#seungcheol scenarios

[woozinhos]

making out with seungcheol plsplspls

You heard the door to your shared apartment open and close, signaling Seungcheol's arrival home from a long and stressful day at work. You knew he must be exhausted, so you decided to take the initiative and pamper him a bit. You walked out to greet him, a warm smile on your face. As soon as he saw you, he visibly relaxed, his tired expression melting away.

"Hey," he said, dropping his briefcase and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. You hugged him back, feeling the tension in his body slowly start to dissipate as he held you close. You could sense that he needed comfort and reassurance, so you gently pulled back to look at him.

"Long day?" you asked, your eyes filled with concern. Seungcheol nodded, letting out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, it was a mess. So much to deal with, so many things to fix." He looked at you, his gaze softening as he took in your caring expression. "But seeing you makes it all better." You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for him. You reached up to cup his face in your hands, gently stroking his cheeks with your thumbs.

"You look tired," you said softly. "Let me take care of you." Seungcheol's eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a look of relief washing over his face. He leaned into your hands, soaking up the comfort and love that you were offering him.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I just want to forget about work for a while." You led him over to the couch, gently pushing him down to sit. You then climbed onto his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck. Seungcheol's hands immediately found their way to your hips, holding you in place as he looked up at you with a mixture of exhaustion and desire. You leaned down, pressing your forehead against his as you started to gently run your fingers through his hair. You could feel the tension in his body slowly starting to fade away as he relaxed into your touch.

"Just relax," you whispered, your lips hovering just above his. "I've got you." Your lips met in a slow, passionate kiss. Seungcheol's arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer to him as he deepened the kiss. He poured all of his stress and tension into the kiss, letting it all melt away as he lost himself in you. His hands roamed over your body, exploring and caressing every inch of you.

The kiss was a blend of hunger and tenderness, like two puzzle pieces finally fitting together after being apart for too long. Seungcheol's lips were soft yet firm against yours, his tongue seeking entrance and exploring your mouth with a desperate need. His hands roamed over your body, as if trying to touch every part of you at once. He clung to you like a lifeline, as if he was afraid you would disappear if he let go. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your lips moving against his with a practiced ease. You could taste the hint of coffee on his tongue, mingling with the sweetness of his breath.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you deepened the kiss. You pressed yourself against him, your body molding perfectly to his as you lost yourself in the feeling of his touch. As the kiss grew more intense, Seungcheol's hands started to wander lower, skimming over the curve of your back and the swell of your hips. He broke the kiss for a moment, his lips trailing down your jawline and to your neck. He began to nibble and suck at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of kisses and small love bites in his wake. He was completely focused on you now, his exhaustion and stress forgotten in the heat of the moment.

As he continued to kiss and nibble at your neck, Seungcheol let out a low moan, his voice rough with desire. “You taste so good," he murmured against your skin. "I could kiss you all day and never get tired of it." His lips traveled back up to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice huskier than before. "I need you so badly." You shivered at his words, your body responding to the raw need in his voice. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck as he continued to lavish it with attention.

"You have me," you whispered back, your hands tightening in his hair. "I'm all yours." Seungcheol groaned at your words, his grip on you tightening as he pulled you even closer. He continued to explore your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites down to your collarbone.

"Mine," he growled possessively, his teeth scraping against your skin. "All mine."

[joonsytip]

Left for Ruins || Seungcheol [Teaser]

Pairing: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Crime, Smut, Fluff, Office Worker Husband!Seungcheol, Investigative Journalist Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Being an investigative journalist, you would do anything to unravel the truth, even if it means getting married to the timid office worker Choi Seungcheol, who was in fact the best friend of your brother who went missing seven years ago.

Warnings: Mentions of all sorts of criminal activities, reader and Seungcheol are two people with contrasting personalities, exploitation, gaslighting, heavy themes involving syndicate etc.

Thanks to @diamonddaze01 for the amazing banner! ♡

Comment or send an ask if you wanna be tagged.

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

“I want you to marry me.”

Seungcheol is currently cornered, shying away from the proximity, unable to meet eyes even.

“W-Why do you want me to marry you?”, he manages to utter, body leaning back in reflex as you close in further.

All he gets from you is a very known cunning smile.

As you watch him like he's a prey, he pleads with you to give him some space.

“You're in your thirties, don't have a partner, got a stable job and a clean image. Don't you think we'd look good together?”, your hands take off his glasses, making him look into your eyes, “You are handsome and I've known you for as long as I can remember.”

Seungcheol finds it hard to maintain eye contact. Always soft spoken, he hesitates to ask you questions.

He needs time, he needs a push. You know it all and you know him all too well.

As expected, his hands reach yours to get back his glasses. He gently takes it and puts it back on. His eyes meet yours at his own will, for the first time that night.

“I’m practically blind without my glasses.”, he says softly, “Can I ask you some questions? Will you please answer them? And I have a lot to ask.”

You find it amusing, the way he awaits your response. If you deny, you're sure no questions will be asked. You're confident that you'd be able to coax him into marrying you with no such difficulties anyways.

You're known to be ruthless. You don't bat an eye before deceiving people, lies naturally flow out of your mouth.

When you give a nod, he asks you to take a seat, mainly for himself so you could back off and he could finally breathe.

“You've known me for years, Y/N. And I'm sure you're not asking me to marry you because you have feelings for me. Tell me the truth and I'll consider it.”

Your eyes glint dangerously but it's gone suddenly.

Your face falls, melancholia starts pouring into the atmosphere.

“I’ll be honest.”, you say, sounding sincere, “You were closest to my brother. It's been seven years since I saw him. I heard time heals but for me it's making things worse. I still can't believe that a good person like Daon would disappear overnight.”

Seungcheol takes the seat beside you, his heart aching in the memories of his best friend.

Your gaze drops at your lap, letting the sudden wave of tears stream down your face. It's a wound, unattended, always fresh.

With a croak in your voice you continue, “My brother trusted you the most and for me, I know that you've always tried to be a shelter, looking over as a guardian figure.”

Seungcheol’s demeanor is similar to yours, as he says, “When Daon disappeared, I just couldn't forgive myself. It always occurred to me that I should have searched more, did I give up too early? What if he's still waiting for me? I'll always live with this guilt.”

You both sit in silence.

“We could never repay you, what you did for us back then is something not even family members do.”, you feel Seungcheol go stiff when you place your hand on top of his, “My mom is nagging me to get married and I realised I trust you a lot. That if I gotta do this, I'd rather do it with you. I feel safe around you, Cheol.”

His ears are turning red, mouth going dry. His entire body screams for help.

You study him carefully, lips twitching as he excuses himself out of his home office for a moment.

As soon as he's out, you're off your seat.

“You're insane, Y/N.”, you could sense the disbelief in the voice coming from the earpiece, “You should be an actress.”

“Shut up, Jeonghan.”, you say through gritted teeth, “I have never let my hair down for this long, it's starting to irritate me. My ears are itching.”, you fix your hair so it covers the device in your ear.

Your mouth launches a string of complaints while your hands place work effortlessly to plant bugs over several places.

“The guy seems like a decent person. Throwing a marriage proposal just to wiretap his office seems a bit too much.”, Jeonghan keeps on speaking through the earpiece, "What if he agrees to the marriage, how are you so sure he won't?

You pay no attention to his rambles, skimming through the papers and files, eyes often darting to the door.

“Make sure the devices are working fine. I placed only one camera though, no place to hide others.”, your brows furrow as you go through the files, “Nothing useful here. Maybe I could get something in the drawers.”

But the sounds of footsteps approaching makes you halt.

Seungcheol on entering back notices you in the same stance as when he leaves you.

He carefully walks towards you, almost guilty when he kneels in front of you, “I appreciate that you think so highly of me but we're exactly opposite in terms of personality and aspirations. We won't work out. I'm sorry, Y/N but I can't marry you.”

You hear Jeonghan sighing in relief.

“Woah, he really didn't take the bait.”, you hear him mumbling, “We're done here. It's time for you to leave.”

Jeonghan is about to speak again but he hears sobs.

Seungcheol eyes you in horror as he watches you sob hysterically. Your eyes are red, nose flaring.

“Why don't you understand, Cheol?”, you choke, struggling to speak but do nonetheless, “Do I really need to spell it out for you!!”

Jeonghan shrieks on the other side, this wasn't on the card.

“Calm down Y/N.”, Seungcheol hesitantly holds your hands.

A second later he's about to turn to grab water for you but freezes.

“I like you, Choi Seungcheol! I really like you, a lot.”

Seungcheol's shaky hands somehow manage to grab your face, his eyes searching for yours, “Do you mean it?”

You scoff internally.

“Do I look like I'm joking?”, you say wiping your tears.

He observes you for a moment then you're being pulled into his embrace. Your lips curl up instantly.

Good for you, your tears flow as swiftly as your lies.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[woozivrse]

“cheol?” you huffed, amused and smiling down at your fiancé. “what’re you doing babe?”

he’d been doing this every single night since he proposed to you without fail. right before you two went to bed during your nightly cuddles. he’d lay on top of you— making sure his weight wasn't fully on you— and start pecking you with kisses everywhere he could reach.

well, not everywhere. he placed his kisses in the same places every night, and you couldn't figure out the pattern at all.

“kissing you,” he answered. “was it not obvious enough?”

you laughed, rubbing one hand up and down his back. “okay, let me rephrase. why are you kissing me in such random spots?”

“your moles,” he placed another kiss, right on the small mole on your collarbone. “if i kiss them enough they’ll appear in our next life, and i'll be able to find you again,” –he kissed the one under your lips, right in the middle of your chin– “and again.”

you scrunch your nose up, smiling at how absolutely cheesy your fiancé was being. you hadn't even realized he was kissing your moles, and usually you had an unconscious feel of where every single one you knew of was. you giggled ruffling up his hair with both hands and kissing his forehead. “well then, i'll just have to start doing the same to you once you're done.”

[iannmin]

Pound Town | c.sc 최승철

tags + warnings: cowboy!highsexdrive!seungcheol x fem!reader, breeding kink, creampie, praise kink, riding, public sex (?), mdni 18+

synopsis: “save a horse, ride a cowboy”

a/n: we all NEED a man like cheol ughh, anywayss enjoy my first svt fic <3 love you mwahh

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

you weren't exactly sure how long you'd been riding. a horse? no. in fact, you were riding the hottest cowboy you’d just met in the west town. the man, who hastily introduced himself as "cheol," had offered you a ride when your poor Dodge Charger broke down, but it seemed the two of you interpreted "ride" in entirely different ways. so now, instead of heading to your appointment, there you were, straddling him in a deserted parking lot beside the western pub, his vintage car creaking beneath you.

the soaring heat of the day was long gone and mellowed into a dusky twilight, casting long shadows across the deserted lot, and yet,, cheol wasn’t finished. the foggy windows and the ring of white cum forming at the base of his shaft might have been a good indication of how long the both of you might have been doing the deed but nobody seemed to be paying attention anyways.

“hah….fuck…s’good” cheol was propped up on the backseat of the car, old-fashioned belt and jeans pooling around his knees, a sheen of sweat trickling down on both sides of his forehead, but amidst the sweltering heat in the car, his eyes never left yours. while you, on the other hand, were barely keeping up with the pounding. he had both of his huge hands wrapped around the sides of your waist, guiding you up and down his dick repeatedly, simultaneously bucking up his hips rhythmically to press sweet kisses on your cervix. of course, you were a moaning and whimpering mess, blabbering incoherently, tears forming at the brim of your eyes. “nnngh…cheol…can’t” you whine weakly. “slow down, please…hah..” yet despite your protest, cheol seemed to be driving you close to your umpteenth orgasm. but this time, he was finally close too.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s it, attagirl, gonna fill you up to the brim, you’re all fuckin mine.” cheol pants, snapping his hip harder into yours, the squeaky sounds from the leather of the vintage car’s seats and your skin-to-skin slapping intensifying “hnng,,can’t!” you wail, high crashing down as you tremble in his grip, sobs wracking your body as your cunt clenches down on his cock, white ring of cum thickening around the base of his cock as he rams into your pussy, swears profusely escaping his lips.

“so… fuck… going to breed you” cheol groans, gripping your waist tightly and painfully as his high hits shortly after, slamming his cock deep as hot cum fills you to the brim, warmth spreading as you wail with the overstimulation, so full already of his release, but you felt euphoric. “s’full….feels s’good” you whimpered

cheol chuckled at your fucked out state, “next time you need a ride, ride me instead, because cowboys ride harder and stay on longer.”

[cherrybr4t]

seungcheol makes you squirt (+18, mdni)

WARNINGS: somnophilia w/ consent, est relationship, daddy!cheol, (reader calls him daddy twice?) dom!cheol, sub!reader, unprotected sex, squirting, pet names, slight degradation, orgasm denial, not comfy = don’t read!!

seungcheol is determined to make you fall apart tonight.

after making you squirt a few nights prior, he had a deep carnal desire to see you break apart again and squirt around his cock, his fingers—anything.

he loves when you lose all inhibitions when it comes to him—and he dwells on the fact that he’s the only one who can drive you to that point.

knowing how sleepiness makes you enter a new realm of high—giving up control, all senses heightened, he waits til you’re fast asleep.

entering your shared bedroom, his eyes fall upon your sleeping figure and his heart swells at your peaceful state. his needy cock follows suit, staring to swell at the thoughts of what he’s about to do to you.

pulling away the edge of your comforter, his mouth waters at your cute little nightie, so fuckin’ adorable. he traces the pink lace hem of your satin shorts, and admires the way the edges rides up your pretty ass as you lay on ur side.

gently flipping you on your back, seungcheol kisses your tummy, before pulling down the thin material, only to be met with your bare cunt. your scent hits him in the face and he groans at how sweet you smell.

looking back at your pretty face, he notices you’re still sound asleep—probably exhausted from the long day of work. he takes one big obscene slurp up your cunt, stopping at your clit, twirling it around with the tip of his tongue. closing his eyes, he savours the moment, sucking in the bundle of nerves and gently tugging on it with his teeth.

seungcheol notices how your juices are starting to gush from the bottom and smirks knowingly. testing the waters, he inserts a finger in slowly—and it slides in so smoothly.

knowing your favourite combination, he continues to suck and play with your clit as his fingers work non-stop, massaging your soft walls. he loves the way your cunt remembers him, still sucking him in when you’re in a deep slumber.

he hears a soft whimper from above and his eyes trace over your features. his poor baby, probably thinking she’s having an erotic little dream about him.

your breath quickens, and seungcheol recognises the telltale signs of your incoming orgasm that’s about to hit you. he stills his fingers in you, focusing on curling his knuckles up quickly, to stimulate your g-spot, and at the same sucking on your engorged clit like his life depended on it.

a few quick breaths before you start to come undone all over his fingers and tongue. your chest heaves up and down, and small trickles of sweat start to form on your hairline.

he removes his fingers, not wanting to waste any drop of your precious cum, he sucks his own finger dry, growing harder at the taste of you.

seungcheol gets his cock ready, pumping it a few times, teasing his own slit, letting his pre-cum glisten on his thick head. he groans. he could get off simply at the sight of you laying so cutely in front of him.

instead, he drags the tip across your little cunt, coating his cock with your juices before slowly entering you. it’s only when he bottoms out that you start to stir awake.

“cheollie?” you rub your eyes, propping your elbows up to get a clearer picture and grasp on what was happening.

“shh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay, just wanted to play with your pretty pussy. couldn’t help myself,” he starts to move, watching your limp body too tired to move as he wrecks that small cunt of yours.

“nngh, cheol….” you whine, feeling all senses stimulated, and extremely sensitive though you didn’t know why. it took you a while to get out of that foggy-too-tired-to-comprehend-anything state, but you loved the inebriated feeling that came with it. the immense pleasure causing you to space out—you couldn’t think about anything but his cock.

“yes baby, i’m here,” cheol knows how you’re feeling. he knows how the blitzed feeling makes you cum even faster, and he is in fact very determined to see you squirt for him—because of him—on your pretty sheets that you guys picked out together.

his overwhelming feelings of possessiveness take over as he hovers over you with your legs hung over his big shoulders. “my cute baby, look at you so strung out, but clenching me so fuckin’ tight,”

your eyes roll back, barely being able to keep them open, every glimpse of cheol you catch; you savour. his dark eyes never leaving you, his plump lips parted, letting groans and grunts escape him.

“s’good daddy, feels so gooood,” you whine out repeatedly, that being seemingly all you know what to say.

“mm my baby, don’t got a thing in your head right now huh, just how good daddy’s cock making you feel?” he feels you clenching even tighter and this time, when he feels your second wave of orgasm approaching, he stops, and pulls out his creamed cock.

a broken cry escapes you, and he flips you around, pulling your hips up while pushing your back to make you arch further. you turn your head to the side, feeling frustrated that your orgasm got stolen right in front of you; you cry out, begging for him to just continue fucking you already.

“i know you like it when i do that baby, don’t go throwing a tantrum on me now,” he grabs hold of your hair and gathers them into a makeshift ponytail as he slides his cock back into your cunt.

pulling on your ponytail, he finds a pace that makes him cock his head back, string of curses finding their way on his lips and a consistent line of groans escaping at each slapping of cheeks against him.

your jaw slacks, and your eyes shut as you feel like you’re being transported into a different realm again.

“ch-cheol, daddy…” all you can do is repeat his name like a mantra, thanking him for fucking you so good.

“that’s right, love it when i have you all dumb on my cock, i’m all your pretty little head is filled with,”

still gripping your ponytail tight, he reaches down to rub at your sensitive clit, which has been begging to be touched—insatiable, that one. his rough finger pads make friction with your wet and slippery bud and you scream with whatever energy is still left in you.

“wanna cum cheol, gonna cum—s’too fucking good i-i can’t,”

“hold it. good girls cum when they’re told to, and you’re my good girl aren’t you,” he says that, but his fingers rub faster and faster, switching between figure 8’s and tight little circles which makes you dizzy.

“i-i am but, your fingers,” you beg.

when seungcheol feels like he’s pushed you to your limit, he orders you to stimulate yourself even more.

“play with your tits for me baby, want all your senses to be stimulated for me,” and your hands immediately reaches under your nightie top, fingers playing with your sensitive nipples—one pinch and you cry out another beg.

“please daddy, i need to cum,” you decide to play your cards carefully. “wanna cum around your cock cheol, need to milk your cock dry,” knowing that cheol always needs you to cum before him.

“yeah baby? wanna milk me dry? let me fill you up so fuckin’ full?” cheol gives in, and puts more pressure onto your poor clit.

“fuck baby, cum around daddy’s cock, let me see you claim this cock as yours baby,”

your head goes empty as you feel hot flashes throughout your body, before you jerk forward onto your hands, and you feel spurts of liquid shooting out of you, and you feel a long coil of rope unravel out your lower abdomen as you continue jerking.

“fuuuuuuck, that’s a good girl, let it all out for me baby,” cheol moans at the sight of you squirting for almost a hot minute, making a mess on the pretty sheets, some landing on his cock which he’s desperately pumping as he watches like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

he joins you in that moment of ecstasy as he shoots his own serving of hot cum onto your pretty ass.

he sighs, coming down from his high—and activated his after care mode immediately, getting warm towels to clean you up, with a new set of nighties for you to put on after your now needed shower.

he leaves trails of kisses everywhere. “you did so good for me baby, sorry to wake you up, i know you’ve had a long day,” a small pout makes way to his pretty cherry lips you love so much, and you giggle.

“i told you cheollie, i love nothing more than to wake up with a little surprise like that,” you pull him down to kiss him, and he swoops you up to carry you to the hot bath he’s left to finish cleaning you up.

🫦 hi guys!!!! i miss cheol so much,, this is me expressing how much i miss daddy cheol, not a day goes by without a thought of him wrecking me. oke i hope yall liked this,, leave a like/cmt/rb if u did 💋 MUAH XOXO 🍒

[svtswhorehouse]

DATING SEUNGCHEOL INCLUDES…. — sfw

• sugar daddy or boyfriend? (the answer is both.)

• the definition of a REAL MAN. no one has ever treated you with as much respect or given you as much love as seungcheol has.

• you're his pretty little passenger princess and he's your personal chauffeur.

• mom and dad of the group, duhhhh.

• he would drop anything and everything just to give you his undivided attention, no matter how important it is.

• yes. he would still love you if you were a worm.

• he would definitely give you his bank card without a second thought. it would also be linked to your phone, he insists on you using it always and would throw a fit when you don't.

• you would also give him your card at times and he always takes it without a fight, but would never use it.

• would take you out on dates in which you can dress up pretty and maybe dine at a fancy and EXPENSIVE restaurant. don't be fooled though. he also pays attention to the little things so if you're into books, he's taking you to a library themed restaurant. if you like animals, he's booking a ticket to orlando and ya'll are going to the rainforest cafe or something.

• you would never have to lift a finger ever again.

• he would wash your car, fill it up with gas, and take it to go get serviced without any complaints.

• he would burn down the world for you.

• he always puts you first. if he had to pick between you or the company (if they ever made him choose) he doesn't even need to think, it would be you every time.

• also your body guard ! any social gathering ya'll attend, he always has his eyes on you no matter how far away you are from him.

• times in which you do drive yourself, ya'll are definitely the type of couple to have life 360 on each other. he would text you saying to slow the fuck down if you're speeding.

