#the eight evil thoughts

[theblueboxscholar]

"The Doctor's mean now! Waa!"

Meanwhile throughout Classic Who The Doctor has straight up been beating the shit out of people with blunt objects, scientific gadgets, literal swords/guns, his own fists etc.

The Doctor has straight up killed people with a shovel and his bare hands. This man has committed moral and ethical crimes beyond imagining.

But Fifteen was "mean" and "amoral"

Yeah, welcome to Doctor Who. The Doctor isn't always right. He isn't always kind. He isn't always nice. And he isn't always good.

But also are you all forgetting he legit thought Belinda could be dead/she was harmed. The Doctor burned out a sun to say "goodbye" to Rose Tyler. And you think he isn't beyond torturing a man who harmed his friend? Really? Gtfo my face.

[the--artist]

When trying to find other characters like Donna in other pieces of media, I've noticed that it's really hard for me to pinpoint her archtype.

It's not as simple as saying evil goth girl who likes dolls or saying that I enjoy more stoic characters. I've tried putting her archetype in "quiet girl" or putting her visually in my "pale skin dark outfit" archetype, but they don't truly get into the root of why I liked her so much.

Maybe I find that there is something with the way her trauma affects her. The balance of looking perfectly normal but caving down from everything internally makes her such an interesting character. From the way she holds herself to fit society as a 20+ woman but is secretly incredibly childish. Maybe it's the dread in her eyes and the blank stare she gives, or maybe it's the secrets that her design promises?

I can't exactly pinpoint what about her makes her so fascinating, but I haven't found another character who makes me feel the same way. She's just so unique and in some ways so real.

[slayerdurge]

(so... uh... how far into dai do you have to get before it starts being good?)

[eights-world]

i had a moment where i was like "oooo lemme read some ssau fanfiction" then realized they are my own fuckin characters n cant do that

[swordmaid]

i want to start on the drizzt books for the drow content but so much of the drow infos I found from like the old handbook reeks of so much misogyny to me that i just want to stick to my own headcanons LMFAO

[gardenofhope]

decided to try out the evil art style challenge for fun

[mitzirockerextendeduniverse]

.

[eights-world]

teehee

[gyuswhore]

Cherry Picker [1]

«« "Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't." »» 

Choi Seungcheol x reader | part of the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios!

Part 1: 19k | Part 2

warnings: Hockey player! Seungcheol, figure skater! reader, *deep breath* ENEMIES TO LOVERS, angst, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], toxic friends, cheol has anger issues, kkuma appearance, @miniseokminnies makes also makes a fluffy appearance, injuries, mentions of blood, smut tags in the next part

synopsis: Cherry Picking [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone. There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

[a/n] (it's a long one but PLEASE read) : ITS HERE FINALLY this was an extremely bumpy ride and I wouldn't have finished it without all of my friends who quite literally kept me going. I know I made an update saying this was gonna end up being 20k max but it turns out my yap-itis is for life </33

the posting schedule for this fic is going to be a little less predictable, I will try to get part 2 out asap but I do not currently have a date for you.

big thank you to @highvern for betaing and making me feel better about this fic, @amourcheol for talking me out of meltdowns multiple times and for giving me some really good scene pointers, @ugh-yoongi for being so patient w me and explaining how ice hockey works with so much patience. ty to @the-boy-meets-evil @tusswrites @lovetaroandtaemin for also proof reading for me 🥹

HUGE thank you to everyone at @camandemstudios who agreed to be part of this collab and being part of the journey as we grow 🫶 please check out the collab masterlist linked above, there's already so many amazing fics posted ready for you to read <33

that being said, I know more about figure skating than I do about hockey, but even so there are defo some inconsistencies in terms of accuracies in this, please bear with me 🫶 remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me your thoughts, id love to hear what you guys think 🥹 masterlist

“CAN I HELP YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” you gravel out. 

“Sorry isn’t gonna give back my hour and thirteen minutes.” 

The strap of your gym bag cuts into your bare shoulder where the collar had slipped, the tight threading sure to leave a scratch by the time this is bound to be done. You’d managed to avoid coach Carroll’s morning cornering for a couple months, going above and beyond by showing up to the icy rink before she could even pull up in the parking lot in her blaring red Porsche, let alone before her ten minute meditations in her cream coloured seats. 

“There was an accident on the highway. Truck tipped over.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Carroll points.

“Illegal truck, I guess.” 

Teeth to tongue, you know you’ve done it. 

She’s in her usual tracksuit, green today, that contrasts her bright red hair in its tight curls. Her glasses are her sensible Ralph Laurens, eyes piercing through the tinted lens as she holds her chin in her hands. Silent, calculating. 

“Fine. Change.” 

Your legs want to give out before you can even get your skates on. 

There were many things Isabella Carroll was good at. The industry would have one of them be a good coach; one of the most expensive, the one that squeezed the life out of her students to inject into the golds, silvers and bronzes they would then bring her on an equally diamond encrusted platter. 

She has also mastered the art of impeccable dressing downs. 

The fact she chose to skip out on verbally humiliating you meant you’d managed to strike that cord. She might be leaving in the next 45 minutes, but she has a very particular way of stretching the minutes into years. 

Like a whipped horse, you scurry into the locker rooms, skin crawling. Your gym bag is positively launched into your designated locker, shoes kicked off as you attempt to stick your right foot into your skates, narrowly missing your heel as it grazes right past the toe pick. 

You slow down after that, not needing a scar on your heel to match the large one on the side of your calf. 

By the time you jog back out, unzipping your jacket to throw onto one of the benches, coach is on the ice, following Marina who zips around on the other end of the rink in her step routine. 

It’s difficult to not rush through your warmups when you’re already late, your splits hardly pushed out as you pray all that running around in the desolate locker rooms was enough to stretch everything out. 

There’s a crash on the illuminated ice as you slip off your skate guards, Marina already practising her Salchows. “You’re in the air for enough time, why can’t you rotate?!” 

Right blade first, you step into the cold encircling, gliding into the centre to begin making your usual rounds around the circumference.

There’s a positive screech of your name from across the ice, wind blowing in your hair as you turn to look. “Do I need to hire someone to hold up your free leg? Fix it, girl!”  

Holding your left leg more taut, you attempt to transition into a jump and spin. You fail, landing on both feet. Somehow, falling on your ass felt like a better conclusion to that arc. 

“Wonderfully executed! Let’s try both hands on the ice too next time, really complete the contemporary finish,” coach hollers out to you as she continues to follow Marina at the same time. 

Trying again, you manage to land on your outer left blade. You receive no comment. 

You try the jump again, pushing into a sit spin. 

The momentum is enough to begin the familiar slack in your scalp, your bun loosening its grip on your hair. Biting your tongue would be dangerous right now, but you would if you could, especially considering the ramifications of your hair coming undone in front of her. 

The crouch as you spin burns your thighs like you’re being branded, pulling yourself back up as you finish abruptly. Still no comment, the unintelligible string of nagging coming from the other side of the rink. 

Marina stands hands on her hips, breathing so heavily she’s nearly heaving. Her blonde hair is loosening far worse than yours, strands framing her face. Coach Carroll waves her hands and shakes her head so quickly you wonder how her glasses haven’t flown off. You didn’t get to see what cardinal sin Marina committed to warrant this reaction, but you feel better knowing she’s exhausted enough to let her insults swim past. 

Ten seconds is enough to catch your breath, moving to do something busy enough to avoid another being screamed at across the ice, again. 

By the end of the remaining forty five minutes, you realised your punishment was also punishing Marina. Coach Carroll remained tailing Marina as you attempted to do everything that would please her, far away from her. Not a direction, praise or neutral comment in sight or sound, sealed with her always expected retorts. 

She leaves without a word, leaving you scrambling to the benches for a seat. Putting your skate guards on is torture, your legs refusing to pull up to reach them. You hardly notice Marina slam down into the seat beside you to mimic you slumped down and head lolled back, eyes closed to the bright ceiling. 

“These skates are gonna kill me,” you whine once you’ve caught your breath, unlacing them to inspect the blistering damage. 

“They’re brand new, what did you expect?” she retorts, moving to sit up straighter. Of course, you were grappling at straws expecting anything akin to sympathy from Marina. 

It was your misfortune that the day you had to break in your skates was the day you’d be late, your heavily bandaged foot still aching as you sit idle. 

Your lungs are still burning when you pull yourself back up, knees buckling the absolute slightest bit as you attempt to take the first baby step back onto the ice. 

“We need to get back to it,” Marina says, and you have half a mind to bite that you were up before her. 

She’s faster at slipping off her skate guards though, and you watch her back as she glides back onto the ice. You follow suit, trailing her as you speak. 

“Hey, I’m sorry Carroll was on your ass because of me. My alarm didn’t go off this morning, I overslept.”

She turns to look at you, ghost of a smile on her face. “Time to go old school I guess, I think my brother left behind his old alarm clock from college.”

“I guess—”

“Besides, I needed that. Wouldn’t have known my Salchows were sucky otherwise.”

She doesn’t let you respond and you’re left to watch as she takes off to warm herself back up. 

Strange as it was, you’ve found her behaviour simply doesn’t affect you anymore, choosing to take her as she was. She pushed you to be better, to work harder. Even now, as your ankle burns and your hip screams, you brace yourself into another axel entry, trying your hardest to keep up with Marina. 

It’s another couple hours when Marina leaves for her second appointment with her personal trainer, leaving you alone. 

It’s less crowded now, despite the head count going from two to one, but you appreciate the alleviation as you continue to practise for the rest of the morning. The rink feels more vast and your hip has stopped its incessant aches. 

Having finished a run through of your routine without music, you move towards the sound booth to turn on the tail end of your track, skating back to the echoing rink to brace yourself for the next four agonising minutes. 

You’ve adjusted your starting position about ten times by the time the silence of the song restarting settles. And then it begins, soft piano as you push yourself off into the throngs of this hellsent routine. 

It’s muscle memory by now, but your stomach lurches before you push into a jump anyway. There isn’t much time to ponder when you’re midair, tight yet contorted, trying to land on the right side of the blade. But there’s a phantom pain in your right ankle, right when you’re at the point of your arc, and you feel the all too dreaded panic flood in. 

You land on both feet, less than ideal but with no one to watch the fail, it was better than falling on your ass. There’s been worse outcomes, so there’s little you can do but continue into the step sequence. 

Trying to shake off that bout of panic, you briefly wonder if the music suddenly had more bass than you’d last checked. Perhaps you just hadn’t been practising like you should, but you make a mental note mid-spin to listen to the track again later tonight for any tidbits you’d missed. 

Your heartbeat is trying to accommodate more air than you can let it, especially as you feel the pulse in your ears quicken as you approach your final jump sequence. The music is louder yet muffled all the same, there’s an incessant banging that you can’t figure out is from your head or a corrupted music file. But you find that sweet spot, deciphering through the ruckus in your brain, and you jump. 

It happens again, the strange ache in your ankle that should be long gone, and just like that, all that panic you shook off in the interim comes hurtling back. The world’s gone silent, blaringly so, and for some heaven known reason, you’ve closed your eyes.

