#these pictures make it even more of a date...

[renjunphile]

way back home ❆ park sunghoon

⋆⁺₊❅. WORD COUNT: 22.4k ⋆⁺₊❅. PAIRING: enhypen's park sunghoon x female!reader ⋆⁺₊❅. TAGS & WARNINGS: figure skating!au, skater!sunghoon, skater!reader, enemies to lovers!au, ex bsf!au, kind of second chance romance!au, a lot of fluff, a little smidge of angst, a dash of fake dating blink and you'll miss, you used to stake for korea (more abt nationality than ethnicity), some inner conflict, burnout themes, tbz eric as a plot device oops, some heated making out

⋆⁺₊❅. SYNOPSIS: at the age of 5, you thought that you had made a life-long friend in park sunghoon. at the age of 16, you found out that life-long meant 11 years before you decided he was going to be your life-long enemy. but at 21, you're confronted with your past together as your figure skating coach decides to move back home to where you used to skate together after almost 6 years away abroad.

⋆⁺₊❅. NOTES: i've been attempting to write a hoonie ice skating fic for years and years since ice skating has been one of my big interests (watching, not doing) even before enha debuted- that contributed to the fact that hoon was my first bias. it's finally come to fruition and the wc just kept getting longer and longer- hope it's not too boring! i just wanted to write some mostly cute fluffy skater hoon!!

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

At the age of 5, you thought that you had made a life-long friend in Park Sunghoon. At the age of 16, you found out that life-long meant 11 years before you decided he was going to be your life-long enemy. You meant it this time, you had told yourself in the mirror of the rink's female bathroom while your hands were gripping the sides of the sink so hard that your knuckles were turning white.

Since that moment that led you to stomping out of the rink while still wearing your skates (thankfully with the guards on) all the way home, you've seen Park Sunghoon a total of 3 times. You're 21 now, but every time you think back to that moment of your falling out, the dull ache lingering in your heart still explodes into a fireball and you have to remind yourself that you'll never let him hurt you the same again.

Your body is set aflame as the president of the ISU gestures with his arms in front of a sold-out crowd for you to skate towards him for the photographers to grab a shot. You're no stranger to pictures with President Kim, but he's also beckoning over the newly crowned 2023-2024 Grand Prix Final Men's champion in Park Sunghoon.

"Aw, my two favourites," Mr. Kim coos as he wraps an arm around each of your shoulders' and grins to the camera, "I always knew it was only a matter of time before I would have two Korean skaters at the top again."

You groan internally at the consequences of being in the same frame as Park Sunghoon. Ever since one of your former classmates anonymously shared to a huge figure skating fan account that you and Sunghoon used to be best friends, you've been receiving demands to share stories about each other, not knowing your current relationship. Well, they must know from the fact that you two don't even follow each other on Instagram. On the flip side, you've also amassed unfathomable hate from his crazy, obsessed fans to stay away. There's always those people.

You paid no mind to them anyway, since being near Park Sunghoon voluntarily was the last thing on your wish list.

Sunghoon keeps the fake smile plastered on his face but snarks out through his teeth, "She doesn't skate for our country anymore. She hasn't in 5 years."

Mr. Kim chortles as if he believed Sunghoon's words to just be banter, "Don't be so unwelcoming, Sunghoon. Y/N is still part of our family."

You held back a scoff, letting out a sigh instead when the photographer finally turned his attention away from the three of you, "Mr President, don't you think you should root for all countries? You're no longer just the president of the Korean Skating Union."

He laughs obliviously, "I know, I know. I guess I should. I love my country of course, but I'll always cheer for you too Y/N. You broke all of our hearts when you switched nationalities."

You refuse to turn your head to your former acquaintance who makes a sound crossed between a scoff and a pained laugh, "Yeah, she sure did. Goodbye, Mr. Kim." Sunghoon bows his body completely at a right angle, pressing the bouquet of flowers he was holding for his win up to his chest before skating away without another glance at you.

Mr. Kim looks at you sheepishly, "You guys are still not on good terms?"

"I don't think we ever will be," you subtly roll your eyes at the hostility from Sunghoon, "I'm sorry he's like that."

"It wasn't all that long ago that you would race each other around the rink at junior nationals after the gala would end," he reminisces fondly, "It would be such a shame for you to have to look back on your friendship with regret."

"The damage is done, Sir," you tap your blade repeatedly on the ice to distract yourself from the pain you felt every time you thought about your friendship, "I hope to see you here again next year."

"Congratulations on your win, my dear," he smiles graciously and lets you skate away after bowing goodbye.

While you were ecstatic about winning your second Grand Prix Final gold medal in a row, you were also happy to share the podium with two friends that you have gotten close and closer to as you spent more time on the circuit. You glided back towards them as they took selfies with their flowers and their medals, trying to ignore the burning feeling on your back as if someone was looking at you from afar.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You liked to limit your interaction with Park Sunghoon to seeing him from afar once a year at the exhibition gala of the grand prix final or world's. It's only been two years that he's made the final, but you enjoyed another two without his villainous aura before that. Whatever deity you believed in had blessed you for the past 5 years; you hadn't been seeded to a single assignment with him through the seasons. There was definitely a force trying to keep you apart for the greater good of peace. You definitely took it as a sign that he wasn't meant to be back in your life anyway.

You thought that you had filled your quota this year with that little interaction with the president. You thought that you were finally in the clear for another year and you could move on with your life again without this god-awful memory weighing down on your chest every time you were in the same vicinity as him.

But Park Sunghoon stands before you, or more like crouches, as he tries to get a cola lollipop from the machine in the arcade of the hotel. It's not even been 24 hours since you last saw him.

When you spot him on the floor, you immediately turn on your heel to flee without being noticed. He has other plans, it seems.

"Did you know that you stomp like an elephant? For a figure skater, you're not very elegant on normal floors," Sunghoon doesn't take his eyes off the machine, watching as the conveyor belt trying to capture a lollipop turned and turned.

"Eat my ass, Park," you snipe back.

An amused smirk forms on his face as he turns his chin towards you, "Who knew you'd grow up so vulgar? That's quite unbecoming of you, Y/N."

"Don't say my name," you grunt, looking around for someone you know so you could exit this interaction, "In fact, don't even talk to me."

"As if you're the one who should be hurt. You moved continents and changed nationalities without a word," he scoffs, standing up and unwrapping the cola lollipop he had finally acquired, "Moving training locations, fine. But changing nationalities and not even warning your friends?"

If cartoon effects were real, there would be smoke coming out of your ears. You ball your fists tight and keep them glued to your side, "You were the one who broke my heart."

Sunghoon furrows his thick eyebrows together, halting the way he was moving the sweet between his lips. He takes it out and lets out an exasperated sound, "You never let me explai-"

You raise a hand to his face, "Save the bullshit, Park."

As much as a part of you wants to hear what he has to say, it still feels like the wound he inflected 5 years ago opens up anytime you hear his voice. All you could think about was that moment on the ice and the words he said that were sharper than his blades enough to cut deep into your heart. Honestly, you've tried to forgive him, or at least forget, but meeting his eyes now- you want to just run.

There's no longer any amusement in his expression, just frustration. You're satisfied with this, lunging forward to grab an unwrapped orange lollipop from his hand and walking away before he could register what you said or did.

You're breathing heavy; you hadn't let him affect you this way in years, but the anger is rising and the pain is overflowing out of the tiny box you kept it in and stored in the back of your heart. You sort of wish he'd run after you, grab your wrist and call your name, but you know that if you turn around right now, he'd still be in the same position.

It's been 5 years since you spoke to him, nearly 1 since you last saw him at the exhibition gala at the last World's. You don't intend to make a habit of Park Sunghoon again.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Your best friend Chaehyun twizzles around you in what you think is the shape of a heart. She's been trying out fun tricks to go along with the new go-pro that her coach bought for monitoring her training. It flies above the two of you with a prominent buzz that you've learned to tune out. You're standing in the middle of the rink, looking up and visualising the crowd you'll face tomorrow when you start the competition.

"Excited? Nervous?" Chaehyun's voice is naturally sing-songy but it vibrates as she moves at lightning speed around you.

"The same," your breath condenses into a cloud in front of you, "Just getting bored, a bit."

"Yeah, must be boring winning gold every single year for the past 4 years," Chaehyun snides, but not unkindly, "Do me a favour and fall on your axel tomorrow? I wouldn't mind having a world's medal."

"I would, but," you trail off and follow her with your eyes, "I want to go out with a bang."

Chaehyun immediately comes to a stop and rushes over to you, "What? What did you say?"

"I don't know if I should retire at the end of this season," you admit gingerly, gnawing on your bottom lip, "I'm just kind of exhausted."

Chaehyun gives you a weary look, "This doesn't have anything to do with seeing Sunghoon again in Beijing right?"

Your eyes widen at the mention of his name, "Chae, what? No! Why would it be?"

"Well, you cried all night after seeing him in the hotel," she reminded you, "And your coach wants to move back to Korea again."

"She does and I don't want to have to switch coaches. She's been with me since I was a junior, but I really can't move back to Seoul again," you tell her, "It's partly because of Sunghoon; all the memories would just hurt me over and over again the second I step foot in the country. Other than that, I've built a life on this side of the world."

Chaehyun scoffs at you, "Built a life? Your family is still in Korea and me, your best friend, is too. Your parents are getting older and you make them fly out to you every occasion. You shouldn't let Sunghoon dictate your life like this. You literally told me that you want an Olympic gold."

Your memories flash back to August, when you were vacationing with your best friend and drinking margaritas by the seaside, "2026 is really far away."

She gives you a strong side eye, "We can talk about this over dinner. You're literally the best female skater right now; you can't just retire at 21!"

"Alysa Liu retired at 16," you mumble.

Chaehyun smirks vindictively, "And Alysa Liu just announced her return at 19. Look, take a break, do what you need, but please don't give up on your dream so early."

Before you could say another word, a voice echoes in the arena, "Hey, it's our turn to practice."

Both of your heads whip around to the tunnel, where a few tall figures came into the light. Your head moves to the sudden movement of your coach, beckoning you to come off the ice after the end of the senior women's practice. You had wondered why there was no one kicking you off after your slot had finished.

"Heeseung," you grin at the sight of the cherry-haired boy, skating over to him and ignoring the presence of one ex-best friend beside him, "I haven't seen you in forever."

You clasp the boards tightly, swinging the gate open and sliding the guards over your skates. Heeseung is 3, 2, 1 step away from you and he takes you into a warm hug.

"I know," he coos into your hair, "It's a shame that Sunoo got injured and had to withdraw, but here I am in his place!"

You had known Heeseung nearly as long as you knew the boy beside him. When you and Sunghoon joined your skating club, Heeseung had been there for a year already. Through the years, he grew into a sort of older brother figure for the both of you and you never lost contact with him. The past season, he had been struggling with an injury and took off time to heal, but he recovered in time for nationals and placed 4th. Sunghoon had won the gold, Sunoo the silver and Jungwon the bronze. As Sunoo fell victim to an injury in practice in between nationals and World's, Heeseung had been invited to fill the country's berth at the championships.

In the middle of your conversation with Heeseung, you notice Sunghoon stalk away behind you to step onto the rink. You hear him greet Chaehyun happily as he passed by.

"I heard you might be moving back to Korea," Heeseung mumbles lowly under his breath.

"How do you know that?" you furrow your eyebrows at him. Had he overheard you? Did Sunghoon overhear too?

Heeseung shakes his head, his bangs falling into his eyes, "Our coaches used to be partners, remember?"

You flick your gaze to your coach, who was happily catching up with her ex-pairs skating partner of nearly 2 decades. They used to coach at the same rink, but when your coach fancied a change of scenery and was offered a role she couldn't turn down, you followed her across the world. Of course she couldn't keep a secret from her very best friend despite you begging her not to tell anyone yet.

"Does Sunghoon know?" Thankfully, Sunghoon's coach was different and not very close to your coach as Heeseung's coach is.

Heeseung denies this again, "I wanted to talk to you first. What's up with that?"

"Taeyeon's missing home and she feels like she's learned all she could have from head coach," you sigh, "I miss home too, but I don't really want to move. I also think I might take a break for a season instead; I'm feeling burnt out."

5 years ago, your coach was offered to be mentored by the most successful coach in the world of figure skating. While you trusted her already with your life, you both agreed that being under a 2x Olympic winning coach would be beneficial, so you didn't hesitate packing your bags despite the distance it put between your home and your family.

Heeseung looks at you with sincere empathy, wrapping you up again in his arms, "I'm sorry you're feeling that way. Have you spoken to your coach about it?"

"Kind-of. She's going to take on more students when she moves back home so she won't suffer in that regard and she said if I do follow her, I can help coach and maybe get a certificate," you nod, plonking your face straight into his chest, "I don't know what to do, Heeseung."

"I'm not very good at giving pep talks or advice, but I trust you'll make the decision that's best for you," Heeseung murmurs, "Just follow your heart, I guess. Wherever your heart is being pulled to, there must be a reason."

"Hey! You're wasting time!" a sharp, deep voice resonates behind you, causing you to turn your head to watch Sunghoon glaring at the two of you like you just sabotaged Heeseung's career keeping him at the sideline.

"I'll be there in a sec, Hoon," Heeseung remains calm, knowing that his best friend always gets in a mood whenever you're around or you're mentioned near him. He turns back to you, "Are you busy? Do you want to watch us practise?"

To the side of you, Chaehyun is hunching over an iPad with her coach, deep in monitoring. Your coach waves your own device at you when you catch her eye.

"I guess we can monitor here," you tell him reluctantly, to which he smiles, "But if he says anything, let me know so I can leave. I don't want to deal with him right now."

Heeseung squeezes your shoulders and moves past you to reach the gate. Still unsure if you were making the right decision by staying when Sunghoon was under the same room, you make your way gingerly to your coach.

"What a lovely reunion," Taeyeon exhales happily, "Kibum's pretending he's not overjoyed I'm moving back to Seoul."

Kibum is standing shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the rink with Junho, Sunghoon's coach, and they chat animatedly while the boys warm up.

"That's nice," you mumble, fiddling with the iPad to get up your practice run.

Taeyeon continues beside you, "I think you should make up with Sunghoon if you're going to move back home. It'll just be a better atmosphere in the rink."

"I don't know if I will go back," you remind her, "And what's wrong with the atmosphere? We're not affecting anyone."

Your coach lets out the most dramatic scoff you think has ever been produced, "Y/N, sweetheart. The freaking glare that Sunghoon was giving you and Heeseung when you were talking and hugging could have evaporated all the ice in this building. I was scared and he wasn't even looking at me!"

Your eyes dart to him on the ice, slowly speeding up his camel spin. You get that he didn't like you, but what reason did he have for glaring at you when you weren't even looking his way? Unprofessional, you thought to yourself.

"That's his problem, not mine," you jeer, "Can we review?"

Taeyeon giggles at your attitude, "Okay, feisty. Look, all I'm saying is that I watched the two of you grow up together. You had such a special bond and yeah, 5 years is a long time to not be friends from your point right now, but when you're older, that's not gonna be anything if you make up now."

"It's not my choice, Taeyeon," you tap your fingers against the glass screen, "I really hate talking about this."

"One day I'll get it out of you what happened when you fell out," Taeyeon hums off-handedly, "Okay, monitoring. Your spins were great, but you were a bit wobbly on the-"

Despite being the one to encourage focus, you begin to tune her out when you notice in the corner of your eye that Sunghoon was warming up his jumps. You watch him breathe deeply and the way he keeps his eyes up and on the ice to visualise the jump he was going to do. You can't take your eyes off him as he takes off and you hold your breath watching him rotate so quickly in the air. The breath only escapes when his blade collides with the ice and he lands the quad lutz perfectly.

It takes you back to when you were 16 and he was struggling so hard to land this exact jump- one that even Heeseung was yet to master. You remember him falling over and over and over again, training it into the late hours of the evening when you were supposed to be at home and resting. You remember him kicking up ice with his blades in frustration, on the verge of giving up. You remember cooing a pep talk into his ear until he was motivated enough to try again for the last time and finally land it in your presence.

"Y/N," Taeyeon snaps in your ear, "You're actually a walking oxymoron."

"I may dislike him, but I never said he's a bad skater. If there's a good jump about to happen in front of me, I wouldn't ignore it," you fight back, "Okay, sorry, sorry. Focus."

"I'm getting dinner tonight with Kibum and Junho," she tells you suddenly, "Do you want me to not talk about moving back? In case Junho says anything to Sunghoon?"

You let your eyes flutter close as your head spins with all the decisions you had to make soon. Sometimes, you have no idea where you were going next or what event you're training for. It's times like those that you're desperate for the world to freeze at your command.

"I just need some time to think before I make any decisions."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You don't know where it all went wrong, to be honest. It probably started with the gold medal hanging around your neck and the hundreds of pairs of eyes peering up at you with their hands typing at the speed of lightning on their computers.

The journalist chosen to ask the next question has these sharp, inquisitive eyes.

"Your former nation, the Korean Skating Union has just published their congratulations on your gold medal and celebrating the return of coach Lee Taeyeon to Taereung National Training Center."

Your world stops and even the flashes don't affect your eyes anymore. You'll probably see these photos of you from the press conference all over figure skating twitter in a few minutes. Peripherally, you see Taeyeon's face contort into true horror as she scrambles to the mic.

"How is this going to affect your training? Are you relocating back to Korea with your coach?" the journalist finished up with a smile, as if she didn't just drop the biggest bomb with no warning. You guess it's not her fault; the KSU had spoiled the news too early.

In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter much. Skaters move locations and change coaches frequently; you'd done it once already. The only problem is you haven't told your family just yet... or Sunghoon, who still trained at Taereung with Heeseung and Chaehyun.

"We don't have any comments on that question as of now," Taeyeon pressed her lips together in a tense half-smile and motions for them to choose the next question.

You haven't moved since the question was asked, palms gripping the gold medal around your neck tightly. You don't remember answering many more questions actually and the next thing you know, you're sitting at the end of your hotel bed still in your national team tracksuit.

A rapid knocking begins at your door.

It takes you a few seconds to compose yourself and trudge over, but you sigh in relief when you see it's Chaehyun through the peephole.

"Chae, I'm so glad you're here," you exhale as you unlock the latches and open the door.

She gives you the most painful puppy dog eyes you've ever seen, "I'm so sorry."

"About what?"

Your heart stops again when Park Sunghoon steps into view from where he was hidden from the peephole. Immediately, your instinct is to close the door on both of them, but Sunghoon is quick to wedge his foot where the door is about to slam.

"Shit, shit, that hurts. I fucking have free skate tomorrow," Sunghoon curses under his breath with a hiss.

"I'm sorry, he's really convincing," Chaehyun tries to plead as you give her menacing looks.

Sunghoon crosses his arm and scoffs, still keeping his foot between the door and the frame, "All I asked was where her room was and you came up with the plan of pretending it was just you."

Chaehyun flushes pale and she pinches his arm, "Shut up! You said you wouldn't say!"

"Whatever this is-" you interrupt them harshly, "I don't care for it. So please leave."

Sunghoon rolls his brown eyes, finally using all of his muscle to push on the door and then on your shoulder to move you out of the way. He walks into your hotel room like it's his and gives you a smug look as he stands in the middle.

"Look, I think you two should talk," Chaehyun huffs finally, grabbing on the door handle from her side and pulling it shut, "Sorry, forgive me!"

The electronic door handle plays a quiet jingle as it locks and you're left in the room with your former best friend.

"I don't know what delusion is going through your head to make you think I'm going to stay in this room with you," you sneer, hurriedly budging past him to grab your phone, a hat and a jacket.

"Y/N-"

"Sunghoon, please," you yelp as his fingers clasp around your wrist, "What do you want from me?"

"I just want to talk," his voice is shaky, unsure, hesitant, but his grip is firm and his eyes search yours desperately.

"You want to talk? After 5 years of radio silence you want to talk?" you're frustrated as you snatch your arm back and shove him lightly on his shoulder, "I could have forgiven you if it was six months- a year, even. But 5? We're nothing more than strangers, Park Sunghoon."

Sunghoon winces visibly at your words, shutting his eyes for a second before giving you a pitiful expression, "Are you really moving back to Korea?"

You throw your hands up in the air and laugh dryly, "Are you being serious? You only care about me and want to be friends if I'm close by? As if you have no use for me if I'm somewhere else?"

"Y/N, don't put words in my mouth," Sunghoon begs. Every time he tries to step closer to you, you take a leap back. At this point, you're nearly pressed against the hotel room door, "I've always cared about you-"

"That's bullshit," you spit at him, "How can you say you've always cared about me when you're snappy at best whenever we see each other? How can you say you've always cared about me when you never called, not once, in 5 years?"

You can see his usual ice-cold, nonchalant front cracking in front of you, "I wanted to."

Hot tears sweltered on your water line, just a second away from escaping. They start streaming down your face when you begin to shove at him repeatedly, "You wanted to? Then why didn't you? Why didn't you fucking call, Sunghoon?"

Sunghoon's resolve shatters as he halts your wrist with his own and crushes you in a tight embrace that you try to fight your way out of, "I was angry, okay? I was angry that my first love practically left without warning before I could even tell her what she meant to me. I was angry that you only told me the day before you were leaving. I was angry that there was nothing I could do or say to make you stay. I was angry at the fact that you were going to be thousands of miles away from me, in a different time zone when I'd never known what life was like without you and suddenly I felt like I was being abandoned. I was angry because in all of my conscious memory up until then, you and skating were the only constant things in my life that made me happy. I didn't know what to do with myself without you."

You stop squirming against his body nearly immediately at the revelation, listening to his speech in near medical shock.

"W- what?" your voice is muffled into the material of his Team Korea fleece.

"That's all I wanted to say all these years," Sunghoon exhales like a weight is lifted off his shoulder, "I didn't know how to tell you."

"And if I don't move back to Korea, what are you going to do?" you're still crying, but you regain enough strength to pull away from his warm grip and look into his eyes that begin to flood identically, "How do you think that's going to fix anything?"

You're less than metre away from Sunghoon, but to him, you couldn't be any further apart with a rift in between you. He looks at you and you almost look exactly the same as five years ago. He knows that you're a much different person after the way he hurt you.

"I want to make it up to you, Y/N," he whispers unsurely, "I just-"

"Why did it take you 5 years and me potentially moving home to realise that?"

"I overheard Heeseung and Chaehyun talking about how you were considering retirement or a break," Sunghoon admits guiltily, "I didn't want to ruin anything for you trying to come back into your life when it all seemed so great in America. You've won nearly every medal there is to win. But I had no idea you've been struggling and it's killing me that I wasn't by your side and was adding to your hurt instead."

You make a mental note to bang your two friends' heads together the next time you see them.

"And what makes you think I want you to be by my side?" Sunghoon is the one squirming now, probably not expecting you to be relentless in your grilling. You're a different person than you were 5 years ago; you learned not to give in so easily when even those closest to you had the potential to hurt you.

"Just give me a chance to make it up to you," Sunghoon looks down at you with eyes full of sorrow. His lips are pulled downwards, and in another time, you would have been tugging on his hand to take him to the arcade, or the rink, or the park, or the river- to anywhere that would make him forget whatever was causing him woe, "Whether you're home or not."

You cross your arms and tilt your head to look away from him. You catch sight of the clock on your wall and see that it's nearing 11pm.

You manoeuvre around Sunghoon and begin to push him in the direction of the door, "You have your free skate tomorrow. This conversation isn't going to be the reason you lose; please go back to your hotel room and get some rest. Junho would kill me if he found out you were here this late."

Sunghoon is more than willing to comply with you now, "You're not gonna give me an answer tonight?"

"I can't, Sunghoon," you tell him honestly, "I need to think about this; I need to think about so many things. It feels like my head's not even screwed on the right way right now."

"I'm sorry," he whispers as he turns the handle and opens the door wide, "Good night, Y/N. Thanks for listening to me even though I didn't give you a choice and congratulations on the gold."

Sunghoon makes it three steps away before you call out his name softly.

"Hm?" he turns around to see you half hidden by the door, chewing on your lip as you decide whether to spew out what you were going to say.

"You were my first love too. Anyway, good luck tomorrow."

The door handle jingles and Sunghoon is left alone in the hallway of the hotel, feeling as if his life had just turned around again. At the centre of it, there was always you.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

"You should go home and rest first," Taeyeon pretends to scold you as she reverses into the parking space. She's been giving the same spiel over and over again since she picked you up from the airport, but you knew she didn't mean it from the way she was still driving you to your desired destination.

"I got plenty of rest on the plane and my parents aren't back from work until later," you retort again and then smile, "The KSU gave you a big raise, huh?"

Taeyeon laughs airily and the grin doesn't fade from her face, "I want only the best for my favourite skater."

You nudge her softly when she puts the car into park, "Thank you for paying for my flight. You really didn't have to."

"I get it, you're richer than me," she rolls her eyes, "Let a coach do a nice thing for her student, okay?"

Technically, you're not Taeyeon's student right now, but as her very first and most successful one, you'll always be her favourite. In reality, the fact that the two of you lived alone together and took care of each other in America made you more like family. She was a cross between a mother and an older sister to you and Taeyeon doted on you so that you never felt alone in America. Well, mostly.

She beckons you out of the car and you take the elevator up to the ground floor from the underground car park. There's a bunch of checks that you have to pass upstairs and it feels foreign to you to have a lanyard with the words 'GUEST' printed on them repeatedly. Once upon a time, you ruled this place.

"They're gonna come back from lunch soon. I made Kibum tell them all to come for an announcement after lunch," Taeyeon giggles to herself as she explains her own conspiring.

You chuckle along with her, "You're more of a sucker for this kind of stuff than I am! Telling me to go home and rest when you've been working behind the scenes without me..."

Taeyeon slides her arm around your waist and squeezes you against her side. You pass the double doors into the rink that takes your breath away.

"I'm just glad you're home, Y/N."

Strangely, it looks pretty much exactly the same as when you last saw it. Sure, the seats are getting a little worn and the floors have new scratches from dropped skates or dragging equipment, but the ice is as pristine as ever. It's sparkling white and perfectly surfaced- though you note that's probably due to ahjussi and his zamboni that you see disappearing into the tunnel on the other side of the rink. Chaehyun updates you that your favourite caretaker who's been working at Taereung since you joined is still there and you hope it's him. It would be nice to say hello in person again after nearly 6 years of occasional hello's when you video call your best friend at her training.

Kibum spots you first and jogs around to give you a big hug, "Welcome back to Korea, Y/N. I'm so happy you're here."

"Thanks Kibum," you smile sincerely at him. Since all the coaches at Taereung were so close, having been partners or friends since their own professional days, their students naturally got to know the other coaches too. While Taeyeon excelled at guiding you on techniques, spins and jumps, Kibum used to help fill out and polish your program with flair, charisma and poise. There was a reason that Heeseung always had some of the highest grade of execution scores in every competition. You had definitely missed his input while you were away.

"They should be here soon. I think I can hear Chaehyun," Kibum points to the direction you came in from, "Are you gonna hide or-"

"Shut up. Shut up!"

You spin to see your best friend frozen at the entrance of the rink, her hands over her gaping mouth, "I think it's too late for that."

"Y/N!" Chaehyun breaks out into a sprint and throws her arms around you, knocking you nearly off balance and having to take a few steps back, "What are you doing here?"

"Surprise?" you laugh weakly into her hair, "Aren't you happy I'm here?"

"I'm so happy! How long are you staying? There's so much to do now!" she pulls away from you excitedly and looks at the two coaches, "Where's coach? Do you think she'll let me take a week off?"

"Chae," you stop her bouncing by pressing down on her shoulders, "Relax. I'm moving here. Until the end of this upcoming season, at least."

Chaehyun gasps in delight and embraces you again, "Oh my God, this is the best news ever!"

"We're here too, by the way," Heeseung coughs behind Chaehyun, "We're also happy to see her, so can you share?"

Chaehyun spins and sticks her tongue out at Heeseung, but moves anyway. His hair is black again and longer than the last time you saw him. Despite that, his hug is familiar and you're always comfortable in his presence.

"I knew you'd come sooner than later after Taeyeon came back," Heeseung teases you, "I'm happy to have you around again, sweets."

"Sweets was my nickname for her," Sunghoon's deep voice called out behind the two of you. He's standing kind of awkwardly- leaning against the side of the stands as to act casual.

You remember when you started getting pocket money from your parents. Instead of saving it to buy a new plush or makeup from the mall, you would instead use it to smuggle vending machine sweets to practice. You would secretly slip some to your best friend here and there, and you were always getting scolded by your coach for your incessant sweet tooth despite needing to keep fit and healthy as an athlete.

"Hi Sunghoon," you greet him simply, a soft half-smile pulling on your lips. You immediately notice the change in his appearance, "Love the blonde."

He's a few metres away from you and you can feel all your audience's eyes on you. His own eyes widen slightly at the compliment and he shyly runs his fingers through the platinum locks, "Thanks, Y/N. I'm glad that you're back."

Chaehyun seals her hand over her mouth, but you can still hear the, "aw!" that escaped through the cracks. You spin your head so fast to glare at her that it nearly gives you whiplash.

"Coach, can we at least have the rest of the day off and catch up with Y/N?" Heeseung turns to face Kibum and then at you, "You're not busy, right?"

"You can finish practice now, but Y/N literally just got off the plane, so let her rest if she's tired," Kibum warns the three skaters, "And tomorrow, business as usual, unfortunately."

Chaehyun claps her hands together and drags you with her, calling over her shoulder that she was going to change and they should too. The locker room is still as sterile as you remember it to be- your old locker now devoid of the stickers you used to plaster all over the front.

"So?" Chaehyun quirks an eyebrow expectantly at you as she removed all of her training gear.

"So what, Chaehyun?" you roll your eyes at the girl, tapping at your cheek with your chin in your hand.

"Please, you saw the way Sunghoon was looking at you," Chaehyun laughs in glee, "Oh, I've been waiting for this moment forever."

You ignore the blush creeping up your cheeks, "This is moving too fast. I can't be hating him the last time I saw him to now being buddy-buddy. We talked a bit, yeah, but he still hurt me a lot and we're not in the clear yet. Of course, our relationship will probably never be the same."

"It's been 4 months since World's," Chaehyun notes, "You haven't thought about what you want to happen since then?"

You cock your head and hum in thought, "A little, but I've been distracting myself with the ice shows and every time I think about the situation, it just hurts, so I prefer not to."

"Hoon seems more repentant these days, to be honest. He's kinda sulky every time he sees Taeyeon and you're not by her side. He keeps asking her if you're going to come too," she stifles a laugh in remembrance of his antics.

"Taeyeon never told me that," you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

Chaehyun zips up her training bag as she finishes changing into more summer-appropriate clothes, "All I can tell you is that I'm sure Sunghoon wants to reconcile."

You ponder on it thoughtfully, trying to consider the implications of making up and how you were to go about doing that. It's never as simple as saying sorry and hugging it out; you've been living with the hurt and resentment for 5 years now. It was more second nature to ache whenever you thought of him than to smile. Undoing that is never going to be easy, no matter how much you want to forget the past in an instant and move forward.

"Come on, let's go get drinks," Chaehyun interrupts your thoughts by locking her arm with yours and tugging to exit the locker room.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

When the news came out that you were going to take a break in the next figure skating season, it was safe to say that the whole industry was shocked. You just finished the best run of your career and showed no signs of slowing down. You hadn't even had to withdraw from any events for injury in 2 seasons!

Everyone was asking why- were you injured? Were you depressed? Were you pregnant? That one made you kick your fellow countryman Eric's heel from behind.

The press conference wasn't easy- how were you supposed to just say that you were exhausted and needed a break? Every skater was exhausted, right? There was even more speculation that you were going to switch nationalities again as your coach moved back to Korea and this break was just to hide the fact that you were riding out ISU's one year waiting period. You were glad to quickly shut that down.

For the past four months, you occupied yourself by participating in every ice show and tour imaginable; you loved skating just for the fans and their entertainment when there wasn't judges critiquing every inch of your movement. It took you a long, long time to make up your mind on what to do during your break. While it was so tempting to just stay in America and ignore everything waiting for you on this side of the world, your best friends and family were able to convince you that 5 years was a long time to be away from home. Another option was to just keep pushing on with a different coach at your rink, but you couldn't bring yourself to trust anyone else other than Taeyeon and the team you had already built and just thinking about facing the next season alone left a bad taste in your mouth.

You never informed Chaehyun of your final decision because you knew seeing her reaction in person would be worth it.

Chaehyun had been there to pick up all the pieces after your fallout with Sunghoon. The two of you had known each other for a while since you both skated at the National Training Center since you were juniors, but she was the only one from the rink that reached out after you moved. When you felt isolated in the US after you first moved, Chaehyun had been the one to call you every day despite the time difference to make sure you didn't feel so alone. While you were friends before, Chaehyun became a sister to you thereafter.

It's weird to see all the people you considered best friends or once best friends all around you at the same table.

"Where are you staying?" Heeseung sips on his iced tea casually. He's sitting in front of you, with Sunghoon next to him.

You shrug, "Probably with my parents. It's easier and free."

Chaehyun pouts, "I wish I had a spare room for you!" and then she looks at Heeseung and Sunghoon, "If you two sleep together in the same bed, Y/N can take the other room!"

Heeseung reaches over to flick Chaehyun's forehead, "Why don't you give up your bed then? Plus Hoon snores."

"And you sleep talk," Sunghoon scoffs at his house mate. It's the first words he's said since he sat down at the table.

"You should get an apartment in our building, Y/N," Chaehyun suggests.

"I don't know what I'm going to be doing tomorrow, let alone a year's time, so getting tied down to a lease sounds irresponsible," you admit, "Realistically, I need to go back to America to train cause I don't think the KSU would be very happy about me training at their risk for national team members."

"Oh come on, you know the KSU still loves you!" Heeseung counters.

"That's all fine for appearances, but I don't make them any money so using their facilities is a different ball game," you say, "There's other rinks, of course. I just don't know what to do yet."

"There's no rush," Sunghoon offers hesitantly, "You're on your break to relax, so don't worry about what comes next just yet."