• no matter how much you insist he goes to sleep and no matter how late you're getting home — it could be 4 in the morning, he will ALWAYS wait up for you.

• he has the habit of buying you anything you even slightly mention. he also pays close attention to the things you look at when out shopping together and they would show up delivered to your apartment the next day. he would take the heat from you, but still would continue to spend his money on you.

• when you have a bad day, he is already there with open arms ready to give you the biggest bear hug and shield you from the rest of the world.

• whenever you two go out together, he always has a hand on your back to guide you through crowds or just so everyone knows that you're off limits.

• if you ever lose during game nights with friends or really anywhere, he would do the penalties for you!

• he always makes sure you're on the inside when walking near a street.

• if you ever doubt yourself or feel insecure, prepare for a long serious conversation with lots of tears because he WILL NOT be having any of that. no. not when he thinks you're one of the most beautiful, talented, and honorable people he knows.

• you have never felt so safe and secure than when he's around.

• he will constantly be saying "i love you." definitely the type to call you back immediately if you forget to say it and hang up.

• he has a personal agenda out for revenge against anyone who hurts or disrespects you in any type of way.

• he will be your designated driver for not only you BUT your friends as well during girl's night out.

• he may be competitive, but when it comes to you, he would let you win just so he can see a smile on your face.

• says he CAN'T (won't because he's stubborn) fall asleep if he's not cuddling you.

• he becomes the softest most kindhearted person in the world when it comes to you.

• he gets jealous easily, but he trusts you with his whole heart so he doesn't dwell on it for too long.

• when it comes to arguing, no matter if he was in the right or wrong, he is always the first to apologize. definitely the type to get you chocolate, flowers, and ALWAYS gets you a teddy bear after.

• would make you sit on his back when doing pushups or would give you a piggy back ride when he is doing pull-ups !

• he LOVES when you wear his clothes. you would always find his shirts or hoodies on your side of the closet and be like "hmm, how did this get here?" ask your boyfriend.

• rarely ever calls you by your name. always calls you baby or something cute. he also insists that you don't call him seungcheol. he will pout if you do.

• definitely impressed your parents right off the bat. your family absolutely adores him and your parents treat him like a son.

• he would tease you by giving you a hug when he's all sweaty after practice.

• he INSISTS on picking you up EVERYDAY after work.

[svtiddiess]

Nom Nom

Synopsis: After what seems like years of asking, your boyfriend has finally allowed you to bite his tiddies.

Pairing: Seungcheol x afab!reader

Genre: suggestive, mini-series, established relationship

Rating: suggestive/mature

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: biting, marking, nipple play, dry humping, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This is kind of a continuation of the boyfriend texts post, but it's not really necessary to read it! It will help with some context though!

Thank you so much to @seokgyuu for beta reading!

Tagging @brownsugarbaybee as usual!

This feels very on-brand for me.

This is part of a series, read the whole series here!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

You giggle to yourself as you enter your shared apartment. You can't believe Seungcheol actually agreed to it; after what seems like months of asking, he's finally agreed to let you bite his tiddies. Although you had to admit you were only joking when you asked him those 500 or so times, you were actually kind of excited to finally have this opportunity.

As you enter the living room, you find Seungcheol seated on the couch in an oversized hoodie with a pout plastered on his face. You look at him quizzically as you approach him.

"I thought I asked you to be prepped and ready on the bed," you huff, half-joking with him.

He looks up at you with wide eyes, his pout somehow deepening. "You were actually serious about that?" he asks, exasperated.

"Of course I was serious," you scoff. "When am I ever not serious?"

"Pretty much all the time," he huffs. You let out a small "hey" and playfully hit his shoulder.

"Now stop dilly-dallying and go lie down on the bed," you demand, crossing your arms. He lets out a whine and wraps his arms around your torso, snuggling his face into your abdomen.

"Princess," he whines, then looks up at you with puppy eyes. "Please don't do this to me," he pleads.

"Nope, not happening. No amount of whining and pouting is getting you out of this Cheollie. It's too late now. You already agreed to it," you look down at him and grin. He groans and hides his face in your abdomen.

"Now chop chop. Or else no kisses for a week," you state. His head jerks up, and his eyes widen.

"No kisses for a week?!" He exclaims.

"Princess, you can't do this to me!" He complains.

"I can and I will," you huff. "Now hurry up!"

With a final grumble, he reluctantly lets go of you and stands up.

"Please let Cheollie go," he pouts and cups your face.

"Cheollie is about to get his ass whooped if he doesn't get on the bed within the next five seconds," you sarcastically grin.

Shoulders slumping at his last ditch effort, he makes his way to the bedroom with you closely following behind.

He sits on the bed, fidgeting with his fingers while staring at the floor. You giggle at how shy he seems.

"Well, what're you waiting for? Strip," you smirk.

He looks at you with a pout, a blush dusting his cheeks as he slowly reaches for the hem of his hoodie. He slowly pulls off his hoodie and quickly covers his chest with his arms, causing you to laugh. Your boyfriend, who was usually dominant in bed, is now acting like a shy virgin; you can't help but laugh at his actions.

"Stop laughing," he whines, blushing harder.

"I can't help it," you giggle. "You're acting like I've never seen you naked before."

"Well, it feels weird, okay?" He grumbles with a pout.

You can't help but coo at him. You move to straddle his lap and cup his blushing face.

"I promise I'll be gentle. You can ask me to stop anytime," you whisper. You lean in to gently kiss him as reassurance that you won't do anything he's uncomfortable with.

"Now, lean against the headboard," you murmur. You get off his lap to allow him to lean against the headboard and get comfortable.

Once he's comfortable, you straddle his waist and start leaving wet kisses along his jaw, helping him relax. You smile to yourself when you feel him slowly relax under you.

Slowly making your way to his lips, you capture them into a passionate kiss, moaning at the feeling of his tongue against yours. You lightly grind against him, causing him to groan into your mouth.

You pull away from him, both of you panting. He looks incredible beneath you, his eyes dazed, lips swollen, and breathless. You shift to leave kisses down his neck, your teeth grazing against his skin.

You hear his breath hitch when you reach his chest. They feel so firm beneath you that you can’t resist moving your hands to squeeze them.

"Princess," he groans.

"God, I love how firm your chest feels," you whine, squeezing him harder.

You lean down to lick one of his nipples, causing him to shut his eyes and moan out loud.

"F-Fuck princess," he groans as you start sucking on the bud.

He throws his head back and shuts his eyes when he feels your teeth lightly digging into his skin. You start sucking on the bud, causing him to let out a string of curses. After finishing marking the bud, you move on to the other one, giving it equal attention. He lets out a loud groan when you pinch his puffed-up nipple. You feel his bulge growing as he ruts against you.

"Feel good Cheollie?" You purr after sitting up to look at him.

"Feels so good princess," he moans, eyes screwed shut.

You grin, then lean down to start marking his chest. He lets out a long groan and arches his back. Small pants and moans escape his lips as your marks get deeper and rougher. Blotches of red and purple slowly bloom across his chest, painting it with your mark. His hips jerk up, and a whimper escapes his lips when you bite down particularly hard.

Enjoying his reactions, you continue to abuse his chest, savouring every moment. You lean back to take a minute and cherish your work. You beam when you see his chest covered in bruises, bites, and saliva.

"Look at me Cheollie," you purr. He opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes blown out and a fucked out expression on his face.

"Are you alright baby?" You murmur, caressing his flushed cheeks. He nods breathlessly, the corner of his lips lifting up into a fucked out smile.

Just then, an idea strikes you, and you smirk before leaning in close to his ear.

"I'm going to mark you with my initials," you purr. "After all, an artist has to sign their painting to show who it belongs to, right baby?" You giggle. You feel his dick twitch at your words.

"You like that Cheollie? You like being marked by me?" You smirk. He lets out a soft whimper and grinds against you, causing you to let out a giggle.

"I am an artist, and you are my canvas baby," you whisper before shifting back to his chest.

You lean down and begin biting and sucking the skin, marking your initials into his left chest cause it's closer to his heart, making sure they take up most of the space. You have to show him and everyone else who belongs in his heart, of course. You hear him moan and groan under you, his hands on your hips to keep you steady. After embedding your initials into his skin, you sit up and admire your handiwork.

You look down and pout, still unsatisfied with your work, feeling like something was missing. That's when it hits you; you giggle as you lean back down to encapsulate your initials with a heart.

"Princess, what—" his question is abruptly cut off by a moan as you bite down harder than usual, silently asking him to simply let you do what you want.

You sit up after finishing the heart, finally satisfied with your work.

"So pretty Cheollie," you purr as you gently trace your fingers across your artwork. "I need to take a picture."

"A picture?" he asks, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

"Of course! I need to forever encapsulate my masterpiece after all," you giggle. You shift to reach for your phone on the side table, causing him to groan.

"Princess, you're killing me here," he mutters.

"Hush! I'm busy taking pretty pictures of my pretty man," you grin as you proceed to take multiple pictures of him.

Your words make him blush, and you squeal, thrilled that the pictures are turning out even better than you expected. He looks so pretty with your mark on him, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes dazed. You're definitely going to use them as your wallpaper for a while.

"Enough," he growls, snatching your phone and tossing it back onto the table. You let out a gasp when he suddenly flips you over, him now on top of you.

"I've let you have your fun, but now it's my turn."

[gyuswhore]

Cherry Picker [1]

«« "Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't." »» 

Choi Seungcheol x reader | part of the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios!

Part 1: 19k | Part 2

warnings: Hockey player! Seungcheol, figure skater! reader, *deep breath* ENEMIES TO LOVERS, angst, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], toxic friends, cheol has anger issues, kkuma appearance, @miniseokminnies makes also makes a fluffy appearance, injuries, mentions of blood, smut tags in the next part

synopsis: Cherry Picking [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone. There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

[a/n] (it's a long one but PLEASE read) : ITS HERE FINALLY this was an extremely bumpy ride and I wouldn't have finished it without all of my friends who quite literally kept me going. I know I made an update saying this was gonna end up being 20k max but it turns out my yap-itis is for life </33

the posting schedule for this fic is going to be a little less predictable, I will try to get part 2 out asap but I do not currently have a date for you.

big thank you to @highvern for betaing and making me feel better about this fic, @amourcheol for talking me out of meltdowns multiple times and for giving me some really good scene pointers, @ugh-yoongi for being so patient w me and explaining how ice hockey works with so much patience. ty to @the-boy-meets-evil @tusswrites @lovetaroandtaemin for also proof reading for me 🥹

HUGE thank you to everyone at @camandemstudios who agreed to be part of this collab and being part of the journey as we grow 🫶 please check out the collab masterlist linked above, there's already so many amazing fics posted ready for you to read <33

that being said, I know more about figure skating than I do about hockey, but even so there are defo some inconsistencies in terms of accuracies in this, please bear with me 🫶 remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me your thoughts, id love to hear what you guys think 🥹 masterlist

“CAN I HELP YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” you gravel out. 

“Sorry isn’t gonna give back my hour and thirteen minutes.” 

The strap of your gym bag cuts into your bare shoulder where the collar had slipped, the tight threading sure to leave a scratch by the time this is bound to be done. You’d managed to avoid coach Carroll’s morning cornering for a couple months, going above and beyond by showing up to the icy rink before she could even pull up in the parking lot in her blaring red Porsche, let alone before her ten minute meditations in her cream coloured seats. 

“There was an accident on the highway. Truck tipped over.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Carroll points.

“Illegal truck, I guess.” 

Teeth to tongue, you know you’ve done it. 

She’s in her usual tracksuit, green today, that contrasts her bright red hair in its tight curls. Her glasses are her sensible Ralph Laurens, eyes piercing through the tinted lens as she holds her chin in her hands. Silent, calculating. 

“Fine. Change.” 

Your legs want to give out before you can even get your skates on. 

There were many things Isabella Carroll was good at. The industry would have one of them be a good coach; one of the most expensive, the one that squeezed the life out of her students to inject into the golds, silvers and bronzes they would then bring her on an equally diamond encrusted platter. 

She has also mastered the art of impeccable dressing downs. 

The fact she chose to skip out on verbally humiliating you meant you’d managed to strike that cord. She might be leaving in the next 45 minutes, but she has a very particular way of stretching the minutes into years. 

Like a whipped horse, you scurry into the locker rooms, skin crawling. Your gym bag is positively launched into your designated locker, shoes kicked off as you attempt to stick your right foot into your skates, narrowly missing your heel as it grazes right past the toe pick. 

You slow down after that, not needing a scar on your heel to match the large one on the side of your calf. 

By the time you jog back out, unzipping your jacket to throw onto one of the benches, coach is on the ice, following Marina who zips around on the other end of the rink in her step routine. 

It’s difficult to not rush through your warmups when you’re already late, your splits hardly pushed out as you pray all that running around in the desolate locker rooms was enough to stretch everything out. 

There’s a crash on the illuminated ice as you slip off your skate guards, Marina already practising her Salchows. “You’re in the air for enough time, why can’t you rotate?!” 

Right blade first, you step into the cold encircling, gliding into the centre to begin making your usual rounds around the circumference.

There’s a positive screech of your name from across the ice, wind blowing in your hair as you turn to look. “Do I need to hire someone to hold up your free leg? Fix it, girl!”  

Holding your left leg more taut, you attempt to transition into a jump and spin. You fail, landing on both feet. Somehow, falling on your ass felt like a better conclusion to that arc. 

“Wonderfully executed! Let’s try both hands on the ice too next time, really complete the contemporary finish,” coach hollers out to you as she continues to follow Marina at the same time. 

Trying again, you manage to land on your outer left blade. You receive no comment. 

You try the jump again, pushing into a sit spin. 

The momentum is enough to begin the familiar slack in your scalp, your bun loosening its grip on your hair. Biting your tongue would be dangerous right now, but you would if you could, especially considering the ramifications of your hair coming undone in front of her. 

The crouch as you spin burns your thighs like you’re being branded, pulling yourself back up as you finish abruptly. Still no comment, the unintelligible string of nagging coming from the other side of the rink. 

Marina stands hands on her hips, breathing so heavily she’s nearly heaving. Her blonde hair is loosening far worse than yours, strands framing her face. Coach Carroll waves her hands and shakes her head so quickly you wonder how her glasses haven’t flown off. You didn’t get to see what cardinal sin Marina committed to warrant this reaction, but you feel better knowing she’s exhausted enough to let her insults swim past. 

Ten seconds is enough to catch your breath, moving to do something busy enough to avoid another being screamed at across the ice, again. 

By the end of the remaining forty five minutes, you realised your punishment was also punishing Marina. Coach Carroll remained tailing Marina as you attempted to do everything that would please her, far away from her. Not a direction, praise or neutral comment in sight or sound, sealed with her always expected retorts. 

She leaves without a word, leaving you scrambling to the benches for a seat. Putting your skate guards on is torture, your legs refusing to pull up to reach them. You hardly notice Marina slam down into the seat beside you to mimic you slumped down and head lolled back, eyes closed to the bright ceiling. 

“These skates are gonna kill me,” you whine once you’ve caught your breath, unlacing them to inspect the blistering damage. 

“They’re brand new, what did you expect?” she retorts, moving to sit up straighter. Of course, you were grappling at straws expecting anything akin to sympathy from Marina. 

It was your misfortune that the day you had to break in your skates was the day you’d be late, your heavily bandaged foot still aching as you sit idle. 

Your lungs are still burning when you pull yourself back up, knees buckling the absolute slightest bit as you attempt to take the first baby step back onto the ice. 

“We need to get back to it,” Marina says, and you have half a mind to bite that you were up before her. 

She’s faster at slipping off her skate guards though, and you watch her back as she glides back onto the ice. You follow suit, trailing her as you speak. 

“Hey, I’m sorry Carroll was on your ass because of me. My alarm didn’t go off this morning, I overslept.”

She turns to look at you, ghost of a smile on her face. “Time to go old school I guess, I think my brother left behind his old alarm clock from college.”

“I guess—”

“Besides, I needed that. Wouldn’t have known my Salchows were sucky otherwise.”

She doesn’t let you respond and you’re left to watch as she takes off to warm herself back up. 

Strange as it was, you’ve found her behaviour simply doesn’t affect you anymore, choosing to take her as she was. She pushed you to be better, to work harder. Even now, as your ankle burns and your hip screams, you brace yourself into another axel entry, trying your hardest to keep up with Marina. 

It’s another couple hours when Marina leaves for her second appointment with her personal trainer, leaving you alone. 

It’s less crowded now, despite the head count going from two to one, but you appreciate the alleviation as you continue to practise for the rest of the morning. The rink feels more vast and your hip has stopped its incessant aches. 

Having finished a run through of your routine without music, you move towards the sound booth to turn on the tail end of your track, skating back to the echoing rink to brace yourself for the next four agonising minutes. 

You’ve adjusted your starting position about ten times by the time the silence of the song restarting settles. And then it begins, soft piano as you push yourself off into the throngs of this hellsent routine. 

It’s muscle memory by now, but your stomach lurches before you push into a jump anyway. There isn’t much time to ponder when you’re midair, tight yet contorted, trying to land on the right side of the blade. But there’s a phantom pain in your right ankle, right when you’re at the point of your arc, and you feel the all too dreaded panic flood in. 

You land on both feet, less than ideal but with no one to watch the fail, it was better than falling on your ass. There’s been worse outcomes, so there’s little you can do but continue into the step sequence. 

Trying to shake off that bout of panic, you briefly wonder if the music suddenly had more bass than you’d last checked. Perhaps you just hadn’t been practising like you should, but you make a mental note mid-spin to listen to the track again later tonight for any tidbits you’d missed. 

Your heartbeat is trying to accommodate more air than you can let it, especially as you feel the pulse in your ears quicken as you approach your final jump sequence. The music is louder yet muffled all the same, there’s an incessant banging that you can’t figure out is from your head or a corrupted music file. But you find that sweet spot, deciphering through the ruckus in your brain, and you jump. 

It happens again, the strange ache in your ankle that should be long gone, and just like that, all that panic you shook off in the interim comes hurtling back. The world’s gone silent, blaringly so, and for some heaven known reason, you’ve closed your eyes.

You aren’t so lucky this time round, landing directly on your back with a spectacular crash, the ice cutting cold through your thermals as you slide in the direction of your epic fall. Eyelids opening, they’re met with the spotlighted ceiling, head cushioned by the hard plane of ice beneath you. 

The pain in your ankle’s escaped like a fugitive, done it’s damaged and left you crumpled on the floor. The adrenaline is rushing just enough to keep you from identifying any other awakened aches, but you have a sneaking feeling your hip is going to hate you after this. 

You’re still laying flat on the ice when you realise you're laying in mostly silence. Your music is off, and has been since you came to on the floor. The banging, you realise, wasn’t just in your head either. The unmistakable reverberation of the locker rooms is loud and assuming, noises rattling all the way out onto the echoing rink. 

It takes the strength of a village to pull yourself up, but you do it anyhow, ignoring the blatant protests of your mind and soul as you squint across the rink to the sound booth. 

As you skate towards the gate, you assume it’s Hansol trying to get your attention by disrupting you mid session, but the figure shuffling into view is telling you otherwise. 

It isn’t anyone you know, clearer as you grow closer to the gate. It’s obvious he’s the culprit that turned off your music, your laptop shut and the wire to the speakers disconnected from the port. 

You stare at it pointedly as you grapple for your skate guards. 

The man does nothing but remain with his hands in the pockets of his bright red hoodie, hovering over your laptop as he watches you struggle with your skates. SVT stitched onto the back in black. He’s as blank faced as ever, a stark contrast to your heavy breathing as you come round. 

Standing up straight, you dart between your laptop and this person, waiting for an explanation that seems to be lost in the void. You’re still heaving slightly, scowl forming on your face as this strange man offers you nothing.

“Um, did you—”

“Yeah. It’s four,” he responds, like it was supposed to explain enough. 

“And that means…?”

“We have the rink reserved.”

“But it’s Monday,” you respond. It sounds stupid, but it meant something. The rink was reserved on the weekdays for coach Carroll’s mentees, the weekends for the public. 

This man and his big brown eyes gaze directly into your soul as he responds, “And that means…?” 

You’re sweaty and tired, your feet ache with about five new blisters from the last time you checked, and you’re sure you need to get your hip checked out. Perhaps that’s why there’s this unreasonable surge of irritation that rises in the back of your head, irrational and half blinding. 

“That means—”

“Seungcheol! Get your ass in the locker room before I drag you in there myself.” The voice that rings out is heavy and has you flinching, the man’s order echoing from somewhere in the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms. 

The man you assume is named Seungcheol begins to walk away from you without a word or gesture, and you can only blink at his retreating back. 

“Hey! Do you mind not touching my stuff next time round?” you call out as a last ditch attempt to have the last word. He turns his head to you, eyebrows raised and a smirk of mild disbelief growing on his face. Nothing is said as his head turns back to the front, strutting into the tunnel.

He lets you have your last word as he walks away, your gaze the same shade of crimson as his retreating form. 

“AND THEN—THESE—HUGE dudes with fucking botox or fillers in their shoulders storm out—”

Your vent is interrupted by Lorelai who’s burst out laughing mid bite of her sandwich, “What?”

“Botox!” she muffles a shriek through a full mouth.