You aren’t so lucky this time round, landing directly on your back with a spectacular crash, the ice cutting cold through your thermals as you slide in the direction of your epic fall. Eyelids opening, they’re met with the spotlighted ceiling, head cushioned by the hard plane of ice beneath you. 

The pain in your ankle’s escaped like a fugitive, done it’s damaged and left you crumpled on the floor. The adrenaline is rushing just enough to keep you from identifying any other awakened aches, but you have a sneaking feeling your hip is going to hate you after this. 

You’re still laying flat on the ice when you realise you're laying in mostly silence. Your music is off, and has been since you came to on the floor. The banging, you realise, wasn’t just in your head either. The unmistakable reverberation of the locker rooms is loud and assuming, noises rattling all the way out onto the echoing rink. 

It takes the strength of a village to pull yourself up, but you do it anyhow, ignoring the blatant protests of your mind and soul as you squint across the rink to the sound booth. 

As you skate towards the gate, you assume it’s Hansol trying to get your attention by disrupting you mid session, but the figure shuffling into view is telling you otherwise. 

It isn’t anyone you know, clearer as you grow closer to the gate. It’s obvious he’s the culprit that turned off your music, your laptop shut and the wire to the speakers disconnected from the port. 

You stare at it pointedly as you grapple for your skate guards. 

The man does nothing but remain with his hands in the pockets of his bright red hoodie, hovering over your laptop as he watches you struggle with your skates. SVT stitched onto the back in black. He’s as blank faced as ever, a stark contrast to your heavy breathing as you come round. 

Standing up straight, you dart between your laptop and this person, waiting for an explanation that seems to be lost in the void. You’re still heaving slightly, scowl forming on your face as this strange man offers you nothing.

“Um, did you—”

“Yeah. It’s four,” he responds, like it was supposed to explain enough. 

“And that means…?”

“We have the rink reserved.”

“But it’s Monday,” you respond. It sounds stupid, but it meant something. The rink was reserved on the weekdays for coach Carroll’s mentees, the weekends for the public. 

This man and his big brown eyes gaze directly into your soul as he responds, “And that means…?” 

You’re sweaty and tired, your feet ache with about five new blisters from the last time you checked, and you’re sure you need to get your hip checked out. Perhaps that’s why there’s this unreasonable surge of irritation that rises in the back of your head, irrational and half blinding. 

“That means—”

“Seungcheol! Get your ass in the locker room before I drag you in there myself.” The voice that rings out is heavy and has you flinching, the man’s order echoing from somewhere in the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms. 

The man you assume is named Seungcheol begins to walk away from you without a word or gesture, and you can only blink at his retreating back. 

“Hey! Do you mind not touching my stuff next time round?” you call out as a last ditch attempt to have the last word. He turns his head to you, eyebrows raised and a smirk of mild disbelief growing on his face. Nothing is said as his head turns back to the front, strutting into the tunnel.

He lets you have your last word as he walks away, your gaze the same shade of crimson as his retreating form. 

“AND THEN—THESE—HUGE dudes with fucking botox or fillers in their shoulders storm out—”

Your vent is interrupted by Lorelai who’s burst out laughing mid bite of her sandwich, “What?”

“Botox!” she muffles a shriek through a full mouth.

“They were shoulder pads or something, you get it!” 

The air in the outside seating of this cafe is stellar, the perfect in between you wait for all year. The parasol above you is enough so you don’t have to squint your eyes in the late afternoon sun, the wind perfectly paced in a breeze. Your own sandwich remains untouched, the bread gone stale as you pick at the corner of the crust. 

“Apologies,” she yips. “So you're saying we’re being partially colonised by hockey players?”

“I don’t know! Was it a one time thing, a weekly thing? It can’t be a weekly thing, Monday afternoons are routine practice days.” 

“The routine you’ve been practising for the past year and a half?” 

“I can’t afford getting rusty.” 

Lorelai drops her head like she’s had enough, “Maybe these hockey jocks are a blessing.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Hey, do you want cake, they have cheesecake, I could get some!” 

“Lorry!”

“Okay,” she huffs, dropping back into her seat with blown cheeks. “I’m sorry.” 

Lorelai has a sense of humour that took you more than enough time to decipher, but that wasn’t nearly the first thing you noticed about her. She was beautiful, even more so with the sun gracing her like a loving embrace. The highlights in her otherwise dark hair make the hazel of her eyes pop like two perfectly welcoming cliffs to jump off from. She was the definition of spunk and valour, yet graceful in everything she does. Even now, as she picks up her smoked turkey on honey oat, complete with every fixing and condiment on earth, you question how she can wrench her mouth open to take a reasonable bite; but she does, not a crumb out of place. 

“I have to share a rink with dudes whose hockey sticks are gonna make craters in the ice, why are you not mourning with me?”

“Pretty sure your toe picks do the same thing.”

“Lorelai!” 

“Not the government name!” she wails as though woefully wounded. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Carroll didn’t hate me for no reason.” She smiles in her pride. 

Lorelai’s competitive skating career came to an end sometime last year before the Grand Prix, a decision she announced gracefully with the words BITE ME etched with sharpie on her brand new competition skates. It was difficult to erase the mental image of the scarlet of Carrol’s face when Lorelai marched in with her hair chopped so short it’d be impossible to pull into a bun, marked skates in hand and a mask of determined rebellion on her face. Of course, the whole ordeal could’ve been an email, but it simply wouldn’t have been Lorelai. 

“It’s not like you were trying very hard to please her,” you grumble, nibbling on a fry. 

“Why would I try pleasing that woman?”

“For one thing, your sponsors were paying a bucketload so you could have her.”

“I didn’t want Carroll as a coach. Ever. I wanted Jameson. The only reason they put me with Carroll was because they were putting you and Marina with her.” Her voice is hard, eyebrows raised the slightest bit. 

“What does Jameson offer that Carroll doesn’t?!”

“Oh! I don’t know, let’s see,” she raises her voice as her sarcasm begins to simmer with a lethal edge. “Maybe the fact that an hour training with Jameson doesn’t feel like the subjected wrath of a world war two dictator!”

“Carroll is not that bad!”

“God, you become more like Marina everyday.”

You frown, “What does that mean?”

“It means—!” Lorelai pauses to close her eyes, and you can almost hear her counting in her head. “It means nothing. Eat your sandwich before the bread starts molding.”

“Ew.”

Lorelai smirks. “Bite me.”

You attempt to channel some of that Lorelai energy when you get to the rink past noon on a weekday. You hope you’re reasonable in your hope that Hansol will be in his office as you walk towards the door. 

Three rapt knocks before you hear a muffled voice telling you to come in. The door creaks when you open it. Loudly, might you add. 

“How long is it gonna sing every time I come in here?” you grimace. 

Hansol looks at you from behind his laptop with a tight smile. “For as long as I keep forgetting to oil the hinges.”

Hansol, for as young and qualified as he is, is only the rink manager because his family owns the place. Having graduated the year before with a shiny new law degree, he opted to take a break from moving forward with his career to “slow down” as he put it. The rink was as slow as it could get for him, betting the only important thing on his laptop screen currently was solitaire. 

“Did you also forget that I have the rink during the day on weekdays? 

“Ah. You’ve encountered the hockey team.”

“Yes. They turned off my music mid routine.”

“They're only here till the renovations in their home rink are done, we’re the only other rink in town that’s closed to the public on weekdays.” 

“But they’re cutting into my practice time?” you add, brows furrowed. 

Hansol opens his mouth before closing it again, eyebrows raised. “You clock in here five days a week, ten hours a day.”

“And?”

Hansol huffs out a breath. “Listen, I know you and the other skaters like having the rink to yourselves, and I’d be happy if it was always just you guys. Trust me, these jocks are impossible to clean up after, let alone deal with. Between the launch pad calibre noise and the stupid plastic barriers I have to put up on the railings, I’d love for it to just be you guys. But the only times you officially have the rinks booked is in the mornings when you’re training with coach Carrol, the rest of the week is technically up for grabs.”

“Let me book the rest of the slots then.”

“SVT’s already booked most of the remaining hours.” Hansol’s voice is sympathetic, but his words seemed final. You aren’t sure how bad your face was contorted, because suddenly he’s adding, “But hey, you can look at the leftover hours if they work for you.”

He pulls out the roster on a tablet before handing it to you. It only takes you a minute to scroll before you realise the only viable options were past 10 PM. The rink closed at 11. 

You sigh, shoulders visibly sagging as you let out a bated breath of tension. “It’s fine.” You hand the tablet back to Hansol. “I’ll figure it out.”

Turning on your heel, you make a move to leave the premises. Hansol calls out your name. 

“I’m sorry. Really.” 

You muster a smile, one that you cannot feel the slightest bit. “It’s alright.”

“Only a few months.”

Something in your smile sours, and you nod absentmindedly. “Only a few months.” 

THERE WERE OTHER WAYS the universe could have let it happen, someplace where you might have forgiven yourself. Someplace you had reason to be. 

You were accustomed to physical exertion, how could you not be when you were what you were, but hiking on an incline was never something you fancied yourself with. Gyms and coaches and paved running trails are nothing like rocky terrains and steep mountain paths with no guide but a mobile map. 

The semi finals had passed you by, handing you a gold medal along the way as you thrust yourself into bliss. It was a job well done, so much so that you allowed yourself a weekend of something other than skating rinks and training sessions. So many nights that you can hardly remember, yet flash like lightning under your eyelids. Where you sobbed into your pillow and cursed yourself for ever having the gall to take a step back, to be so arrogant and blustering to announce yourself away from the thing that should’ve mattered the most. 

It only took one tiny crater in the path to twist your ankle so hard you crumple to the ground with a scream you cannot remember. More hands than you have holding on to your searing ankle, like they were holding it together with nothing but their palms and fingers. Lorelai was talking, and talking and talking, but all you could hear was the roaring question in your mind. 

Why did you bring me here? 

Six weeks. 

You watched with your own eyes as the Grand Prix final shuttered away on a reel, like you were watching a movie from an age you could not visit. 

Six weeks. 

Marina sat beside your bed and said words you’d never forget. 

“I’m sorry, but…this is your own fault.”

Six weeks. 

Lorelai wept, and said the same words for an entirely different reason. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault, it was my idea.” 

Six weeks. 

Carroll kept face, but you could see past the mask. A sigh that said more than any words of reassurance. Disappointed but not surprised. 

Six weeks you were bedridden with an ankle that refused to support your weight on the surface area of your bare foot, let alone on the 3/16th of an inch on a blade. 

Bedrest, meds, physical therapy, and still. The ache in your ankle follows you like a ghost haunting you of your worst mistake. 

It was your fault. You chose to put whimsy above everything you laboured for, for years and years. You chose to look past your shortcomings like they would not become your achilles heel. You chose to get on that trail. You chose to walk out on crutches.

You, who could land a jump on a fraction of an inch of steel, could now barely stand on her own two feet. 

You’d decided on that day, that you were as pathetic as they come.

