goldenmellow

[goldenmellow]

cold hands, warm heart

a/n:: ok nobody act surprised about a hockey!enha au... idc its one of my favorite au's hehe. please read the warnings going into some of these stories cause i <3 comfort fics or angst with happy endings so please just look at the warnings before continuing to read when posted!!

taglist!!: open!! comment or ask if you would like to be added <3

masterlist

Lucky Charm

Hockey Player!Heeseung x Childhood Bestfriend!Reader

You’ve known Heeseung before you could even walk, attached at the hip, even as he chased his dream of doing hockey while you chased your own academic dreams. Getting in the same college on different scholarships felt like fate. Everyone see’s the way he looks at you… everyone except you. And he notices every little thing about you, even when you can’t tell that you’re breaking.

coming soon

Polaroid Love

Hockey Player!Jay x Photographer!Reader

Photography has always been your passion, so when you needed an internship for college, you seek out your schools hockey team in hopes to capture some video or photos that you could use for your resume. However, your camera keeps finding a certain player on the team, and he definitely notices how there’s more pictures of him from the previous game than anyone else.

coming soon

Princess on Ice

Hockey Player!Jake x Figure Skater!Reader

Spending your Friday night at your schools hockey game was NOT the plan, being dragged there by some of your friends to “support the other arts on ice.” What you didn’t expect was getting a certain someone’s attention during the game , making Jake want to see more and more of you.

coming soon

Hit me Where it Hurts

Hockey Player!Sunghoon x Physical Trainer!Reader

You’ve been studying to be a physical trainer for a bit now, and after getting the highest marks on your most recent clinical, you get offered the spot to be the physical trainer for your schools hockey team. Having to work with Sunghoon after a nasty injury makes you second guess yourself in more ways than one. Sunghoon doesn’t mind, because if you’re helping him piece himself back together, he would gladly do the same for you.

coming soon

©peachywonnie '25

[goldenmellow]

Here’s a mini SMAU request (if you’re willing) how about your older brother (a member) has an extremely nerdy and studious best friend that you are literally crazy about. Like feral. You want that SO BAD. But also you truly him. And you are doing WORK trying to get this man. Seductive situations. Skimpy clothes. Flirty dialogue. And he is JUST. NOT. BREAKING… but that doesn’t mean he isn’t actually affected. And maybe he isn’t as naive as he seems (or maybe he is. Perhaps he doesn’t think you’re serious—who knows—whatever feels best for the plot). But you are legit crazy about him. So you’re gonna push until he breaks. Does that mean making him jealous? Maybe. Does that mean making him insane? Definitely. Either way, you’re playing for keeps.

PLEASE I BEG with any member of the Enha hyung line (but my biases are Hee and Jay so if either of those two feel right to you that’d be awesome)…

Hope you choose mine! But if not, I totally understand!

࣪ ִֶָ☾. i want you, bless my soul - lee heeseung

⤷ playing: i think he knows by taylor swift

genre: brothers best friend! heeseung, loser/nerd! heeseung, y/n is a YEARNER, this girl stops at nothing, brother/twin! jungwon who's completely done with his sister (you), established friendship, fluff, really long oneshot bcs i went a little crazy with it 🧍

warnings: swearing, league of legends mention, pls ignore timestamps!! this is supposed to be over the course of multiple days, jungwon calls y/n a whore jokingly

a/n: i absolutely LOVE this request like when i say i went at it IMMEDIATELY. i went into the more gamer nerd trope, but it's heeseung... he falls into it so well i love my little loser 💔 i hope u enjoy it tho!!

mlist

☆©peacheeeliz, 2024

͙͘͡★ (perm taglist) @potatos-on-clouds @kookieswithjung @cheruphic @17ericas @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @lezleeferguson-120 @douqhnxtss @imbaebi

[goldenmellow]

‎ 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥   ✿  𝗡𝗦𝗛.𝗥

‎ ♡ 【 𝓵'aime. 】 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖿 !

✶ 𝒇.𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋  791.  ───  𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 , 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 , 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀

‎ ꒰◞ ˕ ◟୨୧꒱ REBLOG FOR CUDDLES !

"ki, come!" you call out from the bed, kicking your feet as you lie there waiting for him. he doesn’t even look over, just hums distractedly, too caught up in whatever game he’s playing.

"one sec, baby," he mumbles, clicking away at his controller, eyes fixed on the screen, headset on.

"riki.." you try again, hoping using his full name would finally catch his attention—but it doesn't. you're fed up, you just want his attention and touch but you aren't getting it.

you walk over to his seated figure, manspreading in his chair. you climb onto his lap with no warning, sitting right on top of his thighs, bodies pressed close.

"i'm almost done, i promise—" he mutters, but it's interrupted by you kissing him down his neck, making him tense. his hands stay wrapped around your waist, hands still clicking at his controller.

"you said that thirty minutes ago, ki.." you pout, hands wrapping around his neck as your hands slip under his hoodie, fingertips tracing over his abs. he tries so hard not to react, but it's nearly impossible as he begins to lose control of his gameplay.

you kiss the corner of his mouth as he's desperately trying to focus, inching so close to his lips. he gives up with a soft sigh before murmuring, "fuck it. they can finish without me." before pulling off his headset and throwing his controller on the desk.

his hands slide up your shirt, holding on to your waist as his lips crash on yours. they're warm, soft, hungry. he didn't realize how much he missed yours. your plush lips move in sync with his, tongues slipping in here and there, his teeth dragging on your bottom lip.

your lips are now both slick, coated in each other's spit. but you don't care, you want more of what he couldn't give you because he was so focused on that stupid game.

your hips unintentionally grind, the sudden shift making him let out a low, little groan into your mouth. "you're so needy today, huh?" he teases against your lips, his warm breath making you insane.

"mmmhh," you whine into the kiss as one of his hands slides down to gently squeeze your plush ass, the other moving from your waist down to the small of your back, rubbing small circles into it.

you trail kisses from the edge of his jaw down to his neck, latching on and sucking little bruises into his skin.

he hisses when your teeth graze him, one hand slipping under your shirt to trace the curve of your waist. he watches you with half-lidded eyes as your lips pull off his skin with a wet pop.

"this what you wanted, baby? just couldn't wait, huh?" he mocks, smirking at you as your cheeks flush, moving back down to his neck to nuzzle your head in as you giggle, his hands continuing to run over your body.

suddenly, he grips under your thighs, and lifts you up as he stands up from his seat. "you're mine now," he teasingly grins before throwing you onto the bed, and just as you land, he immediately climbs over you and attacks your neck with kisses.

"ki! it tickles!" you giggle, squirming under him as he adds soft little bites to your skin, pinning your wrists down so you can't push him off. "should've let me finish my game, princess."

୨ৎ taglist: @murassl, @chuhees, @heebear, @kisuumei, @bangchanwifey, @hoonipies, @sourkiki, @highway-143, @kyanmeai, @nithxhoon, @fdzvie, @hyeinsveil, @curryyed, @heeseungsbm, @goldenmellow, @heesmiles, @hoonprksung

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[goldenmellow]

───── MY BIGGEST FAN 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ you missed him, so why not go to his groups fansign to get his autograph…and him ｡｡ ɪᴅᴏʟ ʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

FLUFF & wc. 1490 + / kissing , skinship , petnames ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

the venue buzzed with the soft thunder of excited fans, murmuring anticipation and rustling albums clutched tightly to chests. the fansign had just begun, and riki was seated in the center of the table with his members, his body present but his mind drifting.

he was polite as always, playful when prompted, but something about today felt heavier. the kind of heavy that came from being weeks apart from you. every tour stop, every rehearsal, every sleep deprived night had been softened only by your voice through a phone screen, your little texts full of love, your late night videos reminding him to eat and sleep.

but it still wasn’t you.

riki tried to shake it off as he scribbled messages on photobooks and smiled through soft fan interactions. his fingers twirled the pen absentmindedly and he barely noticed the way staff was subtly guiding the next fan toward him.

until he looked up and the air was knocked clean out of his lungs.

there you were. no hoodie. no mask. no disguise. just you—his beautiful girl. smiling, radiant, beautiful, and very much real. you stood there like a dream, an album in your hand and the most mischievous look on your face.

“hi riki,” you said sweetly, as if you weren’t flipping his entire world upside down.

his eyes went wide. for a second, he froze completely, mouth slightly parted. he almost stood up out of instinct, chest surging with the need to touch you, pull you in, confirm you weren’t a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and too many energy drinks.

but staff, cameras, and fans. he forced himself to sit still. barely. “i—what—” his words fumbled out in a whisper. “you’re here?”

you placed the album down gently in front of him, your eyes sparkling. “what, not gonna sign for your biggest fan?” he blinked at the photobook, then slowly back up at you. “this is so evil.”

“don’t worry, i brought a pen,” you teased, tapping your fingers on the table. “autograph, please. make it special.”

riki tried to act cool, but his hands trembled slightly as he opened the album. the page you picked already had one of his pictures staring back at him. his sleepy post concert smile, the one you always said was your favorite.

he swallowed hard, willing his hands to move normally as he signed his name. underneath it, he scribbled a small, hidden message in tiny handwriting only you would understand : i’ve been going crazy without you.

then, as discreetly as he could manage, he slid his hand across the table. his fingers grazed yours and you didn’t hesitate. you interlaced your hands beneath the cover of the album, warm and familiar and home.

riki exhaled softly, the relief palpable in his shoulders. “i thought you were in L.A. until next week,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours.

“changed my flight,” you whispered back. “surprise.”

“best surprise of my life,” he murmured, squeezing your hand.

jake was the first to notice and from two seats down, he let out a very obvious, very exaggerated cough followed by a knowing smirk. riki didn’t even care. he was too busy trying to hold it together while every instinct in his body screamed to get up and hold you properly.

but you gave his hand one final squeeze before gently pulling back, eyes warm and full of unspoken promise. “see you backstage?”

“don’t run. i’m coming straight for you.” you winked, took the signed album, and stepped away. suddenly, the world was colorless without you standing in front of him.

the rest of the fansign was torture.

he powered through somehow, offering smiles and laughter like his heart hadn’t just nearly burst. but every few minutes, his eyes flicked toward the back exit, counting down the seconds until he could bolt.

and finally, finally, it ended.

the moment the cameras cut and the last fan waved goodbye, riki was up. he didn’t wait for staff instructions or even say goodbye to his members. he moved through the backstage corridors like a man on a mission, heart hammering, eyes scanning every corner.

then he turned into the hallway behind the dressing rooms and there you were. waiting against the wall, your fingers nervously twisting at the hem of your shirt, until you saw him.

“baby—”

he didn’t say a word. he closed the space in three long strides and wrapped his arms around you so tightly you gasped. he pressed his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like oxygen, like something he hadn’t had in too long.

“i missed you,” you whispered.

“never, ever leave me that long again,” he said into your neck. “that was the absolute worst.”

you chuckled, arms winding around him. “you’re so dramatic.”

he leaned back, hands cupping your cheeks. “i’m not. you were right there and i couldn’t even kiss you.”

your eyes softened, “you can now.”

that’s all it took before he kissed you. softly at first, then deeper, slower, like he was trying to make up for every second you two had been apart. one hand cradled the back of your head, the other still wrapped tight around your waist.

when he finally pulled away, he rested your foreheads together, noses brushing as his thumbs caressed your cheeks.

“you’re not going back to L.A. tomorrow, right?” he asked, breath still warm against your lips.

“i have five days here,” you whispered, your hands sliding up his back and curling at the nape of his neck.

“then cancel everything. i’m keeping you,” he said, dead serious.

you laughed softly, but it was the kind that came from deep in your chest. the kind that said i missed you just as much. “what would you even do with me for five days straight?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint flashing through them. “are you asking me to give you a full itinerary?”

“ki—”

“okay, okay,” he smirked, hands trailing down to your waist, pulling you a little closer. “first, i’m gonna spend the rest of tonight with you in my arms. no distractions. no stage lights. no rushing to the next schedule. just us.”

you smiled up at him, your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck. “then what?”

“then tomorrow, i’m taking you to every spot i wanted to show you while i was on tour here. that one cafe i kept texting you about? the one with the strawberry croissants?”

“you’ve been thinking about strawberry croissants this whole time?”

“no,” he said, voice dropping a little lower, “i’ve been thinking about you trying them and getting powdered sugar on your lips so i can have an excuse to kiss it off.”

you blushed and he laughed gently, dipping his head down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

he pulled back just enough to look at you fully, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every part all over again. “you’re really here,” he said again, almost to himself, “i still can’t believe it.”

“i wanted to see you,” you said softly. “you’ve looked so tired on camera lately.” he smiled, the kind of smile that only came when he was completely, fully at ease. “i’ve been tired. missing you is exhausting.”

you tilted your head. “you’re such a drama queen.” he leaned in again, brushing his lips over yours with a light laugh. “only for you.”

you two stood like that for a moment, just the two of you, wrapped up in each other in the quiet hallway where no one else could see. no stylists, no managers, no fans. just you and riki. his arms around you, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and the buzz of the outside world finally quiet for the first time in weeks.

then he whispered, lips brushing your hair, “come back with me to the dorm. the others will scream, but i need you to be with me tonight. i just…want to fall asleep next to you.”

your voice was soft, “are you sure?”

he nodded, eyes glassy with how much he missed you. “i don’t care who sees anymore. i just want you. i want to hold your hand outside a fansign. i want you in my bed, stealing my blankets and kicking me in your sleep.”

“you miss me kicking you?” you teased.

“i’d let you drop kick me if it meant waking up with you next to me.” that earned him a laugh so bright and familiar, it made his chest ache in the best way. he took your hand again, kissed the back of it, and looked into your eyes. “come with me?”

you nodded and just like that, you left together, his fingers laced with yours, hearts finally full again. he made it through the photos, the smiles, the empty days of pretending.

now he had what he really needed. you, in his arms, for real, and he wasn’t letting go.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva @heekolazz @soona-huh

[goldenmellow]

emo!ni-ki x hyper fem!reader 𓈒 ❤︎︎ ࣪ ˖

masterlist

- this man just goes soft for you like no doubt. he probably would be in an all black outfit, black hoodie on, but anyone can spot the little my melody keychain from a mile away that hangs from a loop off his jeans

- pink isn’t his favorite color, in fact he hates pink, but because of you he learns to love it

- would LOVE doing your hair with little bows or clips that you have. definitely learned how to braid just so he could see you all cute in a hairstyle HE did!! would def just pass it off as “you take too long so im tryna help” but we all know the real reason

- literally 2 days later he has a basket full of bows and ribbon he bought in his room just so he could do your hair at his place

- ok and don’t forget the skin care!!