“They were shoulder pads or something, you get it!” 

The air in the outside seating of this cafe is stellar, the perfect in between you wait for all year. The parasol above you is enough so you don’t have to squint your eyes in the late afternoon sun, the wind perfectly paced in a breeze. Your own sandwich remains untouched, the bread gone stale as you pick at the corner of the crust. 

“Apologies,” she yips. “So you're saying we’re being partially colonised by hockey players?”

“I don’t know! Was it a one time thing, a weekly thing? It can’t be a weekly thing, Monday afternoons are routine practice days.” 

“The routine you’ve been practising for the past year and a half?” 

“I can’t afford getting rusty.” 

Lorelai drops her head like she’s had enough, “Maybe these hockey jocks are a blessing.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Hey, do you want cake, they have cheesecake, I could get some!” 

“Lorry!”

“Okay,” she huffs, dropping back into her seat with blown cheeks. “I’m sorry.” 

Lorelai has a sense of humour that took you more than enough time to decipher, but that wasn’t nearly the first thing you noticed about her. She was beautiful, even more so with the sun gracing her like a loving embrace. The highlights in her otherwise dark hair make the hazel of her eyes pop like two perfectly welcoming cliffs to jump off from. She was the definition of spunk and valour, yet graceful in everything she does. Even now, as she picks up her smoked turkey on honey oat, complete with every fixing and condiment on earth, you question how she can wrench her mouth open to take a reasonable bite; but she does, not a crumb out of place. 

“I have to share a rink with dudes whose hockey sticks are gonna make craters in the ice, why are you not mourning with me?”

“Pretty sure your toe picks do the same thing.”

“Lorelai!” 

“Not the government name!” she wails as though woefully wounded. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Carroll didn’t hate me for no reason.” She smiles in her pride. 

Lorelai’s competitive skating career came to an end sometime last year before the Grand Prix, a decision she announced gracefully with the words BITE ME etched with sharpie on her brand new competition skates. It was difficult to erase the mental image of the scarlet of Carrol’s face when Lorelai marched in with her hair chopped so short it’d be impossible to pull into a bun, marked skates in hand and a mask of determined rebellion on her face. Of course, the whole ordeal could’ve been an email, but it simply wouldn’t have been Lorelai. 

“It’s not like you were trying very hard to please her,” you grumble, nibbling on a fry. 

“Why would I try pleasing that woman?”

“For one thing, your sponsors were paying a bucketload so you could have her.”

“I didn’t want Carroll as a coach. Ever. I wanted Jameson. The only reason they put me with Carroll was because they were putting you and Marina with her.” Her voice is hard, eyebrows raised the slightest bit. 

“What does Jameson offer that Carroll doesn’t?!”

“Oh! I don’t know, let’s see,” she raises her voice as her sarcasm begins to simmer with a lethal edge. “Maybe the fact that an hour training with Jameson doesn’t feel like the subjected wrath of a world war two dictator!”

“Carroll is not that bad!”

“God, you become more like Marina everyday.”

You frown, “What does that mean?”

“It means—!” Lorelai pauses to close her eyes, and you can almost hear her counting in her head. “It means nothing. Eat your sandwich before the bread starts molding.”

“Ew.”

Lorelai smirks. “Bite me.”

You attempt to channel some of that Lorelai energy when you get to the rink past noon on a weekday. You hope you’re reasonable in your hope that Hansol will be in his office as you walk towards the door. 

Three rapt knocks before you hear a muffled voice telling you to come in. The door creaks when you open it. Loudly, might you add. 

“How long is it gonna sing every time I come in here?” you grimace. 

Hansol looks at you from behind his laptop with a tight smile. “For as long as I keep forgetting to oil the hinges.”

Hansol, for as young and qualified as he is, is only the rink manager because his family owns the place. Having graduated the year before with a shiny new law degree, he opted to take a break from moving forward with his career to “slow down” as he put it. The rink was as slow as it could get for him, betting the only important thing on his laptop screen currently was solitaire. 

“Did you also forget that I have the rink during the day on weekdays? 

“Ah. You’ve encountered the hockey team.”

“Yes. They turned off my music mid routine.”

“They're only here till the renovations in their home rink are done, we’re the only other rink in town that’s closed to the public on weekdays.” 

“But they’re cutting into my practice time?” you add, brows furrowed. 

Hansol opens his mouth before closing it again, eyebrows raised. “You clock in here five days a week, ten hours a day.”

“And?”

Hansol huffs out a breath. “Listen, I know you and the other skaters like having the rink to yourselves, and I’d be happy if it was always just you guys. Trust me, these jocks are impossible to clean up after, let alone deal with. Between the launch pad calibre noise and the stupid plastic barriers I have to put up on the railings, I’d love for it to just be you guys. But the only times you officially have the rinks booked is in the mornings when you’re training with coach Carrol, the rest of the week is technically up for grabs.”

“Let me book the rest of the slots then.”

“SVT’s already booked most of the remaining hours.” Hansol’s voice is sympathetic, but his words seemed final. You aren’t sure how bad your face was contorted, because suddenly he’s adding, “But hey, you can look at the leftover hours if they work for you.”

He pulls out the roster on a tablet before handing it to you. It only takes you a minute to scroll before you realise the only viable options were past 10 PM. The rink closed at 11. 

You sigh, shoulders visibly sagging as you let out a bated breath of tension. “It’s fine.” You hand the tablet back to Hansol. “I’ll figure it out.”

Turning on your heel, you make a move to leave the premises. Hansol calls out your name. 

“I’m sorry. Really.” 

You muster a smile, one that you cannot feel the slightest bit. “It’s alright.”

“Only a few months.”

Something in your smile sours, and you nod absentmindedly. “Only a few months.” 

THERE WERE OTHER WAYS the universe could have let it happen, someplace where you might have forgiven yourself. Someplace you had reason to be. 

You were accustomed to physical exertion, how could you not be when you were what you were, but hiking on an incline was never something you fancied yourself with. Gyms and coaches and paved running trails are nothing like rocky terrains and steep mountain paths with no guide but a mobile map. 

The semi finals had passed you by, handing you a gold medal along the way as you thrust yourself into bliss. It was a job well done, so much so that you allowed yourself a weekend of something other than skating rinks and training sessions. So many nights that you can hardly remember, yet flash like lightning under your eyelids. Where you sobbed into your pillow and cursed yourself for ever having the gall to take a step back, to be so arrogant and blustering to announce yourself away from the thing that should’ve mattered the most. 

It only took one tiny crater in the path to twist your ankle so hard you crumple to the ground with a scream you cannot remember. More hands than you have holding on to your searing ankle, like they were holding it together with nothing but their palms and fingers. Lorelai was talking, and talking and talking, but all you could hear was the roaring question in your mind. 

Why did you bring me here? 

Six weeks. 

You watched with your own eyes as the Grand Prix final shuttered away on a reel, like you were watching a movie from an age you could not visit. 

Six weeks. 

Marina sat beside your bed and said words you’d never forget. 

“I’m sorry, but…this is your own fault.”

Six weeks. 

Lorelai wept, and said the same words for an entirely different reason. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault, it was my idea.” 

Six weeks. 

Carroll kept face, but you could see past the mask. A sigh that said more than any words of reassurance. Disappointed but not surprised. 

Six weeks you were bedridden with an ankle that refused to support your weight on the surface area of your bare foot, let alone on the 3/16th of an inch on a blade. 

Bedrest, meds, physical therapy, and still. The ache in your ankle follows you like a ghost haunting you of your worst mistake. 

It was your fault. You chose to put whimsy above everything you laboured for, for years and years. You chose to look past your shortcomings like they would not become your achilles heel. You chose to get on that trail. You chose to walk out on crutches.

You, who could land a jump on a fraction of an inch of steel, could now barely stand on her own two feet. 

You’d decided on that day, that you were as pathetic as they come.

IT WAS THE MOST natural decision to drag Lorelai out of where she rotted in bed to come with you to the rink. 

“You want me to fight them?” She’s wearing her Winnie the Pooh fuzzy pyjama pants and a university hoodie on top, her short hair concealed in the hood she’s pulled up. “They are hockey players. We are twigs!” 

“Lorry. Have you ever thrown a punch in your life?” you ask her as you pull your hair back into a loose bind. 

“No?” 

“Then why on earth would I ask you to fight goblins triple our size?” 

Her mouth is gaping in disbelief. “Why am I here then?” 

“You,” you start, grabbing your skates and moving out of the locker rooms. “Are gonna sit pretty in that sound booth and make sure nobody touches my laptop.”

“…you realise Hansol has security cameras right?”

“Are you planning on robbing my laptop?”

“No. Although it does have nice specs.” 

You ignore her as you walk towards the benches. “That stupid hockey team needs to know I have reinforcements of my own.”

Lorelai stands there, brows furrowed and in clothes that drown her. She glances down at her outfit and then back up at you. She deadpans, “This is the most unthreatening I have ever looked.”

“Just—” You stand up too quickly and feel yourself wobble. The railing is hardly a foot away, your hand moving over to grab it. Except your palms feel nothing but the flat of something smooth and hard, fingers bumping into the feeling of something unfamiliar. 

You manage to find your balance with a yelp, immediately snapping up to see where you missed the railing. The railing was still there, perfectly within arms reach. There’s a glare in your vision, like looking through a screen. Higher and higher, you realise quickly that you’ve been looking through a clear barrier so high up you can hardly find where it ends in its erect standing. 

Lorelai speaks up first, her voice resonating loudly, “Isn’t that supposed to be on the other side of the railing. Stupid, stupid Hansol.” 

It looks like it stretches throughout the circumference of the rink, wrapping whoever’s inside in a giant plastic fish bowl. 

There’s a clench in your jaw you can’t control, something a little more than annoyance building in your senses. It should be an easy thing to ignore, especially regarding its practically invisible nature, but its presence is all you can think about, even as you step your right blade onto the ice. 

Skating towards the middle of the rink, you feel claustrophobic. 

“Woah! You look like a zoo animal,” Lorealai adds unnecessarily. 

“Just play the track,” you grumble. 

“There should be a don’t tap on the glass sign,” she says, voice muffled as yells from the benches. “You already look like a weasel, can’t have confused people in the stands.” 

“Lorry!” 

“What?” she yells, her voice muffled as she yells from the benches. 

You curse the plastic that cages you as you yell louder, “Play the track!” 

Lorelai nods and makes a noise of understanding, and you watch her as she disappears into the sound booth. 

Taking your starting position, you wait for the quiet lull of the track before the beginning of the unmistakable piano; the low tremor in the beginning existing to prepare you to jump into the routine. You stand there with your arms out like a swan, waiting for your cue that won't seem to arrive. 

You almost yell out at Lorelai again before you suddenly hear the resonating shrill of the piano notes, startling yourself out of your first push. It’s fine, you’ll recover. You’re distracted by your staggered start and it’s enough to have you miss your first jump. It’s fine. You’ll recover. 

By the time the four minutes are up, you’ve missed two of your five jumps, a spin gone wrong, and nearly crashed into the plastic barrier. Not to mention, the aches in your body are enough to seem impossible to geographically pinpoint. 

It’s pointed, the way you make a beeline for the benches, refusing to look at Lorelai. You can almost imagine her expression, the poker face she has when she’s trying to think of ways to structure her next words nicely. 

“What was that?” she deadpans, voice a little far away. Your body hurts enough to take your focus away from her. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I thought your ankle was fine now?” she asks. 

You grit your teeth. “It is.” Lies. The way it was hurting you right now was making sure to remind you of that. 

“You know, you did pick back up a lot earlier than we thought—”

“I said I’m fine, Lorry,” you snap. “Now can you please play the track again.” 

You finally look up, and she looks like she wants to say something. But you’re on the ice before she can. 

You adapt to the excess muffle of the plastic barriers, ears straining to hear the beginning of the piano before you jump into the choreography smoother than last time. This time round, it’s better. The pain in your ankle and the budding one in your hip is apparent, but it’s suddenly easier to drown it out. Focusing on the music, keeping your centre of gravity, pushing into your jumps and spins with enough vigour to hold to what you are. 

Another four minutes pass and it’s over. Immediately, you swing over to the soundbooth to find Lorelai, only to find her joined by an extra set of people.

Impossibly, your blood runs cold. 

There’s a sneaking suspicion you know who it is despite the two men having their backs turned to you, especially judging by the obnoxious red jackets they have on. SVT. You can hear Lorelai speak indecipherably, her voice stern. 

“And you are?” one of them asks. You don’t recognise him, but you do the other one. The one who turned your music off the first day him and his team stepped foot in here. 

“Lorelai!” she yells it for no reason. 

“Gilmore?” The one you recognise snorts. Seungcheol, that’s what they called him the last time you saw him in the sound booth. 

“I’m worse,” she states. 

“Lorry?” you interrupt, arms crossed and gaze directed at her. 

“Lorry?” The one you don’t recognise says. “Like a truck?” 

“You think you’re funny?” Lorelai takes a step towards him, a fair attempt to look threatening if it weren’t for her very unthreatening attire. 

“Oh look at her pyjamas! It’s Pooh bear, Cheol,” he exclaims. That seems to irritate him. 

“Can you replay the track, please, I have to smooth things over,” you intervene. In your mind, ignoring their presence in your space was the best solution, refusing to give them a way to merge into your lane. 

“Woah, we have the rink booked today,” Seungcheol stops you. “4:30.”

Snapping around to find the clock on the adjacent wall, you read the time. “4:17. You can wait.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And thirteen minutes makes what difference?”

“You said 4:30. It is not 4:30 yet.”

The other one thumps him on the back, all smiles. “We can wait, right, Cheol? Besides, we have to put our skates on.” 

His gaze is hard and doesn’t leave yours. “Fine.” 

You break away first to find Lorelai still in the same position, staring at the exchange. You ignore the two men that stand there and address her, “Play the track.”

Before the music begins, you glance back to the benches where the two men have seated themselves, apparently strapping in to watch you. You dig your nails into your palm to reign yourself back in. No point in getting upset. 

The piano begins, and you're determined to not mess up. Especially not right now. 

It goes well for all of 45 seconds, you're hitting the right beats, you feel like water. But then the first jump comes along and you see a flash of red from the stands. An irrational feeling hits you as you push into the first jump, it’s enough to make you stumble when you land. You manage to not fall, but it’s obvious you’ve messed up. 

Somewhere beyond the music you hear a distinct, “Solid 4!”

It distracts you again, and you miss a move. Somehow your second jump ends up worse, and you feel your bottom hit the hard ice. 

“8 point 5! Nice!”

It doesn’t take long for you to realise what they’re doing, anger crashing into you like a flash flood. Scoring your falls? You’re determined to make the next jump combination. You make it fine, but your quad Salchow turns into a triple. The oafs are too shallow to notice, so you hear no jeer. 

But you know that you messed up the only quad in your entire program. 

The last jump goes from a triple axel to a double, and you want to break something. 

The song ends, and you know you have another nine minutes left to yourself, but all you can think about is getting out of the vicinity as soon as possible. Away from all of the eyes that are trained on your hunched form. 

There’s nothing you know about Seungcheol, and yet, the thought of him even looking at you right now is unbearable. Twice you fell, countless times you failed. 

Lorelai says nothing while you pack up, and nothing as you leave the rink. 

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, CENTER,” LORELAI reads aloud from your bed with her mouth still full of salt ‘n vinegar chips. 

“Perfect, he already thinks he’s the center of the universe,” you grumble from your position on the floor of the bedroom. Your foam roller feels like heaven under your calves, but the position is beginning to cramp. 

“Surprised you haven’t heard of him, he’s half a celebrity.” 

You turn to her, “I have two gold medals and five podiums for every major skating event.”

“Do I ask for your autograph?”

“He’s not special.”

“Hm. His skill and popularity would beg to differ.”

“Why are you so hellbent on liking him?” 

“Because he’s cute,” she grins wide. “Although the other one was cuter, very angel-like. And he liked my Pooh Bear trousers. Can’t find his name on the team roster though.”

“He was wearing the same stupid jacket—”

You’re cut off by a gasp, a loud one at that. “He coaches the babies!” 

Her face is contorted into something between an “aw” and a sob. 

Lorelai’s phone is dropped dramatically on the bed as she thrashes on your made (now unmade) bed. You swipe the phone and read. His picture is there, the name Yoon Jeonghan, Junior League Coach.

“Good for him.”

“He just got five times hotter,” she states like she’s out of breath. 

“Give it another meeting and he’ll give you five other reasons to hate him.”

“God, you’re so negative,” she huffs. 

“They’re hogging my rink!”

“It is not your rink.”

“It’s as good as!”

“Whatever.” Lorelai rolls her eyes and sets back on the bed, no doubt searching the man up by name. 

“Ow!” you yelp as you stand up from the ground, ankle twisting slightly in the process. 

Lorelai jumps. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mumble quickly, hoping she’d drop it. But she catches your lingering stare on your bad ankle. 

“It’s still hurting, isn’t it?”

“I just twisted it weird,” you defend, walking to pack up your foam rollers. 

You’re met with silence, but you know she’s thinking. Lorelai speaks, “Maybe you should skip out on the shelter today.”

You snort, “Why would I do that?”

Once, sometimes twice a week, you’d volunteer at the local pet shelter. It wasn’t hard work, mostly taking the bigger, more energetic dogs for their runs because it seemed you were the only one who could keep up with their stamina. And now Lorelai is trying to take that away from you. 

“I saw how you struggled at the rink today, there’s not a day you don’t rest. Like, actually rest.”

“That has nothing to do with me struggling!” you retort. 

“What is it then?” she asks, sitting up straighter, defiance in her gaze. “What is it that’s making you skate like you bought your first pair yesterday?”

The irritation is growing into something hotter, her defiance pushing you into a corner. 

“I know what you want to hear from me.” Your voice is shaky. “I’m not going to say it.”

“Because it’s not true? Or because you’ve been convinced it’s not?” 

You know what she’s talking about, and you know you’ve been avoiding the topic like it’s the plague. The ache in your ankle comes alive, and in that moment, you cannot tell if you’re imagining it or not. 

“Convinced by who?” you snap, shoving the box of foam rollers under your desk. 

“Does that have to come from me too?” 

“Lorry, I don’t know what you want from me!” 

“I—”

There’s a knock on your door, loud and demanding. Wrenching it open, you find Marina behind it. 

She has a frown on her face. “You’re still here? I thought you were running with the dogs today?”

“It’s none of your business if she goes or not, Marina.” Lorelai’s tongue drips with venom most commonly reserved for her most hated people. 

Marina, still in her workout clothes and duffel bag, furrows her eyebrows. “Who shoved a pole up your ass?” 

“I’m leaving in five,” you hiss, before making a motion to close the door. 

When you turn around, Lorelai is still on your bed, hands in fists like she’s holding herself back. There’s more behind her eyes than you could even consider unravelling. 

She leaves before you. 

THE ENTIRE WAY TO the rink was just one constant string of prayer. 

All of them go unanswered when you walk in to find the rink full of hockey players in red and black gear. 

The only thing you can do is curse under your breath, only watching frozen in your tracks as a million players skate across the rink passing and yelling at each other. No one you recognise, their helmets and gear eluding any semblance of individuality. 

Where you stand, a little ways away from the plastic screen and the benches, a dark circular puck suddenly slams directly into the boundary at eye level. On instinct, you flinch at the loud bang, half expecting to get hit. 

When you open your eyes, somebody’s skating up to the boundary, and you lock eyes through the cage of his helmet. 

Your blood is suddenly charged with something electric, fingers curling into fists on instinct. 

Suddenly, all that rings in your ears is the distinct jeers of numbers over the muffle of plastic as you continue to fall, and fall, and fall on the cold, unforgiving ice. The amusement in your failure, the joy in your defeat. 

Spinning on your heel, you stalk to Hansol’s office. 

In your blinding anger, you take a wrong turn, looking up to realise you’ve walked into the locker rooms. You’re one step into the men's locker room when you come back to your senses, startling yourself once again as you spin back from where you came, only you’ve been caught. 

For all the luck you’ve received in this life, it seems to opt out at that exact moment as you hear the unmistakable noise of a herd of ogres walking in, the glare of red on the walls surrounding them. Frozen in your spot, you can only grip the straps of your duffel bag harder, tense up like you were preparing for impact. When they turn the corner, the brilliant idea of simply walking towards the women’s locker rooms befalls you. But it’s too late. 

Seungcheol saunters into the hallway, leading the pack. 

His helmet is in his hands instead of on his head, revealing a sopping mop of hair drenched in what you can only imagine is sweat. He’s laughing at his teammate who’s making futile attempts to escape his own helmet, not noticing you in the way. 

Until he does. His smile fades immediately, eyebrows raised as he registers you in the doorway. You feel his gaze on you for a few silent moments, his teammates shushing at the shift in the air. Seungcheol opens his mouth, and you already know all that’s going to leave it is dung. “Didn’t realise the rink had a vacancy. Do I need to show you my ID to take a shower?”

A rustle of chortles and chuckles flitter from the group. “Go ahead. I don’t need an ID to tell you need a shower.”

Somebody ooh’s, despite it not being your best work. You suppose it was your delivery that did it. Deciding to continue riding that high, you simply turn towards the women’s locker rooms, refusing to give Seungcheol the luxury of your eyes on him.

