#Push/Pull 2010

[sklira]

Second Chance | Punch

[rafessecret]

I have a request so Rafe and reader are together and Rafe is very sweet at the start of their relationship, but then he starts turning creepy and a stalker and follows her everywhere without her knowing and just gets very possessive and controlling when she confronts him he always denies it

⋆˚࿔ girlfriend¡ reader && obsessed¡rafe cameron

YOU'LL ALWAYS BE HIS.

Rafe was golden back then—clean-shaven and smelling like sea salt and sun. He’d drive out to your place just to sit in your driveway and leave notes in your mailbox with folded little hearts. He memorised your coffee order, kissed your hands, and made you playlists like it was 2010. He’d look at you like you were it. Like every other girl, she disappeared when you walked into the room. He’d tear up during sex sometimes—whisper how you were everything he never thought he’d deserve. ❝Don’t ever leave me, okay?❞ he’d say, his voice cracking. ❝I won’t survive it.❞ And you believed him.

You miss that version of him sometimes. The soft one. The sweet boy who sent you songs at 2AM and held your face like you might break. But now, all you feel is this constant pull in your chest—fear laced with something darker. You borrow his laptop. Just for a second. You weren’t snooping—you swear. But you click the wrong folder and see pictures of yourself. Hundreds. Some from weeks ago, some… from moments you never even noticed being watched. Your bedroom. Your dressing room at the boutique. In your towel. Asleep.

You freeze.

Your throat tightens, heart thudding so loud it drowns out the world. You can barely breathe. You want to scream and throw something, but your hands just tremble over the keys. He’s behind you suddenly. You don’t even hear him come in. ❝Why are you looking through my stuff, baby?❞ he asks softly, voice low and measured.

You change your locks. You ghost him for a week. You need time. You need air. You barely sleep, your heart racing every time you hear footsteps behind you, every time your phone lights up. You tell yourself you're overthinking. You want to believe he didn’t mean it. That you’re just imagining things.

But Rafe shows up at your job with your favourite drink, smiling like nothing’s wrong. ❝Thought you’d need a little pick-me-up, angel.❞ You force a smile, but inside, your stomach churns.

When you get home that night, there’s a gift waiting inside your apartment. A necklace you mentioned once in passing. A note in his handwriting that reads, ❝I missed you.❞

You know you locked the door.

Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes sting, your hands shake. You press your back to the door and slide down, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart. You don’t call the cops. You don’t tell your friends. Because you don’t know how to explain it. Because some small, sick part of you still remembers the way he used to cry when you kissed him.

The next night, you hear something. A creak. The tiniest sound. And when you turn around, Rafe is standing in your kitchen like he’s always belonged there. Like he never left. Like you didn’t ask him to. ❝Don’t push me away again,❞ he says sweetly, like you didn’t just cry the whole cab ride home.

❝You’re just anxious. I hate when you get scared. Come here.❞ You back away, voice cracking as you tell him to leave. But he doesn’t. He tilts his head, that soft smile stretching into something darker.

❝I’d never do that to you. You know me, baby. You trust me, right?❞ You try to break up with him. You cry, gently, like you’re scared he might shatter. You say it’s not working. That you need space. He listens and nods, eyes glassy but calm. Doesn’t yell. Doesn’t grab. Just nods. But that night, your bedroom window creaks open. You wake up with Rafe in your bed, holding you like nothing happened.

❝You don’t mean it,❞ he whispers, brushing your hair back. ❝You’re just upset. You’re mine, baby. You’ll always be mine.❞ You try to pull away, but his grip tightens around your waist. ❝Don’t make me remind you who you belong to.❞ And he will—slow and rough, all night long, until you’re too wrecked to argue. Until your body remembers what your mind wants to forget.

You’re at a party. You swore Rafe wasn’t invited; you made sure. You laugh too loud at some guy’s joke and sip a drink someone else poured. And then you see him—leaning against the wall across the room, watching you. Not blinking. Not smiling. Your blood runs cold.

You check your phone. A text lights up: ❝Funny joke. Not as funny as I’ll look with my cock in your throat tonight. Leave now.❞

You freeze. He shouldn’t know you’re here. But he always knows. When you finally run outside, heart racing, he’s already waiting by your car—smiling like he’s been there the whole time. ❝I told you, angel. You’re mine. I’ll always know where you are.❞

You try to scream, but the sound catches in your throat. You want to run, but you know it’s pointless. He’ll always find you. And the worst part? Some part of you still remembers the boy who used to cry when he kissed you. The one who called you his miracle. The one who held your hands like they were made of glass.

But that boy is gone.

Now you’re left with this.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : hey guys, i’m feeling a little unmotivated right now, not gonna lie . . . this piece was a bit of a struggle for me. i had a hard time with it and honestly, i hate it a little because i feel like i should’ve just picked one section and made it its own fic. but i still really wanted to get it out there for you, so thank you so much for the request and for being patient. i really hope at least some of you like it

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[goldfades]

ICE QUEEN & HER HOCKEY PLAYER──CROSBY⁸⁷

for this request!

─ summary | long awaited: crosby x figure skater where they both meet early in their careers and are not impressed by each other, so kinda enemies, they end up at the 2010 olympics and they still dont like each other but they both carry great pressure and basically just them falling in love over the years and of course the media would be highly involved in two generational talents

─ pairing | sidney crosby x fem!reader

─ word count | 19k

─ warnings | slooooow burn, angsty but gets very fluffy toward the end, lmk if yall want a part 2!!

─ ev's notes | thank you my babies cassie & amber for beta reading, yall are the best!!!!!! go give them some love<3 @v6quewrlds @sc0tters

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

You first saw him across the rink, his focus sharp as he moved effortlessly through drills, like he was born on ice. It wasn’t admiration that struck you, though—more like irritation. Sidney Crosby. The “next one,” they called him. All this talent, all this praise, and yet here he was, gliding around like he had something to prove.

Not that you cared.

You had your own path, your own climb. Figure skating was different, but the pressure was just as suffocating. Every jump, every spin felt like the world was watching, expecting perfection. So why did it bother you, seeing him here, looking so... untouchable?

Your coach nudged you, urging you to focus, but you couldn’t help the flicker of competition that lit in your chest. He was just another athlete. Another story. And you, well, you were writing your own.

But something in the way his eyes met yours—cool, unreadable—told you that this wasn’t the last time you’d cross paths with Sidney Crosby.

You try to brush it off, turn your focus back to the ice beneath your feet, but that small moment lingers. His presence sticks with you, even as you push through your routine, every movement precise, practiced. It’s all muscle memory at this point, but somehow, your mind keeps drifting back to him. The way he didn’t seem phased by anything, not even you.

You lace your skates with a quiet determination, the cold air of the rink biting at your skin even though you’ve grown used to it. Every day, same routine. You’ve always found a strange comfort in that—the familiar rhythm of blade on ice, the tension before takeoff, the brief moment when you’re airborne, weightless, before gravity pulls you back. It’s your world, your escape. Everything else fades away here.

Except today, something lingers. Or rather, someone.

Sidney Crosby.

The name alone carries an echo in every corner of the sports world, like he’s already a legend and not just some kid skating circles with his team. You’re not immune to the whispers that float around the rink whenever he’s nearby—the excited murmurs from your teammates, the starry-eyed awe in the younger skaters who dream of meeting him, as if proximity to greatness might somehow rub off on them.

But that’s not you.

You’ve worked too hard to be impressed by anyone anymore. You’ve scraped your way to this point, each pirouette and double axel carved out of relentless practice, not natural-born talent. Sure, you’ve got skill, but it was earned—honed through hours of falling and getting back up again. Nobody handed you anything.

And him?

You glance toward the far end of the rink where he’s going through drills with the same cool precision you’d expect from someone nicknamed “The Next One.” It’s not that you don’t respect his ability—no, that’s not it at all. The guy moves like he was built for this. But there’s something infuriating about the way he carries himself, as if being good—no, great—comes so effortlessly to him, like it’s just a given.

You bend down, adjusting the tightness on your skates. You're focusing on the details, making sure everything is just right, because that’s what you do. That’s who you are. Everything has to be perfect, controlled. Sidney Crosby, meanwhile, looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and for some reason, that grates at you.

Your coach claps his hands, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you move into your routine. Instinct takes over as you push off from the boards and glide onto the ice, the familiar sting of cold rushing against your cheeks. Your legs pump rhythmically, each motion deliberate and precise. You lose yourself in the movement—the stretch of your arms, the swing of your leg as you enter a jump. For a moment, it’s just you and the ice, the world falling away in the face of the one thing that still makes sense.

But not for long.

Because when you land, your gaze drifts again—over to where Crosby’s skating, his sharp turns cutting into the ice with a sound that digs under your skin. He doesn’t even look like he’s trying. It’s infuriating.

You’re coming down from a series of spins when you hear a voice—your teammate. “You’re really in the zone today,” she says, breathless and smiling as she skates up beside you.

“Yeah, trying to be,” you reply, breathing heavily, trying to focus on anything but him.

Your teammate leans in a little, lowering her voice like she’s about to share some big secret. “Did you hear the news? Crosby’s making waves already. Some scouts are saying he’s the real deal—like, generational talent.”

You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “Aren’t they all?”

She grins, nudging you playfully. “Come on, don’t pretend like you’re not a little curious. Everyone’s talking about him.”

“That’s the problem,” you mutter under your breath.

Your teammate skates off, oblivious, leaving you standing there with the weight of that name hanging over your head. Sidney Crosby. It’s like the universe just wants to shove him in your face.

Fine, you think. Let him have his spotlight. Let him be the guy everyone’s fawning over. But you? You’re not here for that. You’ve got your own goals, your own pressures, and the last thing you need is to get wrapped up in some star athlete’s orbit.

You push off again, forcing yourself back into your routine, ignoring the nagging itch that comes with every glance toward his side of the ice. But it’s impossible to drown out completely. You can feel his presence like a shadow, always there, always in the corner of your eye.

When you finally step off the ice, muscles aching in that satisfying way that comes after a hard session, you tell yourself you’re done with him. Done with thinking about the golden boy who’s probably coasting on talent alone.

Yet, as you untie your skates, his image still clings to the edges of your mind—the sharpness in his movements, the quiet intensity in his face, the way he seemed so utterly... unbothered. Like nothing, not even you, could break his focus.

In the locker room, the conversation drifts back to him, as it always seems to. The chatter is almost relentless—"Did you see how fast Crosby is? The way he handles the puck?"—and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes again. You try to tune it out, focusing instead on the methodical task of packing your gear.

But as you sling your bag over your shoulder and head for the exit, the door swings open. And of course, there he is. Crosby, walking in with that same laser focus, gear in hand, barely acknowledging anyone around him.

He doesn’t look at you. Not even a flicker of recognition as he passes by. It’s almost laughable, how oblivious he is. You half expect him to at least give you a nod or a half-smile, something—anything—to show he knows you exist.

But no. Nothing.

You let out a huff, brushing past him as you walk out. There’s no reason for this to bother you, really. You don’t need his approval, and you definitely don’t need him to notice you.

Still, as the door swings shut behind you, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this won’t be the last time you cross paths with Sidney Crosby.

Not by a long shot.

───

“Again!” Your coach’s voice cuts through the air like a whip, sharp and biting, echoing across the empty rink. You’ve been at this for hours, it feels like—your muscles are screaming, every part of your body aching, but none of that matters. Not to him.

You swallow the frustration that bubbles in your throat, biting back the urge to snap. Instead, you skate back to the center of the ice, forcing your legs to cooperate, the burn in your calves a constant reminder of how long you’ve been doing this. It’s not good enough, though. Not for him. And, if you’re honest with yourself, not for you either.

You’re trying to perfect your triple Lutz, but every time you attempt the jump, something feels off—your rotation, your timing, maybe even your mindset. Your blade scrapes the ice as you reset, steadying your breath, forcing yourself to focus.

“Go again!” he shouts, his voice almost hoarse now, and you push off, gathering speed. The rink blurs around you as you build up momentum, arms tight, posture straight, the way you’ve been drilled to do since you were a kid. You hit the jump—lift off—but somewhere in the second rotation, it happens again. You come down wrong, your ankle buckling as you land too heavily on your right skate.

Your coach swears under his breath. “What was that? You’re rushing! Slow down, get your rotation tighter—again!”

You don’t say anything. You just grit your teeth and skate back into position. It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with this kind of pressure—no, this is your life. Perfection or nothing. You’ve heard the speeches, felt the disappointment every time you come up short. You know it’s about pushing yourself past your limits.

But right now, with every muscle in your body screaming at you to stop, you’re beginning to wonder if there’s anything left to push through.

“Let’s go, again!”

You roll your eyes but quickly hide it. He’s watching, waiting for you to slip, and he’ll never let you hear the end of it if you show any sign of weakness. So, you breathe in deeply, shake out your arms, and steel yourself. Just one more. One more and you’ll nail it.

You skate hard, the familiar whoosh of ice beneath your blades almost comforting, like the calm before the storm. As you go into the jump, everything seems to click—your body feels lighter, your rotation sharper, and you think, for a second, that you’ve got it.

Then the ice meets you like a slap to the face. Your blade catches, and you fall, hard, knees scraping the cold surface as the impact sends a sharp shock through your legs. You feel the familiar sting of embarrassment heating your cheeks before the pain even registers.

“Are you kidding me?” Your coach’s voice booms across the ice, frustration crackling in every word. “You’re better than this! Do it again, and this time, stop messing around!”

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you haul yourself up, limbs heavy and protesting. You can feel the sharp eyes of your coach drilling into you, his disappointment palpable even from a distance. And as you push yourself upright, swallowing down the lump of frustration lodged in your throat, something shifts at the edge of your vision.

Sidney Crosby.

Of course.

He’s on the ice now, on the other side of the rink, going through his own drills with an almost inhuman precision. His strides are powerful, fluid, each movement perfectly controlled. He makes it look easy. Like he always does.

You hate that it bothers you, but it does. Watching him now, so effortlessly skating through his practice, it only sharpens the contrast between his ease and your exhaustion. It’s like the universe has decided to throw him in your face every chance it gets.

You force your gaze away, back to the task at hand. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than whatever golden-boy magic Crosby is working over there. Your coach is waiting for you to try again, arms crossed, his face a storm of impatience.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to land this?” he snaps.

You nod, swallowing down the irritation that’s rising in your chest. He’s right. You can’t let this beat you. You won’t.

You take a deep breath, center yourself, and push off, the sound of your blades cutting through the ice grounding you. This time, you focus harder, your mind narrowing in on each detail of the jump. Speed, lift, rotation, land. One step at a time. You block out everything—your coach, the ache in your legs, and definitely Sidney Crosby.

You launch yourself into the air, feeling the smooth power of the jump. For a moment, you’re weightless, and it feels right—until, once again, you come down a hair too early, your blade skidding out from under you. You stumble but don’t fall this time, catching yourself just in time.

“Better,” your coach mutters. “But not good enough.”

You barely hear him, though, because when you glance up, you catch Crosby watching you out of the corner of his eye. It’s subtle, just a flicker of attention, but it’s there. His face is unreadable, but you don’t need to see his expression to know what he’s thinking.

She’s struggling.

And for some reason, that thought sets your nerves on fire.

I’m not gonna let Crosby win.

The thought flares in your mind, sudden and irrational, but you grab onto it like a lifeline. It’s ridiculous—you know that. He’s not even competing with you. Hell, he probably doesn’t even care about you right now, but it’s too late. The idea’s already wormed its way in, digging deep into that part of your brain that refuses to back down from a challenge. Even if it’s one you made up.

You grit your teeth, fists tightening as you push off for another go. The anger fuels you, hot and biting, spreading through your limbs like wildfire. Suddenly, the exhaustion that’s been weighing you down all practice disappears, replaced by a sharp, laser-focused determination.

This time, when you skate, it’s different. Every movement is smoother, sharper. The ice feels like it’s bending to your will instead of working against you. As you approach the jump, you don’t hesitate. There’s no second-guessing, no nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you what could go wrong.

You launch yourself into the air, and everything falls into place. The height, the speed, the rotation—it’s all perfect. You land with a crisp, sharp sound, your blades slicing through the ice as if they were always meant to. No stumble, no misstep. Just perfection.

The rink is silent.

You glance over at your coach, and he’s standing there, mouth slightly open, completely stunned. His arms drop to his sides, the frustration and irritation from earlier replaced with disbelief. For a split second, even he can’t believe what just happened.

“That…” he starts, still catching up to what he’s seen. “That was perfect.”

You feel the rush of satisfaction, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips, but before you can fully relish the moment, your gaze slides across the ice—right back to Sidney Crosby.

And there it is.

A smirk.

Small, barely noticeable, but unmistakably there, tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watches you. It’s infuriating. The heat of your anger that had just started to cool flares up again, boiling over. You know it’s ridiculous. You know you shouldn’t care. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at you—like he knew exactly what just happened, like he’s somehow responsible for flipping that switch in you.

It’s smug. Too smug.

You feel your fingers curl into fists at your sides, the triumph of your flawless landing fading as quickly as it came. It’s not enough. Not when he thinks he had something to do with it. The thought of him thinking that he was the reason you nailed that jump makes you grit your teeth all over again.

Your coach calls out, voice still tinged with amazement. “Take a break—you earned it. That was the best I’ve seen all season.”

You nod, skating off toward the edge of the rink, but your eyes never leave Crosby’s. He’s back to his drills now, that infuriating little smirk gone, replaced by that same focused intensity he always has. Like you don’t even exist. Like he’s already moved on.

But you haven’t.

I’m not gonna let Crosby win. You repeat the mantra to yourself, feeling that fire spark inside you once more.

This is only the beginning.

───

“I’m telling you, he’s got it out for me,” you say, waving your glass in the air as you slump back in your seat. “It's like, every time I look up, there he is, judging me with those stupid, intense eyes. Like he’s some kind of skating god who knows better than the rest of us.”

Your teammates snicker around the table, but you can tell they’re more amused by your dramatics than actually concerned. Abby, sitting across from you, rolls her eyes, sipping her drink with an amused smirk.

“Uh-huh, sure,” she says. “Because Sidney Crosby is totally obsessed with you, out of all people. That’s what he does with his free time.”

“I’m serious!” You huff, propping your elbows on the table. “Every time I mess up, he’s there. Just... lurking in the background. Like some smug, perfectly-groomed shadow, judging me. I swear he enjoys it.”

Tasha, who’s been quietly sipping her beer next to you, finally chimes in. “Are you sure he’s not just, you know, existing and you’re projecting all your frustrations onto him?”

You glare at her, but she only grins, nudging your arm. “I’m just saying, maybe he’s just trying to live his life and it’s not all about you.”

“I don’t project,” you grumble. “I’m very rational. This is just... observation.”

Abby nearly spits out her drink, laughing. “You’re so full of it. Admit it, you just don’t like that he’s good at literally everything. It messes with your perfectionist brain.”

“You’d hate him less if you stopped watching him all the time,” Tasha adds, teasing.

You groan, dropping your head onto the table with a thud. “I don’t watch him. He’s just always there. Like a bad omen with a hockey stick.”

“Yeah, well,” Abby shrugs, “I’d be there too if I were as good as him. Honestly, if you weren’t so busy hating him, you’d probably respect him a little. Maybe you two would even be—”

“Don’t.” You cut her off, lifting your head with a glare. “Don’t even suggest we could be friends. Or worse—something else. That’s the last thing I need right now.”

Tasha grins mischievously. “Well, considering how much you’re talking about him, it sounds like he might be the only thing you need right now.”

You swat at her playfully, but before you can respond, the loud crash of a door opening interrupts your rant. The energy in the bar shifts immediately as a group of loud, rowdy voices enters the room. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. You can feel it—the sudden frat-boy energy that seems to follow them wherever they go.

“Speak of the devil,” Abby mutters under her breath, clearly amused.

Sure enough, you glance toward the entrance, and there they are. Sidney Crosby and his teammates, rolling into the bar like they own the place. They’re loud, obnoxious, the exact opposite of what you wanted for this low-key evening. You watch as they laugh, shove each other, and call out to the bartender as if they’ve been best friends for years.

Sidney, of course, is in the center of it all—looking as effortlessly cool as ever in a black jacket and backward baseball cap. His laugh booms across the bar, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “Why are they always like this? Who gave them permission to act like frat boys in public?”

“Relax,” Abby says, still laughing at your expense. “It’s not like they’re doing anything wrong.”

“They’re just breathing, and it’s bothering you,” Tasha adds with a smirk.

“I can’t help it!” You say, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “They walk in here like they own the place. No one’s even looking at them, and somehow they just... demand attention.”

As if on cue, Sidney’s voice rises above the noise, calling out to one of his teammates with a laugh that carries through the entire bar. His presence is magnetic, drawing attention even when he’s not trying, and you hate how aware of him you are.

“I’m telling you,” you say, turning back to your friends. “This is a sign. The universe is trying to ruin my peace.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Abby teases. “The universe doesn’t revolve around you and Sidney Crosby. Just let it go.”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” you declare, crossing your arms stubbornly. “He’s not worth my energy.”

But as soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel a pair of eyes land on you. You glance up—and of course, it’s him. Sidney freaking Crosby. He’s looking right at you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, almost as if he knows exactly what you were just complaining about.

Your stomach flips, and suddenly, the heat rushes to your face. Great, just what you needed. You quickly look away, trying to pretend like you hadn’t been caught mid-rant about him for the umpteenth time.

Abby leans in, her voice low and teasing. “So... what’s that about not caring?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, grabbing your drink and downing the rest in one go.

Tasha bursts out laughing. “You’re so done for.”

“Am not,” you grumble, avoiding Sidney’s gaze. But you can still feel his eyes on you, that stupid smirk lingering in your mind, and you can’t shake the thought that, maybe, just maybe, he does enjoy messing with you.

Or worse—maybe you enjoy it too.

Later, you found yourself alone. You lean against the bar, the cool wood pressing into your forearms as you wait for the bartender to notice you. The noise of the bar hums around you—laughter, clinking glasses, some bad country song playing in the background. But for the first time since Sidney Crosby and his squad of obnoxious teammates showed up, you’ve managed to relax a little. Maybe it’s the alcohol kicking in or maybe it’s because you’ve successfully avoided looking in his direction for the past half hour. Either way, you feel lighter.

You tap your fingers against the counter impatiently, scanning the crowd for the bartender, trying not to let your mind wander back to Sidney. You promised yourself you weren’t going to let him ruin your night, and you’re doing a decent job of it so far. No reason to let him take up more space in your head than he already does.

"Hey, can I get another drink over here?" you call out to the bartender, who finally catches your eye and nods.

Just as you start to relax, though, you feel it—that presence. It’s like your body knows he’s there before you even see him, a tingle that runs up your spine, making your muscles tense involuntarily.

You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sidney’s voice is smooth, low, and far too casual, like he’s not already driving you insane.

You grit your teeth, rolling your eyes before you even face him. Great. Of course, he’d pick now to show up. When you’re alone. Just your luck.

Sidney leans against the bar beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, but not so close that it feels like he’s crowding you. He’s got this irritatingly effortless way of taking up space without trying. It’s like the universe bends around him, making sure everyone notices when he’s around.

“What do you want?” you ask, not bothering to hide the irritation in your voice as you finally turn to face him. You don’t have the patience for his smug attitude tonight.

He’s leaning casually with one elbow on the bar, looking at you with that infuriating half-smirk, like he finds the whole situation amusing. His backward cap is still in place, strands of hair peeking out messily, and his eyes glint with something that feels way too much like a challenge.

“What makes you think I want something?” he asks, his voice almost teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Because you don’t come over here for no reason.”

Sidney chuckles softly, and the sound grates on your nerves. “Maybe I just wanted to say hi. You know, be friendly.”

“Since when are we friendly?” you shoot back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Pretty sure we’ve never been that.”

He shrugs, still smiling, as if your hostility only makes this more fun for him. “There’s a first time for everything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to gauge his angle. It’s impossible to tell if he’s genuinely trying to make conversation or if he’s just here to mess with you. Either way, you’re not having it.

“Look, Crosby,” you say, your voice sharp, “if you’re here to annoy me, you’re wasting your time. I’m not in the mood.”

His smirk widens, and for some reason, it makes your stomach flip in a way you don’t like. “Who said anything about annoying you?”

You let out a huff of frustration, leaning back against the bar and glaring at him. “You always do. Every time you show up, it’s like you can’t help but get under my skin.”

Sidney tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering your words, but the smirk never leaves his face. “Maybe that’s because you make it so easy.”

The nerve of this guy. You open your mouth to fire back, but the bartender finally appears with your drink, placing it in front of you. You grab it with a quick thanks, eager for a distraction. Anything to avoid looking at Sidney and that stupid grin of his.

“Why do you even care?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink. “You don’t know me. We’re in completely different worlds.”

Sidney doesn’t respond right away, just watches you with those annoyingly intense eyes, like he’s trying to figure something out about you. It’s unsettling, but you refuse to let him see that he’s getting to you. You’ve already let him mess with your head enough tonight.

“Maybe I don’t know you,” he says after a moment, his voice lower now, more thoughtful. “But you’re interesting. More interesting than half the people I’ve met in this sport.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “Interesting?”

He nods, that playful glint still in his eyes. “Yeah. You’re not like everyone else. Most people just... try to stay out of the way, keep their heads down, play nice. But you? You don’t take shit from anyone. I like that.”

You snort, unable to help yourself. “So what, you’re saying you like me because I don’t like you?”

Sidney laughs, and the sound is so warm, so genuine, that it throws you off for a second. It’s not the cocky laugh you’re used to hearing from him on the ice. This one feels... real.

“I’m saying I like a challenge,” he says, his eyes gleaming with something that makes your heart race even though you really don’t want it to. “And you’re definitely a challenge.”

A challenge. That word lingers in the air between you, heavy and charged, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the way he said it or because of how it makes you feel. Because on some level, you know he’s right. You are a challenge. You’ve always been a challenge. And maybe that’s part of why he gets under your skin so easily—because he’s not backing down.

But you’re not backing down either.

“Well, if you think you can just waltz in here and... what? Win me over?” you scoff, taking another sip of your drink. “Good luck with that, Crosby. I don’t go down that easy.”

Sidney leans in just a fraction, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I never said I wanted you to go down easy.”

The words hang between you, thick with tension, and you feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your chest despite your best efforts to stay calm. His eyes stay locked on yours, and for a split second, you forget where you are, forget everything except the way his gaze makes you feel like he’s seeing through every layer of defense you’ve built up.

It takes everything in you not to let him see how much he’s affecting you. You keep your expression neutral, lips pressed into a tight line as you lean back, forcing some distance between you.

“You really think you can get to me with a few smooth lines?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

Sidney shrugs again, but this time there’s a hint of something more serious behind his smile. “I don’t know. Guess I’ll find out.”

You glare at him, feeling that familiar frustration bubbling up again, but there’s something else there now too—something you don’t want to acknowledge. Something that feels dangerous and thrilling all at once.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” you say, standing up from the bar and giving him one last, pointed look. “I’m not as easy to figure out as you think.”

Sidney just smiles, leaning back against the bar as he watches you walk away, and you can feel his eyes on you the whole time.

“Good,” he calls after you. “I like a good mystery.”

You don’t look back, but damn it, his voice follows you all the way out of the bar, and it’s all you can think about for the rest of the night.

───

The rink is nearly deserted when you stayed that night, after practice. The cold air bites at your exposed skin, but it feels like a relief after the stuffiness of the bar. You needed this—the wide-open space, the sound of your skates carving into the ice, the familiar rhythm of movement that helps drown out all the noise in your head.

You plug in your phone to the speaker system, scrolling through your playlists until you settle on something fitting for the mood—dramatic, sweeping classical music, the kind that builds and builds until it feels like it’s going to break something wide open. It’s exactly what you need right now.

As the first notes fill the rink, you skate to the center, closing your eyes for just a moment, letting the music wash over you. The stress, the frustration, the lingering burn from your interaction with Sidney—it all simmers beneath the surface, but here, on the ice, you know how to channel it. You’ve always been able to let the pressure fuel you, turning frustration into focus.

Opening your eyes, you push off, gliding across the ice with an easy grace that comes from years of muscle memory. The music builds, and you pick up speed, letting the intensity of the sound guide your movements. Each jump, each spin, feels sharper than before, more deliberate. There’s no audience, no competition, just you and the ice and the echo of the music in the empty arena.

You land a triple axel cleanly, but it’s not enough. Not tonight. You need more.

I’m not going to let Crosby win. The thought flashes in your mind, unbidden, but once it’s there, you can’t shake it. It’s ridiculous—Sidney’s not even here, not even part of this—but somehow, he’s still under your skin, pushing you to go harder, to be better.

The frustration builds, a knot tightening in your chest, and with a surge of anger, you launch into another jump, pushing yourself to the limit. You flip in the air, body twisting with precision, and when your skates hit the ice again, the landing is so clean, so perfect, that even you’re stunned for a moment.

Your coach isn’t here to shout or correct you, but if he were, you know he’d be speechless. You nailed it.

You stop in the center of the rink, breathing heavily, staring down at the ice beneath your feet. How did you flip that switch so quickly? One second, you were spiraling, frustration threatening to spill over, and the next, you’re here—executing moves with a sharpness you didn’t think you had tonight.

It’s almost like—

“Nice landing.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you spin around, your skates squeaking on the ice as you search for the source of the voice.

Of course.

Sidney Crosby is standing in the entrance to the rink, leaning casually against the boards with his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that same infuriating half-smirk. His dark hoodie is pulled over his head, casting shadows over his face, but you’d recognize that voice anywhere. You’d thought you were alone, but apparently, Sidney had other plans.

“Jesus—what the hell are you doing here?” you snap, pulse still racing from both the exertion and the shock of seeing him.

Sidney shrugs, as if he hasn’t just interrupted your entire night. “Could ask you the same thing.”

You narrow your eyes at him, pushing down the urge to scream. “I’m here because I’m training. What’s your excuse?”

He lifts an eyebrow, pushing off the boards and stepping onto the ice with ease, his skates gliding smoothly over the surface. “Didn’t realize you had the rink reserved.”

You cross your arms, glaring as he skates a slow circle around you, as if he’s sizing you up. The way he moves is so infuriatingly confident, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin.

“Sidney, I swear, if you’re here just to mess with me—”

He stops right in front of you, cutting you off with a grin that makes your stomach twist. “I’m not here to mess with you.” His voice drops a little, that playful edge still there but softer now. “Not unless you want me to.”

You take a step back, suddenly feeling a little too close to him. The music still plays in the background, dramatic strings swelling through the speakers, matching the tension that’s building between you two.

“Why are you really here?” you ask, trying to sound more composed than you feel. You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from skating or the fact that Sidney’s presence always seems to set you off, but your pulse is racing, and not just from the workout.

Sidney tilts his head slightly, watching you with those annoyingly intense eyes. “I could ask you the same thing,” he says, echoing your earlier words. “You’ve been skating for hours. What’s got you so wound up?”

Your mouth opens to snap back, but you stop yourself, unsure how to answer. It’s not like you can tell him he’s part of the problem, that every time he shows up, he stirs something inside you that’s equal parts frustration and... something else you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m fine,” you finally say, your voice tight. “Just working on a few things.”

Sidney steps closer again, his eyes not leaving yours, and you can feel your defenses rising instinctively. He has this way of making you feel exposed, like he sees through every layer you put up.

“You don’t look fine,” he says quietly, the teasing edge fading from his voice. “You look like you’re trying to prove something.”

“I don’t have anything to prove to you,” you snap, more harshly than you intended.

Sidney doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even react to your tone. Instead, he just watches you, like he’s waiting for you to let your guard down.

“You don’t have anything to prove to me,” he agrees, his voice low, almost gentle now. “But it seems like you’re trying to prove something to yourself.”

The words hit you harder than you want to admit, and for a second, you feel the weight of the pressure you’ve been carrying—the constant need to be perfect, to land every jump, to be better than you were yesterday. And maybe, just maybe, part of that pressure comes from knowing that Sidney Crosby, of all people, has seen you falter.

Your hands tighten into fists, frustration bubbling up again, but this time it’s not aimed at Sidney—it’s aimed at yourself.

“What do you know about it?” you mutter, looking away from him, focusing on the ice instead of the way his presence is making you feel.

Sidney doesn’t respond right away, and when he does, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. “More than you think.”

Something in his tone makes you glance up, and for the first time, you see something different in his eyes—not the usual cocky smirk, not the playful teasing. It’s something deeper, something you recognize.

Pressure. Expectation. The weight of the world on his shoulders, just like you carry on yours.

For a moment, the air between you shifts, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the music still playing softly in the background or because of the way Sidney is looking at you. There’s something unspoken hanging in the space between you, something fragile and real.

“I get it,” he says, his voice quiet. “The pressure. The feeling like you have to be perfect every time you step on the ice. I know what that’s like.”

You swallow hard, the walls you’ve built around yourself trembling slightly. You’re not used to Sidney Crosby being... this. Open. Vulnerable. It throws you off balance, makes you feel like you’re standing on shaky ground.

But before you can say anything, he steps back, giving you space, and the moment passes as quickly as it came.

“Anyway,” he says, his usual smirk slipping back into place, “just wanted to check in. See if you needed anything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to regain your composure. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Sidney grins, his playful edge back in full force. “Good. I like seeing you fired up.”

And just like that, the tension is back, simmering under the surface, and you’re left standing there, wondering how Sidney Crosby has managed to flip your world upside down in a matter of minutes.

As he skates away, you’re left with the echo of his words in your mind—and the realization that maybe, just maybe, he’s not the only one who likes a challenge.

───

A few weeks later, the cold of early winter is biting harder, a constant reminder of what’s looming: the Olympics. The most important competition of your life. Every jump, every spin, every session on the ice has been building to this moment, and now, the pressure is so thick, it feels like it's settled in your bones.

You’re sitting in the locker room, your gear strewn across the bench beside you. The atmosphere is tense but electric. Today is the day they announce the official Olympic figure skating team, and though you know you've earned your spot, the nerves are impossible to shake. Even after years of preparation, the thought of representing your country on the world’s biggest stage makes your heart pound.

Your coach comes in first, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He claps you on the back, and you can feel the energy shift in the room.

“They’ve posted the roster,” he says, barely containing his pride. “You’re on the team.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and then the weight of them crashes down on you. You’re on the team. You’re going to the Olympics.

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your chest tight with a mix of relief and exhilaration. All the hours on the ice, the grueling practices, the mental battles—it’s all been worth it. You’re going to be part of something bigger than yourself, and for a moment, you let yourself revel in the feeling of accomplishment.

But then, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, another thought creeps in: Sidney Crosby.

You haven't seen him since that night at the rink, but his presence has lingered, a constant shadow in your mind. He’s been picked too—you know it without even needing to check the roster. Of course he has. He's Sidney Crosby. A generational talent, just like they call you, only... more somehow. More polished, more famous, more everything. And now, the media will eat this up, won’t they? Two stars, both at the top of their games, both chasing Olympic glory, both—

You shake your head, pushing the thought away. You’re not going to let Sidney Crosby get into your head. Not when you’ve worked so hard to get here.

Your teammates rush into the room, their excitement contagious as they celebrate together. You laugh with them, letting the energy lift you for a moment, but in the back of your mind, that quiet tension still lingers. You can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning of something bigger—and that Sidney is somehow going to be a part of it, whether you like it or not.

───

The night before the team heads out for the final round of pre-Olympic training, you find yourself back at the rink, once again pushing through a late-night session. The music is quieter this time, more contemplative, as you work on fine-tuning your routine. It’s just you and the ice, and for a little while, that’s enough.

Until the door creaks open again.

You stop mid-spin, your breath catching in your throat. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is—somehow, you can always tell when Sidney’s around. It’s like your body is wired to notice him, even when you don’t want to.

“What are you doing here?” you call out, not bothering to mask the annoyance in your voice.

Sidney doesn’t answer right away, but you hear the sound of his skates as he steps onto the ice, gliding easily toward you.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, his voice calm, almost too calm, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “Training late again?”

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him get to you. “Yeah, well, some of us still have work to do.”

Sidney chuckles softly, skating closer until he’s just a few feet away. “You really think you’ve got that much left to prove?”

You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t you?”

For a second, he doesn’t answer, his eyes searching yours. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something almost… curious. Then he shrugs, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice low. “But I’m not the one staying up all night to try and be perfect.”

His words hit a little too close to home, and you feel the flare of anger rise again. But before you can respond, Sidney’s already moving, skating around you with that effortless grace that somehow makes everything seem easy for him.

“You know,” he says, his tone light, “the media’s having a field day with this whole thing. Two Canadian stars, same Olympics, both at the top of their game. They love a good story.”

You roll your eyes, spinning around to face him. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Sidney’s grin widens, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s enjoying this more than he should. “You think they’ll keep us apart, or you think they’ll try to milk this for everything it’s worth?”

You cross your arms, refusing to play into whatever game he’s trying to start. “I don’t really care what the media does.”

Sidney stops in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours with that same intensity you’ve come to know all too well. “You sure about that?”

The question hangs in the air between you, and for a second, you’re not sure if he’s talking about the media… or something else entirely.

You stare at him for a moment, the weight of his gaze making the rink feel smaller, more intimate than it has any right to be. The soft hum of your music in the background seems distant now, a faraway echo compared to the silence between you. You want to say something cutting, to brush him off like you always do, but there's something different about this moment. It's not just annoyance. There's a challenge here—a tension, thick and electric, hovering just out of reach.

Sidney's eyebrow quirks up, and you feel your stomach twist in frustration. He's baiting you, but you don't know what game you're even playing anymore. And the worst part? He’s winning. Again.

"I'm sure," you finally manage to say, but your voice doesn’t carry the sharpness you intended. It's a little softer, almost uncertain, and you hate it. His smirk widens ever so slightly, like he's noticed it too.

"Good." Sidney pushes off the ice and skates a lazy circle around you, his movements fluid and deliberate, like he's taking his time to think about his next words. "Because it doesn't matter what they say. We're both here for the same reason—to win."

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but there's a part of you that knows he's right. You didn’t get this far by letting other people’s opinions get in your head. You worked for this. Hard. Late nights, endless drills, pushing yourself past your limits just to prove to everyone—and maybe to yourself—that you deserved to be here. That you belonged.

But somehow, Sidney Crosby always finds a way to make you feel like you're still fighting for that validation. Like there's always something left to prove.

"And here I thought you were just here for the cameras," you say, your words sharper now, biting back with the edge you'd been missing earlier. "They do love a good Sidney Crosby story, don't they?"

Sidney doesn't react the way you expect. He doesn’t bristle or fire back. Instead, he just smiles, a slow, knowing grin that almost—almost—looks genuine. "Maybe. But they’re not the ones I’m trying to impress."

Your heart skips, just for a second, caught off guard by his sudden sincerity. You blink, trying to keep your composure, to ignore the way your body betrays you under his gaze.

"Right." You scoff again, trying to laugh it off. "You don’t have to impress anyone, do you?"