You're taken aback by his contribution; his words are much more comforting than you thought they would be considering where your relationship stood. A few months ago, you and Sunghoon were on opposite sides of a plate with a rift between you that you thought was getting larger and pulling apart as the years went by. Now, it feels like you're both hanging in the air in limbo, waiting for the next move to determine what comes next.

"Thanks Sunghoon," you nod simply, taking a sip of your drink. You don't fail to notice the unsure look that Chaehyun and Heeseung give each other before Chaehyun scrambles to change the topic of conversation.

"Y/N, you haven't seen your parents right? Can I come with you when you go home?" Chaehyun coughs, "It's been a while since I saw them too and I miss your mom's cooking."

Despite Chaehyun's greatest effort to tread into a more neutral conversation, Sunghoon's stomach turns in longing. He too misses your mom's cooking. He misses you too.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You thought that being Taeyeon's assistant coach-in-training was going to be light work. After all, you'd been on the receiving end of it for many years, so being on the other side should be a breeze, right?

You were terribly, terribly mistaken. And you think that you should give Taeyeon an even bigger raise once the season after this one starts again.

Look, you've always known how hard your coach works. You genuinely do owe your entire career to her and you can't imagine where you would have ended up if it wasn't for her. You just didn't know how much she did behind the scenes in addition to everything she did for you on the ice.

The two of you are sitting in her office at Taereung, crowded around two computer screens side by side. Her office is narrow and small- just a desk, a chair and a few cabinets to keep papers, but the window stretching from the ceiling to the floor overlooking the mountains and hills of Seoul makes it feel much bigger. A few of her medals from her professional career are framed and hung on the wall opposite the desk, and there's picture frames of the two of you, as well as of her and Key when they won their first World's of many, interspersed with her medals.

"What's wrong with her form in this one?" Taeyeon quizzes you, tapping her pen on the freeze frame blown up on one of the screens. It's a still of her oldest student Boeun in the air. At 16 years old, Boeun's already achieved many great things for her country. The upcoming season was around the corner and it was Boeun's first year competing in the senior division, so her training was getting even more intense.

"Her arms aren't tucked in enough," you note slowly, "That's gonna creat resistance and slow her spin, so she might land wobbly or under-rotate."

"Good," Taeyeon nods in satisfaction. The two of you have been at this for hours and you're barely halfway through her free skate. Taeyeon's mostly been explaining to you her own thought processes, but whenever she senses you zoning out or getting bored, she's quick to fire questions at you, "Okay, you can go now."

You do a double take at your coach, "Huh, what? An I really bothering you that much? We're only halfway through the program!"

Taeyeon chuckles dismissively, "You're amazing, Y/N. It's just that it's 3pm and you should be enjoying your season off. I know that you want to gain experience coaching, but it's only the start of the year and we have a long time."

You pout at her request, but end up nodding hesitantly, "Okay, if you say so."

Spinning casually in her chair, Taeyeon murmurs off handedly, "You should catch Sunghoon downstairs; he finishes around this time. Maybe ask him to get some coffee."

Narrowing your eyes at her, you packed up your things, "Is this you meddling?"

"Maybe," she smirked, drumming her pen on the table, "It's not my fault I know the skaters' schedules."

"Stop rewatching Our Beloved Summer. Not every one gets a second chance," she'd been talking your ear off all week about the K-drama she watches every time summer rolled around despite knowing the plot line by heart.

A ghost of a smile flutters on her face, "Maybe, but I think you do. There must be a reason you ended up back in Seoul all this time."

You quirk your eyebrow at her, "And the reason is you moving back here. Whatever, I guess I can see if I can find him, but if he left already, it's not my issue."

You say goodbye to your coach, tugging on your jacket and slipping out of the door. You completely miss the way she scrambled to her phone to text one particular Lee Junho.

Racing down the stairs, you prepare yourself to face Sunghoon alone for the first time since he came to your hotel room. You're somewhat glad that he didn't pester you all these months, instead choosing to use your mutual friends to keep up on you. On the other hand, there's a selfish part of you that wished he would keep chasing.

There's a gaggle of juniors that are on the youngest side all propped up on the boards and watching Sunghoon finish some jump training when you walk into the rink. They're all peering up at him with wide, sparkly, awe-filled eyes as he traverses through the air with a grace you know that's only reserved by him. You used to look at your seniors the same way too; you and Sunghoon would come in early for your shared conditioning training and just perch on the stands watching whoever was on the ice. It was a way to learn, but it was mostly just a way you kept your love for skating alive among all the hardships.

There was never anything better than watching someone you aspired to be, knowing one day, you'll be the one inspiring the next generation. As long as you worked hard, of course.

"Y/N Y/L/N?" a tiny girl with her hair slicked back into a neat bun catches sight of you, gasping in amazement.

Sunghoon pauses on the ice, head snapping around to find you. You give him a small wave and a subtle smile, motioning for him to carry on as you addressed the kids that were one by one realising who you were.

"Hi, how's it going?" you smile genuinely, "What are you guys doing here?"

"We're working in the gym, but we're on a break right now. Coach said that Sunghoon-oppa was on the ice, so we came to watch," the three girls giggle with each other, but there's a soft smile resting on the two boys's flushed cheeks. The one that noticed you steps up against the rest, "I'm a really big fan of you. Coach said that you used to train here and came back, so I've been waiting to meet you. Do you think I could get an autograph?"

She's playing with the hem of her pastel pink training top, but you can tell that she's trying to keep her voice stable. The kids aren't carrying anything themselves, so you take out a notebook and pen from the front pocket of your bag.

"What's your name?" they're all a bit shorter than you, so you bend at the knees to meet her gaze. She grins at you with her brace-adorned teeth and tells you her name.

You sign quickly, leaving an encouraging message of well-wishes, tearing off the paper and handing it to her. The other kids have formed a queue behind her and are looking at you expectantly and so shyly that your heart bursts with happiness. You didn't have many juniors around at your old rink and certainly not ones who truly knew who you were and where you came from.

"I'll be around all season," you tell them as you sign the last piece of paper, "Don't be shy to talk to me, okay? It's my job after all to make sure you guys all become the best skaters you can be. No one knows this life better than your seniors, so make use of us."

Their grins are splitting their faces as they nod excitedly and run off to wherever their coach had appeared from. She gives you a grateful nod for entertaining them and by this time, you notice Sunghoon walking over to you, skates already off.

"You sure have a fanclub here," Sunghoon muses lightly.

"Ha, I didn't mean to conduct my very own meet and greet, but they're all so adorable," you say fondly.

Sunghoon mirrors your expression as nostalgia clouds his eyes, "Remember when we saw Jaejoong-sunbae in our first week here and snuck out of lesson to find him in the building?"

You clap your hands together at the forgotten memory being pulled to the forefront of your brain, "Oh my gosh and our coaches scolded us so much when they hunted us down and found us making him sign our skates and our bags!"

"Junho was just salty that Jaejoong was the face of figure skating at their time and not him," Sunghoon watches his coach disappear into a tunnel on the other side of the rink, "I bet they did that to their seniors whenever they came to Taereung!"

"Yeah," you agree, "Have they already got your signature?"

His eyes twinkle, "Yeah, the girls always watch whenever they're here."

"Sounds like they have a crush," you fold your arms and chuckle, "Let them down gently, yeah?"

"Ah, don't want a reputation as a heart breaker around here now, do I?" Sunghoon laughs easily, but then he realises the words that slip out and he slaps a hand to his mouth, "Wait. Um."

"It's cool," you giggle, "Taeyeon told me you were about to finish training for the day. I thought that maybe we could get a drink somewhere?"

Sunghoon's eyes widen in surprise, "Really?" you nod, "Oh yeah, of course. Wait here; I'll grab my stuff from the locker room and we can go."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Something you never really thought about much was the fact that you and Sunghoon fell apart as teenagers. It was silly to say, but you had never considered the fact that now you're adults, your lives were very different.

Sunghoon was cruising down the highway with one hand on the wheel and the other propped up onto the door. His car is modern and shiny and his side profile from your view is exquisite- wait, what?

"When did you learn to drive?" you ask quietly, trying to keep your eyes on the road in front. There wasn't that much to do around the training centre, so Sunghoon suggested to go into the city and find a nice café in Hongdae to explore.

"It's been a couple of years. It was kind of necessary to get to Taereung when I moved out of the dorms," Sunghoon hums, "Do you know how to drive in the US?"

"I got my license, but I never really drove. Taeyeon and I lived together, so she would just drive the two of us everywhere," you recount, "She made me get my license cause it's easy over there. I'm not sure how well my skills will translate over here."

Sunghoon runs his free fingers through the platinum strands of his hair, "Let me know if you wanna go for a drive to learn. I can help you."

Trying to ignore the flush in your cheeks, you scoff playfully, "You would trust me with your nice car?"

Sunghoon meets your eyes and it burns through you so intensely that you immediately look away. Internally, you're beating yourself up for acting so pathetic around him.

He lets out a sound that's a cross between a laugh and an exhale, "I used to trust you with my life."

Dumbstruck, you keep quiet and chew on your bottom lip. Sunghoon doesn't press any further and the two of you just listen to the smooth r&b playing on the radio. Until you get to the parking space, it's silent, but you don't know what else to say to act casual around him. You stopped being casual with him 5 years ago.

By the time that you wrestle your seatbelt off and collect your bags from the floor of his car, Sunghoon has jumped out and raced around to open the door for you. It takes everything in you to not crumble.

"Thanks," you smile slightly. Sunghoon's stare remains intense and piercing.

He directs you into the café and the two of you awe and marvel at the array of cakes and pastries all decorated to look like animals or objects. He doesn't fight you when you breach the topic of paying for your own drink and confectionary, but he does carry the tray with both of your items over to a table by a window.

"Thanks for coming to see me and inviting me out," Sunghoon purses his lips hesitantly, not knowing whether to dive so deep so quickly.

You jam a fork into the chocolate cake dressed up as a bear, "I've made you wait long enough since World's. And I think nearly 6 years is a long enough time of enduring all this angst."

"You're right," Sunghoon utters, sighing deeply, "I just- I just don't even know where to start."

"The very start, I guess," you say sheepishly, "I never meant to wait until the day before to tell you I was leaving. The whole time that Taeyeon was convincing me to go with her, I was completely in denial about leaving. I think that I didn't want to tell you, because if I did, it would seem real that I was leaving you. You were the hardest thing I was leaving behind."

"Wonder what your parents would say to that," Sunghoon tried to joke, but he sounds more sad than anything as you delve back into the past, "I heard rumours about it, but I didn't want to confront you about leaving either. I just thought that there was really no way that we could ever be apart. I mean, our coaches had to schedule all of our training back to back because we were just so attached at the hip."

When you were young, everywhere you went, Sunghoon would be right beside you. School, the rink, the mall, the playground, the gym, the cafeteria- everywhere. You were like each other's lifeline.

"I was going to ask you to call, to keep in touch-"

Sunghoon's eyelids flutter close in regret, "And then I called you selfish before you could even say that. And I said so many words that I definitely did not mean. I'm sorry for that, Y/N. Please know that I really am."

Your eyes brim with stinging tears, so you crane your neck down and sip at your milkshake to calm down.

The hardest thing through the years was whenever you were left alone with your thoughts. Somehow, everything always led back to the boy that was now sitting in front of you. But for years, you couldn't escape the heartbreaking feeling every time you remembered the look of betrayal on his face when you told him you were leaving, and then the anger that seeped into his features.

"We were just kids," you bite your lip and swipe at your lash-line, "I wish I could go back in time and say goodbye properly."

Sunghoon pushed a piece of his cake around with his fork on the plate, "I was angry that you were leaving because I was going to confess to you that week."

Your gaze snaps up to his, "Really?"

"Mhm, I had been planning it and trying to work up the courage for so long at that point," he chuckles bitterly, "The fairground was opening up for the summer that week, if I remember correctly. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go and I was gonna try and confess then. You leaving so abruptly just broke my heart. I know it's not your fault though."

Your own heart cracks at the revelation, "I'm sorry, Hoon."

"And then I found out through Chaehyun that you were switching nationalities and it felt like we were two worlds apart," Sunghoon admits reluctantly.

You think back to when you were 17, being lured in by the country you held dual citizenship for and knowing that the deadline to choose a nationality was looming close, "There was so much depth in the Korean senior women's field. Taeyeon encouraged me to switch to increase the likelihood of winning national titles and getting spots at the Olympics. And they were willing to pump so much money into my training and paying Taeyeon that I couldn't say no."

"I know," Hoon nods affirmatively, "You don't have to explain yourself for that. You made the right choice and you're an Olympic silver medalist for it."

You smile weakly.

He continues, "The training centre felt so empty without you. For the first time, I actually had to make an effort to talk to the other athletes and none of them could measure up to you."

"I was really lonely in America," you confess in a small voice, "There were so many days that I almost called even though we left on such bad terms. I just wanted to hear your voice sometimes."

Sunghoon's eyes soften and his eyebrows pull together in regret, "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I missed you so much and I'm willing to do anything and everything to fix this- to fix us."

"And if I have to leave after this season?"

Sunghoon reaches over suddenly and wipes his thumb at the corner of your mouth. His finger ghosts over your lips for a second and your heart skips a beat and then begins to race.

"Sorry, you had some cake there," Sunghoon murmurs, "If you end up on the moon next season, I'll personally build a rocket to get to you."

Unconsciously, you let out a full laugh that causes a smile to invade his face. You bat at his arm, "Now, come on. That's too cheesy."

Sunghoon waits for you to stop laughing when he connects your eyes together, "But I mean it, Y/N. I need you in my life."

The steady, but quick thrum of your heartbeat pulses against your chest wall. All you can focus on is the adoring look that Park Sunghoon is directing at you. It feels like that's all you need.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

For someone who spent their whole life on frozen water, you certainly didn't spend much time with it... unfrozen. But Seoul in the peak of summer is something akin to hell on earth- you couldn't walk more than a few blocks without having to duck into a convenience store or any shop that had air conditioning. As much as you wanted to wear as little as possible to avoid soaked fabrics sticking to your skin, you recognised that you weren't in America anymore and the looks you'd get from the sweaty grannies was frankly guilt-tripping. Even hanging around the rink on those hottest days wasn't any fun- the ice was more temperamental than usual and the shock you felt the second you step outside after spending time somewhere relatively cool just intensifies.

On your day off, Chaehyun magically appears at your familial home, giving you a mischievous smile.

"Heeseung has a friend of a friend of a friend-"

You give her a pointed look, "You want us to crash a stranger's house party just so we can use their pool?"

Chaehyun humphs, "No! We're invited. Heeseung and Sunghoon are already on their way there, so get your ass in a bikini so we can go!"

"Sunghoon's coming?" your heart began to race a little faster at the thought, but Chaehyun throws a pillow at you before you can even collect yourself.

"You lovesick loser."

You catapult the pillow back, "Am not! I don't like him like that anymore."

"Tell that to the heart eyes you get anytime he's around. Since the two of you made up, you've both been insufferable dancing around each other," Chaehyun's voice takes on a mocking tone as she mimics you, "'Oh Chae, his triple axel is so pretty today!' or 'oh Chae his training top fits him so well! or 'oh Chae, he brought me coffee today!'"

You ignore the giggling girl behind you in favour of packing some towels and a change of clothes into your bag. Over the past few weeks since you resolved things with Sunghoon in the café, he's made it a mission to make your life hell- well, he doesn't know that.

You thought that there was no way you could ever like-like him again after all the hurt that you grew to associate with him, but recently, your head and your heart have been all over the place. It's been hard to see each other super often since your schedules didn't overlap much, but he went out of his way to do nice things for you, such as getting you drinks after he finished training and you were still working or dropping by little snacks with encouraging notes to the office for you to encounter once you came in.

There was also the glaringly obvious change in your dynamics in the fact that he grew up hot. Sunghoon had always been handsome even when you were kids (it's one of the reasons you developed a raging crush on him), but it's different now that you're adults. Your brain worked differently now and his appearance and the way he commanded the ice all while making training gear look like designer had you feeling some kind of way.

"Hurry up," your best friend whined from your bed. You humph noisily and speed up shoving random items that you think you'll need into the bag until she has enough and starts tugging on your arm. I mean, it's her fault she only gave you a few minute's notice from when she turned up at your door.

Chaehyun drives like a mad-man all the way to this elusive friend of a friend of a friend's house that you start thinking you might need to get your own car to get you to places in this city. But then you remember how pretty Sunghoon's profile looked from the passenger seat-

"Why are you smiling like that?" Chaehyun laughs, "You look like an idiot."

You roll your eyes, "I'm just happy to be going to a pool party."

"You're happy to go to a pool party so you can see Sunghoon shirtless-" you reach over and she yelps, "Yah! Don't hit the driver! I'm gonna drive us off this cliff!"

You retract your arm away from her, "Don't say stupid shit, Chaehyun."

"I better not see you staring later then," she murmurs under her breath as she pulls into a parking space near the house. You text Heeseung to come and get the two of you outside because you didn't want to walk straight into this guy's garden without the ones who invited you.

He meets you promptly, a cup of something in hand and sunglasses hanging on the tip of his nose, "Urgh, finally. Hoon and I were waiting until you two got here so we could swim. It's so hot!"

You've only been outside of the car for a couple of minutes, but there's sweat forming in beads on your hairline already. You follow Heeseung through the side gate towards the direction of blaring music and the smell of barbecue. It truly was a party, because you couldn't even locate Sunghoon once you stepped into the clearing.

There were people crowded on loungers and people hovering by the barbecue and even more surrounding a ping pong table that was being used for beer pong. The pool wasn't super crowded, mainly for the fact that this guy lived in a mansion and his pool was practically Olympic sized.

"Jay!" Heeseung calls over a tall man with slick back hair and a sharp jawline, who smiles kindly to the two of you, "These are my friends Y/N and Chaehyun. Guys, this is Jay's house."

"You have an amazing house," Chaehyun gawks, "What do you do?

"He's a model," Heeseung answers for him hurriedly, "Y/N, Sunghoon's over there, go get him."

Heeseung points to the opposite corner of the garden where you could make out a group of people sat on outdoor couches around an unlit fire-pit. You squint and try to focus, seeing Sunghoon conversing with a girl that was leaning her whole body into him.

You pull a sour face, "I think he's busy."

"Get him," Chaehyun nudges you encouragingly, "He doesn't even look happy to be there."

You huff loudly, already sensing their meddling from a million miles away. What could you do though? It was basically law that best friends would tease two ex friends who had feelings for each other in the past to get together.

Quickly muttering a goodbye to the host, who flashes you a charming grin, you stalk all the way over to fire-pit. As you get closer, you begin to hear their conversation.

"Your arms are really big," this girl runs the tips of her fingers along his arm that was stretched out on the couch behind this girl, but Sunghoon visibly recoils from her touch, "Aw, am I making you shy?"

You nearly puke at her sugar sweet tone and halt your steps instead to watch how Sunghoon would react. You didn't want to cock-block the guy if he was actually interested and you were reading the situation wrong.

"Um, thanks?" his voice is awkward and he takes  a swig of the liquid in his cup.

"What are you doing tomorrow? My friends and I are hosting a party at my house if you wanna come," she continues on, "It'll be really fun!"

"Ah, I'm not really into parties."

The girl pouts her glossy lips, "Really? How about we hangout alone then?"

"I told you that I-"

Annoyed at the thought of having to hear any more of this conversation, you clear your throat, causing Sunghoon's head to fly in the direction of the sound. He does a quick double take, but his face lights up all the way to his crinkled eyes once he realises it's you. You don't think you've ever seen a man stand up so quickly and this girl jumps back on the couch, clearly offended.

"Y/N, baby, you're here!" your eyes bulge out of socket when Sunghoon wraps his defined arms around your waist, making contact with the skin exposed by your cropped shirt. He nuzzles his head into your neck and leans up to whisper into your ear, "Play along, please?"

The girl on the couch scoffs at Sunghoon, "I thought you were just trying to brush me off when you said you had a girlfriend."

You narrow your eyes at her as Hoon settles beside you, keeping one hand squeezing your waist, "Then why didn't you get the hint? Do you wanna be a homewrecker?"

The girl stands up and rolls her eyes at you, "Whatever," she stomps away, stopping at a group of girls that are all staring at you menacingly.

"What was that?" you mumble to Sunghoon, who is smiling at you sheepishly and taking his arm off you.

He scratches the back of his neck, "Ah, sorry Y/N. She wouldn't leave me alone so I said I had a girlfriend."

"That didn't seem to work anyway," you retort in amusement, "And you were letting her get awfully close and touchy for someone who had a so-called girlfriend."

Sunghoon opens his mouth to apologise again, but a glimmer appears in his eyes that causes him to hold back and smirk, "Ah, why- were you jealous, Y/N?"

You grit your teeth and smack his chest, "In your dreams, Park. Let's go in the pool- it's so hot."

Mercifully, Sunghoon decides not to say anything else as he watches you put down your bag on the couch he was occupying and tug at your clothes.

"Look away," you murmur, causing Sunghoon's cheeks to redden. Thankfully, he could use the alcohol he was sipping on as an excuse as to why his face was so flushed as he turns around and pulls his own shirt over his head. He hears you unzip your skirt and drop it onto the couch, and then the pitter patter of your flip flops towards the pool, "Come on!"

Sunghoon only turns in time to see you slide into the pool off the side, so he quickly ducks down and follows. The heat is absolutely battering your skin, so you briefly plunge your entire body and resurface to find him smiling goofily at you.

"What?" you interrogate curiously.

Sunghoon shakes his head and splashes water up to his face, "Nothing, nothing. Aren't you glad that you came?"

"Well, I was forced to," you grin, splashing cheekily at him.

Sumghoon pouts and splashes back at you, "Are we playing this game?"

Cocking your head to the side in fake innocence, you peer up at him, "What game?" you scoop with your cupped palms and flick the amassed water over his body.

A mischievous look creeps up on his features and he smirks at you, "You don't know what you're getting into, Y/N."

You turn as quickly as you can in the water, launching off in a random direction in a pathetic paddle/waddle considering the fact you're not a great swimmer. His laugh echoes in the air as he dives and chases after you, and before you realise, his arms snake around your exposed waist and he drags and dunks you under the water. Thrashing, you kick against him, but Sunghoon's hold is too strong on your body even after you surface. You splutter the water out and rub at your eyes to get the chlorine water and your sticking hair away.

When you open your eyes, you realise that your bodies are pressed up against each other, him clinging to you, with your faces just mere centimetres apart. You're breathing heavy from your underwater struggle, lips parted and exhaling. Intently, you watch as Sunghoon's eyes peer into yours and then flash down to your lips before he cracks a grin.

"I guess I win?"

You grunt, pushing him away, "You have 5 seconds to run, Park."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Summer ceases for another year in the blink of an eye and autumn creeps in slowly, and then all at once. The leaves on the trees surrounding Taereung have long changed colours, now making their home on the ground in piles of yellows, oranges and reds. You're both eagerly anticipating and dreading the snow, mindful of the fact you haven't lived through a Korean winter in a long, long time.

You try to appreciate the chilly breeze with clear skies, but it's hard when you had gotten used to the same mild or scorching temperature year around.

Sunghoon sighs as he steps in front of you, watching you tug your gloved hands on the neck of your jacket, "You've forgotten all about our autumn and winter, haven't you?" He unwraps the wool scarf that was adorning his neck and places it around your own. You hope that he'll put down the flush on your cheeks to the weather.

"Hoon, it's fine. We're not even going to be walking far," you insist, moving to take it off, but he places a hand over yours and gives you a sharp look that has you backing down.

He takes the handle of the suitcase away from your grip and walks in front of you. You huff and chase after him, "Seriously, Sunghoon. What if you get sick? I'm not the one competing."

He flashes you a prince-like smile, "Then you'll just have to take care of me- ow!" he flinches as you swat at him, "It's fine, Y/N. This weather is nothing to me and I mainly brought it for you. I knew you wouldn't be prepared."

You quieten down and ponder on his words. You shouldn't be surprised- even when you were young, Sunghoon was always attentive to your needs. Not much had changed since and you feel like you've fallen into the routine of your old friendship again, with a hint of flirtatious remarks from him then and now.

It's a nice feeling to be getting along with him again. It's filled up and healed a crack in your heart that appeared when you left and was never mended until now. Even though it was hard at first to be open with him, he's doing a diligent job breaking down your walls and occupying the space beside you like he once did.

The walk from the airport drop-off to the entrance is decently long, but Sunghoon rolls the two carry-on suitcases beside him, while you just haul your handbag. You're meeting the rest of Team Korea seeded to this competition at the airport, which makes you nervous. There's one other women's skater and a pair of ice dancers travelling to America with their coaches and staff and they're so young that you don't know them from your junior days. As much as Sunghoon, your friends and your coach try to convince you otherwise, you're not a part of their country's staff and a lot of them are likely reluctant to talk to you about strategy and programs- especially the skater that you would compete against on the circuit.

Lee Yunah fakes a smile at you when the two of you join the team at the check in desk. She grins over at your companion and tells him that they're sitting next to each other in business class. You're preparing yourself for a near 13 hour flight in economy next to Junho, Sunghoon's coach. It was definitely nice of Team Korea to fly out their skaters in business class on the way to competitions- something you were also used to with your federation.

You don't really know why Lee Yunah isn't fond of you. Of course, she's never mean or outwardly vicious, but you get the feeling through her pointed looks and tight-lipped smiles that you weren't her favourite person. Most girls you know in the circuit are so sweet- they always congratulate you and make conversation whenever they see you, but you've never had a full on chat with her despite sharing a language. You know that she's a couple years younger than you, but only came to Taereung 2 years ago after training someplace abroad.

You're heading to Skate America with the team because you figured you could watch and then travel to your home to get some things you left behind and check on your apartment. It was currently left half-empty after Taeyeon moved all of her things out, but your belongings were still there. You had a cleaner come every month to make sure the apartment was still standing and wasn't being infested while you were gone, but you thought it wouldn't hurt to come and see it for yourself and maybe see a few friends.

You and Sunghoon mostly just sit in silence at the gate after you pass security, texting your families your whereabouts and telling anyone relevant that you were going to be off your phones for the duration of the flight. You queue up your playlist and try to search online the movies available on the flight to save some time picking on the plane.

At one point, he excuses himself to the bathroom and returns with your favourite drink in his hand.

"Saw it in the vending machine by the toilets," he shrugs casually, to which you thank him profusely. You're a big fan of airplane food, much to everyone's chagrin, but you absolutely loathe the small selection of drinks they have to offer. The iced tea will definitely carry you through the flight.

When you finally get onto the aircraft, you're delighted to find that only you and Junho are in the row of 4 seats, so he shuffles to the other end to give the two of you space in the middle. While it's not the window seat where you could rest your head on the side, you and Junho can definitely take turns stretching out across the unoccupied seats and having a better sleep. It's a night flight, so you're definitely going to be exhausted in a few hours.

Before you turn your phone to airplane mode, Sunghoon texts you a selfie from his seat, looking sad with an exaggerated pout despite the fact that he's in a lie-flat seat with a screen twice the size of yours. You send him multiple eye roll emojis before telling him to get some good rest on the flight.

It takes around 40 minutes for the plane to taxi, take off and climb before the seatbelt sign turns off and the plane reaches a constant altitude. The plot of the movie you chose is dragging on a bit, causing your eyes to droop already, when a figure appears from Junho's side and leans down next to him. You watch curiously as Junho stands up from his seat into the aisle and as Sunghoon crosses two other seats to plop down next to you.

"Hi," he breathes out.

"What are you doing here?" you pause the movie and quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Yunah wouldn't stop talking my ear off!" he grumbles, settling into the seat, "Even when I put the partition up, she put it down after 5 minutes."

"So what?" you muse, "Are you giving up your lavish life in business class to be uncomfortable in economy?"

"I don't wanna sit next to her," Sunghoon whines, "Her crush on me is suffocating. I thought she would have moved on by now."

Ah, there it was. It was pretty obvious to anyone that had eyes that Yunah had a big, fat crush on your friend. You also knew that Sunghoon was pretty oblivious when it came to things like this- or he was when you were younger. That's why it came as a surprise that he already knew.

"She confessed?"

Sunghoon lets his eyes flutter closed, his long lashes kissing the tip of his cheeks, "Mhm, maybe a couple weeks before you came to Seoul? I rejected her then, but she hasn't given up, it seems."

You tear your eyes away from him, afraid you'll do something stupid like brush the fallen lash that sits on his cheekbone with your thumb, "Why did you reject her? She seems like a nice enough girl to you."

"She's not who I want," Sunghoon murmurs without missing a beat. He doesn't even let you ponder on his words before he opens his eyes and turns to his coach, poking him with his finger, "Hyung, can you take my seat? I wanna lie down here."

Junho gives him a funny look and they exchange a few words that you tune out as you think about what Sunghoon means. Does that mean there's someone in his head that he's decided on? Someone he's crushing on?

As Junho happily waddles out of economy to occupy his newly upgraded seat, Sunghoon stretches out across the seats. You notice that his feet ever so slightly dangle to the side into the footwell, so you grab a pillow and place it on your lap.

"Sunghoon, put your head here," you pat the squishy fabric.

He looks up at you with big, shiny eyes that had the ice in your heart melting, "Are you sure?"

You give him an affirmative nod and watch as he shuffles his head up to your lap and nuzzles to get comfortable. There's a light, resting smile on his lips and you softly brush the hair out of his eyes.

"Goodnigh, Y/N. Wake me up when you wanna swap," he breathes out, eyes already squeezed shut.

"Goodnight, Hoonie."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The gold medal hanging around Sunghoon's neck compliments the beam on his face as he poses for photos on the podium. Your heart squeezes in pride; you've been noticing how he's getting more and more consistent with his wins over the past two seasons and it's starting to look like he's going to dominate the male field single handedly. This was all you ever dreamed of when you were young and aspiring; winning and winning some more and being by each other's side. There were some bumps on the road with that, such as Sunghoon's run in with a bad form early on of his senior career, while you were experiencing the opposite. You sigh contently at the universe's plan to move everything around you as everything fell into place.

"Gold looks good on you, Park," Sunghoon is grinning at you as he walks over to you after the press conference, a while later.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Sungjoon holds up the medal hanging around his neck delicately like it's a baby and the most precious thing he's laid his eyes on.

You nudge his arm with your elbow, "Don't act like this is your first; you're not that far behind me."

While you exploded on the scene as soon as you made your transition to seniors, Sunghoon's growth was gradual and more sustainable. He worked hard and steadily over the years, waiting patiently to reap his rewards. Now, he was decorated with nearly every medal in quick succession.

"Nah, you're miles ahead, sweets," he drops the term so casually you almost don't react, but by the time you realise, Junho is telling him it's almost time to warm up and run through his exhibition gala routine.

Sunghoon turns to you as he pulls the medal off his body and drops it around your shoulders, "Can you keep this safe for me? I'll see you after the gala, yeah?" his left eye drops into a wink before he takes off on a jog back into the direction of the rink.

You're stood there dumbfounded, fingers clasping the fabric of the medal. Junho stifles a laugh at you, making a note in his head to tell Taeyeon how your relationship has progressed in just a short time from the airport to now.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

"Welcome to my home sweet home," you breathe out as you step foot in your apartment for the first time in months.

It's a little chilly and the air is a bit stagnant, but otherwise, the apartment has been maintained well by your caretaker. You quickly turn on the heating and A/C to circulate the air while Sunghoon rolls his small suitcase in and takes off his shoes by the door. It's the first time you've seen shoes that weren't Taeyeon's next to yours in this apartment and it endears you to see it's Sunghoon's beat up shoes from when you were younger.

"You need new shoes, Hoon," you mumble pointedly at the raggedy pair.

He pouts cutely, "They're my favourite! They're perfectly moulded to my feet and we bought them together at the department store on my 16th birthday, remember?"

"And you are 21 now, Park Sunghoon," you crinkle your nose at him, "I think you can afford to part ways with them."

"It's not about affording, it's about our emotional bond!" he protests while he taps his sock-covered feet on the leather that was about to peel.

"Whatever. That is Taeyeon's old room. Put your stuff in there and I'll find some bed sheets," you point at the door on one side of the living room. You cross the shared area to reach your own bedroom and the linen closet.

By the time that you managed to pair up two sets of everything to adorn your stripped beds, you find Sunghoon in the kitchen, snooping through your cupboards. You doubt that he would find anything; fresh food hasn't crossed the threshold since you left and you did a freezer clear-out of most things too.

"Are you hungry? There's not gonna be any food, so we can order in," you pass by behind him as you go to drop the sheets in the room.

The two of you had breakfast in the hotel buffet in the morning with the rest of Team Korea, but after that, you were busy packing your bags and stressing about making it to the airport in time to eat between Texas and your home. It's creeping up on dinner time, so as athletes, you were starving.

"Can we order Korean food?" Sunghoon's tone has a cheeky lilt to it, which you don't understand until he turns around and you find green bottles in his grasp.

You gasp, "I left soju here? I thought I drank them all when I had a goodbye get together with my friends. What a nice surprise, but should we be drinking?"

Sunghoon shrugs and places three bottles on the dining room table, "Why not? I just won Skate America so we can celebrate, I guess. And we don't have any schedules or training for the next few days."

You always planned to visit your apartment after the competition even if it required a short plane ride to a different state. What you hadn't initially decided was whether you would invite Sunghoon or not. In your head, it was going to be a bit awkward inviting Sunghoon to a trip just alone straight off the bat without any of your friends first, but Chaehyun convinced you that there was nothing wrong inviting your friend. At one point, you considered each other best friends and you wouldn't have hesitated in the past, even when you did have a crush on him.

Convincing Heeseung and Chaehyun to fly to the States and make it a group treat came to no avail as they were both going to Skate Canada just a few days after Skate America and therefore would need to be using this time intensely training. You considered taking a trip over to Halifax and watching your other best friends too, and then trying to convince them to come back with you, but going coast to coast back and forth was tiring and time-wasting. You don't think that Taeyeon would appreciate you skipping out on more days of work back in Korea just because you couldn't stomach the thought of being alone with Sunghoon in a private place.

In the months you've been in Korea, you've definitely been alone with Sunghoon- you eat together often, you work out together often, you walk around shopping districts and café hunt together often, but you haven't been alone with him with nowhere to run to yet. This is your apartment after all.

