#also they know each other so well‚ they always know when the other is being a little bastard

[eightmakesonebraincell]

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 37.6k

c/w: sweaty and athletic ateez (warning well deserved), explicit profanity, themes of corruption and rocky family relationships, trauma, hurt/comfort, injuries, kissing, boys are in an established relationship, m x m interactions

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: it has made me incredibly touched to see so many of my readers from the essence of youth come back to support this new oneshot. thank you from the bottom of my heart ♡ and as always, this fic would not have been possible without @sorryimananti-romantic and her undying support

if someone were to ask yunho–or anybody on the team–when he feels the most alive, his answer would be the same every single time: when he is on the ice, just like he is right now.

the air of the rink is already chilly, but with the added cold of emerging autumn, each rugged lungful he takes fills his chest with vigour. only his own heavy breathing can be heard as the rest of the players’ shouts become muffled into the background outside of his helmet. he tightens his grip on his stick, muscles locked and engaged with adrenaline. his vision narrows, an opening suddenly clearing itself through the tangle of sticks and jungle of skates–a golden opportunity for him to take.

“san!” he yells.

their usual goaltender glances upwards as he handles the puck rebounding off the boards. his jaw tightens and with a practised flick of his wrist, san chips the puck over an incoming stick’s attempt to block the pass. there’s a burst of explosive power as yunho speeds up along the opposite boards to receive the landing puck, hoping to break away from the opposing team’s offensive players before he passes it off.

the flash of a blue jersey appears in yunho’s vision with alarming momentum. they lower and widen their stance, shoulder positioned in front ready to knock him directly into the boards in an attempt to steal the puck, leaving yunho with no choice but to mirror their actions. he braces himself as the opponent rams into him with more force than a usual play, and in combination with their own towering height, yunho finds himself being pushed into the plexiglass panels as he loses possession of the puck.

involuntarily, he lets out a threatening growl of vexation. there is a teasing chuckle from the other player that still has him pinned against the wall despite the continuing game, which clearly tells him that the excessive body check was deliberate. yunho has half a mind to flip their positions, knowing he could easily overpower the other. but before he can adjust his stick out of the way to make good use of his hands, the opponent playfully knocks their helmets together.

“you’re hot when you get all competitive and riled up.”

all of the tension escapes yunho’s body, because he will never not find mingi’s attempts to flirt mid-game–with his mouthguard and resultant bumbling pronunciation–to be amusing. he endearingly rolls his eyes and sighs, “have you not heard of, ‘don’t poke the bear’?”

“you’re not a bear, though,” mingi squirms cheekily on the spot, still up in yunho’s personal space because he knows the older will never be truly annoyed by his antics. “you’re just a cute, harmless puppy.”

before mingi can blink, yunho grabs him by the shoulders and pins him against the wall. yunho smirks, “and they also say, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”

wooyoung tongues his cheek with mischief at the sight of the two, nice and cosy against the walls of the rink. he hands his stick off to seonghwa, who is starting to remove his helmet, and skates in their direction, ignoring the dull throb in his left ankle. wooyoung only bothers to slow himself down slightly, instead letting his trajectory be cushioned by something else.

mingi lets out a pathetic noise as the air is squeezed out of his chest from the impact of wooyoung and yunho’s added weight. the latter grunts out, a little breathless, “woo, please, you’re going to knock somebody out like this one day.”

it goes in one ear and out the other as wooyoung grins up at him to state, “seonghwa scored so we lost ‘cause you were too busy making out with mister mingles here.”

yunho pushes off the wall to free himself from the sandwich of bodies and pivots on his skates to jab wooyoung’s padded chest. “you and san were doing the exact same thing just five minutes ago.”

“we’re on the same team,” wooyoung shrugs, “whereas mingi is not, so you’re fraternising with the enemy. now come on losers, captain’s wrapping up practice.”

the three of them glide along the ice to rejoin the rest of the team, where they are stepping out of the rink to sit on the benches. they remove their helmets and start unlacing their skates as hongjoong gathers the attention of the team.

“great work from everybody today, especially you, jongho. your backhand wrist shots are improving–keep it up. now just a reminder to everyone that our regular games start next week so i want you all to make sure you are stretching and cooling down properly,” he emphasises. he pointedly looks at yeosang, who has already begun to wander his way off to the changerooms, at the same time that seonghwa scruffs him by the back of his jersey and gently tugs him back to the team.

jongho peels off his blue practice jersey as he scans the arena and absentmindedly asks, “is coach still not here? it’s already the end of practice.”

“he said he had something to sort out today, but would come round if everything went well,” seonghwa answers, also craning his neck to look for signs of their coach.

from where you and coach cho are watching from the designated scouting area in the arena, the team is unable to spot you two. you had come from the final negotiations of your contract with coach cho and had watched their team, the red devils, play the last period of their game. despite it only being a friendly match amongst the team’s players, you have already grasped a sense of their playing style–it is heavy on the offensive at the expense of defence, just like how you used to play. it is fast-paced, aggressive and…prone to injury.

“let’s go meet the team,” coach cho voices, making his way out of the viewing area as you follow beside him. all the players look up from their skates that they are still unlacing or from their stretches on the floor when you two near the arrangement of benches surrounding the rink. they greet coach cho enthusiastically and you can see why from the way the older man smiles at them like they are his own sons.

“y/n, this is the team, the red devils–my pride and joy. boys, this is y/n,” he introduces. “i had to miss practice to meet up with y/n and make sure she was happy to sign on as part of the red devils.”

said team gives you disinterested glances, a complete change from the receptivity with which they respond to coach cho. one of the red-jerseyed boys, who you recognise as wooyoung, utters sarcastically, “cute, but we don’t need a mascot or cheerleader.”

coach cho chuckles lightly, “she’s your new coach.”

“hold on, you were serious about–” “–are you coaching a different team–” “–you don’t want us anymore?”

some of the boys erupt into a barrage of questions, trying to make sense of the sudden announcement, whereas the others stay quiet, flickers of flashbacks stirring up from within the depths of their memories. their coach raises his hands to settle them as he apologises, “i didn’t want to say anything before i was one hundred percent sure that things would go ahead, and i wasn’t sure whether y/n would accept the offer.”

“is it because your wife is due soon?” san interrupts.

coach cho nods, “with twins, and i want to be present to help–as a husband and a father. but that just isn’t feasible as your coach, as much as i love you boys.”

training as professional athletes takes incredible perseverance, discipline and commitment. there are early mornings, late nights, weekends and public holidays. it takes sacrifices in the form of time and relationships, especially when they must travel away from home for up to weeks on end to compete in matches. and with the start of the regular season, the intensity is only going to ramp up. as hard as the athletes train, the coach works twice as hard to make it all possible.

the team needs somebody to be there for them to ensure they make it into the playoffs, and it just won’t be fair for anybody–the players and his own family–if coach cho were to keep his position. and the team gets it, they really do, but–

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete, and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

autumn, 2018: pre-season

hongjoong believes all coaches are to be respected. it does not matter what kind of team they coach, how many years of experience they have, or whether they have built up a reputation for themselves. to hongjoong, respect for coaches is not something earned nor negotiable–it is something well-deserved and expected, as is for anybody in a position that is higher in the chain of command.

he may be the captain of their unofficial team, but hongjoong knows that the way a team can place their blind trust in the coach is irreplaceable, regardless of how much the other players rely on him too.

hongjoong watches as his boys carry out the practice drill he has set up for them. yeosang handles the puck around the cones before passing it to wooyoung, primed offensively near the goal to make a quick shot, who groans when his shot rebounds off the post. as he retrieves the disc, yeosang takes over wooyoung’s position near the goal ready to receive yunho’s pass as he starts to work his way through the cones next.

they are limited in the type of drills they can practise because hongjoong was only able to rent half of the community rink for a measly two hours. the boys are not even in proper uniform, wearing only their shin guards under their sweatpants and gloves on their hands to prevent any injuries when the centre had stated very firmly they would not be allowed in with their bulky equipment.

and yet, none of this has dampened the boys’ spirits. san teasingly brags that it is his chance to show off his skills other than goaltending, and jongho thanks hongjoong quietly for renting the rink in the first place. their understanding nods and comforting hugs make hongjoong’s heart clench, even more so as the team eagerly and diligently practise the drills in mediocre conditions but with fiery determination to prove their worth as newly-signed athletes under the kq blue birds.

this is exactly why hongjoong is driven to find them a coach–any coach: to give his boys a solid pillar they can rely on, because he himself lacks the resources and strings to pull in order to fulfil their shared dreams. he needs to keep his boys as one team, instead of scattered into other teams as extra players like a gracious opportunity for the leftovers, since kq does not yet have a coach available for the eight of them.

“captain!”

the excitement in seonghwa’s voice startles hongjoong more than the speed at which the alternate captain skates towards him. seonghwa digs his skates into the ice at the last second, stopping himself just shy of knocking the other over as he exclaims, “he emailed back!”

“the coach you reached out to?” hongjoong clarifies, eyes growing wide.

having caught wind of his signed contract as a professional athlete, an acquaintance of seonghwa’s had reached out offering to pass on the contact of their acquaintance, who apparently knew somebody with coaching experience. it was rare for a coach to take on a rookie team unless there were incredible benefits, so he and hongjoong had drafted and sent an email with little to no expectations for a reply. but seonghwa’s furious nodding is telling otherwise, and his eyes sparkle as he shoves his phone in hongjoong’s face to show him the email.

dear mr park, thank you for your interest and for reaching out with your proposal. i have looked at your athlete profiles and it appears that you all have big dreams and extremely promising futures. it would be my utmost pleasure to help you all reach your true potential by coaching your team. if you would like to arrange a meeting in person to discuss expectations and conditions regarding training, competitions and future championships prior to finalising the contracts with your company, please let me know what times and dates best suit yourself and your team captain, mr kim. i look forward to working with you all. kind regards, coach yeon

“holy shit,” hongjoong steadies seonghwa’s giddy hand to read the email again. when he reaches the last line, he starts once more from the beginning to make sure his eyes are not lying to him. then he breathes out with finality, “holy shit. am i reading this right?”

“yeah, joong. you’re reading it right.”

hongjoong is not often one to be affectionate with the others, but yanking seonghwa into a bone-crushing hug as he repeats holy shit like a mantra is the only response he is able to muster. the older laughs wetly, throat constricting with overwhelming joy and he holds onto his captain until the other pulls back.

“you tell them, okay?” seonghwa does not wait for a response before he is raising his voice to gather the others, “boys! hongjoong has good news for us!”

like puppies responding to the call of food, their heads immediately perk up and they abandon the puck and the drill to speed towards their two captains. there is a clamour of questions as they enthusiastically predict what is going to be said.

“are they letting us use the rink for longer?”

wooyoung squeezes himself in between yunho and mingi to ask, “are we getting the whole rink?!”

“no way,” san gasps, “or did our practice jerseys arrive?”

hongjoong’s eyes soften at their guesses. his boys demand so little from him when he wants to give them everything they could never even think of asking for. he glances at seonghwa, who looks just about ready to burst from his own excitement, then reveals, “we’ve found a coach willing to take on our team.”

dead silence. yeosang blinks and wooyoung’s jaw drops. jongho, who had been lazily circling around the group, comically slows to a stop, joining the rest of the boys in frozen stupor. it is only broken when yunho dares to confirm, “does this mean we won’t be rostered as extras for other teams?”

everyone’s hopeful eyes look at hongjoong. he nods, “we’re staying together and playing as our own team.”

it is obvious the moment the information registers in their minds and the implications of what it means for the team’s future starts to sink in. they explode into a flurry of movement and hongjoong and seonghwa find themselves swept up into the middle of a clumsy group huddle as shouts are exchanged, uncaring of who is listening or talking.

“are we finally playing in championships with the big dogs?”

“we’re going to play interstate?”

“oh my god, what if we get into nationals?”

“nah, fuck that boys, let’s go international! we’re going to represent korea one day and become the best team in the world.”

the amount of voices overlapping one another are overwhelming, but it is overwhelming in the way that it makes hongjoong soar up into the clouds, wings stretched to their full span and carried by the hollers and cheers surrounding him in every direction. his cheeks hurt from smiling because these are the boys that he knows and loves.

they may only be a small team of eight, but they have dreams that are big enough to fill the entire universe.

“what’s the coaches name–” “–know if they’re a good coach–” “–teams have they coached before–”

seonghwa chuckles as the boys hound them with question after question and hongjoong appeases their curiosity dotingly, “we’ll find out when we meet him–coach yeon.”

but it does not matter what qualifications coach yeon has or does not have, and it does not matter what teams he has coached or has not coached before. what matters is that he is a coach and he is willing to be their coach, because it means that hongjoong and his boys are finally taking the next step towards their big dreams. 

and most importantly, they will be in this together…as the red devils.

autumn, present: regular season

“again.”

hongjoong grits his teeth, taking up his position as centre again in the marked circle for the practice drill. even during defensive faceoff plays, he and the team are accustomed to taking on an aggressive approach. when he wins possession of the puck, the wingers–usually yeosang and wooyoung, or jongho when substituted on–quickly breakaway and move forward with him into the offensive zone.

obviously, they have other strategic plays too to switch up the predictability of their tactics, such as moving the puck towards the board whilst yeosang covers him, or by passing the puck back to the mingi in defence. but overall, their team is capable of rapidly flipping from defensive to offensive play using the aggressive setup.

the practice drill you are currently running emphasises heavily on the defence–the reverse setup play. hongjoong is to pass backwards but in the direction of the boards whilst yeosang supports and wooyoung covers the area directly between the circle and san. mingi moves towards the boards to receive the puck, and their other defenceman, yunho, assists with covering the goal.

hongjoong does admit that this play is much safer and stabler, but it is also much slower and…cowardly. his team is called the red devils for a reason and their reputation as demons on ice is not something that he is going to throw away–not following years of blood, sweat and tears to stand back up after falling during their rookie year.

when he assumes his stance once again inside the faceoff circle opposite seonghwa, who is playing the centre position as the mock opponent, you drop the puck onto the centre dot. the moment it hits the ice, hongjoong clears it with his stick towards the right boards. it doesn’t go back far enough for mingi to receive though, so yeosang makes the split decision to burst sideways to retrieve the puck, all three forwards moving aggressively in synchronisation to advance offensively once he gains possession.

you stop them, shaking your head. “again.”

it has been a week since your first meeting with the team, and with the start of the regular season, training has focused on refining their strategies. the red devils are playing in the korean ice hockey league for the second time, an annual national championship with a singular men’s division.

teams from all over korea gather in seoul to compete in regular-season games at the gangneung ice arena against the other teams in rotation. depending on the number of participants, the red devils will need to play an average of three games a week for the next five to six months. then based on the outcome of the games, if your team scores within the top thirty two, they will be able to enter the playoffs.

last year, the red devils were only able to make it to the quarterfinals before they were knocked out. but considering it was their first time competing in a proper championship–as opposed to the rookie leagues and interstate competitions they competed in during the first four years of their career–making it into the top eight teams out of over a hundred or so teams was already impressive enough.

your team’s first regular-season game starts tomorrow, so it does not matter that this is the sixth time in a row that you have stopped them during this drill. you will make them restart until they perfect the play. with that in mind, you release the puck onto the centre dot of the circle once more, but this time seonghwa wins the faceoff, clearing it to the side where jongho is waiting as his left wing. seonghwa looks at you guiltily and anticipates the word that will come out of your mouth.

you bite your tongue, having sensed the rising tension amongst the team an hour ago, but now they are almost at their boiling point. closing your eyes briefly, you try reminding yourself to think about the situation from your players’ perspectives.

their career progression rides on this championship, and with their grit and determination, they will not settle for simply beating their own record in ranking. no, they vie for first place. only the top team secures a position in the international ice hockey league, the most coveted opportunity to represent korea in the championship between the world’s best teams.

and it is during this vital time–when the stress levels and stakes are as high as they can get–that the boys have suddenly had to change coaches. not only have they lost their most trusted support and guide, they have only had one week to adjust to their new one–you. in the grand scheme of things, one week is nowhere near enough time to develop any sort of meaningful relationship where they are able to listen to and rely on you.

taking a breath, you explain, “being so focused on offence leaves your team vulnerable if the opposing team also has aggressive forwards that you can’t break through. the faceoff play needs to be adjusted for those situations, otherwise it’ll be too difficult to control the puck and it will more than likely end up in chaos. it won’t be a game of professional skill anymore, but a circus of dirty play.”

your defence-focused coaching style has worked well for all the past teams you have taught, both men’s and women’s teams. you know that the boys play an offence-focused style; you are reminded too closely of your past self every time they rush head-on into every situation. and it is exactly because of that–because you know the dangers that come with their aggressive style–that you are making them adjust their play. their career comes first and if they suffer an injury, there may not be a career left.

so you will play the bad cop if you have to. they will come to understand you one day.

san bites down on his mouthguard as he listens from his position in the goal. he is able to see each and every play unfold, better than any other of his teammates, so he knows where you are coming from. whilst he has become used to the pressures that come with goaltending, no amount of training or competitions will ever fully eliminate the sudden spike in fear and anticipation the moment the opposing team’s forwards break past yunho and mingi.

san is the team’s last line of defence and the best outcome is that a game never comes down to just him, the opponent’s stick, and his goal. it is true that his team needs to work on their defensive plays, so when the others huff in defiance and reluctantly reset their positions, san simply lowers his centre of gravity in wait for your cue to restart the drill.

“again.”

outside the arena, the echo of sticks and scraping of skates sound faintly as the first leaf of autumn begins to fall to the ground. as time passes, the rest of the leaves will also succumb to a similar fate, only differing in how. some will fall in a slow and graceful descent, whilst others…

…a rapid and spiralling whirlwind downwards.

counting the heads and finding all eight of your players seated in the bus, you nod to the driver to close the door and start driving. most of the boys have chosen to sit on a two-seater by themselves, only yunho and mingi choosing to sit together. they share a set of wired earphones, eyebrows furrowed in concentration at one of their phones, likely monitoring one of their own matches or one of another team’s.

the rest of the boys sit alone, faces grim and tight as they stare out the window. they look exactly like you used to and it hits you with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia.

the ride to the competition venue–much less for the very first game of the season–is always the quietest, air strung tight with nerves as everyone prepares themselves psychologically for the inevitable pressures that the game will bring. being able to compose and centre one’s mindset is already half the battle won, and whilst nobody says it out loud, you all know that today’s results, despite it only being day one, will set the tone for the next four to five months as they fight to qualify for the playoffs.

as you make one final sweep from the back of the bus to the front whilst it pulls away from the curb, you accidentally make eye contact with yeosang. you give him a polite smile and he opens his mouth, closes it on second thought, then decides to ask anyway, “do you want to sit here?”

it is a lie to say that you are not surprised by the question, so you stumble over your response as you stammer, “oh, okay. thanks.”

yeosang reciprocates your noise of disorientation and when he fumbles to move his bag aside that had been occupying the space beside him, you belatedly realise he was only asking out of courtesy. but backtracking now and rejecting his offer would be a million times worse and you can only try to hide the flaming heat behind your cheeks as best as you can as you sit down in the seat.

he fiddles with the straps of his bag and you can feel his discomfort reeking off his hands. in an attempt to break the ice, you glance at him, “are you nervous for the game?”

he nods, “don’t think it gets any less nerve-wracking no matter how many games you play.”

“well this is a pretty big championship. you have every reason to feel nervous,” you hum.

yeosang levels you with a look. “are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

you do not know him well enough to be able to discern whether he is joking with you or not. opting to clear your throat instead, you point out, “you have your teammates who you can trust.”

“yeah…teammates.”

and you have me, too, as your coach, you want to say.

the hopeful glimpse in the dark of your eyes is enough for yeosang to pick up on your thoughts. he swallows uncomfortably and looks away.

we don’t know that yet.

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying once more to extend the conversation after a pregnant pause. “did you guys have a coach before cho?” either you have a shitty sense of appropriate conversation starters or yeosang wants absolutely nothing to do with you (it is likely both, but one can be optimistic), because his shoulders tense almost immediately.

“we did…just one,” he starts off carefully. you think that that is going to be the end of it, but then he adds on, “we don’t really talk about him though.”

and there it is–the end of the conversation. it is his nice way of telling you that there is no more to be said, so you sit the rest of the ride in silence next to yeosang, pretending not to let the sheer awkwardness suffocate you.

when the bus arrives at the gangneung ice arena, you hurry to alight and only then do you feel like you are able to breathe again. you plaster on a smile and notify the boys, “your first game is in two hours against the panthers. you’ve been allocated locker room 3B.”

they make their way into the centre and you trail behind in wait as they find their designated space. warm-ups will be first so they will not be needing their full gear just yet, which means it should not take long for them to change.

inside the locker room, the red devils shrug off their bulky duffle bags and change into their game jerseys, lacing and relacing their skates to ensure the snuggest fits. hongjoong alerts, “boys, time to go out and start warming up,” receiving a chorus of acknowledgement as everyone grabs the rest of the gear that they need.

before jongho places his phone into his assigned locker, he habitually taps on the screen one last time to check for any notifications and finds a single text from his younger brother, jonghyuk. he knows he should not read it, much less right before his first game, but the smaller part inside him that yearns for his family’s recognition dares to hope for something. dragging the preview down to avoid opening it, jongho reads the text.

are you just going to keep pretending you haven’t read our messages?

jongho clenches his jaw and swipes the notification away as if that will also erase it from his mind. tossing his phone into the locker, he shuts it with a harsh swing, resting his forehead against the cool metal as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. this game–this championship–jongho has to win; he cannot afford to lose.

“captain.”

hongjoong turns around to see jongho striding up towards him, brows furrowed and voice troubled as he questions, “are we really not going to tell coach what our game plan is? shouldn’t we work together with her?”

“jongho,” the captain sighs, “we got lucky with coach cho, but we know better than anyone else that not all coaches are like him.”

from where he has been listening in on the conversation at the doors leading out of the locker room, seonghwa’s shoulders stiffen. there is a moment of silence; the rest of the team have already made their way to the ice rink.

“what if we lose?”

it is the way that his voice grows small and timid that hongjoong realises it is not his captain that jongho needs right now. hongjoong’s gaze softens as he searches the younger’s eyes, “did your family say something again?”

he receives no answer but it tells him more than enough. “you trust me?”

jongho’s almost imperceptible nod does not escape hongjoong’s observations, so he continues to reassure, “we’ll win. my boys are the best players, you included, and we already have experience playing in this competition.” he ducks down slightly to meet jongho’s gaze, “and even if we do lose? we lose because of our own skills–not because of anybody else.”

his words tug a small smile out of the corner of the youngest’s lips, and hongjoong returns it with a relieved smile. with a nudge, he sends jongho in the direction of the door, where seonghwa pretends to ruffle his hair affectionately knowing that it will be dodged. seonghwa chuckles lightly and watches him walk off, unbeknownst to his captain watching him.

“hey,” hongjoong calls out gently, “i know what you’re thinking, but that wasn’t what i meant.”

seonghwa looks back and winces, “i can’t help it.”

“and that’s why i will keep telling you no matter how many times you need to hear it. it is not your fault–never was, and never will be,” hongjoong cocks his head playfully as he raises an eyebrow.

“same goes to you then, captain,” seonghwa returns the banter, shoulders relaxing and head shaking, “not your fault either.”

“you’re right, so let’s get the fuck out there and smash our game, yeah?” hongjoong slings his arm around the other and leads them both out of the locker room to join the rest of the boys.

what he does not say, though, is that seonghwa is wrong. seonghwa may have been the one to reach out to coach yeon, but hongjoong was the one who made the executive decision to accept and trust coach yeon.

he is not going to make the same mistake twice this time, because it is not just about protecting his dreams, his career, or those of his teammates–it is about protecting the people he loves.

hongjoong will not let them fall…not again.

winter, 2018: regular season

jongho twirls his phone in his hand, intermittently turning the screen on and off. he sits in the corner of the locker room, away from the rest of the boys as they wait for coach yeon to return from checking in and filling out their required paperwork. only several competitions later will they realise that their locker room is small, cramped and dim, but to their fresh, bright-eyed excitement at competing in a professional league for the first time, they hardly have time to critique the assigned space.

the phone comes to a stop. making up his mind, jongho taps on the screen and navigates to the keypad. dialling his mother’s number, he brings the phone up to his ear and waits with bated breath as it is left to ring.

“what do you want,” comes her curt response when she finally picks up.

jongho’s words falter, “oh, nothing…i just wanted to tell you that we’re playing our first game today.”

“game? your little team doesn’t even have a coach,” his mother patronises.

shoulders curling in on themselves, jongho hesitantly voices, “i told you last month that we got a coach.”

“i forgot,” she brushes him off, “and it must not be a very important competition then, seeing as it isn’t worth remembering.”

“there’s prize money,” he reveals. maybe if he can bring some of it home for his parents, they will recognise his efforts.

she sceptically probes, “is it national? international?”

“no…regionals.”

“is it ranked at least?”

“it’s just an entry-level competition for rookie teams,” jongho trails off, discouraged and confidence in shambles.

his mother scoffs at his answers, none of which are the ones she wants to hear. “you have no excuse not to win this competition, then. this is child’s play. just look at jonghyuk. he’s two years younger than you, yet already has his eyes on the olympics. if you lose, i don’t want to hear about it–don’t bring shame to our family.”

“okay,” jongho mumbles, but his answer is only heard by the beeping dial of the ended call…and the rest of the boys it seems, if not apparent by the sombre hush that has settled over the room and the worried lips that he sees when he looks up.

yeosang’s mouth parts, the younger’s name on the tip of his tongue, but then coach yeon enters the locker room and calls for their attention. jongho gives them a reassuring smile before setting his phone beside him on the bench and directing his gaze to their coach, grateful for the distraction. it leaves yeosang and the others with no choice but to drop it for now.

coach yeon erases the old scribbles on the room’s whiteboard and replaces it with rough markings of the hockey rink. he drags the magnets into the different zones, each one representative of a player, as he goes over the final lineup and their respective positions based on the opposing team they have been pooled against.

“stay strong on the offensive and maintain a 2-1-2 formation where possible–yeosang, i want you up there with hongjoong and put pressure on the other team. if they gain puck possession, both of you fall back to where wooyoung is and maintain 3-2.”

the three forwards nod and coach yeon touches one of the magnets positioned on the player’s bench. “jongho, you’ll come on for your shift during the second period. whoever you replace will come back in later to sub the other wing. yeosang and wooyoung, you should both be playing again during the third period.”

“yes, coach,” jongho acknowledges.

coach yeon continues on to review their game plan and hongjoong steps up to assist with detailing their different strategic plays. to jongho though, their words sound like he is listening from underwater as his mind involuntary drifts off. it is a small saving grace that his parents do not care for his match, because it means that they will not see that he is not part of the starting lineup.

for seven of the people in the locker room, winning the competition is an aspiration, but for one of them it is an expectation. and for the remaining individual, the competition in itself is an opportunity, but for an entirely different reason.

winter, present: regular season

inevitably, you find out. when discrepancies start to occur between training, pre-game meetings and the actual games, it is only a matter of time before you start to notice them.

it starts off with the uncommon plays that are simply a response to the game situation–ones that are dire and not often brought up prior to them actually occurring. during their fourth regular game of the season, the red devils are behind by two goals. the last period is almost over when they miraculously gain the power advantage after two of the opposing players are sent to the penalty box in quick succession.

before you realise what is happening, hongjoong gives his team a signal and both yunho and mingi on defence and san in the goal all rush forward to attack with the wings. you can only watch with wide eyes as they risk an empty net in the hopes of scoring two much-needed goals to even the playing field.

wooyoung manages to score one with a quick shot, but with the release of the opponents from the penalty box, their advantage is put to an end and they ultimately finish the match with a loss. you do not dwell too much on their sudden change in tactics despite the lack of communication with you, because you understand that every single game requires a different approach. sometimes, there is no time to strategise, only time to act.

but one occurrence turns into two, and two turns into several. and when, during one of their matches the week prior, jongho and wooyoung swap positions on the left and right sides of the rink as soon as the youngest replaces yeosang’s shift, it becomes quite conclusive that they are deliberately withholding information from you.

the boys are not brainless. it is not a coincidence for you and the team to discuss one game plan in the locker room only for it to completely change the moment they step onto the hockey rink.

you silently watch as the boys prepare for a faceoff in their defensive zone. they are currently playing against the incheon bears and the timing of the penalty puts you all on edge; the score is currently tied four to four and only twelve seconds are left on the clock. you had requested a time-out right as the referee made the call in hopes of stopping the momentum of the opposing team and to tell the boys to play defensively for this faceoff.

“play it safe. stall for the last twelve seconds and drag the game into overtime,” you had ordered.

the incheon bears have made a shift change with their player number four coming on for the faceoff, their right wing who has low stamina but terrifyingly accurate shots. he is responsible for most of his team’s goals and several other scoring attempts that san had only just managed to block. you are also almost certain that they will be aggressively body checking your players to make this faceoff count for them. your forwards have to play safely–not just for the sake of the game’s score.

at your defensive suggestion, san had nodded in agreement with you, “forwards need to make passes with sure lanes–nothing that can risk getting intercepted. go for the reverse setup play if you guys can.”

“we don’t need to take this into overtime,” hongjoong had started to argue, “other than number four, the rest of their offence is weak. as long as we break past him, we have an opportunity to score.”

“captain–”

the whistle blows before mingi can give his two cents, the mere thirty seconds for the time-out far too short, and the boys hurry to enter the rink again. hongjoong leans in quickly to say something to them before they disperse into their positions and mingi glances at you, almost guiltily.

you do not have the confidence that your team will listen. san may have seen the advantages in favouring a defensive play, but he is not the one who will decide which direction the puck will go when the referee drops it onto the ice. hongjoong is.

the hand of the referee raises to signal the start of the faceoff and both team’s centre forwards lower their stance. then the puck hits the ice. hongjoong’s nimble reflexes help him to snap his wrist and twist the puck away from the incheon bear’s player, wooyoung already surging ahead with explosive strides towards the other end of the rink. but just as you fear, the opponent’s left wing thunders at hongjoong with horrifying speed, intention solely to bowl him over onto the ice–not to steal the puck.

“fuck, captain!” you yell, heart leaping up into your throat as it cuts off your breath.

hongjoong’s eyes snap upwards and darken, jaws aching from the force with which he grinds his teeth together despite his mouthguard. he suddenly pivots on the edges of his skates and shifts his weight to only just narrowly miss the body check, then flicks the puck away before another player can knock him down.

he does not need to look before passing to where he knows wooyoung will be, years of synergy allowing their plays to connect seamlessly. except incheon bear’s number four has predicted their exact play, having been watching from the benches and noting your forwards’ preference for aggressive attacks.

“shit,” yunho curses under his breath, ice shaving under his skates from the accelerating force of his strides towards the puck. he is not going to make it in time. “mingi!”

seonghwa jolts up to his feet from the player’s bench, chest mid-inhale with apprehension at the captain’s pass. the puck is intercepted within the blink of an eye and with a well-timed punch turn around yunho’s attempt to regain possession, the rival team’s number four makes a shot for the goal.

it is too fast for mingi’s stick to block–arm still stretching out with desperation–and although san drops down to his knees in hopes of barricading the goal with his leg pads, the trajectory of the puck arcs higher than he had predicted.

as the puck soars past san and hits the netting of the goal, the buzzer sounds in tandem with the eruption of cheers around the rink. all around, the incheon bears swarm towards their number four in joyous celebration. mingi leans over to rest his hands on his knees from both exhaustion and defeat, and the other boys stand in similar stances as the outcome of the game registers in their tired minds.

in an attempt to cheer them up despite his own disappointment, seonghwa half-heartedly smiles at his boys as they slowly start to trudge their way off the rink. “we played well, boys. it was unlucky that our pass got intercepted, but we can do better next time.”

“good thing it isn’t the playoffs yet,” yunho tries to joke, “so we’re still in the competition.”

nobody cracks a smile and wooyoung’s face is dark, hand grabbing the walls in support to favour his left foot whilst lifting his skates over the slight ledge of the bench door. noting his slight limp, san quietly murmurs in worry, “did you tape your ankle?”

wooyoung shakes his head. “i ran out. forgot to buy some yesterday.”

“make sure you ice it tonight then, okay?” san gently supports him by the elbow to the benches so they can loosen the laces of their skates and grab their things before heading to the locker room.

you look away to flip through the notebook in your hand instead, trying to calm the shaking of your hands. ice hockey is a contact sport and you cannot protect the players from every single collision, but that last body check that hongjoong had been unprepared for still has acid pooling into your mouth. you scratch the score ‘4-5’ onto a page filled with their scores from this season thus far. a quick calculation tells you that the red devils have just as many losses as they have wins, which in all honesty, is not looking good.

this…conflict needs to be cleared with the team–with hongjoong. you cannot let this concealment of tactics and blatant changing of strategies right in your face continue any longer, because at the rate they are going, they may not even make it into the playoffs. and as you make eye contact with san, who has been staring despondently at the puck that still lies in his goal, you know that you must clear the air for the team, too. the last thing you need is for their own teamwork to fall apart because their differing opinions on your coaching starts to drive a wedge between them.

san stills when you break your gaze and glance away to pivot on your heels in the direction of the changerooms. from the way your mouth thins and neck becomes rigid, he is quite certain you are not happy—and rightfully so, san must admit. he stalls time by slipping off his bulky gloves and freeing his hands up to remove his helmet and mouthguard too.

noting that the other boys have grabbed most of their belongings, san heads off first to meet you, knowing that they will follow him soon after. he walks down the corridor easily balancing on his skates and rounds the corner to their locker room. except the sight that greets him has his feet halting and taking a step back behind the doorway.

your hand is deep in one of their bags. san is unsure whose bag it is, but the brief glimpse of the black canvas bag he caught is enough to tell him that it is one of theirs. although he is not making any accusations, he also cannot think of a reason as to why you would be rummaging through their bags.

“why are you just standing there?”

jongho’s voice startles him and he mumbles, “nothing,” before stepping through the door with the rest of his team. you are sitting on a bench in front of an empty locker now and if he did not know better, san would think that he had imagined the last minute. he glances discreetly at the bag you had been poking through and recognises it as wooyoung’s.

gingerly seating himself in front of his own locker, san waits on edge as mingi also grasps the atmosphere and sits too. gradually, the boys read the room with tactful glances and linger on their feet or on the benches. all except for one.

“what was that?” you cut through the silence with a directed question at hongjoong.

the captain continues to toss his gloves into his unzipped bag at the bottom of his locker before proceeding to unlace his skates, not once turning to look at you.

“what was what?”

you know fully well that he is aware of what you are talking about but you decide to humour him as you elaborate, “that last faceoff. i clearly told you to play defensively, but you went against it to try for a goal. and let me guess, you told the others to ignore what i said.”

“and so what if i did?” hongjoong challenges. yeosang’s wide eyes dart from side to side and yunho watches on uneasily as his captain finally turns to glare at you. “in that moment–as a player on the rink–i saw the opportunity and took it. if there is a chance to attack, then my team takes it. we don’t run away like cowards.”

the successive jabs at your athletic retirement cause a lick of phantom heat to wrap around your shoulder. your jaw grinds as you hold yourself back from biting the bait. “then i’m curious as to what opportunity you saw every time you decided to withhold game tactics from me, or every time you changed the strategy the moment you and your team stepped foot onto the rink.”