Sidney stops, coming to a smooth halt just in front of you. He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his breath fogs in the cold air between you. He tilts his head, that smirk fading into something else. Something more serious.

"Everyone's got something to prove," he says quietly. His voice is low, almost a whisper, like it's a confession meant for you and only you. "Even me."

For a second, you don’t know what to say. His words catch you off guard, and you feel the weight of them sink in, wrapping around you like the cold air of the rink. You've always seen Sidney as untouchable, a star so far beyond reach that nothing could ever shake him. But now, standing here, staring at him, you realize he’s just as human as you. Maybe even just as scared.

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, the walls you’ve built around yourself start to crack. But before you can respond—before you can even process what’s happening—Sidney’s already pushing away, skating back toward the other end of the rink, like the moment never happened.

"Good luck with the routine," he calls over his shoulder, his voice light again, casual. "See you in Vancouver."

You stand there for a long time after he’s gone, the rink feeling empty without him. Your mind is racing, filled with thoughts you don’t want to acknowledge. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter. You’ll go to the Olympics, skate your heart out, and that’s all that matters.

But deep down, you know things have changed. And no matter how hard you try, Sidney Crosby is already under your skin.

The weeks leading up to the Olympics pass in a blur of training, media appearances, and endless speculation. The pressure builds with every day, every practice, every headline that pits you and Sidney against each other. It’s exhausting, and yet, part of you thrives on it. The stakes, the attention, the challenge. It's what you’ve always worked for.

But it’s also terrifying. Because every time you step on the ice, you know there are a million eyes watching, waiting for you to slip. And every time Sidney’s name comes up—whether it’s in an interview or in passing—it’s like a spark of irritation flares up inside you, reminding you that he’s still there, always lingering in the background of your mind.

The final week before the Olympics, you find yourself at a press conference, surrounded by reporters. You’ve done a thousand of these before, but this one feels different. The energy in the room is palpable, buzzing with anticipation as everyone prepares for the biggest event of the year.

And of course, the first question they ask isn’t about your routine or your preparation. It’s about Sidney.

“So, Y/N, you and Sidney Crosby have both been named as Canada’s biggest medal hopes this year. How do you feel about that?”

You force a smile, even though you want to roll your eyes. “I feel great about it. Sidney’s an incredible athlete, and it’s an honor to be mentioned alongside him.”

The reporter doesn’t stop there. “Do you think the rivalry between the two of you has helped push you both to new heights?”

You want to laugh. Rivalry? Is that what they’re calling it now?

“I think we’re both just focused on doing our best for our country,” you say diplomatically, but the answer feels hollow even to you. Because if you’re being honest with yourself, the rivalry is there. It’s always been there, even before the media latched onto it.

It’s not just about skating or hockey or who wins the most medals. It’s about something deeper—something neither of you has been willing to admit yet.

After the press conference, you slip out of the room as quickly as possible, your mind still buzzing with thoughts of Sidney. You’ve seen him a few times in passing since that night at the rink, but neither of you has said much. There’s been no need. The tension is there, lingering between you, always simmering just below the surface.

And now, with the Olympics just days away, it feels like everything is coming to a head.

You don’t know what’s going to happen in Vancouver, but one thing’s for sure: Sidney Crosby isn’t going to be easy to forget.

───

The sun barely peeks over the Vancouver skyline as you step into the bustling arena, the energy already electric despite the early hour. It’s the first day of the Winter Olympics, and the anticipation in the air is palpable. Athletes mill around, warming up and going through their routines, while coaches and officials rush to prepare the rink and finalize schedules.

The ice skating events are divided by discipline, with singles, pairs, and ice dance categories each occupying different time slots throughout the day. You’re scheduled for the women’s short program later this afternoon, but you arrive early to settle your nerves and observe the competition. It’s been a long time coming—years of training, countless sacrifices, and now, it’s finally here.

As you watch the men’s short program unfold, you catch glimpses of familiar faces—skaters you’ve competed against on the international circuit. The stands fill with excited spectators, flags waving, the hum of different languages mingling in the air. You take it all in, your gaze flitting from one skater to the next, mentally noting their performances.

And then, you see him.

Sidney is seated with a group of Team Canada athletes near the edge of the rink, his attention fixed on the ice. He’s wearing the official red and white tracksuit, his posture relaxed, and his expression serious. You know he’s here to support his teammates, but it doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering. You haven’t spoken since the night at the rink, and the tension still lingers, unspoken but ever-present.

You try to focus on the skaters on the ice, but your gaze keeps drifting back to Sidney. He’s surrounded by people, but his eyes seem distant, as if his mind is somewhere else. A part of you wants to approach him, to say something, anything, to break the silence that’s grown between you. But there’s no time for that now. Not when everything you’ve worked for is at stake.

A sudden cheer erupts from the crowd as one of the Canadian skaters finishes his routine with a flawless quad jump. Sidney stands, applauding along with the rest of the crowd, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours across the arena. It’s a fleeting connection—one that sends a jolt through you—before you quickly look away, your pulse quickening.

You remind yourself why you’re here. It’s not for Sidney. It’s for the chance to compete on the world’s biggest stage, to prove to yourself—and to everyone else—that you belong.

Hours later, as the women’s short program draws near, you’re in the locker room, lacing up your skates and taking deep breaths. You can hear the muffled sounds of the arena through the walls—cheers, announcements, and the faint strains of music from other performances. Your coach is by your side, offering words of encouragement and going over last-minute details of your routine.

When your name is called, you make your way to the ice, nerves and adrenaline surging in equal measure. The arena is packed now, the crowd buzzing with excitement. You take your position at the center of the rink, the bright lights shining down on you, and as the music begins, you shut out everything else—Sidney, the pressure, the noise—focusing solely on the routine you’ve practiced countless times.

As you step onto the ice, the chill bites at your exposed skin, the cold seeping into your muscles despite the hours of warming up backstage. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, the familiar scent of the rink—a mix of ice, metal, and adrenaline—filling your lungs.

The bright lights of the arena are almost blinding, but you’ve grown used to the glare. It’s everything else that’s harder to ignore: the noise of the crowd, the anticipation hanging in the air, and the weight of every expectation you’ve ever placed on yourself.

Your name echoes through the arena, and you take your starting position at the center of the rink, feeling the world close in around you. It’s just you and the ice. You’ve done this routine a thousand times—maybe more—in practice. You know every step, every jump, every nuance of the music. But the stakes are different now, and doubt has a way of creeping in when you need confidence most.

The music begins, a soft piano melody that rises and falls like a tide. You push off, gliding into your opening spin, your body rotating effortlessly as your arms sweep out to the sides. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope—this part, at least, feels right. But as you transition into the next sequence, the familiar pattern you’ve rehearsed starts to fray at the edges.

Your first jump, the triple flip, is where the anxiety tightens its grip. You approach the takeoff, heart racing, and launch yourself into the air. For a split second, you feel weightless, suspended above the ice, but then something feels off. Your body twists at the wrong angle, your balance shifts too soon. You land, but the landing is sloppy—your skate scrapes the ice, and you wobble, arms flailing to steady yourself.

Panic surges through you, hot and electric. It’s only the beginning of the program, and already you’ve stumbled. You try to shake it off, but the rhythm is broken, and your mind spirals into self-criticism.

You practiced this a thousand times. Why didn’t you get it right?

The next element is a step sequence, a chance to regain your composure, but the nagging voice in your head won’t let up. You force a smile, hoping to mask the growing frustration and fear. As you weave through the steps, your feet move, but your mind is still stuck on the failed jump. You feel disconnected from the music, from the ice, from the performance that’s slipping through your fingers.

You approach the triple Lutz—one of the most challenging elements in your routine. You breathe deeply, telling yourself you can still save this, but the seed of doubt has taken root. You accelerate into the jump, feeling the power build in your legs, and then you launch into the air. This time, you feel the rotation, the speed, the familiar rush of adrenaline, but it’s too fast, too uncontrolled. When you come down, you feel your left skate catch, and before you know it, you’re pitching forward. You barely manage to stay upright, catching yourself with a hand on the ice.

The gasp from the crowd feels like a punch to the gut.

I can’t believe I just did that. This is a disaster.

You’re only halfway through the program, but every second feels like an eternity. Each movement feels heavier, each step more labored. Your body moves through the motions, but your mind is stuck on replaying your mistakes. The music swells, urging you to keep going, but all you can think about is how much you’ve already ruined.

The spins that follow are supposed to be your strength, your signature—a moment when you can let go and show your artistry. But you’re too distracted, your mind racing with self-doubt. You rush into the first spin, and it feels off—your center of gravity isn’t where it should be. You struggle to maintain speed, and by the time you come out of it, your legs feel shaky. You curse yourself under your breath, frustration bubbling up. You’ve never felt this out of control in a competition before.

You’ve blown it. Everyone’s watching you fall apart.

The final jump, a double Axel, should be simple compared to the others, but the fear of messing up again overwhelms you. You take off, and for a second, you think it might be fine—until you under-rotate. The landing feels heavy, and you stumble. This time, you can’t save it. You fall, hitting the ice with a thud, the sound echoing in the silent arena.

You want to stay down, to disappear, to let the ice swallow you whole. But the music pulls you back up, and you force yourself to your feet, biting back the tears threatening to spill. Your legs feel like lead as you move through the final moments of the routine, each movement mechanical and empty.

As the music fades and you hold your ending pose, all you can think about is the silence. It’s deafening. The applause comes a few seconds later, polite but subdued, and it feels like salt in the wound. You know what the crowd saw. You know what you felt. It wasn’t the performance you’d spent years dreaming of; it was the kind that haunts you.

You skate off the ice, head down, feeling the heat of embarrassment burn through you. Your coach approaches, a hand on your shoulder, whispering words of encouragement you can barely hear over the sound of your own self-recrimination.

You blew it. You had one chance, and you blew it.

In the kiss-and-cry area, the scores flash on the screen, but you don’t need to see them to know what they’ll be—low, lower than you’ve ever had in an international competition. You feel tears prick at your eyes, and you clench your fists, willing yourself not to cry in front of the cameras.

When you finally look up, you see Sidney standing near the boards, watching. His face is unreadable, but you know he saw everything. The thought makes your stomach twist. You wanted him to see you at your best, to show him the skater you’ve worked so hard to become. But instead, he saw you at your worst.

You tear your eyes eyes away, feeling your throat forming that familiar lump. “God fucking damn it,” you mumble as you shut your eyes. You rush off to the bathroom, shutting it behind you swiftly.

It feels like your world was upside down.

You can't control the sobs that come next as you slid down the door, as your legs give out beneath you. The sobs rip through you, harsh and unrelenting, and you press a hand over your mouth, desperate to stifle the sound. The last thing you need is for anyone else to hear you breaking down. But the tears keep coming, hot and uncontrollable, and your chest tightens with the weight of your own disappointment.

You curl up on the cold tile floor, knees pulled to your chest, feeling the ache spread through your entire body. Every mistake from the routine replays in your mind on an endless loop—the missed jumps, the stumble, the fall. Each one feels like a punch, and you can’t help but berate yourself for every single one.

Why couldn’t you get it right? Why did you choke?

You lean your head back against the door, the cool wood grounding you for a moment. But then the wave hits again. You’ve worked for years—years—for this moment, and you blew it in front of everyone. All those hours of practice, all those sacrifices, and for what? For a performance that feels like it’s ruined everything you’ve worked so hard for.

The tears blur your vision, and you rub at your eyes, only to feel the sting of makeup smearing across your cheeks. It’s a mess—everything feels like a mess. You dig your fingers into your hair, pulling slightly as if the pain might drown out the thoughts that won’t stop tormenting you.

You were supposed to be better than this. You were supposed to prove you belonged here.

The worst part is knowing that Sidney saw it all. You tried so hard to ignore the tension, to push past the uncertainty of what’s between you two. But in that moment on the ice, with the lights bright and the stakes high, all you could think about was wanting to impress him, to show him the best version of yourself. And now he’s seen you fail, seen you fall apart, and you can’t bear the thought of what he must think.

The thought twists in your gut, making the sobs come harder. You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. You feel like a little kid again, like all the progress you’ve made, all the strength you’ve built up, has crumbled in an instant.

After a few minutes, the sobs finally start to subside, leaving you feeling drained and empty. You breathe in, ragged and shallow, trying to calm the storm inside your head. But the silence only makes the thoughts louder. You can still hear the crowd’s disappointed murmur, see the faces of the judges as they wrote down your scores.

You’re not sure how long you stay there, slumped against the door, before the sound of footsteps approaching makes you freeze. You quickly wipe at your face, scrubbing away the tears and trying to pull yourself together. The last thing you need is for anyone to find you like this, crumpled up and broken.

There’s a knock on the door, soft at first, and you hold your breath, hoping whoever it is will go away. But then the knock comes again, a little more insistent.

“Hey,” a voice says quietly, and your heart sinks. You’d recognize that voice anywhere—Sidney.

You bite your lip, trying to steady your breath, but it’s no use. You know you can’t face him like this, not when you feel so raw and exposed. “Go away, Sid,” you manage to choke out, but it comes out weaker than you intended.

“Please, just… let me in.” His voice is gentle, and that makes it worse. You don’t want his pity, don’t want to be reminded of how badly you’ve messed up in front of him.

You wipe at your face again, even though you know you look like a mess. “I don’t want to talk right now,” you say, your voice breaking on the last word. You feel pathetic, and all you want to do is disappear.

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you think he might leave. But then he speaks again, softer this time. “It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to hide.”

The words are kind, and they cut through you. You hate that he knows, that he sees you like this. You hate that part of you wants to open the door, to let him in and just collapse into his arms. But you can’t. You can’t let him see how much you’re falling apart.

“I’m fine,” you lie, voice cracking again. “Just… go.”

But he doesn’t move. “Look, I know you’re upset. I saw what happened out there, but it doesn’t change anything. You’re still one of the best skaters I’ve ever seen.”

You press your lips together, shaking your head even though he can’t see. “I don’t need a pep talk, Sid.”

There’s another silence, and then, softer still, “I just want to be here for you.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your chest tighten. You want to believe him, want to open the door and let yourself lean on someone for once. But the fear is too strong—the fear of being seen, of being judged, of letting someone close enough to hurt you.

“I can’t do this right now,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face again.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. “But if you need me, I’m here.”

You don’t respond, biting down on your lip as the tears fall harder. You wait until his footsteps fade away, leaving you alone in the silence once more. Then, finally, you let out a sob, sinking back against the door, feeling the weight of everything crash down on you again.

───

The hotel room feels suffocating, the walls closing in as you sit cross-legged on the bed, staring blankly at the TV screen. The Olympics news channel is on, and you can’t help but watch, even though every fiber of your being screams to turn it off. They’re showing highlights of the day’s performances, and you know it’s only a matter of time before they replay yours.

The phone is pressed to your ear, and your coach’s voice crackles through the line, rough and familiar. He’s the one who’s seen you at your best and your worst, the one who’s pushed you to reach your full potential. But tonight, his words sting more than they usually do.

“You know, that wasn’t the skater I’ve been training for the past ten years,” he says, his voice firm, the edge of disappointment unmistakable. “What happened out there? You choked, plain and simple.”

You swallow hard, clutching the phone tighter. You know he’s trying to push you, trying to get a reaction—he always thinks tough love will get you back on track. But right now, every word feels like another weight pressing down on your already heavy chest. “I know, okay? I messed up,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but you hear the waver at the end.

He sighs, and you can picture him running a hand over his face. “Messing up is one thing, but letting it get to you out there? That’s not you. You looked like a deer in headlights after that first fall. Where’s your fight? Where’s the girl who pushes through, no matter what?”

The criticism feels like salt in an open wound, and you bite your lip, willing yourself not to cry again. You’ve already spent most of the evening crying in the bathroom, and you refuse to do it now, not when he’s on the other end of the line. “I tried, but—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“But nothing,” he snaps. “Trying isn’t good enough at this level. You either do it, or you don’t. And today, you didn’t.”

You pull the phone away from your ear for a second, taking a deep breath as you try to keep your emotions in check. You know he’s right—of course, he’s right. This isn’t the first time he’s laid it out like this, and usually, it works. Usually, it fires you up, makes you want to prove him wrong, to prove to yourself that you’re capable of more. But tonight, all it does is make you feel small.

“I get it,” you say quietly, struggling to keep your voice even. “I let everyone down.”

He’s silent for a moment, and then his tone softens, just a little. “It’s not about letting anyone down. It’s about you. You know what you’re capable of, and today, that wasn’t it. You’re better than this.”

You glance up at the TV, and your stomach drops. They’re showing footage of your routine, the slow-motion replay of your first stumble, the way you clutched your ankle like it was the end of the world. The announcers are discussing it with hushed tones, one of them saying, “A disappointing performance from someone who’s been touted as a medal contender. You can see the hesitation after that initial fall—she never fully recovered.”

It feels like someone’s twisting a knife in your gut, and you have to look away, turning your attention to the wall instead. “They’re showing it on the news,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper. “They’re saying I looked scared.”

“Well, they’re not wrong,” your coach says, and the bluntness hits you like a slap. “You did look scared. You were scared.”

You clench your jaw, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over again. “I know that,” you snap, more harshly than you intended. “I know I messed up, and I don’t need you or the whole world reminding me.”

There’s a long silence on the other end, and for a moment, you worry he’s going to hang up. But then he sighs, and you hear the weariness in his voice. “Look, I’m not saying this to make you feel worse. I’m saying it because you’ve got two options now: you let this break you, or you use it. You’ve got another routine, and if you want any shot at the podium, you’ve got to be perfect.”

The words hang in the air between you, and you stare down at your lap, the weight of everything crushing you. “I don’t know if I can,” you admit, the vulnerability slipping out before you can stop it. “I feel like… I don’t know, like I’ve lost it.”

“You haven’t lost anything,” he says, his voice sharp again, like he’s trying to pull you back from the edge. “One bad routine doesn’t erase everything you’ve worked for. You’ve been down before, and you’ve come back stronger every time. This is no different.”

The TV cuts to the end of your routine, the moment where you bowed your head and skated off the ice, and the announcers are speculating about whether the pressure of the Olympics got to you. You grit your teeth, feeling the shame creeping back in.

“I just— I don’t know how to fix it,” you say, your voice cracking. “I felt like everything was slipping away out there, like no matter what I did, I couldn’t get it right.”

“That’s your head talking,” he replies. “You need to get out of your own way. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about finding that zone where you stop thinking and just skate. You know how to do that. You’ve done it a thousand times.”

You want to believe him, but the doubt clings to you like a shadow. “What if I can’t? What if I mess up again?”

“Then you get up again,” he says simply. “That’s the only way forward.”

You lean back against the pillows, closing your eyes and trying to steady your breath. You know he’s right, deep down. But right now, it feels impossible to shake the disappointment and the fear. “Okay,” you say, even though it doesn’t feel okay. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” he says, and for a moment, his tone is almost gentle. “Get some rest tonight, clear your head. Tomorrow’s another day.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah. Thanks, coach.”

“Hang in there, kid,” he says before hanging up.

You set the phone down on the bed, feeling the quiet of the room settle around you. The screen still shows highlights of the other skaters, and you watch as they soar effortlessly through their routines, their movements flawless, their expressions confident. You envy them—the way they make it look so easy, so natural.

But you know it isn’t. You know the hours, the pain, the sacrifices that go into making it look that way. You’ve lived it, day in and day out. And as much as you want to curl up and shut the world out, there’s a part of you that refuses to give up. A part that knows you have another chance, another routine.

The channel shifts from figure skating highlights to coverage of the hockey events. You immediately recognize the familiar red and white jerseys of Team Canada as the highlights reel begins, showing clips of their opening game. There’s Sidney, in perfect form, weaving around defenders with effortless grace. The crowd roars as he shoots and scores, the puck finding the back of the net like it was meant to be there all along.

The announcers are gushing, their voices rising with excitement. “And there’s Crosby with yet another goal—what an incredible start for Team Canada. Their chemistry on the ice is flawless, and they’re looking unstoppable.”

The camera zooms in on Sidney’s face, beaming as he’s mobbed by his teammates. There’s that calm, confident look you’ve seen so many times before, the look of someone who’s exactly where they belong, doing exactly what they were meant to do. The arena explodes in cheers, and you can almost feel the energy from the screen, the way the city has rallied behind their hockey hero.

You grit your teeth, feeling your hands ball into fists on your lap. Of course, he’s perfect. Of course, everything falls into place for him. While you’re stuck in this hotel room, replaying every mistake you made, Sidney’s out there doing what he always does—winning. Being flawless. Making it look easy.

The replay shifts to another play, this one showing Sidney setting up a teammate for a goal with a precise, lightning-fast pass. The announcers’ voices swell again. “Crosby’s vision is unmatched—he makes it look effortless. The chemistry and connection he has with his teammates are just on another level.”

You feel the knot in your stomach twist tighter. It’s not that you begrudge him his success; he’s worked hard for it, and you know how much pressure he’s under. But right now, it’s like every moment of his triumph is rubbing salt in your wounds. It feels personal, like the universe is reminding you of how far you’ve fallen, how badly you’ve failed.

And the worst part is, you can’t get his face out of your head. The way he looked at you after your routine—his expression soft, the same reassuring look he’s always given you when things went wrong. At the time, it felt comforting, like he was there for you when you needed someone the most. But now, seeing him bask in the glory of his victory while you’re drowning in your own defeat, it only makes the ache worse.

The camera zooms in again, catching Sidney in a post-game interview. He’s all smiles, his helmet still perched on his head, hair damp with sweat but eyes bright and full of that competitive fire you’ve always admired. “It’s great to start the tournament off strong,” he says, his voice full of confidence. “The guys have been working hard, and it’s awesome to see it pay off on the ice. We’re just taking it one game at a time, but we’re feeling good.”

The reporters laugh, clearly enamored with him, and you can’t help but scowl. It’s so easy for him to stand there and say that, to talk about feeling good when everything is going right. When he hasn’t been the one to crash and burn on the world’s biggest stage.

Your fingers dig into the comforter as the segment continues, showing highlights from the locker room—Sidney laughing with his teammates, high-fiving, all smiles and celebration. They look relaxed, like they’re already sure of their place in the finals. And why wouldn’t they be? They’ve got Sidney Crosby, and when you have someone like him, everything else falls into place.

You mute the TV, unable to watch anymore. The image lingers, though, and you can feel the anger building in your chest, tightening like a vice. It’s not fair. You’ve worked just as hard as he has, put in the same hours, made the same sacrifices. And yet, here you are, hiding in a hotel room, while he gets to be the golden boy, the hero.

You know you’re being unfair. Sidney was nothing but kind to you earlier. But you can’t help it—the jealousy and frustration bubble up, making it impossible to think straight. You want to scream, to throw something, to lash out at the injustice of it all.

Instead, you bury your face in your hands, trying to take deep breaths, but all you feel is the heat of your tears building again. “Why can’t I just be better?” you whisper to the empty room, the words cracking in your throat. “Why can’t I be like him?”

You know there’s no answer, and that’s the hardest part. You know that no amount of hard work or preparation can guarantee perfection. You’ve been told your whole life that you have to fight for what you want, that success doesn’t come without failure. But in this moment, it all feels so hopeless, like you’re swimming against an unstoppable current and no matter how hard you kick, you’re just sinking deeper.

You hear your phone buzz on the nightstand, and you almost ignore it, but a part of you hopes it might be a message from home—maybe your mom or your sister, someone who’ll tell you that it’s okay, that one bad skate doesn’t define you.

But when you check, it’s a notification from one of those sports apps, and your heart sinks again as you read the headline: Sidney Crosby and Team Canada Dominate in Opening Game. It’s everywhere, inescapable. Another reminder of how easily the world seems to fall in love with him, and how quickly they move on from the skaters who stumble.

You drop the phone back on the bed, shoving it away as you curl up against the pillows. You shut your eyes, trying to block out the noise, the pressure, the image of Sidney’s perfect smile and the sound of the crowd chanting his name. But it doesn’t help.

No matter what you do, it feels like you’re stuck in a loop, replaying your mistakes and wondering why, for once, you couldn’t have been the one with the perfect routine, the one who had everything fall into place.

Then, that familiar mantra repeats in your mind. I’m not gonna let Crosby win.

“Damn right,” you whisper to yourself as you lay back in the hotel bed.

───

The alarm blares, pulling you out of a restless sleep. You groggily reach over and shut it off, squinting at the clock—4:00 a.m. The room is dark, and the cold air bites at your skin as you push yourself out of bed. You’ve always been an early riser, but today is different. It’s not just about getting ahead of the competition; it’s about making up for yesterday, about proving to yourself that you can still pull it together.

You slip into your warm-up clothes, tying your hair back tightly, and grab your skates and jacket. You move quietly through the hallways of the hotel, the only sound being the soft hum of the lights and the shuffle of your footsteps against the carpet. The entire place feels eerily quiet, as if the world hasn’t woken up yet. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what you need—a chance to reset, to work without anyone watching or judging.

When you arrive at the rink, the lights are dim, and the ice is a blank canvas, untouched. You breathe in deeply, letting the chill fill your lungs, feeling the weight of your skates as you lace them up methodically. The rink is your sanctuary, your space to figure things out. Today, it feels even more important to reclaim it. You stand and step onto the ice, the familiar glide grounding you, and take a deep breath before you start.

You begin your warm-up routine—edges, spins, quick footwork. The movements feel stiff at first, but you push through, repeating them until your body remembers how it’s supposed to move. Every turn is sharper, every spin faster than the last. You skate hard, pushing your muscles to the limit, sweat starting to bead on your forehead despite the cold.

As you go through your jumps, you land a clean triple toe loop, and for a moment, it feels like progress. But then you try again, and your skate catches the ice wrong, sending you stumbling. You curse under your breath and reset, gritting your teeth as you go for it again. Over and over, you repeat the jump, and each time, it feels like it’s getting worse.

Your frustration builds, and before you know it, you’re skating full speed into your program. You launch into the combination sequence that tripped you up yesterday, determination burning in your veins. It’s messy—your timing’s off, your landings shaky—but you keep going, pretending that if you just push hard enough, you can force it to be perfect.

You don’t even realize how hard you’re pushing yourself until you skid to a stop, panting, your legs burning. The sound of your ragged breaths echoes in the empty rink, and you slam your hands on your thighs, hunching over. “What’s wrong with me?” you whisper to yourself, your voice echoing in the silence.

Just as you’re about to push off for another round, you hear a voice that makes you freeze. “Up early, huh?”

You whip around, and there he is—Sidney Crosby, leaning against the boards, still in his sweats. His hair is messy, and there’s a slight grin on his face like he knows he’s interrupting something private. You feel your stomach drop, the annoyance already bubbling up. Of all the people to show up at this hour.

“Yeah, well, some of us need the extra practice,” you snap, more harshly than you mean to. The last thing you want is to let him see how much this is getting to you, how much yesterday is still hanging over your head.

Sidney raises an eyebrow, his expression still annoyingly calm. “I figured as much,” he says, his voice annoyingly relaxed. “Saw the lights on and thought I’d come check it out.”

You glare at him, your grip tightening on the edge of the rink. “Well, you’ve checked it out. Congratulations. You can leave now.”

But he doesn’t move. Instead, he pushes off the boards and steps closer, resting his arms casually. “You know, beating yourself up like this isn’t going to help.”

“Oh, thanks for the tip, Coach.” You can’t help the sarcasm that drips from your words, your fists clenching at your sides. “I’m sure you’ve had so many moments where you just sucked and needed to figure out how to get it back together.”

He tilts his head, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes, but it only makes your annoyance grow. “Actually, yeah,” he says, his tone softer now. “I’ve had plenty of bad games. Plenty of times where I felt like I was completely off. It happens to everyone.”

You roll your eyes, looking away. “Not like this. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like everything you’ve worked for is slipping through your fingers.”

“Maybe not exactly like this,” he admits, and for a moment, you hear genuine understanding in his voice. “But I get it. The pressure, the expectations—everyone watching, waiting for you to mess up or be perfect. It’s not easy.”

You want to tell him to stop, that his sympathy isn’t what you need right now. But the more he talks, the more it feels like he’s seeing right through you, and that makes you feel exposed, vulnerable. “I don’t need a pep talk, Sidney. I just need to work.”

“Yeah? And how’s that going?” he challenges, gesturing to the rink. “You think pushing yourself like this is going to fix everything?”

“I don’t know,” you snap. “But what else am I supposed to do? Sit around and watch the highlights of you and your perfect team?”

His face darkens, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not here to rub anything in. I just—I saw you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, I’m not,” you admit, the words coming out harsher than you intend. “I’m not okay, and I don’t need you pretending to care. I just—” You cut yourself off, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak.

He looks at you for a long moment, the frustration still in his eyes but mixed with something else—maybe concern, maybe understanding. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he says quietly. “You’re not the only one who struggles.”

But you don’t want to hear it. Not from him. Not right now. “Just leave me alone, Sidney. Please.”

For a moment, it looks like he might argue, but then he nods, the disappointment clear on his face. “Fine,” he says, stepping back. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

He turns and walks away, and you watch as he disappears down the hallway, leaving you alone in the cold, empty rink. The silence feels heavier now, and the frustration sits like a weight in your chest. You push off again, skating into another spin, determined to work through it, but all you can think about is the look in Sidney’s eyes and the feeling that, for once, maybe you’ve pushed the wrong person away.

───

The next day, you walk into the rink with a heavy sense of dread. The weight of your previous performances and the mounting pressure of the competition is starting to feel like an unbearable burden. You arrive a bit later than usual, joining your teammates as they warm up. The mood feels different today—everyone is on edge, focused. No one says much; they just nod in acknowledgment as you step onto the ice.

You take a deep breath, the familiar chill of the rink grounding you as you skate a few laps to loosen up. The routine you’ve been working on still feels rough around the edges, and the more you practice it, the more you feel the lingering frustration. You can’t afford to fall apart again, not this close to competition.

As you glide toward the boards, planning to get some advice from your team’s coach, you notice a familiar figure standing there, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. For a moment, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you, but then he steps forward, and you recognize the familiar build and the gray streaks in his hair.

“Coach?” you blurt out, stopping in your tracks. The surprise in your voice is evident, and your teammates glance over, curious.

He nods, his eyes sharp as ever. “Heard you were having some trouble,” he says, not wasting a second. “Figured I’d come see it for myself.”

You feel a mix of relief and irritation. Relief because there’s no one who knows your skating as well as he does. Irritation because, of all times, why now? “I didn’t ask you to come,” you say, trying to sound tough, but it comes out weaker than you want.

“I know you didn’t.” He steps onto the ice, his skates making that satisfying scratch against the surface. “But you clearly need it.” He gestures for you to come over, and despite everything, you find yourself obeying, gliding toward him like you’re fifteen again and still trying to impress him.

“You’re skating like you’ve got bricks tied to your feet,” he says bluntly, and you bristle. “I watched the tape, and honestly, it’s like you’re holding back. Why?”

“I’m not holding back,” you argue, feeling the defensive flare rise in your chest. “I just—” You pause, swallowing hard. “It’s the pressure. Everything feels off.”

He gives you a knowing look, one that makes you feel seen and called out all at once. “Pressure isn’t new for you, kid. You’ve handled it before. The only difference now is you’re letting it get in your head.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s not that simple, that the stakes are higher now, that you feel like the world is watching your every move. But then, as he stands there waiting, you realize he already knows all of that. “Okay, fine. Maybe I am in my head,” you admit.

He nods, satisfied with your honesty. “Good. Now let’s get you out of it.” He claps his hands together. “Start from the top. Show me the routine.”

You go through the motions, running through your routine as he watches with that critical eye he’s always had. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets you move through the steps, and you try to shut out the noise in your head, focusing on the feel of the ice beneath your blades, the muscle memory kicking in as you twist into the jumps and glide into the spins.

But when you finish, you can already tell it wasn’t your best. You land off balance, your arms not quite in the right position, and the frustration hits you like a wave. “I can’t—” you start, but Ramirez cuts you off.

“Stop,” he says, holding up a hand. “You’re hesitating. Every time you go for a jump, you’re thinking too hard about sticking the landing. You can’t think. You just have to trust your training.”

He skates up to you, his eyes meeting yours. “We’re going to break it down. One section at a time. And when you hit that jump, you commit to it like it’s the last thing you’re ever going to do.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. It’s been so long since you’ve had someone push you like this, and even though it’s tough love, there’s something comforting about it. You start again, working through the steps slowly. He stops you, corrects your positioning, and has you repeat until it feels right. Then you move to the next part, and the next, until you’re sweating and your legs are burning from the repetition.

“Now, the jump,” he instructs, standing back a few feet. “No hesitation.”

You push off, feeling the adrenaline rush through your veins as you pick up speed. This time, when you go for the triple toe loop, you don’t think about the landing—you just let your body move. And for the first time, it feels right. You nail the landing, your arms pulling into the perfect position as you finish the rotation.

“That’s it!” Coach shouts, and you feel a surge of triumph. “That’s the skater I know.”

You repeat the jump a few more times, and each time it feels smoother, more controlled. The confidence builds, and by the time you finish, you’re panting but smiling for the first time in days.

Coach skates over, nodding in approval. “There you go. You’ve still got it. Just had to get out of your own way.”

You nod, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. “Thanks, Coach,” you say, and you mean it.

He grins, clapping you on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Just go out there and show them what you’re made of. You know you’re better than what you showed the other day.”

As he leaves, you stand in the center of the ice, feeling the energy buzzing in your limbs. You go through your routine again, and this time, everything clicks. It feels natural, like you’re finally skating the way you know you can. The nerves are still there, but they’re manageable, and you feel like you’re reclaiming your rhythm.

Maybe you’re not back completely, but for the first time in days, you feel like you’re heading in the right direction. And that, more than anything, gives you hope.

───

The sun barely peeks through the thin curtains of your hotel room when your alarm breaks the quiet, a sharp reminder of the day that lies ahead. Today is the day, the one you've trained for endlessly. Months of repetition, muscle memory, and strategy all leading to this. You’ve imagined it countless times in your head, playing out the routine step-by-step in your mind, visualizing every move, every spin, every landing. Today, none of that changes—except the stakes.

You sit up in bed, the cool air of the room biting against your skin as you throw the blankets aside. The nerves should be overwhelming, but instead, a sense of clarity washes over you. Today, you’re ready. This is your stage, your time to shine, and no one can take that from you.

After getting dressed in your warm-up gear, you take a moment to glance at yourself in the mirror. There's something different about you today—your eyes are sharp, focused, determined. You’ve been through the pressures before, the tightrope walk between fear and success, but today, something just feels right. It has to be.

By the time you make it to the rink, the buzz of competition fills the air. The sound of skates slicing through the ice, the murmurs of coaches, and the faint cheers of early spectators start to build the intensity in your chest. But you push it aside. You’ve been in big competitions before; this is no different. It’s just another routine. You’ll hit it like you always do.

As you’re stretching in the corner, lacing up your skates, a familiar voice calls out from behind you.

“Looking sharp.”

You glance over your shoulder, finding Sidney standing there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He always knows when you need a bit of reassurance. His presence is steadying, calming. You offer a small smile in return.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice low and even. “I’m ready for this.”

Sidney steps closer, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze. “You’ve got this. Don’t let anyone get into your head today, okay?”

You nod, feeling the confidence surge in your veins. “I won’t.”

But as you finish tying your laces and stand up, something—someone—catches your attention.

A skater from Russia, one of the top competitors, is gliding effortlessly across the ice, her movements so fluid and smooth they almost mock gravity. You've seen her before, heard the whispers about how she's one of the favorites. You wouldn't mind, except she locks eyes with you as she spins to a stop, her lips curling into a smirk that drips with arrogance.

“Aw, look who’s here,” she says, her accent heavy as she steps off the ice, making her way toward you. “I thought you’d be smarter than to show up here. You must love embarrassing yourself on the world stage.”

Your heart skips a beat as you register her words, your jaw clenching. For a second, it’s like a hot flame flickers in your chest, spreading through your veins. You know better than to engage—this is a mental game, and she’s trying to get into your head, to throw you off. But your temper simmers beneath the surface, threatening to bubble over.

You take a step forward, your fists balling at your sides as the blood rushes to your face. You're ready to fire something back, something sharp enough to cut through her smugness. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and the ice beneath your feet feels like it's shifting, unsteady, as your emotions rise.

“Excuse me?” you snap, your voice low and dangerous, but before you can take another step, a firm hand grips your arm.

It’s Sidney. He pulls you back, his expression calm but stern, as if he’s reading every thought running through your mind. “Let it go,” he mutters quietly, his voice steady, almost like a tether anchoring you to the moment.

You hesitate, your body still tense, the adrenaline begging for release. But when you meet his eyes, the storm in your chest calms just enough to bring you back to your senses. Sidney’s grip on your arm doesn’t loosen until you take a slow breath.

“She’s not worth it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze flicking over to the other skater who watches with amusement, a mock pout on her lips. He’s right. She’s baiting you. And as much as you want to prove a point, this isn’t the time. Not now.

You let out a sharp breath, forcing yourself to relax. “Fine,” you say, your voice cold as ice, but you turn away from the smirking skater, following Sidney’s lead.

As you walk toward the locker room, the adrenaline still courses through your veins, but Sidney's presence beside you keeps you grounded. His hand never leaves your arm until you’re far from the other skater’s gaze, and only then does he finally let go.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice softer now, his eyes searching yours for any sign of lingering anger.

You nod, but the fire in your chest hasn’t fully burned out. “I almost lost it back there.”

“I know.” Sidney sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She’s just trying to get in your head. Don’t give her that power.”

You nod again, taking in a deep breath and forcing your mind to focus. Sidney’s right, and you know it. You can’t let anyone throw you off your game today, especially not someone who’s already threatened by you. She’s scared—that’s why she said what she did. You can sense it now.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, finally feeling the confidence return. “Thanks for stopping me.”

Sidney smiles softly, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “Anytime. Now go out there and show them why you belong here.”

You feel the weight lift slightly from your shoulders, and as you head back toward the rink, you feel that calm determination return. The fire’s still there, but this time, it’s focused. You’re ready to skate, and nothing is going to stop you.

Not her. Not anyone.

And finally, the time has come.

You stand in the tunnel just before stepping onto the ice, your heart pounding steadily in your chest. Everything about the rink feels different now—the lights seem brighter, the air colder, the buzz of the crowd more intense. You close your eyes, centering yourself, taking in the familiar sounds of blades cutting into the ice and the faint murmur of the audience above.

This is it. This is your moment.

Your name is called, and a roar from the crowd erupts in response. You take a deep breath, feeling the chill of the ice underneath your skates as you glide onto the rink, your body moving with precision. Every inch of you is alive with purpose. It’s as if the weight of months of preparation, of early mornings and late nights, presses down on your shoulders. But you’re not buckling under it. You’re thriving. You can feel the tension in your muscles, that sharp edge of nervous energy, but you channel it into determination.

