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starsinthesky5 · 2 days

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why do you like me so much then? || joe burrow x reader

description: why do you like him so much? everything you said made him sound like a lackluster boyfriend, so why did you like him so much?

a/n: this is either really bad, chaotic, all over the place, or just yapping. sorry. the fact that this was supposed to be a blurb?? yeah. i cannot write blurbs LOL.

thanks to @joeyb1989 and my anons for giving me inspo for this! and to joe with that sexy, bratty eyebrow raise that I can never move on from

word count: 9.2 k

warnings: angstttt, smutttt, fluff

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3 hours. That's how long it took you to get ready tonight.

You spent an uncharacteristic amount of time carefully positioning each strand of your hair, ensuring that each piece was perfectly curled and set. You made sure every piece of jewelry from your delicate necklaces to your sparkling earrings and bracelets, all of which were gifted by your boyfriend, shimmered in the warm light and reflected a soft glow. Each stroke of makeup had to look flawless to complete the look, your eye shadow blending in seamlessly as you perfected your small winged eyeliner. The silk sage green slip-on dress you wore–with a delicate lace trim–fit your body like a glove; highlighting every aspect of your beautiful figure perfectly.

You looked amazing and you felt amazing for the first time in a long time. The past few weeks had been filled with strangeness and ambiguity and you were in desperate need of a change of pace. The strangeness came from how you and Joe had been a bit distant from each other lately, which was uncommon for you two. You were constantly attached at the hip, utterly fixated on each other to the point where the mere thought of being apart would lead to a state of misery and endless complaining. But this past month, you couldn’t be more disconnected from each other. Joe had been so wrapped up with football training this past month to the point where it felt like you two barely saw each other, and that didn't sit well with either of you. You always used to make so much time for each other no matter what, but recently it felt like you two stopped trying.

Every time you thought of planning something to do together such as a little lunch date at your favorite cafe, or a relaxed hike around the park, even just ordering takeout and eating together on the couch while watching a movie, it would always get moved or put off till the next week because Joe had something come up. Either it was more training (which was understandable), more brand shoots (somewhat understandable), or even because he wanted to hang out with the guys--completely not understandable.

You were never the kind of girlfriend who would keep her boyfriend away from his friends, especially because you actually really liked Joe's friends and greatly appreciated the support they gave him, but when he started using them as an excuse to pass on spending time with you, that's when you became a bit bitter. You were the most understanding person when it came to the things Joe had going on in his life. You knew that he had a lot on his plate and couldn't always be fully present for you, but he always tried his best to be. Or at least he used to.

Passing on training and brand-related work was hard, but passing on hanging out with his friends once or twice so he could go through with the plans he made with his girlfriend was fairly easy.

It should be easy, right?

But Joe didn’t do that. He instead moved your plans to hang out with them, and that hurt. He said that you could do the lunch date, hike, or takeout food & movie evening later on, but that 'later' rarely came around. He would just get swamped with more things and you'd be so focused on your work that you couldn't bother to bring up the subject again.

Joe noticed your increased irritation as well, but he just never said anything because he didn’t feel like it was anything serious, just you in a mood. He wasn't sure what made you so resentful all of a sudden, but he knew better than to argue with you about your sudden mood swings, especially because he knew there could be over 100 reasons for them and didn't really want to set you off even more by pointing it out.

What Joe did notice was that you two hadn't had much one-on-one time like that recently–completely oblivious to the fact that's exactly why you were so bitter–so he decided to take the first step and offer to take you to dinner at the end of the week. You were so excited when he proposed the idea of going to dinner on Friday, looking forward to spending some much-needed quality time with the person you loved the most. He told you that he'd take you to this new steakhouse in Downtown Cincinnati and then he'd take you down to the banks so you two could lay against the grassy field and look up at the stars together, something you used to do every weekend during the off-season but something had slowly fizzled out as time went by and your weekends became a bit more intense.

"Every star in the universe reminds me of how much I love you. You’re not just a part of my world; you are the center of my galaxy, and everything else revolves around the love we share," is what he told you the first time you went stargazing. Those special words have stuck with you ever since, especially the part about how you’re the center of his galaxy, but lately, it started to feel like the center of his galaxy had shifted to something other than you. You couldn't figure out when things shifted; those genuine, pacifying moments you two shared became scarily rare. In the back of your mind, you felt like you were losing him. Even though you weren't, it just felt like it, and that was the worst feeling out of them all. Nothing you did or he did made that thought go away. What you didn't or he didn't do is what made it worse.

You were determined to use this date as a way to move things back on track in your relationship, hopefully even talking about how off things had been lately, so that’s why you dedicated an unusual three hours to primping and preparing. Despite your efforts to achieve perfection, Joe’s love for you was unwavering, regardless of your appearance. He adored your natural beauty, free of makeup, and cherished your tousled, messy hair. He found you just as enchanting in your old gray sweats and one of his worn-out college t-shirts that made you look oh-so tiny. You knew how indifferent he was to perfection, but you wanted everything to be excellent tonight, even if he didn't need it to be. You needed this.

You were filled with anticipation as you imagined walking into the restaurant with him, the warmth of his hand in yours. You could almost taste the first sip of wine, feel the soft buzz it would bring, and sense the rush of emotions as you immerse yourself in the familiar and comforting bubble of your love for each other. You needed to feel that again so badly.

You took one final look in the mirror, "Damn, I look good. He’s going to love this," you whispered to yourself as your eyes navigated up and down your figure before giving yourself a small nod of approval and exiting the bathroom. You grabbed your white chanel handbag which was one of the many birthday gifts he had gotten you last month and made your way out of the shared bedroom and down the stairs, a big smile on your face as you were expecting an adorable, dressed, and ready Joe awaiting your arrival. But as you reached the last few steps, your smile dropped as you were met with the exact opposite.

You were met with a Joe dressed in gray sweatpants and an old LSU tee whose back was facing you while he was sitting on the couch, had his headset on, and was playing video games on the TV.

"Today is Friday, right?" you whispered to yourself as you pulled your phone to read the date, which showed that it was in fact Friday and you weren't crazy.

"Joe?" you called out as you slipped your phone back into your bag, slowly walking down the couple of steps you had left with a look of sheer confusion on your face. He didn't hear you, but you heard him.

"Aye, man. What the fuck?" he said loudly as he started aggressively pushing the buttons on his game controller. "How the hell did you get to level 10 when it's only been a week since the last time we played?".

His friends. He was playing with his friends.

"Of course," you scoffed as you walked over to the living room where he was, throwing your handbag onto the dining table before calling out for him again. "Joe?.... Joeeeee?" you said louder from behind him, but he still didn't look back at you.

"He has to be fucking ignoring me. There is no way his headset is this soundproof," you thought to yourself as you shook your head and walked around the couch to come into his view.

Joe looked over and saw you walking towards him, his eyes giving you a quick once-over before settling on your soft eyes which had a slow burning fire behind them. "You look nice," he mumbled to you before looking back at the TV. While he may not have looked directly at you, his words were genuine–he couldn't help but admire your alluring beauty.

“....Thanks...,” you replied with a dubious tone. “Did you forget that it’s Friday?” you asked him as you looked over at the screen and then back down to him, no response yet again.

“No, don’t go that way,” he warned his friends through the headset, completely ignoring what you just asked him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you thought to yourself again.

“Joe? Hellooo?” you called out again but waved your hands for him to see you from the corner of his eye, which he did but didn’t say anything. You were becoming increasingly annoyed with his lack of attention towards you, especially since you knew he could see you and see that you were trying to get his attention.

"Do you need something?" he finally asked as he moved one side of his headset off his ear, still too focused on the game and his friends to focus in on your conversation.

"Do I need something? Yes, I fucking need something. I need my boyfriend to go on our date with me which he promised to take me on," you thought to yourself, wanting nothing more than to scream into a pillow.

"Baby, it's Friday," you took a deep breath and said, crossing your arms as you tried to prevent yourself from flipping out on him.

"Yeah, I know," he softly laughed, putting the headset back on again and going back to the game, not even bothering to wait and listen if you had anything else to say, which you did.

You were absolutely dumbfounded by his actions; it was clear that he was intentionally overlooking you. Joe knew you wouldn't bother him like this without a good reason, especially during his video game time with his high school buddies, so his behavior was completely unjustified.

"Did he forget?" you thought to yourself, feeling your heart break a little at the thought. There was no way he forgot, right? He was the one who planned this date, how could he forget?

Your expression softened as you asked him, "Did you forget?". You didn't really want to hear his response because deep down, you already knew the answer. Admitting it meant that he actually forgot about you.

But you didn't need to hear his response because there was no response.

You looked back and forth between him and the TV, seeing how he was practically looking right through you and pretending as if you weren’t standing there in the most date-night outfit ever. Joe was oblivious sometimes, but he wasn’t that oblivious.

“Fuck this,” you mumbled, deciding to take matters into your own hands since he wasn't listening and didn't look like he was planning on listening. You walked over to the TV, grabbed the plug from the outlet behind it, and yanked it so hard that you could've pulled out the entire electrical system in the wall.

"Y/N, what the hell?" you heard from behind you, as well as the sound of Joe taking his headset off and throwing it down onto the couch.

"Oh, so now you acknowledge my presence?" you rolled your eyes and sighed heavily.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked you, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was genuinely confused.

"What do you think? I called out your name like 4 times and got no response. Then when I actually got your attention, or I thought I did, you didn't even answer my question fully and brushed me off like I was just some girl," you said as you walked closer to him, the built-up bitterness inside of you begging to be released.

"You're not just some girl," he shook his head. "You're my girlfri-," he began to say before you interrupted him.

"Oh yeah? Then act like I am. I asked you a question and you completely ignored it and ignored me," you grumbled as you gave him a look that he instantly knew meant you were genuinely pissed off.

"What do you mean? I did answer your question," he shrugged.

"Fucking barely? I told you it was Friday and was hoping that would ring a bell but it didn't, and then I asked you if you forgot but you had already put your dumb fucking headset on and either didn't hear me or didn't want to hear me," you snarled, rolling your shoulders back as the tension in your body increased and put a strain on your upper body.

"Ohhh, it's Friday? So what?" he sarcastically laughed while shaking his hands, then stood up and practically towered over you. You hated when he did this whenever you two got into a little disagreement, it felt like he was showing the power he had over you and made you feel 10 times smaller.

"Are you serious?" you asked, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks and your eyes beginning to well up with tears. It wasn't sadness that caused the tears, but a deep sense of anger.

"What did I forget hmm? Because I'm pretty sure that I already did the laundry, cleaned up the kitchen from lunch, ordered the groceries, and watered your plants outside," he asked, the bratty tone in his voice making you want to scream into a pillow and then proceed to hit him with said pillow.

You felt your bottom lip tremble as your entire body felt a wave of sadness overpower the anger you were feeling.

He really forgot.

He didn't forget to do all the other things that weren’t that big of a deal, but what he did forget was the most important thing.

"Our...our date, Joe?" you choked out, feeling a tear fall from your eye it felt like the world went silent. "Our fucking date," you said again, this time with more anger in your voice, wiping the tear trail from your cheek. So much for your flawless makeup.

Joe's heart immediately sank at the mention of the word 'date.' He had completely forgotten about the plans you had made, the plans he had made. How could he have forgotten something like this? He knew how important this date was; it was the first time in a long time that you two got to spend alone time together away from everything. Even though he never said it, he felt awful that each time you tried to plan something together, it was pushed back for some reason and never thought about again.

His eyes softened as he realized why you were mad, "Y/N, I'm so sorry...I forgot," he said.

You remained quiet for a few seconds, trying to calm yourself by taking a few deep breaths but that wasn't really working. "I shouldn't be surprised you forgot, you know? I've been practically invisible to you this past month," you scoffed, a few more tears falling from your eyes unknowingly.

"Invisible?" Joe questioned, a bit taken aback by your harsh response. Yeah, he had been spending less time with you lately, but in no way were you invisible to him.

"Yeah, invisible. It's like I'm just not here. You've been basically avoiding spending time with me and the one time you offer to plan something, you conveniently forget. Spare me, Joe," you shook your head and said.

"Woah, I wouldn't say I'm avoiding spending time with you?" he said as he took a step closer to you. "I've been busy, you know I've been busy,".

"I get that, but what about those times when you ditched doing something with me so you could do something with the guys? I understand if it’s because of training and stuff but getting ditched for your friends? That hurts. Especially when we already had plans but you moved them and little old me always went along with it because I didn't want to rock the boat," you cried, your tears breaking through and free-falling down your cheeks now.

"Rock the boat? What are you...what are you even talking about?" he threw his hands in the air and asked. "What the hell is she talking about? I know we've been spending less time together, but in no way is the boat being rocked. We're fine?" he thought to himself.

"Here you go with the oblivious act," you laughed through the tears in amusement. "Un. fucking. believable. You always do this whenever you’re in the wrong, and frankly, I’m sick of it. You're acting as if I haven't been visibly miserable the past few weeks. Oh, wait. That's just it, how would you know? I'm invisible to you," you said, your voice a little louder as the anger was once again taking over.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck I did but I don't understand why you're blowing up over this," Joe said, his hand moving to scratch the back of his neck.

"That's just it. It's mostly what you didn't do. You didn't bother to reschedule our plans, you didn't bother to check in on me to see if I was really okay with you moving our plans, and you didn't fucking remember we were supposed to go out tonight," you yelled, your breaths becoming shorter as you felt yourself turning red from slight distress. You felt awful for yelling at him, but all of the emotions you had built up this past month were coming out at once and it was not going to be pretty.

Joe stood in silence, his eyes fixed on you as you continued to express your disappointment with his recent behavior as your boyfriend. He felt a sense of unease as he realized the impact of his actions on your emotions. He knew he was in the wrong, but he was hoping you understood how hectic his schedule was and how that prevented him from giving his all to you recently.

You always understood. And if you didn't, you talked to him about it. But this time you didn't do either of those things, and that made him a little upset. Communication was a big part of your relationship and although it had been pretty off this past month, he thought you would’ve said something to him if you felt this bad about everything.

"You know, instead of yelling at me about all of this, why didn't you just talk to me about it in the first place?" he asked, now feeling a bit irritated himself. "If you felt so 'invisible' why didn't you tell me right then and there?".

"Are you really blaming me for this?" you said, looking at him in disbelief. It was unbelievable that he was trying to ignore your feelings, especially when you rarely blew up on him like this so that should tell him that you were really hurt by all of this.

"I never…I never said that," he said while sucking his bottom lip in. "All I'm saying is that we didn't need to have this big argument about it if you just talked to me about how you were feeling before,".

"That still wouldn't change the fact that you forgot about tonight," you snapped, placing your hands on your hips. When your hands touched the smooth, silky fabric of your dress, it seemed to emphasize every curve of your body, catching Joe's gaze for a moment. He felt a flutter of excitement in his stomach as he admired your figure once more, taking in every detail of your stunning appearance a bit closer than he did before. "You still haven't given me a reason," you added.

Joe's frustration was growing as he felt increasingly annoyed by your words, despite his understanding that he had made a mistake. Instead of fixing the issue, your yelling was only aggravating the situation. "You know what? Fine. I forgot. Whoops. My bad," he retorted in a tone that was both monotonous and bratty. He went quiet for a moment, thinking of a devious plan to make you even more annoyed.

But why did he enjoy making you feel irritated? Because he liked seeing you get all hot and bothered because of him. "I forgot because I was having a great time with my friends and lost track of time. I guess they were more interesting than you," he said smugly.

He knew he was being an absolute dick right now, but part of him was having fun watching you get heated over this and wanted to see you get more flustered. “Is it bad that I think she looks hot as fuck right now?” he thought to himself.

"God, your fucking attitude pisses me off sometimes," you yelled. As you shook your head, you couldn't help but feel another wave of anger towards him, even though looking around, you realized that the issue at hand was frankly trivial. It wasn't the specific problem–forgetting about the date–that got to you, but rather the underlying feeling of frustration and disappointment that had built inside of you for the past month. Tonight was just the final blow that tipped you over the edge.

Despite your irritating behavior and petty bickering, Joe was really turned on right now. Something about seeing that fire in your eyes, hearing that fire in your voice just got him going. You were taking charge, and he loved that even if he was pissed that you were arguing with him about something that didn’t need to be this big of a deal. You were putting him in his place and he liked that about you. He liked that you weren’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit.

His eyes traced a slow, calculated path from your legs, to the graceful curves of your body, to the gentle contours of your breasts, then up to the curve of your neck, before finally meeting your captivatingly beautiful face. He couldn't resist the temptation to admire your compelling appearance, making it even more challenging for him to focus on the petty argument you were having. He felt bad that you got all dressed up for a date that wasn’t happening, but he did enjoy seeing your precious cheeks turn red out of anger, seeing your body tense up in a way that was practically begging for him to relieve it.

He licked his plump lips as his eyes flashed to a darker shade of blue before saying, "Then why do you like me so much?".

Your breath caught in your throat as you were trapped by the intense gaze in his eyes. Those dangerous, smoldering, bedroom eyes always seemed to have an irresistible effect on you. The words that followed, said in a tone that ignited a wildfire within you, made you feel an almost overwhelming urge to drop to your knees in front of him. “No, No, No. I’m mad at him. It doesn’t matter how much I would love for him to take away my ability to walk right now. Keep it together,” you thought to yourself, feeling butterflies flutter through your stomach.

You remained quiet and continued to stare at him, watching him raise his eyebrows in the brattiest way possible as a result of how he easily silenced your bitching and moaning and because of how you had absolutely no response for him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he leaned over and whispered in your ear, his husky voice sending shivers down your spine. “Cat got your tongue?”.

“I’m not playing this game with you right now,” you rolled your eyes and snapped, starting to back up and walk away before you felt his warm hand wrap around your wrist and pull you right back to him.

A playful smirk danced across his lips as he pulled you into his embrace, immediately planting a trail of soft, teasing kisses along your neck, successfully redirecting your attention.

“Joe,” you whispered, trying to get out of his hold but struggling because of how he was holding you so tightly and pressing kisses all along your neck—your favorite spot to be kissed. “Oh fuck,” you lightly whimpered, feeling him nip and bite at your skin as he wrapped his hand around your neck and gently squeezed it.

“Hm? Why do you like me so much then?” he mumbled as he dropped wet kisses up to your ear. “If I’m such a horrible boyfriend, why don’t you just leave?”.

“Fuck, Joe,” you accidentally moaned, feeling him start to suck on your favorite spot which made a pang of arousal shoot up your spine. “So much for trying to keep it together,” you thought to yourself. “This has to be a massive ego boost for him,”.

It definitely was. He took pride in knowing that he could so easily make you forget about your anger towards him by simply doing what he did best, skillfully and attentively worshiping every inch of your body.

“Hm,” he laughed against you. “I guess that’s why you don’t leave,”

“You’re being a brat,” you said a few seconds later as you threaded your fingers through his frosted tips, pushing his head closer to your neck. Your actions are a complete juxtaposition to the words that came from your mouth. You were mad at him, but you weren’t acting like it. The sounds leaving your lips, your needy touch, it was all the complete opposite of what you were saying.

“No, you’re being a brat,” he said as he moved out of your neck and looked into your firey eyes.

He had some nerve to be calling you a brat right now. You weren’t the one that had been ignoring him tonight or the one that had been brushing him off all month. “Go fuck yourself, Joe,” you spat out, the bitterness evident in your words, but it seemed to have little effect on him.

“How about you fuck me instead?” he boldly said while giving you the same tempting, inviting eyebrow raise again.

“If he looks at me like that again, I swear to god I’m going to end up pregnant. Fuck. Why does he have to look at me like that when I’m trying to be mad at him,” you thought to yourself. Gradually, the intense anger, sadness, and constant irritation towards him turned into strong feelings of fierce desire, urgent need, and passionate emotion.

As you stood face to face, a noticeable tension filled the air, the heat rising as if a fire had been torched between you. His passionate gaze reached into you, sending jolts of electricity through the space. It felt as though he was silently expressing that he had the power to make you forget everything, if only you would allow him to.

And god you wanted him to.

You quickly reduced the space between you both and smashed your lips against his, his hands dropping down to your waist and holding you tightly as a smirk rose on his lips. “Told you. This is why you don’t leave,” he whispered in between the messy kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him in closer, completely melting under his fervent touch.

“Shut up,” you smirked as you trailed kisses along his jaw before he pulled your lips back to his, both of your bodies calling each other’s names as you got lost in each other.

He moves his big hands down to your ass, giving each cheek a gentle squeeze before whispering, “Jump,” in between the kiss. You do as he says, jumping and wrapping your legs around his middle as he holds you tightly, walking towards the stairs and taking you straight to the bedroom, all without breaking the restless kiss.

A few minutes later, you’re both naked and lying on the bed as Joe spends a bit more time peppering kisses along your neck, your neediness getting more and more vocal as he refuses to do the thing you actually need him to do.

“Joe, please,” you whimpered as you felt his nose brush against your jaw while he sucked on a spot on your neck, your body squirming under his large frame.

“You can’t be mad at me like that and expect me to give you what you want so easily,” he smirks after he moves from your neck and looks into your eyes with mischievous intent.

“Fuck you,” you scoffed while tilting your head to the side and refusing to look at him.