After you order the food, you convince Sunghoon to go and set up the bed and unpack his belongings a little, while you did the same in your room. Apart from the stripped bed, the room seemed largely untouched and a little empty. Still, you left behind some memorabilia such as some of your competition gifts (all the medals and trophies were in the living room, as they were celebrating both you and your coach), pictures with your friends and team on this side of the world and a heap of plushies that you couldn't justify hauling with you all the way to Korea.

You took most of your clothes to Korea, but you left behind your competition dresses that were displayed on a rail. Fondly, you inspected each of them and let the warmth of the memory fill your heart. While you were missing competing already, you know in your heart that this break is what you need so you don't burn out too fast; you want to be with the sport for as long as possible, even if you did foolishly contemplate retiring at first.

After intense and thought-provoking conversations with your coach and your best friends, you came to the decision that taking a break was a much easier and less-permanent step than announcing you were retiring off the bat. You know you made the right decision when the thought of coming back on the ice made you feel excited, instead of dread.

Your door was ajar, but you still get shocked when Sunghoon knocks on the wood to let you know of his presence, "The food came, Y/N."

"Oh, really? Sorry, I didn't hear it but thanks for getting it," you furrow your eyebrows at how you spaced out.

Sunghoon steps further into your bedroom, which has you training your eyes on him carefully as he perches on the end of your bed, "It's weird not knowing what your bedroom looks like now, when I used to have them all memorised."

Your heart clenches at the thought. When you still lived at home with your parents, Sunghoon lived nearby and was always around for play dates in your room or house. As you grew up, the two of you would study together on your large desk side by side with the chair that he stole out of your parents' office. When you both moved into the dorms briefly, you would find ways to sneak him into your room even when boys weren't allowed in the girls' dormitory. He spent a lot of time in your dorm room napping while you did online school before the two of you would head over to the rinks for training.

You hang your costume from the last Olympics back onto the white rail, "Well, now you know."

Sunghoon takes this as an invitation to inspect more purposefully. There's a printed picture of you, Chaehyun and Heeseung on the pin board above your desk. From Heeseung's hair colour, Sunghoon could tell it was from a couple of years ago. There's a few newspaper clippings up about your victories and a few childhood photos of you on the ice. When he finds that there's nothing to indicate his previous presence in your life, he feels a little guilt, even though he expected it.

He was such a big part of your life once- and you to his- but misunderstandings had forced the two of you apart, mainly due to his own angst. If he wasn't so stupid and young, maybe his face would appear on your pinboard too to signify his importance.

"I can feel you thinking over there," you chuckle and sit next to him, "What's up?"

Sunghoon's eyebrows are knitted together in some kind of frustration, "I missed so much of your life because I was so up my own ass. You achieved all the things we talked and dreamed about for so long and I couldn't even celebrate with you or tell you how proud I am of you. I'm sorry, Y/N."

His words take you aback and you instinctively lean into his body, "Stop saying sorry, Hoon. We agreed to move past it, remember?"

He kisses his teeth, "I know, but I'm still so angry at myself for doing that to us and pushing us apart when it was the exact opposite of what I really wanted."

Your heart begins to race as it so often does when you're faced with Park Sunghoon. You turn your head towards him to find him already looking at you with parted lips. You fight with your might to keep your eyes up as your fingers grasp the bedsheets.

His words nearly echo what he said on the plane about Yunah not being the one he wants.

"What did you really want?" your voice drops to a whisper, reluctant to ask in fear of having to face his answer.

There's a moment when his eyes scan down your face and land somewhere lower, but he's meeting your gaze again quickly as a knowing smile stretches across his lips, "Are you sure you wanna hear it?"

There's a churning in your stomach as you examine his expression. It's so unreadable and unfamiliar to you that something inside you snaps and you jump up, "The food is gonna go cold. And the soju's gonna go warm," you speed walk out of the room and leave behind a chuckling Sunghoon.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Spending your teen years in America where you just barely became legal to drink meant that you didn't get a chance to build up your alcohol tolerance the same way Korean teens did. While you vehemently do not condone drinking if Taeyeon asks, you still know that in Korea's heavy-drinking culture, teens were able to access alcohol much earlier and easier and drank a lot more than you and your same-aged friends you made in America. At the same time, you didn't go to a physical college to be able to engage in questionable behaviours like underage drinking at parties or with college friends since most of your friends were fellow athletes who had it drilled in them to take care of their bodies. While in Korea, it was practically a rite of passage to sneak in alcohol for special occasions and not so special occasions to the dormitories once the lights went out and the adults went to sleep.

You're a testament of that cultural and social gap as your head lulls heavily in the air, while Sunghoon watches you in half amusement, half concern. You seemed okay for a while, matching his pace with shots as you talked casually and ate the takeout and then suddenly it seemed to hit you all at once and you were slurring and giggling at nothing and dropping your head. Although you protested, he managed to cut off your alcohol and even poured down the remaining liquid down the sink so there was no chance of you getting any further gone.

Sunghoon was definitely buzzed too, to the point that risky decisions seemed appealing to him now, but his concern for you overtook any feeling.

"We should get you to bed now, Y/N-ie," Sunghoon hums as he pats your head flopped on the table, "Let's get up."

"No!" you bang your fist on the table softly, "I don't wanna. I wanna spend time with you!"

Sunghoon's heart leaps out of his chest hearing those words, "We have all day tomorrow and the day after and then we have the whole ride back to Korea. Plus, we practically work together."

You murmur something incoherent into the table and Sunghoon has to urge you to lift your head up.

"I said that we barely see each other at the rink," you mumble again, peering up at him adorably.

Since the season kicked off, your schedules were busier, but it endears Sunghoon to know that you were thinking about him, "I'll make more of an effort to see you more often then. But we should get your drunk ass to bed now."

"I'm not drunk," you hiccup cutely as your face scrunches up and then relaxes as you examine his features, "Has anyone ever told you that your moles are really pretty?"

Sunghoon is struck silent by you so suddenly and he thinks he's forgotten how to breathe when your hands reach up to cup his face. Your expression is so soft yet determined as your fingers ghost over the placement of the marks- over his nose, under his eyes and then the pad of your thumb presses gently into his skin just a few centimetres away from the corner of his lips.

Your touch on him is kickstarting his heart into gear and his heart is beating out of his chest. It's almost like all at once, you've completely undone all his resolve when this whole time, he's been trying to push his feelings away in order to restore and rekindle his previous friendship with you.

But let's face it, Sunghoon doesn't want to be your friend.

Or at least he doesn't want to be just your friend anymore.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" his own hands find their way up to cup your hands, which makes your fingers press deeper into his skin.

"You're so handsome, Hoonie. You grew up so well," your voice is so dreamy that Sunghoon becomes hyper aware that you might not say these things when you're sober. He tries to pull your hands off him, but you just bat away at his grasp, "So, so pretty. Makes me want you all to myself."

Your table is abnormally narrow, or so it feels like. With the way that you're leaning up to him, he only needs to move a little to meet you and maybe press his lips into yours-

Sunghoon shakes away his tipsy thoughts as he forcefully removes himself from your caress and walks around the table to hoist you up, "Let's get you to bed, Y/N. Seriously."

The walk to your room is precarious. Sunghoon feels like he's getting more drunk with every step he takes trying to manoeuvre your unwilling body. You're clinging onto him for life, groaning and complaining about not wanting the night to end, but he tunes you out to prioritise taking care of you. You both got changed into pyjamas after your second shot, foreseeing the night to end a bit tipsy and therefore likely disinhibited from normal tasks. All Sunghoon has to do is peel back the covers and coax you into lying down.

He brushes the hair out of your shining eyes once he gets you to settle on the bed, "I'm gonna get you some water, okay? Stay here."

Your hands clutch at his bicep, not even going all the way around, "Hoonie, I missed you."

He smiles fondly at you, "I missed you too, Y/N. I really did."

When you let your heavy eyelids fall, you also let a smile grace your face. Sunghoon captures this moment in his mind to store in the part of his brain that you've made home in and he decides that no matter what and if it is up to him, he'll never leave your side again.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

"Sunghoon, this is Eric," you gesture between the blonde haired guy beside you and the pink haired one in front of you, "Have you guys met before?"

"In passing when I would give him dirty looks on behalf of you," Eric snorts, "And we've met a few times on the podium, right?"

Sunghoon nods stiffly, "Yeah, a few."

Eric quirks his eyebrow, "Well, anyway, it's good to finally meet the elusive Park Sunghoon. I've heard lots about you, not good things as you imagine."

You reach over to smack Eric's arm with a scalding expression, "Eric, behave."

He lets out a boisterous laugh that has introverted Sunghoon squirming in his seat, "Relax, i'm just playing. Really. I'm glad that you two are on good terms again. Y/N-ie always talked about you and while it was out of anger mostly, I could tell that behind it all, she missed you."

"This is not behaving either," you mutter with a glare at your friend.

Eric was a fellow skater at your club. He joined the year after you came from a different club in the city to work with your coach's mentor. The two of you became fast friends despite him being a couple years older than you and he was one of the friends you were missing since moving back home.

Over the years, you grew more comfortable in confiding in Eric about your friends back home and specifically about Sunghoon after he witnessed a little spat between you a few World's ago.

Sunghoon has always been the shy and quiet type, which is one of the reasons why he struggled so much without you- you were practically his only friend then. Eric, on the other hand, is too extroverted and talkative for his own good. You like to think you're a happy medium in between them both. However, you know that this meeting won't go off without a hitch.

"Y/N-ie, do you know yet if you're gonna come back next season?" Eric takes a sip out of his cocktail. The three of you are sitting on a shaded table on the porch of a brunch spot, basking in the slight warmth of the October sun. It's a stark contrast to what you'll come home to, "We all miss you so much over here."

You feel Sunghoon stiffen up beside you and you cast a quick glance at him. He's trying to play it cool by mixing around the mojito he ordered with the straw.

"I'm not sure yet. It feels like I just got to Korea, to be honest," you skirt around the question to avoid making Sunghoon uncomfortable. In all honesty, it was the truth. You wanted to focus on enjoying your time there without worrying too much about the future. Then again, you had to make sure that your team was ready for you wherever you were going to end up in the world. While Taeyeon was arguably the most important part of the team, there were so many more people behind the scenes that shaped your career.

"We really love having Y/N around," Sunghoon adds on nonchalantly. You can tell that he's trying to avoid voicing out his real opinion in favour of supporting whatever decision you'll come to make.

"So do we," Eric grins, "I miss having my partner in crime around."

Sunghoon resists the urge to roll his eyes out of his head. You were his partner in crime first. Plus, you never even mention Eric much around him. How close were the two of you really?

"The staff are probably so happy that we're separated," you giggle in acknowledgement, "Who are you stealing the Zamboni with now?"

A memory flashes through the forefront of Sunghoon's mind when you first broke into the Zamboni cupboard and stole the keys. You two were practically punished for days when you were caught lapping the rink in circles at the age of 14 and subsequently ruining the work of the driver. Thankfully, you did learn over the years at your new rink how to operate the machine, so stealing it with Eric was mostly just for the thrill.

If emotions could manifest in real life, Sunghoon was green with envy. He would never accuse you of replacing him when the fall out was his fault anyway, but the thought that you did things with Eric that you used to do with him made him feel so sick.

The way that Eric addressed you with soft nicknames and a teasing tone had Sunghoon's stomach churning. He practically sat through the brunch seething in silence, only speaking when you addressed him and asked him a question.

What was even worse was that you hadn't talked about the events of the previous night at all. By the time that Sunghoon returned to your room after fetching your glass of water and trying to calm himself down in the kitchen, you were already fast asleep in dreamland. In the other room, Sunghoon seemingly couldn't sleep a wink until the next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by you frantically telling him to get up as you were gonna be late to meeting Eric.

So here you all were, nursing your hangovers with even more alcohol and a whole lot of carbs.

Eventually, Eric had to run for his final fitting for his costume that he was debuting at the Grand Prix de France in a few weeks, leaving you and Sunghoon to stroll along the streets lined with brunch spots and themed cafés.

"How'd you find Eric? I know he's kind of a lot at first..." you chuckled awkwardly, sensing only halfway through the meeting that it was probably not a good idea to have them meet just yet.

"I'm just glad that you had some friends over here," Sunghoon said sincerely.

"It was hard at first, but once Eric came, he dragged many people into our little group of friends," you agree quietly. Sunghoon is walking tensely beside you, fingers clasped behind his back instead of swinging by your side like usual.

"Mhm."

"You're not jealous, are you?" you ask hesitantly, looking straight ahead at the strip in front of you.

"A little," his confession takes you by surprise. You halt your step and catch his arm.

"Eric is flirty but he doesn't actually mean anything by it."

Sunghoon lets out a deep sigh and gestures for the two of you to sit on a nearby bench. It's a weekday morning, so there's not that many people hanging around the streets. People were mainly just walking past with a purpose to reach a certain shop instead of walking casually like the two of you were.

"After last night, I don't know where we stand," Sunghoon gnaws at his lip nervously. As much as he'd love to pretend nothing was changing between the two of you to preserve the good terms you were on, he feels like he can't carry on any longer.

The memories of the previous night come rushing back to you, not having been able to think about it beforehand due to your rush to meet Eric. You fold into yourself in embarrassment and move away from Sunghoon. You're not even internalising the meaning to his words, too preoccupied with cringing internally at your actions- there was a reason why you didn't drink much.

"Y/N," Sunghoon scoots closer to you, "Did you hear what I said?"

You peak at him through your hands covering your face in shame, "Hm?"

Sunghoon laughs softly at you as he moves your hands away from your face gently, "I said I don't know where we stand."

You cock your head at him, "Are you asking me what are we?"

Sunghoon's face heats up, "I'm just as nervous and embarrassed as you are about this, Y/N. Just give me a straight answer."

His candour inspires a bout of bravery in you as you give him a confident smile, "As I said last night, I want you all to myself."

You can practically see the moment a glimmer of hope sparkles in his eyes as he shuffles even closer to you. Your thighs are touching at this point, body twisted towards one another.

"Really? In what way?" he presses on.

You try to look away, intending to evade the conversation and point out something irrelevant, but Sunghoon reaches up to your cheeks and keeps your face straight at him. His expression tells you everything you need to know.

He's been waiting for your answer for practically 6 years.

"In the way that I'm in love with you," you confess.

When you spent countless nights pondering on what exactly your feelings were for Park Sunghoon, you always imagined that telling him would be hard. When you were young teens, confessing to your best friend was something that had you panicked and flustered, not even once entertaining the idea in fear of ruining your friendship over a crush.

But looking up at him now with that pleading and hopeful look on his face had the words falling out of your mouth.

It felt so natural to tell him, the same way that breathing came easy to any human. You used to always tell each other that you loved each other, but telling him you're in love with him? It was as automatic as your heart beating.

"Okay, good," Sunghoon is completely drowning in you, but is trying to keep his composure, "Cause I definitely want you all to myself in the way that I've been in love with you for years and years and I don't intend in sharing."

You chuckle at him, "We're going to have to work on that, I think."

Sunghoon scoffs and suddenly lunges forward on the bench. His nose bumps against yours, "You're mine, Y/N. And I'm yours too."

His breath fans over your lips and you're so desperate to push your face forward and connect your mouths together, but he places a teasing thumb between your lips.

"Sunghoon," you grumble.

"Yes, sweets?"

"Can you just kiss me now?"

A smirk envelops his facade as he moves his thumb out of the way, "My pleasure."

Your lips slot together so naturally that you don't know how you've gone this long without connecting the other piece of the puzzle. You're thankful that the street is deserted as Sunghoon presses his lips on yours gently at first, but then more purposeful and deeper as you reciprocate and move your lips against his.

Kissing Sunghoon feels like fireworks exploding, butterflies in your stomach and the comforting  feeling of home all at once. One hand is caressing his cheeks, moving over the mole just under his eye on top of his cheek bone and the other is running through his hair. Sunghoon's hands are clasping your cheeks like he's afraid you're going to run or disappear as he deepens the kiss and slides his tongue into your mouth.

You whimper into his hold and let him take the lead. Everything has been leading up to this moment. You knew that time when you took him to a café to talk that this was going to be inevitable. Your heart was always going to be pulled to Sunghoon's and there was no use fighting it.

The famous saying that there's a very fine line between love and hate was all too true. The changes in your relationship over the years were always just sides on the same coin. At the end of the day, you completed each other.

"I love you, Y/N. You don't know how long I've been wanting to tell you that," Sunghoon mutters against your lips.

"Likewise, Hoonie," you press a soft and fleeting kiss on his swollen lips before you pull away properly, "But we should go somewhere more private."

Sunghoon coughs in surprise and begins to splutter, "O-oh? Damn, take me out on a date first!"

You rise to your feet and give him a disgusted expression, "Shit, Hoon. Not like that! Urgh, I'm taking it back."

Sunghoon chases after you in glee as you stomp away, "Wait, Y/N! Come back! You still haven't answered- what are we?"

"Back to enemies," you turn your upper body to glare at him, flipping him off with your middle fingers, "Boyfriend privileges revoked before they even started!"

You're practically sprinting away from him at this point and Sunghoon has never been happier running after someone as he feels his heart leaping out from his chest, "Boyfriend? Y/N, come back!"

"No!"

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You watch from the stands as Sunghoon finishes up another run through of his free program after a small tweak to one of his elements. As he hits the final pose, you explode into claps and cheers.

"That was so clean," you praise beside Junho who was nodding approvingly.

Sunghoon skates over to the gate and sighs contently. Junho claps him on the back, "You're all done for the day, then. Good job, Sunghoon."

"Thanks, hyung," Sunghoon grins, "Is there anyone using the rink after me?"

"Hm, I don't think so? Usually it'd be Heeseung but they're not back yet from Canada," Junho ponders the question, "Are you gonna keep practising? Don't overwork yourself."

"No, I just thought I'd drag Y/N onto the ice today," he looks over at you, your expression turning into surprise, "You have your blades on you?"

Junho bids the two of you goodbye, reminding Sunghoon that he had some schedule tomorrow with a sponsor. You eye Sunghoon nervously, "Why do you wanna skate together?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "It's been a while since we've properly shared the ice. I thought it'd be fun."

You leave him skating laps around the oval as you fetch your shoes from the locker room. Since you arrived in Seoul all those months ago, you've barely been skating- maybe twice a week when helping some of the younger girls you've been coaching. You're definitely out of practice, but you figure that you still have a little time left before you had to start getting used to skating all day, every day again ahead of the new season.

The shoes are a second skin to you and it will never feel foreign slipping them on no matter how long it's been. Your first steps on the ice are still confident - you haven't lost touch at all.

"Do you think we could have been a good pairs team?" you ask Sunghoon in amusement as he reached out a hand to you skating towards him. You crash into his body with a big 'oof!' as he envelops you into a warm hug. Thankfully, you're pretty appropriately dressed for the ice today.

"We probably could've been the best," Sunghoon nods along, "We trusted each other so much."

His past tense has your face falling in a frown that he quickly catches, "And I still trust you with my life. I'm working to make sure you will trust me again too."

Sunghoon's voice is soft as he releases you, but slides his fingers in between yours. He starts pulling you along side him slowly, just gliding beside each other.

"I love you, Sunghoon," you tell him suddenly, feeling so overjoyed at being by his side again on the ice at the second rink you called home together, "Thank you for trying with me again."

"No, thank you for letting me come back into your life," Sunghoon bounces back, sending you into a spin and then capturing your grip again, "Being with you makes me want to be better every day for you."

You feel so warm inside despite the temperature of the indoor arena as you move together in tandem. If you close your eyes, you can picture your 15 year old selves holding hands and leisurely skating around like couples at pop-up Christmas-time ice skating rinks. Instead, you were just two kids with the weight of the figure skating world's expectations on you, holding onto each other for support. 

"I don't think I want to leave at the end of this season," you admit quietly to him, "Everyone I love is here and I don't have any reasons to go back. I'll do my best to convince my federation and team, but I'm sure Taeyeon will find a rink for me in Seoul or lobby to have me here if there's space."

Sunghoon squeezes your hands assuringly, "Whatever decision that you make, I'll support you. If you're not allowed or it will take another season to sort everything, don't stress or worry about it. I'll be by your side."

You give him an appreciative look and nuzzle your head into his neck. Sunghoon twists to drop a searing kiss on your temple.

Time passes quickly as the two of you skate- at one point, you were playing a game of tag chasing each other all around the rink and pulling out your best tricks. Sunghoon was then curious on trying to pull off some pairs skating stunts, which you indulged for a bit like that couple's yoga challenge, but quickly had to shut down when he was getting too ambitious. Maybe you'll ask Taeyeon and Kibum to show you guys a few tricks one day.

As you were also done for the day, Sunghoon convinces you to come over to his apartment to watch a movie and have some dinner. Heeseung and Chaehyun were coming back later in the evening from Canada, so he proposed that you would tell your two best friends then the new update in your relationship. It's been a week since you got back from the states, but you had just missed your other best friends going to their own competition and they were far too preoccupied to talk.

"If you're gonna stay in Seoul, do you think you'll want to move out?" Sunghoon asks you as he prepares the food on the stove. Apparently, Sunghoon has been attempting to learn how to cook, but you'll be the judge of that since he used to be wary of going near the kitchen after a tragic ramen fire.

You're sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar, watching him work from the side. You volunteered to help, but Sunghoon was determined to cook for you himself, "Maybe Chae and I could move in together if her lease is up soon. We've always talked about doing that one day."

Your childhood home wasn't horrifically far, but anything closer to the rink and to your friends would always be more convenient. You've enjoyed spending time with your family again after all that lost time, but you think that it wouldn't hurt to move out again if you were going to stay in the city. It was just something you had to discuss with Taeyeon once you thought about it some more.

"Mhm, you two could move into a 2 bed in the building if there's one available," Sunghoon agrees, "Or maybe the 4 of us could get a house somewhere or something."

You raise an eyebrow at him, "Woah, take me out on a date first!"

Sunghoon groans at your teasing tone as he stirs the stew on the pot, "Speaking of, will you let me finally take you out this weekend?"

After you got back from the States, the two of you had been swarmed with work and haven't been able to fully explore the relationship that blossomed between you while you were away. You saw each other daily at Taereung, but you hadn't had time to go out together on an official date.

"Looking forward to it, Park," you chirp, "Is it gonna be a surprise?"

He nods knowingly and turns around to bring the pot of kimchi-jjigae over to the pot holder in front of you. The smell is inviting, warm and comforting, perfect for a chilly evening as it was outside. It smells like home and watching Sunghoon buzz around the kitchen collecting the cutlery and bowls feels all the more domestic. You could definitely get used to this.

"I really hope it tastes good," Sunghoon exhales as he takes the bar stool beside you and scoops out a portion of soup and rice for you, "Eat up, my Y/N."

You take the first scoop tentatively, still a bit unsure of how good his cooking will actually be, but when the flavours melt in your mouth and tingle your tastebuds, you squeeze your eyes shut in glee, "Urgh, Hoon, it's good. I'm surprised."

Sunghoon claps joyfully and begins to portion out his food too, "I can't wait for you to see all the tricks I have up my sleeve. I've had to learn a few things about life."

You watch him eat fondly, thinking about how exciting it is to learn about each other again and how you grew as people in the time apart. Knowing everything about a person isn't as exciting as the adventure of slowly discovering new things about each other that makes the person who they are now. The fall out isn't something you'd ever wish for again, but it's time to consider the positives instead of dwelling in sorrow.

"Do you want to stay over tonight?" Sunghoon presents casually as he slurps some broth.

His question has you choking on a piece of kimchi. Sunghoon simply laughs at you and pats your back almost teasingly. When you were in America, you maintained your boundaries in separate rooms as you didn't want to rush into anything, but you must've told Sunghoon that you had a late start the following morning and so did he.

You used to hold sleepovers as kids all the time until you hit puberty and your parents had to pull back on that. When you were in the dorms, you were spending so much time with each other anyway that it didn't feel necessary to have sleep overs. Why cram in one room when Sunghoon could just sneak back a few minutes to his own bed whenever you finished what you were doing?

"Nevermind," Sunghoon giggles melodiously as you eye him.

"No, no- I do. It's just that I've never stayed around a guy's place before," you're likely blushing as Sunghoon squeezes your cheeks.

"You're so cute, Y/N-ah," he coos at you, "But this is the kind of stuff we do while dating, right?"

"Us dating still seems so foreign," you wrinkle your face tight, "It makes me happy, but it's so strange."

Thankfully, Sunghoon doesn't take offence, "I know what you mean; it's definitely going to be a transition, but it's all I ever wanted so we're just gonna have to fight the awkwardness. We can start by overcoming cuddling tonight."

The way he phrases his words has you chortling along with him and he just rolls his eyes and urges you to eat up so you could get ready for the evening ahead. Once you finished your bowl,  packed up the leftovers in the fridge for Heeseung and washed the dishes while he dried, Sunghoon was rummaging through his room to find spares of everything to lend you since you were unprepared.

He had better skincare than you, so that wasn't a problem and his scents in his toiletries weren't so musky and masculine that it hurt your nose when you used them in the shower. Sunghoon was glad to remember that he bought his toothbrush in a pack previously, so you brushed your teeth together bumping hips and competing with each other to see who would spit first. He picked out a baggy shirt for you and some joggers that had a drawstring so you could be comfortable.

Eventually, you found yourselves with your legs tangled together on the couch after he dragged his duvet out to the living room. They had one of those modular couches that was L-shaped in the day, but could be moved around to create a sort-of bed situation that was perfect for movie nights. He had put on the latest Spider-Man film, remembering how you used to watch Andrew Garfield's franchise back when you were younger and you used to think he was so cute.

"Do you still think he's the best Spider-Man?" Sunghoon hums as he appears on the screen in what was once one of the exciting appearances in cinema.

"Yeah, but Tom Holland has played his version in so many movies now and he's really good," you reply after some thought, turning to find him incredibly close to your face, "Woah."

Sunghoon's arms were wrapped around your middle, but he pulled you closer to snuggle tighter, "You're so cold, baby."

You hide your face into his chest and muffle your voice against his shirt, "You're making me shy."

His body begins to vibrate as he breaks out in fits of giggles, "Trust me, I feel shy around you too. You honestly make my heart do crazy things without even trying."

You pound your fist against him, "Hoon, stop!"

"What?" he whines defensively, moving his hand up to your chin to guide you out of hiding, "Look at me."

Your cheeks are permanently red around your best friend as he gazes down at you with all the fondness in the world in his eyes, "Stop it or I'll leave!"

Sunghoon rolls his gleaming eyes playfully and nudges his nose against yours- something you quickly learned he loved to do before kissing you, "Nah, you love me too much to leave."

Instead of answering him, you just connect your lips together again, letting his natural warmth spread to your cold body. His arms tighten around you, pressing you up against him as he pressed rougher. He tasted like the sharp mint from your toothpaste, combined with his cherry lip balm that he had applied after, but there was also his own very distinct taste that you were growing more addicted to.

You feel him smile into the kiss before he squeezes at your waist and moves so that he was more hovering over you instead of beside you. Your heartbeat was thudding rapidly in your chest as he pulled away but then immediately attached his lips onto your neck in a spot that had you breathing out his name like it was sacred.

You must have been so preoccupied in Sunghoon that both of you missed the beeping of the keypad and the sound of the handle turning.

"Oh shit," Heeseung gasps as the front door swings open to give him a perfect view of the two of you.

You and Sunghoon let out a yelp that was more surprised from you but frustrated from him. He shoots the fellow skater a menacing glare, "Do you know how to knock?"

Heeseung scoffs at the two of you, "Well, yes. Except that you're in the living room and this is also my apartment. So happy you guys made up but can you keep making out in your room, please?"

At this point, you've shuffled so far away from Sunghoon and are hiding your face in the comforter in embarrassment. You wanted to tell them you were together, but that didn't mean you wanted Heeseung to catch you two.

"Who's making out?" you hear a familiar voice fade in behind Heeseung, "You left your passport with me, Heeseung-"

Chaehyun stops in her tracks when her eyes land on you on the couch, looking all bashful with Sunghoon emitting an annoyed aura. She presses Heeseung's passport into his chest without breaking eye contact with you as she approaches you menacingly.

"Y/N, Sunghoon. Do you have something to tell us?"

"Yes, but Hee walked in before we could get a warning that you were back," you sheepishly say.

"I actually texted the groupchat when we pulled up to the parking garage," Heeseung interjects, but Sunghoon just flips him off.

"This-" she points between you and Sunghoon, "Must have happened in America, right?"

"Yeah, we just wanted to wait until you two got back," Sunghoon shrugs, "Speaking of which, congrats on bringing home two golds guys."

Your eyes widen in remembrance as you leap up to crush your best friend in a hug, "Oh my God, yeah! I'm so happy for you Chae. And you, Hee."

Chaehyun rubs your back and nuzzles herself into you, "I guess there's much to celebrate tonight. Do you guys wanna drink? I'm really happy for the two of you as well."

You pull back from Chaehyun and direct your sparkling eyes over to your boyfriend, "Yeah, me too."

Your eyes dart over to Heeseung as well, who was on a sudden mission to find any and all alcoholic beverages he had in the apartment. Sunghoon springs up from his position, already scolding his elder for the mess he was making in the cupboards trying to investigate. Chaehyun is beaming at you and you feel the sincerity in her expression. Having seen you at the lowest points in your life, it's a happy departure to where you are now.

She can feel you start to get emotional and reminiscent, so Chaehyun simply pulls you back into a warm embrace. The happiness you feel is so new, just like your relationship with Sunghoon, but you would never trade it for the whole world.

The road to this moment was rocky and it felt never-ending at times. There were so many moments you felt so lost on your place in the world, but as Sunghoon returns to you and pulls you into his body, your heartbeats syncing together slowly, you feel that your way back home was worth it. 

a/n: thank you millions for reading. find my masterlist here & all likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are so, so appreciated <3

[goldfades]

★ 'cause she's watching him with those eyes / and she's loving him with that body, i just know it / and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night / you know, i wish that i had jessie's girl / i wish that i had jessie's girl / where can i find a woman like that? ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 18k (a lot more than i expected...)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | a college student navigates her complicated feelings for her charming yet infuriating neighbor, joe burrow, while dating the seemingly perfect linebacker. after a series of missteps, flirtatious teasing, and an unexpected kiss, she finds herself caught in a whirlwind of tension, confusion, and unexpected sparks, all while trying to avoid the loud, chaotic presence of joe and his ever-constant parade of girls.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | unedited (sorry... i got lazy), NSFW (with lots... and lots... AND LOTS of plot), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it, kids) praise, teasing, lots of kissing/foreplay, p in v, uhhh.. descriptions of big dick joe??? enemies to lovers, roommates, mentions of drinking/alcohol, cheating (not on reader), joe being an asshole, cocky joe, lots of fighting, heated arguments.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this has been in my drafts for a good 2 months and finally decided to finish it up on the sunday before american thanksgiving! so... yaya! please let me know your thoughts!

The muffled sound of Ja’Marr Chase’s bass-heavy playlist seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, rattling the picture frames you swore you hung up straight last week. The tiny LSU apartment complex, with its peeling beige paint and eternally broken elevator, has its charms—like the way the front door doesn’t lock unless you kick it just right or how the air conditioner only works when it’s below 70 degrees outside.

But Joe Burrow? He’s not one of those charms.

No, Joe Burrow is the bane of your existence, the human equivalent of a pothole on a road you have to take every day. His name alone makes your best friend, Ella, roll her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. “Just ignore him,” she says every time you come storming through the door, ranting about whatever fresh annoyance he’s cooked up that day. “He only bothers you because you’re fun to mess with.”

Right. Like that’s supposed to make it better.

Living next door to Joe and Ja’Marr was tolerable at first. Sure, they were loud, occasionally messy, and probably violating a dozen lease terms, but it wasn’t personal. Then, you had one small misunderstanding—okay, so maybe you yelled at Joe for leaving his bike in front of your door after you tripped over it—and now it’s like he’s made it his life’s mission to drive you insane.

Sometimes, it’s harmless: an obnoxious smirk when you cross paths on the way to class or his sarcastic comments about how you always seem to be spilling coffee on your shirt. Other times, it’s borderline infuriating: stealing your parking spot, taking the last box of cinnamon rolls at the grocery store, or claiming the shared apartment complex grill for “official game day business” every single Saturday.

Still, there’s something annoyingly magnetic about him, even when you want to wring his neck. The way his eyes crinkle when he’s laughing at his own jokes. The stupid mop of curls he somehow manages to pull off. The effortless confidence that borders on cocky, though you’d never say it out loud because that’s exactly the kind of thing that would go straight to his head.

Ella always jokes that you two are like an old married couple, constantly bickering but secretly loving it. You disagree. Mostly because Joe already has enough people falling at his feet—like the swarm of girls in purple-and-gold jerseys who show up at the apartment complex every other week, giggling like they’re auditioning for a reality show.

You sigh, brushing a stray crumb off the countertop as Ella flops onto the couch behind you, textbook in hand. And if his stupid grin when he sees you on your balcony later tonight is any indication, he’s already got something planned.

You just don’t know it yet.

The parking lot outside your apartment complex is a war zone at 11 p.m., with far too many cars crammed into a space that was clearly designed with only half the residents in mind. You circle the lot for the third time, your headlights cutting through the dark like a searchlight on some hopeless mission. After eight grueling hours at the campus library helping undergrads figure out why their printers are possessed, your brain feels like oatmeal, and all you want is to collapse into your bed.

But, of course, tonight isn’t going to be that simple.

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

He’s in his Jeep—windows down, music playing softly, and, naturally, there’s a blonde perched in the passenger seat laughing at something he said. Of course, he found the last available spot. Except—it’s not his spot, because you saw it first. Your blinker’s been on since the beginning of time (or at least the last 30 seconds), and you refuse to back down now.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as he slowly starts to reverse into the spot, like he hasn’t noticed your very obvious claim to it. Heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and indignation, you tap your horn. Just once. Polite, but firm. He stops, glances in his rearview mirror, and then—of course—he smirks.

Oh, hell no.

You roll down your window and lean out. “Hey, Burrow! I was waiting for that spot.”