Before you take your starting position, your gaze drifts—just for a second—across the rink, landing on her. The skater from Russia, poised against the barrier with a smug expression painted across her face, her arms crossed as she watches you. She’s one of the best—hell, you know that. But it’s the way she’s staring at you, like she’s already counted you out, that makes something snap inside you.

You meet her eyes, and for a heartbeat, neither of you look away. There’s a flicker of judgment there, a cruel glint in her eyes that says she doesn’t believe in you. But instead of breaking you, it ignites something fierce in your chest. The fire from earlier flares up, but this time, it’s controlled, burning with a steady, focused heat. If she thinks you're going to falter under her scrutiny, she’s dead wrong.

You shift your focus back to the ice, feeling your breathing steady. You let her condescending expression fuel you. Today, you’ll give her a performance so perfect, she’ll have no choice but to remember your name.

As the opening notes of your music fill the arena, you take off, your blades biting into the ice as you begin your routine. The crowd falls silent, all eyes on you. Every step, every turn, feels deliberate. It’s not just muscle memory—it’s instinct now. Your body knows this choreography so well it feels like second nature, and you trust it. You trust yourself.

The first jump comes quickly—a triple lutz, one of the hardest in your routine. You feel the familiar rush of adrenaline as you gather speed, launching yourself into the air. For a brief second, you feel weightless, suspended in time as your body rotates. Then, the satisfying click of your blades hitting the ice. Perfect. The crowd erupts in applause, but you barely hear it. You're already moving on, focusing on what comes next.

Your mind is sharp, clear, hyper-focused on the moment. You move through your footwork sequence with precision, your blades carving intricate patterns into the ice as you twist and turn, your arms fluid and graceful. Every muscle in your body works in perfect synchronization, and for once, the nerves don’t feel like a burden—they feel like power, like fuel that’s pushing you faster, sharper.

As you glide into your next combination jump, a triple toe loop-double axel, you catch a glimpse of her again—the Russian skater, still watching you, her expression unreadable now. You wonder if she’s realizing that you’re not the pushover she thought you were. The thought brings a smug satisfaction to your lips as you execute the combination flawlessly, the landings soft and controlled.

You're in the zone now, riding the high of perfecting every element, your body responding to every beat of the music, every shift in the ice beneath your skates. There’s nothing but you and the performance, the world beyond the rink fading away.

As the music swells to its climax, you launch into your final spin. You feel the wind rush past your face as you whip through the rotations, faster and faster, your arms outstretched in perfect balance. The crowd is on its feet, the roar of applause echoing in your ears, but you don’t stop until the very last note. You strike your final pose, your chest heaving, every nerve in your body alive with the energy of the moment.

For a beat, there’s silence. Then, the arena explodes into cheers, a standing ovation. You breathe hard, your chest rising and falling as you take it all in, a rush of pride swelling in your chest. You did it. You nailed it. Every move, every jump, every spin was flawless, and you know it.

As you glide off the ice, that familiar sense of calm washes over you, but there’s something else too—a spark of mischief. You pass by her—the Russian skater—standing near the boards, her gaze still locked on you. You can see the flicker of something behind her eyes now. Is it irritation? Jealousy? You don’t care. You savor the moment, letting it fuel your next move.

With a cheeky grin, you blow her a kiss as you skate past, your lips curling in satisfaction. It’s not subtle, and you make sure it’s clear who it’s for. The boldness of the gesture sends a jolt of thrill through you. It’s petty, it’s catty, but damn, it feels good. You don’t even have to look to know the smugness has drained from her face.

By the time you reach the kiss-and-cry area, Sidney is there, waiting, his grin wide and proud. “That was incredible,” he says, his voice low with admiration as you slip off your skates.

“I know,” you reply, your breath still catching up to the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You can’t help but throw another glance toward the Russian skater, who’s still staring after you, no longer smirking.

Sidney chuckles when he catches your look. “Did you really blow her a kiss?”

“Of course,” you say with a laugh, unbothered. “I mean, someone had to put her in her place.”

You sit down next to Sidney in the kiss-and-cry area, letting the coolness of the seat and the reality of the moment settle over you. Your chest is still heaving from the effort, but a euphoric calm is taking its place. The roar of the crowd lingers in your ears, a distant hum compared to the electric rush that’s been running through your veins since the moment your blades touched the ice.

You sit down next to Sidney in the kiss-and-cry area, letting the coolness of the seat and the reality of the moment settle over you. Your chest is still heaving from the effort, but a euphoric calm is taking its place. The roar of the crowd lingers in your ears, a distant hum compared to the electric rush that’s been running through your veins since the moment your blades touched the ice.

Sidney leans closer, his arm resting casually on the back of your seat, his familiar presence comforting. “You were incredible out there,” he repeats, his eyes bright with pride. His grin, that cocky confidence that’s so quintessentially him, makes you feel a surge of warmth. There’s something grounding about having him here with you, someone who understands what it means to perform under pressure, to feel the weight of expectations, and to still rise above it.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice breathless but light, and you meet his gaze, feeling a smile tug at your lips. “I felt it. Everything just… clicked.”

Sidney nods, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “It showed. That last jump? Nailed it. And that spin? Pure magic.” His grin widens. “And the kiss at the end? Bold move. But hey, if anyone deserves to be a little petty, it’s you after that performance.”

You laugh, the tension from the performance finally starting to melt away. “You know, it wasn’t planned, but she just…” You glance back toward the other skater, who’s now talking to her coach with a tight expression on her face. The same smugness she wore earlier has evaporated. “…she pissed me off,” you finish, shaking your head. “I wasn’t gonna let her get in my head.”

Sidney gives you a knowing look, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “That’s the spirit. You didn’t just show her up—you owned the ice. She’ll be thinking about that kiss for a long time.”

You lean back in your seat, still riding the high of the moment. The judges are deliberating now, your scores coming up on the board any minute, but you’re not stressed about it. Not like you usually are. You already know you gave the performance of a lifetime, and no number they flash on the screen will take that away from you.

Still, as the numbers begin to appear, you hold your breath, your fingers nervously drumming on the armrest. Sidney glances up at the screen, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Here we go,” he murmurs.

The scores start rolling in—technical, artistic, execution—and they’re good. Really good. The kind of scores that make your heart skip a beat, that tell you everything you need to know.

You’ve done it. You’ve not only secured a personal best, but you’ve set yourself up as a true contender for the top spot.

The arena erupts in applause once more as your final score flashes on the screen, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, a mix of relief and joy. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible, the weight of all your hard work crashing down on you. You feel Sidney’s hand slip into yours, a squeeze of congratulations, and you turn to him with a beaming smile.

“See?” he says, his voice thick with pride. “Told you.”

You shake your head in disbelief, glancing back at the ice, as if you need to see it again to believe it. “I knew I could do it, but… seeing it up there, hearing them cheer like that…” You trail off, emotions swirling in your chest.

Sidney doesn’t let you stay in that awe-struck moment for too long, though. He smirks and nudges your shoulder playfully. “So, what’s next? Gonna blow more kisses at the competition?”

You roll your eyes, but the grin stays plastered on your face. “Maybe I’ll save that for when I win gold.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ll have to up your game for that.”

“You think?” you tease, arching a brow.

He leans in, his voice low and teasing, “Maybe save a kiss for me when you do.”

His words send a warm flush up your neck, but you manage to keep your composure, glancing sideways at him. “Oh, you think you deserve one, huh?”

Sidney flashes you a grin, leaning back with that easy confidence. “If anyone’s getting a victory kiss, it should be me. I did keep you from tearing someone’s head off this morning.”

You laugh, unable to argue with him on that one. “You’ve got a point.”

Before you can say more, your coach approaches, eyes gleaming with pride, and you’re pulled into a round of congratulations. The victory, the adrenaline, the applause—it’s all so surreal. You’ve done it, and as you sit there, surrounded by your team, Sidney’s presence grounding you amidst the whirlwind of excitement, you realize just how far you’ve come.

But there’s something else. Something that lingers in your chest, stronger now than it’s ever been. This wasn’t just about proving yourself to the judges or the audience or that snide Russian skater who thought she could rattle you. No, this was about you. About finding the strength within yourself to push through, to rise above the doubts, the pressure, and the competition.

As the celebration continues around you, you find Sidney’s gaze once more. There’s a look in his eyes—something deeper, something that tells you he’s proud of more than just your performance. He’s proud of you.

And in that moment, with the weight of your accomplishment settling in, you know that this is only the beginning. There’s more to come—more competitions, more challenges—but right now, you’re ready for all of it.

You stand, pulling Sidney up with you, and before the moment can pass, you do something bold, something just for you. You lean in, pressing a soft, quick kiss to his cheek, the kind of kiss that says more than words ever could.

Sidney’s eyes widen in surprise, but his smile is immediate, warm. “Told you I’d get one,” he teases, though there’s a touch of tenderness in his tone.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t get used to it.”

But as the two of you walk away from the rink, the roar of the crowd still echoing in the background, you know deep down—this is only the beginning of something even bigger.

───

The energy in the locker room is a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. Your teammates are sprawled out on benches, some still cooling down from their routines, while others are glued to their phones, checking social media and results. You’re still riding the high from your performance, your mind replaying every step, every leap, and that perfect kiss at the end—both of them, in fact.

"Hey, turn that up!" someone yells from the other side of the room.

The television, mounted high on the wall, is blaring Olympic coverage, and everyone’s heads swivel toward it. You don’t pay much attention at first, too busy lacing up your shoes and chugging water, but the buzz of your name from the TV catches your attention.

"And in a stunning turn of events, it seems like all eyes are on Y/N L/N today!" the announcer’s voice booms, and your head snaps up.

“Wait, is that about—”

“Yup,” your teammate grins, elbowing you in the ribs. "They’re talking about you."

The screen shows a slow-motion replay of your final move on the ice, your body twisted into that perfect final pose, followed by the triumphant blow of the kiss aimed squarely at that other skater. The commentators’ voices narrate over the footage, practically salivating over the drama of it all.

“It wasn’t just her skill that had the crowd roaring,” one of them says with a chuckle. “That was a statement, folks. The kiss at the end was dripping with attitude. It’s all anyone’s talking about. People are calling it the ‘kiss seen ’round the world’ already!”

“Not to mention, did you see who she was aiming that at?” the other commentator adds with a laugh. “That wasn’t just a kiss for the audience—that was personal. Our sources are buzzing with rumors about the tension between her and the Russian favorite, and this just confirmed it.”

“Definitely adding some heat to the competition. This is shaping up to be a rivalry for the ages.”

The camera cuts to the Russian skater, her expression still cool and composed, though there’s an undeniable tightness to her posture, a simmering frustration just below the surface. It’s clear to anyone watching that your little display got to her.

“Whooo! She’s probably seething,” one of your teammates laughs, tossing her head back. “You really got under her skin with that one.”

The room fills with laughter and playful jabs, your teammates leaning into the cattiness of the moment. You’re not one to shy away from a little drama when it’s warranted, but you can’t help but roll your eyes, pretending to be above it all—even though a small part of you secretly loves it.

"Yeah, yeah, it was a moment,” you say, waving them off with a smirk. “It’s not that serious.”

“Oh, come on,” another teammate pipes up, sitting across from you. “You know that was the most iconic thing to happen all day. The commentators are practically obsessed with you now.”

You grin, unable to help yourself, but then you hear it—the kiss. The real kiss.

"And speaking of kisses…" the commentator’s voice lowers conspiratorially, as if he’s about to deliver some juicy gossip. “We’ve got some footage from after the routine that’s definitely got people talking."

Your heart skips a beat. They couldn’t be talking about that kiss. The one you shared with Sidney, could they?

The camera cuts to footage of you walking off the ice and into the kiss-and-cry area, and sure enough, there it is, caught on film—the quick, playful peck you gave Sidney on the cheek. The kiss that felt so impulsive but so right, in the moment.

Your teammates erupt into laughter, their eyes wide with delight. “Ohhh, no way!” someone shouts. “They caught that!”

The commentator’s voice returns, sly and teasing. “Looks like our gold-medal hopeful isn’t just a fierce competitor on the ice—there’s clearly something going on off it as well. A little victory kiss for someone special?”

“Is that Sidney Crosby?” the other commentator jumps in, clearly trying to contain his excitement. “It is! I’m calling it now: the hottest couple of the Olympics.”

Your face flushes red, and your teammates lose it. The locker room turns into a frenzy of laughter, teasing, and playful shouts.

“Oh my God, you’re in the tabloids now!” one of them cackles, clutching her sides. “They’re going to eat this up!”

"Seriously, we should be charging people for front-row seats to this drama," another teammate jokes, tossing a water bottle at you.

You cover your face with your hands, trying not to let the embarrassment take over, but you can’t help the smile creeping across your lips. You knew this was coming—Sidney is a massive deal, and your relationship was bound to catch the media’s eye at some point—but having it aired like this, right after one of the most important performances of your life? It feels like a lot.

“That was a cheek kiss, people,” you say, voice muffled as you shake your head. “It’s not a big deal.”

"Sure, not a big deal at all," your teammate mimics in a high-pitched voice. “Just a cheek kiss with Sidney Crosby, no biggie.” She winks. "But seriously, you two are adorable."

You groan, sitting back and letting the playful teasing wash over you. It's all in good fun, but your mind can’t help but wander back to Sidney. The way his cheek had felt warm against your lips, the way he’d smiled at you like you were the only person in the room. The commentators could speculate all they wanted—only you and Sidney knew what was really going on.

“Well,” one of your teammates says, pointing at the screen, “whether you like it or not, the world’s got its new favorite Olympic couple. You’re officially a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a smirk. "Guess that means I’ll have to win gold now, doesn’t it?"

The room bursts into cheers and whoops, and even though you’re still a little embarrassed, you can't deny the spark of pride warming your chest. You may not have asked for the attention, but if people were talking about you, it was because of your performance. The kiss—both kisses—were just the icing on the cake.

As the chatter dies down and your teammates go back to their phones and conversations, you glance at the screen one more time. Your face is still up there, smiling, skating, kissing. The cameras are still following you, and now the world is watching your every move.

And somewhere in the crowd, watching all of this unfold, is Sidney. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking, whether he’s amused by all the media buzz or quietly rooting for you to rise above the chaos, like he always does.

───

A couple of weeks have flown by, and life feels like a whirlwind. The days blur into each other, each one filled with intense training, interviews, and media attention, but you’re thriving in it. You’ve hit your stride—the moment where everything just clicks. The routines you’ve practiced for years feel effortless, like second nature, and every time you step on the ice, the crowd roars just a little louder.

You’ve gone from being an underdog to the one everyone’s talking about—the name on every commentator's lips. They’re calling you a "generational talent" now, comparing you to the legends of the sport. It’s surreal.

At every competition, you push yourself further. Your performances are more than just technical mastery—they’re performances, filled with personality, elegance, and a certain kind of fire that no one else has. The crowd can feel it. So can the judges. Your scores reflect that, each one higher than the last, inching closer to the perfect mark.

But the real magic is in how you’ve taken control of the narrative. It’s not just about your skating anymore; it’s about you. The girl who sent shockwaves through the arena with a playful kiss, the figure skater who got her get back. You're unstoppable right now.

The media follows your every move, dissecting each routine, each interview, each glimpse of you with Sidney. They’ve dubbed you "The Queen of Ice"—a title that feels daunting but fitting. You’re skating with a newfound confidence, and your momentum is undeniable. It’s almost like you’re skating for something bigger now, fueled by the pressure and expectation, but instead of letting it weigh you down, you thrive under it.

On top of that, the Canadian hockey team is doing just as well, if not better. Sidney and his teammates are on a tear through the tournament, steamrolling the competition with a precision and intensity that’s impossible to ignore. The headlines are full of glowing reports about how the team is clicking, playing like a well-oiled machine, and Sidney’s name is front and center. Every game, he’s putting on a clinic, and just like you, people are starting to use the word legendary.

It’s crazy to think about how things have shifted so quickly. Not long ago, you were just hoping to make an impact, and now you and Sidney are always in the headlines, dominating in your respective fields. The media plays it up, of course—every now and then you catch an article about "Olympic royalty" or some speculative piece about your friendship-relationship-rivalry (you're not sure what it is, anymore), but you’ve learned to tune it out.

Still, it’s hard not to feel proud when you see your name in another headline. It’s not just about the gossip or the hype—it’s about what you’re doing. You’re succeeding at the highest levels of your sport and you’ve worked your whole lives for this moment, and now, you’re in it. Living it.

You’re in the Olympic Village after practice, sitting with your teammates in the common area, watching the latest round of highlights on TV. The hockey team had just demolished their last opponent, and the commentators are practically swooning over the way Sidney’s been playing.

"Another incredible game from Crosby," one announcer says, his voice full of admiration. "The guy is playing out of his mind. He’s always been good, but this? This is something else."

“Yeah,” another commentator adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “If he keeps this up, there’s no doubt they’ll be in the finals. And honestly? I don’t see anyone beating them.”

One of your teammates nudges you, grinning. “You hear that? Your boy is killing it out there.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you felt a flush rise in your cheeks. “He's not my boy, shut up.”

Your teammate just laughs and shrugs, looking back up at the TV.

The screen cuts to a highlight reel of you from the most recent competition, and the room quiets as everyone watches. The slow-motion shots of you mid-jump, your spins and edges so crisp and precise, make it look almost effortless.

“Look at that,” the commentator gushes. “She’s redefining what’s possible on the ice. It’s not just about her technical skill—it’s the way she connects with the audience. She’s performing at a level we haven’t seen in years. You can see it in the way she moves—the confidence, the passion. She knows she’s the best right now, and she’s skating like it.”

Your teammates break out into cheers, some of them even clapping. You hide your face in your hands, half-embarrassed, half-proud.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” you say, laughing. “It’s just one performance.”

One of your teammates smirks. “Nah, sweetheart, you’ve had like ten of those just one performances. Own it.”

You lean back, still smiling, but your mind wanders for a second. All the attention, all the pressure—it’s a lot. But then you think about Sidney, how he handles everything with such grace and focus. You’ve watched him lead his team to victory after victory, never letting the noise get to him. It’s inspiring. And it makes you want to keep pushing yourself, to live up to that same standard.

As the hockey highlights come to an end, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You glance at it, and your heart skips a beat when you see Sidney’s name.

Sidney: Saw the kiss thing on TV again. Apparently we’re the new "it couple."

You can’t help but smile. You ignore the weird butterflies that begin forming in your stomach—it's just Sidney.

You: Oh, so now you’re famous because of me, huh?

Sidney: Obviously. Also, everyone’s calling you the GOAT now. When are you going to start teaching me how to skate?

You: I’m already teaching you how to win.

There’s a pause before his next text, and you can practically hear him laughing through the screen.

Sidney: Touché. But seriously—you’re killing it. Proud of you.

You stare at the screen, his words sinking in. It’s such a simple message, but coming from him, it means the world.

You: Right back at you.

You tuck your phone away, feeling a quiet surge of giddiness. You glance at your teammates, looking at you almost expectantly—you immediately regret it.

“Oh, shut up!”

[deadghosy]

How they would react to teen sinner! Reader getting catcalled/ S/A:

WARNING: long depending on your reading speed, explicit language, uncomfortable themes, read if you don’t wanna read anything you have encountered in life like this. If you are dealing with s/a please call your national hotline. This will be the only time I write something like this cause this is a serious topic.

LUCIFER

It was late in the pride ring as you snuck out of the hotel wanting to get snacks and a drink. I mean shit you died in the late 2010’s, you’re use to this shit. So you went to a store as you didn’t see an older sinner smirk, slowly gazing your body up and down as you grab a pair of chips and energy soda.

“Hey sweetie…” the older sinner says as he slowly appears behind you. You divest even bother to look at him as you felt him get closer. You whipped around and glare at him only to see such an ugly sinner who looks homeless as well.

“Hey now, I’m not gonna harm you.” The man says grabbing your arm and pulling you toward him. “I just wanna see your pretty face little boy/girl.” Your eyes widened shocked. You tried to pull your arm as he tugs tighter. You yelled for him to let you go as he dragged you out the store. You were not gonna let some creep take you! So you bit his arm hard as fuck. He let you go, but not without punching you.

You ate the punch but start to run to the hotel you know and love. You ran as your heart beat for safety and away from anything else. You didn’t think it would be like this, but what could you except. This is hell itself. There’s a lot of ass holes and bastards that deserve to be here.

You ran inside ignoring the look of a certain king who was sitting down in the lounge room, he swore he saw tears fall down your cheeks. He felt his heart ache to know what was wrong with you as he slowly followed after you.

A soft knock was heard as you look up to see the king of hell, the man who always gave you ducks when you first came here. “Kid are you okay? I heard you cry?” He said worried seeing you tear up hearing his worried voice. It wasn’t making it better as you ran into his arms. He was move back a bit at your usually tough attire cracking into a soft and scared one. Now he was concerned.

He set you back in bed as you rant out about what happened, even giving a description of what he looked like. After a bit of comfort in for Lucifer and him petting your back a lot. You sniffled a little, feeling better than what you felt as Lucifer smiled at you sleeping against his lap. He sighs sensing you sleeping as he poofs away from your sleeping body.

“DONT worry kid…that bastard isn’t going to see another hellish day…” Lucifer says walking out of the hotel as his hat overcasted his face.

It was a new day as you woke up to play your regular tv show only for the news to play. “BREAKING 666 NEWS!!! ALLEGED PEDOPHILE DEAD AT GRIMM’S MARKET AS HIS HEAD WAS-” the news was cut off by Lucifer who had a guilty expression as you had a wide eye expression shocked that the bastard got some quick karma.

ALASTOR

You and alastor went on a walk together as he wanted you to get off your pesky small picture rectangle. He’s talking about your damn phone.💀

“And I told the fellow gentleman to make my meat, medium rar-” before Alastor could finish his story about how he went to a restaurant. You groaned tired of this, you wanted to sleep and be on your hell phone since you miss the human world.

Alastor rolls his eyes with a smile, he pinches your cheek making you huff. “No need for an attitude!~” he said in a song tune voice you pushed him away from you embarrassed. “I don’t need to fix my attitude old man..” you say walking a bit forward ahead of the deer demon.

The radio demon chuckles, but the chuckles stops when seeing you immediately get whistled at by a male sinner who eyes you. You flipped the sinner off before going back to Alastor, holding the older’s hand as he slightly move in front of you.

It seemed like this asshole was trying to talk to you, but he couldn’t as alastor smiles down at the sinner. “C'mere sweet thing. Why don’t you come and get a drink with me.” The sinner says. You and Al narrow your eyes at the sinner, you weren’t budging from behind alastor who stands strong and confident

“I don’t think they will be going with you anytime soon my dear fellow.” Alastor says with a strained smile. The sinner was definitely new and didn’t know who was companying you at this very moment.

“I don’t think I give a fuck.” The sinner says teaching his hand out to your frame.

The sinner tried to make an attempt to grab your arm from the radio demon. There was a ring of static in the air whilst making the sinner stop grabbing your arm. Alastor grabs the arm that dares to try and take you from him. Alastor smiles eerily at the sinner.

“I’ll teach you some respect you filthy pest.” He says as static seems to boom the area before he goes full demon mode and drag the filth to the alley to have a nice “talk.”

Their screams were broadcasted on his radio station the day after they whistled at you. Alastor made sure to have his shadow follow you for a few months before he was sure you were fully okay. Harassment towards a minor, is a big no-no.

VAGGIE

You wanted to help her get more flowers for a decoration of a trust exercise, so she let you run the errand.

You ran out the hotel happy and excited. You always weee excited to help the hotel ever since you died. You knew your mom was in heaven so you wanted to be redeemed quickly and possible.

You went to the flower shop smiling which gained the attention of a female who smile sweetly at you. She approached you holding a flower. You knew not to take things from strangers, even demons as Charlie and vaggie told you.

But it’s a flower, what’s the worse that can happen. Plus you need flowers for the event itself. As you grabbed the flower, the flower sprays out this gas that made you feel slight drowsy. You feel your body limp as the woman comes closer to you.

You try to push her off as she caresses your body. With your mustered up strength, you use your sharp nails/claws to stab her eyes and run.

The flower drug was slowly taking affect until you did a few symbols on yourself. You learnt it from Lucifer as he gave you a book. The drug wore off but your mind was scrambling. You felt yucky and violated. As you bursted through the hotel door, accidentally running into vaggie’s arms.

“What the fuck happened!!?” Vaggie says concerned as she sees the bruises on your wrist. Her eyes widen. “What. Happened..” she says seriously.

You explained the situation while sobbing softly. Vaggie comforted you in her hold as she closed her eyes ashamed at how she wasn’t there to protect you. She was suppose to your guarden. Your parental figure.

Vaggie takes you upstairs, run you a bath and just watched you softly. Guilt in her eyes for not being a good parent to you and just follow you to make sure you were okay.

The whole night, she stayed close to you. Not even dropping her guard when it comes to you. You are too precious to go through this. She just hopes you can recover.

She’s not letting you out of her sight ever again. Hell she might teach you how to fight , but might go overprotective on you and keep you in the hotel until she and you were sure to go outside again.

CHARLIE

It was during a trust exercise with one of the new residents…

It was a trust fall activity as Charlie shows the residents how it goes. You say what you have in your mind and do the trust fall. After Charlie does it with vaggie. It was your turn and the sinner’s.

The sinner looked calm and you were anxious as you never done the trust fall game. Even in the human world.

As you stood on the stand talking to every member of this exercise and Charlie. She gives you a thumbs up which made you smile and gain confidence in talking. You fell backwards into the sinner’s hold as they caught you.

But they didn’t let you go. You tried to tell them but they didn’t let go still. You felt their hand travel around you and gr0pe your lower and waist. Your eyes widen as you try to move away from the bastard.

Tears were in your eyes as you hyperventilate at how you feel their touch. It burns, it feels like lit burns. Charlie notices what is going on. She gets up and pulls the bastard from you. She pushes you behind her as she looks behind her to see if you were okay. Whilst she does that, she glares heavily at the sinner.

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN TOUCH THEM LIKE THAT?!” Charlie yells as her demon form was slipping out of anger seeing you run towards her. Hell was going loose as the sinner tried to back away from the raging aura Charlie was releasing.

Before Charlie can send hell fire at the bastard who dares to gr0pe you, you grabbed her arm. You know she isn’t really the type to kill someone and might regret it. So while you grabbed her arm, she calmed down and stared at you. Her yellow pupils going back to red as she glares at the sinner.

“Your stay isn’t welcome here..” Charlie says lastly as alastor takes the sinner away, probably to kill them and eat em.

Charlie takes you up stairs as you grip onto her arm. Her gaze on you soften with protectiveness and worry. She can’t believe that happened to you.

She checks on you everyday and has to mane sure you are with a resident before leaving the hotel. She feels guilty knowing she wasn’t there to protect you. Charlie must definitely hands razzle and dazzle to you if you are going out or going to sleep.

HUSK

A drunk resident had walked into your room as you were busy doing art work.

It was a night that you were relaxing in your room just drawing. You always had a passion to draw, maybe even to be an artist.

Your father figure was down stairs tending the bar. Husk was giving drinks to a resident, husk could tell that the drunk bastard has enough. He told the bum to go upstairs as he had enough beers.

Husk watches the person go upstairs, stumbling and staggering. The cat demon rolls his eyes as he hears a door close, assuming the sinner went to their designated room.

You were so busy listening to music you didn’t notice someone enter your room. As you put down your pencil, going for a crayon. You noticed a resident you would see at the bar. Your eyes widen smelling the strong alcohol from their body as they walked closely to you.

A curling scream came from your room making husk immediately drop the glass he was cleaning. He rushes upstairs to see the problem and why you screamed. He sees you being pinned down by the sinner he was tending to earlier.

“GET THE FUCK OF THEM!” Husk yells, eyes filled of anger. All he saw was red as he pulls the bastard off you and starts to beat the person up repeatedly. Their face was bloodied as heavy breathing came out of their face. You stopped husk as you had already been traumatized. Husk stops, breathing heavy before he kicks the bastard all the way down stairs.

You sometimes still relive through that moment as husk stays beside your bed. Husk would have to calm your down from your panic attacks from that night as you lash out at your own “father”

“Kid. Kid! Calm down…it’s okay. I’m here for you..fuck. I’m here for you.” Husk says calmingly while you try to get out of his hold. Still in panic mode. He had to hold you tightly for you to understand that you were now safe.

Hot tears fall to your cheek as you sob painfully at what you just experienced. Your tears made husk’s heart break and shatter. He was just glad you were okay in your room for now.

He holds you to his chest as his fur called you down even more. You sniffled holding him tight as if he would disappear if you let him go.

He felt your heartbeat go slow as you fall asleep in his hold. He stays close to you the whole night as he promises that he will always protect you. You are like his own child since you came to the is shit hole.

He lets you stay by him in the bar as you fall asleep. He grumbles a lot remembering that night as he almost broke a glass in his hand. You are only a kid…

ANGEL DUST

You were sent to find angel dust, only to see him in a bar drunk. So what did you do? Try and drag him out only to drag into trouble

You went into the bar to see Angel drunk, he was also talking to some demons who smirked at his drunken state.

You scoffed going over to grab Angel dust. As you went to grab him, one of the demons made you sit on his lap as if you were ready to meet Santa Claus. But you weren’t as you headbutt the demon and grab Angel dust.

The rest of the demons pull out knives and gun. Your eyes widen as you rushed pout the bar door, sensing the demons on your tail.

You throw a beer bottle at one of the members, the shards went in their eyes. Even if it was a small trick, the screams distracted those asshole as you make a run for the hotel.

You gently laid angel dust in his bed as his eyes tears up, realizing the situation and what could’ve happened if you didn’t take advice from Vaggie about combat.

“Shit…I’m sorry for getting you in this shit.” Angel dust says as he looks away with a drunk shamed look. You sighed, you’re just a kid looking after a drunk adult.

Angel sobered up a bit after you left him in his room. His memory fuzzy, but it was clear that you were uncomfortable with those damn demons that were eyeing you. Even if you got pulled into someone’s lap, that made him disgusted.

He promised you when you first came here that he would protect you. You was like a little sibling to him. He couldn’t believe how he was a drunk asshole who couldn’t even protect someone he cared about most.

Angel was actually sober for months after that encounter. Worried you would run into those demons he was with that night. He would also make you more like force you to watch fat nuggets while he is at work.

He would probably make a deal with Valentino or probably mostly alastor to make sure you were safe since that day.

SIR PENTIOUS

You were trying to find Frank, one of the egg boiz in the pride ring only to run into trouble.

You found Frank being ganged by some sinner who looked from the modern era you are from. You looked around for something, and you found an old computer. Mustering up your strength, you threw that bitch at their head.

Frank runs to you, holding your leg tightly. He was happy to see you were okay with him. You and the egg right here was like family as you smile at how cute he was happy to see you. Pentious would be happy to see Frank is in good condition

You left the alley way and start to chat with the egg boy by your side. It was have been obvious that you were being watched as a female sinner stared at you and your body. You felt the gaze and scoff making Frank raise a brow until seeing the sinner. The sinner seemed scary for poor Frank.

A whistle was made towards you, you flipped them off as you picked up the poor egg who was trembling. He obviously was trying to seem strong for you but it fails as he holds tightly to you. The sinner lady smirks as she follows you. You felt more uncomfortable with Frank as Frank was trying to warn you that she was gaining speed for you. But you already knew.

You made a circle with your hand, a portal opened and it closed immediately when you entered it. The portal sent you to the hotel in one piece with the adorable egg boy.

Your face was stoic with some disgust in your eyes. Eyebrows furrowed on your face as you entered Pentious’s room with Frank.

“Ssssweetheart? What happened? Whatssss wrong?” Pentious says as he notices your disgusted look. "Nothing nothing. Here you go penny." You said brushing off the feeling on your shoulders. But it still noticeable in your body language.

Before you could walk out of the room after putting Frank down. Frank just had to open his eggy mouth. The egg confessed that you were catcalled and almost followed to the hotel until you did your powers you have conquered in hell.

“Why that behavior is not acceptable to a minor!! That bunch of filth shall learn to never mess with my dear friend.” Pentious says as he forces out of his room so you can get a fresh start on a new days and this time he is making baby gates for his eggs so they will not bother you anymore

He was planning all night to see what he can use as a revenge for the cat calling you had experienced. Frank was also giving sir Pentious ideas also. It seemed they both agreed on one plan to have your get back.

He used his machine weapons to destroy that monster who catcalled. He was definitely making sure the laser was fast so he can come back to you and make you cookies so you could feel better. For the rest of the week and probably month.

CHERRI BOMB

You wanted to grab a snack out for Cherri and you. You left the hotel as she started to stay, as you left you didn’t notice of couple of shark demons. The leader smirked flicking a cigarette from his mouth eyeing you. They whistled at you making you scoff and keep walking.

The leader nods his head at you as the sharks move towards you snickering. You felt their presence, luckily you brought your…damnit you left your pepper spray.

The leader grabs you trying to pull you into an alley as your eyes widen. In a heap of panic you screamed for help, that only made it worst. Next thing you felt was a slap to your cheek as you sobbed.

The leader and the members chuckle grabbing your hair. With one final effort your screamed, but it wasn’t an ordinary scream. It was a sonic one that blew them away (a/n: sorry if it sounded corny😕) With that you left in a hurry inside of the hotel. Tears running down your eyes, you ran upstairs passing Cherri who looked shocked to see you run pat her like nothing.

“Sweetie?” Cherri says softly, her Australian accent showing her absolute worry for you as she followed you into your room. She sees your face in your pillow. Softly sobbing, scared as your adrenaline was still high. She sat next to you softly holding you in her arms hoping you would open up. And you did after calming down. 

After explaining what happened with a tired and broken voice, you couldn’t believe that this would happenu to you. You felt kinda yucky being touched but you felt safe with Cherri.

“What a fuckin' asshole. I bet his dick is small…don’t worry honey.” She says caressing your back as you sniffled before falling asleep.

In the aftermath, she blowed up their house in honor for you.🔥💗 no witnesses either.

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT!

Remember that my requests are closed, so please if you are new to my blog check out my other work as I am currently working on other requests‼️ THAT ARE IN MY DRAFTS, not the ones people are asking me. So please don’t DM me and respect that please.

And mostly, please seek help if you are going through any abuse or assault related issues. Everyone needs to speak up in their own experiences. ❤️

[theniftycat]

What other Neil Gaiman work might you like?

The biggest thing to know about Neil Gaiman is that each work of his is a mixture of horror, fantasy, and subtle comedy.

That being said, each of his projects is pretty distinct from one another and there might be some that are more up to your tastes than others.

I haven't read some of his newer stuff (because I largely stopped reading as much since the early 2010s), but I'll do my best to remember what matters in other works.

Horror

The Sandman is a great work for horror fans. It's also great for mythology fans and other nerds, but horror is a major push and pull factors.

The comic is probably the greatest body of work Gaiman produced and it's recommended if you're a goth at heart and are comfortable with themes of death and humans being gods' toys.

The Sandman (TV) is a great adaptation, but it's very short so far and doesn't cover the best stories.

Coraline is a horror story for children. It doesn't have anything that's not suitable for kids, but it can be viscerally scary to some people. Both the book and the film are great.

Mirrormask is my personal favourite, it's a low budget film with mindblowing surreal imagery and one of the best soundtracks ever.

It's about a teenage girl who has troubles with her parents (who run a circus, btw) and who gets swiped up by her imagination into a bizarre world that is being eaten by her depression. Not a scary film, per se, but it's disturbing. However, it's a very warm film and it always makes me feel better.

Fantasy

Neverwhere is set in a dimension of twisted London Underground where everything that's straightforward in our world becomes weird and too real.

It really tickled my imagination, I highly recommend the book.

Stardust is set in a more high fantasy setting.

It features kings, witches, ghosts, and a star that fell to the Earth. It has a young protagonist who's not exactly the best or the brightest person, so if you hate such things, stick to the adaptation. In my opinion, the book is just lovely.

American Gods is a darker fantasy that asks the questions: "What if every god people ever believed in became real through the power of their worship? And then what if that worship started fading?"

It's set in the USA and because that country is such a melting pot, there are many gods. And not all of them are happy. This is the book that gave Neil Gaiman his reputation of a writer who loves weird sex scenes.

Humour

Stardust the film is often compared to Princess Bride. It's lighthearted, funny, full of imaginative adventures.

Just a very nice film with an all-star cast.

Anansi Boys is a spin off of American Gods, but it's a lot more lighthearted.

Anansi is a trickster god, so you know things will get funky.

I haven't read The Graveyard Book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane yet, but I hear they're very good as well.

Also, short story collections or Norse Mythology might be a good place to start if you want to get a feel of Neil Gaiman as an author first.

[barnesonly]

Half-return

dad!bucky barnes x reader (implied)

trope: absolute angst.

summary: your daughter skips school to visit Bucky’s — her father’s — grave.

word count: 1499

A/N: Oh gods, I actually made myself cry while writing this. I imagine this happening in 2010’s, reader was pregnant when her and Steve fell into ice. I might write part two one day, let me know what you think! Also this is heavily inspired by this song.

The cemetery was quiet that morning.

No birdsong, no wind. Just the gentle crunch of gravel under small, determined footsteps. Her backpack bounced against her spine with every step, heavier than usual — not because of books, but because of the secret folded in the front pocket.

A homemade card. Pink construction paper. Crayon hearts. A little drawing of a man she never met.

She hugged her hoodie tighter around herself as she walked between rows of graves, her sneakers brushing against wildflowers that hadn’t been cut back yet. The sky hung low with heavy clouds, soft and gray, like the world was holding its breath.

She knew where he was.

She didn’t need help finding it anymore.

James Buchanan Barnes.

1917 — 1945.

Beloved friend. Cherished soldier. Never forgotten.

The letters on the stone were starting to wear a little. She ran her fingers across the name like she always did, just to feel it. She imagined his hand might’ve felt rough like the stone, big and strong and warm if she ever got to hold it.

She glanced around — empty. No one saw her. No one followed.

“I skipped school,” she said quietly, her voice too small for the sky. “I’m not supposed to. But I needed to see you.”

She sat down cross-legged in front of the headstone, brushing some leaves away from the base. Then she opened her backpack and carefully pulled out the card, like it was treasure.

“I made this at school,” she whispered. “Everyone was making cards for their dads. And I didn’t know what to do at first… but then I made this for you.”

She set it down gently against the headstone, the crayon hearts already smudging a little from the mist in the air.

“I just wanted to come alone this time… Without mommy… I wanted you to myself today.” She smiled, just barely. Her chin trembled.

She picked at a thread on her sleeve, then leaned forward like she was telling a secret.

“They gave us this math test yesterday,” she said, nose wrinkling. “I didn’t do so good.” She frowned for a second, like she was scolding herself. Then she glanced up at the headstone and shrugged.

“But… I think you wouldn’t have minded. Mommy says you weren’t great at math either.”

There was a small pause, and she plucked a piece of grass, twisting it between her fingers.

“My teacher, Miss Carr, she’s always talking about heroes. She says we’re supposed to write about one for this essay thing. I picked you.” She smiled again, a tiny, proud thing.