“Oh you will, all in due time, baby,” he whispered in your ear, then gently lifted you up in a tender embrace and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Straight across from the mirror.

“What’re you doing?” you ask him as he sets you in his lap, both of you facing the mirror.

“You see that, Y/N?” he asks as he points to you in the mirror. “That’s you,” he adds as he continues to look up and starts to press wet kisses around your shoulder. His hand snakes around your waist, rubbing your belly with his long fingers as they start to navigate down to your thigh.

“I know,” you sigh, tilting your head to the side as his kisses get closer to your neck.

“You’re not invisible, baby,” he says as he plants kisses in a path up to your ear as his fingers move down to your core aching core. “You’re right here,” he whispers, a moan escaping your lips as you feel his fingers slide against your wet heat.

“Joe,” you whimper tipping your head back and closing your eyes, the feeling of his hot body underneath you combined with the feeling of his long fingers at the place where you need him the most becoming too much for you.

“I see you, Y/N,” he whispers in your ear, the tip of his cold nose pressed against it. “I always see you, I always hear you. You’re not invisible,” he says before pressing a kiss to the corner of your ear, then pressing his fingers against your sensitive clit.

“Ah, Joe,” you moaned, feeling a jolt of pleasure rip through your body. Before you can move your head back forward to say something, you feel his fingers dip inside your core with no warning, earning another sound of pleasure from your lips. “Fuck,” you moaned as you practically melted into his embrace even more.

His fingers begin to pump in and out of your core, more soft groans and whimpers falling from your lips as he drops slow, hot kisses around your face. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he rasps as he drops his head down to your shoulder again, spending more time cherishing that part of your body.

The sensation of his skillful fingers stretching you out and filling you makes you want to forget about everything that happened. Joe always had the ability to make you forget your worries and tensions in an instant, but this might have been a new record.

“Joe, please…I..,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his as your body begs for more.

"Hmm, it's not that easy, baby," he says with a smirk, his voice oozing with cockiness. You can sense the power he holds over you, and it's clear that he finds it entertaining. He is fully aware of the effect he has on you and revels in it. You hated that he could easily get you like this, but you loved it so fucking much.

His fingers continue to thrust in and out of your core, his touch becoming hotter by the second as you feel yourself inch closer to your release. “You don’t sound like you’re mad at me,” he said as he used his other hand to push your head forward so that you were looking in the mirror again.

“Fuck,” you moaned when you saw his captivating dark blue eyes at the same time as you felt his fingers hit the spot inside of you. “I…I’m so…mad at you,” you struggled to get out, a whimper squeezing in between your words.

“Sure,” he chuckled as he rested his chin on your shoulder, increasing the pace of his fingers.

You watched as his fingers disappeared in and out of your dripping heat, faint sounds of your wetness filling the room as you slowly moved your eyes back up to meet his. The look he had told you a number of things; he was horny as hell (just like you), he was enjoying seeing you struggle like this, and he was genuinely sorry about everything.

The apologetic twinkle in his eyes produced a profound and intense emotion within you, igniting a powerful and overwhelming feeling. He was fully aware of his mistake and this was his way of expressing it to you. “Joe,” you screamed as you felt the band in your stomach tighten, your body gently trembling above him as you felt overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Look at you, you’re right there, Y/N. Not hidden, not transparent, and certainly not fucking invisible. Especially not to me,” he whispered in your ear, his husky, raspy voice being the final thing you needed to tip right over the edge.

You feel an intense, deep, and warm feeling pool in your belly, you were so so so painfully close. But just to your surprise, Joe suddenly pulls his fingers out of your core, earning a dissatisfied shriek from your lips. “What the fuck, Joe,” you panted, your core pulsing at the tension that was still there, the tension you thought he’d release for you.

“Told you,” he smirked as he looked into your eyes through the mirror. “Not easy,”, a soft kiss landing on your shoulder before you feel yourself being lifted up again, turned around, and pushed down to the bed a little roughly.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.” you groaned at him a few seconds later, your eyes having that fire in them that he so desperately loved.

“That’s your job, baby,” he winked as he kneeled down on the bed, hovering over you. “But, I’ll be nice for a little bit and help you out,”.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something, but before you can, he smashes his lips against yours and rests the head of his hard cock at the entrance of your core. “You want me to give you attention? Here you go,” he mumbles a few seconds later with a cocky grin, and then you feel him push into you with a roughness that drove you wild.

“Ah, Joe,” a guttural moan escaping your lips as you scrunch your nose, your legs instinctively wrapping around him. He was wasting no time with you, and you loved that.

A jolt of pleasure rips through your body again as he starts to move inside of you, his movements so thorough and intense but rough at the same time. His hand firmly grasps your waist, communicating a sense of possession and intimacy, making it clear to you that you belong entirely to him.

His body was telling you that you weren’t losing him, that you could never lose him. You could never lose him because he would never let you, he’d never let go of you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned as he felt your hands travel to his hair, gently tugging on the strands as you rested your lips on his neck. He begins to snap his hips against yours hard, every thrust sending you further back into the bed and making you forget about everything that ever bothered you in your entire life.

“Joe…fuck, I’m…,” you panted. “Fuck,” you trailed off.

“I know, baby. I know,” he smiled.

He continues to thrust into you and sets a pace that makes you feel like you’re practically flying through the clouds. It feels euphoric the way he knows exactly how to send your body to its pleasure, almost other-worldly. He was just so good at it.

The way he was worshipping your body, basically fucking the anger out of you was something your brain couldn’t comprehend. He was the only person who was capable of doing this to you, getting you so frustrated, hot, and bothered, and then having you completely and utterly raw the next second–emotionally and physically.

Joe was aware that your anger towards him and his recent behavior stemmed from genuine pain. He deeply regretted causing you this pain and slapped himself mentally, repeatedly, for making you feel invisible, even for a second. You were the center of his galaxy, and he needed you to know that you still were and nothing had changed.

He moves his lips back to yours, capturing them in an intimate kiss that stifles your moans. The delicious feeling of his cock filling you up and his lips against yours is all you could have ever wanted. The way he was moving against you was creating a haze in your brain, almost like a lavender haze.

The haze surrounded you, signaling that you were immersed in a love that consumed every part of you.

Joe consumed every part of you. He was the lavender haze, and you wanted to stay in that haze for as long as humanly possible.

Even though you were mad at him, you couldn’t stay mad at him. He loved you and you knew that, and now he was showing you that he did. This was his way of reassuring you that he was right here with you.

“Baby,” he moaned, feeling himself get lost in the pleasure you were bringing him. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned.

“Joe, my god,” you whimpered, feeling your already built-up release getting stronger again. “I’m so close,” you whined, feeling him somehow quicken his pace. You looked down at him, watching how he roughly pounded into your wet heat and how his muscular body was glowing in the soft light of your bedroom.

“Cum for me, baby. I know you’re there,” he moaned in your ear before dropping his head to your neck.

“Ah,” you whimper, feeling your body start to tremble again, you were just seconds away from letting go.

One particular hard, well-placed thrust later, you were screaming his name as you pushed your head back into the pillow to brace yourself for your orgasm. You felt like a dam had just burst, and the pressure built against it was finally free. Wave after wave of pleasure rips through your body as Joe keeps hammering into you and each time you feel your high come down, it shoots right back up because of his movements. The feeling of your walls wrapping around him, squeezing and hugging his cock made him smile, almost as much as the sound of his name leaving your lips like a sacred chant.

“Joe,” you whispered, feeling yourself finally come down from your peak. You looked down and saw that he was still moving inside of you, trying to reach his own peak. “Joe,” you said again as you threaded your hands into his hair and lifted his head, “Flip us,”.

He looked at your glossed-over eyes with his tired ones, a dirty smirk forming on his lips at the idea of what you were asking him to do. “Okay,” he winked, wrapping his big hands around your torso and easily flipping you over all in one go. Despite how tired he was physically, he could never be too tired for you.

“He’s so fucking strong. Fucking hell,” you thought to yourself as you straddled his waist, taking in his tousled golden curls, his thick muscular chest which was coated with a thin layer of sweat, and then his large cock–which was practically calling for you.

You grabbed his erection, guiding the tip between your drenched folds as you saw his face contort in pleasure and a hiss leaving his lips–he was close. You lifted your hips from his and sat up on your knees before lining up his cock with your core and sinking straight down onto it. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned as he closed his eyes, his hands landing right on your ass with a light ‘slap’.

You leaned forward and placed your hands on his pecs, sliding up and down his cock at the same pace he was pounding into you. “Yeah,” you whispered as you felt yourself feel a shock of pleasure coarse through your vein, just as Joe felt coursing inside of him.

“Y/N, baby,” he groaned, “You feel so good, fuck,” he said while digging his head back into the pillow, having the time of his life watching you take over and ride him into oblivion.

“I know,” you said to him with a cocky grin which made him raise his eyebrows again, the same way he did earlier.

It was that same bratty, sexy, that made you think ‘get me pregnant right the fuck now’ eyebrow raise.

“Fuck,” you moaned after you saw him raise his eyebrows and his cock hit that spot inside of you.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, feeling his ego shoot up because even though you were in ‘control’, he was still, actually in control. Especially over you, and it was so obvious.

You continued to slide up and down his length, occasionally moving back and forth as his moans got louder and his grip on you got tighter. His eyes were fixated on your breasts that were bouncing up and down right in his view, his hands were stuck to your ass and were kneading your plush skin, and his hips were starting to thrust up into you.

“I’m close, fuck,” he moaned as he felt your walls tighten around him–you were close too, again.

“O- oh, fuck,” you whimpered while falling forward, your chest pressed against his. “Joe, you’re so fucking…,” you trailed off as a moan interrupted your sentence. “I’m gonna cum,” you whispered against his swollen, plump lips.

“Y- yeah, me too,” he panted, snapping his hips into yours harder. A few seconds later, your bodies moved against each other in perfect harmony for the final time as both of your releases hit at the same time, both of you feeling like your breaths had just been taken away by the intensity of your orgasms.

“Joe,” you screamed, feeling your high hit you again like a ton of bricks, stars filling your eyes as your second release soaked your lower halves as you felt Joe’s cock twitch inside of you.

“Fuck, Y/N…oh my god,” he rasped as he shot hot spurts of cum inside your wet, hot cunt, slowly thrusting whatever came out back into your core. His hands were gripping your hips now, so incredibly tightly that you were sure they would leave a small bruise. You looked down and saw how his nose was scrunched up, how his bottom lip was stuck between his teeth, and how his eyes were filled with love, regret, and admiration towards you.

A couple of minutes later, you were both lying next to each other, trying to catch your breath and make sense of everything that happened in the past hour or so. Joe turned his head to the side to look at you, taking note of how you were biting away at your bottom lip–something you did when you were anxious.

You were in fact anxious. Your argument was bad, and whatever happened on this bed was amazing, but where did it actually get you? Yeah, you were much calmer and in your senses (kind of?) for the most part, but you had hardly talked about the reason you two even got to this point.

Joe, with a mix of feelings, let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. He gently put his arm around your bare shoulder, pulling you close to his warm chest. Amid your overwhelming confusion, he became your safe haven even though he was the reason you were confused in the first place.

You felt the gentle touch of his lips as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. He then rested his mouth and nose against it, inhaling your natural fragrance. This simple act brought him a unique sense of comfort that no one else, not even his friends, could provide. It was this deep connection that made him realize the need to apologize to you. You were right, you were always right.

“Baby?” he asked you, causing you to look up at him with your tired eyes.

“Y- yeah?” you rasped, your voice scratchy from the activities you were partaking in just a few minutes ago.

“I’m so, and I mean so fucking sorry for what I did,” he sighed. “I really didn’t mean to make you feel invisible or ignored this past month, you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry that I haven’t been giving you the attention you deserve lately, especially because you do so much for me, more than anyone ever has or ever will,” he sniffled, his eyes welling with tears.

“Joe,” you pouted, moving your hand to cup his soft cheek and rubbing your thumb under his eye, seeing how glossy his eyes got all of a sudden. “It’s okay, I promise,”.

“It’s not, Y/N,” he said with another gentle kiss to your forehead. “I told you that you were the center of my galaxy, and you are. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t anymore, that’s so fucked up. I should’ve talked to you about all of this and shouldn’t have expected you to say something first. I was the one that needed to get myself straight and I’m so sorry that I let things get to this point,”.

You felt his hand moving in gentle, soothing circles on your back, providing a comforting and secure touch. In his arms, your worries and tensions seemed to melt away in two distinct ways: the intimacy you shared in the bedroom, and the reassuring feeling of his current actions.

“I just felt like I was losing you,” you admitted. “I was scared that we were drifting apart and I just-,”.

“No,” he interrupted. “You’re not losing me, baby. You’re never going to lose me,” he softly said as he moved his hands into your hair. “I’m not gonna let that happen, not now and not in 15 years when we’re middle-aged and have two kids running around and are arguing about who has to drive the kids to school the next morning,” he smiled.

A soft chuckle left your lips as you imagined what he was saying, an image of your promising future with Joe filled your mind–and it was oh-so sweet. “Obviously you. I need beauty sleep,” you chuckled.

“Noted,” he smiled as he pulled you closer to him as if you weren’t already stuck to him like glue. He opened his mouth to say something again, and the tone of his voice knew that what he was about to say could easily make you cry, “I don't think I could find the right words to describe the depth of my love for you. What I feel for you overpowers any other emotion I've ever experienced. It's as if my soul has finally found its missing piece in you. I will choose you, again and again, without hesitation. No one else can make me feel the way you do. You mean everything to me. When I look at you, I see my life partner, my best friend, my everything. You have the unique ability to improve every aspect of my life–every laugh becomes brighter, and every tough day feels more manageable because you're there for me. You have given me a type of love that I never thought possible, and I'll forever treasure the way you've positively impacted my life. My love for you is something I'll wholeheartedly protect because no one else will ever have my heart the way you do. From the moment we met, I felt something unique about you. I've never loved anyone the way I love you, and I know I never will. You're my heart, my soul, and the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. No one else will ever come close to producing the feelings I have for you, and I'll always do everything in my power to ensure you feel as cherished and adored as you deserve.” he said while playing with your messy hair.

You felt tears falling from your eyes after he finished talking, you didn’t even realize when you started crying, but you were. “Wait, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he softly said as he leaned down and cleaned up your tears by placing kisses on each droplet. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, his softness so adorable and genuine.

“It’s okay, Joey,” you grinned, a few sniffles coming from your nose. “I’m crying because of how much I love you. What you said…that means a lot,”.

“I mean it, Y/N. I’m genuinely so sorry for tonight, for this past month, for all of it. You are always number 1 for me and I need to show you that more from now on. I don’t deserve you at all, but I have you, and I won’t overlook something as valuable as you or not take advantage of the fact that you, this amazingly sweet, sexy, empathetic, down-to-earth, incredibly genuine, kindhearted, funny & sometimes slightly boring…” he started to say before you interrupted him.

“Ouch,” you giggled as you patted his chest, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“...boring but unpredictable, loving, insanely beautiful, and charismatic girl has my heart in her hands,” he finished saying. “I love you, Y/N. I need to do better for you, and from this moment on I will. You deserve to be loved with 150% effort and I’m going to make sure you do. The guys can wait. I’ve spent enough time with them for them to go a couple of weeks, even months without seeing me. It’s you and me now and forever,” he said to you, his soft, loving eyes acting as a mirror to his soul–which showed his genuine and raw intentions and were exactly as he was describing to you.

“I love you, Joe,” you smiled as you felt him brush his lips against your lips before planting a deep, passionate kiss to them.

“Time to get things back on track,” he said a few seconds later, sitting up on the bed and bringing you with him. “It’s too late for our dinner reservation but I’m going to get it shifted to tomorrow. Tonight we’re going to the banks for some stargazing and a late-night picnic. We can pick up some pizza and ice cream from that place by the stadium on our way,” he nodded, talking you through the plan as if he had thought about this deeply, but he didn’t. He was coming up with all this on the fly. “Then tomorrow morning after we wake up, we can go on a little hike in that part by my parent’s house in Athens. It’ll be a drive but we can hike around there since it’s so pretty this time of the year and see my parents, maybe even get lunch with them at our favorite cafe over there before heading back home for dinner tomorrow night. On Sunday, it’s a full lazy day inside. We’re going to stay in our pajamas all day, do a Twilight movie marathon because I remember you saying you want me to watch them with you, order food to the house for lunch and dinner, maybe even bake some cookies or something, and then spend the rest of the day in bed. Preferably with no clothes,” he grinned.

You were left speechless as you looked at him, impressed by how effortlessly he had drafted these plans without considering his own weekend schedule. The sight of him thinking on the spot filled you with affection, and your heart swelled with a mix of emotions.

You leap forward and wrap your arms around his neck as you smother his face with gentle kisses, “I loveeeeee youuuuuuuuu,” you giggle, feeling him wrap his arms around your waist and hearing his soft chuckles in your ear.

“I love you too, baby. You’re the shining force at the center of my galaxy, the light that everything else revolves around. Like the planets drawn to their sun, my life is pulled by your existence, and I know that for us to thrive, our orbit needs to be steady. Every moment with you is a delicate balance of love, trust, and effort–each one keeping us aligned, making sure our world doesn’t drift apart. I’ll protect that balance, making sure that no matter what forces try to interfere, we stay on track, always revolving around the core of what we’ve built together," he says to you, his heartfelt words, his embrace, the genuine look in his eyes all making you fall deeper in love with him.

"This is why I like you so much," you grin as you meet his baby blues, answering his question from earlier.

"What do you mean?" he asks you, licking his lips as he uses his hand to move his hair back.

"I like you because you're the most thoughtful, raw, incredibly well-spoken, smartest, nerdiest, most adorable and manly, genuine person I've ever met in my entire existence. You make me mad sometimes, but you also know exactly how to fix what you did and make everything even better than it was before. You're always making an effort to fix things. Yeah, you can be a dick, asshole, and oblivious idiot sometimes...,".

"Hey!" he gasps, acting like he was offended over what you said.

"But you're my obvious idiot and I love you for everything you are. You love me, like really love me and I know that and you never fail to make me know that. Also because you're like super sexy and I can't get enough of you and that damn eyebrow raise," you giggled.

"Oh, you like that?" he asked, giving you that eyebrow raise again.

"Do that again and we're staying in this bed the rest of the night," you smiled at him and said. "I might even end up pregnant by the end of it,".

Joe was stunned at your words, "Damn, so you really like that," he slowly nodded with a smirk.

"Really may be an understatement. Just know that you don't want to be inside my brain whenever you do that eyebrow raise," you winked. "I don't think we have enough anti-horny spray to get rid of the thoughts in my head,".

"Being perpetually horny is good for the soul, babe. Embrace it," Joe smiled as he leaned in and slowly kissed you in a way that made your toes curl and your body light on fire.

He fell back down against the pillows and brought you down with him. "Joe," you said in between the kiss, "We have to go," you smiled.

"Another round won't hurt," he said while giving you the eyebrow raise again, now knowing what it did to you.

You rolled your eyes, "Fuck, you're going to use that every damn time from now on, aren't you?".

"Maaaybe," he grinned as he brought you back down to his soft lips.

–The End–

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joeburrow #joey burrow #nfl imagine

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pomefioredove · 3 days

Note

helloo! ^^ can I req hcs of dorm leaders + Rollo and neige with a fencer reader? If it's okay with you, ofc!! I really enjoy and love your writing 🫶

ofc and thank you! ^-^

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fencer reader

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, neige, idia, malleus, rollo additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, short

Riddle would be into it. he goes on and on about what a dignified choice of sport that is, how he's always wanted to try it, on and onnn. I just think he's really into swords. he'll ask to watch you practice, all giddy and cute. the guy is genuinely fangirling

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona is like... okayyy. and? you can play with sharp objects? he grew up in a palace surrounded by guards and nobility, he probably had his first sword when he was three

defo challenges you to a duel because he thinks it would be funny. and he WINS

(then he buys you whatever you want as a consolation prize bc he's soft for you)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

[Azul voice] please no weapons or magic in the lounge

...you'll have to demonstrate for the (very eager and interested) tweels outside from now on

Azul will, of course, come to watch. he'd be interested in anything you do, really, because it's you. and watching you try to tell the tweels they can't really kill each other with these kinds of swords is amusing

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim is somehow 100% convinced he can teach himself how to fence within in a week. he thinks you're that cool, and, sevens does he want to play with swords. he probably has a lot of them, too, which Jamil very strongly advises him not to touch (because he has little regard for himself or his surroundings).