IT WAS THE MOST natural decision to drag Lorelai out of where she rotted in bed to come with you to the rink. 

“You want me to fight them?” She’s wearing her Winnie the Pooh fuzzy pyjama pants and a university hoodie on top, her short hair concealed in the hood she’s pulled up. “They are hockey players. We are twigs!” 

“Lorry. Have you ever thrown a punch in your life?” you ask her as you pull your hair back into a loose bind. 

“No?” 

“Then why on earth would I ask you to fight goblins triple our size?” 

Her mouth is gaping in disbelief. “Why am I here then?” 

“You,” you start, grabbing your skates and moving out of the locker rooms. “Are gonna sit pretty in that sound booth and make sure nobody touches my laptop.”

“…you realise Hansol has security cameras right?”

“Are you planning on robbing my laptop?”

“No. Although it does have nice specs.” 

You ignore her as you walk towards the benches. “That stupid hockey team needs to know I have reinforcements of my own.”

Lorelai stands there, brows furrowed and in clothes that drown her. She glances down at her outfit and then back up at you. She deadpans, “This is the most unthreatening I have ever looked.”

“Just—” You stand up too quickly and feel yourself wobble. The railing is hardly a foot away, your hand moving over to grab it. Except your palms feel nothing but the flat of something smooth and hard, fingers bumping into the feeling of something unfamiliar. 

You manage to find your balance with a yelp, immediately snapping up to see where you missed the railing. The railing was still there, perfectly within arms reach. There’s a glare in your vision, like looking through a screen. Higher and higher, you realise quickly that you’ve been looking through a clear barrier so high up you can hardly find where it ends in its erect standing. 

Lorelai speaks up first, her voice resonating loudly, “Isn’t that supposed to be on the other side of the railing. Stupid, stupid Hansol.” 

It looks like it stretches throughout the circumference of the rink, wrapping whoever’s inside in a giant plastic fish bowl. 

There’s a clench in your jaw you can’t control, something a little more than annoyance building in your senses. It should be an easy thing to ignore, especially regarding its practically invisible nature, but its presence is all you can think about, even as you step your right blade onto the ice. 

Skating towards the middle of the rink, you feel claustrophobic. 

“Woah! You look like a zoo animal,” Lorealai adds unnecessarily. 

“Just play the track,” you grumble. 

“There should be a don’t tap on the glass sign,” she says, voice muffled as yells from the benches. “You already look like a weasel, can’t have confused people in the stands.” 

“Lorry!” 

“What?” she yells, her voice muffled as she yells from the benches. 

You curse the plastic that cages you as you yell louder, “Play the track!” 

Lorelai nods and makes a noise of understanding, and you watch her as she disappears into the sound booth. 

Taking your starting position, you wait for the quiet lull of the track before the beginning of the unmistakable piano; the low tremor in the beginning existing to prepare you to jump into the routine. You stand there with your arms out like a swan, waiting for your cue that won't seem to arrive. 

You almost yell out at Lorelai again before you suddenly hear the resonating shrill of the piano notes, startling yourself out of your first push. It’s fine, you’ll recover. You’re distracted by your staggered start and it’s enough to have you miss your first jump. It’s fine. You’ll recover. 

By the time the four minutes are up, you’ve missed two of your five jumps, a spin gone wrong, and nearly crashed into the plastic barrier. Not to mention, the aches in your body are enough to seem impossible to geographically pinpoint. 

It’s pointed, the way you make a beeline for the benches, refusing to look at Lorelai. You can almost imagine her expression, the poker face she has when she’s trying to think of ways to structure her next words nicely. 

“What was that?” she deadpans, voice a little far away. Your body hurts enough to take your focus away from her. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I thought your ankle was fine now?” she asks. 

You grit your teeth. “It is.” Lies. The way it was hurting you right now was making sure to remind you of that. 

“You know, you did pick back up a lot earlier than we thought—”

“I said I’m fine, Lorry,” you snap. “Now can you please play the track again.” 

You finally look up, and she looks like she wants to say something. But you’re on the ice before she can. 

You adapt to the excess muffle of the plastic barriers, ears straining to hear the beginning of the piano before you jump into the choreography smoother than last time. This time round, it’s better. The pain in your ankle and the budding one in your hip is apparent, but it’s suddenly easier to drown it out. Focusing on the music, keeping your centre of gravity, pushing into your jumps and spins with enough vigour to hold to what you are. 

Another four minutes pass and it’s over. Immediately, you swing over to the soundbooth to find Lorelai, only to find her joined by an extra set of people.

Impossibly, your blood runs cold. 

There’s a sneaking suspicion you know who it is despite the two men having their backs turned to you, especially judging by the obnoxious red jackets they have on. SVT. You can hear Lorelai speak indecipherably, her voice stern. 

“And you are?” one of them asks. You don’t recognise him, but you do the other one. The one who turned your music off the first day him and his team stepped foot in here. 

“Lorelai!” she yells it for no reason. 

“Gilmore?” The one you recognise snorts. Seungcheol, that’s what they called him the last time you saw him in the sound booth. 

“I’m worse,” she states. 

“Lorry?” you interrupt, arms crossed and gaze directed at her. 

“Lorry?” The one you don’t recognise says. “Like a truck?” 

“You think you’re funny?” Lorelai takes a step towards him, a fair attempt to look threatening if it weren’t for her very unthreatening attire. 

“Oh look at her pyjamas! It’s Pooh bear, Cheol,” he exclaims. That seems to irritate him. 

“Can you replay the track, please, I have to smooth things over,” you intervene. In your mind, ignoring their presence in your space was the best solution, refusing to give them a way to merge into your lane. 

“Woah, we have the rink booked today,” Seungcheol stops you. “4:30.”

Snapping around to find the clock on the adjacent wall, you read the time. “4:17. You can wait.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And thirteen minutes makes what difference?”

“You said 4:30. It is not 4:30 yet.”

The other one thumps him on the back, all smiles. “We can wait, right, Cheol? Besides, we have to put our skates on.” 

His gaze is hard and doesn’t leave yours. “Fine.” 

You break away first to find Lorelai still in the same position, staring at the exchange. You ignore the two men that stand there and address her, “Play the track.”

Before the music begins, you glance back to the benches where the two men have seated themselves, apparently strapping in to watch you. You dig your nails into your palm to reign yourself back in. No point in getting upset. 

The piano begins, and you're determined to not mess up. Especially not right now. 

It goes well for all of 45 seconds, you're hitting the right beats, you feel like water. But then the first jump comes along and you see a flash of red from the stands. An irrational feeling hits you as you push into the first jump, it’s enough to make you stumble when you land. You manage to not fall, but it’s obvious you’ve messed up. 

Somewhere beyond the music you hear a distinct, “Solid 4!”

It distracts you again, and you miss a move. Somehow your second jump ends up worse, and you feel your bottom hit the hard ice. 

“8 point 5! Nice!”

It doesn’t take long for you to realise what they’re doing, anger crashing into you like a flash flood. Scoring your falls? You’re determined to make the next jump combination. You make it fine, but your quad Salchow turns into a triple. The oafs are too shallow to notice, so you hear no jeer. 

But you know that you messed up the only quad in your entire program. 

The last jump goes from a triple axel to a double, and you want to break something. 

The song ends, and you know you have another nine minutes left to yourself, but all you can think about is getting out of the vicinity as soon as possible. Away from all of the eyes that are trained on your hunched form. 

There’s nothing you know about Seungcheol, and yet, the thought of him even looking at you right now is unbearable. Twice you fell, countless times you failed. 

Lorelai says nothing while you pack up, and nothing as you leave the rink. 

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, CENTER,” LORELAI reads aloud from your bed with her mouth still full of salt ‘n vinegar chips. 

“Perfect, he already thinks he’s the center of the universe,” you grumble from your position on the floor of the bedroom. Your foam roller feels like heaven under your calves, but the position is beginning to cramp. 

“Surprised you haven’t heard of him, he’s half a celebrity.” 

You turn to her, “I have two gold medals and five podiums for every major skating event.”

“Do I ask for your autograph?”

“He’s not special.”

“Hm. His skill and popularity would beg to differ.”

“Why are you so hellbent on liking him?” 

“Because he’s cute,” she grins wide. “Although the other one was cuter, very angel-like. And he liked my Pooh Bear trousers. Can’t find his name on the team roster though.”

“He was wearing the same stupid jacket—”

You’re cut off by a gasp, a loud one at that. “He coaches the babies!” 

Her face is contorted into something between an “aw” and a sob. 

Lorelai’s phone is dropped dramatically on the bed as she thrashes on your made (now unmade) bed. You swipe the phone and read. His picture is there, the name Yoon Jeonghan, Junior League Coach.

“Good for him.”

“He just got five times hotter,” she states like she’s out of breath. 

“Give it another meeting and he’ll give you five other reasons to hate him.”

“God, you’re so negative,” she huffs. 

“They’re hogging my rink!”

“It is not your rink.”

“It’s as good as!”

“Whatever.” Lorelai rolls her eyes and sets back on the bed, no doubt searching the man up by name. 

“Ow!” you yelp as you stand up from the ground, ankle twisting slightly in the process. 

Lorelai jumps. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mumble quickly, hoping she’d drop it. But she catches your lingering stare on your bad ankle. 

“It’s still hurting, isn’t it?”

“I just twisted it weird,” you defend, walking to pack up your foam rollers. 

You’re met with silence, but you know she’s thinking. Lorelai speaks, “Maybe you should skip out on the shelter today.”

You snort, “Why would I do that?”

Once, sometimes twice a week, you’d volunteer at the local pet shelter. It wasn’t hard work, mostly taking the bigger, more energetic dogs for their runs because it seemed you were the only one who could keep up with their stamina. And now Lorelai is trying to take that away from you. 

“I saw how you struggled at the rink today, there’s not a day you don’t rest. Like, actually rest.”

“That has nothing to do with me struggling!” you retort. 

“What is it then?” she asks, sitting up straighter, defiance in her gaze. “What is it that’s making you skate like you bought your first pair yesterday?”

The irritation is growing into something hotter, her defiance pushing you into a corner. 

“I know what you want to hear from me.” Your voice is shaky. “I’m not going to say it.”

“Because it’s not true? Or because you’ve been convinced it’s not?” 

You know what she’s talking about, and you know you’ve been avoiding the topic like it’s the plague. The ache in your ankle comes alive, and in that moment, you cannot tell if you’re imagining it or not. 

“Convinced by who?” you snap, shoving the box of foam rollers under your desk. 

“Does that have to come from me too?” 

“Lorry, I don’t know what you want from me!” 

“I—”

There’s a knock on your door, loud and demanding. Wrenching it open, you find Marina behind it. 

She has a frown on her face. “You’re still here? I thought you were running with the dogs today?”

“It’s none of your business if she goes or not, Marina.” Lorelai’s tongue drips with venom most commonly reserved for her most hated people. 

Marina, still in her workout clothes and duffel bag, furrows her eyebrows. “Who shoved a pole up your ass?” 

“I’m leaving in five,” you hiss, before making a motion to close the door. 