“Even though you’re not in any of the books at school. I had to ask Mommy a bunch of stuff so I could write about you right. I said you were brave and kind and that you protected people. And that you fell off a train ‘cause you were trying to save people. I think you would’ve liked that part.”

Her voice wavered a little at the end, but she pushed through it.

“They all picked people like Captain America… Or other Avengers… or firefighters. But I picked you. ‘Cause you’re my dad. Even if you’re not… here.”

She reached out and adjusted the card again where it leaned against the stone, like it needed to stand straighter.

“I think maybe you would’ve walked me to school. Or helped me with spelling. I bet you’d tell really funny jokes that made Mommy roll her eyes but laugh when you weren’t looking.”

A soft gust of wind blew her hair into her face, and she tucked it behind her ear absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I see kids with their dads, and I wonder if you’d be like that. Or if you’d carry me on your shoulders even though I’m not that little anymore. Mommy says you’d love me so, so much.”

Her throat tightened.

“I think I’d love you too.”

She was quiet for a long time after that. Just sitting, legs curled beneath her, fingers tugging at grass. The wind picked up a little, brushing against her cheek like a hand that wasn’t there.

Then she spoke again, even softer than before.

“Uncle Steve told me you’d always protect him from bullies when he was younger…” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “I wish you were here to help me like that now. I’d really need it.”

She blinked fast and looked up at the sky, like maybe if she didn’t look at the headstone, the sting in her eyes would stop.

“There’s this girl at school who always laughs when I get answers wrong. She says I’m weird. She makes fun of my shoes, and my backpack, and one time she called Mommy weird ‘cause she always looks tired.”

She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“I didn’t tell Mommy. I don’t wanna make her sad. She’s got enough worries. But I thought… if you were here, maybe you’d wait outside school for me. And if she said something mean, you’d just look at her and she’d stop.”

She smiled at the thought. A sad, flickering smile.

“Uncle Steve said you were like that. That no one messed with him when you were around.”

She traced the edge of the headstone with her finger again, slow and gentle.

“I really wish you were around.”

She sat still for a while, eyes locked on the card like it might fix everything just by being there. The crayon lines were running now — little streaks from the mist or maybe her fingers, she wasn’t sure.

Then suddenly, it hit her.

The weight.

The emptiness.

The truth.

Her lip trembled. She looked down at her knees, then back at the stone. And the words tumbled out in a breathless rush—broken, cracked, helpless.

“I don’t even know why I came here alone…” Her voice shook, barely holding on. “I always come here with Mommy but… I wanted to talk with you alone. I…”

Her small hands curled into fists against her jeans.

“I realized I don’t have a single memory with you. None.” Her shoulders started to shake. One sob slipped out before she could stop it.

“I don’t know your voice. Or your laugh. Or how your hugs feel. I don’t even know what your hands looked like.”

Tears spilled over now, hot and silent at first, then building until they came in waves.

“And I… I just really wanted to have one. Just one memory. Just you and me, Dad.”

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing into the quiet.

“I came here so I could pretend. Just for a little bit. That you’re here. That you’re real and you’re listening and… and that I’m not alone.”

The card fluttered a little where it leaned against the stone, caught in the wind like it was reaching for her.

She sniffled, dragging her sleeve across her face, and then — barely above a whisper:

“Mommy misses you so much.”

She didn’t look up. Just spoke into her knees, into the earth.

“She tries to be strong… but it hurts her. I see it.”

Another tear fell, but slower now. Heavier.

“She cries when she thinks I’m asleep. Sometimes I hear her say your name. Sometimes she just sits in the kitchen with the lights off.”

She looked up at the grave, eyes red and full of something bigger than a ten-year-old should ever have to carry.

“I don’t think she ever stopped loving you. I don’t think she ever will.”

She reached out again, touching the stone like it was his hand.

“Neither will I.”

She sat like that for a while — still, small, and hurting — until her legs began to ache. Slowly, she unfolded from the grass, stiff and heavy, like every part of her was tired.

She looked down at the card, bent from the wind but still standing. She knelt and adjusted it carefully, pressing a small rock against the corner so it wouldn’t blow away.

Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something small — just a string bracelet, all crooked and uneven knots, the kind only a kid could make.

“I made this in art class,” she whispered, holding it in her palm for a second. “It’s not… very good. But it’s yours.”

She laid it beside the card, fingers lingering for a moment before pulling away.

Standing again, she looked at the grave, at the name carved so deep it would never fade. And even though her face was blotchy and red, her voice was steady — shaky, but trying.

“I have to go now.”

She hugged herself tightly.

“Mommy’s gonna be mad I skipped school. But I just… I needed this.”

A pause.

“I needed you.”

The wind rustled the trees above her, and she looked up, eyes shining.

“I’ll come back soon. I promise.”

She stepped back, wiped her cheeks one last time, then raised her fingers to her lips, kissed them and pressed them gently against his name.

“Bye, Dad.”

Then she turned. And walked away.

The bracelet stayed.

The card fluttered quietly.

And the empty grave watched.

[writingmochi]

cast: soobin ✗ fem.reader (ft. odd eye circle)

synopsis: as you stood on the crowded train while making eye contact with the boy from the neighboring school, light shines into the dim train car as it becomes empty and filled with sand. approaching you is a humanoid figure, who calls you the king and queen of viliya—the island kingdom that is plagued with nightmares that haunt its people which you and the boy are also not immune to

genre: two lost souls find comfort, silent lovers, magical realism, meet ugly, hurt/comfort, adventure, thriller, coming of age, romance, high school au, late 2010s au, angst, fluff, mature content (phobias, trauma, war, explicit smut)

inspired by: music my bloody valentine's "i only said" (1991), txt's 2019-2020 star seekers music videos ("nap of the star", "magic island", "eternally"), and movies bridge to terabithia (2007) and tigers are not afraid (2017)

word count: 28472 (28.4k)

warning(s): numerous traumas and phobias, war imagery (refugees, weapons, etc), bruises, scars, and blood, suicide and suicide attempt, parental abuse (physical and mental), minor character deaths, parental neglect, sex addiction and its impact on a child, sharp object(s) drug consumption (cigarette, soobin's character is addicted to nicotine) and more mentioned, mention of self-harming, mention of bullying, explicit smut, lost of virginities (m&f), hand job (m&f receiving), oral (m&f receiving), marking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie (if there is something that i forgot, let me know!)

message of the moon: remember that this story is fiction and do be careful and read the warnings at the top. all the idols mentioned here are not what they are in real life.

hello! it's been nearly a year since i've posted the visualizer and people seemed to dig it. having much more time of my hands, i decide to pick up the pace for this fic to skim my wips, especially those that i have released teasers to~ if you will be reading this, thank you for giving it a chance and hope you enjoy it!

playlist | visualizer part of the loveless anthology | an entry for discovery: 400 and solstice: a comeback story

everything around you is either orange or black.

a hand reaches up and is placed gently on the side of your head, brushing against the throbbing sense as you tilt back to breathe in such suffocating air. the dark scenery lights up as more of the orange comes into sight. that’s when you hear it. voices. fearful voices.

the blurriness went away in an instant as you looked at your surroundings covered only in shadows and silhouettes. screams combined with crashes as you watch humanoid figures running around you. tall dark buildings enveloping from the sides as you noted how their corners are torn away—leaving behind leftover bricks that are awaiting gravity to pull it down and join with the rubble. your body trembles as you view the haunting scene masked in the darkness where the orange decorates the sky alongside a purple-ish hue coming from the silhouettes.

that’s when you feel something cold trailing down your cheek. the side where you put your hand previously.

as the orange light illuminates you, you raise both hands to find the palms covered in darkness. a dark, gooey substance that makes you want to gag as your vision gazes back to the silhouettes. only to be met with their rigid lines becoming more blurry, more wavey. paralleling the outline of the substance on your hands.

your jaw unhinges, yet no voice comes out.

the sound of the announcement startles you as you turn your head to find yourself in the underground station you are standing in. breath ragged as you push your body from the thick column you were leaning against, your heartbeat still going at a fast pace as your breathing calms it down.

looking down at your palms, you find nothing on them except the sticky sweat coming from their pores—making you hastily rub them against your uniform skirt to dry them before straightening the rest of your clothing pieces; your school’s plain navy vest that has its logo and the pin with your name on it. you also repair the black arm sleeves covering both of your forearms as you pick up the rumbling sound of the train coming in on the other side of the glass barriers: finding yourself in the dark reflection before you stand behind the people waiting in line to get in.

tugging your wired earphone buds into both of your ears from your skirt pocket, the train cars stop in front of their assigned doors as they open simultaneously. your eyes glance at the gap between the platform and the train car as you step across it before settling at your usual place by the door of the opposite side where it won’t open. your nimble fingers quickly open the music application as you turn on the playlist you usually listen to when you commute. you find yourself in the reflection of the glass window of the door you stood in front of, seeing your frazzled self as you notice the signature of your dark under-eye area in a half-circle shape. when you hear the train door close and sense the force of the train pushing you along the track, you take a long breath as you put another pin on the daydream that you have envisioned in your memory.

the music chugs along with the train as you ride under the district of gangnam in seoul metro’s line 7; the usual olive green color you encounter every time you commute to and from school from station number 731. your train is filled with mostly working commuters as gangnam is where many businesses reside. schools also litter around the district in the different neighborhoods where you see a few students as young as elementary schoolers to people your age in high school commuting. you didn’t expect to actually feel melancholic about it, but it is expected when this is the last semester you’ll be riding this line before you graduate later this year. but, you also feel melancholic for another thing other than the train ride—that’s why, as you pick up the train wheel screeching from beneath you, you turn around and face the door across that will be open in station 730.

people came into and went out from the train as you looked at the blinking light of the station name above the door, seeing the other unlit dots of your journey with this line as you’ll see them lit up soon. you felt your backpack rest beside the thin glass wall that protects the people sitting from the people standing by the door as you felt the rush of the autumn wind getting sucked up with the door closing. as the train continues its journey, you shift your head to the side, finding the sight that you’ve waited every time you ride this line in this particular time.

on the other side from where you at, across the long line of seats where people rested, stand a few people who got in from the other doors available in this train car. there amongst the crowd stands a tall boy who is dressed in a similar outfit to yours. the autumn uniform’s vest is a light grey color instead—representing his high school. a neighbor of your own school, since it is only blocks away.

ever since you’ve ridden this train car in your 2nd year of high school, you always come across him. every time you ride on the train as you commute to school, you always find him in that very spot as the train comes to pick you up. and you always watch him step out at station 730, tugging onto his backpack as he heads to his classes and leaving you to ride one more stop so you can go to yours. yet, you realized that this was not a one-sided interaction when you caught onto him looking your way. well, looking at you as you catch his eyes following yours while you move to stand nearer to the door of your stop.

yet, neither of you has approached each other. the stretch of seats between both of you and the people sitting on them or standing in the narrow lane separating them becoming the barrier between you two.

you rarely have crushes. but you consider him as one. every time you look at him, you can feel warmth and calmness spreading across your body; making you seem slightly better before facing the other tribulations of life. your lips protruding into a small pout as you see him wearing his headphones, head nodding along with the music he heard when you catch small shadows on his cheeks—dimples as you presumed—before he glances his eyes at you as you let the music entering your ears also entertaining your day; giving you even a small smile, acknowledging your existence. sometimes you stand in the lane where the seats at, halfway closer to where he stood as your usual spot is filled. but something seems to still make you stand apart as you observe his side of the train covered with a crowd.

the realization hits you. that he is something to be admired from afar, to lighten up your day before darkness finds a way to cover it up again.

the train stops as you watch him gently putting on the headphones that were hanging around his neck, pivoting as you lean your head back to find the station where you arrived lit up with a bright red dot. station 729: cheongdam. then, you sense it. your breath hitches and your senses heightened as you can feel your blood rushing in your blood vessels. eyes blinking as you can already sense presence all over you. looming inside and even outside of the train car. when the door closes, the thumb that was caressing your fingertips stops and you balled your hand into a fist. head now straight and mighty as you follow the train’s journey progressing to the part of the line that always haunts you more and more.

you always experience something weird when the train is nearing the cheongdam bridge. it is as if your senses are being attacked in a sweep when goosebumps form in a wave before it calms down. then it starts again as the train approaches the outdoor part of its journey to cross the body of water. the lights inside flicker as you look outside to view the han river from under the bridge, yet sometimes, it’s not a river, but a beach.

the sky is the clear turquoise blue that reflects the seawater. the view of the river bank turns into sand that’s lining the barrier of land and sea. you could sometimes hear crashing waves from it even if you only see the setting sky as it changes from day to night. though now, that turquoise sky is getting darker and darker, even darker than the sunset you usually find when you cross on the hanging tracks from the cheongdam bridge to ttukseom park.

then you see it: the visions.

quick time-lapse of the neon streetlights, crumbling buildings crashing down as their support couldn’t hold on, humanoid beings who can fly as they attacked something dark. only the color orange highlights everything before you see flickers of a woman with long platinum blonde locks and white dress, calling out your name as your eyes are trying to focus on her heterochromia ones.

you’ve always held onto the nearest surface as you glance at the dots turning red between cheongdam and ttukseom park stations, breathing in and out as you felt your palm getting sweatier when you felt the whole compartment seemed to shake more and more as you approached the bridge and let the light from outside coming in. recently, the shakiness is getting rougher and the vision more frequent. but you’ve always tried to comfort yourself and look at the boy across from you if he is okay.

because it seems like you’re not the only one noticing all the things you’ve experienced, especially when you see him mumbling whilst staring at the red dots lighting up on top of the door when the train approaches the bridge.

with your eyes widened with the realization, the train car rattles as you nearly fall. hands up and legs placed wide as you don’t want to fall and nudge someone, you stumble forward as you reach for the handle hanging from the ceiling. your vision glances back at the dots lining the top of the car door. the train on its journey away from cheongdam station clearly with three red dots lighting up. it returns to the boy as you catch him staring at you, eyes communicating with each other with something more to it. the usual shy glances were gone as you stayed in eye contact with him, saying to him ‘yes, i do feel what you felt’.

the light on the train flickers as you hear the screeching noise from the train running along the rail, sensing the train car curve following the underground tracks. and yet, your eyes remain on him before glancing to view the progress of the dots. shivers suddenly rise and send chills to your skin as you remind yourself of the specific dot where the train car will emerge out of the tunnel and into the outside area of the line even under the cheongdam bridge. then, you see it. the visions.

it flickers in your eyes and changes as you blink, showing a few frames. the orange view on top and black on the bottom. the silhouette of winged people and other variants running away. falling debris of buildings crushing on vehicles. shadow figures stand from the edge of your vision as it approaches you closer and closer. the familiar blonde-haired girl showing up in front of you, blinking in and out of existence as you have a close of her different colored eyes. shaking your head, you turn to look at the dots, the red light getting closer to the specific one as the train car shakes around you, yet none of the people seems to be bothered as you only see the boy standing across from you reacting to it discreetly.

he also gazes at the dots as you watch him mumble words you couldn’t decipher. the sound of music you are listening to also glitches out in your ears, making them allowing you to listen to the environmental noises that it makes. the boy catches your eyes staring at him, eyebrows furrowed as he also has the same. yet, he nods his head, only to you. only for you to understand. the train is ever so close to the opening as you hear strange sounds that you shouldn’t hear. the calls of your name, the sound of the waves, the sound of cries. and your eyes remain on his as they also perturbed him. but he continues to nod his head until he closes his eyes, soothing himself as he focuses on the sound he listens to from his headphones. you follow alongside him, focusing on the music entering your eyes that seemed to cut off as the car trembles. your grip on the handle tightens as you stand your ground, spreading your weight so you don’t fling as easily.

from your closed eyelids, you see it. the light level rising as a gush of wind hits you. your hands gripping onto the handle and your backpack strap tight so you don’t fall. the rubber exterior of your wired earphones flapping against your cheek and jaw as the light enters, nearly blinding you. your hair flails around from the quick airflow as you hold on for your dear life for survival. to find yourself arriving at the next station safe and sound. to see the boy with your very eyes once again.

then you smell it. the salt in the air. even sharper than before. the sound of the train moving comes crashing with the wave noise that arrives on the land, even overcoming it. the wind blows yet it doesn’t come the way the train is going, which is northward. it enters and caresses you gently from the sides where the windows are. when you try to balance yourself, you instead felt the ground uneven and one of your feet being sucked by gravity.

something is different.

with courage and curiosity, you open your eyes. the strong sunlight emitting into the car hits you, making you bow your head, examining the gray-colored floor now filled with creme colors and your feet sunken into it. sand.

the sound of seagulls catches your attention as you glance outside of the window, finding a shoreline on the other side. the foam created from the moving wave meeting the sand as its sizzling sound makes your ticklish. looking upwards, the red dots are off alongside the open doors on both sides of the cart. you didn’t realize you were still holding onto the hanging handle until you look straight forward from where you are, finding the boy in the same pose as you; expressing the thought you are currently experiencing.

loosening the grip, you turn to see your palm and find a distinct long rectangle marked on it from the handle, sensing the blood rushing to put back the oxygen you held back from grabbing it too tight. you remain standing there, hearing your music still playing in your ears, even with one earbud off. and your sight remains on him, not wanting to let go. so, you step first. and he follows.

one step at a time, you gaze at the created footsteps from your sneakers’ soles on the sand. the boy was looking at his palm whilst walking towards you. there, in the middle between two lines of seats across from each other, you and he finally stand before each other. your breath is haggard as you focus on your drumming heartbeat, gazing at him who stands before you. jaw lower as you calm your inhales, you pick up another set of footsteps before you even say “hi.”

with both of your heads turn towards the same direction, you notice an approaching figure coming towards the train car. they wear a flowy white dress as the sun reflects on the light hair color, blonde. they approach the car fast whilst having a brown-hued backpack on their back, the soft footsteps getting hard as she steps onto the sand-covered floor. the long flowy blonde hair frames her face as she controls her breath. while she’s doing that, you gaze at her hair and see how her earlobe pokes through the long hair strands. an elven type of ear that you’ve seen illustrations of before. yet, when she lifts her head, both you and the boy gasp together.

there, as she brushes her cheek from specks of sand, is a face you’ve often seen. the long blonde hair and the heterochromia eyes. an odd blue eye.

“thank caelum.” she lets out a gasp before she pauses, a wide smile threatening to show up even with the smile that she has. and she bows down half her body.

“your majesties.”

your majesty?

turning your head, you catch the boy’s face looking at you, catching each other speaking the same thing at the same time.

“yes, king soobin and queen (y/n)...” she mentioned your name as you glanced back at him, looking down to his pin name tag on his vest, reading “choi soobin” before moving your eyes upward to his eyes to find his eyeline on your own name tag, confirming your name to him too.

the blonde girl clears her throat before continuing to speak. “you’ve been slipping in and out of this part of the beach. when i heard a horn and something heavy crashing by the beach, i knew that it was going to be the two of you.”

“how do you know us?” the voice startles you as you return your eyeline to the boy, his voice much deeper than you realized from his face when asking. with the number of things you wanted to learn about him, you’ve always wondered about his voice. and you can feel butterflies flying around in your stomach because of it.

“well...” she steps closer to where you at, “both of you were originally from here. but then, you had to leave and trust us to keep viliya in order. the prophecies, tales, and legends were told in the past 200 years of when both of you will be back, that the people will witness the return of the true leaders of viliya come back in their corporeal form. as you both have only appeared in soul and voice to us.”

“wait...” you sounded, nearly cutting her voice yet she finished hers faster. hearing the way she described how you interacted before—other than seeing a blinking vision of her—reminds you of the many images that are ingrained in your mind. sure, the visions are enough, but this is where it differs. because you have also seen her in your dreams.

the sight of a lush forest in the background of a bustling town where people mostly walk with a few cars moving around. its architectural design looks similar to your usual neighborhood block but with the intricacies of something gothic. the sight of the orange-colored view comes back as the blurriness becomes clearer. you remember looking around the familiar plaza with strung decorations hanging above you. people crowding around you as their silhouettes shaped them in varieties you don’t see in “regular” humans, and you remember turning your head to the side, finding the boy you’ve always seen in the train car looking back at you in a long-sleeved white shirt: opening his palm for you to grasp. and you did.

“the dreams?” he, soobin, takes the word out of your mouth as you return your gaze back at him, finding his eyes looking around as he also seems to remember something. something he has experienced like you also did. shifting back to the elven girl, she gives a stern nod as your suspicions are answered instantly.

your breath hitches, shivers creating goosebumps as it runs all over your body, taking in that the most magical thing you’ve experienced in your life was in fact something of a reality. yet doubt comes back in as you say, “start from the beginning.” your eyes are now fixed on the blonde, “please...”

she gives a small smile and starts.

“my name is jinsoul. i am one of the three keepers of the kingdom trusted by you to take care of this island in your absence. i worked on most of the exterior administration stuff, deals, conflicts, and more. we, viliyans, are... you can see for yourselves.” she pointed the peeking part of her elven ear between the hairs. “though, currently, we are not in the best shape to accommodate your arrival, your majesties.”

“shadows...” soobin said whilst also letting out his breath. her—jinsoul’s—blue heterochromia eye is sparkling as she takes in that he and you seem to know what is going on. that is probably why you’ve been having dreamless sleep for the past week but the increasing vision every time you ride between cheongdam and the ttukseom park station. how the warm hue of the sun-shined beach has become darker. how it relates to the vision you’ve seen in that train station. how you notice your own shadow getting bigger than before.

“correct. we...” she sighs, contemplation moving in her eyes before saying something. “we are currently in an ongoing skirmish. well, war, as lip would say, against these shadow beings. they,” jinsoul nipped her lip, “have been wrecking heavy on the buildings-“

“ruins. crumbling.”

your head stood tall as your words entered hers and the boy’s ears, “many of the buildings are in ruin. some even obscured behind the shadows unseeable to the other side. people running around trying to find shelter.”

“with what the caelum has given us upon your arrival, it is genuinely a blessing. the citizens are in despair, losing hope.” her two different irises glance at you both. “to know that their leaders are here with them now could be a turning point for this war.”

something vibrates as you watch floating music note shapes coming out from jinsoul’s side, the red music note getting more prominent as pull out what looks to be a regular stone, but you can hear mumbles coming from it. that is when you pick up coherent voices talking, followed by another set of floating music notes now in purple.

“is it them?” the red voice calls out.

“yes,” jinsoul said, the corner of her lips raised, “it is them.”

“then don’t let them stay there. come to the forest and let them meet us.” red continues with jinsoul replying, noticing how the stone glows blue every time she talks before she tugs the stone away once again, looking back at the two of you. “well, you’ve heard what lip said. follow me, your majesties.”

turning around, she leads the way as you give a glance at soobin. his eyes looking back at you before signaling with his chin, making you follow behind jinsoul as you caught onto the footsteps behind you from him. stepping out of the capsized train car, you see how the end of it gets hit by the incoming wave that comes and goes. scratches adorned its metal body as it saves you from even feeling that scratches themselves while arriving here. pivoting towards the right from where you are walking, you find the footsteps that were coming towards the car as jinsoul treks back with it, arriving in a small opening of an emerald-colored forest.

the trees create a perfect shield against the sky and sun as only a few openings create sunbeams that light the space closest to it. the leaves create a noisy barrier obscuring everything over them. that is until you see the spacious area in between the trunks where vines hang and colorful flowers bloom by bushes. sounds of rustling create a peaceful atmosphere—contrasting the actual situation this very place is living in. every time your foot steps forward, another follows it as you peek behind you, finding the boy following your path as you follow jinsoul’s white dress that looks so bright compared to the greenery. the little branches of the bushes you have to go past tickle your legs as the opening within the biological shield seems to get wider.

then, you hear it. the rustling of the breeze dissipates as you catch more noise: voices.

behind a few glimmers between the leaves, silhouettes of structures stood out. some look sturdier than others as you see their tippy top leaning from the way the wind blows. walking closer, the silhouette becoming richer as jinsoul peels away a draping vine to let you and soobin stand inside a haven.

a large opening lets the skylight into the ground. the tall trees around create space in between to let people live. inside its area stood shelters made from wood but also tents made of cloth hanging between the sticks that made them stand. few wide areas for commune where there is a campfire placed cooking food, another is a place a tad bit wider where people are training for combat—melee and ranged—and the last one is a commune area with a makeshift table holding onto pieces of paper all with some shapes and sizes of darkness on them.

the people around you are beings you’ve only seen in a fantasy story. people with a pair of horns curling on their heads, wings of various sizes adorning their back, spikes protruding from the spine along with tails, fangs, or talons peeking out from their lips. some people are more animal-esque with a hybrid of their ears or beaks to a full-on humanoid version of said animals. a few of them have scales on their skin to full-on gills that marked their neck. some are centaurs to minotaurs. all various combinations of humanoids all being here, now looking towards you and the boy as they realized your presence.

their stares are intimidating, yet jinsoul still gestures for you to walk onto the path opening from where you stand. every time you walk, the beings closest to you stop what they’re doing and bow down in their various styles. soobin, now standing beside you, also looks around as the more of them see you, they also pause their activities to bow down. the graze of wind against your skin creates shivers as you can only give minuscule nods to them, not knowing what to do with this immense greeting that is much more than your 19 years of life have ever experienced. from the youngest to the oldest-looking one, all know what to do; like they know of your arrival.

your eyes glanced at the boy who showed a thin yet dimpled smile; the people seemed to identify what he was saying, rising from their bows to continue what they were doing as he shifted his head to catch your sight. both of you turning to stare forward as the elven girl brought you towards the place where the table stood full of blotches on top of the light-colored paper.

there in front of you stood another blonde girl with the same elven ears peeking out from between her long locks, yet her outfit was such a contrasting sight to jinsoul’s white dress. she is adorned in what looks to be heavy-looking leather armor and dark pants. her boots have long ties wrapped around both her calves with similar-looking gloves from what you notice from the side. the girl turns around with an expectant smile on her face, knowing of your presence before her.

“your majesties,” she says, your eyes focusing on her face and how she blushes on the skin beneath her eyes. yet, your vision was distracted by the sight of the black stains on the front of her outfit, adorning the armor like specks of dirt and seeping into the cloth of her gloves. the black stain you sensed is too familiar with a certain vision you got at the station.

“your majesties. this is lip,” jinsoul introduces, “one of the three keepers of the throne. she works in the defense and security of viliya and our general in the current war efforts.”

“pleasure to meet you.” lip replies, her laid-back response showing the presence she exudes alongside her clothing style. giving a small smile, you instead glance towards the table she is standing beside. from this closer angle, you can make out a much more prominent shape of these blotches of darkness.

they scan for familiarity with things you’ve seen in your life before. these blotches could look like a regular being with its own variations like the ones you see the citizens of this island have. some look much more wildlife-like with numerous bird and dragon shapes. but there is one—well, two—paper that caught your attention.

on the edge of the table where one of lip’s soldiers is working, coloring another of these beings with the dark pigment, lays two pieces of paper that are put next to each other. connecting it is a drawing of a tall humanoid presence. it has a hunched upper back and a thin neck area where its head looks like it is draping with long hair. two uncolored areas on its head make them look like a pair of eyes.

observing it makes your pulse quicker.

you could see the dark room enveloping you in an instant, sitting with your knees folded upright and tucked towards your chest, eyes staring at the other side of the hallway where you find a slither of light spilling out from behind a room, the noise of haunting scream echos even out of the layer of the wall. there the dark humanoid stood, its white eyes piercing into your young self. the memories flicker quick of the many times you’ve seen this being. as a taller shadow standing behind you, through the even little reflective item that you see yourself from, and it stands in your peripheral vision. it stops flickering as you find yourself in the same position, much older yet still a young girl. now, the being is joined by silhouettes as dark as it slumps on the hallway’s floor. the only breathing sound you hear is yours.

you must’ve turned your head so quick as you found the boy stood beside you with his eyebrows scrunched as he looks at the caricature. his eyes moving rapidly before staying a few seconds on one specific of paper before moving away, letting you observe in the same way as you can identify the same circles in various sizes, shaping these blotches with eyes: making them much more alive.

his breath hitches before you feel lip’s hand on your shoulder, giving a light massage as she is the one that has been observing both of you. and both of you react the same way as she settles in the space between the two of you. that’s when you see the familiar purple music note floating upwards with a voice muffled. turning your head, you watch as lip picks up the speaking stone once again as you can finally catch onto the sound from the other side as the music note continues.

“the palace is all clear. we can bring the refugees into its complex.” the voice spoke, recognizing it as someone who seems young and cheerful.

“will do. thank you, choerry. the majesties are also here with us,” blue music note flowing out as it echoes jinsoul’s voice who is standing nearby.

“welcome back, your majesties!” you can imagine how the owner of the voice—choerry as jinsoul calls her—lifts both corners of her lips as she speaks. then you hear the rummage from the other side before continuous apologies are uttered as choerry seems to tell more people about yours and his arrival in this very place. lip chuckles as she tucks the stone before separating both of your spaces.

“well, we have to tell the people that they can refuge at the palace grounds. your palace grounds,” she said before giving a tight-lip smile. you know what she is implying as you nod your head whilst soobin becomes your voice.

“they can definitely refuge there,” he spoke the words that are also formed in your mind.

“thank you, your majesties.” lip does her bow before approaching other people, sharing the news as you watch it being spread. a smile unconsciously growing when you sense how dry your lips seem to be. but seeing your people all motivated to move to a place more comfortable makes you want to be there with them. at least help them pack up their belongings before moving away.

“i believe you should rest for a bit while we pack up to move.” jinsoul answers your predicament in an instant, reading through your facial expression that is portraying such complex thoughts and emotions. yours and soobin’s who stood ajar from you. “especially with what happened and the information that we give you about all of this. here...”

jinsoul held both of your hands in hers respectively as she brought you to a fallen log, jutting with her chin to it as you sat down on it—the boy does the same. the girl goes to the box beside the fallen log as she grabs something from inside it; a refracted surface holding tight in her palm before she stands in front of you both. opening it, two water orbs rest as they move slightly along with her hand that is balancing both of them.

“take a bit of the water orb and it will hydrate you like regular drinking water.”

the boy reaches first, his hand much larger than jinsoul’s as he gently pinched the orb in between his thumb and forefinger. cupping your hand, jinsoul puts the other one on your palm as she turns away, letting you watch her doing the work that you want to do before she tells you the rest.

well, you need to rest for everything that has happened today. the class you were having, the pain you had to endure again, the tiredness of walking and standing in the train and on the platform, to this new happenstance that you found yourself in with the boy that you’ve been secretly admiring. carefully, you nibble on the orb as you feel the bitten part instantly dissolve into water as it travels down your esophagus, wetting your throat that you didn’t realize was also dried up. you tuck on your uniform skirt so it can rest comfortably on your lap, your shoulder feeling much lighter as your backpack rests on the rest of the log you are sitting on.

you let your eyes peek from the corner, seeing the boy has also taken a bite into a water orb as he watches the things happening around the two of you. from a third-person perspective, you and he are just two teens resting beside each other. but from their perspective, you and he are the queen and king that they’ve been believing in who has come back.

blinking away the feeling, you finish the water orb as you lick your bottom lip to heal it from the dryness. the serenity of the lush forest contrasts against the view of tents being torn down and objects being moved, leaving only the sturdy structure behind as people are moving away from the beach you find yourself at.

“we haven’t introduced ourselves.” you caught someone’s voice beside yours, pivoting to find the boy’s cream-colored vest before your eyes lifted from the ground to see his face.

his black hair was in array as the white headphones still rested on his nape. you caught his eyes that is also darting right on you. tugging your arm sleeve, you give a small pouty smile as you can feel your trembling knee touching his from the nervousness. the way the sun lights him makes his skin glow, casting a shadow that makes his nose much pointier, and the gentle shade on his eyelashes. that is when you trail your sight to his cheek area when you find his blushing skin.

your hand lifts before you know it and lightly cup his warm cheek, wanting to pull away yet his head also seemed to reach instantly, cooling his cheek with your palm before you successfully tug it away to your lap.

“i’m (y/n).” you try to not make your lips quiver whilst pointing to the name tag pinned on your uniform vest. yet, you seemed to be so hyperaware as you still sensed his knee touching yours. that is when something envelops your cool hand, making you let out such a silent hiss as the boy across from you is also catching on to things that are culminating into your first true meeting with him. the boy who stood across from you in the train, only glancing at each other yet it creates such a huge emotion in yourself that you’ve never felt in a long time.

“soobin,” he replied, following you by leaning one side of his body so you could read his name clearly. his hand still gently rests on top of yours when you can sense his pulse pumping in a quick yet steady rhythm.

“metro line 7,” you mumbled and felt his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

“cheongdam and ttukseom park,” he said, threatening to smile as you held it down when your mind kicked in. and as a reply, you slowly flipped your hand as his palm rested on top of yours, gently locking your finger between his as he does the same.

“do you also see them?” your eyes flick upwards to be in contact with his, “the vision when you daydream or dream at night? the vision when our train rides to the bridge when we go back home?”

“yes” you don’t hesitate to answer, nodding to emphasize it more as you lick your lips to continue, “i see you there too.”

“i also see you. there’s one with this orange light all around us, yet the view of the things surrounding us are-“

“blurry.” you complete his sentence. “blurry that it seemed to resemble a shield of some sort.”

“exactly.” soobin replied, his curled fingers curled between yours holding so tight that it made you adapt to his pulse.

“to be a, a monarch is something i didn’t expect from this.” your chuckle is echoed by his as you find a hint of dimples on his cheek as he nods. something you wish you could notice quicker if you want to stand closer in the train covered by people also on their way home after doing their activities for the day.

“yet, it all seems to be true. and they could confirm that it was us too. i’ve seen jinsoul multiple times than i’ve ever expected.” he finishes his thought and you answer by nodding. you let out your breath openly, calming your expression as your fingers twitch from the nerve of holding soobin’s hand—or him holding yours.

“i don’t see a way for us to do other than believing them. being thrust into this position...” you sigh, now realizing just how suffocating the many expectations all of this is, especially with what you have faced in life outside this. and how you can't see a way to get back home in the near future.

“i, i’ll be here with you. i know how you feel.” his voice pierces through your clouded thoughts like a beam of light. his eyes rapidly move as he takes in every information. “and i think we should ask more questions about all of this when we meet all three of the keepers or whatever they call each other.”

you gulped before a small smile quickly shows from his relaxed face while ending part of the sentence. following you, he also shows a small smile that decorates his facial features beautifully. that’s when you lifted your eyes to finally notice the dark presence behind soobin.

the very shadowy being you’ve seen drawn on the paper.

its head is at the tippy top of the body, looking like a pillar that you have to tilt your head backward so much to find its eyes. some part of the shadow that seemed to resemble a dangling set of hair also blows along even with the little breeze. unconsciously, your grip on his hand tightened and curled even further. blinking your eyes and shaking your head seemed to work as you find the shadow gone for this time—you recognize that this spiritual fellow might not leave you at all just like when you see it for the first time back when you were 6.

shaking away from the influence, you stare back at soobin, who also has his eyes looking elsewhere from you and the environment surrounding both of you. his hold competes with your grip as you recognize he might also see another shadow figure. well, the shadow that is behind you.

“hey... hey...” you speak, at least helping him to stay grounded as he blinks quickly before facing you and that’s when you felt a seemingly hard push on your shoulder, instantly relieved as he caught onto your eye contact. you could also see his eyes glistening from whatever he looked at behind you. and with that, you try to compose yourself. giving a small squeeze to the hand holding soobin’s as he follows your breathing exercise. your mind is now clear from the unnecessary information as you and soobin settle in this very part of the woods. the white noise from rustling leaves clears your mind and increases the overall ambient of what you are doing. staring at each other as you breathe in the same calming rhythm.

“your majesties...” the soft voice of jinsoul’s makes both of your heads turn, noticing that most of the people have disappeared and only staggers remain.

“we could go now. we’ll be bringing you to your home,” her soft smile assures you as you take a long breath before standing up, turning your head towards soobin as only the lingering touch of your fingertips connected you to him.

“well, shall we?” you let out a little smile, watching the way your hand sleeve slides down for a bit because of gravity, touching soobin’s hand with a little caress. and your smile widens as said hand adjusts to wrap with yours as the owner stands up. both of you now following the path heading outside of the forest that greets you and the train that you arrived from.

-

with what soobin has seen through the orange-filtered and blurry visions of the place he can’t comprehend to actually be in, he didn’t expect such familiar yet intricate shapes in such a fantastic atmosphere.

he walks upon a road made by bricks, buildings standing tall until the maximum of three floors let the wind flow in between them. their design incorporating much of the familiar architectural design that he had watched from some videos on youtube. but the blocks upon blocks full of buildings remind him more of seoul, especially where he goes to school in gangnam. blue-tinted glass walls replaced with a look that combines natural but also regality, but it also has a traditional-looking shape, especially in the usage of wood as frames and floors to the roof that are still made of tiles—unlike most of seoul’s buildings and apartments.

the path he walks on—though partially destroyed—would still be considered clean. no trash other than rock debris or the black puddles are present. the road is wide enough to carry items, as he also came across vehicles that look like carts. but its walkable paths are the main highlight as he came across dirty war-torn parks and a familiar plaza. the plaza where he sees you beside him and you both hold hands.

well, his hand is still connected to yours as you both walk, following jinsoul’s bright blonde hair. your grip with each other so tight that it makes soobin think that his other thoughts about the whole of this may be true. yet, the sight of the town on this very magical island captivated him more. and because of that, he didn’t see the very place that jinsoul is bringing him and you to.

it is evident by the presence of fences that this is supposed to be his palace. its features blend too well that it doesn’t look like what a palace would appear. yet, the existing yards were big enough to be little parks said otherwise.

stepping through the gate full of many people—some wearing outfits similar to lip and are bowing their bodies to both of you—soobin tilts his head as he gazes upon the palace jinsoul said is home for both of you. makeshift barriers created using wood panels and hay bales as the yard is filled with more of what he had seen in the forest. more humanoids with their unique features litter around the ground as they settle down and continue to... live. he heard sounds of children laughing as it sends shivers down his spine, before he felt a sudden grip on his hand, looking back at you who has turned your head to him, a small pout formed with your lips with a little tilt on your head.

“your majesties!”

both you and he face forward as a figure rushing down the steps from the palace door. she also has blonde hair, though not as light as lip and jinsoul, hers has a brunette shine through it. her outfit looks more like similar to the uniforms he and you are wearing than the dress jinsoul is wearing and the armor lip has worn. then, he sees it: the purple heterochromia eye resembling jinsoul’s blue.

the figure curtsies in front of you, her youthful aura exuding that it can make him believe if she introduces herself as younger than both of you. yet, standing beside jinsoul, he can sense the camaraderie between them and maybe also lip.

“this is choerry-“

“i am choerry.” she cuts jinsoul as she stepped forward, pushing her hand towards you who is also staring at her, making you connect your hand with the covered sleeve with hers as you shake it before she changes to soobin. his eyes were still looking at your hand a few seconds longer before her voice cut in again.