Kalim will let you take as many as you want when you come over. he does not know that these aren't the swords you use in fencing

still... um, it's the thought that counts, right?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

like with any sport, Vil can respect your dedication to your passion. and you have really good posture. he would get Epel to join you, but the thought of that boy with access to weapons of any kind, safe or not... yeah

he's nowhere near your level, of course, but he's always happy to help you with any aches or pains from bouts. in return, you can help him rehearse for roles that require swordsmanship. fair enough

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the Neige Leblanche, swooning? yes, actually!! I can't overstate how much of a sucker he is for the whole... dashing and chivalrous thing. it's the sword, yes, but it's also the outfit, the rules, the way you're so... charming. you could pull him 100%

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia is a simple man. he sees someone being really good at a niche sport he knows from his fav manga and anime, and he absolutely trips over himself. literally head over heels. blushing, giggling, et cetera, he's just such a freak about this sort of thing (affectionately)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

ah, Malleus. if anyone here can appreciate swordsmanship in all its forms, it's him. with his royal guard and his knights and his freaky gothic castle...

he'll probably invite you to fence with him, and he completely wipes the floor with you (this is Malleus Draconia we're talking about, after all). but lovingly!

he's having the time of his life :)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

wakey wakey Rollo fans

to be engaged in a non-magical activity, based on agility, wit, and, arguably intelligence, in which there is form and order and rules...

of course, you have his full support

he somehow shows up at all your bouts, is with you before and after practice, and takes his duties as your companion very, very seriously

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #neige leblanche x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #rollo flamme x reader

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eightmakesonebraincell · 16 hours

Text

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.

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starsofang · 3 days

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CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWELVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, heavy topics such as death, blood, and past trauma mentioned masterlist a/n: thank you for all your support while i grow through a difficult time!! i appreciate all of you for being so patient and loving. long chapter for u!! <3

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Ghost didn’t remember much about his childhood. His mind blocked it out for him. But he did remember the pain and suffering he went through at such a young age.

He didn’t deserve that. Seeing his family, massacred in front of him. The blood mixed with the metallic scent that even now seemed to tinge his nose with a nostalgia that made him sick.

He was only a child, yet that was the day Ghost was born within him.

It was like an awakening. He saw how cruel the world could be through a pure lens and it tainted his vision red. Nothing was ever the same that day, and gradually, Simon was forgotten and Ghost was his new muse.

He could recall the nights he spent alone, digging through waste bins and slumping out on the streets like a dead dog. Stealing bread from shop merchants and having to run, barefooted to avoid getting beaten. Freezing to death on the street corner when winter came around and the pure snow covered the ground in a blanket.

It was scary for a boy his age. Dehumanizing. He didn’t deserve that.

He thought he was lucky when a ship crew came along, parading the streets to offer security. A job, a place to sleep, and meals — it seemed perfect for somebody who had absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ghost never saw Simon again after that day. He was lost somewhere at sea, hidden under the roar of waves. Ghost didn’t know where to look for him until soon enough, Simon had disappeared and Ghost replaced him. Graves made sure of that.

A captain, like hell he was. Ghost knew something wasn’t quite right about Graves the moment he met him, yet as a child, he was desperate. Once he was in, it was too late, and the broken pieces of him became completely irreparable.

Graves held a devilish aura about him, one Ghost could practically see radiating around him. Every step he took was one closer to chaos.

No matter the destination, Ghost was held on by a leash with Graves being the handler. The sights Ghost saw, some being from his doing, was something he’d never get back. It was as if reliving that very day where he lost everything.

Living amongst Graves’ crew was worse than living in hell. He would’ve preferred it. To be banished for his sins, to taste the sweet nectar of death, and live his eternity punished. Anything to stray from Graves and his ship.

When he saw the way you looked—the darkness looming over you, the distress in your eyes—he saw himself. And when he saw Graves, he saw the life that was stolen from him.

That red that clouded his lens when he was a child was all he could see. Pure, angry red.

Now, standing in Price’s quarters, that red only grew angrier. This time, for you—for putting you in the same position he’d been stuck in for years.

You didn’t deserve that.

Your mind was a whirlwind of chaos. It was struggling to digest the information given to you. So much at once and you could barely manage to keep yourself together.

Everybody looked sorry for you. Ghost looked enraged. Price was lost. Soap and Gaz were remorseful. It was too much.

You hated that they looked at you like that. You hated when they didn’t look at you like that more. Having them worry, when for the duration of your stay it was like walking on burning rocks, it felt strange.

Their own worry caused yours as well.

“What is that?” you asked. “The mark of death. I— I don’t know what that is. What does that mean?”

You were becoming more frantic. The panic that ensued was growing, and you could tell it bothered Price. He was quick to grasp your shoulders, settling you.

“It’s complicated,” he explained quietly, hushing you. “That man you saw? His name is Phillip Graves. Some call him the Devil of the Seas. He’s a wicked pirate who feeds off of the innocent, their fear. None of us know what he truly is, not even Ghost, but we believe he’s apart of something sinister.”

“What, like he’s sold his soul? Made amends with the Devil? You are talking madness!” you exclaimed, exasperated.

“We are talkin’ truth,” Price corrected. He was as patient as ever, yet still held the firmness of a leader. “He’s that of a reaper. Souls is what he wants. The mark of death is his contract, you may say.”

“But you are not telling me what the mark does,” you cried.

Your head hurt. The world was spinning. You didn’t understand.

“I think it’s quite obvious what the markin’ is, dove,” the Captain said solemnly. “It is only by miracle it hasn’t happened to Ghost yet.”

“So I am to die? Is that it?” You flickered your gaze between each man. Your eyes told a million stories, and each of them were ones of fear and anguish. “I am going to die?”

“No,” Ghost snapped. You looked at him. He seemed as pain as you were, but the anger was taking over logic. “You ain’t dyin’. Not today, not tomorrow. M’not lettin’ it happen.”

“Ghost,” Soap tried, but he was quickly shut down.

“I said no,” he repeated resentfully. “Price, show her the map.”

Price turned to him, stiffening. It seemed he still didn’t quite want to let you know the full truth. Now, you felt it was to protect you rather than leave you out. It was too late for protection.

The Captain silently walked to his desk, pulling open the old drawer with a slam, shaking the table. He pulled out the map you’d seen so long ago, unrolling it and slapping it on the table.

“Come, dove,” he called, and you listened.

The men surrounded the desk with you, staring down at the map. The ink was still the same as it was before—islands crossed out with an X, while one remained circled.

“Suppose it’s time you knew, hm?” he asked, offering the smallest of smiles. You found that you missed his real one. The one he tried to hide when he found a joke of yours humorous.

Your nerves shot up. Your emotions were at an all-time high. You were scared, scared to find out the truth.

“These islands,” he began, tracing his finger along the map to point at the ones with an X, “are all land marked by Graves. Every single one, we went to in search of a medic. The one in the poem, remember?”

The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

You weren’t sure how it linked to you. You’d never met Graves, nor had you met your pirate crew until they took you away. The connection wasn’t there. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes, I remember,” you confirmed quietly. “What does it have to do with me?”

“We searched for a medic from every village, yet when we arrived, they were famished with death, or on the brink of,” he explained. “All of the villages were all succumbin’ to Graves’ mark of death. We think he was attemptin’ to get rid of all villages as much as he could so we wouldn’t be able to find their medics. We don’t know how, but he knows we have the prophecy, and he doesn’t like it.”

“And how do you know the prophecy is related to Graves?” you questioned. “How do you know it relates to me?”

“Ghost got the prophecy a long time ago when he was still on Graves’ ship,” Soap piped in. His hands rested on the table and he leaned over the map, but his eyes bore into yours. “He was searchin’ for answers even then. This is all he got.”

You couldn’t imagine the desperation Ghost must have felt, knowing Graves had him under his despicable spell. Not knowing whether he was going to live or die.

Your heart ached.

“And me?”

The room went silent, as if your words burned a wound in them.

“Your village had the mark, yet nobody had suffered from it,” Gaz said quietly. His eyes were soft when he looked at you with the unmistakable glimmer of pity in them. “We knew you were the one we were lookin’ for.”

“My village was not cursed,” you denied, shaking your head. “There is simply no possibility. We rarely got outsiders unless they were coming to browse the merchants.”

It clicked in your head how quickly it must’ve happened. Graves, visiting your village under the guise of an innocent shopper, gearing his interest towards the various merchants that littered your small streets.

It would’ve been so easy for him. So terribly easy.

Your people died to Price’s crew, but the true evil was the man who gave the pirates reason to ensure a massacre.

“That’s why you did what you did,” you muttered to yourself in disbelief. “You killed them because of him. You killed Mary because of him.”

“The curse would’ve taken over the moment you left,” Gaz explained. “You were the shield protectin’ them without even knowin’. You’re meant to fulfill the prophecy, grantin’ you immunity until we found you.”

All this talk about a prophecy made you want to scream, cry, yell, anything. Why you? Why were you the one chosen, and why did it have to be you?

You wanted your life back. You didn’t want to be apart of this.

Before you knew it, tears welled up in your eyes. They stung, causing you to blink rapidly. You didn’t want to seem weak, but in this moment, you were.

“Dove?” Gaz called out, concerned.

“I don’t want this,” you cried, shaky hands balling into fists. “You—you knew I was apart of this and never told me. You kept me in the dark for this long, you hid me from the truth, and for why?”

“We don’t have all of the information yet, dove, please—” Price began, but you shut him down.

“Bullshit!” you shouted, and he reeled back in surprise. You had been outspoken before, plenty with the Captain especially, but he had never seen you lash out so fiercely. “You took my life away because you assumed I was the one in your ridiculous prophecy on a whim. You took a guess and went with it. I am hardly a proper medic, let alone worthy enough to be that person for you, so why have you chosen me?”

“You must understand, you were the only medic left alive,” Price defended. “We had no choice. We did what we had to do.”

“At my expense,” you argued.

“At all of our expense,” he retorted. “I did not care for your life when we stole it. I did not care for it when you were locked in the brig. I cared for Simon’s.”

You fell silent, whipping your head to look at Ghost. You’d heard Price call him Simon before, by a slip-up, but now he had said it purposely. Ghost simply looked away, arms crossed over his chest.

All that talk before and now, at your aid, he was as quiet as a street mouse.

“Without you, he will die. We do not know when. Graves hasn’t killed him due to the thrill of holdin’ his life in his hands. It’s a toy to him. He can take his life away at any moment, and I would not allow that, even if it meant ruinin’ yours.”

Price’s cheeks were reddened from the frustration and helplessness he was feeling. He was a Captain trying to save his crew’s life, uncaring of yours—in the beginning, at least.

Now, the mere thought of losing both had him kneeling like a pitiful dog to the Devil of the Seas.

“I do not wish to be here,” you murmured, taking a step back. Soap opened his mouth to retort, but you silenced him. “I need to be alone.”

The Captain gave you a sad smile, nodding his head. He was respecting your wishes.

“As you wish,” he agreed, and you made your way out of the suffocating quarters, returning to your shared one with Gaz and Soap.

“Dove,” a voice called out. It was quiet, like it was whispering, yet to you, it sounded loud. You hated its voice.

It was black. Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the light, no matter how much you shifted them to look around.

Your body felt heavy, as if something was weighing on you. Your lungs were tight, and when you opened your mouth for air, nothing came in. You slapped your hands over your throat, clawing at the skin.

Why couldn’t you breathe? You felt like you were drowning. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t take in an ounce of air, and you could feel your lungs beginning to protest.

A cold panic came over you, like an icy wave consuming you in its dangerous waters. You tried to move your legs, but they were stuck. They were too heavy.

All you could do was helplessly paw at your throat, praying to gasp for a breath, praying that the Gods had mercy on you.

“Dove,” it whispered once more. Where had you heard the voice before? You knew it, but your mind was blanking from the lack of oxygen.

“I’ll be seeing you, dove,” it mocked.

Dove. Dove. Dove.

“Dove!”

You shot awake, a sharp gasp invading your lungs. The burning in your chest was harsh, and it was as if you truly hadn’t been breathing.

Coming to, you blinked the groggy confusion away, lifting a hand to wipe at your eyes.

Soap peered down at you, his eyebrows knitted worriedly. His hands were on each side of your shoulders, as if he’d shaken you awake, and when you realized you had been asleep, you only guessed that’s what he was doing.

“I kept callin’ ye but ye weren’t wakin’,” he said wearily. “Are y’alright?”

You glanced around the room, taking it in. Gaz’s bed. The clothes strewn on the floor. The mess on the small desk that you’d never seen occupied.

You were no longer suffocating in darkness. It was a mere dream—no, a nightmare. A terror.

You were safe.

“I don’t know,” you confessed breathily, still catching air.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you recalled the nightmare. You couldn’t remember the voice, not when you were fearing a death that was merely fake, but you knew now.

“Tell me,” Soap urged gently, taking a seat next to you on the bed. You sat up to join him, frowning at the floor. “It’s okay.”

You risked looking up at him, searching his eyes. They were soft whenever they looked at you, and they’d been like that since the beginning. He was always patient, even when you did things that cost him a scolding from Price.

You felt like you could trust him, more than any of them.

“It was that man,” you explained. “Graves. I think he is messing with my head. I dreamt of dying, like… like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. The whole time, I could hear his voice, calling me out. Mocking me.”

Soap listened carefully, taking in every one of your words. He cared, that much you could tell, and the situation weighed heavy on him. The worry lines on his face were proof.

Graves was tormenting with your mind, feeding into your fear. He knew you were terrified, and he enjoyed it. The way he mimicked what he told you, whispering it the same as before, it sent chills down your spine and made your blood run cold.

You understood now why Ghost was always a mystery—because he was scared, too. He just hid it better.

“I am scared,” you confessed shakily. “I do not want to die.”

“And ye won’t,” he assured, but you shook your head.

“You do not know that,” you argued. “None of you do. You have not given me a chance at life. I am stuck in this without a choice, and I am the new target. It’s not fair.”

Soap’s expression dropped into one of guilt. His focus shifted away from you, avoiding your eye, before returning back to you.

“It’s not,” he agreed quietly. “We’ve done to ye what Graves did to Ghost. Treatin’ ye like—like burdening scum, like ye don’t matter. I can’t express to ye how sorry I am for everythin’.”

You didn’t want an apology, but you accepted it nonetheless. It was the first anybody had truly apologized for the mess you were thrown into. Maybe it was something you needed without realizing. You felt a sliver of weight lifted.

“I never had a family,” you told him, staring down at your feet that hung over the side of the bed. The shoes Soap surprised you with stared back at you. “The village did not like my values or my lifestyle. It was hard being an outcast there, but it is even harder here.”

“Yer not an outcast.”

Looking back up at him, you found him smiling, a faint sparkle twinkling back at you.

“Not anymore. We thought ye were a little strange in the beginning, though,” he said, the end of his sentence bordering a tease.

You couldn’t stop your own smile from forming. Despite carrying the crushing weight of the world’s worries, as well as growing a headache with every word spoken from each of them ever since your arrival, you found yourself growing more fond over them the longer you lingered.

It’d been a bumpy road, and there were still miles ahead of you, waiting to unravel. But you couldn’t fully convince yourself that there wasn’t a part of you, yearning to belong with them.

“You are all very strange,” you retorted lightly. “I have never met such people as you before.”

“Thank ye.”

“It was not a compliment.”

Soap snorted, shaking his head at the banter. “The Captain is bitin’ tooth and nail in his quarters, thinkin’ he fucked this all up with ye. Never seen him that worried before, but with Graves bein’ around again, I don’t blame him.”

The statement caught you off guard, and you found yourself curious. “He is worried for me?”

Soap eyed you strangely, as if it had been obvious the whole time. “Ach. ‘Course he is. Cap’s got a good heart, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

“I did not realize he cared for me after everything,” you confessed.

Soap hummed, looking down at his trousers and picking at a loose thread. “We all do.”

You stared at him dumbly, cocking your head in question when he didn’t elaborate. You had become acquainted with them, surely, you lived with them now after all, but you weren’t aware they truly cared.

When Price had told you they’d grown fond of you, you didn’t quite believe it. You assumed it was his way of convincing you to trust him, but it seemed that wasn’t the truth.

The two of you sat in silence, staring anywhere but at each other. The awkwardness grew, and it felt strange to feel that when the relationships had been too uptight even consider having those moments.

You took the time to weigh out your options. The Captain being worried, especially over messing things up with you, had you in a turmoil.

As much as you wanted to deny the path chosen for you unwillingly, you felt an obligation to please them. Yet, not in the way you initially thought.

You didn’t want to let them down.

Maybe you truly were as strange as Soap thought.

“Is he still in there?” you asked Soap. He perked up, nodding his head.

“Aye. He’ll be rottin’ in there before we know it.”

You pursed your lips, facing that inner battle once more before coming to a conclusion. “Would you like to join me, then?”

Soap raised his eyebrows, watching you stand from the bed. You shot him a warm smile, tilting your head at his confusion.

“For?” he asked.

“You all need a medic,” you said, giving a nonchalant shrug. “And I do not wish to die by the hands of a filthy pirate such as Graves. I am in this now, so I suppose I’ll simply have to deal with it, am I correct?”

Soap’s smile slowly grew at your sudden courage, standing up to join you. He reached out for you, and once you became confused, he looped your arm with his, grinning down at you.

“Sure are, dove. I’ll come with ye.”

The Captain looked a mess when you entered his quarters with Soap. Ghost was beside him where Price sat at his desk, the map and prophecy still scattered on the table. The two of them were speaking hushed to one another, yet when the door opened and you stepped in, they went silent.

“She wanted to be alone, Soap,” Price protested, but you quickly shook your head, taking a step closer to the desk.

“It’s alright,” you assured. “I have had time to think.”

Price’s eyebrows raised and he glanced at Gaz for a brief moment before returning to you. “I see,” he hummed, nodding. “I have as well.”

You cocked your head, eyebrows furrowing. He gestured for Ghost and Soap to step out of the room, requesting privacy, and the sudden realization that you would in fact have to speak after your outburst made your nerves to churn.

Ghost gave your shoulder a light squeeze as he walked behind Soap, catching you off guard. When you looked at him, he stared forward, avoiding your gaze.

The door clicked shut as they left, and you stood uncomfortably in place, shifting on the balls of your feet.

“I owe you an apology,” Price began. “A true one. I may be a Captain, and I know in those regards, I come off rather violent. I can be a brute, I will admit, but I am also a man who knows times when he is right and wrong.”

He stood up from his chair, circling around the desk to face you. He leaned against the old wood, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. Upon quick inspection, you saw the faint smoke of his cigar swirling in its ashtray.

“I should not have treated you so unkindly since the beginning. I should have considered how scared you must have been, how alone it must feel,” he continued, eyes drifting off for a moment as if deep in perplexing thought. “I do not apologize for doin’ what I thought was right in that time to save my own, but I do feel sorrow for what transpired in your time bein’ here.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if Ghost had been the reasoning for this. He wasn’t a man of many words, but you knew the respect him and Price had for one another. It was safe to assume he’d speak with him privately regarding everything.

“I’d like to apologize as well,” you began, but Price stood up straight, quick to raise his hands in protest.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for—”

“I am sorry for lashing out the way I did earlier,” you cut off. Price stopped, lips pressing together. His gaze remained stuck on you, now that you had his attention. “It does not excuse what you have done to me, and I see you have realized that. If this is to be my life, I wish for compromise rather than seclusion.”

Price didn’t say anything at first. His eyes darted over your face, taking in your features. He saw the calmness you held compared to when you were last in his quarters.

You didn’t seem defeated, nor did you seem to simply agree for the sake of him and the others. You wanted this for yourself.

“I will grant you that,” he agreed in a hum, nodding once. “I do not wish for you to feel out of place no longer. You have had enough of that, I believe.”

You took in his words, and they made you smile. It was what you wanted to hear—no angry exchanges, no selfish banter. A simple compromise, one you both wanted.

“Graves came to me in a dream,” you told him. His expression soured. “I believe there will be plenty more instances where he will do that. Based off of what you have told me about him, I do not want to prolong his presence longer than I must. So, I’d like to be of help.”

Just as quickly as Price grew tense at the mention of Graves, he calmed down, shoulders relaxing when he realized your implications.

“Soap has not convinced you, yes?” he asked, uncertain. “This is your call. I may have taken you due to my own selfishness, but I give you the choice now. You do not have to be a part of it if you do not want. You are part of us now, but this is not your battle.”

“It is,” you disagreed, though remained a calm composure. For the first time around Price, you felt at ease in the same room. “If I am to be part of your crew, your family, then your battles are my battles. I may not have had a family, but I am certain that’s how it works. Does it not?”

Price stared at you; expression unreadable. It took mere moments for his lips to slowly curl up, granting you one of his rare smiles that seemed to radiate a certain light you’d never seen before. It caused your heart to pick up, though you were unclear as to why.

“That is how it works with us, dove,” he agreed softly. “Your battles are ours. You can count on it.”

“Wonderful,” you cheered with a smile of your own. “Shall we continue what wasn’t finished before, then?”

Price chuckled low under his breath, his amusement growing the longer you stuck around. He nodded, tapping his desk and calling you to it.

“Come on, dove.”

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matrixbearer2024 · 2 days

Text

Imagine Ford with baby fever, he isn't really hit with it at the start as you had both just moved to gravity falls at the time. Despite being engaged fresh out of university, he told himself he was going to take his time with you. The both of you were young and ambitious, you both had plenty of time left.

Compared to him, you were pretty touchy and cuddly since coming to gravity falls. Ford supposed it had a lot to do with the engagement, which you were both still running a high from. It was difficult for him to completely focus on his research when you would randomly butt into his mind, his journals would have drawings or entries on you scattered about and you found that adorable.

You were more excited than him to plan your wedding, but Ford was the one more obsessed over it happening at all. He didn't think he would get to this point, much less with someone to have and hold; cherish through joy and sorrow for the rest of his days.

