that he’s now just flooded with emotions all over his body. He’s happier, more patient, less angry, and just filled to the brim with adoration for not just you, but his life. 

You wouldn’t know it because he hid it well but he was losing himself before he met you. The pressures of skating and university, the coldness from his mother, and the constant image of being arrogant and obnoxious that was posted about him in the media, it all got to him more than he let on. Now, none of that matters; he loves skating again, you actually make him study with you so he’s on top of all his assignments, and the opinions of his mother and journalists are no longer an issue for him - he doesn’t care anymore. 

“I really do love you, y’know,” he says out of the blue, just as you begin on his left brow.

A chuckle escapes your lips because it was so painfully obvious he did, you’ve never felt more seen or cherished in your entire life. Fair enough, the bar was way down to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, but still, he made you feel on cloud 9 all the time. Even if you argue over different opinions, you never belittle one another or get mad, you talk it out rather than fight. It’s a dynamic you’ve not seen in your personal life before - when your dad was around, he and your mum would scream at one another or just never speak, the complete opposite of you and Sunghoon.

“I love you, too, Sunghoon,” you beam at him so widely you’re showing your gums. If anyone saw the way both of you were in the bathroom, giggling messes and smiling at each other like this, they would slag you off easily. But no one else is here, just you and him. If only it could always be like this.

Getting back to the task at hand, you finish up shaving off the last few bits and tidying the brows up, sculpting them like you’re Michelangelo and he’s David. They look good in your unprofessional opinion but it wasn’t yours that mattered, “I’m all done, take a look.”

As you go to jump off of the sink, he holds you still and shakes his head. Instead, he snakes his arms around your figure and pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looks in the mirror behind you. The intimate action has you instinctively wrapping your arms and legs around his body, clinging to him.

You feel him move his head side to side to inspect, “They’re perfect, Sweets. How much do I owe you?” he jokes, squeezing you before pulling back. 

“I charge one kiss per brow,” you tilt your head and bite your lip.

“As long as I’m your only client,” he looks at you with that same playful serious stare, “I’ll even tip you,” he smirks, pushing your core against him. 

Since the injury, you and Sunghoon haven’t had sex and it’s not through a lack of trying. Every time you both get into the swing of things, he either puts unnecessary pressure on his ankle or hits it off something. It’s stupid because at the end of the day, it’s his ankle and not his hip but you hadn’t realised how important a working ankle is during the deed. Even when you attempted to give him a blowjob, the tension in his leg went straight down into it. 

He feels confident in his ankle today, there’s no way it can cockblock him for the 5th day in a row. He wouldn’t let it happen. 

His plump lips cloak yours as his hands grip your ass and manually grind you onto him, eliciting a moan from you. Between your pyjama shorts and his gym shorts, there isn’t much material between you, so you feel each other’s need for one another easily. 

Dancing your fingertips along the nape of his neck, he shivers, a grunt coming from his mouth when you grip the bottom of his hair.

Your attempt at intimacy is short-lived however when you hear keys rattling in the door but Sunghoon won’t let his roommate stop him, “It’s Jake, ignore him,” he continues to kiss you eagerly, the grip on your ass is so tight you’re bound to have marks.

However, when an unexpected voice echoes in the apartment, you both freeze, hearts in your throats.

“Sunghoon? Where are you?” His mother bellows, locking the door behind her.

She hasn’t bothered to come see her son since the accident, once she knew he would be fine, she left him to his own devices. So why is she here now?

Panicked, you push him off, the sudden movement makes him stumble over his ankle, “Shit, baby, sorry,” you whisper, quickly jumping down from the unit. You can hear her footsteps exploring the living room and kitchen.

She still didn’t know about you both, and as terrified as you were of Minhee finding out, Sunghoon was of equal measure about his mother, claiming she was psychotic enough to hire a hitman on you for ‘distracting’ him. Your boyfriend said it as a joke but he was genuinely scared of her reaction to the news. 

Cupping your cheeks, Sunghoon gives you another kiss, and then another, and then another, “Baby, stay here and keep quiet. I’ll get rid of her,” he keeps dragging you to the door, placing urgent kisses all over your face as he backs up. You should tell him to stop considering he’s risking it but his lips are so addictive, “Fuck, what if I pretend I’m not here?”

“Go, Hoonie,” you’re acutely tuned into her footsteps coming up the hall. 

Opening the door, he gives you three more short kisses before turning around, bumping straight into his mum. She startles, taking a step back, clearly caught off guard by his sudden presence, "Sunghoon, why didn't you answer when I called?" she queries.

“Sorry mum, I was having a piss” 

You roll your eyes as you hear him from outside. There had to have been a better way to say that. Their voices get distant as they walk into his room across the hall but you can still hear them enough with your ear pressed against the door. Is it morally wrong to eavesdrop on the conversation between mother and son? Yes, but you’re nosey and none of the three boys keep magazines in the bathroom for light reading.

As Mrs. Park surveys the room, a disapproving huff escapes her lips, exhibiting her dissatisfaction with its current state, "How are you?" she asks in a monotone voice.

Sunghoon shrugs, “Fine, I guess. What are you doing here?” His arms are crossed defensively and his eyebrow quirked, “And where did you get a key?”

Of all the years he’s lived with Jay and Jake, his mum hasn’t so much as stepped foot into the flat so this was a weird situation he’s found himself in. 

She turns to inspect the shelves of his room, running a finger to collect dust, crumbling it away in disgust, “I made a copy one of the days you were training,” Twisting back to face him she continues, “And can’t a mother drop by to see her son when he’s injured?”

Sunghoon, clearly sceptical, could almost burst into laughter, "I got injured almost a week ago, and I could have easily texted you about my condition," he retorts, his narrowed eyes reflecting suspicion.

“I might have been busy rescheduling your appointments but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, Sunghoon,” she doesn’t flinch and neither does he.

The relationship between them is spread thin at this point, merely a transaction of small talk and managerial duties, he acknowledges this and so does she, so the act she’s putting on right now isn’t fooling anyone, “Mum, we’re not exactly known for heart-to-heart chats. What’s the real reason you’re here?”

Scoffing, she matches his stance, crossing her arms, subsequently closing herself off, “I think it was sabotage.” 

You wish you weren’t listening now. Does she know it was Minhee? There’s no way she could, maybe she’s just a sceptical person…or perceptive.

The tension in the room rises as Sunghoon tries to process her words, “Mum, this isn’t one of those bad dramas you watch during the week, my skate snapped, that’s all it was. Plus, no one hates me enough to do that,” he barters with her, the idea that this was anything more than a freak accident made him laugh. 

In the bathroom, you’re freaking out and regretting all your decisions to keep it a secret. If you had just told him, he would have had some respect for you but you know for certain if she does know that it was Minhee and tells all to her son, he’ll lose every ounce of regard for you. 

This is bad.

His mum shakes her head, dropping her arms and going back to snooping around his room, “I think it was Minhee…or Y/N. She is always around that rink when she can’t even skate, that’s a bit suspicious, no?” 

The accusation makes Sunghoon’s blood boil. You have been the one to look after him throughout all of this and his mother dares to think for a second it was your doing he’s in this position. All the care and love you’ve shown him this week alone is enough for the insinuation to filter in one of Sunghoon’s ears and out the other. 

Paying him no mind, his mother continues to the other side of his room, “The whole family is bad news but her? She’s up to something, far too quiet that one,” look on her face only grows with more disgust as she spouts her words.

“You’re ridiculous! Y/N wouldn’t do that. You don’t know shit about her,” he protests angrily, his fists balling by his sides as he tries to remain some sort of composure. Sunghoon would be dead before he let anyone speak badly about you. 

“Fucking stop it. What is your obsession with the Kangs?” He knows he shouldn’t have asked considering you’re in the bathroom and could probably hear every word of this conversation but it was more rhetorical than genuine curiosity.

However, his mum will take any opportunity to slander your family, “Her mother sleeping with the judge to get that scoundrel of a boy a higher ranking at Junior Regionals is enough of a reason. Her whoring around nearly cost you the final.”

Junior Regionals, 2018, the year your dad left because of a rumour your mum had slept with one, possibly two of the judges. Of course, it wasn’t true, Minhee worked incredibly hard to get high scores that year but Mrs. Park couldn’t accept that your brother almost knocked Sunghoon off the top spot. The rumour spread so fast that it almost tarnished everything that Minhee had worked for, there were investigations and everything - judges got fired, your dad divorced your mum, and it was a rough time for everyone in your family.

Sunghoon swallows down what he actually wants to say, “Is it really that serious? It was like what? 5 years ago and so what if I did come second to him? Would it be the end of the world?” 

“If her little plan had worked the way she wanted it to, you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to work with Mr. Son and get the sponsorship that propelled you to fame, you’d be a nobody like Minhee.” 

Rage, unfiltered, pure toxic rage overcomes you. She can say anything she wants about you, even your mum but never Minhee. He has done nothing but grind on that ice for years to prove himself as a main competitor since the accusations. Minhee is top of his league for a reason, he is just as good as Sunghoon is. Did he work on his humble and modest persona to make brownie points in the press? Sure, but his talent can never be questioned.

Reaching for the knob of the door, you’re about to barge in and tell her where to stick her opinion when you hear Sunghoon, “Are my talents not good enough? Did you ever think that Mr. Son wanted to work with me because he saw my skating and thought I’d make a good ambassador?” His voice is pained.

"Be real, Sunghoon," his mother says dismissively, and a heavy silence falls over the room. Your heart hurts for him, and your hand falls to your side, the weight of their conversation temporarily overriding your desire to intervene.

The admiration you’ve held for Sunghoon’s skating since you were little was a testament to his skills. His fluidity and grace were unrivalled, and he was seen as an embodiment of potential by everyone. It's frustrating to witness his mother's lack of faith in his talents. It feels completely unjust that the one who should champion him the most fails to recognise the kind of athlete Sunghoon is.

Sunghoon's shoulders drop, the weight of his mother's doubts and lack of belief in his talents crashing down on him. He lets out a deep sigh as he struggles to find the words to express his disappointment and dissatisfaction. "Don't you get it, mum? All of my years of training, sacrifices, and everything, were all done to prove something. To prove that I can be more than what you expected,” he lets out a bitter laugh, looking up to the ceiling as if to hold in tears, “But I’ll never be good enough for you, will I?”

The room echoes with the heaviness of Sunghoon's emotions, the unspoken tension hanging in the air like a dense fog. As you listen, a profound empathy washes over you, recognising the pain of a son seeking validation from a parent who seems drastically out of reach. He was always so good at comforting you with your lack of self-esteem instilled by your mum because he knew. He knew how it felt to be seen as less than from your flesh and blood.

His mother remains motionless, her stare unwavering and detached. "Sunghoon, the world is cruel. How can you expect to survive if you can't handle critisism? You are skating on thin ice, both literally and figuratively. Your National top spot is up for grabs, this is serious, I don’t have time for your pity party.”

Sunghoon's jaw clenches, a mixture of frustration and resignation etched on his face. He had hoped for understanding but what did he expect from a mother like his? He gathers himself, not letting her words hinder him anymore today, “I’m fine, just go. You’ve checked in and laid your conspiracies on the table, you can go now.” 

Her gaze remains icy. "Fine? Is this what you call 'fine'? Being 20 years old, living with two delinquents, and a twisted ankle to boot? I came here to tell you about the sabotage to spur you on and give you a reason to get better for Nationals. Don’t you want to show up the person who tried to end your career?”

“No one tried to end my career, you’re fucking delusional!” He raises his voice and it makes you jump, the anger portraying in his voice is similar to when he beat up that guy at the party for touching you. Sunghoon never gets angry, not seriously, so you know he’s had enough, “You seem to have a lot of opinions about people I care about, just so you can justify your weird allegations.”

She raises a brow, “You ‘care’ for the Kangs? Is that what I’m hearing?” 

To be fair, it does sound strange if you don’t know the whole context, Minhee and Sunghoon don’t strike anyone as buddies and you and Sunghoon apparently haven’t spoken two words to one another. 

Sunghoon is so overcome with emotions he doesn’t stop himself, “Yeah, I care about them, Minhee is actually a decent guy who I just don’t see eye to eye with. And Y/N, she…she isn’t even any part of this, so keep her name out of your mouth, okay?”

Mrs. Park looks at him with scepticism, “I’m curious, Sunghoon, how you’ve suddenly become so protective over Y/N. What is she to you?” 

You can feel your heart ripping through your chest as your name bounces between their lips, you never wanted to change your name so much in your life. As your palms get sweaty, you hear nothing but silence.

The question hangs in the air, challenging Sunghoon to define the nature of his connection with you. For a moment, he seems caught between the impulse to reveal his true feelings and the desire to shield you from his mother's wicked ways.

“She’s someone who you don’t know and are making wild accusations about, sorry if i have some morals,” he states firmly, eyes unwavering as he stands his ground. He doesn’t want to add you further into this family drama, you’ve been dragged through it enough at no fault of your own.

Despite his best efforts to swerve you out, his mother drags you back in, “You like her, don’t you?” When Sunghoon doesn’t say anything, his mum cackles, “I should have known, all those nights at the rink were to see her, weren’t they?” 

If she wasn’t basically figuring out your secret relationship with her son, you would have given her some props - the woman is smart. 

Sucking his teeth, Sunghoon nods, “Yeah, so what? I’ve been seeing her and we’re happy, doesn’t that just prove your mad theory about her sabotaging my skate null and void?” 

Her eyes flash in disbelief for a moment before she finds her resolve, “You don’t know her, she could have done it. She would do anything for Minhee.”

You want to argue but she’s right, you would do anything. You’re literally hiding in a bathroom as they argue about someone deliberately breaking his skate knowing fine well it was your brother.

“I know her, mum.” 

"What could you possibly know about her?" she responds sharply, the scepticism written across her features

"I know she loves me, and I love her. She wouldn't do that," Sunghoon says firmly, his voice carrying a confidence that fills the room. In the long silence that follows, you can almost imagine his mother's jaw dropping, either that or she’s fainted.

Staring sternly at Sunghoon, she tightens her jaw, a silent attempt to regain control of the narrative slipping through her fingers, “You’re an immature child, Sunghoon, you don’t know what love is.”

“And you do?” he spits back.

For a while, you don’t hear anything except your heartbeat and the air coming through the toilet vent. It's as if the world around you has vanished, and stepping out of this bathroom will transport you to a reality similar to a dystopian movie where there are no survivors left.

This was not an argument meant for your ears, which weighs hard on your conscience. Guilt flows through you like an electric current, yet ironically, it's a conversation that is entirely about you and your family.

Frustration etches deeper lines onto Mrs. Park's face as Sunghoon doesn’t budge. She clicks her tongue and strides towards him, “Fine. But just know your father would be highly disappointed in you right now,” she pushes past him and storms out of the flat, leaving a heavy atmosphere in her wake.

Sunghoon’s heart wrenches at the thought, he feels sick. He’s only ever wanted to make his father proud and now his mum said that. He stands frozen, his gaze fixed on the ground. The weight of his mother's words hangs in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the room and Sunghoon's heart.

Shock doesn’t even begin to describe your state right now. There is no way she said his dad would be disappointed in him, she said that to spite him because he won the argument, it’s pitiful. Mrs. Park is supposed to be the adult in the situation, yet she handled it like a child. You hate her.

Turning the door handle, you ease your way out of the bathroom, careful not to startle your boyfriend. There’s not a lot you can do for him, her words are a wound that can’t be healed by hugs and kisses. But you have to try.

Tip-toeing into the room, you gingerly place a hand on his arm, “Hoonie?” He jumps slightly but doesn’t lift his eyes to look at you. As you circle to the front of him, you see the water in his eyes and his jaw clenched, holding in anger and hurt.

You reach up to touch his face, stroking his cheek in an attempt to loosen it up but you fail. He is trying to be so strong and not let his emotions overwhelm him but even if he’s fighting them on the outside, inside he is breaking.

“Baby, please don’t listen to her. She is so incredibly wrong,” you speak softly.

His eyes flicker to yours for a split second but it was a mistake, he can see the sympathy in your eyes and it makes him feel weak. He shouldn’t be affected by his mothers words so much, not after he vowed to stop caring about her opinions but the way she spoke so easily about his dad’s disappointment boiled him over the edge, not to mention how she dragged you through the dirt. He felt ashamed for some reason, “Look at me, Sunghoon.”

Pleading with him falls on deaf ears however because he doesn’t dare, knowing he’ll breakdown. Sunghoon has always held it together, even that day he sat rubbing your back on the bleachers, when you hit a nerve he switched from sad to joy in the space of a second, something he’s been so good at his whole life, so why is this influx of sadness any different.

Because she mentioned the two most important people in his life and how the relationships were stained with something negative. Sunghoon obviously knows you wouldn’t corrupt his career like that and he knows his dad won’t be disappointed in him but he can’t help his mothers words poisoning his brain. 

Exhaling slowly, you withdraw your hand from his face and trail it over his heart. It’s beats are irregular, swapping between a regular pace and missing a few pulses completely, his lungs are moving at a faster rate yet his nose and mouth are still.

“Sunghoon, hey, listen to me, okay?” You try to guide him to the chair behind him so he can sit but his feet remain sturdy, “Please, Hoonie, I think you’re going to have a panic attack or something so can you sit down for me?”

All the signs are there. Panic attacks are different for everyone and he might just be going through the motions, but you’re better safe than sorry. 

His entire attention is distant, absorbed in the chaos of his own mind. You can practically see the internal fight in his eyes, the conflict between the emotions and listening to his body. It’s scary because you’ve never seen him like this before.

Sunghoon finally relents, allowing you to guide him to the chair. You crouch down in front of him, placing your hands on his knees, trying to establish a connection. "There we go,” You learned about bringing people down from panic attacks in a mental health first aid course you took years ago. Granted you’ve never used any of the steps on anyone other than yourself, so now would be the perfect time to use it.

Knowing your boyfriend well, he loved it when you lay on top of him, the weight of you calmed him down if he was nervous about something, so, you figured he could benefit from deep pressure touch and if not, you’d try something else. Anything to stop him from hurting like this.

Straddling his lap on the chair, you bring him into a hug, tightening your arms so it is snug and not uncomfortable and hold him, soothing his back and whispering positive affirmations beside him.

You sit with him like that for about 15 minutes before he finally moves, his arms circling your waist and his face buries into your neck. He doesn’t sob or break down, he just holds you with the same force you are giving him. He finds some serenity in your touch and he can’t thank you enough. 

You wish he would just let it all out, to cry because he needs it, but you can’t push him - he copes in his own ways.

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that earlier,” Your heart tears as he mutters the words into the nape of your neck. He is the one in pain right now yet he’s apologising for your feelings that got hurt. Pulling back you see his sullen face as he finally looks at you, “She had no right to accuse you or Minhee like that, she was out of line.”

A lump forms in your throat but you force it back down. You can’t tell him now, not while he’s like this but fuck do you feel like a piece of shit right now. Every fibre of your body wants to tell him and relieve yourself of the burden on your shoulders, but now is not the time for that.

You plaster on a gentle smile and place your hands on his cheeks, “And she had no right to tell you your dad would be disappointed in you because I know for a fact that he isn’t. That man worshipped the ground you walkrd on, he still does. You’re everything he would want you to be.”

The words hit Sunghoon a little too hard, the ducts of his eyes filling again but he quickly blinks them away and clears his throat, shaking his head as if to rid him of any thoughts in his brain.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything and I don’t just mean right now,” he pauses, collecting the correct words, “I mean for the past few months. I feel so…I don’t know, I can’t even describe it. I just know I’m lucky to have you.”

You jutt your bottom lip out and nod. Of course, you understood what he meant because you felt it too. His mum was certainly wrong about Sunghoon not knowing what love is, he’s experiencing it in ways people can only read about in books. You cherish each other as best friends, as lovers, as soulmates.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he smiles genuinely, “Never leave me, yeah? You’re all I’ve got.”

You look at him, your eyes silently convey the depth of your care and commitment to him, “Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me for a long, long time, all my snoring included,” both of you laugh, the tension and animosity that still lingered from the confrontation with his mother slowly but surely dissipating, “I am going to tell Jay and Jake about how you said that though. They’ll be highly offended.”

The joke settles in Sunghoon’s smile, “What can I do to keep you quiet?” 

You pretend to think, mockingly looking up at the ceiling as if to contemplate, “I think I’ll take the same toll as my eyebrow-shaping services. Two kisses and your secret is safe with me.”

If Sunghoon could imprint a single vision to his brain, it would be you right now with the loving smile you have adorning your face, “You drive a hard bargain, Sweets but I’ll pay up,” Leaning forward, he kisses you tenderly, holding your back for support. Your bodies melt together, any tension in your persons now evaporating as you lose yourselves in one another. 

His tongue makes its way into your mouth, licking you softly and with so much affection. You loved this side of Sunghoon, it proved to you that men could actually be soulful. He’s a ruby in a diamond world, you’re certain.

“You know, I never did give you my tip for your services earlier?” He wiggles the freshly shaped eyebrows.

“Seriously? After all that went down, you’re still horny?” You ask confused. 

Nodding he dips his hands down to your ass, “I have been cockblocked for a month-”

“5 days,” you interrupt.

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter how long, I just know I need to feel you,” There’s a playful glint in his eyes but underneath lies a strange vulnerability as if he just needs to be loved, to be wanted. You can understand that; you felt the same way when you were upset after the party, desperate for a genuine connection. 

Lifting you, he carries you to the bed and lays you down gently, yet, with enough urgency to relay his needs to you. He is so desperate for your touch and your love that he’s already kissing down your neck and hands roaming under the borrowed shirt that you’re wearing. 

But you stop him suddenly, using all your strength to push him away and push him to sit up against the headboard. 

He had to feel the pleasure this time and as much as he would tell you that getting you off was enough for him, you wanted to return the favour.

Sunghoon has a terrible habit of just diving into making you feel good that often your night antics are one-sided with him doing most of the work and you get all of the reward. Tonight, you can’t let it follow the same routine, no matter his protests. 

You start rubbing over his cock that is concealed by his sweatpants and boxers. The imprint of his size is already making your pants stick to your pussy.

You sit on Sunghoon’s legs, anchoring him to his bed as you play with the toggles of his sweatpants.

Licking his lips in anticipation, he watches you pull back the strings and let them go, allowing them to snap and send a shock to his already desperate cock. The way you’re just as eager as him makes his blood pump straight down, helping his member to stand to attention.

There is still an apprehension in you to continue; the last time you attempted to suck him off, it ended in his feet digging into the bed and his ankle swelling back up. This time, however, he was in tip-top shape, or at least he would rather be in pain than not have those beautiful lips of yours wrapped around him

Pulling the bands of his bottoms down slightly, you expose his semi-hard dick, drooling at the sight. It looks as pretty as ever, the tip blushed with a hint of pink already from arousal.