- he acts “forced” to put on a face mask with you but secretly enjoys it

- he def has a little skin care section in his bathroom dedicated to you after you guys start dating and if one of your fancy moisturizers or serums are low you best believe he is purchasing you a new one!!

- will complain about how long you take getting ready

“ni-ki you can’t rush perfection”

“but you’re already perfect”

and proceeds to shower your face in kisses despite your complaints about “ruining your makeup”

- speaking of getting ready, this man will get ready in 2 seconds while you take 2 hours

- sighs when he sees you in a cute skirt when it’s cold out

“god forbid a girl wants to look cute”

“god forbid your boyfriend wants you to stay warm”

- yeah you already know he’s either grabbing an extra jacket (that’s his) or he will end up giving you his in the middle of the date

- and this man probably about dies if you ever wear any of his clothes

- his clothes aren’t exactly your style, so when he sees you wearing one of his shirts one day he goes insane

“oh my goodness princess you look so good in my shirt”

“you think so? i forgot to bring pajamas”

“i hope you forget everytime”

- yeah needless to say even if you brought overnight clothes they would “magically” go missing

- when he’s over in your room he kinda clashes a little with all the pink and mountain of stuffed animals on your bed while he wears some dark outfit

- he’s just casually laying on your bed, feet hanging over cause he’s a little too tall, just cuddling a bear plushie you have as he waits for you to finish applying lip gloss

- but he contributes to this mountain of plushies you have as whenever he’s out and he sees something pink or sanrio he buys it with a simple “it reminded me of you”

- he definitely gets made fun of by his friends just because he is so whipped for you but he wouldn’t have it any other way

[goldenmellow]

meet me at the rink .｡❅*⋆

(caught a vibe) - hockeyplayer! sunghoon x figureskater! female reader

synopsis: Where the rink used to be your place of solitude, everything changes the day you welcome a hockey player from the school across town onto the ice—and into your heart. As you both glide through stolen moments and quiet confessions, the space between skating and life begins to blur, and something unexpected takes hold. fic notes: minor emotional hurt / rejection. nothing graphic, but this fic includes moments of slight emotional tension, miscommunication, and someone getting lowkey humiliated in front of others. if you're sensitive to that kind of thing, read with care 💔 wc: 10.8k

ash's notes: hey! it's been a minute.. so sorry, i've been going on a few trips and i'm about to leave on another, so i thought i'd hurry and post what i've been working on in the meantime! ugh skater hoon has SUCH a grip on me. this is the longest one parter fic i've written.. let me know if y'all prefer longer fics or shorter fics.

The air inside the rink bit at your cheeks — sharp and cold, but familiar. Comfortable. The music playing through your headphones dulled the world around you, leaving only the hum of your blades against ice and the rhythm of your breathing. Each stride was smooth, each turn effortless. You were completely focused, arms outstretched, body carving poetry into frozen glass.

Just a few more runs before you’d head out. You needed this — the quiet, the motion, the solitude. Your school's rink was closed for cleaning, and you'd lucked out booking this one last minute.

Or so you thought.

The sound came first: the dull slam of a door, followed by the unmistakable echo of boys’ voices — loud, laughing, careless. You slowed your pace, skating toward the edge of the rink just in time to see a group of guys pile in, hockey sticks slung over shoulders, skates clutched in gloved hands.

"Yo—someone's already here?" one of them called, annoyed. You pulled out your earbuds slowly, already anticipating what was coming.

"Hey, pretty sure we booked this time," said one of the taller boys as he approached the edge of the rink. His tone wasn’t outright rude, but it was dismissive — like you were an inconvenience.

“I booked it,” you replied, firm but polite. “Check with the front. I signed in.”

“Maybe they double-booked,” another voice muttered from behind him. "Figures. Always figure skaters stealing ice time."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You could stand your ground — you had before — but something stopped you this time. Or someone.

Leaning against the wall, a few paces back from the others, was a boy you recognized by name, if not by face. Park Sunghoon. Hockey’s golden boy from the rival school. Cold on the ice, colder in interviews. You'd seen him in highlight reels and heard whispers about his footwork, his speed, his precision.

But in this moment, he wasn’t moving. Just watching.

His helmet dangled from one hand, hair tousled from practice, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. He was staring straight at you — no smirk, no teasing grin, just something unreadable in his expression. Like he was trying to memorize you.

And for a second, neither of you moved.

Then one of the guys elbowed him — “Bro, you good?” — and he blinked, straightening.

“She’s done anyway, right?” he said casually, stepping forward. “Let her finish and let’s warm up.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. His voice was cool, like he hadn’t been caught staring. Like you hadn’t just seen a flicker of something softer in his eyes. He turned to his friends, fist-bumping one of them, the way boys do when they’re trying to keep face.

You bit the inside of your cheek and glanced down, refusing to let it sting. You weren’t going to fight over ice time with a bunch of boys too proud to share.

Without a word, you skated off the rink. You didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t meet his eyes again.

But he watched you leave. Quietly.

And for the first time in a while, Sunghoon felt something twist in his chest — a feeling he couldn’t name.

The door slammed shut behind you, the sound echoing louder than it should’ve in the empty rink.

Sunghoon stayed still, helmet at his side, eyes fixed on the place where you’d been. The ice looked different now — duller, like something delicate had been scrubbed away.

Jake clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Bro. Earth to Sunghoon.”

“What?” he muttered, shaking it off.

“You good? You zoned out.”

“I’m fine,” he said, jaw tight as he brushed past him.

But he wasn’t fine. He couldn’t stop replaying the way you’d looked out there — gliding like you were weightless, like you weren’t even touching the ice. The way your eyes met his, just for a second, before he ruined it.

He wasn’t sure why he said what he did.

He could’ve backed you up. Could’ve offered to share the rink. Could’ve said something real.

But instead, he did what he always did — played the part. The cool one. The quiet one. The boy who didn’t flinch.

Except now, he was flinching. Inside.

Sunghoon yanked at the laces of his skates, tugging harder than necessary. His friends were already on the ice, chasing pucks and shouting like always. But his gaze drifted to the water bottle you’d left behind near the bleachers. Half full. Forgotten in the rush.

He didn’t touch it. Just stared.

Jake skated by, raising a brow. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon lied.

But something had shifted. Something he couldn’t name — like the sound of skates slicing through silence long after the figure’s gone.

—

“Remind me again why we have to be here?” Jake grumbled as the hockey team filed into the upper bleachers of their own school’s rink.

“Because Coach said attendance is mandatory,” Heeseung said around a mouthful of popcorn he’d stolen from the concession stand. “Support the arts, Jake. Be cultured.”

Sunghoon didn’t speak. He sat two rows down, elbows braced on his knees, eyes fixed on the ice below where figure skaters warmed up.

Flashes of sequins. Stretches. Spinning.

None of them were you.

Not yet.

He didn’t know why he came early. Why he kept scanning the rink like he was searching for something. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe curiosity. Or maybe — it was that water bottle, still sitting in his gym locker, untouched.

A few of the guys around him were elbowing each other, murmuring about the girls from your school who’d be arriving soon.

“Apparently they’re all hot,” one said. “Dancers. Crazy flexible.”

“Not interested,” another added, while still craning his neck to look.

Sunghoon barely heard them. Not until her voice cut through the noise.

“Sunghoon!”

He looked up instinctively.

Yuna — one of the skaters from his school — stood at the barrier, long-limbed, perfectly styled even in warm-ups. She smiled brightly, lips glossed and pink.

“You were insane last game,” she said, twirling a strand of her hair. “That third goal? Unreal.”

“Thanks,” he replied, voice flat.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it. He did. The attention. The familiarity. The praise.

But it wasn’t what he was looking for.

She leaned closer. “We’re short a partner for the duet exhibition next week. I was thinking—”

He never heard the rest.

Because the doors opened.

And you stepped in.

Black leggings. Black zip-up. Hair tied up. No sparkles. No theatrics.

And yet — you were the most radiant thing in the rink.

You didn’t have to try. The fabric hugged your form like it had been made for you. You moved with quiet confidence, walking onto the ice like you belonged to it.

Sunghoon didn’t realize he was staring until Heeseung leaned in and muttered, “Isn’t that the girl from the other day?”

Jake followed his gaze. “Damn. She’s from the other school? Now I kinda get why you were acting weird.”

Sunghoon said nothing.

His eyes never left you. Every stretch, every spin, every flick of your hand. You weren’t performing. You were existing — fully, freely — and that was more mesmerizing than any choreographed routine.

Yuna followed his gaze and her smile faltered.

“She’s not even that good,” she said sweetly, too sweetly. “They always look nice warming up. Just wait until she messes up under pressure.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

—

The lights dimmed an hour later for the performance.

Music swelled, rich and cinematic. Spotlights swept across the rink like searchlights, then steadied.

Group numbers came and went in a blur of color and choreography — girls in glittering dresses spinning in sync, boys lifting their partners with practiced ease. It was dazzling, but fleeting, like fireworks fading too fast.

And then—

The announcer said your name.

Sunghoon sat straighter.

His back stiffened, his fingers curled slightly on his knee. Like someone had pulled a string taut through his spine.

You stepped onto the ice alone.

Wrapped in something soft and white, delicate as snowfall — a dress that moved like mist, catching the lights in quiet flashes every time you glided. Your hair was pulled into a low, neat bun, a few strands already slipping loose. There was no arrogance in the way you moved. Just grace. Quiet, unwavering confidence.

The crowd seemed to hold its breath as you reached your starting position. Stillness fell over the rink — reverent. Expectant.

Sunghoon swore it felt like the whole world exhaled.

Then the music began.

And you danced.

You skated like your bones were made of rhythm. Like the ice had been waiting for you. Every glide, every turn, every breath — it wasn’t choreography, it was memory. A story only you could tell, unfolding beneath your blades like poetry written in motion. The kind of performance that didn’t ask for applause. It earned silence. Awe.

Sunghoon forgot to breathe.

By the time your final jump landed — clean, effortless, a perfect punctuation mark — the crowd erupted.

Your team mobbed you at the edge of the rink, shrieking and clapping, wrapping you in scarves and congratulations. Laughter bounced off the rafters. Camera flashes sparked like confetti.

Even the hockey boys were standing now, murmuring amongst themselves.

“Yo,” Jake whispered. “That was insane. That’s not normal flexibility. How do her legs even—”

“Okay,” Sunghoon cut in sharply, teeth clenched. “Calm down.”

He kept his eyes down as they filed toward the exit. Tried not to look again.

Tried — and failed.

Because as he passed the barrier, he slowed. Just a little.

You were still standing with your team, cheeks pink from the cold and adrenaline, eyes shining under the lights. A laugh spilled from your lips, bright and real, your hair slipping loose around your ears.

And then you looked up.

Right at him.

Your eyes met — and your smile changed. Softened, like a secret only he could see. It held. One second. Two.

Then he looked away.

Kept walking.

But it was already too late.

His heart had tripped.

—

You liked the rink best when it was empty.

Before the lights warmed up. Before the shouting. When the sun was still low, filtering through the plexiglass in soft, sleepy beams that fogged the corners of the glass. When your blades were the only sound — sharp and echoing, cutting into the silence like a steady breath.

It was the kind of quiet that steadied you.

The world outside was always too loud. Coaches barking corrections. Judges dissecting routines. Girls whispering with sugary smiles and eyes like knives. Boys shouting in hallways, slamming lockers and laughing too hard.

But here, in the early stillness, it all melted away.

Here, you could breathe.

You landed a clean spin and pushed into a slow glide, arms folding in, the wind brushing your cheeks. Your exhale clouded the air. You were centered. Focused. At peace.

Until—

Clunk.

A metallic thud cracked through the silence.

You flinched mid-rotation — your blade caught—

CRACK.

Knees hit the ice. Hard. Palms scraped against the cold. The jolt knocked the air from your lungs — not painful, but sharp. Enough to snap you out of whatever calm you’d found.

And then—

“Oh my gosh—I’m so sorry!”

You looked up fast.

Sunghoon.

Leaning over the barrier, wide-eyed and horrified, hands braced on the wall. A water bottle rolled lazily across the ice, settling beside you like a guilty pet.

“I didn’t mean to—swear— I was just watching and it slipped—are you okay?”

Your breath fogged the air between you as you stared. Then, despite yourself, despite the jolt still echoing in your bones… you laughed.

“I’m okay,” you said, brushing a loose strand from your face. “Just surprised.”

He looked like he was debating whether to bolt or leap the wall — and then he did exactly that. Vaulted over the barrier like it was nothing, landing on the rink in just his socks with a startled yelp.

He almost fell. Arms flailing. Slipped once. Regained balance.

You laughed again, louder this time. “You’re gonna break your tailbone.”

“I deserve it,” he said solemnly, wobbling toward you. “I ruined your spin. I ruined the whole vibe.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The vibe?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “You had a really good vibe going.”

You looked at him — really looked. No teammates. No smirk. Just a boy in a hoodie, slipping on your ice, cheeks pink, eyes bright.

He stuck out a hand. “Sunghoon.”

“I know,” you said, lips twitching.

He grinned. “Still felt like I should say it.”

You slipped your fingers into his. Warm, despite the cold.

You told him your name.

His smile softened. “I know.”

Your brows lifted. “Do you?”

He nodded. “I saw the program list. And… you kind of stole the show.”

The silence that followed was delicate. Not awkward — just suspended.

Then you pulled your hand back gently. “Flattery doesn’t get your water bottle back.”

He laughed, breath misting. “Fair.”

You nudged the bottle toward him with your skate, then pivoted. “Well. I should let you practice.”