During one of your little expeditions through the forest(you were collecting fungal specimens to study while your lover was doing who knows what-) you both stumbled across a little kid crying in a clearing. The toddler was most likely only a couple years old and wailing for their parents.

Predictably, your fiancé stood there scratching the back of his neck awkwardly not entirely knowing what to do. Even if he was an older brother, it was only by a short while to a twin. So you figured it made sense that he didn't know what he was doing. Even so, Stanford rarely talked about his brother happily- more like somber or spiteful so you rarely brought it up when talking about relatives.

You weren't so fond of your family yourself, born to a house of multiples on multiples of children- your father's plan was to simply marry you off to someone old and wealthy to leech off that. You already knew how that ended up with your sisters and didn't want to fall into the same situation.

So you studied your ass off, but because your old man didn't want to support you through university- you ended up grasping at straws but at Backupsmore where you met the man who promised you forever. Somehow you felt like it was likely a better outcome than even if things went as planned.

Sure, he was kind of an asshole at the start as your academic rival- but you both learned to get along after a while. Acquaintances became friends and that friendship bloomed into romance, the rest is history.

Imagine the adoring look in Ford's eyes when you managed to gently comfort the child and calm them down. Apparently they had wandered too far from a nearby campsite and got lost, it didn't take long for the both of you to return the toddler to their parents and you ended up with a marigold in your hair as thanks.

It was that moment seeing you with the kid in your arms that Stanford's thoughts suddenly crashed to the side with a loud and adamant needwish to have a family with you. Which just as immediately both flustered and terrified him, most of the developments in your relationship with him happen this way. It's kind of as if this man is hilariously allergic to anything new.

Since that day he started being equally as clingy with you. From hugging you from behind as you cooked the both of you breakfast to practically developing a sixth sense to when you pull away from him in your shared bed. Having a living space heater for a partner was great in the cold months, but during the warmer months you sometimes wanted to kick Stanford out of the bed since you were baking from his warmth.

Sometimes he would catch you staring at some baby items when you both went to the store and that just worsened his already crippling yearning. Unintentionally he ended up making more rooms in the cabin than needed, you were surprised by the amount of space, not to mention you and Ford weren't exactly sure at the time what to use the rooms for. Partially you wondered how Ford was able to build the shack in such a way that the inside seemed much larger than the outside.

He went into a full blown infodump about a time-space anomaly on the land that he kind of abused Dr. Who style to actually make the inside of the house bigger than it actually is.

The touchiness festered and grew over the couple months towards the date of your planned wedding to make things official. It wasn't to say that you both haven't ever had sex, but there was something different about the hunger and electric desire that crackled between the both of you building up to that day.

The couple times you joked about having kids with your fiancé had him stuck between looking worried and turned on. Good thing you were both at home since you didn't exactly know what to make of it before he kissed the daylights out of you.

The wedding was small and quaint, neither of you had ever been one to flamboyantly show off anyway so it was just a ceremony to finalize things, you both opted to just remain in gravity falls for your honeymoon as well since it was just more convenient.

It was mostly friends who came to celebrate, the two of you opting not to invite your families given the less than savory situations you had with them. It really was the best day of your lives, you also had the photographer to thank for capturing the memories so well.

Stanford couldn't even keep his hands off you during the party, always having a hand on the small of your back or around your waist. Likewise, you couldn't stop leaning on him or hanging off his arm. Even during Fiddleford's best man speech, you'd met the man back in BMU and to say he and your fiancé/now husband got along like peas in a pod was an understatement.

You were barely listening to whatever was said though, far too entranced in the man who you were married to as he laughed or grew bashful of the things said about him. Stanford almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the intensity of the desire in your eyes, a flame to light fireworks and you were both sure come midnight explosions were sure to set off.

It didn't come as a surprise to anyone that after a couple weeks you were sick as a dog, puking and getting random bouts of dizziness that had Stanford in a panic since he couldn't pinpoint why. A quick trip to the hospital later and then came the news, you weren't poisoned, injured or dying, you were just pregnant!

Ford immediately fainted upon hearing those words, you still have no idea if it was the overwhelming shock or the joy.

#gravity falls #gravity falls stanford #stanford pines #ford #ford pines #gf stanford #gravity falls ford #grunkle ford #gravity falls au #ford x reader #ford x you #gf ford #stanford pines x you #stanford x you #stanford #stanford x reader #stanford pines x reader #FordFamilyAU

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tarotwithavi · 2 days

Text

What is coming into your life?

+ some messages that you need to hear

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•��̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

This is a general reading so take what resonates and leave the rest.

Masterlist

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Thank you so much for your love and support 💕🫶🏻

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 1

The first thing I’m getting is that many of you have been focusing on personal growth, and it’s paying off. I see a lot of you realizing that you’re truly capable of achieving anything you set your mind to. You’re stepping into a powerful energy of self-confidence and self-love, and this shift is going to attract a lot of good things into your life.

Keep your eyes open for new ideas, projects, or invitations that come your way. Whether it’s a sudden thought or an offer to attend an event, these opportunities could be really beneficial for you. Trust your instincts.

Some of you might be considering doing something that no one in your family has done before. This could be a bold move or a unique choice. I want to encourage you to take that leap. By doing so, you will break a cycle of family patterns, especially around standing up for yourself and your dreams. It’s a brave step, but it’s one that will bring healing and growth.

I’m also picking up that some of you will soon spend quality time with an important male figure in your life. This could be your father, grandfather, or someone you look up to with strong masculine energy. This time together will feel meaningful and may even strengthen your relationship. Some of you are thinking about having an important conversation with your parents. This could be about expressing gratitude for everything they’ve done for you, or it could be about something else on your mind. Either way, I see this discussion changing perspectives in a positive way, bringing deeper understanding.

I also sense that many of you will receive a new opportunity related to making more money. This might come through a job offer, a project, or a chance to use your talents in a way that allows you to earn from them. This is a great time to explore how your skills can be turned into something valuable.

However, I do feel that some of you are worried or stressed about something, particularly when it comes to the outcome of an exam, test, or project. Let me reassure you—you don’t need to worry. The results will be positive, and you’ll feel satisfied with how things turn out.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 2

You need to stop giving your time and energy to people who don’t appreciate or value you. If you are in a position where you can protect and care for the people you love, then do so without overthinking the outcome. However, if you’re not in a place to make decisions for them, it’s important not to try and control everything. Remember, before you can protect or help others, you need to protect yourself first. Secure your own place, take care of your own well-being, and then you can support those around you.

It’s also important to understand that you don’t always have to be strong. It’s okay to just be yourself. You don’t need to carry the weight of everyone else’s problems. Be honest about how you feel, and don’t be afraid to show vulnerability.

I see that many of you are incredibly talented, with unique skills and gifts. But what’s holding you back is your own self-doubt. You might feel like your talents won’t be appreciated or recognized, so you keep them hidden. But how will you ever find people who truly appreciate you if you don’t share what makes you special? Take this as a sign to put yourself out there. Show your talents to the world so you can connect with those who truly see your worth and value your skills.

For some of you, there’s a big change coming. You may be pushed in a new direction or forced to change the path you’re currently on because it’s no longer good for you. Don’t see this as a bad thing; instead, view it as an opportunity for growth and self-improvement. This change could lead you to a better version of yourself.

I also sense that some of you are stuck in a confusing or unstable relationship. The person you’re talking to or have feelings for might be giving you mixed signals , one moment they seem totally in love with you, and the next, they act like you don’t matter to them. If this is the case, it’s important to recognize that this is not a healthy situation. When someone’s actions make you doubt yourself, it’s a clear sign that something isn’t right. It’s better to walk away now, before it hurts you more in the long run.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 3

I see that in the coming weeks, you’re going to need to work very hard on something important. This could be related to a project, job, or personal goal you’ve been focused on. However, all this hard work might take a toll on your health, so it’s important to be extra careful and take good care of yourself. Don’t push yourself too hard. If you feel stressed or overwhelmed, make sure to take small breaks when needed. Remember, it’s okay to slow down sometimes.

The good news is that what you’re working on ; whether it’s something you’re involved with now or something you’ll start soon , is something you’ve been wanting for a long time. You’ve probably dreamed about this moment, so stay positive and trust the process.

I feel the need to remind you that you are deeply loved by the higher power, whether you believe in God, the universe, or Mother Nature. No matter how many mistakes you make or how unworthy you may feel at times, you are always loved and supported. You are part of something greater, and that love is unconditional.

Now, take a moment to think of a yes-or-no question that’s been on your mind. The answer to that question is “no.” This might be the guidance you need to help you move forward.

Back to the main message, something significant is going to happen within the next few weeks. I would say by the end of this month or the first week of October, you’ll experience an event that will bring up strong emotions. It could be overwhelming happiness or sadness, but either way, the feelings will be intense. Be prepared, and try not to let the situation control how you react. Stay calm and centered, no matter what comes your way.

Also, a little advice: some of you need to wear more yellow or add yellow to your wardrobe. This color might bring positive energy into your life. If you’ve been feeling unwell, like having a fever or headache, I see that it will likely pass within 48 hours. But if you’ve been having constant headaches, don’t ignore them ,it might be time to see a doctor just to be safe.

Lastly, angel wings and a purple or pink dress will be meaningful symbols for you, so keep an eye out for them. They might show up in your life in some special way.

I also feel like adding this

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

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theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter · 2 days

Text

Chaos in the Changing Room 👟🏟

Ingrid Engen x Reader

warning : fluffy 💭 💗

summary :

You go into the changing room to give Ingrid her shoes she forgot in your bag. You never expect the level of caos that was happening between these walls.

It had been a typical match day, and you were always there, supporting Ingrid from the stands. The energy at the stadium was electric, and the team was buzzing with excitement after their win. As you made your way out of the stadium, you realized something. Ingrid had left her shoes in your bag. With a sigh and a small smile, you decided to drop them off in the locker room before heading to the parking lot.

Making your way through the hallways of the stadium, you could hear faint laughter and chatter from the changing room as you approached. The door was slightly open, and you hesitated for a moment before knocking.

"Come in!" a voice yelled from inside.

You pushed open the door cautiously, shoes in hand, only to be greeted by utter chaos. Clothes were scattered everywhere, music was blasting from a speaker in the corner, and players were either dancing, shouting, or draping themselves across the benches in various states of post-match exhaustion.

"Uh… hi?" you called out, trying to spot Ingrid in the madness.

"Oh hey, you’re Ingrid’s girl, right?" A cheerful voice piped up from across the room. It was Mapi, grinning at you as she pointed. "She’s over there. Probably forgot something again, huh?"

You nodded, smiling awkwardly as you stepped further into the room. "Yeah, her shoes. She always leaves them behind."

Mapi laughed, and just as you were about to hand the shoes over to her, you felt a friendly arm wrap around your shoulder.

"Look who we have here!" someone announced loudly.

You turned to see Lucy Bronze, a wide smile on her face as she guided you further into the heart of the changing room. "You’ve made it to the chaos zone now, no turning back!"

"Lucy, leave her alone," Ingrid’s voice called out from across the room, sounding both amused and slightly exasperated. She was sitting on the bench, tying her hair back, clearly having just come out of the shower.

Your heart skipped a beat seeing her, even in the midst of this chaos. Her eyes caught yours, and she smiled softly as you approached.

"Hey, you forgot these," you said, holding out her shoes.

Ingrid groaned playfully. "I swear, I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached."

As you handed them over, Ingrid leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek, but before you could even respond, another voice chimed in.

"Wait, wait, wait! Is this the Ingrid’s mysterious partner we’ve heard so much about?" Alexia, the captain herself, stood up from the bench, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as suddenly all eyes were on you. "I—uh…"

"Relax, we’re only teasing," Alexia said, laughing as she gave you a friendly pat on the back. "We’ve been dying to meet the person who keeps Engen grounded."

"Grounded?" Ingrid repeated with mock offense, standing up now. "Am I that bad?"

The rest of the team burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with them. Suddenly, you were enveloped in the friendly chaos of the squad. Being teased by Mapi, roped into a joke by Lucy, and even pulled into a celebratory dance circle by Keira.

For a moment, you forgot why you had even been nervous about coming into the locker room in the first place. This wasn’t just a team; this was a family, and they had welcomed you with open arms.

Eventually, Ingrid made her way back over to you, sliding an arm around your waist as the squad slowly started to wind down from their post-match high.

"Thanks for bringing these," she murmured, holding up the shoes with a sheepish grin.

"Anytime," you replied softly, leaning into her warmth.

As you looked around at the lively, spirited squad around you, you realized just how lucky you were. Not just to be with Ingrid, but to be embraced by the people she called her second family.

"Ready to head out?" Ingrid asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Yeah, let’s get out of this chaos before they rope us into something else," you joked, glancing over at Mapi, who was now challenging Lucy to some kind of ridiculous dance-off.

Hand in hand, you both made your way toward the door, leaving behind the whirlwind that was the changing room, your heart full from the laughter and love shared in that chaotic but wonderful space.

#barca x reader #woso x reader #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #fc barcelona #fc barca #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #mapi leon #alexia putellas #lucy bronze #keira walsh

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kinley-cafe · 19 hours

Text

The 118 has been incredibly supportive of Buck and Tommy's small business. They stop by on their free time to help out, they taste test menu items, and they give all the love and encouragement they can.

One day, Buck is finally able to get everyone at the café before their shifts. Everyone's having a nice time being together, and Eddie and Chimney are at the table, taste testing a new treat Tommy whipped up.

Buck just couldn't wait to capture this perfect moment with so many important people in one place.

Buck shakes the Polaroid and stares at it for a few moments, wishing this could last a little bit longer.

"I've got an idea. If-if you guys are interested."

Naturally, they're thrilled by the idea and they all agree that every weekend for the next few weeks, they'll come in and help with deliveries!

This means you'll be able to have Buck, Tommy, Chimney, Eddie, Hen, Bobby or Ravi deliver your weekend treats from the Kinley Café!

Be sure to place your orders by Friday, 8PM Eastern Time if you want them delivered this weekend!

➠ 　　　MENU (With new menu items!) ⌞⌝ ORDER NOW

Thank you Hunny for the artwork!

#118 @ the cafe #kc events #kinley cafe #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bobby nash #eddie diaz #hen wilson #ravi panikkar #chimney han

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yun-fangz · 24 hours

Text

Yunho twitter links — Dom ver.

Pairing: Yunho x fem!reader

a/n: ahhhh finally, we've come to the end of this series. 🥹 I would like to say thank you for all your support and love on each of these posts, i'm very happy you enjoyed these just as much i have had making them. as im finishing this up, i will be returning to writing as much as i can, however, i will most likely be making a much shorter pt.2 for this in a couple of months. enjoy ✨

masterlist.

warnings + links under cut! mdni 18+ content below.

warnings/tags: big dick!yunho, mean yunnie, heavy dom/sub dynamics, size kink, fingering, punishments, cunnilingus, semi-public, perv!yunho, lots of fondling, manhandling, mirror sex, gamer!yunho, being referred to as a "toy", praise, brat taming, slight breeding kink, body worship

yunho loves to take his time playing with you. he'd massage your tits as he rubs circles into your clit, loving the way you squirm on his hard-on. once he gets impatient, he's pull your panties to the side to work you on his fingers. link.

whenever you act out a little too boldly in public, yunho has no problem pulling you into the nearest private area and bending you over. He'd tower over your form as he fucks you harshly, reminding you who's really in charge. link.

yunho loves teasing you through your panties. this time he has you standing upright as he licks and sucks at your clit through the silky piece of cloth covering it. he'd feel as your knees begin to shake and nearly buckle as he ruins yet another pair of your panties. link.

riding yunho. the way your cunt stretches around and grips his thick girth has yunho going feral. he could feel every pulse and drag of your walls as you work yourself on him. link.

perv!yunho "accidentally" spraying you with water when he really just wanted to see the now transparent fabric cling to your tits. as you're cleaning up, he'd sneak up behind you as he circles his arms around your chest, playing with you through the damp fabric. link.

punishments with yunho. you'd been awfully bratty and cranky all day, replying dryly or just flat out ignoring him. once he returns home, he'd sit down as he silently manhandles you to where he wants before spanking you harshly, ignoring your pleads for mercy just as you ignored him before. link.

yunho tying you up to play with as he pleases. he'd think you look so gorgeous tied up, like a pretty little present wrapped up for him to play with. the way you writhed as he toyed with your cunt made him impossibly harder, loving how small and helpless you were under him. link.

if yunho ever gets too worked up over a game, you're always more than happy to help. crawling under his gaming desk, you position your open mouth over his cock, allowing his hand to guide you down the length of it. link.

if yunho heard you speak badly about yourself, he'd strip and put you in front of a mirror as he trails his hands along your skin. he'd massage his hands along each part of your flesh, going from your tits to your pulsing clit as he reminds you just how beautiful you are to him. link.

monstercock!yunho splitting you open each time he fucks you. he'd coo softly as he pushes himself to the hilt, drinking up each hiccup and cry that leaves your lips. he'd give you time to adjust before rocking himself softly against you, building up the pace little by little until he's pumping himself in and out of you manically. link.

bonus:

the kind of videos yunho would send you to tease and rile you up while he's away. link.

yunho making you squirt all over his sheets. link.

him holding you steady as he pumps his seed into you link.

the perfect stress relief for yunho. link.

#yun fangz.works 🪦#ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fics #ateez imagines #ateez fanfiction #ateez writing #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #yunho x reader #yunho smut #yunho hard hours #yunho hard thoughts

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eustassslut · 1 day

Note

🌈~

Hi c': I saw that your requests were open! I was wondering if it's possible to request a Luffy, Law, Kid, and Zoro(separately)(if you can't add Zoro, that's fine!) with a s/o that's basically deemed a Nobody? They have no devil fruit, no special Haki skills or some super power hidden gift. The most they can do is doodle every now and then and that's it.

The main prompt is basically their "Nobody" s/o doodles their boyfriend(s) in their spare time, and gifts them the drawings c': They know that it may not do much, but their love language is showering them in drawn sketches of them(almost like a little kid aha)

Luffy is the biggest hype-man and supporter of any hobby you might have.

He regularly asks the other Strawhats for advice on what art supplies to buy you with his left over money.

He also keeps every sketch you've ever given him in a special box that he asked Usopp to make him so they're kept dafe. Will ask you to paint on the box so its extra special.

If you ever showed him any new sketches or doodles you've done, he'll beg you to let him keep them as well.

Whenever you draw him, he gets really happy and becomes even more hyper than normal. He'll be desperate shows everyone on the crew the doodles you've made of him.

Wants you to draw him doing literally everything, from going to the toilet and holding a bug to him as a bug and eating meat.

Repeatedly makes you promise you'll draw him reaching Laughtale and becoming King of the Pirates.

Luffy also boasts to everyone who will listen about you and randomly starts up conversations with strangers or his allies about you and your art supplies.

Frames everything...or he tries to before Nami tells him they have no space to store it all.

Carries some of drawings and doodles you've done of him everywhere so he can show off if he has a chance, he'll be fighting an old enemy and will pause to ask if they want to see something cool.

You have a fan in Crocodile now though who is quite invested in your art journey; but you're not sure if that's because of the rumours he's your boyfriend's parent or if it’s because the older man just enjoys art.

But if anyone was to interrupt or insult you by calling you a nobody or implying he deserves better, he'd go completely feral and has to be pulled away by you so he doesn't try to fight them.

Strong believer in earning the right to have dreams and earn a reputation for your skills so he doesn't really care if you're seen as a nobody (he still hates hearing it said to you or him though) because he used to be one as well when he started his journey.

Luffy is nothing but your biggest fan and he hopes everyone will one day see the same value and talent he sees in you.

Law acts like nothing you do effects him and that you don't get under his skin, but it's always obvious upon looking closely at him just how flustered he gets each time you hand him one of your drawings.

Will just say "thank you, it's lovely" or "thank you, you're so talented my love" and give you a kiss before putting it in his desk draw, showing he appreciates it but not on the same scale as Luffy or Kid.

However, you will later find your drawings pinned to his fridge or tucked away in medical textbooks as Law uses them for motivation to work hard so he can impress you in return.

Law struggles a little bit to show love for you, having lost so many loves ones so young but he tries his best to show through his actions that he thinks you're talented and that he really appreciates being given anything you do.

Gets drunk on one occasion and cries to you about how he's scared he'll forget what his family looked like overtime, then cries harder when you ask him to describe them so you can draw them for him.

Keeps the sketches of his family and Corazon on his desk, next to a drawing of you and him since he wants everyone he loves to be together in one place.

Very much a man who uses his actions to prove he loves you and sees your talent. He'll clear out some of his medical books for any books on art he can find and always makes sure he cares a sketchbook and materials for you in case you want to draw.

At the end of the day Law loves you for you, he doesn't care if you have no devil fruit or if you're perceived as a 'nobody'. He probably even prefers that you prefer quietly sitting nearby or on the Polar Tang because it means he always knows you're safe.

He's not like Luffy though and he will not try to fight anyone if they called you one to his face but he would threaten them and reassure you in private that you're not a nobody, instead you're the most important person in his life to him.

The king of insanely loud cringe worthy support and also gift giving back to support your hobby.

When you first show you like to draw, Kid would clear out some space in his workshop so you can have your own studio to quietly draw if need.