“maybe we would respect and listen to your coaching if it actually suited the playing style of our team. heavy defence may have worked for the grey eagles, but i think you need to reevaluate your abilities as a coach because it seems like you are forgetting that we are not them. forcing us to play defensively like your past team is not going to work for shit, coach,” hongjoong mocks.

you scoff to the side, questioning your own ears. it borders on a laugh, because that is his reason? you have been adjusting their playing style not only based on the situation that arises each game, but in general for their own good. earning his respect be damned, you will not stand for this.

you return the same scornful tone, “well then, captain, considering you just lost the fucking match because you were too arrogant to defend for twelve fucking seconds, i think you should also reevaluate yourself. are you acting in the best interest of your team, or are you acting in the way that best strokes your own ego? and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you.

“if you do not have the decency to at least tell me what you have discussed with the boys so that i can adjust the plays accordingly, then i think the shit results of your games so far speak for themselves. teams have a coach for a reason whether you like it or not…or maybe i should say, whether you trust them or not,” you snap.

running your stressed fingers through your hair, you tear your eyes away from hongjoong’s defiant eyes. the two youngest avoid your gaze, whereas yunho and yeosang simply stare at you with their jaws slack at a loss for words. the fire within you almost quenches when your eyes skim over san, mingi and even seonghwa, who are fiddling with their jerseys with guilt.

the room suddenly feels too small and too stuffy. “change. the bus will be waiting outside,” you mumble, then you leave without a further word.

nobody in the room moves in the wake of the argument, not even hongjoong, who continues to bore holes in the doorway that you have just disappeared through. yunho’s eyes awkwardly dart back and forth between hongjoong and the other boys before they land on the bench you had been sitting on.

the notebook you are always holding is still there, left behind in your haste to leave. he stands up to grab it, turning on his heels to chase after you when the open pages catch his eye. “woah,” yunho breathes out, double-taking and bringing the notebook closer towards him to read the contents. “this is insane.”

you have marked down not only their score for every single game they have played this season, but you have also tracked the statistics of who has scored, assisted, or successfully defended a shot. yunho flips back through the pages as the other boys come to crowd around him. there are logs of their major games from the past five years, diagrams of their faceoff plays and formations, analyses of their strengths in games won and similarly, analyses of their weaknesses in games they have lost.

“oh, fuck,” mingi curses when yunho flips to the more recent pages and they see that you have compiled the same details and information, only more concisely, for every single opponent team the red devils have played against this season. there is no way of seeing this–hours upon hours of hard work–and still questioning your intentions as their coach. “i think we owe coach a huge fuckin’ apology.”

hongjoong immediately furrows his eyebrows with displeasure. “are you taking her side, mingi?”

“captain,” mingi deliberately calls. it is at times like this where being the only logical thinker in the team has its merits. it may be harsh, but mingi must draw the line between their professional and personal life. this dispute must stay strictly within the bounds of their career without blurring the lines over into their romantic involvement with one another, otherwise things could get messy real fast.

mingi stares at the captain as he reasons, “this isn’t about taking sides. from a solely rational point of view, i think it may have been better for us to play safe and defend like coach had suggested.”

from beside him, san nods in agreement. mingi continues, “and i’m not just talking about today–there were a lot of times when coach’s plays might have worked out better than bulldozing ahead with offence. yeah, we’ve won a few games but we’ve also lost just as many. how many of those could we have won if we had trusted coach?”

yunho backs him up whilst gesturing vaguely between the both of them and san, “it’s easier for the three of us to see from defence, but their forwards were already close to intercepting our faceoffs quite a few times that game.”

hongjoong’s immediate thought is to defend himself, because he is their captain and their centre forward; the one who leads them into opportunities to score and win. he knows that every single time he chooses an aggressive play, it is at the risk of weaker defence. the odds have never deterred him, though, because he has always been confident in his abilities–in his team’s abilities.

but if, even now with the palpable experience of losing because of his own decision, it still does not deter him from taking risks in a situation where offence may be his downfall, then is he confident…or overconfident?

it is quiet for a moment. hongjoong swallows the urge to justify against their opinions–against your opinions–instead looking around at his team. he meets jongho’s round eyes and he remembers one of the very reasons why he is so committed to leading the red devils to the gold trophy. why, if he is becoming a hurdle instead to their victory, then he needs to change. “what does everybody else think? seonghwa?”

“we’ve been wary of y/n all this time, but the more games we play and especially after…” the alternate captain vaguely gestures in the air, “...today, we should really work with her instead of relying on ourselves. we’ve seen her notebook, too, and i think that’s more than enough for us to see that the effort and resolve she places in our team is genuine. we need to acknowledge that and apologise.”

“not even coach cho went to these lengths, and most definitely not coach yeon,” yeosang shrugs as he offhandedly comments.

spurred on by everybody else, san carefully voices the thought that has been lingering on his mind, “i think it’s time to tell her the truth. we owe her that much.”

the truth. the wounds that not even coach cho knows of.

hongjoong’s distrust in you may have initially been true to his desire to protect his boys from something like that from happening again. but he is now realising that you may have seen right through him. perhaps at some point in time, it became unwillingness to trust you, blinded by his prideful title as the demon king of the ice rink but at the expense of his team under the guise of wanting to safeguard them.

exhaling shakily, voice thick with regret, hongjoong accepts, “i’ve let you all down, haven’t i?”

“no,” yunho gently rebukes. “letting us down would be refusing to listen to us. we trust you for a reason, hongjoong.”

not just as a captain, but as everything else too.

seonghwa wraps an arm comfortingly around him. with hongjoong’s demonic presence on the ice once he is in the zone, it is easy to forget that he actually has a shorter stature than all of them. “that’s right, we trust you,” seonghwa affirms. “the next step is for us to trust our coach as well. we’re a team, but it isn’t complete without our coach.”

“and this apology isn’t yours alone to bear,” yunho reminds. “like seonghwa said, we’re a team and we all have fault in our behaviour towards y/n. if i’m honest, i had a shitty attitude and gave her a hard time at the start too,” he admits, wincing at the memory.

yunho is not the only one who grimaces as they reflect on their own actions–whether they happened when you were first introduced to the team, during your first training together, or even up until today’s game. but wooyoung, who has been quiet throughout the entire ordeal, still has a niggling doubt: one that is most personal to him in comparison to the rest of the team.

wooyoung reveals his thoughts, “but what about her choice to stop playing? i still can’t think of a good reason that i can respect her for having retired.”

“then we ask her,” mingi proposes.

jongho nods, also curious to know whether there is more to your decision than you have let on. “today, though? we don’t really want to come off as accusatory or anything. it might be good to give her some space today.”

“what’s our schedule looking like tomorrow? training?”

everyone looks at seonghwa, the most likely person to know their schedule off by heart. he does, and he scratches his head as he recalls, “no, recovery day. low-intensity cardio in the morning and…a team meeting with coach in the afternoon.”

“tomorrow it is, then,” hongjoong concludes. there are hums of agreement and the decision appears to appease wooyoung enough for the boys to start dispersing, heading to their lockers to finally start changing out of their gear.

wooyoung tosses his helmet and gloves onto the bench in front of his locker before sitting with a sharp but discreet inhale. he carefully loosens the laces on his skates, easing the left one off his foot slowly. the relief is immediate and his fingertips gingerly touch the throbbing area around his ankle. it is not too swollen, but he will need to ice it when they get back to their apartment and he will definitely need to buy more tape.

he sheds off the rest of his gear and uniform, leaving them on the bench too to air out while he takes a quick shower. as he roughly towels his wet hair afterwards, he drags his kit bag further out to make it easier to toss everything in.

“huh?” wooyoung makes a noise of confusion when he unzips the bag, hand immediately reaching in to grab the item that has caught his eye. it is partially covered by his hoodie but he would be able to recognise the packaging anywhere.

“what’s wrong?” san asks, glancing over.

the younger brandishes the brand new roll of strapping tape he has found in his bag, the frown etched across his face slowly relaxing into amused exasperation as he reasons, “i must not have seen this in my bag all along.”

san is about to snort and make fun of his inattentiveness, but a sudden thought stuns the smile off his face. it was not that wooyoung had managed to miss the spare roll in his bag. it was–

“y/n,” he quietly exhales with realisation.

at wooyoung’s questioning what?, san looks at him with upturned eyebrows. “the tape–coach was the one who put it in your bag, right before we all walked in here.”

“this…she gave it to me?” wooyoung’s face drops, remorse evident in the thickness of his voice. “but why?”

san gently squeezes his shoulder with a smile, simply answering, “because she’s our coach.” he turns to zip up his own kit bag and leaves wooyoung to digest the revelation. the boy is quiet for the rest of the time, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he stares ahead and absentmindedly follows the rest of his team out of the locker room.

when they exit the ice arena, they do not expect to see you. and yet, there you stand beside their bus waiting stonily with your jacket zipped up and hands in your pockets. you mentally count them off without acknowledging them as they start to store their kit bags under the bus and board. yeosang gets on first, taking a seat near the front of the bus as usual. he watches from the window as you wait for the rest of the boys.

you follow jongho up the stairs, the last to load his kit bag, and tell the driver that you are all good to leave. yeosang sits a little straighter as he tucks his small backpack further under the seat in front of him with his feet, having left the seat beside him empty. but before he can open his mouth with an offer of a seat, you have already sat right behind the driver. yeosang leans back into the cushions of his seat, unfamiliar with the sense of disappointment he feels.

the ride back from the competition venue–much less after a lost game–is always quiet, players both physically and mentally exhausted from the strain. this time, though, it is strikingly silent, but you appreciate it–need it.

you stare out of the window as the trees flicker past like a repetitive motion film. most of their leaves have already fallen off, littering the ground in a blur of tragic glory. and with the beginning of winter, the trees will soon become completely bare, bringing about the period of time when there is nothing but bleak emptiness.

winter, 2019: regular season

‘2019 ice hockey rookie stars tournament: team standings’

hongjoong stares at the printed piece of paper with seonghwa at his side, where the results of all the team’s round-robin games have been taped up onto the walls of the stadium. hongjoong does not even bother reading from the top, eyes going straight down to the bottom of the page instead.

the red devils are dead last, having lost every single one of their matches. even the korean penguins, who had nil wins either, had managed to beat them earlier today, ranking them at the lowest of all teams. it is fucking humiliating and hongjoong hates that the sport that had brought him and his boys all together, that they had immeasurable love for, is now one that fills them with shame and indignity.

nobody else but the two captains of the team have decided to look at the rankings. they had all already known towards the end of the regular season that they would not stand a chance at making it into the playoffs. and yet, hongjoong and seonghwa need to see the results for themselves. it is almost masochistic, forcing themselves to look at the fruitless results of their hard work in their first competition that has so devastatingly crushed their morality.

seonghwa picks at his cuticles fretfully and wonders whether he made the wrong decision to give up his education in pursuit of becoming an athlete. he thinks of his parents, who had encouraged him with supportive smiles and offers of financial support the moment he brought up the idea–was it all in vain?

“are you two done looking?”

both of the boys turn at the question to find a captain with his team waiting to look at the standings.

“yeah, sorry,” hongjoong mumbles before stepping aside to yield his spot. the players swarm forwards and he is pushed further back away from the list like a physical representation of his distance from the playoffs.

somebody from the other team yells, “we made it! we’re in the playoffs!” and they simultaneously break out into cries and cheers as they celebrate together.

hongjoong watches on bitterly, wishing with every cell in his body that that was him and his boys. how is he going to walk back into the locker room as their captain when all of his boys have eyes that are rimmed red and cheeks that are blotchy from despair–when there are captains like that who have successfully led their team to at least a chance at winning the competition.

the feeling of a pinky slowly hooking around his own draws hongjoong out of his pain. “let’s go back,” seonghwa murmurs, tugging him away from the still-celebrating team. together, both of them start to walk back through the hallways to their locker room. 

“aren’t we down here?” seonghwa questions, standing at the t-intersection that hongjoong has absentmindedly walked straight past.

“oh, yeah. sorry,” hongjoong apologises and begins to backtrack. his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a voice. “wait, doesn’t that sound like coach?”

before seonghwa can respond, hongjoong has turned around yet again towards the voice in search of their coach. seonghwa hurries to catch up and that is when he hears it too.

“have you transferred the money?”

“yes, i wired you the remaining amount the moment we won,” a deeper, unrecognisable voice reassures.

hongjoong’s footsteps falter, brows knitting together and head cocking to one side. he gestures for seonghwa to slow down, pressing a finger on his other hand to his lips. both of them creep forward silently.

the unfamiliar voice probes, “your team–you’re sure they don’t suspect anything?”

hongjoong and seonghwa do not need to see him to confirm their suspicions when they hear the unmistakable laughter of coach yeon. through the gravelly sound, he mocks, “they have no fucking clue even though they’ve lost every single one of their games. they’re dumber than fucking sheep. their captain tells me everything about their plays and strategies and they never question it when i change things around.”

seonghwa clutches the back of hongjoong’s jersey with a death grip, knowing that without it, his captain will punch coach yeon’s face into a bloody mess. but as much as their coach deserves it, it is not worth the disciplinary action that will inevitably follow, likely suspension, because–

“plus, even if they do somehow find out, what can they do about it? bullshit, that’s what. they have no evidence and they’re not going to risk blowing this up and ruining their own careers instead,” coach yeon boasts smugly. “losing like that as a rookie group in their first year out is completely normal. no one will believe them, and no coach is going to want their team after that because of their ‘shitty sportsmanship’ or out of fear of being accused in the same way if they lose again.”

at coach yeon’s words, seonghwa scrambles to put them into context with his dread-riddled mind. the echoing pounding in his ears tells him that he has just heard something that was never meant to be known. he does not even notice that the voices start to grow distant as the two men begin to walk off, but hongjoong does.

the trembling grip that is still on the back of his jersey grounds hongjoong enough not to throw everything away and sprint up to coach yeon with vile words and heated fists, but he also cannot do nothing. hongjoong peers around the corner before seonghwa can counteract his movement, desperate to identify who exactly coach yeon is talking to. except the revelation has him reeling, hands white from how hard his fingers dig into his palm–a stark contrast to the deep scarlet of flames that leap forth from his murderous eyes.

because the person who is walking beside coach yeon is the coach of the korean penguins. hongjoong and his boys have not been losing because of their skills they believed to be fucking shit–coach yeon has been fucking ensuring they lose.

for money.

winter, present: regular season

you stand on the balcony of your apartment. the sliding glass doors are shut behind you to keep the heat trapped inside, but for now you welcome the refreshing cold of the winter chill as you simply observe.

below on the streets, the miniature specks of people and cars mill around as if you are watching a game simulation. it is strangely humbling to think that each and every one of the people you see are living their own lives, completely distinct to yours with different yet very real problems of their own, but in the grand scheme of the cosmos, you are all insignificant.

you wonder what concern the people holding their coffee are plagued with right now; what problem the people crossing the street are facing. you wonder, if you were to tell them of your worries and they were to tell you of theirs, would you curse or thank the heavens?

the phone in your hand buzzes. you look to see if it is from coach cho and manage a small smile of relief when the notification is indeed from him.

apologies y/n, i was busy earlier. i can call now if you still need me?

you send an affirmative reply, then slide to answer the call that comes through. “hi coach, sorry to bother you.”

“no, you’re alright. is everything okay?”

you hesitate before revealing, “...i messed things up with the boys.”

“the team?” his voice goes gentle, fatherly nature extending to you too. “what happened?”

“hongjoong and i had an argument today after the game because he keeps changing the team’s plays without letting me know, or even after we’ve agreed on something else. it was only meant to be a talk, but then things escalated and we ended up fighting. i just–i don’t know what you saw in me, coach, because i don’t think i’m fit for the boys,” you ramble. “they’re not listening to me, they probably don’t even like me, and we’re going terribly with the season.”

you take a breath as you timidly admit, “i don’t think we’re going to make it into the playoffs and it’s going to be my fault.”

“hey,” coach cho grounds you, “making the playoffs would be great, yes, but the reality is that most teams don’t. and you’re still very young yourself–this is your, what…fifth year of coaching?”

throat too sticky to formulate a response, you simply hum.

“when i first started coaching, i was older than you and it was still a steep learning curve during my first ten years. i believed that coaches deserved the utmost respect and that my opinion was final. they’re my players, so of course i should be the one laying down the laws,” he chuckles. “but growing up was realising that whilst the respect is still there, it needs to be mutual. coaching a team is not a hierarchy of ‘i command, you listen’, but a show of leadership with the captain at the front of the team–not on top of them.”

his words strike a chord within you. coaching the boys was frustrating because they were not listening to you. but it should never have been a case of who listens to who–it should always have been a reciprocated relationship of everyone listening to one other.

as if he can physically feel the guilt that is starting to settle in the pit of your stomach, coach cho draws your attention to something else. “remember what i told you when we met the team for the first time? why i chose you specifically?”

“because of our similar playing styles?” you recall.

“exactly,” he confirms, “you know best the strategies and plays that work, and what their strengths and weaknesses are, because they were also your own. you need to be a coach to their playing style, not the other way around–they shouldn’t be a player to your coaching style.”

you cannot help but worry, “what if they get injured?”

“y/n, this is where your similarities can either be your biggest flaw or your greatest asset as a coach. no matter how safely they play, there will always be a risk of injury. that is just how the sport works and you know that the best. you can teach them to assess the risk and pull back if they really need to, but ultimately, there is no way of eliminating the risk completely.” coach cho pauses, then asks, “if you could meet your younger self, would you make yourself change your playing style?”

would you? as you imagine what you would tell your past self if you had the chance to, you find that you do not have an answer. perhaps for the sake of a prolonged career, you would. but then would it be your passion and skills that are playing the game, or your fears and worries?

if you cannot come to a decision even for yourself, then it is completely unfair for you to restrain the boys within the cages of what you view as safety for their own good. harnessing the defensive skills may have been functional for the grey eagles, but like hongjoong said, you are coaching the red devils now and it is not working for them. you must come to terms that you cannot protect the boys at every opportunity–consciously or unconsciously–you need to be a coach to them.

coach cho, aware that you have come to a conclusion, asks you one final question, “have you told the boys why you retired?”

“no, not yet,” you shake your head. you already have an idea of what he is going to say to you next.

“i think it’s time for you to tell them,” he advises. “remember, y/n, sometimes you need to be vulnerable with them first before you can make things right.”

after coach cho ends the call, you do not make a move to go back inside the apartment. you stay standing on your balcony, arms folded as you lean against the handrail listening to the faint rumble of traffic and hustle of busy activity. life goes on, and so will yours; you just have to make it count.

the trees on the streets may be stripped bare and lonely throughout winter, but eventually you learn to appreciate its nothingness. it is a necessity in order to start afresh.

mingi stares at the blinking cursor that sits in the open search bar. it has been empty for the last twenty minutes since he started up his laptop, wondering whether it would be an invasion of privacy for him to look you up on the internet.

he makes up his mind. he knows that he was the one to tell wooyoung only mere hours ago that they would ask you about your decision to retire tomorrow at the meeting, but mingi supposes it would not hurt to simply see what sort of athlete you were like before.

typing your full name into the search engine, mingi hits ‘enter’ and waits for the results to appear. he combs through the first several links quickly. they all have the same information; ice hockey databases and websites that detail your age, nationality, physical stats and position, but the sections that usually list your team and agency are now blank.

mingi is surprised to learn you were also a centre forward. he scrolls down to your game logs and match statistics that span from 2014 to 2019. you have won an impressive number of championships, most notably the under-18 and under-21 women’s ice hockey league. they are both international competitions and mingi is not sure how your reputation has flown under all of their radars.

frowning, he goes back to the search engine and clicks on the next page in an attempt to find more information. it is not until he clicks yet again to the next page that he finds a low-reputed news article from almost eight years ago where you are the main subject.

‘y/n l/n, youngest player of ‘black cats’, wins ice hockey championship at the age of sixteen’ the headline reads. there is not much to the article, but it outlines your admirable achievement at your young age as a rising prodigy in the ice hockey scene. mingi agrees, since he knows that you also go on to win another international competition a few years after that. just as he is about to close the tab, there is a recommended link that catches his eye.

he hovers his cursor over it. the hyperlinked headline does not explicitly say your name, but the phrasing really only alludes to one athlete considering it is a recommended link on your article. mingi does not know whether he wants to click on it, though, because he is afraid of confirming it is you.

and if it is…then the others will also need to see this too.

“hongjoong, guys, come look at this,” mingi calls out, balancing his laptop on his forearm as he walks out into the open living room. the others look up from where they are sitting or emerge from out of their rooms at his summon.

“what’s this?” hongjoong reaches out to receive the laptop and places it on the table. his eyes skim the screen, trying to make sense of what mingi is showing them.

mingi points to the hyperlink he had been mulling over. “i think we need to look at this.”

solemnity washes over the boys as their curious gazes dull and darken, realisation of what exactly they are reading dawning upon them. all at once, their hearts clench in solidarity. hongjoong clicks on the link. the only sound that permeates the silence is the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. nobody talks. nobody moves.

ice hockey star announces retirement following shoulder injury june 18, 2019 star player y/n l/n, centre forward of the ‘black cats’, has announced her retirement from professional ice hockey today. her decision follows lingering issues after suffering from a rotator cuff tear during the grand finals of this year’s under-21 women’s ice hockey league. l/n has been under the ice hockey spotlight ever since her win in the under-18’s league as the youngest player on her team. she is well-known for her offensive threat to the opponents, bold playing style and unparalleled skill breaking through the lines of defence.  during the grand finals in april, l/n was body checked from the side by ‘polar bears’’ kim hyejin. although full-body checking is illegal in women’s hockey, it is not uncommon during the heat of competitions. l/n suffered a severe right rotator cuff tear and is reported to have received open surgery last month. l/n did not provide further details about her recovery, however stated that she plans to focus on her physical rehabilitation in the meantime.

the glare of the screen stares back at the boys as they finally understand exactly why you had retired and why you had come back as a coach–you were unable to fully step away from the sport you so loved with your entire life.

“coach wasn’t telling us to play defensively at all the crucial times just for the sake of the game strategy…” seonghwa grasps.

“...but because she didn’t want the same thing to happen to us,” hongjoong finishes. one of your heated remarks during your argument with him suddenly resounds in his mind: and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you. you had been reliving your own demons every single time hongjoong and his boys were playing aggressively on the ice. “fuck,” he mutters.

mingi leans down a little. “wait, see if there are any other articles about this.”

fingers dancing across the keyboard, hongjoong opens up a new tab. another quick search of your name with the keywords ‘injury’ and ‘retirement’ yields no further articles. mingi is certain you would have had more media coverage considering you had suffered an injury at the rising peak of your prodigious career, so he finds it strange that there is close to no information about this.

“it almost looks as if somebody had the articles purged from the internet,” mingi observes.

jongho nods with furrowed brows, “maybe y/n? but why would she go to the length to remove them?”

“i mean, wooyoung didn’t exactly go around flaunting off his injury to the media. maybe she didn’t want the attention anymore,” yeosang guesses.

yunho nudges wooyoung playfully as he comments, “no offence to you, but none of us are exactly famous enough for the media to take interest in our injuries.”

“i think the real question is why coach didn’t tell us that her injury was the reason why she stopped playing,” seonghwa wonders, “it was never really a choice like she made it out to be.”

none of them know the answer. hongjoong slowly closes the laptop, exhaling deeply, “we’ve got a lot of things to clear up tomorrow…and a lot of apologising. i’m going to sleep early. you all should too.”

with that, he gets out of his seat and disappears into his bedroom. hongjoong’s mind is heavy and crowded and he knows he is going to be awake for a while.

nobody sleeps well that night. especially wooyoung.

spring, 2023: playoffs

“what do you mean i can’t compete in the playoffs?”

“you have a fractured ankle, wooyoung. the playoffs are honestly the least of your concerns and if you keep straining yourself like this, it won’t just be the playoffs that you can’t compete in–it’ll be the rest of your life,” coach cho admonishes.

“but this is our first proper championship, coach,” wooyoung begs, “you have to let me play.”

coach cho hates that he has to say no and if he could swap ankles with his player, he would do so in a heartbeat. “this isn’t a choice. you physically cannot play. what are you going to do out there on the ice? crawl?”

“fuck, coach, you don’t understand. it was so hard for us to get to this point. this means everything to me, fuck, please,” wooyoung pleads between heaving breaths.

“i’m sorry, wooyoung,” coach cho apologises, leaving no further room for argument as the other boys divert their gazes to the floor.

hongjoong gently squeezes wooyoung’s shoulder. “the doctor said that your cast can come off in about eight weeks and if it’s looking good, you can gradually join in on any light training when it’s off-season.”

wooyoung does not care because in eight week’s time the playoffs will already be over. he knows he is being unreasonable and that there is no chance he will be able to set foot in an ice rink within the next two months. but his heart and mind are operating separately and the only thing his heart can see is the opportunity of playing in the championships slipping right out of his grasp.

he is already angry at himself for getting injured in the first place but it is not enough to quell wooyoung’s raging inferno. so he does the only thing he can think of in the moment–he spits out his anger with a venomous, “i hate you all.”

it hurts the boys more to see wooyoung hurting and coach cho speaks up on their behalf, “i would rather you hate us now than for you to hate yourself in the future because you traded decades of your career for this one playoff.”

wooyoung jerks his head away defiantly, but they know he is only trying to hide his tears. unable to watch any longer, san moves in closer and pulls the younger into his arms.

“fuck off, san. i don’t need you.”

san swallows the hurt in his chest because he knows there is no truth behind wooyoung’s words. “i know you don’t,” he offers, “but i need you. so just let me stay.”

wooyoung’s body sags as all of the fight slips out of him in the form of shuddering sobs. san embraces him tightly, as if he has picked up all the pieces of the other and only a hug can make him whole again.

“i’m sorry,” wooyoung chokes out.

san shakes his head with reassuring hushes, “don’t be. you focus on recovering and we’ll take it from here.”

like that, wooyoung’s anger is quenched and the team goes on to compete in the playoffs without him. but in the absence of anger comes other emotions, jealousy and insecurity the ugliest of them all. wooyoung despises the bitter taste in his mouth as he sits on the player’s bench outside of the rink each game, only able to helplessly watch his team advance further in the playoffs without him.

and as much as wooyoung wants them to win, he also does not want them to win, because if they can win the championships without him playing as their left wing, then do they really need him at all? he never gets to find out the answer though. they lose in the quarter finals.

wooyoung does not tell anybody about the ill relief he feels…and he vows to take that secret with him to the grave.

winter, present: regular season

the moment you walk into kq’s meeting room, a rehearsed apology for the team on the tip of your tongue, you realise that something is off. not necessarily wrong, per se; just off.

all the boys are sitting around the table as usual, though the overhead projector that is routinely already set up with video footage of their recent games has been put on standby mode. but the thing that unconsciously makes your hackles rise is the expression they all nurse on their faces, strangely familiar yet foreign at the same time. it is familiar in the sense that people have looked at you this way in the past, but it is foreign in the sense that it has never come from the boys before.

“hi, coach,” hongjoong clears his throat awkwardly, opting to look at the wall behind you instead of your eyes as if even he knows this is the first time he has ever addressed you as such. “we had a…talk last night and thought we should probably clear up a few things before we discuss the actual games.”

although you share the same sentiment as they do, hongjoong’s words put you on guard. gingerly, you lower yourself into an empty seat across from him. “i also have a couple of things to say, but you guys start,” you cue.

hongjoong glances at seonghwa beside him, who in turn gives him a miniscule shrug. neither of them know how to bring it up with you as they are afraid of saying the wrong thing. thankfully, mingi steps in, not one to beat around the bush.

“why didn’t you tell us about your injury?” he asks directly.

with mingi’s question, you are suddenly able to place their expression. the boys look at you warily as if you are a wounded animal they are afraid will run away. you loathed the expression years ago when it was from your coach, your teammates and your family–the constant treading on eggshells around you with pitying eyes–and you still loathe it just as much as you do now.

your prickles emerge and your instinctive reaction is to deny it. you have kept your injury a secret up until now for a reason and the unexpected confrontation has all of your sirens blaring to keep it a secret. but then you remember coach cho’s advice–you remember the apology you had mulled over all night–and you force your prickles to retract.

you take a breath. coach cho would not have told them about your injury, so there is only one way the boys could have found out about it. “you read the articles, didn’t you?”

mingi at least has the decency to look sheepish as he admits, “one…but there weren’t any others.”

“i thought as much,” you mumble to yourself, smiling tightly. you choose not to think about how they came across the article. “i wanted them all removed and my agency managed to pull enough connections to sweep the articles under the rug, but i should have known that in this day and age it would be impossible to get rid of any media completely.”

the question remains as to why you have chosen to keep this hidden and also–

“why did you want them removed, though?” hongjoong furrows his brows.

you have faced countless demons in the last six years. the injury itself, the abrupt end to your golden days, and the forced reconciliation with the fact that you will never be able to play again. and yet, the demon that continues to haunt you to this day is the media spotlight that chases after you as if you are a circus animal.

you are unable to look at any of them in the eye as you finally bare yourself open to the boys. “the articles felt belittling and shameful–they still do. they made me feel less as an athlete then and they make me feel less as a coach now. i worked my heart and soul to get to where i was with the skills that i had, but you don’t understand just how crippling it is for all of that to be overshadowed by an injury. it was no longer a celebration of my achievements, simply because nobody cared anymore. it just became a fucking broken record of, ‘how does it feel to have fallen at the peak of your career?’

“then when i became a coach, it didn’t matter how well my team performed or how hard they worked to win the championships. the question became, ‘how does it feel to coach after being forced to retire because of your injury?’ no matter how hard i tried, i just could not escape the hellhole of my injury.”

guilt settles in the pit of mingi’s stomach as it also does for the others. they may not have written the article, but by consuming it and searching for more, they had unknowingly joined the faceless masses of those who had hurt you.

you dig your thumbs into the flesh of your thighs to stop your voice from shaking as you continue, “the media will not care for the achievements that myself or my players accomplish when there is something even better–a sob story. but i do not need that kind of pity. not from athletes, not from other coaches, and most definitely not from strangers silently pitying my life from behind their newspaper or screen when i did not ask for any of it. i made people forget and i kept this all hidden because my career, be it as a coach or a former athlete, does not deserve to be reduced to that kind of shit.”

the raw honesty behind your words strikes the boys silent. what they thought they had started to understand about you, they are now realising was barely the tip of the iceberg. seonghwa wonders for just how long you have left this wound bleeding and untreated. he calls out for you sadly, “coach, you should’ve told us.”

when you look up, you are surprised to find wetness brimming his eyes. you feel the hot rush of emotions build up behind your own eyes but from anger, because why is he upset? what reason does he have to cry when you are the one who has suffered all this time?

your voice is biting when you respond, “and have you look down on me like everybody else? i just said, i do not need your pity–”

“it’s not pity,” a voice interrupts firmly. of all people, you least expected it to come from wooyoung. his tone stays unyielding as he holds your gaze. “we’re athletes too, y/n.”

the way he includes you in the collective–as an athlete–has your glare softening immediately, replaced by the dangerous quivering of your bottom lip while he elaborates, albeit voice gentler now, “we are hurting for you–with you. it is not pity; it is standing by your side in hopes that we can help you up if you ever fall again.”

because it is okay to fall, and you will fall; wooyoung knows that the best.

you tilt your head upwards as you desperately blink back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill. the swell of emotions that had churned in your chest had not been anger but fatigue, you realise. wooyoung’s words give you sudden clarity that you are tired–of suffering alone and in silence. you want help.

“i’m tired of hurting,” you confess quietly.

“then let us share the hurt with you.”

the dam breaks and your tears fall freely down your cheeks. it starts off with a nod so miniscule that the boys think they have imagined it, but then slowly and surely, your head moves up and down with more conviction. “okay,” you whisper.

you had always thought that you had come to terms with your injury and the end of your career, but perhaps you are still mourning your loss…and perhaps that is okay. like looking into a time-warped mirror, wooyoung sees the fight slip out of your body with a sob as you apologise, “i’m sorry.”

san wants to cross the room and wrap his arms around you if it can take away even just a fraction of your hurt. but he knows that he cannot cross the boundaries of professionalism despite the intimate nature of the conversation right now, especially when you and the team are only just starting to patch things up. so instead, he opts to rub his thumb over the knuckles of wooyoung’s hand from under the table, which has slipped into his, hoping that one day he will be able to do the same for you.

“we understand,” hongjoong answers on their behalf, “you were doing what you needed to do in order to protect yourself.”

and if you do not realise that he says those words for himself and his team to hear too, then you will by the end of the conversation as you walk away with a newfound understanding of them.

“no, not just for that,” you shake your head, roughly swiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “it ended up negatively influencing the way i coached you guys, even if it was subconscious. i let my own trauma dictate how i wanted you to play: defensively all the time whether it was needed or not. hongjoong, you were right about me not coaching your team as your team.”

you try your damned hardest to keep your voice steady so that you can look at them properly to apologise, “i’m sorry i made it so hard to trust me as your coach.”

“okay, let me stop you right there,” yunho smiles gently, sliding a tissue box in your direction. “we were pricks too, so half the apology is ours.”

“don’t call her a prick,” seonghwa whispers. his horrified expression relaxes when you break out into a wet chuckle.

hongjoong is glad that you are able to find something to laugh about even with your cheeks still damp and blotchy, and he finds his mouth curling into a bittersweet smile. you have been honest and vulnerable with them and now it is their turn.

“we have something to tell you about our past coach,” he starts, drawing your gaze to him. “not coach cho–our very first coach. we’re not trying to justify that what we did as a result was okay, but…”

“but hopefully i can understand,” you finish when hongjoong hesitates. he nods and you mirror his action with a reassuring smile to encourage him to talk.

but irregardless of what they tell you, you already know that you want to understand them, because understanding is the first step to forgiving, and you want that too.

so with intermittent comments from the other boys, hongjoong reveals to you the hidden wounds they have been nursing. and as they tell you about coach yeon, how their trust in him had been misplaced, how he had betrayed it for money at the expense of their championship, and how they had then let that become mistrust in you and your reason for retiring, wooyoung finds himself quiet so that he can steal glances at you.

he can see it now. the untameable beast within you of passion for ice hockey that has been forcibly chained down to the ground with the weight of the earth. the devastating torment that must incessantly surge through you in the most debilitating waves, tenfold any anguish he felt when he was unable to compete in the playoffs. the blemished canvas of dark and ghastly emotions that you do not let see the light of day, yet continue to coexist in hidden silence.

it is there and then that wooyoung realises you and him may be more similar than he thought–that you may actually understand him better than any of his seven boys.

you stop the drill.

yeosang gracefully turns in an arc whilst keeping the puck close to his stick as hongjoong and seonghwa dig their skates into the ice to brake before their momentum takes out the younger.

“let’s have jongho try using the perimeter of the rink instead of passing to yeosang this time. start the faceoff again,” you instruct.

the chorus of responses that you receive are zealous, even slightly teasing as the boys lower their voices with a, “yes, coach!” and give you small salutes with their gloved hands. you cannot help but snort and shake your head, waving at them to retake their positions.

practice is short today, since your team has a game tomorrow. the first half an hour consisted of running through offensive formations for power plays and you are now focusing on defensive penalty kills. your two captains and wooyoung are playing as the mock opponents, preparing your remaining wings and defenseman for a situation where they are down a player.

hongjoong seems to mull over a thought as he looks at the formation of his boys. “you mentioned the team we’re playing against has a tendency to position their forwards higher up, didn’t you?” he asks and  when you nod, he suggests, “what do you think about trying the diamond formation instead? might help close some of their shooting lanes.”

with the captain’s input, you reposition yeosang further up to form the tip of the diamond, and yunho too to cover the right point whilst jongho covers the left. mingi moves in a little closer to the goal to cover the bottom of the diamond and you make sure to point out the importance of his position.