He leans his elbow casually against the window frame, his curls catching the faint glow of the streetlight. “Were you? Didn’t see your name on it.” His voice is slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to be a pain in your ass.

You glare at him, barely suppressing the urge to snap. “I was here first.”

“And I started reversing first,” he counters, raising an eyebrow like it’s a debate class and not a parking lot at nearly midnight. The blonde giggles beside him, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Just let me have it. You look like you could use the exercise.”

Oh, he’s done it now.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you’re too far gone to care. “I’ve been on my feet for eight hours dealing with entitled freshmen, and if you think I’m about to let you—”

“Alright, alright,” Joe interrupts, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not trying to ruin your night.” He throws the Jeep into drive, and with a dramatic sigh, he pulls away, leaving the spot open for you. But not without one last parting comment. “Don’t scratch the paint when you park. Oh, wait—you’re really close to that pole—”

You park with excessive precision, throwing your car into park before leaning out the window to call after him. “I didn’t ask for your help, Joe!”

His laugh echoes across the parking lot, carefree and infuriating. You slam your door shut a little harder than necessary, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you trudge toward the building. Finally, peace.

Or so you think.

Because just as you reach the elevator, its ding announcing its arrival, you hear the telltale sound of sneakers scuffing against concrete and—because your luck is absolute trash—Joe freaking Burrow strolls in behind you, Blonde Giggles McGee still glued to his side.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says casually, stepping into the elevator with you like he didn’t just steal and relinquish a parking spot out of sheer pettiness. The blonde gives you a wide, vaguely clueless smile, her gum snapping between her teeth.

You press the button for the third floor with a pointed jab and cross your arms, leaning against the elevator wall as Joe and his date take their sweet time figuring out which floor they’re going to. The door finally slides shut, and the tension in the small space is unbearable.

“So,” the blonde says brightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you guys, like, live here? That’s so fun! Like, neighbors and stuff. Wow.”

Your lips press into a tight smile, trying to avoid eye contact with Joe, who you can feel grinning at you like this is the highlight of his week. “Yep. Fun,” you reply curtly, forcing the word out like it’s laced with acid.

Joe’s shoulders shake slightly, and you realize he’s laughing. He glances at you, and there’s that damn smirk again, like he knows exactly how close you are to losing it. “She’s real talkative tonight,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “Usually, she’s got more to say.”

You turn to him with a withering glare. “Don’t you have something else to do, Burrow?”

Before he can reply, the elevator lurches slightly as it comes to a stop on your floor. You step out quickly, muttering a polite “Good night” that is entirely devoid of warmth. Joe follows, his pace annoyingly casual as he throws one last look over his shoulder.

“See you around, neighbor,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You don’t look back.

The smell of cheap ramen hits you the moment you open the door to your apartment. It’s comforting, in a way—familiar, like Ella’s answer to every late-night craving or bad day. She’s in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, barefoot and wearing the oversized LSU sweatshirt you’d bought together during freshman year.

“You’re late,” she says without looking up, her voice light with mock reproach. “Was the library on fire, or did you stop to fight Burrow in the parking lot again?”

You kick off your shoes with a sigh, tossing your bag onto the couch. “Option B. Obviously.”

That gets her attention. She turns, spoon in hand, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? It’s, like, midnight. You two are going to give each other aneurysms before graduation.”

You slump into one of the kitchen chairs, letting your forehead hit the table dramatically. “He stole my parking spot. Had the audacity to smirk about it, too. And then—get this—I got stuck in the elevator with him and some girl who wouldn’t stop talking about how ‘fun’ it is to have neighbors.” You lift your head to glare at Ella, who is now struggling to hold back a laugh. “I’m cursed. That man is my curse.”

Ella snorts, pouring the ramen into two mismatched bowls. “He’s not your curse. He’s just a guy with too much charm and not enough common sense. And clearly, you’re living rent-free in his head, which, honestly, is kind of impressive considering he’s got a playbook in there.”

You accept the bowl she slides across the table, your stomach growling despite your lingering irritation. “I don’t want to live in his head. I want him to stop being so… so Joe all the time.”

Ella sits across from you, propping her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Are you sure? You seem to spend a lot of time talking about him.”

You glare at her over a mouthful of noodles. “Don’t start.”

But she’s already started, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, it’s giving sexual tension.”

You nearly choke, coughing as you wave her off. “Nope. Absolutely not. There’s no tension. Only irritation. And rage. And an overwhelming desire to see him move to a different apartment complex.”

Ella laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Whatever you say, babe. But for the record, I think you secretly enjoy it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can form a retort, there’s a knock at the door. Both of you freeze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You expecting someone?” Ella whispers, her tone suddenly conspiratorial.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart sinking as a horrible suspicion creeps over you.

Ella gestures for you to check, and with a deep, resigned breath, you shuffle to the door, bowl still in hand. You crack it open just enough to see who’s on the other side, and—because the universe apparently hates you—there he is. Joe Burrow, in all his smug, infuriating glory, holding a box of cinnamon rolls.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says, his grin infuriatingly wide. “Figured I owed you something for stealing your spot.”

You stare at him, speechless, for a moment. Then, finally, you manage, “It’s 11:30 at night.”

He shrugs, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable time for a peace offering. “Better late than never, right?”

From behind you, Ella’s voice rings out, barely containing her amusement. “Is that Joe? Invite him in!”

You turn to glare at her, silently vowing revenge, but when you look back at Joe, he’s already stepping inside like he owns the place.

“Nice place,” he says, glancing around before holding up the box. “So… cinnamon roll?”

You sigh, shutting the door behind him. It’s going to be a long night.

Joe leans casually against the counter, still holding the box of cinnamon rolls like he’s been invited to stay for a late-night hangout. You narrow your eyes at him, folding your arms. “So, what’s this about, really? Cinnamon rolls aren’t exactly your style.”

“Wow, judgmental much?” he says with a mock-wounded expression. “What if I just wanted to be neighborly?”

Ella snickers softly behind you, spooning up her ramen as she watches the exchange like it’s prime-time TV.

Joe grins, ignoring your skepticism. “Actually,” he says, setting the box on the counter with a little too much flourish, “I’m out of sugar. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

You blink at him, incredulous. “Sugar? You came over at almost midnight to borrow sugar?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the “p” for emphasis, completely unbothered by your glare.

Ella, ever the peacemaker—or enabler, depending on the situation—sets her bowl down and gets up to rummage through the cabinets. “We’ve got some,” she says reluctantly, pulling out a small bag. She walks over and places it in Joe’s outstretched hand, but not without narrowing her eyes at him. “You better bring this back, Burrow. Or at least repay us with something better than cinnamon rolls.”

“Noted,” he says with a charming smile, tucking the bag under his arm. He turns to you, his grin softening into something almost teasing. “Thanks, neighbor. You’re a real lifesaver.”

You don’t bother replying, instead stepping aside so he can leave. He makes his way to the door, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and don’t forget to check your parking job in the morning,” he says with a wink before slipping out into the hallway.

The second the door clicks shut, you groan, slumping against the counter. Ella bursts into laughter, practically doubling over as she grabs her bowl again. “You two are ridiculous,” she says between bites.

“I’m moving out,” you mutter, dragging yourself to the couch. “I don’t care if it’s to a cardboard box in the quad. It’ll be quieter than this.”

You think that’s the end of it—Joe’s random sugar-borrowing adventure, Ella’s endless teasing—but of course, you’re wrong. Because a few hours later, just as you’re finally starting to drift off in the tiny bedroom you call your sanctuary, you hear it.

A muffled giggle. A low, rumbling voice you’d recognize anywhere. Then, unmistakably, the rhythmic creak of a bed frame against the wall.

Your eyes snap open, and for a moment, you pray you’re imagining things. Maybe it’s a nightmare—a cruel joke your overtired brain is playing on you. But then you hear it again, louder this time, followed by a very enthusiastic “Oh my God, Joey!”

You groan, grabbing your pillow and pressing it over your ears.

From the other side of the wall, Ella’s muffled voice reaches you through the darkness. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” you hiss, your voice barely audible through the pillow. “It’s him.”

She snorts, and you can hear her shifting in her bed. “Well, at least he’s getting good use out of that sugar.”

You let out a strangled laugh, torn between exhaustion and disbelief. “I swear, if this goes on all night—”

As if on cue, there’s another creak, louder this time, followed by more giggling and exaggerated moaning.

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

“Apparently,” you mutter, rolling onto your side and glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended you.

The noises continue—giggles, muffled moans, the occasional thud that makes you wince. You bury your face in your pillow, silently cursing Joe Burrow and his audacity.

It’s going to be a very, very long night.

The next morning comes too soon. Despite the symphony of creaks, giggles, and thuds that plagued the night, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, bleary-eyed and cranky. The coffee pot sputters as you pour yourself a life-saving cup, muttering curses at your neighbor under your breath. Ella, still in her pajamas, watches you from the couch with an amused smirk.

“You look alive,” she teases, spooning cereal into her mouth. “Barely.”

“I hate him,” you say flatly, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

You don’t dignify her with a response, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

As luck—or fate—would have it, the universe isn’t done with you yet. Because just as you’re locking your apartment door, you hear the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking down the hallway.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

There she is. Last night’s Blonde of the Hour, strutting toward the elevator with a walk of shame so confident it might as well be a victory lap. She’s wearing Joe’s oversized LSU hoodie, paired with last night’s skirt and heels. Her hair is tousled, but she doesn’t seem to care.

And because the universe apparently has a sense of humor, she notices you at the same time you notice her.

“Morning!” she chirps, her voice way too chipper for someone who clearly didn’t sleep much.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, nodding in acknowledgment. “Morning.”

The two of you step into the elevator together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you. You steal a glance at her from the corner of your eye, wondering if she has any idea that her night of “fun” ruined yours. But then she sighs and adjusts the sleeves of Joe’s hoodie, completely unbothered, and you realize she probably doesn’t care.

The doors slide open to the lobby, and you step out first, your pace brisk as you make a beeline for the exit. But as you push through the glass doors into the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collide with none other than Joe Burrow himself.

He’s leaning against his car, coffee cup in hand, looking far too put together for someone who should be as tired as you. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, then flick over to the blonde trailing behind.

“Morning, neighbor,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.

“Morning,” you reply dryly, brushing past him toward your car.

But of course, he can’t just let it go. “Sleep well?”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you can’t tell if he’s genuinely clueless or just messing with you.

“Thin walls,” you say pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

The blonde, oblivious to the tension, giggles. “Joe, you didn’t tell me your neighbors were so fun!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead unlocking your car with more force than necessary. “Oh, we’re a blast,” you mutter under your breath, sliding into the driver’s seat.

As you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of Joe in your rearview mirror, still leaning against his car, watching you leave. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity—but you don’t have the energy to figure it out.

Later that afternoon, when you’re back in your apartment trying to catch up on work, Ella pops her head into the living room with a mischievous grin.

“Guess who I ran into at the coffee shop?”

You glance up warily. “Who?”

“Joe,” she says, plopping down on the couch. “He said he’s planning a little ‘building mixer’ this weekend. Invited everyone on the floor. Including us.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to some Burrow-hosted mixer.”

“Oh, come on,” Ella says, nudging you with her foot. “It could be fun. Free food, free drinks… awkward encounters with your mortal enemy…”

You glare at her, but she just laughs. “You’re going,” she says firmly. “I already RSVP’d for us.”

And just like that, you realize your week is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Saturday night rolls around faster than you’d like, and with it comes the so-called “mixer” that Joe Burrow somehow convinced Ella you had to attend. You’d held onto the slim hope that it would be a small, quiet gathering of your neighbors in the building, with maybe some snacks, polite small talk, and an early exit for you.

Instead, you step off the elevator into what can only be described as chaos. The hallway is packed with people, the distant thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Someone’s yelling about finding the keg, and the faint scent of spilled beer and cologne wafts toward you.

“This is not a mixer,” you mutter to Ella as you both navigate your way through the crowd.

Ella, of course, looks thrilled. She’s dolled up in a crop top and high-waisted jeans, her hair and makeup perfectly done. “Relax,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “It’s just a party. Have a drink, let loose. Who knows? You might even have fun.”

You highly doubt that, but before you can argue, she spots Ja’Marr Chase leaning against the doorway to Joe’s apartment and perks up immediately. “I’ll catch up with you later!” she says, already untangling herself from your arm and heading toward him.

“Ella!” you call after her, but she’s too busy tossing a flirty smile Ja’Marr’s way to notice.

Great. Now you’re alone in the middle of a party that feels like half of LSU showed up to, surrounded by strangers and sticky floors. You push your way toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a drink and then find a corner to blend into until Ella decides it’s time to leave.

But, because the universe apparently loves messing with you, you hear his voice before you see him.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up.”

You groan internally and turn to see Joe leaning against the counter, a Solo cup in hand and that ever-present smirk on his face. He’s dressed casually in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, but somehow still manages to look like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.

“I’m only here because Ella dragged me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Joe chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Come on, admit it. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan. “Sticky floors and loud music are exactly my idea of fun.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your irritation. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with me so badly, you could’ve just asked. No need to pretend Ella dragged you here.”

“I—” You stop yourself, realizing there’s no point in arguing. It’s exactly what he wants. Instead, you grab a bottle of water from the counter and turn to leave.

“Hey, hold up,” he says, stepping in front of you. “You’re not just gonna drink water all night, are you?”

“Yes, Joe, I am,” you say, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to block you.

“At least let me get you a real drink,” he says, gesturing toward the makeshift bar someone set up on the other side of the room. “I make a mean rum and Coke.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, stepping aside, but not before adding, “But you’re missing out. My bartending skills are unmatched.”

You roll your eyes and head toward the living room, finding a spot near the wall where you can observe without being dragged into the chaos. You sip your water and watch as Joe works the room, effortlessly charming everyone he talks to.

About an hour later, you’re starting to regret not leaving when Ella abandoned you. You’ve been stuck making awkward small talk with strangers, and the music is only getting louder.

Then Ella appears out of nowhere, grabbing your arm with a giggle. “Come with me,” she says, pulling you toward the corner where Joe and some of his teammates are lounging on a worn-out sectional.

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

“Because Ja’Marr wants to introduce me to his friends, and I don’t want to go alone!”

You sigh, reluctantly following her over. Ja’Marr greets Ella with a grin, and she practically melts under his attention. You, on the other hand, find yourself stuck sitting next to Joe, who looks far too pleased about the arrangement.

“Miss me already?” he asks, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

“Not even a little,” you reply, glaring at him.

He chuckles, clearly unbothered. “You’re really bad at hiding how much you enjoy my company, you know that?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, one of his teammates interrupts. “Yo, Burrow, who’s this?”

“This,” Joe says, gesturing toward you with a dramatic flourish, “is my lovely neighbor.”

“Neighbor, huh?” the guy says, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem… close.”

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

Joe grins, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind you. “Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just shy.”

You shoot him a withering look, but he only laughs, clearly enjoying himself.

As the night drags on, Joe makes it his personal mission to annoy you. Every time you try to leave, he finds a way to pull you back into the conversation, teasing you relentlessly. His teammates, to their credit, seem amused by the dynamic, occasionally chiming in with their own jokes.

By the time Ella finally decides she’s ready to leave, you’re exhausted—physically and emotionally. You practically sprint for the door, eager to escape Joe’s smirk and the endless teasing.

As you step into the hallway, he calls after you, “See you around, neighbor!”

You don’t bother responding, instead dragging Ella toward the elevator. But as you press the button for your floor, you can’t help but feel like you haven’t seen the last of Joe Burrow tonight—or any night, for that matter.

The next week at LSU passes like any other, but somehow, Joe Burrow has managed to worm his way into your daily routine. It starts small—running into him at the mailboxes, hearing his muffled laughter through the thin walls at ungodly hours, and the occasional “good morning, neighbor!” shouted across the courtyard when you’re clearly not in the mood.

It’s maddening, really, the way he seems to delight in being everywhere you don’t want him to be. And yet, despite your annoyance, you can’t deny that his presence makes life just a little more… interesting.

FRIDAY NIGHT

Ella bursts through the apartment door, her face lit up with excitement. You’re sprawled on the couch, flipping through lecture notes and wishing the week would end already.

“Guess what!” she exclaims, tossing her bag onto the counter.

“Let me guess,” you say dryly. “Ja’Marr invited you to another party?”

“Close,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ja’Marr and Joe are throwing a tailgate tomorrow before the game, and we’re invited.”

You groan, already dreading the idea of spending yet another afternoon dodging Joe’s incessant teasing. “I’m busy,” you lie.

“You’re coming,” Ella insists, plopping down next to you. “It’s practically a campus tradition, and besides, you could use a little fun.”

“Fun,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling being forced to socialize with half of LSU now?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Food, drinks, and—” she grins mischievously—“a chance to hang out with your favorite quarterback.”

You glare at her. “Joe Burrow is not my favorite anything.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you. “Wear something cute. We’re leaving at noon.”

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

The tailgate is, unsurprisingly, a spectacle. Rows of tents stretch across the field, decked out in purple and gold, with grills smoking and music blasting. Students and alumni alike mill about, laughing and chatting as they gear up for the game.

You follow Ella through the crowd, clutching a plastic cup of soda and trying to blend in. She, of course, makes a beeline for Ja’Marr, who’s manning the grill with an ease that suggests he’s done this a thousand times.

And where there’s Ja’Marr, there’s Joe.

He spots you almost immediately, his trademark smirk spreading across his face as he waves you over. “Hey, neighbor! Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, but he’s already stepping closer, his easy confidence making it impossible to ignore him.

“What, no hug?” he teases, holding his arms out dramatically.

“Not in this lifetime,” you reply, sidestepping him.

Ella, now fully engrossed in a conversation with Ja’Marr, leaves you to fend for yourself. You glance around, debating whether to make a run for it, but Joe blocks your path, clearly amused by your discomfort.

“You’re really bad at this whole socializing thing, aren’t you?” he says, leaning casually against the nearest table.

“Maybe I just don’t enjoy your company,” you retort, taking a sip of your drink.

He grins. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls his name, distracting him long enough for you to slip away. You find a quieter spot near the edge of the field, letting the noise of the crowd fade into the background.

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

“Thought you’d try to escape, huh?” he says, appearing at your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I wasn’t escaping,” you lie, crossing your arms.

“Sure you weren’t.” He pauses, glancing at the crowd. “Not a fan of tailgates?”

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

He nods, surprisingly serious for once. “Fair enough. They’re not for everyone.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the genuine tone in his voice. It’s a rare moment of sincerity from someone who seems to live for getting under your skin.

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Still,” he says, his smirk returning, “you’ve got to admit, the food’s pretty good. Ja’Marr’s burgers? Best on campus.”

The party stretched well into the night, turning the once-bustling tailgate into a dimly lit, hazy scene of music, laughter, and scattered conversations. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated these kinds of events. The air was warm, the smell of grilled food and spilled beer thick, but for once, you weren’t faking a smile just to survive.

Instead, you were leaning against a folding chair near the makeshift DJ booth, chatting with a guy named Wes. He was a linebacker for LSU, though, by his own admission, mostly a benchwarmer. Shy, soft-spoken, and refreshingly normal, Wes wasn’t at all what you expected to find at a party like this.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to Mike’s cage?” he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

You laughed. “I don’t know, it just never seemed like a big deal to me. It’s a tiger.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “It’s not just a tiger. It’s our tiger.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” you said, grinning at his enthusiasm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement, and instinctively, you glanced over. There, leaning against the bar table, was Joe.

His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on you and Wes.

The sight of his uncharacteristically cold expression sent a jolt through you. Was he annoyed? No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t care about you, not really.

Wes was saying something about the tiger habitat, but your attention flickered back to Joe. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his red Solo cup, and he seemed to be muttering something to Ja’Marr, who only shrugged in response.

“Everything okay?” Wes asked, his brow furrowed as he followed your gaze.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Joe, however, was impossible to ignore. At one point, he stormed past your little corner of the party, brushing close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm against yours.

Wes had just finished telling a story about his first LSU practice, his nervous laughter making you smile, when Joe’s voice cut through the conversation like a jagged knife.

“Nice to see you making friends,” he said, his tone just sharp enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

You turned to find Joe standing a few feet away, his trademark smirk forced and strained. He wasn’t looking at you but at Wes, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Burrow,” Wes said, his voice even but noticeably quieter.

Joe stepped closer, ignoring you entirely as he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Wesley Evans, right? Linebacker extraordinaire.” His words were light, almost teasing, but there was a strange undertone to them.

“Uh, yeah,” Wes said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Though ‘extraordinaire’ might be a bit of a stretch.”

Joe chuckled, his laugh cold. “Oh, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I mean, someone’s got to keep the bench warm, right?”

The group went silent.

You froze, your stomach dropping as the words settled over the conversation like a wet blanket. Wes’s easygoing demeanor faltered for just a moment—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But he recovered quickly, letting out a forced laugh. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.”

“Joe,” Ja’Marr said sharply, stepping forward. “That was uncalled for.”

Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering. “What? I was just joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ja’Marr said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at Joe, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and confusion. What was his problem? You’d seen him tease people before, but this was something else. This was cruel.

Joe’s eyes finally flicked to yours, and for a brief second, something like regret flashed across his face. But just as quickly, he turned away, muttering, “Whatever,” before stalking off into the crowd.

The group stood in awkward silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said softly, turning to Wes.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”

But you could see the way his shoulders sagged, the way his fingers tightened around the edge of his cup.

Ja’Marr sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not usually like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, still staring at the spot where Joe had disappeared.

Ja’Marr shot you a look but said nothing. The group eventually dispersed, the easy energy of the night soured by the encounter.

And as you followed Ella home later, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head, trying to piece together why Joe Burrow seemed so determined to ruin the night—not just for you, but for Wes, too.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the faint buzz of crickets and distant party music filling the air as you and Ella navigated the dimly lit sidewalks. The night had been long, and your head was still spinning from Joe’s earlier outburst. You’d always known him to be annoying, maybe even a little infuriating, but tonight was different. There was a sharpness to him, an edge that left you unsettled.

Ella broke the silence first, her voice soft. “What do you think that was about? With Joe, I mean.”

You shrugged, kicking a loose pebble down the pavement. “Who knows? Maybe he ran out of people to torture and decided to branch out.”

Ella laughed lightly but didn’t press further. By the time you reached your apartment complex, the cool night air had started to seep into your skin, making you shiver. All you could think about was collapsing into bed and forgetting this day ever happened.

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

There he was, right in front of your door, pressed up against yet another blonde, her manicured nails tangled in his hair as they made out like the world was ending.

You stopped dead in your tracks, Ella nearly bumping into you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

At the sound of your voice, Joe broke away from his hookup, turning to face you with a smirk that was equal parts shameless and infuriating.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Wes not invite you over for a post-party study session?”

Your jaw tightened. “Get out of the way, Burrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s the rush? You don’t want to hang out? I can introduce you to…uh…” He glanced at the girl beside him, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember her name.

The blonde giggled, clearly unbothered. “Stephanie,” she offered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Right. Stephanie,” Joe said, his grin widening.

Ella groaned softly beside you, crossing her arms. “Joe, move. We’re tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping aside but not before leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking your path again. “But seriously, where’s Wes? Thought you two were hitting it off. Or is he back on the bench already?”

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped, finally losing the last shred of patience you had left.

Joe straightened up, clearly surprised by the sudden bite in your tone. “What? I’m just messing around.”

“No, you’re being a jerk,” you shot back. “First, you humiliate Wes at the party, and now you’re standing here, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of joke. What’s your problem?”

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between you and Joe. “Uh, maybe we should—”

“Not now,” Joe cut her off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes locked on yours.

Stephanie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Just go,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

For a moment, the three of you stood frozen, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then, with an indignant huff, Stephanie grabbed her purse and stormed off, her heels clicking angrily against the pavement.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply before turning back to you. “Happy now?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re still here.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I committed some crime. I was just joking, okay? It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

“Teasing?” you repeated, incredulous. “Joe, you embarrassed Wes in front of everyone tonight. And for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you’re the big man on campus?”

His jaw clenched, the cocky facade cracking ever so slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me,” you challenged, taking a step closer. “Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tense. “Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his door slamming echoing through the quiet hallway.

Ella let out a low whistle. “Well, that was…something.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something.”

“Did he just…?” Ella’s voice was barely a whisper beside you.

You swallowed hard, not trusting yourself to speak. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t like Joe to be vulnerable—hell, he practically lived to get under your skin. And yet, there it was, hanging in the air: the truth you never asked for, wrapped up in all his stupid teasing and annoying antics.

“Forget it,” you finally muttered, fumbling with your keys as you moved to unlock the door. “He’s just trying to mess with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Ella said slowly, following you inside. “Because, you know, the guy who just ditched a hot blonde to argue with you at midnight clearly doesn’t care.”

You shot her a glare, unwilling to entertain the idea. “I’m going to bed.”

Ella raised her hands in surrender, smirking knowingly as she headed for her room. “Okay, but don’t act surprised when he shows up tomorrow. He’s not exactly the type to let things go.”

“Goodnight, Ella,” you said firmly, shutting your bedroom door behind you.

But as you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention. Was he serious? Or was this just another game to him, a way to throw you off-balance and make you question everything?

With a frustrated sigh, you rolled over, punching your pillow as if it was somehow Joe’s fault that you couldn’t sleep. Whatever his deal was, you weren’t going to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But deep down, you knew it was too late. Because whether you liked it or not, Joe Burrow had already wormed his way into your thoughts—and no amount of denial was going to change that.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of loud knocks on your door, far too early for any sane person to be awake. Groaning, you pulled the covers over your head, but the knocking continued, persistent and unrelenting.

“Go away!” you yelled, but the noise didn’t stop.

With a huff, you threw off the blankets and stumbled out of bed, yanking open the door with every intention of giving whoever it was a piece of your mind.

But, of course, it was Joe.

He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t just woken you up at the crack of dawn, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Morning, neighbor.”

You stared at him, too stunned and too tired to muster a response.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he said, his tone annoyingly chipper.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, rubbing your eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

His smile widened, and he held up a to-go coffee cup, the LSU logo bright against the paper sleeve. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

You blinked at the cup, then at him, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, still holding it out. “Just coffee. Truce?”

You hesitated, the words from last night still lingering between you. But, against your better judgment, you reached for the cup, your fingers brushing his for a brief second. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

His eyes gleamed, like he’d just won some kind of invisible battle. “I’ll take it.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way—I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the doorway with a coffee cup in hand and the distinct feeling that, somehow, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Things between you and Wes have been going really well. You’ve been texting each other daily since that first meeting in the quad, and his messages always seem to bring a smile to your face. Some days, you talk about classes and the usual college chaos—complaining about professors who seem to thrive on assigning last-minute papers, laughing over campus gossip, or sharing music recommendations.

Other days, the conversations drift into deeper topics: family, future dreams, and the things you never thought you’d share with someone you’d barely known a few weeks ago. It's easy, effortless, and you feel like you've known him forever. There's a connection that grows stronger with each passing day, his texts becoming a constant you look forward to amid the swirl of college life.

When game days roll around, you make sure to watch, even if football has never been your thing. You learn enough of the basics to text him encouragement before each game and tease him when his team makes a stupid play. And every single time he wins, you get a photo of him in his jersey, sweaty and glowing with victory, his smile so wide you can feel it through the screen.

One crisp Saturday evening after a particularly big game—a win that had the entire stadium roaring and chanting for more—your phone buzzes. It’s Wes, as expected, but this time the message is different.

Wes: Big win tonight. You should come out to celebrate—party at the house. It'll be fun, promise.

You hesitate for a moment. Frat parties aren’t usually your scene, but the idea of seeing Wes in person after weeks of building up this text-based connection makes your heart beat a little faster. It feels like the right time to finally break out of the comfort of your phone screen. You don’t want to overthink it, so you respond quickly.

You: Okay, I’ll come! What time? Wes: Perfect. Starts at 9, but I’ll be there around 10. Meet me out front? I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.

You can’t help but laugh at that—his protective side has become more apparent lately, and you find it kind of endearing. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of anticipation. You try on half your wardrobe, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness that makes your stomach flutter. After way too much deliberation, you settle on something that’s cute but comfortable—a black crop top, jeans that fit just right, and your favorite sneakers. Casual, but you don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.

The party was in full swing by the time you and Wes went in, the familiar buzz of laughter and music filling the air. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders as you made your way through the packed house, a red solo cup already in his hand. It was a typical LSU post-game celebration—teammates hyped up from their win, students eager for a reason to cut loose, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting.

Wes, ever the golden retriever type, was all smiles as he greeted his teammates. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you plastered on your own smile. Wes was great—sweet, thoughtful, and good-looking to boot—but there was something missing. Conversations with him always felt a little too polished, like he was sticking to a script.

Still, you weren’t going to let your wandering thoughts ruin the night. As he led you toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen, you decided to let loose a little, leaning into his world for the evening.

You were two drinks in when you felt it—a shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing across the room, your eyes locked with Joe’s. He was leaning casually against the wall, his cup dangling from his fingers as he laughed at something Ja’Marr said. But his focus wasn’t on his teammate—it was on you.

That look.

You’d seen it before, the one that screamed I’m up to something. Your stomach twisted as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“What’s wrong?” Wes asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Wes didn’t notice your distraction, too busy rambling about the game. You nodded along, but your attention kept drifting back to Joe. He was still watching, and now he was moving.

Straight toward you.

“Wesley,” Joe said, his voice louder than necessary as he clapped a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Man of the hour! Hell of a game tonight.”

Wes beamed, his chest puffing out a little. “Thanks, Burrow. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Joe said smoothly, his grin sharpening. “You’re really making a name for yourself out there.” He paused, his tone dipping just enough to make the compliment feel off. “You’ve got a solid five minutes of playing time this season, right?”

Wes laughed, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Yeah, Coach says I’m improving every week.”

Joe nodded, his expression the picture of sincerity. “No doubt. You’re an inspiration, man. Really showing the bench how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to step in. Wes didn’t deserve to be Joe’s verbal punching bag, even if he was too oblivious to notice.

Then Joe shifted his focus.

“And this,” he said, gesturing toward you with his cup, “is the girl everyone’s been talking about?”

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

“She’s great, right?” Wes said proudly, tightening his arm around your waist.

“Absolutely,” Joe said, his eyes locking on yours. “Smart, pretty, patient.” His lips twitched as he added, “Definitely one of a kind.”

The room felt hotter, smaller. You knew what he was doing, and you refused to let him win.

“Wow, Joe,” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “That’s almost a compliment. Are you feeling okay?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “What can I say? I’m a generous guy.”

Wes chuckled awkwardly, clearly missing the tension simmering between the two of you. But the people around you weren’t as oblivious. Conversations around the kitchen began to quiet, heads subtly turning in your direction.

Joe leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Though I gotta say, Wes, you’ve got your hands full. She seems like the type to keep you on your toes. Always ready with a snappy comeback.”

You took a step forward, your jaw tightening. “Maybe because some people deserve it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re talking about me,” Joe said, his smirk widening. “But hey, you’ve got to admit, I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You mean infuriating.”

By now, you were toe-to-toe, the space between you charged with unspoken words and something else you refused to acknowledge.

Joe’s eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he smiled again, softer this time. “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were certain everyone in the room could see the way your cheeks flushed, the way your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

Joe straightened, patting Wes on the back. “You’ve got a good one here, man. Don’t screw it up.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd with that stupid smirk still on his face.

Wes turned to you, oblivious as ever. “Man, Joe’s great, isn’t he?”

You didn’t answer, too busy trying to calm the storm raging inside you. Because as much as you hated to admit it, Joe Burrow had just gotten under your skin again. And this time, you weren’t sure you could shake him off.

The days blur together after the party, each one bleeding into the next with a heavy quiet you can’t shake. Joe hasn’t teased you, hasn’t made any more snide comments in passing. It’s almost like he’s disappeared entirely, and the silence he’s left behind feels suffocating.

But it's not the kind of peace you wanted—it's the kind that echoes, that bounces around inside your skull, replaying the things he said over and over again until you can’t ignore them anymore. You try to focus on Wes, try to let his easygoing, good-natured attitude soothe the irritation that keeps curling under your skin, but the more you think about Joe’s words, the more they fester. Suddenly, everything about Wes feels too soft, too careful. He’s kind, yes, but there's a blandness to it, a safe predictability that only makes you itch for something sharper.

Then, days later, you find yourself in the apartment lobby, bundled up against the late autumn chill, glaring at a maintenance form on the wall. The hot water’s been out for days, and you’re halfway through filling out a complaint when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is—the shift in the air is enough.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here," comes Joe’s voice, smooth and mocking, with just enough bite to make your spine stiffen. You don’t turn around, don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you keep writing, the pen pressing hard enough against the paper that it almost tears.

"Cold water bothering you too?" he continues when you don’t respond, his tone amused. You can feel him looming behind you, a little too close, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

"Just trying to get it fixed," you reply curtly, finally turning around and catching the cocky smirk tugging at his lips. You’re not in the mood for whatever game he’s about to play, but of course, he’s not about to let you off that easy. His gaze slides from the form in your hand back up to your face, one eyebrow quirking up in that infuriating way that always makes you want to wipe the smugness off his face.

"Surprised you’re handling it yourself," Joe drawls, his eyes bright with something almost like delight. "Thought you'd get your little boyfriend to do it for you."

Your fingers tighten around the pen, and you force yourself to take a breath, ignoring the way your pulse quickens. "Not everything revolves around Wes," you shoot back, but your voice wavers just enough to make Joe’s smirk widen. His eyes flick over your face, and you hate the way he seems to read every expression, every crack in the mask you’re struggling to hold up.

"Really?" he says, the word heavy with skepticism. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall like he’s settling in for a show. "Could’ve fooled me. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, huh? I bet you’re the perfect, supportive girlfriend." His voice drips with sarcasm, and something inside you snaps.

"Shut up, Joe," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. You turn back to the form, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. In fact, he leans in closer, his breath warm on your ear.

"Why?" he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting, like he’s got all the time in the world. "Hit a nerve?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, he did hit a nerve. And he knows it.

"Come on," he pushes, a note of genuine curiosity in his tone now. "Don’t you ever get tired of it? Playing nice, doing everything right, sticking with someone who’s… I dunno, safe?"