“I don’t mind sharing,” he blurted. Too fast. Too earnest. Then cleared his throat. “I mean. If you want.”

You hesitated near the edge.

He looked completely out of place — tall and hockey-built and still in socks — but his eyes were sincere.

You sighed. “Okay. But you’re going to need skates.”

—

At this point, it had been months now. You and Sunghoon had settled into a rhythm — the ice between you no longer a battlefield, but a shared space where something unspoken grew. The cold had softened, the silence filled with the quiet language of glides and edges.

But today, something was different.

He missed again.

The puck smacked the boards with a hollow thunk, nowhere near the net.

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. This was getting embarrassing.

He was a forward. A starter. Known for scoring under pressure — slicing through defenses like it was second nature. But today?

He couldn’t focus for shit.

Because every time he took a shot, his eyes drifted.

To you.

Skating on the far side of the rink, utterly unaware of the damage you were doing. Poised. Graceful. Lost in your own world.

He was, frankly, ruined.

Another shot. Another miss.

Then—

“You sure you play for the right team?” your voice called out, teasing.

He froze.

You turned, skating slowly toward him, a smirk curving your mouth.

“You miss a lot. Might need some extra practice.”

He flushed. “Guess I’m just… distracted.”

You circled closer, effortless, your hair slipping loose from its tie.

“Wonder what could be so distracting,” you murmured.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You raised a brow. “Want a skating lesson, hockey boy?”

He nodded before thinking. “Please.”

It did not go well.

“You’re stiff,” you said, circling him.

“I’m trying,” he grumbled, arms out like a scarecrow.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said, skating close enough that your voice brushed his ear. “Relax your core. Let your edges carry you.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m one wrong move from eating ice.”

“You body-checked a guy into the glass last week. You’ll survive.”

“That was instinct,” he said, wobbling. “This is… ballet.”

“It’s control,” you said gently, stopping in front of him. “Skating’s about lines. Precision. Breath. Not brute force.”

Your hands lifted to his waist — light, grounding.

Sunghoon forgot how to think.

You weren’t flirting. You were focused. Serious. But somehow, that made it worse. Or better.

“Engage here,” you said softly, tapping his side. “Keep your knees soft. Trust your edges.”

“I’m trying,” he murmured — eyes flicking, for a moment, to your mouth.

You stilled — just for a breath — then stepped back.

“Let’s try a crossover,” you said. “Right over left. Follow me.”

You demonstrated. Smooth. Seamless.

He tried.

Wobbly. Awkward. You giggled.

“I didn’t laugh when you missed your shots,” he muttered.

“You were looking at me when you missed,” you shot back, skating backward ahead of him. “I’m not looking at your feet.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“I am,” you teased. “Still not impressed.”

“Harsh coach.”

“Would a harsh coach do this?”

You reached out, took both his hands, and spun him — gently, carefully. He stumbled, caught himself, blinking wide-eyed.

“You just want to see me fall.”

“Not at all,” you said quietly. “I like you on your feet.”

And suddenly, you were close. Hands still laced. Breath mingling.

“I like you here,” you added, softer now.

He stared at you like he was afraid to blink.

You parted your lips — like maybe you’d say more — but then—

“Sunghoon!”

The shout shattered the moment.

You jumped back. He stepped away. Quickly. Too quickly.

Jake. Heeseung. The team, filing in, dropping gear onto the benches.

“Yo,” Jake called. “You figure skating now?”

Sunghoon swallowed. Hard.

And then — he panicked.

“She wasn’t supposed to be here,” he said, shrugging, tone flat. “I was just telling her to get off.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your expression didn’t change right away. Just slowly faded — like a light dimming behind your eyes.

“Oh,” Jake said, dragging out the word. “Right. Makes sense.”

Sunghoon didn’t look at you. Couldn’t.

And you?

You said nothing.

You turned, skated off the ice with quiet precision, and knelt to untie your skates — fingers trembling.

“Wait,” he called, softer now, taking a step toward you.

But you didn’t look up.

Didn’t speak.

You packed your things, slipped on your shoes, and left.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And the sound echoed through him louder than any puck ever had.

—

You were gone.

The second Sunghoon stepped into the rink the next morning, he felt it. The air was colder, heavier — like the chill had seeped under his skin and settled there. Something was off. Off-balance. Off-rhythm.

Your usual spot at the far end? Empty.

The bench where you stretched before warmups? Vacant.

Even your water bottle — the beat-up one with the sticker half-peeled off — was missing from the ledge.

Gone.

The silence echoed. A hollow kind that made the ice feel less like home and more like a warning.

Sunghoon laced up his skates anyway, heart pounding, trying not to overthink it.

He did a slow lap around the rink, blades carving lines he didn’t care to trace. He wasn’t warming up. He was waiting. Eyes flicking toward the tunnel every few seconds like it was instinct. Like maybe he could will you into existence just by needing it enough.

Every time the door creaked open, his chest lifted with hope.

Every time it wasn’t you — his stomach dropped like a stone in freezing water.

He stayed longer than he usually did.

Didn’t shoot once. Didn’t pass. Didn’t speak to anyone.

He just kept skating in circles like a ghost, watching the door until the Zamboni rolled out and forced him off the ice.

And when he got home, skates slung over one shoulder, throat tight and raw — he did something he hadn’t done in years.

He looked you up.

First your name.

Then your team name.

Then the competition roster that had your number next to it in faded font.

And there — suddenly, you were on his screen. That same half-smile he knew better than he wanted to admit. A photo that looked like it had been taken in early winter, cheeks pink from cold, hair pulled back, captioned with something simple:

“Early morning practices and even earlier nerves.”

His heart twisted.

It felt like you. Even on a screen, even through pixels.

Home.

Without thinking, he clicked follow.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

Then, slowly, he started typing.

hey. i’m sorry about yesterday. can we talk?

He hit send before he could back out.

The second the message was delivered, he froze.

A few seconds passed.

Then — three dots appeared.

His breath caught.

But before he could even feel hope bloom fully in his chest — they vanished.

Gone.

He waited.

Refreshed the app. Checked again. Opened and closed the message.

Still nothing.

That night, he barely slept. Just lay there in the dark, your face etched behind his eyelids like a scar.

The next morning, he went back to the rink.

No you.

Next day: same.

Then another. And another.

By the fourth morning, the ache in his chest had moved to his stomach — something dull and constant, gnawing.

Jake asked him if he was okay.

Sunghoon just smiled. The kind that didn’t touch his eyes. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He wasn’t tired.

He was unraveling.

Every shot he took went wide. Every drill was off. Every shift was colder without you on the other side of the boards.

He hated what he’d said.

Hated that it came out the way it did.

But most of all, he hated that you believed it.

—

He was late.

Helmet half-on, jersey untucked, skates slung over his shoulder — Sunghoon jogged across the pavement toward the bus with a pit in his stomach and panic in his lungs. He didn’t care about being benched. Didn’t care about fines or lectures.

He just needed to see you.

One last time.

If you weren’t there, he was ready to fake a stomachache, call his coach, crawl back into bed and stay there for a week.

But then — just as he was rounding the corner toward the front doors of the rink—

There you were.

Hood up. Hair tucked back. Bag slung across one shoulder. Head low.

His heart stuttered.

He didn’t think. Didn’t care who saw.

He ran.

Called your name like it was the only thing he remembered how to say.

You froze at the entrance.

Your fingers tightened on the handle.

He slowed as he reached you, breath shallow, eyes wide like seeing you was something holy.

You turned.

And gosh — your eyes.

Red-rimmed. Tired. Swollen like sleep hadn’t come easy.

Like maybe you’d been hurting too.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked, voice already breaking.

“I’m late for practice,” you replied, quiet and clipped.

“You’ve been late all week,” he whispered. “I came every day. Just in case.”

You stared at the ground.

Didn’t say anything.

He took a small step closer. “Please. I didn’t mean what I said. I panicked. My friends—”

“You were embarrassed of me,” you said flatly, voice cracking halfway through. “Like skating with me was some kind of shame.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him. “It wasn’t—”

“Then why did you say it?”

“I didn’t think you’d hear me.”

You laughed. Harsh. Disbelieving. “That’s not better, Sunghoon.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

The silence that followed was sharp around the edges, aching.

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion. His jaw tense like he hadn’t unclenched it in days.

“Why are you even here?” you asked, voice suddenly small. Fragile.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said.

You blinked.

“I go to practice, and I can’t focus. I look at the ice, and all I see is you. I listen for your skates. I check your profile like an idiot hoping you’ll post. Hoping you’ll text.”

Still, you said nothing.

His voice dropped lower.

“I know I don’t deserve another chance. But… you became part of my routine too. And I don’t know how to do this without you anymore.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Your breath came out shaky. “I haven’t been able to land my spin since that day.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I skate. I try. I push through it. But I can’t finish anything. You’re in my head.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and tender.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It won’t happen again.”

You didn’t respond. Not really.

You just turned and pushed the door open.

Walked into the rink like you used to.

And after a beat, he followed — quiet and careful, a shadow trailing behind your blades.

You tried to skate.

Tried to shake him off — the weight of him, the memory of him, the way your body used to move differently when you knew he was watching because it made you feel seen. Lighter. Braver.

Now, it just made you clench your fists.

Because he was still watching.

Still standing exactly where he always used to — near the penalty box, just past the boards, hood up, hands stuffed into his coat pockets like he didn’t trust them to stay still.

Motionless. Speechless.

Like if he said one wrong thing, you’d disappear again.

You clipped in your earbuds, took a breath, and pushed off from the wall.

Your first attempt was stiff.

Your muscles remembered the routine. Your mind didn’t. Halfway through your first jump, your weight tipped just slightly backward — enough to send you crashing onto the ice with a slap that echoed across the empty rink.

You winced. Pushed yourself back up with burning cheeks. Refused to look in his direction.

Tried again.

This time, your turn was too sharp, your timing off — and your foot caught the edge of your own blade. You hit the ice harder. Cold seeped through your leggings. The sting brought tears to your eyes that had nothing to do with pain.

You didn’t stay down.

Couldn’t.

You launched into your third attempt like it was a challenge — like maybe if you just forced it, you could forget he was there. Forget what he said. Forget the way his voice had cracked when he told someone else you didn’t matter.

The music started.

You made it through the first twenty seconds. Maybe thirty.

And then — static.

The speakers popped, your track cut out, and the silence that followed felt cruel. Almost mocking.

Your body locked mid-spin. You stumbled, skated hard toward the bench, the sound of your blades scraping against the ice louder than anything else.

You dropped onto the cold metal like your bones had given up.

Angry.

Exhausted.

You yanked at your laces with trembling hands, pulling your skates off with sharp, jerking motions like they were chains you couldn’t bear a second longer.

Your chest rose and fell too fast.

Breath caught somewhere in your throat, trembling on the edge of something ugly.

A sob or a scream — you weren’t sure which.

You braced your elbows on your knees, pressed your palms to your forehead, and sat there.

Behind you, the sound of footsteps came slowly. Measured.

Careful.

Soft as snowfall.

He didn’t sit.

Didn’t speak.

He just stood a few steps away — the same distance he used to keep before your routines, as if it were sacred. Now it felt like a barrier. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to cross it anymore.

He hovered there — like the apology he hadn’t yet finished saying.

Your voice came out hoarse, barely a breath. “What do you want?”

A pause.

“I want to fix it,” he said, quiet. Honest.

You laughed once — bitter, tired. It didn’t sound like you.

“You can’t.”

The silence that followed was thick. Full of everything he’d said and everything you hadn’t.

Then —

“You ruined it,” you whispered, voice unraveling at the edges. “You made me think—like maybe this was something. Like I wasn’t just someone you passed on the ice. You let it matter. You let me matter.”

You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. The words felt like glass in your mouth.

You heard the shift of his weight. Then the gentle thud of a knee hitting the floor beside you.

He crouched down, slow, careful — as if getting too close might shatter you for good.

His hand hovered just above your knee. Not touching. Not brave enough to ask for that yet.

“And now I don’t know how to skate without you,” you breathed.

The truth of it made your chest ache. Made your jaw tighten.

You finally turned toward him.

And when you did — he flinched.

Not from anger.

But from the look in your eyes.

Because you weren’t angry anymore.

You were heartbroken.

Soft. Quiet. Bruised in ways no one could see.

“You broke something I didn’t even know was fragile,” you said.

He swallowed hard. You could see the pulse in his throat.

“I’ll stay,” he whispered. “Every day. For as long as it takes.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t reach for his hand.

You just sat there — skin prickling from the cold, emotions pulled too tight inside you to move.

But you didn’t move away, either.

And for now — for both of you — that was enough.

—

The air in the rink felt different.

Not just cold — it always was — but quiet in a way that felt deliberate. Like the space itself remembered what had happened the last time you were both here and didn’t want to disturb the fragile silence still hanging in the corners. The echo of past laughter, whispered apologies, blades carving across ice in harmony — all of it lingered like breath on glass.

Sunghoon exhaled slowly, skating a slow, hesitant circle before coming to a stop near the boards.

You were already there.

Tucked low on the bench, shoulders curled inward like you were bracing against more than just the chill. Your skates were off, placed side by side on the ground like you’d pulled them off in defeat. Arms folded tight across your chest, gaze locked on a scratch in the paint along the lower boards — a single scuff in a sea of wear.

You didn’t glance up when he skated over.

He stopped just at the edge of the ice. Close enough for you to hear him. Far enough not to overstep.

He swallowed once. Shifted his stick from one hand to the other. Then said, soft and careful, “I didn’t know how to fix it.”

His voice barely echoed.

“So I thought maybe I’d just... show up. Keep showing up.”

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t nod. Didn’t meet his eyes.

But you didn’t stand and walk away either.

That felt like something. A start — the kind made of silence and space and the smallest flicker of possibility.

The next few days passed in that strange, suspended rhythm.

It wasn’t like before — not quite. You didn’t joke with him after runs. Didn’t tease him for missing shots. Your laugh, once a melody that echoed off the rafters, had gone quiet.

But you came.

That was enough.

Sometimes, you laced up and took to the ice — headphones in, eyes locked forward, your routines sharper than ever but haunted by the tension in your shoulders. Other times, you just sat on the bench, as if trying to remember what this place used to feel like before it all cracked open.