“keeper and usually taking care more on the cleaning, construction, and social side. other than these two, who are more serious.” she points her thumb towards jinsoul and also lip, who has now joined you. soobin lets out a small smile as he sees both the other keepers rolling their eyes at choerry who is cleaning her fallen hair, letting him see the distinct pointed ears of the keepers that he had counted for.

“we have cleaned your bedroom and much of the important areas inside the palace, especially with your arrival. my team and i are also planning to help clean up and prepare for the rest of the viliyans to settle here first, until much more of the town is safe from the umbraes.” choerry spoke in a lengthy speech, getting the right note and rhythm like she has prepared for this moment.

“the umbraes?” yet, you catch something that he didn’t.

“ah- yes.” choerry stopped before turning to jinsoul.

“we have to catch both of you up on the situation here in viliya. so, may we go inside to the meeting room, choerry?” the blue-eyed girl asked.

“certainly. follow me,” choerry turned her body around, and he sees jinsoul and lip following her a few steps behind. he sensed a tug on his hand as he followed your moving body up the flight of stairs to the entrance of the palace. his and yours palace as what choerry implied. the door does blend in with the other doors around, but this one is bigger in height and width.

footsteps echo as he is met with a large room that has spots of colors coming from the glass ceilings above. a long hall greets him as he looks at the end of the room and finds what looks to be two similar-looking chairs. dust and debris scatter around the room, yet it still creates a clear path towards the seats at the end of the corridor. a throne room. a throne room for him and you.

his hand felt lighter as he gazed down to find it empty, before he tilted to find you a few steps in front. your head leaning back as you gaze at the light entering from the glass ceiling, squinting your eyes because of it, yet you continue. seeing how the colors decorate your face, soobin can sense the thumping from his heart and his body getting warm.

ever since he looked across from where he stood on the very train and saw you, he had always felt the same thing. and it grows to his cheek, always getting warm as he takes slight glances at you. you with your recognizable uniform and wired earbuds, unlike his bluetooth headphones, tugging the signature black hand sleeves that cover both of your forearms. soobin always notice a tug showing up every time he stepped inside the train to find you, either when you both are departing to gangnam when his eyes are finding you as you stepped inside the train or on the way home where he had already guessed your position on the door across the set of seats from where he is standing.

he also spots that you felt the tremors that he felt every time the train moves after cheongdam station. his tall stature let him hold on to the handle dangling from the bars connected to the car’s ceiling. your eyes glance at the dots above the door, watching the red dot showing up one by one as it gets nearer and nearer to the bridge, before he peeks at the one closest to him. in that moment, soobin detected there is an electricity between you two. that even if you both only share glances, it seems like you are connected by it. and it happens so many times that when he sees your beautiful figure across from him, he can already feel his stress slipping away.

when you mentioned dreams while you figure out what jinsoul said, soobin put the pieces together for the visions he got. every keyword you spoke pulls out the specific vision of what is mentioned. ruined buildings. shadows seeping and obscured sight. but also of a blurry sight with orange ambience. the only clear thing from it is you, in a flowy white blouse, holding hands with him.

“soobin?”

he blinks his eyes as he looks forward to find you turning your body to face him, hands holding onto your school backpack that is also reflected on him. there is a set of doors opened beside the area with the chairs, where he can see the three keepers gazing at both of you. soobin shakes his head and strides towards you, making a smile lift on your face as you walk beside him towards the door where the keepers are.

soobin didn’t expect such a vast catalogue of books to decorate the walls of this room. its ceiling is high as he views the balcony where more bookshelves are before he landed on the circular table at the center of the room. some of the scribbles and black stains he saw on lip’s table are there. beside them, a stack of books and papers that is approached by jinsoul—he can already guess by the vibe that it must be hers.

two chairs are there side by side as choerry brings a moving board with what looks to be notes and lines connecting pieces of information. all are connected to a thick word, written multiple times on top of each other: umbrae.

“welcome, king soobin and queen (y/n), to viliya.” choerry started as jinsoul and lip sat down on their respective chair. putting his backpack down by his legs like in a classroom, he can feel the weight of his shoulders relax as he moves his body and sits down on the cushioned seat. you also sit on the other chair beside him, choerry’s hum can be picked up.

“let’s get to the chase then,” choerry claps her hands, but the loud ring trembles in the room that soobin can perceive the dusts falling down in front of him, making him look up to view the hole in the room's corner, letting the sun ray in brighter than even the lights coming from the windows. the three also look up, and he can hear them grimace in their own ways.

“as we can see from the destruction, we are in a war against these creatures,” choerry pointed with her finger as she highlights the name. “we call them umbraes as they are shadow creatures. from what lip and her team got from observation, umbrae stay in groups where they don’t allow any light to pass through them. some will separate and mold into various familiar and unfamiliar shapes; creating a quick lapse in judgement from people seeing them before they retreat.”

“yet, what they see differs from what others see. all three of us see different images from them, even from the same blob.” jinsoul added, a grit in her voice like she was holding back from not exploding when saying her thoughts.

“even with these lapses of judgement, not all will retreat. some will stay and stand quietly as the umbrae slithers to them and touching them, usually on their arms, before someone saves them.” lip completed the explanation.

soobin looks down at his hands that are on top of the table, rubbing them as he internalizes the information as best as he can. the blob that changes its shape according to the person who sees it. no person can see the exact same thing. the umbrae create a sudden lapse in judgement of people that make them want to retreat, even some staying because of that.

if it is like that, then why does he see the boy that has been with him since he was little here?

the boy wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. he always stays back at home—well, wherever home is for soobin now that he is always nomadic, moving to grandpa’s house. the boy was always in the hallway, looking back at him as they both held on to a bunny plushie, its appearance distracting him from the disturbing sounds coming from the living room where his mother was. her shadows tangled with other people as soobin grits his teeth, not letting the unpleasant sound of moans and groans bother him anymore. yet, it stays even until the present time.

when he found the boy showing up again in the environment so weird to what soobin used to see, his eyes wavered. your figure was straying to the tables as you observed the papers when he caught onto the familiar silhouette right across from them. and again as you and he sit together. hands holding onto each other as you give words of reassurance. he saw your eyes lifting, gazing above his head as you both compete to out-grip each other. that’s because he was also doing the same thing, gazing at the familiar shadow boy who is sitting on top of your shoulders. its arms settle lightly on your head, that you seemed to not notice, holding onto something akin to a stuffed toy just like soobin usually sees it with. when he flicks his eyes towards you, your touch overcoming his senses: the shadow disappeared instantly.

“then they affect all of us. the images.” soobin stumbles his words as they turn their head towards him. he rubs his fingers with the palms soothingly. “do you have any more information about them?”

“as of right now, this,” lip points towards the board, “is what we summarize. our people are also researching them this very instant, especially if we want to beat them.”

silence covers the room as soobin lets himself think. leadership isn’t a foreign concept to him. having been class president for most of the time, he feels familiarity with it. but the title of king itself is strange. the title itself can be derived that you are a leader so great, people respect you that way. yet, soobin never sensed that before. his mom is always before him in almost everything. her wants and needs. that makes soobin always retreat to his grandpa’s home, conversing with him even until past midnight even if the next day he still has school. the dad of his mom who seems to be the better parent out of the two, yet he still doesn’t want soobin to stay with him all the time,

“your mom is still here. she still wants you to be there.”

does she? does she even think about him that way when all soobin could see is her being tangled in various limbs of foreign men and women all the time with unknown substances entering her body? he is the one taking care of her more than what she supposed to before he travels back into the safe place that is their shared bedroom he could call his cause mom always has a rotating door system where anyone will step in.

“i would,” his thoughts were cut off as he tilted his head, looking at your beautiful side profile that is shone by the light entering the room.

“i would like to ask,” you nibble on your bottom lip, “every being here on viliya has their own abilities, like, all of you,” you extend your open palm to point towards the three blonde woman, “have your own uniqueness. yet, soobin and i,” he caught your eyes as you give a small glance at him with a small, yet nervous smile, “we are just regular human. but we are monarchs?”

all three of the elven girls all staring at each other as you and soobin watch, his eyes looking at choerry who nods her head to jinsoul before going to lip, doing the exact same thing. jinsoul’s look still seems so steady, as if she is pulling out the speech in her mind cabinet of the right words to say. as she knew she would be asked this very question.

“our kingdom of viliya has various humanoid. us with our elf ears. people with wings, horns, animal hybrids, tails, and more. these traits come to all of us, except for both of you. as far as the history of this world, both of you are the only fully human beings we have known. your ancestors are our ancestors that are still pure. even if we have different abilities with our traits, such as the ability to fly or have more strength, humans are much more capable of everything equally. strength, agility, intelligence, charisma, and wisdom.” jinsoul connects both of her hands on the table, the grip is reassuring about everything she just said. “your capability to be anything is the reason both of you are our monarchs.”

is it?

soobin never seemed to feel special as a regular human, nor even feeling special between the humans themselves. his introverted side makes him much more blend in with the walls of his class rather than with a bunch of people. his eyes gazed at the numerous people with their own stories they are living through while he stayed as a spectator. being human, for him, is painful. he hates how he can feel so much being exposed to such vile things where he has to be numb. he doesn’t even know the idea of love between humans when the only one he got exposed to explicitly is with his mother and her various paramours. being human is to acknowledge everything and nothing on the same path, focusing on a path that will just double down on survival.

being in between humanoids while you are a regular human will be weird. what is it to admire when you are alongside people more capable than you are in various ways?

the boy turned his head to glance at you once again, noticing how you remain silent yet with a bit of your eyebrows furrowed—thinking back on the words the keepers had said to your question. his glance turns down towards your hands, one of them rubbing against the sleeve that covered your forearm. your nails are picking through the woven material when he glimpses a shadowy line peeking from the top near your elbow.

being human is focusing on a path that is doubling down on survival. and that is the core of what you then say next.

“if you don’t know many things about them, maybe i can help?”

creaking chair sounds filled the room as the keepers all turned towards you, shifting their position with their colorful eyes widened.

“we can divide jobs. i’ll be outside with lip to observe the umbraes. while soobin here can help with figuring out what to fix and accommodating the refugees. he is the king.”

and you are the queen, he wanted to say. hoping that by saying that, that you’ll be by his side more. you’re an even more of a leader than he is. he doesn’t want to let you go because this is the first time he had ever stood so close to you, unlike the regular occurrences on the train.

yet, when he looks at how you’re steeling yourself; holding onto your opinion, he seemed to agree. many things have happened to him recently, and he needs a break. maybe taking on a more earth-bounding activity is much better than being on the battlefield in his state of mind.

“be careful,” he whispered out when he turned his head towards you. you mirrored him, beautiful trembling eyes staring at him as you let out a small smile. a familiar warmth enveloped his hand that comes from you once again.

“i’ll get back to you.” you brush your thumb against his hand.

still in both of your school attire with a difference of all the items inside your bag are now held by jinsoul; you let lip put things into your backpack as you tug your forearm sleeves back up as soobin watches on with the other two keepers beside him. glancing back at him before stepping out into the town, you give a small yet endearing smile towards him as he shows up with a tinge of melancholy. the rattling of the gate pushes him out of his trance from looking at your retreating figure, then looking at the other two beside him.

“can i, uh, take a short break first?”

“of course, your majesty.” jinsoul spoke as she looked at choerry, who said, “i’ll be giving you the list of things to do when you are ready.”

“thank you,” he replied, making the other two bow their head before retreating inside. soobin lets out a tremendous sigh as he glances upwards at the sky. seeing the star that this island’s planet is orbiting nearly setting, he walked towards the terrace overlooking the courtyard where the viliyans will stay until it is safe enough for some of them to go back to their homes. he pulls the straps of his backpack as he settles down on the steps leading down to the open space, the star crawling down near the line of forest beyond the space and buildings.

opening the zipper of his front pocket, he grabbed onto the two items he had that would always successfully calm him down. the familiar flicking noise enters his ear as he nears the fire towards the end of the cigarette, inhaling the first smoke to let the fire on before he lets go and the fire dies off, satiating his nicotine needs that he had since he was so young.

soobin didn’t have a perfect upbringing, you see. born without a father there, the little baby was already addicted to nicotine as his mom didn’t stop smoking during her pregnancy—having to be treated by the hospital in more weeks when he learned from his grandpa that he was the one being there while his mom got out as fast as she could after the doctor said “yes, you can go now.” even with that happening still, his mom still doesn’t want him to go back to her father and still lets him stay in the house. that’s when he first heard sounds of monsters at night when he wants to go to sleep, a loud screaming similar to his own, yet more exasperated. it haunts him all the time, and he cried himself to sleep most of the time, his mom doing something in the other room.

when he was a bit older, he noticed more and more faces entering and exiting his house. he stood there with his tiny legs as he peeks from behind the doorframe, seeing how the owner of the face he saw today has his body tangled with his mom, her face lets out a look that he had seen from books to be known as surprised with a rhythmic sound coming from them. and he heard it all the time since then, before even learning that what he is seeing is the act of sex. those glimpses of memory are stuck in his mind as he sees his mom more like that than her in clothes, and bringing him to see his grandpa. because of that, he had to bear it for himself. passing by the group of people in his “living” room to the kitchen where he could eat his dinner. learning about that in fifth grade, he didn’t think that topic was taboo, unlike the many boys around him giggling with themselves as they see an illustration of a female body. yet he understands now what he has been seeing since he was so young and what can result from that.

yet he wonders. his mom never got pregnant again.

soobin got introduced to cigarettes when he slipped out of the fifth-grade class to see a bunch of sixth graders, hiding near the back of the school. he smelled a familiar smell from home as he turned to see the older boys staring at him. expecting them to be annoyed and disgusted if soobin decides to snitch on them, one of them approaches him as he offers the burning stick.

“wanna try?”

tasting the substance for the first time was disgusting, he was coughing up the smoke alongside some phlegm that was stuck there. however, the warmth coming from it surges deep down inside, heating up his inner side that has been cold for a long time. his senses become sharper. every caress on his fingertips is something so detailed. so he started doing more. he made a deal with the older boys by doing all of their homework at that time to get one pack of cigarettes filled with 10 sticks. because of that, soobin never chain smokes. he always savoured every cigarette he had ever burned because he didn’t know when he would get another pack. that is until he decided to grab one from his mom’s drawer, and she didn’t notice it vanished.

when he ran away from home, backpack zippers jingling against each other into the setting sky. he arrived at his grandpa's house to knock on his door. 10 times knocking with no answer. getting cold, he sat down on the entrance patio looking towards the quiet street and pulled out the pack and lighter that the older boys gave him before they graduated, thanking him for the time and for helping them even with such a miniscule thing. the smoke covers the clear sky from his sight as he senses the tingling feeling on the back of his throat, a breeze touching his ankle from his middle school pants that are getting too short because of his growing body. soobin closed his eyes, letting the cigarette and nature’s smells combine for him to inhale, not noticing the sound of the rumbling old sedan parking in the car park.

opening his eyes, he sees the familiar grey-headed man from inside the driver’s seat, looking back at him as soobin immediately pulls the stick and crushes it with the sole of his shoe. but his grandpa was just sitting there, a somewhat smirk on his lips as he shook his head.

with a hot, steaming noodle in front of him replacing the cigarette’s warmth, he sat across his grandpa on the dining table who had his own bowl. soobin bit the inside of his cheek. the expectation of his grandpa being angry at him for smoking at 13 was not fulfilled as he does his usual thing when his grandson comes to visit, his eyes communicating to the younger that he seemed to understand why soobin did it in the first place. the same look on the older’s face still visible as they settle to eat dinner, and so, soobin speaks.

“could i stay with you? i don’t think i can’t live with mom anymore when she is like... that...” the boy’s voice getting quieter in the end. hesitance bubbling inside him spontaneously.

“i would like that...” the older’s gritty voice said, “but your mother will search for you and i don’t want to fight her again.”

soobin furrowed his eyebrows, putting the pin on the word “again” for him to ask next. and with that, his grandpa told him anything soobin could know at that time in straightforward words, a complete contrast with his daughter’s more long-winded words with layers of secret hidden in between their spaces. how she wanted to abort the baby, but the doctor said that it would endanger her more. how choi soobin was conceived with one of the random man his mom got it with. how she realized now she has a child. it gave her an advantage when it comes to taxes and costs. how grandpa choi—mom’s father—wanted to get his grandson under his care, yet his daughter decided to do a temper tantrum, threatening to take her own and the little baby boy’s life if her dad continued.

how his mom decided to sterilize herself, not wanting ever to get pregnant again.

the brain inside the boy goes into overdrive as he disassociates himself, staring at him outside of his body, as he thinks of the implications of what has transpired from his mom and his grandpa. his heart aches without a clear reason, the steam of the noodle broth doesn’t help in calming him down anymore, and he looks straight at his grandpa who has a steady face yet creases in between her eyebrows and the familiar shadow of the little boy standing beside his chair.

starting from that day, soobin spends his time outside of his mom’s house. not wanting to hear her moan that is crushing him more, the sight of needles left there as the living room looks more like a crack house. the sight of the different people entering his home every night after his mom finished her restaurant and bar waiting job for nearly a decade now. his head leaning against the wall on the other side of the living room, where his mom is having sex, his eyes and fists closed as he had to hold on for a bit to grab something from the fridge to snack on while he does his homework. every time he is not at school—both morning and evening, he will go home to stay at his grandpa’s house 15 minutes away from his mom’s, taking care of him with his house chores just like the older one is taking care of his grandson by providing him food. grandpa was the one that gave him his wireless headphones, noticing how his grandson likes to experiment with his collections of vinyl discs that have specks of dust on them.

since that day, he started to dream something. flickers of lush greenery standing in harmony beside buildings. silhouettes of people with horns and wings against an intricate wall. the sight of small waves grazing his feet on the sand. a reflection of seeing him older, taller, seemingly wiser in the reflection of a window overlooking such a beautiful town that is unlike the neighborhood he lives in.

grandpa’s house is the closest place for him to go to the seoul metro to school in the contrasting greater gangnam area. soobin doesn’t even want to know his mom get a connection for him to go there. a school so cold, yet he also knows that they produced outstanding students who will do various things to improve his country. if his grandpa didn’t allow him to eat his meals at his home, he would’ve ridden another seoul metro line instead of the olive green he is riding now. he won’t see the visions in the train that seemed to complete more and more of the dreams he had since he was young. he would’ve not seen you, the girl that starts to make his dream make sense when your blurry self becomes clearer.

the skin of his fingers is hotter as soobin lets out another puff of smoke, glancing down at the stick to see it nearly burning the line of the filter between his mouth and the tobacco. soobin gently throws the butt by his shoes, crushing it on the step of the stair until it is flat before he pinches it with his finger and put it on the side of the step near the bushes. he eyes the settlements that are growing as the orange sky mixed with purple as night comes. his first night here in the town he leads and called home a lifetime ago.

“your majesty?”

soobin tilts his head to see choerry looking down at his sitting figure, her eyes flickering between him and the flat cigarette butt on the edge of the step with a tight lip smile.

“some people have started to make dinner. i would like to cordially invite you to join them. you have eaten nothing since you’ve arrived, and we would wait for the queen, lip, and the others to come then.”

the mention of you makes his breath hitch, gulping the heavy smoky taste inside his mouth cavern. he glances forward once again, seeing the familiar sight of the people he saw in the forest now seemingly happier with the larger space. it much resembles more of a scene in a movie he watched, never seen it with his own eyes. soobin’s stomach suddenly grumbles, making choerry chuckle as the boy’s height standing taller when he finally stands up. using his open palm and gestures towards the courtyard for her to lead the way.

many more people bowed at him as he walked by, their various eyes full of sparkles as they took a glimpse of him. he was still in his school uniform and backpack hanging on his shoulders. soobin’s eyes go to an enormous cauldron heated by a bonfire underneath it, the bubbling boiling of what looks to be vegetable soup looks like a delight, reminding him of his grandpa’s love of stews, soups, and broths. a woman with ears and nose that look more like a doe and her fawn curling up behind her, his head on her shoulder, letting him view the approaching king makes him grin.

“look, mother! the king!” the little doe mentions as his giddiness shakes his mother’s body. with steady hands, she grabs a makeshift bowl made from coconut and pours in a ladle full of delicious soup towards soobin.

“i’ll be giving you another scoop, your majesty. it must have been a journey to finally be here,” the woman says as soobin lets out his dimple smile, earning chuckles from people around him at how sweet he looks.

“thank you. and yes, it has been a long journey,” he replies.

his figure glides towards the bigger space where people are scattered around and sitting on the grass to eat and slurp up the soup he holds in his hands. gulping down his saliva, the people he was looking at turned their heads to see their king approaching closer to the seat. jinsoul and choerry following behind him as they reached one long bench similar to those benches he sees in the cafeteria. raising his long leg up to slot on the other side of the bench, the people all were darting towards him as he settled down the bowl on the table.

pouting his lips, soobin can feel the tension growing within him, reminding him of the times he had to publicly speak in front of people for class and performing on stage for a school talent performance that every student must go through. his hands subconsciously rubbed together as he only took brief looks towards the surrounding people—identifying their uniqueness in comparison to him. yet, as the sun sets and night comes, the color also changes. the dark seems to be more purple, popping out the color from every object visible, creating a rainbow full of colors. the colors get brighter, their tints making them have a white outline, especially with white lights of the street lamps, the fires on the candles, torches, and lanterns, and also the white of his uniform buttoned-up shirt.

beautiful is the word that comes to mind when soobin sees this. it has a calming effect that helps soothe his beating heart even for just a bit. then he lets out a huge sigh and places his hands against the wooden table. turning his head to both sides to see the two keepers expecting him, pushing him to do so.

“viliyans,” the demonym seemed to flow easily out of his mouth like he had said it for a long time now. “i’m soobin or as you might know me as the king of this town.” he taps his feet on the ground.

“island town.” jinsoul added beside him.

“island town.” soobin repeats, nodding his head to thank her, “and, well, i am...” he opens his palms and points toward his body. tracing up and down his body. “i don’t look like your typical royal look right now, as i am learning as much about this, where you all have known about this for a long time. and i...” soobin pauses, yet the words itch in his mouth that he has to continue.

“i have to apologize for not being here in a long time. i know you might find me or (y/n), the queen, as these amazing people, even though i know we might not be them. both of us are high school students who are facing adulthood and we... i don’t know where to go next...”

the gaze of him is heavy as he looks in between the people sitting on the benches, the mother and son standing by the cauldron as they are also in a pause to hear him speak.

“but believe me when i say that i will try my best for these war efforts against the shadows.” soobin glances upwards with a sharp fiery look, pining it to the sight of the people. “the move from the forest to even the castle’s courtyard is revolutionary in a why that we are one step nearer to the enemi’s line. the soldiers and keepers are working to figure out how to beat the umbraes.”

soobin takes a peek down, looking at the steamy bowl of soup, before looking up, “i hope that the people of viliya will support us.” then he closed his eyes, bracing for any reaction that could come from his messy speech.

instead, he picked up multiple claps in the dark room. colors start to bloom as it looks like fireworks behind the lid of his eyes when he heard the sound of cheering, creating a cacophony of harmony. the eyelids are open slowly, the color is familiar as he saw this in a dream before. an orange-ish color of the sky with a tinge of vignette. he eyes the people one by one, trailing through the faces before grabbing his bowl. lifting it up, the people followed as they raised their own bowls or cups. the delicious smell makes soobin tilt the container against his lip, letting him swallow the food that warms his stomach. he hears the slurps coming from around him. following him.

their proof of being loyal.

soobin places the bowl down as he grabs his spoon, spinning the vegetables inside the soup to let it seep the tasty broth. his eyes looked at the other table around him. a few of the people were still queuing up to get their meal before he focused back on the gate that led outside of the castle grounds. it opens slightly, allowing a few people in to take refuge. but that’s when he saw the people near the gate move towards it, crowding it as something, some people, goes inside while holding onto each other.

that’s when he saw you, heaving lip’s body up with her arm behind your shoulders.

he stands up and gets out of the seat as fast as he could, making the people around him turn their heads to see what’s happening. the footsteps on the grassy area make him hear his crunchy footsteps. steps are also following behind him as he took a quick glance on both sides to find both choerry and jinsoul striding towards the other two. soobin notices the dark goo even on your black school uniform vest. the keepers walk faster than him, reaching you and lip as they hold on to her. lip look... empty.

numb.

stepping closer, he can finally hear you as you bowed, hands on your knees as you heaved to breathe in. he can’t help but to stand closer, now standing in front of you as he gently reaches out. he had to hold you. he had to comfort you somehow, like you do him.

yet, when you lift your upper body, leaning your head to let him see the entirety of your face, feeling your hand shaking against his, soobin finally just how glassy your eyes are. their outer corners pointing downward with your furrowed eyebrows. a look that he had worn before many times in his life.

“the umbraes... they,” you gulped, “they feed off of fear.”

-

the night breeze entered through the open window, grazing your skin. yet you stayed there, sitting and looking at the empty wall in front of you. hands gripping onto the soft sheets as you tremble.

the view of vast darkness is imprinted into your mind. remembering every step you put down as you reached the other side of town, saturated colors creeping out from a shadowy, hazy side. your fingers are digging into your palm as you stood beside lip, observing the wall of shadow as the breeze grazes your exposed legs. then, it started.

tendrils started to poke out of the shadow with dots of white on them, landing on the space in front of you as you heard footsteps from the guards that were tasked to keep you safe start to shuffle. the tendrils got cut off from the source as you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. it erects itself as you also see other blobs starting to form as well. shapeshifting into large and small beings.

one depicts a wall of waves incoming, going towards one side of the guards as you turned your head to hear the gasps. moving your body, you look at the rest of the guards getting damp by the slimy texture before surging towards the panicking soldier, cowering on the ground as little tendrils come out of the silhouette and wrap around the soldier’s arm. the horror on their face makes you shiver as you push the blob hard enough for it to scurry into the bigger shadow. the soldier’s eyes were closed as you tried to help them sit up, making the other guards help their mate as you then picked up more screams.

turning your body, you view the harrowing scenery of multiple umbraes approaching each person in different shapes and sizes. one umbrae specific to one person. you keep track of their expressions as the umbrae approaches. depicting wide eyes, flared nostrils, and a sense of flight response you are all too familiar with. a voice penetrates your thoughts as you shift your head once again to where you were standing before, seeing lip being covered by a shadowy blob on her arm as she stood her ground, yet grimacing. approaching as fast as you could, you see the shape of the umbrae as little spiders climbing around her skin.

adrenaline pushes you as you grab the weird texture and throws them on the ground near their shadowy haven. yet, this blob didn’t go back like the other ones. lip was scratching her arms so much that it turned red as you helped to hold her hands. not wanting to make it worse. yet the situation seems to be more dire than ever before. the guards were able to push back, attacking with their weapons as best as they could. but their leader stood behind you, hands gripped tightly on your arm as you turned back to face the wall of darkness, breathing quick because of your pounding heart.

then you see it, the blob transforming right before you into the shadow that haunts you. the figure standing so tall that you have to lean your head back. hair-like tendrils flowing in front of the body as you can see in between them. two white lights at the top making its appearance humanoid, yet you cannot identify what is behind the curtain. you could hear your teeth chatter as it grows bigger before you. specifically for you. yet, you can also hear lip’s whimper from behind you. such a brave girl now cowering and your brain connects the relations to all of it, as it also rattles you.

that they attack by becoming something a certain person is afraid of. that include yours.

you could recognize fear in an instant as it has been on your face in the times so hard that you become numb to it. the exact expression you’ve seen when you look into the towering mirror in your little body. splotches of colors on your arms and legs when you can hear people bickering at the back that rattles along with pots and pans, knowing that you couldn’t do anything because they don’t even think of you seriously. that is when you try to lift your head up high as you see the shadowy figure standing behind you, covering the torn wallpaper with its body, as you could feel a graze of their touch on your back.

even if the umbrae represents fear as it shows up alongside lip’s spiders—which she clarifies she was afraid of—it gives a sense of unease comfort for you. the shadow being has been there, like it is waiting for you, watching along your activities. yet, seeing it still gives a bitter taste in your mouth, especially that sting in your head as flashes of memories of the earliest time you’ve seen it show up. then, it continues as your body also stings, remembering every hit and cut you’ve gotten by the people that have semblance to you. before you see them lifeless as the shadow stood on the other side of the hallway.

you were 13. starting your middle school with a numbness to yourself as the same thing that happened in elementary also happens. one of your teachers nagging you to take your cardigan off because you have to stick to uniformity, sneakily taking it off for a quick moment before your homeroom teacher tells him that you are a sickly child and you are allowed to wear a cardigan; knowing she has done the same and found spots on your arms. your homeroom teacher introduces you to the arm sleeves, saying to you that even if you like wearing the same black cardigan all the time, using it interchangeably will be greater. and it grows until today just as your arms become longer, making you buy a bunch more of arm sleeves that you change weekly. especially when the cause of your spots is not here anymore and it has been replaced by something else, something that elevates the hurt and fear you’ve been facing when you were younger.

the black arm sleeves that cover your forearms are still there, their tightness contrasts the flowy white pajama shirt that choerry gave for you to wear. its color has a tinge of neon to it as jinsoul says about an ultraviolet aspect of the night in villiya as you could see your white school shirt glowing underneath your vest, alongside soobin’s. the moonlight cast through the open ceiling corner of the room, lighting up the space in a glow that creates a dreamy look. your eyes gaze at the spotlight, trailing to the dust floating and highlighted for you to see better.

a soft touch caresses your hand, making you turn your head to the side and take a glimpse of the boy that you’ve always seen across from you. now very close. he hugged you as your body continued to shake, his inner warmth wrapping you like a truly warm blanket, something you don’t recognise. he reaches out towards your side of the bed in the room, a request of yours so that he doesn’t have to sleep on the dusty sofa. soobin wears the same pajama set as you are. he smelled of a combination of a fresh lemon but with a tinge of smoky scent—a familiar scent you’ve heard lingering around the room where your aunt and uncle live.

his reminder makes you move as you let out a huge sigh, lifting your legs as it rests on the soft mattress before tugging them into the comforter, laying your head slowly onto the pillow before looking around the room, finding your school uniform on the sofa alongside the boy’s, creating a symmetry alongside both of your backpacks. looking at the ceiling, the bed ruffles as a tiny breeze hits your hand before being covered by the warmth of both the comforter and soobin. glancing from the corner of your eye, soobin lays down on his side, an arm of his rested in the space between you and him. his head rested on the pillow on one side as he still waits patiently after what you said during dinner. to finish all of that shenanigans before returning to the bedroom where you both can have a talk about this.

“well...” you started, shifting your head to the side to copy soobin. “i piece things up. all the umbraes- they’re...” your eyes cast downwards along the space between yours and his body, “they gather into this gigantic wall of darkness before they come out one by one. a big shape with a dot of white in them before they transformed. it’s, i recognize just by the looks on their faces they are afraid...”

“lip, who was looking so brave when we met her, becomes so... petrified.” you continue after shifting your upper body. your arm lies down underneath your body for a more comfortable position. soobin’s eyes are skittering as it moves all over the place, between your face, your hand, and more. he lets out an understanding hum, and he then questions.

“what did you see?” his eyes instantly widen as he lifts the free hand on the pillow, his facial expression changes to deny and take back what he said, but was stopped as your nearest hand reaches his, connecting your palm with each other as you can sense warmth.

“it’s okay. it is a justified question given we’re in this situation...” another sigh comes out of you after that, a slight moment that allows you to recollect your words to describe the monstrosity that haunts. “i see a figure. like a woman with long hair almost reaching the floor, hunching forward so the hair covers the front of the body. yet...”

you felt the boy’s fingers slide in between yours, giving a gentle grip that soothes you as he heard how your breathing is wavering. “yet, i can see a glimpse of its white dots resembling eyes peeking between the hair strands. but with this one, it is large. larger than i’ve ever seen before when i see on the end of the room or behind me when i look at my own reflection.”

“but you stop it. you successfully flee out of the situation...”

“yet someone got hurt. their face is trauma-inducing that i can’t even imagine feeling it myself. especially with,“ you stopped yourself before you say too much. the boy seemingly did not notice as he continues to calm you, fingers now lock with yours as he uses his thumb to rub soothing patterns on the back of your hand. “yet, i can get rid of the spiders on lip’s arm.”

“you don’t fear spiders?” he asked.

you used to. but when you lived in a house so untidy and unkempt, little critters will live with you. you used to be disgusted by the sight of a spider on the corner of the room, creating their web there to collect other insects to digest and to reproduce. yet, why should you fear spiders who are trying to live their life when you have something more to fear?

“no.” a concise answer comes from you. your eyes view soobin’s face, looking at him as he processes every information you gave in his mind. seeing the boy you had a crush on up close is different. the only smooth edges of his nose bridge when you see from afar now look so pointy and rigid. so real. the unconscious closeness both of you have with each other seems natural. no words needed as you can understand through gestures and expressions. it feels like your body is remembering something, the time when you were with him before. queen of viliya at that time. the connection feels too electric sometimes that it overwhelms you, but it is purely because you find comfort in him—other than being a fellow “normal” human like you are. the warmth you see even when glancing at him is expanding ten to a hundred-fold when you are with him right now, wrapping around your body, protecting you from danger.

the sparkle in soobin’s irises starts to grow, his eyebrows raised as he realized something. the answer and excitement uplift him as he lets out his dimples as he spoke, “if it is fear that they are searching and it is specified for each person, then we have to make the people brave.”

yet doubt comes into you, “could be. but people’s reaction to being afraid is different. i don’t think that forcing them to face tough up and face their fear is a good idea.”

“that’s one side of it, but...” he stops to collect himself, the little droop on his face from your comment is lifted once again, “what if we use something to make them brave other than making them fight their fear. we can maybe empower them by doing something else. distract them of this whole thing and let them have something worth fighting for so they dare to fight back...” soobin comes back with a tangent; pouring his thoughts out, no matter how unorganized it is. but something came into your mind as he said so.

the vision of that yellow-esque blurry background. buildings standing tall beside you as you walk around with soobin beside you, holding onto your hand. pushing yourself to remember, you could see the blurriness becoming more defined. the familiar structure erects around you as a place you’ve been before. the place you walk past to get to the castle grounds from the forest. the empty yet wide space in between the town that you walk on as you, lip, and the others are investigating the umbraes.

“have you dreamt of a vision where you are walking around this huge place where the background was yellow-ish and blurry and-“

“i was on your side? yeah, i’ve seen it too.” you chuckle as he finished your question and answered it right away. “it looks like a gathering of some sort behind that blurriness.”

“we could make that, a gathering of people just being happy and having fun to make them brave. we can do it at the plaza we walked past to go here.” you continued adding more detail of your plan based on soobin’s thought. and by the look on his face, you can see it exuding positivity.

“we definitely could. we have to lift their hopes up. i see so much of them are down and becoming desperate alongside instability,” he remarked.

“we can definitely kick their asses.” your comment makes both of you laughed, pining on top of your head to tell the keepers of your plan. a somewhat childish point of view of looking at it, you noticed. yet, it is a method that seemed so simple yet could be effective in yours as well as soobin’s minds.

the process of creating this gathering is something that the keepers didn’t account for but openly agree to. “the people have been down because of this war. i sure hope that even with the minimal resources, we can make this happen.” jinsoul, representing the rest of the keepers, as both of you give out your ideas to them. after telling them of the assumptions and deductions you and soobin have thought about together, soobin seems to be more at ease as he takes control in the “fighting against fear” aspect of this entire event. while you now work alongside choerry and a few of the viliyans who want to take part as you gaze at the plaza. rubbles and dust are still scattered everywhere as you can see a run-down version of what viliya supposed to look like. hanging signs stand out from the buildings that host them as you can identify what looks like a tram track on the street, its rails embedded within the material to create the busy atmosphere.

you don’t really care that your seemingly new clothes are grimy because of the amount of dust accumulated when you get rid of the rubble with your bare hands. the rocks and bricks you have to remove are so familiar with your touch even with the amount of people that were trying to help you. being independent is something you are used to, especially with the little to no regard to your livelihood at home. you had to manage it all by yourself because, if not, your aunt and uncle would use any valuables to enrich themselves. the brick texture reminds you of the gloomy day as you gaze down at the stone plate that engraves both of your parents’ names. your tense jaw relaxes as you stare at their name before shaping into more of the usual numb expression you have always seen if you think of them. the same numb face that rests on your face all the time since then until you either smile to yourself and for yourself, or when you encounter the boy in the metro.

a large space becomes clear as some viliyans are moving out from the courtyard after soobin gives such a motivational speech to you. his conversation with lip and jinsoul about strategies coming into play right now as he is being as transparent as possible. his honesty of his thoughts and opinions is such a breath of fresh air for you to take in. your hand slowly reaching for his, reassuring him of his speech but also reassuring yourself from what you are feeling, an overwhelming sense of authenticity coming from a background where the people all around you are manipulators in one way or another.

you stare at yourself in the shattered mirror of the room in the castle as you wear a white flared dress that feels too unfamiliar for you. the light from outside coming in lights up the room as you have your hands in front of you, rubbing against each other as you can’t help but to compare yourself to the keepers, especially jinsoul and choerry in their own white dresses. realising just how plain you are. nothing special. you gaze at the black arm sleeves remaining of your original outfit, resting nicely on your skin. lip actually made a custom white arm sleeves that coordinate with your dress. yet, because of its thin material, you cannot wear it as you could see the skin layer beneath it, even if it is pretty obscured. it is the part of you that you are not ready for the world to see, keeping it hidden for nearly 4 years now. maybe that black arm sleeves could be the thing that made you stand out. but why should you? you always like to support more from the back instead of being at the forefront. and with just how “normally human” you look like, you won’t be standing out at all.

subconsciously, you let your vision drop to gaze at the flowy ends of the dress moving around, biting your bottom lip as gently as possible because you didn’t want to break skin. you listen to the sounds from outside, the cheers of excitement coming from the viliyans who are ready there as means to have fun and create a synergy that could, at least, defend the people against umbraes. a shadow approaches your figure, though its color is much more faded. a genuine shadow of someone by your side.

“how are you feeling?” the soft-spoken voice calls to you as you lift your head to glance back in the mirror, finding soobin in a flowy white dress shirt with brown pants. his head tilts so you can see him peeking from behind you. a dimple shows on his cheek as he looks at you, reading you like a book that you can’t push yourself to move away.

“i,” you instantly give up, returning to gaze at the lower part of your body reflected in the mirror. both of your hands are rubbing against each other, and soobin looks at the same reflection. you watch as his hand moves to the front of your figure, soothing down the skin as he grazes the texture of your black arm sleeve, noticing just how thick it feels with the material. thinking about it again, you should’ve actually pushed yourself to put the white arm sleeve on instead. it will be much more cohesive with the rest of your outfit and it will look better with soobin’s too. maybe, you can finally let that patch of skin you covered breathe once again-

“you don’t need to.”

in the reflection, soobin’s hand rested on top of yours that is reaching for the end of the arm sleeve from the inside of your elbow. his fingers intermingled with yours that made you loosen the grip of the material. tilting back, you found soobin’s head resting beside yours on your shoulder. his chin so close to resting on top of the boney foundation of your collar as you caught his eyes, looking downwards at the arms before back to your face.