Hurtling into the women’s locker room, you throw your duffel bag somewhere you’ll regret and crumple into one of the seats. You count to ten, attempting to take the image of Seungcheol out of your brain. 

It was difficult to rile you up to this extent, a trait you needed to possess if you were to be coached by Carroll in any capacity. There was so much you heard from her mouth, swallowing it like a prescribed pill and nothing more. Take what you were given, because it was given by the best, bought for you by the best.

Yet for some reason, Seungcheol manages to irk you in ways you previously have never encountered. Irritating people come and go, but you doubt you could place him as something as simple as just irritating. His presence felt like an intrusion, his air was thick like a concentrated gas. Everything he’s said to you so far has come from nothing but disdain and condescension, his haughty personality the only takeaway when he enters a room. 

You’re still in your outdoor shoes and jacket by the time twenty minutes are over, coming to a conclusion as you get up from the empty, soulless locker room. Hansol is in his office when you make the formality knock before barging in. His head is on the desk, like he’s asleep. It takes him a second, by he lifts his forehead from the papers on the tabletop to regard you at the door. You hear him sigh. 

“The hockey team’s done. It’s two.”

“I wanna book a slot.”

“The rink’s empty you don’t—”

“Let me book the slot, Hansol.”

“For fuck’s sake, you’re turning out worse than those baboons,” he curses before setting his forehead back onto the table. “Write it on the sticky note, I’ll put it in the schedule.”

“Now. I wanna book a slot for right now,” you grit. 

Hansol whips his head up again, eyes wide like he’s holding himself back, nodding furiously as he pulls his keyboard towards himself with an unnecessarily aggressive tug. “Fine. 2:16 till closing. Enter. Print. Here.”

He hands you the printed receipt of your slot, ripping it from the printer tray as he does it. You take it from him in the same vigour, hardly a thank you as you spin on your heels and walk out the door. You stop for a minute, turning back around to yell into the office. 

“Go home if you’re just gonna nap on your desk!” 

Not waiting for a response, you stalk towards the locker rooms. Within minutes you’ve tugged on your skates, laptop and shoes in each hand as you emerge out the tunnel to the rink. 

The ice is empty, mostly. Placing your laptop in the sound booth and your shoes under the benches, you step foot on the ice. They’re there, on the other end, sitting on the cold ice with their jerseys still on, eating what looks like cups of dippin dots. 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan, you remember from Lorelai’s squealing, either don’t notice you on the ice, or simply choose not to. Because it’s easy as you skate up to them, gaining speed from across the rink, you slide to a stop, sending a perfect spray of ice from your skates, directly into their ice cream cups. 

Seungcheol’s full spoon hangs mid air, halfway to his mouth, now garnished with ice shavings. 

“Thought you’d have the respect to keep the dippin dots out of this,” Jeonghan comments, disbelief in his eyes as he looks up at you. 

“Ice is booked.” 

“What time?” Seungcheol asks. Your gaze flickers to the left side of his face, a nasty bruise blooming purple and blue that you hadn’t noticed before. 

“2:16. It’s nearly fifteen minutes past.”

“You’re only one person.” He’s significantly more annoyed than when you saw him outside the locker rooms just minutes ago. 

“And?”

“And…you have about 97% of the rink to yourself.”

You raise your brows, hands on your hips. “But I booked 100% of it. So I’m gonna need that plane of ice you’re currently sitting on.” 

“What if I don’t move?” Seungcheol presses. It’s menacing, the way he looks at you, like he’s a lion only waiting to be provoked. Maybe he’s already halfway there, because it sure looks like it. 

“We’ll find out another day,” Jeonghan sings before you can snap back, grabbing onto the collar of Seungcheol’s red and white jersey to yank him up. He continues to glare as he obliges with his friend’s tugs, nearly as angry as you are. “Let’s go, sport.”

You watch as they walk to the exit of the ice, realising they’re wearing their shoes instead of their skates. 

Jeonghan calls from the benches, right before he and Seungcheol move out of view. “Trash those for us, would you?” 

Their half eaten dippin dots cups, with the ice now melting on them remains on the floor of the rink. Once again, the unexplainable urge to kick something befalls you, hearing them laugh and talk from far away as they exit the rink behind their long gone teammates. 

You give in, swinging a leg over to kick the cups and spoons, dippin dots and plastic scattering across the ice. It’s another sprawl of mess you’ll have to clean up, but it feels good to ruin something of his, no matter how inconsequential. The empty rink encourages you, needing to scream so loud the plastic barriers crack and break. You know it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop the urge. 

You channel it into the most aggressive warmups on ice you’ve ever done. Your spins are faster, your jumps higher. But this also means you crash heavier, fall harder. It’s then, sitting on the bench to take a break, breathing so heavy you can hardly sip your water, you find an unmistakable headline on your browser home page. 

Everything stops. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed center may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification! 

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation! 

BEFORE EVERYTHING, BEFORE YOUR ankle, before it began to feel like your world was crumbling at your feet, came the scar on your leg. 

In hindsight, it feels like it was the very thing that set the ball rolling, the beginning of your demise. 

Coach Carroll was only on her first handful of sessions with you, Lorelai and Marina, all of you still learning her quirks and expectations as a coach. 

It happened when you were on the sidelines, hanging over the boundary as Lorelai handed you a water bottle from the benches. Marina was practicing her routine, taking up most of the ice as Coach followed on the side. It seemed unclear, to this day, whether you’d drifted inwards on the ice as you sipped from the bottle, unaware. But when you felt the hot searing pain in your calf, there were only two people on the scene. 

Marina skated past, her free leg in the air, meeting your calf as she skated past, effectively slicing into your leg in a deep gash. Blood was wiped off the ice, your leg bandaged and wrapped. Not without Coach and her comments, of course. 

You heard her berate Marina from the other room, for moving closer to the boundary than what was required for her routine, heard the way she gave her the blame. And then she round up on you. 

“Idiot! No reason to be on the ice when you aren’t practicing, did you want it to be your ankles too?!” 

It was the first time you realised that Carroll was beyond your perception of the word demanding, her gaze remained in a high place, no regard for what it took to get there. Even if it meant destroying her skaters. 

Marina apologised. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t see you there, I would’ve dropped my leg—”

“It’s okay, Marina. Really,” you smiled through the still aching wound. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

She smiled a little too, “Lesson learned, I guess. Don’t loiter on the ice.” 

It was difficult to keep the smile from fading as you heard her say that.

“What shit apology is that?!” Lorelai yelled as soon as you mentioned it to her later. You cringe as you realise what slipped, and to whom it slipped to. 

“It’s the best I’m gonna get from her, Lorry. Honestly, I don’t care.”

“You’re out of service for a week till that slice heals and that’s all she has to give you?” 

Lorelai is breathing heavily, mostly because she’s been practicing her triple axels for her routine, but also because she’s extensively heated for you. You watch her from the benches. 

“Lorry,” you sigh. 

“Listen, I wanna win too but—”

“Are you trying to say she did it on purpose?” you ask. 

“No! Let me finish, woman,” she snaps. “I wanna win, you wanna win. We’re doing everything we can because we want to win—”

“So this was a subconscious attack?” you interject. 

“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” Lorelai begins to skate backwards and away, leaving you on the bench. 

“NO! Wait, okay, I’m sorry I won’t interrupt.”

“Too late.”

“Lorry! Lorelai!”

It wasn’t until you were back in your shared apartment, Marina out doing whatever while Lorelai hijacked your bed that she got to finish her sentence. She was rubbing ointment on a bruise while you changed the  bandage on your calf. 

“Her need to win is ruining her. And it’s like she’s taking us down with her. I know she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t want to hurt us. But she thinks this kind of hurt is good, if it’s the kind of hurt that pushes you to win.”

You cringed at the sight of the wound, still red and ugly. 

“She might not have meant to hurt your leg, but—don’t loiter on the ice? Really?”

“She only meant it as a reminder.”

“Exactly! You don’t need that reminder because I think you’ve learned better than anyone else to not stay on the rink when someone is practising. A couple weeks ago she made some stupid comment because I left the gym early. Nothing inherently rude, she’s never actually rude. But it was pointed anyway. I’ve been up since six in the morning I think I deserve slacking off a little, it was nearly midnight for fuck’s sake!” 

Cleaning the wound was taking everything you had, the need to hiss at the contact of the wet cloth was near abominable. 

“Her…her perception’s a little warped. But her heart’s in the right place!”

Lorelai had rolled her eyes, screwing the cap of her ointment tube back on with unnecessary force. “I never said it wasn’t, just—stop defending her! I’m sorry but half the reason she continues to act like this is because you listen to her.”

At that moment, you felt a little offended. Of course, Marina had her moments where she’d say something a little less than healthy, especially coming from a friend. But you’d always thought you handled it better than most. 

You met Marina when you were still only splotchy faced preteens, during a competition where she came second and you came third. She’d been skating for longer, so it was expected, but you also couldn’t conceal your surprise when you’d found the state of her later on. You were ecstatic simply because you managed to make it to the podium, but it seemed Marina’s tears held another thought process for her. 

You found her crying in the locker rooms later on, her coach who looked like she…should’ve been comforting her, but it was more like a stern talking to, to suck it up and work harder next time round. 

When you tried to help her, out came words you felt oh so strange coming from a stranger. “What do you know? You came third!”

It hurt. Possibly the first genuine stab of the feeling you’d ever felt. In the following weeks, when Marina apologised and you’d begun to build a friendship, you felt something peculiar. Practice sessions on the ice became harder, your two hour sessions were suddenly extending to four, sometimes five hours a day. All of it, your own doing. 

It was subconscious when it was happening, the silent tug of You came third! What you first considered an achievement became an intermediate step. 

If there was anywhere that you’d pinpoint the shift, from when figure skating went from fun to a responsibility, you’d pick that exact moment. When someone congratulated you later on, it wasn’t a big smile and a thank you.

“I only came third.”

Your calf healed and all that was left was a scar, but there in the discolouration of your skin, also lay a realisation. 

SEUNGCHEOL HOSTS ABSOLUTELY ZERO thoughts in his mind as he shoves the collar of his hoodie over his head. Slamming the door shut on the rest of his red SVT paraphernalia, he makes quick work of his hair, shoes on and out the door within the minute. Jeonghan is still fast asleep when he leaves, mouth open and drooling onto his pillow when Seungcheol walks into his room to let him know he’s leaving. 

Jeonghan might tag along to practice for the fun of it despite leaving his competitive hockey career behind him, but his distaste for 6 AM practice remains forever unchanged. He’d see him later though, on the rink lingering once the sun is higher in the sky and Jeonghan deems it less of a sin to be awake. 

Seungcheol leaves without a response from his friend. 

By the time he gets to the rink, most of the team has already geared up. The locker room is splotched with red, moving towards the back of the room to get to his own locker. They weren’t assigned, but he liked to have his claim. He had one in the old rink, the one locker everyone knew was his. And now he has one here, despite the temporary nature of the ordeal. The rest of the boys know to steer clear, as does he for the others who have their lucky spots. 

Mingyu bumps into his shoulder when Seungcheol is looking down, immediately whipping around to bow a full ninety degrees. He’s laughing as he apologises, not really sorry, but Seungcheol is too exhausted to humour him too much. 

He’d been up playing games all night, under the covers in the dark, his phone brightness up too high and his eyes too wide open. He could feel the regret when his alarm blared while it was still dark outside, his eyelids stuck together, refusing to open. It cost him fifteen minutes of warming up, but he’d make it somehow. 

Seungcheol can hear coach Mason’s booming voice from outside, moving closer and closer to hustle the rest of the boys out onto the rink. He shoves his foot into his skates, making sure all that’s left is to lace them up. 

“Look alive, boys! I want you on the ice within the minute,” he booms into the locker room. 

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. When he gets up to leave the locker rooms, his hockey stick and helmet in hand, he’s the last straggling few to leave. Chan earns himself a hard thump on the back from Coach as he scurries out. 

There’s a hand on Seungcheol’s chest as he’s about to exit, Coach stopping him from leaving. 

He looks up, expecting a hard look from Mason, ready to hear a mildly violent threat about being late to call time again. Except Seungcheol finds him with his own gaze on the floor. 

“Rink manager said I could use his office. We should talk there.”

Seungcheol could’ve said he knows what this was going to be about. The game last weekend had less than ideal results, not because they didn’t win, but more so because of the WWE level brawl that went down in the benches during one of the intermissions. 

He tenses, but it was more like he was squaring up. His shoulders are hard, his grip on his hockey stick tighter. Of course, he wasn’t about to swing at his coach, but one could say it was simply a subconscious response. 

The entire walk to the office, Seungcheol thinks of new ways Coach could address his issue. But the gist was always simple. 

Choi, stop fucking fighting. 

He’d usually just rip Seungcheol a new one in front of the boys, berate him and verbally throttle him in the hopes that he’d keep his anger under check. But as they turn towards the door to the office, Seungcheol has to remind himself that this was a first. Being led aside, like he was being led into some formal meeting. 

A plea deal, perhaps?

Choi, what is it going to take?

The office is barren, hardly looks like it’s used with how sparse the equipment is. The amount of dark brown gives it enough warmth to not make it look like some sick form of solitary confinement. That doesn't stop Seungcheol from feeling a hint of pity for whoever has to work here. There’s no nameplate. 

Coach doesn’t take a seat, opting to lean against the table in front of him instead. His arms are folded, and he’s not looking him in the eye. A crawl of suspicion creeps up Seungcheol’s neck, as though in an attempt to ambush him. 

It’s silent in the room as he waits for Coach to speak, refusing to be the one to break it. 

When he does speak, it’s not in his usual Coach voice. Without the built in bass and tremors he was born with. 

“There’s no easy way to break this,” he starts, eyes drifting up to somewhere on the barren walls. “But I’m gonna try my darndest.”

Finally, he feels Coach’s gaze lock with Seungcheol’s expecting pair. 

“They wanna drop you.”

“What?”

Coach squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s recalibrating. “Your contract is up by the end of the season. And the tie wearers and the shoe shiners don't wanna re-sign you.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean don’t wanna re-sign me, on what grounds?!”

“You’re temperament—”

“I’ve scored at least two goals for every game you’ve put me in, I’m your most consistent player!”

“They have no qualms with you when you’re on the ice.”

Seungcheol knows where this is going. He knows what knocked up alley this is turning to and he hates it. “Which is all that should matter.”

“In most cases.”

“Is this about last weekend? You didn’t hear him, he deserved more than a broken fucking nose—”

“I didn’t need to hear him, because I know. I know he’s a jackass, I know they’re all jackasses! They know that too. You need to learn to let things go, let them chirp—”

“He was coming on to my mother!” Seungcheol bellows, now properly angry. He remembers the guy’s name, Jason or something. 

“His coach came onto my entire bloodline when we were young, this is Kim’s strategy! You’re playing right into their hands like a dog! For fuck’s sake, Choi! Punching someone in the chiclets isn’t always the answer!” Coach Mason is shaking his hands in front of him like some violent prayer. 

Seungcheol drops his hockey stick and helmet, mouth open as he huffs and puffs. He wants to pace, wants to point his fingers at Coach and make a few threats of his own. 

“Just—”

Seungcheol rounds up on him. “Seungkwan punched a guy in the mouth. Wonwoo kicked one in the balls.”

“Seungcheol. This is becoming nearly. Every. Single. Game. Not the occasional tousle we can pull people out of. You can’t keep sending people to the hospital, it’s a wonder nobody's pressed charges yet!”

“So that’s it? I’m being punished because some dick runs his mouth?” 

“This is about you, Seungcheol. You need to get a fucking grip. You’ve started picking at your own teammates, shoving Mingyu around—seriously?”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens but nothing leaves it. He ends up gaping like a fish. 

For all that it was worth, for everything he’d been through, Seungcheol always assumed his seat was safe. Always assumed he’d have the position he does. Because he showed results, won them nearly every game and put up a damn good fight in the ones they didn’t. 

Seungcheol knew he was an asset, but not for one minute, stop to realise that this was all

conditional. 

For everything he did for this team, for every fiber of his being he poured into its chalice, they were spitting it all right back into his face. Chewed and warped and rid of anything worth salvaging. 

The red in his chest, back, stomach, spelling out the unmistakable letters of his team. The red in his helmet that rests beside the red in his hockey stick. 

“Listen, as much of a pain in the ass you are, you’re good fucking player. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters. But it’s not up to me, so we need to work around that. They’re worried about the repercussions of your behaviour. And you are gonna make sure you keep yourself in check.” 

Coach walks closer, finger digging into Seungcheol’s chest through his jersey. “I want no more fights, no more kicking and punching and swearing no matter how much that motherfucker deserves it, I don’t care. Do whatever it takes. God knows I’ll never forgive you if you make me agree to those prissy hands in suits.”

Coach left Seungcheol in the barren office, stepping over his stick and helmet as he exited the room, leaving him alone. His fingers flex under his gloves, like he’s trying to remind himself to stay in the moment. His exhales are stronger than his inhales, his vision blurring as the desk turns into two, and then disappears for a second. 

He can hear the distinct sound of the puck slamming into hockey sticks. Practice had started. By the time Seungcheol walks out, he’s the last person to go through the mandatory drills. 

The rink is mostly empty as the team gears up for a practice match, leaving Seungcheol enough reign to slam into every puck like he had some personal vendetta against every last one. It’s one after the other, sent directly into the open net, waiting. 

Practice goes fine, as good as it could go with the scrambled eggs that had become of Seungcheol’s mental state. He found himself whipping his head around to Jun when he fumbled an assist, face scrunched under his helmet as he prepared to send him to hell in a handbasket. 

He sees Jun physically tense up in defense, and the insult (for once) dies on Seungcheol’s tongue. 

“Just—keep up, alright,” he says instead. His tone is empty, and on a downward slope. 

If anyone finds it odd, they don’t say. 

It’s a couple more hours of passes, assists and hollers across the ice, regrouping the teams every so often to keep the rotation consistent. 

Over here, everyone is in red, everyone is on his side. The bleachers are empty, devoid of spectators to watch him lose his cool on anything. But he thinks of the way Jun recoiled, like he was preparing for the worst of his teammate’s words. He and Jun are friends. 

Somewhere amidst his thoughts, the puck flies directly into Seungcheol’s face, banging into the cage of his helmet with a noise that resonates across the rink. He’s startled enough to skate back a little, not before hearing another resounding thwack! from next to him. The puck rebounded from his helmet and hit the plastic barrier with a noise that had everyone looking over. 

Skating up to where the puck fell back onto the ice, he looks up to where it hit the barrier. 

Through the plastic he sees…you. You're staring at the same spot he is, where there’s a slight mark from the force of the rubber. 

And then your eyes drift up, locking with his own. 

Like every other person he’s around, he watches you tense up. But it’s laced with something more than just bracing for impact. 

It’s apprehension, your form turbulent and agitated. It’s all he can see when you spin on your heels and walk away in the opposite direction from him. 

The all too familiar irritation sparks in the back of Seungcheol’s mind, as it does when you’re around. All he does is slam his stick into the ice with force, pushing the puck back into the middle of the rink. 

They’re nearly done by that point, and he finds that Jeonghan has graced himself in the benches. He’s wearing his old jersey, likely because he doesn’t want Coach to notice him and accuse him of distracting his players. 

Jeonghan would’ve gotten away with it anyway. 

Seungcheol tells him to wait up, walking towards the locker room with the rest of the rest of the team to wash up. He finds some reprieve in Seungkwan’s attempts at fumbling with his helmet, letting out a laugh as he fights with it. Looking up as they take the turn towards the locker rooms as a group, he somehow finds himself in your presence, again. 

It’s the same thing, like you’ve been connected to a faulty circuit and you’re trying not to show it. You look like you want to say something but all Seungcheol can do is send a snarky remark of his own. 

Even as you walk away after the ordeal, he feels anything but settled. 

It’s like the world has it out for him, because as he opts to stalk back to where Jeonghan was, forgoing a shower, there’s only another calamity waiting for him. 

Jeonghan is in the rink, sitting on the ice with two cups of what looks like dippin dots. He looks up when he hears his treads on the ice, having taken his skates off already. Seungcheol crumples to the ground and on the ice next to his friend. 

The first words he utters are the only ones that’ve been on his mind all day. “They want to drop me.”

Jeonghan only grimaces in response, only running his hands through his hair as he sighs loudly. “I know. I heard.”

Seungcheol perks up, head lifting from the ice. “...How?”

That’s how Seungcheol has Jeonghan’s phone so close to his face he’s hardly an inch away from the screen. He reads and reads and reads. And his blood boils and boils and boils. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed centre may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around though, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification! 

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation! 

Of course, to add to the absolute media pandemonium, you had shown up on the rink itself after Seungcheol had to read through the entirety of that stupid article. Jeonghan was smart to pull him away from the situation before he wrapped both his hands around your neck in an ultimatum. 

The way you stood there, hip popped like you owned the damn place, face haughty and demanding. You stood while they sat, looking down at Seungcheol like he was some pesky ant. There was nothing he would’ve rather done in that moment than swing his leg clean across your ankles, and watch in delight as you crash onto the ice in front of him. 

“What the fuck is her problem?” he grits as soon as he’s in the locker rooms. Collecting his things to leave and take a shower at home. 