He never pushed.

Never asked.

He simply practiced nearby — running tight stickhandling drills in silence, skating sprints along the length of the rink, always aware of your presence even when he pretended not to be.

Occasionally, you’d glance up. Catch him watching.

He always looked away too fast.

No flirty remarks. No easy banter.

But there was effort.

There was quiet. There was space. And there was something in the way he returned — every day, on time, eyes searching the door until you appeared.

He stopped trying to impress you.

He just tried to be consistent.

And for the first time in weeks, he was focused — really focused. Not just on hockey, but on healing whatever invisible thread still tethered you together.

Because it was still there.

Thin. Frayed. But intact.

And every silent morning you spent on opposite ends of the rink felt like one small stitch in the repair.

—

One afternoon, while you were working on a new sequence, Sunghoon found himself frozen mid-drill — stick loose in his hands, skates still, just… watching you again.

You skated differently now.

Still graceful. Still impossibly precise. But something had changed. Your edges were sharper, movements tighter, each push of the blade like a controlled release of something pent up — anger, maybe. Sadness, definitely. The flow was still there, but it felt… caged. Beautiful, but a little colder. Like a song missing its crescendo.

He followed your path with his eyes as you floated across the rink — edge pulls into crossovers, the twirl of your arms, the sudden snap into a landing. Controlled. Measured. Too measured.

Then — you spun into a stop right in front of the glass, spraying a soft mist of ice. Your chest heaved, breath quick and visible in the cold. He leaned forward instinctively, palms flat against the boards, forehead nearly touching the pane. His breath fogged the glass between you.

And then — you looked up.

Your eyes locked.

Neither of you moved.

For a moment, the air between you felt electrified — not loud or dramatic, but thick with every word unsaid.

Then you blinked slowly, lowered your gaze, and turned away — gliding back to the center like nothing had happened, ready to start again.

He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until his lungs started to burn.

A few days later, while you were packing up your things — skates half-untied, sweatshirt pulled back on, hair damp from effort — Sunghoon skated over slowly, the thud of his blades echoing lightly through the near-empty rink.

He stopped beside you. Gently tapped the toe of your skate with his own.

You looked up, cautious. Guarded. Expression unreadable beneath the fatigue.

“You…” he started, voice softer than usual, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask. “You always warm up that way?”

You blinked at him, wary. “Why?”

He shrugged a little, one shoulder lifting with faux nonchalance, but his eyes didn’t waver. “I just noticed… you do that edge pull. Backward entry. Twice. Then the same crossroll pattern.”

A pause.

Long enough for him to wonder if he’d overstepped.

“You’ve been watching,” you said quietly, not quite accusing — more like acknowledging a fact.

He hesitated. Then nodded. “I always watch.”

Your eyes flickered down. You turned away quickly, hands fidgeting with the zipper on your skate bag like it gave you something safe to look at.

He took a small breath.

“Will you teach me?” he asked. So quietly, it was almost lost in the hum of the rink. “Just something small. One thing.”

You didn’t look up.

Didn’t answer.

But after a long pause, you gave the smallest nod — not even toward him, just toward the ice, like a silent gesture of allowance.

And that’s how it started again.

It became its own kind of rhythm.

Not like before — not easy or full of teasing smiles — but something gentler. Tentative. Careful.

Each day, he’d start by shooting pucks into the net while you skated slow laps, running through your warmups. You never said much. But when you finished, you’d pause, glance over your shoulder, and lift one hand in a wordless signal.

Come here.

So he would.

You never rushed through instructions. You spoke in a calm, even tone, like you were teaching a kid — clear, patient, quietly encouraging.

The first lesson was simple: how to glide without scraping the ice, how to let the blade hum instead of bite. Then: shifting direction using body weight. Lean into the edges, don’t fight them. Trust your balance.

Eventually, you tried to teach him a basic spin entry.

He gave it his best shot.

And landed flat on his back — limbs splayed, helmet askew, dignity somewhere near the Zamboni entrance.

There was a moment of pure silence.

Then — laughter.

Yours.

Bright, surprised, real.

He looked up at you from the ice, stunned.

And there you were, hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking, unable to stop. The sound bounced off the walls and settled into the cracks between you like sunlight creeping through blinds.

He grinned despite himself, still sprawled across the rink.

He didn’t care that his ribs might bruise or that the fall knocked the wind out of him.

That laugh was worth all of it.

But he didn’t tell the guys.

They still thought he was coming in early for extra shooting drills. Extra conditioning. Maybe just working off frustration.

Let them think that.

He kept it to himself — the late nights, the secret lessons, the warmth in your voice when you corrected his footwork. The small glances. The unspoken forgiveness building, brick by careful brick.

It was his secret.

His sanctuary.

And maybe — just maybe — the beginning of something real again.

—

“You’ve been improving fast, Hoon.”

Jake nudged him lightly in the ribs as they unlaced their skates, brows lifted in suspicion. “Like… really fast. What, you got some secret training camp we don’t know about?”

Sunghoon didn’t look up. Just shrugged, eyes fixed on the strap of his shin guard like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Heeseung flopped down beside him on the bench with a dramatic sigh, then slung an arm over Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Nah, don’t tell me—you’re in your mysterious genius athlete era,” he teased. “You’re just one press conference away from telling the media you’ve ‘been focused on fundamentals and visualizing excellence.’”

Jake snorted.

But Heeseung wasn’t done. He leaned in, eyes narrowing with faux seriousness. “Or… wait. Is it a girl?”

That made Sunghoon freeze for a second — just a flicker. Barely noticeable.

But they noticed.

Jake perked up immediately. “Oh? Ohhh. That was a reaction.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes hard, trying not to wince as the tips of his ears flushed unmistakably pink. “No,” he muttered, yanking at his bag strap with more force than necessary. “I’ve just… been practicing more. On my own.”

Jake gave him a look. “You? Practicing. Alone. At ungodly hours of the morning.”

“You ghost us now for solo ice time,” Heeseung added, squinting at him. “You never miss your drills anymore. Your shooting’s gotten nasty. And your edgework? Freakishly tight. I mean—did you sell your soul to the hockey gods, or…?”

“I just wanted to step it up,” Sunghoon said, quickly, a little too defensively. He busied himself with stuffing gear into his duffel. “We’ve got regionals. I want us to win.”

That quieted them for a second.

Jake exchanged a glance with Heeseung. Then he just shrugged. “Okay, fine, Mr. Team Player. Keep your secrets.”

“Yeah, whatever, Ovechkin 2.0,” Heeseung muttered, ruffling Sunghoon’s hair as he stood up. “Don’t forget the rest of us when you go pro.”

They laughed and moved on, joking with the others as they packed up, the locker room filling with the usual clatter of gear and easy banter.

But Sunghoon just sat there for a second longer.

And even though the teasing had stopped, he could still feel it — the weight of the secret he wasn’t ready to share.

Because it wasn’t drills that had sharpened his reflexes. Wasn’t shooting reps that had taught him how to move with flow instead of force.

It was you.

You — skating silently at the far end of the rink, unaware of the way he studied your every movement like scripture. You — teaching him without realizing it, every glide and spin unraveling a new truth about balance, about rhythm, about presence on the ice.

You taught him that movement didn’t always have to be about power.

That grace was its own kind of strength.

That the ice could carry you if you learned how to listen to it.

He didn’t want to explain that. Not yet. Not when it still felt fragile. Private. Sacred.

Because what he had with you now — those quiet late-night lessons, your voice in his ear guiding his footwork, your fingers adjusting his stance — it wasn’t just training.

It was the only part of you he still had.

And he wasn’t ready to give that away.

—

The rink was wrapped in a hush only winter could bring — a kind of sacred stillness that settled in the corners like breath held too long. The cold wasn’t biting, not today. It was soft, almost reverent, like even the air didn’t want to disrupt what was unfolding.

The only sounds were the gentle scrape of blades carving delicate lines across the ice, the distant echo of a puck rebounding off the boards, and the low hum of the overhead lights, casting pale, watery reflections that shimmered on the surface like ghosts of memories past.

Sunghoon sat on the bench, lacing his skates with deliberate care, fingers fumbling just slightly around the laces. His gloves sat untouched beside him, his stick leaning against the boards. His pulse beat loud in his ears — louder than it should for a normal night of practice. But this wasn’t just any night.

He’d gotten there early. Earlier than usual. Earlier than he’d admit to anyone. He’d paced in the locker room for a full ten minutes before stepping out onto the ice. He told himself it was to get in some solo drills.

But really, he was waiting.

Hoping.

Needing.

And then — you appeared.

Like a breath of color in a gray-scale world, you stepped onto the ice without a sound, your movements fluid and effortless, the kind that came from hours and years of repetition. You didn’t try to be graceful — you just were. Each glide was purposeful but quiet, like you were painting with your skates, not pushing.

Your warmup jacket clung to you softly, the sleeves pushed up to your elbows, ponytail swaying behind you in gentle arcs. You skated a loop before dropping into your stretches near the center, and Sunghoon couldn’t look away.

His fingers tightened instinctively around his gloves, knuckles white. His heart thumped too loud in his chest. It was ridiculous how nervous he felt around you, especially after everything. Especially now that you were letting him back in — slowly, cautiously, like testing thin ice.

He forced himself to stand, clearing his throat as he stepped out onto the rink, his blades clicking against the surface. He tried to focus on drills. Quick stops. Stick handling. Practice shots aimed with too much force into an empty net.

But every time he glanced up, you were there — back arched in a spiral stretch, leg extended, focus sharp. You didn’t see him watching. Or maybe you did. You always had a way of knowing things without looking.

And every time he saw you move, something unsteady inside him melted. You had that effect — like watching snow fall over floodlights. Quiet. Mesmerizing.

Finally, you skated toward the boards for a water break. He saw his opening and didn’t hesitate.

He coasted over slowly, his breath coming in soft clouds, nerves buzzing beneath his skin.

“You’re early,” you said lightly, voice tinged with amusement, but you kept your gaze on your water bottle, unscrewing the cap with practiced ease.

“So are you,” he replied, smile small and crooked, cheeks flushed more from nerves than cold.

This time, you glanced up. And when your eyes met his, something gentle flickered there — a cautious warmth, a lingering softness that hadn’t fully left.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, uh… so I’ve got this game coming up.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Another one?”

He laughed under his breath. “Yeah. Last one of the season. Senior night. It’s… kind of a big deal. Whole school’s supposed to show up. My parents. The team’s doing this ceremony thing. All that.”

You nodded slowly, your expression unreadable.

He fidgeted with the strap of his stick. “I was just wondering… if you’d maybe wanna come.”

There was a beat — a small pause that held more weight than it should have.

You tilted your head, lips curving slightly. “You’re inviting me to a hockey game?”

He tried to play it cool. Shrugged like it didn’t matter as much as it did. “Only if you’ll cheer for me.”

You smiled — soft, but distant. A little sad.

Then you said, “I want to… but I have a competition that night. Warm-ups start right when your puck drops.”

For a split second, the quiet cracked around him.

He masked it quickly with a nod, shoulders stiffening as he glanced away. “That’s okay. I get it.”

And he did.

You weren’t saying no.

You just weren’t saying yes.

Not yet.

Your voice dropped a little, more tender this time. “But… if I finish early, maybe I can catch the last few minutes.”

His head snapped back toward you, blinking in surprise. “Yeah?”

You nodded, gaze softer now, like the walls around your heart were loosening, brick by careful brick. “I’ll try.”

That tiny word — try — didn’t sound like much.

But to him, it meant everything.

The cold rink felt warmer. The week ahead didn’t feel as heavy. And the quiet between you didn’t feel like distance anymore.

It felt like possibility.

—

The night of the game was electric.

The arena pulsed with sound — fans cheering from the stands in waves, cowbells clanging, the metallic clang of the puck echoing off the boards. Floodlights cast a sharp glare across the ice, turning each skate-blade scratch into a shimmer, every breath into a visible puff of frost. The announcer’s voice boomed through the rafters, rising and falling with each play, but none of it reached Sunghoon properly. It was all background noise.

Because he kept looking for you.

Every time he circled back to the bench, his eyes darted toward the crowd — row after row of bundled-up students, parents, alumni — scanning, hoping. Desperately. But your seat stayed empty.

And with each passing minute, his chest tightened.

The first period slipped through his fingers like melting ice. His stick fumbled once. Then twice. He missed a wide-open shot that normally would’ve been second nature.

Between plays, Heeseung dropped down beside him on the bench, nudging his shoulder. “You good?”

Sunghoon’s jaw was set tight. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Jake chimed in, voice lower, more careful. “You’ve been off all night.”

He just nodded, but his grip on the water bottle in his hands said otherwise.

They let it go — for now.

But the game was slipping. The other team scored. Then scored again.

And Sunghoon couldn’t shake the weight in his chest, that hollow ache where you should’ve been — the echo of your absence thudding louder than the puck.

He moved like he was skating through molasses, legs heavier than usual, thoughts scattered like snow in the wind. The hours of extra practice, the drills, the edgework you'd helped him refine — none of it mattered if you weren't there to see it.

He missed another pass. Swore under his breath.

He glanced up toward the stands one more time, just to make sure—

Nothing.

And then.

With less than three minutes left in the final period, the main doors creaked open behind the bleachers.

He almost didn’t notice — not until the air shifted.

And there you were.

Framed by the open doors and the flood of cold night air behind you, cheeks flushed from running, hair slightly tousled beneath the hood of your jacket. You still had your warmup pants on, your skate bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder.

You were late.

But you came.

You scanned the crowd in a single sweep, eyes sharp, searching — and found him almost instantly. Your gaze locked across the rink, and your smile bloomed like spring breaking through snow.

And suddenly, something shifted in him.

Like a frozen river finally breaking free.

The weight in his chest melted.

The noise dulled into a hum.

And the ice — the ice felt like home again.

On the next face-off, Sunghoon moved like a different player. Fast. Fluid. Certain. He darted through defenders with purpose, every edge control movement clean and confident. The lessons you’d shown him — how to shift his weight, how to trust the glide — they weren’t just technical now. They were part of him.