“you don’t need to remove them. whatever makes you more comfortable.” his reassuring tone lets you let out such a shaky exhale.

“but it wouldn’t match-“

“and so what? it doesn’t have to be matching.” soobin remarked, “everything will be okay, even if you don’t wear matching arm sleeves. the people will still love you. i’ll-“ he paused himself as he then rested his body against you. his body temperature feeling more like a blanket that envelops you. “i’ll still be beside you.”

you nodded your head. your face hardens as it takes shape from your frowning expression. taking a deep breath, you stare back at soobin with a much straighter posture. his hand resting on top of yours on your abdomen. your heartbeat pumping more than ever.

“we have to be brave for them.” your turn to speak as soobin caress gives you the silent agreement.

“they will be.” the boy straightens his body as he allows you to turn around inside his embrace. your arms instantly wrapping around his body as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“thank you.” your muffled voice calls to him as you felt him caressing the back of your body. knocks suddenly come from the door as you pull away.

“are you both ready, your majesties?” you heard the familiar sound of choerry before you looked into soobin’s eyes. his head nods as he signals for you to move first.

the sky is beautiful when you step outside of the palace. the clear blue space has little shades of orange as the sun is setting down as you walk. by the gate, you notice both lip and jinsoul waiting for your arrival. lip still has her outfit together, but with an extra set of a thick vest on her chest. her hands holding onto her speaking stone as she talks to her underlings in the defense force. yet, you still can’t get rid of the petrified expression she has when you get rid of the shadow spider on her arm. as you walk nearer to them, you nod your heads to greet them as soobin stood beside you. your hands are brushing against each other, with jinsoul looking between the two of you.

“doesn’t she look beautiful?” choerry commented, wrapping her arm behind your shoulder, making you appear like friends. you could feel your heart flutter because of it. because you don’t have someone who you can call your friend to do these types of things back in seoul.

“she does.” jinsoul replied, her eyes not looking at your bashful face but at the person beside you, observing him as he stares at you as well.

“well, we don’t want the people to wait. come...” jinsoul gestures with her hand as you all walk past the gate of the castle on the way to the plaza. you had seen little of what the plaza has become, only trusting in choerry’s giddiness to decorate for this impromptu festival. you had watched as she and a few others were bringing out boxes of multiple decorations out of a room in the castle. some looking more botanic than the others. you had only seen blurry images of these decorations from your vision and you can’t wait to see them with your eyes.

approaching the plaza, you could hear the rush and sound of people talking, enjoying this little festival you made in order to entertain them in the danger, to reassure them that happiness can actually battle against the umbrae’s personification of fear. to know that there is a collective who will face all of this war together.

from the nearest crowd of the plaza area, where buildings that host shops and homes were partially destroyed by the war, they all bowed as you walked past. they create a wave as you continue to walk; the sight choking you up as you turn your head to look at soobin, who is also seeing around. the amount of people with their uniqueness, all bowing their heads for both of you. your heartbeat fastens as you capture his hand with yours, feeling his fingers already move to then curl in between yours.

in the middle of the plaza is a destroyed fountain, rubble of its structure pooling in there instead of water. all three of the keepers set aside as you find a little stage beside it, bowing their heads as you both step onto the stage. the crowd that bowed first have gathered closer to the fountain as you stood behind soobin, hands still connected.

“citizen of viliya.” soobin started, your eyes gleaming with adoration as you could see the little rise on the corner of his lips.

“we welcome you to the plaza where we gather to celebrate and entertain ourselves even during the war we are facing. we would like to express our gratitude to the people who contributed to this. the cooking, the games, the music. i know this time is hard for all of us and we aren’t able to fully prepare for this to the fullest. but it is enough for me, and i hope it still will do its job.” soobin spoke like a true king, then turns his head to face you.

“this gathering will not happen without the queen’s idea. so, i would like to invite her to take center stage." he tugs your hand to make you take a few steps to stand beside him. your eyes are fleeting around the crowd as you observe the many variations of people you’ve ever seen.

“uh,” you gulp your saliva, “hello everyone. well, soobin and i got the idea for this gathering after the attack that we had endured a few days ago. i was also scouting with them as we approach the barrier between us and the shadows.” your eyes blink, head lifting to stand tall and straight.

“what i observed is traumatizing to the people who experience and also see it. it’s such a familiar notion soobin and i know about. i conclude that these shadows feed off of our fear. they get stronger when we fear them.” you spoke like how you converse with yourself in your head, calculated and clearly. eyeing the viliyans as much more like-minded people rather than recognizing the position you are in.

“this is the reason we want to gather all of us here. i recognized that you cannot face fear alone and we want to tell the umbraes that we are not alone. we are here together, full of love and care, encouraging us to face each other’s fear and any fears that can tear all of us apart. families, friendships, any types of relationships.” you felt a tug on your hand from soobin’s reassuring grip. his eyes finding yours glowing with a warm smile on his face.

“let’s all have fun and make the umbraes fear us instead. thank you.”

the crowd cheers as you find soobin also lets out a wide grin, bringing you into his grasp as you let out a chuckle full of various emotions. turning your head, you listen as the music continues on. both of you jump down off the stage as you widen your arms wide, taking in the unfamiliar feeling of gratitude and joyfulness that you are scared you might be addicted to. the ends of your dress floating as you playfully twirl with them, letting go just for this moment of the baggage that weighs you down.

your hand grasps inside of soobin’s as he takes you to the area where you can see pots of cooking are standing upright. his eloquent request contrasts the timid soobin you know, creating a much more complete idea of the boy in your head. he hands you the bowl as you say “thank you” and bow your head. the sky is getting much more orange as you both find a seat with a bunch of tweens that looked star-struck when they see you. all of them with their own uniqueness, from deer horns to fluffy bird-like wings.

“you are so cool, your majesties.” one of them says as you sit across from soobin. you share their enthusiasm for the world; how one of them is interested in the pattern of stars shining in the raven sky. soobin and you are not that far in a gap with them in level of maturity, just two teenagers who find themselves on a magic island that can be a playground for both of you if you were just a tad bit younger.

at the end of the row of tables, you see people gathering around before they form into the dance floor. your eyes resting on them as you watch them moving around, even in the most mundane fashion. small taps against your shoulder make you shift your body to meet soobin’s outstretched hand. his chin subtly pointing to the dancing crowd as your smile grew, and you went with him, waving goodbye at the tweens as you looked between your beautiful surroundings and the boy before you.

the music is loud as you see a group of bards playing their instruments in sync, watching the people as they dance the living daylights out in their own fashions. seeing a little space in the crowd, you could hear them cheer as soobin pulled you in. he starts to move his head and arms, wiggling to the beat and melody as it makes you giggle. his movement goes in a pattern that you could mirror and you did, mirroring his movement in front of you and following his lead. your eyes continue to stare at him as he does to you. smiles etched on both of your faces as you can’t help but move forward and hug him tight. his breath brushes against the crook of your neck, resting it behind you as you sway along with the music.

your eyes looked at the orange sky, admiring the atmosphere that is much better than your vision. and yet, you still have doubt inside of you. and when the sky suddenly darkens into a red hue, you know your hunch was correct.

a large silhouette flies and covers the sky, its long body with wide head and expansive middle area, flying along the sky before the once cheer silent and turns into screams. the orange that you see is no longer the sky, but the ball of fire that is going to hit you.

the very vision that you’ve just seen when you waited for your train to arrive

you pushed soobin away, separating you both as he stumbled to the ground and the fire landed where you both were dancing. he is heaving to breathe, pushing himself up off the ground as he looks across the fire to find you. but when he caught onto the numerous people who needed immediate help, he instantly moved to help them to safety by the buildings. soobin looked up to find the shadowy dragon continued to rage the fire against the plaza, destroying more of them as he could also see blobs of shadow slithering on the ground before forming into various things before people. haunting screams bringing him to his own baggage once again. and it reminds him of the sleep talk you say the night before the gathering.

“please don’t burn them. don’t burn viliya again.”

when he looks at you from the reflection of the mirror, he knew you were not in the best mood to face this whole thing. so that’s why he had to get rid of his usual fears and be as nonchalant and confident as ever. the conversation he had with the viliyans makes him see them more as family rather than subjects and that’s how they want to serve them as their king. he had to be your anchor, and he has been so throughout today until this very moment.

the usual anxiety riddles him as he watches more people either run away from the shadows or being taken by them. his feet already move him to a clearing as he watches everything going into shambles. one last turn and his eyes landed on the familiar shadow of the boy—its white eyes staring at him as his heart beats faster. but his mind nudges to somewhere else in the palace of his mind as another fireball flew above him and the one side of the fire dissipates, letting him see someone in a white dress kneeling, cowering their body, and covering their head under the red sky.

“(Y/N)!” soobin yells to you as he surges forward. his eyes landed on your cowering body as he pushed himself to move faster. however, the shadows were faster as they reached you and formed into a humanoid. a flick of its fingers shows a burning fire as it toys with you, pushing the fire closer to your covered face. that’s before soobin catches its attention with a push and a strong snarl, observing it explodes into drops of goo as he reaches for you.

your head slightly lifted when you looked at your hand to see someone grabbing for you. his soothing touch is something you can recognize as you found soobin with the front side of his shirt covered with drops of black liquid. his hand curls around you as you let him pull you up.

soobin rested his arm behind you, dragging you away from the crowd as you stay close to him, feeling your hot tears free falling against him as he has to bring you to safety, because he fears for you being hurt.

-

the blurriness of your vision slowly dissipates as the overwhelming orange shine piercing your sight is now out of sight. your feet are dragging across the ground. one of your arms is around the body of the familiar boy as he half-carried you back towards the palace. your hooded eyelids are lifted open as you meet several silhouettes protecting themselves, commotion everywhere and even out of your sight as your body continues to move along with the boy’s stride. the imposing gate meets you as he pushes open the gate and brings you towards the foyer and into the palace.

and when you stepped into the closed area of the palace, you could already feel the tears brimming by the corner of your eyes before they fell into freefall.

the thought in your head already won the battle: you caused this.

“i’m sor-sorry,” you mumbled, making soobin turn his head to look at you. the cloudiness in your eyes is now gone as it is replaced with such gigantic eyes instead. but you’ve spoken sorry too many times for his liking. his sight is set on the shared bedroom you sleep in starting from a few days ago. letting the constant murmur of sorry flies back passes him as you walk past the vacant throne room.

when you felt a soft material behind your knees, you rubbed it with your hand before you sat down and looked upon your quivering arms resting on your lap. the black sleeves threatening to fall down as soobin now stands beside you. then, the familiar itchiness starts once again. your thumb pushes against one side of your hand, trailing it down one by one, following the trail of itchiness beneath the dark material as a few firm pushes against them help in remedying the pain. a remedy you always do time and time again.

but now it doesn’t stop. the itchiness doesn’t stop, and you continue mumbling apologies with a few gasps of breath.

the edge of your nails rubbing against the sleeves instead of pressing it, putting more and more pressure as the nails hooked into the grooves in between the woven material. your sight becoming more and more blurry as you can’t stop. if you stop, it will hurt more. the sight of something you don’t want people to think about.

and yet, you could see the face of the boy kneeling down beside your legs. his hand putting a stop to yours, widening the space in between each finger. apologies are still mutter out of you as you blink the tears away, looking down on your lap. that is when you felt your lips pause as a warm touch lands softly on your cheek. eyebrows furrowed and raised when you look towards soobin and his outstretched arm.

his eyes darting all across your figure, the other hand now holds onto your hand as he could see how rough it looks from the scratching.

“i’m sorry…” you say one last time, recollecting the numerous happenings all around you, “it’s all my fault-“

“hey, hey, no. (y/n).” soobin’s voice calms you, holding onto your hand and yet, you still shake your head.

“yeah, it is. we were supposed to be brave for them. but i screw up. i let my fear get to me and it became a disaster.” your hands try to pull away from his grasp. the itchiness from your forearms slowly turning hot. just a look at the top of the sleeves lets you see the sliver of the thing that is hiding.

but, you knew deep down and how soobin is looking at you with care. that even though it was wrong, doubt is a normal thing.

“then, the only thing to overcome that fear is to face it,” you answered yourself loudly as the boy looks at how your expression changes along with how you think. his hand still holds onto your own softly as he sits down beside you. the outfit that he is wearing makes him look bare, especially with him voicing out his worries about the plan the night before. how he had put much of his fear and hope on his sleeves, and yet you failed him.

your hand gently moves instead of the shakiness soobin stopped, letting him pull off his hand as carefully as possible. the fingertips reach one end of the black that is nearly exposed. you looked down at it and took a deep breath. in one sweep, you peel away the black sleeves that have been part of your day-to-day life—soobin’s gasp is enough of a reaction you have expected.

fluttering open the lid of your eyes, you peer at the gnashing straight line scars across your forearm. the memories of the bleeding cutter coming back to you as you look at the multiple lines. the healing skin makes the scar much more visible to your skin tone. your hand doesn’t stop, reaching for the other black sleeve as the skin mirrors the other side. you clenched your hands, seeing the muscles on your wrists react as you can see the crimson liquid trailing down until the end of your fingertip. that is before your aunt found you and stopped it—not wanting to let her anchor go.

all you wanted to do was to join your parents. your forsaken parents that left you behind with more scars than these. but the only thing they left behind is the looming shadow that stood at the end of the hallway and behind you everywhere you go.

“these are my attempts.” you push yourself to speak, facing those very memories you wanted to suppress hiding behind the black sleeves. you return to your child self as you look forward to the shadow across the hallway standing tall, facing you who is sitting with your knees close to your chest.

“my parents were not the best. they, they-“ furrowing your eyebrows, the slice of the memories of yourself hitting the ground flickers by the second, “they hit me. hard. i was still a child then and... they, they’ve done it multiple times and i lost count of it.”

“it was hard living in this household. we...” shaking your head, pushing yourself to not defend them like you always do, “they don’t live in the best conditions. shards of glass all around the floor from thrown bottles. screaming matches that lasted all night long. i- i don’t know if they even love each other to stay married until the end when they...”

your breath heaved, eyes still staring down at the scars when you felt a warm touch from beside you. his hand covers one forearm, making you tilt your head as you find soobin’s sparkling eyes staring back at you. his matching furrowed brows contorting his face that exactly show what emotion he is feeling. nodding your head, you let the words on the tip of your tongue.

“after school, i was probably 13. i found them in the hallway, laid there in a pool of their blood. each with a shard of glass in their hand. the house was dark when i entered, yet the sunlight from the living room shines perfectly on their laid bodies. even at that young age, i knew it would happen someday. but not that day.” you flutter your eyes as the images came again, “i just found out that i got into the middle school i wanted. that they wanted to. and i found them lifeless instead, when all i wanted was to give them the envelope showing that i got accepted. so i cried and cried and i only called 119 a few hours later.”

you can’t help but to let out a chuckle. one way for you to cope against these experiences as you reimagined them by looking at the bird's-eye view—taking everything into account. “being a middle schooler, i have to have a guardian who will be there until i’m old enough to inherit their wealth. in comes my aunt and her dead-beat husband, and they start to chew away all of that wealth, leaving me with scrapes that is enough for me to fulfill my primary and secondary needs, but no more. it doesn’t get better at school too when they see vulnerable me as an easy target to be mugged off. so i started cutting myself.”

your free hand moves as you fold your fingers, except your pointer and middle fingers. resembling a cutter, you put it down beside soobin’s hand, doing a slicing motion. “it started with that. a pressure from two fingers. mimicking what it feels like. then when i started high school, i started using a cutter. just a top layer of skin enough to make it hurt. not as hurtful as what i genuinely feel the whole time. but i add more and more pressure until one day, it got deep and broke a blood vessel.”

“in my mind, this is it. this is the moment that i can go meet my parents and berate them for leaving me behind to bear their weight. but my aunt found me, and she stopped it just so that she can still get the cut from the will because it said that if anything happens to me, all the wealth will go to charity instead. and she was having the time of her life mugging me back home, too. so i hide them behind the black forearm sleeves. her eyes were always on me and seeing that sleeve is an assuring thing for her that i will continue my life until high school ends.” your words end with a clear quiver.

“even with all this time, i still love my parents for them being my parents. and i feel lost without them around. my perception of love is so messed up that it is hard for me to let go and know that they are truly gone until their funeral. and now, i don’t know how to truly love something.”

you duck your head and cover your forehead with your free hand, sensing just how hot it has become from you talking as you felt the touch on your other arm creeps up and envelops your palm—curling your fingers with his. bare yourself out for him to see. the true you.

the boy turns away as he grabs something from his backpack, his heavy footsteps ring against the room as he walks back to the bed. a familiarly branded cigarette box in hand alongside a lighter. his nimble fingers reach to take out one of the sticks and quickly place it between his lips as he lights it up with fire. a light grey smoke coming from it as he takes an inhale and blows it out. the familiar scent you have smelled on his body, even last night before you slept.

“sorry for surprising you like that. i-“

“it’s okay,” you cut him off, “whatever makes you comfortable.”

soobin lets out a light scoff as you see him moving his tongue across his teeth, tasting the flavor that sticks to the bone before it’s his turn to talk.

“well, i also have a not-so-great upbringing,” he started as you put your full attention to him. the itchiness of your scars is being soothed down by the gentle breeze. “the best way i say of my existence is that i am a mistake. my mom doesn’t want me at all. she’s a single mom and i am made from one of her sexual escapades. she was still smoking when she was growing me, and so, i was born addicted to nicotine. and, that’s why...” he nudges the burning cigarette between his fingers before taking a puff.

“i feel like she hates me all throughout her life. i still don’t know why she birthed me, even when she has the connection to do an abortion, but maybe she made sure she birthed me to remind her of that mistake she made. well, you see...” he leans down, eyeing the cigarette before looking back at you. “she’s a nymphomaniac. i was exposed to that side of her when i was two. just think of a small boy walking around the house after gaining the ability to walk, to then go into the living room to find your mother riding someone’s cock.”

his vulgar words took you aback, but you could feel the raging flame inside of him, similar to the fire burning through that cigarette. “but it doesn’t stop. it continues. one moment, she took care of me by bringing me snacks to eat inside the bedroom. and next, her moans vibrate all across the house. it doesn’t stop. she prefers men, but sometimes women are there as well. it’s an everyday sex party at the house and she even hosted an orgy one time. 20-something people having sex in the living room, and i was in the bedroom, closing my ears as i continue to watch crayon shinchan.” soobin flicks the cigarette away before stomping it beneath his sneakers.

“her dad—my grandpa—sometimes had to take care of me when she hosted a large-scale sex party with alcohol and drugs after the first one. i learned a lot from him, mostly about things in life that my mom doesn’t even care to think to teach me. i wanted to live with him so much, to ask him why he doesn’t act when it comes to her daughter and why she is never pregnant. so, i was in middle school when he gave me the letter from a clinic, a written evidence of my mom’s tubal ligation. sterilizing herself so she would never get pregnant again.” his head turns to you to read your expression, seeing just how wet it is. “when i told my mom i want to live with grandpa, she doesn’t allow it, along with her many reasons like tax cut. but i know she is doing that to torture me, just like having me for her is the consequence of her nymphomaniac lifestyle.”

his hand reaches back for yours, returning to the previous position with his fingers locking with yours, “my only perception of love is the care my grandpa has for me. his willingness to introduce the world he knows, and he has to learn to know for me. but i don’t have an idea of romantic love especially with my perception of lovemaking, which is all gone when you have a mom who is just seeking sex and not romantic love. maybe only a glimpse of it from the episodes grandpa said about grandma, but that is it.”

your eyes lock with his, trailing down his face until you read his moving lips. “until i see you across from me on the train.”

“why me?” you looked down at your connected hands.

“you always caught my eye. the black sleeves on your arms. how you are always there right across from me when i go back into train after school like the way you always see me at the same time every time we go to school.” soobin had to turn down a smile, calming himself down. “you with your uniform and wired earphones compare to me. it’s like seeing your own reflection that has its uniqueness. i just... know that i will connect with you and i love you for that.”

“i- wow...” you lightly exclaimed. “the thing is...” scooting closer to him, letting his knees meet with yours. “i wholeheartedly agree with the reflection thing you said. i... i don’t know. this is just based on the things, but i believe that if we talk, we will talk like we know each other for our whole life. i see myself in you. and i’m glad that we ride that same train.”

“i do too.” he raises his other hand. his eyes asking for permission as you give a small nod when you felt his warm touch now on your cheek. your head leans closer as both of your foreheads meet, closing your eyes to take in just the love that spreads between the two of you. silent. introverted. yet familiar.

that’s when you feel his thick lips against yours, making you move to adapt to it by giving little nibbles. it was innocent—expressing just enough of your emotions to not overwhelm each other. all of that and the discovery you’ve uncovered in viliya of your previous connection.

when you pull away, feeling his breath against your mouth as you rest your forehead against his once again, you then ask.

“what do you see?”

soobin’s eyes also flutter open, meeting yours as he pulls away to take a better look at you. his eyes looking away as he recollects what he had seen.

“a shadow of a boy around 5 to 7 years old. his silhouette looks like mine when i was younger, but he’s different. much more forward and active than i am and holding onto a bunny plushie,” he chuckles. “i think he encompasses my fear perfectly. being an only child of a sterilized nymphomaniac, i can’t help but to think of the numerous times that my mom’s escapades will result in another baby being made. he was one of the lost children that could be my siblings and because of that, i just... i fear in making a connection with people, especially the way my mom does. people see it as superficial, but that’s what i always see. so i don’t know which is the ‘authentic’ way for that..."

you gulp your saliva as you stare at soobin and the familiar shadow behind him. looming tall as its eyes peers down at your seated self. “mine is a tall humanoid. two white eyes covered by long trails of hair in front. it’s like its bending their neck, purposely so that anyone can see the face of the being underneath it but it steel peeks at you.” your thumb plays above his hand, “i also have a fear of connecting with people, but more in a way that... they will be ashamed of me. an orphan who cuts herself while having some attachment issue to her dead parents.”

“you don’t need to be ashamed of yourself. you’re...” he takes a slight glimpse at you from your face to your dress. “you’re pretty.”

your giggles trail towards him before you return to seriousness. “we seem to be each other’s reflections.”

“and that means that to overcome the fear, we can help each other.” soobin remarked, his dimples showing as he held a long smile.

“genuine connection...” you muttered, looking down at your connected hands before going to his plump lips you have felt on your own. soobin seemed to read your mind as he pulls you closer. the end of your dress grazes along your legs as he carefully sits you on his lap.

“the most fully genuine connection i have is with you, (y/n).” he presses his forehead back on yours. “i will be willing to face my fear for this.”

“yet, i don’t want to force you.” you shake your head, but the way his hand moves yours to his nape says otherwise. pulling you close with a tight grip on your waist.

“even so, i don’t want to do this if it is not with you,” he muttered before brushing his lips against your neck, soft caresses across your body. timidness coming along with how soft it feels, letting himself go for you to take care of him.

both of your hands slowly peel each other’s outfit, standing across from each other as you looked at soobin’s unmarked skin compared to yours, which has scars leading all the way from your childhood. yet, with the way he stood there tense, you knew he would not be the one in charge. solidifying his trust in this very connection you made. ignoring the past life you have with him. that even being across from each other on that train, you could still create a genuine connection.

soobin’s face follows your touch, staring back at you with vulnerable eyes that still reflected a dark shine. he leans down, hesitation clear but follows through with your soft grasp on him as he kisses you once again. pushing forward more and more to let you feel him more and more, and all of this has cumulated for you two. his skin is soft until the brush of your hand gives him goosebumps. soobin reach out for you, feeling the scars decorated your love handle to your hips, pressing each of them to replace the painful memories of love instead.

he is the one who drags you to the bed, moving you into a comfortable position for him because he’s the one who is more fragile in this position. looking down at his laid body on the white mattress. his cock is starting to stand straight, more color moving into his shaft as he looks at himself before your hand sitting close to his thigh. peering back to his face who looks at you with expectation, you crawl your fingers across the skin of his thigh and reach his growing member. hisses comes out from soobin’s lips when he felt your soft touch from one side before enveloping altogether. you give him a small stroke, feeling him hardened under your palm.

“you’re doing so well.” your words flow to him, now using both of your hands to stroke him as he gets harder. whines now coming out of him as he focuses back on your face. eyes looking at someone that constantly runs in his mind, who is slowly changing the perspective of action he had seen since he was a young child. his eyes focused on your furrowed brows, looking between his face and his hardening member before you decided to switch position and lean forward. the tip of the head brushes against the tip of your nose as you guide him to your lips. a searing lick makes him jump as you pull away.

“are you alright?”

“i- i am. yeah... just...” soobin looks away, not wanting to look at the concern on your face.

“we’ll go at your pace, soobin.” you sit down on your kneeling position before him, hands slowly letting go of his cock—now standing tall.

“i want to feel you. down there,” he gasps, eyes gazing back at you as you nodded. you lift your hand up to your lips as you spit on the palm, the sense of the cold liquid added to his pleasure while you stroke him in a steady rhythm. your gaze looks between his face and his member, adding more pressure with your grip that makes shivers running down his spine. then, you lean forward and he stayed still, feeling your tongue touching his head, making the shiver spread more.

it turns into warmth as you envelop the top part of his cock, your lips enclosing around it as he hears the slurping noise. his hand that was on his side reaches for you, giving your head a caress that encourages you alongside his moans. soobin’s eyelids are hooded as he stares at you, not believing the idea of such a beautiful person taking care of him—letting everything go his way. and it continues to go his way when he pushed the back of your head unconsciously, making you take him deeper in your cavern as he lets out a loud groan.

the tip of your nose brushes against his skin, taking him deep as your hand assures his when you sensed it tense as he heard you gag. pulling away from the shaft, the area around your lips are covered in your drools and saliva, a string of them hanging onto his cock as you can see just how red his tip has become. soobin’s eyes are enlarged as he admires you, wiping the saliva away with his thumb as you playfully give it a peck before it trails down to your waist.

knowing the signal, you climb up onto his lap as you press your wet lower region against him. you grind yourself on his elongated cock, feeling the ridges of his tense muscle brushing against your clitoris, making you grab his grasp once again as you make his thumb find and rub against your bundle of nerves. hisses coming from you, eyelids dropping as you feel just how good it feels. soobin continues to eye you, rubbing softly against your skin before lifting yourself up. your thighs standing straight as the boy looks at how your hand grab his shaft and rubs the tip against your opening.

“i know that this is going to hurt,” mumbling to him, “but i also want to do it with you.”

“(y/n)...” he sighs, and it slowly gets louder as he felt your warm walls wrapped around him. the boy’s hands that were by your thighs and waist reach up as you lean your head back. sensing the stretch of the muscles down there to adapt to him.

and when you lean forward again—body now sitting upright—you peer down to reassure yourself on soobin. and the sight you see makes your heart that was already beating fast even faster. diamond-like shimmer is present in his eyes, but alongside tears that added more shine. you lean your body much more forward, hands reaching to cup his face and kiss all along his visible skin. yet, you felt his hands caressing your scars instead, especially the one you left behind in your arms.

your eyes flutter shut as you give his lips a kiss that takes your breath away. pecking away from his addicting kisses as you put the rest of them along his face—the shift of your body on him creating more moans coming from the both of you. you sensed his hands moving to your behind, cupping your cheeks as you pulled away from his neck to look back at him.

“you can move.” soobin’s word gives a signal, pushing yourself until your arm is straight as you slowly move on his lap and give him a teasing bounce—something that you found on the internet as a pleasurable way to tackle your position. your hands grip onto his shoulders, eyes on his as you continue your movement. you let him roam his hands around you as you try your best to get him as deep as you can before lifting yourself so that only a sliver of his member is inside you.

soobin’s eyes lock on the way your walls envelop his hardened cock that is standing straight, caressing the skin of yours as he hold you by the waist. you alternate your motion, including some grinding as both of your moans filled the room and night. shame all come across him as he couldn’t believe he left the people of viliya go and fend for themselves. letting fear consume all of them instead of encouraging them to go on. but with a graze of your hand now resting on the pillow beside his head, he could fear the biggest fear he has dissipate away with each fluid movement and the aftermath of emotion.

genuine connection.

the boy’s hips followed your movement, following your action that even made you widen your eyes in surprise. his hands move upwards to your upper back before pulling you down, letting him give light kisses across your breasts and trails up to the column of your neck and meeting your lips as the final destination. one hand holds onto the back of your head as the other still rests above your hips, using his stamina to follow along with you. both of your eyes stay in contact, communicating like the many times you both have done so on that very train. now with much more feelings than a mere silent love.

he wraps his arms around your body when you fully lean down, head beside his. the grip of his hands loosens when he hears soft sobs coming from you, sobs that he understand so well as he also ssensed the same warmth thawing his frozen interior, breaking away the dense walls as it crumbles to allow you in. soobin reaches to cup your cheeks with trails of tears on them, a small smile adorning your face as your gaze at him expresses the very emotion he also feels for you. you both meet at the middle, enrapturing your lips with each other as you both chase your high.

“i’m going to cum.” his lips move against yours when he whispered and your head nods in reply. your walls tighten as you both continue to move. both of your moans meeting each other’s as his eyes are blown wide to see yours, who is peering at him dearly. then, he felt himself choking, his breath caught, and he spurted himself inside your walls. your little whining hum tells him you sense his release, slowing down your motion as soobin can’t help but feel the tears that are threatening to come out now in a free fall.

yet, his hips move again, making you claw your hand against his chest as he exerts to get you to your high as well. your eyes stare back at him, chin leaning against his chest so you could watch him as you chase his fluid movement. your walls clamp, holding onto him as you mentioned “i- i’m cum-“

“cum for me,” he encourages, helping more to chase you as you let out a shriek. your walls are pounding as flashes came about in your eyes and you felt yourself wetter and more aware of soobin’s release inside you. instantly, he brought your body down to his as your faces are leaning close to each other. swollen eyes, swollen lips. both are what you have as he brought you into the last searing kiss. embracing each other with a new booster of encouragement from each of you: readying yourself to face what tomorrow offers.

-

in the dawn of the next day, you both wake up with a determination you both haven’t felt before.

with each other, you both took care of your body, lathering the suds of the soap across both of your bodies as you stayed with soobin. both of your high school uniforms are the only clean outfits you both have as you pull them on. every piece from the socks to the vest. but you left your black sleeves behind drying up, sensing the cool breeze soothing it down as you embrace them as a unique part of you. soobin approaches as he lifts both of your hands, kissing the marred skin as he gazes at you, communicating without words once again as you nod.

as the sun rises across the magical island of viliya, you both emerge from the crumbling room from the palace empty of people. yet, both of your minds are onto something else. soobin pushes open the palace walls, finding many people taking cover and safety across the safe place of the palace walls. some were asleep, and some were awake with numbness in their eyes. yet they all glide to both of your figures as they all gasp.

“your majesties, are you both alright?“ choerry calls as she sees the familiar figures coming out of the palace, not tending after them when she has to take care of more people. but it stopped as she sees the rush in both of your movements, the two leaders of viliya walk to the barracks.

light exuding from them.

choerry runs to get to jinsoul as soon as she realizes it. her dirty white dress flowing as she goes past the number of viliyans all around her as she meets the blonde elven woman who is looking at the papers upon papers of letters that signify the situation of each building destroyed in viliya. her breath turning into heaves when jinsoul turns her head to look at her fellow keeper.

“what again, choerry-“

“the majesties.” she instantly cuts, “they’re glowing- they’re going to the barracks.”

“oh, oh!” jinsoul exclaims before picking up her speaking stone, telling the piece of information to the red music note replying on the other side.

“i’ll come to you. just let me get my things.” choerry looks at jinsoul who is replying to the speaking stone before they set off to the barracks. where lip is located as she just put away the speaking stone to her satchel before jinsoul’s words came true with the appearance of the two leaders coming into the area as she quickly bows down.

“your majesties, we-“

“do you still have any melee weapons?” you’re the one that asked, eyes looking towards the shelves of bows you come across.

“yes! yes, we do. right here, what do you prefer?” lip quickly accommodates the two of you as you both find the shelves full of melee weapons.

“daggers for (y/n). short sword for me,” soobin replies, recollecting the memories of what you both quietly discuss the night before.

lip grabs a short sword and its scabbard before giving it to soobin and walks to grab the daggers for you when her eyes peer down to give you the dagger by the handle. her eyes thought they were deceiving her as she didn’t see the black sleeves associated with you, but instead found scars on where the skin was covered.

“your majesty-“ she raises her head to look at you when you give her a small nod. her eyes seeing a shimmering outline coming from your body as you give her a tight lip smile. she watches as you take a glance at soobin, a small knowing nod shared between you to him as you about to turn your body away,

“your majesty!” jinsoul comes in with choerry trailing behind her, her eyes now looking at the glowing outline the two you had. connected and brighter as you stand side by side. “did you two found out how-“

“yeah, we did.” soobin answered, “i was saving (y/n) from the umbrae attack when one of them morphs in front of me. rather than think otherwise, i just hissed at it and it quickly falters. we both talked about facing our fears and about the situation when we realized that this is a now or never situation. that we have to be the one to move first so the others can get courage to fight back.”

“and we have a new determination flowing through us. that whatever happens and the experience we both have gone through, it will strengthen us rather than weakening us. it’s why we...” you paused as you peek at soobin, “decide to embrace that and face them by ourselves.”

lip steps forward and speaks, “it is only the two of you, your majesties, versus them.”

“then so be it. the umbraes are trained to find the weakest part of each person in viliya. it knows your doubts too, and soobin knows that by straight up being in front of them, confidence that it will work, it will cower away.” the steadiness in your sound shocks the keepers as soobin looks at you with pride. the keepers eyeing their leaders, the glow getting brighter than before as it inspires lip more and more. her furrowed brows loosen as you recognize the fire that is growing in her, and her realization.

“your majesty,” your head turns towards jinsoul who comes to step before you, a smile growing on her face, “your confidence will help us. your glow can help us. can you share them?” her hands reach for yours. whilst looking down, the glow on your hand travels to jinsoul as you search into her eyes and see the hope growing in them. you sense soobin standing close to you, his hand reaches for your own.

“as long as it helps the others to fight,” he answered for you and you both chuckle as you watch the grin on jinsoul’s face. choerry grabs a big glass jar as jinsoul uses her magic to transfer some of the glow into the jar until it is full. her eyes gleaming more as both you and soobin seemed to glow even more when choerry gave the jar to lip.

“jinsoul said the glow can be used to coat the swords and arrows.” choerry reiterates as lip looks down at the glow, a smile on her face.

“i will rally the people to join you along with the other keepers,” the elven girl said as you both nod, turning your head to soobin before pointing to the entrance with your chin. his grip on your hand doesn’t let go as you both fled from the barrack and towards the gate, seeing the eyes of the people watching the two of you as you jog through the gate with confidence.

each step you both take brings you to the plaza where it was attacked by the umbrae. the clean area is now filled with stains of soot and rubble from more collapsing buildings. at the end of the plaza is darkness, trails of them crawling on the ground as the sky above it is as purple as yesterday. your thumb caresses his hand as you face them, a dagger in your other hand as you stood at the being that has threatened so many people. when the doubt comes in, the shadow reacts more, slithering a tendril out to reach for both of you.

yet, you felt soobin raising his hand up to his lips and kiss the back of yours, reassuring you of his confidence as the slithering shadows stopped before them and morphed into a giant snake head. but before it finishes morphing, soobin has already let go of your hand and charged to the shadow with his sword in hand. giving the neck a slice, the snake head crumbles into smithereens and the slimy substance instantly dries out.

a grin grows on your face as you step forward beside him. your dagger swings lightly on your hand as you threw it towards the umbraes. the glow on it making it more visible as it reaches where the umbrae settles. when you first thought that it would have disappeared into the dark, it subverts your thought as you see a cut made of light and the view of the road on the other side. the umbrae reacting as its waves move to the other side and you eyed how it takes over 30 seconds for it to heal itself.

“let’s go!” you exclaimed as soobin follows beside. the slow march turns into confident steps and a charge as you approach the darkness that is getting larger and larger. the shadow reacts, shifting their presence as you watch more tendrils trailing out of the darkness. with soobin’s sword, he slices the nearest one before it shifts into the shape that it wants. your eyes glance beside you as a limping humanoid walks towards you, like the zombies you’ve watched in the movies. reaching for a dagger, you stab it through its head as it shatters and stains your uniform. your hands scrambling to get the other dagger in your hand, double-wielding it as you slice through many of the shapes of umbrae. from humanoid to animal-like to something beyond your imagination.

the smear of black goo sprites to your cheek as you felt it dripping down your face, throwing another dagger to the umbrae that was going to morph into a dragon as it bleeds black gooey substance when it slices across its throat. your eyes look around, staying alert to the nearest umbrae from you, when you heard the shout of someone calling for you.

“soobin?!” you shouted back, looking at the direction where the voice calls you to see a circle of umbraes and a sliver of soobin’s white shirt showing between the gap.

quickly, you push away the approaching umbrae as the graze of the blade is enough for it to crumble. your sight focusing on soobin’s body that is being overwhelmed by the amount surrounding him. his blade is already moving in a circle, yet the barrier is thickening, the claustrophobic situation that you count as the primary tactics of the umbrae to fight: using the most common phobias.

raising your arms up, you slice through the umbraes to create a clear path for you to soobin. cutting off one side of their image and even the middle as it fell and dirtied the ground even more. the boy’s furrowed brows were the first thing you noticed as you approached and sliced through the umbrae so close to his back as he stabbed one in front of him.

“i’m here!” he turns around as he finds you. your vision now sees clearly that he had some tears trickling down his cheek. soobin wraps his arms around you, embracing you to never let go again. seeing how this fighting affects him makes you pause your action, and you feel just how tiring it is facing them. your head instantly searched for the warmth of his shoulders as you wrapped your arms behind his back. not caring if the umbrae will reach for you and consume you whole—you can come back out from this even if you try.

but the barriers of darkness didn’t come closer. instead, it stops.

you open your eyelids to see the familiar blurriness from the many visions you have of viliya. of the old you walking around the plaza. the blurriness that makes the light slightly curved and things far away so distorted that you have to walk closer. the glow that was sticking onto the outline of your body now gone, but the blurriness has the substance of the glow, like it is expanding.

from your vision, you thought the blurriness is the uncertainty of the images you conjured.

instead, it is a shield for both soobin and you.

his sobs stop when he pulls away, finally realizing the familiar blurriness that he had also seen in his vision. he looks at you, a face full of assurance gazing back as you soothe him down with your hand by his arm. he notices that when either of you moves, some of the umbraes shatter as it still gathers to create a barrier that is being stopped by your glowing shield. you eyed him and then to the daggers in both of your hands, nodding your head as a signal for him to continue on. bringing the stained sword back beside him, you lean in and give him a peck on his lips as he answered with a small chuckle.