You spin around, eyes blazing, and Joe’s face lights up with triumph. "You don’t know anything about him," you snap, but there’s a waver in your voice that makes Joe’s eyes narrow with interest. "Wes is kind, and he’s decent, and he actually cares about people, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

Joe’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it only grows wider, almost wolfish, and you hate that it sends a thrill through you, a charge that leaves your heart racing. "Yeah," he says, his tone almost pitying, "he’s safe. Boring. He’s exactly the kind of guy who’d never get in your way, never challenge you, never push back. And you’re happy with that? Really?"

You glare at him, your blood boiling, but you can’t look away. Because some part of you—the part you’ve been trying to silence for days—knows he’s right, and it makes you want to scream. "What the hell is your problem, Joe?" you demand, your voice shaking with anger. "Why do you even care? What does it matter to you if I’m with him or not?"

For a moment, something flickers in Joe’s eyes, something you can’t quite read, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "I don’t care," he says, too quickly, his voice a little too smooth. "I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Watching you pretend like he’s enough for you."

You step closer without realizing it, your fists clenched at your sides. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," you insist, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. Joe’s gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you feel a jolt of something hot and dangerous twist in your stomach.

"Don’t I?" he murmurs, and suddenly, you’re standing toe-to-toe, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his smirk softens just enough to be dangerous.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

There’s a beat, a moment suspended in time where it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air. Then, suddenly, Joe’s expression shifts, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face as he leans back, breaking the spell. He claps you on the shoulder, his touch light but lingering.

"Good talk," he says, his tone infuriatingly cheerful as he pushes past you towards the elevator, leaving you standing there, breathless and rattled.

"Have fun with Wes," he throws over his shoulder, and the door slides shut behind him before you can find the words to reply. You’re left staring at the closed elevator doors, your chest heaving and your hands still trembling around the pen, the echoes of Joe’s taunting voice ricocheting in your mind.

And for the first time in days, the silence feels even louder.

The days drag by, and every one of them feels heavier, weighed down by Joe's words. They hang over you, echoing whenever you try to ignore them, seeping into your thoughts when you're with Wes. The way he holds your hand, the way he smiles politely at your jokes, the way he never raises his voice or teases you too hard—it’s all safe. It’s what you thought you wanted. But now, thanks to Joe, it’s all starting to feel empty, like a shell with nothing inside.

As if to make matters worse, Joe's been louder, more present, and more irritating than ever. He’s upped his game, bringing a new girl home almost every night, the kind who giggle just a little too loud in the stairwell, whose heels click sharply against the tile floors, waking you and Ella up in the middle of the night. You hear them laughing through the paper-thin walls, their voices carrying long after you wish they’d shut up. Ella throws a pillow at the wall one night, groaning in frustration, but you just lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, the annoyance mixing with something else—something you refuse to name.

And then Wes’s birthday sneaks up on you, like a storm you’d been pretending not to see on the horizon. Everyone's talking about it—the party of the semester, hosted at his parents’ mansion on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. You know it’s a big deal. Wes’s parents are the kind who throw events instead of parties, the kind where everyone’s wearing their best, and you’d feel out of place if you weren’t on Wes’s arm. You spend way too long picking out your dress, ignoring Ella’s teasing smile as you change twice and then settle on something classy, something you think Wes’s parents will approve of.

The mansion is even more extravagant than you expected. Tall, stately, and glowing with warm light spilling from every window. A string quartet plays softly near the entrance, and there’s enough champagne to drown in. It’s a perfect picture of Southern elegance, the kind of party where everyone’s on their best behavior and no one dares spill a drink on the white marble floors.

You’re almost able to relax, standing with Wes as he introduces you to old friends and relatives, his arm around your waist like you’re some kind of prize. But then, from across the room, you catch sight of someone familiar stepping through the grand double doors, and the air goes still.

Joe. And he’s not alone.

On his arm is a girl who looks like she’s stepped straight out of a beauty magazine—perfect curls cascading down her back, a dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and a pageant smile that could light up the whole room. She’s everything you’re not: polished, pristine, and undeniably beautiful. And Joe’s leaning in close to her, whispering something that makes her laugh, the sound light and carefree, echoing above the music.

Your heart sinks. You should have known he’d be here. You should have known he’d show up with someone like her.

The moment he walks in, it’s like the temperature drops. You feel him scan the room, his gaze sliding over the crowd until it lands on you. There’s a flicker of recognition, a half-smile that tugs at his lips, and for a second, you swear he’s going to make a beeline for you, but then he turns to his date, all easy charm and confidence.

You look away quickly, swallowing down the hot, bitter twinge of jealousy that rises in your chest. Beside you, Wes is oblivious, laughing with some cousin or another, completely unaware of the storm that’s building in your mind.

The party moves on, but you can't shake the weight in your chest. Every time you turn around, Joe is there—always in your peripheral, laughing with his date or effortlessly sliding into conversations with people he’s never met, commanding attention without even trying. And it’s driving you mad. You hate that he’s here, hate the way his presence seems to seep into every corner of the room, hate that you can’t stop looking for him, even when you don’t mean to.

Wes’s parents announce dinner, and you find yourself at a long table, perfectly set with silverware that you don’t even know how to use properly. Wes is on your left, chatting away, and you force yourself to smile and nod at the right moments, though your gaze keeps drifting over his shoulder. Joe is at the far end of the table, but his eyes meet yours—bright and full of something that feels like a challenge. He raises his glass in your direction, and you don’t miss the way his date practically glows under his attention, leaning into his side.

You grit your teeth, focusing on Wes, who’s completely unaware of the way your stomach is twisting. He’s sweet, attentive, a perfect gentleman, and you wish you could ignore the itch under your skin, the restlessness that grows with each passing minute. But it’s there, burning hotter every time you catch sight of Joe, laughing too loud or leaning in too close to whisper in his date's ear.

By the time dessert is served, you’re practically vibrating with frustration, and Wes’s voice is starting to blur into the background. He’s telling some long-winded story about his summer at the family lake house, but all you can think about is how easy it would be to just walk over to the other end of the table and—

“Hey, you alright?” Wes’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you force yourself to focus on him, pasting on a smile that feels hollow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, reaching for your glass of champagne and taking a sip that burns all the way down. He seems satisfied, squeezing your hand gently under the table, but his touch feels distant, almost suffocating.

And when you glance back at Joe, he’s watching you, his smile sharper than you remember. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your skin prickle, like he’s waiting for something, like he knows exactly what kind of game he’s playing. His date is still chattering away, oblivious to the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like a tether he can’t quite cut loose.

You look away, your face heating, and try to drown out the feeling with another sip of champagne. But it's no use. The night has only just begun, and you already know—it’s going to be a long one.

You escape upstairs, the noise of the party fading as you climb the grand, spiraling staircase. It’s quieter up here, with the muted sound of conversation and laughter drifting up from below, and you can finally breathe a little easier. You’re not even sure what you’re doing—just that you need a break from the suffocating conversation, the polished smiles, and the feeling of being watched. Wes is deep in conversation with a teammate, and it was easy enough to slip away unnoticed. You tell yourself you're only going to the bathroom, but you don’t even bother finding one. You just wander down the hall, hoping to collect yourself, to calm the thudding in your chest.

But then, of course, you see him.

Joe, leaning lazily against the wall at the end of the hallway, like he’s been waiting for you. There’s no sign of his date—she’s probably downstairs, lost in the crowd—but Joe’s here, and he looks too damn comfortable, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He gives you that infuriating half-smirk the second your eyes meet, like he’s been expecting you. Like he knows you’re going to stop.

“Lost?” he drawls, his voice a low, lazy tease, and you freeze, every muscle in your body going tense.

“No,” you snap, hating the way your heart skips when he pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. “Just getting some air.”

“From Wes?” he asks, eyebrows raising, and you can hear the taunt in his tone, the way he draws out the name like it’s a joke. “Or from this whole perfect little party of his?”

“None of your business,” you shoot back, but he’s closer now, and you hate how your breath catches, how the air between you feels thick and electric. He’s looking at you like he’s stripping away all the layers you’ve put up—the polite smiles, the careful charm—and seeing straight through to the part of you that’s restless and hungry for a fight.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost intimate. “Or if you’re just playing the role of ‘good girlfriend’ to make everyone happy.”

“Shut up, Joe,” you warn, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be, and he notices. Of course he notices. He takes another step, and suddenly he’s way too close, the heat of him radiating into the space between you, making it harder to breathe.

“Or is it that Wes is just…too boring for you?” he presses, and something snaps. You step forward, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back a step, anger flaring white-hot in your chest.

“Why do you care?” you demand, your voice rising. “Why do you always have to ruin everything? You can’t stand seeing me happy, can you? You always have to get in the way—”

“Oh, please,” he cuts you off, his voice sharp with irritation. “Don’t act like I’m the one ruining things. You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me. You’re the one who’s pretending this perfect little relationship is enough for you.”

You don’t even think. You just react, stepping closer, your chest heaving with the force of your anger, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You don’t know anything about me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you before you can stop them. “You don’t know what I want or what I need, so stop pretending like you have me all figured out!”

He’s laughing now, a low, mocking sound that sets your teeth on edge, and you want to hit him, to scream, to do something to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face. But then he’s had enough. Suddenly, he moves, quick as a flash, and before you can even blink, he’s grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up as if you weigh nothing, throwing you over his shoulder in one swift, effortless motion.

“Put me down!” you shout, struggling against him, but he just tightens his grip, carrying you down the hall like you’re some kind of rag doll. Your fists beat uselessly against his back, and you’re half-cursing, half-panicking as he ignores you, kicking open the nearest door and stepping inside.

The door slams shut behind him, and you barely register the darkened room—a guest bedroom, dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the curtains—before he’s setting you down, pressing you up against the wall with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You’re too stunned to move, your back hitting the cold plaster, and suddenly his body is pinning you there, his hands on either side of your face, caging you in.

“Finally shut you up,” he mutters, his voice rough, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the way his breath brushes your cheek, hot and fast. His eyes are dark, burning with something you’ve never seen before, and the space between you feels like it’s crackling, alive with an energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse race.

“Why do you have to be such a—” you start, but he cuts you off, leaning in closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his chest pressing against yours. His mouth is inches from yours, his lips twisting into a wicked smile.

“Go on,” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Tell me what you really think.”

You’re breathing hard, your anger warring with something hotter, something that’s been building between you for months, and you can’t stop yourself. “You’re an asshole,” you spit, your hands coming up to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. He just leans in, his nose brushing against yours, the air between you thick and suffocating.

“And you,” he says softly, his voice almost gentle, “are a liar.”

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s him closing the distance or you surging up to meet him—but suddenly his mouth is on yours, hard and desperate, and you’re kissing him back like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. The kiss is furious, full of all the things you can’t say, all the frustration and the longing and the anger that’s been building up for so long it feels like it’s going to explode. His hands are in your hair, his grip almost painful, and you’re clinging to him, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as he presses you harder against the wall.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers against your lips, his breath ragged, and you shake your head, too far gone to think, to lie, to do anything but pull him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shut up,” you breathe, and he laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, like he’s savoring the taste of your surrender. The room feels too small, the air too thick, and you know you should stop, you know this is wrong, but you can’t, not when his hands are sliding down your sides, not when his body is pressing into yours, not when he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

And then, suddenly, it’s too much. You push him away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and he lets you go, stepping back with a grin that’s all arrogance and triumph. Your lips feel swollen, your face flushed, and you hate that you can’t stop looking at him, that you want more even though you know you shouldn’t.

“See?” he says softly, his voice maddeningly smug. “I do know you.”

The words barely have time to leave his mouth before you’re on him again, shoving him away from you, your hands hitting his chest with more force than you intend. He stumbles back a step, a flash of surprise crossing his face before his eyes harden, that infuriating grin vanishing. You’re both breathing hard, the air between you heavy with everything unspoken, with all the sharp words that have been building up since the day you met.

“You don’t know anything!” you snap, your voice cracking, and he just laughs, a short, humorless sound that makes your blood boil.

“You keep saying that,” he shoots back, his voice low and dangerous, “but here you are. Every time, it’s the same thing. You want me to stop? Then say it. Tell me to leave.”

You open your mouth to say exactly that, to tell him to go to hell and stay out of your life, but the words won’t come. They catch in your throat, tangled up with the truth you can’t face, and he sees it. He always sees it. His gaze softens, something like understanding flickering in those dark eyes, and it pisses you off more than anything.

“See?” he murmurs, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You can’t. Because you don’t want me to.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s too late—he’s already crowding into your space, his hand curling around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. You hate him for the way he’s looking at you, like he’s unraveling you with a single glance, like he knows exactly how to break you down, and before you can stop yourself, you’re surging up, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him again, harder this time, angrier.

His arms come around you instantly, pulling you closer, and you hate that it feels good, that it feels right, even as you’re pushing against him, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s a mess of teeth and tongues, the kiss desperate and furious, and you’re drowning in it, in the heat of him, in the way his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

Then the door swings open, and you both jerk apart, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you see Ja’Marr standing there, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. He looks at you, then at Joe, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Really, Joe?” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “In the middle of Wes’s birthday party? Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Calm down,” Joe says coolly, like he’s not the least bit bothered, his gaze still fixed on you, as if daring you to run. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Talking, right. Because making out with your teammate’s girl is totally a normal conversation.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and you step back, smoothing down your clothes like you can erase what just happened. “This—this was nothing,” you stammer, trying to ignore the way Joe’s lips curl into a smirk at your flustered tone. “We’re done here.”

Joe just gives you a lazy, almost triumphant smile, like he’s won some unspoken battle, and turns to Ja’Marr with a shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own, you know,” he says, and you want to punch him, to scream, but Ja’Marr just shakes his head, looking equal parts disappointed and resigned.

“Whatever,” Ja’Marr mutters, grabbing Joe’s arm and pulling him out into the hallway. “You need to get your act together. Wes is going to notice if you keep pulling this crap.”

Joe’s eyes flick to you one last time, something unreadable in his expression, before he lets Ja’Marr drag him away. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone in the darkened room, your heart racing and your thoughts spinning out of control. You know you should follow them, that you should go back downstairs and pretend like nothing happened, but your knees feel weak, and it takes you a long moment to gather yourself, to steady your breathing.

By the time you make your way back down to the party, your face feels numb, and you’ve forced on the brightest smile you can muster. Joe is already back in the thick of things, his arm slung casually around his date’s waist, laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You want to be angry, to hate him for making it look so easy, but then Wes catches sight of you, his eyes lighting up as he excuses himself from his conversation.

“Hey, there you are!” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. You try to smile, but it feels fake, like your skin doesn’t fit right anymore. “Where’d you disappear to?”

“Just needed a minute,” you say, your voice sounding hollow even to your own ears. You’re about to say something else, anything to fill the awkward silence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

Joe’s watching you, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and that’s when you realize—his lips are still stained with the faintest trace of your lipstick, a dark, telltale smear at the corner of his mouth.

Wes follows your gaze, and his smile falters, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Joe, what’s on your—”

But Joe cuts in smoothly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin widening as if he finds the whole thing hilarious. “Guess I got a little carried away,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence, and you feel the ground sway beneath you as Wes’s arm tightens around your shoulders, his confusion shifting to suspicion.

“What’s he talking about?” Wes asks, his eyes narrowing, and you open your mouth to respond, to deny, to do something—but nothing comes out. Your voice has abandoned you, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, as Joe’s smirk deepens and he lifts his drink in a mocking toast, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Good party,” Joe says casually, his tone almost friendly. “Really enjoyed myself.”

You don’t remember what happens next—just the blur of faces, the noise of the party swelling around you, and the hollow ache settling deep in your chest as Joe turns away, laughing with someone else, like he hasn’t just blown everything to pieces.

Wes's smile is strained when he pulls you aside, away from the music and the crowd. There’s a tightness around his eyes you haven’t seen before, something almost defeated, and for the first time that night, you feel a genuine pang of guilt. This is the part you were dreading—the confrontation, the disappointment in his eyes. But instead of yelling, instead of demanding an explanation, he just looks... tired.

“Hey,” he starts softly, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t wanna make a scene, okay? But I think... I think maybe you should go.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die in your throat. There’s no anger in his voice, just resignation, like he already knows the answer before you can even try to lie. You can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.

“Wes, I—” you begin, but he holds up a hand, a weak, defeated smile pulling at his lips.

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, and there’s something achingly kind in his voice, which somehow makes it hurt more. “I think we both know this... isn’t what you want. Not really.”

You feel relief flood your chest so suddenly that it’s almost nauseating, and that’s how you know he’s right. Because instead of being devastated, instead of scrambling to explain yourself, you just feel lighter. Like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying has finally been lifted.

You reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he says quietly, and you let your hand drop, nodding numbly. There’s nothing left to say. You don’t try to apologize; you don’t try to make excuses. You just turn and leave, the buzz of the party fading behind you as you slip out the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a slap.

The walk back to the apartment feels like a blur, your mind whirling with everything that just happened, everything you don’t want to think about. You don’t know if it’s the relief of being free from something you never truly wanted, or the shame of how it all went down, but by the time you reach your building, your hands are trembling and your breath is hitching.

You let yourself into the apartment, your eyes already burning with unshed tears, and you find Ella curled up on the couch, half-asleep in front of the TV. The moment she sees your face, though, she sits up, worry creasing her brow.

“Whoa, what happened?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep, but you don’t even know where to begin.

“Everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and then it all spills out. You tell her everything—about Joe, about the kiss, about Wes’s sad, tired smile and the way he let you go without a fight. You’re talking so fast you’re stumbling over your words, your emotions a chaotic tangle of regret and relief and frustration, and by the time you’re finished, you feel completely wrung out.

Ella listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief to sympathy as you pour your heart out. When you finally go quiet, she just sighs and pulls you into a hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and you don’t realize how much you needed to hear that until the tears start falling. She doesn’t tell you that you screwed up, she doesn’t lecture you about Joe, she just holds you while you cry, rubbing soothing circles on your back until the tears run dry.

By the time you pull away, your throat is raw, and you’re exhausted. Ella doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look that says she understands, that she’s on your side no matter what, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.

But then, just as you’re wiping your eyes and trying to compose yourself, you hear it—a loud burst of laughter echoing through the thin wall you share with Joe’s apartment. It’s followed by the high-pitched giggle of a girl, and your stomach twists. Of course. Of course.

Ella catches the look on your face and scowls. “He’s such an ass,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You want me to go bang on the wall and tell them to shut up?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s... it’s fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You don’t even believe yourself, but you can’t deal with Joe right now, not after everything. So you go to your room, shut the door, and try to block out the noise. You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself it’s over. But sleep doesn’t come easily, and all you can hear is Joe’s voice in your head, his mocking words echoing long after the sounds from next door have finally gone quiet.

Over the next few days, you try to fall back into a routine, but everything feels off-kilter. Wes doesn’t text you, and you don’t reach out, letting the silence stretch between you until it feels like a mutual understanding—something that was always going to happen. Ella hovers, supportive but careful not to push, and you appreciate that. You just need space, time to sort through everything.

Joe, however, is a different story.

You barely see him around the complex, but when you do, it’s impossible to ignore him. He’s still bringing home girls—more than ever, it seems—and they’re always loud, obnoxiously so, like he’s doing it on purpose, like he’s rubbing it in your face. And maybe he is. Maybe this is his way of proving a point, of showing you that he doesn’t care, that he never cared, and the worst part is... you don’t know if you care either. Or maybe you care too much.

One night, after a particularly sleepless stretch of listening to laughter and footsteps pounding through the walls, Ella finds you staring blankly at the ceiling, dark circles smudged beneath your eyes.

“He’s doing this on purpose, you know,” she says bluntly, her tone halfway between irritation and pity. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, rolling over to face the wall. “It’s working.”

Wes’s birthday party fades into memory, and a few weeks pass. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care when you don’t have to face the fallout. You focus on classes, avoid places where you might run into Joe, and try to ignore the way your heart sinks every time you hear his voice next door.

Then, one Friday night, there’s a knock on your door. You’re half expecting Ella’s latest Tinder date or a package, but instead, you find Joe leaning against the doorframe, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he looks at you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it catches you off guard.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you hate how defensive you sound, how you can’t help but put a wall between you.

Joe’s eyes flicker, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing down the hallway before he looks back at you. “Can we talk?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s asking because he wants to or because he thinks he has to. “Please?”

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to slam the door in his face, to tell him to go to hell. “Talk?” you echo, as though the very idea is laughable. “What’s there to talk about, Joe?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his hands still deep in his pockets. “I just—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. For once, he doesn’t look cocky or composed. He looks tired. “I screwed up, okay? I know that. And I just… I want to make things right.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Now you care about making things right? Weeks later? Where was this when you were busy humiliating me in front of everyone at Wes’s party?”

Joe flinches, and the sight of it sends a small, mean thrill through you. You want him to feel every ounce of the anger and hurt that’s been simmering inside you since that night.

“I was drunk,” he mutters, like it’s an excuse. “You know I didn’t mean half the shit I said.”

“Oh, so you only mean half of it?” Your voice rises despite yourself, and you take a step closer. “Which half, Joe? The part where you said Wes was too good for me? Or the part where you implied I’m some kind of charity case?”

Joe groans, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s not what I meant! You’re twisting it—”

“I’m twisting it?” Your laugh is sharp, humorless. “No, Joe. I’m finally calling you out on your crap. You think you can just waltz in here, throw out a half-assed apology, and I’m supposed to forget how you treated me? Newsflash: I’m done being your punching bag.”

“Punching bag?” His voice spikes, and you can see his patience starting to fray. “Are you kidding me? You think I don’t care about you? That I’d say that stuff to hurt you on purpose?”

“Then why did you say it?” you snap, stepping closer until you’re almost toe to toe. “Why, Joe? If you care so much, why do you always find a way to make me feel like I’m not enough?”

He stares at you, his jaw tightening, his chest rising and falling as he tries to keep his temper in check. But then he snaps, his voice loud enough to make you flinch. “Because you drive me crazy, alright? You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s like I can’t think straight when I’m around you!”

You’re stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you crackles with something electric, something you can’t name but can feel in every nerve of your body.

Joe’s eyes are blazing, his chest heaving as he takes a step closer. “You think I wanted this? That I wanted to feel like this about you? I didn’t, okay? But I do. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “Joe…”

He shakes his head, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m sorry, alright? For all of it. I just—I didn’t know how to deal with this, with you.”

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone. Joe’s hands are on your arms, his grip firm but not rough, and you’re looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let the anger rise again. He stays close, his hands still resting on your arms, his grip grounding and firm. His gaze softens, something vulnerable breaking through the tension in his voice.

“You think I like being the guy who gets under your skin?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s no bite to it now. Only honesty. “You think I enjoy pissing you off just for fun?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift, the rawness in his tone. “Don’t you?”

Joe lets out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “No. That’s just the only way you ever seem to notice me.” His words hit like a punch to the gut, and your breath hitches. “If I’m not in your face, annoying the hell out of you, it’s like I don’t even exist to you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He’s too quick, too honest, and you don’t have a defense ready for the truth.

“That’s why I invite them over,” he continues, and there’s no cockiness in the admission. Just exhaustion. “Those girls, the loud music, the stupid games—it’s not because I want them. It’s because I’m trying to get you to see me. To pay attention. Even if it’s just so you can yell at me.”

Your stomach twists, a lump forming in your throat. You want to stay mad, to cling to your anger like a shield, but it’s slipping through your fingers. Joe doesn’t stop; he steps closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I don’t know how else to get through to you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care when I do. So much more than I should.”

Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. Joe watches you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, his hesitation palpable. And then, before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

It’s not rough or demanding like you might have expected. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. His hands slide from your arms to your waist, anchoring you gently, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds back.

For a moment, you freeze, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming need to lean into him. But then your walls crack, and you kiss him back, your hands clutching at the front of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Joe pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing is unsteady, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper. Without a word, he steps forward, his hands tightening around your waist as he gently pushes you through the door.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, then sweeps you off your feet in one swift, effortless motion. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you down the hall toward your bedroom.

“Joe…” you begin, but he silences you with a look—a look so tender, so unlike the Joe you thought you knew, that your words die on your lips.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, the anger and frustration from moments ago have evaporated, replaced by something else entirely. Something that hums between you like a live wire.

He hovers over you, his weight supported by his arms on either side of your head. His eyes search yours, silently asking for permission, for understanding. And when you nod, so small and uncertain, he dips his head to kiss you again, this time deeper, more sure of himself.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging gently as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, every touch making your pulse race. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the fragile moment you’re sharing.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—Joe Burrow isn’t the selfish, cocky guy you thought he was. Maybe, behind all the bravado, he’s just a boy who wanted you to see him. And now, you finally do.

Joe’s lips trail along the curve of your neck, leaving a warm, electric path in their wake. He takes his time, his breath hot against your skin, and every deliberate touch makes your pulse thunder louder in your ears.

His hands glide over your waist, fingers pressing lightly, almost teasing as they trace the hem of your shirt. You feel his smile against your neck when you squirm slightly beneath him, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “No more yelling? No smart remarks?”

You swallow hard, trying to find some semblance of control, but the way his hands move, the way his lips hover so close yet don’t quite touch, leaves you breathless. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you right now,” you shoot back, though your voice wavers.

Joe chuckles, lifting his head to look at you, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” he says, his thumb brushing over the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. “You’ve always got something to say to me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted, your resolve crumbling as he dips his head again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like it when you get all fired up,” he whispers, his tone teasing. “But I think I like this quiet side of you even more.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way your body betrays you, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe smirks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and you shiver at the contact. “Maybe,” he admits, his tone smug, “but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You want to retort, to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but before you can, he shifts his weight, his lips capturing yours again. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, and you feel the teasing edge in his movements as he kisses you until you forget whatever comeback you had planned.

His fingers inch higher, tracing light patterns on your stomach, deliberately avoiding the places where you want him most. It’s infuriating, how easily he has you unraveling, and when he pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, you let out an exasperated groan.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, tugging at his shirt in frustration.

Joe leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips curling into a playful grin. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

He shifts again, his hands sliding up to frame your face as he kisses you once more. His lips are soft but insistent, drawing you in until all you can focus on is him—his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his skin, the way his touch sets every nerve in your body alight.

“Say the word,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but laced with a challenge. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You stare up at him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. But the word never comes. Instead, you pull him down again, your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him with all the pent-up frustration, anger, and longing that’s been building between you for weeks.

Joe groans softly, his hands sliding down your sides, his teasing touch giving way to something more intentional. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs against your lips, his tone smug but laced with something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip.

Joe's lips find yours again, the kiss deepening as his teasing facade begins to slip. His hands roam your body with more purpose now, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. He nips lightly at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Still hate me?” he whispers, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He moves back slowly, before pulling off your leggings, his eyes never leaving yours.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you pull him closer, your nails grazing the back of his neck, and the quiet groan he lets out is enough to make your pulse race.

The leggings are long forgotten now, leaving you exposed in your underwear. Joe chuckles softly, his breath fanning against your lips as he trails kisses along your jaw, then lower, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue follows, soothing the faint sting, and the combination has your hands fisting in his shirt.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His hands slide beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up slowly. “I think you like this way more than you’re letting on.”

“You talk too much,” you manage to gasp, but your retort loses its bite when his thumb grazes just beneath your ribs, sending a rush of heat through your body.

Joe pulls back just enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He takes a moment to look at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with something you can’t quite name, and for a second, the teasing smirk is gone, replaced by something softer.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard.

Your breath hitches, and you feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. Before you can overthink it, his lips are on you again, softer this time but no less insistent. His hands trace slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the band of your bra, and you arch into his touch without meaning to.

Joe grins against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower as he presses kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and then to the edge of the fabric.

He pauses, glancing up at you as his fingers toy with the clasp, his expression both playful and questioning. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says again, his tone softer now, without the usual cockiness.

But stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, you pull him down to you, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that answers his unspoken question.

Joe groans against your mouth, his hands moving to unclasp your bra with surprising ease, and you feel the shift in his demeanor as his teasing gives way to something more raw, more urgent. His lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and every deliberate touch has your body humming with anticipation.

“Still hate me?” he asks again, his voice rough and teasing, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks up at you.

You reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. “Shut up, Joe,” you whisper, your voice breathless but firm, and for once, he listens.

Joe's smirk returns, but it’s softer now, laced with something warmer than his usual arrogance. He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low and full of disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe where the night has led. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets his lips and hands do the talking, his touch reverent but still filled with that undeniable fire that seems to burn between you.

He slowly pulls away, looking up at you with a small smirk before he gets up. Before you could start questioning him, he takes off his shirt and sweats swiftly, your eyes widening at his body.

Joe’s smirk deepens as he catches the way your eyes widen, lingering on his toned frame. His confidence seems to grow with every second you stay silent, your gaze betraying the sharp tongue you usually use to deflect him. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to drink him in.

“You’re staring,” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes burn with something more primal. “I knew you liked looking at me, but this is a new level.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks gives you away. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the effect he has on you.

Joe chuckles, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of you, his face inches from yours. “Too late for that,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve already done it for me.”

Before you can fire back, he trails his hand down your side, fingers skimming over your waist and hip with maddening slowness. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your chest, each one softer than the last, as if he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath his touch.

You can feel his hardened bulge against your stomach, and you're just about done with his teasing. You need him, now. “Joe,” you whined as he pulls back with a smirk.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and raw. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on yours again, his kiss stealing whatever snarky comeback you might have had. His hands move with purpose, sliding over every inch of bare skin, and the slow, deliberate way he touches you has your body aching for more.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, the words a quiet challenge. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with all the frustration and longing you’ve been holding back for weeks. Joe groans, the sound vibrating against your lips as his teasing slips away entirely, replaced by something deeper, more desperate.

“God, you’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice laced with both exasperation and awe. But his actions betray the truth—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He finally pulls away, breathless as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. “I'm gonna fuck you, alright?” he mutters before leaning closer. “And for all those times you pissed me off, and annoyed me, I'll forget about all of that if I can just... hear you.”

You're caught off by the request and you almost think he's joking, but you're mistaken. He's dead serious. All you could was nod slowly in response and Joe leans away, pleased.

Joe’s control starts to slip, and it’s evident in the way his kisses grow hungrier, more urgent. His hands tremble slightly as they trail over your body, mapping out every curve like he’s afraid this moment will disappear. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his breathing uneven.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice raw, the cocky edge completely gone. “You’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Then finally, he slowly peels off his briefs, and his large, hardened cock falls out.

Joe lets out a small groan as his head falls back, relief in his expression. His pink tip is already leaking with pre-cum. You practically faint at the sight, you couldn't help but let out a whimper. His hands find his cock before he slowly begins to pump it, his eyes finding yours again.

He spreads your legs open before leaning in, his lips finding yours as his hands lead his cock to your cunt. His forehead falls against yours as he slowly begins to insert himself, a heavenly groan leaving his lips at the feeling of your warm, tight walls.

You felt like you were being split in half, in the best way possible. You can't even describe how good his cock felt, he wasn't even a quarter inside of you, but you still felt like you were filled to the brim.

“O-oh, fuck, Joey,” you moaned as your swollen lips form an O, your head falling back onto the plush pillows. Now you understood why the girls in his apartment were so loud—they definitely weren't exaggerating.

His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer as if he wasn't inside of you already. His lips crash against yours again, the kiss filled with desperation, like he’s trying to pour every suppressed emotion into it. It’s intoxicating, the way his need for you feels almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clutching at his shoulders, wanting to be as close as possible.

He bottoms you out slowly, and he tries to give you a second to adjust—he really, really tried. He just couldn't. He slowly started thrusting in and out of you, and before you could even process the change in speed, he was rocking his hips against yours like the world depended on it.

The bed was creaking loudly underneath the two of you, the only sounds that could be heard was your loud moans, his grunts of pleasure, and the sound of skin against skin.

His cock was dizzying, to say the least. It hit all the spots you swore nobody had ever reached, making you question all your previous partners. You couldn't even form a singular thought about anything else except for Joe's huge cock and the way he was making you feel.

“Joe!” You manage to gasp as he begins to pound into you impossibly harder, but he cuts you off with another kiss, groaning softly against your lips.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice husky and edged with desperation. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you gasp as his hands spread your legs wider, pinning you to the mattress.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, his kisses growing more frantic, more needy. His hands are everywhere, exploring, worshipping, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. The way he touches you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, leaves you utterly undone.

His words make your head spin, and you can’t find a response. You're too caught up in the way he was pounding into you, like a fucking animal.

But Joe doesn’t seem to care; he’s too caught up in you, his hips moving faster and faster until you're practically crying out loud. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. There’s no pretense now, no games—just raw, unfiltered desire.

You begin to feel the knot in your stomach begin to form, tight and persistent. You begin to grip his shoulders even tighter, your head falling back into the pillow as you moaned.

“O-oh, fuck! I'm gonna cum, please.” You began rambling as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips not faltering one bit—if anything, he began going faster.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He grunted out, his own impending orgasm. “Cum for me, baby.”

That was all you needed. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your whole body spasming as you cried out in utter pleasure. The orgasm washed over you perfectly as Joe's hips began to falter, and a few moments later, his cum spilled into you.

You both lie there, tangled in the sheets, your breathing ragged and your hearts racing as the room settles into a heavy, satisfied silence. Joe’s arm is draped lazily across your stomach, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your skin. The intimacy feels different now—softer, quieter, as if the storm that had built between you for so long had finally passed.

He exhales deeply, his chest still rising and falling against your side. “Well,” he says, his voice low and hoarse, “that was... long overdue.”

You glance over at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile despite yourself. “You think?” you reply dryly, the lingering warmth of the moment making it hard to muster the sharp edge your tone usually carries with him.

Joe turns his head to look at you, his hair mussed and sticking out in every direction, his cheeks still flushed. There’s that cocky grin of his, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you don’t think you’ve seen before—contentment, maybe. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling lightly. “So overdue I’m almost mad at us for waiting this long.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. His grin widens as he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over you. His gaze flicks across your face, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “But hey,” he says, his voice taking on a playful tone, “now that I’ve finally got you right where I want you, I think it’s time to make this official.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head at him. “Official?”