Sunghoon rubs your thighs, the pads of his fingers trickling along your skin, setting your body alight. Even the simplest of touches from him is enough to get the blood in your veins to stir. He sees the effect he has on you and smugly licks his bottom lip, “Are you sure you don’t want me to…” he trails off, his right fingers ghosting your heat, giving you just enough to tease but not to please.

“No,” you shake your head with conviction, determined not to fall into his trap, “I want to do this.”

You honestly do feel bad for the lack of give compared to take, but Sunghoon has an addiction to taste you, to feeling your essence on his lips and tongue. He gets lost down there so long you, making you cum however many times he pleases that sometimes you’re too fucked out to even think, never mind give him anything in return.

Your hand is cold compared to his warm shaft, so when you grasp it softly, it jumps in your hand as Sunghoon gasps, “Jesus fuck,” he whispers as he shuts his eyes, his hand gripping your inner thigh.

You slowly drip your spit onto his cock, gathering enough to coat it. You begin to move your hand up and down slowly, spreading your saliva over him, squeezing periodically where you knew he was most sensitive. 

Rubbing your thumb over his head, you apply special pressure to his slit with each passing which Sunghoon obviously loves, his face being the number one indicator; his jaw is tense, eyebrows scrunched together, and his nose is breathing out harshly. You're driving him crazy with lust.

“Baby, please don’t tell me you aren’t going to use that pretty mouth of yours,” he pleads to you while his hips thrust up further, trying to get as close to your mouth as physically possible from the position he’s in, “I want your mouth so much.”

“You want what?” you tease, bringing your lips down to the tip only to spit on it once more, denying him what he craves.

Sunghoon doesn’t take the teasing well, gritting his teeth from aggravation and pleasure. Although he’s desperately seeking the warmth of your tongue sliding up and down his cock, he can’t deny how good your palm feels stroking him like this.

Both of you are as bad as one another, teasing while still giving something. Usually, it’s Sunghoon and his soft kitten licks to your folds when all you want is his fingers inside you. 

It was nice to be in control like this.

Pumping him faster, you watch as he struggles to speak, chest rising and falling with your hand, “Just…fuck…don’t make me ask again,” he pushes out, tone laced in flames. It’s almost cute how he thinks you’ll give up so easily, this is your time to get him back for every time he tortured you.

Bringing your face back down to his head, you lick into his slit and circle his head slowly. As soon as he thinks he’s won, you sit back up straight, smirking as he grinds his jaw in frustration, “Like that?” you ask innocently, fluttering your lashes at him.

“Y/N, c’mon, this is supposed to make me feel better,” he pouts, trying to hide a smile. You falter for a moment, thinking about his words carefully.

You suppose that this was to make him feel better after what just happened with his mum, he needs to feel loved and appreciated, to feel that someone actually cares about him and backs him through everything.

But you know him, and that glint of playfulness in his eyes tells you everything you need to know, “You can’t use the pity card to get what you want, Hoon,” you laugh and continue to work his cock.

Losing his despaired expression, he clicks back into his cheeky self, huffing while he rolls his eyes, “It was worth a shot.” he mutters disappointedly. He really thought that would work.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to guilt trip me into giving you what you want,” you sigh, feigning annoyance. Your hand starts to slow down, “Should I even give you this much?” The confidence in your voice wavers once you look into his eyes.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Sweets,” he challenges you, those menacing fingers from before now pressed exactly where your clit is. You jerk at the sudden touch, loosening your grip on him just slightly. His expression is smug, a wide grin plastered all over his face.

He rubs on your bud causing a chain reaction of events; you fall forward a little, mouth slack open, and with one swift push of your head, he’s gotten exactly what he wants.

Gripping your hair tight with his free hand, he forces you to take him deep into your throat, holding you there as you gag on him, the vibration sending a shiver through his entire body.

Despite his force, he’s left you enough leeway to come off if you want to, but now that you’re down here, mouth stuffed with him, you don’t really feel the need to. Instead, you hollow your cheeks and give in.

His fingers finally slip into you, not even bothering to wait for you to discard your underwear. Curling his two fingers inside you provokes a high-pitched moan to rise from your chest and onto his entire length.

You clasp your hand around his wrist, holding his hand still, grinding on his hand of your own accord. It feels so good you pop off his cock, leaning your head on his shoulder as you get swept away in the goodness.

Your boyfriend tuts mockingly before whispering in your ear, “Baby, I’m starting to think you only want to make yourself feel good,” his voice is embedded with amusement, not a trace of annoyance to be heard. 

Sunghoon’s greatest pride is making you feel good, and as much as your mouth feels fucking unreal, he’ll take hearing your cute noises of need over getting sucked off any day.

You know he doesn’t mind but you want to give him more, something just for him. Regaining your thoughts, you quickly push him to lay flat on the bed, withdrawing his hand from your pussy.

Confused, he raises his eyebrows, “Baby, what are you-holy fuck!”

He stops his question mid-sentence as you take him back in your mouth, this time focusing on sucking his red tip, alternating between licking and slurping.

Grasping at the sheets below him, Sunghoon’s knuckles turn white and his legs tense under you while you give him head, probably with the most vigour you’ve ever shown. He doesn’t know how long he will last with each passing of your tongue over his slit, the accidental dips of the tip of your muscle making him jerk forward.

“Fuck, baby, do that again,” he asks pleadingly, desperate to feel that good again. And you oblige, flicking your tongue into his hole once again, and again, and then once more before you start to taste his precum on your tastebuds. 

As much as he is enjoying this, the idea of splattering his love over your face and tongue, he could think of somewhere else he’d rather have it. Ever since that first time without the condom, you quickly hopped on the pill and never looked back, both of you obsessed with how it felt to fall apart raw like that.

Yes, it was irresponsible, chances of still getting pregnant at a staggering rate but it felt too good and looked even better. Sunghoon still hasn’t got the image of the first time his cum leaked out of you, the sight is the closest thing to heaven as far as he is concerned.

You feel the pulse in his cock thump against your tongue, signalling that he’s close, ready to erupt; however, your hair is yanked to pull you off, the control from each strand to your brain acting as a puppet string as Sunghoon moves you to crawl forward and kiss him, his tongue dancing in your mouth. 

It’s not like him to deny himself release so you know he wants you on him quickly. If his free hand shoving your underwear down wasn’t indicator enough, his little moans certainly were. 

Freeing yourself of your bottoms and pulling his off at the same time, you hover over his angry cock, crying out for your cunt. But that doesn’t mean you can’t cause one more bit of torment. 

Sliding his cock along your wetness, you pretend that you're just gathering enough of your natural lubricate to easily slip him in, but in reality, you keep going; every time his head touches your entrance, you slide it straight back out. 

Clenching his jaw, he shakes his head once you’ve done it one too many times, “Fuck this,” he says lowly. Both of his hands grip your hips tight and once his dick is close enough, he forcefully pushes you onto him, engulfing his whole cock. The sudden action ruptures a loud, porn-like moan from you, the tip of him sitting right at your cervix.

“Isn’t that so much better than being difficult?” he asks cockily, kissing down your neck as you adjust to him, “Remember when you used to be so well-behaved with me?” His words flutter in your tummy, the raspyness of his voice spinning your head around. He must be reading those books you leave at his place, his sex talk is getting a little too good.

He rocks your hips to test the waters for any discomfort, and when he doesn’t see anything but pleasure on your face, he keeps going, “What happened to my good girl? Hmm?” he licks a long strip up your neck before nibbling your earlobe.

This damn praise kink will be the end of you because now all you can think about is him telling you how good you are for him, “I’m sorry, Hoonie. I just wanted to tease you,” you confess, face red from lust and embarrassment at how easy it is for him to get you surrendering.

It’s not a power play, he does it because he knows if you give in and just be your good little self, you enjoy yourself more. You physically shudder at every word of praise and touch of love, why wouldn’t he want you to just surrender to your desires? When you feel good, he feels good; it’s a win-win.

“My beautiful girl, teasing me after saying you wanted to look after me?” he tuts mockingly, smooching along your jawline, “You still want to make me feel good, don’t you?” 

The question makes your pussy walls hug him tight, eyes shut as you quickly nod, “Yes, yes I want to look after you, for the rest of my life,” you utter the words so tenderly that it catches Sunghoon a little off guard. 

When you’re both close like this, having sex, fucking, making love - whatever anyone wants to call it - you are always so vulnerable and honest with him. He wonders if you know you do it or if it subconsciously slips out.

Pickling your hips up, he guides you gently up and down him, the bell of his cock bumping each part of your canal perfectly, “Feel how my heart is beating? That’s because you always look after me, you don’t need to do anything other than be here with me, that’s enough,” he places your hand on his chest and you feel his heart accelerating.

Sunghoon speaks with genuine love, like he’s trying to tie both of you together for an eternity, and you have no reservations about that. You love him so much that even though you can’t see down the tunnel of your future with one another, you know you want to be with him until the end of the line.

Nodding, you smile brightly, “Still, I would like to actually finish giving you head at some point,” you joke, lightening the mood a little.

“I’ll think about it,” he mirrors your expression, nuzzling his nose with yours gently, “For now I think I’d really like to cum inside my girl.” 

You’re convinced you’ve just cum already, the bluntness of his needs only fueling your own. There’s nothing you want more than his cock - which is currently fucking you gently - to fill you up.

It gives you the motivation to move your hips in rhythm with him, pressing your palms on his chest while you pick up speed. Your g-spot is being satisfied each time you fully sink onto him, bringing you close to the edge.

“Fuck, you’re so good, such a good girl,” he echoes loudly. He wants to buck up faster but his ankle has an annoying twinge in it, telling him not to push it too far, so he puts all his strength into his other foot, using that as his anchor to fuck into you deeper.

“Sunghoon…right there,” you whine, your mouth collecting drool as he fucks you dumb. 

He heeds your words and keeps drilling into you, fighting through the discomfort so you can climax. Reaching his thumb up to your mouth, he wipes the saliva formulating at the side of your mouth but he quickly stops when you suck on it, eyes boring into his as you do. 

Your plump lips look delicious while your tongue swirls around, giving him something to think about for the rest of his life. Grabbing your chin, he pulls your mouth open which you do obediently. 

“You’re so close, Sweets, I can feel you,” he states, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip, smearing your spit all over your mouth and down your chin, he grips you a bit tighter to keep you staring at him, “You’re gonna cum, and you’re going to keep looking at me when you do, okay? Do you know why?”

Without hesitation, you agree, staring straight into him, “So I know who makes me cum so hard,” It’s a little embarrassing to admit it, but it turns you on so much. You wonder if you could convince him to go full dom on you at some point, you know he has it in him.

“Good girl, you can cum whenever you want,” the huskiness in his voice pulses into your heat, making you clench around him again. The motion only makes him smirk, “I need to feel that perfect pussy fall apart so bad.” The confidence in his voice wavers as his dick spurts a little. He’s trying to hold it in until you cum but it’s proving more difficult than he anticipated, your core just clamping down on him too deliciously.

“Cum with me,” you say, cradling his face, “I want to cum with you.”

The suggestion doesn’t come unfounded, you know he’s holding back until you climax, “Let me milk your cock.”

Okay, you might have to seriously cringe after this because who do you suddenly think you are? Dirty talk isn’t something that comes as naturally to you as Sunghoon so every time you initiate or say something like that, you have to stop yourself from shrivelling up.

What you fail to see is how Sunghoon’s whole body shuts down, the dirty words falling from those angelic lips put his head in a tizzy and cock on the very brink of shooting into you. The drive he has now is exhilarated, his hips snapping into you, weight on both his ankles but he couldn’t care less, he had to feel you coming undone.

You try to keep up with his pace but he’s going so fast you don’t even have time to comprehend how you could add to the situation. His length is pistoning into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again, “Sunghoon! I’m cumming,”

“Cum for me. Milk my cock, Y/N,” he echoes your words but they don’t sound as good to him when it’s not your voice. 

Snaking his hand down to your clit, he rubs it, just helping to push you that last bit over the finish line, and it works like a dream. Your walls contort around him, your body tensing as your orgasm flushes over you. 

With your pussy tightening, Sunghoon spurts his seed into you, filling you up. The way your body is responding to your climax squeezes his cock clear of any cum, his balls deflating as he keeps shooting his sperm into you. 

He doesn’t stop for what feels like minutes, his dick jumping inside of you with each rope, only adding to your pleasure. Sunghoon’s thumb slows down but doesn’t stop giving your clit attention, making sure you get to ride out every remnant of your orgasm. 

Panting, you collapse on him, smooshing your face into his chest and kissing his heart softly, it’s your weak attempt to help him come down. 

Sunghoon wraps his arms around you, the rest of his body going limp as he cherishes the time with you on top of him like this, his cock still buried deep inside you, “You accomplished your goal,” he says into your hair, laying a kiss on your roots, “I feel so much better.”

You look up at him, leaning up slightly, “I never want you to listen to your mum again. She’s wrong about everything, you’re so perfect in every way, shape, and form,” your voice whisps over his face as you try to instil some assurance into him.

There was the little issue of saying this knowing full well she was kind of right about the skate being sabotaged. It gnaws at you, wishing you could tell him what you know, but you don’t want to hurt him, or your brother.

“I promise, I mean it when I say you’re the only one I need,” his fingers trace hearts into your back as you both bathe in the love that fills the room. 

The connection you have to Sunghoon feels surreal like it’s too good to be true. 

______

After the few days you’ve spent nonstop with Sunghoon, you decide you need to go back to your normal life, you can’t stay in your comfort cocoon forever. You’ve been back at classes, hanging out with Rina, and returning to work. However, you still haven’t been home, opting to spend the nights with Sunghoon. 

Minhee has texted and called you a few times, leaving messages asking if you can meet up but you ignore him. His messages punctuate your days like soft knocks on a door you are scared to unlock. 

Each time he contacted you, there was a little angel on your shoulder telling you to hear him out and let him explain what’s been going on. You have been telling yourself that the whole reason you refuse to tell Sunghoon about his skate is because you want to find out the truth; so why aren’t you trying?

Instead, you listened to the devil perched on your other shoulder, telling you to ignore him because it was still wrong even if there was an excuse to be had regarding the sabotage. 

Maybe it would have been easier to go back and forgive him if you hadn’t seen Sunghoon struggle to even stand in the shower.

Your boyfriend also got back to normality, he got his boots fixed in spite of you recommending new boots altogether, he’s determined to keep the old ones, claiming them lucky and ‘crucial to his National win’. 

He’s healing well, you wouldn’t even know he had an injury 9 days ago if you hadn’t been by his side. You knew his recovery was going well when he walked to his uni campus and back with no complaints. Well that and how he made up for the lost time and starting fucking you anywhere and everywhere just like before.

As you make your way to the rink to study, you see Sunghoon’s car in the parking lot which is strange because he said he had classes this afternoon. You shrug it off however, it’s probably just a health checkup he forgot to mention. 

Miss Barbara greets you, a beamer of a smile on her face but not like her usual happy to see you smile, more like an ‘I know something you don’t’ type of smile. You want to question her on it but you’re too curious as to what the rink has in store to wait around. 

The sound of multiple skates resounds off the arena walls, it’s just gone 3:30pm so it’s not an unusual occurrence, the junior skaters usually have afterschool training on a Tuesday anyway. It’s the bellow of Coach Lee’s voice that causes you confusion.

“Take it easy okay, don’t walk before you can run,” Strange. He doesn’t take the Junior class anymore, not since most of the parents complained that he was ‘far too harsh’ on their children. Of course, that’s not how Coach Lee saw it. 

As the rink comes into your sight you see the children standing to observe the skater on the ice as he lands a triple axel.

Sunghoon.

What on earth is he doing here, specifically, what is he doing skating like nothing happened?

You aren’t the only one who has a distaste in your mouth due to Sunghoon’s showing off. Coach is crossing his arms and tapping his foot in annoyance because his star skater has just defied his advice, “Sunghoon! Get off the ice. Now,” His tone indicates that he is in no mood for Sunghoon’s showboating.

Slowly, you make your way to the side while Sunghoon hops off the ice. Knowing your boyfriend, you can see his frustration with his coach, the slightly pouty lips and narrow eyes are a dead giveaway. 

He hasn’t noticed you yet, too busy begrudgingly taking his skates off. To be honest, you’re a little surprised that he doesn’t have some form of PTSD or at least apprehension about getting on the ice again; it would scare the shit out of you never mind doing tricks as if you didn’t almost have a career-ending fall.

“Listen to me, if you want to make Nationals next week you need to calm down with the aerials, alright? We need to build up to it,” Coach reasons with him.

“You saw me, I was perfectly fine,” He mumbles, tying his trainers in a strop. Sometimes he acted just like a kid but you found it endearing, probably because you’re never on the other side of the tantrum.

You now stand next to Coach Lee with a dissatisfied look on your face, “Hoonie, if you don’t listen to Coach Lee, you’ll end up injured again and I am not looking after you again,” Your voice is playful but coach points to you and nods, his eyes still on Sunghoon.

Whipping his head up at your voice, the bratty attitude melts from his body and is replaced with pure happiness. He stands up and brings you in for the tightest hug, his hand placed behind your head as he scratches your hair. 

Now that everyone in your immediate lives knew about you and Sunghoon, there wasn’t really any need to hide it. Both coaches were a little perplexed, wondering how your relationship started considering you both looked like you never spoke a word to one another. Little did they know you’ve spoken and fucked in every room of Belmore, including their office but you’ll omit that information if they ever ask. 

You don’t actually know if your mum knows but rather just assumed she would, either the coaches or Minhee have told her. If she’s anything like Mrs. Park, she will not take it well. 

As you’ve come to realise, your relationship with Sunghoon isn’t that controversial, it’s just two people falling in love while their families go at one another’s throats, like Romeo and Juliet but way, way less dramatic and hopefully no death. Although, if you had gotten a hold of Mrs. Park the day she came to visit Sunghoon, there might be one casualty in it all.

Coach Lee leaves you both, heading into his office. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, still unaware as to why he’s skating.

Leaning back to look at you, he smiles, “I got the all-clear from the doctor. He said I must be some bionic mutation because it’s basically fixed itself,” You’re sceptical, knowing his doctor would usually be a little more cautious than just telling Sunghoon he’s good to go.

Unwrapping your arms from his waist, you raise an eyebrow, “He just…said you can go back to skating? Perform your intense routine at Nationals like it was nothing?” He senses your apprehension and dubiousness and looks away, whistling. He isn’t slick and he knows it, “I guess I’ll go ask him.”

“No! Wait!,” He pulls you back as you go to walk away, a guilty smile plastered on his face, “Okay, maybe he told me to take it easy, skip Nationals and rest up for a few months.”

The look on your face is incredulous, how can Sunghoon and his coach possibly justify letting him back on the ice? 

Sunghoon fails to tell you that the doctor also said if he goes back too fast then he risks tearing a ligament and possibly putting him out of action for the foreseeable and with his age, he doesn’t have a lot of time left in competitive competitions.

That’s why he’s taking the risk. He’s 20 now, which is young in anyone else’s mind but for him, he’s too aware of the fact that in ten years maximum, he’ll either be doing exhibitions, coaching, or not skating at all. He had to take the chance, he had to make it to the Olympics and experience it.

“Sweets, I know what I’m doing, I know my body better than anyone,” He bargains with you, trying to help you see it from his point of view, “If I skate at Nationals, rest up for a bit before the winter Olympics, I’ll be all set. Trust me, baby.”

You do trust him, but you're also acutely aware of his stubborn nature. "Sunghoon, this plan might look good on paper, but it carries serious risks. You could really get hurt," you express, unintentionally letting a hint of begging slip into your voice. The mere thought of him sustaining another injury is unbearable.

Admittedly, there's a selfish reason you don’t want him to skate too soon. You don't want him to risk injury because, deep down, you fear that Minhee would have technically ended Sunghoon's career, invoking the butterfly effect.

“You also said that about us, that we’re good on paper but it couldn’t work. Look at us now,” Using your own words and relationship against you is a low blow, he knows that but it’s the only way you’ll understand. 

With a slow nod, you reluctantly drop the argument. "Just please be careful. I don't want you to cause yourself more damage, okay? If you see my side, at least consider it."

Sunghoon intertwines his fingers with yours, leaning down to kiss you. Instead of responding with words, he lets the kiss convey his gratitude for your concern for him. He knows you’re only looking out for him at the end of the day, just like always.

For a moment, you both get lost in each other, almost forgetting your surroundings. The usual nagging in your brain about the need to be discreet fades away, allowing you to revel in the affection. It’s the joy of telling the world about your relationship.

However, before the moment can linger, your name is angrily shouted from the entrance door, shattering the intimacy. "Y/N, what on earth do you think you're doing?" Your mum storms over to you and Sunghoon, his protective grip on you tightening in response. 

If she didn’t know about you and Sunghoon, she did now. Minhee tries to reach for your mum to calm her down but he isn’t quick enough.

“Mum, I-”

Before you can finish your sentence, she cuts you off, lifting her hand to silence you, “Don’t ‘mum’ me. I have been worried sick about you. You disappeared with…him for almost two weeks, not so much as a phone call to anyone.” She’s furious, if she was a cartoon you would see the steam coming from her scalp.

Sunghoon scoffs, bringing you to his side as a way to stand by you against her, “It’s a bit late to care about her now,” he mutters under his breath like he’s saying it to himself but it doesn’t go unnoticed from your mother.

“Excuse me?” She challenges Sunghoon, her posture hardening to match her stern gaze, “Do not involve yourself in our lives, I know what you’re up to,” her voice is accusatory. 

Yanking you away from your boyfriend, she roughly shoves you to Minhee’s side who catches you. This is the first time you’ve seen him since the morning after the argument and he looks horrible, his entire expression is sullen and his dark undereyes showcase the lack of sleep he’s had. Your heart hurts, wishing you had picked up the phone at least once.

That’s the thing, everything is easier when you shut people out. You haven’t given much thought about how Minhee would be feeling since the incident because you didn’t have to face him.

He gives you a sympathetic look, genuine remorse in his eyes. 

“Don’t speak and listen very carefully,” your mum looks at you, turning her back on Sunghoon to dismiss his presence entirely, “I didn’t want to believe the rumours about you two but it ends now. You will not see him again, that family is cruel and evil and I will not let you continue this relationship any further. Do I make myself clear?” You know she’s angry because she’s speaking clear and concise to get her point across. 

“Not Sunghoon, mum, he’s not a bad person,” 

Pleading with her falls short, her manner never wavering. You look to Sunghoon who shakes his head in disbelief at how brazen your mother was being by talking about him so poorly while he was right there.