When you turn around, Lorelai is still on your bed, hands in fists like she’s holding herself back. There’s more behind her eyes than you could even consider unravelling. 

She leaves before you. 

THE ENTIRE WAY TO the rink was just one constant string of prayer. 

All of them go unanswered when you walk in to find the rink full of hockey players in red and black gear. 

The only thing you can do is curse under your breath, only watching frozen in your tracks as a million players skate across the rink passing and yelling at each other. No one you recognise, their helmets and gear eluding any semblance of individuality. 

Where you stand, a little ways away from the plastic screen and the benches, a dark circular puck suddenly slams directly into the boundary at eye level. On instinct, you flinch at the loud bang, half expecting to get hit. 

When you open your eyes, somebody’s skating up to the boundary, and you lock eyes through the cage of his helmet. 

Your blood is suddenly charged with something electric, fingers curling into fists on instinct. 

Suddenly, all that rings in your ears is the distinct jeers of numbers over the muffle of plastic as you continue to fall, and fall, and fall on the cold, unforgiving ice. The amusement in your failure, the joy in your defeat. 

Spinning on your heel, you stalk to Hansol’s office. 

In your blinding anger, you take a wrong turn, looking up to realise you’ve walked into the locker rooms. You’re one step into the men's locker room when you come back to your senses, startling yourself once again as you spin back from where you came, only you’ve been caught. 

For all the luck you’ve received in this life, it seems to opt out at that exact moment as you hear the unmistakable noise of a herd of ogres walking in, the glare of red on the walls surrounding them. Frozen in your spot, you can only grip the straps of your duffel bag harder, tense up like you were preparing for impact. When they turn the corner, the brilliant idea of simply walking towards the women’s locker rooms befalls you. But it’s too late. 

Seungcheol saunters into the hallway, leading the pack. 

His helmet is in his hands instead of on his head, revealing a sopping mop of hair drenched in what you can only imagine is sweat. He’s laughing at his teammate who’s making futile attempts to escape his own helmet, not noticing you in the way. 

Until he does. His smile fades immediately, eyebrows raised as he registers you in the doorway. You feel his gaze on you for a few silent moments, his teammates shushing at the shift in the air. Seungcheol opens his mouth, and you already know all that’s going to leave it is dung. “Didn’t realise the rink had a vacancy. Do I need to show you my ID to take a shower?”

A rustle of chortles and chuckles flitter from the group. “Go ahead. I don’t need an ID to tell you need a shower.”

Somebody ooh’s, despite it not being your best work. You suppose it was your delivery that did it. Deciding to continue riding that high, you simply turn towards the women’s locker rooms, refusing to give Seungcheol the luxury of your eyes on him.

Hurtling into the women’s locker room, you throw your duffel bag somewhere you’ll regret and crumple into one of the seats. You count to ten, attempting to take the image of Seungcheol out of your brain. 

It was difficult to rile you up to this extent, a trait you needed to possess if you were to be coached by Carroll in any capacity. There was so much you heard from her mouth, swallowing it like a prescribed pill and nothing more. Take what you were given, because it was given by the best, bought for you by the best.

Yet for some reason, Seungcheol manages to irk you in ways you previously have never encountered. Irritating people come and go, but you doubt you could place him as something as simple as just irritating. His presence felt like an intrusion, his air was thick like a concentrated gas. Everything he’s said to you so far has come from nothing but disdain and condescension, his haughty personality the only takeaway when he enters a room. 

You’re still in your outdoor shoes and jacket by the time twenty minutes are over, coming to a conclusion as you get up from the empty, soulless locker room. Hansol is in his office when you make the formality knock before barging in. His head is on the desk, like he’s asleep. It takes him a second, by he lifts his forehead from the papers on the tabletop to regard you at the door. You hear him sigh. 

“The hockey team’s done. It’s two.”

“I wanna book a slot.”

“The rink’s empty you don’t—”

“Let me book the slot, Hansol.”

“For fuck’s sake, you’re turning out worse than those baboons,” he curses before setting his forehead back onto the table. “Write it on the sticky note, I’ll put it in the schedule.”

“Now. I wanna book a slot for right now,” you grit. 

Hansol whips his head up again, eyes wide like he’s holding himself back, nodding furiously as he pulls his keyboard towards himself with an unnecessarily aggressive tug. “Fine. 2:16 till closing. Enter. Print. Here.”

He hands you the printed receipt of your slot, ripping it from the printer tray as he does it. You take it from him in the same vigour, hardly a thank you as you spin on your heels and walk out the door. You stop for a minute, turning back around to yell into the office. 

“Go home if you’re just gonna nap on your desk!” 

Not waiting for a response, you stalk towards the locker rooms. Within minutes you’ve tugged on your skates, laptop and shoes in each hand as you emerge out the tunnel to the rink. 

The ice is empty, mostly. Placing your laptop in the sound booth and your shoes under the benches, you step foot on the ice. They’re there, on the other end, sitting on the cold ice with their jerseys still on, eating what looks like cups of dippin dots. 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan, you remember from Lorelai’s squealing, either don’t notice you on the ice, or simply choose not to. Because it’s easy as you skate up to them, gaining speed from across the rink, you slide to a stop, sending a perfect spray of ice from your skates, directly into their ice cream cups. 

Seungcheol’s full spoon hangs mid air, halfway to his mouth, now garnished with ice shavings. 

“Thought you’d have the respect to keep the dippin dots out of this,” Jeonghan comments, disbelief in his eyes as he looks up at you. 

“Ice is booked.” 

“What time?” Seungcheol asks. Your gaze flickers to the left side of his face, a nasty bruise blooming purple and blue that you hadn’t noticed before. 

“2:16. It’s nearly fifteen minutes past.”

“You’re only one person.” He’s significantly more annoyed than when you saw him outside the locker rooms just minutes ago. 

“And?”

“And…you have about 97% of the rink to yourself.”

You raise your brows, hands on your hips. “But I booked 100% of it. So I’m gonna need that plane of ice you’re currently sitting on.” 

“What if I don’t move?” Seungcheol presses. It’s menacing, the way he looks at you, like he’s a lion only waiting to be provoked. Maybe he’s already halfway there, because it sure looks like it. 

“We’ll find out another day,” Jeonghan sings before you can snap back, grabbing onto the collar of Seungcheol’s red and white jersey to yank him up. He continues to glare as he obliges with his friend’s tugs, nearly as angry as you are. “Let’s go, sport.”

You watch as they walk to the exit of the ice, realising they’re wearing their shoes instead of their skates. 

Jeonghan calls from the benches, right before he and Seungcheol move out of view. “Trash those for us, would you?” 

Their half eaten dippin dots cups, with the ice now melting on them remains on the floor of the rink. Once again, the unexplainable urge to kick something befalls you, hearing them laugh and talk from far away as they exit the rink behind their long gone teammates. 

You give in, swinging a leg over to kick the cups and spoons, dippin dots and plastic scattering across the ice. It’s another sprawl of mess you’ll have to clean up, but it feels good to ruin something of his, no matter how inconsequential. The empty rink encourages you, needing to scream so loud the plastic barriers crack and break. You know it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop the urge. 

You channel it into the most aggressive warmups on ice you’ve ever done. Your spins are faster, your jumps higher. But this also means you crash heavier, fall harder. It’s then, sitting on the bench to take a break, breathing so heavy you can hardly sip your water, you find an unmistakable headline on your browser home page. 

Everything stops. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed center may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification! 

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation! 

BEFORE EVERYTHING, BEFORE YOUR ankle, before it began to feel like your world was crumbling at your feet, came the scar on your leg. 

In hindsight, it feels like it was the very thing that set the ball rolling, the beginning of your demise. 

Coach Carroll was only on her first handful of sessions with you, Lorelai and Marina, all of you still learning her quirks and expectations as a coach. 

It happened when you were on the sidelines, hanging over the boundary as Lorelai handed you a water bottle from the benches. Marina was practicing her routine, taking up most of the ice as Coach followed on the side. It seemed unclear, to this day, whether you’d drifted inwards on the ice as you sipped from the bottle, unaware. But when you felt the hot searing pain in your calf, there were only two people on the scene. 

Marina skated past, her free leg in the air, meeting your calf as she skated past, effectively slicing into your leg in a deep gash. Blood was wiped off the ice, your leg bandaged and wrapped. Not without Coach and her comments, of course. 

You heard her berate Marina from the other room, for moving closer to the boundary than what was required for her routine, heard the way she gave her the blame. And then she round up on you. 

“Idiot! No reason to be on the ice when you aren’t practicing, did you want it to be your ankles too?!” 

It was the first time you realised that Carroll was beyond your perception of the word demanding, her gaze remained in a high place, no regard for what it took to get there. Even if it meant destroying her skaters. 

Marina apologised. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t see you there, I would’ve dropped my leg—”

“It’s okay, Marina. Really,” you smiled through the still aching wound. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

She smiled a little too, “Lesson learned, I guess. Don’t loiter on the ice.” 

It was difficult to keep the smile from fading as you heard her say that.

“What shit apology is that?!” Lorelai yelled as soon as you mentioned it to her later. You cringe as you realise what slipped, and to whom it slipped to. 

“It’s the best I’m gonna get from her, Lorry. Honestly, I don’t care.”

“You’re out of service for a week till that slice heals and that’s all she has to give you?” 

Lorelai is breathing heavily, mostly because she’s been practicing her triple axels for her routine, but also because she’s extensively heated for you. You watch her from the benches. 

“Lorry,” you sigh. 

“Listen, I wanna win too but—”

“Are you trying to say she did it on purpose?” you ask. 

“No! Let me finish, woman,” she snaps. “I wanna win, you wanna win. We’re doing everything we can because we want to win—”

“So this was a subconscious attack?” you interject. 

“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” Lorelai begins to skate backwards and away, leaving you on the bench. 

“NO! Wait, okay, I’m sorry I won’t interrupt.”

“Too late.”

“Lorry! Lorelai!”

It wasn’t until you were back in your shared apartment, Marina out doing whatever while Lorelai hijacked your bed that she got to finish her sentence. She was rubbing ointment on a bruise while you changed the  bandage on your calf. 

“Her need to win is ruining her. And it’s like she’s taking us down with her. I know she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t want to hurt us. But she thinks this kind of hurt is good, if it’s the kind of hurt that pushes you to win.”

You cringed at the sight of the wound, still red and ugly. 

“She might not have meant to hurt your leg, but—don’t loiter on the ice? Really?”

“She only meant it as a reminder.”

“Exactly! You don’t need that reminder because I think you’ve learned better than anyone else to not stay on the rink when someone is practising. A couple weeks ago she made some stupid comment because I left the gym early. Nothing inherently rude, she’s never actually rude. But it was pointed anyway. I’ve been up since six in the morning I think I deserve slacking off a little, it was nearly midnight for fuck’s sake!” 

Cleaning the wound was taking everything you had, the need to hiss at the contact of the wet cloth was near abominable. 

“Her…her perception’s a little warped. But her heart’s in the right place!”