“if the opportunity arises, we can transition into a counterattack instead with 3-1. but we’ll need to make sure we still cover the goal in case they turn it back over again–mingi, this will probably be you. support whoever has the puck from behind, but make sure you don’t go too far forward.”

mingi answers with an affirmative and yeosang passes the puck to hongjoong for him to commence the penalty kill. at your whistle, the rink explodes into action. wooyoung and seonghwa immediately split down the perimeters to open up shooting lanes for their captain, who passes the puck off to wooyoung the moment he has cleared half the rink. with a brief adjustment of the puck’s angle, he attempts a cross-ice pass to where seonghwa is free on the other side.

with astonishing speed, jongho intercepts the puck and yells, “3-1!” he continues to barrel forward with the momentum of his explosive acceleration towards the goal as yeosang anticipates a pass and yunho joins the counterattack rush to his right. the three of your players charge forwards with adrenaline as mingi covers them from behind. jongho chips the puck over hongjoong’s stick, which is immediately taken up by yeosang. without a goaltender, he finishes it off with an easy shot into the net.

the tempo and execution of the rush surprises not just you, but the boys themselves too, who are tapping their sticks together with elated excitement at the success of the play. it may only be a simulated practice drill, but you still share in the same pride and contentment that hongjoong’s face glows at you with.

he cocks his head to the side with a paired smile and you return the same nonverbal acknowledgement. corners of your lips still lifted up, you gather the boys, “let’s have a drink break.”

as the boys make their way over to the benches, removing their gloves and helmets, you eye the water bottles and make sure you have enough–five in the cooler and three on the bench beside it. san bounds up to you after grabbing one from the cooler, bragging, “coach! did you see the way jongho intercepted that puck?”

from beside him, wooyoung reenacts the moment with wild flails of his limbs and airy whooshes from his mouth, jongho watching with bashful giggles. you indulge in their animated recount and listen intently. “he was amazingly fast,” you agree.

yeosang passes an opened bottle to wooyoung before untwisting the lid to his own, commenting, “the ankle weights on top of all the training must be working.”

the boys are not currently wearing any, but you had slowly implemented the use of vests, ankle or wrist weights during specific drills. now that they have taken them off and are playing without the burden of the additional mass, you are all starting to see the gains of their hard work.

you smirk with satisfaction, “of course. if my players are going to bulldoze across the ice, may as well make them fast enough to avoid all the opponents.”

“don’t encourage her,” wooyoung elbows yeosang scandalously. “she’s going to make us wear heavier weights next practice.”

“you don’t get to complain if you don’t even wear the weights,” you quip.

he knows his injury means that he cannot wear the weights in case it places stress on his ankle, so he curses at you with no real heat just for the sake of cursing, “fuck you.”

you wink, “love you too.”

wooyoung shuts his mouth and scrunches the bridge of his nose with faux displeasure, and jongho laughs at his inability to faze you. you glance down and open your notebook to mention, “on that note, though, how do we feel about going up a few hundred grams next week?”

“i’m fine with that,” yeosang says at the same time jongho confirms, “sounds good.” most of the other boys also nod that they are fine with increasing their weights, save for seonghwa who notifies you that he is still adjusting so he will keep his as it is for now.

you jot down ticks and crosses next to their names corresponding to their answers whilst suggesting, “yunho and mingi, you can both probably try half a kilogram since your body masses are higher.”

said boys peer over your shoulder to see what their new weights would be, then yunho makes a noise of intriguement. “coach, did you write these?”

you look to where his finger is pointing to–sticky notes upon sticky notes of unorganised observations and reminders to yourself. starting to feel self-conscious, you deny, “...no,” only for yunho to swipe the notebook from out of your grasp. “hey!”

he holds it up and open above him, voice gleeful as he reads one out, “‘jongho, wooyoung and yeosang prefer water at room temperature when training–take bottles out of cooler!’”

“aw, coach,” wooyoung coos, “did you deliberately leave three bottles in room temperature for us on the bench?”

feeling your ears heat up from being exposed, you swipe at the notebook. your skates give you added height, but so do yunho’s skates, so your attempts to jump for it are futile.

“‘boys want to eat abura soba after their win’,” he continues to read, pausing to let out a dramatic gasp, “are you going to treat us, coach?” his question is met with enthusiasm.

when another wild swipe sends a sharp sting down your shoulder from the movement, reminding you of the pain that had flared up a few days ago, you decide to change tactics. you grab the back and front of his jersey with your hands, completely ready to commit to scaling him like a literal tree. but then a different set of hands easily takes the notebook out of yunho’s and of course it would be mingi. you insult, “give it back, you tall buffoon!”

mingi is hardly fazed as you switch targets to him, your fingertips nowhere near reaching the notebook as he snickers and reads, “‘trial jongho as starting forward–wait.” he lowers his hands with sobriety and you are finally able to snatch the notebook back, shutting it before they can read any more of your sticky notes. it is not like there is anything they cannot know, but it is sort of embarrassing for them to see how much attention you pay to them.

“you want jongho on the starting lineup?” mingi confirms that he has not read it wrong, eyes as wide as all the other boys as they look at you.

jongho is almost certain that you must have meant somebody else, or something else, because there is no way that he would be given the opportunity to start for the team–not when they have yeosang and wooyoung as their wings, and the choice of hongjoong or seonghwa as their centres. he is used to being the player who momentarily relieves others of their shift on the ice, or as his parents so like to remind him, option b.

“why do you all look so surprised?” you frown. beckoning at jongho with your chin, you ask, “you’ve been practising hard to make your right hand just as good as your left hand, haven’t you? so let’s take advantage of your versatility and unpredictability on ice and throw the opponents off. what do you think?”

jongho’s mouth opens and shuts, struggling to formulate an answer through his wide beam other than, “i–of course, if you’d let me–if everyone else is happy.”

the pleased smile on hongjoong’s face is enough to make his cheeks sore and he wraps his arm around the youngest’s shoulders. he praises, “look at you, our wild card and our hidden ace,” as seonghwa declares, “i know he’ll do us so proud.”

both yeosang and wooyoung simultaneously offer their positions in the starting lineup and the rest of the boys watch on with fond expressions. they are grateful that you have recognised the talents and hard work of their youngest. although you are not aware, this opportunity holds significance not just in regards to his career.

you conclude, “we’ve been on a good streak with our games. let’s ride the momentum and show the other teams what jongho is capable of–what we’re all capable of.”

“yes, coach!” they shout, the loud echo of their voices reverberating and filling the rink with buzzing energy for the remainder of the training session.

spirits still high by the time you call it a wrap, you let them change as you grab your own belongings. there is a team meeting in the afternoon so you and the boys will be going back to kq to eat at the cafeteria and use the booked room. you pause when you see wooyoung loitering by your bag. he still has not changed out of his practice clothes.

“i’m not letting you on the bus if you’re planning on staying in those clothes,” you joke.

“i’m going to change!” he scowls indignantly, then avoids eye contact as he thrusts something out in your direction. he mumbles, “had some spares. didn’t want them. just dumping them with you so you can stash them or use them or whatever, i don’t care.”

you grab the small bag, brows creased with confusion, but wooyoung dashes away to change before you can ask what it is. you peer inside and to your pleasant surprise, there are two packs of pain relief patches. your shoulder protests at the lack of attention you have given it in the last few days. the pain is chronic and never really goes away, but it has been bothering you more than usual recently, so it is all in good timing that you now have some patches.

you make a mental note to stick one on when you get to the company and grab your bag after ensuring your notebook is stored inside. as you head towards the change rooms to wait for the boys, you spot a piece of paper on the floor. it looks like rubbish that you must have missed on your way in earlier so you pick it up to throw away. but when your fingertips touch the familiar sheen of the wax-like paper, you realise wooyoung must have dropped it.

it is confirmed when you unfold it to read the text and see that it is from yesterday evening, at the pharmacy that is just across the street from the company; in your hands you hold wooyoung’s receipt for two packs of pain relief patches.

spring marks the start of the playoffs. in synchronisation with the burst of life that blooms with the season, your boys, too, flourish in the league.

the unpredictability of your team’s strategies that entail a mix of both yours and hongjoong’s prowess helps to secure wins over the remainder of the regular season. despite the unsteady start to the season, it allows your team to scrape into the round of sixteen near the bottom of the standings.

the red devils are seeded against the team that is third in the rankings, and then against the sixth-standing team in the quarterfinals. in upsets that knock out two of the most anticipated teams in the league, your boys advance into the semifinals, their reputation as the demons of the ice rink that had laid low now rapidly spreading.

where none of the other competitors had paid you and your players any mind before, barely even noticing your presence, the opponents now glance and watch your team walk past with an air of confidence through the arena. their tense jaws and hard gazes size up your athletes–formidable rivals who have suddenly barrelled up the ranks from out of nowhere and now pose perhaps the biggest threat as a team that has somehow slipped under their radars.

you know; your team may be small in numbers. but with yunho and mingi flanking the sides of the boys, and even with hongjoong’s charismatic aura alone leading the front, which extends around him like a dark cloud of terror and envelops the rest of the group too, your team is a pack of predators at the tip of the apex.

other players part to make a path for your boys, whose heads are held high and eyes are set only on their captain and you, their coach, as you all walk to your assigned changeroom. the nerves have long dissipated because the ice rink is your territory and the other teams are your prey.

the moment you shut the door behind the last of them into the room though, the icy stare in wooyoung’s eyes melt and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you see the way everybody was looking at us? we must have looked so fucking hot, i wish i could ask for my own signature.”

from their glowing faces alone, you can tell that they are all basking in the feeling of finally being recognised and reckoned with. yunho bats his eyelids and pinches his voice higher into a falsetto, “oh wooyoung! you’re so handsome and cool, could i please have your signature?”

mingi imitates him and pounces on wooyoung, begging for a photo together as he clings onto his elbow. it sets off the rest of the boys to crowd around like mock fans with faux exhilaration. you snort at their antics, leaving wooyoung to sign imaginary sheets of paper with his imaginary pen in favour of ensuring all of their backup equipment and gear is correctly located outside or in the storage area.

you allow the boys adequate time to change into their full gear for their warm-up prior to the actual semifinal game before you walk back into the locker room. your ears perk up when you catch the end of san’s question, “that’s good for us, isn’t it?”

“what is?” you ask out of curiosity, flipping open the provided cooler and adding several sports drinks into the ice.

“i overheard someone on the white tigers team say that their head coach happened to fall sick, so they have their assistant coach today,” jongho mentions.

the surge of brazen smiles and reassured glints in their eyes at the reveal of information makes you falter to a degree. you lightly chastise, “don’t let that get to your heads and start being cocky–play as you usually do and do not underestimate them just because their head coach is off.”

you pull your notebook out of your bag, the familiar cover and weight of the book providing you with a sense of security as you remind the boys, “the white tigers have a very similar playing style as us. we may have worked hard on our defensive strategies, but with similar strengths and weaknesses overall, it won’t hurt for us to still be cautious.”

“yes, coach,” they chorus.

hongjoong nods, “let’s go warm up, then finalise our starting lineup for the game.”

your team’s allocated time on the rink passes by quickly and it is followed by the last adjustments to the discussed strategies and game plan, thorough checks of their gear, and the remaining boys who are still wearing their practice jerseys change out of the blue into their red game uniform. in full gear, there your boys stand, presence intimidating and demoniac. the boys do not live up to their team name; their team name lives up to them.

they stride through the hallway for their semifinal game against the white tigers. right at the end before it leads to the ice rink, yunho yells, “pep talk, captain!”

hongjoong groans, rolling his eyes, but places the blade of his stick onto the rubber flooring nonetheless. the rest of the boys huddle around, their sticks meeting in the centre of the circle and standing close together so that their helmets and shoulders knock against one another. you are also swept into the circle with yeosang and san by your sides.

“boys…and girl,” hongjoong snickers to himself before recollecting his very inspirational train of thought, “we’ve fought hard to make it this far–this is the first time we’ve made it into the semis, so let’s keep running until the very end, yeah?”

to the team’s increasingly loud cheers, hongjoong yells, “let’s fuck it up out there!”

their sticks hit the ground in unison and despite the muted sound of the cushioned flooring, their shouts of fighting resolve and unwavering determination drown out everything else. together, you emerge from the hallway and your starting players take their positions on the ice, ready to fuck it up.

only, it happens literally.

the moment the puck hits the ice and the white tigers’ centre forward, byun, wrestles it away with his blade, hongjoong immediately knows it is going to be one of those games. the ones where his competitive grit is fueling his mind ablaze but his body is leaden-footed as if he is wading through quicksand; where his body is just unable to keep up and move the way he wants it to. it is one of those days where his condition is just inexplicably off and there is nothing he can do about it except hope that his years of training and sheer aptitude for the sport will be enough.

“fuck,” you curse under your breath at hongjoong’s slip as jongho and yeosang rush to fall back and support those in defence. “he wasn’t like that during the warm-ups.”

byun is not only agile and swift, but is almost an identical reflection of hongjoong’s own bold and assertive offence. the centre forward powers through with evasive turns around yunho’s attempt to body check him, unafraid and confident. passing the blue line into your team’s defensive zone, byun flicks the puck at the goal.

the point shot is an unexceptional attempt to score, nothing that san’s reflexive goaltending cannot take care of. he extends his left foot and blocks the low shot with his leg pad, where the puck then slides in yunho’s direction. you did not doubt for a moment that san would not be able to save the shot, but it is still a close call that is far too early in the game to be a good sign.

your team’s greatest strength is their unspoken synergy and seamless unity, but it is also their greatest weakness. when one player stumbles, particularly when it is their captain–the very roots of the team–their bond runs so deeply that it throws their teamwork out of harmony and ultimately impacts the entire team.

with san’s save, yunho regains possession and handles the puck around the back of their net to shake off the pressure that the white tigers’ forwards are placing on him, as well as to buy his own team some time to reassemble in their formation.

you know that this is not going to work for long; you have to change the momentum of the game, and fast. “seonghwa, get ready,” you alert. “you’re going on for hongjoong.”

the alternate captain stands, alarmed at the unexpected line change so early into the game. he grips his stick with white knuckles and watches his team as he waits for your cue. yunho hits the puck against the boards where yeosang successfully receives the rebound.

“breakout!” yeosang yells and rushes forward with the chasing skates of the opponents nipping at his heels. jongho clears the centre line into the offensive zone at the same time hongjoong screens and blocks the view of the white tigers’ goaltender, setting up for an opportunity to score.

when the opponent’s left defence and wing advance on yeosang rapidly, he fakes a deceptive pass towards the boards before twisting the blade of his stick and flicking the puck between their skates instead in hongjoong’s direction. but like an eagle honing in on a small rodent, byun swoops in to snatch the puck, flipping the possession again.

the tides turn and all the athletes on the rink race towards your team’s net, a cutthroat competition between triumph and desperation to chase the puck. byun passes to the player on his left as they both dash closer, the left forward immediately returning the puck the moment he receives it to break past mingi’s defence.

you are able to see the white tigers’ right wing following closely behind ready for a drop pass, but in your team’s frenzied minds, they are unable to read the play. yunho approaches byun, who is expecting the defence and leaves the puck behind whilst skating on, knowing that it will be received by his trailing teammate. with the momentary confusion that is enough to disrupt both yunho and san’s gaze on the puck, the opponent’s right wing winds his stick back just enough to build power without sacrificing speed, then slaps the puck into the corner of the goal–

–and scores. within the first three minutes of the game.

“seonghwa,” you call out again with urgency as the whistle blows. you turn to look at him, “you’re up. you have to break the flow of the team. not just the white tigers, but ours too–the boys are panicking and you need to help anchor them.”

he nods, steadying his hand on the board in preparation to hop over it, and you yell out for the captain, “change!”

hongjoong sees the gesture of your hand pointing at the bench, and although his chest tightens with frustration at himself, he speeds towards the edge of the rink to change. once the captain is close enough, seonghwa pushes his skate off the benches to launch himself over the top of the boards onto the ice then propels himself forward to take the centre faceoff.

the captain sits down heavily on the bench, defeat already broiling off of his slumped body in smothering swells. you really cannot afford to take your eyes off the game; it waits for nobody and the whistle has already blown, the rink erupting into commotion. but whilst you need to watch the game unfold, you need hongjoong just as much, and his team needs him.

you turn him slightly to face you so that he can see your face of resolution. “you are the captain, so be the captain–for the team…and for yourself,” you invigorate, voice raised so that he can hear you over the noise of the stadium. 

you give his shoulder a hard squeeze, certain he will not be able to even feel it from under the pads of his uniform. regardless, he understands your intentions and nods grimly, the fog in his eyes clearing. wooyoung taps the back of his helmet in a show of encouragement and hongjoong returns the gesture with appreciation. 

a particularly loud thump draws the attention of all three of you back to the game. from the grimace on yeosang’s face and his hand steadying himself on the boards, it is obvious he has just been body checked into the wall. seonghwa pursues the puck with graceful yet powerful speed before he digs both skates perpendicular into the ice to suddenly change direction. pushing off, he accelerates back towards the white tigers’ defensive zone when mingi manages to disrupt the opponent’s stickhandling enough for yunho to sweep the puck and skate it up the perimeter of the rink away from their net.

wooyoung also goes on for yeosang but as the left wing, so jongho switches position to play as the right forward. he skates past the benches when an opportunity arises and he hands off his stick whilst grabbing his right-handed stick from you with practised ease.

with the line change of forwards and with seonghwa on as your centre, your team stabilises to an extent. the red devils are no longer being pushed back but they are also unable to push forward. the game is at a stalemate, although the tides remain in favour of the white tigers with both their positional and psychological advantage of the first goal.

you can see the pressure weighing down on your boys; passes that yunho and mingi would be capable of executing blindfolded are miscalculated; predictable manoeuvres still mislead wooyoung in the wrong direction; seonghwa and jongho fail to notice the opportunities for clear passing and shooting lanes; and the openings appear far too wide and innumerable for san to cover the goal from. the relentless offensive pressure that the white tigers places on your team, strikingly similar to how the boys played when you first started coaching them, does not give any breathing room either.

so that is how the first period comes to an end–losing zero to one with none of your players performing at their best condition. their steps are heavy and burdened as they walk back to the locker room for the intermission, helmets removed the moment they come off the ice to reveal hardened expressions. in the privacy of your assigned room, most of the boys adjust the pads in their gear and yunho peels off his shin guards to let them air out.

you pass around their iced bottles and as exhausted as they are, they make sure to voice their gratitude. san grabs wooyoung’s bottle for him, since the younger is bent over loosening the laces of his left skate. “here,” san murmurs, twisting open the cap and passing it to wooyoung once he straightens his back.

similarly, seonghwa hands over an opened bottle to yeosang before taking a swig of his own. “you’re okay?” he checks, the particularly rough body check that yeosang had copped earlier in the game still at the forefront of his mind.

yeosang gives the alternate captain a reassuring smile, “i’m okay.”

appeased by the answer, seonghwa turns to look at hongjoong, who is re-taping the blade of his stick. “what about you?” seonghwa softly asks, “you’re feeling okay?”

hongjoong glances up briefly at the back of your figure. you are busy shifting the red magnets around on the whiteboard and erasing the markings you had made prior to the start of the semifinals. when you turn around to gather their attention, you accidentally make eye contact with him and break out into a small smile.

“yeah,” hongjoong replies, “i’m feeling okay.”

“alright, listen up boys, that was just the first period. we’re not even halfway into this game and we’ve started to even up the playing field now that we’ve found our footing,” you encourage. “we just have to make sure we keep our heads cool and read their plays instead of simply reacting to their movements.”

you look at each of them as you direct, “their centre forward, byun, has been on for almost all of first period, so there’s probably going to be a shift change, if not a complete line change of forwards. they have the leniency to swap out their top players since they’re in the lead, which means if we want to break their momentum, we need to break it then.”

shifting yourself slightly out of the way, the boys are able to see the new arrangement of positions you have marked out on the whiteboard. “we’re starting the second period by sharpening our offence in the 2-2-1 formation,” you explain. you beckon your head at the captain, “hongjoong, you’re back on. you and wooyoung are to position yourselves up high between the neutral and offensive zones–try to screen their goaltender when our boys have possession. yunho, i want you to move up to our blue line with jongho and open up as many passing lanes as you two can. mingi will stay in defence and help cover the goal with san in case the white tigers makes a counterattack.

“use this opportunity to make as many scoring chances as you can. if there isn’t a clear shot but there’s a chance it can be continued on by another one of us, then go for it anyway–any sort of pressure we can put on their team is better than none.”

your forwards nod with understanding, so you continue to the most important point, “but the moment byun and the wings–kim and song, i think they are–come back on, we’re reversing the formation.” you reposition half of the magnets into a 1-2-2 formation. “only hongjoong will stay up high; wooyoung will fall back and join jongho in the neutral zone; put pressure on their forwards from there. yunho and mingi, you’ll play left and right defence as usual.”

san listens intently when you start moving the black magnets that represent the opposing players and call out to him directly. you warn, “san, be careful of their drop passes. kim and song have been skating forward but leaving the puck behind for byun to score multiple times throughout the first period. they have you primed to predict it now, so they’re probably going to change their tactic and pass directly in front of the goal instead.”

“yes, coach,” san acknowledges.

a glance at the screen on the wall of the locker room tells you that there are only a few minutes left of the intermission. “gear up and get ready to go back on,” you instruct the boys.

they make final adjustments to their pads and yunho tapes his shin guards back into place under his socks. you make sure they all have their helmets and sticks when they start to file out of the locker room once they are ready and you grab wooyoung’s gloves for him while he ties the laces of his skates again.

“thanks,” he reaches out for them as he stands up. except he stumbles slightly when he puts weight on his left ankle and your hand instinctively grabs his to steady him.

your eyes grow wide with concern. you know that wooyoung is the type to keep quiet about his pain, even if you ask, “does your ankle hurt?”

“no, my legs just fell asleep on me from sitting,” he reassures, conscious of your hand that still holds his. he smiles through his lie and hopes that you are unable to pick up on it. the buzzer sounds before you can, though, warning you both that there is only one minute remaining until the game resumes.

hurriedly you tell him, “let me know if you need to come off.”

somebody yells out your names, forcing you both to rush off to join the rest of the team in the hallway. wooyoung knows that he should admit to you right there and then that his ankle does hurt, but he will not–he cannot…because he owes it to his team.

they do not know and they will never know, but there is not a day that goes past where wooyoung does not feel guilty for having desired for their loss last year. he has to play and win this championship for his team because only then can he start to forgive himself. but until he wins, he deserves to suffer.

those in the lineup rapidly glide across the ice to take their positions, wooyoung included. a short buzzer sounds, the puck is dropped, and the second period starts. immediately you can see that your boys have the advantage. the white tigers had not expected you to take such an aggressive approach of offence considering that you are losing.

and sure enough, just as you had predicted, their coach has changed their entire line of forwards. the players are still undeniably skilled, but they visibly struggle to match the pace at which hongjoong and wooyoung are now leading your team to attack.

the rink is under the boys’ control; the neutral zone has become a stronghold with the resistance of both jongho and yunho’s combined strength and mingi’s reinforcement from behind. wooyoung weaves through the players with polished agility as he creates passing opportunities around the offensive zone, whilst hongjoong makes his own path with imposing might, his devilish wings spread. and even if the white tigers somehow manage to gain possession of the puck and break past your defence, san looks impossibly larger than the goal itself, leaving no openings for their forwards to score.

it is well into the second period when the perfect play sets itself up. with mingi blocking any possible rebounds off the boards, yunho’s attempt to body check the white tigers’ right wing forces the player to pass the puck across the ice. before their centre forward is able to receive it, jongho has already intercepted and is thundering ahead with his stick controlling the puck.

“high!” he shouts, ploughing through the neutral zone as wooyoung and hongjoong immediately respond to his call and skate up towards the goal.

jongho deliberately looks at his captain but flicks the puck with a forehand pass in the other direction, too fast for the defenders to react to. wooyoung easily receives the anticipated pass, thighs burning and his left ankle stinging as he rushes towards the goal from the left with powerful acceleration. the white tigers’ goaltender immediately lowers his stance and raises his arms in preparation to block his shot.

in the corner of his eye, wooyoung sees hongjoong matching his lightning pace on his right, the captain’s eyes narrowed with concentration and body weight tilted forward as he hurtles past the defenders. wooyoung pretends to wind up his stick for a slap shot into the net, only to twist the angle of his arms at the last second to send the puck skittering across the ice directly parallel to the goal. the goaltender drops down to his knees, having anticipated a scoring attempt, except the puck is now nearing hongjoong.

hongjoong sees it clearly–the trajectory that the puck is taking and the perfect point where it needs to meet his stick. without breaking its momentum, his arms contract to swing his stick and the blade collides with the puck with forceful precision, sending it hurtling through the air. the goaltender desperately scrabbles back onto his skates to defend the other side of the goal, but it is too late.

the puck flies past the posts and hits the netting.

the horn blares and echoing cheers erupt throughout the stadium as the lights flick on to shine across the net and your forward players. hongjoong yells with fierce triumph, stick raised into the air as wooyoung excitedly collides into him. the duo disappear amongst the bodies of your boys as they swarm around them feverish exuberance.

“that’s our fucking captain–” “–woo’s assist was insane!”

hongjoong cannot even tell who is who as he is jostled around in overjoyed laughter and beaming smiles, numerous hands reaching out to tap his and wooyoung’s helmets and shoulders. from outside the rink, you, seonghwa and yeosang have long stopped sitting on the benches, bodies too strung tight with hopeful tension to stay seated, so you are immediately swept up into a hug as the three of you celebrate the goal with identical exhilaration.

the game is still far from over but the morale has just skyrocketed through the roof as if the red devils have scored the winning goal. combined with the team’s fans electrifying the atmosphere of the stadium, it definitely feels like it, and you are starting to see hope that the ones advancing to the finals after today will be your boys.

“line change!” you faintly hear, so you still to watch all three of the white tigers’ forwards skate towards the boards. byun, kim and song jump onto the rink, back on offence in the wake of your goal.

hongjoong makes eye contact with you when you search for him amongst the team huddle and in unison, you both nod, pride and determination unspoken in your gazes–the real game is about to start now. the boys start to disperse and take up their positions around the marked circle for the centre faceoff, and hongjoong and byun meet head-to-head once again in the middle of the rink.

the white tigers’ centre forward smirks condescendingly, “cute goal.”

hongjoong’s face thunders over but he will not let himself resort to dirty sportsmanship. he bites his tongue and lowers his stance, focusing his attention on the game instead.

“ready,” the referee signals, then the puck is released.

byun manages to steal it and sends it backwards to his defensemen to open up more passing lanes, but as discussed, your boys mutually move into the 1-2-2 formation to fortify against their offensive plays. despite the pressure of the white tigers’ top forwards back in play, your team is riding on the momentum of your goal; although you had been treading to keep your heads above the water during the first period, there is now an air of confidence that permeates the ambience of the rink in favour of your boys. 

an angled pass from their defence rebounds off the boards and kim receives it high in the neutral zone. he attempts an immediate pass across the ice to song, except the safety net of your player’s defensive formation allows mingi to thrust out with his stick to intercept the pass. he signals, “breakout!” before deflecting it to wooyoung.

the turnover of possession immediately triggers a switch in defence to offence as wooyoung handles the puck back the other way. his wrists twist the stick with measured coordination, controlling the blade and puck as an extension of his own hands while approaching the offensive zone. wooyoung sees the white tigers’ defensemen racing towards him so he abruptly pivots towards the left to drag the black disc around their extended sticks.

suddenly, a sharp pain engulfs his ankle that has his legs crumbling as he staggers off balance. wooyoung manages to stay upright, using his stick to steady himself, but the momentary stumble is more than enough of an opening for byun to steal possession from behind him.

the rival centre forward swerves around jongho then stays close to the perimeter to avoid mingi’s resistant defence. behind mingi, san splays his legs out as he prepares to block the left side of the goal, but byun continues blazing on and wraps around the back of the net. san follows his movement and swiftly shifts over to the right instead while byun cradles the puck with his blade to lift it into the air the moment he approaches.

yunho cannot risk a penalty by raising his own stick to block its trajectory, so he shifts his body in hopes of deflecting the shot before it reaches san. but byun’s wrists snap and tuck the airborne puck at a sharp angle right past the red goalpost…and the horn blows to mark the scoring of a goal.

your jaw plummets at the same time that your heart does. not even your lungs work, your body frozen stock-still. once more, the white tigers are back in the lead only mere minutes after the score had been painstakingly tied by your team.

“fuck!” wooyoung curses and slams his gloved fist against the ice, having dropped to his knees in enraged denial.

seonghwa looks on with despondence from beside you as hongjoong drags wooyoung back up to his feet. the captain’s jaws are clenched in frustration but only because of the score itself–never because of his boys. when mingi and yunho try to comfort san with firm squeezes and uttered reassurances, he can only return a tight smile, all three of their breaths heavy and irregular from exertion and dismay.

for the boys to have climbed so arduously and persistently to even the scores, only to be knocked off and their momentum obliterated so mercilessly soon, it is even more demoralising than the white tigers’ first goal. after all, the higher the climb, the harder the fall.

through the deep ache in your heart, you mutedly say to yeosang, “go on for wooyoung, and tell jongho to change sticks and play as left wing.”

“yes, coach,” he replies, voice delicate. yeosang waits as you gesture for wooyoung to come off before he hops over the boards and skates in jongho’s direction.

“woo,” you murmur as your left wing makes his way back to the benches, but he avoids your gaze and keeps his head down. you bite your lips and decide not to push it for now. instead, you press an opened bottle into his gloved hand.

wooyoung is thankful that the bottle is half empty, because his hand unconsciously clenches around it with quivering shame and he would have spilled the water were it full. he makes no move to bring the bottle up to his lips; he doubts the water would go down his constricted throat anyway. the penetrative guilt of his tears hurts immeasurably more than the piercing throb of his ankle because he may have just cost his team the win…again.

even when the buzzer signals the end of the second period, wooyoung dares not to look up. the score is one to two and it is his fault. the intermission passes by in a haze of dissociation, his body robotically moving on autopilot into the locker room and back to the ice rink. wooyoung does not even know whether there are line changes to the positions or whether the game strategy has been altered.

but it does not matter because it does not concern him–as if any coach would put him on after his grave mistake. what wooyoung fails to notice though is the glances of worry in his direction, and they do not come solely from his boys.

the stakes run at their highest in the third and final period. tension suffocates the entire stadium, invisible hands that snake around your throats with a hangman’s loose and make you break out into cold sweats. all the players on the ice rink put everything that they have on the line because by the end of the next twenty minutes, only one team will be advancing to the finals.

from the moment the puck is dropped into play and the timer resumes, the rink is a torrential battlefield of contesting skates and grappling sticks. dramatic passes and unforeseen interceptions lead to rapid turnovers that force both teams to hastily switch back and forth between offence and defence.

but everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. for every scoring attempt that the red devils make, the white tigers make three, steadily and gradually pushing your boys back in the final stretch of the game. and while most of your forwards’ goals are blocked in the nick of time, most of theirs are not.

as a last resort in the face of the crisis, you calculate the risks then add seonghwa onto the field. “yunho, change!” you yell, pulling him off defence.

“behind you,” byun alerts song as seonghwa powers across the ice right into the cutthroat action, before cursing when the white tigers nearly lose possession of the puck.

your two captains unrelentingly pursue the black disc at the forefront of your team, their complementary synergy and unity a whirlwind of prowess to be reckoned with as they try not to let the burden of scoring weigh them down. despite the overwhelming pressure as the team’s last line of defence, even more so now that you have sacrificed stability to capitalise on having two centre forwards, san’s cat-like eyes do not cloud over, only intensely scanning the field and the opponent’s plays.

you glance at the clock. there are only two minutes left and even the combined efforts of your forwards is not working. you never thought that you would ever have to do this as a coach, but now you are afraid there is no choice. “yunho,” you urge.

his head turns to you and you see the ashen pallor of your own face reflected on his as the very probable outcome of the game dawns across your minds. you make your decision. “you’re going back on. for san.”

yunho’s eyes widen. “for san? i can’t play as goaltender–”

“no,” you shake your head, “we’re playing without a goaltender.”

sixty seconds.

save for wooyoung, all of your defenders, wings and centre forwards make a last-minute spurt to attack, not letting their bodies recover for even a split second as they strain their burning legs and gasping lungs.

thirty seconds.

they desperately break past the physical boundaries of their own stamina into their last reserves of pure grit and will, draining every last drop that their mental resilience has to offer.

ten seconds.

they do not give up. they try again and again to score. but against all of your prayers, all of your tears and sweat and against all of your hopes, the gap does not close. the final buzzer blares throughout the entire stadium, marking the red devil’s loss.

two to six.

your players stand motionless, ghosts of denial and despair amongst the crazed jumps and bounds of celebration as the white tigers flock across the rink towards one another. hongjoong tilts his head upwards to stop the rush of tears from falling down his face, both yunho and seonghwa mirrors of his pain as sweat and tears drip down in salty trails. san grasps the edge of the board in front of him, his head hung low and shoulders quaking from how hard he tries to stifle his sobs so that wooyoung does not hear him.

not one of your boys are able to accept the results of the match. not even you can bring yourself to utter a single word of consolation, be it for yourself or for them. and as you watch the wretched image of your heartbroken boys, choking back tears of your own that you are unaware still manage to escape the corners of your eyes, the only sounds in your ears their stricken cries, you are reminded that the path of an athlete and coach is nothing like its portrayal in movies and stories; where hard work triumphs and leads to sure success.

the harsh reality is that there is no dramatic comeback. there is no underdog victory. there is no miracle and there is no final to advance to. you and your boys lose by triple the amount of your own goals and just like that, the journey has come to an end at the semifinals.

it is an anticlimactic defeat, the gap so far that your team could not even see the light at the end of the tunnel. and somehow…that feels far worse than losing by just a marginal difference.

the locker room is mostly quiet, the silence punctuated only by the closing of zippers and rustling of canvas as the boys who have finished showering and changing pack the rest of their gear for the final time. there are no more intermittent sniffles, leaving behind a miserable hush of emptiness instead. even the dying flicker of the light in the far corner of the ceiling thrums with more energy than the boys combined.

you sit on one of the benches and absentmindedly thumb through your notebook. seonghwa sits to your right, his kit bag already long organised and tidied to preoccupy his mind. the warmth from the close proximity of your thighs and elbows is a gracious comfort to the both of you. it no longer makes your backs straighten with uptightness, conscious of the boundaries between coach and athlete–not after your hearts and bodies melded together in hugs of solace after the final buzzer of the semifinals and melted away those lines.

seonghwa places his hand soothingly on your knee and murmurs, “stop looking at that. we’ll think about it later all together.”

none of the words or diagrams had been registering in your head, but you nod and close your notebook anyway. he probably does not want to see it either. you rest your head back against the wall behind you with a small exhale, blankly watching your team instead until your eyes travel around the room. 

you count, then count again, before calling out, “captain, is wooyoung still showering?”

hongjoong cranes his neck around at the same time that everybody else does as well. “don’t think so,” he frowns, “i’m pretty sure he was one of the first ones out.”

wooyoung’s kit bag is still unpacked in his locker, so he is definitely not already waiting for the bus outside. before his absence can raise any alarms–the last thing the boys need on their plate right now–you stand and announce, “i’ll go find him. he probably just lost track of time.”