He sees quality time together as very important so he wants to quietly sit and do your respective hobbies together; pausing to show each other what you're both doing and exchange compliments.

Will try to copy any doodles you do and make metalwork versions out of them. Definitely makes you a necklace with a metal copy of a doodle you drew of you and him kissing.

Encourages you to paint on his bedroom walls if you want to and also to draw on tables.

Insists you sign all of your sketches and doodles so they're official.

Claims he needs to make sure he has the biggest art collection so that when you become famous he will be extra rich and he can add art collector to his long list of achievements (aka his crimes).

Definitely calls you the worst nicknames you've ever heard in your life, like his gorgeous talented artistic boopsie bear and the ball wrangler of all art. Genuinely means them as compliments to uplift you as well.

Loves giving you excuses to draw so he gives you awful prompts out of the blue and a time limit.

Kid will ask you to draw his crew so he can always have proof they sailed together and keeps those drawings in his bedroom.

Will try to frame everything he can like Luffy would, but he does have limits and eventually just invests in a big set of drawers designed for storing art.

Refuses to steal art supplies because he believes in supporting artists so he makes sure to take you art supply shopping and then leaves tips.

Casually has a very good reputation now in the art world and they all really admire you for winning him over with your art.

But thoughts and prayers for anyone who ever calls you a nobody, they're about to get beaten up almost to the brink of death. It's a bold decision to say anything about you in front of him.

Kid doesn't care if you're seen as weak or powerless and art is seen as the only thing you have going for you. He likes being able to keep you safe and protect you but recognising you're not strong (especially compared to him since he's literally a beast) is very different to seeing you as a nobody.

Zoro is probably such a mess when it comes to supporting your hobby but he's trying his best for you and at the end of the day you know he sees you as the most important person in his life.

I feel like the first time you draw something and give it to him, its a doodle of Chopper and him on a napkin at dinner and when you sheepishly give it to him as a way of showing your affection he'd accidentally use it.

Just so oblivious that he does not realise why everyone at the table is staring at him in horror and you look like you might laugh or cry. Eventually looks down and apologises so much when he notices, claiming the stains on it make it even more special because it adds to value??

Does not understand art at all.

Zoro can tell that you're talented though and recognises your passion so he tries his best to support you with verbal praises and his actions.

However, he's so emotionally constipated its insane; literally does not how to express his affection for you without either being a sassy little bitch or just coming across insane.

Like you could mention you like roses and he'll come back the next time you dock with a full rose bush he's torn out of someone's garden by its roots, but then say you can throw it away if you want. He's just a weird feral man.

He'd probably learn how to make paper so you could have drawing materials (he also has no money so he has to adapt to the obstacles ahead).

Commissions you to draw several new horrific wanted poster versions of Sanji to torment the blonde with. Sanji can't get mad at you though because he thinks you're talented and likes that you get to practise.

Is very similar to Kid and likes when you sit in the lookout nest and quietly draw whilst he trains beside you. He does pose a little because he knows sometimes you like to draw him and he wants you to get his best angles.

Tries to call you talented every time he talks about you or talks to you. Zoro is very verbal about how incredible you are.

Will not tolerate anyone calling you a nobody (he will beat them up if you want him too) and it hurts him the most if you call yourself one because he knows what its like to feel inferior to those stronger.

You don't need to fight anyways since you have him but if you want to learn he'll teach you in exchange for more horrific Sanji doodles.

Your talent is more then enough to eventually earn a reputation anyways so who cares if you can't fight or you're weaker.

King of pep talks and reminds you constantly you don't have to be strong to be important, you just need to believe in yourself.

No matter what he's always in your corner and supports you in his own silly weird ways.

buy me a coffee | ao3 | tiktok

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jinnie-ret · 2 days

Text

we are family

stray kids x fem!reader (platonic)

genre: fluff

content warnings: alcohol mentions

word count: 1.7k

summary: having one brother in stray kids means you have 7 other brothers too

requested: @turtledove824

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was fun being the youngest in the Kim family, having the best of both worlds with both an older sister and older brother, the two of them having the same supportive, playful energy as you did. Along with this, having 7 other older brothers practically adopt you as their own sibling was also great, even with the chaos it brought.

You were fortunate enough to visit Seungmin and the rest of the Stray Kids regularly when you had free time during university, and so that built up your bond even stronger with the other boys. With Seungmin, it meant that the teasing was even stronger, considering he's seen you complaining about assignments, boring lecturers and night life not hitting the same anymore.

"Maybe you've become boring now," he had teased you in the past, a joyful laugh always following right after when you would get annoyed and smack him on the shoulder.

This time round, however, you had completed your three year course at university, and the other boys had suggested they should have a celebratory dinner at Seungmin and Felix's dorm to congratulate you, Felix and Changbin's suggestion.

"Yah! You should do something nice for your younger sister! She always sends gifts for when we release an album, and that's with student debt too!" Changbin had righteously said a couple weeks ago. So here they were now, all eight Stray Kids gathered in the Seunglix household, waiting to greet you.

Seungmin was already having a mare. He was desperate keep the place tidy, already jokingly scolding Felix for the remnants of a late night gaming sesh being scattered across the coffee table in their lounge. Not to mention, where Stray Kids were, there was chaos, so just the mere fact of them all being together had him worried of the mess that works ensue.

"We should have just gone out somewhere instead," Seungmin complained watching his most of his hyungs and Jeongin messing around.

"Just be grateful I'm the one cooking, Kim Seungmin!" Minho called out from the kitchen.

"I swear this hyung hears everything..." Seungmin turned to the others with wide eyes and a shake of the head.

"Lino-hyung's cooking is so good though, you must be jealous you're not living with him anymore," Jisung smugly grinned, stretched across the sofa and his head in the maknae's lap.

"Maybe it's just a ploy to eat Minho's cooking again," Jeongin jokes making Jisung laugh as they giggled together.

"No no, it's for his sister," Chan shakes his head fondly.

"Yeah..." Hyunjin began with a laugh, "he doesn't want her to get food poisoning from his own cooking."

"Yah!" Seungmin yelled and pointed at Hyunjin with a crazy face that made the ferret like man cackle especially loudly.

"Yah! Did you just 'Yah' your hyungs?!" Changbin stood up suddenly with his muscly arms folded, but before any threat from Seungmin could be voiced, the doorbell rang.

He speed walks towards the door, opening it to see you with your heavy shoulder bag on the floor. You smile in relief that you could not only sit down and have a nice meal but be around your brothers.

"Thanks for letting me stay whilst you're busy," you smiled up at Seungmin after sharing a short hug.

"No, no, it's no problem, the guys are all here to see you by the way," Seungmin turned around, leaving the door open for you. A nice gesture, yes, but it didn't stop the stinkeye you gave him for not even offering to carry your- heavy, by the way- luggage inside. You rolled your eyes but brightened up upon seeing everyone else as you walked inside.

"Hey guys!"

And with that you were greeted with multiple hugs, some more gentle, like Chan, Changbin, Felix and Jeongin. Others, Hyunjin and Jisung being others, were a bit more overexcited and gave tight hugs.

"You don't greet me like this," Seungmin observed, arms folded as he perched on the arm of the sofa.

"Because we don't miss you," Jisung savagely commented, getting revenge on Seungmin by copying his same energy when they had previously changed dorms and split in half.

"Mm, something smells good, you cooked?" you asked, shocked that her brother could cook something that smelt so nice.

"Oh yeah, that was all me," Seungmin nodded, pride on his face.

"Kim Seungmin!" Minho sternly walked out with a spatula in hand, apron on and tied around his waist. He did a 180 when he saw you though, going soft, you could say. "Oh hey!"

"Knew there was one of you missing," you stood up to hug Minho quickly. "Want any help?"

"You should sit down and relax! You've been busy with uni, you can just rest now," Felix dismissed you with a warm heart, wanting to chat and catch up with you rather than have you get lost in the kitchen.

"That was like one month ago that it ended, haha," you shrugged his light concern off.

"Really? It's been that long?" Jisung's jaw dropped, slightly dramatically in your opinion but it made you grin nonetheless.

"Yeah, it feels really weird that it's over but I'm glad I can do nothing now, you know?" you replied, sinking into the sofa in relaxation.

"That's the way to go," Jisung nodded in approval, being someone that appreciates time for himself despite being more outdoors recently.

"No, there must be something you're doing right? Gotta keep yourself busy," Chan wondered, leaning forwards in his seat.

"No not really. Just been chilling, meeting friends..." you trailed off, which gave your brother the perfect time to pitch in.

"And drinking, a lot."

"You can't judge, you like a drink or two as well!" you bickered back.

"Yeah but not five," Seungmin smirked, seeing you riled up. He was only fueled further when the rest of the guys laughed at your siblings banter.

"Aish this oppa is really, geuuahh," you pulled an odd face, raising your fist jokingly at Seungmin.

"They're literally the same person," Jeongin claps his hand and laughs.

"Say it louder, Seungmin won't like that," Hyunjin plotted, leaning into the maknae, whilst the Kim siblings continued to argue.

"No but not five!" you started indignantly, "Well, it depends but..."

"What do you mean it depends?" Seungmin was exasperated at this point, wanting his point to be proven right.

"Well how much does a shot constitute for a whole drink...?" you scratched your neck Felix tapped you in the shoulder with a laugh.

"Aigoo... your liver will be.... Pwahhh!" Seungmin makes a bursting explosion motion with his hands in your face.

"Hey no it won't-!" you shoved his hands away laughing.

"Puppies stop fighting and eat some food," Minho called from the kitchen, which started a chain reaction of making everyone enter the kitchen and sit down at the dining table. Makeshift dining table, mind you. It was a creative ensemble of a small dining table, a desk, and a couple of side tables too. And that wasn't even getting started on the chair situation.

"Why does your table have a hole in it?" you poked your hand in and out of the desk, a deep look if concentration on your face.

"Oh that's my gaming desk and the cables go through there," Felix excitedly explained.

"What happened to your setup then?" you looked at him in disbelief.

"On the floor..." Felix sheepishly looked down.

"Oh you shouldn't have to have done that!" you grin at him affectionately.

"I think Jeongin is sat on an old speaker right now?" Chan questioned in bewilderment.

"Wahh we really let Seungmin and Felix live together," Changbin laughed.

"We didn't have time to order a bigger table! You're lucky you've got a chair," Seungmin complains, waving everyone off with his hand.

"Oh what's this? Seungmin complaining again?" Minho teased as he brought in the food, serving some kimchi, rice and jajangmyeon.

"Yah hyung!" Seungmin slapped the table, triggering a laugh from you. "Why are you laughing too?"

"Nothing, nothing," you shrugged, not able to hide the smile creeping up on your face. However, your brother got triggered, and so a piece of hot kimchi came flying your way, only to go through the hole in Felix's gaming desk

"Goal!!!" Han and Hyunjin cheer at the same time, making them look at each other in awe and silence before they burst out laughing.

"So loud," Jeongin groans and covers his ears, but when he moves his hands he accidentally knocks over some water onto poor Chan, who had been happily tucking into some food. He got startled so much so that he stood up from the chill of the water hitting his lap but inevitably fell back into the inflatable floaty he was sat on. One that was probably taken from a SKZ Code episode.

The air cap popped and Chan sat their in defeat as he sank to the floor, deflating. Minho and Changbin snorted at the chaos, happily eating where they were sat in normal, wooden dining chairs. Minho had tried offering the normal chair to you but you insisted he got an at least stable chair as he had done all the cooking himself.

Plus, you were quite happy on your fluffy beanbag.

"Arghh we can't eat here anymore! Go into the lounge please," Seungmin whined at the mess, disbelief returning once again.

The boys nod, some stifling laughs as they carry plates and glass into the lounge. It probably would have been easier if you all ate in there in the first place, you thought.

Felix remained in his seat, almost frozen at the mess of their attempted dinner.

"Seungmin I think your roommate is traumatised," you waved a hand in front of Felix's face.

"So am I," Seungmin nods along and pats Felix on the shoulders.

"I'll help tidy," you stand, scanning the kitchen to find some kitchen towel to mop up the mess.

*No no, it's only a small mess, they just made it seem like a lot more haha," Seungmin chuckled at the chaos his bandmates had brought.

"Ok... But you know it wouldn't have happened if you didn't throw that piece of kimchi at me," you laughed as you left, Felix following, seeing it as his time to escape.

"Actually no get back in here!" Seungmin has his hands on his hips, yet he was stood there alone for a good few seconds before he gave up and joined everyone in the lounge.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @kpopmenace143 @haodore @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @lovingchan @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @theo4eve @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse

#skz #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz x fem reader #skz x female reader #stray kids x fem reader #stray kids x female reader #skz sister #stray kids sister #skz x sister reader #stray kids x sister reader #ot8 skz #ot8 stray kids

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xomakara · 1 day

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Love Under the Western Sky

SUMMARY | Two businessmen, Yunho and Mingi, are kidnapped by you, a female outlaw, and your gang, but eventually fall in love and build a life with you and your community.

PAIRINGS | Yunho x Reader x Mingi

GENRE | businessman!Yunho, businessman!Mingi, outlaw!Reader, Western AU (off to the wild west we go), non-idol au, smut

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, drinking, kidnapping, threesome, mentions of violence (gunfights), fingering, blowjobs, double penetration sex, unprotective sex, dirty talk, praising, pet names

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+

LENGTH | 15,491 words

TAGLIST | --

NETWORKS | @illusionnet @atzhouse @cromernet @wonderlandnet

@k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Finally took forever! I want to thank @hobeemin for the beautiful banner/divider and @daddyfordaeddy for beta reading this long ass fic. Don’t forget to like, comment, reblog and show some support. Love you all 💚

Yunho and Mingi did not imagine being in this situation. They did not think that they'd be tied up together as a band of crazy outlaws surrounded them.

"We're so fucked," Yunho said as he looked at Mingi. They were both bound by their wrists to each other's backs. Mingi was fiddling with the knot, but it seemed hopeless.

"It's your fault for flirting with her," Mingi snapped. "If you would've just listened to me‒"

"How was I supposed to know that she'd tie us up?!" Yunho replied. "I didn't even think she was a bandit! I thought she was just a pretty lady on the train."

"And look what happened!" Mingi retorted.

Yunho scowled. "Oh shut up. You were flirting with her too. If anyone should be blamed, it's you. You're the one who wanted to start a business out West."

"It was a good opportunity!" Mingi exclaimed.

"Yeah, and we lost our money. Good job," Yunho said sarcastically.

"Hey!" Mingi exclaimed. "If you didn't take the gamble with that asshole‒"

"Shut up, both of you!" You turned to face Mingi and Yunho, a knife pressed against your palm. The sight of you approaching made Mingi nervous.

He had heard of the West being a rough place. And he'd heard of bandits roaming the land, taking whatever they pleased. But he'd also heard of ladies like you. Pretty faces who lulled men into a false sense of security with their smiles before robbing them. He just never thought he'd actually meet a lady like that. And that lady being so damn beautiful was unfair too!

"Miss!" Mingi started. "Whatever you do, don't shoot us. I have money back home. A nice home and a lot of money. If you just let us go, I could make sure you-"

"Let you go?" You scoffed, grabbing Mingi's chin, holding his jaw. He tensed as your thumb moved over his lips. "Now why would I do that, pretty boy? I like a man with a mouth."

"Pretty bo‒ hey! Leave Mingi alone!" Yunho snapped.

"Or what, big boy?" you taunted.

"Big‒" Yunho began to stutter.

"Forget it," Mingi sighed as he looked at you. "Can we please just get this over with? Just rob us and send us on our way."

"Honey," you chuckled. "You really think we just want a bag full of cash?" You leaned down in front of the two and placed the tip of the knife beneath Mingi's chin. You trailed the blade along the length of Mingi's neck, giving him a grin. "You and big boy over here are part of the loot."

Yunho grumbled as you stepped away to greet a couple members of your gang as they finished raiding the train cars. "What the hell did they mean we were part of the loot? Why wouldn't they just take our things? Wouldn't it be easier? That's what I'd do, if I were an outlaw."

"You can't ask something like 'wouldn't it be easier'!" Mingi hissed. "There's plenty of shit outlaws can do."

"Okay, well if I were a murderer, you wouldn't be my loot," Yunho scoffed. "No offense."

"A little bit taken," Mingi admitted.

"Whatever. This doesn't matter. We just need to find a way to escape," Yunho sighed as he twisted around, trying to untie the ropes around his wrists. "Just keep an eye out for a sharp object or something."

Mingi nods. It wasn't going to be an easy task to get loose, not when a member of the gang had kept watch on them every minute they could, ensuring that Mingi and Yunho didn't get anywhere. But as Mingi had a thought to perhaps strangle Yunho for putting them in the position they were currently in, another member of your band made his way to the two.

"Hello boys," he smiled, squatting in front of the two with the ax on his shoulder. Both Mingi and Yunho tried to speak, but neither were able to form words under the pressure that man's presence seemed to exude.

"Shit," Yunho whispered, "we're really fucked now."

"Shut it, both of you," you turned, crossing your arms as you walked over. "Jongho, they're looking to escape. Keep an eye on them."

"No worries," Jongho replied. "I got 'em."

"Get Yeosang over here to help you," you said as you looked at the train platform. "I'll get the rest of the gang to load up the horses and wagons. Then we ride off with these two big fish."

"Are we bringing any other folks?" Jongho asked.

You hummed as you squatted down and looked at both Yunho and Mingi, turning their faces. Both men looked at you like children being scolded. Your laugh couldn't be stopped as you patted their faces and stood back up. "These two will be more than enough. If anyone is looking for them, I bet they're gonna offer a lot. And if they won't, we'll sell 'em," you said it simply, shrugging it off.

"Well, boss, I reckon you're right. Anybody that would travel in luxury like them must be rich," Jongho nudges Mingi, making the man scoff. "Hell, with a pretty face like yours, boy, you'll be worth double, ya hear me?"

You laughed as Mingi huffed in response to being teased. You tapped Yunho on the cheek, catching his attention. "And I can see why you'd make quite the catch too, sweet pea. And a smart one I'd suppose. Just look at that handsome face."

"I‒" Yunho couldn't even come up with a response, not that anyone cared to hear him talk. You laughed again.

"That settles it then," Jongho turned, and, as instructed by you, went to retrieve Yeosang. "We best get these boys loaded up."

"Give me your kerchiefs," you ordered. "We don't need any yelling or shouting to draw attention."

"Yes, Boss. Got it." Jongho patted your shoulder and began to make his way to Yeosang, leaving you with Mingi and Yunho as members of your gang began to herd passengers onto the train again.

It was not difficult for you. Not at all.

However, you still had quite a job ahead.

"C'mere, sweet cheeks," you leaned down, getting right in Yunho's space. Your lips close to his ear as you whisper. "You want out, you'll have to ask me."

"You are absolutely mental‒" Yunho gasped. "Please, let us go‒"

You press a finger against his lips, cutting off any begging from the man.

"Shh, sweetheart. If I wanted you to beg, I'd put that pretty mouth of yours to use," you chuckled, standing up straight once again. Yunho did nothing to hide the flustered expression and you simply flashed him a sly smile as you gagged him. You turned to Mingi. "How about you pretty boy?"

"Uh..." Mingi felt embarrassed just from you having tied the gag in Yunho's mouth and could imagine how red his face must be. "I was gonna beg‒"

"Hush," you hummed. "Sweet talking can get you places, but here? Not with me, it won't." You stroked his face, the smile returning to your features. "However, I would appreciate a silent partner. Like your friend there."

You turn from Mingi, deciding it'd be easier to let Yeosang and Jongho help you finish the job rather than tease the two boys for much longer.

After gagging Mingi, your boys do their job well, helping load Mingi and Yunho onto the back of a wagon to prevent them from running away. As much as your heart fluttered watching these tall men be tossed and turned by Yeosang and Jongho, it wouldn't be fun to chase them down should they decide to run off.

You mounted your own horse, petting her neck. She gave a slight whine before letting you settle.

"I know, sweet girl," you coo. "Almost finished. Once we get home we'll be sure to give you lots of apples." She perks up and you chuckle.

"Got 'em, boss," Jongho announced. His horse trotting up beside yours. He stopped, tossing the reins of a mare that was following. You caught them, giving them a gentle tug, startling the horse.

"Good," you said, "I think it's time we leave."

You watched as Hongjoong and Seonghwa rode beside the wagons. San and Wooyoung on the back of wagons keeping close watch on the hostages and loot.

"Our day will end successfully, boys!" You shout.

They shout and cheer, happy from a day of plunder and robbery. It was quite the sight to behold and the poor city folk who saw your little caravan riding off into the wild definitely knew not to trifle with you or your people.

By now Mingi and Yunho had gotten comfortable with the ropes and their gags. Well, as comfortable as one could get with their ankles and wrists bound together and forced to ride in the back of a wagon.

In fact, as you and your crew got far off from the tracks, the rope around their wrists was cut by one of the men as a kind gesture.

"Looks like you two are the lucky ones. Our boss has a soft heart," Wooyoung added with a grin as he untied the last of Mingi's ropes and the gags. "But if y'all try to escape or scream, not sure what boss will do to you.”