Lorelai had rolled her eyes, screwing the cap of her ointment tube back on with unnecessary force. “I never said it wasn’t, just—stop defending her! I’m sorry but half the reason she continues to act like this is because you listen to her.”

At that moment, you felt a little offended. Of course, Marina had her moments where she’d say something a little less than healthy, especially coming from a friend. But you’d always thought you handled it better than most. 

You met Marina when you were still only splotchy faced preteens, during a competition where she came second and you came third. She’d been skating for longer, so it was expected, but you also couldn’t conceal your surprise when you’d found the state of her later on. You were ecstatic simply because you managed to make it to the podium, but it seemed Marina’s tears held another thought process for her. 

You found her crying in the locker rooms later on, her coach who looked like she…should’ve been comforting her, but it was more like a stern talking to, to suck it up and work harder next time round. 

When you tried to help her, out came words you felt oh so strange coming from a stranger. “What do you know? You came third!”

It hurt. Possibly the first genuine stab of the feeling you’d ever felt. In the following weeks, when Marina apologised and you’d begun to build a friendship, you felt something peculiar. Practice sessions on the ice became harder, your two hour sessions were suddenly extending to four, sometimes five hours a day. All of it, your own doing. 

It was subconscious when it was happening, the silent tug of You came third! What you first considered an achievement became an intermediate step. 

If there was anywhere that you’d pinpoint the shift, from when figure skating went from fun to a responsibility, you’d pick that exact moment. When someone congratulated you later on, it wasn’t a big smile and a thank you.

“I only came third.”

Your calf healed and all that was left was a scar, but there in the discolouration of your skin, also lay a realisation. 

SEUNGCHEOL HOSTS ABSOLUTELY ZERO thoughts in his mind as he shoves the collar of his hoodie over his head. Slamming the door shut on the rest of his red SVT paraphernalia, he makes quick work of his hair, shoes on and out the door within the minute. Jeonghan is still fast asleep when he leaves, mouth open and drooling onto his pillow when Seungcheol walks into his room to let him know he’s leaving. 

Jeonghan might tag along to practice for the fun of it despite leaving his competitive hockey career behind him, but his distaste for 6 AM practice remains forever unchanged. He’d see him later though, on the rink lingering once the sun is higher in the sky and Jeonghan deems it less of a sin to be awake. 

Seungcheol leaves without a response from his friend. 

By the time he gets to the rink, most of the team has already geared up. The locker room is splotched with red, moving towards the back of the room to get to his own locker. They weren’t assigned, but he liked to have his claim. He had one in the old rink, the one locker everyone knew was his. And now he has one here, despite the temporary nature of the ordeal. The rest of the boys know to steer clear, as does he for the others who have their lucky spots. 

Mingyu bumps into his shoulder when Seungcheol is looking down, immediately whipping around to bow a full ninety degrees. He’s laughing as he apologises, not really sorry, but Seungcheol is too exhausted to humour him too much. 

He’d been up playing games all night, under the covers in the dark, his phone brightness up too high and his eyes too wide open. He could feel the regret when his alarm blared while it was still dark outside, his eyelids stuck together, refusing to open. It cost him fifteen minutes of warming up, but he’d make it somehow. 

Seungcheol can hear coach Mason’s booming voice from outside, moving closer and closer to hustle the rest of the boys out onto the rink. He shoves his foot into his skates, making sure all that’s left is to lace them up. 

“Look alive, boys! I want you on the ice within the minute,” he booms into the locker room. 

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. When he gets up to leave the locker rooms, his hockey stick and helmet in hand, he’s the last straggling few to leave. Chan earns himself a hard thump on the back from Coach as he scurries out. 

There’s a hand on Seungcheol’s chest as he’s about to exit, Coach stopping him from leaving. 

He looks up, expecting a hard look from Mason, ready to hear a mildly violent threat about being late to call time again. Except Seungcheol finds him with his own gaze on the floor. 

“Rink manager said I could use his office. We should talk there.”

Seungcheol could’ve said he knows what this was going to be about. The game last weekend had less than ideal results, not because they didn’t win, but more so because of the WWE level brawl that went down in the benches during one of the intermissions. 

He tenses, but it was more like he was squaring up. His shoulders are hard, his grip on his hockey stick tighter. Of course, he wasn’t about to swing at his coach, but one could say it was simply a subconscious response. 

The entire walk to the office, Seungcheol thinks of new ways Coach could address his issue. But the gist was always simple. 

Choi, stop fucking fighting. 

He’d usually just rip Seungcheol a new one in front of the boys, berate him and verbally throttle him in the hopes that he’d keep his anger under check. But as they turn towards the door to the office, Seungcheol has to remind himself that this was a first. Being led aside, like he was being led into some formal meeting. 

A plea deal, perhaps?

Choi, what is it going to take?

The office is barren, hardly looks like it’s used with how sparse the equipment is. The amount of dark brown gives it enough warmth to not make it look like some sick form of solitary confinement. That doesn't stop Seungcheol from feeling a hint of pity for whoever has to work here. There’s no nameplate. 

Coach doesn’t take a seat, opting to lean against the table in front of him instead. His arms are folded, and he’s not looking him in the eye. A crawl of suspicion creeps up Seungcheol’s neck, as though in an attempt to ambush him. 

It’s silent in the room as he waits for Coach to speak, refusing to be the one to break it. 

When he does speak, it’s not in his usual Coach voice. Without the built in bass and tremors he was born with. 

“There’s no easy way to break this,” he starts, eyes drifting up to somewhere on the barren walls. “But I’m gonna try my darndest.”

Finally, he feels Coach’s gaze lock with Seungcheol’s expecting pair. 

“They wanna drop you.”

“What?”

Coach squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s recalibrating. “Your contract is up by the end of the season. And the tie wearers and the shoe shiners don't wanna re-sign you.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean don’t wanna re-sign me, on what grounds?!”

“You’re temperament—”

“I’ve scored at least two goals for every game you’ve put me in, I’m your most consistent player!”

“They have no qualms with you when you’re on the ice.”

Seungcheol knows where this is going. He knows what knocked up alley this is turning to and he hates it. “Which is all that should matter.”

“In most cases.”

“Is this about last weekend? You didn’t hear him, he deserved more than a broken fucking nose—”

“I didn’t need to hear him, because I know. I know he’s a jackass, I know they’re all jackasses! They know that too. You need to learn to let things go, let them chirp—”

“He was coming on to my mother!” Seungcheol bellows, now properly angry. He remembers the guy’s name, Jason or something. 

“His coach came onto my entire bloodline when we were young, this is Kim’s strategy! You’re playing right into their hands like a dog! For fuck’s sake, Choi! Punching someone in the chiclets isn’t always the answer!” Coach Mason is shaking his hands in front of him like some violent prayer. 

Seungcheol drops his hockey stick and helmet, mouth open as he huffs and puffs. He wants to pace, wants to point his fingers at Coach and make a few threats of his own. 

“Just—”

Seungcheol rounds up on him. “Seungkwan punched a guy in the mouth. Wonwoo kicked one in the balls.”

“Seungcheol. This is becoming nearly. Every. Single. Game. Not the occasional tousle we can pull people out of. You can’t keep sending people to the hospital, it’s a wonder nobody's pressed charges yet!”

“So that’s it? I’m being punished because some dick runs his mouth?” 

“This is about you, Seungcheol. You need to get a fucking grip. You’ve started picking at your own teammates, shoving Mingyu around—seriously?”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens but nothing leaves it. He ends up gaping like a fish. 

For all that it was worth, for everything he’d been through, Seungcheol always assumed his seat was safe. Always assumed he’d have the position he does. Because he showed results, won them nearly every game and put up a damn good fight in the ones they didn’t. 

Seungcheol knew he was an asset, but not for one minute, stop to realise that this was all

conditional. 

For everything he did for this team, for every fiber of his being he poured into its chalice, they were spitting it all right back into his face. Chewed and warped and rid of anything worth salvaging. 

The red in his chest, back, stomach, spelling out the unmistakable letters of his team. The red in his helmet that rests beside the red in his hockey stick. 

“Listen, as much of a pain in the ass you are, you’re good fucking player. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters. But it’s not up to me, so we need to work around that. They’re worried about the repercussions of your behaviour. And you are gonna make sure you keep yourself in check.” 

Coach walks closer, finger digging into Seungcheol’s chest through his jersey. “I want no more fights, no more kicking and punching and swearing no matter how much that motherfucker deserves it, I don’t care. Do whatever it takes. God knows I’ll never forgive you if you make me agree to those prissy hands in suits.”

Coach left Seungcheol in the barren office, stepping over his stick and helmet as he exited the room, leaving him alone. His fingers flex under his gloves, like he’s trying to remind himself to stay in the moment. His exhales are stronger than his inhales, his vision blurring as the desk turns into two, and then disappears for a second. 

He can hear the distinct sound of the puck slamming into hockey sticks. Practice had started. By the time Seungcheol walks out, he’s the last person to go through the mandatory drills. 

The rink is mostly empty as the team gears up for a practice match, leaving Seungcheol enough reign to slam into every puck like he had some personal vendetta against every last one. It’s one after the other, sent directly into the open net, waiting. 

Practice goes fine, as good as it could go with the scrambled eggs that had become of Seungcheol’s mental state. He found himself whipping his head around to Jun when he fumbled an assist, face scrunched under his helmet as he prepared to send him to hell in a handbasket. 

He sees Jun physically tense up in defense, and the insult (for once) dies on Seungcheol’s tongue. 

“Just—keep up, alright,” he says instead. His tone is empty, and on a downward slope. 

If anyone finds it odd, they don’t say. 

It’s a couple more hours of passes, assists and hollers across the ice, regrouping the teams every so often to keep the rotation consistent. 

Over here, everyone is in red, everyone is on his side. The bleachers are empty, devoid of spectators to watch him lose his cool on anything. But he thinks of the way Jun recoiled, like he was preparing for the worst of his teammate’s words. He and Jun are friends. 

Somewhere amidst his thoughts, the puck flies directly into Seungcheol’s face, banging into the cage of his helmet with a noise that resonates across the rink. He’s startled enough to skate back a little, not before hearing another resounding thwack! from next to him. The puck rebounded from his helmet and hit the plastic barrier with a noise that had everyone looking over. 

Skating up to where the puck fell back onto the ice, he looks up to where it hit the barrier. 

Through the plastic he sees…you. You're staring at the same spot he is, where there’s a slight mark from the force of the rubber. 

And then your eyes drift up, locking with his own. 

Like every other person he’s around, he watches you tense up. But it’s laced with something more than just bracing for impact. 

It’s apprehension, your form turbulent and agitated. It’s all he can see when you spin on your heels and walk away in the opposite direction from him. 

The all too familiar irritation sparks in the back of Seungcheol’s mind, as it does when you’re around. All he does is slam his stick into the ice with force, pushing the puck back into the middle of the rink. 

They’re nearly done by that point, and he finds that Jeonghan has graced himself in the benches. He’s wearing his old jersey, likely because he doesn’t want Coach to notice him and accuse him of distracting his players. 

Jeonghan would’ve gotten away with it anyway. 