“do you need me to come with you?” yeosang rises to his feet.

you shake your head and reassure, “keep packing your bag.” then you turn to make your way out of the locker room when somebody calls out for you.

“coach, wait.”

it’s san, who skitters in front of you to press something into your hands. “give this to him when you see him?”

the item crinkles and a glance downwards reveals that it is an instant ice pack. you smile softly, stuffing it into the pocket of your jacket and hoping that nobody notices the ice pack that is already in there. “of course,” you gently touch his forearm. “i’ll be back.”

this time you make it out to the corridor but you do not get further than four steps before another voice stops you.

“coach!”

when you turn around, hongjoong emerges from the doorway. he slows down as he catches up to stand in front of you. “i…” his voice falters. “i’m sorry.”

i’m sorry i didn’t realise wooyoung was gone. i’m sorry i didn’t do my job as captain…and i’m sorry for losing. 

“no,” you shake your head. “don’t be.” because you tried your best…and you did not give up. beckoning in the direction of the locker room, you tell him, “take care of the boys, okay? i’ll be back with wooyoung.”

the rigidity in hongjoong’s shoulders dissipates. “thank you…y/n.”

you smile, “anytime, hongjoong.” you wait for him to walk back inside before you finally turn to find wooyoung.

the arena is massive but apart from the locker room–which you already know wooyoung is not in–there are limited places that offer privacy from the multitude of people who mill around, be it other athletes, staff or spectators. you know from personal experience, so you head to the one place that is usually guaranteed to be somewhat out of the public eye.

“oh, fuck me,” wooyoung startles when you sit yourself down heavily on the same step as him, his curse echoing around the both of you. “how the fuck did you know i would be here?”

you snort, bumping his shoulder with yours. “i hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t exactly an original experience. i’m pretty sure every athlete has hidden here to cry at one point in their career.”

the slight spark of light that had ignited within wooyoung at your appearance suddenly flickers out, reminded of why exactly he is hiding in the emergency stairwell in the first place. shame tears his eyes away from you, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“i want to be left alone,” he murmurs.

although you respect his request, that is the opposite of what he needs. left to his own thoughts and devices, you know that wooyoung will spiral dangerously in guilt and self-reproach, even if the red devil’s loss is not his fault–is not anybody’s fault.

the two of you sit in silence, wooyoung intermittently swiping at a lone tear that threatens to drip off his chin, and you mulling over the words that you hold close to your heart. eventually, you break the quietude with a soft chuckle.

“the first game i ever played i was actually on left defence. our team was losing by two goals and i suddenly had the puck. i still remember seeing an opening in the goal and feeling the surge of confidence that i did when i hit the puck…but you know what?”

wooyoung does not answer, does not look up from where he is picking at his cuticles, but you can feel his curiosity so you continue, “it was an own goal. i scored into my own team’s net and it wasn’t until i scored another goal before i finally realised which way i was meant to go. obviously, my team wasn’t very happy with me, but then i ended up winning the game for them anyway and that’s how i started playing as centre forward.

“there was also a time during internationals where i argued against the ref’s call and got myself put into the penalty box. it cost our team a goal–the tiebreaker, too. i learnt my lesson and never did that again. and then there was the first couple of years i started to coached. i thought i had enough experience as a player to be a perfect coach. it wasn’t until one of my teams told me to pull my head out of my ass that i realised i was anything but.”

that gets a small snicker from out of him. you deliberate, “i’d like to think that we make the best team now, though.”

he scowls disgruntledly, “we’re your only team.”

“and my favourite team, too,” you laugh softly, gauging his expression. “my point is, wooyoung, we all make mistakes. but the reason why we make them in the first place is because we love playing. we do what our heart wants to in the moment and we play for ourselves because otherwise, there would be nothing left of us without ice hockey. what matters is that we stand up again and learn from the experience.”

wooyoung feels the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest because they are only half true to him. his passion and love for the sport indeed burns eternally as a blazing inferno inside of him, but his persistence to play today was due to ulterior motives. to acknowledge that aloud is a different story, though.

your voice takes on a lighter tone, “although i guess in this case, you should be sitting down with that ankle of yours. you know you should not be gambling with your injuries.”

he finally looks at you; a former athlete who did not even have the luxury to gamble your injury. it suddenly scares him to imagine just an ounce of the conflicting anguish that must course through you at his continuous decisions to endanger his own career–the anguish that you have made sure to never show, lest it affect them.

“do you ever feel angry?” wooyoung abruptly asks, voice laced with hesitation.

it is your turn to look away. you know that the question is not directed at himself but your entire career. with a bittersweet chuckle, you allow yourself to admit, “every day. i still get angry and i still get upset. i wake up in the morning wondering why it had to be me and i go to bed at night wondering why i didn’t deserve a second chance.

“but i’m okay; it gets easier to be okay. coaching means that i still get to go on the ice, i still get to experience the adrenaline of games and i still get to play through you guys. and most of all…i still have a team. i don’t know if i will ever stop feeling angry, but it’s better than it used to be.”

at your admission, wooyoung is reminded of how you are possibly the only one who would be able to truly understand him. he musters his courage and confesses, “i wanted us to lose last year…and we did end up losing.”

it catches you off guard, the direction of the conversation not what you had expected, but you neutralise your expression and tone so as to not make him feel defensive. “how come?”

he swallows. “my ankle–i fractured it last year just before we made it into the playoffs, so i wasn’t able to compete. i had been so angry at first; angry at myself for getting injured, angry at my coach for not letting me play, angry at my team because they could play. then when it became clear that i wasn’t going to be able to compete regardless of how angry i was, i became jealous, insecure and…afraid. jongho and i share the same position, and i mean, look at him now–he’s able to play both left and right wing. if they had won the playoffs without me, then would the team really need me?

“they did end up losing, just like i had wanted them to, but that made me feel so much worse–made me realise just how terrible i am of a person. the guilt eats me alive every single day and i tell myself that i will make it up to them this time, that i will risk everything to win for them…” wooyoung scoffs pathetically at himself, “only for me to fuck things up because of my fucking ankle again.”

you get it. the slow gnawing of yourself from the endless feelings that you ‘should not have’ until you become no more than an empty husk. ever since your own injury, you have spent nights on end trying to reconcile with your emotions in your own confusing and formidable journey, but for the first time ever, you are grateful that you did–because you can keep wooyoung company on his. 

you carefully voice, “i think it was okay for you to have felt the way that you did. they’re your feelings and nobody can invalidate them nor your experience. what i came to realise was that all of those ‘ugly’ feelings do not make us ugly for having them–they simply make us human. it is only a problem when those feelings end up hurting other people, but i think the person you hurt the most…was yourself, wooyoung.”

at your words, he looks at you with wide eyes, a fresh swell of wetness gathering in them. wooyoung is kind and loving to everybody, yet has never once thought about deserving that kindness and love for himself. you smile gently, trying to hide the slight quiver in your own lips as your heart clenches with a desire to be loved in his stead.

“you know, woo, i’ve watched basically all of your past games including the quarterfinals from last year. but if i were to compare it to today’s game, it was as if two completely different teams were playing. your team was alive today–a truly united team where every member is the driving force behind each other’s passion for the game. i am pretty confident when i say that a huge part of it was because you were playing with them–because the team was finally whole again.

“yes, the trophy and the championship title is coveted but it is not what truly matters to them and neither to you. it wasn’t the actual win itself that you wanted today, but being able to win for them. and if your boys were to pick between winning without you and losing with you, i’m pretty sure you know better than i do what their immediate choice would be.”

should the other boys be here right now, they would instantly berate your ears off for even suggesting the first option. the thought flickers through wooyoung’s mind too and the corners of his lips tug upwards slightly.

still, he apprehensively confirms, “...no one is angry at me?”

“no,” you reply, voice soft, “not at all. but we are worried.”

you are reminded of the weight in the pocket of your jacket. pulling it out, you present the ice pack to wooyoung. “look, san told me to give this to you.”

his fingertips brush against your palm when he reaches out, hand hovering over the ice pack as if he does not dare to touch it. “san did?” he whispers.

when you nod, the final confirmation that he needs that nobody–you included–harbours ill feelings for him and his actions, he allows himself to take the ice pack. allows himself to love himself.

“you need to take care of your body,” you fondly chastise, lightening the atmosphere. “did coach cho not drill into you that as an athlete, your body is your most valuable asset? if you thought he was bad, he’s going to seem like an angel when i’m through with you. you won’t just be banned from playing, i’ll tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t walk on that ankle.”

wooyoung laughs through the few tears that are left, mood lifted enough to suggestively lift his eyebrows and quip, “kinky.” his laughter grows when you punch his arm in response.

no longer does he have to carry this burden alone because you are there for him now. but you know that you are not the only one who can be there for wooyoung. the dynamic between the boys runs past mere teammates and from what you have noticed, quite possibly even friends.

tentatively, you suggest, “maybe this is something you should tell the others about. that way you can truly let things go.”

his gaze wavers at the idea as he looks at you. yet, the miniscule smile and encouraging nod you give him fills him with tranquillity. perhaps it is time to let go, but the only way he can truly do that is if he is honest to the boys about his feelings–if he is honest to himself.

“okay,” he breathes out softly.

you grace him with another beat of silence before you stand up, extending your hand out to him. “let’s go.”

wooyoung takes your offered hand and lets you pull him up to his feet. he does not know if it is intentional, but the slight squeeze you give him right before your hand lets go of his fills him with warmth. the feeling stays with him even when he activates the ice pack as you two walk back to the locker room.

right at the doorway where the rest of the team is behind, you stop. you place your hand on wooyoung’s back, whose brows are starting to furrow in confusion. “i’ll be waiting out here. take your time,” you tell him.

“thank you, coach,” wooyoung returns your soft smile.

before you can think better of it, you reply, “i wasn’t talking to you as your coach…but as your friend.” then you nudge him towards the doorway with tender encouragement, waiting for him to walk through the threshold before you close the door behind him.

the first few months you had coached the red devils, mistrust had been in the shape of private conversations that deliberately excluded you. but now, trust is in the conversations that you know you do not need to be a part of. so you simply lean against the wall and wait.

and when they emerge from the locker room half an hour later, you know you have made the right decision upon seeing their eased expressions and relaxed shoulders. the air is still sombre, their defeat in the semifinals still fresh at the forefront of everybody’s minds, but what matters now is that they will face the loss together–the eight of them and you.

“here you go.”

hongjoong hands you your bag so that you do not have to go back in to grab it. you take it graciously from him, then with him by your side, you two lead the group through the arena–past the gazes and whispers that follow your group–and out to the team’s bus.

first to load his kit bag, yeosang takes his usual seat towards the front and waits. he has long developed the habit of placing his backpack under the seat in front of him instead of beside him. as the bus starts to pull away once all the bags are properly stored, you wordlessly take the seat next to him. your knees intermittently brush up against each other with the slight sway of the bus, but neither one of you make a move to shift your legs away.

you and yeosang watch the outside world whirl by the window, just like you always do. except the flowers that have bloomed among the trees–that had been bursts of positivity and vibrancy only just this morning–are now bittersweet reminders of the fall that you and the boys have just experienced.

a brief movement below your line of vision causes you to glance down. it is yeosang’s hand, palm upturned with a silent invitation of solace. you slide your fingers into his, an extension of the comfort you wish to give to them, and them to you.

what you and the boys do not realise, though, is that your flowers have simply bloomed elsewhere.

your jaw drops in sync with the last of the heavy suitcases that seonghwa rests on the floor outside their apartment complex. the amount of his luggage is easily equivalent to at least half the team’s.

“these are all yours?” you confirm.

seonghwa looks at you strangely, “of course. why?”

you look at him strangely. “are you planning on moving? why did you pack enough for a trip around the world?”

“well somebody didn’t want to tell us where we were going, so i had to make sure i was prepared for wherever our destination would be.”

“it’s called a surprise for a reason,” you shake your head, “and i did tell you to pack for cold weather, didn’t i?”

seonghwa fakes offence, scoffing, “can i remind you that it is still spring here, so my apologies for assuming that it might potentially mean we are travelling overseas.”

“you’re such a worrywart, you old fart,” wooyoung teases, circling around the older on his rideable suitcase.

seonghwa yelps when the wheels nearly run over his toes and he threatens, “next time you wet through your entire pack of underwear, don’t come crawling and begging for my spares.”

the suitcase halts indignantly to a stop with its rider. “that was one time,” wooyoung complains, “and it wasn’t even my fault!”

“it wasn’t even my fault,” seonghwa mocks. “i told you not to put your shampoo in a ziplock bag but no, you said that it would be fine.”

wooyoung sticks his index finger up. “correction, hongjoong said that it would be fine.”

“what the fuck, wooyoung,” hongjoong blanches at the sudden disclosure.

“and that’s exactly where you are at fault,” seonghwa cocks his eyebrow at wooyoung. “why would you listen to him?”

“what the fuck, seonghwa. i’m your captain,” hongjoong scowls.

“only during games.”

when you make eye contact with san, the two of you can only sigh with amused resignation. the rest of the boys shake their heads and proceed to load their luggage onto the bus, leaving the trio to feud it out in the background.

as mingi stacks his luggage beside yunho’s, he turns to ask, “are you sure we don’t need our kits?”

“you all brought your skates and sticks with you?” you question in return. when mingi and yunho nod, you reassure them, “then that’s all you need.”

jongho pipes up from beside you, “but what about training?”

“mental training,” you simply grin before hopping up the stairs to sit beside yeosang.

the boys gradually take their seats, even wooyoung and the two oldest despite their continued bickering. somebody yells out over the commotion, “coach! are you going to tell us where we’re going now?”

you peer backwards over the top of your seat to find everyone’s eager eyes on you. “nope,” you snicker, “you’ll find out when we get there. we are going on a holiday though, i’ll tell you that much.”

there is a surge of excitement at your confirmation and a similar fluttering eagerness flits through you, except yours is because you cannot wait to see their reactions. you really hope that the next two weeks will help to reset the team’s morale and give them a much-needed break.

“kq let us go on holiday?” yeosang asks with an impressed look as you settle back in your seat.

you give him a proud smirk. “i’m pretty convincing when i want to be. plus, we just had playoffs and we would all benefit from the rest. what better time to do that than at the start of the off-season?”

“there is no better time.”

“exactly.”

and so the bus starts the four-hour drive towards what the boys will soon come to realise is a team retreat. mingi connects his phone to the bluetooth, in charge of shuffling the music that blasts through the speakers, turning the atmosphere of the bus into a lively concert once it becomes obvious that it is going to be a long trip.

you have to yell over their deafening singing–which you have to admit actually sounds quite impressive–numerous times for them to sit their asses down, their enthusiasm uncontainable by the seat belts and law regulations. but they look their age, free and untroubled; just a group of boys up to their silly antics with one another, so you cannot bring yourself to truly regulate them.

the bus drives on, making a rest stop at one of the service areas along the highway so that you can stretch your legs in fresh air, use the restrooms and most importantly–

“food!”

their hollers resound before the doors of the bus even open. the second that the gap is large enough to fit one of them through, most of the boys go sprinting off like a stampede of toddlers in the direction of the food court.

wooyoung stays back and slips his arm through the crook of your elbow when you step off the bus too. he grins mischievously, “i’m sticking with you so you can pay for my food.”

“oh, stop it,” yunho tugs him away, pulling even harder when it only serves to make wooyoung’s grasp tighten around your arm. “i’ll pay for your food. leave her wallet alone.”

you laugh brightly as you are jostled around and you pull a card out of your back pocket, holding it up like a golden ticket. you waggle your brows playfully, “it’s on the company card.”

both wooyoung and yunho freeze. their eyes instantaneously start to glimmer, faces radiating when they slowly look at each other. then before you can react, they pounce on you, linking their arm through yours on either side of you and dragging you along to catch up with the rest of the team.

“buy whatever you want!” wooyoung brags and waves the card that he has seized off of you, “it’s on me!”

the service area itself is a field trip as the eight boys cause carnage throughout, except the destruction is in the number of times they swipe the company card. their hands quickly fill with rice cakes and fish skewers, corn dogs and grilled squid, more bags of walnut pastries and roasted potatoes tucked safely under their elbows. they demolish the snacks at the same rate it takes for the next ones to be prepared and the card is tossed around to keep up with their purchases.

they do not forget about the drinks either, getting iced americanos and barley tea to go along with their snacks, and banana milk and soda for the next leg of the trip. whatever catches their eyes–basically everything they lay their eyes upon–they buy. you do have to draw the line at daytime drinking though, narrowing your eyes at the cases of beer jongho and yunho try to pick up until they sheepishly put them back.

(you also end up having to purchase motion sickness tablets because seonghwa and mingi gorge themselves so full on snacks that they are queasy before they even make it back on the bus. kq’s president sends you a text too, asking just what exactly you and the boys have bought to rack up almost forty consecutive purchases at a service area. but the subsequent message asking if they are enjoying themselves tells you that his question is all in good fun.)

their energy mellows out during the last hour of the trip, both from tiring themselves out and from the gradual change in the scenery outside the windows. no longer can you see an endless mirage of highway road and open fields.

as the miles build up the further you travel, it leads deeper into a mountainous woodland with the trees growing denser and thicker around you. the narrower road winds around the base of hills and the bus driver carefully navigates the undisturbed peace of the forest. it starts to get colder and when the branches of the trees gradually dress themselves in dappled layers of snow, more of you shoulder on the thick coats and puffer jackets you had told them to bring.

the bus eventually arrives at a clearing amongst the pine trees, revealing a large but welcoming cottage pension. its wooden exterior and sloped roof gives it a distinctly cosy and rustic look, with large glass doors spanning the entire height of the walls that will let you admire the surrounding mountainous beauty from inside. off to the side of the cottage, there is a sizeable lake that has frozen over and immediately, you know that this was the perfect place to choose.

the boys press their faces against the window to get a better look as the bus pulls up beside the accommodation. “woah,” they breathe out, their exhales fogging up the glass.

they follow you off the bus in a trance, mouths open and unable to peel their eyes away lest they waste even a second to drink up the sight before them. here, in the heart of the taebaek mountains, it is still a winter wonderland despite the spring blossoms that cover the rest of seoul.

you turn to face them, walking backwards slowly and spreading your arms out with fond tenderness. “welcome to your home for the next two weeks, boys.”

even though it is simply an illusion created by taebaek’s geographical location and mountainous terrain, this time you find yourself appreciating the coldness and bareness of the winter-like ambience that cocoons you and your boys. it is as if time has stopped and there are no worries…only time to heal and start afresh.

living together, even if just for a holiday, is different.

you are used to only seeing the team in their training clothes, practice jerseys or bulked up in their padded gear and uniform. but here, the boys wear lounging sweatpants and worn hoodies, hair soft and poking into their eyes, bodies and expressions unguarded as they laze around. and where you are used to only seeing them at training, meetings and games, all rigorously scheduled and planned, there are no expectations to follow and no limits as to when you see them here.

the boys have their own organised chaoticness to their daily routines, having been living together for almost seven years now, and it seamlessly integrates into the space of the cottage too. but what truly surprises you and them is how you naturally blend into it.

when you rented the pension, you had ensured there were at least three bathrooms to accommodate all nine of you. however, you quickly discover that numbers mean nothing because the boys are incapable of staggering their morning and nightly bathroom routines one by one like you had assumed they would. you also realise that it is not that they are incapable, but that they like and want to do everything together.

space within a room holds no meaning to them and they are perfectly content to stand pressed up against each other’s sides, expertly dodging elbows and leaning over one another to reach for their toothbrushes or skincare. after that first night, you wake up in the morning and patter off in search for the least cramped bathroom to wriggle yourself into, up to three of you sharing the large sink and mirror that now looks comparatively tiny as you brush your teeth together.

more often than not, you find yourself sandwiched between yunho and mingi. it is moreso a matter of neither boy letting you escape from their clutches if you happen to peer into whichever bathroom they have crammed themselves into.

“we make the perfect ratio as the two tallest plus you as the shortest,” mingi likes to rationalise, “so it averages out perfectly with three boys in each of the other bathrooms.”

“but san’s shoulders are basically the equivalent of two grown men, so your point is invalid no matter how we divide ourselves up,” you like to argue back.

except they refuse to see reason. instead, yunho raises the volume of the speaker he has set on the sink’s counter that blasts out music to playfully drown you out. you relent every time and it turns into goofy dancing from the three of you as you pull silly expressions at one another in the mirror. when you rinse your mouth, mingi will start a gargling competition without fail, but none of you have lasted for more than three seconds before you begin to choke with laughter.

(when you are with people you like, everything is funny.)

seonghwa shakes his head whenever he passes the bathroom, insisting, “the only thing you guys are missing is a disco ball.” he is definitely not jealous of the fun you three are having. not at all.

the eldest has his own routine though, visible in the way he prepares everybody’s cups of coffee in the morning. they are all made differently according to individual preferences; no sugar, double shots, a dash of milk, brown sugar, matcha powder or decaf. and despite the fact that yeosang is usually up the earliest, seonghwa does not allow him to make his own coffee.

seonghwa claims it is because nobody knows how to properly use the drip brewer, but yeosang sits next to you and murmurs into your ear, “he just won’t admit that he likes to make them for us.” it must be the chill of the morning, but yeosang’s warm, whispery voice always sends goosebumps over your arms.

by the second morning, seonghwa finds himself naturally grabbing an extra cup and the hot surprise greets you with one and a half teaspoons of sugar in it, just how you like it. hongjoong emerges from the bathroom moments later to grab his cup and as he takes a careful sip, his eyes flit over the remaining cups on the table. seonghwa can practically hear the numbers ticking up in his head.

“y/n already took hers,” he verbalises, beckoning with his chin.

hongjoong turns around in the same direction to see you curled up on the sofa next to jongho and yeosang, your feet tucked comfortably underneath you as you lean forward out of curiosity to take a sip of jongho’s americano. when your expression scrunches up from the shock of bitterness, jongho giggles brightly and steadies your hand that is holding your own cup of sweetened coffee. his eyes melt at your reaction.

“oh, i know that expression,” hongjoong chortles. “he’s a goner.”

seonghwa sees the honey in hongjoong’s own eyes and he smiles knowingly, “i don’t think he’s the only one.”

hongjoong does not peel his gaze away from the three of you all cosied up on the couch. “you’re right, they’re both goners,” he hums absentmindedly, not at all registering who exactly it is who is being referred to.

(the true answer is that there are more than three of them.)

you discover that wooyoung is usually in charge of cooking, but in return, everybody else gets up to clear and wash the dishes the moment the last pair of chopsticks is placed down on the table. that is the only time they are allowed into the kitchen because they are apparently all walking hazards.

but when wooyoung realises you can actually handle a knife without giving him grey hairs from watching, the two of you easily divide the roles and tasks between yourselves. like a waltzing dance, you move together in the kitchen to prepare the meals. he passes you the spices in the overhead cabinets before you ask and you close the fridge when he takes out a pack of meat or vegetables.

cooking with wooyoung is never without bickering. he does not let you hear the end of the time you bump your head on the edge of the counter when you try to grab a saucepan from underneath, or the time you squeal after the oil starts to splatter from the onions. but if that is the reason why he starts to subtly move his hand to cushion the edges of the counters when you bend down to find something, or why he chooses to do the stirring and frying while you slice, then he pretends it is merely coincidence.

san never strays far away from the kitchen whenever you and wooyoung are cooking. you have noticed that they do not really ever stray apart–none of the boys do, though. wooyoung talks as you and san listen and the latter does not stop smiling as he watches wooyoung multitask. what you do not realise is the countless times you have forgotten to keep cooking because you are watching him too with the same expression that san wears.

(the rest of the boys realise and they also see the way san and wooyoung will pause to gaze at you.)

when you two have mostly finished cooking and it is simply a matter of waiting for the sauce to simmer or the soup to boil, you find that wooyoung will take his seat next to san on the barstools at the island, knees and thighs touching as he continues the conversation. you gravitate towards them the first time before catching yourself, cautious that you may be intruding, but then san gives you a dimpled smile and beckons for you to come and sit by his other side.

san likes to keep a gentle hand resting on wooyoung’s knee as he talks. when he does the same thing to you without even looking, your lungs stop working for a minute. the only thought that consumes your mind is the warm sensation of san’s thumb soothingly running back and forth across your skin. you do not want him to stop, so you stay still in hopes that he continues. you are pretty sure san does not even consciously realise he is doing it.

(san does, and he is glad you do not move away.)

in the hours after dinner and before you all head off to sleep, you pile the thick blankets into the open living room and squish yourselves on the least number of couches as possible. again, space holds no meaning when you are with the boys and you find the press of yeosang and hongjoong’s skin against your own more natural there than not.

sometimes you watch movies together, other times talking with low voices as the hours tick by, and other times where you are all doing your own things but in the presence of one another. regardless, the nine of you stay cuddled in front of the fireplace with the warm glow of the fire and the light dreamy flutter of snow outside the windows.

yeosang tenderly tucks the blankets up around mingi’s shoulders when he falls asleep before turning to you on his other side. “are you warm enough?” he softly asks. and even though you say you are, he still tucks the edges of your blanket under your chin, nestling you safely within the blanket, hongjoong’s side and his own body.

the boys are naturally affectionate with one another and seeing the close dynamic of their…friendship so intimately in the environment of the retreat reminds you once more of the possibility that their relationship may run deeper than they let on.

(but when that affection extends to you, you wonder what exactly that may mean for your own relationship with the boys.)

and so living together, even if just for a holiday, is different. it is different when they are the first sight to greet you when you wake up, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and voice still husky from fatigue as they murmur good mornings to you, and your cheeks start to glow with rosiness.

it is different when the decisions you make together are not about a change in formation or a defensive power play, but what to make for dinner and what movie you want to watch afterwards, and it makes you begin to wonder what other mundane decisions you want to make with them. it is different when they wrap you in their embrace–eight consecutive hugs–to bid you goodnight, and it takes you longer to fall asleep because you toss restlessly in your bed as their smiles replay in your head.

being on the retreat together is strangely domestic and homelike. but it has been almost nine months since you have started coaching the boys and thus seeing them every day for countless hours on end. so really, this trip should not change anything.

and yet, it feels like everything is changing.

jongho pays no mind to the conversation that is happening around him. last he heard, half of you are wanting to go out to skate on the lake before the sun sets and the other half are wanting to finish the halli galli championship you had started the night prior.

he is happy to do either but his mind is distracted by something else. as the screen of his phone lights up, jongho’s eyes flicker down and he puts his hand over the glowing display before anybody can see the caller id. you glance at him when you catch the movement in the corner of your peripheral vision, only to look away when yunho calls out your name to see which of the two options you would prefer.

the screen goes black as the call goes unanswered. seconds later, it lights up briefly with a notification.

pick up.

then the caller id shows up again. jongho grabs his phone and mumbles to nobody in particular, “going to grab something from my room.”

closing the door to the room that he is sharing with hongjoong in the pension, jongho sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand. whilst he has no qualms ignoring their messages now, he still finds it difficult to do the same to their phone calls. he finds his resolve weakening as he watches his phone ring for the third time within minutes.

so jongho picks up. “mother,” he greets stiffly.

she scoffs scathingly, “you finally decided to pick up.”

“i’ve been busy with the playoffs.” a half lie.

“busy? busy losing, you mean,” his mother ridicules. jongho is taken aback by the fact that she is aware, since he did not tell his family. it makes sense when she berates, “do you know how embarrassing it was for me to find out from your aunt? she told me to congratulate you for making it into the semifinals–the semifinals, jongho.”

he feels a heat of shame at what she is insinuating. jongho defends, “that’s still the top four out of seventy six teams.”

“nobody cares,” she turns her nose up. “it does not matter if you came fourth, second or last–unless you win first place, the result is not worth anything. our entire family has a legacy of achievements and your younger brother even has an olympic gold medal now. but what have you done? this is a mere national competition and yet you are incapable of making it into the finals.”

“jong–” his name dies on the tip of your tongue and your hand stops before you can knock on the door when you hear jongho’s muffled voice.

the boys had finally decided to grab their skates so you had come to get jongho to join everybody outside. realising he is talking to somebody, you are about to turn away and give him some privacy, but the words you hear make you freeze. 

it is not the conversation itself that you overhear; it is the wounded tone of jongho’s voice that makes it impossible for you to walk away. your feet stay rooted to the spot, in fact, wanting to enter the room. you have not heard jongho in such great affliction before, not even when he was consoling the boys with tears in his own eyes after their crushing defeat in the playoffs. 

“when are you going to celebrate my achievements for what they are, instead of telling me to do better?” jongho appeals.

he has lived his entire life being told that he is not good enough–constantly compared to the accomplishments of his family, particularly those of his younger brother. what he does not understand is why he cannot just be recognised for the athlete that he is, void of any other person.

his mother is silent and for a brief moment, jongho thinks that she may finally see some sense in his words…only for her to unfeelingly state, “when they are worth celebrating.” with a simple, “do better,” she hangs up on him.

jongho’s hand falls limply into his lap, phone slipping out of his lax fingers with a dull thud to the ground. he wants to swear. he wants to cry. he wants to throw his phone against the wall until the screen shatters. but jongho simply leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, the crushing weight of dejection forcing his lungs to exhale shakily.

there is a faint, timid knock on the door. he knows who it is immediately–only one person would knock so softly. “come in,” he answers listlessly, because he could never bring himself to ignore you no matter his own feelings.

the door cracks open to reveal your tentative figure and you slip through the opening. from the way your lips are pulled down, eyes rounded with concern, jongho knows that you have connected enough dots to understand the context of the phone call.

you approach the bed and try to ignore how small the boy in front of you looks with his shoulders hunched inwards on themselves. jongho has always appeared as the most collected and composed, even more so than the captain, and it makes your chest tight to realise he has simply been hiding this whole time.

jongho is not a man of many words so you do the next best thing that feels right in the moment. you simply open your arms. when his hands slowly come up in silent acceptance, you step forward to engulf him in your embrace.

he presses his face into the soft warmth of your stomach. the darkness welcomes him with safety and comfort and he lets out a stuttering breath that racks his entire body. you wrap one arm around his shoulders and cradle the back of his head with your other, your fingers tenderly caressing his hair in soothing motions.

although silence is what he needs, you allow yourself to say one thing to him. you murmur, “i’m proud of you, jongho…so, so proud of you.”

and they are the words he has been wanting to hear his entire life. unable to keep it together any longer, jongho breaks down in your arms with tearful sobs and allows himself to grieve for the acknowledgement he has yearned his entire life and never received. however, it will only be for tonight because he has realised that it is futile to chase after recognition from a person who refuses to see his worth, even if that person is his own family.

there will always be other people who can see his actual worth; the same people who will still love him even if he does not have a gold trophy to call his. for him, those people are his seven boys and you.

so he stays in your arms with you wrapped around him, time lost to the two of you. he cries until he has no tears left and you tilt your head upwards to stop the flow of your own tears before they can drip down onto the crown of his head. and outside the bedroom, hongjoong quietly eases the door shut to give you both some privacy.

you do not know how much time has passed when you finally step out. jongho has fallen asleep after you tucked him under his covers, exhausted. heading towards your room to change out of your shirt, you are startled by the sight of hongjoong lingering near the door.

“you didn’t go out with the boys?

he shakes his head, then conscious of where you two are standing, he gestures inside your room and follows you in. “is jongho okay?” hongjoong asks.

“i think so…he’s sleeping now but probably just needs a bit more time,” you sigh, “i just wish i could do more for him.”

hongjoong reassures, “you are already doing so much more than you realise.”

for jongho. for wooyoung. for all of them. comfort has never been about the words or actions, but the person who is by their side, and for the boys, having you there is already enough.

“really?” you worry.

“yes, really.”

before he realises what he is doing, hongjoong reaches out to gingerly cup the side of your face to thumb away the worry in your brows. “y/n, you take care of us all the time…but who takes care of you?” he whispers.

“i’m your coach, of course i–”

“no,” he interrupts. “you aren’t just our coach and from what i have seen, you aren’t just our friend either. unless…” hongjoong hesitates, “unless i’ve been reading everything wrong, then in which case, tell me and i’ll move away.”

you do not reply. your eyes flicker back and forth between his, your heart racing and mind blank. it is true–they are not just your players and they are not just your friends either, but you are unsure about taking such a huge leap of faith and acting upon the feelings you have only just started to understand.

hongjoong takes your silence as encouragement to step even closer until he is right in front of you. he keeps his hand on your cheek, his other coming up to delicately cradle your waist. you are standing intimately enough for his warm breath to span across your cheeks as he tenderly pleads, “let us take care of you as more than what we are right now.

“if you do not want to put a label on it then that’s fine, we won’t. we’ll still be your team and you’ll still be our coach. but please, let us take care of you when you are hurt, when you’re upset or angry, and when you are happy, too. let us love you as one of ours.”

as one of theirs.

you swallow and confirm, “are you all together?”

“yes, we’re dating each other,” hongjoong nods.

“but then why…” your voice trials off. why me, too?

hongjoong taps the tip of your nose and jokes lightly, “is there a capped limit as to how many people we are allowed to love?”

it pulls a giggle out of you and he smiles fondly as he reiterates, “we don’t need to put a label on this and we can go entirely at your pace. just let us into your heart, please?”

for a moment you wonder what will happen to your professional relationship with the boys–what will happen if things do not work out or worse, if other people find out and report you all for it. but when you really think about it, you realise that the professionalism between you and the boys has long since blurred. 

you do not know if you can go back to seoul after this retreat and act like you do not want to continue living with them. most importantly, you do not want to know if you can. so you take the leap of faith and nod–you want to be theirs.

when you first met the red devils in autumn last year, you were resolved to win over them. never would you have expected that you would win them over in more ways than one…and be won over yourself.

“hi, girlfriend.”

seonghwa smacks the back of wooyoung’s head. “stop pressuring her,” he hisses as the younger cackles delightfully and strides away through the snow impressively fast considering he is wearing his skates.

“ignore him,” seonghwa turns to you, where you are sitting on the porch steps to the cottage. he squats down and takes the laces out of your hands to start doing up your own skates.

“i can do it myself,” you start.

“i know you can,” seonghwa hums, gazing up lovingly, “but i want to do it for you.”

you press your lips together in an attempt to hide the shy smile that blooms across your face and when that fails, you duck your head down instead. ever since your talk with hongjoong the other day, the boys have been significantly more obvious and proactive with their displays of affection for you. however, you are pretty sure they had their own conversation when you were asleep or in the shower, because not one of them pressures you into something you are not ready for, even if that includes making your relationship official.