"Oh trust me, we've heard the threats," Mingi replied as he rubbed his sore wrists. He sat up and looked at you, who was riding slightly behind the last wagon, speaking to Seonghwa and Hongjoong. "Who is she, anyways?"

“I’ll tell you the basics but don’t you dare repeat it to Boss or you’ll both be six feet under, got that?” Wooyoung warned.

The men nodded their heads quickly, agreeing that keeping their heads attached to their bodies would be preferred.

“Well… our boss comes from a rich family, back East,” Wooyoung explained. “Tons of land, cows, money and a father with an ill temper. The name isn’t something I feel too happy sayin’ aloud but they’re well known. Their sons, I guess you’d say they’re their greatest achievement. Good looks, but those same bad habits that plagued their father. But he had an eldest who was the best of them. Smart. Quick to make deals. Definitely the favorite out of the three sons. Boss’s family never paid her much attention since they thought their first son would be a good investment for her father.”

"So wait..." Mingi hums, rubbing his sore wrists and watching you intently.

"Don't interrupt, boy," San clicked his tongue. "So long story short, Boss got fed up, robbed her older brother and his finances, left, and moved West where she began working in saloons before picking up some o' my friends along the way and started forming a gang of her own."

Wooyoung nudged San in the ribs, making the man wince.

"Awww, it's not just any old gang, it's a band of brothers and our lovely boss in charge," Wooyoung said happily as the cart came to a halt, forcing you and Seonghwa to move into the front of the caravans.

"Maybe today is our lucky day, Mingi," Yunho nudged his companion.

"Lucky?" Mingi whispered. "We were kidnapped by an insane woman, and her group of bandits are kidnapping us! What part of that could be called luck?! She might just have us killed at her command and if we escape it could cause an uproar with her people. I'd say we were really and truly cursed to ever get to the West."

Yunho rolled his eyes. "You are stupid."

“Hey!” Mingi exclaimed, feeling offended.

"She obviously could have killed us if we had offended her. She took a liking to you because you're pretty, pretty boy," Yunho scoffed.

“Well she's been eyeing you, big boy,” Mingi teased. “Haven't you noticed the way she looks at us?”

Yunho opened his mouth, wanting to say you'd looked at them the same way plenty of ladies had. However, when Yunho took a deep breath to counter Mingi's theory, you appeared with a water canteen in your hand.

"Alright boys, take a drink. You might not be bound but you aren't gonna cause trouble are you?" You were smirking and Yunho hated himself for the blush rising from his neck up to his face.

Mingi takes the canteen first and takes a quick chug, realizing just how parched he had gotten. He pulls away from the canteen and looks at Yunho.

You flash a quick, cheeky grin. "See? Pretty Boy likes the treatment. I wonder if Big Boy is the same. Care for a taste, sweet thing?"

Mingi watched you teasingly pat Yunho's cheek with the back of your hand. He passed the water to Yunho, and after gulping down a bit of the refreshing water, Yunho gently pushed your hand aside and let go of the canteen.

"Gotta admit," Yunho shrugged. "I thought a pretty woman wouldn't go around shooting innocent folk."

"You know," you tilted your head. "People used to tell me I was sweet, pretty... so innocent. Nowadays they tell me that I'm mean, greedy and absolutely out of my mind. People love to judge."

"I can see why," Yunho admitted with a quiet hum, looking towards your retreating form. "But I have to admit. For a woman running with a gang of outlaws..."

"I'm not running with them, big boy," you stated. "They're running with me. Remember that."

You disappeared to continue talking to Seonghwa and Hongjoong, the two main strategists of the gang. Once you had gone, Mingi hushed his tone to a low whisper. "What the hell was that?!"

“I'm just admitting that I can see why men go chasing after her,” Yunho confessed.

"For the love of god," Mingi pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you really this naive, or are you just ignoring the possibility she could kill you and I, and dump our corpses right here?!"

"Look..." Yunho rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm trying to work on being optimistic."

"Trying. Trying," Mingi mimicked. "That's rich."

“Okay! Fine, genius, you have an idea then!” Yunho challenged.

"Well, no, not yet," Mingi responded, looking at the scenery around them.

"We're fucked aren't we, pretty boy?” Yunho sighed.

"...Yes."

It had only been one night under the open night and another day of travel, but Yunho and Mingi were honestly ready to be killed, whether by the cold or by the outlaws. The blanket on top of their bodies provided little to no warmth and while they tried their hardest not to freeze in the back of the covered wagon, you were bundled up nicely.

As soon as it seemed the two would have finally lost feeling in their fingertips, you turned to them with the same, cool, indifferent gaze as the rest of the outlaw gang. Your features were smooth, but they all had hard eyes, and your band was made of some of the most brutal cowboys and bandits.

"I'm impressed, gentlemen. How are you not frozen stiff?” you asked, surprised.

Yunho wondered this as well, and found himself trembling from the chill that nipped at his nose, ears, and fingers. The flimsy, dirty cloth the two shared between the both of them offered little protection from the cold, and no comfort.

"Can I ask you a question? A personal one," Yunho was rubbing his numb fingers, desperate for heat.

You are riding next to the wagon again. Seonghwa and Hongjoong are still not willing to let you ride ahead on your own, in the event either of your hostages were foolish. "Since you were brave enough to ask it, yes. You may. It depends on the question though."

"Fair point," Yunho acknowledged. He and Mingi could have just asked anything to anger you. "My question... Why outlaws? If your family is as well off as I'm assuming-"

"So one of the two idiots," you looked at San and Wooyoung who both suddenly avoided looking at you, "told you, huh? It was bound to happen... But that is a fair question. In return, can I ask you some questions, big boy?"

"Sure," Yunho nodded.

"I know you have some skill with a gun, big boy. That must have come from a long line of working cowboys or farmers, right? Compared to pretty boy there," you point to Mingi, the man practically fuming about being called pretty boy. You continue. "It's just a feeling I got. Why didn't you grab a gun? Try to save yourself, sweet pea? Or maybe pretty boy was holding you back?"

Yunho shifts. His necktie hanging loose, and his clothes being an absolute mess. He shrugged, trying his hardest not to stammer. He was absolutely nervous by your blunt observation, yet could not say you were wrong.

"Funny..." Yunho muttered. "You read me pretty well."

"So? Why were you worried about that pretty face of yours, Mister...?" You looked at Yunho, trying to fish for a name.

"Yunho. Jeong Yunho," He cleared his throat. "Yea. And this is Song Mingi. He's my business partner and best friend. We've come out West to make a new future for the two of us. Mingi can use a gun but isn't a master at it. I wouldn't call him a coward, but he'd be a fool if he ever decided to pick a fight he knows he can't win."

“And you?” you asked, “Would you have shot me and the rest of my gang if pretty boy wasn't here, or did you hesitate for another reason? A lady in the group, for instance. Are you a man who won't shoot a woman, Jeong Yunho?”

Mingi gulps. "Don't answer that, Yunho‒"

Yunho doesn't get a word out before you interject, "Let him speak, pretty boy."

"I hesitated, because even if you're a woman, I'm not a fan of shoot-outs," Yunho explained, staring directly into your eyes.

"Is that so?" You seem satisfied enough by that answer, a grin plastered on your face. It unsettles Yunho. You have something behind that grin, he was sure of it. "Since you answered a few of my questions, I'll answer yours. Yes, I'm from a well-off family, and yes my father is a wealthy landowner. He owns thousands of acres of farmland, livestock, and plenty of money. My mother was a socialite from overseas, and my oldest brother was gifted with good looks and smarts and was the favorite son. My other two older brothers were spoiled rotten and used my mother's social influence and our father's business ventures to try and bed as many girls they wanted. Me on the other hand? I was the black sheep in the family."

“May I ask why?” Yunho inquired.

You crossed your arms, taking a quick look around. As much as you admired Yunho for his handsome face, your trust in people had already run dry from years of interaction with your parents and your brothers.

"To put it simply, I wasn't perfect enough to bag a rich man who was perfect in my parents' eyes," your bitterness could be felt throughout your entire body. "I was 'too mouthy', 'opinionated’, and definitely didn't ‘act enough like a lady.' I learned how to shoot guns, ride horses like my brothers, and could tussle like any ole cowboy. So, when I realized no man of worth wanted a tomboy as a wife, I stole from my older brother, set off west to build my own fortune and found the friends you see surrounding us. With a bit of their help, the fortune I inherited from the past years of robberies and swindling is only getting bigger."

"Now tell me," you suddenly frowned. "Do you think I'd be content with the life of a trophy wife and a woman with nothing to her name, while you men get praised for being adventurers, explorers, and the kings of the world? To hell with that, sweet pea. I prefer the freedom to do what I want, to tame what I see. There's no room for people who get in the way."

You pointed the muzzle of your rifle towards the men and stared straight on. "You should know, Jeong Yunho. If you or Mister Song Mingi decides to try to kill any of my men, or escape, I will not hold back. This isn't an invitation to stay and work with us, this is a warning for what will happen if you don't behave yourselves."

"Got it... but it is awfully cold back here," Mingi finally added.

You did feel a bit bad for them since they had given no problem at all thus far. Sure, there were times they both had argued about when would be the best time to escape and make a break for it, but ultimately, Yunho just didn't see the reason to harm or attempt an attack on someone who was not outright being hostile to them. He was a neutral man. Even when your crew had stopped for a bite to eat, both the hostages ate their meals in silence. Mingi did glare every so often and Yunho just seemed to zone out, even as some of your gang poked a little fun.

You nodded over to San, who threw a quilt to the hostages. "Fine. Since I trust you to be quiet for another few hours. We'll be stopping soon so everyone can stretch and sleep comfortably. Don't make me regret this, boys."

As much as Mingi complained, the extra warmth felt better than the previous night. The quilt was still dirty and probably hadn't been washed in a few days, but it was better than before. Yunho couldn't exactly hide his yawn and the way he relaxed now that the chill from his shoulders had gone. The threat of freezing to death was gone, but he felt a prickle down his back from you staring.

You turned your head back and patted your horse, cooing softly to the animal. Mingi caught your smile from the corner of his eye and pouted slightly, his lips puffing out more. He kept staring for a few moments longer, before Yunho nudged him.

"What?" Mingi whispered harshly.

"And you said that I was the one gawking. Looks like you can't help yourself from drooling over her either," Yunho snickers quietly. Mingi punches Yunho in the arm. "Oww! Will you stop hitting me?!"

"I won't let you make fun of me! Not when she's not listening!" Mingi points in your direction.

“Then stop looking at her,” Yunho said.

“You stop looking at her!” Mingi retorted.

The banter continued a little while longer, and with the warmth from the quilt and a full stomach, Mingi began to feel his body sag. You listened as your gang members all laughed to themselves and teased your two hostages. You shook your head, not allowing them to know that they amused you.

When you approached Hongjoong and Seonghwa, you motioned them to dismount their horses for a moment. The rest of the men listened and stayed out of your sight as you moved towards the cart where the hostages were waiting.

"I hate to admit it, but our little hostages are surprisingly nice people," Seonghwa hummed thoughtfully, ignoring the angry glare sent by Yunho, and Mingi's nervous glances. Seonghwa was fairly intimidating, with his shaggy hair and sharp gaze. "The big one could have shot us when he had the chance."

"Sure," You agreed. "I feel a little bad but teasing them has been so fun."

Mingi frowned as he had been contemplating everything that had been going on for the last day. They had not been beaten, nor were the hostages harassed beyond teasing. It was weirdly entertaining to find out that he and Yunho were seen as oddities because they didn't fight back. He thought at the beginning of how Yunho got them in this mess.

Yunho didn't have to flirt with the pretty woman he saw on the train. They could have been in another compartment and be far away from this woman and her insane, outlaw group. Why of all things did Jeong Yunho just have to stare at the pretty, petite young woman?

Okay, sure Mingi thought she was just another passenger, maybe on her way west to visit family or something like that. Yet there she was, dressed to impress and there were whispers from fellow passengers when she got on. Even he could see the glimmer in his partner's eyes and hear the small comments that came out when Yunho first laid eyes on her. She was a beauty in anyone's books. Mingi and Yunho had a soft spot for dames and never considered that would be their downfall.

Yunho should have never caught her gaze and then before they knew it the dame came sitting across them. He kept the conversations light and easy between them three, and Mingi found himself taken along for the ride as they sat through hours of the same scenery, yet felt the journey go by just a bit faster thanks to a pretty gal like her being part of the equation.

When the sun started to set, that's when everything turned a bit south. There were six outlaws that pulled their horses over to the rail cars, their hats worn down and their faces shadowed from view by the shadows of their broad brimmed Stetson hats and the darkness setting around the group. Their movements were swift, pulling out guns that seemed to be as natural for them as breathing.

"Toss those weapons in here and stay inside ladies and gentlemen," said one man in the group, whose lips curled back into a crooked smirk.

"Miss, please stay in the compartment," Yunho assured the pretty lady. "You don't want to deal with the likes of these types of people."

You watch quietly, sitting in your seat without worry. The gunslingers came their way and took any weapons the other travelers had. When they got close, the two men's hands moved towards their belts in an instant.

"Leave the pretty lady alone or we'll have problems," Yunho stepped closer, pointing his pistol towards the gunslingers, though his finger hovered over the trigger, his movement unsure.

You glared at him with the iciest tone either man had heard in their lives. "Who are you calling a pretty lady?"

Your hand came around his gun, quickly prying it away, before yanking Yunho forward by the neckerchief that rested against his neck.

"H-hey!" Mingi saw her slam her head straight into the tallest man, bringing him to his knees.

"Thanks for the compliment, boys," you smirked, training the gun in his face. "But you'll find that I'm no dame or damsel in need of saving."

Yunho clutched his forehead, his brain running in circles as the two cowboys behind him jeered and poked fun at him. His expression dropped once his mind started working again and the pain subsided.

You turned to the outlaws. "Tie 'em up boys."

And now they were here sitting in front of the fire pit with outlaws watching their every move. Seonghwa stood beside the cooking fire, watching a bubbling stew boil. Wooyoung was still near them and just watching his surroundings.

“Here,” Mingi looked up when you handed him a bowl of stew. After that fiasco of a train heist, Mingi couldn't help but stare appreciatively at your figure. You no longer wore the dress from the train but instead wore a pair of britches that hugged your legs in just the right place. Mingi sighed, cursing the way his thoughts got out of hand. "Thanks..."

Yunho gladly took a bowl as well. And almost immediately he could taste a pinch of spices, he sniffed deeply. The stew was basic and yet it was the most flavorful one he's had for a long while. It was nice for them to take care of their hostages instead of starving them. They have plenty, and yet they were willing to share a meal.

After a long day, the stars were clear in the sky. The waning moon cast its glow on the land as the horses whinnied, happily feeding and drinking out of the troughs the outlaws left behind. Everyone had found their bedding areas, not too far away from their fire pits that now had hot coals in place and wood pieces above them to keep everyone warm.

While Yunho watched the flames dance, his thoughts wandered, mainly focused on his partner, and their trip. How did it come to this, he wondered. The two had a goal of starting a store of sorts, far away from the overbearing presence of families. For once, he wished for his old life. The one where he didn't worry about being held hostage, and Mingi wouldn't stare at him while he contemplated his decisions.

"If you look at me like that," Yunho began. "It feels like you are judging me for how stupid I was earlier."

He can't look at his friend right now. If he did, there is no telling whether Mingi is still mad, or still annoyed by the turn of events. Yet, Mingi's laughter surprised him. "Oh, I was definitely judging. I can't believe you got cocky around a woman and let her get the jump on us."

"Sorry," he laughed.

"All jokes aside..." Mingi placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "She is definitely a very different kind of woman."

A quiet settled upon the two friends. The crackling fire did little to calm Yunho's racing thoughts as the heat filled the cool evening air. In the distance, Yunho watched as you patted your horse, murmuring and comforting the large animal. A quiet, loving gesture shared with your animal companion, that the horse returned in the form of nuzzling its snout close to your neck and an affectionate lick from their tongue. The sight brought a smile to Yunho's lips as you let out a giggle, brushing your hand through the horses' mane. It was a peaceful display of affection, and his heart calmed a touch.

When you made it back into the clearing, he averted his gaze as you approached.

"It is getting late," your voice startled both of the men, their bodies immediately stiff. "Try to get some sleep like the rest of the guys. We leave at dawn. Don't try to escape or you'll get a shot to the leg, so stay put."

"Okay..." Mingi agreed.

"Hey, before you leave," Yunho paused. "We didn't catch your name earlier. Is it alright if we can get it?"

Your response was curt, as you eyed Yunho and Mingi carefully. "Y/N."

Yunho watches you turn and move away from him, towards one of the bedrolls that seemed to be set up for you, laying your weapon close by and then proceeding to climb in, rolling your body until the blanket covered your figure. A soft sigh leaves your lips before you lay on your back. Your eyes are closed and he wonders briefly what you could be dreaming about before deciding to take his mind off such things.

"A lady that can shoot a man, can't beat around the bushes, and a looker to boot..." Mingi said the words slowly, as if trying to digest the fact. "Who would've thought?"

Yunho thinks back on his experiences with women, from the social butterflies at parties to the women who had gone starry eyed and then fallen to their knees in front of him, pleading. But you were different. You weren't a proper lady or a demure creature that existed to keep the men's hearts aflutter and their imaginations afire, which wasn't uncommon.

If he's honest, he much prefers your company. While he is a gentleman to the core, he doesn't know what exactly he likes best about you. Yunho ponders a bit more. He considers a lot of things before his friend elbows him and his attention shifts back to the real world.

"She's something, alright. One hell of a woman, is all," he responded quietly. He's also very much attracted to you and he'd love nothing more than to charm you. That would definitely take the cake for the grandest adventure of them all.

Mingi sighs.

Both the men hunker down in their spots, curling together for warmth as the cool mountain air blows through. The scent of grass and fresh air blows past their noses as they doze off to sleep.

It's been an awfully long day.

After all, everyone was snoring the night away.

When Mingi stirs awake, there's a good number of the gang up and preparing to get moving. Breakfast is hot, and with a sweet note, the outlaws treat their two hostages with kindness. After all, you had warned everyone before you went to sleep the previous night: anyone who threatened either hostage would find themselves in hot water. And you weren't kidding when you meant it.

You saddled the horses and each rider got ready. Yunho and Mingi were settled in the wagon as the riders surrounded the cart. Today was another long trip, but you can see the excitement in their eyes, especially the hostages who seemed curious and wondering when the ride would finally come to an end.

"You got a destination in mind?" Yunho calls out suddenly. He doesn't know why he decides to break the silence, but your face says it all when he sees you look at him and roll your eyes.

"Now why would I tell you that?" You snorted. "After all, there would be no real reason for either of you to know where we're heading."

"If we're just baggage, then I don't see the point of you hiding the fact," Mingi shrugged. "We'll find out once the days out."

"There's the next town westward where I'm planning on getting to sooner than later. Besides, what kind of bandits would we be if we revealed our hideouts?" You explain, keeping a watchful eye.

Mingi shrugs and makes an innocent expression. "No idea. You'd have to be real dumb for that. Guess not."

"Just hush up and behave. You two won't get hurt so long as we move along," you keep the wagon moving and ignore the quips and questions they throw.

Once at the gates of the town, a couple of the bandits lead the way. Wooyoung, San, Jongho, and Yeosang line up along the streets as the few people in town waved at you.

"Y/N! You're back!"

"Yay! They're back!"

Children giggled and waved their hands with happy smiles on their lips as they jumped. "Hello!"

You laugh softly when a couple of small children rush up to see their uncles. Each member happily interacts and takes the time to see the small children that had grown since the last time you all were in this part. You smile and pat the children on the back as you watch everyone settle into town.

"For an outlaw, she seems very loved by the townsfolk and children," Mingi muttered to Yunho.

Hongjoong hears this and raises an eyebrow. "She's not as bad as you two think."

"He's right, we don't follow her because she threatens our families. None of us are family here," Seonghwa cuts in, pointing at the men, women, and children around him and back in your direction. "These people...they are family. This is home. She takes care of them, protects them."

Yunho purses his lips, waiting for more, but Hongjoong continues, "Before all this, we had no place to call home. Y/N took us in, helped all of us find somewhere we could belong. Even if we wanted to leave, she wouldn't force us to stay, we'd be allowed to go. She won't shoot you and leave you out to die. But we're a family."

Jongho sighed, watching a small child giggling at you as she clung to your leg, "As an orphan, and someone who grew up without a family, seeing a home and a family like this? It gives me a reason for hope in a world full of strife and destruction, but when you meet a person like her..."

Yeosang hummed in agreement. "A woman that has such a strong love for children, and looks out for them as if they were her own? That alone is precious. But even then...that's not the main reason we follow her."

San nodded. "Sure she robs trains and banks...but all that money and gold she steals? It's not for her own use. She's done nothing for herself and gave us a new start in life."

Wooyoung lets out a sigh. "It's for these people. It's the children...we protect them because they have no one. For the women whose men go off and die on a battlefield, they have a way to live. For the men who can't work, can't find jobs and are struggling...for the elders whose children no longer can provide for them, or the people who have no one? They're everything."

"Y/N is a good woman," Seonghwa smiled. "We wouldn't leave her, just as she would never leave us either."