Jeonghan walks behind him, hands in his pocket in idleness as he watches his friend pack up. He’s humming a tune that’s possibly too familiar to Seungcheol. “Hm. She does seem a little wound too tight.”

“Wound too tight?! I’ve seen her thrice just today and every single time she looks like she wants to skin my fucking hide!”

Jeonghan only snorts. “Thing two isn’t any better. She’s cute though.”

Seungcheol whips around. “Who gets that territorial over a sound booth?!”

“Down, boy,” Jeonghan soothes, half in jest. “Surprised she isn’t here today either.”

“Yeah, you’d like to see her.”

“I would, actually, yes. What was her name?”

“Something to do with a train or a bus or something—”

“Lorry! Right,” Jeonghan furrows his brows. “I don’t think that’s her real name.”

Seungcheol throws his duffle bag over his shoulder as he motions he’s done. “I don’t think anyone who actually loves their child would name them after a bus.”

Jeonghan halts in his steps. “My dead dog’s name was Lorry.”

Seungcheol is extra nice for the rest of the way home. 

SEUNGCHEOL CAN'T SLEEP.

His dreams are full of voices, of every single teammate he’s ever had. The junior league, his high school team, up to his college team, and finally, his team right now. 

They’re all murmuring like they were paid to do it, uttering the same things, over and over. He doesn’t belong here, they don’t want him here, he doesn’t deserve what he has. 

And with the way his heart is racing when he jolts awake, cold sweat and all, he realises he’s kicked his blanket off of him sometime during the night. He looks over to his alarm clock that glares bright in the dark of his room; 5:08 AM.

He doesn’t need to be up, but it seems his own subconscious has given him a good enough scare to make sure every last essence of sleep escapes him. He lays on his back, catching his breath like he just ran a marathon. 

Seungcheol hasn’t woken up from a nightmare like this since middle school, one that knocks the breath from his lungs and fills his head with all the horrible things in the world. With every moment that passes after that conversation with Coach Mason, his ordeal becomes increasingly real. 

In that moment, laying in his bedroom, staring blankly at the dark ceiling above, he wonders if he’s made the right choice to come this far. 

With all the confidence he’s exuded, the thought is downright terrifying. 

Seungcheol was a difficult child. Too much energy, too much to say, too much to do. His parents didn’t know the first thing about hockey, just that it involved enough hitting and running and practice to let their son let out all that pent up energy, so maybe, just maybe, he’d sit still and do his homework. While they attempted to sign him up at the local rink, he was already zooming out towards the benches to see the fabled giant block of ice his parents told him about. 

And there it was, just like in the movies, a giant expanse of ice that made him shiver even in his thick Winnie The Pooh puffer vest. There’s sounds, loud ones, of deep clacks that echo across the rink. It seems to be coming from the dozens of people skating on the rink, decked out in red gear. 

SVT, he reads on their jerseys. 

His mother chides him for straying when they finally find him near the gate, watching the team practice. The rink manager is there as well, showing his parents around. 

“The SVT’s practice here and have a junior league too, but I’m afraid it’s full. But our coach is great too, I’m sure he’ll do well.”

Seungcheol’s parents didn’t mind, but he wanted those jerseys, wanted his name in red splashed across his back as he glided across the ice. 

It didn’t take long for his coach and his parents to realise that putting him in a helmet was a good idea. He was smoking the rest of the kids from day one, his balance on the ice better than any other his age, his hold on a hockey stick like second nature, his aim as he hit his first puck, dazzling. 

As he got older, entering his preteen and teen years, he had another realisation. That he was as horrible at school as he was good at hockey. 

“Perhaps you should take a break from hockey,” his high school guidance counsellor had said. His grades were displayed in front of her like a case study, the hopeless clear in her intermittent sighs and the occasional purse of her lips. “Utilise that time to fix at least one of your grades. Pour all your eggs in one basket.”

The thought was absurd. No, he would not be dropping hockey when it was the only thing that pushed him to wake up in the morning. 

He’d felt the tremble of irritation rise in himself, sitting there in that office. It angered him, made him feel like his success was measured by a criteria not made for him. He had said nothing as he slipped out of chair and left the room. 

The day before his graduation, sweat dripping onto the ice as he sent free pucks into the net, he was missing more than he was getting in. It was making him more mad than it should, hands shaking with fury as he berated himself for not being able to succeed in something so simple.

His last puck was before him, and he swung his stick harder than ever and watched as it flew directly into the net. The sound is louder than usual, resonating across the rink. Seungcheol looked down at the detached pieces in his hand and quickly realised that he’d effectively broken his hockey stick.

It wasn’t expensive, so the quality wasn’t nearly what it should be, wasn’t nearly as durable. But this was new to him. He’d never broken a stick before. 

Anger. Perhaps that was what he'd forgone, perhaps that was what he needed. To get on his knees from his back, to get on his feet from his knees. 

When he graduated the next day, Seungcheol knew what he was going to do with his life. Finally had an answer for the infinite questions about his future. 

Hockey. Seungcheol was going to play hockey for the rest of his life. He was going to get into SVT, he was going to become the best player they’ve ever had. He was going to make more money than what he would have as a doctor or a lawyer or whatever else the entire world wanted him to do instead. 

Seungcheol was going to be on the ice wearing red if it’s the last thing he does. 

That’s what pushes him out of bed at 8:45 in the morning, his dream that was once in his hands now flitting through the gaps of his fingers. 

The anger that pushed him here, was now pushing him out. 

He packs his things and leaves the house, welcoming the cold of the outdoors. 

There’s the distinct sound of blade cutting through ice when he gets nearer to the rink itself, a shout of a shrill voice he can’t decipher. Official practice doesn’t start for another couple hours, and he doesn’t remember Coach Mason cutting the pitch in his voice for anything ever. There’s only one other person that could possibly be gracing the rink.

Seungcheol finds three people on the rink. The bright red curly mop of hair catches his eye first, her arms folded over her green puffer jacket, apprehension in her entire posture. He assumes this is your coach. 

There’s a blonde one breathing heavily as she straightens out of a spin, listening to the coach as she shakes her head violently as she speaks. 

Seungcheol finds you a little ways away from the pair, practising jumps. 

He doesn’t emerge into the benches, remaining in the shadows where he wouldn’t be so blaringly obvious. There’s no reason for him to hide, but he doesn’t think of this as hiding. 

Seungcheol watches for the next few minutes, watches you make most of your jumps, fall for some. Your coach shouts for particular names for jumps, something about axels and lutz’ that he can’t tell the difference from when put into action. At least he thinks that’s what you’re doing. 

And then he hears it as your coach moves closer to the barriers. “What’s gotten into you? Keep acting this stupid and I’ll excuse myself from the job, I have better people to coach.”

Her tone, her words, the sharp edge of her tongue, it’s all triggering a very specific part of Seunghceol’s brain. 

“Is it your ankle? Because if it is, then I’m here to tell you to get out of your own head. Your ankle is fine, you wouldn’t be able to get on the ice at all if it wasn’t.” 

There it comes. Those words aren’t directed towards Seungcheol, nor could they apply to him in any capacity. But the way this coach is speaking is making him irrationally angry. 

“Are you gonna keep pretending you have a handicap? Because if you are then I have no work here.”

“I’m sorry.” 

For whatever reason, the sound of you apologising makes the fire rage doubly. It’s enough to blur his vision, enough to make him question what on earth this coach could have on you to let her speak to you in that way. 

The choice words are already in his head as he claps back in his own head, like he was the one at the receiving end. 

He doesn’t stay, disappearing even further into the tunnel to where the locker rooms are. He doesn’t understand why he’s huffing and puffing as much as he is. All that occupies him is what possible reasons you could have to just take it lying down. 

Seungcheol’s phone vibrates in his pocket, slipping it out to realise it’s Jeonghan. 

He picks up, and barely has time to say hello before his voice perks up from the other line. “Where are you?” He sounds like he just woke up. 

“I’m at the rink.”

“Why is your angry voice on?”

“My angry voice is not—” he begins to grit, seething, but closes his eyes and takes a moment. “I’m not mad.”

“Do I need to sing?”

“No, you do not have to sing—”

“Everything is honey—”

“Jeonghan, stop!”

“—everywhere I see—”

Seungcheol hangs up before he can go on. To his utmost irritation, he feels significantly calmer. 

The rink is devoid of your red headed coach when Seungcheol makes his way there after a few minutes. The blonde one is nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone in the rink as you skated across the expanse. He only watches as you land the couple attempts at jumps, the ice breaking ground in a spray every time you put pressure on your blades. 

Seungcheol is just standing there, blank faced with an empty head. His mind was quiet for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, standing idle as he follows your figure around the rink like a fixation point. 

The sound is more consistent, less of the loud jabs of hockey sticks meeting the ice, more constant lines of scraping as you migrate across the rink. The speakers boom no sound, but the musicality in the noise of the ice is enough to imagine a rhythm. 

No part of him desires getting on the ice to oust you out, no part of him wants to touch his hockey stick that sits in the locker room. He doesn’t need extra practice, not with hockey at least. 

And when you notice him, unmoving in the benches, he watches as something hard overcomes your expression. You skate over, and he keeps his gaze fixated on the ice.

Skating up to the gate, he sees in his peripheral vision as you slip on your skate guards, stepping out into the real world. 

“You don’t have the rink booked, I checked,” you huff, moving to find your things on the other set of benches. 

Seungcheol’s jaw tenses. “I don’t want the rink right now.”

“And yet the ghost loiters.”

“I’m here to tell you to start filling in the stupid craters your skates make in the ice. The guys keep tripping.” 

“You big hockey thugs getting defeated by a toe pick?” 

Seungcheol turns to finally look at you, and you look nothing as graceful as you did on the ice. He wants to scoff. 

You continue, “I have to deal with your stupid barriers fucking up my sound system. I think your guys can deal with a couple digs in the ice.” 

“Great, we’ll just lose a couple teeth, who really gives a fuck.” 

“If this is about giving fucks,” you get up from your water break, leaving the bench. “Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't."

Seungcheol’s entire being is ablaze. He reshuffles his footing. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” you repeat, voice moving a pitch higher. “My fucking problem is that you and your overgrown posse of baboons drop in here out of the blue and then act like you own the damn place!”

“Right, because it’s your name on the fucking lease. Excuse us for trespassing on public property!”

You’re yelling. Seungcheol is yelling. It’s either that or the hollow of the rink is now carrying your voices farther out. 

“I’ve had enough of you acting like you don’t take up this entire fucking space!” Your arms wave wildly, gesturing to the large area of the rink. “You’re everywhere, all the fucking time, it’s sickening!”

“Everywhere, huh?” He takes a step closer to you. And then another. He revels in the sight of your face turning a splotchy red. “Thought I was only a bother on the ice? Where else have I been plaguing you in mystic hallucinations?”

Seungcheol’s eyes give away nothing but provocation. He knows he didn’t start this, but in the true essence of who he is, he would be the one to end it. 

It’s clear you’re taken aback. At this moment, he’s the closest he’s ever been to you. But it’s for nothing if it isn’t to press on you further, to tower over you and your outburst. 

“Get your head out of the gutter, you brute.”

“Then is it not me taking up all your space?” he asks. “Because there’s three feet of air between us, and yet the least in our very short time together.”

He watches as you take a small step back.

“So where else have I been any closer, so consistently, if it wasn’t part of your imagination?”

There’s a certain kind of venom in your stare, in the sneer that lifts your mouth, enough to ensure that it’d render him six feet deep. But he lives in reality, so he deems it safe to take another step closer. 

“You’re a screw up,” you almost whisper. Appalled and scandalised. 

“So I’ve been told,” Seungcheol breathed. “But something tells me we’re not so different in that department.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know that I’m all you can think about,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That feels like a lot. You’d agree, because everywhere, all the fucking time is a lot.” 

Seungcheol has hardly finished his sentence before he feels the light breeze of you gathering your few things, shouldering him hard and walking away from him. Into the tunnel, into the locker rooms, into hell, wherever it was that you ended up by the close of the day. 

He isn’t afraid to admit that he stumbled.

LORELAI HAD MADE IT quite clear that any figure skating talk was off the table, and talk surrounding Marina even more so. You tried not to point out the obvious predicament, but the fact that you lived with Marina did not affect her demand. 

Miraculously, not talking about skating or Marina was the most free you’d felt in ages. It was mildly embarrassing in the beginning, when on a run with Lorealai who was also helping out at the dog shelter, because you realised all you talked about was, maybe not Marina, but definitely a lot of skating. 

You slow down a little to give Kkuma a couple minutes to breathe, but Lorealai is still running at her pace with her significantly more energetic husky, Bennie. 

“Stay there, I’ll catch up!” she yells over her shoulder as she takes the left around the block to circle back. 

You oblige, moving to a walking pace as Lorelai appears from behind you after a couple minutes. She slows to a jog and loiters around you for a minute, you increase your speed to match hers. 

“Jeonghan…” she pauses to take a breath. But your interest is piqued, especially if she was talking about the same Jeonghan you were thinking about. “Jeonghan invited me to the game this weekend.”

Hold. 

“What?” you snap.

“Game. This weekend,” she huffs, still breathing heavily. 

“Like, a hockey game?” you ask, brows furrowed. 

“No, for disney on ice,” she announces. “They’re doing beauty and the beast, Jeonghan’s the beauty, Seungcheol is the beast. It’s a whole production, really. Real good stuff.”

You can only roll your eyes at the elaborate sarcasm. She continues, “Of course, it's a hockey game! What else do they do at that rink all day?”

“Gosh, sorry,” you frown. “Since when do you talk to Jeonghan?”

She looks over, wicked smile on her face. “Since I found him on Instagram.”

“You followed him?”

“No, why would I do that? Bumped into him at the gym a while ago, and we went out for coffee afterwards.”

Nothing of the ordeal is making sense, your brows still knit together and your mouth downturned in confusion. 

“Catch you in a minute!” she yelps as she takes off into a run again, Bennie right next to her as she circles round again. 

The few minutes that it’s just you and tiny Kkuma are flooded with questions. How did she just bump into Jeonghan? Lorelai hardly goes to the gym. Asking her to come to the hockey game? 

And then worst of all. 

Are they dating? 

By the time Lorelai is back, she’s out of breath again, and fully unequipped to answer all of the questions you shoot at her like rapid fire. 

“Why were you at the gym? He’s a junior league coach, he’s not even gonna be playing!”

“God!” she groans, heaving. “Slow…down.”

“Fine!” You stop in your tracks entirely, to which Lorelai is happy to oblige as she crouches with her hand on her knees. Bennie tugs at her leash, the big bounding ball of fluff ready to race the winds again. 

You count to ten, hands on your hips as Kkuma lets out a small, confused yip now that you’re completely idle on the track. 

“Talk.” 

With an all too dramatic flip of her short hair, she pulls herself up and into an explanation. “I couldn’t tell you because we weren’t talking when it all happened.”

It’s true, it did take a while for you to go back to normal after that run in with Marina in your bedroom. You suppose it won’t be happening again with the new no-Marina-talk rule, since she seemed to be quite the common factor in many of your rifts over the years. 

“I went to the gym to blow off some steam—don’t look like that, I’m being serious!” 

You make an attempt at fixing your face as she continues. 

“He saw me first and came up to say hi. Went our separate ways but once we finished up he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee since we were both done working out.” 

“And you said yes?”

“I said yes. Because he is cute, and I had been stalking his very public Instagram and it was just the perfect opportunity!” 

“So you’re dating?” you ask sharply. 

“I don’t know.”

“He asked you to the game?” you point out. 

“Well, yes, but he hasn’t asked me asked me.” Somewhere in her voice there’s the tiniest hint of disappointment. “Besides, he said to bring you as well.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come ooon! Jeonghan’s gonna be in the benches and I don’t know anyone else there!” she whines. 

“Hey, we should switch dogs!” you announce as you yank Bennie’s leash out of Lorelai’s hands, stuffing  Kkuma’s leash into her free hand. 

You take off into a sprint, and Bennie is happy to keep up with you as you quite literally run away from the situation. Lorelai is yelling your name, her annoyance abundant. 

Ignoring her is easy. Just the thought of walking into one of those games is enough to force a scoff, to watch your rink inhabited with like minded buffoonery as they ruin the bleachers and the ice. 

By the time you make it back, the hilarity of the situation hasn’t left you. And it seems neither has Lorelai, who remains standing with Kkuma at her feet, waiting to trap you. 

It’s the easiest thing to do, to turn right back around and circle the other way. 

“You can’t run away from me forever!” she shouts behind you as you disappear again. 

Maybe you couldn’t, but you wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“You can’t run away from Seungcheol forever! Quit pretending like you aren’t dying to fall into those giant arms!” Lorelai has a very specific talent of injecting all the drama in the world in the tone of her voice. She’s sure to utilize that skill as she hollers after you. 

That seems to do it for you, slowing down, half ready to whip around and holler a profanity or two right back. 

You’re more triggered than usual, but mostly because all the jab does is remind you of the last time you saw him. The arrogance in his demeanor, the way he belittled you with just his eyes, the shadow of his towering frame, caging you like a lost animal. 

You hated it. Despised it. Despised him. His disgusting innuendos, the all so misleading innocence on his face as he cornered you with both his body and his words. 

Lorelai could deal you whatever card there was tied up her sleeve, but getting you anywhere near the rink for the game this weekend was going to require more than just dessert bribes and sweet talking. Dragging you by the ankles could be a possibility, but all for naught when you dig your nails in anyway. 

It was impossible. Not doable. Non-existent in the cards of your destiny. A repelling force. 

So why, would one ask, were you decked out in the most  heinous red scarf with the letters SVT stitched on like a warning, sitting in the bleachers and looking down at the same rink you practice your spins and jumps in everyday? 

Neither you or Lorelai could answer that question, both your stories as blurry as fog as to how either of you managed to get you in that fabled seat. 

You could see the exact place you and Seungcheol had your last showdown, the opposing team in black now occupying that side of the benches. The thought puts you in an impossibly sour mood. It’s not like Lorelai could say anything about it, half because she knows you’re one snide remark away from jumping into the merch table, and half because she was too busy making heart eyes at Jeonghan who’s just spotted her in her seat. 

“I’ll be back,” she informs haphazardly as she positively bounds down the steps to the end of the bleachers, where Jeonghan waits for her. The people in their seats shuffle, annoyed at the overenthusiastic fan who practically slides down in front of their legs towards the railing. But Lorelai couldn’t care less, not with what stood beyond that very railing. 

Tearing your eyes away from the lovebirds, you take in the hustle and bustle of the pregame happenings, most of the bleachers in disarray as they humour the merch stands and the food stalls. The rink smells different because of it, both the added number of food trucks and drink stands, but also with the amount of people that occupy the expanse. 

The only times you see the rink this packed is when you’re too wracked with nerves to notice anything other than your own two feet. Hands wringing and head spinning, the chaos of the world is nothing against the pandemonium in your mind. You’re usually wearing a sparkly dress that glitters even from the very last row of bleachers, hair taut and makeup caked on like a layer of icing. 

Taking your time, you let your eyes flit over all that you forgo the other times. The stands are a mix of red and black, and so are the benches and ice that are occupied by men in full hockey gear. 

You’re too high up to make out the names on the back of all those jerseys, let alone a face underneath the already concealing helmets. The problem is forgotten when you feel the weight of two hands slam against your folded arms, tugging you out of your seat like it was stolen property. 

“Jeonghan said we could sit closer to the benches downstairs!” Lorelai is frantic, like this wasn’t a matter of reserved seats but the last plane to leave hell itself. 

“Lor—” Finishing a sentence when she’s in this state is a luxury you learn quickly to live without, because all that concerns her right now is getting closer to the man that seems to have enraptured her like never before. 

It’s disgusting. But you follow her anyway, down the steps that you nearly eat shit on, gracefully of course, because what figure skater doesn’t fall with an epic crash worthy of an Expendables cameo. You stabilise yourself enough to get to the seats Lorelai is talking about, and sure enough, Jeonghan would barely have to get on his tiptoes to hoist himself into the bleachers altogether. You question the safety of the context but decide that it wasn’t your problem if someone decided to pounce on one of the players. 

Besides, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t revel in the absolute scene of Seungcheol getting jumped by an over-passionate fan. You’re suddenly very grateful for the front row seats. 

There’s a bucket of chicken tenders and fries in your lap out of nowhere, matching the one in Lorelai’s hands. “Also Jeonghan?” you hum as you inspect the sauce options. 

“Mhm, he’s friends with the vendor outside,” she grins. 

You narrow your eyes at the revelation, finding it utmost strange how close he seems to be with nearly everyone. “Why is he on the benches, again?” you ask. 

“Because—” she draws before you cut her off. 

“Friends with the coach?”

“How’d you know?!” she exclaims. Her attention is diverted as the speakers suddenly boom with something other than generic pop music. So is yours, when you hear a deep baritone of a commentator’s voice carries throughout the rink. 

The shuffle around you is suddenly doubling in speed, everyone getting into their seats. You look over in front of you, where the benches are in an equally panicked shuffle. You spot Jeonghan easily, mostly because he’s one of the few in the vicinity without a helmet or what looks like a giant space suit. The next thing you note is the person he’s talking to, his back turned to you, but familiar all the same. 