She huffs, clearly irritated by your defiance. "Sunghoon is especially toxic."

"Mu-"

"He's using you to get to your brother."

The entire arena seems captivated by this unexpected drama, like it’s an episode of  Maury and the DNA results are about to be revealed. Minhee and Sunghoon exchange perplexed glances, but all you can muster is laughter.

The idea that Sunghoon has ulterior motives for dating you seems utterly ludicrous, "Mum, Sunghoon and I are together, and we're happy. Why can't you just leave us be?"

Ignoring your plea, she digs into her handbag, determined to prove her point. As she scrolls through her phone, you seize the opportunity to exchange a glance with Minhee, who can only offer a shrug, equally taken aback by the unfolding spectacle.

Finally finding what she's looking for, she hands you the phone, revealing screenshots of text messages between two individuals. "I did some digging once I found out about your little relationship. He's been texting his friends and making a mockery of you."

As you peer at the phone, Sunghoon's name is at the top of the screen, and the messages depict Sunghoon boasting about sleeping with you and how easy you are to get into bed, all it took was playing on your ‘mommy issues’.

The stress in your body builds, lying heavily on your shoulders. Despite the initial shock, the rational part of your mind takes over. Nowadays, anyone can make a fake text. The absurdity of the situation dawns on you, and you suspect that your mother is creating drama for her own sick pleasure.

"Mum, anyone can fake text messages. This doesn't prove anything," you assert, hoping to inject some reason into the escalating confrontation. 

Sunghoon still hasn’t seen the messages so he doesn’t know the severity of the allegations being made about him but he knows it can’t be good. Although you’re ninety percent convinced that it’s fabricated, he can see the ten percent of you arguing that they’re real.

With a dismissive wave, your mum takes back the mobile, “Thought you might say that. Texts can be faked, but voices? They don’t lie.” 

You suddenly have a sick feeling that’s rising from your stomach to your throat. What else could she possibly have? It won’t be substantial, it can’t be.

Out of your eyeshot, Minhee and Sunghoon are exchanging a look of curiosity, both wondering what Sunghoon could possibly have said about you that would elude to your relationship being made from lies.

Opening a file on her phone, your mum plays an audio clip, the sound of Sunghoon’s voice fills the tense air.

"All I gotta do is keep her hooked until Nationals. Once Minhee catches wind of me messing around with his little sister, he'll be too wrapped up in that drama to think about anything else. Can't have him messing with the Olympic team, you know?...

…No, she doesn’t have a clue. I practically have her doing anything I say. Seriously, sex whenever I want! I missed my opportunity to be an actor because how i’ve been pretending to be in love with her makes me worthy of an Oscar….

I just used lines from those movies that girls watch, read a few Twitter threads, I did my research man c’mon.”

In the wake of the phone call clip, a heavy burdening silence hangs around the rink, suffocating you. Your mum adorns a victorious smile, proud of her revelation. 

She’s the only one who was happy in this situation.

Minhee balls his fists, face going red and stature in fight mode, ready to knock everyone out of the way so he can lay his hands on Sunghoon. He isn’t even upset that he was planning all of this to sabotage him but rather that he hurt the one person most precious to him. You.

You find yourself at a crossroads, torn between the person you’ve come to love and the evidence presented to you. Sunghoon wouldn’t do this to you but the proof is right there, clear as day. The weight on your shoulders is unbearable as you contemplate the idea that maybe the Sunghoon you thought you knew, the one you love, actually isn’t who he says he is.

Sunghoon’s mouth hangs open and his eyebrows merge together as he processes what he just heard, “Y/N, I swear I didn’t say that, I have never…I wouldn’t…” He can’t even finish the words, still perplexed by the audio.

“Oh? But isn’t that your voice?” your mum says. It’s sick how much she seems to be enjoying this, almost like this will be the most gratifying ‘I told you so’ in history. 

“Well…yeah but I did NOT say that,” he walks towards you, hands on his chest, “Baby, please believe me. I love you, I wouldn’t use you,” Sunghoon’s voice wavers with anger and sadness, conflicting feelings fighting one another as his mind bats them around.

The weight of humiliation and deceit bears down on you, threatening to shatter your composure. A storm of emotions swirls within, but you stubbornly refuse to let it consume you, denying anyone the satisfaction of witnessing your breakdown.

With determination, you storm out, deaf to the desperate pleas from Minhee and Sunghoon. Your singular focus is on escaping the prying eyes, sparing yourself from the judgment and pity.

How could Sunghoon betray you like this? You gave each part of yourself to him, only for him to throw it back in your face.

But it was so real, the connection you have with him, even from the start, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before so how could it all be a lie? The way he made you feel was otherworldly, it’s hard to believe for a second he would have manipulated you like that. 

Was every whispered promise and affectionate moment just a ploy to damage your brother's chances?

As you push open the double doors, your mind is filled with conflicting thoughts that drown out the background noises of the outside world. The confusion envelopes you like a thick cloud and the cold air hits you like a slap in the face, a dramatic contrast to the hot chaos left behind in the rink. 

Stumbling slightly, you make your way through the car park, the weight of betrayal and inner struggle increasing with each step.

Tears threaten to spill, but you clench your hands, determined to maintain composure. The weight of embarrassment, uncertainty, and sadness pushes over your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“Y/N! Wait!” Sunghoon’s cry finally infiltrates its way through your ears, “Sweets, please talk to me,” his voice gets louder as he catches up, attempting to grab your wrist but you harshly pull it from his grasp.

You’ve had too many arguments in this car park for your liking, whoever runs the CCTV must sit with some popcorn every time you trudge out of Belmore.

“Was this your plan, huh? To use me like this?” This was your chance to find out why he did it, why he tricked you so easily, “Was all of it a lie? When you told me you loved me, was it all fake?” you batter question after question out to him, word vomiting your inner thoughts in hopes of some clarity to the situation.

Standing in front of you, Sunghoon’s expression reads more anger than hurt, “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. Don’t fucking diminish my feelings like that,” he argues back. It instilled a fury within him that you could even elude to his love being a lie.

“Oh? So what, getting under my brother’s skin was the plan but then you started to fall in love with me as time went on like one of those bullshit Rom Coms. Is that really the angle you’re pulling here?” You can hear your voice getting louder and you have no desire to lower it. 

Sunghoon is a mirror of you, anger rising but it’s not aimed at you, it’s the situation he’s furious with, “Y/N I swear on my life I didn’t say any of those words back there. I…I don’t know what’s going on,” his shoulders raise as he fights internally with himself. 

“That was your voice, Sunghoon. YOU. I hope you get your fucking Oscar, I’m sorry it was so hard to pretend to be in love with me, isn’t that what you said?” It’s not like you to scream at someone, however, the love you have for him is like a clutch in your heart, a burden you once thought was a privilege. 

Tightening his jaw, he has a tough act on in front of you but his wavering voice gives him away, “I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much you can’t actually think for a second any of this was fake to me.” Sunghoon groans and slaps his cheeks lightly, a habit he has when he’s frustrated, “I don’t know how to prove to you I am not fucking lying. Y/N, you’re my whole world and you know it. Why are you believing your mum when she couldn’t give two shits about you,” he barely pushes out the last sentence from pure agitation. 

Weeks and weeks have gone by and he has listened to you tell him stories about your mother and how she’s a horrible person. Now you’re standing in front of him suddenly believing her over the one person that has shown you all the love you’ve been missing. It’s enraging him to another level he didn’t even know he was capable of.

“Why shouldn’t I believe her? She literally has stone-cold proof of you admitting that you used me,” you argue.

He takes two long steps to stand in front of you, invading your bubble. His big hands hold your cheeks as he forces you to look into his eyes, “I didn’t say it. I didn’t send any texts. I haven’t got any friends except Jay and Jake and they would be on my ass if I pulled something like this. I love you so fucking much. Are you really going to believe a shitty audio clip instead of seeing what’s right in front of you?”

Either he’s telling the truth or he’s really committing to the role. The sincerity in his eyes clashes with the damning evidence, leaving you torn between love and reason. 

Pushing him back, you shake your head. You can’t rationalise anything, the red you’re seeing clouding over your judgement. His love that poured through the words was evident but even on the call he said he faked being in love with you, maybe he was just a natural talent in the art of deception.

“You’re just like my brother, y’know, literal carbon copies of each other. You’ll do anything to win, to top one another in this stupid rivalry. First, it was him with your skate and now this, using me like I’m some pawn in your game.”

A weird silence fills the air as Sunghoon takes in your rambling, “What about my skate?” 

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

As if the icy air just took over your body, your blood runs cold at your accidental admission. This isn’t how you wanted to tell him, truthfully, you didn’t want to tell him at all but if you did, you wanted it to be a bit gentler than this and well after you figured out what Minhee was thinking.

“Did Minhee fuck up my skate that day?” Sunghoon can’t believe it, his face going a paler shade as he takes in the gravity of your words, “My mum was right? You both had something to do with it?”

He is seething, his body shaking as he comes to terms with your words. Sunghoon has never felt more fury coursing through his blood as he does right now, never in his life did he ever think you could make him this angry.

“Of course, I didn’t, Sunghoon. Believe it or not, I was actually in this relationship for real, not pretending,” you spit back at his accusation.

“You knew he did this to my ankle, you listened to me argue with my mum and defend both of you to the point she won’t speak to me anymore and it was true?” The hurt in his voice drains some of the anger from you, making room for guilt to sit shallowly at the surface. 

There wasn’t anything you could say right now that would make you look better in this scenario. You fucked up, you knew when you found out about the skate, you knew it while you cradled Sunghoon in your arms as he broke down, and you know it now.

What you did was fucked up. Lying to him was bang out of order.

However, since the guilt is only taking about a 1/8th of your body, the anger suffocates it, choking it down, “You’re turning it on me but I can’t control Minhee’s actions.”

“You kept it a secret, that’s just as bad,” he shouts, veins popping from his neck.

It hurts, the way he says it. He sounds so betrayed.

But he betrayed you, he’s been lying this whole relationship and now he’s getting angry at you for keeping one fact to yourself. You know it’s wrong to try and compare the two, to find a way and dilute the severity of your lie but you’re livid at him right now. Once you’ve calmed down you might be able to see clearly, that won’t be today though.

“Okay, fine. I should have told you but you’ve also been lying to me, and for a lot longer,” you retort back, staring into his eyes.

Stunned by your confession, his mind temporarily short circuits. You lied to him, after everything you saw him go through with his ankle, you neglected to mention that it was Minhee. He practically disowned his mother in honour of not just you but your brother…for it all to be true. And to top it all off, you still don’t believe him as he tells you that he loves you, that somehow that audio is fake.

Before Sunghoon can gather any words to say back, Coach Lee has a firm grip on his arm, the man’s eyes flicking between you both. It’s clear that even without hearing the conversation, your relationship was essentially over and Coach Lee didn’t want to meddle.

“Y/N, go home. Sunghoon, come with me.” His parental voice is switched on as if he’s telling his kids to stop playing with their food or drawing on the walls. 

You and Sunghoon stay stagnant as you watch each of your worlds crumble beneath you. All that you knew and loved got swept away on a random Tuesday afternoon.

And you just let it happen.

taglist (closed!!): @heelee-01 @zerasari @beomgyusonlywife @iwaplant @monstanctiny21 @chiiiiiiiiis @minniejenseo @run2gyuz @jngwnlvs @haelahoops @capri-cuntz @nctislifue @jaehoonii @weyukinluv @skzenhalove @enhypenlovre @cherriruto @bambangan @who-tf-soddhi @nxzz-skz @nshmrarki @hotsforikeu @enhastolemyheart @erehkinnie30 @judeduartewannabe @neosexual @fakeuwus @positivelyinlovewithjungwon @tobiosbbyghorl @kimsunoops

[imaginespazzi]

Part 4: The Art of Letting Go

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Only know you love her when (she lets you) go

(In which a still very sadistic writer make things a lot worse but only so they can get a little bit better)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt with very little comfort

Words: 7.9K

TW: Car Accidents, Panic Attacks, Swearing

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I know I'm very, very late with this and I love you all for being so patient. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter but it is what it is. Logistical details are probably a little off but I need things to work for the plot, so try and ignore that. Per usual I did edit (very loosely and I'll probably go back over it later), there are probably typos anyways. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading lovelies and let's get a W this weekend. <3

December 2023

A week or so after they get back from the Cayman Islands, Azzi feels like she’s been sleep-walking through life, everything around her hazy and dull. She religiously sticks to a routine of eat-study-practice-sleep. Except well, sleep isn’t really sleeping. It’s her brain conjuring images of blonde hair and blue eyes and Azzi forcing herself to wake-up from a nightmare that used to be her favourite dream. 

She doesn’t tell anyone what happened, lying to herself it’s because it would be embarrassing and not because it would mean having to face the truth. Still, it doesn’t mean that her teammates can’t piece together little bits. There must be something quite sinister about the air around her, because none of her normally nosy and eager-to-help sisters try to weasel any information out of Azzi. They act like they always have, only sharing worried looks behind her back when the façade of i’m doing fine slips momentarily when she thinks no one’s watching. 

And then that façade goes to hell over the span of a couple of hours. 

It starts with the inevitable breakup with Zoe. At first Azzi avoids it, making up excuses as to why she can’t see her girlfriend. Selfishly, there’s a part of her that wants to keep Zoe, keep a girl who would never leave, never make her feel anything less than (or more than) just content. But it’s not fair, Azzi knows that, and it’s why she practises her it’s not you, it’s me speech to perfection in front of the mirror. When she goes to message Zoe that she's coming over, the text chain causes a pinch of guilt in her heart at the contrast between her girlfriend’s hopeful tone versus her own nonchalant one. And Azzi thinks that Zoe will never really understand just how similar the two of them are, stuck at wanting someone who would always let them down. Only, Azzi will let Zoe free but when it comes to her herself, she’s pretty sure she’s destined to be trapped forever. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that Azzi remembers the apartment in Storrs that she’d visited barely a handful of times a lot more than she remembers the apartment she’s currently in, the one that belongs to her girlfriend. Zoe sits rigidly on the couch with the same reserved, guarded expression she’s had since she’d opened the door, clearly aware of what was about to happen. Her foot taps incessantly as the silence between them drags on.

“You deserve better,” Azzi says finally, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the floor. 

“No,” Zoe’s voice is cold, “don’t say shit like that. It’s a cop out. It’s the shit people say to make themselves feel better-”

“Zoe-”

“Don’t be a fucking coward Azzi. Look me in the eye and say it, say exactly what you’re here to.”

Azzi doesn’t want to do any of that. She wants to crumble to the ground and let it swallow her until she’s buried so far away from the mess she’s created. But she owes Zoe this. When she does look at Zoe, there’s this look in the other girl’s eyes that Azzi had never thought herself capable of evoking in anyone and she has to swallow away the bile that rises in her throat, disgusted by her own self. 

“I’m breaking up with you,” Azzi whispers. Her words linger in the air, like shrapnel after an explosion. Zoe flinches, a single tear trickling down her face. 

“There it is,” the Californian says quietly, the ghost of an ironic smile playing on her lips, “I knew it was coming but damn- there it is.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For what-” Zoe cuts herself, “no actually don’t- don’t answer that. I think I know.”

Azzi draws in a deep breath, ready to confess, “I need to tell-”

“Please-”

“Z-”

“Please,” Zoe sobs, “please don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear it okay? I don’t- I don’t want to hate you Azzi. It’s too much and I don’t- I just- I’m so tired of feeling so much for you when you don’t- when you feel so little for me.”

“That’s not true,” Azzi counters helplessly, her words ringing hollow to her own ears. 

“Fucking hell you just ended it Azzi, you don’t have to pretend anymore. And it’s okay because I get it. You can’t feel any more than what little you do for me because- because you’ve already given the rest of it away. And it’s not- it’s not like I didn’t know you know? I only ever met you because you were crying over her. You only let me into your life because you missed her. And now you have her,” Zoe says wistfully. 

It’s terrible the way everything else becomes white noise as Azzi’s ear latches on the last sentence, a sentence that couldn’t be any further away from the truth. She was prepared for the accusations, for Zoe to hurl every curse word in the book at her, but this, the unintended reminder that she was giving up on soft, sweet, gentle Zoe for something that she didn’t have, hurts far more than any words could. 

“This isn’t about-” 

Zoe’s quick to cut Azzi off, pushing herself off the couch they had been sharing, trying to put even more space in between them, “please do not insult my intelligence by finishing that sentence. I deserve that much at least.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are because I know- I know who you are Azzi and I know you’re a good person and that’s why- that’s why I don’t wanna know okay? Whatever you did- whatever happened- just let me- just let me have this. Let me remember you as someone good- someone great,” Zoe pleads.

“If that’s what you want Zo,” Azzi answers weakly, the guilty clawing at her heart. She doesn’t think she deserves to be remembered like that, doesn’t think she’s worthy of being thought of with fondness, not anymore. 

Zoe doesn’t make any acknowledgement of Azzi having spoken as she starts to pace, “I should have known. You know the day I met her this summer, I got it- the appeal- I got it immediately. She has this aura, this charm. She just- she just fucking glows you know? And she’s just- she’s this huge entity and so are you and I’m just,” she lets out a hollow laugh as she shrugs,  “I’m just a girl from Stockton, California.”

“And you’re amazing,” Azzi puts up a hand when Zoe tries to cut her off again, “you are. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did for me last year. You could have walked away that day and maybe- maybe one day you’ll think you should have. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Zoe. You do deserve better. It’s not a cop out. It’s the truth.”

Since she was younger, Azzi’s always hated endings. This time is no different. The bitter truth is that she probably won’t miss her girlfriend, but she will miss the friend that had gotten her through one of the toughest years of her life. Slowly, Azzi picks herself off of the couch and walks over to a still Zoe, squeezing her left hand once before heading towards the door. 

“Azzi,” Zoe calls out, just as Azzi has one foot out the door, “I hope it works out for the two of you. You and Paige always did just seem inevitable.”

***

She blames the fact she’s currently stuck in the terrible LA traffic, with the word inevitable ringing in her ears, for the way her fingers continuously flicker over the green call button under Paige’s name. Zoe saying her name had been the first time in a week that Azzi had even let herself, in consciousness at least, think of the blonde properly. And now that it had been unleashed, whispers of Paige, Paige, Paige echo through every crevice of skull. The pain and anger that she’d been trying to shield herself from, come barraging into her heart as she’s held captive once again by thoughts of her best friend. 

It would be a lie to say that Azzi hadn’t been hoping for a call or a text to come through. She’d waited two days with bated breath for a friendly quip that would lead them back to their safe haven of just pretend. Instead it was as if they were back to being who they had been before summer of 2022 all over again. Back to being nothing. But this time Azzi had been adamant that if Paige was going to cut her off again, she wouldn’t fight it, not this time. Apparently that resolve was never meant to last and Azzi feels a little pathetic with how desperately she needs to hear Paige’s voice, how desperately she wants to try again. 

The traffic clears just as she presses call and maybe that should have been a sign. Azzi’s not a bad driver per say, but as her dad always said, no one’s a good driver when they’re distracted. The phone rings for too long and she should take that as her next sign and accept it as Paige not wanting to talk, but she lets it continue to ring anyway, as she turns onto a more secluded road. And then-

“Hello,” the voice is unfamiliar and Azzi doesn’t really know Paige’s teammates, beyond Caroline, that well but she’s pretty certain this one doesn’t belong to any of them. 

“Hi uh- who is this?” she manages to get out as her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“Oh um- this is Rose, Paige’s friend” comes the reply, the word friend said with a sultry lilt and Azzi feels her skin prickle. Hang up. 

“Why are you answering Paige’s phone?” her tone is far more accusatory than she’d like it to be. 

“She’s in the bathroom but she told me to,” Rose answers defensively. 

Azzi hesitates, she doesn’t need to know more except, “does she know who called?”

Because surely if she did, if Paige knew it was Azzi on the other line, she wouldn’t let one of her likely random hookups answer the phone, surely Paige would know what it would do, how it would make her feel. 

“Uh yeah- I told her Azzi called and she seemed pretty sure she wanted me to pick up.”

Maybe Paige does know what it would do, does know how it would make Azzi feel, maybe that’s the whole fucking point. Through the phone she can hear quiet footsteps walking closer, towards Rose. When Paige is close enough that Azzi can make out the sound of her breathing, can almost picture the way her chest is heaving, that’s when the tears finally fall, blurring her vision. 

She doesn’t see the blinking headlights rushing towards her until it’s too late and then she’s swerving. The world around her erupts in motion and light and noise, everything spinning and spinning and spinning. For one moment, as she loses complete control of her car, Azzi thinks maybe this is it. And the most terrifying part of it, is that for a second, she’s not all that opposed to the idea of this being the end. It’s a singular image of her parents in her brain that has her regaining her senses and hitting the brakes as hard as she can. Her tires screech as her car barrels into a tree and her entire body jerks around in her car, her seatbelt leaving burn scars against her neck. Azzi feels her heartbeat going haywire, as everything comes to a halt. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Rose’s panicked voice echoes. 

“What?” and there’s Paige and even in this wreckage, Azzi’s heart stutters at the sound of her best friend. 

“I think she crashed-”

“WHAT?” there’s frantic shuffling until, “Azzi? Azzi? Hello? Are you there? Fuck. Azzi are you okay? Please say something. C’mon Az. I know you’re there. Can you hear me? Please be okay. Azzi? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Azzi?”

Azzi opens and closes her mouth, trying to answer to the call of her name, but nothing comes out. She feels hot and cold all over at the same and she swears there’s a hand curled around her neck because she can’t fucking breathe. 

“Azzi,” Paige says again desperately, “please say something.”

“P-Paige,” Azzi finally manages to stutter, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. There’s blood rushing to her ears and everything around her feels hazy. 

“Azzi,” and that one syllable is wrapped in so much emotion, “I’m here okay, are you okay?”

No, Azzi thinks, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. 

“I c-can’t breathe. I think” she grasps at her neck, “I th-think I’m having a panic attack.”

Paige curses under her breath, “okay, okay alright listen to me breathe okay? And try to match it okay?”

“O-okay,” Azzi whispers, pressing her head to her steering wheel as she tries to mimic Paige’s exaggerated deep breaths on the other end of the line. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me Azzi, just keep breathing okay,” Paige’s voice is far calmer than she probably is in reality, “just keep breathing with me okay.”

Azzi closes her eyes as she feels her chest slowly start to loosen up and lets herself be immersed by Paige’s soothing words of comfort. And for a second, it almost feels as if her best friend is right there with her. For a second, Azzi imagines that they’re on a whole other planet, just them in their little world, like it always should have been, like she’d once been so sure it would be. It’s a beautiful dream that reality is quick to gatecrash. 