Seungcheol tells him to wait up, walking towards the locker room with the rest of the rest of the team to wash up. He finds some reprieve in Seungkwan’s attempts at fumbling with his helmet, letting out a laugh as he fights with it. Looking up as they take the turn towards the locker rooms as a group, he somehow finds himself in your presence, again. 

It’s the same thing, like you’ve been connected to a faulty circuit and you’re trying not to show it. You look like you want to say something but all Seungcheol can do is send a snarky remark of his own. 

Even as you walk away after the ordeal, he feels anything but settled. 

It’s like the world has it out for him, because as he opts to stalk back to where Jeonghan was, forgoing a shower, there’s only another calamity waiting for him. 

Jeonghan is in the rink, sitting on the ice with two cups of what looks like dippin dots. He looks up when he hears his treads on the ice, having taken his skates off already. Seungcheol crumples to the ground and on the ice next to his friend. 

The first words he utters are the only ones that’ve been on his mind all day. “They want to drop me.”

Jeonghan only grimaces in response, only running his hands through his hair as he sighs loudly. “I know. I heard.”

Seungcheol perks up, head lifting from the ice. “...How?”

That’s how Seungcheol has Jeonghan’s phone so close to his face he’s hardly an inch away from the screen. He reads and reads and reads. And his blood boils and boils and boils. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed centre may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around though, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification! 

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation! 

Of course, to add to the absolute media pandemonium, you had shown up on the rink itself after Seungcheol had to read through the entirety of that stupid article. Jeonghan was smart to pull him away from the situation before he wrapped both his hands around your neck in an ultimatum. 

The way you stood there, hip popped like you owned the damn place, face haughty and demanding. You stood while they sat, looking down at Seungcheol like he was some pesky ant. There was nothing he would’ve rather done in that moment than swing his leg clean across your ankles, and watch in delight as you crash onto the ice in front of him. 

“What the fuck is her problem?” he grits as soon as he’s in the locker rooms. Collecting his things to leave and take a shower at home. 

Jeonghan walks behind him, hands in his pocket in idleness as he watches his friend pack up. He’s humming a tune that’s possibly too familiar to Seungcheol. “Hm. She does seem a little wound too tight.”

“Wound too tight?! I’ve seen her thrice just today and every single time she looks like she wants to skin my fucking hide!”

Jeonghan only snorts. “Thing two isn’t any better. She’s cute though.”

Seungcheol whips around. “Who gets that territorial over a sound booth?!”

“Down, boy,” Jeonghan soothes, half in jest. “Surprised she isn’t here today either.”

“Yeah, you’d like to see her.”

“I would, actually, yes. What was her name?”

“Something to do with a train or a bus or something—”

“Lorry! Right,” Jeonghan furrows his brows. “I don’t think that’s her real name.”

Seungcheol throws his duffle bag over his shoulder as he motions he’s done. “I don’t think anyone who actually loves their child would name them after a bus.”

Jeonghan halts in his steps. “My dead dog’s name was Lorry.”

Seungcheol is extra nice for the rest of the way home. 

SEUNGCHEOL CAN'T SLEEP.

His dreams are full of voices, of every single teammate he’s ever had. The junior league, his high school team, up to his college team, and finally, his team right now. 

They’re all murmuring like they were paid to do it, uttering the same things, over and over. He doesn’t belong here, they don’t want him here, he doesn’t deserve what he has. 

And with the way his heart is racing when he jolts awake, cold sweat and all, he realises he’s kicked his blanket off of him sometime during the night. He looks over to his alarm clock that glares bright in the dark of his room; 5:08 AM.

He doesn’t need to be up, but it seems his own subconscious has given him a good enough scare to make sure every last essence of sleep escapes him. He lays on his back, catching his breath like he just ran a marathon. 

Seungcheol hasn’t woken up from a nightmare like this since middle school, one that knocks the breath from his lungs and fills his head with all the horrible things in the world. With every moment that passes after that conversation with Coach Mason, his ordeal becomes increasingly real. 

In that moment, laying in his bedroom, staring blankly at the dark ceiling above, he wonders if he’s made the right choice to come this far. 

With all the confidence he’s exuded, the thought is downright terrifying. 

Seungcheol was a difficult child. Too much energy, too much to say, too much to do. His parents didn’t know the first thing about hockey, just that it involved enough hitting and running and practice to let their son let out all that pent up energy, so maybe, just maybe, he’d sit still and do his homework. While they attempted to sign him up at the local rink, he was already zooming out towards the benches to see the fabled giant block of ice his parents told him about. 

And there it was, just like in the movies, a giant expanse of ice that made him shiver even in his thick Winnie The Pooh puffer vest. There’s sounds, loud ones, of deep clacks that echo across the rink. It seems to be coming from the dozens of people skating on the rink, decked out in red gear. 

SVT, he reads on their jerseys. 

His mother chides him for straying when they finally find him near the gate, watching the team practice. The rink manager is there as well, showing his parents around. 

“The SVT’s practice here and have a junior league too, but I’m afraid it’s full. But our coach is great too, I’m sure he’ll do well.”

Seungcheol’s parents didn’t mind, but he wanted those jerseys, wanted his name in red splashed across his back as he glided across the ice. 

It didn’t take long for his coach and his parents to realise that putting him in a helmet was a good idea. He was smoking the rest of the kids from day one, his balance on the ice better than any other his age, his hold on a hockey stick like second nature, his aim as he hit his first puck, dazzling. 

As he got older, entering his preteen and teen years, he had another realisation. That he was as horrible at school as he was good at hockey. 

“Perhaps you should take a break from hockey,” his high school guidance counsellor had said. His grades were displayed in front of her like a case study, the hopeless clear in her intermittent sighs and the occasional purse of her lips. “Utilise that time to fix at least one of your grades. Pour all your eggs in one basket.”

The thought was absurd. No, he would not be dropping hockey when it was the only thing that pushed him to wake up in the morning. 

He’d felt the tremble of irritation rise in himself, sitting there in that office. It angered him, made him feel like his success was measured by a criteria not made for him. He had said nothing as he slipped out of chair and left the room. 

The day before his graduation, sweat dripping onto the ice as he sent free pucks into the net, he was missing more than he was getting in. It was making him more mad than it should, hands shaking with fury as he berated himself for not being able to succeed in something so simple.

His last puck was before him, and he swung his stick harder than ever and watched as it flew directly into the net. The sound is louder than usual, resonating across the rink. Seungcheol looked down at the detached pieces in his hand and quickly realised that he’d effectively broken his hockey stick.

It wasn’t expensive, so the quality wasn’t nearly what it should be, wasn’t nearly as durable. But this was new to him. He’d never broken a stick before. 

Anger. Perhaps that was what he'd forgone, perhaps that was what he needed. To get on his knees from his back, to get on his feet from his knees. 

When he graduated the next day, Seungcheol knew what he was going to do with his life. Finally had an answer for the infinite questions about his future. 

Hockey. Seungcheol was going to play hockey for the rest of his life. He was going to get into SVT, he was going to become the best player they’ve ever had. He was going to make more money than what he would have as a doctor or a lawyer or whatever else the entire world wanted him to do instead. 

Seungcheol was going to be on the ice wearing red if it’s the last thing he does. 

That’s what pushes him out of bed at 8:45 in the morning, his dream that was once in his hands now flitting through the gaps of his fingers. 

The anger that pushed him here, was now pushing him out. 

He packs his things and leaves the house, welcoming the cold of the outdoors. 

There’s the distinct sound of blade cutting through ice when he gets nearer to the rink itself, a shout of a shrill voice he can’t decipher. Official practice doesn’t start for another couple hours, and he doesn’t remember Coach Mason cutting the pitch in his voice for anything ever. There’s only one other person that could possibly be gracing the rink.

Seungcheol finds three people on the rink. The bright red curly mop of hair catches his eye first, her arms folded over her green puffer jacket, apprehension in her entire posture. He assumes this is your coach. 

There’s a blonde one breathing heavily as she straightens out of a spin, listening to the coach as she shakes her head violently as she speaks. 

Seungcheol finds you a little ways away from the pair, practising jumps. 

He doesn’t emerge into the benches, remaining in the shadows where he wouldn’t be so blaringly obvious. There’s no reason for him to hide, but he doesn’t think of this as hiding. 

Seungcheol watches for the next few minutes, watches you make most of your jumps, fall for some. Your coach shouts for particular names for jumps, something about axels and lutz’ that he can’t tell the difference from when put into action. At least he thinks that’s what you’re doing. 

And then he hears it as your coach moves closer to the barriers. “What’s gotten into you? Keep acting this stupid and I’ll excuse myself from the job, I have better people to coach.”

Her tone, her words, the sharp edge of her tongue, it’s all triggering a very specific part of Seunghceol’s brain. 

“Is it your ankle? Because if it is, then I’m here to tell you to get out of your own head. Your ankle is fine, you wouldn’t be able to get on the ice at all if it wasn’t.” 

There it comes. Those words aren’t directed towards Seungcheol, nor could they apply to him in any capacity. But the way this coach is speaking is making him irrationally angry. 

“Are you gonna keep pretending you have a handicap? Because if you are then I have no work here.”

“I’m sorry.” 

For whatever reason, the sound of you apologising makes the fire rage doubly. It’s enough to blur his vision, enough to make him question what on earth this coach could have on you to let her speak to you in that way. 

The choice words are already in his head as he claps back in his own head, like he was the one at the receiving end. 

He doesn’t stay, disappearing even further into the tunnel to where the locker rooms are. He doesn’t understand why he’s huffing and puffing as much as he is. All that occupies him is what possible reasons you could have to just take it lying down. 

Seungcheol’s phone vibrates in his pocket, slipping it out to realise it’s Jeonghan. 

He picks up, and barely has time to say hello before his voice perks up from the other line. “Where are you?” He sounds like he just woke up. 

“I’m at the rink.”

“Why is your angry voice on?”

“My angry voice is not—” he begins to grit, seething, but closes his eyes and takes a moment. “I’m not mad.”

“Do I need to sing?”

“No, you do not have to sing—”

“Everything is honey—”

“Jeonghan, stop!”

“—everywhere I see—”

Seungcheol hangs up before he can go on. To his utmost irritation, he feels significantly calmer. 

The rink is devoid of your red headed coach when Seungcheol makes his way there after a few minutes. The blonde one is nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone in the rink as you skated across the expanse. He only watches as you land the couple attempts at jumps, the ice breaking ground in a spray every time you put pressure on your blades. 

Seungcheol is just standing there, blank faced with an empty head. His mind was quiet for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, standing idle as he follows your figure around the rink like a fixation point. 

The sound is more consistent, less of the loud jabs of hockey sticks meeting the ice, more constant lines of scraping as you migrate across the rink. The speakers boom no sound, but the musicality in the noise of the ice is enough to imagine a rhythm. 

No part of him desires getting on the ice to oust you out, no part of him wants to touch his hockey stick that sits in the locker room. He doesn’t need extra practice, not with hockey at least. 