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t second-guess.

He was playing for the win.

But more than that — he was playing for you.

The final seconds ticked down. He received the puck near center ice, the goalie waiting, crouched and ready. But Sunghoon didn’t flinch.

He cut in hard, sharp turn on his inside edge, then — in one breathless, perfect motion — snapped a shot just under the goalie’s glove.

Goal.

The horn blared.

The arena erupted.

His teammates leapt to their feet, pounding the boards, screams echoing around him like thunder. People were cheering his name. Parents stood. Jake tackled him in a bear hug.

But all Sunghoon saw was you — standing now, clapping, face lit up with pride, eyes gleaming like you were holding back tears.

And in that moment, he knew.

It had all been worth it.

After the game, the crowd started to thin, the cold creeping back in under the bright rink lights.

Sunghoon didn’t wait for the locker room. He found you near the exit tunnel, just outside the players’ gate. You were still holding your jacket closed with one hand, the other clutching a half-finished bottle of water, breath misting in the air.

“You made it,” he said, breathless, cheeks flushed pink — not from the cold this time.

You gave a small, lopsided shrug, but your smile was warm. “Barely.”

Jake and Heeseung lingered a few feet behind, catching sight of you for the first time. Heeseung raised an eyebrow. Jake blinked in surprise. But Sunghoon didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. Not yet. This wasn’t for them.

This was just for you.

Without saying a word, he stepped forward and gently wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you close until your forehead rested against his chest. You let him — no resistance, just soft warmth in the middle of the cold.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispered, his voice thick, his breath fanning against your hair.

You exhaled slowly, the moment stretching between you like a thread pulled tight.

Your voice was quiet, barely more than a breath.

“You killed it out there.”

And with your arms slowly slipping around him too, with your head tucked beneath his chin, with the crowd fading into silence — Sunghoon didn’t need anything else.

Not trophies. Not praise.

Just this.

Just you.

—

The rink was empty — except for you.

The overhead lights hummed faintly, casting a silver glow across the freshly resurfaced ice. Every glimmer off its smooth surface reflected like moonlight caught in motion. The sharp shhh of your blades carving lazy arcs echoed through the space, soft and rhythmic, blending with the low murmur of the heaters hidden in the rafters.

It was a kind of sacred quiet — the hush that only existed in empty arenas. That silence that felt like it was holding its breath just for you.

Sunghoon stood behind the glass, just outside the barrier, tucked into the shadows where you couldn’t see him right away. His breath fogged gently on the clear pane, each exhale catching the chill of the air. He knew he shouldn’t be here — not during your solo practice, not without asking. But lately, watching you skate felt like the only thing that made his pulse steady.

You moved like music.

Each glide was fluid, unhurried — more like painting than skating. The sharpness of your toe picks, the grace of your arms as they rose and fell like wings — it was more than technique. It was emotion. Story. Art.

Every movement held something you weren’t saying out loud.

Sunghoon leaned against the railing, shoulder pressed to the plexiglass, his eyes drinking in every detail like it was the last time he'd ever see it. Your warmup jacket clung to your frame as you moved, ponytail swaying behind you. The faint sound of your breath — that soft little puff each time you pushed forward — drifted through the boards and made something in him ache.

How could someone look so focused and so free all at once?

He wasn’t even sure how long he stood there. Minutes stretched long and quiet. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just watched, letting every motion etch itself into memory — the delicate tilt of your head mid-spin, the way your fingertips seemed to dance just slightly ahead of your body, guiding it.

Then, almost imperceptibly, your eyes flicked up. Just a glance — caught in the reflection of the glass — and then they found his.

Your blade slowed.

Your expression shifted — not startled, not annoyed — just… soft. As if you’d known he was there the whole time. A faint smile ghosted over your lips. Not quite an invitation, but not a dismissal either.

And somehow, that tiny smile hit him harder than a slapshot to the chest.

You slowed your pace, letting your skates draw to a clean, balanced stop near the boards, your breaths rising in faint clouds. You turned toward him, and for a moment, it was like everything around you stilled — the hum of the lights, the chill in the air, even the distant ticking of the scoreboard clock.

Sunghoon stood frozen, forehead now resting against the glass, his fingers gripping the railing so tightly that his knuckles paled. His heart pounded loud enough he was sure you could hear it.

“You’re…” His voice came out hoarse, barely louder than the wind outside. “You’re incredible. Every time I watch you, I’m just—”

You raised an eyebrow playfully, the corner of your mouth quirking upward. “Caught speechless?”

A soft laugh escaped him. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down for a second, then back at you — more serious now.

His gaze flickered to the distance between you — barely two feet, and yet it felt like miles. A thin wall of glass and everything unspoken.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said carefully. Like he was placing each word on thin ice, terrified of making the wrong step.

You stepped a little closer. Just enough for your breath to fog against the same panel of glass, leaving two mirrored clouds between you. Your expression gentled.

“And what’s that?”

He hesitated. Not because he didn’t know — but because he did. He knew exactly what he meant. What had been building since the first time he watched you skate alone. Since the first lesson. Since the first laugh.

“I think I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, voice low, honest. “Not just out here. Not just for skating. I mean… for you. All of you. Even before I really knew it.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the confession — not flashy, not loud. Just raw truth, handed to you with trembling hands.

Color bloomed on your cheeks, but you didn’t look away.

Instead, your gaze softened into something warmer. Quieter. Like trust beginning to thaw.

And the space between you — the one that felt like a barrier just moments ago — suddenly felt like a bridge.

You pressed your fingertips lightly to the glass, almost touching where his rested. Not quite contact. But close enough for him to feel it anyway.

Neither of you spoke again.

You didn’t need to.

The silence between you wasn’t empty. It was full. Of hope, of tension, of everything that might come next — if only you were both brave enough to keep stepping forward.

And for now, that was enough.

—

The next few practices feel different.

Not in a way you could measure in drills or laps or landing percentage — but in the way your chest feels a little fuller when he walks in.

Sunghoon doesn’t hide anymore.

There’s no more slipping through side doors or pretending not to see you. Now, he strides into the rink like he belongs — and like you do, too. He nods in your direction with that soft, crooked smile that never quite reaches anyone else. Sometimes he murmurs a low “hey” as he laces up beside you, voice rough with sleep or effort, but always gentle. Sometimes, he tosses out quiet compliments — casual, but devastating. “That new spin? You looked unreal.” “Your edgework’s scary smooth today.” “Still can’t figure out how you make it all look so easy.”

Every word leaves your heart stuttering, and he knows it — you can see it in the way he bites back a grin when you glance away too fast.

The two of you fall into a rhythm: skating slow, overlapping loops across the rink during cooldowns. Like two shadows tracing the same path. The way your blades echo in tandem makes it feel like the ice belongs to no one else.

The boys still don’t know. And you can tell Sunghoon prefers it that way.

It’s not secrecy. It’s privacy. This thing — whatever it is, whatever it’s becoming — is something he wants to keep untouched. Untangled. Yours.

One night, after a long practice, you both linger at center ice.

The main lights have been dimmed, replaced by the soft amber glow of the rink’s perimeter bulbs, casting a warm haze across the glassy surface. It’s quiet — the kind of quiet that hums in your ears, like standing in snow. Your breath fogs gently between you, curling in the chilled air like wisps of smoke. But you barely feel the cold anymore. Not when he’s standing this close.

Your skates glide to a soft stop, and he mirrors you. You’re not touching, but the space between you is charged — heavy with all the things you haven’t dared say out loud.

Then, Sunghoon breaks the silence, voice barely more than a whisper.

“You ever think about what happens after all this?”

You blink, caught off guard. “After… skating?”

He nods once, slowly. “Skating. School. Us.”

Us.

It slips out quiet — careful — but it lands like a crash in your chest.

He’s never said that before. Not even hinted. But now it hangs between you, glowing like a question and a confession all at once.

Your heart stumbles. “What about us?” you ask, barely able to get the words out.

Sunghoon turns to face you more fully. His skates nudge yours, the faintest bump — like an invitation. His eyes are darker now, softer, filled with something real. Something certain.

“I used to think I had everything I wanted out here,” he begins, voice steady but low. “Goals. Stats. Big wins. It was enough for a long time.” His gaze drops, like he’s searching for the right words in the reflection of your skates. “But then you started showing up. Floating in with your quiet confidence. Your ridiculous grace. And it was like…” He pauses, swallowing. “Like the ice wasn’t just mine anymore. It became this… thing we shared. This place I looked forward to because I knew you’d be here.”

You say nothing. You can’t.

He’s still going. “You made me want to skate differently. To be better. For me, yeah. But also for you.” He lifts his head now, eyes locking with yours. “I think I was always skating toward you. I just didn’t know it until now.”

Your breath catches.

He lifts a hand — gloved and trembling just slightly — and lets his thumb graze your cheek. The gesture is so delicate it barely counts as a touch, but you feel it like a lightning bolt beneath your skin.

It’s not rushed. Not dramatic. Just real.

And then he leans in.

The kiss is soft. Almost tentative. But warm — achingly warm — like sunlight spilling through a frost-covered window. His lips taste faintly of winter air and something sweeter — maybe relief, maybe hope.

You melt into it slowly, arms slipping up around his neck. His hands find your waist, steady and careful, anchoring you to the spot like you’re something he’s afraid to lose.

The silence wraps around you like a blanket. No crowd, no teammates, no music — just the whisper of blades as you shift closer, deeper into the kiss.

When you finally part, your foreheads stay pressed together, breaths mingling. His cheeks are flushed, not from exertion but from you.

You whisper, barely teasing, “Still think figure skating’s weak?”

A slow, breathless laugh escapes him. He pulls back just enough to grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “No,” he murmurs. “I think it saved me.”

And somewhere in the distance, the low mechanical hum of the Zamboni stirs to life. The sound should pull you apart — remind you that time’s still moving. But neither of you flinch.

You stay there, hand in hand, lips tingling, hearts still racing, as the world starts to catch up.

But here, on the ice — in your own quiet corner of the universe — you have all the time you need.

EPILOGUE  ↴

It happens a week later.

Whatever unspoken agreement Sunghoon had with himself — to keep things lowkey, just between you and him — it starts to unravel under the weight of how obvious he’s become.

Jake and Heeseung are the first to notice.

Not because Sunghoon says anything — he’s still tight-lipped and cool as ever on the surface — but because something has shifted.

He’s sharper on the ice. More fluid, more explosive. Every play lands. Every pass connects. He’s skating like there’s a fire beneath him and gravity’s stopped applying.

But it’s not just that.

It’s the hum under his breath in the locker room — some tune that doesn’t exist outside the way he heard you humming it under your breath one night while lacing your skates.

It’s the stupid grin that sneaks across his face when he’s doing something as mundane as tying his laces or drinking water.

It’s the way he checks his phone during water breaks, thumbs flying fast across the screen before he tucks it away with that soft little smile, like the words on it are carved from sunshine.

Jake stares at him for a moment one morning as they’re suiting up for practice.

Then, squinting: “Okay. Spill it. Who is she?”

Sunghoon looks up too quickly, too sharply — caught. “Who’s who?”

Heeseung doesn’t even try to hide his laugh. “Don’t even. You’ve been moving like you’re in the opening credits of a K-drama. The smiling? The texting? The skating like you’ve been kissed for the first time? Yeah, we clocked it.”

Jake snaps his fingers suddenly, pointing at Sunghoon with wide eyes. “Wait. WAIT. Is it—? It is, isn’t it? The figure skater?”

Heeseung’s jaw drops like it’s been unhinged. “No way. The one from the other school? The really good one? The hot one?”

Sunghoon stiffens. Silent. Hesitates.

And then, with zero fanfare, “...I mean. Yeah.”

Jake lets out a triumphant squawk. “I knew it! Bro, I told you he was eyeing her during that last comp. Like, full-on ‘main character sees his future wife’ energy.”

Heeseung flails his arms like he’s been personally betrayed. “And you didn’t tell us?! Dude. You’ve been having secret after-hours practices and doing love laps around the rink while we were trying to figure out how you leveled up like a hockey anime protagonist?”

Sunghoon shrugs, but his smile gives him away — soft, boyish, completely unbothered. “I wasn’t sneaking. I just… didn’t say anything.”

Jake clutches his heart dramatically. “You didn’t trust us with your love story? I would’ve planned a playlist. A celebratory montage. Something!”

Heeseung leans across the bench, narrowing his eyes. “So when do we get lessons? You clearly unlocked some kind of romantic-figure-skating power boost and I want in.”

“Never,” Sunghoon replies instantly, flicking a glove at him. “That’s our thing.”

Jake and Heeseung groan in betrayal.

That night, the team heads to a little post-practice dinner — a cozy spot with warm lighting, clinking glasses, and the sound of cleats scraping on linoleum as players shuffle into booths.

Sunghoon arrives late.

And not alone.

When the door opens, heads turn.

You walk in beside him, cheeks pink from the cold, hair slightly windswept, and wearing one of his oversized spare hoodies — navy, with his team’s logo splashed across the chest and his number stitched into the sleeve. It swallows you just enough to make it his, but you wear it like it’s yours.

Jake and Heeseung look at each other, faces lighting up with identical I told you so expressions so dramatic they might as well have been choreographed.

You wave shyly toward the group.

Jake waves back like you’re a celebrity and he’s a fan at a fanmeet. Heeseung literally claps.

Sunghoon just exhales, long-suffering, but there’s a warm glow in his eyes as he places a guiding hand on the small of your back, steering you to the booth beside him.

Heeseung leans across the table like he’s interviewing you for a magazine. “So. Question. Did you teach him all those new spins he’s been showing off? Or just the ones that make us look like amateurs?”

You smirk, resting your elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Jake points at you dramatically. “Perfect. She’s perfect. You’re doomed, man.”

Sunghoon laughs — really laughs — and it’s unguarded in a way the team rarely sees from him. He pulls you in gently, letting you tuck beneath his arm, and rests his chin on your shoulder with a content sigh.

No deflection. No hiding.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t care who’s watching.

Because everyone is watching — and this time, he’s proud of what they see.

You.

Him.

Together.

And he wouldn’t change a single second of it.