“Babe, is she okay?” Rose asks, and Azzi’s eyes fly open at the term of endearment. She’s not on a different planet. She’s alone. And Paige isn’t. 

“I’m fine,” Azzi breathes out and then more firmly, “I’m fine.”

“Thank God,” Paige lets out a sigh of relief before her tone turns sour “what the actual fuck Azzi?”

Azzi winces at the loudness, pretty sure she might have a concussion from the way her head had crashed back into her headrest as she’d crashed into the tree in front of her. 

“I’m fine,” she repeats assertedly, as everything around her slowly starts to make sense again. It’s not a lie really, at least not physically. There’s the potential concussion, and the litany of bruises she’s starting to feel all over her body but she’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong internally. Well except for her stupid fucking heart but it wasn’t the accident that had fucked that organ up. 

“You just crashed your fucking car, no you’re not fucking fine,” Paige yells, voice thick with tears. 

“What the fuck do you care?” Azzi bites back, “sorry I interrupted your fucking night Paige. I swear it won’t happen again.”

She hangs up before Paige can say anything else, sitting deathly still for a second. And then she lets herself completely break apart. 

***

74 missed calls from Paige

did u go to the hospital 

pick up ur fucking phone 

dude

azzi

this is not the time for this stubborn bullshit 

PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE 

AZZI 

just say ur ok at least

please 

called ur mom 

said u had a concussion and some bruising 

thats not too bad 

ur so fucking stupid 

it could be so much worse 

please pick up 

AZZI FUCKING FUDD PICK UP UR PHONE 

so u can call carol and not me ok 

thats just fucking perfect

dude i feel like an accident > stupid fights 

so maybe just pick up 

or call me back

u wanna play this stupid game fine 

ignore me for now

but i’mma be in dc for christmas

ur gonna have to talk to me 

i know where u live 

***

The box in Azzi’s arm feels freakishly heavy, like she’s holding the whole world inside of it. In a way, maybe she is. The walk up Paige’s dad’s driveway feels longer than it ever has and she’s fighting the urge to turn back with every step. As soon as she’d seen the vaguely threatening text message, Azzi had decided she would beat Paige to it. The night of the accident had put several things into perspective and Azzi was determined to finally grasp control of her own life. 

It hasn’t been that long since the Cayman Island and so it hasn’t been that long since Azzi’s seen Paige. But when the door opens and she’s face to face with her best friend, despite the dread and anxiety that’s drowning her heart, Azzi still feels that beat of it’s cold but you always make me feel warm flutter in her chest. Paige smiles and Azzi’s arms wobble, drawing the blonde’s attention to the box in her arms. 

“Still a couple of days till Christmas Az, a little early to give me my present,” Paige smirks lightly and Azzi feels a river of hot anger slide around her veins. After everything she’d put her through in the last couple of weeks, the fact that Paige could act so frivolous, as if they were still fine, makes Azzi see red. 

Her voice is icier than the sheet of frost on the ground when she replies, “it’s not a Christmas present.”

Paige’s eyebrows knit together questioningly, “then-”

“It’s all your stuff I had lying around,” Azzi cuts in, trying to keep her voice confident and stable. 

The smile disappears from Paige’s face as she studies Azzi's face, looking for some semblance of emotion beyond the blank stare. 

“What?”

“All the things you’ve left at my house over the years, a couple of t-shirts, a hat, a book and a couple other things, they’re in this box,” Azzi says pointedly. She tries to hand it over but Paige is quick to move away from it, staring at the offending object as if it’s a ticking time bomb. 

“What the actual fuck is going on Azzi?”

“I might have missed some things. Let me know if I have and I’ll mail them to you in the future,” Azzi recites clinically, keeping her demeanour stoic as possible “and of course I would like my things back as well. Not right now of course. You can mail them to me whenever it suits you.”

“Mail back your things? What? What the fuck are you going on about?” Paige asks, a bewildered expression taking on her face. She reaches out as if she wants to shake Azzi but seems to think better of it. 

Azzi doesn’t say anything, as she sidesteps Paige into the house, putting in the utmost effort to make sure no part of herself brushes up against the older girl, knowing the inevitable burst of electricity when they touch would be enough to break her resolve. She places the box of Paige’s stuff on the coffee table in the living room, before turning back to Paige. 

“I’m giving you your stuff back,” Azzi repeats, “I’m giving you what you want.”

“What I want? When did I ask for my stuff back?”

Azzi draws in a deep breath, fighting desperately against the screams of you don’t want this in her own head, “I’m giving you a clean break Paige. I’m letting you go.”

Saying those words feels a lot like free-falling. Her stomach lurches at the way Paige’s features scrunch up in pain and she’d never meant to do that, but Azzi’s so tired. She’s so tired of this push and pull, the way they seem to hurt each other every fucking time, the way things get so close to going right and then go wrong any way. The bitter truth of life, Azzi has forced herself to admit, is that it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, sometimes the darkness wins out anyway. 

“You think-,” Paige stutters, clutching at her chest, “you think this is what I want?”

“Well isn’t it?” 

“Of course n-”

“If I hadn’t called you that night would you have called me first Paige?  If I hadn’t gotten into that stupid accident, would you even have texted me ever again?”

Paige’s silence is an answer in itself . And although Azzi had known it, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that had posed the question hoping against hope that Paige would have answered it with a resounding yes of course. She thinks maybe she should be used to the singe of disappointment that burns her skin by now but she’s never been immune to Paige’s fire. 

“That’s what I thought,” Azzi says quietly, “I’m tired of running after you Paige. I thought I was done after the Cayman Islands but then I- I don’t know- I don’t know why I called you that night when you- you clearly didn’t want that.”

“Azzi c’mon-”

“It’s my fault really. Because you've always been clear about it and I- for some reason- I just don’t listen. You were clear with it when you told me to go to UCLA and get out of your life. You were clear when you didn’t want me to come into your air BnB. You were clear when you told me to get out of the bathroom last summer. And when you left that night-,” Azzi pauses as Paige’s eyes widen, the words catching in her throat, “when you were gone that morning- every time you didn’t call- every time you didn’t text- you were always clear about it Paige and I- I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

“You’re being really fucking unfair right now,” Paige accuses, “you’re mad because I didn’t want to be your fucking side whore? I’m so sorry I had more self-respect than that Azzi.”

Azzi blinks rapidly, her face still completely neutral, “excuse me?”

“You wanna blame me for those first two things, fine. But you have a whole ass girlfriend and you wanted me to be what? Just a girl you can fuck occasionally because you feel like it? Who the fuck do you think I am? I deserve so much better than that.”

“I don’t-”

“You wanna know why I left that morning?” Paige asks icily, “I woke up and the first thing I saw is your girlfriend’s fucking i miss you text. All that shit you said to me when I kissed you in LA about not wanting to be one of my groupies or whatever but what did you want me to be Azzi?”

When they were young and naive, the largest fight they’d ever had was about whether or not one of them had cheated in a game of horse. The allegations of cheater from a 15 year old Paige had seemed massive back then, but they pale in front of the accusations of cheater from a 22 year old Paige. It’s not that Azzi thinks she’s some prime example of a good samaritan and she can deal with people thinking she’s not all that, but it’s different when it’s Paige, it’s different to know that Paige could ever think so low of her. 

“You really think I’d do that you? That I’d make you my sidepiece or whatever?”

“What else am I supposed to think about you fucking me while you have a girlfriend?” Paige asks exasperatedly and Azzi flinches at the repeated use of the profanity. 

“Had.”

“What?”

Azzi grips the hem of her shirt, trying to focus her eyes anywhere but Paige, “I had a girlfriend. Past tense.”

“You- you broke up with Zoe?” Paige’s expression morphs from anger to confusion before finally settling on realisation. 

“I never wanted you to be a side piece. You think I don’t know you deserve better than that?” Azzi rubs her temple, as she tries to keep herself steady on her feet, “I know seeing that text hurt you but it’s not like you didn’t know I had a girlfriend. But- but if you’d just waited for me to wake up, god if you’d just talked to me once instead of jumping to conclusions then-”

“Then what?” Paige breathes out and Azzi doesn’t miss the little spurt of hope that’s taken birth on the older girl's face. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Azzi shakes her head, “that’s also past tense now.”

The thing with Paige is that anger is her protective mechanism. When she gets a little close to losing control of her emotions, or feeling too much, it’s what she falls back on so it’s not surprising that her tone is harsh when she speaks again. 

“How the fuck was I supposed to guess you were gonna break up with your girlfriend Az c’mon,” Paige takes a step towards her, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

“I never asked you to read my mind. I just- all I’ve ever wanted- is for you to just have a little faith in me- in us,” Azzi’s voice breaks on the last word. 

“That’s not fair. I was really fucking  hurt Azzi-” Paige begins, her voice pleading.

“And then you tried to hurt me back on purpose,” Azzi spits out as the façade of neutrality completely slips off, “you knew it was me calling and you had that girl pick up any way knowing exactly how it would make me feel.”

“Azzi,” baby blue eyes sparkle with tears and Azzi has to force herself to look away, because no matter how much she’s convinced that this is what needs to happen, seeing Paige break, will drown Azzi and she’s barely floating as it is. 

“I don’t enjoy hurting you Paige,” Azzi says softly, “and I don’t think you enjoy hurting me but for the last couple of years, I feel like that’s all we’ve been doing and I- I can’t do it anymore.”

It’s not something she’d ever admitted out loud, or even to herself, but once upon a time Azzi used to think her and Paige would have one of those stories, one of those soft, sappy fairytale-esque stories that had no chance of an ending that wasn’t happily ever after. And she hopes that maybe in another universe, maybe they did have that. Maybe in a universe where she chose UConn and things never went wrong in the first place. Maybe in that universe, they’re happy. But in this universe, they seem to be destined for misery. And Azzi thinks the saddest tragedy of it all, is that it feels like she’s ending a story that never even really got the chance to start. 

“So that’s it then, you’re walking away- you’re just- you’re fucking giving up?” Paige says bitterly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and Azzi feels a flicker of annoyance light up against her ribcage. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” she accuses, “Is that not what you do? You walk away every. single. time. because you can’t deal with things getting just a little too fucking hard. And what? I’m just supposed to wait until you come back? Or chase after you like a pathetic little puppy?”

Paige flinches at the hardness in Azzi’s tone, mouth opening and closing but nothing escaping. 

“I’m so fucking tired of always being the one calling, the one showing up, the one trying. I’m so fucking tired of fighting for us when it feels like you’re fighting against me,” Azzi pauses,trying to blink away the tears she’d tried so hard to keep locked behind her eyelids, “if you wanna call that me giving up then okay, but I don’t think you realize just how fucking hard I want to hold on.”

Azzi’s not sure if it’s the way her voice cracks, or the absolute misery behind every word she says, but Paige's hard and cold expression is gone so fast it gives her whiplash. And then her Paige, the girl with the warm eyes and soft heart is back, looking at Azzi in a way that makes her want to believe in them all over again. Arms outstretched, Paige takes a step forwards and there’s nothing more Azzi wants then melt into them. It takes everything in her to step away instead. For a moment there’s nothing but them staring at each other in silence, a moment where Azzi tries to memorise everything about Paige just in case this is the last time. And then-

“What if,” Paige begins softly, “what if I entered the draft?”

Azzi looks at her in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“The Sparks have the second pick, it’s where I’m projected to go,” Paige bites at her lips, peering at Azzi through her eyelashes. 

The Sparks. The Los Angeles Sparks. 

“Is that what you want?” Azzi asks quietly, trying to prevent her brain from already coming up with dreams of stupid picnic dates at the park during sunset. 

Paige hesitates. And it’s enough for those dreams to crumble, because Azzi knows Paige just a little too well, knows exactly what that little bit of hesitation means. 

“I haven’t decided yet but if- if there was a reason that I should-”

“There isn’t,” Azzi says firmly, “it’s not what you want.”

“I don’t even fucking know what I want,” Paige argues and that doesn’t make it any better. 

“Then figure it out,” Azzi yells, frustratedly rubbing her hands over her face, “I won’t deal with you fucking resenting me and running away again in a couple of years- hell in a couple of months- because you regret your fucking decision.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Please just stop. It's done. I’ve made up my mind” Azzi begs, exhaustion flooding into her body, “just- just let this go please.”

Paige meets her eyes with a stubborn fire, “I don’t fucking want to.”

“Well tough luck because I do.”

“Azzi,” Paige pleads desperately, trying to block Azzi as she beelines for the door, but the younger girl is quick to push past her. 

“Goodbye Paige.”

***

December 2024 

azzi please just let me in 

ur parent are saying u dont wanna see me 

and i get it 

but i can fix this i swear 

i know u know im here

please fucking let me in 

i fucked up 

i know 

im so fucking sorry

but dude we can fix this

just 

can u just fucking let me in

i really wanna see u 

i really wanna talk 

can we just fucking talk 

please 

merry christmas az

u know what fuck u actually 

didnt mean that sorry 

i was just mad 

u make me really fucking mad 

christmas breaks almost over 

i have to go back soon and ik u do too

we should talk before that 

ur so fucking stubborn 

but so am i

im not giving up 

i won’t 

January 2024

hi 

i miss you

ur really fucking annoying

not texting me back

but its fine

i’ll just fucking spam 

i had an ok day today 

practice was kinda ass 

not me tho

i was great

as always 

bet i made more threes than you did 

bro im watching ur game

and

what the fuck kinda airball did u just throw up 

get in the gym az jfc 

oh that was a good pullup

not better than mine

but decent 

been a fucking month azzi 

just fucking call me back 

or text me idk 

i miss u 

sooooooooooo

hows ur day

good? good.

hows mine?

oh kinda shit 

lets see

we lost in front of all these uconn legends

to their fucking rival 

everyones saying uconn fucking sucks 

some people are saying i suck

they might not be completely wrong 

now would be a good time to reply az 

like maybe make me feel better

fuck u actually 

what the fuck am i doing 

idk if u even read these 

February 2024

idk maybe i should stop 

like maybe only fucking psychos do this 

but idk bro 

i feel like ur gonna text me back eventually 

well sc was a shit show 

i mean we knew it but holy shit 

i really wanna talk to you about it

it’d mainly just be me fucking yelling 

and u giggling 

fuck i miss ur laugh

i miss you

idk if u just ignore these

so idk if ur gonna even see this 

but 

i wanted to tell you first 

before u saw it from somewhere else 

im staying at uconn 

u were right

i didnt want to leave yet 

i want my 4 years

but 

just dont think it means i didnt mean what i said

that i dont wanna be in la with u

i do

its not about that

i just need to do whats best for me

and thats staying here 

fuck

i get what u meant now

u didnt pick ucla over me

fuck fuck fuck 

im sorry az

is this how u felt 

when i didn’t text u back 

because it’s actually fucking hell 

i miss you so fucking much dude

i’m so sorry 

i’m really fucking sorry azzi 

for all of it

please just call me back

March 2024

last pac-12 tournament mvp!!

dude i’m so proud of you

we also won 

idk if u heard 

it wasnt easy either 

everything just always fucking goes wrong 

fucking pisses me off 

but oh well 

u know i dont even like texting 

idk how many messages ive sent u 

its gotta be hundreds atp 

insane shit on my part 

tf is wrong with me 

did u see the bracket

see u in the final 4 azzi 

April 2024 

i fucking told u 

i told you id see u in the final four

fucking meant it

fuck 

gonna kick yalls ass

revenge szn

we’re built different in march

cleveland here we fucking go 

but also

cant avoid me anymore 

i cant fucking wait to see you az  

***

UConn 87     UCLA 84 

There’s six seconds left to go and UCLA has control of the ball. The game today had been completely different from the on down in the Cayman Islands. That one had featured a UCLA team that had dominated from start to finish versus a UConn team still reeling from multiple injuries. This time around, UCLA seemed to have lost some of their shine and UConn had been on a tear. She would never give Paige the satisfaction of knowing it but her stupid goading, her incessant smirking because UConn seemed poised to win handedly, had gotten in Azzi’s head for most of the game. The fourth quarter had seen UConn enter with a 11 point lead that had held study until the last two and a half minutes when something had finally clicked for Azzi. 

“Told you, you should have fucking come to UConn,” Paige had sneered while casually dribbling the ball and that had been enough to break Azzi out of whatever funk she’d been in. All of her anger and frustration at Paige seemed to culminate into that one moment as she’d swiped the ball straight from Paige’s hands, narrowly avoiding a foul. An easy steal-and-score layup was followed by two signature three pointers, created by her team’s defence, and suddenly the lead had been cut down to three. On the other side, Muhl had been called for an offensive foul and immediately Coach Close had called for a timeout to advance the ball. 

When both teams get back on the court, Azzi, with her competitive streak in full control of her emotions, relishes in the way Paige’s face is contorted up in frustration. But it isn’t just this game that has Azzi irritated. Paige had been relentless since both teams had landed in Cleveland in trying to corner Azzi. She’d known it was gonna happen since she’d read the text but still Azzi had hoped that maybe the blonde would just let it go, would understand just how much Azzi didn’t want to have to deal with this. Because seeing Paige hurts. All the missing and yearning of the past few months seemed to have blended into this ball of tight hot pain that had burst the minute Paige had smiled at Azzi. She knows Paige means well, and it’s taking everything in her to ignore the part of her that’s secretly enamoured by how hard the point guard is trying finally, but Azzi just can’t do it again. She can’t let Paige in again and then spend every other second scared that Paige will run away again. 

The whistle blows and Charisma gets ready to inbound the ball. The play call had been to just get it to Azzi but it’s clearly one that UConn had anticipated, because she finds herself swarmed with Paige and Muhl both trying to make sure she doesn’t get the ball. Instead, it’s Kiki who gets the ball and the countdown starts, as Azzi fights to get herself free, running off of screens, to get herself open on the three point line. It takes too much time and they don’t have any more timeouts left. Kiki throws it inside to Lauren who misses the layup but gets her own rebound and somehow the ball finally finds its way into Azzi’s hands. And with barely a second left to go, and Paige’s hand firmly in her face, Azzi throws up a prayer. The arena goes deathly silent as the ball hits the back and then circles every inch of the rim before spilling over the edge and falling straight into Edwards’ hands. 

The crowd erupts in deafening cheers as the UConn bench rushes to the court, jubilantly hugging each other with Paige in the middle. Azzi blinks rapidly, refusing to be caught shedding a single tear on camera. Her teammates look distraught and Azzi feels disappointment curling into every crevice of her skin she’d almost had it. In the grand scheme of things she knows that, that shot would have only guaranteed overtime and not a win but still, it wouldn’t have meant a loss. And she knows this one isn’t completely on her either but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel the burden of it on her shoulders any way. 

But despite it all, seeing Paige’s bright smile stretch all over her beaming face as she celebrates with her team, soothes the sting of the loss just a little bit. Azzi still remembers late night calls and Paige’s broken voice too well, her brain imprinted with the misery of a girl who had just wanted to play the sport she loved and couldn’t. And even if everything between them resembles the remnants of an earthquake, Azzi can’t help but be just a little bit happy for Paige. 

The handshake line is better this time around with no one being unnecessarily hostile. One team is too happy to care and when Muhl briefly hugs her, Azzi can’t help but be a little shocked by the affection. Her team is too despondent to be mad, and Angela briefly nods at Paige when shaking her hand, and gets a reassuring grin in return. Azzi has to force herself not to run away, if only for decorum’s sake, once she and Paige finally get to each other. Trying to keep herself steady, she reaches out her hand to counter Paige’s outstretched arms. The smile falls a little bit from Paige’s face as a more resigned expression takes its place. 

“Good game Bueckers,” Azzi manages to muster out. 

The last name stings but Paige does her best to not let it show, “good game Az.”

***

When there’s a knock on the door to her hotel room a little bit after 10pm, Azzi knows exactly who it is. The look that Charisma gives her as she goes to open it, suggests that she does too. 

“Oh thank fucking god, I thought maybe y’all left already,” and there it is, Paige voice echoing through her room and from where she’s perched on the edge of bed, her feet dangling over the side, Azzi catches a brief glimpse of the UConn point guard. 

“Had a little bit of a transportation issue. We’re not leaving til tomorrow morning,” Charisma explains, “what are you doing here Paige?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously at the doorway, peering over Charisma’s frame in the doorway to catch sight of Azzi, “can I talk to Azzi?”

“First you kick my ass in the final four, and now you wanna kick me out of my own room?” Charisma asks, voice light but there’s an edge of seriousness to it. 

“I-uh-” 

“Az,” Charisma turns to Azzi with a questioning look, and Azzi sighs at having all the attention on her, “you wanna talk to her?”

Say no. Say yes. Her head fights with itself. And for the last few months, Azzi’s done well with listening to the logical part of her brain, diligently sticking to letting go. But that had only been easy to do because Paige hadn’t actually been there. Now that she is, with bright hopeful eyes fixed on Azzi, well, this time the emotional side wins out. She nods her head in yes at Charisma and Paige seems to glow all over. 

“You’re lucky it’s me and not Angela or Kiki or any of the other girls,” Charisma warns, “but I swear to god Bueckers if I come back and there’s a single tear-”

“Then you have my permission to fucking murder me,” Paige vows, her face a paragon of sincerity. 

Charisma nods once, stepping aside to let Paige in. The Bruin’s point guard looks at Azzi once more for confirmation and then, satisfied by the small smile Azzi shoots at her, she leaves the room, letting the door shut behind her. And then it’s just Paige and Azzi and the myriad of unspoken thoughts that seem to always linger between them. 

“Hi,” Paige says softly. 

Azzi stares up at her with tired eyes, “shouldn’t you be celebrating or something?”

“Still one more game to go. Gotta lock in for that first.”

“Then go do that. What are you doing here?”

Paige flinches at the harsh tone and Azzi feels a wave of guilt come over her. She doesn’t mean to be so hostile but she’s scared that if she gives in just a little, all of her will go tumbling down. 

“Sunday is the most important game of my life,” Paige says quietly. 

“I know- I know it means a lot to you.”

“It does,” Paige nods, as she takes a step forward, hesitating for a second, before she drags a foot stool over, so she can sit right in front of Azzi, “will you stay for it?”

“That’s not-,” Azzi sucks in a deep breath, her senses muddle by having Paige so close to her again, “I thought I was clear about- about us.’

“You were but I thought I was clear with my texts,” Paige counters. 

“Paige please.”

“I just-,” Paige pauses, leaning forward and staring intently at Azzi, “I don’t know how the national championship is gonna go. I don’t know if we’re gonna win or lose but I just- I know that no matter what happens, I want you there. Because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. I just- I just want you there. With me. Always.”