“CHARGE!”

a war cry sounded from outside of the barrier of umbrae as you gaze upon the large darkness. launches of arrows piercing through the darkness and chips it away. you turn your head when a gap between the barrier opens as you find lip’s determined face, double wielding rapiers in her hands as you both quickly get a grip of your weapons and continue to slice through the shadows.

as the last of it went from you both, you eyed the various citizens of viliya fighting back with their own weapons. horned people using their glow imbued blades to go through the shapes forming before them, to the winged people doing aerial attacks with their bow and arrows. a smile grows on your face as you shift to find soobin who has his own looking back at you. the two of you march as you stand beside the people, fighting away the darkness that has shrouded the island for so much time and many more that have been inside of people.

the large darkness is getting smaller and smaller, tendrils are still going out of it hastily but quickly stopped by the confidently powered viliyans. your figure approaches the source as it’s getting obliterated, chipping away by the ways it tries to fight back from the appearances of skeletons, giant spiders, and to even a mirror version of them. soobin joins you as you watched the darkness that is trying to attack you—block by your glowing shields. when it is only the last fistful of darkness there, soobin instantly stabs it with his sword, staring at it as it shifts around the blade before it drops onto the ground. your heavy breaths are the noises you heard outside of the battle, finishing outside of the barrier.

turning your body to face him, your eyes widen to see the familiar shadowy figure that haunts you behind him. and you stare at his eyes that is looking up, sensing the weight of your back as you learned of what he described of his shadow: a little boy sitting on top of your shoulders. the shadows stopped to look at you, their glowing white eyes glaring with the gaze of something that used to haunt you, but is now just a husk of fear.

dropping your dagger down beside you, you reached for soobin’s warm hands. craving his touch that comforts you through your trials and tribulations here. he doesn’t care that both of your hands are stained with the black goo, meeting his palm with yours as you finally let out the tears that you’ve been holding. and then, you suddenly cough. both of you cough as you still let your hands connect, ready to fight back against what happens to you.

you sensed something emerging from inside you as you continued to cough to let it out. your free hand in front of your lips as you spit something out. it feels heavy on your hand as you blink away the water in your eyes from the pain. the shape is jagged as you look upon a dark crystal. the core of it is a swirling raven but the outline of it is white with a glow—a wall to make the shape sturdy as ever. across from you, soobin’s hand is holding onto the same thing. the swirling substance inside looks like the one the umbrae has.

tilting your head upwards, you watched as the giant shadow behind soobin eyes the crystal in your palm. its eyes emoting for the first time—showing it getting elongated in a familiar look of joyful people as it slowly disappears. with the sound of a gasp from soobin, he finally sees the smile expression of the boy before it disappears as well, your shoulders now so light that the force of gravity tumbles you into his embrace.

the viliyans all cheer around you as you brought your arms around him, hugging him so close as you finally find the comfort of him you long to meet before finishing the war. lip and the rest of the keepers approached you. their white dresses are also stained with black substance. their eyes look at the crystals wrapped in your palm when you both pull away. that is before a white glow forms a circle behind both of you. coming from it is the familiar muffled sound of trains running on the track, people talking as they commute to their destination, and the chime of the doors.

“thank you.” jinsoul first spoke, “for coming back to us, for helping us.” you didn’t realize that there are backpack straps on them as you find yours on choerry’s back.

“it is time for you to go back to your obligations. we know it is a sudden thing for you as you both are still teenagers to face all of this.” lip added, her tight lip smile still feels so genuine as you could sense the tears brimming in your eyes. your hand is still gripping the crystal tight as you open it. soobin follows as he slowly lets the crystal in his palm slide into yours. the three keepers stand before you as well as the rest of the viliyans who looked at their leaders—courageous enough to fight at the front and motivating the rest. the boy’s hand holds onto the back of your waist.

you push your hand forward towards choerry who is looking back at you, a small pout showing on her face, “fear is always going to be here. so no need to destroy these cause fear also motivate us to continue our lives.” choerry has her palm open after you ended your words, placing it gently on it. “take good care of them. those are the fears we have to let go to continue life.”

“we sure do and...” choerry puts the crystals in her pouch before giving you your backpack. “you are always welcome to come here again. this island is yours to lead. it would be better if both of you have an input for them as well.”

“well, i trust all three of you to build viliya back. we...” soobin looks at you as you give him a small smile, “have something to do in our lives first before fully committing to viliya.”

“like graduations and all that...” you jumped in.

the three keepers look at both of you fondly as you give a smile and feel a drop of a tear falling down your cheek. lip seems to reach for her pouch and pull out the familiar pairs of black and white sleeves. “you almost forgot these,” she replies as you give a warm smile and hold the sleeves in your grasp.

with a nod, you pack your things and step closer towards the bright portal. the sight of the rest of viliyans waving their hands towards you makes you coo. even with such a short time here, many of your problems in life are solved when you just have to be brave enough to face them. and to know that there is a safe place to be uniquely you is all enough for you to have a place you can rely on. that even with no matter “normal” you are, you still have a power to change things in the world.

you turned around and faced the bright portal. looking through it, you find a vivid vision of the station where you usually wait for the seoul metro to take you home. a hand grasps into yours and the figure stood beside you, staring back at the portal as the vivid picture becomes clearer and clearer.

“will i be seeing you again?” soobin muttered as you turned your head, seeing him now looking at you.

you reach out and give him a searing kiss on his cheek, “i’m sure we will...”

both of you take a step together into the bright portal, letting the light blind and embrace you.

-

the door of the train car opens along with the familiar chime.

the passengers of seoul metro line 7 are in various outfits. from the shirts of corporate workers to the blazers of uniforms of students, the sight of elderly people who are still walking along the station to get their exercise, to the street style fashion of young adults. they decorate the sight of both the underground stations and the streets above, especially the affluent neighborhood of gangnam. it is also the sight that you see again alongside the ride from hongdae, and often see now as you tug your backpack to head back from your part-time job.

you lift your bluetooth headphones on your neck and place it on your ears, pressing play on the phone as it lets you filter out the outside sound in alongside the background music. your eyes peer up at the display now, instead of the dots have changed into screens that signals the journey along the tracks.

when the train stops at the familiar name of the station—one before cheongdam—your head already turns to the side as you watch people get in and out of the train car. your eyes searching for a specific person.

his black hair is ruffled as well as the white t-shirt he is wearing with his black tie. his hand is holding onto his phone while the other hangs on tight to his backpack. the familiar sight of him after heading back from his internship. and he turns his head to look across the set of chairs.

soobin’s eyes finding yours. and you reciprocate.

a smile adorning your face as you take a step across those seats, crossing the gap to his embrace as you head back to your home together.

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[watermelonsugacry]

harry's 30th birthday blurb with 1d!yn?! 👀

Birthday Surprises

SUMMARY: Harry celebrates his 19th and 30th birthday with the person he loves.

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn, married!ynrry

Since 2010 masterlist

Not to sound ungrateful, but Harry thinks that this was one of the worst birthday celebrations that he's ever had.

Tonight, he just wanted to spend his last year being a teenager having fun with friends—not be completely embarrassed and uncomfortable being strip teased and danced on by strippers. 

Not to mention that afterwards, One Direction’s management team had booked him to do a relationship stunt for the night. So as he walked out of the club and into his security team’s Range Rover, a tall, blonde model was by his side. As bad as it sounded, he couldn’t remember the girl’s name for the life of him. 

Nothing was going to happen with her anyways. All they had to do was a couple of paparazzi pictures of them together before they’re driven off into the night. The driver would discreetly drop her off at her own hotel before escorting Harry back to his. 

So there's not an ounce of uncertainty that when Harry comes out of the elevator, he's absolutely tired and wants nothing more than to be left alone.

He waves his card key in front of the lock and once he hears the little "beep" sound, he pushes the heavy door open.

His irritation and tiredness might have just peaked over its breaking point when he begins to hear rustling from inside. He’s already extremely worn out that he doesn’t even want to put in the effort into putting on a nice face to whoever’s inside his hotel room. But the smile that appears on his face is effortless when he sees YN flicking the wheel of the lighter over some birthday candles sticking out of a chocolate cake.

“Fucking fuck—oh, surprise!” She hops, extending her arms out beside her in what she hopes to look like a grand gesture.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re celebrating your birthday.” 

Anyone a mile away can tell how uncomfortable he was during the whole stripper fiasco. It sucked to have to stand off to the side, a faux smile on her face to see her bandmate in that type of situation. As much as she wanted to stay with him for the other “fun” festivities the night had to offer, she knew that she couldn’t let his birthday end the way it was heading. So she took the chance to leave the club a bit early and hoped that he would be up for one more celebratory, late night hang out.  

“But, but it’s already past midnight,” He blinks, still a little dumbfounded at the kind surprise before him.

"Oh come on, we only have—err—three, ah! Two more minutes until your birthday is officially over." YN pulls Harry over to the small dining table and sits him down in front of his freshly lit cake. It's then that he notices the shaky lettering on the cake that reads, “Happy Birthday Harry!” Letting him know that she went more out of her way for him than she initially let on. 

She comically clears her throat before beautifully yet quickly singing the infamous Happy Birthday song. The song isn't being yelled at to him by a big group of people, and the room isn't jam-packed with people he doesn't know. When he leans over to blow out his candles, he isn't fearful of hands going to the back of his head to stuff his face into the cake.

He doesn’t think twice about wrapping her up in his arms. He squeezes the tops of her shoulders tightly and she nestles into his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, “Thank you.”

The sentiment doesn't, can't go by unnoticed, but it doesn't seem totally out of the norm. This is Harry. A sweet and affectionate person whose love language is undoubtedly physical touch. If anything, it'd be YN feeling the one out of place in this situation. And maybe it was a change of heart towards her anti-touchy feelings or maybe it was because of his birthday. Either way, he's grateful for the way she's letting him hold her. If it were anyone else, she definitely wouldn't wrap her arms around his torso, humming at the warmth he brings.

"Well the night doesn’t have end here,” YN blinks up at him. As if they both realize their close proximity, they slowly pull away to give each other some space. “If you're still up for it and not too tuckered out, I rented that one stupid rom com you like. The one with the guy standing outside with the signs."

"Love Actually? I thought you didn't like that movie."

"Well to be fair, I actually have never seen it. But it’s your birthday and this is sort of part of my gift to you. You know, if you even wanna see it. If not, I can just fuck off and you can sleep because I know you probably had a pretty eventful day—”

She’s rambling. YN’s rambling—a quality she was never prone to particularly show, but it’s cute. He thinks she’s cute. 

“YN,” He chuckles, effectively cutting her off. “I’m down to watch it.”

“Really? Okay, cool. Because I already have the film on queue in the room so that would have been real fooking embarrassing.” Annnd she’s back.

He watches with curious eyes as she carefully slides the heavy cake plate onto her hands. 

She throws a nod towards the kitchenette, “Mind grabbing the forks.”

As much as Harry tries to resist it, he can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. He quickly grabs the two utensils before following behind her to the open bedroom. YN quite literally steps onto the foot of the bed before carefully sitting down, balancing the cake in her hands.

He sits down next to her, handing her the fork just as she begins the movie. They both dig their forks into the middle of the cake, taking out a chunk.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” She says, clicking the ends of their forks together. She happily hums at the delicious dessert but it quickly turns into a groan at the opening aong of the movie. “Ah not this stupid song again. I felt like this was all i was hearing just the other month.”

He’d be lying if he said he was watching more of the movie than her. His cheeks hurt from chuckling at her witty commentary and he tries not to make a big deal about the way she actually started to get into the film. So as he eats cake and spends the rest of the night with his best friend, he thinks that this might be the best birthday he’s had in a long time.

• 11 years later ●

YN stumbles through the front door as Harry cradles her in his arms, his mouth feverishly pressed to hers. They smile through their kisses, and he hums as she runs her finger through his growing curls. Harry kicks the door of their shared home behind him and blindly tosses the keys haphazardly in the general direction of the bowl by the door.

“Okay, okay,” YN pushes against his shoulders, finally getting a breath in, the pair still walking further into their home without separating. “So I know you said you didn't want any more presents—”

“Baby,” the grown man playfully whines. “You've already given me everything.” In all sincerity, she really has in his eyes. He’s been in love with the woman before him since they were sixteen. He wanted to be with her since their time in the band, through the making of their solo albums and everything in between. Even though it’s been a little over a year now, it still brings an explainable peace and warmth to his heart that she’s now his wife; not his friend with benefits, secret lovers, or merely a couple, but married.

And today couldn't have gone better. YN had the whole day planned. They started the day with lazy morning sex that turned into breakfast in bed. They spent the afternoon down by a secluded beach, having an impromptu dip in the water just before eating the lunch she packed for them. Then, after a plane ride to their private villa in Italy, they've just got back from having a beautiful dinner at his favorite restaurant.

“There's nothing more I could possibly want. Ooo, unless you're hiding some sexy lingerie under this fine ass dress you got here.” He says into her the crook of her neck, already sponging kisses onto her skin.

YN lets out a laugh, especially as his fingers begin to bunch up her silk dress. “No! Well, not no but—”

“So you do,” Harry says with excitement, the creases in his eyes appear when he hears her laughter. 

“Just hang on a sec. Your present is upstairs.”

“So I get to unwrap my last birthday present in the bedroom,” He teases her further. Her husband relishes in the way she lets out a girly squeal when he dips down and effortlessly lifts her over his shoulder to bring them into the master bedroom. 

 “Wait, wait,” She pushes as Harry plops them down on the bed, already trapping her underneath him. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Once she's managed to wiggle herself free (with great effort, no thanks to Harry) she scurries off to the connected bathroom.

He sits himself down on the bed, undoing the cuffs of his button up before rolling up his sleeves, preparing himself to see if wife in lacy undergarments that are only begging to be taken off by his teeth. Or torn off. Either one would work.

“H, close your eyes.” YN says from behind the door. “I mean it, no peeking.”

“Alright, alright.” He complies, already feeling a childlike sense of giddy anticipation. 

“Are they closed?”

“Yeah.”

“...are you sure?”

“Yes! For fuck sake’s woman. Being so mean on my birthday,” he laughs.

He feels the bed dip next to him before a kiss is pressed to his lips. Before he can bring his hands to her jaw to deepen the sweet kiss, he feels something being placed in his hands.

“Okay, open them,” she says against his lips.

He pulls back and sees a red box tied with a bow on top. 

“Lovie, you really shouldn't have.”

“Last one, I promise.”

Just to tease her, he brings the small box next to his head and shakes it slightly to hear the contents rattle inside.

YN makes a strategic move by placing one of her hands behind him so her thumb can twist at her rings, knowing that that's her dead giveaway for her nerves.

When he opens the lid, it's only then his face gets serious—lips slightly parted with soft eyes. On top of the pile of confetti lies a pregnancy test. The small, red plus line stares back at him clear as day.

“YN?” When he looks to his love, she begins to hold back her tears at the sight of his watery eyes and pink nose. “Is—wha—are you sure?”

“I took like five of them just to be sure,” she lets out a chuckle.

“We’re having a baby?” Words can't describe the warmth and happiness that fills her chest at his excitement. It's not like they haven't mentioned having kids before. It's been brought up a couple of times, most recently these past two years, but the timing was never right. They were always working; whether it be on making an album, working on themselves, and for the longest time, tour was their babies. But now that their 2 year world tours have ended and they've finally had time to go MIA for a couple of months, it didn't feel like a better time.

The couple wasn't setting up a schedule or anything technical to have a baby. Especially since going on their second honeymoon had been occupying their schedule right after touring was done, they decided that baby making would happen naturally. Whenever their baby decided to enter their lives, that would be the perfect time.

YN nods and before she can say the words to verbally confirm, he has her wrapped in his arms. Harry lifts her off the bed and gives her a little twirl.

As quickly as he picked her up, he's on his knees before her and puts a gentle hand on her tummy.

“Hi, bubba,” he says softly. YN beams at the sight, already wiping at the happy tears running down her cheeks. “I'm your daddy, and I love you so so much.”

After placing a gentle kiss on her stomach, he finally takes his wife's face in his hands and kisses her. It isn't rushed or filled with a sexual need. It's soft and filled with so much love and passion.

“We're gonna be parents, baby. You’re gonna make the best momma," he says sincerely, getting more emotional at the thought of holding a mini YN or a mini him in his arms in less than a year from now.

"And you're gonna make the best dad," she hums. He wraps his arms around the tops of her shoulders, pulling her close to him as she cuddles into him. He presses a kiss to her forehead and sniffs back his tears.

"I love you so much."

“i love you, baby. Happy birthday, Harry.”

.

.

taglist:

@ashtongivesmebutterflies @cacapeepee @thurhomish @armystay89

(Let me know if you wanna be added 💚)

[agaypanic]

Could you do fic for Carlisle Cullen with wife reader? It was his day off and they were just doing domestic things. Like, taking a walk in the park, having a date. It was rare that he was taking a break but he felt that he was not spending enough time with his mate and he missed her. Add anything you want. Just something fluff and cute. Lots of kisses and hugs. Bonus : The Cullen's kids appearance. Thanks!! :))

A Day Off (Carlisle Cullen X Vampire!Wife!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Feeling like he hasn’t spent enough time with you lately, your husband Carlisle takes a day off of work to do his favorite things with you. 

A/N: i have a fic kinda like this, but carlisle’s hot so im ok with writing another similar one lol. For silly plot reasons, pretend twilight takes place in the 2010s instead of the 2000s

***

“Emmett, get down here! You’re gonna be late for school!”

“Don’t worry, Y/n,” Alice said. “We’ll get there on time.”

“Sorry.” Emmett rolled his eyes as he ran down the stairs. “I slept in late.”

“How could you sleep in late? You don’t even sleep.”

Carlisle laughed at the conversation between you and Emmett. You were rounding up the kids, ready to send them on their way to school, while he was up in his office finishing up some last-minute things before he had to go to work. He listened as you said goodbye to the five vampires, getting responses in return before the door to the garage shut. Then, you made your way up to Carlisle’s office.

“Come in.” He said before you even had to knock. He looked up to see you leaning against the open door’s frame, smiling at him fondly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You pushed off the doorframe and walked around the desk. Carlisle turned his chair so he’d keep facing you. “Shouldn’t you be heading off to work?”

He sighed. “I suppose.” You stood between your husband’s open legs, taking his face into your hands. He relaxed into your touch and closed his eyes.

It had been a while since you and Carlisle had been alone together during the day. Sunny days were rare in Forks, and being the best doctor around from centuries of experience, his presence was always needed at the hospital. Especially with the recent ‘bear’ attacks.

“See you tonight?” Your voice brought Carlisle out of the trance that you had put him in. Despite both of you being ice cold, you always made him feel so warm. 

Carlisle nodded. “Of course.” You looked at each other for a moment, reveling in the silence and privacy you rarely had. “I love you.”

You grinned, leaning down to kiss him. “Forever and eternity?”

“Forever and eternity.”

Soon after that, you left his office and went back downstairs. Carlisle leaned back in his chair, tapping a simple rhythm on his desk. God, how he missed you.

Suddenly, he grabbed his phone. He quickly dialed a number and put the device to his ear.

“Hi, Denise. It’s Dr. Cullen.” He said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to call out of work for today. Family things.”

After the quick conversation, Carlisle hung up the phone and headed downstairs. He found you curled up on the couch with a book.

“What are you reading?”

“One of Edward’s books.” You answer, looking up to see Carlisle looking at you curiously and lovingly, a look he always had for you. “Don’t worry, it was mine first. Heading off to work?”

“Actually…” Carlisle rounded the couch, and you sat up to make some room for him. “I decided to take a day off.”

You looked at him with some shock. As far as you could recall, Carlisle only took time off work when the sun came out so you and your family wouldn’t expose yourselves to the humans. “Really?”

As Carlisle settled on the couch, he gently pulled you to lean against him. “I’ve realized we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately. And I missed you.”

“Aw, I’ve missed you too, darling.” You gave Carlisle a peck on the lips, but when you pulled away, he cupped the back of your neck to kiss you deeper and longer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping your thumb between the pages of your book so you wouldn’t lose your place. Carlisle’s cold but firm hands held you close to him. You only pulled away when you felt breathless, which really meant something, considering you didn’t need to breathe. “I missed that too.” You said with a giggle.

“Well, there’s more where that came from.”

Carlisle spent the next few hours reading your book to you while you lay in between his legs and on his chest. You loved the sound of his soothing voice as he absentmindedly stroked your arm. Every now and then, he kissed your head, cheek, hand, really anywhere he could reach. 

When he finished the book, he set it on the coffee table and wrapped his arms around you. “What would you like to do now?” He asked.

“Hmm…” You hummed, trying to think. “Well, usually around this time, I put on a show.”

Carlisle reached for the TV remote and handed it to you with a kiss on your cheek. You turned the television on and scrolled through until you found a show that you had been wanting to watch. 

“Pretty Little Liars.” Carlisle read the title. “Sounds interesting.”

***

“We’re home!” Emmett yelled as he and his siblings exited the garage, even though you and Carlisle could hear their cars pulling in. He jumped onto the other end of the couch, bouncing you and Carlisle slightly. “What are we watching?”

“Pretty Little Liars,” Carlisle answered. “It’s… interesting, to say the least.”

“Who’s she making out with?” Emmett asked, pointing at the screen.

“Oh, that’s her teacher.” You respond nonchalantly.

“Her what?!”

***

Twilight Taglist: @in-my-hoe-era

[tomssexdoll]

Fiery Awakening

PAIRINGS: Tom 2010 x Female reader

CONTENT: ANGST + SMUT + FLUFF

SYPNOSIS: Tom and Y/N are in a forced marriage, tied together by the power of both their wealthy businessmen fathers. Their marriage was a way to expand their businesses and get more money. Y/N and Tom hated each other, getting into fights constantly, even sleeping in different rooms. But one day, when he comes back home early from work and he finds you with your lover, things change drastically..

A/N: sorry for not uploading a req i just really liked this idea!! This does not mean reqs will not be written in future, love you guys!!!

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), eating out, heavy arguing, some violence (not towards y/n)

Me and tom were in a forced marriage, we were both children of very important business men, the marriage was a way to help both the businesses expand and get even more money. My father and his only cared about money.

Me and Tom hated each other, from the start we didn't want to get married, begging for it to be someone else, anybody else we were forced to marry. Every day we argued and screamed at each other, hitting each other and throwing stuff at each other. We even slept in different rooms.

One day, Tom was away for business, I thought he was going to be away for a while so I snuck over my lover I had been seeing for a couple of months. Unbeknownst to me, Tom had actually come home way earlier than I expected.

I was too distracted in bed to hear the door open and shut, and Toms heavy footsteps pounding on the floor as he walked. He set his briefcase down, pouring himself a whiskey. As he relaxed he suddenly tensed, hearing a strange noise coming from my room.

He crept upstairs and slowly opened the door, his eyes widening as they landed on the scene before him. I was lying in the bed, my legs spread wide as my lover knelt between them, his head buried between my thighs. "What the fuck is going on here?!" he shouted, startling the both of us. His whole world came crashing down.

"Jesus, what the fuck?!" I gasped, startled by his sudden presense. My lover, Jacob slowly peered his head out and cursed under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me he'd be home?" he hissed at me, "I didn't know he was going to be home early!" I retorted and looked back up at Tom, seeing the burning rage in his eyes.

"Why do you care anyways? It's not like we even like each other.." I grumbled. His breathing became heavy and erratic, his eyes darkening dangerously at my nonchalant attitude. He had been trying to keep his feelings from me hidden but seeing me with another man was the final straw. His jealously consumed him and he lost all control.

The glass in his hand shattered against the wall. alcohol spreading across the floor. In three long strides, he was across the room, pulling Jacob off me and throwing him against the wall. "Tom, stop! What the fuck?!" I yelped and scrambled to get my clothes, putting them on hurriedly and striding over to him.

He ignored my screams, his focus solely on destroying the man who dared to touch me. He kept punching and kicking until the guy was nothing more but a bloody, unconscious mess on the floor. "Oh god..Jacob!" I whined, trying to push past Tom to get to him.

He turned his wrathful gaze back to me. He let go of Jacob chest heaving, covered in blood splatters. He slowly turned his body to face me and stalked closer, backing me up against the wall, "oh..so you think it's fucking okay to bring your little boyfriend over when I'm not here? To FUCK in your bed, in OUR HOUSE?!" he shouted, his face inches from mine.

His eyes were wild, pupils dilated with manic obsession. He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. My cheeks were flushed and my hair dishevelled. He saw the mark on my neck, my lovers doing.

He gritted his teeth, his voice dropping dangerously low, "answer the fucking question Y/N.." his voice was shaky, almost like he was hurt. My words came out quickly, before I could even think about what I was saying, "why do you care? I don't fucking love you and you don't love me, you probably fuck women behind my back too!" I yelled

His eyes blazed with fury and something else..jealously? Desire? He slammed his fist onto the plaster beside my head, cracking it slightly. He leaned in close until his lips nearly brushed against mine, "are you fucking serious right now..?" he spat out angrily. Toms grip on my chin tightened painfully, causing me to wince softly.

"Do you want to know why I don't sleep around?" I kept silent, knowing I had no other choice but to listen anyway. "Because every time I fucking try..I can't get you out of my head," he said, his voice hoarse. "I can't touch another woman without seeing your face, without imagining you. It's like you haunt me, I hate it. I hate you..." his voice slightly cracked, his chest heaving even more now.

"And now..you're here, with this fucking douche? While I can't get you out of my head!" he yelled, a sob escaping his lips. "You know what? No. You are not to see that motherfucker anymore..I don't give a shit, you're MINE, MY wife." he stormed over to Jacob, grabbing his unconscious body and throwing him outside the room.

He slammed the door shut, locking it and turning back to me with a terrifying look in his eyes. "You're mine.." he grumbled, grabbing my waist and crushing me against his chest. He smashed his lips into mine, kissing me passionately.

His tongue forced it's way into my mouth, kisses desperate and rough. He pushed me harder into the wall, one hand tangling in my hair as the other slid down to possessively grab my ass. "You want to know why I really fucking hate you?" he muttered against my lips.

"Why.." I moaned softly, "because I love you, I DO. Not him, ME." he said firmly, biting my lower lip. "I fucking love you and it makes me sick. But I can't stop, I can't stop thinking about you, stopping myself from fucking you..." he whispered softly.

I tried to speak but no words left my mouth. He saw my parted lips, my dilated pupils, the way I reacted to every touch of his, I was just as turned on as him. He knew I was shocked too, he always kept his feelings hidden, his walls high. He hasn't meant to admit all of this but it was too late to go back.

"You know what else I hate?" he released me abruptly, stepping back. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, "I hate how fucking powerless I am around you. How one look from those gorgeous, deadly eyes and I'm utterly fucked.." he sighed, "ready to destroy anyone who touches you."

"I hate how I can't even be mad at you without wanting to end up burying my face between your thighs, or..or fucking you until you scream my name..fucking your mouth until you gag on my cock..." he walked closer, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around my throat possessively.

"I hate that I can't even stand to be apart from you, you may not see me but I lurk..oh yes I do.." he grunted, "I hate that I love you more than I hate you.." he slowly lowered his hand and leaned down, placing soft kisses all over my neck and jawline.

"But most of all.." he whispered against my skin, "I hate that you're not in my fucking bed right now..screaming my name as I devour you.." I gasped as he kissed, bit and sucked at my skin, marking me as his. His hands roamed over my body, possessive and rough. He stopped suddenly, trailing his lips to my ear, "if you're not naked in that bed in about 30 seconds..I swear to god..." he let the threat hang in the air, unfinished but terrifyingly vivid in it's implication.

I nodded softly and slowly slipped my clothes off again, throwing them aside. He watched hungrily as I disrobed, his jaw clenching as he took in my naked form. As soon as the last article of clothing hit the floor he grabbed me and lifted me up, he threw me on the bed and climbed up my body, obsessively kissing everywhere until he got to my aching pussy.

"Tom.." I whined, my eyes rolling back as his lips attached to my clit, sucking softly. He settled between my legs, looking u at me with intense eyes. "Shut up.." he mumbled against my core. He devoured me, completely obsessed with my taste and the sounds I made. "You're fucking perfect.." he mumbled, "could he even make you feel as good as I am, hm?" he asked, his own question making him mad.

He paused briefly, his tongue swirling round my most sensitive spot. "Tell me.." he growled, his voice muffled against my sensitive flesh. "Could he make you feel like this? Could he make you arch off the fucking bed and beg like this?!" his fingers reached up and slid inside me, curling fiercely.

"Mmh! No!" I moaned loudly, my hands flying to his braids and grabbing tightly. He groaned at my admission, his tongue and fingers moving with renewed vigour. He looked up at me again, his face glistening with my arousal. "No one else can touch you like this, no one else can make you moan like this.." he said, his voice low and commanding.

"Fuckkk!" I whined, my grip on his hair tightening. He continued to eat me out ruthlessly, almost like he was trying to punish me. His fingers pumped in and out of me, curling over and over to hit that spot inside me that drove me mad. "You're MINE, this pussy is MINE.." he grumbled angrily, licking and swirling my clit furiously,

"Don't stop! Oh my god don't stop!" I screamed, my moans getting louder by the minute. With a wicked grin, he obeyed my command, never stopping his relentless assault on my pussy with his tongue. His tongue worked magic, alternating between long, slow licks and teasing flicks on my clit.

He growled softly, seeing my body squirm and hearing my desperate moans. He spread my legs wider, lifting them over his shoulders. He ate me out like a starving man, his tongue delving deep inside me only to switch back to my clit. "Come all over my face baby.." he murmured against my core, my body tensing as my orgasm rapidly approached.

I arched my back off the bed and squealed. As I came he sucked hard on my clit, his fingers pumping furiously inside me. He lapped up every single drop of my release, letting it drip down his chin. When I finally went limp, he crawled up my body, claiming my lips in a possessive, messy kiss, "oh you think we were fucking done? No way..we are just getting started princess.." he growled, grabbing my hips possessively.

I wrapped my shaky legs around his waist and pulled him in closer. He smirked, already super hard. His bulge pressed insistently against my core. He grinded against me, hitting my clit, making me moan softly. He captured my bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently, "you like that...?" he whispered, his hips rolling slowly.

"Stop teasing.." I gasped, my voice quiet and breathy. He let out a deep, satisfied laugh, knowing exactly how much I wanted him. "What do you want baby..?" he whispered against my ear, grinding against me again. His hands grabbed my wrists firmly, pinning them above my head. "You want my cock inside you?" he asked, gently kissing down my ear to my neck, knowing how sensitive I was. "Yes...oh god yes.." I gasped, taking a shuddering breath.

He chuckled and sat back up on his knees, he unbuckled his belt and slowly slid it off, throwing it aside. He moved down to the button of his jeans and dragged the zipper down ever so slowly, loving the way small, impatient whines would leave my lips. Eventually, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants, dragging both his boxers and his jeans down, letting his thick, throbbing erection spring out.

He smirked at my reaction, my eyes wide and my jaw on the floor, practically drooling at the size. Slowly, he lined himself up with my entrance and pushed inside, inch by inch. He filled me completely, loud, desperate whines escaping me as he stretched me out, his hips pressing against mine. He immediately started slamming himself in and out, wanting to punish me again, yet pleasure me to prove he was better.

He thrusted hard and deep, making sure each movement spoke volumes about his dominance. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room along with my moans. He was determined to make me forget any lover I'd ever had. "Does he fuck you like this..?" he growled, his voice low and commanding, "no, only you!" I gripped onto him tightly, my nails digging into his back.

He hummed in satisfaction and slammed into me hard enough that the headboard hit the wall, his hips moving with brutal precision. "Can he even make you this wet, hm? Can he make you scream his name like you scream mine, HUH?!" he yelled, his eyes flashing with intense jealously.

I was experiencing so much pleasure I could barely talk, my vision blurred and my head hazy, "mmmh..no!" I blurted out. He grabbed my legs roughly and placed them on his shoulders, the angle changing so with each thrust he was hitting my g spot, making me scream louder.

"You're mine, always mine. This pussy belongs to me..not to him, me." He punctuated his words with particularly hard thrusts, "fuck, you feel so good.." he groaned, his balls slapping against my ass. "Look at you.." he chuckled darkly, "look at how wet you get when I talk dirty to you, like a fucking fountain.." he teased softly.

I felt my orgasm getting closer, my tits bouncing wildly with every thrust. He could sense my orgasm by the way my pussy would clamp down on his cock softly, the pressure building slowly. He doubled his efforts, his pace increasing even further, fucking me with a fierce intensity as he chased his own climax. "Fuck baby, cum with me!" he yelled, his hand reaching down to rub rough circles on my aching clit.

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!" I yelped, my orgasm coming crashing down, my legs trembling. Feeling my pussy clamp down around him triggered his orgasm, he threw his head back with a loud groan, his cock pulsing inside me as he released rope after rope of cum. "Holy fuck.." he panted, collapsing on top of me, his heavy breathing mingling with mine as we tried to catch our breath.

After a moment he lifted his head, a small smirk on his face as he looked down at me, "you're amazing.." he whispered and kissed me gently. I sighed, knowing we had to talk about the elephant in the room, the burden of our supposed "unhappy" marriage. I finally spoke up, "why did you hide your feelings from me this whole time..we've been living this supposed unhappy marriage and fighting constantly but..but here you were, secretly having feelings for me?" I traced gentle patterns on his arm.

He sighed deeply, his fingers gently stroking my hair, "I was terrified," he admitted softly, his usual bravado melting away. "Terrified of messing up what we had, even if it was dysfunctional. Terrified that if I showed my true feelings, you might leave...you know, at least if we fought all the time and..and we stayed together for the business, you wouldn't go.." he said, a hint of vunerability in his voice.

"But I can't hide it anymore..certainly not after this.." he chuckled softly, "but seriously, I love you more than I love my own life. And I'm done pretending otherwise," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm done fighting.." he whispered softly.

I smiled and kissed him gently, "I guess I kind of feel the same, I've just been pushing it down. I always considered a good life with you, having a family, making the most out of this shitty situation but it seemed too late, that's why I seeked that love in others..I'm so sorry Tom.." he smiled, a tear rolling down his face at my confession, "fuck..don't apologise.." he whispered, kissing the top of my head. "I understand, I get it. But, we are DONE running, baby. We're staying right here and making this work, together."

tags: @ballhair @bills-wife-1 @bkaulitzlover

tags: @ella1289 @billsdolliest @tomscumdoll

tags: @tomsfuckdoll @tomkslut @miyukafujii

tags: @itsangelll

[applepieshy]

I had an idea to redesign vox because I didn't love that a character obsessed with modernization would wear a top hat and bowtie. then after a brief stint into madness where I read my partner's historic costuming textbook I drew.... all this.

(side note: the idea of vox being a trans man who transitioned AFTER death was super compelling and absolutely inspired by @prince-liest so while this is not direct fanart of their series I wanted to give a shoutout anyway!!!)

okay some TRULY unhinged rambling about historic costume below the cut YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

1950s: for this design I very much did not want to go to the typical a-line housewife look, because I feel that is unfitting for vox's character. instead I went for a more business look, but there is still a level of femininity that he would have been expected to perform. i wanted to express his discomfort with that through the pose and expression, though at the time he wouldn't necessarily have a framework for why he hated it

1960s: this one was very fun. i loved the idea of vox beginning to eschew some of the expected feminine presentation, and he no longer wears makeup, jewelry, or hose (though its hard to tell in black & white); however, he's kind of at war with himself in this time period. he's obsessed with seeming perfect and having a respectable image, so he would not go in for the counter-culture movements that were so big in the 60s. he's still kind of riding those coattails though, pushing those boundaries while still not acknowledging his queerness.

1970s: to me, it was very important that the gender hit as he entered the world in color. in my mind the gender euphoria is physically manifested in a wizard of oz situation - he can become who he always has been. anyway, gender aside, I think it was very important to me personally that he wore an ascot. it was for my mental health.

1980s: I wanted the 1980s to be the period where he began to gain some power and notoriety because of the de-regulation of television during this period to allow more ads, mirroring real-world history. I think if the 70s were when vox gained some real confidence, the 80s are when he got an Ego (tm). "business casual" also began to become more acceptable in this time period, and the t-shirt/suit jacket combo was very important for me to include, as to me it epitomizes the commercialism and machismo of the 80s.

1990s: this was actually the decade I was the most nervous to design, and yet I think it turned out the best? the 90s are known for grunge, which I think is NOT vox's style at all. I decided instead to lean hard into the yuppie look, which I know is more associated with the 80s but was definitely still a thing in the 90s. I also allowed a little hip-hop influence in the form of a gold chain from val, which is not something I think vox would ever pick on his own.

2000s: if the 90s were the decade I was worried about and turned out great, the 2000s are the decade I thought I had down SO GOOD and then totally floundered in execution. I still love the bubble-mac inspired head, and I tried to make his clothes as "round" as possible. I also like that this is the time where his saturation got cranked. however, I don't know if I'm in love with the vest and super bright sneakers, because again, looking back on it, he kind of looks like he works at a movie theater or best buy or some shit lol,,,

2010s: I think it's telling that this is by far the closest to his canon design (2014 tumblr lookin ass). I really wanted to pull from that hipster tech bro era, but unfortunately that aesthetic has a veneration for "retro" which again, is not fitting for vox. I still think he would wear the bowtie during this time because, well... he sure does in the show!

2020s: this was fun because I had an excuse to pull from haute couture design rather than street fashion because of the introduction of velvette into his life. I truly do not think velvette would let vox and val walk around in the outfits that they do because it would be an actual embarrassment LMAO. for this, I wanted his decorative "robes" to be evocative of the time he depicted himself as a priest AND of a cape/robe of an emperor. he does think of himself as that bitch, after all.

[pathologicalreid]

the lost daughter | s.r.

in which JJ goes missing in the middle of the night, and Spencer's attempts to comfort you completely fall through

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: death, kidnapping, jareau!reader, takes place during 9x14 "200", caryatids, sibling loss, the british word count: 2.83k a/n: wrote this with my own sibling loss grief in mind so this is just me using fanfic as therapy. not sure if it's any good really. thanks for reading <3

You were already in the roundtable room by the time everyone came in, Penelope was making alarming faces at her laptop before she shook her head, “I’m trying,” she said. “I’m trying to pull data off of JJ’s phone, but it’s like level 9 security—it would make Snowden weep.”

Familiar hands settled on your shoulders, thumbs gently skimming over your collarbones as you watched the rest of the team sprawl around the room. “What about cell phone records?” Blake was next to speak, asking about your sister’s welfare when you couldn’t—too afraid of falling apart to so much as part your lips.

The look of desperation on Garcia’s face did nothing to comfort you, “Encrypted. JJ’s and Cruz’s.” With the disappointing news came a squeeze to your shoulders, Spencer’s silent attempt to comfort you without drawing too much attention to his movements.