CHOI, 95, reads his jersey. Automatically, your jaw clenches.  “Don’t look over there!” Lorelai chides, grabbing your jaw and moving it to force you to rip your eyes away from him. 

“Lorelai, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but unlike your boy toy, he’s actually gonna be on the ice,” you verbalise through clenched teeth. 

“Don’t look at the ice,” she blurts. 

Rolling your eyes, you only listen as she realises what she’s said. “Okay, um, look at Jeon instead! Or Kim, or Boo, just. For god’s sake, there’s fifty other players on the ice, just don’t let one of them ruin your night!” 

“I’m fine,” you grumble, sinking into your seat. 

It isn’t long before your eyes trail over anyway, and Seungcheol still doesn’t have his helmet on. You can see his face now, and he looks like he’s mad at Jeonghan about something. 

Inevitably, your mind wanders to the fated article that somehow made its way into your recommended, the certainty it put in you that Seungcheol didn’t stand a chance in his team anymore. It seemed true enough, his anger, that he continues to display, seemed to be his default emotional setting. 

Your hockey knowledge was subpar at best, but one thing you did know was the aggression factor of the sport. Of all the things that could cut his career clean down the middle, this was the last of your guesses.  

Even now, as you watch him absentmindedly point and jerk like his supposed friend had managed to bring him something that was personally offensive, it’s all connecting too well. 

But when you snap into reality, you realise very quickly that he was pointing…at you. 

Seungcheol is mad that Jeonghan (effectively) brought you to the match. 

A chortle of disbelief is quick to make itself known, wanting to yell across the throng that you were every bit as upset that he was in your vicinity too. It also brings you satisfaction, a pure grain of hope, that maybe this would be enough for him to completely fuck up on the ice today. 

You say a quick amen before the baritone of the commentator makes itself known again. The echo is too much for you to decipher what’s going on, but you have your answer when you watch the reds and the blacks form what looks like a line across the width of the rink, right in the center. 

You don’t register when the puck landed, or if it was always there, just that the loud clacks and bangs are in tandem with the cheer from the crowds. The puck is an impossible commodity to keep up with, even with just your eyes. It appears for a moment before it’s lost again, shooting around in your peripheral vision like a pesky fly you can never get a hold of. 

“What is happening?” you whisper to yourself. 

Lorelai answers anyway, snorting, “Fuck if I know.”

The numbers on the lit screens are doing nothing to help out your predicament, too much happening for you to even begin to deconstruct. You choose to lay back and enjoy your chicken tenders and fries, complimenting the sauce choices to Lorelai along the way, who continues to calibrate her attention on the man that remains in the benches. Jeonghan looks over periodically to send her a wave and a blinding smile. 

You’ve made a good enough dent in your chicken and fries bucket by the time it’s intermission, about ready for a drink by now. Lorelai makes herself useful and runs down to get you both something, mostly because Jeonghan was now more focused on the team that’s huddled around one another, another man you assume is their coach huddled right with them. 

The scores are 2-2, as provided by the person behind you who was apparently sick of your placid obliviousness. It did feel slightly awkward to be the only person not as excited to be front and center, so you remind yourself to thank him profusely. 

Your attention drifts back to the benches, inevitably as you’ve been so unfortunately placed to be able to breathe down the player’s necks. They’ve dispersed from their huddle, but are not yet on the ice. They’re sitting down, catching their breaths, drinking from water bottles. On the other side, the opposing team, a sea of black and white flooding their own end of the benches. It’s a sinking colour, not an ounce of depth in the shade. It’s taking over the benches. 

Except it’s the players that are moving, like they’re diffusing into the scarlet territory. 

You watch, as one player in black moves his mouth, speaking, upturned and eyebrows cocked. It’s clear he’s gone well past enemy lines, the front lines suddenly at attention. There’s not much you can make out, nothing much besides the very haughty expression on the player’s face. His eyes are covered by the sweaty mop on his head, but you don’t need to see them to find the malice that infiltrates his entire stance.

The scene, where both sides seem to be closing in on each other, has you automatically sitting up straighter. The air is going static, especially as you realise the player's mouth is moving faster as he jabs at — Seungcheol. 

They’re fighting, only verbally for now, but it’s undeniable the way the heat grows by the second. All you can see is the back of Seugncheol’s jersey as he begins to step back from the ordeal, like he was fighting the urge to take a step forward instead. 

Jeonghan’s hand is on Seungcheol’s elbow, and one glance at the rest of the players on this side shows every last one on edge. Their coach is nowhere to be seen. 

But he doesn’t stop talking, still standing in their territory. He yells something loud enough to hear the pitch of his voice, but not nearly enough to understand what he’s saying. 

You could see it on the player’s face. Hook, line and sinker. 

It happens so suddenly. Seungcheol surges forward like a dart, something flies out and hits the player square in the face. 

Seungcheol had spat his mouth guard into his face. 

You gasp out loud as you register what’s happening. The player removes his hand from his face, and for some reason, emerges grinning. 

Seungcheol swings first, his fist rising and coming down on his cheek with a sound you can hear. You feel nauseous. 

It’s pandemonium. You can see Jeonghan practically on top of Seungcheol, a number of other players attempting to get him off the man he continues to grab and shake up like a fugitive. The other player is throwing his own punches.

For one, horrifying moment, the force of the punch pushes Seungcheol’s face towards the stands enough to let you get an eyeful. All you see is red, beyond just his jersey. His mouth is full of blood, the front of his jersey dripped with it, his knuckles clustered with it. 

The hand clasped around your mouth is your own, eyes blown in horror. 

All around you, the world has their phones out like it was some show meant just for them, like this was exactly what they came here for. 

It’s sickening. Sickening. 

You brave another look, and they’ve been yanked off of one another. Seungcheol is being pushed down the tunnel and away from sight. Jeonghan has his hands clutched around Seungcheol like he’s nearly ready for another outbreak, his face grim. 

Your eyes keep away from Seungcheol’s face on purpose.  “Goodness, what is going on, I could barely get through the crowd,” Lorelai’s irritated voice infiltrates your ears, and you’re immediately brought back down to earth. 

Arms full of more snacks and drinks, it only takes her one look at your rattled self to know. 

“What happened?”

“I…they were…fighting. I don’t know, it just—Seungcheol was throwing punches and there was…blood, so much blood.”

She’s gotten a grip on your hand, her fingers warm under your cold, shivering ones. “Do you wanna leave?” she asks slowly. 

One look over her shoulder is enough to tell you it’d be impossible. Everyone was too excited to care to cater to two people going in the opposite direction of the action. So you tell her there was no point, and you attempt to calm your racing heart as she sits next to you. 

Snagging one of the packs from her mountain of snacks, you rip it open and let the sickly sweet smell infiltrate your nostrils. Popping one of the confections in your mouth, it’s hard to not make a face. It’s the sourest thing you could’ve picked, the tartness enough to distract you from the outside world. Eyes scrunched closed, you swallow the rush of saliva to ask Lorelai what the fuck she brought.

You chortle, and it has Lorelai looking over. “Whoops! That one’s mine.”

She snags the bag from your loosened grip, replacing it with a tamer bag of original flavoured potato chips. The chips are trying, but there’s not much you can do besides wait for the residues of the godawful candy to subside. 

The ordeal seems to have calmed you the slightest bit, finally able to turn back to the ice. The rink is back to being occupied, players from both ends pouring onto the ice. You note a minor shoulder shove at the gate, but look away like it’d stop the calamity from intensifying. 

The game ensues as normal, but you note the blatant absence of CHOI in the sea of red and white jerseys. You don’t mention it, and neither does Lorelai. 

You’re about to burst by the time the finals moments are upon the game, the overtime minutes beginning to tick as the crowd grows restless by the second. With the little you’ve managed to grasp, you’re sure that SVT is only one goal away from the overtake. It’s making you nervous, like you’re waiting for your own score to be announced after a free skate. 

The puck is a mere percentage easier to navigate after a couple hours of keeping after it; it skips between players you’re beginning to recognise from the back of their jersey. Kim, Boo, Wen, Kim, Lee. The opposing team intercepts for a moment, and you find yourself letting out an irritated shake of the shoulders. Back to Kim, Lee, Lee, and then, right into the net. 

The jittering crowd suddenly went so silent you could hear a pin drop. 

And then the world around you erupts. It’s impossible to classify the sound as cheers when racketeers off your entire being like an unearthly sound, the stands on their feet hollering and screaming and yelling at their players that are fighting to keep their new overtake in the final seconds before the game officially ends. 

And when it does, you’re sure you need to get your ears checked out. 

Looking over, you catch Lorelai’s eye, and you can’t help but laugh. A delightful laugh that releases itself in the midst of the chaos of red, scarlet and cherry. Somebody’s thrown a red blanket over you, another has begun to hand out congratulatory cherry lollipops (you pass, but Lorealai would be damned if she did), people are hugging each other so tight and you get the inkling they’ve only met each other today. 

The ice is one giant dogpile, red on red as they suffocate one another in celebration. 

Perhaps you didn’t realise how important the game actually was, or maybe every game is like this, loud, proud and exultant. You find yourself imagining how they feel. 

The lost feeling of bouquets and flowers whisked in your direction, stuffed animals and hundreds of other things that scream adoration as your performance comes to a close. It’s a physical manifestation of an adoring crowd, as though making it tangible makes it a little more real. 

The rush, you can feel it resonate off of the scarlet side of the benches, and it’s enough for you to realise that yes, this was an important match. For them anyway. 

The way out of the rink is reasonably packed, but you manage to squeeze through the doors and towards where Lorelai had parked with fewer than expected obstruction. “Thought you might wait to see Jeonghan before we leave,” you hum as you walk to the parking spot. 

“I was going to, but he’s probably dealing with what happened,” she utters slowly. A flash of red at the mention, gone as soon as it came. Lorelai adds with a little extra pep to her voice, “It’s okay! I’ll send him a text, we were planning on dinner tomorrow anyway.”

The side eye you send is met with a light shove. “This one seems serious. Dragging me here for his sake and now dinner with him?”

Lorelai was infamous for taking it excruciatingly slow, the time between the talking stage and the first date stretching for months. She claims it’s to make sure she's not roping herself into something she’d regret, which you’ll admit has seemed to work out in her favour. Her last relationship lasted years before Josh had to move away. 

Jeonghan seems to have her under some warped spell, because Lorelai was hurtling into this relationship like a too compressed cannon ball. There was nothing you knew about Jeonghan other than his friendship with Seungcheol, his position as junior league coach and his habit of loitering on the ice; which means there wasn’t much opinion to be had on the whole conquest. Regardless, you decide to caution her some other day, when she’s not glowing and over the moon like a robust teenager. 

Slipping into the passenger seat, you slump like never before, already dreaming about the bedrotting session you’re about to have; glorious enough for the books. 

“Do you wanna grab food and rot on the couch?” she asks. 

“You’re still hungry after all that?” you huff, your mouth still flavoured with artificial sweetness paired with the savoury of the chicken and fries. You pull out your phone for the first time in nearly three hours, the home screen alarming full of missed notifications. Text messages, mentions and phone calls. For whatever reason, you swipe right past and open your browser. 

“It’ll take about an hour till we’re settled, should be hungry enough by then,” she comments, a gentle growl coming from beneath you as the engine comes to life. 

Somewhere between the lines of the seatbelt sign pinging, and the radio blaring itself into the space, you’ve read a headline that’s enough to halt your world. 

“There’s this new Chinese place that opened nearby here. Or this Persian restaurant but it’s like 20 minutes in the other direction. Or do we just do soup—”

“Lorelai.”

She turns to look at you in the passenger seat, seatbelt alarm still dinging as you remain with your seatbelt off as she pulls out of the parking space, like the official soundtrack to your doom. She brakes, hard. Lorelai is always Lorry with you, her full name only ever when you’re feigning irritation. 

There’s nothing irritating about the situation, but everything is wrong with it. 

It’s like you were in the benches, taking punches while simultaneously throwing a few yourself. You’re out of breath still seated, your skin tingles like a million arachnids crawling under your skin under your layers. You’re in the eddy of a horrifying whirlpool, that’s pulling you down, down, down, down, down, down—

!HOT TOPIC!

FIGURE SKATER OR FIGURINE? NOTHING GRACEFUL ABOUT Y/N L/N’S FALL FROM THE PINNACLE OF THE SKATING WORLD. Read from the Source!

From a pocket princess, to a rising star. From a rising star to the top of the world. From the top of the world to… a bottomless hell? How did Y/N L/N end up here? 

It’s nothing new that L/N’s presence was notable during the flashy ISU Grand Prix held in Beijing last year, the podium notably shuffled as a result. The skater’s ankle injury was never awarded a career ending title, but with the way her comeback remains as foggy as it did since the initial announcement, one must begin to wonder if we’ll ever see L/N on the competitive ice again. 

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her spark? 

Trusted sources report that L/N’s sponsors are growing weary of her extended vacation, and are just about ready to pull the rug! In addition, sources also report her floundering lack of consistency in practice sessions on the ice, her condition beyond someone as onerous as even Isabella Carroll to manoeuvre into success. Talk about futile! 

Now, we’re all hoping that our glittering gold medalist is only a victim of mindless chatter, however, we must concede, neither we nor our sources are holding on to too much hope. 

Keep on the lookout for more updates from us on our fallen (?) star!

[a/n]: hehehehehe remember to reblog and tell me your thoughts

[woozinhos]

Can you do an arranged marriage au with seungcheol? and seungcheol was cold to you until they saw you with your guy best friend or some guy and he got jealous/possessive over it?

Notes: this one I’m so proud of this is such a goo request ahhhh enjoy!!

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Smut below the cut

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You and Seungcheol had been engaged in an arranged marriage for years, but your relationship was far from warm. He had always been cold and distant, rarely speaking to you unless it was necessary. Tonight was no different. The two of you stood at a crowded party, surrounded by friends and acquaintances, but Seungcheol seemed disinterested in the festivities. He stood stiffly by your side, his gaze sweeping over the room with a look of disdain.

You noticed a few people casting curious glances in your direction, wondering why the engaged couple seemed so unenthusiastic about being together. As you stood beside Seungcheol, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. You were used to his cold demeanor, but tonight it seemed even more pronounced. He barely acknowledged your presence, his attention focused on the people around him.

You tried to make conversation, asking him about his day or what he thought of the party, but he responded with short, one-word answers or a grunt of acknowledgment. It was as if he was trying to shut you out completely. As you stood there, trying to ignore the growing tension between you, you saw your best friend approaching from across the room. He gave you a friendly wave and began to make his way towards you. Your best friend smiled warmly as he approached, clearly oblivious to the tension between you and Seungcheol.

"Hey, [your name]!" he greeted cheerfully. "Having fun at the party?" Seungcheol's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at your friend, his expression hardening. You could feel the possessive energy radiating off of him as he observed your interaction. Your friend, sensing the tension, gave Seungcheol a polite nod. "And you must be Seungcheol," he said, trying to keep the mood light. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Seungcheol merely grunted in response, his jaw clenched tightly. He placed a possessive hand on your waist, drawing you closer to him. It was a subtle yet clear display of his jealousy. You scoffed at Seungcheol's possessive gesture, pulling away from his touch. His eyes widened slightly at your reaction, clearly not expecting you to defy him in front of your friend. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and tense.

Your friend looked between the two of you, sensing the growing conflict. "What am I doing?" you repeated, your voice laced with irritation. "What are you doing, Seungcheol? Trying to assert your ownership over me in front of my friend like some kind of caveman?" Seungcheol's eyes darkened at your words, his jaw clenching even tighter. He clearly wasn't used to being challenged like this, especially in public.

"I'm just showing everyone that you're mine," he said, his voice firm. "Is that a crime?" You rolled your eyes at his response, your irritation growing. "No, it's not a crime," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But it is possessive and controlling. I'm not some property for you to claim and flaunt around." Seungcheol huffed in frustration, his face reddening with anger.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "We're leaving." He grabbed your arm, his grip tight and unyielding as he began to pull you away from the party. You stumbled as Seungcheol dragged you away from the party, your friend watching helplessly as you were pulled out of sight.

Once you were alone, Seungcheol rounded on you, his eyes blazing with anger. "What the hell was that back there?" he demanded, his voice raised. "Why were you acting like that in front of everyone?" You stood there, your heart racing as you tried to calm down from the sudden confrontation.

"Acting like what?" you retorted, your voice shaking slightly. "Acting like I'm a person with my own thoughts and feelings? Like I'm not some object for you to control?" Seungcheol took a step closer to you, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "You're my fiancée," he said, his voice low and menacing. "And I won't let you embarrass me in front of our friends and family. You need to understand that you belong to me, and you need to act like it."

“Why should I! You never show me any kind of affection!” You retort. Seungcheol's expression faltered for a moment, caught off guard by your words.

"I do show you affection," he protested weakly, but the lack of conviction in his voice betrayed him. He took another step closer, closing the gap between you. His gaze softened slightly as he looked down at you. "I care about you," he said quietly. "I just... I have a hard time expressing it sometimes." You looked up at Seungcheol, your eyes filled with a mix of hurt and frustration.

"If you care about me, then why do you treat me like this?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why do you push me away and treat me like a possession? Why can't you just show me some love and respect?" Seungcheol's face hardened again as he responded.

"Get in the car," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. "I need to show you something. And you better behave yourself, or else." Seungcheol slid into the backseat of the car, his expression stern and determined. He waited for you to join him, his eyes never leaving yours. As you slid into the car beside him, Seungcheol immediately pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you tightly. He shut the door behind you, trapping you in his embrace. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear.

"Now you're going to listen to me," he said, his voice low and dominant. As Seungcheol began to kiss your neck, his hands started to roam over your body, tracing patterns across your back and sides. His touch was both possessive and gentle, a mix of affection and dominance. He pulled you closer to him, his chest pressed against your back, as he continued to pepper your neck with kisses. Seungcheol's whispers sent shivers down your spine as he held you close, his breath hot against your ear.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of affection and vulnerability. "I'm sorry for how I've treated you. I know I've been distant and controlling, but it's because I care about you so much. I just don't know how to show it sometimes." You felt a mixture of emotions as Seungcheol spoke. His words were sincere, and you could sense the regret in his voice.

"I want to change," he continued, his hands gently caressing your body. "I want to be a better partner to you. I want us to have a happy marriage." As Seungcheol continued to speak, his hands moved down to the straps of your dress, gently pulling them down over your shoulders. His touch was slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment. As the straps of your dress slid further down your arms, Seungcheol's lips followed, leaving a trail of soft kisses across your shoulders. His touch was tender, his lips leaving a warm path on your skin.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he continued to hold you close. Seungcheol's hands moved up to your back, tracing the curves of your spine as he continued to kiss your neck and shoulders. His lips found their way to the sensitive spot behind your ear, nibbling and sucking gently. He let out a low growl of satisfaction, his body responding to the feel of your skin against his.

Seungcheol's hands moved down to the hem of your dress, pulling it up slightly to expose your legs. His fingers traced patterns on your thighs as he continued to kiss you, his breath growing heavier with desire. He let out a low moan as he felt his pants grow tighter, the feeling of his own body becoming more and more aroused. Seungcheol's lips left your skin for a moment as he pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with yours. His voice was low and raspy as he spoke, his eyes dark with lust.

"Can I take you here?" he asked, his hands still roaming over your body. "Right now, in this car?" You looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the tension between you both grow stronger.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Seungchehg didn't hesitate at your response. He quickly freed himself from his pants, his erection standing proud and ready. He pulled you closer to him, your bodies pressed tightly together as he positioned himself behind you. Seungcheol's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he spoke.

"Ride me, baby," he growled, his voice filled with desire. "I need you now." You straddled his lap, feeling the heat radiating from his body as you positioned yourself over him. Seungcheol's eyes were fixed on you, watching intently as you prepared to take him in. He let out a low moan, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he guided you down onto him. As you sank down onto him, Seungcheol let out a deep, guttural groan of pleasure. His eyes rolled back as he felt himself slide inside you, the sensation overwhelming.

He gripped your hips even tighter, his fingers leaving bruises on your skin as he tried to hold back from thrusting up into you. You started to move your hips, riding him slowly at first as Seungcheol guided your movements with his hands. He met each thrust with a powerful thrust of his own, his body responding to yours with an urgency that was almost animalistic. His eyes never left yours, watching as you rode him, a mix of desire and possessiveness in his gaze.

As you continued to ride him, you reached up to undo the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing more of his toned chest and abdomen. Your fingers traced over his skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Seungcheol's breathing grew heavier as you touched him, his body arching up into your touch. He groaned again, the sound low and needy. As you undid the last button on his shirt, Seungcheol pushed his hair back, revealing his forehead and giving him a devilishly handsome look. He smirked at you, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you continue to ride him.

He brought one hand up to your face, tracing his thumb along your jawline before sliding it down to your neck. Seungcheol's hand on your neck tightened slightly, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse point. He held you in place as he began to thrust up into you harder, his hips meeting yours with each movement. He leaned forward, his lips finding your collarbone as he started to kiss and bite at your skin, leaving a trail of red marks on your body.

"I'm close," Seungcheol growled against your skin, his voice rough with pleasure. "You feel so good, baby. I can't hold back much longer." He started to thrust even faster, his hips bucking up into you with a desperate need. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he neared his release. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he tried to control himself.