Everything else floats away and for a moment, all Azzi knows is Paige, and the warmth that reverberates through her body at the earnestness in those words. If she could, she’d capture that feeling in a bottle and keep it forever. Because moments are fleeting. And when her brain catches up to her heart, and that voice in her head is back to echoing it won’t last, Azzi feels cold all over again. 

“You don’t believe me,” disappointment echoes in Paige’s voice; she’s always been a little too perceptive of Azzi’s emotions, “you think I don’t mean it?”

“I think you mean it now. I don’t think you’ll mean it forever,” Azzi shrugs. 

Paige is quiet, nerves on full display, as she cautiously reaches for Azzi’s hands with both of her own, an audible sigh of relief floating out of her lips when Azzi lets her. 

“I know I fucked up,” she begins quietly, thumb caressing Azzi’s palms, each trace sending jolts of electricy through the younger girl’s body, “like really fucked up and I get why you think that. I get why- why you’re so scared to believe me. And I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

A teardrop rolls down Paige’s cheek, falling onto their intertwined hands, and Azzi feels herself flinch, her own eyes beginning to glisten. 

“If I could go back in time, I’d change so many fucking things. I’d go back to the beginning- back to your room the night before you went to LA and- and I’d tell myself to shut the fuck up. I’d tell you that I supported you- that I understood that you weren’t choosing UCLA over me- and I’d- I’d tell you that it didn’t matter how many fucking miles away from me you were- we’d survive it. But I can’t- I can’t change the past. I can’t change that we fought. I can’t change that- that I was a fucking idiot for ignoring you for a year. I can’t change that I was a dumbass for leaving that morning.”

Tears are freely streaming from both of their eyes now as they grip each other’s hands tightly. There’s something cathartic about finally being able to cry, about finally being able to mourn the loss of what could have been together.And it feels a little bit like healing. 

Paige looks up at Azzi through watery eyelashes as she continues to speak, her voice wrecked with emotion, “and I’m not gonna make promises about how I’ll never do shit to hurt you again because god knows I can be really fucking stupid.”

They let out simultaneous giggles at that and Azzi can feel something in herself unravelling. 

“But what I can promise is that if you let me, every day- every fucking day that I live- I will try. To not hurt you. To make it up to you. To fix this. To fix us. And I can promise, that I will never ever fucking run away from you again. I know- I know it’s gonna be hard but I swear- I fucking swear- that I will stay right here and face it with you.”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers helplessly. It’s everything she’s wanted to hear and it’s too much. The voices in her head are too loud again, screams of she’ll hurt you, she always does, let her go colliding with shouts of it’s Paige, it’s your Paige, hold on to her. 

“You said- you said you were tired of fighting alone but you never- you never have to do that again because- because I’m here now. Fuck- Azzi I’m here. And I know- I know there’s so much we have to talk about and so much we still have to fucking deal with. But we can do that- we can- we can deal with anything. Because it’s us. Paige and Azzi. We can do anything. Together.”

Paige presses her forehead to Azzi’s, pulling their interlocked hands to her chest. They’re breathing in sync and Azzi can feel the thrum of Paige’s heart beat against her fingertips. Azzi’s eyes close of their own accord, as Paige’s lips brush over hers, her next words coming out in a breathless whisper. 

“Believe in me- believe in us just one more time, please.”

[ferigrieving]

darkroom chemicals.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ in which megumi develops more than just film.

in the heart of tokyo, tucked away in a cosy corner of the bustling city, megumi fushiguro found solace in an old photography darkroom. 

the air was heavy with the scent of chemicals and the soft hum of the tap running filled the room as he worked alongside you, too busy hanging up your prints to notice him.

in the corner of the room, fushiguro wrestled with a new roll of film, gritting his teeth as it refused to open. you stifled a laugh as you watched him fight, and seemingly loose, to his demons.

you gestured for him to move over, taking the changing bag from him and replacing his arms with yours. with practised precision, your fingers found the bottle cap opener and popped the roll open with ease.

“you’re welcome, ‘guro.” you elbow him in the shoulder when he lets out an indignant huff.

“sure. thanks” he bites out, frowning. “i had it.”

“yeah, sure you did, man.” you roll your eyes,opening the developing tank, removing the lids and before popping the roll of film in the reel. 

once the reel ceased the rhythmic clicking, you grabbed the scissors and cut off the excess at the end. placing it back inside the tank, the lid and agitator followed suit after. shutting it tight, you wrangled your arms free from the suffocating bag, wiping them on fushiguro’s jacket sleeve as a thanks. 

“shut up.” his voice lacks the usual snark it has, face flushed as he looks away from you, taking the bag and removing its content.

the room falls silent for a moment, save for the sound of the running tap and the occasional buzz of the light bulb. he looks down at his tank, mumbling a “..what’re you developing?” in an attempt to forget the moment that happened.

when you tell him its a secret ! he rolls his eyes, shifting his weight as he pushes in his stool. “y’know, usually when someone says that, its almost always embarrassing.”

“you’ll find out eventually, ‘kay? they’re just drying.” you push him playfully, taking his tank and putting it in with the rest in the designated drawer. “you're so impatient!”

“maybe i’ll just have to peek when youre not lookin’.” fushiguro’s tone is sarcastic, but the glint in his deep green eyes tell you otherwise. “you can’t do that, asshole. thats cheating.” you retorted, forwning.

he shrugs, taking another step towards you. his demeanour is more playful than anything, and you didnt know how long he would keep up the act until the jaws of the trap that is megumi fushiguro slam shut once more. 

“pretty please, let me see one of your prints for just five seconds?” he begs, in a dramatic whine, as if he were a little kid asking for another cookie. you didnt know how to feel about this side of fushiguro, but you werent necessarily complaining. he’d have to do a little more begging, though.

you chuckled at his theatrics, the corners of your lips curling up in amusement. “five seconds, huh? you drive a hard bargain, fushiguro.” you hum, wagging your finger at him playfully as you take a seat atop the counter.

“c’mon. just a quick peek. i promise i wont take long.”

you pretend to mull it over, tapping your chin thoughtfully as if you were considering his request. “well, i suppose i could make an exception just this once, just for you, ‘guro.” you grin, grabbing his hand and walking out of the darkroom and out into the light. 

with what you can only decipher as a ‘grin’ ghosting over fushiguro’s face, he crossed the distance and plucked one of the prints that was drying above you.

“oh.. huh.” he mumbles,  eyes scanning the negative. trying to comprehend what he’s seeing– and why you decided to develop this photo, of all things.

“its– me?” his voice trails off after a moment, his brain working on overdrive. “...why?”

you shrugged, cracking your knuckles absentmindedly. “you looked nice.”

“i looked nice?” fushiguro echoes quietly, still not able to fully believe what he was seeing. he feels his face heating up, scanning the picture once, twice, trying to see it the way you do.

“you’re the second person since… a long time, i guess, to tell me that.” he murmurs, eyes moving away from the negative and back to you. he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to disguise how warm he felt. when he speaks again, his voice is quiet, tinged with uncertainty. “you really think that im…nice to look at?”

“you’re real pretty, ‘guro.” you frown, stating it matter of factly. “why cant you accept that?”

“..’cause im not.” he states bluntly, tone flat and defensive. its almost as if he’s certain you're just trying to humour him, but theres a sinking feeling in his stomach that you might, just might, be genuine. “just.. drop the subject okay? ‘m not pretty.” you winced when his voice breaks at the end, as if it physically hurt him to be complimented.

you nod, apologising and hauling your legs up to press them against your chest, resting your chin against your knees as you watched him keenly.

fushiguro takes a deep breath, the tensin easing from his body. even though he’s certain you were merely being kind, it felt nice to hear someone compliment him, for once.

“hey, uh,” he looks around nervously, eyes locking in on a random corner. “when you’re done developing this roll, you’re gonna keep the negatives.. right?”

“–why wouldn’t i?”

“for reasons like,” his voice trails off once more, lost in thought. “...what if one day we– we lose touch with each other? what if we dont talk anymore?” he shrugs, tone remaining nonchalant, as if he wasnt bothered by the concept at all. “wouldn’t the negatives be the only way for both of us to see the pictures again? to remember?”

“why the fuck is that your first thought?”

“....’cause its a very likely scenario?” the question makes him tense up, his expression shifting to what you could only describe as defensiveness. “what, you think we’re still gonna stick around and be years on end? if a curse hasn't killed us before graduation, anyways.”

“we’ll still be friends. and alive.”

fushiguro goes quiet for a moment, a flicker of discomfort washing across him. the statement made him.. uncomfortable, despite it being something he’s thought about for hours end. it makes him feel uneasy to think about how everything he knows is temporary.

“...what makes you think that?”

“you really dont wanna be friends that badly, huh?”

fushiguro grits his teeth, wanting to argue further but refusing to make himself any more vulnerable than he already is. the idea of admitting that he wants to talk to you for years on end made him feel like an idiot. “what i meant was, i think we’ll drift. you and i; we’ll drift off as we get older, and eventually, we’ll forget each other.”

“even if we drift apart, i’ll never forget you, fushiguro.”

“...yeah? you’ll never forget about me? how touching.”

“pinky promise.”

he rolls his eyes, locking his pinky with yours, holding it a bit too tight for what was meant to be a simple promise. you’re not sure why he holds it so firmly when it’s such a small gesture, but you can assume he just wants to be reassured one way or another.

“and you better remember. no matter how many years go by, remember me, got it?” he adds, the usual gruffness back in his tone. once you nod, he slowly releases your pinky finger, before ushering you back over to the developing station. 

“then go develop that roll, ‘kay?” he states curtly, a ghost of a smile still on his lips. “i don't wanna hear anythin’ about it until the photos are all done.”

you salute him, giggling an ‘on it boss!’ and scurrying back off into the darkroom, leaving fushiguro in the classroom by himself.

he sighs, shaking his head as you disappear into the darkroom. he cant help but smile as he watches you go, wondering how you could be so damn pretty and annoying at the same time. finding a spot by the window, he takes a seat on the sill, trying desperately to make his simile smaller, but it just wouldn't bude. he remains there, unable to take his mind off the idea that you actually wanted to take a picture of him because you thought he was ‘nice’? 

it was insane– and he couldn't get it out of his mind.

fushiguro stares out the window for a while longer, thinking nothing but the image of you taking a photo of him. he’s trying hard to focus on the more logical reasoning behind why you’d use your expensive film on a photo of him, of all people. 

he stays by the window for what feels like forever, lost in his own thoughts and trying to convince himself that what you did was a waste of film. he’s lost in the train of thought when he’s snapped back into actuality by the sound of the heavy steel door opening, then closing. he quickly goes to see what you’ve developed. yet, once he’s pushed through the door and the thick black curtain, he freezes up.

on one of the table rests multiple developed photos, all different shapes and orientations. some were completely blank, others too dark, or too light, but they all seem to have one running theme; him. every single photo is a candid shot of fushiguro, all twenty four negatvies.

his breath catches when he realizes this, picking one up to double check if it was truly him, as if anyone else had such unique hair as his. it was one of him crouching down in front of a fire hydrant, snapping a picture of the graffiti that covered it. it was so perfectly composed, he wanted to throw up.

at first, he’s intrigued by the thought, but as his eyes scan over each and every photo of him, he has never felt more uncomfortable in his own skin. he’s suddenly on high alert, noticing all the little quirks and mannerisms he has when he’s not paying attention. fushiguro lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his arms as he leans against the table. 

he’s thinking. a lot. everything here is making him uneasy. 

the fact that you developed so many pictures of him,

the fact that you wanted to stay friends,

the fact that you called him pretty.

he frowns, shaking his head. its stupid– what is he so paranoid over?

fushiguro finds himself growing increasingly more anxious as he examines the pictures. he’s suddenly noticing everything about himself, all the ugly and stupid things about his appearance that he hates. 

he’s thinking about every little detail when the sound of the door opening and shutting startles him, and the sight of you emerging from the curtains, wet strands of hair sticking to your face, makes his stomach do a backflip.

“looking someplace you weren’t supposed to, huh?”

he glances up at you, trying to keep his composure in one piece. “...you developed all of them?” he asks, a hint of panic seeping through his voice, his nerves rattling more and more with every movement you make.

“why, dont like ‘em?”

“i didnt say that, asshole.” he rolls his eyes, trying to maintain a flat, even voice. he’s unsure of what to say, so he decides to choose the bluntest route. “why me?’

“why not you?”

fushiguro goes quiet for a bit, not truly wanting an answer to his question. the last thing he wanted to hear was an answer that’d confirm whatever he’s currently thinking.

“i just.. dont get it.”  he sighs, expression relenting into something a bit more sombre. “ you could’ve taken pictures of anythin’ else– why did you want so many pictures of me?”

“you’re a very good muse, fushiguro. whether you know it or not.”

he goes silent, his breath catching as he hears your words. he can’t help but feel a small tinge of pride swell up in his chest, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. the fact that you think he makes a good muse.. it fils him with conflicting waves of pleasure and discomfort. he grits his teeth, not wanting to admit that what you’re saying is making him feel weirdly happy.

“...whatever.” he grumbles, his tone going back to the cold and emotionless one you’re familiar with. he’s embarrassed and he’d rather not let you know the extent of it. so, he’s trying to stay as stubborn as possible. he grits his teeth, still staring at the photo of him, not bothering to look up at you. 

you’re humming a tune he’s unfamiliar with, taking the pictures one by one to hang up on the drying rack, seemingly unbothered by his actions.

fushiguro tries to ignore the fact that you’re practically oozing with relaxed air while he’s over here, fighting the urge to hurl all over your chest.  he rubs his eyes, trying to ignore each and every photo you hang up.

after a few moments, he glances over at you, hands digging into his pockets as you ignore him. he’s silent for a moment longer, taking a moment to process everything thats been thrown at him so far. even though he can say he feels wholly uncomfortable with the pictures, he also cant deny that looking at them made him feel… happy. 

“why didnt you ask me before you took the pictures?

“because if i did, you’d look the exact same in every photo,” you huff. “stiff, frowning, looking away from the camera.”

fushiguro remains silent, though he can feel his cheeks flush in embarrassment once more. while he’s trying to look as nonchalant as possible while talking to you, you’ve managed to hit a weak spot. the realisation that he looks unhappy to the point you can predict what he’d looks like makes him feel a little uneasy.

“what makes you think im unhappy all the time?”

“im not sayin’ you’re unhappy all the time, im just sayin’ that if i told you i was takin’ a photo, you’d be frownin’ in all of ‘em.”

he grits his teeth, trying to stop the small smile that wants to break through. he’s trying desperately to stay mad, not wanting you to catch onto the fact that he’s happy right now.

“so you took advantage of the fact that i didnt know you were takin’ pictures of me, huh? is that how you justify it, by sayin’ ill be upset in every photo ? what’s next, you take more photos when im sleepin’ or something?” he asks, voice laced with sarcasm.

“maybe.”

he goes silent at your blunt, honest response, his eyebrows furrowing as his mouth pulls into an awkward smile despite his efforts to stay mad. “...maybe??” a small laugh escapes his lips, although it sounds like more of a garble. the whole thing makes him feel strangely flustered, and you’re only making it worse with each of your responses.

“yeah, yeah, real funny. you’re seriously fucked up in the head, you kn[

‘ow that?” he says, his tone going back to its usual grumpiness.”

“why, what’d i do !!” you pout, pulling up a stool from under your enlarger to criss cross apple sauce on it.

“are you actually this dense?” he starts, before waving you off and sighing. “nevermind, just forget i said anything.”

“‘m gonna go take a break. dont touch anything at my station unless you want me to summon mahogara when you’re sleeping.

he gives you a short nod, before heading off to take his ‘break.’ right now, he just needs to get away from you, even just for a little bit. his mind is working too quickly for him to be around you; he’s just too prone to giving into his impulses when he’s like this, and he hates it.

fushiguro exits the darkroom again, heading off to his usual spot in the courtyard of the first year building. he’s already been here a thousand times and over again, and it’s become some sort of ritual; whenever he needs to calm down, he always comes here. he doesnt even know why he does. he just does. its just the way things are.

his thoughts are still racing as he sits down facing the windows. why are you so interested in taking photos of me? why are you so nice to me? why are you so… pretty?

he remains silent, rubbing his temples as  he sits. he feels himself getting pissed off simply because he feels so vulnerable around you. he’s feeling weak and stupid for getting angry over your harmless interest.

he’s trying to stop his thoughts. he’s trying. but the moment he closes his eyes, all he can see is your damn smile.

fushiguro grits his teeth, staring at a spot in the corner of the stairs. the whole thing makes him so incredibly nervous– you being so undeniably interested in him. its something he’s never experienced before, and its making him feel so odd.

he’s annoyed with you. at the whole situation. the fact that you make him feel so weak just by looking at him.

this is absurd. stupid. insane. he’s pissed off for no reason, and he cant seem to make it stop. he’s mad at you, mad at your photos, mad at everything– especially the fact that you’re so fucking friendly to him for no apparent reason.

he stays silent as his thoughts continue to run wild with anger, trying to convince himself that the reason he’s simply annoyed with the situation and not because he’s feeling

weak.

he’s feeling really fucking weak. his anger stems from the weakness he feels whenever he thinks about you, talks to you, looks at you. you’re the one who’s made him feel so goddamn vulnerable.

as if on cue, you waltz out of the photography darkroom, apron-less. “‘guro?” you call out, peeking in and out of the hallways that made up the school. “i made some tea.”

fushiguro jumps a bit as you call out his name, his eyes scanning the area before settling on you. the moment he sees you, he freezes; the last thing he expects to hear is you calling him by that god-awful nickname he has to tell himself that he hates.

as soon as you spot him, you grin and wave as best as you can with the cups in your hand, taking a seat awfully close to him for all the empty space around. “...why?”

“–why ? why not, ‘guro?”

“i can get my own cup of tea, y’know.” he huffs, tone still sharp and blunt. he’s trying to regain his usual composure, but it’s proven to be a bit difficult in your presence. he’s trying hard not to let his emotions show– his irritation, his anger, his bashfulness– because he doesnt want to admit to himself what you’re doing to him.

“well, right now you dont gotta. unless you want me to give the tea to itadori–”

before you could finish the sentence, he takes his cup from your hand, the one you had ‘forced’ him to make with you when you were trying pottery. its a short, white cup, with a long handle that you added yourself because you thought it’d be funny when he wasnt looking. theres nothing on it except the imprint of a paw.

“why– why do you care so much?” he says, voice unusually small.

“why wouldnt i, fushiguro?”

he scoffs, looking away again. the fact you seem so unbothered by his behaviour is… odd. “just.. why? why do you insist on being so damn nice?”

you frown at his words, wondering what you did to make him upset this time. was it the pictures? maybe the tea ? or all of it. probably all of it. “i didnt.. mean ta’ make you upset.” you murmur, looking away, watching the clouds go by instead of looking at the boy in front of you.

“how do you want.. me to answer that? honestly?” you try, looking at him hopefully. he returns it with a blunt ‘i dont know.’

“i just… want to know why someone like you cares about me, out of all people. why would you waste time with someone like me? theres so many other people that are smart, better looking, stronger, and more.. interesting than me. why waste your time with me, huh?”

you roll your eyes, placing down your cup, a black one to match fushiguro’s, before pulling him abruptly into a hug.

he tenses for a moment, surprised by the sudden gesture. for a moment, his thoughts and emotions are quiet, for once. he doesnt know how to react. gojo taught him how to deal with every single curse in the book, how to pop your bones back into place, how to wrap a wound, but never something like this. he’d have to ask. 

after a moment, he hesitantly hugs you back, as if you were a bomb prepped to explode. he’s overwhelmed with how close you are to him. when did he let you get so close? you smell like strawberries. he hates strawberries.

his thoughts are a mess as the seconds pass, he doesnt even have a fraction of an idea on how to handle this. all logic and reason are lost to him, the only things he had going for him. 

all he knows for sure is that his heart is beating out his chest, and his body has grown warm, and that he’s sure that you’ve noticed both. you havent said anything.

“....does that answer the question, fushiguro?”

“yeah.. yeah, it does.” he’s hesitant, voice much softer than it usually is. he lets out a quiet sigh as he continues to hug you. he’s finding more comfort in the silence than he’d like to admit. 

“can i tell you something that ive.. never told anybody before? his tone is hesitant, curious, like he wants to believe you’d be understanding, that you wouldnt judge him for it.

you nod, running your fingers through his dark locks. his hair is soft, you think. i should ask him for his hair routine. and eyelash while im at it.

“can i trust you? with this?”

“cross my heart and hope to die. stick a needle in my eye.”  you grin, and although he cant see it, he can just imagine the stupid shit-eating grin on your face right now.

“this might actually sound stupid. and it probably is, but its been bothering me lately and i just..” he pauses, sighing. “have i ever told you.. that i get really, really fucking nervous around you?”

“...no, you havent.”

“well,” fushiguro frowns, voice going blunt again. “i do. i get really nervous around you. like… a lot more than i should, i guess.”

he sighs, trying his best to stop his heart from pounding out of his chest. he’s still holding you tightly in a hug, like he’s afraid as soon as he lets go, you’ll disappear. he’s scared of you finding this strange, or being repulsed by his sudden honestly. god knows he is. he doesnt want to push you away because.. who else would treat him the way you do?

fushiguro stays silent for a moment, taking in a deep breath as your lack of an answer rattles his nerves again. he’d be lying if he said he was okay right about now. 

“yeah i get– i get real nervous around you. its almost,” he sighs again, swallowing nervously. “its almost embarrassing to admit.”

you’re frozen, caught off guard by fushiguro’s unexpected confession. his words hung heavy in the air, echoing in the silence of the auditorium. you wouldnt be surprised if the plants were listening in, at this point. your voice was barely above a whisper, your heart suddenly too big for your chest. “i do too. i get– i get awfully nervous around you. my heart starts beatin’ all fast, and i want to throw up and cry and scream all at the same time whenever you’re around. its becomin’ a problem, honestly.

fushiguro stays silent when you admit that you too, get nervous around him. without thinking, he reached out, hand finding yours and intertwining his fingers as you too shared the hug. in that moment, all doubts and uncertainties melted away, replaced by a newfound sense of.. something indescribable. 

“nobara told me it’s cause i like you,” you continue, thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “i still haven’t figured that part out yet myself.”

after a moment or two of silence, just holding each other in the middle of the school, you speak again, voice quiet. “you dont gotta say anythin’ you dont wanna, ‘guro.”

“but,” his stomach drops as he hears you say this, and he hesitates before trying to speak. “but i feel like i should. i need to tell you the truth–i do have feelings for you. at least i think i do.”