“there you go. is it too tight? too loose?” seonghwa taps your skates and you tell him they are perfect. taking his offered hand with an appreciative smile, he pulls you up to your feet and you go to join the rest of the boys on the frozen lake.

you are sure it feels the same for every single one of your boys–nothing can compare to that moment when you first step onto the ice. it is where you become a completely different person; a fish back in water, in control and at home.

it had been a gamble renting the cottage pension as you were unable to know whether the lake would be frozen over enough to allow for skating. but it is as if the heavens know not to separate you and your boys from the love and passion that your entire lives revolve around, because you are blessed to see them scrambling out to play on the frozen lake almost every single day, just like they are right now.

san spots you and seonghwa and beckons for you two to join. “hongjoong’s the tagger,” he calls out.

the captain stands at the other end of the lake, back facing everybody as he drawls, “green light…”

before hongjoong even starts to enunciate the first word, yunho, wooyoung and jongho have already pushed off their skates to advance. it sets off an immediate chorus of indignant shouts and desperate acceleration amongst everybody else to catch up. you laugh and seonghwa drags you along with him urgently, unable to stand your apparent nonchalance and uncompetitiveness.

but oh, how wrong he is. very quickly, you join the majority of the boys in a game of who can be the most sneaky with dirty play. wooyoung and mingi tussle with one another right as hongjoong turns around with his yell of ‘red light!’, trying to topple the other over so they get caught. jongho yanks on the back of seonghwa’s jacket whilst yeosang giggles and joins in to yank on jongho’s, effectively preventing all three of them from advancing forward.

“let go of me, you brats!” seonghwa flails forward against the combined weight of the two boys but to no avail.

you use yunho’s height to your advantage and hide behind him, steadily creeping forward even when hongjoong has turned around to face you all. yunho quickly catches on and extends his hands backwards for you to latch onto. you are more than happy to let him do all the hard work skating you both towards the captain and you grin cheekily at the trio–still caught up in their self-induced tug-of-war–as you overtake them easily.

“y/n’s cheating!” san hollers, the only one who is actually playing by the rules.

“life’s not fair!” you holler back gleefully at the same time that hongjoong sniggers, “san, you moved your mouth! go back.”

san gives an indignant cry, “favouritism, i say!” but, bless his heart, moves back to the starting line regardless. 

when yunho is almost towering over hongjoong, he cues you to get ready to escape by letting go of your hands. you pivot around and without waiting for anything else, you start to run away.

“gree–”

yunho tags hongjoong’s right shoulder before pushing off to the left so that he escapes the other’s immediate line of vision. except it means that the first person that hongjoong sees when he turns around is you.

an involuntary squeal escapes you when you hear the terrifying crispness of skates on ice right behind you followed by the captain’s arms snaking around your waist. “caught you, babe” he beams. hongjoong lifts you up with shit-eating smugness at your reaction–both at his close proximity and the pet name–spins you around for good measure, then sets you back down to chase after the others.

wooyoung skates in a wide arc to dodge the captain’s frenzied rampage, only to suddenly appear right beside you with the most telling glint in his sparkling eyes that he is up to mischief. he grins.

“wooyoung, no,” you warn.

he grabs you by the waist. “wooyoung, yes.”

wooyoung pushes off his skates with you in front of him at breakneck speed across the ice, bellowing at the top of his voice, “make way for the cripples!”

you scream the entire way to the end of the lake, hands clutching onto his like a lifeline as a colourful string of words flies out of your mouth. you think you black out for a second because when you open your eyes again, you are in a heaving tangle of arms and legs on the cushiony surface of powdery snow.

“oh, shit,” hongjoong winces.

the boys speed towards you and wooyoung, and yunho peers down at you on the ground with panicked concern in his eyes. “are you two okay?” he asks but when he sees that you are laughing, unrestrained and radiating joy, yunho relaxes and joins in with relief.

they–mainly seonghwa–fuss over you both enough to reassure themselves that there is not so much as a scratch or bruise, before mingi suggests playing a casual hockey game of five versus four. there are to be no goaltenders and san fashions makeshift goalposts by poking sticks into the snow on either ends of the lake.

the team splits into their usual arrangement when they are required to be in two groups; hongjoong, yunho, san and wooyoung; seonghwa, yeosang, mingi and jongho. normally, you would offer to be the honorary referee…but the boys have never been rough with you and you have confidence that you will not get hurt. so for the first time in years, you play.

it is far from a proper league game and it will never be enough to quench your thirst as a former athlete, but for now, gripping your stick on the ice in tandem with the others, you are content–you are alive.

like red light, green light, the game starts off fair and proper for a grand total of two minutes. then it becomes a circus of foul plays and increasingly creative methods of cheating as all sense of order is tossed out the window. yunho and san stand in front of you, leaving just enough space for you to handle the puck, whilst hongjoong and wooyoung flank your sides and use their sticks to block any attempts to steal the puck. as a shielded group of five, you all move up towards the goalposts like a formidable army tank.

in retaliation, jongho physically manhandles hongjoong out of the way, hugging him from behind with a vice grip that he swears not to let go. seonghwa, mingi and yeosang imitate him with similar displays of strength, turning the entire match into a childish scuffle of chaos and hysterics.

there are no proper rules, no proper gear and no proper stadium–only the bare minimum, yourselves and uncontainable laughter. it feels like you are kids again, little souls harbouring colossal dreams, running around on the fields with long branches and a pine cone you had found when you could not afford to go to a real rink.

it is like you have gone back in time to when all you knew about ice hockey from watching it on your television screen was that you had to get the puck into the goal. you and the boys are fresh, blank slates without a care in the world for the countless strategies and tactical plays that you have learned over the length of your careers.

without the pressures and routines of strict training regimes, you all reignite the very roots of your ardour and fervour for ice hockey. no longer is it about the scores and making it into the playoffs. no longer is it about winning the championships to gain the acknowledgement of other people. no longer is it about the trauma of betrayal, injury and defeat you have experienced.

playing is simply the thrill of skating liberally with no burdens across the ice. it is the feeling of thriving when your blade connects with the puck and sends vibrations up your arms. it is the rush of adrenaline as everyone moves in tandem with the same singular thought in your hearts–that you love ice hockey with your entire lives. and that in itself is already more than enough, even without a gold trophy and championship title to prove it to yourselves.

for the last five years, the boys have had the leaves of their trees forcibly plucked and removed–by family, by coaches, and by injuries…but now?

it is time for their flowers to bloom.

spring, 2025: playoffs

standing off to the side, you watch your boys listening attentively to the reporter who is conducting an interview with them. you have continued to stay out of the media spotlight where possible, not yet entirely comfortable standing in front of the cameras again, but your boys have quickly grown accustomed to media coverage ever since their popularity gained traction thanks to their undefeated streak in the regular season.

the interviewer glances down at her prompt card before asking, “so tell me, what has been a major contribution to your success this season? your team has made a name for yourselves as the undefeated champions so far–quite a contrast to how you started off last season.”

seonghwa laughs cordially with her. “we were getting used to a lot of changes last year so our teamwork and mentality wasn’t the best,” he admits. “our agency gave us some time off to recalibrate, which really helped us to focus on building ourselves–as individuals and as a team. i think we learnt to place our unconditional trust in one another and our coach. we still play with a dominantly offensive approach, but we’ve been adopting different playing styles and experimenting with them, so this relies heavily on believing in each other.”

yunho nods, gesturing for the microphone to add, “as cliche as it may sound, a huge part of our growth was also learning how to accept loss. this wasn’t just in the context of being defeated in the semifinals but in the wider lens of our past mistakes, relationships, and even situations that we could not change.

“it has been a tough journey for a lot of us over the last year, but we were lucky enough to have each other’s support,” yunho’s nostalgic smile reflects your own as you realise just how far both you and all of your boys have come. “once we were able to let go, it meant that we could enjoy our career for what it truly is–playing the sport of our dreams together, every day.”

the reporter’s ears perk up in interest at the segway to probe and she jumps on the opportunity to ask, “i am sure many of your fans have been curious for a long time. is there a special somebody who has supported you–or any of you–throughout your journey?”

yunho passes the microphone to the hand that has extended out to reach for it. it’s san this time, who has a charmingly confident persona that he takes on whenever he answers questions during interviews. good thing too, because their fans are going to need something to distract them from understanding the confession he is about to make.

“there is. we all do, actually,” his deep voice rolls off his tongue like butter. the way he smoothly talks with a flirtatious smirk never fails to make you swoon. “funnily enough, we all met our girlfriend at about the same time.”

off to the side, wooyoung sends a wink in your direction and you have to muffle a snort with your hand and divert your glance away. the structural framework of the stadium ceiling suddenly looks very interesting. san stands there incredibly smug at his joke that he knows nobody but you and the boys will pick up on.

by the time you tune back into the conversation, the reporter has moved onto the next question. “last year, you lost to the white tigers in the semifinals. how do you feel about facing them again later today?”

due to a spike in popularity, the korean ice hockey league had to divide its teams into two separate groups for the regular season matches this year. both the red devils and the white tigers had been placed in different groups and by some twist of fate, had ranked at the top and then seeded accordingly on either ends of the tournament brackets. now, your team faces theirs in the very last game of the season.

the finals.

“we’re quite excited, actually,” jongho responds. “we have been wanting to play against the white tigers again some day and i don’t think it gets any more fitting than meeting them in the finals. they have some incredible players but like seonghwa mentioned before, we’ve been working hard to adjust our playing style to suit the situation. our coach has put in a lot of effort to hone in on our strengths and weaknesses, so no matter what today’s outcome is, we’re confident that it won’t be an easy win for either team.”

“i am sure the finals is going to be a thrilling match. now, speaking of coaches,” the interviewer starts and you can see hongjoong’s hand twitching subtly at his side, ready to step in and deflect the question need be should it pertain to you.

she continues, “how does it feel to play against your former coach?”

yeosang and mingi frown, unable to neutralise the confusion on their faces. hongjoong smiles calmly, ultimately taking over the microphone as he apologises, “sorry, could you please elaborate your question?”

it is the interviewer’s turn to fluster slightly but she nods quickly, “you must not be aware, then.”

your eyes dart back and forth as you try to recall whether there is a crucial piece of information you have somehow missed or forgotten to tell the boys. the tone of her voice foreshadows something that makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“last year, the white tigers had a stand-in coach, so you probably did not know.” she says her next words carefully and despite the bustling movement that fills the entire stadium, you can hear the exact moment all of your hearts drop.

“the coach of the white tigers is coach yeon, your team’s former coach in 2018…and he’s here today.”

you are the first to rush back into their locker room. frantically, you grab the official guide that had been given to you by the ice hockey league prior to the start of the regular season from out of your bag. you flip through it, team profiles upon team profiles blending into a hazy blur of faces as you find the one you are trying to look for.

“y/n,” somebody gently murmurs from behind you but you do not register their call. you continue to flick through the pages and when you find the profile for the white tigers, you scan the top of the page for a certain name with a shaky finger.

head coach: yeon ha joon

“oh my god,” you breathe out, hands lowering to your sides and gaze wavering. how the fuck had you managed to miss it this entire time?

you are not the only one affected by the revelation. the change room is pervaded by unease and restlessness, and wooyoung paces back and forth despite hongjoong’s attempts to get him to sit down. hongjoong himself cannot even remember how he answered the question about coach yeon, only that he had somehow excused themselves not long after to cut the interview short.

“how is he still a coach?” seonghwa furrows his brows.

wooyoung stops pacing and your eyes are drawn to him when he suddenly blanches, “what if coach yeon is doing the opposite now and paying other teams to let his own team win?”

“no way–” “–i wouldn’t put it past him–” “–surely not?” the boys’ voices overlap at the speculation.

it is a valid speculation based on what they have told you in the past about coach yeon. however, you stay quiet, suddenly aware of the fact that it is not something that would favour you should it be true. you gnaw the inside of your cheek because as much as you know that your boys would not suspect you, you still worry that doubt may cross their minds at one point, even if only briefly.

“unless the money he offered every single time was equivalent to the prize money, it’s highly unlikely the teams would have all accepted, right?” jongho points out.

yunho shrugs nonchalantly, “but even if they did, we all know that coach yeon would never be able to bribe our girl.”

the way everybody immediately agrees expels some of the anxiety within you, filling you with reassurance and security that starts to relax your chest instead. wooyoung chooses that moment to finally sit down on the bench beside you. he adds, “we’re too whipped for you, so even if you were bribed, we would probably ask whether the money was enough and if you wanted more.”

san chucks a water bottle at him. despite yourself, you laugh and admit, “that is…strangely comforting.”

“see,” wooyoung triumphantly boots the bottle back at the older. “she gets it.”

seonghwa intercepts the pitiful bottle before it becomes weaponised and sets it down next to him. “she wouldn’t accept the money in the first place.”

“exactly, so why does any of this matter?” mingi suddenly questions.

yeosang knits his brows together as he states the obvious, “it’s coach yeon.”

“and?” mingi mirrors his expression with genuine confusion.

it is quiet in the locker room. the coach of the white tigers is indeed coach yeon…and so what? what exactly about the revelation has pushed you all to the edge of the cliff?

mingi cocks his head. “what i’m trying to say is, does it make any difference whether he is their coach or not? think about it–regardless of how he got his team to the finals, he has no unfair advantage over us. there’s no way that he has bribed a fixed win in the finals, and he has no access to any insider knowledge that could jeopardise our tactics and plays.

“the only leverage that he ‘has’ is a psychological advantage–if we can even call it that. but we’re not the same boys who were too naive and powerless to do anything about it six years ago. if anything, we can easily turn this to work in our favour because i don’t know about you guys, but i’m ready to drag his ass through the mud. what we said earlier about not caring for today’s outcome? nah, fuck that. we’re going to fuck him up and show him that he messed with the wrong people.”

he takes everybody’s silence as misunderstanding of his last statement and he hurriedly clarifies there is no violent intent, “by winning. fairly.”

“damn,” jongho whistles. “you’re onto something for once.”

mingi clambers over seonghwa’s legs to grab the forgotten bottle and it goes flying across the room with violent intent. “dude, what the fuck,” mingi grouses.

the dull thud that resounds when jongho holds san’s leg pad up to block the projectile is enough to shift the mood in the room entirely. you finally relax into hongjoong’s side and he moulds you closer to him with the arm that he snakes around your waist as you both watch the locker room erupt into familiar pre-game mayhem.

yunho immediately scoops up the bottle and pitches it again. san stands to the side worrying over his poor leg pads as jongho uses them to bat the makeshift ball. his impressive accuracy makes you wonder whether they would have made it just as big as they are now had they formed a baseball team instead, but then yeosang narrowly dodges the bottle before it gives him a black eye, wooyoung cackles in the background, and you think better of it.

seonghwa joins you both on the bench and amongst all of the mischievous chaos and raucous laughter, you feel at peace, your hands clasped tenderly in the hands of your two captains–in unity, trust and love. you affectionately squeeze their hands with unspoken conviction.

you know your boys are going to play well; you just have a good feeling.

the energy in the room spikes exponentially as you huddle together one final time before you walk out of the locker room, through the hallways and to the arena–one final time before you step out to the ice rink as the red devils, playing in the final match.

you and your boys stand in a circle as close as it is physically possible with their bulky pads and game jerseys that they wear so proudly. it is indiscernible where one of you starts and where another ends from how intimately you all press together. your huddle is a woven nexus of arms and your hearts pound as one entity.

everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. not a single one of your boys has made it this far without falling at least once, and the conscious thought makes your heart swell and your throat constrict with overwhelming emotion.

somehow, you manage to choke out, “i am so, so proud of all of you.”

yunho and seonghwa’s own eyes start to heat up with wetness. from your side, san kisses your temple with feather-like tenderness, “and we’re so proud of you. y/n, you have grown just as much as we have.”

“thank you for being our coach,” hongjoong murmurs into your ear from your other side, the tip of his nose softly nuzzling you.

wooyoung reaches out to thumb the round of your cheek, “and thank you for loving us when we found it difficult to love ourselves.”

you had always viewed your injury and career with anger, bitterness and anguish…but you have finally come to terms with it. in the process of healing, you have learnt to love yourself, love eight other people, and to be loved. you have had your golden days as an athlete and you are now living your golden days as a coach–

–the very coach of the red devils, your team of boys who are living through their golden days as athletes, and you are going to lead them to victory in the finals.

swiping at a tear that slips down your cheeks, you grin. “boys, let’s win this match and then,” you pause as you meet their determined gazes, their smiles wide with uncontainable excitement, the tension in the room electrifying and palpable.

“let’s go international.”

you may have all fallen before–as athletes, as coaches, as a team–but you will always stand back up together, because at the end of the day your dream is theirs and their dream is yours. and like autumn, the leaves fall for a reason; they must fall before the spring flowers can bloom to their full beauty.

and bloom your flowers have.

[ckret2]

I might tweak some details later (jewelry? take the ribbon off the bow?) but I've about got a Scalene design I like. The lipstick is really the centerpiece of the design. Now let's infodump! With more art!

🔺 Notice her lines are a a little curvy. It's not for artistic effect. She's got a Fictional Polygon Physical Disorder that makes her bendier than she should be—meaning, among other things, sides that curve and flex.

🔺 It's also the kind of condition with symptoms that are romanticized by people who don't grok that it's a debilitating medical condition. Sides that curve and flex? How exotic! This went to her head in the wrong ways.

🔺 Bill was born with the same condition. You know how squishy and blobby he was as a baby? Thaaat's genetic! He was a lot squishier than most babies! And, consequently, more adorable.

🔺Scalene dreamed of being a famous super model. Was actually a teen beauty queen at mid-tier beauty pageants. She thinks it's always somebody else's fault she wasn't more successful.

🔺 She took Bill to his first baby beauty pageant the day he was born. He did, in fact, have a Best Baby Ever award presented to him by the mayor, but to be fair he was only competing against like 6 other babies and who's going to withhold a trophy from a newborn on his birthday? Anyway the 6-12 month group and 12-24 month groups also each had a Best Baby Ever award.

🔺 This was an absolutely bonkers thing for Scalene to do.

🔺 What's that small scrunkly thing doing at a pageant, he can't even see color yet.

🔺 Their fictional squishy medical condition doesn't just accidentally make shapes cute. It's the kind of condition that affects just about all parts of the body: sides won't stay straight, poor muscle tone resulting in instability & weakness, poor motor coordination & clumsiness, back aches & pains (well, triangles don't have "backs." side aches?), easily dislocated joints, and increasingly skewed sides with age. Just about everyone in Scalene's family is born equilateral and ends up extremely scalene after young adulthood. The rest of her family have normal relationships with their condition, she's the only one who's weird about it

🔺 She was very rough on her body in pursuit of pageantry success, but her physical symptoms & associated chronic pain got a lot worse due to having a kid; she had to retire from pageantry for good. She doesn't blame Bill for this at all. Out loud, to his face. (If she hadn't been so rough on herself in pageants, having a kid probably wouldn't have impacted her health this much. She doesn't consider this.)

🔺 She's weirdly intent on seeing Bill become the success she wasn't. He's her little golden child, he deserves to be seen as the greatest! He'll show them how great he is for mommy, won't he? He won't let mommy down, will he? When he's very young, she takes him to child pageants—he'll appreciate the lessons they taught him when he's older—and this lasts until he finds out he can get out of it by pyrokinetically setting the stage on fire.

🔺 She jokes ("jokes") that she didn't realize that when she was having a kid, she was firing herself from the pageant circuit so she could hire & train her own replacement. These jokes had no long-term impact on Bill at all!!!

(Compare/contrast: how we're told Stan's "You watch the movie, you scare the girl, the girl snuggles up next to you, next thing you know you gotta raise a kid, your life falls apart" is repeating something he heard his dad say.)

🔺 Did you know that squeaky baby shoes are sometimes medical devices? Squeakers help children with poor muscle tone and delayed motor skills learn how to walk correctly: it makes them want to walk on their heels instead of their toes so they can hear the squeak. Did you know sometimes oversized squeaky baby shoes are worn by young kids who need ankle braces? Did you know that kids with poor motor coordination can take a longer time to learn complicated motor skills like tying shoelaces rather than using shoes with velcro straps? It sure is interesting that baby Bill's most defining visual feature is oversized squeaky sneakers with velcro straps and that he kept wearing velcro shoes until he was 16!

🔺 As a baby, Bill's angles were technically supposed to be equilateral,* but thanks to his inherited condition, his angles were so loose his top corner practically formed a right angle. Not good: the closer a triangle creeps to being obtuse, the more likely he'll have muscle strain and medical issues from his organs being squished out of place by his own exoskeleton.

(*supposed to be equilateral: but after receiving treatment, they discovered his angles were still 60º, 60º, and 60.1º, which is mathematically impossible for a triangle... on a euclidean plane. But on a non-euclidean 3D plane, such as in spherical geometry, a triangle's angles can add up to more than 180º... and it's this slight 3D flex to Bill's body that lets him see up into the third dimension.)

🔺 For his first few years of life he actually had a hypotenuse, until physical therapy and side braces helped him improve his muscle tone. Sometimes he still reflexively refers to his base as his hypotenuse. It's fine, sweetie, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, mommy had a hypotenuse too. Don't tell anyone.

🔺 Scalene took baby Billy to a lot of doctors as a kid, just like how she was taken to a lot of doctors! Doctor for his side braces, doctor for his physical therapy, doctor for his shoes... doctor for his eye when he started talking about seeing white glitter at the edge of his vision. Scalene didn't have that symptom, but the eye doc said their condition does occasionally come with visual problems—blurred vision, lazy eye, visual field defects... It sounds like Bill's main field of vision is unobstructed, but if the visual snow he's getting in his peripheral vision is distracting him and confusing his little toddler mind into thinking it's something real, they can give him a medication that'll narrow his field of view. From the sound of it, he's not seeing anything important at the edge of his vision, anyway.

And she only wants what's best for her golden child.

🔺 Scalene's "bow" is actually a medical device: sort of like a medical corset, it helps tug and press her anatomy into place to reduce pain. Bill started wearing one preventatively—if he can keep everything in place when he's young, it'll take longer for his angles to skew when he's older. Like wearing a retainer when you get your braces out.

🔺 He has a cane for the same reason—he doesn't need it NOW when he's young, but he might as well keep it on hand, by age 35 he'll probably want to stand more often than float and when he's standing he'll probably want the extra support! Even if he doesn't need it by 35, he will eventually!!

🔺 Bill doesn't medically need a bow tie in the third dimension either; but he adapted it to help tie his 3D exoskeleton on.

🔺 A trillion years later, Bill suspects that his mutation to see the third dimension came, at least in part, from his mom's medical condition. Except, she didn't have that vision. Nobody else with the condition on her side of the family had that vision. It's not a known symptom of the condition. His dad had stuff going on with his eye too, did he get it from his dad's side? A mix of both? Just a standalone random mutation? He doesn't know; and with the rest of his species dead, there's no way for him to find out.

But back to Scalene!

🔺 She's not quite red, she's rose gold. However she doesn't like it. She thinks it's a sort of pinkish brown and very dull. She uses makeup to make herself look redder. Note how bright red her sides are: in a species where only your edges are visible, body paint is the most common form of makeup+fashion. She's pleased her baby came out gold-gold, it's much cuter. Bill knows she's rose gold, but he only saw her with her makeup off when she was tired or sick; he remembers her painted red.

🔺 She adores her Billy; but she somewhat sees him as an extension of her will. She thinks he's just perfect and will tell anyone who asks; but she also demands he be perfect and is furious when he isn't. She'll protect him from ANY perceived external threat; but she'll tough love him into being the kind of success she thinks he should be. He learns early that when he screws up, he can often redirect his mother's anger by pointing his finger and saying it's someone else's fault, and she'll bring the wrath of heaven down on them. Woe to the teacher who gives Bill an F on a test.

🔺 I'm on a quest to write Bill as a foil to the entire cast of Gravity Falls, and that extends to writing his family as a foil to the entire cast's families. Scalene's a blend of Pacifica's mom and Caryn: beautiful, proud of her beauty, afraid of losing her youth, self-aggrandizing, quick to lie about her & her family's (false/exaggerated) accomplishments—and very aware of the fact that you can say anything about woo-woo mystical matters and nobody can prove you wrong.

🔺 So she takes it great when they figure out Bill is, like, legit psychic. And by "takes it great" I mean "starts a cult."

There's what I've got on Scalene. Fortunately, I got to keep all my pre-TBOB headcanons about Bill's mom, I only had to change her shape & color. I already had medical trauma baked right into the family!

(Preemptive disclaimer before I get any "but she doesn't look 2D" comments: we all understand that the baby Bill picture we see in the book is a psychically-generated 3D approximation of Bill's 2D Euclidean form, right? And that drawing a 3D baby Bill design alongside rigidly 2D parent designs would make it look like even in the second dimension Bill already had a 3D body, right? So, if we're drawing a 3D baby Bill and want to convey that they looked similar to him, we have to draw his parents in a similar art style, right? Okay, great.)

[caramelkoo]

honeysuckle

boyfriend!jungkook, established relationship, smut

summary : according to your boyfriend, a little competition won't hurt anyone especially when the game is his favorite. Making you feel good.

warnings : mature, strong language, heavy on the smut, a little fluff thrown in there, fingering, pussy slapping, he asks for consent, they're freaky, dick piercing, ass slapping, hickeys, sex in a jacuzzi, reverse cowgirl, riding, jungkook wants oc so bad, dirty talk, he calls oc sweetheart, unprotected sex. if i missed something, do let me know.

a/n : hi my loves, here’s your promised smutty treat. tbvh that picture has not left my mind ever since i saw it lmao. I love you guys so so much. You're so loved and cherished. Please don't read this in front of your parents. also @rpwprpwprpwprw was the sweetest to ask for a tag <33 xoxo

"Oh yeah baby, just like that"

"You fuck me so good"

'Take my cock like a good slut you are"

Any other day, you're all about sex positivity and letting your body get what it wants but today of all days, your neighbors want to ruin the peace that you so desperately craved.

Your boyfriend, Jungkook had left early for a business meeting promising you to come back as soon as he gets done with it. As much as you missed him, you had felt the need to have some time for yourself. You thrive on being Jungkook's girlfriend, it's all butterfly in the stomach, princess treatment kind of love but you can't lie about wishing for some alone time just for yourself. Finally, you were getting it. You had it all planned bit by bit.

Step 1 : take an everything shower

Step 2 : cook something delicious for yourself while wave to earth plays in the background

Step 3 : read a romantasy novel you've been anticipating for a long time.

Step 4 : if sleepy, sleep. If not, take out your pink best friend from the bedside drawer and seek your pleasure listening to Jungkook's voice recording you had him record the other day. It always works.

Step 3 and you're already at the verge of giving up. It appears the people next door didn't exactly like your plan and they wanted to make you realize how lonely you are. Screaming at your face, "Haha guess who's not getting a dick". God forbid if a girl wants to have quite and peaceful night while romanticizing the shit out of it.

You slam the book on the bed and sigh. For a second you consider calling Jungkook but stop when you realize that you'll only be hindering his work. What are you even going to tell him? that you can't read because your neighbors have been fucking each other for hours now? No, that's just stupid.

Taking off your reading glasses you make your way to the kitchen. If you can't get sleep tonight, you might as well give them a tough fight. When and if they decide to let their horny asses take a break and decide to doze off, they'd catch on to the fact that there's someone next door whose mama didn't raise a quitter. Immature? you don't think so.

Once the woman's voice on the speaker alerts you that your phone has been connected, you start off with your favorite go to song when you need to cry your eyes out. "Fuck to an emotional song now" you think.

Coming in terms with the fact that you might have to pull an all nighter, you begin making coffee. The word itself brings a smile on your face. Coffee, which got you through your med school. Coffee, which got you Jungkook.

If you really think about it, hadn't you mustered up the courage to go on a solo date that day and have a coffee all by yourself you wouldn't have crossed your paths with him. It's funny actually because how many couples do actually last this long after meeting at a random coffee shop?

After dating douchebags for almost three years you had taken a break from dating all together. It was high time you focused on yourself. Honestly, it's not like they were the only one who was messed up in your previous relationships. You had some parts you had to heal as well and the moment you caught up on that, you went on a journey. Journey to self love, journey to find yourself and a journey which will leave you not perfect but healed.

As for the dimwits you dated in the past, sometimes it was "why do you always have to be like this? how much more space do you need?" or, "What do you mean you don't want to have sex right now? C'mon don't be a spoilsport".

Spoilsport, your ass.

Standing up on your tippy toes, your hands reach out for the coffee container but before you could even settle your foot down on the floor, two arms circle around your waist making you gasp in utter shock.

The need to defend yourself takes so strongly over you that you don't even turn around in order to check the person before your elbow connects with their nose.

When you finally do, you can't stop the scream from leaving your mouth. Your face all red and your eyes as big as saucers.

You panic, "JUNGKOOK?"

When you see blood oozing out of his left nostril after he lifts his face, you mentally curse your sister for forcing you to take self defense classes.

"What's with the song, sweetheart?"

"I told you you were gonna be my death someday but who knew it was gonna be tonight"

After cleaning up his nose and giving him a cup of coffee, you both were now sitting on the couch. You had turned off the music, though. God knew it was not making the situation any better.

You take a sip before speaking, "Oh, don't be dramatic. Who comes home like this and at this hour?"

"My flight was late, sweetheart. I wanted to get to you much sooner but destiny had plans--" he gets cut off as his eyebrows crease in wonder.

"What was that?"

"The neighbors. They have been going at it for hours now" you shake your head in disbelief.

"For hours? That's some stamina I must say" he breaks out in a fit of laughter as you place your cup on the table in front of you.

Turning towards him you ask, "You find this funny? I haven't been able to sleep because of them"

Your voice comes out a bit whiny and you wonder if you're acting a bit childish.

"Oh, sweetheart. How about this, I take a quick shower and we cuddle to sleep" a mixture of warmth and concern crossing his face.

Your smile is wide when you say, "I'd love that"

Jungkook finishes his coffee and pecks your lips as he saunters towards the bathroom. However, when he turns back and says the most unforeseen thing, your silly mind doesn't even think twice.

"Actually, _____. Why don't you join me?"

Bubbles form inside the jacuzzi as smoke fills your surroundings. The smell of warm water hits your nose making it feel tingly. Your stomach is doing summersaults as your boyfriend lets you down inside the water, heart skipping a beat.

Only when Jungkook lets himself sit on the other side of the tub, you can finally take a deep breath. His eyes never leaving yours. When you're with him, there's nothing you care about. Not your horny neighbors, not the world, nothing. It's just him and his presence that lights you up. A smile that could rival the sun.

Him.

Your fingers play with the water as you try to make a conversation. This moment right here, is peak level of intimacy for you. You're both naked, exposed and vulnerable yet you've never felt safer. Not to mention how you feel like a high school girl trying to talk to his crush.

When you were young, the bathroom was the only place you could run and cry in and no one judged you. The four walled room provided more comfort than people in your life. It holds memories but when you moved in with your boyfriend, you left those at your old house. To rot, because what else?

With him, every corner, every space in your house feels pure and blissful. It’s filled with laughter, moans and him.

Jungkook's legs are lightly brushing yours every now and then, the movement sending shivers down your spine. What's happening to you?

"So, how was the business trip?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how funny is it that you wanna talk about business while looking like that and all I wanna do is fuck that sweet mouth of yours because of how much I missed it?"

You shudder, the effect he has on you is beyond belief and now with the expression crossing his face, pure lust and longing, it's as though somebody has set your whole body on fire. A mix of hot and cold feeling running through your veins.

"Jungkook"

"Come here"

"Wh-"

He cuts you off, "Come here, sweetheart. Come to me before I lose my ever loving mind'

You don't have an option other than to scoot your way towards him. He positions your body between his legs, his taut and muscular chest touching your wet back.

Wetness pools between your legs as his hardness presses at your lower hip just above your ass. Your pussy throbs with need and you stop yourself from reaching down to relieve that tension.

His fingers ever so lightly graze over your arm, frequently making drawings on it.

"How long did you say they were going at it?"

You look at him, "About three hours. Why?"

He's up to something. You can feel it in your bones.

"Do you think they're still gonna be able to fuck each other after hearing your screams through the wall, sweetheart?"

Fuck. The idea of making them listen to you while your boyfriend fucks you into oblivion doesn't sound so bad. You missed him, you missed being in his arms and you missed him being inside you as well. So, where's the harm in that?

"You wanna give them a show? Let them know how well your man fucks you?"

The moan that leaves her as she lets her head fall back heavy on his chest tells him everything her words can't.

"Jungkook, please. It's been so long" she cries out.

She stirs making herself more comfortable but that just makes him hiss through his teeth as her ass grazes his cock, the metal on the tip leaving a cool sensation. He's not gonna give in easily though. He will make her earn that release.

His hands cup her tits, fully covering them and they fit so perfectly in his hands. Heavy, full, perfect. As if they're made just for him to suck, him to cup, him to cum on, him to leave purple love bites on.

"I know, sweetheart. Do you wanna know what I kept thinking about while I was away?" his voice trails off, "I kept thinking about how bad I wanna fuck your throat"

The sound that leaves her is filled with need.

"Jungkook, baby please."

He trails his hands down her chest and stomach before it reaches her pussy. Just around her clit. His finger are soft and light, not putting pressure when all she wants is for him to give her the release she so badly craves.

Jungkook's cock is already leaking with precum and his balls ache. He missed his girl so fucking much, so much that he lost count of how many times he had fucked his hand while thinking of her while he was away. When his colleagues saw his flushed face, he had no other option than to blame it on the cold weather.

His finger slide down and back up her slit, making her visibly shiver.

Shit. He's not gonna last long if she keeps making those noises.

"How many finger do you want, _____?" he asks as repeats the same motion.

His mouth comes on her in a searing kiss, it's possessive, passionate, burning and everything nasty. He's straight up claiming her mouth as her tongue tangles with his own.

Pulling back he waits for her response, "Two. Please"

Following her command, his two fingers slide inside her. He tightens the hold on her stomach to have her stay in place when she bucks her hips forward.

She screams.

"That's my girl"

He slides his finger out before sinking it deep inside her cunt again. Crooking them in such a way that he hits her g-spot. Desperate moans fill the room mixing with the steam coming out of the hot water. Her hands ghost over his, fastening his pace.

"You want it faster, sweetheart?"

"Yes, much faster. I wanna cum so bad"

Happy to give her what she wants, he begins rubbing at her clit while his other fingers work their way in and out her wet cunt.

"Oh my fucking god"

"That's right. Get what you want. Such a good girl for me"

He's an animal at this point as he tries to mark her his more than she already is. Jungkook has always been open about sex with his girlfriend, his needs, his wants, his desires and she'd done the same. You compliment each other perfectly. It's easier that way, not leaving any room for doubts.

She like dirty talk, he gives it to her.

When her hips lift forward matching his thrusts, he smirks. Biting her slender neck as she chases her orgasm.

"Aghh"

It finally happens, her hands grasp his even more tightly, other hand gripping the edge of the jacuzzi as she lets out a scream. Her breath fastens as sweat beads her forehead, Jungkook never stopping with his praises.

When she settles back down between his legs, he takes his finger out and sucks them clean. Brown eyes never leaving hers.

"Do you think they heard us, sweetheart?"

Her laughter brings smile to his face, "You're crazy"

"And you're mine" He pecks her cheek, letting his lips linger there for a bit. Basking in the feeling of her love's skin against his lips.

At the beginning of your relationship when you were just getting comfortable with intimacy, jungkook loved kissing her cheek. It was his way of showing her that she's adored by him. Then he realised that quite frankly, it's her. He likes kissing so much because it's her that he's kissing.

He holds her for a while before speaking up, "You wanna help me with a problem?"

He doesn't need to tell her twice but soon as her next words leave her mouth, he takes a double take.

"Sit on the edge and I'll suck you off" he hears her say as she kneels before him.

"Later" he grabs her by her shoulders as he positions her back between his legs. This time facing him.

Her legs wrap around his waist and his thick cock presses against her navel. He knows how badly she wanted to take him into her mouth and he could have let her do that only if he was strong enough to resist himself from sinking deep inside her.