Mingi and Yunho exchanged a look as they turned to you. This revelation had surprised them and both decided to wait and see, for if what they heard is true, perhaps they had judged you a bit too rashly.

A child ran towards the wagon and peered up at them before looking at Wooyoung. "Who are they, Uncle Woo?"

"These guys are Yunho and Mingi, little ones," you came up, stroking the kids' head gently and the child cooed with joy.

"They look funny," another added as Mingi grinned at the kid. Yunho simply chuckled in amusement.

A few children crowded the wagon, wanting to see the strangers. You put them at ease, saying a few friendly words. Mingi reached forward to tickle one.

"He's pretty," one of the little girls pointed at Mingi and giggled.

You couldn't help but laugh. "He is, isn't he?"

One of the boys looked up at Yunho. "He's like a giant, Y/N!"

A second boy clapped. "Giant man!"

You smile widely. "Don't be so mean now. Come on, everyone."

The children jump and dance as they walk after you, chanting the phrase and a group of men soon join them. It was a rather humorous thing, having kids chanting 'giant man', to see Yunho so embarrassed. Mingi held a big smile as you listened to the children.

“Where did you pick them up?” a child asked curiously.

“Is one of them going to be your husband, Y/N?” a child asked innocently.

“No!” another child declared, “I think they're going to be like the other uncles!”

The children are merciless and relentless. Their teasing was making you laugh out loud and in return, that brought a blush to Mingi and Yunho's cheeks. A couple of kids gathered near Wooyoung. He glanced down before smiling.

"They really like their uncles," Mingi pointed.

Yunho smiled as he leaned back. "Look at that smile."

The outlaws were taken away with all the people and their families, greeting them with waves and smiles as a celebration appeared to be prepared for the whole afternoon and evening. You looked over to your hostages as a grin overtook your lips. "How would you fellas feel about enjoying a drink with me? You both could join the fun while we get ourselves set."

"Well we've come all this way..." Mingi murmured before a smirk found its way to his lips. "Why not enjoy ourselves a bit?"

Yunho nodded along, smiling in turn as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I had a good time."

You patted their shoulder, steering the two to a building. "Then, follow me."

Entering a saloon, Mingi and Yunho glanced around, eyeing the decorum that was inside the room. There are a couple of rooms and a stage that sat at the side of the establishment, a long bar at the opposite side, and in between, there is a seating area where some people sat. The two friends sit down with you at the bar.

A middle aged gentleman who happens to be the owner of the bar sees you and greets you in kind, happy that you came with guests.

"Goodness, and who are the two tall men accompanying you, Y/N?" His gentle eyes are wide, but not in a judgmental way, he seems quite pleasant.

You gesture your hand at the two gentlemen behind you. "This here's Mingi and Yunho, we've run into a bit of a...situation on the road. Decided to bring them in."

The older man hummed and tapped his finger on his cheek, grinning. "Ah, I understand."

Yunho decided to jump into the conversation. "You're very close with the townsfolk."

"Close may be one way to put it," you sigh. "Though...in reality, they're family."

“Family…?” Yunho asked, confused.

“That’s right,” you said. “These folks don’t have much to their name. And if it means using the money from robbing a few trains and banks? To ensure everyone is fed, clothed, and to take care of their loved one’s funerals or needs if it’s too late, it’s worth the price of jail or hanging for the consequences,” you finished firmly.

"Y/N here funded the saloon with business owners when they moved into town, helped the farmstead with the seedlings and labor," the older gentleman added as he cleaned a mug with a cloth. "Even has a doctor working for the people."

Yunho raised a brow, staring at the wooden surface of the bar top in front of him, deep in thought. When his attention shifts to you, he opens his mouth, hoping the question will do well. "I want to understand...so how does this work? No sheriff in sight, people all living this comfortably?"

The old man shakes his head. "No, there's no law man to protect us here...but Y/N and her gang have. We all know that she comes from good money and she could have looked the other way. But she didn't. We're like an oasis for all these folks."

"So they know you're an outlaw?" Yunho asks you.

"What about other cowboys that bother this town?" Mingi wonders.

The bar keeper smiles as he pours you, Mingi, and Yunho a pint of liquor.

"Mostly the town does have good relationships with all the ranchers and cattlemen here," the bartender states. "Of course, we've also met with the wrong people, but there is a small ranch that we've reached a deal with to handle such people should they happen."

You raise your glass towards the man and take a deep breath, exhaling the tension away. "Everyone here knows what I am and don't worry about any other issues coming here. The neighboring ranches tend to mind themselves, but most are on friendly terms with the town so it makes life pretty peaceful."

"Well that's certainly something," Mingi sniffs the mug that had been placed in his hands and shrugs his shoulders. He figured it wouldn't hurt and brought the drink to his lips. "And it's hard to not see why the people adore you. You and your gang are really good people. Never would have pegged you for a villain in a story."

"Did you think I was a villain?" You gave him an amused smile.

"Yeah, kind of. What do you expect? It's not every day that a group of train robbers shows up, scaring the bejesus out of a man like myself, and bringing me, another poor soul into whatever life altering plan they might have, let alone bringing us back to a home full of people, children, and the elderly," Mingi offered, sarcasm heavily dripped in his voice. He rolls his eyes for added measure. "The imagination runs wild in times of panic."

Yunho furrowed his eyebrows. "Well, in our defense, a group of strangers showing up, guns out and all, then ropes our arms up and threatens to kill us should we move the wrong way, does tend to rattle the bones."

"But you're the one who flirted with me, big boy. Should we rehash the details of that whole conversation?" you grinned at him and raised a brow in his direction, wanting a good reaction.

Yunho looked up to the ceiling, gulping the last of his beverage with ease, a handsome blush crossed his features.

You'd always taken to a bit of flirtatious ways, not very reserved, but charming nonetheless. Seeing this rugged and handsome man flush with color from simple flattery, only egged you on further to see what other emotions you could muster from the beautiful and curious man. You had to admit Yunho was more your type of man but Mingi certainly had a very nice personality.

Both were rather attractive in your book.

Mingi pokes fun at Yunho before clearing his throat and nudging him with his elbow. His partner swats him on the arm before turning his attention back to you. "Perhaps another drink would put me at ease."

"In my company, I wouldn't mind at all. It would be an absolute delight," you simper.

The bartender nods and makes two more pints. Once they were placed on the counter, the man gestures a nod in Mingi and Yunho's direction. The two drink once the mugs are near their lips.

"Alright, you lot had me wrong, that was rude on my part," Mingi spoke before raising his mug, signaling his admission of apology. "There are a good lot here."

The older man and you take a drink in solidarity with him.

Yunho shares a genuine smile. "Well, thank you for the peace of mind that we have in our lives for now. Maybe...things could work."

You grin back. "Well, I'm glad to have both of your understanding."

"Is everyone ready for dinner?" Hongjoong shouts, breaking the three's conversation and the crowd cheered in return.

Children scamper away and adults gather outside for dinner. A few people were cooking in front of the bonfire outside the establishment, the women prepared the food as the rest of the gang sat with you.

"Yay, uncle Mingi and uncle Yunho will be able to join us today!" The little girl from earlier happily declared their presence and both men gave her soft smiles.

"Look, she's already calling you uncle." You pointed out.

"Come here, little missy," Mingi knelt down, beckoning the girl over.

You couldn't help the little hiccup in your chest when she came bounding over happily. Her soft plush face had a pink hue across her cheeks and she held a soft look. She really was cute as can be and even though the man before you was the opposite in height and temperament, the sight had you falling fast.

She sat on his lap and leaned back, resting against his large torso as they watched the sky start to brighten up with more orange streaks than red and pink hues. She whispers something in his ear and you couldn't help but see Mingi's cheeks redden. The child leans up to whisper in Yunho's ear and asks him most likely the same question since his cheeks flushed after listening to her as well. You watched as she ran away to throw herself in Yeosang's lap as he played and made faces to make her giggle.

"Well, what did she ask you?" You asked after sitting on the porch between them.

Yunho and Mingi fumbled a bit as they glanced at one another before Yunho began, "Missy wanted to know when we were going to marry you."

You blinked rapidly, caught off guard by the straightforward nature of the question. Mingi couldn't help but look up towards the sky.

Your jaw dropped at the bold question and you tilted your head to the side with interest. "Oh yeah? What did you tell her?"

They glance between one another before Mingi pipes up, "Told her we'd probably marry if you were down to have an arrangement. Not that she needed to know that last part."

The atmosphere changes with the different shades of lights. More reds and darker pinks painted the skies, bright and vivid, mixing to a light orange and gold color that brings a sense of peaceful tranquility to everyone.

You smiled at their answer and laughed at Mingi's last sentence. "Probably be married huh? It's been years since I've thought of marriage. Ever since I ran away."

"What's stopping you?" Yunho asked with a mischievous lilt, clearly feeling himself under your influence of mirth. "There's no real reason not to get married if you and another fancy it."

You purse your lips in thought, playing with the brim of your cowboy hat. "Who would want someone like me? As a bandit, my days are always in danger."

"We might," the taller man spoke without any sort of shame.

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “Honey, you both couldn't keep up with me, that's no way to start a marriage.”

"Didn't mean to brag but...I'm no weak man," Yunho smirked and leaned close, resting an elbow on his knee.

Your own smile tugged up as a breeze blows past the three of you and ruffles your hair. You reach forward and rest your hand against Yunho's arm and smile softly. "Is that right? Because I like to ride long and hard at night."

Mingi stared wide-eyed at the double meaning while you fluttered your eyelashes.

Yunho sits up with a broad smirk, his smile teasing and gentle in a way he didn't want to stop, enjoying himself, letting himself unravel before your gaze as you invited him in. "Oh darlin'...I wouldn't mind seeing that."

A full grin appears on your face. You stand up slowly, bending towards Yunho with your chin lifted in pride. You meet his eyes, watching with awe when his attention travels across your facial features. A rush of delight flooded your senses with the feel of his heavy, loving gaze on you.

Yunho let his smile grow a touch wild as you ran a hand over his cheek gently before tugging his face by his chin, a silent command to listen closely. Mingi stares, enamored by the atmosphere. "I ride slow, darling, slow and steady. Feeling everything at a pleasant pace."

With an inhale, Yunho leaned further, a fire kindled in his heart with no intention of taming. Just as he did, Mingi leaned his head in your direction, his hand brushing the loose strand away from your eyes and to your ear. He gently tucked it behind and kept his fingers over your skin, warm and soft under his caress.

The sensuality of the moment lulls. Mingi and you stare at each other, observing the hunger brewing within your shared gaze and you press a hand over his lips to signal his end, waiting until you receive an answer from your last statement to Yunho. The large cowboy took a deep breath in and brought his cheek to the back of your fingers, placing a tender kiss to your skin before pulling back to observe.

With a playful nip to your fingertips, Yunho mumbled, his low, velvety tenor caused heat to pool in your stomach. "I hear what you're saying, sweetheart."

The brush of a finger to the back of your neck and you can see how Mingi was looking at you, the shine to his brown eyes reflecting the gold and orange lights as you stare and drop your hand back down to your side. Your hand naturally presses along Yunho's shoulder and takes hold of Mingi's sleeve with a subtle tug that beckons their closeness.

"Shame," you mutter as you grip their collars to pull the pair towards the entrance to the saloon.

Mingi leaned to your side with his face pressed against your ear. The heat and deep voice sent a shiver down your body. You can feel the way the gentle weight of Yunho's chest pressed against yours when he whispered, "Don't you want to see where the three of us can lead to?"

You let out a small laugh, your hand cupping his cheek. "Not tonight boys, not just yet."

You watched as Yunho and Mingi happily played with the children, sharing stories from back home, telling tall tales, and entertaining the small community of misfits. Their infectious and open nature charmed all those around. It brought a sense of whimsical air that you didn't have a chance to breathe often, to just allow yourself a moment to relish in the simplicity of laughter and peace.

It was soothing.

"They seem to be fitting in well," Seonghwa offered his greeting after walking towards where you stood on the porch to the saloon. "The children seem to love them. And the adults too. I'd say it's because they bring new energy and energy for such folks is much appreciated."

"New stories. New tales," you added.

"Oh? Have you taken a liking to the hostages?" Hongjoong chuckles as he hands the two of you a mug with drink. He knows exactly the situation as it played out. He doesn't have anything but fondness in his eyes, seeing how fond you've become with the two of them and you shrugged.

"Maybe. Maybe they'll leave someday and I'll just miss the company of a handsome fellow. You can never have enough," you muse out loud. Hongjoong let his brow rise at you but couldn't hold back a teasing grin. He bumped shoulders, earning a hum of contemplation.

"Look, you know damn well you're the boss and none of us would stand between you and whatever makes you happy," Seonghwa answers. "But two businessmen? Y/N, they're from well-respected families and I'm sure men like them would want well-respected ladies."

"I know, Hwa," you huffed. "But I used to be one of those well-respected ladies. And you both were once those well-respectable gentlemen. Things change."

"Do you miss home, Y/N?" Seonghwa's question cut straight to the bone, digging into your chest in a way you hadn't considered. He notices it and so does Hongjoong who tried his best to let you come to a resolution yourself.

"No," you muttered, eyes never leaving the town, the lively noises, and the scent of cooked meat and sweets filling the atmosphere. "This is our home. These people need us and we wouldn't ever abandon them."

Hongjoong gulped down his mug, set it down, and leaned on the post, staring into the sky before continuing his line of thought. "Y/N. No matter who we are, and who they were...I know neither of us can go back and none of us should ever try and go back. We can only live right now. So, does it really matter? You've been with other cowboys before...surely rich boys aren't much of a different kind of challenge."

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. "I just don't want you getting hurt."

"It'll take a lot to hurt me, Hwa," you smiled at him. "But thank you for looking out for me."

Yunho and Mingi gaze in your direction and share a curious expression. One with a pink hue adorning the apples of his cheeks and the other with a hand scratching the back of his neck. They notice the stares directed towards them and share a shy, tiny smile with one another.

"But maybe this time, I don't mind taking a risk or two," you added as a sigh, a tiny sigh slipped past your lips, accompanied by a rosy pink that tinted your cheekbones. The edges of your lips curved up in the slightest to form a small and amused smile at the two.

"Taking a risk, huh?" Hongjoong mused, following your gaze to Yunho and Mingi. "Well, can't say I blame you. They do seem like decent fellas."

You hummed in agreement, watching as Yunho lifted a small boy onto his shoulders while Mingi dramatically acted out a story for the other children. Their laughter rang out across the town square.

"Decent indeed," you murmured.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the town, you found yourself drawn to where Yunho and Mingi were still entertaining the children. Their infectious laughter and easy smiles had captivated not just the little ones, but many of the adults as well.

You approached just as Mingi was wrapping up an elaborate tale, complete with exaggerated gestures that had the kids in stitches. Yunho caught your eye and gave you a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"Alright kiddos, I think it's about time we let these fine gentlemen get some rest," you announced, chuckling at the chorus of disappointed groans.

"But Y/N, can't they stay up a little longer?" one of the young girls pleaded, tugging on your sleeve.

"Now, now, don't you worry. I'm sure Mr. Yunho and Mr. Mingi will be happy to tell you more stories tomorrow," you said, ruffling the little girl's hair affectionately. "But for now, it's time for bed."

With a few more grumbles and pouts, the children reluctantly said their goodnights and scampered off to their homes. You turned to Yunho and Mingi, who were both looking a bit worn out but still smiling.

"You two certainly have a way with kids," you remarked. "I haven't seen them this excited in ages."

Yunho chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "They're great kids. Reminds me of home a bit."

"Got some little ones waiting for you back East?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

"Oh no," Yunho clarified quickly. "Just some younger cousins and neighbors' kids I used to look after sometimes. No little ones of my own."

You felt a small sense of relief at that, though you tried not to examine why too closely. "What about you, Mingi? Any family waiting on you?"

Mingi shook his head. "Nah, it's just been me and Yunho for a while now. We came out West to start fresh, make our own way."

"And instead you got kidnapped by a gang of outlaws," you said with a wry smile. "Not quite the fresh start you were hoping for, I imagine."

Yunho and Mingi exchanged a look, then Yunho spoke up. "You know, it hasn't been all bad. This place, these people... it's not what we expected, but there's something special here," Yunho said thoughtfully. "I can see why you care for them so much."

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words. "They're good people who've been dealt a tough hand. They deserve better than what this world's given them."

"And you've made it your mission to provide that," Mingi observed. "It's admirable, really."

You shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious under their earnest gazes. "I do what I can. It's not always pretty or legal, but..."

"But it's necessary," Yunho finished for you. "We get it. Or at least, we're starting to."

A comfortable silence fell between the three of you as you watched the last rays of sunlight fade from the sky. You looked at them curiously. “How was your first night sleeping in town? The rooms above the saloon, okay?”

Mingi nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "It was comfortable, thank you. Certainly beats sleeping on the hard ground or in the back of a wagon."

"Though I must admit, I did miss the stars," Yunho added with a chuckle. "There's something about sleeping under that big open sky that's hard to beat."

You couldn't help but smile at that. "I know what you mean. Even after all this time, I still prefer a bedroll under the stars to a proper bed most nights."

"Is that why you're out here instead of tucked away at your house?" Mingi asked, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

You shrugged, feeling a bit exposed under their gazes. "Old habits die hard, I suppose. Plus, someone's got to keep an eye on things."

"Always the protector," Yunho murmured, his voice soft with admiration.

You felt a flush creep up your neck at his words and the intensity of his gaze. Clearing your throat, you gestured towards the saloon. "Well, it's getting late. We should probably turn in for the night."

As you started to walk away, Mingi called out, "Y/N, wait."

You turned back, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

Mingi and Yunho exchanged a look before Mingi continued, "We've been talking, and... well, we were wondering if maybe we could stick around for a while. Help out around town, you know?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you kept your expression neutral. "Oh? And what brought this on? I thought you two were eager to start your new lives out West."

Yunho stepped forward, his expression earnest. "We were, but...this place, these people. It's opened our eyes to something we didn't expect to find out here. There's real community here, real purpose. And if we can help in some small way, well, that seems like a better use of our time than chasing after some vague dream of striking it rich."

You studied them both carefully, searching for any sign of deception. But all you saw was sincerity in their eyes. Still, you couldn't help but be cautious. "And what about your families back East? Your old lives? You'd be giving up a lot to throw your lot in with a bunch of outlaws."

Mingi shrugged, a wry smile on his face. "To be honest, there wasn't much holding us there anyway. That's why we came West in the first place. To find something more."

You studied them carefully, taking in their earnest expressions. Part of you wanted to believe them, to welcome them into the fold without hesitation. But years of living on the edge had taught you to be cautious, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

"And you think you've found that 'something more' here?" you asked, keeping your tone neutral. "With a gang of outlaws and a town full of misfits?"

Yunho's eyes softened as he gazed at you. "We've found more here in a few days than we did in years back East. There's a real sense of purpose, of family. It may not be conventional, but it feels right."

Mingi nodded in agreement. "Plus," he added with a playful smirk, "the company's not bad either."

You felt a blush creep up your neck at his words, but you pushed it down, maintaining your composure. "Well, I appreciate the sentiment, boys. But this isn't an easy life. It's dangerous, unpredictable. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

Yunho stepped closer, his eyes locked on yours. "You left the life of comfort, the life of a respected lady to be an outlaw. Surely there must've been moments where you didn't want this life, times where you were scared. But you didn't allow it to get in your way."

Mingi puffed his chest confidently and grinned. "If you could leave that life, then we can too."

"You're right," you said softly, meeting Yunho's intense gaze. "I did leave that life behind. And it wasn't easy. But I've never regretted it, not for a moment."

You paused, looking between Yunho and Mingi. Their earnest expressions tugged at something deep in your chest.

"This life... it's not for everyone," you continued. "It's hard, and dangerous, and there are days when I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. But then I look at these people, this town we've built together and I know it's worth it."

Yunho stepped forward, his eyes shining with determination. "We want to be part of that. We want to help, in whatever way we can."

Mingi scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, "I'm not as strong as you or the rest of your gang. I wouldn't survive as an outlaw. But I could use my skills as a businessman to help this town."

"And I, at the very least, know how to shoot," Yunho added with a determined tone to his voice. "So I can help protect the town when you and your gang aren't here."

You studied them both carefully, weighing their words against your own instincts. Finally, you nodded slowly.

"Okay," you said softly. "But if you're going to stay here, if you're going to become part of this life, I need your word. You'll put the needs of this community ahead of your own. You'll lay your life on the line to protect it, to protect the people who call it home."

Yunho stepped forward, his hand brushing against yours, a spark shooting up your arm at the touch. "I swear. Mingi and I, we've been looking for this place, this feeling... and we aren't letting it slip away."

Mingi licks his lips and looks up with wide, sincere eyes. "I swear as well. I'll protect this town with my last breath if I have to."

His sincerity surprises you. You stand tall and let them come a few steps closer before you move again. This time, you choose to face them and hold their attention. Mingi and Yunho both take deep breaths and widen their gaze as you slowly grab their wrist to check their pulses. The pound and heat rising off them surprises you a little. You smile at them in assurance as you reach to them again to brush a touch over each of their chests. It's hard not to feel the rise and fall as they take slow, deep breaths. "Welcome home."

"Thank you," Yunho says softly.