Joe nods solemnly, though the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “Yup. A real date. No fighting, no yelling, no storming off. Just you, me, and a public setting where we try very hard not to tear each other’s clothes off.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, is that so?”

“That’s so,” he replies with a grin, catching your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze softening. “Come on, let me take you out. I’ll even behave. Swear.”

You arch a skeptical brow, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Behave? You? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Guess you’ll just have to say yes and find out,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but undeniably sincere.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound reluctant but failing miserably. “One date. But if you embarrass me, it’s the last one.”

Joe’s grin is blinding as he flops back down beside you, pulling you against his chest. “Deal,” he says, his voice full of triumph. “You won’t regret it. Best date of your life, guaranteed.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he counters, his tone smug as his hand tightens around yours.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

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

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

[lo-bo-tomia]

you open up your phone and look for a picture to show them. You look and look but you can't seem to find any pictures of your friend's face. You tell them your plan and they say they've never taken a picture because it would defeat the whole purpose of hiding in plain sight when they're hiding. You remind them that they could just shapeshift into another face, and they laugh. I sure could...

What an idiot. They're desperate. They need their original form for that date. Certainly they can't go as a hawk. You're good at drawing faces, you say that.

You've been doing that your whole life, to capture people's essence. You enjoy drawing random faces you've seen by memory and sometimes the cute and funny expressions your friends make. They're not really contempt but they seem to absolutely need to go back to their original form.

So you start drawing. It doesn't take long. It looks good, or at least that's what you thought. That moron looks at the picture, and immediately shapeshifts into their original form. But something's deeply wrong. They look like... a shell of themself. It's like they couldn't remember their face even after seeing the drawing and they could only shapeshift into the drawing itself. It looks inhumane. They seem to notice right away, and break down crying. You try to comfort them. There must be a way to make them remember a vivid image of their face. You think about that old guy at the edge of the realm that knows how to communicate telepathically, even with images. And you think they could be able to show your friend their face, recover their memory or at least help them recover it. It's not a bad idea, but what about the date? The best solution would be to just tell the truth. It's a complex situation. Your friend is reluctant, and it takes you a solid half hour to convince them. But they refuse to talk. Your idea means you have to break the news. You go out and your friend shapeshifts into a hamster. It's cute, discreet, and they've got wet eyes. They want to look as pitiful as possible. The date's been waiting. You're late. Your friend points at them and you sit down next to them and say hi. They're confused. "I'm sorry, I'm waiting for someone" squeak. You didn't think a hamster could convey emotions so well with a simple squeak. But you swear that sound your friend just blurted out sounded so sad. "I know" You say "You've been waiting for this" and you point at your friend, the hamster. This didn't clarify anything. "I'm sorry, what?"

Your friend starts talking, in a very high pitched voice. "Hi Erin, it's me Alex. I know you were expecting a human but here we are"

"I swear I'm not a hamster, just an idiot. I'm actually a shapeshifter and forgot how to turn back to my original self. This friend over here is trying to help me with that. Could we maybe reschedule the hangout maybe when I look more... bipedal?" - "We were planning on blasting a memory of their original body in their mind, so that they can remember."

"Oh you mean to go to the mindreader at the edge of the realm to do this?"

"Well yea that was the plan"

"No need, that's my dad, I can do pretty much the same thing and I've seen Alex before. Just, I can't communicate telepathically with animals: I'm a little limited like that. It's not even that I literally can't it's more of a mental limit that I can't seem to shatter"

"No problem! I've got the solution" Squeaks Alex the Hamster. They immediately shapeshift into your drawing. It looks so wrong, even Erin is startled. "Yea I tried to make them remember by drawing them, but they just look like a shell of themself"

"That's terrifying, but I can work with that" Erin lays their hands out towards Alex. Their face lights up and immediately they shapeshift into their original form. "That's much better, thanks Erin, thank you friend"

"I guess there's no need to reschedule now, see you around Alex" You ditch them and go home. That seems to be a good combo. You hope the date goes well.

Your friend, a shapeshifter (a secret you've kept since childhood) hasn't answered your texts in days, so you head to their home. Upon arriving, you find that they're in the middle of an existential crisis; they can't remember how to turn back into their original, human form.

[ariestrxsh]

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content warning: smut, masturbation, teasing, use of restraints, use of feather tickler, use of vibrator, degradation/humiliation, sub!matt, sub!chris, mean!dom!reader

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 author's note: this is one of two endings that i wrote for this fic. enjoy! 🤍

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 summary: both matt and chris lose the bet you made with them about how long they could last during no nut november, which means submitting to you.

love potions part two (first ending)

He remembered the nude photo you'd sent to the group chat. He wasn't proud of what he was about to do, but he couldn't fend off the desire any longer. He'd never gone so long without masturbating, and it was more than he could bear.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Fifteen

The next morning, Matt rolled over in bed, tangled up in the sheets as the sun started to rise, rays of light peeking in through his curtains. He looked at the date on his phone just to be sure time was moving as painfully slow as he thought it was. It was only the 15th. There was no way he was going to be able to make it another fifteen days, especially with you constantly provoking him.

His thumb swiped a few times across his screen until your picture was staring back at him, and he tucked his other hand into his waistband, pulling out his needy cock. He wrapped his fingers around his girth, which in and of itself, felt incredibly relieving.

He studied your curves, his hungry eyes scanning your voluptuous body parts as he started stroking himself. A sequence of soft moans and profanities fell from his slightly parted, pink lips. His eyebrows crinkled and beads of sweat started taking form on his forehead.

It didn't take long before he was on the heels of his climax, furiously pumping away while a familiar feeling arose that he had greatly missed these past couple weeks. A few more strangled whimpers later, and he came unraveled, his seed overflowing, spilling onto his hand, and making a mess.

He was mesmerized by how much had come out of him and how good it felt to cum again. He laid breathlessly in his bed for several minutes, recovering from his orgasm.

That was when you came bursting through the door. Matt immediately flinched startled by your presence, trying to hide the cum that had spilled onto his tummy. "Unbelievable," you said, shaking your head at Matt as you pulled back his sheets, revealing the evidence of his fragile willpower. "You couldn't even go a month without getting off? Fucking pathetic," you scoffed at him as he scrambled to pull the blanket back over him.

His cheeks were hot with shame, and he couldn't look you in the eye. "Don't look!" He shouted back. "I just caught Chris doing the same thing," you smirked.

You replayed the image in your head of Chris, the way he had been so fixated on your photo that he hadn't even noticed you walk in. You recalled the pretty sounds he had made and how he'd licked his lips right before finishing in his hand as he had urgently fisted his cock.

With every stroke, a rope of cum had ejected from his tip, and just when you thought he'd drained himself, there was more. You remembered that vulnerable smile that had crept into his expression while he came, painting his chest and his stomach in his milky white fluid and staring down at the mess he had made. He had slowed the pace of his pumps to a stop while throwing his head back and letting his phone fall to the bed, revealing your own nude on his screen.

"Wow, that was hot. If that's how much cum you had saved up in just two weeks, it's a shame you couldn't wait two more. Could you imagine?" You had asked him, leaning up against his door frame and watching his smile slowly fall as he became aware of your presence. "Shit," he had whispered out of breath.

"What?" Matt asked you, looking up at you with a shocked expression and bringing you out of your reverie. "Yeah, I actually came in here to tell you that you won, but I guess you didn't," you chuckled, pulling the blanket back once more.

"You know what this means, right?" You smirked down at him. He looked up at you subserviantly with blushed cheeks, but he said nothing. "This means you get to be my little toy, doesn't it?" You cooed, caressing his jawline and your eyes traveling back down to the mess Matt had made on his lower stomach.

A few hours later, you had both boys right where you wanted them, side-by-side, naked, and each tied to a chair. You stood in front of them, completely naked as well. The shopping bags you'd brought back with you a few weeks prior reappeared, and you started to dig through them.

"You know, I knew when you guys first told me about the No Nut November challenge, that neither one of you would be able to make it. But, c'mon, you couldn't even make it three weeks? You're both fucking pathetic," you scoffed at them, pulling out a long stick with a big, fluffy feather on the end.

"What's that?" Matt asked, growing wide-eyed. "It looks like a fucking cat toy," Chris snarked before you could answer him. "Well, maybe that's fitting, because you're both pussies," you declared, sneering at Chris. "It's a feather tickler," you replied, turning your attention back to Matt.

You started to walk closer to him, and you slowly closed the distance between the feather and Matt's gorgeous cock. Matt couldn't hide his intrigue. His blue eyes locked onto the toy as you started to tease the underside of his shaft. You watched the muscles in his cock involuntarily quiver as you tickled his length, blood rushing to it and his tip starting to swell.

"Oh," a sweet sound of pleasure passed through Matt's pink lips. "Like that? Like when I tease your pretty cock for you, Matthew?" You purred, taking the end of the feather and drawing circles on the head while you watched Matt's expression meld into desperation.

He glanced into your eyes and nodded before locking his gaze back onto the way the feather danced across his sensitive nerve endings, and he let out a few more whimpers. "I don't think you just like it, Matt. I think you're loving it," you observed, your voice dripping with seduction.

A silky, clear fluid started to drool from his slit, and you gently ran the tip of the feather through it, watching for Matt's responses. He squirmed beneath your light touch, lifting his hips off the chair a bit and tugging at his restraints as you played with him. "So fucking pathetic. You're so sensitive that I'm surprised you don't cum just from putting on pants every morning," you chuckled, taking delight in his humiliated expression.

Matt had been in submissive roles before during sex, but nothing quite like this. He'd always dreamt of being tied up, teased, and being talked down to by an assertive woman, but the reality was almost more embarrassing than he could handle and somehow, he still adored every second of it.

Shy, strangled moans poured into the room as you manipulated his cock like a puppeteer, pulling your invisible strings and making his cock twitch with every gesture of the feather. Matt couldn't hide his pleasure or his humiliation.

More pre-cum gathered at his tip, and he slammed his eyes shut as if that would make it any less embarrassing that he was getting turned on by something so simple and degrading. "I can't believe how close you're getting from a little feather," you mocked him.

Chris couldn't help but watch the way his brother writhed around beneath the gentle sensation, growing curious about how he'd react to it and if it really felt as good as Matt was making it seem.

After a couple more minutes of teasing, you cast the feather tickler off to the side and replaced it with the hum of a small vibrator, resting it against Matt's aggravated tip. "Oh my god," Matt purred, enjoying the new feeling, closing his eyes again.

"Look at me while you finish, Matthew," you ordered him in a serious matter. His eyes fluttered open, but once his gaze met yours, he wanted to hide again.

"Please don't make me," he begged, his voice cracking in desperation. "I won't make you do anything. But if you wanna cum, you gotta look at me," you said, watching the way his pretty cock twitched beneath your control.

"C-can't," he whimpered. "Sure you can, pretty boy. Don't get all shy on me," you said, running your thumb across his bottom lip. He managed to maintain eye contact, a sacrifice he was willing to make in order to finally feel sweet relief wash over him.

His knuckles started to lose color as he gripped the seat of his chair, and his stomach started to ache from how much pressure had built up in his lower abdomen. You had one hand caressing his jawline, tilting his head up towards you and your other hand on the buzzing toy.

Chris couldn't keep his eyes off you either and the way you expertly taunted his brother, eagerly awaiting his turn while his cock jumped at the sight. "That's it. Cum for me like the pathetic little boy you are," you urged him in a seductive tone.

Matt came undone, pulling at his restraints, arching his back slightly off the chair, and looking deep into your eyes while sounds of sexual release filled the air. You watched as his cock pulsated, emitting a pretty, pearly white substance that squirted from his tip and painted the hardwood floor in front of him.

He savored the intensity of his orgasm, the feeling of pure bliss, and the way his climax ebbed and flowed rather than burning out quickly due to how much you'd teased him. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it, baby?" You cooed, admiring the mess he made for you.

"I knew you'd like that. I didn't know you'd like it that much," you teased him, turning off the toy. He stared at you in awe with his heavy eyelids hooded over his pretty, blue eyes as he tried to recover, panting and babbling about how good it was.

You made your way over to Chris who looked at you with a mix of desire and annoyance. He knew that whatever you were about to make him do, that it'd be extremely degrading. You set down the vibrator and picked up the feather tickler again.

You came up behind him and started by running the tip of the feather across his collar bones and his chest. Slowly but surely, you trailed down his stomach, stopping right before you got to his throbbing member. "Awh. Look at you. Already hard, and I haven't even touched you yet," you taunted him.

You could feel his breathing become more shallow, and his chest rose and fell in a quickening rhythm. "What are you waiting for?" He huffed at you, trying to conceal how much he secretly wanted to know what it would be like to be played with by you in such a vulnerable way.

"I'm waiting for you to beg for it," you whispered, your lips curling into condescending grin. "I don't beg," he said in a stern voice, craning his neck to look you in the eye. "Then I guess you're not going to cum," you nonchalantly replied, shrugging and waving the feather around in the air in front of the two of you.

Chris sat in silence for a few seconds before swallowing his pride and letting out a sigh. "Fine. Please," he half-heartedly mumbled. "Speak up, Chris. I can't hear you over your raging erection," you smirked, peering down at his hard-on. "Please," he said a little more sincerely.

"Come on, Chris. I know you need way more attention than you've been getting. Just admit it," you cooed in his ear, wrapping your arm around his strong shoulder and placing your hand gently on his chest. You passionately kissed the side of his neck, pressing your tongue against his warm flesh and eliciting a faint moan from his pouty lips.

"I do need it," he answered you, a bit of desperation seeping into his inflection. "How bad do you need it, huh?" You lasciviously purred. "Please. I need it so bad," he responded, longingly. You placed the feather-end of the rod against his length and started tracing the veins on his shaft. He hissed through his teeth and let out a satisfied, "Ahh."

"Good boy. Let me hear how good I make you feel," you hummed, walking back around to face him, continuing to tease his aching cock. "Always acting like you're so tough. Not so tough anymore, huh?" You asked in a soft, sweet voice. "Fuck," Chris whimpered, peering up at you through his bedroom eyes, not even trying to defend himself as his lips curled into a pretty smile.

Chris was always the dominant one in his sexual relationships, always being the one to dish out the degradation, but finding himself on the receiving end, he liked it more than he thought he would.

You gave him a diabolical smile, delighting in how easily he submitted to you and how much he liked it, still gripping the rod of the feather while you delicately and methodically tickled his length. "Please. I need more," Chris whispered, his eyes locked on the vibrator that was placed on the table behind you.

"I love it when you beg. Keep going," you told him, making his cock dance and watching him shudder as you played with him. "Please. Please give me more," he begged, his voice dripping with desperation while he nodded eagerly at you, his gaze flickering back and forth between you and the toy.

You smirked at him before picking up the vibrator and switching it on. The low hum sounded, and Chris watched in anticipation as you started running the toy up his staff, teasing the veins on the underside of his dick.

Droplets of precum started to pool at his sensitive tip, and his cock jerked as you started to near the head with the vibrating tool. "You're doing so good for me," you responded, running the pad of your thumb over Chris' pink cheek while you looked into his eyes.

"More," he pleaded, and you turned the toy up one setting. The expression on his face was drenched in pleasure, his lip caught between his teeth, flushed complexion, and seduction in his eyes. He started to pull at the rope wrapped around his wrists as he grew impatient. He needed to cum so bad.

"Please. More," he whimpered, his blue eyes glossing over as he approached the finish line. You felt so powerful, pushing the button to intensify the sensation and watching Chris fold beneath the feeling while you listened to his moans become more needy.

"Cum for me, sweet boy. I know you can do it," you whispered, cradling his face and encouraging him. The way you coddled him and called him cute pet names was almost more degrading to him than anything you'd said to Matt, but he couldn't help how much he loved it.

He nodded at you with a smug smile as his body started to tremble. His hips raised off the seat, and he threw his head back as his pretty cock began to pulse, emitting his sticky, white fluid.

His urgent whimpers filled the room as he submitted to his climax, allowing it to wash over him and leave him in a state of peace and tranquility once it had taken its course. Chris peered down breathlessly, a string of drool hanging from his open mouth, studying the way his cum dripped down the sides of his cock. Humiliation started to set in.

"Look at that," you cooed, but Chris could barely hear you over the powerful ringing that flooded his ears. "I think you might have liked that even more than Matt did. You beg like a little bitch," you said, a condescending smile stretching across your lips.

[multicohn]

summary: max’s gf seems to be getting more love than him

warnings: highkey sucks, short

pairing: fem! reader x max verstappen

genre: fluff, drabble

author note: about time i wrote max

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

flashback:

max has always been a private person and after his breakup with kelly piquet, he became even more closed off. it was even rare for him to even participate in streams nowadays. however, what no one knew was max had been taking time to reflect ( not do anything stupid — gp ) and managed to bump into y/n.

now, monaco isn’t a big place, but he’s never seen her before.

max was oddly intrigued, but he had just ended a relationship — but, it didn’t hurt to be friends, right?

it took him two full days of just staring before finally making a move.

“what brand is your laptop?”

okay, it wasn’t the best, but it was something.

y/n looked up at the strange and furrowed her eyebrows.

“um — ( brand name )?” he nodded and walked off

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

even to this day, y/n still teases max about it. back then, in his mind, he was proud of himself for actually saying something, but y/n thought he was a bit strange.

when they eventually became more friendly and comfortable around each other, he asked her out on a date. y/n was hesitant. she found out who he was and who he previously dated, his fans weren’t exactly the most supportive and she worried that it’d be the same, but max reassured her that he would say something if needed.

however, what none of them expected was how much love y/n would gain from them.

[ “he may be a 3 time world champion, but i will never understand how he bagged someone like her” ]

[ “MAX MOVE IM TRYING TO SEE Y/N” ]

[ “if i was dating someone like y/n, you would have to pry me off her — AWOOGA” ]

every time he posted, there would be comments asking about her. however, there was always one in particular would catch his eye.

[ “is your girlfriend single?” ]

he would just stare.

of course she isn’t single, they’re literally dating?

“you’re in the trenches mate” was what alex told him when he asked what they meant ( he needed someone who understood the internet )

“what?”

“it’s a good thing, don’t worry”

max didn’t think so.

call him possessive, but he felt the need to make them back off and posted a set of pictures for their anniversary along with a lengthy caption.

sadly, it didn’t work.

[ “i can call her the love of my life in a different language too” ]

[ “6/10 for spelling, 4/10 for punctuation, 3/10 for creativity” ]

[ “i could write more” ]

just like what alex said, max is in the trenches.

[bloggerspam]

So, Christmas Break is a bust.

Danny and Tucker managed to find two separate bombs, of the 10 that Riddler had set up, and made it into a competition, per usual.

Sam and Val were taken, again per usual, as unwilling team-mates.

Mostly, they were there to fight off whatever goons they happened to come across as Danny and Tucker relished the riddles and games.

Danny and Tucker had both been elbow deep in the guts of their respective bombs, when Red Robin and Signal had shown up, and harangued them into backing off and disabling the bombs themselves.

Val and Sam were dismayed when Red Robin and Signal were also in a competition and were tied for one each as well.

Danny and Tucker were pouting the entire time the vigilantes were scolding them, and were even more dismayed to find out that the rest of the bat brood had dealt with the rest of the bombs whilst they were being scolded.

Red Robin was not happy to find out he had lost his competition because Danny was, and Val quotes, obstinate and terrible at listening to orders.

It turns out, Oracle is real (much to Tucker's delight) and was able to disable two bombs (much to Riddler's dismay) remotely before Blackbat went to pick them up.

Not that Val was eavesdropping or anything, from where she was sitting beside Tucker (Sam and Tucker were never on the same team, due to bickering).

The point is, Val and Sam had suffered the whining for the remainder of their break.

But Red Hood did find them after, Spoiler hanging back on the top of the roof, to ask them not to put themselves in danger.

It was both hilarious and cute. Like, resident Crime Lord say what?

But then again, Val had first row seat to how disgustingly smitten Jason was with Danny, so really, who was surprised? Not Val, that's for sure.

It was also hilarious to watch Red Hood perk up when Danny pulled out his phone to text Jason if he was safe and okay, only to be sad that he didn't have Jason's phone number.

Even more hilarious to watch Danny fanboy over Hood and have the crime lord be flustered as all hell with Spoiler cackle-laughing in the background.

But then night had descended, and Sam's errands still had to be done, so…

No time for Danny to go on a date.

All in all, not looking good for Operation: Putting that D in Danny. (Val would like it to be known that Tucker named the group chat, if only for her own dignity).

Val is still recovering from her definitely not tearfelt goodbyes from her friends when she rolls into work three days later.

Jay, in comparison, downright chipper.

This is, of course, sarcasm. But he's leagues better than Val, and she's more concerned about how lonely she feels and how many of her classmates' names she knows rather than think about how to get Danny laid.

(It's three names. Two of them are her dorm neighbors, and the other was forced to play an ice break game with her.)

That is, of course, until Jay stops her before she leaves after her shift with a hesitant call of her name.

"Yeah, bossman?" Val watches Jay jog over to her, fidgeting a bit before handing her a slip of paper. "What's this?"

"Could you pass that along to Danny?" Jay rubs the back of his neck, "It's my uh, phone number." His other hand lifts and drops as if unsure of what to do with itself before it settles on his hip.

Val smirks, folding the note--which clearly has more than just his number written on it--carefully into her bag. She makes a note to either take a picture or give it to Danny later, pulling out her phone to send off a message in a series of taps. She already had Jay's number after all, what with being her boss and coordinating shifts.

Jay flushes, the bridge of his nose getting that familiar splotchy red hue, groaning and no doubt about to admonish her for being so cheeky.

That is, until his phone immediately buzzes, and he whips it out with wide eyes and a broad smile once he sees who it is.

Val rolls her eyes, recognizing when she's lost someone to the world of romance. "See ya later, bossman. Don't stay up too late."

And though she's only going back to her empty dorm room, Jay's smiling face and Danny's string of heart-covered emojis and thanks bolster her up enough to not feel the chill quite as harshly.

She wonders if Jazz would be willing to get in on this plan, if it means Danny taking more breaks.

She wonders if it would be weirder for her to invite Steph to spar, or if one of her classmates would be willing to study together. That's how friendships start right?

…Maybe Danny could transfer to Gotham U next year, Val's rusty at making friends now, and he's always been a good buffer for social niceties. Midwestern boy manners and all that.

Besides, Wayne Enterprises has a very lucrative engineering scholarship program after all.

Mechanic!Val AU, but make it gay and sapphic.

ya'll can thank the HH discord for this one. Specifically the menace known as @clockwayswrites (and @impyssadobsessions for the art that inspired the damn thing)

Dead on Main and with some future Val/Steph >)

also @belfry-ghost did a doodle for this AU and everyone should go love on his art. Val's so unf.

===

Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord.

She’s pretty sure he’s The Crime Lord, actually. She’s like, 98% sure she works for Red Hood now, and she’s low key mad about it. She squints at the man now, with his white streak and almost imperceptible green sheen to his eyes. 

The problem is that Val did perceive it. Because she used to date a guy whose baby blue eyes changed ever so slightly in the same way. Thinking about Danny makes her even madder.

To be clear, she’s not mad about Red Hood himself. 

She’s just mad that, of all the mechanic shops in all of Crime Alley, she just had to work for her ex-boyfriend’s third place Hall Pass pick. It also makes her miss her friends way more, and Val is hardly what one would call a well-adjusted woman, so she’s mad about it.

She huffs as she lifts the hood of the second car she’s working on today. Being a mechanic wasn’t really on the docket for Val’s life goals, nor was being in Gotham, but she got a full ticket ride on Wayne Foundation scholarships, and honestly? 

Gotham is Amity Park Lite: Gargoyles and Furries Edition. 

Between a full ride to Gotham U and being stuck at Elmerton Community College? The choice was easy. 

So here she is, working for the resident Crime Lord in his civvies. 

Jay pays good, teaches her what she needs to know, and bonus: he sometimes helps with her English Literature class. He’s flexible on hours, and she’s even got rudimentary insurance. 

All in All?  It could be worse—she could still be working for Vlad, after all. 

It's the little things.

[subcultureblues]

Don't You Want Me (Baby?) Pt 4

———

Steve and Eddie are either hooking up or dating - and are about as bad at keeping a secret as they are dealing with their feelings. (Dustin POV)

1 / 2 / 3 / 4

———

“I don’t know Dustybuns…. I know you mean well but - “

“But? I mean well, but what?”

“But sometimes, well sometimes you get these ideas in your head. And really once you think you’re right, there’s just no convincing you otherwise. I just wonder if maybe - you don’t have a full picture of what’s going on with those two.”

“Seriously? They’re my friends, Suzie. I think I understand them just fine. I mean it’s not thermal dynamics. And even that, I’ve got an understanding of the basic fundamentals!”

———

When Dustin got home that night he blew through his homework within the hour. He’s a sophomore - advanced placements even! Still, the work they’re giving out this year is child’s play.

He grazed on snacks until he was slightly less bored. Read the X-Men issue that came out this week - guess Jean Grey alive again. Wonder how long that’ll last…

He tried calling the Wheeler house to see what Mike was up to but he was out, over at Will’s apparently. He tried Lucas after that but he couldn’t really talk since he’d had to put Max on hold just to pick up.

Dustin had to kill a few more hours but eventually he was able to get on the radio with Suzie. Hearing her voice - it’s like seeing the clouds part and the sun light up the sky. Never really gets old.

“That! That tramp!” She said, when Dustin told her about the Flower Situation.

“Right!?” Dustin huffed.

He told Suzie he planned to give Steve a serious talking to, even though Robin had kinda, sorta expressly asked against it. To Dustin’s shock, however, Suzie took Robin’s side.

“I don’t know Dustybuns…. I know you mean well but - “

“But? I mean well, but what?”

“But sometimes, well sometimes you get these ideas in your head. And really once you think you’re right, there’s just no convincing you otherwise. I just wonder if maybe - you don’t have a full picture of what’s going on with those two.”

“Seriously? They’re my friends, Suzie. I think I understand them just fine. I mean it’s not thermal dynamics. And even that, I’ve got an understanding of the basic fundamentals!”

“Oh, Dusty…. Oop. I hear footsteps downstairs.” She whispered. “I think they’re doing a bed check. I gotta go.”

“Bye Suzie. I love you.”

“Love you too.” He could hear her smiling through the crackling radio transmission. Even from this many miles away he couldn’t help but smile back. Suzie paused. “And Dusty, just - be careful. Promise?”

Her line cut out. Dustin switched off the ham radio and frowned. Usually Suzie was so smart. Literally the smartest person he knows. How is it possible she couldn’t see that his friends were in dire need of help?

No way was he gonna abandon them to make a mess of things by themselves.

Though. Maybe there was something he was missing. Some unknown element.

Earlier today… Eddie seemed to know more than he was letting on. Dustin frowned harder.

He creeped downstairs to the landline. Wayne’s at work and Eddie’s a nightwalker so he didn’t feel bad about calling at almost 9pm. He didn’t even feel bad about calling four separate times.

He shook his head when he was sent to voicemail again. He put the phone back in the receiver.

Dustin huffed.

Only then he remembered - the walkie talkie. It had ended up in Eddie’s trailer after the whole Vecna fiasco… Dustin never did get it back. In fact, he’d totally forgotten about it. And if Dustin forgot about it, Eddie definitely had too.

“Eddie. It’s Dustin. Come in, Eddie. Over.”

It took a few tries but eventually he heard a crackly - “sus Christ, how does this thing work, again?”

“Eddie!”

“Dustin?” Eddie said, deadly serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you home right now, over?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Dustin waited.

“Yes, I’m home. Over.”

“Then why the hell aren’t you picking up the damn phone?” Dustin said. “Over.”

“I uh - must be off the line or something.”

“Whatever, look I just got a few questions about - “

“Dustin! Is the world ending right now this exact second or what?”

“No but - “

“Jesus…”. Eddie sighed in relief. Then he muttered, “The last thing I need right now is The Monster-pocalypse Part 2 : Electric Boogaloo.”

“We are well past that by now. Gotta be on the fourth or fifth straight to TV sequel at least.”

“Well whatever it is, it can wait. I gotta a lot of - I got enough shit going on right now.”

“You know, you’ve been pulling that card a lot recently.”

“Tell me about it.” To Eddie’s credit, he did sound stressed out. “Anyway - if this is about D&D, sessions canceled tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?” Immediately switching course, Dustin’s thoughts of Steve vanished like smoke.

“Yeah, sorry. Jeff was gonna tell you guys tomorrow at school. There’s this bar in town, their Friday gig canceled on them. Unlucky for them, our merry band of metalheads were the only ones they could find to fill the time slot on short notice.”

“What? Eddie that’s awesome!”

“Yeah, fucking big place too. Me and the boys are there a lot when we’re in the area - The Squeaky Wheel down in Indie. Probably gonna be the biggest crowd we’ve ever played for.”

“Well, I’m definitely coming then.”

“You’re definitely not. We need to be there early. Leaving for town 2pm, sharp.”

“Jeff won’t still be in school?”

“Not if he cuts last period he won’t.”

“Well, what if I - “

“Are you kidding?” Steve’ll fucking kill me.”

“But I still haven’t seen you guys perform for real yet!”

“Maybe next time, little man. Look I gotta go, I’ve been trying to actually get some fucking sleep and having the phone going off all night really isn’t helping.”

“I thought you said it was off the line?”

“Huh? Right, yeah.”

“Nevermind that. You nervous?”

“So fucking nervous I feel like I’m gonna puke or something. Just like, go full exorcist. All over the stage.”

“Ok yeah, don’t do that.” Dustin suggested.

“Hah. Yeah.” Eddie chuckled.

“Come on, you guys are amazing! You’re gonna be great!”

“No, you’re right. It’s gonna be good.” Eddie said, clearly trying to psyche himself up.

“Well, I guess good luck. Over and out.”

“Break a leg you mean. Over and out.”

Dustin sat there fiddling with his walkie for a long couple minutes. There was something kicking around in his brain. A plan, formulating. Even Dustin himself was shocked by its elegant efficiency.

Get to see Corroded Coffin perform? Check. Bring a mob of Eddie’s friends out to support him? Check. Finally get a chance to meet this super secret girlfriend (because who would miss their boyfriend’s bands biggest show yet?) Check! And he can get Robin and Steve on a fun night out together and hopefully smooth over the ‘flower incident’? Check check check!

He tuned his walkie to the open line the party was synced into.

“Everybody, come in. It’s Dustin. We got a code blue which means all hands on deck. We’re going on a field trip…”

Dustin had spent the rest of Thursday night and Friday morning making sure everything was in perfect order.

He didn’t call until Friday, after he got confirmation from Max, the last person he was waiting on.

Only then did he call Steve.

“Corroded Coffin has a show tonight.” He said as soon as Steve picked up.

It was lunch hour and him, Mike, and Will were outside the school building standing around the pay phone. Lucas and Max were on a lunch table near by arm wrestling - those weirdo’s version of PDA.

“Hello to you too.” Steve said, vaguely amused.

“Hello. Corroded Coffin has a show tonight and we’re going.” Mike gave him a thumbs up and Will, an encouraging smile.

“Oh yeah?”

“And before you ask, yes we’ve gotten permission from our parents, yes we have a curfew but - we don’t have to be home till midnight, the bar is 16 and up, I called, itsallthewayinindianapolis but wait ok, before you say no - “

“What time are we leaving?” Steve said.

“I - really? That easy?” He glanced at Will and Mike who blinked at him with hesitant excitement.

“No. This… this is actually perfect.”

“Come on man. I had a whole - thing, prepared. I practiced for this. Flashcards! I made flashcards.”

“What time are we leaving?”

Dustin sighed.

“Six o’clock. If we leave Hawkins by then, we can get there twenty minutes before their show starts. Plenty of time to find parking and get into the venue. Were you wondering how everyone’s gonna fit in your car?”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve humored him.

Dustin flipped to the corresponding flash card. “They don’t have to.” He read verbatim. “I’ve already taken the time to ensure Jonathan could accompany us as well - also Joyce wouldn’t let Will come if he didn’t. Jonathan and Nancy are driving Will and Mike. You just have to grab me, Lucas, and Max. Leaving one seat open for you to bring a plus one.”

“Robin.” Steve said, impressed. “Very thorough.”

“I’ll see you at my house at 5:30 on the dot. We need to be on the road by 6. And Steve? Please try not to dress like a dork.”

Steve laughed.

“Funny how I could say the exact same thing.”

“Also don’t tell Eddie.” Dustin ordered. “It’s a surprise.”

“Dustin, you’re a genius...” Dustin could hear him grinning through the phone.

“I know, I meticulously organized everything down to the last detail.”

“Yeah, uh huh.” Steve said, distractedly. “Shit, ok, I gotta go - and shower pretty much right now if I want enough time to airdry my hair…“

“Well. That was easy.” He said, hanging up the phone rather anticlimatically.

“But he said yes?”

“Oh, we’re going!” Dustin confirmed.

———

Just a few hours later Steve’s Beemer sat on the street out front of Dustin’s house.

Dustin emerged from the house at 5:36 in a huff. He got a few steps before he remembered his mom was out and backtracked to lock up behind him.

HONK.

Dustin jumped, almost dropping his keys.

“I’m coming!” Dustin shouted over his shoulder. When he turned Steve was grinning at him, snickering to himself. He peered over his douche-glasses and gave Dustin a goofy little wave.

Dustin rolled his eyes and tugged at the car’s door handle. It didn’t budge. Steve hit the button for the passenger side window and Dustin was forced to wait for it to slowly roll down.

“Taxi to Indianapolis for a Mr. Henderson. Got the right address?”

“Open the door, Steve.”

“Sorry, I’m gonna need you to confirm the passphrase. Company policy.” He shrugged.

“Is it, we’re already running late so open the goddamn door?”

Steve rolled his eyes but unlocked the door so Dustin could finally get in already.

“And whose fault is that?” Steve asked as he started them down the road. Dustin huffed. He was still mad at Steve.

“Yours. You said you’d have Robin already - so now we’re behind schedule.”

“It was please by the way.” Steve glanced his way grinning as he turned on the radio. “Wanted to pick something you’d never in a million years guess.”