"Now, I wanna fuck you. Raw and nice just like my girlfriend deserves" his voice comes out breathy.

"I love you"

"Me too, sweetheart. More than you know" he assures.

Knowing he can't take it anymore, he lifts her up and sits her body down on his cock. Slowly by slowly as she moans her way through it. ____'s head falls into the crook of his neck and his grip tightens on the curve of her waist. The ampallang piercing multiplies the pleasure tenfold as you both roll your eyes at the back of your head.

Jungkook got madly drunk the other day and came back with a dick piercing which resulted in her getting mad at him and him fucking her to show how good it gets with it.

Having said that, he presses a searing kiss on her lips and his breath knocks out of his chest in the process. It's almost like he's dreaming. The feel of her body on him, his cock deep inside ____, her arms caging him. It all feels surreal. At this point, the neighbors are long forgotten. It's you and him now.

He takes one of her sensitive buds in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. Moving it in circular motions.

The next few seconds involve him spanking her ass as if he wants to leave marks, him guiding her up and down his cock as she bounces and giving her frequent kisses. Wet slapping noises fill the entire room as his balls ache with need.

"So good, baby. You feel so fucking good. Wrapped around me like this while I fuck you good, huh?" he slaps her pussy lightly.

Thrust Thrust Thrust

As she falls back again into his arms, crying loudly with utter pleasure, he tightens his hold on her body. Hugging her close as both of your heartbeats sync together.

"Thank you for letting me love you, sweetheart. Thank you for coming into my boring ass life and filling it with laughter. Fuck"

Your sweaty and now tired bodies are wrapped around each other as you both revel in the warmth of intimacy.

He lets out a grown followed by her whine and before he can say anything, you’re both cumming together, sighing and kissing as you come down your high.

A chaste kiss is pressed on her forehead, "So perfect, my girl"

"That was…" you bite your lip.

"Amazing, I know" he says as he mindlessly plays with her black locks.

his hands rub her back. "Sweetheart, I want one more from you"

"One more?"

"Yeah, this time I wanna see your beautiful back. Will you do it for me?"

He tries to ask her as gently as possible. Pride filling his chest when he sees her nod.

Guiding her up with the support of her knees he sits her down on his lap, his balls brushing against her clit as he sinks back inside her. A man can only take so much before he snaps. This was the moment for him. His girl's back glistens in the most beautiful way ever. Sweat droplets mixed with water dripping down her spine that he can’t help but kiss.

"Fuck baby, you look like a goddess right now." he halts,

"So warm"

Trailing his hands up the back of her neck he threads his fingers through her hair, gripping it lightly but also putting enough pressure just so she can feel a sweet pain.

His heart skips another beat when she starts moving forward and then backwards, teasing him. Her movements are painfully slow. He wants to ask ____ to move faster but at the same time, he also wants to make this special for her.

So, he waits and watches her back arch as he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

"Jungkook" she moans his name, holding on to his thigh as he pounds into her from the back. It’s even deeper now, his cock hitting places he’d never hit before. Jungkook mentally thanks himself for trying out this new position because he’d just about take any chance to feel more connected to ____.

Just when his stomach contracts and hardens, he asks, "____ I’m gonna need you to spread those ass wider. I’m very close"

When she hums in response he gently pushes her upper body so that it’s flat on his legs, immediately letting him see more of ____'s ass. Her asshole clearly visible to him. It’s such a vulnerable position that you’re both in. Her more than him.

He has to ask her, "Sweetheart, if you don’t feel comfortable we can always stop, alright? You just have to ask"

Her whiney voice reaches his ears, "I’m okay, baby. Just- Just fuck me"

So, he does. His hips thrust forward as he fucks her mercilessly, letting her have the pleasure. She moans, he moans, she cries out, he groans. It’s unbelievably perfect. His hands roam over her smooth back, her ass and even down to her pussy. Both bodies working in a graceful sync.

Suddenly, it’s like the earth comes to a stop. His hands grip his hair while the other one grips hers. His stomach hardens, balls tightening and the moment _____ clenches around his cock, he cums inside of her. Filling her up with hot, white liquid. She follows him soon enough.

"I fucking love this body of yours"

She straightens up and lets her wet body fall heavy on his chest seeking warmth and his arms around her. He’s more than happy to do so. His muscular arms bring her closer to his chest as he relaxes.

Before the next words leave his mouth, he has to make sure ____ is sound asleep.

"I can’t wait to ask you to marry me, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you in that white dress walking towards me like the angel you are"

He hopes she says yes, he hopes the ring brings the biggest smile on her face.

He hopes.

[ask-me-later23]

Can you write a little blurb about reader having a sleepy cuddly afternoon with Spencer?

Soft rays of light drifted through the curtains and across your face, a gentle reminder from the sun of its limited time with you. As much as you wanted to continue your adventures within your dreamscape, you were quickly stolen away, back to the real world. Back to the too small couch currently hosting you and your too tall boyfriend, Spencer. 

Afternoons like this were rare with him, he was always on call and even when he was home you both were typically too busy to spend an afternoon doing nothing. You both got the afternoon off and while you had said it would be just a few minutes of rest, those few minutes turned into a few hours, which had developed into the entire day.

Spencer was still asleep, you try not to move too much and wake him. His insomnia refuses to let him sleep for more than a few hours, so you know he needs what rest he can get.

This was also your favorite time to look at him, when he had his guard down and looked the most at peace. The beams that drew you from sleep now dance across his curls, making them shine a golden color that reminds you of honey. Freckles are sprinkled across his skin. You remember how you used to make a game of kissing each of them when you first got together. The memories bring a soft smile to your face as you listen to his snores. 

As if realizing he’s being watched, Spencer finally stirs. His eyes flitter open, revealing the rich, brown color that always reminded you of dark, vintage books. The corner of his lips tilt up into a smile and he pulls you in tighter. 

“Good afternoon sleepy,” you mumble as you nuzzle into his neck.

He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead. “Sleep well?”

“As well as I can having to listen to your loud ass snoring,” you tease, sitting up to check the time on your phone. 

Spencer rolls his eyes and rests his head back against the arm of the couch, stretching his arm across his face to cover the light. “45% of adult males snore on a regular basis, and it only gets worse with age. You should really get used to it.”

“Guess I’ll just have to go find somewhere else to sleep then.” You act like you’re going to stand up, only to have Spencer jump up from his resting position and drag you back down with him, his grasp unusually strong for a man of his stature. 

“Not gonna happen.” His grip holds firm as you attempt to wiggle away, giggling.

“We really should get up and be productive,” you murmur into his chest where he currently has your face stuck.

“Productivity is for tomorrow, today is for sleeping and comfort.”

While your mind tells you that his logic is faulty, you can’t ignore how his sweater smells strongly of books and laundry detergent, or how comforting that smell is. You also cannot ignore the circles he is currently rubbing on your back, just underneath your own sweater. So, instead of protesting, you nestle in closer and shut your eyes once more.

“Sleep it is.”

You both drift off to sleep again, locked in each other’s arms and isolated from the outside world. When you inevitably wake again and hear Spencer’s soft snores, all you can do is smile.

[eloquentlytired]

18+mdni

— three is the charm

pairing: logan x fem curvy reader x wade

tags: threesome — established relationship — dominant wade — needy reader & lo — rough sex — cock ring — pet names — wade being silly — not mentioned but reader is on the pill — sweet ending — not exhaustive tags here we good

summary: wade needs to unwind, you and logan help him.

author’s note: I have finally finished this tiny surprise. enjoy !! ☺️🩷🌸

ৎৎৎ

you lie on the bed as wade kisses you while logan abuses the skin of your neck, littering it with bites. it hurts but it's a good ache and they're both always careful with you. “fuck.” you whine against wade’s lips and you know that he'd give you a funny response if he wasn't so incredibly horny — he was the one that had initiated this in the first place.

there's hardness pressing against both of your thighs and you think about how lucky you are to be like this; to have two people that want you. that love you. logan moves his hand to slide down your pajama shorts and wade follows right after to remove your panties, exposing your wetness. wade is also the first to slip between your legs and go down on you, firstly kissing the area around your pussy until you're whimpering and throbbing for him. logan is just done undoing the first few buttons of your pajama shirt, remembering you like this one, and you'd praise him if you were coherent. he wraps his lips around your nipple while occupying the other with his hand, twisting it between his fingers. you moan and your legs shake over wade’s shoulders as the wet sensations at your breasts and cunt overwhelm you with the best type of pleasure. wade grips your hips high and your heart flutters at the way his bare hands squeeze them so tightly, proving how much he loves the curves of you. he grunts between your legs, sliding his tongue up and down, from your entrance to your clit, before tracing your lips teasingly. you sob with pleasure and logan sucks around your nipple harder to intensify the arousal you feel. one of your hands disappear into logan’s hair while the other finds wade’s hand on your hip and squeezes it. wade squeezes back.

“fuck—” it is logan who is cursing moments later when he's laying on his back on the bed as you straddle him so that your chests are pressing together and melting. wade hovers behind you and the head of his cock pokes your anal hole, making you shudder. wade grips logan’s cock to give it a few rough strokes and watches how his boyfriend’s hips twitch with each movement. he presses logan’s tip against the entrance of your weeping cunt and you moan, swaying your hips back against their cocks. “please.” you whisper and they're moving in unison like they always do, as if they're mentally communicating, and slide their cocks inside you inch by inch.

logan waits for wade to go a few inches first before he's pushing his fat tip past the tightness of your sweet pussy. this is something they always do as well — allowing the other to go first depending who's more desperate or who needs it more at the moment. part of them does it to not hurt you too much which is sweet, but the other part contains a much deeper meaning of it. probably something to do with the way wade slides his cock inside you first while staring at logan from behind your shoulder. they exchange rough glances, literally eye-fucking each other, because wade always provokes logan. he becomes competitive on purpose but there's no unhealthy intent behind it and they always know. wade means to say something like I reached the ending line first but logan grounds his hips, lining his dick with your pussy and thrusts forward sharply. it makes wade feral to see that kind of expression in his face — logan silently telling him that even if he comes second he'll still pretty much destroy the both of you.

but today is wade’s day and when wade leans down for a moment, tugging logan’s head closer by his hair, logan allows him. only you and wade can do that. “oh.” you lift your head slightly from logan’s hairy chest and you watch them as they kiss, wade’s tongue battling for dominance, and his endurance allows him to claim it against logan who's struggling to keep up. logan growls as wade takes a sweet moment to bite onto his bottom lip and release it with a loud sound. you instinctively clench at the sight, walls tightening around their cocks which twitch in response. especially logan’s as wade bites onto his bottom lip again but this time harder until he draws blood. it's filthy and arousing but the three of you were never normal to begin with.

“wade..lo!” you scream as they fill you up at the same time, stuffing their cocks into your deepest parts. you're full — extremely — and your body shakes uncontrollably because of the sheer force of their hips. wade grunts as he fucks you from behind, driving his hips straight into yours while his hand squeezes your pretty hip. you don't know where his other hand is until wade is using it to wrap it around your throat and pull you up. you feel logan’s cock shake, tremble even, and it couldn't be? right? but logan surprises you by spilling his load into your pussy and he surprises wade too.

logan is the only one who isn't surprised because the sight before him has turned him into literal shambles. your back presses against wade’s chest as you take both of their cocks so well and — in logan’s defense — wade is choking you too as your breasts bounce with each collision of their hips. logan can't take it. “you old dog.” wade mocks as he nibbles the back of your shoulder and logan let's out an animalistic growl as if annoyed with the comment. wade just provokes him more. “oh, peanut, maybe we should train you to handle the truth a little better.” and before you know it wade is holding you from your elbows as your entire front moves over logan. wade fucks you fast, hard. his balls slap against your skin and the motion burns you eventually because of the roughness but you like it. logan squirms beneath your bodies mumbling and pleading about how it's too much, too sensitive. “shut up and take it.” wade says probably to both of you and you moan in unison. your pussy clenches, logan shivers.

at some point wade is using a single arm to fist your hair and that's all the support you have to not crash on top of logan. logan watches your breasts bounce and brush over his face as wade takes you, molds you into an obedient little thing. it doesn't take long for him to get hard again and start rutting into you but wade notices. and he doesn't allow it. “what the—” logan hisses as something interrupts his high and although he can't see it, he knows wade has wore that damn cock ring around him just for punishment. “now don't be selfish. you already had your fun,didn't you?” wade mocks and grounds his hips into you so deep that it makes your eyes roll back with logan simply watching. logan growls in protest like he always does but wade doesn't care. wade pulls out completely before thrusting his entire cock back into your hole and your hips tremble as you hear the noises; when wade fucks you. when his hips collide with yours. when his balls slap against your skin. when his cock completely disappears into your tightness.

“work,puppy. you might get what you want in the end.” wade tells logan with mischief and logan grips both of your asscheeks roughly as he begins fucking into you properly. finally. it's brutal and fast and logan’s public hair rubs against your clit. you're reaching your peak then, squeezing around their cocks while coming all over logan’s dick. logan grunts and whimpers beneath your body as his cock twitches but nothing comes out — the cock ring doesn't let him. wade simply grins with satisfaction and before you know it he's pulling out of you, stroking himself to orgasm. you and logan moan as wade spurts all over you, on your ass and on logan’s thighs. he wants his claim to be apparent.

wade releases your hair and you fall on logan with a whine, your scalp slightly hurting but it's fine because this is worth it. there's some shuffling behind as wade unclasps the cock ring from around logan’s shaft. he's hard and leaking and wade uses a hand to guide logan’s cock back into your sensitive pussy. “wade—” , “I know,angel,I know.” he shushes your protests as logan’s hard shaft stretches you out again. it takes you a while to realize that logan is shaking beneath you as wade fondles with his balls, squeezing and rubbing them. logan’s eyes are shut and his hips twitch. all it takes is a few more toying around with his balls from wade to make him come again and logan is filling you up again. you shudder as he finishes emptying his load inside you and you slide tiredly by his side, logan is as tired as you so he doesn't stop your fall.

it's midnight when all three of you are watching tv in one of the couches. wade is in the middle while you and logan are at either side of him. wade’s head is leaning on logan’s shoulder while his hand is nestled between your hands. you hold him gently as logan silently watches the cartoons channel that wade has picked out. “thank you for today.” wade mutters tiredly, because it's his thing to be sentimental a little before bed, and you and logan can't help but smile a little. “I can feel you smiling.” wade states proudly, eyes still targeted at the television. “go fuck yourself,bub.” logan tells him humourously and you shake your head at their childish bickering. “talking about fucking,lo, did your balls get bigger—”

“wade!” you and logan protest in unison. your boyfriend laughs.

[leovenuslatina]

𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒏 ✶⋆.˚

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

THIS READING IS 18+ MDNI

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

💓what you FS does to turn you on💓

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

-trying something new here-

₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊this is just a reminder that tarot isn’t permanent or set in stone YOU decide how your life goes no one or nothing else now take a deep breath and choose the pile that calls to you ₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊˚⊹

(dont worry i’m still answering asks ill just i’m sending them privately now)

💋 tip ur reader 💋

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Pile One - Ace of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, Knight of Wands, Six of Pentacles

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

- Right off the bat your FS is always horny i don’t even know what it is it could be you or it could be that they just have so much pent up energy and you’re the only one he feels comfortable letting it all out with.

- there’s so much wand energy here and i keep hearing that song “thinking with my d!6k” like literally he just cannot keep it in his pants for you.

- to turn you on he gets all up in your space he’ll come up behind you and grind himself on you make sure you feel just how excited or horny he is for you

- your FS will whisper all the things he wants to do to you and what he wants you to do to him he’s very good at telling you what to do. very dominant

- your FS will give you gentle touches all over your body he’ll tell you how pretty or gorgeous you are and how much he’s so in love with you

- he’s very obsessed with being touchy-feely with you to turn you on

- he may even give you long massages to turn you on. he’ll probably want to relax FA you and make you guys feel close he wants you to know that it’s not just about sex when the two of you are being intimate he genuinely just loves being close to you 🥹💓

- to turn you on he’ll hold you very close he’ll definitely loveeeeeee love love having you in his lap. i just keep seeing his hands all over you. squeezing and touching and grabbing at whatever they can.

- i’m also getting your FS is such a freaking tease ! to turn you on your FS will literally touch you all over EXCEPT for exactly where you need him most.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Pile Two - Page of Wands,Queen of Wands, The Fool, Judgment

ᡣ𐭩₊˚.⋆⁺₊

- Your Fs is very golden retriever vibes when they wanna turn you on there’s sloppy kisses all over your face and neck they’ll tell you how much they love and miss you and how they want to be near you and in you.

- their hands will be all over you trying their hardest to get your close off when he’s wants you to want him they’ll be so rushed to get you under them

- the two of you will have a very exciting and active sexual relationship and you’ll always be all over each other people around you think it’s gross but you guys are just so physically attractive to each other.

- to turn you on your future spouse will use your kinks and fantasies to his advantage he knows them very well because he knows you very well and use them to get you in the mood

- they’ll use your fantasies and kinks to get in your head and make you melt under him

- Pile 2 your FS will take turning you on as a game (not in a bad way) they’ll think it’s so easy to get you all excited and needy for him.

- they take a really relaxed approach to turning you on he likes to take his time he likes to make you feel as needy for him as he can as much as possible

- i think your FS knows you so so well that they’ll know all the little things that turn you on

- for example if you like his arms he’ll like roll his sleeves up slowly or if you like his voice he’ll whisper random things in your ear you know just to get you going

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Pile Three - Justice, King of Cup, Page of Cups

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

- Your FS IS FINE ASF 😤😤 like literally straight outta romance novels like riding on a white horse shirtless kind hot 🥵

- they’re very equal when it comes to freakin anything you do to them they’ll wanna do to you but 10000x better

- i think you’ll always be pretty turned on when you’re with or around your partner just because of how beautiful they but to get you going anymore they’ll pretty much follow your lead

- your Fs is the type of person to mirror you exactly they won’t do anything they think you don’t like or aren’t 100% into

- Your FS may or may not be your first sexual encounter or partner if so they teach you and show you what kinda things you like and they’ll help you explore your sexuality in all ways

- if your FS isn’t your first time they will definitely be your best and will show you just how good sex can be

- To turn you on your FS they will massage you calm you down relax you.

- you maybe the kind of person that has a specific set of needs before hopping right into bed and your FS will be very understanding about that

- Your FS Will always make sure you’re comfortable and happy and consenting before getting anything started

- Your FS is very understanding about any sort of situation you come from they won’t judge you or make you feel bad for your past or anything you make like or want him to do for you or with you.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

[ohbueckers]

TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME (both ain’t shit).

THIS IS PART ONE! pairing, paige bueckers x teammate!oc. notes, new ju series just dropped who clapped… i’m so excited for this so please let me know what you think and what you wanna see!!! it’ll feature a few different tropes (these bitches are complicated as hell) and i’ll be using different songs. this was also supposed to be out yesterday whoops. warnings, not much just some slight rivalry.

april, 2022

paige sat on the floor, her back pressed against azzi’s bed, eyes staring blankly at her phone screen. the dorm was packed to the brim, all of her teammates crammed into the room, waiting for the news to drop. she wasn’t sure why her palms felt clammy, or why her heart was hammering harder than it should be for a thursday night in late april… or she was completely sure and refused to come to terms with it.

we’re really doing this again, huh?

it had been weeks since the national championship loss, and yet the sting still hadn’t faded. south carolina. dawn staley’s generational ran gamecocks who got almost everything, including that damn sana caruso.

for years, their careers had paralleled each other, both rising basketball stars, always in the spotlight, always part of the same conversations. and yet, for reasons paige couldn’t quite figure out for the life of her, they had never crossed paths. sana was stubborn, that much she knew. paige remembered the day south carolina landed her—it had been all anyone could talk about. opinions flew in every direction: sana should’ve gone to stanford, to oregon, anywhere but there. paige couldn’t lie—part of her had wondered why uconn hadn’t even been in the mix, but it was now, and the blonde felt like she was reliving that evening in 2019 all over again.

wherever she ended up, it would be some news that would flip the script. impact their season, because sana was undoubtedly everywhere. the defensive mastermind, the one who didn’t care if she was 5’10 going up against post players towering over her. she locked them down, put up numbers, and somehow always found her way into the conversation, even when paige tried not to pay attention.

they were talked about like rivals, the head of every one of their matchups, but there had never been any real competition, at least not on the court. paige couldn’t remember a time they’d even properly interacted. but despite how much they were constantly compared, sana had made it painfully clear that paige might as well not exist in her world, and it was infuriating as hell.

“you think she’s really coming?” azzi asked, her voice soft and almost like she didn’t believe it herself as she cut through paige’s thoughts. no one did.

aaliyah, sprawled out on the floor, rolled her eyes. it’d been pushing 10 o’clock, and almost everyone had class in the morning. what had that been stopping, though? absolutely nothing. “if dorka doesn’t hurry up with the article, we’ll never know.”

“hey, be patient.” dorka threw her hand up, shooting her teammates some tight-lipped grin as she furiously scrolled through her phone. “they’re slow with these drops.”

“thats that uconn wifi,” aubrey mumbled, sending everyone into different variations of a laugh.

nika snorted. “nah, she’s right. it’s either that or we’ve got like, fifty million people trying to figure out where sana’s going.”

“bro, you know espn’s probably crashed by now,” aaliyah chipped in, leaning back on her elbows.

paige didn’t know why, but it bugged her that sana had never really acknowledged her—like, at all. not a comment, not a follow, not even a glance her way during games. paige wasn’t used to that. she wasn’t used to being ignored, and their minimal interactions only made the internet have more of a field day with that non-existent rivalry, and if sana weren’t to say anything, why would paige?

and now here they were, possibly about to be on the same team. paige had no clue how that was going to play out, but the thought of it made her stomach flip. it was like some cosmic joke.

“yo, i’m serious though,” aaliyah said, slowly rising from her spot on the floor. “how wild is this? if she really comes here, we’re stacked. that chip is ours this year.”

the blonde suddenly felt defensive. they didn’t need sana caruso to get that chip for them. “she’s not coming here,” paige blurted, half to herself, shaking her head. “no way.”

“why not?” azzi asked, narrowing her eyes. “i mean, all signs point here, right? unless i’m crazy.”

“yeah, but it’s sana,” paige replied as if it were the most obvious thing, running a hand through her hair. “she does what she wants, she’s the type to pick somewhere else just ‘cause everyone thinks she’s coming here.”

“you sound so stupid! and in denial,” nika snickered, throwing herself back into the couch. “just admit you want her on the team, paige.”

paige shot her a look, but couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “i don’t care what she does.” she pointed at her chest, sinking further into her spot. “she could go anywhere.”

“sure,” dorka added, inserting herself into the conversation. her eyes didn’t leave her screen as she continued to refresh her browser, almost like she didn’t have to. “because that’s exactly why you’ve been all up in your head about her this whole time.”

“hey, wait. don’t do that.” but it was too late, her teammates had already been throwing out their ‘ooh’s,’ like this were some kindergarten class. but the truth was, she couldn’t deny it. there was something about sana that had her all twisted up, more than she cared to admit. maybe it was the way she carried herself, like she didn’t need anyone’s approval, or the fact that she always seemed to be a step ahead. and it didn’t help that she was ridiculously pretty. like, stupidly pretty. the kind of pretty that got under paige’s skin and made her feel something, even when she tried to act like it was no big deal.

maybe that was what really irked her all these years.

“nah, for real, though,” paige said, trying to keep her cool, “she’s different. she’ll probably pull some wild move and end up at marquette or something.”

“marquette?” azzi shot her a confused look. “you’re reaching now.”

“i’m just saying!” paige replied through a laugh, although it was mainly just a gesture to defend herself. shrugging and throwing her hands up in surrender. “she doesn’t follow the crowd. everyone thinks she’s coming here because it makes sense, but you know sana—”

“you don’t know sana,” aubrey cut in with a laugh. “that’s the problem.”

“you sound really passionate about this, paige,” nika laughed out, always the one getting the biggest kick out of things like this. she was always in the mood to tease her twin.

paige opened her mouth to argue, but she stopped short, because aubrey wasn’t exactly wrong. she didn’t know sana, at least not personally. she’d known this version she made up of her in her head, the one that frustrated her to no end, the one she couldn’t ever figure out. and while she did that, sana, with her perfectly highlighted curls that framed her perfect face that always held that stupid fucking smirk probably hadn’t even thought twice about paige bueckers once in her damn life.

“you’ve definitely thought about this way too much,” azzi said, chuckling herself. “like, more than any of us.”

paige threw her head back, groaning. “why is this about me all of a sudden?”

“‘cause you’re acting like she’s been living in your head rent-free for years,” nika teased again, her next laugh coming out in a sputter. this entire thing had clearly been amusing someone.

“yeah, okay, whatever,” paige mumbled, crossing her arms.

“hey, don’t worry,” dorka said, eyes glued to her phone as she moved her hand to rest on paige’s thigh comfortably, consolingly. “you’ll have plenty of time to figure out what’s going on in that head of hers.”

paige raised a brow, lifting her head and turning to the other blonde. “what do you mean?”

dorka’s grin widened as she looked up, everyone’s attention turning back to her. “because she’s coming here. she’s ours, guys!”

for a second, the room went dead silent, the words hanging in the air like they needed time to settle in.

then, chaos.

sana caruso is a uconn husky, meaning paige bueckers could finally figure out what made the girl tick.

july, 2022

the gym was full—more than usual. everyone was there for the first day of summer workouts, even the players sitting out due to injuries. there was the familiar sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor, and the faint trace of cleaning solution still lingering from the early morning scrubs. july in storrs was hot, too. the kind of heat that clung to your skin and didn’t let go, even inside the gym.

the team was standing around near the sidelines, waiting to start. geno had the new recruits huddled, running through some preseason talk, but all paige could think about was sana—standing a few feet away. they’d obviously been in the same room before, the same gym before, but today felt all too intimate. as it should, though. they were teammates now. hell, they’d be sharing the backcourt.

this would be the first time she’d see her up close—really up close—since everything went down. the transfer news, the headlines, the pics of sana decked out in uconn gear flooding her feed (a sight paige needed to mentally prepare for because damn, did she look good in white and navy blue). it had all felt surreal then, but now, it was about to be real real.

what’s she even thinking right now? paige wondered, feeling a slight pinch of annoyance. because as much as she wanted to believe this was just another day in the gym, it wasn’t. not for her.

when handshakes started, paige couldn’t even hear her own thoughts due to the loudness as everyone went through the routine of greeting the new faces. paige made her way through her teammates, exchanging quick daps and nods, her focus drifting back to sana more times than she’d like to admit.

the blonde was normally more noisy, doing everything in her power to get on with the people she’d be spending the season with. but right now, her interaction with sana would either confirm or deny every assumption she’s ever had, and that was quite frankly the only thing consuming her mind.

she could feel the intensity in her chest when it came time to shake sana’s hand. she stepped forward, hand extended, ready to make some kind of connection, but sana barely looked at her. it was quick, almost dismissive. no eye contact, no words exchanged. paige pulled her hand back, clenching her jaw as she watched her move into conversation with azzi, who seemed to earn a more genuine response than paige could get. a smile, and a giggle that could’ve been mistaken for music.

seriously?

the team broke off, moving toward the court. this’ll be a long practice.

they lined up, and as they went through the typical routine—light shooting drills, ball-handling, footwork—it became clear that sana wasn’t just good. she was a standout. and for someone who was only 5’10 in the basketball world, she carried herself like she could take on anyone, work with anyone, too, no matter the size or position.

“she got handles,” nika muttered under her breath. the comment was meant for the girls around her to catch and respond to, but paige just stood, eye squinted and arms crossed.

“handles? she got vision too,” ice brady, a freshman added, eyes wide as sana weaved through a defense drill, her speed and precision on full display. her ponytail swung perfectly on her head, lip tugged tightly between her teeth as she moved to make a layup. the ball went in, and ayanna moved to grab her rebound. the group cheered her on voluntarily, and paige only moved to turn her head as sana jogged past her to the back of the line, her demeanor as calm and collected as ever. and damn annoying.

the players gathered at the top of the key, forming a loose circle as they got ready to start a more structured scrimmage. paige found herself standing across from sana, their eyes meeting for the first time that morning, but the moment left as quick as it started. sana had her hands on her hips, listening intently to geno as if she didn’t already know what they’d be doing, because the blonde wasn’t supposed to have caught her looking.

“let’s run it!” geno’s voice snapped through the gym again, clapping his hands once, and the team split into two sides as directed, ready to play.

as the scrimmage began, paige tried to shake off the weird tension and focus, although it wasn’t really working. nothing had ever managed to get her off-game this bad. it was the escape, after all, so why did it feel like it would be causing her more problems now? she ran the court as a point guard, eyes scanning for plays, calling out switches, directing traffic. but every time the ball moved to sana, paige noticed the same thing—she’d find a way to dish it to someone else. anyone but her.

what the hell?

on a fast break, paige found herself wide open again, just outside the three-point line. she threw her hands up, calling for the pass. sana had the ball at the top of the key, and paige practically begged for some type of acknowledgment that she didn’t get. but instead of passing, sana faked it and lobbed it to aaliyah under the basket for an easy layup. paige didn’t even move. she just stood there, hands still raised, eyes burning into her ponytail.

“alright, switch it up!” geno called, and the team rotated.

the ball was in her hands now, and she dribbled down the court, eyes searching for a play, trying to shake off the irritation in her chest. the worst part was that no one seemed to notice, because sana had a way of singling the blonde out in a way that made her think she was fucking crazy. she passed to nika, and they rotated again, the pace of the scrimmage picking up.

it finally came to a head when they were working on a transition drill. paige had the ball, racing down the court, and sana was on the wing. paige pushed the tempo, looking for an outlet, but sana cut her off at the last second, forcing her to pull up and reset the play.

that was it. paige lost it.

“yo! if we’re gonna work the backcourt together, you’ve gotta work with me,” she snapped, her voice only turning a few rather concerned heads. she stopped dribbling, staring at sana, her breath coming out in heavy bursts.

sana finally turned to face her, full body and everything, their eyes locking for what felt like the first time all day.

she wasn’t angry, wasn’t startled by paige’s tone. she was calm like she always was, and the slight tilt of her head only pissed paige off more. she was looking right at her now, really looking, and all the playful cockiness that always held some undercurrent, yet always came so naturally to paige, was just gone.

damn.

she didn’t know why she was still standing there, seething, waiting for sana to say something after her outburst. and when she finally spoke, it wasn’t the apology or acknowledgment paige might have been expecting.

“you’re pressing,” sana said, her voice maddeningly casual. like there had been no heat from the beginning. “you’re rushing everything. it’s like you’re trying to do too much.”

paige blinked, caught off guard. rushing? she almost laughed. her jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the ball. she hated how calm sana was, how she managed to deliver criticism like she was just making an observation. “too much?” she shot back, stepping closer. “i’m just trying to get us moving, trying to get you involved. but it seems like you’re more interested in doing your own thing.” she hated that every time she tried to connect with sana on the court, it felt like she was hitting a wall.

but she also hated that she cared about it so much.

sana didn’t break, expression remaining composed, annoyingly unreadable with her short manicured nails digging into her hip. “you think running the floor means you’re the only one who gets to call the shots? that’s not how i play.”

paige blinked, trying to regain her footing, mentally and physically. “you’re not even trying to work with me!” her voice raised a bit as she addressed what had been bothering her before, causing a few heads to turn. the exchange didn’t look entirely friendly after all. “every time i’m open, you’re looking the other way.” she pointed to the court.

sana’s eyes narrowed slightly, some kind of look crossing her face—was it amusement? “it’s not personal, paige. it’s basketball.” it was the first time the blonde’s name left her mouth, first time she felt like an actual person to her, and it still didn’t feel good.

sana, on the other hand, was watching her closely, reading paige’s reaction like she was still deciding how much of this back-and-forth was worth it. she knew she was poking at her ego, but she also thought that ego could use a little deflating. everyone talked about her like she was the second coming of basketball itself, and while sana could respect her talent, the way everyone hung on her every move grated on her.

sana wasn’t jealous. not even a little bit. she wasn’t wired like that. but that didn’t mean she was going to be another cog in the well-oiled bueckers machine. she never liked to make things more complicated than they needed to be, and basketball? basketball was supposed to be simple. play smart, play efficient, make the right decisions. that’s why she was here. that’s why geno recruited her. she didn’t bring flash—she brought results. she played smooth, and if she wasn’t in charge, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let anyone treat her like a sidekick. especially not paige bueckers.

she was willing to work with her, of course. sana was well aware of what her transfer meant, how good it would be for the both of them if people stopped pitting them against each other. but it didn’t mean she would warm up straight away. they’d make an unstoppable duo—if they could just figure out how to coexist.

“look, i’m just saying, you’re pushing too hard. sometimes it’s about playing smart, not playing fast.”

paige’s stomach churned at the implication. she wasn’t just some showboat out there. it felt like a direct shot to everything she stood for.

“you think i’m not playing smart?”

sana raised an eyebrow, her lips curling just slightly. “i think you’re playing like you’ve got something to prove.”

and that stopped paige cold. she’d proven enough. but the way sana was looking at her, cool and detached, like she could see right through her, made her feel small despite her taller figure. it wasn’t anger that sana was giving her—it was indifference. like she didn’t even care enough to be mad.

“run it again!” geno yelled, and they did.

paige inhaled sharply, chewing on her lip as she clutched the ball to her side, watching as sana jogged off, obeying orders immediately. she could feel the eyes of her teammates on her, especially nika, who was biting back a grin from the sidelines, one hundred percent sure her best friend just got schooled. dorka raised an eyebrow at her, silently urging her to keep her cool.

they lined up for the play again, the ball bouncing back into paige’s hands. she hated it, but sana’s words echoed in her head. pressing… rushing… trying too hard. as much as she didn’t want to admit it, maybe she was pressing. maybe she was letting this whole situation get to her in ways she shouldn’t.

when the whistle blew, paige instinctively took control again, charging down the court. but she couldn’t stop herself from hesitating for just a second, looking toward sana on the wing. without overthinking it, she passed the ball to her, her hands moving almost against her will.

sana caught it, knees bent wnd ready before driving to the basket. she didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch. she just played, like she always did. the ball went in, and the play was perfect, but paige didn’t feel satisfied. if anything, she felt worse. it felt like they were already at odds, and the season hadn’t even started yet.

it had worked. but it was because she’d done what sana said. and if it wasn’t personal before, it definitely was now.

[kanmom51]

I didn't know this

*p.s. - She was his gf then and his wife now, why the need to say "his first girlfriend"? First gf we knew about more like it.

OK, so here's the thing... those are JK's eyes, sue me. And the timing of that billboard falling and the keep going..

I have a draft way back from July, me talking about JM's Who MV shoot sketch. I started writing it and found that I couldn't complete it. And now with this - I didn't know this little ever so important piece of information - maybe I can talk about it a little more (bring up some of the things I was thinking about back then).

Basically a few things stood out to me while watching the BTB.

JM being JM as usual. Beautiful, talented, shrewd.

It's quite obvious that JM is involved in the direction of the MV (we were saying...), and this is one thing that stood out to me:

3 things stood out to me. First was his use of the word people. "...people walk past me...". The second was "for now", as in the MV's "for now". And third was "that's what I'm trying to show". So yes, this was part of JM's vision. The song's meaning chasing that muse, but also the song's MV, which is more about finding that "someone", that "who" in a more understandable language to us, being romantic love.