And when you notice him, unmoving in the benches, he watches as something hard overcomes your expression. You skate over, and he keeps his gaze fixated on the ice.

Skating up to the gate, he sees in his peripheral vision as you slip on your skate guards, stepping out into the real world. 

“You don’t have the rink booked, I checked,” you huff, moving to find your things on the other set of benches. 

Seungcheol’s jaw tenses. “I don’t want the rink right now.”

“And yet the ghost loiters.”

“I’m here to tell you to start filling in the stupid craters your skates make in the ice. The guys keep tripping.” 

“You big hockey thugs getting defeated by a toe pick?” 

Seungcheol turns to finally look at you, and you look nothing as graceful as you did on the ice. He wants to scoff. 

You continue, “I have to deal with your stupid barriers fucking up my sound system. I think your guys can deal with a couple digs in the ice.” 

“Great, we’ll just lose a couple teeth, who really gives a fuck.” 

“If this is about giving fucks,” you get up from your water break, leaving the bench. “Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't."

Seungcheol’s entire being is ablaze. He reshuffles his footing. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” you repeat, voice moving a pitch higher. “My fucking problem is that you and your overgrown posse of baboons drop in here out of the blue and then act like you own the damn place!”

“Right, because it’s your name on the fucking lease. Excuse us for trespassing on public property!”

You’re yelling. Seungcheol is yelling. It’s either that or the hollow of the rink is now carrying your voices farther out. 

“I’ve had enough of you acting like you don’t take up this entire fucking space!” Your arms wave wildly, gesturing to the large area of the rink. “You’re everywhere, all the fucking time, it’s sickening!”

“Everywhere, huh?” He takes a step closer to you. And then another. He revels in the sight of your face turning a splotchy red. “Thought I was only a bother on the ice? Where else have I been plaguing you in mystic hallucinations?”

Seungcheol’s eyes give away nothing but provocation. He knows he didn’t start this, but in the true essence of who he is, he would be the one to end it. 

It’s clear you’re taken aback. At this moment, he’s the closest he’s ever been to you. But it’s for nothing if it isn’t to press on you further, to tower over you and your outburst. 

“Get your head out of the gutter, you brute.”

“Then is it not me taking up all your space?” he asks. “Because there’s three feet of air between us, and yet the least in our very short time together.”

He watches as you take a small step back.

“So where else have I been any closer, so consistently, if it wasn’t part of your imagination?”

There’s a certain kind of venom in your stare, in the sneer that lifts your mouth, enough to ensure that it’d render him six feet deep. But he lives in reality, so he deems it safe to take another step closer. 

“You’re a screw up,” you almost whisper. Appalled and scandalised. 

“So I’ve been told,” Seungcheol breathed. “But something tells me we’re not so different in that department.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know that I’m all you can think about,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That feels like a lot. You’d agree, because everywhere, all the fucking time is a lot.” 

Seungcheol has hardly finished his sentence before he feels the light breeze of you gathering your few things, shouldering him hard and walking away from him. Into the tunnel, into the locker rooms, into hell, wherever it was that you ended up by the close of the day. 

He isn’t afraid to admit that he stumbled.

LORELAI HAD MADE IT quite clear that any figure skating talk was off the table, and talk surrounding Marina even more so. You tried not to point out the obvious predicament, but the fact that you lived with Marina did not affect her demand. 

Miraculously, not talking about skating or Marina was the most free you’d felt in ages. It was mildly embarrassing in the beginning, when on a run with Lorealai who was also helping out at the dog shelter, because you realised all you talked about was, maybe not Marina, but definitely a lot of skating. 

You slow down a little to give Kkuma a couple minutes to breathe, but Lorealai is still running at her pace with her significantly more energetic husky, Bennie. 

“Stay there, I’ll catch up!” she yells over her shoulder as she takes the left around the block to circle back. 

You oblige, moving to a walking pace as Lorelai appears from behind you after a couple minutes. She slows to a jog and loiters around you for a minute, you increase your speed to match hers. 

“Jeonghan…” she pauses to take a breath. But your interest is piqued, especially if she was talking about the same Jeonghan you were thinking about. “Jeonghan invited me to the game this weekend.”

Hold. 

“What?” you snap.

“Game. This weekend,” she huffs, still breathing heavily. 

“Like, a hockey game?” you ask, brows furrowed. 

“No, for disney on ice,” she announces. “They’re doing beauty and the beast, Jeonghan’s the beauty, Seungcheol is the beast. It’s a whole production, really. Real good stuff.”

You can only roll your eyes at the elaborate sarcasm. She continues, “Of course, it's a hockey game! What else do they do at that rink all day?”

“Gosh, sorry,” you frown. “Since when do you talk to Jeonghan?”

She looks over, wicked smile on her face. “Since I found him on Instagram.”

“You followed him?”

“No, why would I do that? Bumped into him at the gym a while ago, and we went out for coffee afterwards.”

Nothing of the ordeal is making sense, your brows still knit together and your mouth downturned in confusion. 

“Catch you in a minute!” she yelps as she takes off into a run again, Bennie right next to her as she circles round again. 

The few minutes that it’s just you and tiny Kkuma are flooded with questions. How did she just bump into Jeonghan? Lorelai hardly goes to the gym. Asking her to come to the hockey game? 

And then worst of all. 

Are they dating? 

By the time Lorelai is back, she’s out of breath again, and fully unequipped to answer all of the questions you shoot at her like rapid fire. 

“Why were you at the gym? He’s a junior league coach, he’s not even gonna be playing!”

“God!” she groans, heaving. “Slow…down.”

“Fine!” You stop in your tracks entirely, to which Lorelai is happy to oblige as she crouches with her hand on her knees. Bennie tugs at her leash, the big bounding ball of fluff ready to race the winds again. 

You count to ten, hands on your hips as Kkuma lets out a small, confused yip now that you’re completely idle on the track. 

“Talk.” 

With an all too dramatic flip of her short hair, she pulls herself up and into an explanation. “I couldn’t tell you because we weren’t talking when it all happened.”

It’s true, it did take a while for you to go back to normal after that run in with Marina in your bedroom. You suppose it won’t be happening again with the new no-Marina-talk rule, since she seemed to be quite the common factor in many of your rifts over the years. 

“I went to the gym to blow off some steam—don’t look like that, I’m being serious!” 

You make an attempt at fixing your face as she continues. 

“He saw me first and came up to say hi. Went our separate ways but once we finished up he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee since we were both done working out.” 

“And you said yes?”

“I said yes. Because he is cute, and I had been stalking his very public Instagram and it was just the perfect opportunity!” 

“So you’re dating?” you ask sharply. 

“I don’t know.”

“He asked you to the game?” you point out. 

“Well, yes, but he hasn’t asked me asked me.” Somewhere in her voice there’s the tiniest hint of disappointment. “Besides, he said to bring you as well.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come ooon! Jeonghan’s gonna be in the benches and I don’t know anyone else there!” she whines. 

“Hey, we should switch dogs!” you announce as you yank Bennie’s leash out of Lorelai’s hands, stuffing  Kkuma’s leash into her free hand. 

You take off into a sprint, and Bennie is happy to keep up with you as you quite literally run away from the situation. Lorelai is yelling your name, her annoyance abundant. 

Ignoring her is easy. Just the thought of walking into one of those games is enough to force a scoff, to watch your rink inhabited with like minded buffoonery as they ruin the bleachers and the ice. 

By the time you make it back, the hilarity of the situation hasn’t left you. And it seems neither has Lorelai, who remains standing with Kkuma at her feet, waiting to trap you. 

It’s the easiest thing to do, to turn right back around and circle the other way. 

“You can’t run away from me forever!” she shouts behind you as you disappear again. 

Maybe you couldn’t, but you wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“You can’t run away from Seungcheol forever! Quit pretending like you aren’t dying to fall into those giant arms!” Lorelai has a very specific talent of injecting all the drama in the world in the tone of her voice. She’s sure to utilize that skill as she hollers after you. 

That seems to do it for you, slowing down, half ready to whip around and holler a profanity or two right back. 

You’re more triggered than usual, but mostly because all the jab does is remind you of the last time you saw him. The arrogance in his demeanor, the way he belittled you with just his eyes, the shadow of his towering frame, caging you like a lost animal. 

You hated it. Despised it. Despised him. His disgusting innuendos, the all so misleading innocence on his face as he cornered you with both his body and his words. 

Lorelai could deal you whatever card there was tied up her sleeve, but getting you anywhere near the rink for the game this weekend was going to require more than just dessert bribes and sweet talking. Dragging you by the ankles could be a possibility, but all for naught when you dig your nails in anyway. 

It was impossible. Not doable. Non-existent in the cards of your destiny. A repelling force. 

So why, would one ask, were you decked out in the most  heinous red scarf with the letters SVT stitched on like a warning, sitting in the bleachers and looking down at the same rink you practice your spins and jumps in everyday? 

Neither you or Lorelai could answer that question, both your stories as blurry as fog as to how either of you managed to get you in that fabled seat. 

You could see the exact place you and Seungcheol had your last showdown, the opposing team in black now occupying that side of the benches. The thought puts you in an impossibly sour mood. It’s not like Lorelai could say anything about it, half because she knows you’re one snide remark away from jumping into the merch table, and half because she was too busy making heart eyes at Jeonghan who’s just spotted her in her seat. 

“I’ll be back,” she informs haphazardly as she positively bounds down the steps to the end of the bleachers, where Jeonghan waits for her. The people in their seats shuffle, annoyed at the overenthusiastic fan who practically slides down in front of their legs towards the railing. But Lorelai couldn’t care less, not with what stood beyond that very railing. 

Tearing your eyes away from the lovebirds, you take in the hustle and bustle of the pregame happenings, most of the bleachers in disarray as they humour the merch stands and the food stalls. The rink smells different because of it, both the added number of food trucks and drink stands, but also with the amount of people that occupy the expanse. 

The only times you see the rink this packed is when you’re too wracked with nerves to notice anything other than your own two feet. Hands wringing and head spinning, the chaos of the world is nothing against the pandemonium in your mind. You’re usually wearing a sparkly dress that glitters even from the very last row of bleachers, hair taut and makeup caked on like a layer of icing. 

Taking your time, you let your eyes flit over all that you forgo the other times. The stands are a mix of red and black, and so are the benches and ice that are occupied by men in full hockey gear. 

You’re too high up to make out the names on the back of all those jerseys, let alone a face underneath the already concealing helmets. The problem is forgotten when you feel the weight of two hands slam against your folded arms, tugging you out of your seat like it was stolen property. 

“Jeonghan said we could sit closer to the benches downstairs!” Lorelai is frantic, like this wasn’t a matter of reserved seats but the last plane to leave hell itself. 

“Lor—” Finishing a sentence when she’s in this state is a luxury you learn quickly to live without, because all that concerns her right now is getting closer to the man that seems to have enraptured her like never before. 

It’s disgusting. But you follow her anyway, down the steps that you nearly eat shit on, gracefully of course, because what figure skater doesn’t fall with an epic crash worthy of an Expendables cameo. You stabilise yourself enough to get to the seats Lorelai is talking about, and sure enough, Jeonghan would barely have to get on his tiptoes to hoist himself into the bleachers altogether. You question the safety of the context but decide that it wasn’t your problem if someone decided to pounce on one of the players. 