"Come for me," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he spoke against your neck. "I want to feel you come undone around me." He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing your skin as he continued to drive into you with all his might.

With a deep, guttural moan, Seungcheol thrust into you one last time before spilling himself inside you. His body tensed and shuddered as he came, his grip on you tightening as he rode out his orgasm. He buried his face in your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he slowly came down from his high. Seungcheol slumped back against the seat, his body limp and sated. He threw his head back, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. His chest was heaving, his shirt still open and his hair disheveled.

He slowly opened his eyes, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he looked up at you. Seungcheol pulled you closer, his lips finding your cheek and planting a soft kiss there. He nuzzled his face against yours, his body still trembling slightly from the intensity of his orgasm. Seungcheol smiled, his eyes still heavy with satisfaction. "I'm so thankful we were arranged," he said, his hand stroking your hair. "You're everything I could have ever asked for I just don’t show it enough.”

[cherry-zip]

─ • CSC .ᐟ Kindergarten Crush

› content ┆ ceo scoups x kindergarten teacher fem reader, fluff ✎ word-count .ᐟ 3.3k. ⌁ summary ┆CEO Choi Seungcheol can not help but fall in love with the one kindergaten teacher who takes best care of his son while he is late. He's making it his mission to be the best father so you would accept to love and take care of him too.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated!

It was the kind of late afternoon when the last streaks of sunlight filtered through the classroom windows, casting a warm glow on the cozy space inside. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of a cartoon playing on the projector screen. A blanket was spread across the floor, surrounded by pillows of every shape and color. In the middle of it all were two figures: a small boy, whose legs were tucked beneath him as he sat cross-legged on the blanket, and his teacher, you, sitting beside him with a gentle smile on your face.

You were everything a child could ask for in a teacher—warm, caring, and endlessly patient. Your laughter was infectious, and your ability to make every child feel seen and heard was unmatched. You had a particular soft spot for one student in your class, a tiny boy named Seungwoo. He was shy, and often a bit reserved, but there was something in his wide eyes and sweet smile that melted your heart every time.

That day, Seungwoo had stayed after school, as he often did, for some extra playtime in the reading zone waiting for his father to pick him up. His classmates had all gone home, and you had promised him you'd watch his favorite cartoon together. And so, there you both were—Seungwoo nibbling on a cookie as he snuggled into a pillow beside you.

"Are you sure your mom and dad don't mind you staying a bit longer, Seungwoo?" you asked softly, your eyes twinkling with affection as you handed him another cookie.

Seungwoo shook his head, a tiny smile forming on his lips. "Dad's always busy, but he likes it when I stay here. He says I’m safe with you."

Your heart swelled with warmth at his words. "Well, you're safe with me anytime, sweetie. And I'll always have cookies and cartoons waiting for you."

Just as the cartoon reached its climax, the sound of the door opening made you turn. Standing in the doorway, looking every bit as polished and serious as he always did, was Choi Seungcheol, the CEO of a major tech company. Also well known for his handsome looks. His sharp dark suit and expensive watch contrasted with the cozy, colorful childlike atmosphere of the classroom, but the sight before him made his chest tighten.

There, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was his son Seungwoo, laughing and enjoying his time with you. You were sharing cookies, the kind you always baked with your students in mind, and sipping on fruit juice as you watched the cartoon. The sight of you—your gentle smile as you carefully adjusted a pillow for Seungwoo, the way Seungwoo’s face lit up every time you spoke—was so pure, so heartwarming, that Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat.

His usual sharp and composed demeanor faltered for a split second as he stood there, taking in the moment. He hadn’t expected to find such a sweet scene after his long day of meetings, but it was exactly what he needed to see. It felt like everything he had worked so hard for—his long hours and high-pressure job—was being undone by something as simple as this: someone’s love and attention for his son.

You noticed him standing there, and your face lit up in that familiar, welcoming smile. "Ah, Mr. Choi! I didn’t expect you this late. Seungwoo wanted to stay a little longer, so we’re just finishing up with some cookies and a cartoon. How was your meeting?"

Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile, softer than usual. "It went well, thank you. I’m sorry for being late."

Seungwoo, noticing his father, scrambled to his feet, rushing over to him with a bright grin. "Dad! You’re here!" he exclaimed, holding up a cookie in the offering. "Want one?"

Seungcheol’s heart melted at his son’s enthusiasm. "Sure," he said, crouching down to accept the cookie, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. You smiled at him kindly, and for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol felt his shoulders relax.

As they all sat together on the blanket, Seungwoo between you two, Seungcheol found himself drawn into the warmth of the moment. The laughter and comfort that filled the room seemed to melt away the tension of his busy, corporate life. It was strange, how just being in this simple, peaceful setting made everything feel... right.

Over the next few weeks, Seungcheol made a quiet promise to himself. He had always been a man of routine, arriving at the school late after long hours of meetings, but now he found himself arriving just a little earlier each day. He would make sure to stop by the classroom after work, even if just for a few minutes. He wanted to see that smile you always greeted him with, to hear your gentle voice speaking to his son, making him feel safe and cared for.

Every time he saw you, a flutter would rise in his chest. You were so effortlessly kind, so good to Seungwoo. He had never realized how much of an impact a teacher could have on a child’s life until now. And perhaps—just perhaps—he was beginning to wonder what kind of impact you could have on his life, too.

One afternoon, as he arrived a little earlier than usual, you were sitting at your desk, grading papers with a focused expression. Your hair was loosely tied back, and the soft light from the window framed your face in a way that made you look even more beautiful. Seungcheol hesitated for a moment before knocking softly on the doorframe.

"Hi," he said, his voice low but steady.

You looked up and smiled warmly. "Mr. Choi, you’re early today. Is everything alright?"

He took a deep breath, the weight of the moment not lost on him. "Yes. Everything’s fine," he replied. "I... I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you do for Seungwoo. He really loves being here with you."

You blinked in surprise at the sincerity in his voice. "It’s my pleasure, Mr. Choi. Seungwoo is such a sweet boy. He’s a joy to have in class."

Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat at your words. He stood there for a moment longer, unsure of how to express what he was feeling. But there, in the quiet space of the classroom, he realized that perhaps some things didn’t need words. Not yet, anyway.

As he walked over to where Seungwoo was playing with a set of blocks, you joined them, and for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol didn’t mind staying a little longer. He knew he would be coming to school more often now, not just to pick up his son, but because—perhaps—there was more to discover in this little classroom with its cozy reading zone, pillows, and blankets.

It wasn’t just the cookies that kept him coming back. It was you.

The following days seemed to pass in a blur, but each one held something special for him. He found himself eagerly anticipating the moment when he'd arrive at the school, hoping to catch just a glimpse of you. And it wasn’t just about Seungwoo anymore—though, of course, he adored his son and cherished the time they spent together. But there was something else now, something he couldn't quite put into words, that drew him back to the classroom every day.

Each afternoon, he would arrive a little earlier, hoping to find the moment when you and Seungwoo were still together, sharing their cookies and watching cartoons. He loved the way you laughed at the silly moments in the show and the way you gently encouraged Seungwoo to try new things, even as you made him feel comfortable at his own pace.

One particular Thursday, Seungcheol arrived with a little more excitement than usual. He had no meetings scheduled for the afternoon, so he was able to leave work early. When he entered the school, he was greeted by the soft murmur of children’s voices and the sweet scent of cookies wafting through the hallway. He smiled to himself as he walked toward the classroom. He could hear the familiar sound of your voice before he even reached the door.

"Okay, Seungwoo, what’s your guess? Will it be the blue one or the green one?"

Seungwoo giggled. "The green one! It’s always the green one!"

He stopped for a moment, listening to the laughter. He couldn't help but smile, feeling warmth in his chest. He pushed open the door and saw a familiar scenery—Seungwoo sitting on the blanket, legs crossed, with you beside him. You were playing a guessing game, and there were cookies scattered around. Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

"Mr. Choi! You’re here early today!" you said, your voice full of pleasant surprise.

Seungcheol, slightly embarrassed by how eager he felt, nodded. "I finished my work early. Thought I’d pick Seungwoo up and maybe stay for a bit."

You smiled warmly, your gaze lingering just a little longer than usual. "You’re welcome to join us, of course. We were just playing a game. Want to try?"

Seungwoo looked up, his face lighting up. "Dad, you can play too! We’re guessing the color of the candy!"

He chuckled, feeling an unexpected sense of comfort. He was used to boardroom meetings, not children's games, but something about being in this space with you and Seungwoo made him feel at ease. "Alright, I’ll give it a try," he said, taking a seat on the floor beside them. The warmth of the moment was enough to make him forget the hectic hours he spent in high-rise offices.

As you played the game, he found himself enjoying the simplicity of the moment. He listened to Seungwoo’s innocent guesses and watched you with encouraging smiles. Your laughter echoed in his heart, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was experiencing something rare, something that transcended the world of high-powered deals and deadlines.

It was clear that you had a way of making everyone around you feel special. Your love for teaching, your care for each student, and your kindness toward them had started to make a significant impact. He found himself lingering a little longer each day, unable to tear himself away from the peaceful atmosphere you created in that little classroom.

By Friday, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Seungcheol realized that he was beginning to look forward to his time together with you, even if it was just a few minutes at the end of the day. He wanted to know more about the person who had become such an important part of his son’s life. And—though he couldn’t quite admit it yet—he wanted to know more about the woman who made his heart skip every time you smiled at him.

The day dragged on longer than usual, but Seungcheol finally made his way to the school, arriving as the final bell rang. He didn’t rush this time; he took his time, knowing he had a few extra minutes to spare. When he walked into the classroom, he found you packing up some of your things.

"Miss Y/N," he said, his voice a little softer than usual, "I wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve been doing for Seungwoo. He really enjoys his time here, and I can tell he’s learning so much from you."

You smiled up at him from the desk, your eyes warm and kind. "It’s my pleasure, Mr. Choi. Seungwoo is such a bright boy. I’m really lucky to have him in my class."

There was a quiet pause between you two, and you felt something shift in the air, a subtle, unspoken connection that had been growing stronger with each day. He had to take a deep breath before speaking again.

"I was wondering… if you might be free sometime? Maybe we could grab a coffee? Just… as a thank you. You know, for all the kindness you’ve shown Seungwoo and for making me feel so welcome."

The words hung in the air between you. For a brief moment, Seungcheol cursed himself for being so straightforward, so vulnerable. But when he looked at you, he saw your smile soften, your eyes lighting up in a way that made his heart race.

"I’d love that," you said, your voice gentle. "I’m usually free on weekends if that works for you."

A surge of relief washed over him. "That sounds perfect. I’ll let you know when."

You exchanged numbers with a small, tentative smile, both of you feeling the weight of what this moment might mean. Seungcheol could feel his pulse quicken at the thought of spending more time with you, outside the classroom. He had known for a while now that there was something special about you, something that made him feel alive in ways you hadn't expected.

When you left the school that afternoon, your heart was full in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. The thought of meeting him for coffee and talking about something other than Seungwoo and school made your chest tighten in excitement. You hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine this kind of connection in years, but now, with every smile from him, you felt yourself pulling closer.

As the days passed, you looked forward to your coffee date, knowing that this was just the beginning of something that felt as sweet and simple as the cookies you’d shared in that classroom, surrounded by pillows and laughter

The days that followed were filled with anticipation, and he found himself counting down the hours until Saturday. Though he had many things to do—business deals, phone calls, tasks at the office—nothing felt as important as the upcoming coffee date with you. The thought of seeing you outside of school, getting to know the person behind the kind, gentle teacher, made his heart flutter in ways he hadn’t felt in years.

Saturday finally arrived, and he made sure to arrive at the café a little early. The air was crisp, a hint of winter beginning to settle in. He stood outside, adjusting his jacket, checking his watch, running a hand through his hair. He tried hard to not look too eager, but the truth was, he had been looking forward to this moment all week.

When he saw you walking toward him, a soft smile on your face, his heart skipped a beat. You looked effortlessly beautiful, wearing a simple yet elegant dress paired with a cozy cardigan. The way you carried yourself, with grace and warmth, made you seem like you were in your element.

"Hi, Mr. Choi!" you greeted him, your voice light and friendly. "I hope I’m not late."

His nerves settled at the sound of your voice, and he couldn’t help but smile. "Not at all, Miss Y/N. I just got here a few minutes ago. I’m glad you could make it."

You walked into the café together, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries welcoming you inside. Seungcheol led you to a quiet corner, where the soft hum of conversation and the low music in the background made the space feel intimate and cozy. As he sat down, he couldn’t help but notice how at ease you seemed, how your presence brought an unexpected peace to your usually hectic world.

"I have to admit," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I wasn’t sure what to expect. I mean, we usually talk about Seungwoo, school, and all the little things in his life. But this—this feels different."

You smiled, your eyes sparkling with warmth. "I think it’s nice, don’t you? A change of pace. We get to talk about something other than lesson plans and school activities."

He chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. "Definitely. I’ve spent so much of my life focused on work and responsibilities, that I forget that there are moments like these that actually make life feel… complete. Like this. With you."

Your smile softened at your words, and you tucked a strand of hair behind you ear. "I understand what you mean. Teaching is a big part of my life, but there’s also more to it, more to me. Sometimes it’s nice to step away from the classroom and just be yourself for a moment."

Seungcheol nodded, his gaze lingering on you. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he longed for these quieter moments—the ones that weren’t filled with the buzz of the corporate world. He was used to being the one in charge, the one who always had to make decisions, led meetings, and set the pace. But with you, there was a kind of tranquility, a balance that he hadn’t known he needed.

As you talked, the conversation flowed easily. You shared stories about your childhoods, your favorite books, and even silly things like the kinds of music you liked. Your laughter was infectious, and he found himself opening up in a way he rarely did with anyone. There was a lightness to the way you spoke, a genuine interest in everything he had to say, and it made him feel like he was finally allowed to be more than just the CEO, more than just the father. For the first time in a long while, he felt… seen.

"I have to admit," you said, your smile turning playful, "I’ve always been curious about what it’s like to run a company. I mean, you’re so busy with meetings and traveling, right? How do you manage it all?"

Seungcheol leaned forward, intrigued by your question. "It’s not easy, but it’s all about balance. Finding time for the things that matter—work, yes, but also family. And now," he added, his eyes softening as they met yours, "I’m starting to think I need to make more time for things like this."

You blinked, your eyes wide as you took in his words. "Things like this?"

he hesitated for a moment before replying, his voice quieter now. "Things like… spending time with you. I know it’s unexpected, but I really enjoy these moments we’ve been sharing—getting to know you, and seeing the way you care for Seungwoo. It’s been… refreshing."

Your cheeks flushed slightly at his words, and you looked down for a moment, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "I didn’t expect that," you said, a bit shyly. "But I’m glad you feel that way. I think there’s something special about the time we’ve spent together too. You and Seungwoo have a warmth to you that’s hard to ignore."

Seungcheol smiled at your response, feeling a sudden surge of hope in his chest. This wasn’t just a fleeting moment, he realized. There was something genuine here—something that he wanted to explore further.

The coffee date continued into the evening, the conversation never running dry. You talked about everything and nothing, the kind of easy companionship that made time seem to stand still. By the time you finished your drinks, you both knew one thing for certain: you wanted more of this.

As he stood up to leave, he took a step closer to you. "I’m really glad we did this," he said, his voice sincere. "And, um… if you’re free again sometime, maybe we could do it again?"

You smiled warmly, your eyes lighting up at his words. "I’d love that."

His heart raced at the thought, but there was a calmness to it now, a certainty. He had known, even before he asked, that this was just the beginning of something. The connection between you two was undeniable, and he was more than ready to explore it.

"How about next weekend?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Next weekend sounds perfect," you replied with a smile that made his chest swell with warmth.

As you walked out of the café together, side by side, he felt like something had shifted, not just in the world around him, but within himself. Maybe it was because of the way you made him feel—like he was more than just a CEO, more than just a father. Maybe it was the quiet moments, like the ones you shared over coffee, that made him realize how much you had been missing.

And as you parted ways that night, a promise unspoken hung in the air– that this was only the beginning.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form

honestly inspired by real life.. somehow, i'm just obsessed with one of the little one where i teach - he so adorable

@ credits┆big thanks to @tusswrites for beta & proof reading, one of my much needed grammar saviours ☆彡

❀ a/n┆ finally on vacations - happy holidays everyone

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip"🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

[diamonddaze01]

baby, darling, light of my entire life

pairing: csc x fem!reader genre: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, slice of life | wc: 2.4k au: married au! warning: alcohol consumption (by the reader) | rating: e for everyone

summary: it's laughable how much you forget when you drink.

a/n: one day when i say i’m writing a drabble i will actually write a drabble. one day. that day is not today. // the cheol angst is taking forever so here have some fluff as a precursor // flashbacks in italics!

“WOW,” you shout (very loudly, he thinks) in Seungcheol’s ear. “YOU’RE LIKE, REALLY PRETTY!” 

Seungcheol flinches, rubbing his ear as your voice cuts through the pounding bass of the club. The flashing lights reflect off the crowd around you, turning everything into a blur of motion, but all Seungcheol can focus on is you—his overly drunk wife—looking up at him with wide, dazzled eyes like he’s some stranger you’ve just met.

He had known this would happen. Letting you go out with Jeonghan, Joshua, and their girlfriends without him was practically inviting chaos into the night. He would’ve joined you if work hadn’t held him back, and guilt had gnawed at him all evening for canceling plans yet again (was it guilt, or fear of retribution from Jeonghan? He’d never tell). He’d figured he could catch up with you at the club before things got too crazy.

Clearly, he’d been wrong.

When Seungcheol finally arrives, the table your group has reserved is a mess of empty glasses, and the dance floor is packed with bodies swaying to the beat. It isn’t hard to spot Jeonghan trying to keep you out of trouble—tall and exasperated, attempting to pull you away from a guy you seem hellbent on kicking in the balls.

“I’LL LET YOU KNOW THAT I HAVE A BOYFRIEND,” you screech, words slurring together and voice so loud Seungcheol can hear it on the other side of the dance floor. “AND HE’S THE BESTESTEST - LET GO OF ME!”

Jeonghan, bless his soul, is no match for your drunken ferocity, and lets out a startled yelp as you yank your hands free from his grip and stalk away in a huff. Seungcheol watches with growing amusement as you stumble toward where he stands on the dance floor, eyes lighting up the second you spot him.

“WOW,” you repeat, stopping just inches from him, blinking up at him with childlike awe. “YOU’RE LIKE, REALLY PRETTY.”

Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle under his breath. Your wobbling stance, the way your gaze fixes on him with the same starry-eyed amazement as if you’re seeing him for the first time—it’s all too familiar. He leans in slightly, humoring you.

“Oh really?” he teases, though his lips twitch with amusement. You’re giving him the same starry-eyed look you gave him when you first confessed—though, admittedly, you’re significantly less intoxicated now. Well… maybe not that much less. “You think so?”

You’d had one too many drinks, laughing hysterically with Jeonghan and Joshua about something stupid—something Seungcheol couldn't even remember now. All he could remember was the way your eyes had kept flickering to him, playful but shy, as if you had something on your mind but weren’t quite sure how to say it. He’d leaned in close, pretending to listen to Jeonghan’s nonsense, but really, he was trying to get closer to you.

“Hey, Cheol,” you slurred that night, your voice softer than the buzz of the club, but enough to catch his attention. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, your hair falling messily into your eyes, but there was a different look behind them this time—something more serious.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol had leaned in, smiling softly. You were always cute when you were drunk, but tonight, something felt... different. You weren’t just tipsy; you were nervous.

“I have a secret,” you whispered, as if you were sharing the world’s biggest conspiracy.

Seungcheol blinked, amused. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You took a deep breath, looking around as if you were checking for eavesdroppers before meeting his gaze again. “I...I think you’re really pretty - like. REALLY PRETTY,” you blurted out, your eyes wide with sincerity. “And I think I really, really like you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and Seungcheol remembered feeling his heart skip a beat. He’d liked you for months at that point—he was pretty sure the whole group knew it—but you’d never given him any real sign that you felt the same way. Until now.

“You like me, huh?” Seungcheol had teased, leaning closer, his lips inches from yours. “Or are you just saying that because you’re drunk?”

You had frowned, swaying slightly, but your hands had reached for him, gripping his shirt tightly as if he might disappear. “No, I mean it. I like you,” you had insisted, your eyes growing glassy, a little too honest for your own good. “I don’t wanna be just friends anymore. I want you to be mine.”

Seungcheol’s chest had swelled with affection. “Well,” he had whispered back, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, “I think I’ve been yours for a long time, baby.”

You had blinked at him, confusion flickering in your eyes before a slow, wide smile spread across your lips. “Wait, really?” you asked, the disbelief clear in your voice.

Seungcheol had chuckled, pulling you into his arms then, your confession making his heart race. “Yeah, really,” he whispered before finally closing the distance, pressing his lips against yours.

Seungcheol’s heart swells as he looks at you, those same glassy, honest eyes reflecting an undeniable truth. In this moment, even if you don’t fully recognize him, he can feel it—the love you hold for him is woven into every glance, every flicker of emotion. It’s a warmth that wraps around him, grounding him despite the chaos.