Song is about the intangible, MV is about corporeal, if you wish.

Watching this had me also go back to the MV itself and notice a few more things I didn't notice first times around, and with that new piece of information about Taeyung and his then girlfriend now wife, and knowing just how huge ENL was back in the day and JM's close friendship now days with Taeyung, well, it just fits so so well.

Just bringing this back for a sec before moving on:

Back to Who MV and me trying to connect some of the dots.

The scene JM is talking about, with the people, men and women, passing him by and none of them are the person he is looking for, it comes right after this:

NO QUESTION MARK ON THERE!!!

I also noticed that before this screen falls JM's interactions, the 'people' passing him by are only women, where as after the screen falls and tells him to keep going, well, then it's not only women passing him by. Now he's not limiting himself only to finding "her"? Maybe now he's looking for "him" too? Maybe "him" is the "who" he's looking for and not "her"?

But we know that the billboard has a specific "him" on it. And even though the hers and hims are crossing his path, at this point he isn't interacting with them, they aren't the who he's looking for.

Another interesting thing I found was that when it comes to those one on one's they are only with women. We have them before the screen falling, and after it fell and he is walking down the street people walking him by, even then, the only ones he interacts with are women. But as he is doing that, this appears on the screen as well:

This is also right after the huge screen falls from the sky. Is this again someone or something telling him to go back, rewind, that the screen he just walked away from has the answer he's looking for?

That he missed something, or someone...

And we know NOTHING is a coincidence when it comes to these two, especially in their artistic decisions.

This either:

We weren't sure at the time what it all meant.

What was JM hinting to?

What were the editors of AYS hinting to?

I know not everything about their art is about them as a couple. I've said that multiple times. Not every song is about one or the other or them and their love for each other. Not at all.

But...

That doesn't mean we should ALWAYS dismiss the possibility that it may just be about them. That some of their lyrics do have to do with each other, that some of their songs (even if they did not write the lyrics themselves) do have representation of their relationship in them, that some of their artistic decisions are about them showing their true selves and their love for each other.

We have seen songs that we just KNOW are written for the other, about the other, about their love for each other, about a moment they shared with one another, about what the other means to them. And sometimes when the song isn't there are things surrounding them that are. It can be photoshoot concepts or hints within their artistry that pay homage to the other, or that they are agreed upon hints to what they mean to each other. We have seen this with both of them during their solo journey as well.

And now with this new piece of information, which I was not aware of, coming to light I'm thinking that this isn't about a collab or a song (although I would love for there to be a Jikook song). I'm thinking that our first knee jerk reaction to this could have been the right one. That this was all about the Who. That the eyes on that screen, the one JM doesn't get to see in the MV, those are the eyes of his "Who". In the MV, but more so, you know, in real life.

*Another p.s. - I know I've been silent since the last AYS episode has dropped. It's been a hectic week, but more so it's been hard for me to even try and put into words how I felt coming out (pun most definitley intended) on the other side of this episode. I am working on my post at the moment. The words are not coming easy, I can tell you that much. But it will come. Eventually.💜💜

[bbokicidal]

Kinktober 2024 : Schedule

Because of me being quite busy during the month of October, I'll be posting twice a week every week for Kinktober!

There will be 10 posts in total : 1 for each individual member of SKZ (8 total), 1 for the duo of choice, and 1 for all eight members.

October 2nd : Biting/Scratching - Bangchan When one of your close friends sets you up with his 'best friend' at a Halloween party he's throwing, who turns out to be the man you've been eyeing up at work for the last eight months, the two of you decide to ditch the alcohol and candy for something far sweeter.

Contains : Biting/Scratching, drinking, pining for Chris, rough sex, don't hold back enjoy the ride-

October 4th : Wet Dreams / Somnophilia - Lee Know Finding you after a Halloween party asleep in HIS room, Minho decides he doesn't want to bother waking you up and just slides into bed beside you to rest. That was his intention, at least.

Contains : Wet dreams/Somnophilia (sex while asleep), dabbles in dub-con, touching, slow sex (at first), Minho being cautious not to wake you up but failing, dry humping/grinding, clothed sex.

October 9th : Body Worship / Virginity - Changbin You'd picked out a more risqué costume this year for the party than you had the last, deciding to finally break out of your shell and maybe get a little more than some looks tonight. Though you hadn't expected to find that your best friend - and longtime crush - had also picked something a little more revealing this year as well...

Contains : Virgin!Changbin, body worship, revealing outfits, experienced!reader, shy Binnie, soft sex (at first).

October 11th : Size Difference - Hyunjin There were plenty of cute guys at the party, but one of them had caught your eye. A bit taller than the rest, long hair peeking out from the hooded mask - Maybe it was just your love for masked men, but that was certainly the sexiest Ghostface you'd ever seen.

Contains : Short-ish!Reader, Ghostface!Hyunjin, Mask kink (obviously oops), Hyunjin w/ his big 'ol hands, choking, grabbing/pushing, manhandling, rough sex.

October 16th : Hate Fucking - Han Jisung was usually so kind, so polite, so sweet. But you'd irked him multiple times around campus and he gave you bad vibes, which you'd spat in his face before. So he decides that at the Halloween party, he'll show you just how mean he can be.

Contains : MeanDom!Jisung, Switch!Reader, Fighting for dominance, biting/scratching, yelling, face/pussy/ass slapping/spanking, name calling, Jisung being a brat.

October 18th : Tentacles - Felix Felix had dabbled in Hentai before - watched some of the more... unique stuff just to see what it was all about. And liked it. Not that he would ever admit it - So he's already flustered when you show up to the party dressed as a hot anime girl he's seen before; But the night takes a turn when an outbreak happens and it's something he could never be prepared for.

Contains : This is some fucked up world bending shit - Dabbles in dub-con!!!, Tentacle monster(s), mutation outbreak, one of the other members mutates and becomes a sick creature, no direct sex between Felix and the reader - just them both getting smothered in slick and touched/penetrated/etc. I've never written anything this wild.

October 23rd : Bound/Tied - Seungmin He'd brought up the idea of you being his 'bunny' and him being the 'magician' for your costume multiple times. What he hadn't mentioned was the way he would tie your arms behind your back and have you sit in his lap the entire night. But he needed to keep his bunny attached to him somehow, right? His costume was incomplete without you.

Contains : Protective!Seungmin, MeanDom!Seungmin, BestFriend!Seungmin, BunnyCostume!Reader, Shibari, manhandling, rough?sex.

October 25th : Predator/Prey - I.N Jeongin wasn't opposed to taking what he wanted, when he wanted it. He was the youngest of his friend group - He always got what he wanted. And that included you. (Even if you were his Hyung's newly fresh ex.)

Contains : Still up for debate - Dabbles in dub-con, Greedy/Selfish!Jeongin, MeanDom!Jeongin, rough sex.

October 29th : Aphrodisiacs - Seungmin / Lee Know After drunkenly admitting a week prior that you'd had a fantasy once including a certain pill/powder that would heighten your senses and wants, Seungmin takes it upon himself to confront you directly and ask if you wanted it to become real. During the party the following night, he slips a powder into your cocktail while whispering sweet nothings in your ear; And Minho stood close by to monitor the situation. He was just watching - at first.

Contains : For more context the reader mentions having a fantasy about taking an aphrodisiac and Seungmin asks if he can make it come true, so he plans with Minho to slip something in her drink. She DOES know about it. Dom!Seungmin, Dom!Minho, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism,

October 31st : Incubi - OT8 Chris had invited you to the Halloween party with sparkling eyes and a shy smile, telling you how it would be loads of fun and there would be drinks, food, and pretty people. But when you walked in the night of the party, his gaze was far different than it had been the moment you previously talked. And seven of his friends - all gorgeous and in daringly-revealing costumes - seemed to eye you up the exact same way.

Contains : Gangbang (obviously), OT8 x Reader, Dom!OT8, Monsterfucking, Incubus!OT8, Chris deceiving the reader, MeanDom!Vocalracha, MeanDom!Lee Know, MeanDom!Hyunjin, Protective!Bangchan, Possessive!Changbin, Protective!Felix, Spanking, Grinding, Slapping, Dry Humping, Double Penetration, Spitroasting, Multiple orgasms, Edging, Rough sex.

Dividers are made by : @anitalenia & @frenchkisstheabyss

[felibrary]

╭──╯GOOD DAYS | even as the snow falls atop his hair and the colorful fireworks launch in the distance, sylus can't help but keep his eyes off of you.

pairing: sylus x reader (gender neutral) | content & warnings: just some toothrotting fluff, bit of banter and bicker, reader is implied to be shorter than sylus, possibly ooc sylus | wordcount: 1.1k ; ficlet

author's note: this is based off his nightplume card with my own little add-ons lolll (also i don't even play lad anymore..so if you see any mischaracterizations here..yeah..)

A/N: Loll finally posted again and it's lad haha, enjoy!!

"sylus, i'm cold."

your boyfriend raises his brow and sighs, having the audacity to act disappointed. "i've warned you about the cold weather. should've listened to me about wearing a scarf," he smirks while you on the other hand only huff, frown deepening.

"well, i didn't know it'd be this cold," you shudder as the snowflakes meet your nape and slowly dissolve.

you're pretty sure you look absolutely ridiculous right now — with a runny nose and a hoarse voice complaining about something you're at fault for, to sylus who simply enjoys watching your dilemma and chuckles in amusement.

there aren’t often moments when sylus feels at ease, always on the lookout if something happens to you when he isn’t around. but he knows that if he stays by your side there won’t ever be something bad happening to you — he makes sure of that and instead decides to enjoy these simple but meaningful moments with you.

so maybe these little moments make him pay less attention to his surroundings than usual, oblivious to the snow that gets stuck in his hair and you can’t help but cackle a bit. “what?” he asks curiously. “there’s snow in your hair,” you point out. sylus’ gaze drifts up for a split-second before smiling and lowering his head. “help me,” his voice is soft as he requests you to help him.

even through hands covered in mittens, you can feel how soft sylus’ hair is, you play with his hair for a bit, rubbing your hand over his head before finally brushing the remaining snow out. “be careful, even a crow can turn into a dove in this weather,” you smile. “a crow? what a funny thing of you to say,” sylus returns your smile before turning his head away from you to look at the fireworks and so do you.

the fireworks are pretty, magnificent even. they vary in size, motive, and color but despite all of that each of them is unique and beautiful in its own way, making it unable to rip your eyes off them..besides maybe one exception.

not even a moment later, the exception in question turns to you, expectant ruby eyes staring down at you before swaying his gaze down to the snow-covered railing, smiling. "want me to draw you?" the turned-up collar of his stuffed leather jacket rises and falls along his neck as he exhales.

you follow his gaze and scoff. "sylus, what are you up to," you mutter under your breath. he doesn't respond, instead his gloved hand meets the metal railing before slowly tracing circles in the snow, and soon after you're able to recognize what he drew — a cat.

“seriously? a cat? i thought i’d at least be something more intimidating like a tiger,” you complain in faux offense. sylus only hums “do you know what you look like right now?” he doesn’t wait for you to respond before tracing lines onto the cat’s forehead.

"like a tiger that meows when it opens its mouth," he says, voice laced with sarcasm. upon seeing it, you can't help but crack a smile. "you're so stupid," you express with a shake of your head. "says the stubborn one who refused to dress warmly," he huffs before turning away from you again.

those ruby eyes full of danger and a lust for adventure soften upon seeing the shower of fireworks being cast in the sky. a mixture of bright red and blue colors paints the sky and casts a light shadow over sylus’ figure. 

you playfully roll your eyes at him, grinning as you scoop some of the snow off the railing. “sylus, you still have snow in your hair, want me to get it out for you?” you offer, a sweet smile gracing your lips. “what, you want to deepen our relationship? but if you insist,” he smirks before lowering his head.

you reach forward and unlike sylus’ expectation your hand lands on his cheek, making his eyes widen in surprise while you bite your bottom lip, suppressing the giggle you’ve been meaning to let out ever since you got the idea. sylus shoots you a boyish smile before flicking his fingers against your forehead which catches you off guard. “unprompted benevolence wasn't out of the kindness of your heart,”

before you’re able to process what’s happening, sylus pulls you into a tight embrace, strong arms snaking around your waist and holding you closely to his chest. "sylus let me go, i can't see the fireworks" you muffle into his jacket. "mhm, but weren't you the one who was complaining about the cold just now?” he says absentmindedly and you gaze up at him as he turns his head to the fireworks. 

his eyes find yours again, ruby eyes locking with yours as he gives you a mirthful smile. i'd rather not let you be exposed to the cold again" you glare at him which seems to amuse him even more because his next move is to pull you closer than before. (which you didn’t even know was possible from how close the two of you were already.)

luckily he lets you go soon after and you breathe in relief and observe him curiously as he pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket — a scarf. you gasp in surprise. “you had a scarf with you all along?” you ask him dumbfoundedly, not sure whether to be grateful for having something to warm your neck which isn’t sylus’ biceps, or if you should feel betrayed that he hid it from you.

“i’ve had a hunch that you’d forget yours in the rush, always so forgetful.” he smiles softly before wrapping the scarf around your neck, twice around your neck, and once around your.. eyes? “sylus, i swear to god.” even with your eyes covered beneath the wool scarf you can practically see sylus smirking to himself. “fine, fine,” he mutters, smiling before removing the scarf from your eyes.

the scarf sits nicely around your neck and not to mention it’s very comfortable and keeps you warm. you exchange glances with sylus before turning your attention to the fireworks again. 

from beneath you, on the riverbank, a bunch of people are lighting up their fireworks before watching after them as they fly into the distance. your eyes follow the fireworks as they light up the night sky and their reflections shimmer on the surface of the river. “the fireworks are so pretty, aren’t they?” you turn to sylus, expecting him to watch the fireworks too, instead you find his ruby eyes fixated on yours. 

“yeah, they really are.”

TAGS: @azullumi we're just gonna ignore the fact that this is dedicated to you and your birthday you oldie gramps of a geezer which was one week ago.....but anyway although i don't want to repeat what i said in my birthday letter (which you haven't read yet LOL) i want to tell you that in such a short period of time you've grown to a person I've learned to love so easily as if it were naturally - which it is. you're so loveable that it makes me wonder how anyone could ever hold a grudge towards you? you're the sweetest soul on earth and i wish i would've been there for your birthday to congratulate you in person but well beggars can't be choosers. azul, you're my soulmate and i appreciate everything about you and everything that you've done for me. i love how clear and easy our communication is, i love our little playful banters that other people find questionable and i love that people associate the two of us together, even when it means mistaking us for one another, which just proves how close we even appear to other people. you're the embodiment of lovely and loveable to me. i love you to death azul and once again happy birthday! <3

© FELIBRARY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[reidmania]

soon, you’ll get better | s. reid

summary; when spencer decides to get help for his addiction, you are right by his side the entire time, even when you are both more scared than you’ll admit.

warnings; fem!reader, early seasons spencer (s2) mentions of addiction, withdrawals, getting help, hurt x comfort, its kinda really fluffy though, mentions of tobias hankel, references possible overdosing, (nobody overdoses, reader is just afraid of it happening) this is comfort, pure spencer comfort tbh.

an; heart BROKEN guys. this one hurt. remember you are not alone.

‘I'll paint the kitchen neon, I'll brighten up the sky, I know I'll never get it, there's not a day that I won't try. And I'll say to you, soon you'll get better, soon you'll get better, you'll get better soon, 'cause you have to. And I hate to make this all about me but who am i supposed to talk to? What am i supposed to do, if theres no you?’

You sit beside him, your hand resting gently on his, feeling the tension pulsing through his skin. Spencer's fingers twitch, as though his body is having a silent argument with itself—one part of him wants to hold on to you, to feel your comfort, and the other part is restless, needing something more than your touch can provide. You know what that something is. It’s been between the two of you for weeks now, an unspoken weight that has grown heavier with each passing day.

The hospital waiting room is quiet, but inside your head, it feels deafening. Your eyes flicker to the clock on the wall. The seconds drag on, and you know he feels every single one of them. You squeeze his hand lightly, drawing his attention back to you. His eyes meet yours, wide and anxious, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. You see it all—the fear, the shame, the self-loathing. But beyond that, buried underneath, you still see the man you love.

"You're doing the right thing," you whisper, your voice soft, barely louder than the ticking clock.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His lips part, but no words come out. You don’t push him. You’ve learned that sometimes, silence is safer for him. His mind is always moving, always analyzing, always thinking ten steps ahead, but right now, he’s fragile. His brilliance can’t help him here. And that’s what scares him the most.

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his, grounding him in the moment. “I’m so proud of you,” you say, and you feel him exhale, just slightly. The warmth of his breath touches your lips, and for a brief second, you feel that connection again—the one that always makes you believe everything will be okay, as long as you're together.

It was difficult, sitting here and pretending like you weren’t scared. You were, you wondered if you had a right to be scared. Spencer was the love of your life, you had never once questioned that — and seeing him like this, well it wasn’t easy. Being here, wasn’t easy.

Spencer closes his eyes, a shudder running through his body. He grips your hand tighter, the pressure almost painful, but you don’t pull away. You want him to know you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.

A nurse walks by, and Spencer's eyes snap open, his body stiffening. You can feel his heart rate spike, the anxiety flaring up again.

“I can’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. His voice is tight, strangled, like he’s holding back something that threatens to choke him.

“Yes, you can,” you reply gently, running your thumb over his knuckles in slow, soothing circles. “Please.”

It was a plea, a genuine plea. You tried to be strong for his sake, he needed someone. You were his person, you would always be. But he was also your person — and the idea that if he didn’t get help you could lose him one way or another terrified you. It caused a genuine ache in your chest at just the thought of him not being him, or not being around at all. You couldn’t lose him, not at the hands of tobias hankel.

He stares at you, searching your face for something—maybe reassurance, maybe strength. You aren’t sure if he finds it, but he nods, his breath coming out in shaky bursts.

The doctor calls his name. The sound makes him flinch, and for a moment, you think he might bolt. You can see it in his posture, the way his muscles tense, his body preparing to flee. But then your hand tightens around his, and he looks at you again. And you know he’s staying because of you.

Together, you stand, and you walk beside him as he follows the doctor into the office. His steps are slow, reluctant, but each one is a small victory. When you sit down in the small room, the doctor’s eyes flicker between the two of you—taking in Spencer’s pale, trembling form and the way you hold onto him as if he might disappear.

The doctor speaks softly, his voice calm and measured. You hear him explain the treatment plan, the options for managing withdrawal, the therapy that Spencer will need. It all sounds clinical, distant, like the words are coming from a place Spencer can’t quite reach.

You glance at him, watching the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, the way his eyes dart around the room, not settling on anything for too long. His mind is miles away, you can tell. But you’re here, anchored in this moment for both of you.

“Spence,” you say softly, turning to face him. He doesn’t respond at first, lost in the cacophony of his own thoughts. So, you reach out, brushing your fingers against his cheek. His eyes snap back to you, and you see the vulnerability in them, the sheer weight of everything he’s been carrying.

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” you remind him. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

His lower lip trembles, and for a second, you think he might cry. But he doesn’t. Spencer’s never been one to break easily, even when he should. You wish he would sometimes, just so he wouldn’t have to hold it all inside.

The doctor gives you both a moment, stepping out of the room to let the words sink in. Spencer drops his head into his hands, his shoulders slumping as though the world is pressing down on him with all its weight.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You scoot closer, pulling him into your arms, cradling his head against your chest. His body relaxes, just a little, as if the touch of your skin can quiet the chaos in his mind.

“You deserve everything good in this world,” you tell him, stroking his hair gently. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m broken,” he breathes, the words thick with self-reproach.

You shake your head, holding him tighter. “You’re not broken, Spence. You’re just…hurting. And that’s okay. You’ll get better. You have to.”

Maybe it was a plea, maybe reassurance, you weren’t even sure. Spencer was single handedly the strongest person you knew, he didn’t deserve what had happened to him — nobody did. The signs had been there for a while, you noticed the change instantly and you tried to brush it off as him coping, but when it got to the point where you knew there was more, without a doubt — you had the conversation.

It took some convincing, and a few weeks before he even approached the idea — he denied for a while. You let him. You could only help him as much as he allowed you to, but then when he nudged you gently in bed one night and broke down — he wanted help, and you were happy to provide him with as much as you could, which also meant getting more help.

His arms wrap around your waist, clinging to you as though you’re his lifeline. And in a way, you are. But you know he’s yours too. You’ve never loved anyone the way you love Spencer—so deeply, so completely. He’s flawed, yes. But so are you.

When the doctor returns, you help Spencer sit up, though he keeps one hand resting on your knee, as if needing to stay tethered to you. You listen carefully as the doctor outlines the next steps, and this time, Spencer listens too. He’s scared, you can tell, but he’s fighting. For himself. For you. For what you both have.

And when you leave the office, walking back through the waiting room, you feel a shift. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Spencer’s steps are still hesitant, still burdened, but there’s a determination now. He’s facing it. He’s facing himself. And you’re right there beside him, as you always will be.

As you step out into the crisp evening air, Spencer pauses. He turns to you, his eyes soft, vulnerable, but this time, there’s a flicker of hope.

“I love you,” he says quietly, the words shaky but sincere.

You smile, your heart swelling. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, with the world quiet around you, “You will get better Spence.”

[moist-for-xavier]

NSFW Alphabet for Charles Xavier

a/n: I did Charles before he got in the wheelchair as well as after (sort of as how things changed) but then I included Charles from Days of future past as well just as another comparison

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

❥ before wheelchair

He was the king of aftercare. Brings you glass of water, wipes you down even picks you up to use the toilet. Usually, after getting enough strength you two take a shower and then cuddle while he drones on about some topic

❥ in a wheelchair

He has now become the pillow princess he always took care of before. Unable to get up, it’s up to you to clean him up, give him a drink and take care of yourself. But you don’t mind. Not when he looks at you like you hung the stars on the sky

❥ days of future past

The aftercare went downhill from that point. Sure, he wipes you down and gives you some water, but the cuddling depends on the situation. Most of the time, he will leave. Cuddling is too much emotional vulnerability. He’ll up and leave, expecting you to leave soon as well.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His were always his hands. Just because he notices just how much your eyes linger on his long, veiny hands when he reaches for his temple or twirling a pen when unsure what to write

On you, it was hips. He loves watching you walk ahead of him. He loves when he sits in a wheelchair or just a normal chair and you stand between his spread legs. Just how beautiful they fit into his hands, especially if you have hip dips

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Before he got in the wheelchair, he liked seeing it on your face or in your mouth. But one time when he finished in a condom inside you he pulled out and noticed the condom was broken and his cum leisurely leaked out of your abused hole. Since then he could only accept his cum in you or on your cunt

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He keeps your used panties around in his pocket somewhere. As a sort of souvenir or a reminder that you love him even if he’s in a wheelchair

Another dirty secret is that he used to listen to you touch yourself. He’d enter your mind and witness the same fantasies you did so he could jerk off as well. He never told you, never will. But you know, you could feel him probing your mind

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He wasn’t all that experienced when he first got with you before the Cuba accident. Sure, he had couple girls, maybe a guy or two, but he wasn’t a fuck boy. So you guys were pretty even

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

❥ before wheelchair

Missionary or mating press. He likes to see your face as he fucks you. Just to see your eyes roll back as he projects more filthy images right into your mind

❥ in a wheelchair

Cowgirl or reverse cowgirl. There isn’t much of a choice if we’re honest with each other. Or face sitting. He’ll die a happy man between your legs

❥ days of future past

Usually doggy or against the wall if he’s too impatient to get you into a bed or a couch. Anything facing away from him so you don’t have to look at the mess of a man he is

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

❥ before and in a wheelchair

He’s very lighthearted. It’s all about being comfortable with each other. If it means joking, then so be it. He loves seeing genuine joy on your face and under no circumstance will it ever be a boner killer for him

❥ days of future past

Very serious, very frustrated. His mood is hanging on a thread and just a small giggle for you could kill his mood

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

❥ before and in a wheelchair

Not stripped clean. Just nicely trimmed with the cutest thin happy trail up to his navel. The colour matches, just a bit darker. And you always help him trim up, it’s a binding activity at this point

❥ days of future past

It’s a jungle down there. He can’t be bothered to wash his hair more than once a week. You really think he’ll care for the carpet?

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

❥ before and in wheelchair

Very romantic. The first time you had sex he had flowers, nice dinner, calming scent and candles. He can be beautifully romantic but also nasty. Depends on what you want

❥ days of future past

No romance. He doesn’t want to waste that much energy on someone who will inevitably leave. It’s very transactional even if you’re dating. Just something to take out both of your frustrations and move on. Doesn’t want to get attached because he’s sure you’ll leave him like everyone else

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Very much. Often. Loves to listen to you when you do it. Mutual masturbation is a common occurrence. The problem lays in the fact that after getting in the wheelchair, he’s unable to make himself cum. So it’s just a whole lot of edging until you finish him off. But during days of future past, not so much. He was way too disgusted with himself to touch himself like that. He didn’t deserve it. But then fucking you into the mattress is okay

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Professor kink, praise, face sitting, breeding, pegging, voyeurism, exhibitionism

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His study or the bedroom. Especially now that he’s in a wheelchair, he plays it safe

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you call him Professor in a sultry way, ask him to guess what panties you have on or just showing him and then later giving them to him while walking away letting him know you’re bare under the pants or skirt. Telling him what you think about or just asking him to read your mind

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Complete mind control. He doesn’t want a doll to fuck, he wants you, fully conscious, able to do things on your own

Pain. He would never hurt you. Sure, a light smack on the butt when you walk past or are riding him. But anything that will bruise is a no

Pee. No.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Will always prefer giving. He always loved the taste of your arousal, how it would drip down his chin in a stringy, sticky mess. He wants you to sit on his face every chance possible, but not just hover over, but sit properly like a chair. If he were to suffocate and die, he’d die the happiest man on earth

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

❥ before wheelchair

Slow and sensual all the way. If you ask very nicely he will go faster or harder, it’s all up to you

❥ in a wheelchair

Pretty slow as well. It’s all up to you again, but this time literally. Sure, he can rub your clit, but hips down, it’s on you. So usually it’s just nasty, slick, sticky grinding your clit into his pubes, squeezing him inside and fondling his balls

❥ days of future past

Fast and hard. Your face usually pushed into the sheets, body just a tool for him to abuse and let out all his frustrations

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

❥ before wheelchair

Yes. Absolutely. Whenever chance possible. He’s a young man with a raging libido, he’ll take every chance he could get to rearrange your insides

❥ in a wheelchair

No. Having sex in this stage is a process. Just getting it up takes a while and getting off takes even longer

❥ days of future past

Most of these encounters are quick. Just a quick transaction so he can let you go as soon as possible. In his head, you don’t want to see him after, so he makes it quick and then vanishes somewhere again to sulk and drink some more, leaving you to tend to yourself

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

❥ before wheelchair

Yes. He’ll take whatever chance you’re offering. You want to have sex in the class before he has to teach? Okay, but make it quick

❥ in a wheelchair

No. Everything has been significantly slowed down with his disability. And it would be quite difficult to execute the same rendezvouses he used to have with you, but he misses them every day

❥ days of future past

Depends. Usually not. He’d wait until Hank would leave or shut himself into his room to have his way with you. It happened once that Hank walked in on you two and since then Charles took great care to never allow that to happen again

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

❥ before wheelchair

Whole lot of stamina. Able to go for about 4 rounds, even if the last two are a bit sloppy or rushed. He can hold his orgasm for a long time the first two-three rounds, mostly focused on paying attention to your pleasure instead

❥ in a wheelchair

He can go for about 5 rounds. All of them long since he can keep himself from orgasming for a while. Unfortunately, not by choice. But since you’re the one on top and your energy isn’t endless, your thighs usually giving out before the 3rd round. You usually lay together, his hand playing with your clit and you jerking him off just until/if you get more energy to continue riding him

❥ days of future past

His stamina has been greatly deteriorated from his younger days by his alcohol abuse. He can keep up for good 2 rounds, but they don’t last long since he can’t hold his orgasm for too long

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

❥ before wheelchair

Yes. The most common one is slipping a little vibrator in and having you walk around with it buzzing softly only your clit and in you to make you nice and wet for later. Sometimes he lets you use a strap on him and peg him instead. It requires a lot of trust from him, so expect it to be brought up at least a good year into the relationship

❥ in a wheelchair

The vibrator is still someone that stuck to him. He still uses it sometimes, just not as often as before

❥ days of future past

Not really. Not much to say there, he’s too afraid to do anything in case he scares you away

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

❥ before and in wheelchair

Yes. Loves it. Loves to play with the vibrator settings. He loves projecting the nastiest sex images of you and him right into your brain. Loves to watch you squirm and face grow hot

❥ days of future past

Not really. He wants it to be over to let you go. Again, too scared he’ll drive you away by being himself

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

❥ before and in a wheelchair

Whimpers. Panting and whimpering like a dog. He’s pretty loud, it’s not usual for you to cover his mouth or kiss him to silence him

❥ days of future past

Groans and pants. He doesn’t make much noise, choosing to keep it inside. Too much vulnerability again, too worried his noises will weird you out and you’ll leave as well

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is a closet pervert. He will use his telepathy to project his nasty thoughts into your mind. He loves to do it while in the presence of other people, maybe some unfortunate soul that has a crush on you. He’s also willing to have sex in front of other people only to later erase their memory of it. Also likes to look up your skirts

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Average, but very beautiful. Good length with a perfect thickness. Beautiful pale with a cute pink tip and a nice thick vein on the bottom that makes him whimper like a dog

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

❥ before wheelchair

High. Extremely high. Maybe not for sex entirely, but extremely dirty minded, all the time. And loves to show you what he’s thinking about. And it usually leads to sex

❥ in a wheelchair

It lowered down with the amount of work he has as well as the fact he can’t get it up as easy. But with enough help from you, he will deliver

❥ days of future past

Low. Really low if you’re casual. Just once a month just to get his mind off of everything is enough. But his high libido from his youth is still present. The problem comes from being too worried that he’d scare you away with it

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

❥ before and in wheelchair

He doesn’t fall asleep until you’re safely tucked into his side and asleep. It’s normal for him to stay awake reading aloud to you to help you relax before he allows himself to relax as well

❥ days of future past

He doesn’t fall asleep. You can take a nap in his bed but he won’t stay with you. He might take a nap on his own in his study

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n: Let me know if you find any mistakes and thank you for reading <3

[foodiegoogie]

request for james potter x sunshine gf? like yapper x yapper <3

note: thank u for requesting my sanny angel <3 i was so excited to write this when i got ur req hehe :P thanks 4 being so patient as well !! hope u like this :P

paint me a picture

james potter x fem!reader ✮ 2.2k cw/tags: established relationship, that ‘couple paints each other’ trend on tiktok, MOO DENG CAMEO, tooth-rutting fluff mayhaps? and a lil crack :>

If you were ever put in a situation where you’re stuck in a room full of complete strangers, chances are that you’d strike up a conversation with one, two, or a handful of people no matter how off-putting they might seem as a stranger. You had a knack for talking people’s ears off, your mouth running faster than your brain ever did—spewing word after word before you could even finish your train of thought. 

Frankly speaking, you were well-aware that your talkativeness came across as annoying to most people. It was a hard pill for you to swallow, because you really, really liked to talk to people. You thrived in sharing your interests and whatever it was that came to your mind with other people. But the pressure was immense, and society—cruel, so you had to make do and shut your mouth if you could handle it. 

When you met James, however, it was like one of those cliché moments in movies—the ones about destiny and fate and soulmates. Because who knew that you’d find your match in being a chatterbox in someone as charming, and lovely as him? 

James Potter, in all his bumbling, comical, and boyish glory, did not stray away from you from the very first sign that gave away your talkative nature. 

And it appeared that he wasn’t planning on ever doing so in the near future. 

“Oh, but have you seen the one of her biting that zookeeper’s leg? She’s so adorable– I can’t!” You gushed as you filled in the gaps of James’ uncolored ears—the James in your portrait, not your actual James—with brush strokes of warm, chocolate brown paint.

The real-life James who sat across from you chuckled softly at your enthusiasm. “I know, right? She’s a little troublemaker, that one. I’d steal her away if I could.”

“Me too, me too,” Your vehement agreement amuses your boyfriend. “Gosh, what I wouldn’t give to have a hippo as a pet!”

James’ nose wrinkles, as if in distaste, at your statement. “Wouldn’t that be hard though? They’re always covered in mucus, and they’re always underwater. Hippos are a little high-maintenance if you really think about it.” 

“Respectfully, James, I never asked for your opinion.” 

James’ mouth hangs open in shock, his hand frozen as it holds a paintbrush in front of his own canvas of his portrait of you. 

“I can’t believe you’d say that to me,” He fakes a sob, shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought we had something special, love.” 

You sigh, going along with his act. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Jamie. You know how I feel about pets.”

“So that’s just it, then? You’re leaving me for a hippopotamus?” James cracks his voice at the end of his lamenting, hand flying up to cover his mouth, suppressing his “sobs.”

It was getting admittedly hard for you to keep up the act, though. But you persevere.

“It’s nothing personal, James. I swear,” Your voice wavers at the end, the start of an uprising laughter in your throat.

“Do you, actually?” 

You count what seems to be like five seconds of you and your boyfriend just staring at each other. It was almost as if James was challenging you to break. Ironically, you were starting to think that you were going to. 

But then he beats you there as you watch his face split into a wide grin, his canines doing nothing to quell his boyish handsomeness. Your boy always looked good, but he looked especially nicer when he was happy, smiling. 

Laughing, too, most of all. James had the kind of laughter that sounded like a wind chime when a breeze passed by, making you feel light and floaty as if on a cloud. He also had the kind of laughter that you just couldn’t help but join in, and share the moment with him.

“Absolutely nothing,” was what he would say whenever you asked him what you wanted to do together. 

But if you asked him what you’d want to talk about? James would say, “Absolutely everything.”

“Now I can’t remember what I was supposed to do!” You exclaimed, your laughter dying down to soft, involuntary chuckles as the lighthearted air of James’ relentless quips lingers between you both. “If my portrait turns out wonky, I’m blaming you.”

James’ grin could only grow with pride. He always loved to make you laugh. “Hey, that’s not fair. I only asked if–”

“No, don’t start again!” You rushed to stop him, pursing your lips to contain yourself.

“I haven’t even said anything,” He beamed at you, unashamed of how cheeky he was being. 

“You were gonna!” 

Your boyfriend shakes his head resolutely, pushing his glasses up his nose with a careful finger. “No, I wasn’t!”

“Top ten things a liar would say.”

James scoffs, affronted. “Top ten things an unfair person would say.”

You tut, shaking your head disapprovingly. “You need to come up with your own comebacks, you know.”

“Well, hey– it’s not my fault I decided to date the loveliest, most creative, most swell girl ever in the entire world,” Your boyfriend reasons, his million-dollar smile ever present on his lips.

You feel your face grow warm by his words. Even after a year (and counting) of being with James romantically, you could never quite get used to his praising you. But that had been the deal—if you couldn’t get used to it, then he’d have to do it more often so that you would eventually get used to it.

So, you clear your throat, returning your attention back to the task at hand: painting a portrait of your boyfriend. James can see right through your feigned indifference, but mirrors your actions with his own painting. 