“i have feelings for you. a lot of the,. you make me feel.. lightheaded, and my heart feels like it’s goin’ a million miles an hour when you’re around. and.. and–”

“i like you too, i think.”

“you… you do…?” fushiguro murmurs, voice barely audible. “you’re not jokin’ right?”

“why would i joke about that, fushiguro?”

“i dont– i dont know. i just.. didn't think you’d ever like someone like me.” he pauses, sighing. “you’re– you’re beautiful, and smart, and kind and.. and everything anyone could ever want in a person. and yet you chose me?”

you pull back a bit to caress his face lightly, thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek, smiling as he continues to babble on. “you probably see something in me that i don't even see myself.. and ‘m so god damn grateful for that but i– don't understand it. and probably never will.”

“why is it so hard for you to accept that you’re loved, fushiguro?”

you know the answer to that. it was a stupid question. you both know it. he could write you a whole book on why he doesn't think he’s worthy of love, starting at the ripe age of six. he shakes his head, thinking back to all the people who were supposed to care for him but didn't. all he had going for him was some white haired man who basically adopted him when he was a teen.

“i’ve never had someone care for me before. not really.” he confesses “they never did– not really. they just liked to say they did. and when they realised i could be of use to them in terms of power, influence, or status..” 

“do you really think i’d do that to you?”

fushiguro hesitates, thoughts suddenly filling his head to the point it was difficult to think. “ i dont.. i dont think you’re that type of person. youre not like anyone ive ever met before. more genuine, more honest. its easy to tell that you care. i guess.”

“plus,” he continues, a small smile forming on his face. “you haven't given me any reason to doubt you. everything you’ve done, its always felt real.”

“i think i... actually like you a lot," fushiguro murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying the weight of a confession long kept hidden. he closed his eyes, leaning against you, seeking solace in the warmth of your embrace. in that moment, he wished he could stay there forever, cocooned in the safety of your arms.

"and I want to keep hanging out with you more often, because..." fushiguro hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he gathered the courage to voice the truth. 

"because I think I'm falling a little bit in love with you."

your breath caught in your throat, surprise and joy mingling in equal measure as you processed fushiguro’s heartfelt confession. "really?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart soaring with hope.

"really ," he confirmed, his own lips curling into a shy smile as he met your gaze, his eyes alight with emotion.

unable to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions, you grinned, pressing a tender kiss to fushiguro’s jaw before pulling him into a tight embrace. "i love you, megumi" you whispered against his ear, the words carrying the weight of a promise.

megumi’s heart skipped a beat at your declaration, a rush of warmth flooding through him. "o love you too," he murmured in response, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

he felt his face flush with heat as your lips brushed against his jaw, a rush of euphoria washing over him. he stayed silent, savouring the warmth of your embrace, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over him like a gentle wave. With you, he felt safe, accepted, and loved—a feeling he never wanted to let go of.

he’s never felt like this around anyone before and it feels… nice. it feels like home, almost.

you feel like home to him.

[aphroditesmoon]

Hi! I’m not sure if u do smut or not but I was wondering if u could do a Legolas smut with fem!human!reader, like a enemies to lovers kind of thing. Maybe hate sex? <3

too close

legolas greenleaf x reader

summary: legolas has his doubts about who you really are, but is that really why he can never meet your eyes with anything else but anger in himself.

warning: afab reader, nswf, smut 18+, etl, legolas being a jerk, probably bad description of mirkwood

a/n: soo sorry i took ages, I've been taking new meds, also i havent written smut for a while so im a bit dusty, hope u like it<3

○○○○○○

Summer is barely a real season under the protective courts of Mirkwood, you could barely feel the heat or see the sun through giantic starfall tree and at night, the chill through the strong winds gives a hint of winter in its air.

You loved it. Training at night feels easier when your not already sweating through your tits ten minutes in warm ups. And the quiet around you, save the crickets and owls hooting, gave you the solace you seeked for each existing day you lived through.

But despite finding everything well with want you asked for, the universe seems relentless with making sure you'll always be keeping your guard up and your annoyance up higher, with the ever consistent appearance of Prince Legolas Greenleaf.

He stands by the corner near an entrance to the castle, watchful of you while thinking he's quiet. His lack of trust in you makes him believe that you somehow lack in the specialties of elf abilities, like for example, your keen hearing.

"I could hear you for a mile away, prince." You also caught onto his snort, before his footsteps sounds louder. "How did you lnow it was me then?" He asks, less snobby than usual.

He must be drunk, you tell yourself.

"You have that pompous, all knowing kind of stride, it has its own beat when you walk." You expected him to roll his eyes like he usually do, belittling you like a child being reprimanded. But suprisingly he laughs. "That sounds a lot like you're projecting, after all, only pompous, all knowing arseholes are the ones who isolate themselves and train alone."

Ah, there it is. He's sobered up then.

"And what humble, kind enough of an elf, would waste his time stalking other people just to throw insults like a 7 year old?" You snapped.

If he had found your irritants amusing before, now his smile fades altogether,  and he looks the same as when he's about to pull an arrow on an orc.

"The kind of an elf who's trying to protect his kingdom and father." You laughed honestly yet mockingly before dropping your sword altogether to look at him. "You think your doing the king a favor? His majesty has his own mind, he trusts me, so I'd suggest you drop your savior facade and trust him." He shook his head and looks away for a second, as if deep in thought. "My father doesn't trust anyone, let alone random rogue elves who comes out of nowhere."

You raised you brow at his bravery in speech. 'This random rogue elf is the reason your father is alive, if I had even a glimpse of malice in me, I wouldn't have done nothing but serve him well for the last 10 months." You say matter of factly.

And before he could argue again, you wave your hand at him annoyed, and turn your back at the prince. "I practise better when im alone, and now you've ruined my peace, if you don't have anything new or smart to say-"

"You are a witch." He speaks. You actually freezed for a moment, forehead frowned in confusion. "Excuse me?"He repeated his impossible words. 

"Im a witch...because i saved your father's lives?" You ask him, slowly. He looks more frustrated then ever, as if you're the one patronizing him.

"No, you are a witch, because you have bewitched him." You could laugh if you didn't want to punch him. "And how have I bewitched him?" You almost yell. "I don't fucking know!" He yells first.

"My father has never trusted anyone, except for me, yet i see he'd put his life in your hands if he has to. And you know that, you know what you are doing. How you win his praise and trust when you fight, and when you put yourself over him, over the other shooters, martyring yourself."

Your mouth was wide open, your brows furowing, but no words escape you as he continues, inching closer with every word, untik you're both a step away from eachother.

"And you know exactly what you do to me." He was hovering over you, with a glare so intense you've never seen from the mirkwood prince. "I've done nothi-" He cuts you off when you've just gained enough control to speak. "You've bewitched me."

His breath was steady even in such anger, fanning your face gently as he inhales and exhales.  "I don't trust you, and i shouldn't care too much of another fighter in our army, another stranger i shan't waste my time on. Yet one glimpse of you, and you're stuck in my head, like a memory i can't seem to forget."

he was silent after the last confession ends, and you have the stubborn urge to answer to him. "That sounds like a you problem, not mine." He gives a short bitter laugh, looking up to the sky for a second, as if praying to the stars for guidance. "What have you done to me, cruel enchantress."

The rage seemed to lessen in the glare he still holds at you, but something more hungry lays in his gaze. "I've done nothing. Im no witch." You answer, so over all of this cat and mouse game. "And if I was, I wouldn't waste my time on someone so frustrating like you, and your stupid perfect nose, going around acting like you're-" He cuts you off, closing the small space between the two of you with his lips.

It was persistent, the way his mouth pushed over yours, like a strong wave crashing over sands, forcing it to feel the same surge it's being held againts.

When your hands finally found its strength, you place them againts his chest, pushing him off, he startles and moves a step, eyes locking with yours.

His hands that were once on each sides of your face, falls down to his side, fingers flexing as if too empty now. "I hate you." He says. His eyes saying the opposite. Your mind repeats over and over of what he had done and you tell yourself that it can't get any worse or better than this, so you took a move yourself forward, standing on the ground he was on a second ago.

"Then why don't you show me how much."

You don't hesitate to pull his face towards yours, recreating the similar scene as before. His hands move to wrap around your waist, while yours tangle themselves in his untied long white hair.

You gasp when his tongue licks over your bottom lip, giving him what he wanted, your tongues clashes as you two continue kissing eachother like you're out of air. You don't flinch when he backs you up until your back meets the flat of a wall.  His right hand starts to fliddle with the laces tying your leather top on. You help him take it off before your own fingers helps him take his breeches of while he moves his lips to your neck.

"I like you better with your hair down." You manage to gasp out while he's sucking on your neck. "And I like you better with your mouth shut."  Legolas replies before his hands easily turns you around your face meets with the wall.

You barely hold on to the wall when his grip on your hips tighten, your own training tights pulled down before you felt him againts your back.  You squirm and let yourself grind againts his hardness when one of his hands move to your front to squeeze your breasts, flicking your nipple, gently moving lower then from your chest to yoir stomach, grazing your scar filled abs until it gets lower to where you want him the most.

He's still squeezing your left hip while rubbing his hard cock againts your ass.

Finally as he sinks into you without notice,  receiving  a loud whimper from you, his hand over your hips move to grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back againts his chest. His right wandering fingers were still againts your front, rubbing circles on your thighs.

You're too speechless, feeling yourself filled up to the brim by him. He doesn't move at first, head laying low by your neck, hot breathing againts your cheek. You almost cry when he slowly pulls out, until he pushes himself in again, harder tham the first thrust.

He doesn't stop them, pushing into your hole repeatedly, his hands moving up from your thighs to your clit, rubbing over it with a pace that wanted to make you scream.

Legolas finally regains enough strength to start biting and sucking on your neck, marking you, while he doesn't stop pounding into your wet cunt.

The fullness of his cock and pressure of his fingers makes your cunt tighten againts him, he lets out a growl you've never heard if the elf prince before he bites down your sweet spot harshly, making you scream out his name. "Fucking hell." He groans out, fucking out all his pent up anger and tension over you.

.Your hands feels slippery againts the wall, gripping againts nothing while he takes you like a ragdoll, manhandling you take his cock over and over, watching you turn into a crying and moaning mess.

"Legolas, please- uh." You mewl out to him He hears you, pleased he is as he lets out a grin againts your neck. "Please what, my love?" He asks huskily.  Love, thats a new one.

"Need to come-" You beg out to him.  And Legolas, for all his false pretense of hostility before, could never say no to you.

He pushes your face againts the wall again,  both of his palms now back to each side of your hip, tightening againts them as he plunges himself harder inside of you as you scream out his name, shameless of who could've heard them. Your nipples grazes againts the hard bumpy walls, oversensitive to everything now,  you clench againts him so tightly that you could hear him curse out in elvish as he holds on to your bruised sides.

You feel tears brimming in your eyes as he continues fucking you while you explode all over him, your orgasm leaking out of your cunt, all over his leg. "Argh- im going to-" He doesn't finish his words as he finally cums after you, his hot cum leaking into your hole and then lower lines on your arse.

His head leans on your back, his breathing rapid and sweat glistens you both.

Legolas pulls you back by your breast, letting you rest on hus chest while the two of you try to regain some air. His fingers grazing the valley of your tits, head stuck on the side of your forehead. Once you've calmed down from your high, you tilt your head towards him, relishing his warm arms around you.

He leans forward, letting your forehead meets. You let out a small smile.  "Now what?" Your voice gentler then expected. "Now-" He answers, voice hard. "-I'll take you to my chambers, and I'm fucking you again."

[magniloquent-raven]

Billy and El's relationship headcanons?

Yessss!! Always more than happy to talk about these two

I love El just kind of deciding that her and Billy are friends now. Billy gets no say in the matter.

She spends a lot of her time after Starcourt hanging out in his hospital room. Like, sitting in the corner quietly reading or practising her penmanship, anything that'll keep her occupied while Billy lays there and pretends to watch whatever's on TV. They don't really talk much. So Billy kind of figures Max put her up to this, keeping an eye on him. Or she's doing it out of some kind of obligation because he sort of saved her life.

The reality of it is that she doesn't feel quite at home living with the Byers yet, so she's finding any excuse to be elsewhere. And it just so happens that she wants to keep Billy company. It's a win-win.

When Billy gets out he figures he won't see her anymore. She's got her nerds to hang out with, she doesn't need to waste any more time on him now that everyone's pretty sure he's not gonna die.

Except the day after he moves into the tiny little apartment that some government stooge picked out for him, El shows up at his door with a gift bag in hand (Joyce introduced her to the concept of a housewarming present, and she was very excited about trying it out). It's already weird enough being on his own, trying to figure out how to live in his own space while he's relearning how to use his own body. He's navigating a lot of uncertainty, and then this kid comes along and he doesn't understand this either. It's a lot. He's going through a lot.

So he's a little too blunt when the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She doesn't seem to notice the tone. Doesn't care that he's being rude. She just holds up the bag and smiles. "Making your house warm." She explains in careful, clipped sentences, that Joyce told her it's a thing friends do. That's the only part he really hears. Friends.

When he stepped between her and the Mind Flayer he didn't expect to get a friend out of it. He didn't expect anything but the pain that followed. The blood. The plan was to be a temporary shield for someone who deserved to live more than he did. He did his job. Max has never thanked him for it, why should anyone else.

He's not sure why her declaration makes his eyes well up. He doesn't really want to think about it that hard, if he's perfectly honest. It's awkward enough trying to blink away tears while some kid he barely knows intently watches him pull wads of tissue paper off a lumpy pile of...blanket? There's a fuzzy green throw blanket at the bottom of the bag, and he's not sure if that's going to make him laugh or cry some more.

By the time Mrs. Byers shows up that evening, he's feeling a little less emotionally unstable. A little. She spent the day helping him shelve all the books he never bothered unpacking after Neil moved them to Indiana. Every so often she'd ask what one was about, and always with refreshingly unbiased curiosity, never why do you have that or I wouldn't have expected you read something like this.

He knows a little about where she's from, memories the Mind Flayer left behind, impressions and echoes. He knows enough to understand why she is the way she is.

It occurs to him after she leaves that she knows just as much, if not more about him. The realization gives him vertigo, the bottom of his stomach dropping away. But despite that, he wonders if it's a good thing. They don't have to explain themselves to each other, they can just. Be friends. Might be nice.

bonus tidbits:

Billy lets El have a beer one time and she deeply regrets asking for one, because it's gross. She has to use his mouthwash twice and she's still making disgusted faces about it like an hour later

El's canon habit of dressing like people she spends a lot of time with. She hangs out with Billy for like two months and ends up getting a Joan Jett rocker shag. She steals a jean jacket from Jonathan. She likes his earring but when he tells her how ear piercing works she gets really upset because needles scare her. So he buys her some clip-ons

Max hates how much time they spend together, at first. She's jealous that they're so close. Both of them are people she's really wanted to like her but initially rejected her, and now they're just automatically each other's BFFs? How is that fair? But it's hard to stay angry when Billy seems so much happier nowadays, and she knows El has trouble making friends

It takes Billy a long time to get comfortable around Joyce. When she comes by to pick El up she's always so friendly and. Mom-like. One time she gave him a little pat on the shoulder and said she hopes he's doing okay all alone up here, before she left with El, and he spent the next ten minutes sitting on the floor in tears

Personally, I've always HCd El as a lesbian, I just think it would take her SO much to actually figure it out, because her relationship with Mike is kind of the first thing she latched onto after leaving the lab, so it would be hard to come to terms with what that attachment really is. But I like toying with the idea of her being introduced to the idea of what queerness even is via Billy's memories. She's scared to bring it up for a long time, it was something she only saw because he had so many memories of being made to feel bad about it, she doesn't quite understand all the shame and the anger, but it makes the idea of being gay scary. After she looked into Billy's memories she started to notice the things people say in real life, the attitudes they have, now that she's got context for what that kind of stuff means. And she doesn't know who to talk to about it other than Billy. Which would not go well at first, because it's Billy. But after they talk it out he'd be soooo much more protective of her, like. Insisting on driving her any time she wants to go somewhere, glowering at literally everybody who looks at her funny. Kinda hovering around waiting for there to be someone to beat the shit out of for her.

El being made aware of queerness being a thing might make her more likely to notice Will's gay too tbh, and then she'd be super protective of him. El ends up at Billy's place super agitated one day and ends up telling Billy the things she heard people saying about Will, and Billy's like, oh, well. I may have to run some kids over, okay.

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 16: Mother knows best

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Puke / Panic attack / Talk about murder and torture [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

The DA meeting back from the winter holiday brings the first real smile to your face since Christmas. Everybody's buzzing with energy and ready to learn new spells. 

At the point of practising the new defensive spell on your own, Hermione corners you. "Is it true?", she whispers, casting the defective charm on a target.

A hot flush shoots through your body. She couldn't possibly know about Theodore and you... right? "About what?" You try to keep it cool and cast another spell.

"About you and Harry... before Christmas?"

You feel your cheeks heating up and glance at Harry, who’s at the other end of the room helping Neville. Like he feels you watching, his head snaps up and your eyes meet. He sends you a wide smile before quickly looking back at Neville.

Hermione giggles and looks at you in glee. "How did it happen?"

Now your whole face is almost as hot as a fireplace. "We were discussing going home for Christmas and that I didn't want to go because..." You stop yourself just in time before you can reveal the location of Voldemort. "Because at home isn't the best atmosphere right now. And one thing led to the other and..." You trail off and twirl your wand in your hands, biting your bottom lip.

Hermione giggles again and clasps a hand over her mouth. "Did you enjoy it?"

"He's quite a good kisser, actually." The phantom feeling of Harry's warm hand slides from your cheek to your neck. Your hand reaches out and touches the spot. "What did he say about me?", you ask mildly panicked, the sudden realisation that Harry told something to Hermione — and possibly also Ron!

Your eyes flicker over the room and spot Ron. But he's busy laughing with his brothers to notice you. So Ron knows too? You know you shouldn't care what the boy's opinion is about you. But it hurt when someone calls you a Death Eater while you try your darndest to be anything except what your family expects you to be.

"Well", she begins with a head twitch, "he did tell us it was 'wet', but he said it was nice." Hermione stops to assess your reaction. "Ron made fun of his terible snogging. But he has the emotional range of a teaspoon, so he shouldn't talk."

A smile makes its way onto your face. So he did think it was nice. Good. Great even. Despite everything, you thought it was nice too. And at least you know that you're not too bad of a kisser. But then a face flashes across your face. The same that made you break up the kiss.

"What's wrong?"

You're not sure if you can even tell Hermione. Sure, you're friendly to each other. But are you friends? 

It's like she can sense your turmoil, she grabs your hand. "You can tell me anything." And she says it so sincerely, that you believe it.

You move to the side and wrap your arms around yourself. "I feel so guilty", you whisper. "I like Harry. And I liked the kiss. Really, I do. But…"

"Theodore Nott." Hermione gives you a sympathetic look.

You look with wide eyes towards her. "H-how?"

Hermione lays a comforting hand on your arm, her smile turning soft. "I see the way you look at him. With so much guilt in your eyes that it only means you care deeply for him. And he does the same when you're not looking. He has grown dull since the summer holiday. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but it's obviously hurting the both of you."

You blink at the wise words of the Gryffindor. Your eyes flick towards Harry. If it's so obvious, then why did Harry kiss you? Shouldn't he be shaming you for liking a Death Eater's son?

Like he knows what you're thinking, she says, "boys are as dense as the castle walls."

That makes you laugh. You turn back towards her and grab her hand. "Thank you, Hermione. For being a friend."

She smiles back at you. "It's no problem at all."

You wake up with a yelp. You kick the covers off of you and clutch your arm. Ripping the bandages off, you almost cry out at the pitch-black snake wriggling all over your arm. It feels like someone's repeatedly stabbing your arm. 

Biting on your lower lip, you try to keep your noise to a minimum to not wake up your roommates. Between gritted teeth, you cast muffliato to the heavy velvet drapes around your bed and you let out the first cry.

Your nails dig into your flesh as your left hand contorts in pain. The burning stops after a while and the metallic taste of blood hits your tongue. 

You lay staring up at the ceiling, scared of what you'll see when you close your eyes and go back to sleep. So, as it is almost breakfast time, you get up and get dressed to make your way to the Great Hall. By the time all students are munching on their cereal or sausages and the mail comes, you're almost finished with your toast.

People flock to each other, all looking at the Daily Prophet in students' hands. You roll your eyes. Probably some false accusations about Harry and Dumbledore again.

But as you stand up and make a move to your first class, a hand on your wrist stops you. You look down and Draco wordlessly hands his copy of the Daily Prophet to you. You frown not caring at first but the headline catches your attention.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN

And below is a moving photograph of your mother, screaming and trashing against the chains shackled around her wrists. She looks absolutely insane. 

Blood drains from your face as your hands tremble. No no no NO NO. This can't be happening! She's supposed to be locked up! Azkeban is supposed to be the most secure wizarding prison on the planet!

Bile rises up in your throat. You throw the newspaper down and sprint out of the Great Hall. You burst through the door of the first toilet you encounter and make it just in time before you puke out your breakfast. 

You're sobbing at this point, not knowing if it's because of the puking or because Bellatrix Lestrange is a free woman once again.

You hear the doors being thrown open and a familiar voice calls out your name. Another sob wrecks through your body before the second wave of nausea hits you like a shit ton of bricks.

A pair of hands collect your hair and hold it out of your face, rubbing comforting circles over your back. By the time you finish puking, a mixture of snot and tears runs down your face and you're white-knuckling the porcelain of the toilet bowl.

Looking up, you meet the concerned brown eyes of Theodore. A whimper escapes your lips as he conjures a glass of water and a handkerchief. As you drink up the water and get rid of the foul taste in your mouth, he helps you off the floor and wipes your face clean.

Theodore crouches down as you sit on the toilet lid. He rubs circles over your knees with his thumbs as he asks, "still nauseous?"

You shake your head, sniffing. "No. It's not like I've got anything left in my stomach to spew out." A humourless chuckle leaves your numb lips.

The silence is thick as your eyes are trained on your hands while Theodore's are on you. 

"I felt it happen." Your voice breaks as you look up, a guilty look on your face.

Theodore frowns, not understanding.

"I woke up with i-it burning and it was dark, almost pitch black. It was like he wanted me to know what he has done." Your eyes flick towards your left arm, which is covered by the sleeve of your emerald green sweater.

Hesitantly, Theodore's fingers push up your sleeve and slowly undo the too-tightly-wrapped bandages. You do not dare to look at Theodore's reaction, your bottom lip trembling.