Thanks for reading! Reblogs + notes always mean a lot 💌

tl: (read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )

[goldenmellow]

Face sitting with sunghoon and his nose is bumping your clit nonstop........🧍🏿‍♀️

“Come here,” he said, voice calm, low but heavy. The kind of tone that made your body move before you could think.

You crawled up his chest, straddling his shoulders, and the moment your knees settled on either side of his head, Sunghoon exhaled shakily like he’d just been given something sacred.

“Look at this,” he muttered, eyes fixed on your cunt like it was art, sinful and soaked. “Fucking perfect. I dream about this pussy.”

He didn’t beg. he commanded, but the hunger was simmering just beneath his control. The kind of hunger that made him lick his lips before he even touched you.

“Sit on my face. Slowly.”

When you did, lowering yourself until your heat barely hovered above his lips, he let out the filthiest, neediest groan. His hands gripped your hips, not forcing, not rough. just grounding himself.

And then his mouth was on you.

Deep, slow licks. Controlled at first. But the second your thighs tensed, and his nose bumped your clit just right — he growled.

“That’s it,” he rasped, pulling you flush against his face. “Use me. You know you want to. Grind that pretty little clit on my nose until you scream.”

You whimpered, hips shifting instinctively, and he snapped.

One hand left your hip and slapped your ass, hard enough to make you jolt. “Don’t hold back. You sit like you mean it.”

And when you did, pressing down fully, when you rocked against his face and he rutted up into nothing beneath you, hips twitching like a man possessed. you heard it.

A muffled, desperate “fuck,” followed by more slurping, more mess, more pressure.

He was groaning into you now. Letting you smear all over his mouth, his chin, his nose.

“Come on my face,” he growled. “I want you fucking dripping down my neck. I wanna choke on it.”

You did. Loud, gasping, thighs shaking as you pressed down harder, and he held you there.

Just breathing you in.

Like he never wanted to come up for air.

© hoondrop | tumblr

[goldenmellow]

gamer!ni-ki x beauty influencer!reader

masterlist

- you guys met at some convention like vidcon. staff wasnt very clear, and you accidentally made your way to the gaming area. wanting to get back to the right area, you asked the closest person for help, and it just so happened to be ni-ki! he immediately gets lost in how your glittery eyeshadow brought out your eyes or how the lights made your lips shine just right from your lipgloss

- he ended up helping you get back to the right area but not without getting your number, and after that you guys just started talking and hit it off

- at first you guys just kept it private, but both of your fans knew as you guys made it obvious

- one time ni-ki is streaming fnaf with the lights off for “ambiance” and randomly a hand appears with a plate full of snacks and water. chat loses it mainly because he was so into the game he didnt see your hand and lost his shit when you put the plate down. your face wasnt seen or anything, just an arm but this was the first of the suspition

- it wasnt just his content, it was yours too. you were doing a new makeup review and had a little vlog portion of the video as you had to buy the new makeup to try. it was very evident a certain someone was with you, even showing how he swiped his card to buy you a drink at your local cafe before going to sephora

- all in all, fans were not shocked when you guys posted a picture together on your instagrams

- ok but after you guys announced it yall immediately started making couples content

- “boyfie does my makeup” was probably the first video you uploaded after being official

- ni-ki was better than most when he tried to do your makeup. he’s seen you do these steps so many times he somewhat knew what he was doing.

“ok so i think i should blend this to your neck”

“ok i like the glitter eyeshadows but im not good at this”

“if i put this lip gloss on can you give me a kiss? it smells nice and i want a taste”

- the video goes viral of course and everyone already loves the dynamic between you two, calling you their parents despite being too young to actually be parents

- for his channel he trys to teach you how to play valorant. like typical fashion, valorant boys are rude, but no worries! your boyfriend is at your side defending you like his life depends on it

“babe they said im trash”

“well youve died every round…”

- next thing you know though ni-ki is taking the keyboard and writing some not so kind words toward whoever is being rude to you

- chat def makes fun of him for it

- definitely vlogs your dates. in a way that makes content but also in a way that you guys have fun and the camera just captures how lovesick you guys are

- the cutest couple out there for sure

[goldenmellow]

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

Jay’s hands…

you don’t remember exactly when the obsession started. maybe it was the first time you saw him play guitar, veins along his forearms flexing, his long, elegant fingers pressing against the strings with such confident ease. they were veiny, just the right amount of rough, and the way his knuckles flexed as he changed chords had you swallowing hard. he was wearing silver rings that day—your favorite—and your eyes kept darting to them every time they glinted under the soft lamp light.

“they’re so pretty…” you whispered with soft, dreamy voice.

he stopped playing and looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “my hands?”

“they’re just so perfect, Jay. is not fair.” you traced a finger down his wrist, trailing over the veins with a soft gasp. “do you even know what you do to me?”

his jaw tightened the smugness faltering as your touch lingered.

“you like them that much, princess?” he teased, but there was heat behind it now. he set the guitar aside, tilting your chin up. “should i show you what else they can do?”

or maybe it was when he first touched you.

because Jay doesn’t just touch, he handles. gently. like you’re precious. like if he pressed just a little harder, you’d bruise, and he’d never forgive himself. his hands always find you. on your thigh when he’s driving, thumb lazily brushing your skin like he needs to remind you that you’re his. on your waist at parties, when someone else’s gaze lingers too long and his grip subtly tightens, never rough, but enough. enough for you to feel it. enough for him to make a point. under tables at dinner with the guys, his fingers resting on your bare skin while he talks like nothing’s happening, all casual and composed while you try not to shift too obviously in your seat.

you’re the one who asked, shy and breathless, for his fingers in your mouth one night, unable to stop staring. he hesitated at first, always afraid of crossing a line, of hurting you, but he gave in when you begged. and fuck, he groaned, low and quiet, letting you pull two of his fingers past your lips.

now you always do it.

your mouth is so warm, your tongue swirling around them immediately, like you’ve been waiting for this all day. you suck slow, messy, eyes fluttering shut as you moan softly around them. and Jay is mesmerized, watching you absolutely fall apart from something so simple. he tightens his arm around your waist, other hand twitching at his side. “you’re really doing this just from my fingers, huh?” he murmurs, voice lower now, strained. “you’re such a dirty little thing.”

you whimper around him, drool starting to slip from the corners of your mouth as you bob your head slightly, like you need more. he watches the spit string between your lips and his knuckles, and it drives him crazy.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, tugging you closer, voice rough in your ear. “my messy girl.”

then came the night you asked for more.

“put your hand around my throat?”

he’d blinked, startled, like you’d just spoken another language. you felt his breath catch before he even answered.

“you’re serious?”

and when you nodded, flushed, needy, voice small, he listened. his fingers came up slow, wrapped so carefully around your neck like he thought you might break. the pressure wasn’t hard. just present. your body’s response was immediate. back arching, thighs tightening, eyes fluttering.

and that’s when he changed.

“fuck,” he groaned, voice low and ruined, “you like this. you—you really like this.”

and now? he can’t stop. it’s never too much. never careless. just perfect. like everything he does to you.

like the way he curls his fingers when they’re inside you, hitting just the right spot, soft and slow and purposeful like he’s more focused on making you fall apart than getting off himself. he always knows what you need, when to tease, when to press deeper, when to go still and just hold you.

in quiet moments, he takes your hand. always. never just grabbing it, no, he locks fingers. pulls it close. holds it tight. sometimes he lifts them to compare, palm to palm, brow furrowed like he can’t get over the size difference. “look at this,” he’ll whisper, tracing your fingers with his. “mine cover yours completely.”

he lives for it.

because you were obsessed with his hands from the start. but nothing compares to the way he looks at yours, like they belong in his. like the only place you should ever be is right next to him, hand in hand, thigh under his palm, jaw in his touch, body under his control.

he’s so soft and gentle with you, and you are completely sure that his hands were made just for you.

[goldenmellow]

‎ 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗘⠀✦⠀𝗣.𝗦𝗛

박성훈 as your bf that you suck awake ! ⭑ ── wc. 707 ୨ৎ mature drabble ✧ w. smut ( 18+ mdni! ) , oral sex , explicit language , hair pulling , light choking

‎ ꒰◞ ˕ ◟୨୧꒱ REBLOGS + FB !

the soft glow of morning sunlight filters through the blinds, shining over sunghoon's sleeping form. he's lying flat on his back, his body stretched out lazily, one arm draped over his forehead. his toned abs peek beneath his shirt, slightly lifted in his sleep, accentuating his v-line as his sweatpants hang loose, practically begging to be pulled down.

gosh, he looks so good, even in his sleep. a little too good, and your wetness starts pooling in your panties, just from the sight of him and every little feature. your eyes lock on the evident rise of his cock pressing up against his sweatpants, like it wants to be free.

you move on the shared bed, settling right in between his sprawled-out legs. gently, you tug his sweatpants down, careful not to wake him—yet. his cock springs free, close to your face. you press your lips together, staring at him for a moment, unable to stop yourself.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to take him right then and there. how could you not? his cock was quite literally a work of art, bright and proud in your face, screaming to be inside you.

your lips wrap around the tip, licking up any pre-cum that’s already there. you hum at the salty taste, your tongue flicking over his sensitive head, collecting every drop. the sound of him groaning in his sleep makes you go slower, savoring every inch, every second. your mouth slowly takes all his inches in, working yourself up and down his length.

your eyes slightly widen when you feel a hand on the back of your head, gently but firmly pushing your head down further on his cock. "fuck, angel.." he groans, eyes still shut, his voice thick and sleepy as he lays there and lets you suck him.

his hand doesn't let go, guiding you deeper, pushing you to take more of him. his cock hits the back of your throat, slightly choking you. you go faster, eager to bring him closer to the edge. your mouth works on him, your lips pulling away just enough to tease, then taking him all the way back down, your tongue swirling around his base.

the moans and grunts he lets out get louder, more desperate, and you can tell he's completely lost in the pleasure. "fuck..." he groans again, gripping your hair tighter as you continue to suck him, feeling him twitch in your mouth. his body jerks slightly, as if he’s trying to fight the growing sensation, but he can’t, and you know it.

you speed up again, the rhythm of your head bobbing matching the desperation you’re feeling. his cock hits the back of your throat again and again, your mouth getting wetter, drool dripping down your chin as the sound of your sucking fills the room.

his fingers tug tighter on your hair with each groan he lets out, "sh-shit, so good... gonna cum." his voice cracks with the intensity, and you can feel his cock twitch again, his breathing shallow as he fights to hold back his orgasm.

but you don’t stop. you increase the pressure, your tongue pressing against the sides of him, feeling every vein as you go down on him again. you want him to lose it, want him to fall apart in your mouth, and you know you’re about to get him there.

you feel him twitch once more before the warm, salty release fills your mouth. his cock pulses against your tongue, and you swallow it down eagerly, feeling the hot liquid slide down your throat.

he lets out a low moan, eyes still closed as his body relaxes against the bed. "swallow, baby," he murmurs, and you do just that, licking your lips as you take every drop he gives you.

you pull away slowly, eyes meeting his, watching him stir just enough to lift his head. a lazy smirk plays on his lips as he stretches, letting out a satisfied groan. he pulls you up to kiss him, tasting the remnants of himself on your tongue.

has this become his favorite way of waking up? yes. will he repay you by eating you out the next morning? oh, without a doubt.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[goldenmellow]

ALL MINE ! ☆ 박종성

—telling husband!jay to "get out" while you change.

✩ ₊˚

you saw a trend on tiktok of people telling their husbands to get out while they change just to see their reaction, and you thought it'd be hilarious to try it on jay.

"jay, baby, can you come here?" you yell from the bathroom, jay immediately making his way towards you.

"yeah?" he says appearing behind you.

"i don't know what to wear today and i wanted your opinion.." you say putting on your best acting skills.

"well what're your options, baby?" he says, stepping closer to the dresses in your hand.

"i was thinking between these two.."

jay puts his hand on his chin, clearly thinking hard about his decision, not paying any mind to you trying to stiffle a laugh.

"hmm .. i think you should go with the black one. you know I really love black on you. plus we can match." he says, wrapping his arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"okay, thank you! can you step out while I get changed?"

jay tries to hide it, but you don't fail to notice how his eyebrows furrow for a few seconds.

"yeah, of course baby, but ... why? everything okay?" he says, backing up to look at you.

"i'm fine!" you respond, playing it cool. "i just want to change real quick. just step out please?"

jay doesn't move, in fact he leans against the doorframe, eyes narrowing.

"wait, baby... we've been married for three years." he says slowly.

you nod, gesturing past the door with a teasing smile. "and you can spend the next three in the hallway if you don't scoot!"

he scoffs, stepping closer. "and also we, yes we, just had sex like ... this morning. in this exact room."

"Jay!" you giggle, trying not to break character.

"why are you acting brand new? like all this ain't mine, love." he teases, hands flying to your waist. your lips twitch as you try not to look at him.

"i mean you told me it was mine, remember? several times. loudly."

"Jay, please—" you finally break into laughter, hitting him with your shirt.

he pretends to be hurt, before playfully smacking your ass.

"that's what i thought!"

a/n: this is a very old draft like MONTHS ago.