“‘Swell?’” You place the finishing touches of your painting of James on your canvas. There’s colours of red, brown, orange, yellow, and all its shades from the most subtle to the most vibrant. You’re not really a painter, you’re more of an appreciator of paintings. But you hoped that the message would get through to your boyfriend—to you, he was love and warmth personified. 

He shrugs in response, eyes glimmering with mirth as he works on his own portrait of you. You couldn’t help but wonder what he had drawn and painted of you. The anticipation was high. “Yeah, you’re swell.” 

“Where’d you get that from?” 

“Er,” James scratches behind his ear with his free hand. “Sirius.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I knew it.” 

Your boyfriend spares you a glance over his canvas, and you meet eyes with your smiles mirroring each other. James hears you snicker as you turn back to your painting, and the dimples in his cheeks deepen.

“Alright, I think… I’m done,” You lean back against your chair, observing your portrait of James with criticising eyes—though not necessarily criticising the muse of your painting, but rather the painting you’d done yourself. 

Real-life James from across you makes a humming sound. “I think… I am, too.” 

“So, who’s going first?” The pair of you chorus, then laugh.

“Ladies first?” Your boyfriend asked.

You consider it for a moment, eyes never leaving your painting as you continue to observe it. You were afraid of mucking it up further than how messy it looked now to you, so you refrain from making any more adjustments. 

“Uh… no. I think it’s best if you go first,” A rueful smile graces your lips. 

James sighs, and you just know he’s downplaying his own efforts before the painting is even shown to you. “Alright, then. Here we–”

“—Also because I think we should save the best for last,” You rushed to say, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him.

Your boyfriend’s eyes go comically wide, and as you do your evil cackling, he scoffs indignantly. “I see how it is. Well, feast your eyes upon my greatest creation of all time–!”

James grabs his canvas by the sides with careful hands, then flips it around so the front of his painting is finally facing you. 

Behind the canvas, the artist—your boy—has his gaze fixed on your face, waiting for any sign of a reaction. In truth, he’d be devastated if you didn’t crack a smile or gasp! “This is amazing, James! I love you with my whole heart!” 

But he’s also aware that he wasn’t Van Gogh or Picasso, so he should be cutting himself some slack. But damn it all if he doesn’t get your stamp of approval on his painting of you—the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. 

Said “beautiful work of art he’s ever seen” now sits across from him, rendered speechless—which was out of the ordinary, so you had James worried. You did expect something “humble” to come out of his work, something worth placing in the Louvre museum that would rival the Mona Lisa, and something you’d both argue over like, “James, this is amazing!” and he’d respond, “Nah, I could do better.” 

Well, your expectations were met, but they had exceeded you by a lot. A lot, a lot. 

The background of the portrait is painted in a pastel, sky blue colour, adorned with symmetrically shaped clouds in white. And there’s that sun in the corner of the canvas, a smiley face drawn on it, too—a staple in a child’s painting. 

But it didn’t stop there; alongside the clouds were some painted flowers. There were daisies, your favourite. Tulips, also your favourite. There were little bees and butterflies and hearts all around, there was so much going on in the background of the painting that you didn’t know which to pay attention to.

Though you did know, realistically, which to pay attention to. It wasn’t in the birds and the bees painted haphazardly across the background—in the middle of the painting was a rather messier variant of you. You in your candid, cozy glory, donning your jumper. The curve of your jaw, the size of your eyes. James had managed to capture you in your likeness. You could see yourself in the painting. 

Most of all, however, you’re speechless of the fact he’d managed to capture you beautifully. Have you always looked like this to him? Is this what he sees every time he looks at you? Is this what he sees now as he looks at you?

“Erm, do you–“ James clears his throat, his fingers drumming against the sides of his canvas as he held it up in front of you. He was anxious because you still hadn’t shown any reaction whatsoever in the span of half a minute. “is it that bad?” 

A lighthearted jest. Probably to dissuade the brewing anxiety in his mind from your lack of a reaction. His leg was already starting to bounce restlessly from under the table. He’s thankful that you’re unable to see that, at least. 

“‘Bad?’” 

“Yes, ‘bad.’” A beat passes. “Is it?” 

You shake your head at once, having gathered your bearings after all. A smile slowly starts to make its way onto your face. “It’s not bad. Not at all, James, this is–“ 

James doesn’t know what to do now, if he’s being honest. He wishes you could just come out and say it in his face that he was a trash painter, and that his portrait belonged in the dumps. He’d rather that than wait in agony—

“It’s so nice,” You finally manage to say, your voice dripping with fondness for him. His heart skips a beat at the sight of your smile—all sweet and pretty and lovely, so lovely. So loving. 

“Really?” James gains a smidge of his confidence back with your reactions. “You like it?” 

“Like it? I love it!” You abandon your chair, rounding the table to tackle him into a hug, planting a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek. “You made me look so pretty! Best boyfriend ever!” 

Said boyfriend feels like he could melt in your arms right now, but he returns your affections by tightening his own arms around your waist, pulling you down so that you sit on his lap. 

“‘Best boyfriend ever?’ Now that’s a title I can get behind,” He chuckles, grinning widely up at you as you did the same at him. Two birds of a feather, their love mirrored in one another’s eyes, and hearts. 

Long story short, when you show your portrait to James, he makes sure to let you know that he loves it. Absolutely, indubitably adores it. He declares that he’ll frame it and hang it up in his room. He’ll contact local historians to let them know that, “Hey, I think we’ve got another revolutionary artist in our time and it’s my girl.” 

(He also makes a few comments of how you “didn’t quite get his nose right” and how “his hair looked exaggerated in your painting” and that that was “hair-racist.” What?)

At the very end of your date night, the pair of you decide to paint another picture—a third to add to your collection—but this time around, it included the two of you, with a grubby look of a house beside you both, three other little people, some dogs here, some cats there, and then some. 

ty for reading \(￣︶￣*\)) likes, replies, n reblogs r always appreciated !! <3

[snowballseal]

How they react to you having a lot of tattoos

LaDS X Reader

Anon Request: I was curious if you would be willing to write the boys reacting to a partner with a lot of tattoos? I feel like MC is pretty covered up and as someone with full sleeves and a large back piece, it’s always interesting to see how people react to seeing them.

Note: Y’all killing me with these fun requests 🥺 I love this. I only have a few minimalist tattoos, but I want MORE. Thank you for the lovely request, anon. The scenarios were fun to think of.

Word Count: who’s to say 🤷about 1000 each

---

Rafayel

The first time Rafayel sees your tattoos is when you go on a date to the beach. You’re not even thinking about it as you change in the bathroom. When you decided to become a hunter, you knew you would have to cover up your tattoos. The policy, while being outdated in your mind, isn’t all that bothersome since you prefer to wear long sleeves anyways.

So it never occurred to you that Rafayel had never seen the full expanse of the ink on your body.

Which is why, when you step out and his eyes go impossibly wide as he looks at you, mouth dropping open, you’re first and foremost confused.

“What?” 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you feel an inkling of insecurity curl in your chest as you look down at your two-piece. It’s nothing immodest, just a blue bikini that you thought was cute and also met your standards for support. It’s a little frilly, but a part of you thought he’d love that. 

“Do you not like it? I don’t uh, I don’t have anything else to wear…” Your voice comes out uncharacteristically meek.

That seems to snap Rafayel out of his daze. The artist shakes his head, the tips of his ears going positively red, as he still can’t rip his eyes from the lines decorating your skin. He reaches out, tracing the gentle petals of a flower on your waist.

“How come you’ve never shown me these, cutie?” He asks, voice touched with awe.

Oh. Heat creeps up your neck. So that’s what he was on about. You glance down at your body. You suppose it is a little jarring. It’s not like you’re covered head to toe, but you’re definitely a well covered canvas. Both of your arms have partial sleeves that curl up around your shoulders and continue along your collarbone. A large collection of flowers adorns the right side of your waist, traveling down your hip and turning into a pattern of vines down your leg. You have a few other ones, some silly, some heavy with meaning.

“Sometimes I forget I have them,” you admit a bit bashfully. Rafayel gives a low hum and your breath catches as his fingers continue to trace the lines on your waist, his touch warm and ticklish. “I’ve had some of them since before I started training.”

“I have to say, I’m a bit jealous that another artist has touched your body,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something low. His hand slips around your waist, drawing you closer so he can trace his lips over the intricate ink on your collar bone, ocean eyes glinting up at you with something possessive yet overflowing with adoration. “But even I have to admit this is beautiful work. Befitting my queen.”

Your cheeks go warm. As red at the tips of his ears. There’s something so reverent about his touch and it makes your heart flutter wildly, but you’re all too keenly aware that you’re still in public.

Not that it stops you from poking the fish.

“Would it make you feel better to know my newest one is for you?” You ask, reaching to touch his cheek with a teasing smile.

Rafayel’s face lights up. He draws back immediately, looking over your tattoos like an eager child until he spots the fresher ink on your left leg. You stifle a giggle as he drops to his knees, fingers curling around your ankle to pull your leg off the ground so he can get a better look. 

“Rafayel!” You bark out a laugh, balance stolen away. It forces you to lean on him just so you don’t fall over. “Geez, I could have just sat down, you know!”

“This is for me?” Rafayel, oblivious to your complaints, grazes his fingertips tenderly along your skin.

Shaking your head, you give his hair a playful fuss, “Yes, you impatient fish. It’s not done yet, but it’s about us.”

It’s the beginnings of an ocean scene. A beach circles right above your ankle, depicting the silhouettes of two younger kids, their hands clasped in a promise. As the ink continues up your leg, it transforms into what looks like a night sky, but instead it’s water, swirling lines of blue and purple, full of schooling fish, one in particular standing out, bright red among the cool tones. A familiar symbol. And on the back of your calf swims a graceful looking figure, reaching for the light, edges blurred between fish and man and water.

A lump forms in Rafayel’s throat as he touches the red fish, a familiar warmths spreading across his chest as the same symbol glows faintly. Seeing it on you fills him with an emotion he can’t quite explain.

“You do realize what this means, right?” Those ocean eyes flicker up to you. They glint like dark pearls, iridescent and beautiful, yet carry a depth of emotion that makes your breath catch.

“I do,” you answer unwaveringly.

Rafayel’s lips pull into a small smile. He never expected someone to do something like this for him. Though, of course you would. And it’s beautiful.

“It’s a stunning piece,” he murmurs eventually, leaning forward to press a kiss to your knee, right above the ink, his hair tickling your thigh, “Though I still think the canvas is the most beautiful thing of all.”

A snort escapes you and you bite your lip, heat rushing back to your cheeks, “You’re ridiculously corny, Rafayel.”

“I know.” His smile shifts into a wolfish grin as he stands up, scooping you into a hug. You squeal as he spins you around, holding on tightly despite knowing he’d never drop you. It’s only when you’re positively red that he stops, his mirthful eyes watching your face. “It’s worth it if I get to see this face. I swear, cutie, if you do more things like this, I might become unbearable.”

“You never could,” you giggle and loop your arms around his neck, “Though, I was thinking maybe next time, you could come with me?”

Rafayel raises an eyebrow, “Oh? You want to get matching tattoos? I’ll admit, I’ve never considered it…but if it’s with you, I can’t think of anything more fitting.”

“You’ll have to design it, of course,” you hum, tone turning a little more excited, “Oh, I can’t wait! It’ll be so fun! We can do it the next time I take a break, and after swimming season, obviously.”

Leaning in, Rafayel gives you a short kiss, laughing against your lips, “Anything you want, my lady. As long as it’s with you, I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

---

Zayne

The first time Zayne sees your tattoos is when you reunite at Akso. You’re not sure how long it’s been, having only seen him every so often at Grandma Josephine’s for dinner. All you know is that he’s been busy, and is now one of the most remarkable young doctors in Linkon.

And also your new primary care physician.

“Knock knock.” 

You rasp your knuckles lightly against the door to his office, eyes lingering on the nameplate displayed prominently beside it. A strange sense of pride swells in your chest. To think, your childhood best friend would reach such heights.

“Come in,” Zayne calls, voice as aloof as ever.

You slip into his office and let the door shut behind you. The doctor sits at his desk, flicking through a file on his tablet. You hesitate on the edge of his peripherals, not sure exactly what to do or how to act. It’s been a long time since you two have been truly close, not since- But you’ve missed him.

A lot.

“My apologies, my previous surgery ran longer than expected so I am still collecting your records.” You blink, his voice drawing you back out of your thoughts. “You may take a seat if you’d like.”

“Okay.”

Maybe you’re the only one who feels weird about it. He seems completely unaffected, like you’re a normal patient, ever the professional. You awkwardly drag a stool a little closer to his desk, just far enough to not seem weird and so it doesn’t feel like you’re looking over his shoulder.

After the silence goes a tick too long, you can’t help but break it, fingers fiddling nervously with your sweater, “How have you been, Doctor Zayne?”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips. You haven’t changed one bit. 

“I’ve been well, thank you for asking. Work has become quite constant, so I’m afraid I haven’t been able to accept many of Josephine’s dinner invitations.” His eyes dart over to you briefly before focusing back on his screen. “You look like you’ve been doing well since we last saw each other.”

“I have,” you chirp, anxiety easing up a bit, “I’m really close to being finished with training and finally joining the Hunters Association. You should try to make it to dinner this week though! Grandma really misses you. She talks about you all the time.” You falter, cheeks warming a little. “...We’re all really proud of you, Zayne.”

Zayne’s fingers freeze against the tablet. An indecipherable look crosses his face, but he schools his features quickly and gives you a small smile.

“Thank you…you both have always been so kind to me,” he murmurs and finally turns to face you, “I’ll try my best to make it to dinner this week.”

Your face lights up, excitement sparking in your eyes. “Okay! I’ll let her know! She’ll probably make all your favorites. They haven’t changed, right?”

Zayne shakes his head, and you can’t help but kick your feet giddily. It’ll be nice to catch up. You have so many questions, and also so many stories to tell from your training days.

“Now that those plans are made, shall we proceed with your exam?”

“Right, right.” You almost forgot that’s what you’re here for. Nerves coming back, you shuffle on top of the stool. “What do you need me to do?”

“First, if you would remove your jacket, I’ll take your blood pressure and listen to your heart,” he instructs, voice settling back into something professional and neutral.

As Zayne turns away to fetch whatever tools he needs, you make quick work of taking your jacket off. The room is a little chillier than you expect. You wrap your arms around yourself to chase away the goosebumps that erupt across your skin. Your eyes stay glued on Zayne though, watching as he pulls a stethoscope and blood pressure monitor from one of his drawers.

“Do you usually do exams in your office?” You ask offhandedly.

“Not usually. As a cardiothoracic surgeon, I don’t often conduct general exams,” he hums, cleaning off the blood pressure cuff with a sterile wipe.

“Am I special or something, then?”

“With the rarity of your protocore syndrome, I thought it would be most effective to handle your care myself, yes. Though if it makes you uncomfortable we can-”

Zayne’s words cut off as he finally looks back at you. Surprise flickers across his face.

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, though you don’t know why. Is there something on your face? A stain on your tank top? You glance down, finding nothing of the sort.

“What? What is it? Do I have something on me?” Your hands flicker up to your face, but you don’t feel anything.

Zayne blinks and shakes his head as if coming out of a stupor. The lightest blush warms his ears.

“My apologies. I just wasn’t aware you had so many tattoos.”

Oh. Holding out your arms, you look over the expanse of ink on your skin. You guess it’s a lot. It has taken you a few years, but you’ve effectively covered your arms and shoulders in art. Most of it is florals, with small, meaningful symbols or items hidden in the foliage. You also have a few others, though they’re covered by your clothes.

“I guess you wouldn’t have seen them,” you hum thoughtfully, “I wear a lot of long sleeves to Grandma’s dinners. And work requires us to cover them up.”

“They’re quite intricate.” He sets his tools aside, drawing his chair closer to you. His hand reaches for your arm, but pauses, his eyes darting up to yours. “May I?”

“Go for it,” you whisper, feeling a little bashful now that his attention is focused solely on you.

His fingers graze your wrist lightly, as if he’s scared to press too hard. You watch as he silently turns your arm over, taking in every minute detail of your tattoos. He lingers a little longer on the small, anatomical heart at the center of it all, surrounded by gentle jasmines. They’re incredibly well done, even he can see that, and they all look like they were done some time ago.

Something melancholic and sentimental settles in his chest.

“I remember when you were just a little girl, crying over her popsicle…You truly are all grown up now, aren’t you?” His voice is thick with something you can’t quite pinpoint, his touch turning impossibly tender as he traces the lines up your elbow.

Your heart flutters a little too wildly for your likings. “You’re all grown up too, mister chief cardiac surgeon. That’s a lot bigger than some tattoos.”

Another smile pulls at his lips, breaking his impassive facade.

“These have all healed well, though,” Zayne says, a spark of mischief flickering in his eyes as that strange emotion recedes, “You must have taken good care of them, and that alone is an impressive feat for you. That’s how I know you’ve grown up.”

A mock gasp escapes you and you pull your hand away to press it against your chest. If only to break the contact so he doesn’t notice your racing pulse.

“Doctor Zayne, I am deeply offended at your insinuation,” you insist vehemently, “I am a responsible person, soon to be an amazing hunter! I know how to take care of myself.”

“Says the woman who walked on a sprained ankle for a week out of pure stubbornness.”

“How was I supposed to know it was sprained?”

“I told you it was.”

---

Xavier

The first time Xavier sees your tattoos is after a mission that doesn’t go quite right. You come home with a bandage wrapped around your shoulder and chest, and the added instructions to change the gauze once a day. Which, of course, you can’t do yourself.

“Xav?”

Xavier glances up from where he’s sitting in the sun, a book long forgotten in his lap. Those sleepy blue eyes land on you questioning. You shuffle awkwardly in the doorway, a roll of gauze in your hand.

“Would you help me real quick?” You mumble, a soft blush warming your cheeks, “I can’t uh, I can’t change them myself.”

“Of course,” he hums immediately, standing and stretching languidly, much like a cat. “I am at your service, my lady.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, shoulders sagging, which sends a twinge of pain down your arm.

It was a nasty cut. You had been so focused on fighting one wanderer that you hadn’t noticed another smaller one appearing behind you. It was your fault, and thankfully it didn’t hit anything serious, but it was in just the right place to make moving your arm difficult.

Xavier silently leads you back into the kitchen. Taking the bandages from your hand, he pulls out a chair and motions for you to sit. You do so carefully, not wanting to jostle your body too much. The hunter sets the gauze aside and kneels down in front of you, his fingers finding the hem of your sweater and pausing, placid blue eyes turning up to you in question. 

Ever the gentleman.

A tiny smile pulling at your lips, you offer him a small nod. That’s all he needs to pull it off, his hands moving slowly, with the utmost care. Thankfully, the room isn’t too cold, the setting sun pouring through the window and warming the space. The fabric musses your hair as he slips it over your head, and you instinctively reach up to fix it.

Completely missing the way Xavier’s eyes go wide as he looks down at you.

There aren’t a lot of things that catch the hunter off guard. But the ink covering your skin certainly does. Even with the bandages, he can tell it’s expansive, curling around your shoulders, dipping down your upper arms, painting the entirety of your back. It’s reminiscent of Starry Night, hundreds if not thousands of strokes forming delicate lines that follow the natural curves of your body, flowing so beautifully that they practically beg his fingers to trace them.

And as always with you, Xavier has a startling lack of self-control.

You blink at the feeling of his fingers grazing your uninjured shoulder. His touch is so light, you could almost mistake it for a breath. Almost like he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, voice twinged with concern as you try and twist to look at where his touch lingers against your skin.

“Stay still,” Xavier orders gently, and you freeze, brows arching in confusion. Realizing you're panicking a little, the hunter leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, offering a soft explanation, “You never told me you have so many tattoos. I simply want to appreciate them.”

“Oh.” Your nerves fizzle out, replaced with an embarrassed tinge of excitement. So that’s what this is about. “I forgot I haven’t shown you them yet. I guess I’m so used to them that I forget they’re there, especially since I have to cover them for work.”

Xavier shifts behind you, fingers following the lines over your shoulder. They bleed into a wash of color, dark blue and purple and pink splashes across your back. A small planet of light sits between your shoulder blades, numerous stars dancing around it. His touch lingers on the planet, a flicker of light spilling from his fingers as his evol reacts unprovoked.

“What made you choose this?” He asks, voice wavering imperceptibly. 

“I’m not sure,” you hum, shrugging your good shoulder, “I’ve always liked space. My grandma used to take me to the planetarium a lot when I was young, and I used to have dreams about it, of floating between planets and exploring the stars. I always felt drawn to this one planet, it was so pretty and it looked like it was made of light, but I could never reach it…”

Philos.

Something twinges in Xavier’s chest. How strange. You don’t remember the planet, that’s for certain, yet some part of you was still connected to it. To your home. To him. All this time…

“It’s beautiful,” he all but whispers.

Heat tinges your cheeks. That’s not usually what people say. It’s not for everyone, you know that. It’s a lot of ink, but you dreamt for so long about getting it. Still, most people usually just make offhand comments, not exactly rude, but not exactly compliments either. Like, oh that must have hurt a lot. Or, you must have saved a lot of money, huh?

Never beautiful.

And yet Xavier traces your ink with what almost feels like admiration. It makes your heart flutter with an uncharacteristic shyness, shoulders jolting up to your neck.

That’s when you remember your injury.

Letting out a low hiss, you drop your shoulder quickly as pain sizzles down your arm. Both of you had practically forgotten about it, caught in the moment. Xavier’s brow furrows again, an apology floating past his lips as he draws his fingers away - much to your disappointment.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, offering him a weak smile, “I just pulled it a little funny. We should probably check it, though.”

“Alright, I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs as he reaches for the edge of your bandage.

“...Thanks, by the way.”

You’re not sure what exactly you’re thanking him for. Helping you or his sweet reaction to the art decorating your skin. Maybe both.

And Xavier must know. He leans down, lips ghosting over your shoulder is an adoring kiss.

“Of course, my star.”

---

Sylus

The first time Sylus sees your tattoos is, of course, on the night you attend the auction. There’s no hiding the ink covering your body when you’re wearing a dress, after all. If anything, though, you think they’ll help you fit in a little better in the N109 Zone.

And you love the reaction Sylus gives you when you step out into the foyer.

For the briefest moment, his eyes go wide. Shock, perhaps the rarest emotion you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing on him, flashes behind those carmine eyes. In an instant, it disappears though, hidden with his usual cocky expression, one of his fine brow ticking up in amusement.

“I’ll admit, sweetie,” the man hums, “You’ve surprised me.”

You flash him a cat-like grin, satisfaction burning deep in your veins, and give a little theatrical spin, “Not what you were expecting, huh?”

Hardly a single part of your body remains untouched by ink. Most of the designs are artistic. Flourishing lines twisting and curling around your muscles, strangely reminiscent of the form his evol takes. They form a network of delicate webs across your body, sometimes forming shapes, sometimes with words written along the fine linework. 

It’s hauntingly beautiful. Sylus can’t help but let his eyes slowly rove over your form, taking in every detail. They’re like a map, and his fingers are itching to explore every part of you, to see just how far the ink slips below the hem of the dress. A dress which he bought for you yet can’t be bothered to even notice now, not with such a dazzling sight set before him.

“Who knew the kitten would turn into a tigress at night,” he murmurs, voice going low and teasing as he slowly circles around you, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Your boldness wavers. 

Sylus always seems to have that effect on you. Like a lamb straying from the herd and being found by the wolf. Prey before a predator starved, maw open and hungry, as if he could consume you whole. And all you can do is hold your ground, even if your legs shake, like that little lamb’s.

“Careful, Sylus,” you whisper, trying to appear unshaken by not following him with your eyes, despite the unease you feel not knowing exactly where he is, “This tiger has claws.”

You feel more than hear his presence come up behind you. A shiver traces down your spine when his breath skates over your ear, warm and far too intentional. In the same way, his fingers trace reverently down your arm, following the path of your ink, until they can intertwine with yours and draw your hand up to his lips.

“And that’s how I prefer you.” His voice is low, a mere rumble against your skin as he kisses your knuckles. Another shudder. “After all, it would be a shame to declaw such a beautiful creature. Even if she likes to scratch.”

God, you hate him.

You hate that it takes everything in you to rip yourself away from his enticing warmth. You hate that your heart is racing against your ribs, like it’s trying desperately to escape. And you especially hate the absolutely smug grin that plays on his lips (and the fact that you want to kiss it so badly).

“You’re teasing me,” you breathe unsteadily, putting space between the two of you.

Something dark flashes in his eyes, “Whatever do you mean, sweetie? I was merely giving you a compliment.”

“Then you give weird compliments,” you fire back, arms wrapping around yourself. “It sounds more like you’re making fun of me.”

Sylus pauses. Those ruby red eyes narrow on you thoughtfully, his lips pressing into a thin line. A tick of silence. Then his expression smoothes into something almost soft, and he takes a few measured steps towards you. Long fingers graze your palm again. A question.

And you give in far too easily, not fighting as he intertwines your fingers once again. His other hand skirts along your exposed shoulder, following the lines of your tattoo as they fade at your neck. You’re frozen under the sudden tenderness of his touch, your pulse racing against his fingertips.

“My apologies, kitten. That wasn’t my intention,” he murmurs, eyes boring into yours with an unnerving genuineness, “I simply meant that your tattoos are...befitting of your character. You are truly…” He looks you over once more, his gaze leaving a tantalizing heat in its wake. That dangerous smile curls his lips again. “Captivating.”

You inhale shakily.

No one has said something like that to you before. Not that you can remember, at least. It would sound cheesy from someone else, but from Sylus? The intensity of his tone leaves you feeling as unsteady as your heart. Lightheaded.

All you can do is blink up at him, eyes wide and doe-ish. No smart retort or comeback. Your mouth, in fact, feels remarkably dry. It fills the man with a touch of pride, rendering you so speechless.

Not one to let you stay dumbfounded for too long, though, Sylus lets out a smooth chuckle and taps your chin, “Careful, sweetie. If you look at me like that, I might just think you’re falling for me.”

Which of course works. Because he knows you better than you know yourself.

“I am not!” You squawk, face going up in flames. “You just surprised me, that's all! I didn’t know you were capable of such niceties.”

Sylus grins, drawing away as you swat at his hand, “Then it seems that we’re even.”

You scowl at him. So not fair.

“Now, would you like to accompany me to this auction, sweetheart?” He offers his arm. You keep your pout up for only a few seconds before giving in and slipping your hand around his elbow begrudgingly. Sylus hums in amusement, leaning in to press a ghost of a kiss against your cheek. “Looking like this, you’ll have no trouble getting the results you’ve been searching for, tonight. You’ll be the perfect distraction, my dear.”

“Well then, let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”

---

Not gonna lie, Sylus' was probably my favorite. In my head I was kind of picturing the tattoos that Anthony Padilla has (from smosh, yes, sue me), and I just think he would totally call you a tiger since he likes calling you kitten.

Hope y'all enjoyed!

I'm really feeling some angst next possibly...

[calangolengo]

Some headcanons that I think about a lot for Mute!Stan:

1. He didn't stop talking right away, it was a gradual process. Each year he spoke less, which got him into less trouble as a criminal, he had to do horrible things to himself to control his tongue and speak softly, he was yelled at a lot on the streets to shut up.

2. He learned some sign language on the street, but he wasn't fluent so he still had to speak sometimes.

3. When he got Ford's card he was barely speaking anymore, talking to his brother was one thing since his voice had been out of use for months already.

4. After Ford falls into the portal, Stan organizes his own funeral, his mother almost recognizes his voice because it was very different from Ford's at this point, so he decides to stop talking completely. People saw this as a response to the trauma of losing his brother so they didn't talk much about it.

5. Stan still opened the Mystery Shack, but without the guided tours. He simply made it more like a museum. He placed a speaker in front of each strange object where he recorded some descriptions of the creatures in advance, alone, at night.

6. He spread several speakers throughout the cabin with price information and random curiosities. As well as a larger speaker that constantly repeated that they did not accept refunds at the Mystery Shack.

7. The tours were created by Soos. As a child, he would visit the cabin with his grandmother and, since she was bad with the speakers, he would invent descriptions of the objects himself, which always gathered a small crowd around him who bought many more things on the way out. Stan hired him almost immediately.

8. Soos quickly learned sign language to talk to Stan and later taught Wendy, who also went to work there.

9. The kids learned sign language at home when they learned they were going to stay with their estranged great uncle who they had only heard about and who was apparently mute. It was a challenging project for them. Dipper learned it to challenge himself academically and Mabel learned it because it was fun to use a secret language and also because she thought it was like creating spells with her hands. They weren't very good, but they managed well.

10. When the portal is reactivated, Mabel is still left with the decision of whether to turn it off or not and for the first time in years Stan speaks and asks her not to turn it down, which shocks everyone because they thought Stan was mute since birth.

11. Ford is not happy when he comes back and Stan doesn't talk to him, despite all his knowledge of sign language it was never something that caught his attention and he suspects that Stan is just doing it just to be a jerk.

12. The kids get upset with Stan for being able to talk all that time and refuse to acknowledge his sign language for the rest of the day, avoiding looking at his hands the whole time, Stan panics and basically Soos is the only one who makes communication between Stan and the others viable because he translates everything Stan says.

13. The kids talk to Stan again the next day because he seems miserable for not being able to talk to them and also because they are so used to this type of communication that they forget that they were ignoring him.

14. Ford is the hardest to accommodate; when he's not deliberately ignoring Stan, he tries to catch him off guard so he'll talk. At one point, an argument starts at night on the porch, demanding that his brother talk, which leads Stan to try to talk again, but can't because he's desperate and has a panic attack.

15. During Weirdmageddon, they still switch identities, with Stan speaking and acting exactly like Ford. Bill is tricked because he knows that one of the twins can't talk and ends up being erased with Stan's mind.

16. When his memory is erased, Stan starts talking again. It takes a while for his voice to come back because he didn't use it much. The children still use sign language while talking to him to try to bring his memories back. The scrapbook works little by little.

17. With each passing day, Stan remembers a little more and each day he talks less until, by the time Stan and Ford get on their boat, he has all his memory restored and has stopped talking completely again.

18. Stan speaks few words sometimes, he says his brother's name, a few words of comfort or a greeting, only to Ford and in a low tone of voice, it doesn't happen much but whenever it does it brings Ford to tears, he preserves each of these moments as treasures.

That's it for now, I've been thinking a lot about Mute Stan in the last few days and I wanted to express these thoughts a little, whoever wants to add more things or take over the narrative from here on out, feel free, the floor is open.

[rayroseu]

Rambles about Book 7 lol

AAAAAAAÀAAA 😭😭😭 THIS IS SO AUGHHH THE MEANING BEHIND THIS INFO !!!!!! knowing that the first thought of Lilia in encountering Silver was that he should kill him to avenge Meleanor and Levan and that his purpose of adopting him is that he wants to believe he can love a human as well AND LILIA TEACHING THIS HUMAN BABY HOW TO LIVE DESPITE THE MANY CHANCES HE GOT TO GET RID OF HIM AUGJAURIWUTJW AND MAY I SAY LILIA WENT FROM DISTANTLY BEING ATTACHED TO THIS BABY AND THEN TRANSITIONING UNTO WANTING FOR HIM TO LIVE AND WITNESS HIM GROW UP AAAAAAA😭😭✨✨✨

IF I CRYYYY MELEANOR HAUNTS THE NARRATIVE 😭💞💕💞✨

LMAO not the faes snitching this info to malleus ofmg 😭✨

lowkey this is me as well i think babies are kinda ugly too KDHJAEJ especially when they cry 💀🔥🔥

YOU CALL THIS ADORABLE HELPPPP 🤣🤣🤣okay but in all seriousness, we rarely get this easy sarcastic Malleus, he's always too formal around NRC and often his humor lands amiss to other charas which doesnt prompt him to present this trait, but its so sweet that he seemed to be "truly himself" in the cottage scenes where its just him Lilia and Silver🥺✨ his voice doesnt feel "authoritative" too like a dorm leader, its just malleus and his difficulty in getting along with the random baby lilia caught lol

I remember this line was translated as a flower nectar?? but they kinda saying the same and i like this paraphrase that Lilia thinks of Milk as nectar for baby humans, like how Malleus often relates tech to some magical ritual lol

crying at this line, knowing that Malleus says this because he has broken several many things bcs he couldnt control his strength and perhaps there were things that Lilia owns that he accidentally destroyed as well so he tries to mend this uncontrollable strength of his in order to not be an inconvenience😭✨

NURSEMAID???? YEAH NURSEMAID CALLED LILIA VANROUGE 😭😭💔💔💔 and AAAAA not once did Malleus search for this tune??? not even sing it to Maleficia and Lilia so as to inquire about it 😭✨💔💔 this is when you know this lullaby IS truly MELEANOR'S LULLABY because everyone of the characters only heard it from her !!!😭😭😭💔💔

I love this response from Malleus lol, also i feel like some situation will challenge Lilia's love for humans again, like can you still love humans if they commit the same crime again to Malleus as they did with Meleanor?? Twisting their personality and actions so as to validate their fear?? Can you still say that faes should make an effort to make peace with them when repeatedly it was the humans who wasnt willing to udnerstand faes to begin with ? 😭✨ its a realistic worry fitting for a king that'll rule for centuries, maybe bcs he has this instinct that humans are epehemeral and so are their promises.

Thinking about it a bit more, its true that what Levan does is futile effort because the issue between humans and faes, Briarland and Silver Owls is too much that it cant be resolved by just understanding each other.

Levan wants the war to stop but obviously that can't happen because the bigger factions of each natioj are resolute at their stance that Briarland is owned by faes or humans, no in between. He can't immediately fix the mentality of higher faes and Meleanor with their hatred of humans and vice versa with the human officials like Henric,

but what he can do to decrease the casualties of this conflict is to pave way for the COMMON folk to understand each other, if he can make way for the common fae and the common human to talk to each other, then it might decrease the misunderstanding between the common fae and common human (assuming that both parties arw willing to be understanding)

its really a long shot and a gamble to aspire for considering his country's situation, and its effects would take a while to impact and honestly it took so much important people and years just to have his dream of peace, i wish we could get an input about what he feels about this

considering his kindness he might be happy, but im kinda sad its really tragic the implication of how the faes had to earn their peace and atone for a conflict that they didnt even start with,

based on Lilia, it took 400 YEARS just for the humans to sign a peace treaty, maybe in the eyes of the faes, thats just a piece of paper, so they waited and grieved the lost of their Princess Meleanor and many of their fae soldiers and Prince Levan and ALMOST the entirety of their continent, just for these humans to sign an 400 year long overdued peace treaty?? so the faes that died couldve been saved if these humans could spare some compassion and ink to sign a treaty-- It kinda feels like they're insulting their grief (in the faes point of view atleast), whats the purpose of having this paper peace treaty when they have lost so much already?? I WISHHH the story could delve more into the grief of faes,

kinda lowkey mad they just swept Lilia's grief by the humans just cuz he encountered a few good ones, i wouldve love to see him being vengeful then learning how to convert that grief to love again just like Maleficent in the live action, bcs it would be very meaningful on this way, Lilia can truly say he has learned how to love because he experienced real deep hatred---but AAA its whatever this storyline is good as well, just kinda feels general lilia's belief converted to present!lilia a bit too fast to my liking lol

its really intriguing how before book 7 the faes dislike of humans seems so dramatic but now after book 7 it all makes too much sense 😭✨

(can you guys tell i play too much reverse 1999 bcs i ramble too much about morals and politics between different races now JHDJWHRJW)