“Har har.” Dustin said, humorlessly as he buckled in. He eyed Steve. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I am.” Steve said, checking his hair in his review mirror and flashing himself a grin.

Dustin did a double take when he noticed - Steve was wearing Eddie’s vest. It definitely looked like it had been dragged through the Upside Down. But he had to admit the battle worn look suited it. To Dustin’s surprise, it kind of suited Steve too. He had a white T-shirt underneath, blue jeans, and red converse sneakers. His hair was tall and meticulously coiffed.

Dustin spent quite a while on his own hair tonight, though it wasn’t nearly as expertly styled. Never gonna beat the master at their own game right?

Dustin was glad Steve made an effort to blend at least. The rest of the party had too. Dustin was wearing a black tshirt with ‘Corroded Coffin’ painted in angular white lettering across the front. Dustin had made sure they all brought shirts to school today for Will to paint. He’s glad he put Will in charge of that because they actually came out pretty awesome.

“What’s up man?” Steve asked, taking off his sunglasses when he noticed Dustin’s sour face.

“How’s Robin?” Dustin asked pointedly.

“Uh, she’s fine, thanks.” Dustin glared at him, unimpressed.

“Uh huh.” He said shortly. There was a moment of silence before Steve spoke again.

“So uh, how’s Eddie?”

“Why do you care?” Dustin said.

“I don’t.” Steve shrugged. “Just makin’ conversation.” He said. There was another pause. Steve was drumming along to the radio on the steering wheel. “You guys have been hanging out a lot this week.”

How would Steve even know that?

“What? Did Robin tell you after we came by the store?” Steve looked over at him, as if confused by his antagonist tone.

“Uh, nope. I- “

“She knows about the flowers, Steve.” Dustin said. Steve squinted side long at him, opening his mouth and closing it again.

“Ok?” He said. Waiting for Dustin to continue. Dustin waited until they rolled to a stop at a stop sign.

“What the hell Steve!” Dustin said, smacking him in the arm.

“Hey! You what the hell.” Steve said, holding a palm up to shield himself from further abuse.

“I can’t believe you! I asked her how she liked the flowers you got her and she had no idea what I was talking about!”

“What? Ok, Jesus Christ. Dude, how many times do I have to tell you, we aren’t dating. It’s - it’s not like that, alright. We’re just - Robin’s my best friend.”

“Yeah well have you told her that? She seemed really hurt Steve.” Dustin scolded him.

“Man, I don’t know what you thinks going on but it’s not. I promise.”

“Just, talk to her ok?”

“What, suddenly your the love guru?” Steve huffed.

“Yes!” Dustin cried. “You have a really good thing, Steve. Don’t fuck this up. Have you guys even had an actual conversation about this shit? Like talked about what you guys are in plain words even once.”

Steve sighed, beleaguered. Steve stopped at a red light, fully turning to face Dustin. As if he thought looking him in the eye would better get his point across. Or more likely, finally get Dustin to shut up.

“I’m not having this conversation. You’re a kid, alright. You just don’t get it. You don’t always need to - spell everything out. We’re on the same page, trust me.”

“I don’t know Steve. That sounds like a really easy way for someone to get hurt.”

“I - “ Steve started but then he stopped himself. He paused for a moment, staring into space. The light turned green.

“Steve.” Dustin said, and Steve’s head jerked back up. “The light.”

“Yeah. Right.” He turned onto Lucas’ street.

“So you’ll talk to her?”

“God, is there a reason you have to be so nosey. Me and Robin have nothing to talk about. We are definitely on the same page.”

“Definitely?”

“Definitley.” He assured Dustin. Dustin continued to glare at him.

“Look, I’ll - “ Steve sighed, passing a hand through is hair before quickly checking it’s structural integrity in the mirror. “I’ll think about what you said ok?”

“You better.” Dustin huffed, trying to keep up his stone cold front at least a few seconds longer. “I don’t want to see you fuck this up. You seem, I dunno - happy? Or - whatever.”

Steve hummed, looking out at the road with a contemplative smile.

They stopped at Lucas’ house to grab him and Max, and then headed to Family Video.

“Dude, are you wearing Eddie’s vest?” Lucas said as he and Max climbed into the back seat. Lucas was wearing a matching Corroded Coffin shirt. Max was not. She’s too cool to participate in things.

“You know, just once you could say something like, hey Steve, thanks for the ride. Maybe? Just to keep things interesting.”

“Yeah did you really never give that back?” Max said, ignoring him.

“No, Eddie, he uh, told me to hold onto it.” Steve said, smiling and adjusting the collar in the mirror.

Max scoffed a little laugh, but kept her eyes out the window.

Next they went to pick Robin up from her late shift.

It took a few honks before Robin emerged from the building, calling “Thanks, Todd!” over her shoulder.

She crossed the parking lot, struggling to get into her denim jacket.

“Sorry it took so long Steve, I had to change in the bathroom and let me tell you, that little - “ she managed to crawl into her jacket, then halted when she looked up and saw Dustin in the front.

“You didn’t pick me up first.” She said, standing outside the passenger side door.

Steve shrugged half heartedly apologetic.

“Out of my seat, Gremlin’s 2.” She opened the door and jerked her head in a motion that made it clear she expected Dustin to clear out.

“Yeesh. Not even the original?” He said, reluctantly acquiescing and going to jam in with the others in the back.

Robin got into the car stared at Steve intently.

“You didn’t pick me up first.” She repeated. “I told you to come get me first.”

“I - yeah. The kids were closer. Didn’t want to waste time backtracking in case there’s traffic.”

“Pft. He was just running late.” Dustin said.

“I bet it was because he spent like, 2 hours doing his hair.” Max snorted.

“Alright, that’s enough - from the peanut gallery. Sorry, Robbie.” Robin frownedz. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.”

“Why, what’s up?” Steve said, pulling out of the parking lot so they could finally get on the rode. It was already 6:07! The whole night was turning out to be a disaster.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just was hoping to chat.”

“I literally just called you.” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Just - Nevermind.” She grimaced.

Dustin caught her eye in the rearview mirror and winked.

Her face paled in a mask of frustration and horror. A look that said, what did you do now, if Dustin’s ever seen one.

“Jesus Christ.” She murmured quietly.

“Hmm?” Steve titled his head towards Robin.

“Nothing!”

Reply (make sure to mention the TagList!) to get added

ALSO just as a little treat for me, comment w what the fuck YOU think is going on with Steddie. I Really wanna know if I’ve done a decent job conveying That Whole Mess via second hand subtext

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[rebelfell]

have some more bestfriend!eddie flangst, you animals.

a sequel to this, which is a prequel to this.

Johnny wasn’t so bad. 

He was handsome enough and his cropped haircut suited his face. It showed off his high cheekbones and the angular lines of his strong jaw. He did crew, so he had nice broad shoulders with arms that were lightly muscled from lots of hours logged on the rowing machine. And he had a disarming sort of smile, his mostly straight teeth framed by strangely plump pink lips.

It was an odd thing to think, but he actually kind of looked a little bit like Eddie.

A distorted, alternate universe, almost cursed version of him, that is. Because, come on—Eddie Munson with blue eyes? Some things were too ludicrous to even consider. And picturing those warm and inviting deep brown irises replaced by Johnny’s cool, ocean blue orbs…

The thought alone almost made you shudder.

Aside from his looks, Johnny was also absurdly charming. He laid lines on you like it was his job and yet never came off smarmy or disingenuous. Confidence just oozed off him like molten lava, as if he had never experienced even a second of self-doubt one time in his whole life. Clearly, he kneels aware of everything he had going for him.

So no, Johnny wasn’t all bad.

But he wasn’t all good, either.

Your first few dates had all been at bars where you just happened to link up with some brothers from his fraternity. He then spent the majority of the evening carrying on with them, lazily draping his arm across your shoulders and whispering a sardonic running commentary in your ear.

He never outright ignored you, but it seemed there was always something to draw away his wandering eyes—a game playing on the TV, one of his friends sinking a shot in pool or hitting a bullseye in darts, a pretty girl in a low-cut top passing briefly through his peripheral vision.

It was never anything that felt worth exerting the effort of getting annoyed over, though. He’d been very upfront with you about what he was looking for and not being the “boyfriend” type. The word around campus was he was nursing a serious case of heartbreak and still carried a fairly massive torch for his ex, Crystal.

Which was quite honestly fine by you.

Like most of the people you dated, he was ultimately just a distraction. Someone nice and cute, inoffensive and disposable. Someone to keep you warm on particularly lonely nights.

And Johnny kept you extremely warm. Literally.

He always ran weirdly hot, which was nice in some respects. Like tonight, when he parked his car under the cover of some trees on the side of some deserted lane he found far too quickly for it to be coincidental. The moment he cut off the engine, the chilly evening air had begun to leak into the cabin and had you sitting closer to him in the backseat and clinging onto him a little tighter than you normally might have.

Kissing him was like making out with a furnace, but he was a very good kisser—no doubt having had plenty of practice. And the longer it went on, the harder it got not to think about the pair of lips his reminded you of so much. With your eyes squeezed shut and the two of you lit only by the scant traces of moonlight illuminating the edges of your entwined limbs, it became a little too easy to imagine a different set of hands running up your sides, sliding up your sweater.

But when your hand drifted up, fingers expecting to wind into long and wiry waves, and you found yourself gripping futilely at short blonde hairs behind his ears, the illusion shattered.

Your shoulders shook in a shiver as your chest was exposed, the simple lace bralette not nearly as insulating as your thick knit top. Lips popping off yours, Johnny pulled back to get a look at what he’d unveiled and you felt a little tremor of worry sneak down your spine.

“Huh,” he said with an amused chuckle.

Not exactly the reaction you’re going for when you take your shirt off for a guy. 

“Something wrong?” you asked pointedly. His head jerked up, like he had forgotten there was a person attached to the body he’d been pawing at for the last hour and a half.

“Hmm? Oh, no, I just noticed something s’all,” he answered, surging in for another kiss. 

You planted your hand in the center of his irritatingly toned chest and pushed him back. 

“Noticed what?”

“S’nothing, baby,” he told you with an easy smile. “One of ‘em’s just way bigger. Look—”

And before you could say anything, before you could fully register what he was doing, he had put one of his hands on each of your breasts and he pushed them up to demonstrate. And it was hard, nigh impossible, to deny how your right one filled out his hand significantly more than the left.

With a huff, you yanked the bottom of your sweater down, forcing his hands to drop as well.

“What? What did I say?” he asked, blinking at you far too dumbly for someone as smart as him.

“Just take me home, please. I have a lot of work I need to get done.”

His mouth opened, no doubt to protest, but you had already pushed open the car door to climb out and get back in the front seat. You’d then spent the rest of the ride home quietly seething while he attempted to assure you he “didn’t mean it that way” and that “it’s not a bad thing.” 

But even with his over-abundance of body heat, there was no chance of him thawing you out.

You honestly didn’t believe he said it maliciously, you just figured he could have been a little more diplomatic? It wasn’t like you didn’t realize there was a balance issue—they were your boobs for chrissake, did he think you never noticed?

It was just no one else had ever felt the need to point it out so thoroughly.

Still, you nodded mutely when he pulled up to your apartment and asked if he could call you the next day. And you hated yourself more for it with every stair you climbed to your floor.

The flashing light on your answering machine drew your eye as you skulked through the door and tossed your purse on the kitchen counter. The jangle of your keys sounded especially loud in your empty apartment and you heaved a sigh as you pressed ‘play’ on the way to the fridge for a beer. You’d just touched the rim of the bottle to your lip when you heard Eddie’s voice.

“Hey, I might need an emergency extraction ASAP—Steve and Robin dragged me to karaoke and they’re about to do dueling STYX covers. You’re my only hope! Come! Pleeeease!”

He sounded just a little bit tipsy rambling off the address of some bar he was probably outside of calling you desperately from a pay phone. If you closed your eyes, you could see his sweet and lopsided smile as he laughed into the receiver, his warm breath fogging up the glass siding, fingerless-gloved hands tracing shapes in the condensation while he talked.

A spiral. A lightning bolt.

The first letter of your name.

The machine beeped and his voice filled your apartment again, sounding much less jovial and much more sober, this time most likely calling from the comfort of the recliner in his trailer.

“Hey, sorry, I forgot you were out with what’s-his-name. Uhh…I just got home. Call me when you get in? If you want, y’know, assuming you’re not…busy. Or, um. N-never mind. Night.”

His message had barely finished playing before you snatched your keys back up and headed out the door. You couldn’t say for sure what spurred your spontaneous trip, but you didn’t stop long enough to wonder. Maybe you were just lonely. Maybe you were just sad.

Maybe you just needed to be around someone you knew wanted to be around you.

You let yourself inside his darkened trailer with the key he’d given you, sneaking silently down the hall towards his bedroom door that was outlined in gold from his bedside lamp on the other side. Had it not been for the rumble of his stereo, you might have thought he was asleep.

“JESUS CHR—”

The yelp he let out when you opened his door made you giggle. He scrambled to sit up, not so subtly flinging away the magazine that had been spread open in front of him. His top half was bare, tattooed chest heaving as he clutched at it and panted trying to catch his breath.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he accused, the fondness in his voice leaking through despite his attempt to sound angry. A smile twitched up the corner of your mouth as your brow arched.

“Sure you don’t mean the jizz?” you asked.

“I’m not—”

Eddie’s chest puffed up angrily until you fixed him with a Look that made it deflate. He glanced at the Heavy Metal on the floor and gave you a cheeky smile and a guilty shrug instead.

“That’s what you get for breaking an entering, sweetheart.” 

“Well, you think you can get friendly with yourself a little later? I kinda had a bad night.”

The wounded tone in your voice caught Eddie’s ear. He nodded and gave you one of those “you don’t have to ask” sort of smiles you had kind of been hoping for. You nodded back succinctly and went to open the drawer in his dresser that had begun to accumulate your clothes.

“Do…do you wanna talk about it?” Eddie asked, his dry throat aching as he tried to swallow.

With your back turned, you couldn’t see the way his eyes l bulged when you tugged down your jeans to replace them with sweats, and you definitely couldn’t see the way he plopped a pillow on his lap as you stripped off your sweater and put on a t-shirt in its place.

“Nah,” you told him, resolute and flat. “It’s stupid, anyway.”

Eddie didn’t need to hear about some blonde douchebag feeling you up. He didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t like he cared about your dates one way or another. And it’s not like what happened was that bad, you reminded yourself again as he switched off the light.

You curled up on the side of the bed closest to the window—your side—and folded your arms under the deflated sack of feathers posing as a pillow to support your head. As you lay there, waiting for unconsciousness to overtake you, you heard the low murmur of Eddie’s voice that was drowsy with sleep and rough from the joint he’d smoked whose scent still lingered in the air.

Only the first bit, a slurred “g’night sweetheart” reached your ears. The rest was unintelligible. Something about shoving you?

“Did you say something?” you whispered to him.

“No,” he answered after a long pause. “No, noth…nothing important.”

if you had told me the guy who commented on our boobies in the first part was gonna end up being Johnny Storm…

ty for reading. love you, mean it! 🪭

[robjn93]

˗ˏˋ stephanie brown accessible entry point

this is a list of comics to understand the basics of her character! ive seen a lot of people who didnt know where to start to read so ive compiled this list to make it as easy as possible for new readers to get into stephanie brown

who is stephanie brown?

daughter of the criminal and abusive father cluemaster (arthur brown), she became the spoiler to ‘spoil’ her father’s robbery and overall to protect herself and her mother from him. eventually she digs the vigilante life. she becomes robin briefly and is currently one of the batgirls!

as SPOILER:

⟢ secret origins: 80-page giant

this comic /technically/ is set in the future and is steph ‘telling the story of her childhood’ but honestly i find it pretty suitable even with no context and a must read in my eyes to understand her motives and character

⟢ detective comics 647 - 649

her first appearance… with the iconic brick in the face 😭 this comic is not set in a precise timeline, just post-robin 1991 and pre-knightfall so you can read it with no context as well!

⟢ showcase ‘95 #5 (second story)

PLEASE READ THIS i never see it in reading lists and its sooo important to me. it shows steph’s strained relationship with her mother when her dad is not in the picture and briefly some of her school life!

i’d say read robin (1993) afterwards because it consistently features steph, as much as it is ‘tim’s solo run’, but here THE most important stories (they were very hard to pick)

⟢ robin (1993) #3 - 5

her first appearance in the monthly! and lordd the timsteph here makes me sick. tim being saved by steph 🫶 also more on her and her mom as crystal is starting recovery from drug addiction

⟢ robin (1993) issue 15 - 16

not gonna lie, a huge part of me wants me to suggest it because you get to see arthur get his ass kicked by steph (sweet revenge) but theres also steph being saved by tim for a change and more on steph’s relationship with her dad

⟢ robin (1993) #35

this story for me conveys properly the impact that steph’s upbringing had on her sense of justice and morality being fundamentally different from batman and robin’s, something tim and bruce just can’t understand

⟢ robin (1993) #40 - 41

warning / implied SA (ariana ☹️) the story is a two-parter, steph’s side in issue 40 uses diary entries to explain how she feels about the whole vigilante ordeal. issue 41 is more timsteph oriented but it shows tim finally acknowledging his feelings for steph

⟢ huntress/spoiler: blunt trauma

this story happens during cataclysm but its not necessary to read the whole thing + dean’s first appearance 😒 he is the scumbag bastard ‘father of steph’s child’ + helena and steph linkup!!

⟢ robin (1993) #54 and 56-57

BAD CASE OF THE STEPHS MENTIONED + steph and crystal bonding and tim and steph getting together!!! + robin 57 as guilty pleasure :3 their first official date

⟢ robin (1993) #58-65

warning: dixon tackling teen pregnancy. we all know how that goes. remember dean? well steph got pregnant! and that guy bailed on her. dean when i get you. this arc breaks me everytime, steph you deserve the world ☹️

⟢ lewis era robin (1993) aka robin #100 - 120 HEAVY ON ROBIN 111

warning for SA / glimpses on steph’s childhood + dealing with the fact that her father is dead etc etc that will just make you think we should all just kill ourselves yk!!!!

as ROBIN:

⟢ robin (1993) #126 - 128

warning: debatable writing. robin steph! but take everything with like 5 pinches of different salts 😭 its bad y’all but it is essential. dan didio when i get your ass. dan didio when i get youuu

⟢ steph is dead! arc aka batman 634, detective comics 800 and 809, batgirl 62

i fucking hate war games so im not putting y'all through that. here instead: tim being so overcome by grief he can barely react to steph's passing, bruce remembering steph and cass hallucinating her as she is about to die

after that please just imagine that steph came back cause about every issue after her death was the worst ooc writing ever so, again, not putting you guys through that (its tough for stephanie brown fans)

as BATGIRL:

⟢ batgirl (2009)

i wanna say im conflicted about its writing but its about the best thing steph had post-revival. they constantly insult her spoiler legacy so not a fan of that!! but it is essential and i mostly like the rest so whatever :3 steph’s uni arc!

after that honestly nothing happened for her character, so heres on hoping she gets more stuff

[fanbasetwo]

✦ ZB1 MAKNAE LINE TAKING CARE OF THEIR GIRLFRIEND WHILE SHE'S ON HER PERIODS!

001. PAIRING , zb1 maknae line ! afab reader

002. GENRE , scenario, reaction work

003. WARNING(S) , mentions of blood and cramps obviously, kissing, cuddling, pet names, lmk if more

NOTE FROM SENA , literally on my periods as I write this. basically dedicated to me and my period twin @teaxeee! take care of yourself sweetie 🤍 MASTERLIST!!

SHEN RICKY . . . ✦

“Baby, are you okay?” Ricky's voice rang out once more, tinted with a sense of worry. He had completely lost track of how many times he had checked on you that day, but he just couldn't help it. Not knowing how long you had been in the bathroom was one more reason Ricky was getting even more anxious because you were on your period. When you finally got out, you walked slowly, looking totally pale and sickly. His sharp gaze picked it up at once. “You should have just told me,” he murmured and came up to you in seconds. Without letting you say another word, he swept you off your feet into his arms, once again swooping you with ease. Unable to protest, you buried your head into his chest while the unrelenting beat of his heart soothed your pain. “I've got you,” he whispered in that soft way of his, escorting you to the couch, where comfort and Ricky's caring heart awaited.

KIM GYUVIN . . . ✦

You lay awake in bed, glaring spitefully at your boyfriend, who was snoring softly beside you. Gyuvin was such a picture of peace, blissfully ignorant of your battle with the dreadful cramps. The green-eyed monster made its home in your rib cage. “Hey! Quit snoring,” you whispered, poking him hard. Maybe it was the mood swings, or perhaps it was pure injustice, but if you could not get any sleep, he would not either. Gyuvin stirred before opening his eyes slowly. He did not say anything but shamelessly nestled you closer while curling you in the protective embrace of his arms. For a moment, he let his hands fall on your belly. Circles his fingers with slow and soft movements on your belly “Still hurts?” he managed to say, a little sleepy but shown great care and gentleness. Your growing outrage melted halfway into oblivion as you gazed into his half-open eyes and tousled hair. “Not much now,” you murmured against his touch. He surely was your haven amid all this pain.

PARK GUNWOOK . . . ✦

Gunwook wasn't the type who liked much physical touch, but he had pretty much been nothing but kind to you. That didn't prevent him from being justifiably frightened of your moods during your periods. Today was no different. “What is wrong?” he asked, freaking out because you suddenly broke into tears. His dark sarcasm, one that regularly made you laugh, had surprisingly worked against him. “Did I say something wrong? Baby, please...” he was just racking his brain now to come to terms with what click had gone awry. In the moment, tears bubbling in your throat, you slurred something unintelligible, leaving him even more frazzled. But Gunwook would never give up on you. He scooped you into his arms and began to cover your tear-stained cheeks with desperate but awkward kisses. “Don't cry,” he murmured, sounding much more like his usual self. “I'll stop making jokes, I promise.” It was typecast to make him cringe, but he'd surely do anything else, probably endure your periods, just to get a smile back on your face.

HAN YUJIN . . . ✦

Yujin had always been the shy one in your relationship, and while you were still navigating its early stages, moments of awkwardness were inevitable—like today. Unaware of the red spot that had appeared on your pants, you walked beside him after your date, chatting casually. Yujin suddenly slowed, his cheeks tinged pink as he glanced at you. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, his voice soft but steady. Before you could respond, he was already shrugging off his jacket and draping it gently over your shoulders. It was oversized, enveloping you completely and, unbeknownst to you, discreetly covering the red period spot on your pants. You blinked at him, confused by his sudden action but touched by the gesture. “Thanks…” you mumbled, still unsure what had prompted it. Yujin gave a small, reassuring smile, his hand brushing yours. He didn’t need to say anything; his quiet thoughtfulness spoke volumes.

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[sweatyracoon]

Unlikely Scene

Based on this edit

A/n: I watched this edit and literally screamed. I would kill for them fr fr 💀

Warnings: smut? Knife play, blood? Death, Sub reader, knife fucking, fear play? Threesome, penetration, mxm, dom Lee know, switch Seungmin, freaky reader, let me know if I missed anything

You had known for while who your boyfriends were. And it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You were surprised when you first found out, but you were quick to assure them that you were heavily into it.

Ever since the killings had started, and you heard about it from the news, you were more intrigued than scared. You had always had a macabre fascination for murderers and their reasonings. You had studied a lot of them, in fact. Even fell in love with the idea of dating a killer, hoping that he would use it against you if he ever got angry with you. Threaten you with any weapon of their choice. Make you beg.

It made your knees weak just thinking about it.

When you saw that iconic black mask with a face that looked as if it were melting, you felt your heart flutter. Not in fear, but curiosity. The news itself had said each killing had started with a phone call. The killer was male, and enjoyed toying with his victims. That was all they knew. It made you fantasize about him, and how his voice sounded. You had become obsessed with this killer in particular.

To have a notorious serial killer in your lifetime made you squeal in excitement, and not only that, he was in your town! Why you were excited, you didn’t know. You knew that you should be afraid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be.

You kept your doors and windows locked, but you stayed up, wondering who was next. If you knew them. If he was anywhere near you. What type of blade did he use? Did he even use a blade? What if he used just regular kitchen scissors? You couldn’t help it as your mind wandered during the early hours.

You finally drifted to sleep.

The next day, reports were consistently flowing through the news about the new killer, and how the locals had dubbed him Ghostface. The name made you shiver, the sound of it rolling off your tongue in admiration.

How could he have gotten a fan following so quickly?

You unlocked your phone, inputting his name in the tag bar, millions of posts appearing in seconds. You saw pictures of people wearing a similar mask, but you noticed that none of them were the same. It made you wonder if the killers mask was custom made. You also saw fake deaths and pretty girls chewing their bubble gum while calling the guy a creep.

They might be next, you hoped, rolling your eyes.

A couple weeks later, two more deaths were caused at the hands of your new obsession, the people unknown to you. You didn’t lose any sleep over it. But you noticed that the next video caught of him, his body was slightly different. To most people, they wouldn’t notice. But you watched this man closely. The next photo was the same mask. The scuff near the chin and the small indent near the right eye didn’t go unseen by you, but this body was a few inches taller, and his shoulders broader.

That’s not him…is it?

You suddenly doubted yourself, unsure if you were paying enough attention. You cursed at yourself, pulling out your phone, looking at your ghostface file.

Okay. You confirmed that it most definitely wasn’t the same guy. The original was smaller, and more built. This guy was a tall scrawny guy. But the robes and large mask made it hard to see. Even the news people didn’t even notice it. They kept on speaking as if it were your killer. But it wasn’t. You sighed out, suddenly wondering if this was a two man job? Maybe three? Or if this was just a phony that wanted attention.

You sighed, hopping in the shower on your second floor. You didn’t even hear your phone ringing, the shower flooding your ear drums, the steam making you lazy.

When you stepped out, you noticed the missed call. It was from an unknown number, making you shrug, drying your hair. Two minutes later as you’re putting on your shorts, your phone rings again. The same number.

You answer, wiping your legs.

“Hello, y/n,” a raspy voice greeted, making you freeze.

“Hello? Do I know you?” You ask casually, dropping your towel at your feet.

“You might have seen me on tv. I’m a pretty big deal right now, some might say…an icon,” he said, chuckling a bit at the end. You barely caught it.

You had a feeling as to where this was going. You remembered that the news lady said it all started with a phone call. Your breath hitched in your throat, but your insides turned to jello, arousal pooling in your stomach.

“Well, give me a hint, then. What type of people consider you an icon?” You turned slowly, facing your bathroom door, looking passed the hinges into your room. Empty.

“The not so nice people. The ones that want to hurt others…People that crave violence, that worship the wrong god…And guess what? I see that you idolize me, princess. So which type of person are you? You don’t seem violent, just curious,” You could tell he was using a voice changer, but despite knowing it was fake, your thighs clenched together at his on point answer. You breathed deeply.

“I-How did-?” You stuttered, your face flushing. You had all of your Ghostface memorabilia in the guest bedroom, and if he knew that you geeked out over him, that meant he was here. In your home. You were next.

“You must worship the wrong god, sweetheart. Such a shame it has to be you tonight,” he almost sounded genuine, but it was hard to tell with his altered voice. You stepped forward towards your bed, sitting at the edge.

“You’re here?” You whispered, earning a laugh from him.

“Yes, sweetheart. I am.”

Your eyes glazed over, the reality of the situation reaching you before you knew it. A shudder ran through you, and you decided to press your luck. It was silent on the other end, and you took your chance.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?”

You heard a small gasp from him, making you lightly smile.

“Sir? Well with such nice manners, I shall grant you a question or two,” his voice was the same, but the tone turned slightly more playful.

“Are there…are there two of you? I noticed that, you looked a bit different from before…It’s hard to explain-“ you were cut off with a solid answer.

“Yes. There are two of us. A team, if you will,” his voice was thin now, almost reserved, which was so different then the previous playful killer that you had gotten used to in those few minutes.

“Lucky for you, we both came tonight,”

Your eyes widened, unsure how to feel at that statement. Both? What did that mean for you? Are they both gonna try and kill you? Was one here to take pictures while the other stabbed you to death? Your mind wandered, not hearing what he said to you before hanging up.

Your hand dropped to your side, your phone sliding from your palm and onto the floor. You sat still, suddenly aware of the footsteps coming from your hallway. They sounded heavy, and moved with a purpose.

Your eyes caught the black robes as they glided into your room, a knife in his hand. Just one?

He paused in front of you, frozen. You wondered what he was thinking, considering he was wearing the damn mask. You felt your panties sticking to your wet core, making you move your legs. You were desperately hoping he would take the mask off at least once before he killed you. You wanted to see the face of the man that had gotten you hooked over the past few months. It was the least he owed you.

He shifted on his feet, not coming closer.

He almost looked uncomfortable. You tilted your head.

“Were you the one on the phone?” You asked calmly, causing the man to recoil in response.

“I was,” you heard a voice say from your hallway.

You didn’t even hear his steps. When he emerged, he was wearing the same outfit and mask as the other, and you noticed how he was the taller of the two, the one with the broad shoulders. You gasped. He took his palace next to his comrade, towering over both he and you.

“Well?” He cooed, his voice significantly different from how he sounded on the phone. It was lighter and angelic. He could be a singer during the day. He tilted his head as you did to the other, his posture making you feel things you had never felt before.

“Can I see you both? Before you…you know?” You cringe at the thought of death, and the shorter of the two recoiled yet again.

“Why aren’t you running? You should be scared,” he finally spoke, his English slightly broken. Almost as if he was from out of the country.

“Cause she’s fucked up. Ain’t that right sweetheart?” The taller answered for you, making your mouth dry. His voice was so sweet, but his tone condescending. All you could do was stare as thy looked at each other through the masks.

“Let’s let her see. After all, she isn’t gonna be around much longer tonight,” he sighed, almost as if it were a chore.

Your focus was now pointed at them fully, watching the smaller struggle internally before sighing as well, nodding. They both reached for the hems of the masks, tugging the off. At first you couldn’t see their faces, shaking their heads to fix their messy hair. But when they flipped them up, your jaw dropped.

They were absolutely gorgeous. The shorter, his features were sharp, his eyes slanted like a cat. And his lips were thin, his bunny teeth showing as he cringed at the feeling of his hair pointing in every direction. His adams apple shaped like a heart as he tilted his neck to pop it. His gaze was intense as he observed you. His muscular build framed by the robe.

The taller of the two, scrawny, but firm. His broad shoulders held his beautiful face, his cheeks round, and his eyes big and devastating, reminding you of a puppy. His hair brown with a blonde bang. And his lips framed the silver braces shimmering as he smiled.

You fought the urge to make a noise of plea.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” The taller asked with a grin, making you gulp.

You didn’t respond, unsure if there was a right answer or not. You continued looking at them, unable to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, sighing at the friction.

“Answer me.” His voice deepened, almost like a growl. You gasped when he came to stop in front of you, grabbing your chin to look up at him.

“Are you turned on right now?” He questioned, a mocking tone lacing his voice as he grinned at you.

Your eyes watered slightly, feeling a little spacey.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

He laughed, letting go of your chin, making you whine at the loss of his touch. He stepped back, his grin spreading as he went to whisper something into his friend’s ear. His eyes darkened as he smirked, both turning to you with lust in their gaze.

“Lay down,” the shorter barked the order, and you obeyed immediately, making their eyes widen in shock. They didn’t expect you to comply so easily.

“What should I call you guys?” You mutter, watching as they both went to opposite sides of the bed.

The looked at each other before nodding.

“Lee Know,” the boy said at your right.

“Seungmin,” the one on your left said.

Their names were beautiful to you, and suddenly you wanted to sing them as a mantra, your own prayer. But you held back, not wanting this moment to end.

They both just stared at what you for what felt like hours, your legs brushing against each other to relieve yourself any way you could. Your eyes caught Seungmin gaze, locking onto him as you admired him from your position. You didn’t notice Lee know moving his knife to brush against your throat, making you freeze, eyes widened but still focused on seungmin.

You felt the cool metal brush against your skin, moving lower, reaching your top. He paused before moving above them lower. You whined at the muted feeling of the knife above your clothes, making them both chuckle.

“Your liking this aren’t you, sweetheart? You like Lee Knows knife?” Seungmin cooed, bringing his hand up to caress your face.

You sniffled, “Yes,” you whine, your legs twitching when he pushed the tip of the board into your inner thigh. A slight prick that made you see stars. You turned to look at the other man, watching as he slipped it into the waistband of your shorts.

He used his other hand, using it and the knife to pull them off, immediately noticing you wearing nothing underneath. He groaned, tossing your shorts to the side. You gasped when the blade met your skin again, the sudden chill painful before heating into a deep fire.

“Then you wouldn’t mind him fucking you with it?” Your eyes widened, turning back to Seungmin, seeing his cocky grin. He brushed a hair from your face, raising his brows. “What, sweetheart? You don’t want this? Don’t want us?”

If you were in your right mind, you would be able to tell he was manipulating you, but you were too far gone to care, and you really wanted this. Wanted them.

“I want it! Please! I want it so bad…” you groaned, moving your hips slightly.

Seungmin smiled before watching Lee know flip the knife, placing the handle at your entrance.

The handle with warm from his hands, a deep contrast to the chill of the blade.

“Ready?” Lee Know asked. You barely had the chance to respond as he thrusted the handle in, pressing it to the hilt. The beginning of the blade hit your ass, but he positioned it to where it couldn’t cut you.

You moaned loudly, your back arching as he started thrusting the handle at a steady pace. You whimpered, turning back to Seungmin. He no longer held his mocking smile, instead his face filled with concentration as he watched where Lee Knows hands met your middle, his braces showing from his open mouth.

“You like it, Seungmo? She pretty, ain’t she?” Lee Know slurred, staring at his friend.

“So pretty, Minnie,” he breathed, listening to the squelching of your pussy. He looked up and caught his gaze, both of them staring at each other. It made your toes curl.

Suddenly Lee know pushed forward, capturing seungmin in a kiss. He was caught by surprise, but melted into it, quickly slipping tongue. You watched as you were being fucked, the sight alone enough to make you finish.