[goldenmellow]

ꕥ GET YOURSELF A REAL MAN ⸝⸝⸝ smoking hot older!enhypen headcanons

⚠︎ smut. mdni. every party depicted in this work is an adult. this work contains age gaps (not specified, the members are just older.) power dynamics, step-cest, cheating. accurate warnings listed for each member

✷ NIA if you feel like you've already read this, it's because you have! this is a repost from my previous acc that i decided to bring back here. i plan to turn each one into their own full-on drabbles, but in the meantime, have this :)

ꕥ LEE HEESEUNG

⚠︎ | dad's bestie!hee, brief f!rec oral mention, dub-con

heeseung tried to stay away from you for so long, tried with all his might to resist you. you are just too young, and you’re his friends’ daughter. he knows it’s wrong but how can he help it when you’re so pretty? so gorgeous? and such a dirty little thing too, always trying to wordlessly seduce him. he notices how your lustful eyes follow him everywhere whenever he’s over at your parents house for dinner and you happen to be there too. he notices how you bite your lips raw and the way your thighs clench so hard under the table when he speaks to you. he notices how you always wear the most revealing outfits you can get away with for him, little shorts and tiny tops enhancing your curves so beautifully, an open invitation for him to completely ravage you. it makes him want to fucking ruin you.

that’s how he ends up sneaking in your room so late one night, after everyone already went to sleep, your parents so naive for offering him to stay the night too. your innocent sleeping form making his cock twitch in his pants as he thinks of all the dirty things he could do to you. the things he could make you do to him for being such a sly little slut.

he carefully slides in your bed, face hovering over your clothed cunt before lowering himself and pressing his tongue on it, spit smearing on those same shorts that make his mind go places it shouldn't. he works on your pussy just like that, fingers slipping past your shorts and inside your dripping hole, wet tongue sucking on your clit over the fabric but never actually touching you with it. he knows if he got a taste of your sweet little hole he would be a goner forever. he can tell you're awake by then, just pretending to sleep as your hips start to ride his digits and needy mewls leave your lips oh so sweetly. ones he will have to silence with his thick cock inside your mouth if you don’t stop it, “can’t have your parents find you’re such a whore for me… what would they think, angel?”

ꕥ PARK JONGSEONG

⚠︎ | step-dad!jay, step-cest, ddlg, infidelity, big cock jay, breeding kink, p in v

step-dad jay who has had a soft spot for you ever since he started dating your mom... to the oblivious eye merely a healthy stepdad-daughter relationship, but anyone paying attention more closely would find just how weirdly close you two are. always spending way too much time together, always making up some excuse to leave gatherings together, jay always so protective of you and straight up mean to any boyfriend you bring home for him to meet. he always says it’s because he just wants the best for you, sweet thing. only he knows that what he means by best, is himself.

“always bringing home these boys, never a worthy man,” he whispers against your mouth, spit dripping everywhere, as his warm hands encourage you to keep bouncing up and down his veiny length, salty tears still drying on your face from the pain of the stretch his unusually big cock always provides you. no matter how many times he makes you take it all, the first minutes are never easy. always slow, always filled with him whispering reassurance when you say you just can't take it. “what is daddy gonna have to do to make you understand you just deserve better?” he mouths at your neck, low groans in response to your pink manicured nails grabbing his slowly graying hair, sending heat straight to your core. he licks a stripe up your sensitive skin, relishing in the way your cunt that's already so stretched out and tight against him flutters at his words, trying to suck him in even more. “does daddy have to put a baby inside you, sweet thing mhh?”

you shake your head vehemently, the thought of your mom finding out what you’re doing with her husband making guilt knot in the pit of your stomach. he lands a few harsh slaps on your clit that have you yelping in his hold, clearly dissatisfied with your reaction. “you will take anything i give you,” he says in your ear, his firm tone leaving no room to talk back. he picks up his pace, quite literally hammering into your cunt as he holds you down by your waist with his strong hands. “daddy always knows best, pretty girl.”

ꕥ SIM JAEYUN

⚠︎ | boyfriend's dad!jake, cheating, sir kink, brief fingering

jake who hates to see a pretty girl like you in tears over scummy little boys. especially when the boy in question is his own idiot son. he couldn't understand how he even got such a gem as yourself to waste time with him, a liar and a cheater. jake knows his son better than anyone else. so finding out he was cheating on you and creating a fake instagram account to anonymously send you all the proof and the screenshots he collected was easy. it’s also easy to welcome you inside his home when you go there to confront your boyfriend, and sweetly comfort you when you find out he’s not there. jake’s rough and warm hands are so soft on your thighs, thick thumb swiping over the flesh so carefully, as if you might break any second. his tone is so smooth and buttery as he whispers soothing words in the crown of your hair. how you deserve so much better and how you’re a strong girl, you will be okay precious. his presence is so strong and he radiates such a manly energy, so different from that of your boyfriend, it makes you feel all fuzzy inside. jake notices how you clench your thighs right away, how your breathing becomes labored under his soft touches and affection. “i’m sorry for being such a mess right now, sir,” you sheepishly say, and his cock jumps at the term. you’re just so so sweet, he thinks as his full lips ghost over the shell of your ear, “just give me permission, and i’ll make you feel so much better, precious.”

you’re under him in no time, back pressed to your boyfriend’s sheets as jake ghosts his fingers along the slit of your fluttering pussy, already weeping for him. “so messy… so wet babydoll… who is this for?” he asks, purposefully collecting your slick to make a mess with it on his son’s sheets. “you sir!” you reply eagerly, hips rocking into his hold in search of more friction. he chuckles as he lowers his warm mouth to your cunt, eyes locked with your own. “i’ll take care of you so good precious… so good you won’t even know why you’re crying anymore.”

ꕥ PARK SUNGHOON

⚠︎ | ice skating instructor!hoon, daddy kink, reader has nipple piercings, p in v

sunghoon watches enamored as you glide across the ice rink, all dolled up with the dress he chose and gifted your for this competition, the gemstones in the shape of an S on your lower back reflecting the light so prettily with every movement you make. he’s been coaching you for months now and he thanks every entity he can think of for bringing such a lovely thing like yourself in his life. he knows most people wouldn't approve of your age gap, but they don't understand what being under your spell feels like. that’s exactly what you did: put a spell on him. your accidental brushes against his crotch while he corrected your form, your little groans as your joints stretched past your limit whenever you trained, your big doe eyes always looking at him for some sort of reassurance for any sort of praise. so fucking eager to please. so desperate for love.

you’re so obedient for him as he makes you ride him silly on the seats next to the ice rink after the competition is done and everyone’s already gone home. knowing very well anyone could walk in at any moment and catch you. but you're such a needy little slut for him he can feel how hard you clench around him whenever he mentions that possibility, whenever you think about anyone seeing you so full of his thick cock that took you twenty minutes to get used to. his length twitches so deep inside you when he notices how close you are but still won't let yourself cum, so whiny and desperate in his ear because you’re waiting for him to tell you to let go. so eager for his voice even when he’s making you go dumb on his cock.

“my lovely girl… you can let go baby, i got you,” he whispers as his mouth latches on one of your nipples, the metallic taste of the piercing adorning it filling his mouth and overwhelming his senses. such a dirty little slut hidden under your good girl façade.

you shake your head and pick up the pace, but can do nothing to stop your walls from fluttering around him as he literally forces your orgasm out of you, holding you down on his cock and pressing his tip so deeply inside you it makes you see starts, telling you that "it's okay honey, you're making daddy feel so good"

ꕥ KIM SUNOO

⚠︎ | ceo!sunoo and he's MEAN, oral m!rec, master kink, power dynamics, slight pet play (puppy), degradation

sunoo acts like hiring you, on request of his daughter (your best friend), was such a big big favor. and initially you thought so too; the money is good, the office is close to your apartment, your coworkers are nice too! sunoo even made sure you climbed up the ladder quicker than any other employee of his ever had. sure you are competent and you do your job well, but you were also so naive for thinking he wouldn't expect anything back.

after all he takes such good care of you in the company, why wouldn't he want you to return the favor?

it’s not rare for you to find yourself on your knees under his work desk, the door of his office open.

“open up for me… gonna let master use your mouth huh?,” he says, tapping his leaking cock on your lips and smearing all of his salty precum all over your pretty features.

“yes, master.” you do as you’re told right away, glossy eyes never leaving his as you stretch your mouth wide open for him, anticipating the struggle that always comes with welcoming his length anywhere in your body. and you’re right, he rams his cock in your mouth without giving you any time to adjust, his cock so thick and big you’re already choking all around him and it’s not even halfway in. his tip already brushing the back of your mouth. he tilts his head sideways and stares at you like you’re dumb, waiting for you to take more. you truly do try, big tears falling from your eyes as you try your best to not disappoint him. and he laughs at you. “useless little puppy,” he sighs, grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing you against his dick. “this should be easy for you by now. i know it’s big but i’ve been training you.” he cooes, his bottom lip jutting out in an expression of fake pity. “been making you gag on this cock for so long and you still can’t take it?”

your lashes are all wet with tears now, and you can’t tell if it's the hurt of having disappointed your master or the physical pain his member is causing you, but you can feel how it twitches in your throat when he notices your distress. he takes it out of your mouth, needy whines leaving you at the loss of weight in your tongue, and holds it over your face. “since you can’t suck cock properly,” he punctuates the last word vehemently. “lap it up. like the stupid little dog you are.”

ꕥ YANG JUNGWON

⚠︎ | professor!jungwon, teacher/student dynamics, car sex, face sitting, mentions of breeding, sir kink

the lovely professor yang jungwon is everyone’s crush in your university. he’s that one teacher everyone is constantly daydreaming about. so gentle, helpful, smart, funny and charming. he just has it all. it doesn't help that he’s so open about how much he loves his two year old son, always showing anyone that comes to his lectures pictures upon pictures of his baby on his phone. every single person swooning over he’s taking such good care of his kid as a single dad.

he takes such good care of you too, in the backseats of his car before you both go to your lectures: him to teach and you to learn. you’re straddling his face, his mouth latched on your sensitive little bundle of nerves as he switches between sucking on it and lapping at it like a man starved. you’re a moaning mess over him, your hips moving on their own volition as he ghosts his fingers on your thighs and traces them up to your lower back, his big hands bringing your entire weight down on his mouth.

“fuck jungwon… feels so good,” you moan as you throw your head back, eyes closed shut at the overwhelming sensation. you yelp out in pain when he nibbles on your clit a little too harshly for it to be a mistake. “sir… sorry sir.”

he goes back to lapping at your cunt, the tip of his tongue only occasionally prodding at your entrance, ignoring your mewls and whines for more. he makes you cum like that, depriving you over and over of what you really want until just a slight swipe of his tongue on your neglected clit is all it takes for you to gush all of your juices in his mouth. “so good for me… such a good girl…” he whispers as you come down from your high. and before you can even register it he pushes you lower, down to his cock and slaps it over your sensitive cunt a few times, making you jump slightly because of the overstimulation. he grabs your neck and clashes your lips to his, tongue lapping at your own as he lets you taste your own release, “gonna fuck you so good baby,” he says as he locks eyes with you, a glint you’ve never seen before hidden under the lustful shadow covering his irises and blown out pupils. “wanna give you a baby of your own… want to fill your tight little pussy up…”

[goldenmellow]

YOU'RE MY ANGEL 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ you're too good to be true

in lieu: pet names i think enha would have for their s/o

the muse: bf!enhypen x gn!reader wc: 565 warnings: gn!reader most of the time but fem!reader for heeseung :/, not proofread, kissing, skinship, flirting, fluff, cringe alert, i suck at warnings

whispers: motivation really hits the hardest when i have exams. i have two more drafts in my drafts. i tried. go listen to strawberry crush by supast4r.

reblog and i'll kiss you <3

(이희승) ⋆.˚ ★— LEE HEESEUNG

"Princess." Heeseung's the prince charming from every girl's dream. Of course, every prince needs his princess. Luckily for you, you're the only girl he has on his mind. That also means that you're never going to be lifting a finger when he's around. Heeseung will take care of everything.

"Do you like that dress, princess?" he asks, already pulling out his card to pay for it before you say 'yes'. Heeseung doesn't need you to. He can see how happy you are twirling around in it.

—rest under the cut!!

(박종성) ⋆.˚ ★— PARK JEONGSEONG

"Darling." Jay gives off a more refined gentleman vibe. He's elegant and sophisticated. Jay's nickname for you is going to be as delicate as the rest of him, giving you that old money feeling.

"Good morning, darling," Jay drawls, wrapping his arms around you as you sleepily blink up at him, trying to adjust to the light filtering in through the curtains. "You're so beautiful."

(심재윤) ⋆.˚ ★— SIM JAEYUN

"Angel." Everyone knows that Jake is head over heels for you. He sees you like an angel sent to him from heaven and he makes sure that you know it every second. He abuses that nickname, using it in his every sentence to the point where the others make fun of him for it.

"You're so gorgeous, angel," Jake sighs, seeing you drowning in his hoodie. "First my heart, now my hoodies. What are you gonna steal next, angel? My last name?"

(박성훈) ⋆.˚ ★— PARK SUNGHOON

"Snowflake." Sunghoon's first love was the ice. It made him happy to be on it. But you made him happier. So what better nickname for his amazing partner other than something related to the one thing that made him almost as happy as you made him.

"Careful, snowflake," he laughs, watching you struggle to keep your balance on the ice. Sunghoon holds you firmly by the waist from behind. "Don't worry, I've got you."

(김선우) ⋆.˚ ★— KIM SUNOO

"Sunshine." Sunoo adores you more than he adores anything in the world. To him you're essential and necessary for survival. Just like how the Sun is to all life. He can't help it, you're just as bright and cheerful as the Sun, sometimes he thinks you're the Sun born as a human on Earth.

"That's not how you do it, sunshine," Sunoo says, the two of you giggling. He leans over to fix the face mask you've been trying to put on for two minutes but can't because you keep bouncing around like a ball of energy. "Stay still, sunshine."

(양정원) ⋆.˚ ★— YANG JUNGWON

"Sweetheart." There's really no other nickname he can use to describe how amazing you are: kind, gentle, understanding. You felt like home. Jungwon knows you're the kind of love grandparents tell stories about. So what if it's old school? It's not like either of you cared.

Jungwon is caught off guard when you practically leap into his arms. He twirls you around with a lovestruck look in his eyes and a laugh on his face. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

(西村力) ⋆.˚ ★— NISHIMURA RIKI

"Baby." Riki's just nonchalant like that so he won't really use overly sweet nicknames, he prefers to just use 'baby'. Riki likes to show his love through subtle or quiet ways like getting you that plush you wanted and holding your hand quietly when you guys are outside.