"I'll let the others know our guests have decided to settle in," you said, noting how the heat from their skin remains long after you move. "You both obviously need a permanent place to stay...unless..."

The slight inflection, the bit of heat in your voice, causes their pupils to dilate a bit.

"Yes?" Mingi murmurs.

"Unless...you'd be open to living with me?" Your heart is hammering. You've been so used to a rough kind of touch that anything a bit soft makes you almost...relaxed.

"Live," Yunho starts. "...with you?"

You can't hold their gaze anymore, eyes shyly trailing off as you laugh to ease the situation. It sounds breathy and unsure, like your body is too full of excitement to allow any of your normal confidence out.

"I mean if not, no big deal!" You assured, letting go of their arms and backing away to create space between you. "If you're happy with a room at the saloo‒"

"No!" Mingi grabs at your wrist, not roughly or meanly, but firmly enough that it gives your stomach a light flutter. His eyes are wide. "I don't. I'm not happy with the room. I like... I like what's on offer here."

You lick your dry bottom lip. "...Yeah?"

He's blushing. Blushing for you. For the first time, his gaze drifts down your front and back to your face. "...yeah. I'm more interested in the lady giving the offer, anyhow."

"Thank you, pretty boy," you manage a low rumble of a chuckle before turning to Yunho. "And you? What do you think, big boy?"

Yunho holds your gaze for a long moment, his dark eyes studying you carefully. He's silent for so long that you start to think he's not going to respond, when suddenly, a smile breaks across his face, warm and genuine and absolutely captivating.

"Yeah," he murmurs softly. "I'd be open to sharing that sort of life with you."

The months began to pass slowly. At times it seemed endless but Hongjoong said that winter would surely roll around soon. At least, you hoped it would. Living in a desert was brutal and hard. But you and your gang made sure to stock up the necessities for the townsfolk in case they were to suffer a shortage. You didn't want anybody dying or suffering at the hand of a lack of resources. Not on your watch.

After striking another deal with the ranchers and the cattlemen to help feed the people in exchange for protection, you'd successfully purchased several extra wagons with livestock, food and medicine. In return, the merchants of the town helped repair damaged furniture or clothing from the group. Some made trinkets and food out of the donations from others in the nearby city.

Yunho sat on the steps of the general store while you stood by his side. It had been a particularly busy week getting the money. You'd raided an abandoned train car with bags full of bills and cash that prior bandits left behind. Most of the money was safe and stored up in the old mine, along with other valuables. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but it was worth it for those in need.

The more the town gained, the less they had to live from day to day. There were more houses being built and trade routes coming in to make the town richer in one way or another. It wasn't perfect but it was a step in the right direction. You'd done the impossible. You'd changed lives.

"You think we should go good at some point?" Yunho asked, rolling the brim of his hat back. "Become some lawmen for our people?"

"Maybe," you mused. "If that's what they need from us. Then yes, maybe we should give it a try."

He hummed. "Imagine if you and the others turned good."

"Hey, the guys would make excellent sheriffs and deputies," you nudged his shoulder with your arm as he laughed.

Mingi emerged from the building to join you two, taking his hat off and waving it to get the sweat off his brow. "Hotter than blazes."

"Stay cool, pretty boy," you patted his cheek. "Don't need you burning up."

"Too late," he countered. "I've been burning from you this whole time."

You snort. "Keep that talk for the bedroom, cowboy."

His smile stretched wider. "Deal."

As time passed, your relationships changed. While nothing official was announced, the whole town seemed to understand what was happening as Yunho and Mingi started to live with you in your homestead. They'd ask about the supplies, what the people needed, and they'd help bring in shipments whenever they could. They both quickly made friends among the townsfolk, and were eager to prove their worth. It made you feel a swell of pride and love to see them fitting in, belonging. They felt a sense of community and it was obvious in the way they held themselves, their posture loosened. The rigidity in their expressions became relaxed and they didn't have to glance at the exits to ensure an exit route.

This was their home.

Both boys kept your bed nice and warm every night, and spent most days working in the fields, repairing buildings, fixing and patching clothes. Mingi was more adept with numbers and working out trade, Yunho was more in the line of law and justice.

Mingi would write a letter here and there to their extended families back east. Their families seemed thrilled they finally found stability in such a remote area, having lived an extravagant life before and leaving for the opportunity. They hadn't told them the truth, so they hadn't told them you were wanted, dangerous criminals. In their words, you were a town hero and were settling down from your rowdy youth. Which, from what you understood, wasn't too far off the truth, so you just played along. You tried to focus on the positives in life, not the negatives. It was healthy that way.

"What are you thinking about, love?" Yunho asked one night. His broad hands grabbed onto your thighs, gently pulling them apart.

Mingi rested on the pillow and bit his bottom lip as he watched you squirm at Yunho's soft teasing.

You swallow.

"Just...thinking," your face feels hot and you groan softly. "Keep...please..."

Yunho's large hands trailed along the inside of your bare thighs and goosebumps erupted along your skin. His fingers ran in lazy circles around the junction of where your thigh ended and where you really wanted him, tracing maddening paths closer, but not close enough. Your breath hitched as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin and a low, desperate whimper escaped.

Mingi shifted beside you, his large hand caressing the side of your head to watch the way you fell apart between them.

"Look at you," Yunho hums. "Aching for me. For us. Falling to pieces and I haven't even done anything yet."

You open your mouth to protest but it comes out as an undignified moan as his fingers make contact. Yunho chuckled and slipped the tip of a single finger past the tight, wet heat of your entrance, drawing another desperate sound from your lips as he pushed into you and gave you more.

“Think we can make you lose your mind, Y/N?” Yunho asked, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

You struggle to find an answer but all thought flees when another finger enters and scissors you open with a stretch. The way his thumb makes circles near your clit while he does it is agonizing.

You move your hips to get him deeper but he moves to keep the same pattern. Slow, soft strokes with his fingers, enough to drive you insane, and just far enough to deny your orgasm. It was hell, pure torture. Your legs quivered in effort, the build up within growing and growing.

"Y/N, can you be good for us and wait?" Mingi coos to your ear. "Let him enjoy you."

Yunho curls his fingers and begins a slow thrust into you. You're so turned on and desperate, it's almost embarrassing but fuck it, you love this. "So wet," Yunho hums to Mingi. "Just for us."

Mingi hums, hands coming to squeeze at your waist. "We love hearing your cute sounds," he rolls a nipple and presses kisses to your neck. "Let us hear you."

A whimper fell from your lips as your back arched, and you could see the way your stomach dipped at the action.

"I want to see you riding my fingers," Yunho says and grips at the underside of your ass, gently guiding your hips. "I know you've got a nice ass, let me see you use it."

"This isn't a good look for me," You shake your head a little bit, attempting to ignore the heat between your legs as Mingi trails kisses across your shoulder. "Like, not a good angle."

Mingi kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans as Yunho slowly guided you up and down onto his fingers and started a more feverish pace. The sounds were embarrassing. You whined, muffled into Mingi's mouth. He nipped at your lip and tongue, coaxing more from you as your hands clung to his hair.

"No one is here, love," Yunho mutters. "You can make all the pretty noises you want. It's just us here."

"Better hope no one...oh fuck, right there," you gasp.

They both grinned and Yunho stroked faster, your pants grew harder and more unhinged. You were desperate for more, legs quivering. He knew what he was doing with those long, pretty fingers of his, working into you and finding all the right places to drive you insane.

"So wet and ready," Yunho muttered, nipping your thigh and adding a third finger that had your mind swirling. "Do you feel good?"

"Yes!" You practically howled and gripped at Mingi. "Please..."

Mingi nuzzles your jaw and shushes you softly. "Tell him what you need, baby."

You rolled your hips to feel his fingers sink in deeper, each grind drawing out an embarrassing, desperate noise.

"So dirty, the way she's fucking herself," Mingi groans, low and hungry as he squeezes the curves of your waist.

Yunho spreads his fingers inside, opening you up, filling you with each thrust. His gaze is heated and full of dark amusement, taking in your writhing form.

You are so lost in the sensation, lost in the feeling of your blood flowing and moving with each steady thrust, but then he pulls out of you with a smirk and brings his fingers to his mouth with a long drag, licking his fingers clean.

"Can never let a meal go unfinished," he murmured and sank back on his elbows. "All of her."

He nuzzled his nose against the sensitive skin of your cunt, letting the sensation send sparks up your body, before languidly licking at your folds, his tongue parting you. He moved your legs to rest on his shoulder, allowing better access, and went to work cleaning you. The sudden intensity made you yelp, and as his tongue lavished the folds you became even louder. He added his hands into play and spread you apart with two long fingers, sucking the juices leaking.

You almost feel bad when his face gets absolutely drenched when he really starts going to town, making filthy slurping and sucking sounds that drown out the squelch of his tongue sliding between you. When he closes his eyes in delight and growls with pleasure, you're amazed by how hard it all gets him.

He's literally making the filthiest sounds, getting your arousal and your pussy all over his mouth and jaw, and he loves every minute of it.

"That's so hot," Mingi groans, rubbing his cock. "Baby, can you suck me off while he eats you out? Pretty please?"

He doesn't have to beg much as you take his cock into your hands, pumping him a few times to hear the low groans he lets out. Leaning forward, you suck him deep. He slides down your throat to the base, gagging you. Mingi is just the right size that you can swallow him entirely to the base. His tip tickles the back of your throat and his thighs quiver with every long lick.

The moment his tip touches the back of your throat is the moment his thighs twitch, and you love it. It makes you hungrier.

The feel of his heavy dick, throbbing on your tongue is exhilarating. You never think you'll have enough of him, his thick length and the taste, god, the taste of him always has you wanting more. More.

Yunho can't get enough of the sounds and has a hand gripping the flesh of your hip with bruising pressure as he continues devouring your pussy, tasting every inch. You're squeezing his face with your legs, fucking into his mouth, and Mingi's hands are woven into the hair on the sides of your head and he's now thrusting up to fuck your throat as you go slack, and you could melt completely and be content forever right here between them.

Suddenly Mingi hisses out your name and fucks into the wet warmth of your mouth a few last times, until he can't hold back anymore. He makes a wrecked sound and holds the base of his cock as he's cumming in your mouth, hot and tangy spurts shooting down your throat. It's been a long week, and the sight and feel of him using you like his own personal little cum bucket is the best way to end it, and he moans out your name and sends a happy tingling spark of electricity down your spine. You'd live like this, choking on his cum if you could.

Once he's spent, Mingi helps your head up, his body glistening with sweat from the high, his stomach muscles clenching, and your legs shaking. Mingi has you look at him, taking the messy sheen around your lips and dragging his tongue up to lick into your mouth, cleaning you. It's a sloppy, wet, messy kiss that ends with your stomach tight with pleasure and your muscles aching, and Yunho still has his head between your legs and is making a mess and the most obscene, filthy, wet sounds. The sight of you and Mingi kissing turns him on something fierce, and suddenly, the need for his release overwhelms him.

"Fuck, baby. I need to be in you," Yunho sits upright and drags his mouth up along the underside of your calf, sinking his teeth into the plush of your calf muscles, leaving angry red bite marks in his wake.

"Please," is all you can manage. Your legs are burning from holding themselves apart for his assault, and he is so fucking good at everything he does.

Yunho wipes his glistening, pink stained mouth with a grin, "How do you want me?"

"O-on your back," your throat feels dry and rough.

Yunho licks the leftover taste of you, looking absolutely devious. "Oh? Got some ideas?"

You're already moving to sit atop his thighs, guiding his stiff length along the wet entrance and teasing your clit. He bites his bottom lip and lays back with an appreciative groan. You don't hesitate to take what you need from him, sinking down and pressing him all the way in. Both of you groan at the way his cock throbs and stretches you.

"Need to ride this big boy," you purred. You pressed your hands into his chest and started grinding yourself on him, slow and easy. "Oh fuck, it feels so good."

Mingi rubs his own length to hardness, biting his lower lip as you start a rhythmic movement. He swoops in and presses kisses all across your shoulder blades, muttering softly, his words swallowed by the creak of the bed and Yunho's little gasps, "Love you like this. Fucking yourself on his dick."

It's hot to watch, and it has the two of you swapping a lewd, messy kiss. Your pace is frantic, hands kneading at his toned stomach, desperate for purchase. Yunho grabs hold of your thighs, bouncing you along his thick length. The sounds that escape you are dirty. Wet noises fill the air as he fills you up repeatedly.

"I think Mingi wants to be in you too, love," Yunho's dark eyes glint, and he pants. His handsome face is sweaty, but he doesn't stop thrusting himself up, sinking deeper. "Wouldn't that be good?"

"Yes..." you moaned. You reached out and gripped your asscheeks, spreading yourself wider. "Want to feel you both."

Mingi felt up the soft curve of your ass, appreciating you. His touch trailed, callused hands along the path of your spine and back, gentle. You couldn't help the excited smile on your face as his touch roamed, eyes glowing with love.

Then, Yunho lifted his legs up and sat himself more properly on the bed to watch Mingi position himself. You stopped rolling your hips, waiting for him with baited breath.

Yunho bent his knees, holding you close to his chest so you could enjoy his heartbeat as Mingi began sliding himself in your puckered hole.

"Shit..." Mingi hissed between his teeth.

"Fuck, Mingi," you cursed and buried your face into Yunho's shoulder as he held you up easily by the thighs, angling himself as Mingi pushed all the way in with a shaky, labored breath. The both of you remained motionless, waiting to let your bodies adjust to being so impossibly full.

"Just breathe, sweetheart," Yunho's lips flutter to your shoulder with tenderness and he groans as you shift. The first little roll of his hips is so teasing it drives you mad. He slides slowly back and then fills you again, and then he's rocking up into you at a delicious pace, and it feels so good it's got you whimpering. Mingi matches Yunho's movements and sets the same pace, keeping up a delicious rhythm.

"So, so good. Good girl," Yunho whispers into your ear. His voice was guttural and rich, his breath hitting your hot skin and sending electric waves throughout your body. "Such a good girl taking both of us."

Both are filling you so nicely. Each thrust pushes the breath from your lungs, has you desperately seeking him out again. When they're fucking you like this, there is no reason in the world other than their cocks slamming into you over and over. It feels heavenly; the both of them inside you, together. They fuck you so deep and good it has you squirming, not caring about the way you're drooling and clenching around both lengths, enjoying the stretch. Your legs feel like jelly as their hands roam, playing and exploring, worshiping.

It feels like a blissful eternity filled with nothing but the feel of their skin against yours.

Mingi's tongue trails along the side of your neck, humming with affection and breathlessness. His hands clutch you tightly, possessive, while he's pounding up into you, fucking himself closer to completion. "Fuck, let's switch. My knees are...shit...going..."

Mingi is flipped onto the bed now and you're riding him, just as he had suggested earlier. A grin is etched on his lips, his expression one of lazy bliss as his thumbs caress the sides of your waist. "Ready?"

"Oh yes please," Yunho answers, raring to go. He enters slowly from behind, causing Mingi to grunt and cling to you tighter. "Damn, Mingi stretched you out nice and good baby. Love how she feels."

Your walls convulse and grip them, a loud cry spilling as Mingi moans at the feel of you and Yunho groans, clutching the soft flesh of your rear. Mingi leans back against the wooden headrest, allowing you to fall into him and grip his shoulders. You moan into his mouth, and the kisses become filthy. You're utterly trapped and full and loving the pressure.

They thrust in alternates. One pushes while the other pulls out, and soon you can barely differentiate between them. Just full and full and full. And then you're gasping and moaning and practically fucking screaming their names, not caring in the slightest about the world around you.

"You okay, baby?" Mingi presses kisses against your hairline, fingers smoothing away the droplets of sweat gathering at the nape of your neck. "You can take a break."

"Never...no...no breaks," you gasp out. "Feels so damn good."

Yunho watches intently with half-hooded eyes, fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks to keep you apart and spread wide. The rhythm picks up faster, harder and it sends shock waves. Your toes curl. Mingi is sucking, laving, biting at every inch of skin he can get access to, leaving dark marks wherever his mouth touches, hands caressing your back with fondness.

It's so hot, everything from the wet sounds coming from below to the soft whimpers you can't help. It's messy and frenzied. Yunho is pounding into you while you roll your hips frantically against Mingi, feeling the hot pulsating sensations inside, desperate to have both inside as much and as deep as they can. It's electrifying, having Yunho pound up while Mingi pounds into you, a contrast between soft and deep, filling you up until all you can think of are their throbbing lengths and how much your body aches for them.

"Does Mingi feel good?" Yunho's lips nip at your shoulder blade, breath ghosting, tickling you. "His fat cock stuffed in you like that?"

"I‒" your mind is swimming, lips parted and dripping with the pleasure they're wrangling.

"You take us so well," Yunho groaned and increased the intensity, rocking himself into you. You can't speak coherently at the moment with their dicks in you, all you can do is whimper and mewl as you hold onto the last vestiges of your control. Their thrusts get you going, making your tummy light and buzzy. They fill you and the slide is slick with how soaked you are, making their thrusts all the more satisfying.

Their deep groans vibrate. Skin is on skin as their hips connect with a sinful smacking sound, and they fuck up into you and you're starting to shake and Mingi's warm arms and his smile, the way he sucks your bottom lip, his smell, Yunho's grunts, his low murmurs and the way his hands are so good at supporting you and taking care of you, how deep he can thrust—

The heat that washes over you as they cum together is sinfully exhilarating. Warm bursts fill you from both sides. Yunho burrows himself so deep, his hot cum gushing into you, and it fills you up until you're both dripping onto the sheets.

Your head is tucked in the crook of Mingi's throat, sucking on his collarbone when the feeling washes over. A lazy warmth crawls through your body and has you sagging, the pleasure having wrung your muscles dry. The wetness and fullness make the rest of your orgasm a happy mess, and you cry their names over and over, letting your muscles twitch and shiver, and the sensations are a gentle current rocking you and rippling through, washing all stress and thought from your mind.

This, right now, this is all that matters, you think.

This was all that mattered. Them.

Mingi pulls out with a shaky, breathless exhale and cradles you against him, the cum oozing down and leaking onto the blankets. You've ruined yet another set of sheets.

Yunho gives your pouty lips a long, deep kiss as his body settles beside Mingi's and you. The taste and feel of the kiss is what grounds you. As your racing pulse finally starts to settle down, Yunho looks as if he wants to say something. His features are sharp in the shadows of the lamplight, the orange glow emphasizing the sharp angles of his face.

He's absolutely gorgeous. And so is Mingi, who brushes the sweat-dampened strands off your cheeks and presses sweet, sloppy little smooches and praise all over your temple and cheeks, his smile infectious. They're both so stunning. It leaves your heart beating faster. You want to cup and memorize the plush curves and contours of Mingi's and Yunho's cheeks.

You're a sight to behold, heaped in between both men. It should have felt embarrassing and disgusting to be a mess of a human, lying limply amongst the filth, but the warmth they share leaves you comfortably and fully content. Their hair is disheveled and their sweaty bodies glisten, and they have not a care in the world but to take care of you. Yunho and Mingi whisper words of admiration and praise as their callused, weathered palms and hands rub circles into your thighs. The throb of afterglow has you almost purring in relief.

The moment you try sitting up though, your legs shake and cramp up. You fall with an unceremonious huff back onto the sheets. Mingi laughs loudly and Yunho can't help but snort. He's instantly up to get a cup of water.

"Don't push yourself so hard, sweetheart. Let's get you washed," Mingi peppers little kisses along your cheekbones, voice a little rough as he reaches out and accepts the warm cloth and wash basin from Yunho, getting you cleaned.

"Fuck," your throat feels so parched, it comes out scratchy and hoarse.

Yunho comes in close, kissing you on the lips, chaste and affectionate, "C'mon. Time to rest."

Mingi chuckles in your ear and eases you backwards onto the pillows, getting rid of the dirtied and tousled blankets and stuffing fresh, clean sheets underneath your tired body. Mingi hums and carefully combs away the curls from your eyes, watching you as your vision blurs and softens, sinking into the soft sheets.

"What's got you thinkin' so hard?" Yunho whispered, his fingertips tracing patterns across the sensitive skin of your hip, bringing his other arm around to pull you close, foreheads resting together. "Hm?"

"Nothing," you nuzzle against the cool curve of his neck, burying your face where his pulse is hammering. It calms you down. Yunho's heartbeat. Mingi's light, soft breathing as he starts to drift asleep. Everything is blissful. "Just happy. Really happy. Just how perfect this moment feels."

"Me too," Yunho hums, his voice sleepy and soft and deep as he hugs your waist. Mingi is hugging your torso from behind and the warmth makes you giggle a little with how safe and cozy you feel in their embrace.

The peace lulls you to a deep sleep. You don't have anything else in this world other than them. Mingi, and Yunho, and everything that comes after this blissful peace. All is as it should be and the feeling is perfect.

"Me too," Mingi whispers. "This. You. Us," He nudges his face against the soft curve of your back. "Love this. Love you."

"Mm," you giggled as you kiss the corner of Yunho's mouth lazily. Your eyelids are getting so heavy that you cannot see. A content, comfortable lethargy overtakes your body. "Love you both."

“Love you too,” Yunho finishes softly, his voice barely a whisper as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

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