You feel his thumb trace the skin around it, steering clear of the mark. They slide downwards, tracing the lines of your hand before lacing his fingers between yours.

The action makes your head snap towards the dark-haired boy. "I just wanted to protect you", you whisper broken, memories of the day coming back. "He said that because we were courting I am old enough to 'prove myself'."

You rub comforting circles on Theodore's thumb, trying to steady yourself. "He kidnapped a Muggle. I knew him. He used to work at the diner. He was a kind soul. I tried to stop it. But it was no use... The Muggle is dead and I am a..." You choke over your words with a sob. 

"A-and I knew that that would be your fate if I won't obey his every command. He won't kill you, but he's not above torturing loved ones."

Theodore pulls you toward you, wrapping his arms around your trembling body. He holds you tightly against his chest. A hand weaves into your hair as he keeps you close to him. 

It feels safe, to be in his arms. He is warm and inviting and just feels right.

"I can take it, don't worry." Theodore grabs your cheeks with both of his hands to look into your eyes. "I can handle whatever the Dark Lord will throw and you and me and us, just to keep you safe."

You profusely shake your head. "No... I can't let you do that! The Cruciatus Curse is-is the most horrible thing I've ever experienced..."

It takes a few seconds for your words to dawn on Theodore. "He crusio'd you?" The three words are said with so much hatred and venom that you flinch away. Theodore's hands slide from your face to your upper arms, holding you tightly. He rests his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry", he whispers.

You shake your head. You clutch tightly onto his sweater as he raises from his crouching position, helping you onto your feet. 

"Let's get you cleaned up and into bed, okay?"

The way towards the common room is a blur. You only remember Theodore cleaning your face with a wet washcloth and him leaving the bathroom to give you privacy to change. Theodore also makes sure the bandages hide the Mark without hurting you.

As you crawl under the covers, you look up at the brown-haired boy whose kindness you don't deserve for treating him like shit since summer.

"You try to sleep, okay?", he says, petting your hair and planting a kiss on your forehead. "I'll talk to Snape and say you've got a stomach bug or something and that you're not well."

As he turns around to leave, you grab his wrist. He looks at you with raised eyebrows. You cash your eyes down and let go of his wrist. You want to ask him to stay. To stay until you're asleep. Actually... you want him to come lay down next to you and hug you tightly. But you can't ask that of him.

"Thank you, Theo. You didn't need to do it."

Theodore smiles softly, something unfamiliar flickering in his eyes. "Anytime, Darling."

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry  @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore​ @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what

[tabitha42]

Stars

“You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love, beyond run-of-the-mill physicality.” “EEWWWW, are you going to try to teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what?” “...Well, actually, I was thinking of poetry.”

Gale helps Karlach write a poem for her love, and realises a few things about himself along the way.

Word count: 1,938

Karlach x Wyll, one shot, fluff

“You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love, beyond run-of-the-mill physicality.”

“EEWWWW, are you going to try to teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what?”

“...Well, actually, I was thinking of poetry.”

“Oops, sorry. Although, now that I think of it… is mage hand especially hard to learn?”

The blue, ethereal hand shimmered, its translucent surface showing a distorted reflection of the wide grin on Karlach’s face.

“Yess!!” She celebrated, throwing her hands into the air in triumph. 

“Perfect!” Gale complimented, proud of both her for being able to learn it, and himself for being able to teach it to someone with next to no prior experience with magic. “That's the hard bit done. Now that you can summon it, you just need a bit of practice controlling it, and you'll be well away.” 

She waved her hand and watched it move similarly. The movements were awkward and stuttered, unlike Gale's mage hand which moved with the same grace and control of his own practised gestures, but she was sure with a bit of practice she'd have it down in no time. 

Eventually she dismissed it with the dismissal gesture he'd shown her previously, thrilled to see that that worked as well. 

“Thanks, Gale. I can't wait to try this out!”

“You'll have to let me know how it goes. Within the limits of your own privacy, of course.” 

“Heh, I don't mind telling you anything. Wyll might not appreciate that, though.” 

“Very true. I will leave it to your discretion, and I will leave you to practice. Unless you'd like me to stay to offer any further advice I may think necessary to improve your casting technique?”

“Actually… there was another favour I was going to ask you for.”

His eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“My time is yours. What do you need?” 

“Well… I was thinking, maybe it would be nice to write a poem… but I can’t write poems for shit. If you don’t mind, maybe you could help me write one?” She looked a bit awkward as she asked, worrying she’d already taken up too much of his time, but his eyes lit up at the request. 

“‘If I don’t mind’? Karlach, first you ask me to teach you a spell, then you ask me to help you write a poem. This is quickly turning into my ideal evening!” He said excitedly. 

“Wow, you and I have very different ideas of what makes an ideal evening,” she laughed. She liked Gale, but there was so much about him she could never get her head around. 

“As we should. If we were all the same life would be quite dull. Now,” he produced, seemingly out of nowhere, a small book and a quill, and sat down cross-legged, “where shall we start?” 

She sat down with him, chuckling to herself. 

“Do you always keep an emergency book and quill with you?” 

“At all times. So, what sort of poem shall we go for? Metre or free verse?” 

She gave him a blank look. 

“...Do you want it to rhyme or not?” he asked instead, deciding to start simple given the look of complete bewilderment on her face. 

“Oh, well it's a poem, it has to rhyme!” 

“Heh, not at all, there’s no requirement of a poem for it to rhyme. But we can certainly make it rhyme if you’d like,” he said, seeing the slight hint of disappointment in her face at the mere suggestion of a poem that doesn’t rhyme. “Now, for the metre. I’ve always been partial to the common metre myself, though I do like a bit of iambic pentameter. Or we could go completely wild and choose something like-”

He stopped as he saw the blank look turn increasingly to one of confusion, starting to borderline regret. 

“You know what? Maybe I should worry about that. You just tell me what you want to go in the poem,” he said, much to her relief. She still wasn’t sure what the answer was, but she at least understood the question.

“I’m not really sure, to be honest…” 

“Well, why don’t we start with what you like about Wyll?” 

It didn’t take long before fond words of praise and adoration were falling from her lips, filled with her excitement, her enthusiasm, her love. She spoke about how she’d become so used to being surrounded by devils she’d forgotten there could be people as selfless as him. The conversation moved to what she wanted to do with him, how she longed to hug him, kiss him, dance with him… and other activities, of course. They spoke of her time in the Hells, her struggles, the pain, the loneliness, the endless fight to survive, the hope of escape that she never gave up on. She told him about the first night after they’d been taken, before she’d met any of their group, completely unable to sleep as she stared up at the stars, crying with happiness. She’d spent every night imagining them, longing to see them again, and now here they were. Of course, she’d spent every night imagining other things too, and now she was desperate to make those dreams a reality, to make up for the years of her life that she’d lost. 

It ended up being a very emotional evening, more so than Gale had expected. He’d known about her past, of course, but they’d never discussed it in such great detail, and seeing such raw and painful emotion from her led to more than a few tears shed on both sides. 

Eventually the poem was nearing completion. A few last tweaks, a final copy on a new page away from the scribbles and scattered ideas of the previous page, and it was ready. 

“It’s done!” he said proudly, handing the book to Karlach. “Or at least, a first draft is done. We can edit or alter anything you wish. Also I’m afraid it may not quite be factually accurate in some places, such are our syllabic restrictions.” 

She had no idea what a syllabic restriction was, but she didn’t ask for now as she took the book and began reading. As her eyes ran over his neat handwriting, she found tears starting to well in them once more.

3000 days I burnt inside,  Fire in my scars,  3000 days spent trapped below,  Dreaming of the stars.  Every night I longed to touch,  Each night I yearned to love,  And every fight I longed to find  Escape to life above.  Now finally I find I'm free,  Salvation came at last,  And now I sit beneath the trees  And look up at the stars.  But where before the love I sought  From anyone would do,  Now I find that in my mind  There's only thoughts of you.  Your kindness and your bravery,  Your courage and your wit,  Remind me there's good in the world, And you're the source of it.  These scars of isolation burn,  But your touch holds the cure,  The hugs I've missed, a stolen kiss,  They fill my dreams and more.  3000 days I spent alone,  But these dreams will soon be ours,  And when they are we'll dance my dear,  Underneath the stars.

“Gale…” she whispered, in shock. She couldn’t believe how well he’d captured how she felt. “This is… incredible…” 

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head in a small bow. “I’m glad you like it. I hope you feel it’s accurately captured how you feel,” he added in a slightly softer tone. Writing a poem from someone else’s point of view wasn’t easy, especially someone who had been through so much. Though he did have some of his own experience of isolation that he could draw on… it was very different from hers of course, though there had been the odd thing she’d said that made him realise they had more in common than he’d thought. 

“It has,” she assured him. “Wyll is never gonna believe I wrote this,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head. 

“Well, tell him I helped you. Say we workshopped it,” he offered. She chuckled softly and looked at the poem again. 

“I can’t believe you wrote it so quickly,” she commented. 

“Ahh, well, I’ve had a lot of practice. Poetry has always been one of my favourite ways to express how I feel for the one I love,” he said, casting his mind back to the hours he’d spent on his balcony, writing poetry about whoever had captured his heart at the time, filled with love and inspiration. 

“Yeah? Your partners are very lucky, this is so romantic!” 

“Hmm, some were more appreciative than others,” he murmured, thinking mostly of Mystra, who’d never been interested in such things. He’d quickly given up writing any poems for her, she was far more interested in his magic. 

“Well anyone who doesn’t appreciate it isn’t worth your time,” Karlach decided firmly. Gale went very quiet for a moment. He still didn’t know how he felt about Mystra… up until getting abducted he was still firmly in love with her and desperate for her to return, but since this little adventure started he’d found Mystra occupied his mind less and less, his thoughts instead turning to someone new. 

“Perhaps you’re right…” he said quietly, though it wasn’t a revelation that came easily to him. 

“I am right. You trust Mama K on this,” she told him with a warm smile that he couldn’t help but return. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, touched that someone found his poetry to be worth appreciating. Karlach looked down at the book again, her eyes running over the words once more. 

“Hmm… maybe there is one bit I can change, you know, to make it more me ,” she said, holding her hand out for the quill. He gave it to her and leant over as she wrote, curious to see what change she would make. He watched as she crossed out the last line and replaced it with “Til you’re seeing stars”. 

“Perfect!” she declared happily. He had to chuckle slightly - he preferred his version from a poetic standpoint, but he had to admit, this was version definitely more Karlach. 

“Can I borrow this book?” she asked, looking over at him. “Til I’ve memorised it.”

He waved for her to give the book back to him. She did so and he carefully ripped the page out and handed it to her. It was certainly not something he’d normally do to a book, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured into trying to memorise it as quickly as possible to get the book back to him. 

“Thanks again, Gale,” she said, smiling as she looked at the page. “Once I can, I’m gonna give you a big ol’ hug for this!” 

“I can’t wait,” he said sincerely. “I’ll let you get going, then. I expect a dramatic reading once it’s memorised.” 

“You got it,” she said with a grin, then stood up and headed off. 

He stayed there for a bit, just the gentle sounds of the rustling leaves around him as Karlach’s words echoed in his mind. He’d honestly forgotten how much he enjoyed writing poems after getting so out of the habit of it during his time with Mystra. Maybe it was something to pick up again… especially if he had someone who would appreciate it. 

He looked down at the book, quill in hand, a small smile on his lips as he began writing an ode to the kind adventurer that had pulled him out of that portal not so long ago. 

[duskspring]

Fire Alarm - Ifrit/Mist

Domestic December - Day 12

Summary: The newly summoned Ifrit tries to impress Mist

Content (do let me know if I forgot anything!): Painfully awkward crush

Word count: ~1.2k

“And this is where you’ll be staying,” Terzo’s hands dramatically gestured to the first door in the hallway reserved for bandghouls, “Don’t mind the few still packing up their stuff, they will be out of your way and to the retirement wing soon enough.”

Ifrit looked into his newly assigned room. It was bare already, except for the essentials of a bed, desk and guitar stands.

“Awesome.” He said casually, putting one of his thumbs up.

“For any further questions you can refer to our senior ghouls.” Papa nodded conclusively, making his way back to his office.

Ifrit watched him walk away, his back towards the hall he stood in the middle of.

“Excuse me.” A monotone voice rang out behind him.

The fire ghoul turned around, confused for the half a second he didn't see anyone before turning his head downwards to find who had spoken to him.

In front of him was a short ghoulette, a guitar case slung over her shoulder and a bag in her hand. Ifrit felt his face heat up a little at the way her wavy dark blue bop framed her face and her crop top showed her stomach.

“Can you move?” Her face was stoic, though not unkind.

Ifrit felt like he was suddenly shaken awake, “Are you leaving?” Was the first thing that flew out of his mouth.

“I mean… yeah. I’m retired.” She explained.

“Well, I’m new! Ifrit-” He moved to lean against the wall clumsily, it having been further away than he’d expected, “Fire.”

“Mist, water.” She put out her hand. He tried to not hurt her his hold, but was caught off guard by her nearly crushing grip. It almost distracted him from how cold her hands were.

“I’m sure you could show me…” Without another word, the ghoulette walked around him and out of the hall, “around.” leaving him to ponder that failed interaction on his own.

Even after meeting all of his new bandmates, Ifrit’s mind didn’t stray from the water ghoulette. There was just something about her. She seemed so unbothered. So cool.

The next day, practice was on immediately. The new summons had to learn their instruments and the tour’s set list in record time. Regardless of the hurry, the fire ghoul couldn’t help but keep looking over at Mist, who was helping the new water recruit Dewdrop learn about the bass.

Alpha snapped his fingers in front of Ifrit’s face, “Focus. Play that again.”

Ifrit saw Mist look up at her old colleague’s stern voice. He flustered, “Yessir.”

Not too long after, Mist and Dew seemingly decided to take a break. Ifrit moved to put his guitar down and go talk to her again.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Alpha’s voice was almost threatening.

“Just, uh. Taking a bre-”

“If you want a break, you’ll have to play it all at least semi properly first.”

Ifrit wanted to argue, but Mist seemed to have already left the room. He sighed, sitting back down.

Alpha kept him practising without a break for the rest of the day. No one else was forced to keep going for that long, but the older fire ghoul wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if he just wanted the best for the band, Ifrit wasn't happy.

By the time he was finally allowed to leave, the sun had long set. He ran his way to the retired ghoul wing in the abbey, hoping to at least get a few words in.

He himself wasn't sure why he was so set on talking to, or even just seeing, Mist. Perhaps it was just because she’d been the first other ghoul he had met after his summoning. Maybe it was just the effortlessly cool vibe she exuded. Either way, he just wanted to hear her speak to him again, even if he was being ridiculous.

To his luck, she was just making her way back to her new room.

“Hey, Mist!” He jogged up to her.

She turned around with the same blank stare, “Hey.”

“I, eh… How are you doing? Good day?”

“Yeah,” She truly wasn’t trying to be rude, but Mist really, really struggled talking to people she didn’t know well, “Dew learns fast.”

“Nice..!” Ifrit had no clue what to say either. He’d never struggled this much talking to anyone. He internally blamed it on the topside atmosphere, looking for any excuse at all.

The two stood in the hall in a deafening silence for a moment. Both were screaming at themselves to come up with something, anything to say.

Mist looked over her shoulder at her door, “I think I’m just gonna go to bed-”

“Wait! Uhm…” He still didn’t have anything to say, just as long as she didn’t walk off, “The topside, huh? Yeah. Yeah, weird place. Weird humans. Can’t even… have powers. Do our powers work here? They better, I’m great with them!” He rambled along, finally deciding to show off a bit. He closed his eyes and focused on the awareness of his body.

“Ifrit, don’t-!” Before Mist could stop him, the fire ghoul had called upon his element, turning his focus and last remaining energy into the shape of glowing snakes around his arms.

At least, that’s what was meant to happen. Instead, after just a few seconds, a loud beeping came from the ceiling and the two ghouls were suddenly drenched in water, extinguishing the enchantment.

“Great.” Mist sighed, not personally bothered by the water, but knowing everyone else was gonna throw a fit. Although she was bothered by the insistent ringing, covering her ears immediately.

“What’s going on?!”

“Ever heard of a fire alarm?” Mist raised her voice to be heard. Ifrit shook his head, “I was afraid not.”

“What the hell..!” Alpha rushed out of his room, groaning when he saw Ifrit.

“Can we turn them off?” Mist asked him, immediately looking for a solution.

“I’ll handle that. You just get that moron out of here.”

Without talking back, Mist grabbed Ifrit’s arm and pulled him away. They walked all the way down to Ifrit’s bathroom in the basement, not saying a word the whole way there. The fire ghoul had finally been shut up, caused by defeat, embarrassment and the distraction of her tight hold on him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled as she passed him a towel from the cabinet, intimately aware of the place’s layout.

“Don’t be. You didn’t know that would happen.”

“I don’t even know why I did that.” He laughed awkwardly, looking at the floor.

Mist would have none of it, grabbing his chin and making him look at her. He had to resist the shiver wanting to move down his spine at her cold skin, “One piece of advice,” She pulled her hand back, making him miss it immediately, “you don’t have to try so hard. Just have fun and people will gravitate towards you automatically.”

“Are you talking about performing or just… being?”

The ghoulette shrugged, “Perhaps a bit of both. Just trust me on this, alright?” Her mouth quirked into the slightest smile, making Ifrit think he’d suffer a heart attack. She turned around to leave him to his own devices, “Oh, and one more thing… avoid Alpha for a little while. He’s not a bad guy. Just takes some time to warm up to people.

“Like you? I don't know why I said that.” The fire ghoul cringed at himself. He had no right to speak of her like he knew her. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize again, she beat him to it.

“Smart guy.” The little smile was still there and it stayed with her even when she left the room, leaving Ifrit stumped once more.

[My Main Masterlist | Domestic December Masterlist]

[imagineanime2022]

It's A Date

Tetsuro Kuroo X Reader

Word Count: 816

Requested: No

Kuroo didn’t realise that you were friends with Kenma when he first started trying to get your attention, he had noticed that you kept to yourself and made sure that you were the most unnoticed in the room, he’d always hear you pen scraping across your paper as you took notes or the small intake of breath when the teacher called on you for an answer in the lesson, you were never wrong but you always sounded scared as you answered.

That was why he wasn't surprised when you made that same noise when he softly called out your name. “Huh?” You finally asked as you looked up at him for a second before looking away from him as if you were struggling to keep eye contact, he smiled at that sitting in front of you on the chair. “Is there something I can help you with?” “Well actually I just realised that we never talked but we’ve been in the same class for over a year.” He answered, you looked at him and frowned. “Is this because of Kenma?” You asked. “Kenma?” Kuroo asked. “You know Kenma?” “Yes I do know Kenma.” You laughed and his eyes widened. You had never laughed in front of him before but he wanted to make you do it again “I play games with him all the time.” “I didn’t know that…” He scratched the back of his neck, “I did actually just want to talk to you.” “Oh well then talk.” You urged him on.

That afternoon Kenma had been sitting in his bedroom, he once again skipped practice for an event you had informed him about, you were on the end of a call half reprimanding him for not going to practise although your scolding fell short when you managed to pull a character you had been trying to get, you were mumbling about what build you were going to give them when his door slammed open causing him to jump. “Kenma!” Kuroo yelled. “I’m sorry I skipped practice.” He said, even if he didn’t mean it he didn’t want Kuroo lecturing him for the next hour, hopefully the apology would cut it down to maybe 30 minutes. “We’ll talk about that later, I want to talk about your cute gaming friend.” Kenma’s eyes widened as he reached back to mute his mic before you heard anything more. “Wait, are they-?” Kenma nodded “Did they-?” Kenma nodded again, reaching back to unmute the mic. “I wouldn’t worry, they were talking about how cute my volleyball friend was.” He smirked as he heard you make a noise through your mic like you choked. “Are you okay?” He asked but between a frozen Kuroo and a choking you, he wasn’t sure who the question was directed at, in response he heard you bang your hand on the table a signal that you were still alive but hadn’t quite caught your breath yet, his eyes moved to Kuroo who was looking at him. “What?” “She’s okay?” Kuroo asked. “Yeah.” Kenma answered, he nodded as turned back towards the door. “Don’t skip practice again.” He ordered before he disappeared out the door. “I think we broke him.” Kenma said as he turned back to his computer. “I think you broke me.” You informed him in a strained voice that was followed by a harsh cough as you still tried to get your throat to feel even a little normal again.

The next day you were sitting in your homeroom in your normal seat expecting a normal morning except Kuroo sat down in front of you “about last night.” He said quickly, he looked nervous and you smiled at him as you put your hand up for him to stop. “There’s nothing to talk about, it’s nice being called cute.” You winked and he groaned, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Did you really call me cute?” He asked and you looked at him and decided that you had nothing to lose. “Actually I called you hot.” You answered leaning your cheek against your closed knuckles, his eyes moved to you as they widened. “You did?” He asked, now you were seeing the normal Kuroo, a smirk stretched across his face as he leaned closer. “I did.” You answered, picking up your phone and tapping a few things before turning it so that he could see the text to Kenma, you did call him hot. He pushed the phone away from your face and moved closer still. “You wanna watch practice today?” He asked. “Now why would I do that?” You asked. “Once practice is done we can go get something to eat.” He suggested. “Like a date?” You asked. “If you want a date.” He answered and you nodded, he smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of your head before walking over to his desk. “I’ll see you there.”

Request Here!!

[opossumjournal]

Mullet Love

This is far from polished, but wanted to share this little scene I had an Idea for between Marlene and Peter

Peter's mom cuts his hair, and usually, by the time she gets to the back, she's feeling weak and can't move her arms as high. Peter told her she could cut the back later if she wanted, but it wasn't during the summer; from her letters, she only perked up in October. She told Peter not to worry; it wasn't his fault, but Peter decided he would cut his hair from now on. He does his best, but not being able to see the back, well, he gives himself an unintentional ducktail.

Marlene eventually grabs him one day after class and asks if he really wants a mullet because it's a lifestyle, not just a haircut. Peter isn't sure what she's talking about. He didn't think the back was that long. But he can't really see it, so he agrees. Marlene sighed, rubbing her eyes. Peter guessed that just like all the professors, Marlene was aware he was slow and lying to save face. Marlene pushed him onto a chair and told Peter to sit. He does; he is really only sure what's going on once she starts cutting his hair. She gives him a cute ducktail, not the scraggly look he had going on before. They complete the haircut in complete silence.

The following month, Marlene makes the scissors-snipping gesture at Peter, and he subtly nods while they take their seats for transfiguration.

Peter meets Marlene at their spot, and the first part is silent again. Peter can't help but burst out part way though, the questions about Marlene's intentions bubbling up his throat.