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding vigorously as if this is the most important fact you’ve ever shared. “But I can’t talk to you,” you add in a whisper, glancing around as if someone might overhear. “I have a boyfriend.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching at your secrecy. “A boyfriend, huh?”

You nod, taking a wobbly step closer. Your hand lands on his arm, fingers curling around the fabric of his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling over. “Mhm. He’s got these big, strong arms… like yours,” you muse, eyes drifting over his frame with an approving once-over. “And the cutest smile ever. And—wait, are you his twin?” you ask, your voice suddenly full of suspicion.

Seungcheol barely manages to contain his laughter. “No, baby, I’m not his twin.”

Your face brightens again. “Good, because I’m not allowed to flirt with anyone who’s not him,” you declare, though the way you’re still clutching his arm suggests otherwise. “But you’re really pretty, so don’t get any ideas.”

You turn to walk away and suddenly whip back around, pointing an accusing finger in his face. He almost falls over. “And DON’T call me baby! Only my boyfriend can call me that.”

Seungcheol lets out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing a hand over his face to hide his grin. “Baby…”

“HEY! NO!”

He steals a glance at Jeonghan, who has now joined Joshua and their girlfriends at the edge of the dance floor, clearly done with playing babysitter. Jeonghan gives him a knowing smirk, mouthing good luck before turning away. Seungcheol’s patience wears thin, but he can’t help the fond smile tugging at his lips as he looks at you, swaying slightly under the flashing lights of the club. You’re an adorable mess: cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes wide and glassy as they struggle to focus on him. Every time the music pulses, your body sways, and Seungcheol instinctively tightens his grip on your waist to keep you steady.

“Baby. Darling. Light of my entire life.” His hands slide from your waist to your shoulders, squeezing gently, trying to ground you in the midst of your drunken haze. He crouches slightly, so he’s at eye level with you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip. You blink up at him, clearly confused, your brows knitting together as if trying to figure out a puzzle too complicated for your current state.

“I. Am. Your. Husband,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, almost as though speaking to a child.

Your eyes widen dramatically, hands flying to your chest as if struck by some earth-shattering revelation. “No way!” you gasp, your voice filled with pure astonishment. Your gaze roams over him as if you’re seeing him for the very first time. The lights of the club flicker against his face, casting shadows over his sharp features, and for a second, even in your drunken state, you marvel at just how beautiful he is. “Are you serious?!” you whisper, your tone full of awe.

Seungcheol closes his eyes for a brief moment, fighting back the laughter bubbling in his chest. He leans in, closer this time, until his lips brush against your ear. The familiar warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine. “Yes, I am very serious,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice sending butterflies into your already churning stomach.

You blink up at him again, head tilting slightly as if processing this newfound information is a monumental task. The room seems to spin a little, and you reach out instinctively, clutching at his arms to steady yourself. “But…” you start, your voice trailing off as you bite your lip, your brows furrowing in deep confusion. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I’m married?”

Seungcheol groans softly, though a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He pulls you in by the waist, his strong arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier from the chaos around you. “You were at the wedding, baby,” he says, exasperation dripping from every word, though his tone is laced with affection. “You were the bride.”

Your eyes flutter as you stare up at him, still trying to wrap your mind around this incredible information. The flickering lights above, the faint scent of alcohol and sweat from the club, the warmth of Seungcheol’s arms around you—it all feels dreamlike. “Wait, so… you’re my boyfriend and my husband?” you ask, your voice rising in a mix of disbelief and wonder.

“Yup,” he says with a soft chuckle, his dimpled smile deepening as he looks down at you. That smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, sends a rush of warmth through your already tipsy mind. Even in your inebriated state, the sight of it makes your heart race. “You really hit the jackpot, huh?”

“NO. WAY,” you repeat, this time louder, your voice filled with awe as you step back slightly, your eyes scanning him again as if to check if this is all real. The music pounds in your ears, but you can barely hear it now over the sound of your own giddiness. “And… do we live together? Like, in a house?”

Seungcheol lets out another soft laugh, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. His fingers linger for a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek before resting gently on your shoulder. “Yes, baby, we do. You even picked out the curtains.”

The memory of your shared home floods your mind—each detail a testament to your love. Sunlight pours through the cheerful curtains you’ve chosen, illuminating the cozy living room where laughter echoes like music. The kitchen, with its warm scents of your culinary experiments and his late-night snacks, feels alive with the essence of you. Every nook and cranny speaks of the warmth you’ve woven into his life, transforming a mere house into a home, brimming with love and memories.

Your eyes widen in recognition, and you gasp, your hands clapping over your mouth. “And they’re so nice!” you exclaim, shaking your head in disbelief. “I have great taste.” You pause, narrowing your eyes at him as another thought pops into your alcohol-clouded brain. “Does my boyfriend—uh, husband,” you correct yourself with a dramatic flair, pointing a finger at him as if delivering an important verdict, “does he know how lucky he is?”

Seungcheol can’t hold back his laughter this time. It’s rich and warm, rumbling from his chest as he pulls you closer, his arms snug around your waist. “Oh, trust me, he knows,” he replies, his voice softening as he presses a tender kiss to your temple.

Even when you can’t remember him, Seungcheol feels a swell of gratitude for your love—for the quiet mornings entangled in the sheets, for spontaneous late-night adventures, for the way your laughter brightens his day.

You sigh in contentment, leaning into his chest, the weight of your body completely sinking into his warmth. The booming bass of the club seems to fade into the background as you melt against him, finding solace in his steady heartbeat and familiar scent. “He’s so lucky,” you mumble, your voice barely audible against the fabric of his shirt, but Seungcheol hears it loud and clear.

He smiles, brushing his lips across the top of your head. “He really is.”

For a moment, the world around you both seems to pause. The chaotic energy of the club, the distant chatter, and the bright lights all fade as you stand wrapped in each other’s arms, content in this little bubble of warmth. But then, just as quickly, you pull back, your brows furrowed in concentration. You blink up at him, still slightly suspicious. “Wait… does this mean I have to go home with you?”

Seungcheol’s deep chuckle reverberates through his chest as he gently brushes a stray hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “Yeah, baby, that’s usually how marriage works,” he replies, his voice dripping with amusement.

You frown, trying to piece everything together in your hazy mind. "But I don’t want to leave the club yet… we’re having fun, right?” you ask, your tone almost pleading, as though the thought of leaving this electric energy behind is too much to bear.

At that, Seungcheol’s gaze hardens a little as he leans down, glinting with unspoken promises. He presses a kiss under your ear, relishing in the way you shiver and press against him (he can’t help himself— the dress you’re wearing right now is sin incarnate). His lips linger against your skin for a moment longer, feeling your heart rate speed up at his antics. “We’ll have even more fun at home,” he murmurs, his voice deep and sultry; he smirks when you stumble a little in his grip, knees growing weak.

But of course, he’s not getting lucky tonight—you pull back just as quickly as you melted in his arms. You squint at him, narrowing your eyes as suspicion creeps in, your drunken mind still struggling to grasp the concept. “You’re not just saying that because you’re so pretty, right?”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning in until his face is mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. His dark eyes sparkle with mischief as his voice drops to a low, teasing whisper. “You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

For a long moment, you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind trying to decide whether or not to kiss him right then and there. The world seems to slow around you, the only thing you can focus on is him—the way his lips hover so close to yours, the way his arms wrap securely around you, and the soft, affectionate look in his eyes. Finally, you let out a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Fine,” you say, leaning in slightly, your lips brushing his with the faintest touch. “But only because you’re so pretty.”

[monamipencil]

— (sulky) lover of mine | c.sc

genre; fluff, established relationship, gn! reader | tw; sulky cheol, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), uh .. mentions of pp? | a/n; i was struggling to name this lmao. anyways, happy birthday to @vitaminkyeom, resident seungcheol simp (add gyu and dk to it), physics hater and the tweedledee to my tweedledumb <33 i hope you like this and have a great year ahead !! just a lil present from me 🫶

“seungcheol, you really can't be upset about this.”

you bite your tongue as soon as those words leave your mouth. why? because seungcheol will show you that he can be upset about this.

what's this you ask? you left to use the restroom, without him.

normally, it'd seem childish and petty. but, you'd been away for a good three months for work. almost hundred days went by without him by your side. understandably, he had been very clingy ever since you returned back.

you hold back a chuckle and hug his sulking figure, resting your head on his broad back. when that doesn't work, you move to sit in front of him, cradling his face in your hands. a small smile cracks on his face but he still puts up his upset demeanor, turning his face away from you.

carefully watching his reactions, you lean closer. he senses you getting closer, and closes his eyes, expecting a kiss from you. when his anticipated kiss doesn't arrive, his neck snaps to look at you.

you giggle, reaching for a bottle behind him and settle back. he looks at you, offended and hurt (he's a little dramatic). a deep pout settles on his face and you see gears turning in his head.

before he could overthink and come to conclusions on his face, you crawl onto his lap, peppering kisses all over his face. “you don't love me anymore,” he mutters through his pout.

“i do love you,” you assure him, kissing his forehead before moving to his temple.

“not as much as you used to,”

“you're right.” a furrow nestles between his eyebrows, big brown eyes staring at you with actual hurt.

“i just love you more.” you kiss his lips, savoring the feeling of his plump lips against yours. seungcheol relaxes, melting into the kiss. he holds the back of your head and your waist, tilting his head to kiss you deeply.

your lips slot together perfectly, and your breaths mingle together. you pull back enough to keep your lips brushing. you watch as his eyes flutter open. a comfortable silence washes over you both, and minutes pass by just staring at each other's eyes.

“i missed you,” he whispers, lips brushing yours.

“hmm, i missed you too.”

“i'm still mad that you left to use the restroom without me.”

“it's ok. when you use it, i'll accompany you. i can hold you—hmphh.” he shushes you with a kiss that melts into him smiling against your lips. pink dusts his cheek as he thinks about what you just said.

“no thanks.” he says, blush taking over his cheeks.

“what? i was about to say that i'll hold your hand,” he doesn't stop laughing, giggles erupting from his stomach.

“what did you think, pervert?” seungcheol shakes his head, keeping it down as he continues to giggle. you watch in amusement as he hides his face and blushes.

“seungcheol?”

“yes?” accompanied by a giggle.

“you do realise we've had sex before right?”

he starts giggling even more profusely, blushing and curling up into a ball. you stare at him, confused while he shifts closer to you. he rests his head on your shoulder, an ever present smile on his face.

“i didn't know you liked me like that.” accompanied by yet another giggle. you shake your head, a smile trickling onto your face.

you poke his dimple, “i think i broke you.”

the room fills with the giggles of your boyfriend.

[seokmn]

OUR SHIRTS

pairing: bf!seungcheol x gn!reader

wc: 0.3k words

warnings: mention of reader’s small figure, suggestive comment abt taking a shirt off

seungcheol seemed to be searching for something in specific in his room, specially in his closet. confused by not finding it, he made his way to the kitchen, where you were peacefully making some tea. drying his damp hair with the side of the towel that was around his neck and looking around the house in attempt to find whatever he was trying to find.

“hey, honey. have you seen my-“ he stopped in his track when he landed his eyes on you turning around to look at him while he’s talking, he pointed at you and raised his eyebrow. “is this my shirt?”

you looked down at the shirt you were wearing before looking back at him with a smile on your face, “yeah, were you looking for it?” he simply nodded, his eyes fixed on your small figure with his large shirt on, complete hypnotized by your beauty. “i can take it off if you want to” you said with your hands already traveling to the hem of the shirt to take it off and give it to him.

he immediately shook his head, “no!” he cleared his throat, trying to get back to his senses, before letting out a chuckle and pulling you closer to him by your waist. “y’know, as much as the thought of you taking it off is very tempting, the sight of you wearing it is so…” he looked at you up and down with a slight smirk on his face. “breathtaking”

you chuckled and he hugged you, placing his head in the crook of your neck. he took a deep breath and let it out before mumbling against your skin, “i love when you wear my shirts”

“your shirts?” you pushed him back a little bit, just enough to get to meet his eyes, “babe, theyre not your shirts, theyre our shirts”

he scoffed and rested his head in you neck again, getting back to the original position and gently squeezing your sides. “i love when you wear our shirts”

[iannmin]

Yuletide High | c.cs 최승철

tags + warnings ⋆ fluffy smut, bigger!husband!seungcheol x small!reader, implied size kink, breeding kink (extreme), creampie, dirty talk, manhandling, praise kink, intentional lowercase

synopsis ⋆ under the half done christmas tree, complications occur as cheol can’t quite seem to hold back his wishes <3

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆

you should have found it ridiculous or even funny at the situation both of you were in…no, really. if anyone had walked in on the both of you in the living room, it would be an absolutely disaster.

somewhere between hanging up the christmas ornaments on the fresh pine tree and exchanging wishes for the new year, everything went completely amiss.

you didn’t know that one phrase could have so much impact on your poor husband. but it did anyways. a simple “lets try for a baby” had cheol instantly folding, index and middle finger fumbling and tugging at the hem of your underwear and matching cotton plaid pants, hastily pulling them down your plush thighs even though you were practically kneeling doggy-styled in front of the half-done christmas tree. but for cheol, he seemed even more in a hurry.

not even bothering to remove the santa hat on his head, his plaid pants dropped and pooled near his knees, cock springing and hitting against his abdomen.

“oh my god cheol! n-not here, too exposed”

“fuck, but isn’t this the perfect place to get you all knocked up, hm? our baby will be made right under this lovely christmas tree. gonna be s’full of our love” and with that, his huge calloused fingers were digging into the flesh of your hips, slowly easing his cock into your heat. no matter how many times the both of you did it, your husband never failed to stretch your hole.

“f-fuckk! cheol, feels s’good, fuck me…please”

“yeah you like that baby? nggh..gonna be the best christmas gift I’ve ever had…oh god” every drag of cheol’s cock came away stained in white. a ring of the combined cum circling the base, balls sticking to your clit with every thrust. you were practically ascending into heaven.

his grip on your hips tightened, one arm snaking around the front of your small waist to find your clit, rubbing at it rapidly sideways. at this point, your thighs were shaking involuntarily, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks at the immense pleasure, and lips spewing a continuous lewd chant of his name.

his cock slammed and abused your sopping cunt continuously, producing a thunderous rhythm of skin-slapping sounds echoing in contrast to the peaceful and cozy christmas atmosphere that the living room emitted. but regardless, it was all a symphony of music to him.

your arms had given up, heated cheeks dropping to meet the cool marble floor while he pounded into you.

you were close.

“hnngh…n-no! c-cheol gonna..f-fuck…gonna cum!”

“oh god! s-shit, gonna cum too baby. gonna be such a pretty mommy for me? let me put one in you, hm? belly all round and swollen..tits full of milk…hnngh..can’t believe m’doin this to you, fuck-“

as promised, both of your high came crashing down as he pressed his cum right into you, right where he knows it’ll reach your womb and give you just what the both of you had wanted.

it’s absolutely hot and thick against your gummy walls. he held you through it, taking your hips in kneading hands to hold you still, making sure that you absolutely took it. and when you think he’s done, he rolled his hips up into you to shoot more ribbons, grinding harder against your ass. by the time you both were done, the santa hat had nearly slipped off his head, barely clinging on, but it didn’t matter much anyways.

“merry christmas baby, christmas next year will be a lot less lonely with one more in the house <3”

[cherrybr4t]

𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝘁 — 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗶 𝘀𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗼𝗹 (+18, mdni)

ABOUT.

you’re back from college, and seungcheol starts to realise you’re no longer the bratty little 18 year old anymore — and has trouble accepting that he’s not protective of you just because he thinks of himself as an ‘older brother figure’ in your life.

PAIRING.

seungcheol x reader (fem)

GENRE/TAGS & WARNINGS.

rich!seungcheol and rich!reader, age gap (cheol is older by 6 years), childhood friend! cheol, smut with plot, mentions of older brother mingyu (reader), cheol suffers from jealousy! denial! possessiveness! friends to lovers au <3 one-sided pining!

pt. 1 — red lips and red wine (coming soon)

pt. 2…

pt. 3…

RELEASE DATE:

mid december ! stay tuned <3

comment/send an ask to be added into the taglist 🤍

[nachojaehyun]

love galore

pairing. ex boyfriend seungcheol + afab reader

summary. when you meet your ex at a charity event, you like to imagine that the universe just wants to kill you. luckily, the mysterious forces of nature have other plans.

w.c 0.9k

warnings. porn with very little plot, car sex, backseat shenanigans, riding, minor tit play, BIG DICK CHEOL!!!! steamy sex, skin slapping, petnames: hers baby, slut his cheol, cheollie — 18+ MINORS DNI!

a/n. exam szn testing my fucking patience. maybe i’m back. maybe i’m not. based off of the song love galore by sza but not rlly 🫶 also wtf we are at 800 followers?? thank you???!!!! also, i surived nnn ;)

this was supposed to be a relaxed evening for you, visiting the charity event in Gwangju just to look at some cute animals and donating for a good cause.

it was supposed to be a few hours that you didn’t spend moping about in your apartment after breaking up with someone who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with.

well, the word ‘suppose’ doesn’t even cross your mind at the moment.

how could it, when his hands grab at your hips, his lips parted in a groan? when his mouth says your name so beautifully?

you’d not noticed seungcheol at first. not until you were on your knees stroking a moody ginger cat when suddenly someone’s fingers brushed against your own.

at first glance, you wanted to cuss him out. scream, yell, clock him in the jaw, commit arson– every crime under the sun.

but all you could do was helplessly moan like a desperate whore.

seungcheol hastily led you to his car, mouth melding with yours, opening the back door and practically throwing you inside. he tasted like mint and a hint of coffee. just the taste you liked.

nothing about the moment is soft. all that can be heard is his groans, your soft breaths and the lewd dance of your tongues.

“take your pants off,” seungcheol heaves, sitting upright in the backseat as he tugs you into his lap. one of his hands pushes his hair back, eyes dark as he scrutinizes you.

you follow his orders without batting an eye, unbuttoning your jeans with much difficulty in the cramped space and sliding them off.

seungcheol yanks your tank top down, spitting on your nipple as he spares it a lick. “missed you,” he mumbled, teething on your peak as if you hadn’t lost all train of thought the second his lips had met yours.

“missed you, missed these gorgeous tits, and of course, this needy pussy,” his fingers slide between your legs, prodding at your folds. “she’s still mine, right? or did you find someone else?”

you shake your head with a whine when his fingers enter you, feeling your tight walls contract around him. with the pad of his thumb on your engorged clit, seungcheol thrusts his fingers in, a pace that has your mind fogging.

“c-cheollie,” you hiccup, but he shushes you with a bite on your left nipple. “shush baby, just enjoy it,” his words are hoarse, as his tongue lavs over and over your perky mounds.

you can feel the impending telltale of your orgasm the second his fingers curl and they hit that spot inside of you. seungcheol feels a gush of arousal from you, not letting you cum, but just about there to silently remove his fingers and suck them into his mouth.

his cock replaces his fingers, and you just about lose the air from your lungs. no matter how many times you’ve had sex with him, it always feels like the first.

the fat tip pushes past your folds, slowly sinking you down on him. he hisses at the contact. “still so tight f’me... you’ve been a good girl, haven’t you? didn’t let anyone touch what’s mine, hm?”

he knows he’s blabbering, but when he notices the tears spring up to your eyes, seungcheol’s fingers, slightly wet from his saliva wipe them away.

“it’s okay, baby. i love you. i still do.”

you lean into his touch, relishing in the soft moment inside the steamy car when the bastard ruins it.

seungcheol bottoms out inside you, eliciting a moan that sounds so pornographic, you wonder why you’ve not switched careers yet.

the one thrust is enough for you to grab onto his shoulders, lips crashing against his with the power of a sea storm as you begin to ride him.

your tongue swirls with his, squelching noises coming from down below as he meets your thrusts halfway, hands planted on your hips. he sets the pace, your ass bouncing on his thighs, a noise that he has thoroughly yearned for.

“such a good little slut for me,” he whispers against your lips as you lean back, tits bouncing in his face as your thighs start to ache.

but you couldn’t care. not now anyway.

“so big inside me cheol... filling me up all the way,” you moan, eyes rolling as your lower stomach tightens slightly.

the stretch of his cock is too much, splitting your pussy into two in the best way possible. you feel every ridge and vein of his cock, twitching inside you as you praise his size. god, the man’s ego was almost as huge as his dick.

“gonna make me cum like that, baby,” seungcheol whispers, one of his hands leaving your hips to come up and squeeze your mounds. “want me to pull out?” he asks, flicking your nipple with a finger.

“fuck– hah! yes, pull out, pull out!”

with one last thrust and impeccable timing, you feel yourself cum, as he pulls out and releases all over your stomach. the white paints your skin and manages to land a few specks on your tank top.

seungcheol’s breathing is unsteady, as is yours. the sex induced fog seems to fade slightly, as you come down from the incredible high you’ve just experienced.

“stop looking like you regret this, y/n. i know you wanna come back to my place,” seungcheol pushes a strand of damp hair behind your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the sweaty skin of your jaw.

the moment is soft, a rare gem among the monstrous haze that the demon of lust had bestowed upon the two of you.

“what do you think, baby? wanna fuck on the couch like usual?”

oh, how you could you refuse that offer?

© nachojaehyun, 2024