You felt the coil in your stomach burn hotter with each second, but it finally snapped when you heard the high pitch moan from seungmin. You came hard as the boys separated, a string of saliva connecting them together.

“Good girl, y/n,” Lee Know mumbled, his lips wet and swollen.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing.

You opened your eyes to see them both staring at you, their eyes glossy and focused.

“Did the knife cut you?” Seungmin asked, reaching for your discarded shorts.

You huffed out, not expecting that question.

“No…are you guys gonna…?” You made a slash motion at your neck, watching seungmin look at you hard.

“No…But I have another idea for you,” his playful tone back, he grinned at the two of you.

“Be our girlfriend. Our watchdog. Let us know if anyone’s on to us. I see you already have done plenty of research, sweetheart,” His head tilted as he grinned at you.

You looked at Lee know, and he nodded, smiling. You noticed the slick on the handle of the knife. You reached for it, Lee know flinching, thinking you were going to retaliate. Instead, you brought it to your lips, licking it seductively as you looked at them both.

“I’d be honored,” you giggled, making them smile.

That’s how you all become partners in crime <3

[me-owte]

Perfection

Sol being the perfect boyfriend. Is there anything that could be amiss?

SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT MINORS DNI !!! Use of they/them pronouns for reader and no explicit genitalia is mentioned Pre-established relationship, Sol beats up a pervert in front of you

Sol was perfect, the most incredible boyfriend you could ever imagine having.

From spontaneous dates at cafes or the arcade- where all expenses are covered by him before you could even think about offering your own cash. To the daily meals meticulously home cooked to perfection. Hell, the way his lips would worship your skin in bursts of affectionate kisses never made you feel anything less than a god.

"You're too good for me," you whisper under your breath, tangling your fingers through his two toned hair. Sol embraces you, cuddled up on your couch as a movie you've forgotten about plays in the background.

You feel him smile into your collar, briefly pressing his teeth into your skin before pulling back. The look in his eyes, lovesick to an incredible degree, tells you everything you need to know about the way he feels. "No pumpkin, you're the one that's too good for me."

Before you can protest, he's back on your collar. You yelp at the way he moves your shirt down to gain better access to your skin. His piercing is cold as he moves around, biting and nipping on any surface he can find. Your hands ball in his hair, and you bite back a moan at the way his tongue runs over the curve of your neck. Through whispers under his breath, you hear him muttering praises, a common sound whenever you two are alone.

"You're perfect..."

"Someone like me-"

"I'm so lucky to finally have you..."

"I'll never let you go."

In the heat of the moment, his hand slips under your shirt. And you choose to ignore the implications of his words.

He was perfect, and that word isn't one that should be said lightly. Sol looked at you as if you personally hung every star in the sky. As if you were solely responsible for the sun rising every morning.

As if you were the only thing worth living about in this earthly life of his.

You're in the arcade. You're on the side of a crane machine, peering into the glass as Hyugo tries to control it for success.

"Wait, wait, wait! Move it to the left, you're too far right-" You say, pointing to the spot where the targeted horse plush lays. Sol had gone to the bathroom at the time, leaving you and your friend scrambling as you try to win a plushie for him before he could return.

A fist flies into the air, making contact with a guy you didn't even realize was there. Sol, behind you, heaves from the recoil, glaring down harshly.

"Huh-"

"You... fucking pervert." Sol points down, eyes glowing with fury, hands shaking.

The guy on the floor lifts himself up, and only then you realize a cracked phone lays beside him, open to the camera app. "What the fuck are you-"

Sol bends down, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. "I saw you trying to take a picture of their behind." The man's only response is a look of horror, realization that he'd been caught.

The bright lights of the arcade and scattered sounds of chatter override any attention that could've been brought to the scene. Sol brings his fist up once more, ready to throttle the man. "Hey, we're in public Sunny." The eerily calm voice of Hyugo slices through the tension, cutting through Sol's anger in a moment of realization.

"I oughta take you outside to deal with your shit-" He bites back, glaring at the trembling man.

"F-fuck this, go have your whore-"

"Don't you dare!" Sol's fist flies straight into the man's nose, pure anger in his gaze. He doesn't stop punching, and you grasp Hyugo's arm in anxiety.

"S-sol stop-" You say, looking around to see if anyone else notices the scene. Hyugo tries to stop him swell, moving forward to try and pry him off. Sol only lashes out, shoving his friend to the side.

"Not yet-"

Despite your pleads, he doesn't listen, punching and beating the man until he finds his punishment fit. When Sol finishes, you're shaking.

He reaches out to you with hands stained with blood that aren't his. When you flinch, his eyes go wide. "I-" He looks to the side, and you can't tell if it's due to shame or nerve. "I couldn't just let the guy go, pumpkin. H-how else do you expect me to react?"

You can't help the way you soften at his words, at the clear realization at what he had done shaking his core. You trust he feels bad, and you step over the unconscious body to reach out to him, hands falling to his shoulders. Hyugo moves behind you, grasping at the body to begin work on manipulating the scene.

You hold him and he all but collapses onto you, cries of shame muffled by your clothing. Blood smears on your back from his hands gripping your shirt.

"I-it's okay," You say, whispering softly into his ear. You put hand in his messy hair, patting it to try and give him some semblance of comfort. With a loud sniff, he pulls away and you expect tears to be running down his face.

The look in his eyes is nothing more than pure adoration and devotion.

He was perfect. From the top of his forehead to the tips of his toes, not a single part about him was flawed.

Not a single part.

His hips slap into yours with a passion you find yourself hard to keep up with. Heaving pants and choked back moans fill your bedroom as you're pushed flushed to the mattress.

Sol's cock fucks into you in all the right places.

Long enough to reach the deepest parts of you. The first time you took him in fully, it felt like ages before he finally bottomed out. Every time you stare at the outline of his bulge you blush knowing just how much of him had been inside you nights prior.

Wide enough to stretch you out deliciously with each collision of your hips. He always had to prep you before, stretching you out with his fingers and sometimes his tongue. Sometimes he'd get you to cum just from the foreplay alone.

Curved in such a way he targets that one spot that makes you curl your toes. As soon as he slipped into you, he wouldn't stop bullying that spot. Every thrust of his hips was more intense than the last, focused on driving you over the edge again and again.

"I- I love you," he moans out, pressing his body weight on top of you. His eyes roam over your pleasure filled face unable to constrain yourself due to just how good he was fucking you.

His hand slips between you, groping any exposed skin he can reach. From the curve of your thighs, to the rolls of your hips, to your nipples that rub against his cotton shirt with every movement.

"I love you-" he says with less shakiness, trying to steady himself despite losing his mind in the way you grip around him.

"My darling, my soul mate, my perfect perfect pumpkin," his rambling words barely make sense to your fucked out mind. He dips his head into your neck, biting down in a way that makes you scream.

Your hands run across his back, grasping at the shirt he's always refused to take off. Through the passion of his thrusts, he pushes your bodies together in an attempt to merge your souls into one.

"Sol- S-sol-!" You cry out his name, pushing his head further into your neck, encouraging the way he marks up your skin with proof of his existence. "I'm close, I'm close-" You chant in between gasps you can't control.

His hand moves to your jaw, gripping it tightly as he continues to lap at your neck. "Come for me darling, prove that you're mine-"

With that, you let go, holding him tighter than ever before as your vision goes white. Sol doesn't let up, continuing to pound his cock into you despite the sticky mess.

"Perfect, so perfect," His hips slow down to give you a brief moment of relief from the stimulation. He breaths in the scent of your mixed sex, going straight to his head as he circles his arms around you. Your brain is too fucked out to hear him, instead focused on leveling your breathing. "You're too good for me pumpkin... Too perfect for someone like me... How could I ever let you go now?"

You were perfect. To him, you could do no wrong. To him, you were all that was right in the world.

And now that he's got you in his grasp, he'd do anything to keep it that way.

THE SOL BRAINROT WENT SO HARD I HAD TO MAKE A NEW BLOG FOR YANDERE CONTENT 😭😭😭 Let me know if I should make more or send in a request eyes eyes eyes

First time writing smut like this... I wanted to show how even getting into a relationship with him, even if everything goes well, there's still that air of obsession and something being wrong.

Might explore the idea more but for now the desire for smut won LOLOL

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Play TKATB here!

[nightlyrequiem]

What if Valeria's s/o was one of those professional cheerleaders, like the ones that not only dance at games but also compete in competitions and does those Olympic level stunts.

ahhhh love this, one of my favourite movies is actually But I'm a Cheerleader. Not very relevant, I don't think. But it has a cheerleader. I also just imagined Reader in a little cheer uniform doing a whole routine for her while she tortures someone.

Valeria's Cheerleader

Valeria adores her cheerleader partner. It doesn’t matter if she met them at a game, or saw one of their competitions. She was impressed with them. She was honestly mesmerized when watching them do all those impossible flips. Getting thrown into the air and landing on their feet like a cat.

Im going to be honest here, I feel like Valeria is the type to not consider cheerleading a sport. That does change after she watched some of her partner’s more extensive, challenging routines. The flexibility shocked her too.

She brags about them. Not a whole lot and very subtly but she does slip it in some conversations. If for whatever reason a conversations about partners comes up she won’t hesitate to drop the fact that hers is a literal cheerleader. Not everyone can date a cheerleader but she can.

She loves the cheer uniform too. Valeria actually has a cheer skin in game. So I like to think she sometimes dresses up in it if her and her partner are similar sizes. It’s not even necessarily a sexual thing either, she just really likes the way it looks.

Valeria will also try to help her partner in some of her practice routines. She’s not that good at it. She’s strong enough to help lift them but she’s clumsy and a little uncoordinated. She also dropped her partner one time and dislocated a toe. She felt stupid and didn’t want to participate for months after that.

Valeria is a busy woman, I can’t tell how many times I’ve typed out that sentence but it’s true. She’s busy. She tries to make it to all of her partner’s competitions but sometimes she just can’t. She does take them out for dinner after though.

Now, I mentioned earlier that I pictured her partner cheering her on as she interrogates someone. If her partner is a little more deranged and doesn’t mind the violence, I can picture her asking them to put on the cheer uniform and doing their whole dance and song. Every time the hostage gives her what she wants, her partner will cheer. It’s a fun little bonding activity for them. Totally wholesome if you ignore the dead guy in the corner.

[hanasnx]

WHAT YOUR CAMERA ROLL LOOKS LIKE DATING… — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: personal face claims ノ arm kink ノ sexual content ノ established relationship ノ fem reader ノ squirting ノ nudes mention.

CLARK KENT is still a little hesitant to show his face in photos. It’s not the same if you two are taking a picture together, he’s always happy to be in one with you… but selfies seem to be a foreign concept to him. He tries for your sake because he knows you screenshot and save them, so he puts in some effort. Even though he’s cuffed you, he still wants to look nice for you.

You’ve taught him a lot about taking pictures, always insisting that you want to see him, implying parts of him that he never thought he’d show a camera. Nudes might be off the table, but you’ve gotten him to cross the line of showing off his body. He tries to hide it, but he’s got a six pack worth bragging about. Chiseled and tall, he’s a regular Adonis, and he always laughs when you make the same joke about “riding your phone” after he sends a message with his shirt off. It’s hard to boast it proudly with a full shirtless image, but he covers up just enough to keep you wanting more.

If he’s out on the go, hand pics are the norm. He won’t deny it, he knows you like them. You decorate them with bracelets you buy for him, and massage his hands, wrists, and arms as often as you can. You tell him you’ve got a fixation. You suck on his fingers, and you always ask him to show you how he curls his knuckles when they’re inside of you, stroking your guts until you come undone and squirt pours down his veins… and sometimes when you’re in a special mood, you ask him to flex and rub whatever he can shove between your legs even if that means cumming all over his swollen bicep. He might get a little sheepish taking a picture of his arm so nonchalantly knowing what you’ve done to it, and what you might be thinking being reminded of it. It’s deceptive, maybe, but he won’t lie and say he’s hoping you’re in need of a little friction when he sees you next.

[nislost]

bae where you at😞 | chapter 5

warnings: suggestive

🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼🪼

as you are walking to class you make sure to take quick glances searching for a recognizable face of a certain person. with no luck of finding said person and the sight of your classroom coming into view you sigh and decide you’ll check after class ends.

walking out of class with jeno next to you, the conversation between you both is lively, but you make sure to pay attention to the people around. “y/n.” you hear a recognizable voice that stops you in your tracks. turning around you see intak with a frown on his face. sensing that jeno was going to do something you grab his wrist and smile “i’ll be fine, you can head off without me” your words cause jeno to frown even more “are you sure” he says raising a brow. all you do is nod, he sighs and tells you to text him if you need him before walking off.

looking at the tall man in front of you who just so happens to have gotten closer you raise a brow “what do you want?” the curiosity and anxiousness filling your voice. “we gotta talk.” intak says in a stern voice that you aren’t surprised by. next thing you know you’re in a verbal arguement in the middle of the hall with intak. passerby’s look at you two with annoyance and confusion.

“fuck you intak!” you yell out and turn away, but intak grabs your wrist and yanks you back to him. “don’t you dare turn away from me.” anger fills his voice and you can tell he’s absolutely fuming which causes you to get nervous. while the both of you continue to stand in the hall arguing two figures are walking in the same hall.

“markkkk just help me find her” haechan pouts holding onto marks arm. “dude i don’t even know what she looks like” mark says obviously annoyed and rips his arm away from haechan’s hold. haechan whips his phone out, goes to your twitter, and shows mark a picture of you. mark’s eyes widen “no way she wants to date YOU?!” he yells out grabbing haechan’s phone to look closer. “what is that supposed to mean.” haechan raises a brow as mark opens his mouth to say something his attention is directed to two figures arguing ahead of him. “what’s going on over there?” haechan asks curious, as they walk closer he recognizes the girl. “MARK THATS HER” he whisper yells grabbing mark tightly.

“intak let go!” they both hear you yell watching as you struggle to get out of the taller man’s grasp. before mark can even open his mouth haechan is already walking over there “w-wait..haechan!” mark whisper yells slightly freaking out ‘he’s gonna get his ass whooped..’ his thoughts already playing out a scene of haechan getting pummeled.

haechan comes up from behind you and grabs intak’s wrist “hey when a lady asks you to let go of her you should” haechan pouts. intak shakes haechan’s grip off which means he finally let go of your wrist. “and who are you?” intak questions with attitude “her boyfriend” haechan smiles as you turn around and gasp “you’re here…” you say quietly under your breath. haechan looks down at you and smiles sweetly “you okay?” he asks tilting his head slightly all you do is nod too speechless by how gorgeous he looks in person.

intak scoffs “yeah right” he rolls his eyes “look dude you don’t gotta pretend, she’s not even good at girlfriend shit.” you look at intak annoyed “if you’re talking about what i THINK you’re talking about then you better shut your mouth quick, because i have no problem telling people how you’d call me mommy in bed” you scoff placing a hand on your hip. intak’s jaw drops and he looks around at the people who are watching. “it’s not true!” he yells out running off.

you giggle and turn around to a shocked haechan. “nah that’s some freaky shit” he mumbles causing you to scoff “oh please you look like you’d call me mommy too” you pat his chest “thanks by the way” you place a kiss on his cheek and walk away.

mark comes up from behind haechan and wraps a arm around his neck “dude.” he says obviously shocked, but no one is more shocked than haechan. he deadass looks like this emoji 😧.

notes: i hope my writing is okay😞

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if your user is bright that means i couldn’t tag you💔

[offtorivendell]

What if the eight-pointed star is a symbol of so much more than the Starborn; on Wyrd, Chaos, the Cauldron and the Archeron sisters...

Disclaimer: this post is just a theory and makes no claims of being canon. These thoughts are definitely not unique at this point in time - I'll link to existing posts where relevant - but I had both a moment and the motivation to get my thoughts down, so here we are lol. Also, I am aware that the bigger stars in the gif above have more than eight points but as it's very pretty, has crescent moons and little motifs with three tear drops each... it stays. A massive thank you, as usual, to @wingedblooms for always being up for some theorising. 💜

Spoilers: the entire Maasverse is fair game, be careful if you're not up to date.

The eight-pointed star is a symbol that exists across the entire Maasverse, in Erilea, Prythian, Midgard.

Erilea:

The High Priestess walked onto the stone platform and raised her hands above her head. The folds of her midnight-blue gossamer robe fell around her, and her white hair was long and unbound. An eight-pointed star was tattooed upon her brow in a shade of blue that matched her gown, its sharp lines extending to her hairline. “Welcome all, and may the blessings of the Goddess and all her gods be upon you.” Her voice echoed across the chamber to reach even those in the back. - TOG, chapter 37

Prythian:

There, dead in the center of the Illyrian tattoo snaking down his spine, a new tattoo had appeared. An eight-pointed star, whose compass points radiated in sharp lines across and up the groove of his back, twining with the Illyrian markings long inked there. The eastern and western points of the star shot right onto his wings, black blending into black. A matching one, he knew, would be on Nesta’s spine. - ACOSF, chapter 12

Midgard:

Ruhn held out his phone, the picture of the illuminated manuscript glaringly bright in the thick shadows. The illustration of the carved horn lifted to the lips of a helmeted Fae male was as pristine as it had been when inked millennia ago. Above the figure gleamed an eight-pointed star, the emblem of the Starborn. - HOEAB, chapter 21

“You first.” “Not a chance. I want to hear how you hid the fact that you’ve got a star inside you.” He looked down at her chest then, as if he’d glimpse it shimmering beneath her skin. But when his eyebrows flicked upward, Bryce followed his line of sight. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “that’s new.” Indeed, just visible down the V-neck of her T-shirt, a white splotch—an eight-pointed star—now scarred the place between her breasts. - HOEAB, chapter 95

Bryce has told us that she thinks it's the symbol of the Starborn, but I think it could go much deeper - all the way down to Wyrd/Urd.

She found nothing but open curiosity on Nesta’s face. Nesta said, “The scar your light comes from … it’s shaped like an eight-pointed star. Why?” Bryce peered at where the light was muffled by her T-shirt. “It’s the symbol of the Starborn, I think.” “And the magic marked you in this way?” “Yes. When I … revealed who I was, what I am, to the world, I drew the star out of my chest. It left that scar in its wake.” She glanced to Azriel. “Like a burn.” - HOFAS, chapter 12

As @wingedblooms said in her amazing meta earlier this year, she, @silverlinedeyes and I all think that Urd - who we now know is Wyrd - could be Chaos.

In addition to being significant to the Starborn fae within the Maasverse, the eight-pointed star is also known as a compass rose - or rose of the wind - as @wingedblooms has previously discussed. So isn't it suss that 'The Elain' ship (as pictured below, in the ACOTAR colouring book - far right) has what could be an eight pointed star on its sail? One with empty space - as in void of anything - on either side?

In addition to her thoughts about the compass rose, @wingedblooms has previously discussed how SJM's use of the eight-pointed star could also be inspired by the star of Ishtar. Wingedblooms made great points as usual - so I won't rehash them - BUT I have wanted to add for ages that there is also an eight-pointed star called "the Chaos star." 👀

Is the eight-pointed star a symbol of Chaos?

Source.

Aidas told us in HOEAB that it was the Void who sired the Princes of Hel, and Chaos was their dam. While the Chaos star as a symbol of Chaos began its life in a completely separate work of fiction, it has - apparently - been adopted by other authors and fandoms, so there's always the possibility that SJM might be one of those who has done/will do that.

I think it's interesting that after Bryce and co found Helena's cave under Avallen and dream-travelled to Hel, they wound up in the Temple of Chaos, by boat.

“The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again. - HOFAS, chapter 59

Each of the Archeron sisters had a ship named for her (as above). Word and Wyrd are homophones of each other, though I may be clowning with the latter point. Ramiel means "thunder of god" - we'll come back to that later - but Apollion's words "rumbled like thunder"... was SJM linking Wyrd and thunder, or Ramiel, here? Will the Archeron sisters travel by boat - sail the Void - to meet, or free, Chaos?

Pushing aside every raging thought and question for the moment, Hunt kept one eye on the exit behind them as they traded the pebbled shore for the smooth temple steps. As they walked up those steps and entered a space that was a near-mirror to temples back home—indeed, its layout was identical to the last temple Hunt had stood in: Urd’s Temple. - HOFAS, chapter 59

But he tried to at least look like it—back straight, shoulders squared—as he and Hypaxia stood before the Under-King in a gray-stoned temple to Urd. The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin … they were like tattoos. - HOFAS, chapter 81

“And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” - HOFAS, chapter 81

That "unusual depiction" of Urd in the Bone Quarter sounds eerily similar to the statues in the corridor leading to the library under the House of Wind, as well as the statue of the primal goddess that Nesta found in the same house - the one by which she placed Elain's carved wooden rose.

It's almost like a mix of the two.

“Because the books were full of magic, and things they wanted to keep humans from knowing.” Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, leading me down a corridor lit only by bowls of faelight upraised in the hands of beautiful female statues, their forms High Fae and faerie alike. “The scholars and librarians refused to keep slaves of their own—some for personal reasons, but mainly because they didn’t want them accessing the books and archives.” - ACOWAR, chapter 20

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. - ACOSF, chapter 56

The Cauldron... the court of thorns and roses?

We now know that Urd is none other than Wyrd, from Erilea - a cauldron of life that is "brimming with the language of creation" (which fits with my theory that Elain might Sing Wyrd, as the language of the universe, through the murky void to See as a parallel to the priestesses in Prythian requiring darkness to commune with the Cauldron), and a force that governs worlds. One with many forms - "high fae and faerie alike"?

Could Chaos actually be Wyrd, given the similarities Hunt noted between the temples of Urd and Chaos?

Chaos the Dam?

The Mother?

But why the notable lack of tattoos - Wyrdmarks? - in the statues at the House of Wind's temple to the Mother, or on the Cauldron itself?

The Cauldron was absence and presence. Darkness and … whatever the darkness had come from. But not life. Not joy or light or hope. It was perhaps the size of a bathtub, forged of dark iron, its three legs—those three legs the king had ransacked those temples to find—crafted like creeping branches covered in thorns. I had never seen something so hideous—and alluring. Mor’s face had drained of color. “Hurry,” she said to me. “We’ve got a few minutes.” - ACOMAF, chapter 62

Could that be the influence of the Daglan/Asteri when they warped the Cauldron so long ago? Wyrd, and Her marks, were removed in the process?

“Unless … ” The boy bounced each finger off his thumb, his hand like some pale, twitchy insect. “Long ago, before the High Fae, before man, there was a Cauldron … They say all the magic was contained inside it, that the world was born in it. But it fell into the wrong hands. And great and horrible things were done with it. Things were forged with it. Such wicked things that the Cauldron was eventually stolen back at great cost. It could not be destroyed, for it had Made all things, and if it were broken, then life would cease to be. So it was hidden. And forgotten. Only with that Cauldron could something that is dead be reforged like that.” - ACOMAF, chapter 18

Before Bryce could contemplate this further, Silene went on, But my mother and father knew they needed the most valuable of all the Daglan’s weapons. Bryce tensed. This had to be the thing that had given them the edge— The snows around Ramiel parted, revealing a massive bowl of iron at the foot of the monolith. Even through the vision, its presence leaked into the world, a heavy, ominous thing. “The Cauldron,” Nesta said, dread lacing her voice. Not a useful weapon, then. Bryce braced herself as Silene continued. The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. - HOFAS, chapter 19

And isn't it interesting that Papa Archeron carved the aforementioned rose for Elain - out of a dark, heavy wood that a few of us have wondered was ironwood (just like the bed on which each of the Archeron sisters was born) - while the legs of the Mother's iron Cauldron were covered in thorns?

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.” - ACOSF, chapter 55

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. - ACOSF, chapter 56

In yet another of her brilliant posts, @wingedblooms theorised that the Cauldron might represent the flower of life; roses* are obviously a flower (shh), so the imagery of the Cauldron being an iron rose on a thorny pedestal is, quite possibly, significant. One of the definitions of the word "court" is "a sovereign's residence." Has the series title "A Court of Thorns and Roses" been referring to the Cauldron all along?!

* Posts involving roses and rose imagery pertaining to Elain are here, here, here and here.

The Ouroboros and Ramiel's black monolith - the "seat" of Wyrd/Chaos?

But let's get back on topic. I have theorised in the past that the Dusk Court - which we now know are the Starborn Fae - may have had four items, or four treasures, similar to the Tuatha de Danann of Irish mythology (my first Dusk Court post leaned heavily into that association).

I suggested that they may have been paired as:

Dagda's Cauldron/The Undry - the Veritas

Spear of Destiny/Spear of Lugh - Narben

Sword of Light/Claiomh Solais - Gwydion

The Stone of Kings/Lia Fail - the Ouroboros

Fragarach - Truth-Teller (as a bonus)

@merymoonbeam has also posted about her own take on the four treasures of the Tuatha de Danann; we agree about the Spear of Lugh and the sword of light, but diverged with Dagda's Cauldron - she suggested it may have been the Cauldron, and I agree that makes sense as well - and the Lia Fail, which she theorised was the stone on top of Ramiel (again, a solid choice that makes sense). Now, I know that the Ouroboros might seem like an odd choice as an in-universe stone of kings, but if you read my four treasures post I still think it fits... but it's not a stone. And Mery's thoughts about the Lia Fail fit, too. Both options made sense to me.

Which brings me back to HOFAS.

Before Bryce could contemplate this further, Silene went on, But my mother and father knew they needed the most valuable of all the Daglan’s weapons. Bryce tensed. This had to be the thing that had given them the edge— The snows around Ramiel parted, revealing a massive bowl of iron at the foot of the monolith. Even through the vision, its presence leaked into the world, a heavy, ominous thing. “The Cauldron,” Nesta said, dread lacing her voice. Not a useful weapon, then. Bryce braced herself as Silene continued. The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. - HOFAS, chapter 19

As others have suggested already, this sounds like the same black stone monolith that Cassian flew by in ACOFAS.

The conifer forests and ravines that dotted the landscape flowing to Ramiel’s foot gleamed under fresh snow. Empty and clean. No sign of the bloodshed that would occur come the start of spring. The mountain neared, mighty and endless, so wide that he might as well have been a mayfly in the wind. Cassian soared toward Ramiel’s southern face, rising high enough to catch a glimpse of the shining black stone jutting from its top. Who had put that stone atop the peak, he didn’t know, either. Legend said it had existed before the Night Court formed, before the Illyrians migrated from the Myrmidons, before humans had even walked the earth. Even with the fresh snow crusting Ramiel, none had touched the pillar of stone. A thrill, icy and yet not unwelcome, flooded his veins. It was rare for anyone in the Blood Rite to make it to the monolith. - ACOFAS, chapter 3

* A quick aside: conifer forests and ravines surround Ramiel; who smells like night-chilled mist and cedar, and may be associated with/related to Thanatos, the prince of the Ravine? Azriel!

In @wingedblooms brilliant post about Ramiel as the heart of the Night Court, she wondered if the black monolith and Cauldron together may have been a complete depiction of Wyrd, and then something clicked (and now I'm finally getting to the point lol, sorry for the wait); what if the black stone and the Ouroboros were combined as the Lia Fail/Stone of Kings? Or Wyrd/Chaos (as the Queen)? If the Cauldron is the "court" (residence) of Wyrd, and it once "sat" at the base of the black stone Monolith as @wingedblooms suggested, it checks out.

And there, against the far wall of the chamber, snow crusting its surface, its bronze casing … The Ouroboros. It was a massive, round disc—as tall as I was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail. Ending and beginning. From across the room, with the snow … I could not see it. What lay within. I forced myself to take a step forward. Another. The mirror itself was black as night—yet … wholly clear. [...] Up close, the surface of the Ouroboros was like a gray, calm sea. Undisturbed. Sleeping. - ACOWAR, chapter 68

So now we have a black monolith as a (hypothetical) statue of Wyrd, with the Ouroboros being held high above Her head... sound familiar?

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. - ACOSF, chapter 56

But wait, there's (possibly) more...

Despite the plush furniture, the room definitely belonged to a witch: a small crystal altar to Cthona adorned the eastern wall, covered in various tools of worship; a large obsidian scrying mirror hung above it; and the fireplace built into the southern wall had various iron arms, presumably to hold cauldrons during spells. A royal suite, yes, but a workroom as well. - HOSAB, chapter 56

Ithan crossed his arms. On the desk itself sat a statuette of Cthona, carved from black stone. In one arm the goddess cradled an infant to her bare breast. In the other, she extended an orb—Midgard—out into the room. Cthona, birther of worlds. He touched it idly, gathering his courage. - HOFAS, chapter 13

Ithan was carefully setting down a figurine of Cthona giving birth on all fours—the planet Midgard crowning between her legs—when Jesiba’s phone rang. The shrill sound shattered the silence, but Ithan’s sunball reflexes kept him from dropping the fragile marble. - HOFAS, chapter 44

Could the Ouroboros represent the moon associated with the priestesses of the Mother? I mean it's big and round, and I'm a simple person haha. Was there ever a temple to Wyrd/Chaos on - or underneath - Ramiel? Does the black stone monolith represent the goddess/Wyrd, the Ouroboros the moon and the Cauldron the world to which she's giving birth? If black stone/obsidian attracts the princes of Hel, is that because obsidian is a stand in for Void and they are themselves a mixture of Void and Chaos? Is black stone used to depict Wyrd/Chaos because it acknowledges that She is attracted* to the Void? And the Ouroboros, which I have previously thought could be a portal (and hey, it's taller than Feyre, so tall enough), and @wingedblooms theorised it may be a mirror of witch glass... it seems intentional.

* This imagery reminds me of the Embrace of Solas and Cthona.

Sailing the Void

In my post about The Weaver's Song, I theorised that it might be a prophecy suggesting that the three Archeron sisters may sing, or "sail" (for lack of a better term haha) the bat brothers through the Void, either figuratively or (I hope!) literally. Either to Hel or to some other place - I would scream if it's Erilea, as @psychologynerd has theorised for Elain - but ultimately, wherever they go, I think it will be with the goal of finding and freeing Wyrd from whatever (hypothetically) binds Her, thus purifying Her and the Cauldron from the corruption of the Daglan/Asteri.

Which, speaking of, could the Asteri/Daglan have bound Wyrd with wyrdstone as like calls to like? Or did they use a crystal prism - like the one Bryce found in the Autumn King's study - to split Her light into its many facets and bind - tether - each to something or one? Did they create an anti rainbow with wyrdstone to split Wyrd apart, weakening Her?

With a sharp inhale, Bryce rallied her magic. On the exhale, she sent a stream of her starlight into the prism, her power faster than ever before. Starlight hit the prism, passed through it, and— “Huh.” It wasn’t a rainbow that emerged from the other side. Not even close. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing: a gradient beam of starlight. Where the rainbow would have been full of color, this one began in shimmering white light and descended into shadow. An anti-rainbow, as it were. Light falling into darkness, droplets of starlight raining from the highest beam into the shadowy band at the bottom, devoured by the darkness below. Like the fading light of day—of dusk. What did it mean? She was pretty sure her light had been pure before, but now, with Silene’s power mixed in … there was darkness there, too. Hidden beneath. - HOFAS, chapter 39

I've previously spoken about the need for balance to be restored to the universe, and that something may be preventing light (Chaos?) from flowing freely through the Void. If this is true, and it stems from the Asteri's corrupting efforts, it would make sense that purifying their influence on the Mother and Cauldron - who we now know is Wyrd - would help to heal the land, by unchaining the magic, as Feyre hinted in ACOMAF (and @wingedblooms has discussed extensively).

I shivered, craving the moderate winter of Velaris, wondering how it could be so temperate in the far north, but … everything in Prythian was strange. Perhaps when the wall hadn’t existed, when magic had flowed freely between realms, the seasonal differences hadn’t been so vast. - ACOMAF, chapter 23

I have more thoughts on this but I'm getting off track, hopefully I'll post them soon.

I've already discussed the possible significance of 'The Elain' ship flying a sail with the compass rose, or rose of the winds - an eight-pointed star - with nothing (void) on either side. I think it's interesting that 'The Feyre' flies two crescent moons and two diamond-type symbols that represent some of the (hypothetical) wyrdmarks on Wyrd's arms as depicted on the cover of HOFAS, and that 'The Nesta' flies a sail with a dragon and two suns, possibly referring to the dragon Ariadne from HOSAB (in Greek mythology, Ariadne was heavily associated with labyrinths, ie. finding one's way) and the sun being a star with a powerful flame? I know I sound like a broken record, but will the Archeron sisters be like the light from Eärendil's - a mariner! - star contained in the phial of Galadriel, but as the three brothers' most beloved stars? Will they light their way through the Void?

Getting back to the compass rose, Cassian refers to the eight-pointed star as a map for striking with a sword, and we know that light can be wielded as a weapon, as Yrene Towers did in Erilea, to heal Chaol and execute the Valg King Erawan.

“You didn’t ask.” He unsheathed his Illyrian blade. “Enough history.” He drew four lines in the dirt, all intersecting to form an eight-pointed star. “This is your map for striking with a sword. These eight maneuvers. You’ve learned six of them. You’ll learn the other two today, and we’ll start on the combinations.” - ACOSF, chapter 44

Additionally, Nesta suggested that the eight-pointed star was stamped on her heart.

Nesta lifted the sword and executed a perfect arcing slash. Her weight shifted to her legs just as she flipped the blade, leading with the hilt, and brought up her arm against an invisible blow. Another shift and the sword swept down, a brutal slash that would have sliced an opponent in half. Each slice was perfect. Like that eight-pointed star was stamped on her very heart. - ACOSF, chapter 50

This sounds incredibly similar to Bryce carrying a star in her chest - her star tattoo was over her heart - so I would not be surprised to learn that Feyre and Elain had something similar, too. It makes sense. Each Cauldron-Made sister carrying one third of a whole star, to replace Theia's protective magic that Bryce took with her to Midgard (as she didn't return it when she did Truth-Teller, Prythian is currently unprotected). And if the Cauldron is Wyrd's vessel, as it appears to be, this makes Feyre, Elain and Nesta supremely important. Perhaps they're not the "scum" Vesperus suggested at all.

Perhaps they are the wyrdkeys to everything? At least in Prythian, if each sister holds within her one third of a whole star that Wyrd planted Herself.