P: You know, you don't have to do this if you don't want to.

M: I told you that having a mullet is a lifestyle, and you weren't keeping up with it.

P: I'm sorry.

M: *sighs* Don't be. I’m sorry for being so harsh. Sometimes I forget you aren't like them.

P: What do you mean?

M: You aren't a tosser like the rest of them. James thinks the sun shines out his arse. Sirius is the prancing prince of all tossers. And Remus thinks he's too good to talk to anyone except you lot.

P: And me?

M: Well you're you, aren't you?

Peter doesn't figure out what she means by that, doesn't want to ask to find out in case he was supposed to understand, and starts trying to trim his own hair, keeping it about the length Marlene had it. It gets choppy, but he doesn't want Marlene to think he isn't trying, and he doesn't want to have someone cut his hair for him. He doesn't know what Marlene meant with that last conversation and isn't sure he wants to spend more time with her.

Marlene finger snips at him a couple of weeks later, and Peter is too nervous to refuse. He isn't sure Marlene would do anything if he said no, but he doesn't know if he wants to find out. What he gets at home is plenty, thank you.

Marlene brings an extra pair of scissors and is transfiguring a couple of mirrors when Peter arrives, late due to anxiety.

Marlene teaches Peter how to cut his hair using reflections from the mirrors behind and in front of him. P extremely nervously asks if Marlene will show him the mirror spell. He doesn't ask the marauders for help because Marlene is right. They are jerks at times, especially when he's practising magic they are already comfortable with. Marlene, however, is rough but patient when she teaches him, going over it again and again until Peter's mirrors don't look like they belong in a fun house.

After that, Peter still goes to their spot to cut his hair. Marlene joins him one day.

M: I can see why you like it here.

P: What?

M: Its more roomy then the dorm bathroom, no one interrupting or rushing you, its nice here. Peaceful.

P: Yeah it is. 

This is the first time he realised it. He had been going because he didn't want the boys to see his shoddy transfiguration. It's hard when you're a c/d student, and you're rooming with literally 3 of the 10 smartest people in your year. But he realizes now that he also liked that time alone, other than his new friend.

[pooma-education]

NINE PSYCHOLOGICAL WAYS TO BE HAPPIER

Happiness can seem like an elusive concept, something that’s always just out of reach.

According to psychology, however, the road to happiness can be simpler than we often make it.

The trick is to understand that happiness is a choice, and there are certain habits and routines you can establish to make that choice easier.

In this article, I share with you 9 simple ways to be happier in life, as backed by psychology.

These aren’t just empty platitudes or vague ideas, but concrete steps you can start taking right now. So, let’s dive in and find out how to make your life a little bit happier!

1) Practice gratitude

Attitude shifts can make a world of difference, and one of the simplest ways to improve your happiness is to practice gratitude.

According to Harvard Health:

“In positive psychology research, gratitude is strongly and consistently associated with greater happiness. Gratitude helps people feel more positive emotions, relish good experiences, improve their health, deal with adversity, and build strong relationships.”

Gratitude helps us focus on what we have rather than what we lack. Instead of dwelling on the negatives, we start seeing our lives through a lens of positivity and abundance.

Start by keeping a gratitude journal where you write down three things you are grateful for each day. This helps train your brain to look for the good in every situation.

It’s not about denying life’s challenges but about acknowledging the good that exists alongside them.

Practising gratitude is a small change that can lead to big improvements in your overall happiness.

So why not give it a shot? After all, what do you have to lose except maybe a bit of unhappiness?

2) Incorporate exercise into your daily routine

Believe it or not, the link between physical activity and happiness is quite strong.

Multiple studies have shown that regular exercise can increase your mood and decrease feelings of anxiety, depression, and stress.

In fact, I can personally attest to this. A few years ago, I was feeling particularly low. My mood was often gloomy, and I was constantly feeling stressed. It was then that I decided to incorporate exercise into my daily routine.

I started off small, with just a 10-minute walk around every morning. Slowly but surely, I began to notice a change. My mood started lifting, and I felt less stressed. Over time, I increased my exercise time and introduced more activities.

Today, I can’t imagine my life without daily exercise. Not only am I physically healthier, but my mental health has significantly improved as well.

So, if you’re looking for a simple way to boost your happiness, try moving your body more. It doesn’t have to be anything strenuous – even a quick walk can make a difference!

3) Get enough sleep

Sleep is often overlooked when we think about happiness. But getting a good night’s rest can significantly impact your mood and overall well-being.

When we sleep, our bodies undergo various processes that promote physical health, including tissue repair, hormone regulation, and brain function.

But it’s not just about physical health.

A study from the University of Pennsylvania found that people who were limited to only 4.5 hours of sleep a night for one week reported feeling more stressed, angry, and mentally exhausted.

When they returned to a normal sleep schedule, their mood significantly improved.

The researchers concluded that adequate sleep is crucial for maintaining a positive mood and overall emotional health.

Ensure you’re getting enough ZZZs each night. It’s not just good for your health – it’s fundamental for your happiness too!

4) Connect with others

We humans are social creatures. We crave connections and thrive on healthy relationships. In fact, connecting with others is one of the most effective ways to boost our happiness levels.

Building strong bonds and maintaining social ties can enrich our lives in many ways. It can provide emotional support in tough times, offer joy and companionship, and even improve our sense of self-worth.

An 80-year Harvard study found that the quality of our closest relationships is the biggest predictor of happiness.

These relationships do not need to be many or complicated. A simple conversation with a friend, a warm hug from a family member, or even a friendly exchange with a stranger can greatly enhance our mood.

Therefore, take the time to nurture your relationships. Call an old friend, spend quality time with your family, or make an effort to meet new people. You’ll be surprised how these connections can light up your life.

5) Find purpose and meaning

Happiness isn’t just about feeling good all the time. It’s also about feeling that life is good, worthwhile, and meaningful.

A study found that when people feel like they have a purpose, they’re more likely to feel happy feelings like being content, relaxed, excited, and joyful.

They’re also less likely to feel bad stuff like anger, worry, tiredness, or sadness.

Plus, they generally feel more satisfied with their life and just feel better overall.

Purpose gives us a reason to get up in the morning, fuels our motivation, and helps us overcome challenges.

This could be anything – from your profession to a hobby you’re passionate about to volunteering for a cause you believe in. The key is to find something that resonates with you and aligns with your values and passions.

Take some time to introspect. What drives you? What makes you feel fulfilled? Once you find it, pursue it wholeheartedly. Not only will it bring you satisfaction, but it will also guide you on the path to genuine happiness.

6) Practice kindness

In a world where you can be anything, be kind. It’s a simple phrase, but it holds a profound truth. Kindness is a universal language that transcends borders, cultures, and languages.

A published review of decades of kindness research found that people who were kind tended to have higher well-being.

When we perform acts of kindness – whether large or small – we’re not just helping others, we’re also helping ourselves.

Helping others triggers the release of serotonin in our brains, a hormone that gives us feelings of satisfaction and happiness.

But the beauty of kindness is that it doesn’t have to be grand gestures. It could be as simple as complimenting someone, lending a helping hand to a neighbour in need, or just sharing a smile with a stranger on the street.

These actions might seem small, but their impact can be enormous. They create positive ripples that spread outwards, touching lives in ways we might never fully comprehend.

So go out there and scatter kindness around like confetti. Because in the end, it’s not just about making others happy – it’s about creating a happier world for all of us to live in.

7) Learn to let go

Holding onto negative feelings like resentment, anger, or disappointment can be like carrying around a heavy backpack. It weighs you down and prevents you from moving forward.

I learned this the hard way. I used to hold onto grudges and dwell on past mistakes, constantly replaying them in my mind. This didn’t just rob me of my present happiness, but also affected my future.

It was only when I made a conscious decision to let go and forgive – forgive others and more importantly, forgive myself – that I truly began to feel happier.

The process wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. By letting go of the past, I freed myself from its chains and opened up space for positivity and peace.

Susanna Newsonen MAPP explains why in Psychology Today that happiness is not about being happy 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s about having the full human experience, including positive and negative emotions.

We all have the power to release these negative emotions. It might not happen overnight, but with patience and perseverance, it is possible.

And trust me, the feeling of freedom that comes with letting go is incomparable.

8) Spend more time in nature

There’s something incredibly calming and rejuvenating about being in nature. The fresh air, the greenery, the peace and quiet – they all contribute to a sense of serenity and happiness.

Psychology research supports this, too. Studies have found that spending time outdoors can lower stress levels, reduce anxiety, and enhance mood.

Whether it’s a walk in the park, a hike in the mountains, or just sitting in your backyard, spending time in nature can do wonders for your mental well-being.

So make it a point to disconnect from the digital world and reconnect with nature. You will not only feel more relaxed but also more attuned to yourself and the world around you.

9) Embrace self-compassion

At the end of the day, the most important relationship you have is with yourself. Therefore, it’s crucial to treat yourself with kindness and compassion.

Higher levels of self-compassion are linked to increased feelings of happiness, optimism, curiosity and connectedness, as well as decreased anxiety, depression, rumination, and fear of failure.

Self-compassion involves acknowledging your own suffering, failures, and inadequacies, and responding to them with kindness and understanding instead of harsh self-judgment.

It’s about accepting that you’re human and it’s okay to make mistakes. It’s about being patient with yourself, especially during tough times.

When you learn to treat yourself with the same kindness you would treat a dear friend, you create a nurturing space for growth and happiness.

So remember to be kind to yourself. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s more than enough.

Final thoughts: Happiness is a journey

The quest for happiness is as old as humanity itself. It’s a complex, multi-faceted journey that can often feel elusive and out of reach. But psychology has provided us with valuable insights into how we can navigate this journey more effectively.

Each of the strategies I have explored – from practising gratitude and kindness, to connecting with others and finding purpose – are stepping stones on the path to happiness. They are not quick fixes or magic solutions, but rather habits and mindsets to cultivate over time.

It’s important to remember that happiness is not a destination but a journey. It’s about embracing the highs and lows, learning from our experiences, and striving to create a life filled with joy, fulfilment, and well-being.

As renowned psychologist Carl Rogers once said, “The good life is a process, not a state of being. It is a direction, not a destination.” This holds true for happiness as well.

So take these strategies, apply them in your own life, and embark on your unique journey towards happiness. Remember, it’s your journey, and every step you take brings you closer to creating the happy life you desire and deserve.

Cosmos Ennu Kwaw

Ghana, West Africa

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Healing Ties - Chapter 45 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

They moved a lot faster now that Harrison was with them.

He set a mage on each of his broad, hairy shoulders and his long stride greatly increased their pace.

Yore followed in wolf form.

Everything hurt but he was determined not to be the one slowing them down.

Life had been painful before but it felt different now with the promises Fanner had made him in mind.

One day, be it months or years from now, he might once again know what it was like to lay in a lover's arms, truly relaxed and free of pain or worry.

Well, pain, anyway.

He would still have his responsibilities and they made having no worries a distant fantasy.

That was fine, though.

Worries and responsibilities had their place in life and he was well practised at managing them.

It was Fanner and Duran who were the ones to finally ask to stop for sleep, though Yore had been teetering on the edge of it himself for some time.

They'd been up nearly a full day and night by this point.

They couldn't keep going forever with no rest.

They found a lake to set up camp next to and while the rest of them were still gathering sticks for a fire, Harrison plunged himself into the water and started hunting for fish.

They seemed to mistake his shaggy fur for a good place to hide and as soon as they felt safe, Harrison would plunge one of his paws in, skewering them with his claws.

He ate the first few whole and raw while still standing in the lake but then he seemed to remember the rest of them and reluctantly started tossing a few up onto the bank.

With the fire started and Harrison wading up the river that fed into the lake in search of more fish, Yore dove into the water to clean off and try to loosen out some of his joints.

The latter was a fool's errand in cool water, perhaps but he just knew that as soon as he was still for too long every joint in his body would start locking up.

He could hear Fanner and Duran talking, hear Fanner bring up, in his own coy way, that he was going to join Yore in the lake.

Duran assured him that his eyes would be aimed elsewhere.

Yore kept his back to Fanner as Fanner waded into the lake, giving him the opportunity to conceal himself beneath the water.

Yore had been naked this entire time, of course.

Nudity was normal for him and by this point the mages seemed to have gotten used to it as well.

Fanner's history was more complicated, though.

What that would mean for him, Yore didn't yet know but he had to assume the situation was a delicate one.

Yore turned just as Fanner reached him.

The setting sun set Fanner's golden hair ablaze.

His body was slender and soft and his eyes were a bright, light blue, filled with uncertainty at war with determination.

Fanner placed a wet hand on Yore's chest and watched the water that trickled down.

"What do boyfriends do?"

"That's... a broad question. I'm not sure there's a simple answer to it."

"Duran says it's just like being someone's friend, except you also have sex."

"It can be that, I suppose," Yore said. "That's certainly an aspect of it. Personally, I'd describe it more as a partnership. An agreement that the two of you are a team, tackling life together."

"Oh. Yes. I like that."

Fanner scooped more water up just so that he could trickle it down Yore's chest.

"They didn't really teach us about anything like that at Milaine House. Partners were the last thing we were meant to be. Or well. I guess we were taught to be good at being whatever someone else needed? Maybe I am qualified. Maybe the only difference is that we were taught to expect nothing in return."

"I'm not sure that's quite the same thing. You're not supposed to change yourself to be what someone else wants. Just, you know. Be yourself while supporting and being supported by, your partner."

"I'd like to be your boyfriend. I don't know if I'd be a very good one but I'd like to try. If you haven't changed your mind."

"I haven't changed my mind. I'd like that very much."

Fanner nodded.

He was silent for a long moment, just staring at Yore's chest.

"So. That means you can do whatever you want."

Yore's head tilted to the side.

"Do whatever I want?"

Fanner lifted his arms out of the water and gestured to his body.

"Ah, I see. No, that isn't how that works. Your body still belongs to you. Even if we were married, that wouldn't change. Nothing happens unless we both want it to. Unless we both give consent."

"Oh. Is it bad that I've been touching your chest, then?"

Yore let out a quiet huff of laughter.

"No, you're fine. You can touch my chest all you like." "

Okay," Fanner said. "You can also touch my chest."

Yore rubbed his palm on Fanner's chest.

"Thank you."

"Hmm," Fanner said. "A good Companion would be passive and wait for instructions unless told to do otherwise."

"Yes."

Fanner looked up at Yore.

"Can I kiss you, Yore?"

"Absolutely," Yore said as he leant down.

Fanner's lips met Yore's, soft and careful, moving with a flow that stuttered and fell apart as soon as Yore challenged it.

Every time Yore let him take the lead, he brought them back to the steady, practised rhythm, so Yore stopped pushing.

If that was where Fanner felt safe, there was no need to force him away from it before he was ready.

Leaning down was starting to get uncomfortable, so Yore sat instead, dragging Fanner onto his lap.

The water reached their chests, murky enough to mostly conceal anything below.

Fanner let out a shaky exhale as he broke away from the kiss.

"Can I touch you? I mean, you know, can I..."

"Yes."

Fanner's hand ventured under the water and snuck between them, finding Yore's cock.

Not counting the last time Fanner had touched him and Yore really did not want to count that this was the first time another person had touched his cock in years.

He let out a long sigh that ended in a groan as Fanner slowly stroked him.

Fanner's gaze was intent on Yore's face.

"What does it feel like?"

"Would you like me to show you?"

Fanner nodded.

Fanner jolted slightly at the first brush of Yore's fingertips and Yore froze, worried something was wrong but after a moment Fanner squirmed his hips and Yore tried again.

This time he didn't move away, but his ass clenched where it rested against Yore's thigh and his hand gripped Yore's shoulder.

"Sensitive?" Yore asked.

Fanner nodded.

"Maybe I should have tried masturbating first. I forgot I'm allowed to."

"You're allowed to like you're allowed to breathe. It's nobody's place to tell you that you can't or even that you can. Nobody has any authority over that except for you. Your body is yours."

Fanner's hand squeezed down on Yore's shoulder as Yore gave his cock a long, slow stroke.

"I think I like sharing it."

[clethos]

day two of @mcyt-yuri-week! prompt is au/post-canon so i went with a classic coffeeshop au except kath is a monster hunting vigilante

fic under cut

Shelby really hates her job sometimes. The just-above-minimum-wage salary isn't quite worth the long hours and the occasional rude customer- but she's got to get by somehow , and they're the only ones who would even consider her after her disastrous stint at the Academy. The one that she's trying not to think about, actually.

So she grits her teeth and smiles wide and she just- keeps going.

Tonight, as usual, isn't too busy- although Evermoore Café is hardly bustling by day either. Its only claim to fame over the Critter City Bakery across the street is that it stays open all night, and even that is a questionable brag considering how few people are up at this time.

But, again- it's the only place that'd take her. And as a college dropout with no social life and a barely-there sleep schedule, it's not like she has anything better to spend her time on, besides obsessively poring over textbooks in the hopes that one day, maybe, the Academy might take her back.

Ha. Like that 'd ever happen. Stratos would freeze over before the Academy would ever deign to let Shelby set foot on campus again.

Okay, that's enough self-pity for the day , she thinks, shaking her head. Wallowing in sadness isn't going to help her situation. And neither will scrolling on her phone, but at least it won't make her feel like shit.

She opens her message app with all the bravery of a cow walking toward the chopping block, and is immediately confronted with dozens of notifications from Joey. Ugh . It's probably something stupid. With Joey it usually is, really-

Someone clears their throat, so unexpectedly and so close to her that she flinches. Her phone slips through her fingers and falls with a thump to the floor.

"Sorry!" Shelby says, quickly picking up her phone and tucking it into her pocket, an embarassed flush rising to her cheeks. "Uh, how can I help you?"

She looks up to see her customer and. Oh. Yeah, she's definitely blushing now.

The woman standing in front of her is tall and muscular, with black lipstick and a long scar across her nose and thick kohl smeared around her eyes. But the smile she offers Shelby is so sweet and genuine it makes her weak at the knees. She feels like she's about to cry.

Jesus, Berry. Get a grip.

"That's alright," the woman says politely. "Can I get- just a black coffee, please?"

"Sure." It's nice to get a break from 'golden caramel honey latte machiatto with two pumps of milk and one of sugar, hold the cream'; her memory's never been great. "That'll be 6.99."

The pretty lady doesn't even blink, just hands over a couple crumpled bills. Shelby turns on the coffee machine and, feeling brave, shoots her a grin. "Can I ask why you've got nothing better to do at-" she peeks at her watch- "1:15 in the morning than buy overpriced coffee?"

"Uh." The woman stutters a little. "I- I don't..."

Shelby, taking pity on her, asks, "Couldn't sleep?"

"Yes! Yes, that's it, that's exactly it. Sleep is for the weak, you know?"

"Sure," Shelby says. The machine beeps; in a few practised motions, she grabs a cup, fills it near to the top, and caps it. She spins it onto the counter with a risky little flourish that would have gotten her in trouble if her supervisor wasn't currently slumped over a table in the back room.

"Can I get a name?" she asks, taking a pen and fiddling with it. This part really isn't necessary right now, but- 

Yeah, Shelby does want to know more about this mystery whirlwind of a woman who swept into Evermoore Café in the middle of the night like something right out of a fairytale. Sue her.

"Katherine," the woman says, then immediately claps a hand over her mouth. "I mean- yeah. Katherine. That's me."

Shelby writes Katherine on the cup as neatly as she can. Their fingers brush when she hands her the coffee. And as Katherine takes the cup, wrapping her large, scarred hands around it, Shelby is hit with a sudden desperation- a need to keep her in the café, if only for a moment longer.

 "I haven't seen you around before," she offers, a lame attempt at keeping the conversation going.

"Oh, yeah, I'm from out of town. Just stopping by." Shelby's face falls, and Katherine must notice because she hurriedly adds, "I'll be back, though! Really soon, actually, I really like it here, I come to Evermoore every day- I mean, every night, for... reasons."

Shelby quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. "What reasons?"

"And," Katherine continues, tripping over her words with how fast she's talking, "this coffee is- so good. Just so good." She takes a sip, and her face immediately flickers through varying states of despair before settling on a slightly strained grin. "So good that I might come back here. Like, tomorrow night? Are you working here tomorrow?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I am." Shelby did not even know it was possible to feel such an immense joy at such a small thing. She really needs more friends.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Katherine calls over her shoulder. "Maybe then you could finally tell me your name."

Did she just wink at me?

Shelby watches, dumbstruck, as Katherine waltzes out and the bell on the door jingles and, a few minutes later, a 6.99$ coffee drops into a trash can somewhere.

[shoyoist]

“should I plant a baby in you?”

Pro athlete Shoyo sneaking in to your apartment whenever he gets jealous.

content: fem!reader. jealous!hinata shoyo, heavy breeding kink, slightly possessive themes. good timing, anon. i was just editing one of my shoyo fics so i was inspired to do this quick for you <33

pro athlete hinata who hasnt been able to spend as much time with you as he'd like, practises and games keeping him too busy :((

you're not dating, you've only just had sex a few times, so shoyo has no good reason to go and pull you away when he sees you out with some other guy.

you're smiling at the asshole, walking with him down the street, stretching your pretty lips (that belong around shoyo's cock and nobody else's) in a cute smirk that makes his heart pick up pace — except right now, his blood runs fast with anger. you're not really his, but you are— hinata loves you, and whenever he loves something, he makes sure, one way or another, that he claims ownership of it.

but still, he cant get in your way right now. so he just stands there, watching till he loses sight of you in the crowd, fist clenched and eyes lit.

then, that night, he shows up at your door. completely nonchalant, conversing with you sweetly and telling you about his away games over a shared dinner together. doesnt let you catch a single hint of what's going through his mind.

later, though, he's got your knees pressed to your chest, overstimming both you and him as he cums into you for the third time, still heavily thrusting in and out of your slick cunt, determined to put a baby in you (anything, to make you love him only, and stay with him).

tells you how much he's missed you, how good you feel, how much he loves you, how badly he wants to fuck you full of his cum 💞

he's so nice, so doting with his praise and his kisses even while he's throwing your legs over his shoulders and stuffing you all up, the tip of his fat dick hitting you just right. you dont know nothing. and you're already out of your mind, anyway, eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open as you try to answer his questions of "you can take more, mhm?"

"i love you so much, gotta love me back the same way, okay?" he rasps, and you nod, nod mindlessly when he asks you if you want his kids, if you want to stay with him forever, if you really love him. "yes, shoyo, fuck! yes, yes, yes!"

and he laughs, determined to fuck you so dumb and full you forget everyone else, and only have his name on your tongue. "good girl, such a good girl. my good girl."