Rossi shrugged, “That’s not surprising if they work for the State Department,” he reasoned, looking around the rest of the room.

You leaned back in the office chair, trying to remember how to place your feet on the ground, but it was hard when the soles of your shoes felt like a foreign sensation. “But if that assignment was a backstop,” Morgan started, “then JJ’s transfer as DOD Liaison was her cover.”

Spencer’s thumb ran from the base of your cervical spine to the base of your skull, working out a knot that had been there since you received a call from Will, asking if you knew where your sister was. “So, what was she really doing that year?” Spencer asked, the question sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin, fear making your blood run cold.

“That’s the first question Hotch is gonna ask,” Derek answered, easily slipping into the role of team leader in Hotch’s absence. “Strauss was pressured by the executive branch to push JJ’s transfer through in 2010, so she would have known the reason why.”

Your eyes immediately flicked to Rossi, wondering if Erin Strauss had divulged any state secrets over the duration of their relationship together. Though, you imagined Strauss maintained her oath of secrecy, much like your sister had in the three years since her reassignment. “Any assignment that Strauss authorized would be archived in the SCIF,” Spencer responded, his thumb smoothing over the hair at the nape of your neck.

Garcia looked alarmed, “That facility is code word classified.” She glanced around the room as if she was already searching for new ideas, but Derek seemed convinced.

His head bobbed, “Okay, but Anderson can get you in. He archives those reports,” he began to outline a plan. “Blake, Rossi, JJ couldn’t have used the SCIF without drawing attention. She probably has it foxholed right here in the BAU. We just need to find it,” his head rotated, meeting the gaze of everyone in the room—except for you.

“And what are you not telling us?” Blake asked, slipping both of her hands into the pockets of her blazer.

Morgan’s eyes dropped to meet yours, and you already knew what was coming. “Whoever took Cruz and JJ is highly trained and highly organized. Justice, defense, and state—they wouldn’t be on edge like this if this was a simple matter of two missing agents,” he explained.

You stiffened at his response, and Spencer restarted his ministrations, dropping his hands to your shoulders and working on your shoulder blades. “Is Hotch worried that the recovery won’t be made a priority?” Rossi asked, eyes flittering to you—even though they tried to hide it, everyone was sparing you nervous glances.

“It’s our job to find the leverage that assures it is. Let’s get it done,” Morgan said, nodding his head confidently before allowing the room to disperse.

Shaking off Spencer’s touch, he let you go without a fight, knowing that you wouldn’t be going anywhere far while your sister was still missing. You ducked your head, letting your hair curtain around your face while you walked out of the BAU, vaguely aware of the muttering that followed in your wake.

You shoved your way through the glass doors and turned the corner, practically throwing yourself into Morgan’s office before pressing your back to the wall and sliding down the drywall.

Visualizing the movement of air in and out of your lungs, you tried to teach yourself how to breathe normally. Something that was usually autonomic required more focus than usual, your thoughts so preoccupied with fear that you had to make a conscious effort to inhale and exhale.

The overwhelming feeling of impending doom hadn’t struck you until just then, sitting in the roundtable with your team and being left to wonder what might happen if you can’t convince the state to save your sister. You would have to call your mom and tell her that she’d have to bury another one of her daughters, Henry would have to grow up without his mother, and you would become an only child.

You never had to worry about being alone because you always had your sister, particularly in your adult life when you moved to D.C. JJ made a point to be dependable, to be someone that you could rely on no matter what was going on in her life, and the situation you found yourself in made you wonder if you never reciprocated. Her assignment was classified, but you wondered if she had ever tried to clue you into what she was doing during her time at the Pentagon. You wondered if she would’ve told you even if it was permitted.

It seemed too cruel. Parents weren’t supposed to have to bury their children and sisters weren’t meant to end up alone. The world couldn’t possibly be cruel enough to take JJ from you—she was the only sister you had left.

She promised you, after Roslyn died, that she’d never leave you alone. It was the most vivid memory you had from that early in your childhood. That period of time, from the moment JJ found her in the bathroom to the date of the funeral, you could recall it with alarming accuracy. For the longest time, you thought they were all manufactured, something you had dreamt up as if you were on a therapist’s couch.

But it was real, the fighting, the blood, the necklace—all of it was so devastatingly real.

Morgan’s office was cold, your fingertips frigid in the dim lamplight, you hadn’t even noticed your shadow until he was lowering himself to the ground in front of you, crisscrossing his legs so you were level. He leaned his head forward and set his chin on your knee, his posture so bad it would make dignitaries cry, but it allowed him to meet your eyes even while your head was tilted down.

You put your hands in a praying gesture and slid them between your thighs to warm them up, making eye contact with Spencer while he wiped at the tears on your cheeks. “What’s going through your head right now?” His voice was gentle, he didn’t want to push you, he just wanted to hear from you.

“The British Museum,” you answered because your fears of catastrophe would just worry him more.

He chuckled lightly at your answer, acknowledging that that was the last thing he expected you to say. “Can I ask why?”

Splaying out your fingers, you felt the sensation of the rough denim of your jeans on your knuckles—two of them split from hand-to-hand combat. You leaned your head back, focusing on your surroundings for a moment—Morgan’s office always smelled like cologne and a little bit like old man, which Penelope thought was the ghost of the agent that Derek had inherited his office from. “She was stolen from her sisters so long ago, and now no matter what anyone says or does, they won’t give her back,” you told him, your voice suddenly weak.

Emotion made your throat swell, and the way Spencer was tenderly skimming his fingertips over your thigh wasn’t helping. “Won’t give who back, honey?”

“The Caryatid,” you said urgently as if the answer should’ve been obvious to him. His eyes widened in response, maybe it concerned him that you were relating to a statue, and maybe it was right for him to be worried about you.

Six statues, constructed to support the roof of the Erechtheion in Greece, named after Caryae, which was an ancient town of Peloponnese. Vitruvius said they were constructed to represent the women of the town, women who were enslaved because the town sided with Xerxes during his second invasion of Greece.

Six sisters, built to carry burdens and remind people of the sin committed by Caryatid women.

Five statues, residing in the Acropolis Museum for their own protection while their sister lives alone in the British Museum because she was stolen. Taken by Lord Elgin and despite the insistence of those all over the world, she’s never been returned.

You wondered if she missed her sisters. If the arm she was missing had broken off when she was taken hundreds of years ago, and they had stopped her from reaching out to the only home she had ever known. You knew you would rather detach your own arm than live without your sister, you couldn’t bear the thought of not being a sibling anymore.

“I’m still here,” you whispered, looking straight forward and letting fresh tears fall from your eyes, “and when they’re both dead and I’m still here—what do I do?”

Spencer’s expression was pained, it killed him to know that there was nothing he could do to take your hurt away, it killed him to notice the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes. “She’s not going to die,” he insisted with an uncharacteristic note of optimism in his voice, producing hope when you had already scraped the bottom of that barrel.

Your nostrils flared in frustration, “You can’t promise me that.”

He nodded, “We are going to get her back, okay? We’ll get your sister back for you, and that is a promise.” Sad brown eyes bored into you, a sense of urgency that you very rarely saw in Spencer.

You shook your head, pulling your knees closer to your chest, effectively pushing him away. “You can’t promise me that she won’t die, we don’t even know where she is,” you reminded him.

“Honey,” he breathed, the word dripping in desperation as he tried to get you to meet his eyes, but you were looking past him—through him. “Hey,” he tried again, reaching out and sweeping a lock of hair behind your ear, “Garcia and I are going to the SCIF with Anderson, and I think you should stay here. If you’re up to it, you can help Rossi and Blake look for the foxhole.”

Just like that, he was gone, seemingly unaffected by your rejection of his reassurance, Spencer walked out of the office, leaving the door open a crack behind him.

The worst part was that you had known that JJ’s assignment was a backstop. You knew that there was something deeper going on because you could see it in her, you knew her just as well as you knew yourself. At least you thought you did.

Your suspicions started when she needed you as an emergency contact, citing that her job needed someone outside of her household to be part of her file. The cagey phone calls and missed lunch dates only added to your suspicions, but she never caved. “Where were you, JJ?” You asked yourself, speaking into the emptiness of Morgan’s office.

JJ had left the BAU just before you joined, and at the time everything seemed like it just worked out. When she decided to return, you got to stay, and being able to work with your sister felt like a dream come true—something right out of a film.

You held your head in your hands, pushing at your cheeks with your palms and trying to convince yourself to get up. You couldn’t hold the roof up without your sister. There was no way you’d be able to avoid crumbling without her.

So, you got up.

You ducked your head as a bullet ricocheted off of the iron in front of you, the BAU scattered throughout the warehouse as the search for your sister climaxed. She had to be here, it had been too long, and Askari wouldn’t let her survive this. “He’s headed to the roof,” Rossi said, and you heard footsteps echoing through the orange-lit space.

“So’s JJ,” Blake added, nodding assuredly from a few steps away.

Your head snapped up quickly enough to catch a flash of golden hair as JJ ran through the warehouse, chasing Michael Hastings. Spencer tried to get you to wait, but by the time the words left his mouth, you had already broken off into a sprint and fell into a line behind your sister and Emily.

Keeping your firearm drawn, you follow them to the roof, catching up with your sister and Emily, a thousand words exchanged in that first glance between the two of you. You didn’t have time for a proper reunion, not with Emily peeking around the corner, trying to get a shot at Hastings.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard helicopter blades whirling, getting closer and closer to you. No one had the chance to speak before JJ was running again, rounding the corner and scaling the ladder along the side of the building.

It was left hand-to-hand, and once your sister had given him enough momentum, you had to lunge forward to catch her. Hastings nearly dragged her off of the building with him, but you and Emily caught her, grabbing her hands and hauling her off of the ledge.

The three of you stood in a circle, looking around at each other as if no time had passed, as if Emily hadn’t flown here from London just to find her. “JJ,” you breathed, desperate for something, anything. The universe punished you for catastrophizing by watching the pain set in, JJ’s adrenaline faded now that she wasn’t in the midst of a chase, and the pain of the last several hours was able to show through.

You were about to offer to get down, to find her somewhere quiet to sit, but before you could, she hugged you. JJ nearly launched herself at you and gave you what you so desperately needed—your sister.

“It’s okay,” you said, pressing your face into her shoulder and letting your tears dry as quickly as they fell. “I’ve got you, J,” you assured her, your eyes flickering up to meet Emily’s, concern plain in her furrowed brow.

Slowly, the two of you got JJ off of the roof, and you met up with the rest of the team at the front door. You watched silently as everyone exchanged hugs with your sister, and you kept an eye on her even as she spoke with Cruz in the ambulance.

A familiar hand found its home on your waist, and you subconsciously leaned into Spencer’s touch, “She should go to the hospital.”

You scoffed, “Good luck convincing her of that,” you responded, raising your eyebrows as Hotch helped JJ down from the rig.

Just as you thought, she fought you on it, refusing to get in the back of an ambulance, but being okay with someone else driving her there. The only stipulation was that she needed to call Will first, and he could meet her at the hospital.

“How are you?” Spencer asked, leaning on the passenger door of an SUV while you kept an eye on your sister, watching her talk to Will and tell him that she’s fine.

JJ would always be fine. To someone else, that might’ve been enough, but you knew her better than that. Something was bothering her, but you feared it would take more than one conversation for you to get it out of her. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, trying to absorb his body heat into yours.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he insisted, dropping a soft kiss to the roof of your head.

Slumping your shoulders in disappointment, you looked up at him, “I shouldn’t have gotten so frustrated with you.”

Spencer is silent for a moment, shoving his hands in the pockets of his FBI jacket, “You were so scared, worse than I’ve ever seen you. Worse than you were when you were abducted, and I just wanted to reassure you. You were right though; I shouldn’t have promised.”

You shook your head, smiling up at him, “You were right. We did find her. You kept your promise.”

“I’m not really in the business of making promises that I can’t keep,” Spencer responded, cupping your face with his hands.

Raising your eyebrows, your eyes flickered over to JJ again, “Maybe you should be, you have a 100% success rate.”

[loud-sturniolos]

Gender reveal

A dad!Chris Sturniolo fanfic

SUMMARY:

Intimate gender reveal between Chris, you, Matt and Nick.

WARNINGS:

Fluff, swearing, dad!Chris, kinda short, not proofread, kinda shit I’m half asleep😭

A/N:: I am redoing my tag list + Gonna post a bit more! Comment if you want to be added^^

You heard the front door open, and immediately knew Chris and his brothers were home. You stood up off the sofa, and smiled when Chris, Matt and Nick walked in, each with 2 full bags from Target. Chris walked over and kissed your cheek, then crouched down to press a kiss to your baby bump, “How’s my special little man doing?” You looked down at him, letting out a small laugh. “The baby is fine, and you dont know if it’s a boy yet.” You tease, ruffling his hair before walking towards the kitchen where Nick and Matt had started unpacking the bags, Chris trailing behind quickly.

“Did you get the plain cupcakes?” “Yes.” “And both blue and pink frosting?” “Yep.” “And the-“ “We got everything you asked for. Calm down.” You shrugged and grabbed the bag of chips, opening them and popping one into your mouth. “Just gotta make sure.” Chris reached over, trying to sneak a chip, but you batted his hand away before he could. “Hey, that’s not nice. Let me have one, ma.” He said, putting on a fake pout. “No, get your own.” “And don’t pout, you’re not 3, Chris.” Nick added on, not-so kindly.

An hour later, everything was set up for the small gender reveal. A small arch of blue and pink balloons, the gender reveal cake, and extra cupcakes decorated in either pink or blue.

You felt Chris walk up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist and his hands splaying across the baby bump through your clothes. “Lookin’ good, ma.” He said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Me, or the decorations?” You teased, “Both.” Chris said against your head, you could practically hear his grin. Chris gestured to the cupcakes, “Can I try one?” “Fine. Just one.” You giggled as he immediately grabbed a boy-themed cupcake and started eating it.

Matt and Nick walked over, each with grins on their faces. “We doing this now, or what?” Nick asked, you responded by pointing at Chris, who was still shoving cake down his throat, “Once he’s finished his cupcake.” Matt let out a small chuckle, leaning against the wall and taking a photo of the table of cupcakes and the balloon arch to post on his friends-only.

After Chris finally finished his cupcake and washed it down with a Pepsi, he was stood next to the cake, trying to figure out how to cut it. “Chris, dude, just cut the cake.” “No, I don’t want to ruin the decoration.” He says firmly, he finally finds a safe place to cut the cake without ruining any of the decor. He lines up the knife, then slowly cuts the cake in half. He stares at the cut cake for a moment, holding his breath as he slowly pushes the halves apart to reveal a pale blue cake. Chris lets out a soft gasp, immediately spinning to face you. “I.. it’s a boy??” You nod in response, a huge smile on your face, then as Chris runs over and engulfs you in a bear hug you let out a squeal.

After a long, tight, 5 minute hug from Chris, he finally lets go and allows Nick and Matt to hug you. “You got name ideas yet?” Nick asks curiously as he pulls away from your guys’ hug, his hands staying firmly on your biceps. “No, no names yet, Nick.” You replied, slightly amused. “Okay, well, if you need name ideas just come to me.” “Absolutely not. Babe, do not go to Nick; he’ll probably say some name off RuPaul.” Chris says with a blank, firm look. You giggled and rolled your eyes playfully, “Alright, alright. Wont go to Nick for name ideas.” “Good.”

[iibgdrgn]

STAR-SHAPED HEALING RECIPE! KWON JI-YONG / M! READER

↳ pairing: 2010! kwon ji-yong x male reader

↳ word count: 3.4k

↳ warnings: none

↳ a/n: heeellooo. don’t have so much to say, this is pure fluff. i got inspired by that video where bom goes to the studio even though she's sick. :p enjoyyy!

It was the second day of your cold, the day when everything just felt worse. Your head was heavy, your throat felt like it had been scraped with sandpaper, and your entire body pulsed with feverish heat despite the biting winter chill outside. You couldn't even remember how you got sick in the first place. Maybe it was the night you stubbornly walked out without a coat, thinking winter wouldn't dare mess with your schedule. Now, your whole body was paying the price.

Still, despite the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat that burned every time you swallowed, you didn't think twice about showing up. You'd promised Ji-yong you'd be at the studio today to record your part of the song, and you weren't about to break that promise. He'd been working hard trying to finish this track so he could move on to the next one. You knew how much it meant to him. How much he hated leaving things unfinished.

So... you didn't tell him you were sick.

Instead, you bundled yourself in two coats, wrapped your thickest scarf twice around your neck, and downed two mugs of ginger tea like a desperate spell. You even took cough drops like candy, hoping the mint would numb your throat long enough to sing something usable.

You arrived a little late, the cold biting at your cheeks as you stepped into the hallway. Through the half-closed door of the studio, you saw him.

Ji-yong was sitting at the desk, hoodie up, scarf around his neck, pen tapping rhythmically against his notebook. His head moved with the silent beat in his head, brows slightly furrowed, completely immersed in whatever he was writing. He was quiet, focused, beautiful in a way that made you pause outside the door, just watching.

You pushed the door open gently.

The sound made him lift his head, and the second he saw you, his whole face lit up. That soft, almost boyish grin appeared immediately as he patted the empty chair beside him.

Ji-yong turned his chair to look at you.

"Good morning, jagi." He said, smiling.

You barely had time to smile before his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks gently as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. His scarf brushing your face.

He pulled back slightly and frowned. "Wait... babe—you're burning up."

He stared at you, frowning now, one palm going to your cheek like he needed to confirm it. The warmth of his touch was oddly comforting, and you leaned into it for just a second too long.

"Hm? I had to run. I forgot to eat, so I stopped at that café near the corner. Didn't notice the time and I had to hurry."

Ji-yong squinted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Why didn't you just eat downstairs? The cafeteria's open."

You didn't answered for a moment, and you thought he catched you.

"They didn't had what I wanted."

He didn't speak for a second, just stared at you with narrowed eyes like he was replaying the conversation in his mind. But then... he let it go.

A soft exhale. A quiet smile. He gave your cheek one last squeeze, then turned back to his desk, spinning slightly in his chair as he focused on the screen in front of him. The track was already loaded, the waveforms of the instruments and vocals dancing on the monitor.

"Alright," he said, tone shifting into something more practical, "your part starts here."

He passed you his notebook, where your verse was neatly handwritten, little annotations scribbled in the margins, underlined words he wanted emphasized, a couple of circled syllables. His handwriting was a little messy, but somehow still elegant.

You nodded as you scanned the lines, trying to ignore the fact that the letters were starting to blur.

Ji-yong didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn't suspect anything beyond your usual sleep-deprived self. He leaned over the console, adjusting the levels, humming softly under his breath. "We'll do a soft take first. Just to warm up your voice."

He was being gentle without realizing it.

You stood, slipping off your coat slowly, careful not to let the sudden wave of chills show on your face. The cold clung to your skin like a second layer, and even with the thick scarf around your neck, your body trembled slightly as you crossed the room.

Ji-yong glanced up from the controls, smiling again. "Ready?"

You nodded once, then stepped inside the booth. You let out a quiet breath, one hand pressing against the headphones as you slid them on, the other adjusting the mic with fingers that trembled just a little too much.

He adjusted the track from the other side of the glass and gave you a thumbs up, his expression glowing with quiet anticipation.

The track started in your headphones. You took a deep breath, trying to summon the voice you'd practiced all week, but as soon as you opened your mouth, only a faint, strained whisper came out. The note cracked on the second syllable, your throat tightening painfully.

Ji-yong's brows pinched the slightest bit. He leaned toward the screen, adjusted the input volume, then spoke into the mic.

"Let's try that one more time, love. I think the input was a little low."

You gave a small nod, trying to act like it wasn't your voice at fault.

The instrumental restarted. You cleared your throat, softly, and tried again. This time you made it halfway through the verse before your voice gave out completely, breaking into a dry cough that you couldn't suppress.

Through the glass, Ji-yong's expression shifted, his smile dropped, concern flickering into his features as he leaned back in his chair.

He didn't press the button to speak this time. Instead, he stood up.

You saw him disappear from view for a moment. A second later, he was outside the booth.

You lowered your hand from your mouth, trying to play it off like nothing happened, but your flushed face and watery eyes because of the cough betrayed you before you could say a word.

Ji-yong stepped inside, softly closing the door behind him. The noise of the outside world faded instantly, leaving just the two of you in a cozy, quiet little bubble.

"Hey," he said, voice so gentle it made your chest ache. "You okay?"

You opened your mouth, but words didn't come out right away. His eyes, those warm, worried eyes, made it hard to lie.

Still, you gave a small, guilty shrug and managed a whisper, "I'm fine. Just... didn't warm up properly."

Ji-yong didn't respond right away. Instead, he took a single step closer, then slowly, lifted his hand and rested it against your cheek. His palm was cool compared to your skin, and the moment he touched you, his brows drew in with worry.

"You're burning up again," he murmured. "Like—seriously, babe. You've got a fever."

You looked away, guilty. "It's not that bad. I just didn't want to cancel today. You've been working so hard, and I thought if I layered up and drank tea, I'd be fine."

Ji-yong’s eyes softened, the corners of his mouth tugging down, not in frustration, but in that tender way he only reserved for you when he was worried.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair gently behind your ear.

You blinked slowly, lips parting, but no words came out.

He sighed, but it wasn't annoyed. It was fond. Deeply, achingly fond.

"Baby," he whispered, stepping even closer, "I don't care about the song more than I care about you."

You looked up at him, and he cupped your face with both hands now, thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks.

"But-"

He didn't let you finish. He shook his head with the faintest smile, something half tender and half teasing, but all love.

"We can try it another day, yeah?" he said softly. "Don't force your pretty voice."

His words made your chest feel warm, well, warmer than it already was, thanks to the fever. You tried to hold onto your resolve, the need to not be a burden, to just do your part, but Ji-yong's voice had a way of quieting all that. He leaned in just a little, resting his forehead against yours again, his hands still cradling your face like it was something delicate.

"You think I'd rather hear the song than take care of you?" he asked, voice muffled by the closeness. "Nah. Not even close."

You laughed, weakly. "You're being too sweet now."

He smirked and pulled back just enough to look at you fully. "That's not even my final form."

Then, with that same relaxed confidence he always carried, Ji-yong dropped his hands from your face only to link your fingers together, squeezing gently. He tugged you toward the studio door.

"Come on," he said, glancing back at you with a boyish grin that made your chest do a little somersault. "You're leaving with me."

"We can try one more time—”

"The song isn't going anywhere," he interrupted, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. "You, however, are going straight to bed, with a hot drink and maybe my hoodie if you're nice."

You couldn't help it—you let out a small, tired laugh.

"I've got you, okay?" he whispered. "Let me take care of you."

And just like that, the fight left your body.

You nodded weakly, giving his hand a squeeze back. "Okay."

Ji-yong's smile widened, relieved, like he'd just won a battle he hadn't wanted to fight in the first place. He was already grabbing your coat, helping you slide your arms through the sleeves like it was something he did every day. When he noticed your scarf was too loosely tied, he fixed it too—wrapping it snugly, tucking it in neatly, and then stepping back to admire his work like a proud stylist.

"Perfect. My sick but still cute boyfriend," he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose.

You swatted his chest gently. "Don't make me blush while I'm a snotty mess."

"You always blush when I compliment you," he grinned. "Sick or not."

Once inside the car, he buckled you in before you could argue, then reached into the back seat and pulled out an extra hoodie—his hoodie. The one that always smelled like his cologne and fabric softener. He slipped it over your head gently, careful not to pull too hard.

[ ... ]

You were tucked into Ji-yong's bed like you were the most precious thing on earth. Between the three layers of clothes he insisted you wear—"just until your fever goes down"—and the mountain of blankets he'd carefully arranged around you, you were basically a walking pile of warmth. Or rather, a laying one.

The blankets smelled like his laundry detergent, soft and clean, but every now and then you caught hints of his cologne too faint, lingering on the pillow your head rested against.

Earlier, he'd pressed the thermometer to your temple, watching the numbers with narrowed eyes. The moment it beeped, he let out the gentlest tsk, shaking his head like he'd just confirmed a suspicion he didn't want to be true.

Then, he'd stood up with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

He vanished into the kitchen like a man on a mission. You could hear the shuffle of cabinets opening, a short pause, then the unmistakable clack-clack of him typing on his phone. A second later: "Okay, okay... lemon... honey... ginger...? Do we have ginger?"

You weren't sure who he was asking, but it made you smile.

Now, a few minutes later, you sat upright in his bed, your hands were wrapped around a mug he'd brought in earlier—tea, made exactly how Google (and Ji-yong's overprotective instincts) had instructed. The steam curled up toward your face, warming your nose and cheeks, and the sharp smell of citrus hit your senses just before the taste did. Your throat stung a little when you sipped it—but it was that good kind of sting, the one that made you feel like something was already working.

You smiled into the mug, heart stupidly full. You could hear him humming from the kitchen—some random melody, probably not even aware he was doing it. A clink of metal against ceramic told you he was still cooking, and you swore the soup was already healing you just from the smell alone.

You cleared your throat and called out softly, your voice still scratchy. "Ji, come sit with me."

There was a small pause.

"Jagi, don't force your voice!" he called back, half-panicked, like you'd just committed a crime. "You're supposed to be resting."

"I just miss you," you said, loud enough for him to hear.

He peeked into the room a few seconds later, holding a wooden spoon like a sword. His eyes narrowed dramatically, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You miss me? I've been gone six minutes."

"Too long."

Ji-yong sighed in exaggerated defeat, setting the spoon down on the counter with a theatrical spin.

"Okay, okay, fine. My soup chef duties can wait... for like, three minutes."

He padded back over to the bed, crawling up gently so he didn't spill your tea or crush any of the blankets. As soon as he settled beside you, he tugged the covers up a little higher around your shoulders and rested a hand on your thigh, patting it lightly.

"You warm enough?" he asked, voice quieter now, close to your ear.

You nodded, leaning your head against his shoulder with a tired sigh. "Mmm. Just missing the human heater effect."

"Aha," he chuckled, shifting closer so your legs touched. "So you admit you only wanted me here for body heat?"

You turned your face up slightly, giving him a small, sleepy smirk. "That... and maybe a forehead kiss."

Ji-yong grinned and didn't hesitate. He leaned in, brushing his lips gently across your forehead, staying there for a few seconds—long enough to make your heart ache in the best way.

"Demanding," he teased quietly. "But lucky for you, I'm obsessed with you."

You smiled into his shoulder, cheeks growing warm for a reason that had nothing to do with the fever. His fingers were still resting gently on your thigh, thumb tracing lazy little shapes through the blanket like he didn't even realize he was doing it.

When you looked up, Ji-yong was already gazing at you, eyes full of that soft, fond glow he always got. His face inched closer, breath mingling with yours. One second. Two. The distance between your lips barely existed anymore. Your heart skipped. Even sick and sweaty and puffy-eyed, he still wanted to kiss you?

But just as his lips brushed against yours, you turned your head away quickly, your cheek now pressed against his nose instead. He blinked in surprise and pulled back slightly, eyebrows shooting up.

"...Wait," he said, blinking again, pretending to look offended. "Did you just dodge me?"

You looked up at him through slightly tired eyes, your voice hoarse but serious. "I don't want you to get sick."

Ji-yong's expression softened in an instant, all mock offense melting away. His hand dropped to your knee, fingertips tracing gently over the fabric of the sweatpants he'd changed you into earlier. The pads of his fingers moved in soft circles, comforting and slow.

"I would take the risk," he said softly, almost in a whisper, like it was a confession he'd been holding onto all day.

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say a word, he leaned in and kissed your cheek instead.

Your breath hitched a little, throat tight—not just from the cold, but from the sheer gentleness of it all.

When he pulled back, he didn't move far. His hand slid up to your shoulders, large and warm, and in one tender motion, he pulled you into him, tucking your head beneath his chin, wrapping his arms around you like he was trying to shield you from the whole world.

He was just starting to drift off, his arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go, when suddenly, a thought popped into his head that jolted him awake.

"The soup!" he gasped, sitting up like a cat sensing danger, eyes wide with realization.

Before you could even answer, Ji-yong had already leapt off the bed with all the grace and panic of someone who'd just remembered they left the stove on—which, well, he technically did.

You couldn't help it—you laughed, a hoarse little giggle that made your throat scratch but warmed your chest anyway.

"I'll be right back, jagi!" he called over his shoulder, already halfway into the kitchen.

You heard drawers open and close, and a triumphant hum coming from him like he was scoring his own cooking montage in his head. You leaned back against the pillows, cradling the tea he made you, feeling ridiculously spoiled.

A few minutes later, Ji-yong poked his head around the doorframe, cheeks slightly pink from the heat in the kitchen.

His hair was a little messier than before, a few strands sticking up like they'd fought a mini battle with the steam. A dish towel was slung haphazardly over his shoulder, and he was holding a steaming bowl like it was a trophy.

"You better be sitting exactly where I left you," he said, raising a brow in mock sternness.

You lifted the tea mug with both hands like a student proving good behavior. "Still here. Drinking your homemade medicinal lemon potion."

He chuckled, stepping into the room fully now. "Put that down. I have something better."

With a flourish and a proud little bow, Ji-yong revealed the soup bowl like he was presenting a gourmet dish on a cooking show.

"I added noodles," he said, puffing up slightly, "so it doesn't look so… depressing. And a tiny bit of sesame oil, because I heard that's comforting. I also cut the carrots into stars but don't look too close because some of them are... a little abstract. "

You laughed, and then looked down at the bowl—and yeah, some of the carrots were absolutely lopsided and slightly tragic-looking, but there was something so soft, so purely him in every crooked little cut. There were even tiny flecks of green onion floating around, and a few baby mushrooms peeking from the broth like they were shy.

You picked up the spoon, blew gently on the surface, and took a small sip. It was warm, savory, a little too peppery—but honestly? It was perfect. Not because of the flavor, but because he made it.

You turned toward him slowly. "This is honestly... so good."

He beamed. Beamed. That unmistakable kind of grin that stretched from cheek to cheek and made his eyes turn into little crescent moons. His shoulders rose with pride like you'd just told him he won an award. "Yeah?"

You nodded, patting the bed beside you in invitation, and he didn't hesitate—his steps light as he made his way over like you'd just opened the gates to his favorite place in the world. He climbed onto the bed gently, careful not to jostle your tray, and immediately leaned in with his whole side against yours, shoulder to shoulder, like he wanted to be as close to you as physics would allow.

Then he stopped himself. "Eat first," he said, kissing your temple. "Then we cuddle. No negotiations."

You gave a sleepy little nod, resting your head against his shoulder for a second before taking another spoon.

And in that moment, with noodles shaped like stars, warm blankets wrapped around you, and Ji-yong watching over you like you were the most precious thing on the world, you started to feel just the tiniest bit better.

[mariacallous]

A few years ago I attended a manosphere conference in Orlando, Florida. One of the masculinity gurus was up on stage doing his macho man routine. He talked of ‘alpha males’ and ‘patriarchs’ and there was some Jungian waffle about initiation rituals. Then out of nowhere he began talking about ‘the Js’ acting ‘behind the scenes’. He had sprinkled it into the speech like herbs on a pizza.

At the time I found it quite shocking, though looking back it seems entirely unremarkable, not least because such sentiments have become depressingly common in certain parts of the internet. ‘They [Israel] control the Matrix. They control narratives,’ the accused sex trafficker Andrew Tate told his livestream audience in August 2024. Following his arrest that the same month, Tate also retweeted a post by the American white supremacist Nick Fuentes. ‘Just 2 days after Andrew Tate said that “the Matrix” is really just the Jewish mafia – his house was raided and he was arrested again,’ said Fuentes in the tweet promoted by Tate. Moreover earlier that year Tate had urged his followers to question whether ‘they’ lied about the Second World War and whether the Nazis were really the ‘bad guys’.

Others in the manosphere have gone the same way. Dan Bilzerian, the Instagram playboy whose ostentatious lifestyle made him a hero to adolescent males of all ages during the 2010s, has turned into a full blown Holocaust denier. ‘6 million Jews did not die during WW2, they lied to you,’ he wrote on X in January 2025. ‘Stop calling “them” Globalists, Elitists, Frankists, Sabbateanists, Communists, Deep State, Zionists, Oligarchists, Rothschild Bankers JUST SAY JEWS...’, tweeted Myron Gaines, co-host of the popular Fresh&Fit podcast, in August 2024. Others in the masculinity huckster scene talk of being ‘Jewpilled’.

The 2000s manosphere was largely made up of pickup artists. They were misogynists to be sure and displayed a cavalier attitude toward the free will of women. They gave men scripted lines and sent them out to bars and clubs to practice on unsuspecting women. Their clients were told to ‘disregard’ what women said and to ‘push through’ what was characterised as ‘token resistance’. Yet by and large they were not political misogynists - they did not launch into jaundiced three-hour diatribes about a ‘gynocentric social order’. In fact, if women found one of their clients repulsive then it was his fault rather than hers. ‘She’s not a bitch,’ as probably the most famous pickup artist - Mystery (aka Erik von Markovik) - used to tell his students; ‘she’s just a bitch to you.’

A change in tone became evident during the 2010s when self-proclaimed ‘red pill’ gurus began to emerge. In their eyes she definitely was a bitch. Whereas Mystery had dressed flamboyantly and worn kohl eyeliner to the club as part of his ‘peacocking’ routine, the new brooms of the manosphere saw men in makeup as part of the problem: a sign that society had become irredeemably feminised and degenerate.

The basic premise of the red pill is that women run the world. It is therefore unsurprising that its devotees should be susceptible to other conspiratorial beliefs. I suspect this is partly down to what has been called ‘crank magnetism’: the tendency of delusional beliefs to attract each other and become magnetic. Each is a product of the same sloppy thinking.

But the structure of manosphere misogyny is also similar in some ways to that of antisemitism. Women, like Jews, are depicted as opposites. They are both inferior and superior; weak but powerful; governed by a fluctuating tide of emotion yet simultaneously capable of crushing men under the jackboot of feminism.

One way to resolve such tensions is to view women as doing someone else’s bidding. And so they become marionettes, controlled by dark forces pulling the strings behind the scenes. That those behind the curtain should turn out to be Jews is less surprising when one considers the increasing overlap between the manosphere and the far-right.

[clancycatears]

/SPECGRU INTELLIGENCE - PRICE MASTERLIST

CONFIDENTIAL PERSONNEL FILE — JOHN PRICE THIS IS AN IMPORTANT RECORD. SAFEGUARD IT.

SPECGRU OPERATOR AFFILIATIONS: BRITISH ARMY (FORMERLY), SPECIAL AIR SERVICE, TASK FORCE 141, COALITION, ARMISTICE (DISBANDED), GHOST TEAM, SPECGRU

NAME: (LAST, FIRST, MIDDLE): PRICE, JOHN, G. SERVICE NUMBER: 05389026 RANK: CAPTAIN (EST. 2011) ALIASES: PRICE, JOHN, BRAVO 0-6, GHOST 0-1, BOSS, ACTUAL, CAP, OLD MAN (BY FARAH & GHOST) STATUS: ALIVE D.O.B: APRIL 18TH, 1985 GENDER: MALE NATIONALITY: BRITISH ETHNICITY: WHITE (CAUCASIAN) LATERALITY: AMBIDEXTROUS (LEFT AND RIGHT) HEIGHT: 6'3"ft (1.91m / 190.5cm) WEIGHT: 202lbs (91.63kg) VISION: 20/20 BLOOD TYPE: O- EYE COLOR: BLUE HAIR COLOR: BROWN LANGUAGES: ENGLISH (FLUENT), ARABIC (BASIC), RUSSIAN (BASIC), GERMAN (MINIMAL), SPANISH (MINIMAL)

HOME ADDRESS: XXXXX XXXXX XXXXX, XXXXX, UNITED KINGDOM BIRTHPLACE: HEREFORDSHIRE, UNITED KINGDOM — CITIZEN — NON-CITIZEN RELATIVES: GERTRUDE PRICE (MOTHER - DECEASED), CLARENCE PRICE (FATHER - DECEASED), ROBERT PRICE (BROTHER - DECEASED) MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE CHILDREN: JOHN MACTAVISH (ADOPTED SON - DECEASED)

SPECIALIST FIELDS: - CLOSE QUARTER COMBAT - SNIPER TECHNIQUES - HOSTAGE RESCUE - COUNTER TERRORISM - KILL-CAPTURE MISSIONS - WEAPONS HANDLING (KILD 141) - WEAPONS TACTICS - SEEK-AND-STRIKE OPERATIONS

SKILLS AND SPECIALIZATIONS: - PHYSICALLY ACTIVE (HIKES, SWIMS, BIKES - ON LEAVE) - TWO DOGS

TECHNICAL RECORD BRANCH OF SERVICE: - BRITISH ARMY (2003) - SPECIAL AIR SERVICE (2009) - TASK FORCE 141 (2020) - GHOST TEAM (2022)

DATE ENLISTED: - 2001 (INFANTRY) - 2003 (ARMY) DATE DISCHARGED: N/A

MEDICAL RECORD INJURIES AND HOSPITALIZATIONS: - STAB WOUND (2002 - 3X, 2003 - 1X, 2004 - 6X, 2007 - 2X) - BULLET WOUND (2002 - 1X, 2007 - 1X, 2008 - 1X, 2010 - 1X, 2011 - 2X, 2012 - 1X, 2012 - 1X, 2013 - 1X, 2017 - 1X, 2023 - 1X) - ABRAISON (2003 - 1X, 2005 - 2X, 2009 - 1X, 2014 - 1X) - CONCUSSION (2002 - 1X, 2009 - 1X, 2019 - 1X) - SPRAINED ANKLE (2012 - 1X) MEDICATION LIST: - AMOXICILLIN / CLAUVANIC ACID (INFECTION - 2004) - MORPHINE (PAIN - 2002, 2007, 2010, 2013, 2017) - KETAMINE (PAIN - 2023) - PARACETAMOL (PAIN - 2002-2022) - BUPROPION (SMOKING CESSATION - 2002) PERTINENT MEDICAL HISTORY: - ASPIRIN ALLERGY - SMOKES OFTEN - 30 PACK-YEARS - (+) FH OF CANCER - (-) FH OF DIABETES, HTN, HYPERTENSION

SAS FITNESS TEST PUSH-UPS: YES SIT-UPS: YES JUMP FROM 10M TOWER: YES 2.5KM TIME: 7MINS 2SECS 25KM WATER SWIM: YES 200M SWIM/TREAD: YES UNDERWATER OBJECT RETRIEVAL AND DIVE TEST: YES 13KM HILL RUN TIME: 51MIN 39SECS — HARDLY BROKE A SWEAT. IMPRESSIVE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is PURE headcanon (85%) so please please make your own assumptions about price (unless you want to from this post!!!). yes price adopted soap some random time in the canon. idc what y'all say. yes the other boys are sons to him—but soap is THE son. it hurts me. good god. i love you price.

PRICE MODEL: @661ave

INSPIRATION: @shadow0-1 & @mistydeyes (pulled some info from here too!!!)