"Baby, c'mere," Riki says, tugging you onto the couch so he can lie down on your lap. "You smell so good, baby," he whispers, wrapping his arm around your waist.

taglist: @chrrific @lezleeferguson-120

------ᝰ‧₊ written by ©amatariki 2025

[goldenmellow]

more boyfriend Ni-ki with his hyperfemenine gf thoughts (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

Your boyfriend Ni-ki pretends to judge you for spending so much money in makeup, telling you that you need to save or spend it in something that really worths it, but at the end of the day, he sits through every one of your Sephora unboxings like he’s your assistant. He’ll lay on your pink sheets, black hoodie cap over his messy hair, watching you with a half-lidded gaze as you peel the bubble wrap off your sixth gloss of the week like it’s a treasure. He’ll say things like, “Another one?” or “25 dollars for a gloss is insane” with the driest voice, eyes lazy as he’s sooo bored, but when you flute your eyelashes at him, small smile on your plumped lips, he’s the first to hold out his arm when you start testing swatches.

He lets you paint his entire forearm with shimmer eyeshadows and bronzers and cherry red blushes, grumbling under his breath warning you to not tell the boys later. He even holds still while you paint his thick lips with a shiny, sheer pink gloss, and even smacks his lips together like he’s on a get ready with me video. 

“It’s sweet” he shrugs “Suits you better” and then he kisses you, soft and messy at the same time, the gloss falls from your hand as you kiss him back and fall on your back on the mattress. 

Then a few days later, when you’re stressed because you can’t find your new strawberry lip balm and ask him if he’s seen it, he doesn’t even blink. “What? You have like ten of those” 

“You literally stole it. It’s mine!” he just looks at you, so nonchalant, and goes, “Yeah, but it makes my lips soft. Plus… it smells like you.”

You ended up finding it on his desk. Not tucked away or hidden, just lying there like it belongs next to his wallet and keys. Like he didn’t swiped it from your vanity and started using it like it was his all along.

Ni-ki used to groan every time you said “Just ten more minutes” before a date. He would lean against your bedroom doorframe with his arms crossed and a dramatic sigh, saying things like “How are you not done yet?” Or “It looks good, I’m hungry” But instead of actually getting mad, he started watching you. Watching how your hands moved when you did your eyeliner. How your lip combo needed to be layered just right. How you curled your hair in sections and flipped the ends out naturally. 

And one day, he just… asked. “Which one makes it wavy?” You paused, mascara wand mid-air, staring at him. “You wanna help me get ready?” “I wanna help you get faster,” he said flatly. But you saw the little spark in his eyes.

So you handed him your curling iron.

Your boyfriend Ni-ki watched one tutorial on YouTube from a beauty blogger, and then practiced on a doll head you had from your childhood “just for fun,” but secretly he wanted to get it perfect for you. He learned to section your hair, to twist and hold, to use the glove so he wouldn’t burn his fingers, though he totally did once and blamed you for distracting him by being “too pretty.”

He now stands behind you while you sit on your vanity and do your makeup, tongue between his teeth in concentration as he wraps a strand of your hair around the barrel. You’ll be focusing on your eyeliner and hear the soft click of the iron turning off, then his voice: “Next section.” Sometimes he clips your hair back with one of your frilly pink claw clips, totally unfazed by how cute and domestic he looks doing it. Other times, he hums Enhypen songs under his breath while working, casually asking, “Big curls or soft waves today?”

To be fair, he still says, “You take forever to get ready,” but now it’s while he's smoothing a section of your hair down and checking the back with his phone camera to make sure it’s even.

Ni-ki is one of the most dry texters in the world, but you don’t care that much, because when he’s on tour, he doesn’t say “I miss you” too much, but always comes back with something for you tucked in his bag.

Not big things. Not the kind of gifts meant to impress or flex. But cute things. Thoughtful things. Things that say “I saw this and thought of you” in the quietest way. Like the time he was in Japan, and you sent him a half-joking, half-serious message at 2 a.m. that just said, “Bring me back something My Melody or I’m breaking up with you.” But forgot about it immediately, he didn’t. 

He came home with a little box wrapped in pink tissue paper, handed it to you without a word, and inside were three keychains—Hello Kitty, My Melody, and Kuromi—each one in a tiny outfit matching the city he’d been in. There was also a fluffy pouch with sparkly zippers and a note in his handwriting with pink pen that just said, “Don’t break up with me.”

Or the time that he went to Milan for the fashion week and rolled his eyes when you told him to buy you something expensive. But when he came back, he handed you a pink Prada purse and a silk scarf with little hearts woven into the trim. 

“This reminded me of you. The memory was prettier tho” You punched his arm and he kissed your cheek.

He’s too cool to gush but always notices. Always remembers. He never forgets that you love sparkly keychains and girly pouches and lip balms shaped like desserts. And even when he’s thousands of miles away, he walks through each airport, each city street, each backstage area wondering what tiny, soft thing he can bring back to make you smile. And when you tease him, “You miss me that bad, huh?” He’ll just click his tongue, toss a plushie onto your lap, and mutter, “Shut up. It was cute. And you like cute things.”

Your boyfriend Ni-ki pretends to be soo bored when you push him into your bedroom to try on new clothes. He flops onto your bed like he’s been inconvenienced for the millionth time, phone in hand, legs crossed at the ankle, but the truth is? He lives for this. For the way you light up when you’re in front of your closet. For the way you model outfits for him like you’re on a runway made of pink carpet and perfume mist. He barely looks up when you walk out in the first dress, just gives a quick glance and hums, “Cute.”

But by the third outfit, when the top dips a little lower and your shorts hug a little tighter, he suddenly forgets how to breathe normally. You know what you’re doing. You twirl slowly, hands on your hips, acting innocent. “Too short?” you ask, lifting the hem just slightly to adjust it. He sits up straighter. “You’re trying to start something.” You just flutter you eyelashes. “I’m just trying on clothes.” 

Ni-ki is so whipped for you that he starts biting his lip by the fourth outfit. You come out in a little skirt with bows on the sides and a cropped cardigan that’s one button away from scandal, and he’s already shoving his phone into the sheets and leaning back like he’s trying to stay calm.“Babe,” he warns, voice low, “what is this, a fashion show or a test of my self-control?” You smirk. “Depends. How am I doing?” He drags a hand down his face. “Terribly.” 

He breaks the second you spin around in front of the mirror and bend a little too far while adjusting the neckline, the skirt showing the perfect curve of your ass. He’s behind you before you even realize he moved, hands sliding around your waist, lips brushing your ear.

“You know I’m not gonna sit there like a good boy when you parade around looking like that.” Your outfit ends up on the floor. He never gives his opinion. You both forget you were even getting ready.

Your boyfriend Ni-ki doesn’t just say “You’re pretty” when you’re writhing under him, he says it like a prayer, like it hurts him how pretty you are.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.” “Look at you… look how perfect you are for me.” “Made just for me, huh? That’s it, baby—show me.”

His voice never raises. It stays soft, reverent, like he’s telling you a secret that only the two of you should know. Even when he’s breathless. Even when he’s deep inside you, thumb brushing your bottom lip while he watches your eyes flutter and roll.

“Such a good girl for me… always take me so well.” “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” “You make me lose my mind, princess. Fuck—look at the mess you’re making.”

He says the filthiest things while holding your jaw so gently, like he’s cradling something delicate and priceless.

“You’re dripping just from my voice, aren’t you? You like when I talk to you like this.” “You want me to make it worse? Want me to ruin this little body while I tell you how much I love it?”

Because he does love it. Every inch of you. And he says it, over and over, between kisses and thrusts and choked moans.

“I love you so much, baby. So fucking much.” “No one’s ever gonna touch you like this. No one’s ever gonna talk to you like this.” “You’re mine. Say it. Say it again.”

He gets off on your pleasure more than anything. The sound of your voice, the way your fingers curl in his hair, the little gasps you make when he presses deeper.

“That’s it, my pretty girl… you gonna come for me?” “I want you to fall apart, yeah? Be good and make a mess for me.”

And when you do, when your voice breaks and your body trembles and you cling to him like he’s the only thing anchoring you to this earth, he kisses you everywhere he can reach. Your cheek. Your shoulder. Your chest. The side of your neck.

“You’re okay, baby. I got you.” “You’re my princess. My everything.” 

And when he finishes, he doesn’t just roll over and catch his breath after, t’s like the second you fall apart, he pulls himself back together just to take care of you. Because he knows.

He knows that after you finish, your voice goes quiet. Your fingers reach for him, searching without words. You blink slower, lips parted, too overwhelmed to speak. And he knows that’s when you need softness the most. So he gathers you up. Instantly.

Ni-ki wraps his arms around your trembling frame and pulls you into his chest, skin to skin, his hand cradling the back of your head like he’s shielding you from the world. “Hey,” he murmurs, lips brushing your forehead. “You’re okay.” He kisses your temple, your eyelids, your damp hair, even the tip of your nose, like he needs to cover every part of you in warmth. In reassurance. He speaks softly, over and over, even when you’re too tired to respond.

“I’ve got you.” “You’re so perfect for me.” “Still with me, pretty girl?” “I love you. You’re my everything.”

His fingers draw lazy shapes on your back, his legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets. When he feels you start to drift, he kisses your shoulder and tightens his hold. “Don’t disappear yet,” he whispers, teasing but gentle.

And when you finally look up at him with hazy, fluttering eyes and a sleepy pout, he smiles like it physically hurts how much he loves you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and presses his forehead to yours. “Still my princess,” he murmurs, voice low, “even when you’re all messy and dazed like this.”

Boyfriend Ni-ki, who gets up just to grab a warm cloth and clean you softly, slowly, never rushing, like he’s touching something sacred. Then helps you into his hoodie, kisses your cheek, and pulls you back into bed with a quiet “Come here, need you close.”

Because he knows you go small after. And there’s nowhere safer to be small than wrapped in him.

[goldenmellow]

away we happened

pairing: park sunghoon x reader genre: strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, smau/fake texts, sort of long distance, business man!sunghoon x photographer!yn warnings: profanity, friendly teasing, internet brain rot humor, just the usual! 18+ not proofread pls ignore typos heh

synopsis: yn and sunghoon run into each other at the airport after an argument. thankfully they'll never have to see each other ever again until they both notice that they've accidentally taken each other's bags.

inspired by "away we happened" a short youtube series by wong fu productions

hoonieyun notes: what do we think... does this deserve a part 2? i did leave it on quite a cliffhanger.. let me know :p

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @manaah02 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @kristynaaah @17ericas @heeseung64 @leipforggy @s1rawb3rry

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

[goldenmellow]

Getting headlocked by sunghoon's biceps 🤤🤤🤤

a/n: NEEEEEDDDDDD contains: dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, choking, slight asphyxiation, penetration (p in v), picture taking

it feels dizzying in his hold, barely able to feel anything because of the oxygen flowing slower within your body. but it feels so good. it feels just like you wanted it to as sunghoon held you in place with his arm around your head. “you like that pretty?” he groans right next to your ear, thrusting into you so hard that you are sure that if he lets go of the headlock, you’ll still be seeing stars. his entire body is in flames as his chest is flush against your back, the creaking of the bed accompanying the wet slaps from his unending slams. part of him wanted you to give him an answer back to his question, but your drooling mouth and teary eyes are more than acceptable to him.

your voice has gone hoarse from how violently your body is being used, so it’s safe to say that you’re barely competing with whatever your boyfriend puts out. he let’s go of your neck once he’s close, pulling out to prolong his arousal while flipping you over. he loves the face you’re making, a beautiful mess he’s created just for himself, taking out his phone to take a picture of you. it joins the many in his hidden folder, filled with captures of every other time he’s left you like this. shutting it away, he grunts out a “my baby…” while rubbing his cock against your folds, so slippery wet with both your slicks mixing together. your twitching legs on the sides of his waist are barely hanging on as you gain a bit of strength to look at him, lips apart while he keeps eye contact with you. it’s no wonder you are left like this so often, your lover smirking down at you as his cum pools your stomach.

[goldenmellow]

----- FINGER… SUCKIN’ GOOD?

PV ⟫ After accidentally messing up a cake, you and Jungwon focus on something else as you wait to fix your mistake.

CW ⟫ Suggestive, finger sucking, mentions of choking, description of a mouth, (wet, warm.)

0.4k WORDS

*.'^↪ alexarants {bitesized} - Okay so this was requested like a week ago and I finished it like the day of, but it was on the bottom of my drafts, and I forgot about it so... here! Also, I was sort of delusional writing this because I had gotten no sleep, enjoy, also sorry it's short I was tired whoopsies!?

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You attempt to spread the buttercream on the cake but watch as the top of it lifted up. “Oh!” Jungwon exclaimed, looking at the accident in front of you two.

You also freeze, you forgot the cake couldn’t be hot if you wanted to put on frosting. “You probably shouldn’t do that.” He reached over to gently and cautiously slide the knife out of your hold.

“Aw man.” You pout, using your finger to scoop some of the frosting out of the container you had put it in, holding it up to Jungwon’s face. “Taste it, it’s homemade!” You beamed.

“Off your finger?” Jungwon questioned, tilting his head as he grabbed onto your wrist. You nod watching as he softly shrugs and leans closer to your hand.

His lips wrap around your finger, tasting the sweet cream. Jungwon’s warm and wet tongue swirled around your fingertip, collecting the frosting off of it. He looked so… cute.

He attempted to pull away, but you pushed your finger more in. It was deep, landing right next to his molars.

He furrowed his brows, his grip around your wrist tightening. Jungwon looked confused as you slowly slid another one in. Your pointer and middle were soaked in his sweet saliva.

He leaned back against the counter, hands gripping the edge of it so tight he could break it. Humming around your fingers, he stares into your eyes as he takes them deeper. His lips were plump around your knuckles, a bit of spit slipping out of his mouth.

You almost choke when you feel his fingers shove into your mouth. You whine, your lip hurt when he forced himself in your mouth, your tooth pinched it.

You see the apology in his eyes as he separated your two fingers in his mouth with his tongue. You run yours over his teeth.

The sight was crazy.

Two people standing in front of each other and sucking on one another’s fingers.

You swirl your tongue around him, which was strange because he’d put them in there with no frosting.

You finally pull your fingers out of his mouth after what felt like ten minutes of practically tugging on his uvula, he slips his out of yours as well.

“Good job. You cleaned them off well.” You say sarcastically walking over to the sink to wash your hands.

You hear Jungwon giggle behind you as he slides the cake in front of him again, grabbing the knife you once had in your hand.

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