Besides, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t revel in the absolute scene of Seungcheol getting jumped by an over-passionate fan. You’re suddenly very grateful for the front row seats. 

There’s a bucket of chicken tenders and fries in your lap out of nowhere, matching the one in Lorelai’s hands. “Also Jeonghan?” you hum as you inspect the sauce options. 

“Mhm, he’s friends with the vendor outside,” she grins. 

You narrow your eyes at the revelation, finding it utmost strange how close he seems to be with nearly everyone. “Why is he on the benches, again?” you ask. 

“Because—” she draws before you cut her off. 

“Friends with the coach?”

“How’d you know?!” she exclaims. Her attention is diverted as the speakers suddenly boom with something other than generic pop music. So is yours, when you hear a deep baritone of a commentator’s voice carries throughout the rink. 

The shuffle around you is suddenly doubling in speed, everyone getting into their seats. You look over in front of you, where the benches are in an equally panicked shuffle. You spot Jeonghan easily, mostly because he’s one of the few in the vicinity without a helmet or what looks like a giant space suit. The next thing you note is the person he’s talking to, his back turned to you, but familiar all the same. 

CHOI, 95, reads his jersey. Automatically, your jaw clenches.  “Don’t look over there!” Lorelai chides, grabbing your jaw and moving it to force you to rip your eyes away from him. 

“Lorelai, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but unlike your boy toy, he’s actually gonna be on the ice,” you verbalise through clenched teeth. 

“Don’t look at the ice,” she blurts. 

Rolling your eyes, you only listen as she realises what she’s said. “Okay, um, look at Jeon instead! Or Kim, or Boo, just. For god’s sake, there’s fifty other players on the ice, just don’t let one of them ruin your night!” 

“I’m fine,” you grumble, sinking into your seat. 

It isn’t long before your eyes trail over anyway, and Seungcheol still doesn’t have his helmet on. You can see his face now, and he looks like he’s mad at Jeonghan about something. 

Inevitably, your mind wanders to the fated article that somehow made its way into your recommended, the certainty it put in you that Seungcheol didn’t stand a chance in his team anymore. It seemed true enough, his anger, that he continues to display, seemed to be his default emotional setting. 

Your hockey knowledge was subpar at best, but one thing you did know was the aggression factor of the sport. Of all the things that could cut his career clean down the middle, this was the last of your guesses.  

Even now, as you watch him absentmindedly point and jerk like his supposed friend had managed to bring him something that was personally offensive, it’s all connecting too well. 

But when you snap into reality, you realise very quickly that he was pointing…at you. 

Seungcheol is mad that Jeonghan (effectively) brought you to the match. 

A chortle of disbelief is quick to make itself known, wanting to yell across the throng that you were every bit as upset that he was in your vicinity too. It also brings you satisfaction, a pure grain of hope, that maybe this would be enough for him to completely fuck up on the ice today. 

You say a quick amen before the baritone of the commentator makes itself known again. The echo is too much for you to decipher what’s going on, but you have your answer when you watch the reds and the blacks form what looks like a line across the width of the rink, right in the center. 

You don’t register when the puck landed, or if it was always there, just that the loud clacks and bangs are in tandem with the cheer from the crowds. The puck is an impossible commodity to keep up with, even with just your eyes. It appears for a moment before it’s lost again, shooting around in your peripheral vision like a pesky fly you can never get a hold of. 

“What is happening?” you whisper to yourself. 

Lorelai answers anyway, snorting, “Fuck if I know.”

The numbers on the lit screens are doing nothing to help out your predicament, too much happening for you to even begin to deconstruct. You choose to lay back and enjoy your chicken tenders and fries, complimenting the sauce choices to Lorelai along the way, who continues to calibrate her attention on the man that remains in the benches. Jeonghan looks over periodically to send her a wave and a blinding smile. 

You’ve made a good enough dent in your chicken and fries bucket by the time it’s intermission, about ready for a drink by now. Lorelai makes herself useful and runs down to get you both something, mostly because Jeonghan was now more focused on the team that’s huddled around one another, another man you assume is their coach huddled right with them. 

The scores are 2-2, as provided by the person behind you who was apparently sick of your placid obliviousness. It did feel slightly awkward to be the only person not as excited to be front and center, so you remind yourself to thank him profusely. 

Your attention drifts back to the benches, inevitably as you’ve been so unfortunately placed to be able to breathe down the player’s necks. They’ve dispersed from their huddle, but are not yet on the ice. They’re sitting down, catching their breaths, drinking from water bottles. On the other side, the opposing team, a sea of black and white flooding their own end of the benches. It’s a sinking colour, not an ounce of depth in the shade. It’s taking over the benches. 

Except it’s the players that are moving, like they’re diffusing into the scarlet territory. 

You watch, as one player in black moves his mouth, speaking, upturned and eyebrows cocked. It’s clear he’s gone well past enemy lines, the front lines suddenly at attention. There’s not much you can make out, nothing much besides the very haughty expression on the player’s face. His eyes are covered by the sweaty mop on his head, but you don’t need to see them to find the malice that infiltrates his entire stance.

The scene, where both sides seem to be closing in on each other, has you automatically sitting up straighter. The air is going static, especially as you realise the player's mouth is moving faster as he jabs at — Seungcheol. 

They’re fighting, only verbally for now, but it’s undeniable the way the heat grows by the second. All you can see is the back of Seugncheol’s jersey as he begins to step back from the ordeal, like he was fighting the urge to take a step forward instead. 

Jeonghan’s hand is on Seungcheol’s elbow, and one glance at the rest of the players on this side shows every last one on edge. Their coach is nowhere to be seen. 

But he doesn’t stop talking, still standing in their territory. He yells something loud enough to hear the pitch of his voice, but not nearly enough to understand what he’s saying. 

You could see it on the player’s face. Hook, line and sinker. 

It happens so suddenly. Seungcheol surges forward like a dart, something flies out and hits the player square in the face. 

Seungcheol had spat his mouth guard into his face. 

You gasp out loud as you register what’s happening. The player removes his hand from his face, and for some reason, emerges grinning. 

Seungcheol swings first, his fist rising and coming down on his cheek with a sound you can hear. You feel nauseous. 

It’s pandemonium. You can see Jeonghan practically on top of Seungcheol, a number of other players attempting to get him off the man he continues to grab and shake up like a fugitive. The other player is throwing his own punches.

For one, horrifying moment, the force of the punch pushes Seungcheol’s face towards the stands enough to let you get an eyeful. All you see is red, beyond just his jersey. His mouth is full of blood, the front of his jersey dripped with it, his knuckles clustered with it. 

The hand clasped around your mouth is your own, eyes blown in horror. 

All around you, the world has their phones out like it was some show meant just for them, like this was exactly what they came here for. 

It’s sickening. Sickening. 

You brave another look, and they’ve been yanked off of one another. Seungcheol is being pushed down the tunnel and away from sight. Jeonghan has his hands clutched around Seungcheol like he’s nearly ready for another outbreak, his face grim. 

Your eyes keep away from Seungcheol’s face on purpose.  “Goodness, what is going on, I could barely get through the crowd,” Lorelai’s irritated voice infiltrates your ears, and you’re immediately brought back down to earth. 

Arms full of more snacks and drinks, it only takes her one look at your rattled self to know. 

“What happened?”

“I…they were…fighting. I don’t know, it just—Seungcheol was throwing punches and there was…blood, so much blood.”

She’s gotten a grip on your hand, her fingers warm under your cold, shivering ones. “Do you wanna leave?” she asks slowly. 

One look over her shoulder is enough to tell you it’d be impossible. Everyone was too excited to care to cater to two people going in the opposite direction of the action. So you tell her there was no point, and you attempt to calm your racing heart as she sits next to you. 

Snagging one of the packs from her mountain of snacks, you rip it open and let the sickly sweet smell infiltrate your nostrils. Popping one of the confections in your mouth, it’s hard to not make a face. It’s the sourest thing you could’ve picked, the tartness enough to distract you from the outside world. Eyes scrunched closed, you swallow the rush of saliva to ask Lorelai what the fuck she brought.

You chortle, and it has Lorelai looking over. “Whoops! That one’s mine.”

She snags the bag from your loosened grip, replacing it with a tamer bag of original flavoured potato chips. The chips are trying, but there’s not much you can do besides wait for the residues of the godawful candy to subside. 

The ordeal seems to have calmed you the slightest bit, finally able to turn back to the ice. The rink is back to being occupied, players from both ends pouring onto the ice. You note a minor shoulder shove at the gate, but look away like it’d stop the calamity from intensifying. 

The game ensues as normal, but you note the blatant absence of CHOI in the sea of red and white jerseys. You don’t mention it, and neither does Lorelai. 

You’re about to burst by the time the finals moments are upon the game, the overtime minutes beginning to tick as the crowd grows restless by the second. With the little you’ve managed to grasp, you’re sure that SVT is only one goal away from the overtake. It’s making you nervous, like you’re waiting for your own score to be announced after a free skate. 

The puck is a mere percentage easier to navigate after a couple hours of keeping after it; it skips between players you’re beginning to recognise from the back of their jersey. Kim, Boo, Wen, Kim, Lee. The opposing team intercepts for a moment, and you find yourself letting out an irritated shake of the shoulders. Back to Kim, Lee, Lee, and then, right into the net. 

The jittering crowd suddenly went so silent you could hear a pin drop. 

And then the world around you erupts. It’s impossible to classify the sound as cheers when racketeers off your entire being like an unearthly sound, the stands on their feet hollering and screaming and yelling at their players that are fighting to keep their new overtake in the final seconds before the game officially ends. 

And when it does, you’re sure you need to get your ears checked out. 

Looking over, you catch Lorelai’s eye, and you can’t help but laugh. A delightful laugh that releases itself in the midst of the chaos of red, scarlet and cherry. Somebody’s thrown a red blanket over you, another has begun to hand out congratulatory cherry lollipops (you pass, but Lorealai would be damned if she did), people are hugging each other so tight and you get the inkling they’ve only met each other today. 

The ice is one giant dogpile, red on red as they suffocate one another in celebration. 

Perhaps you didn’t realise how important the game actually was, or maybe every game is like this, loud, proud and exultant. You find yourself imagining how they feel. 

The lost feeling of bouquets and flowers whisked in your direction, stuffed animals and hundreds of other things that scream adoration as your performance comes to a close. It’s a physical manifestation of an adoring crowd, as though making it tangible makes it a little more real. 

The rush, you can feel it resonate off of the scarlet side of the benches, and it’s enough for you to realise that yes, this was an important match. For them anyway. 

The way out of the rink is reasonably packed, but you manage to squeeze through the doors and towards where Lorelai had parked with fewer than expected obstruction. “Thought you might wait to see Jeonghan before we leave,” you hum as you walk to the parking spot. 

“I was going to, but he’s probably dealing with what happened,” she utters slowly. A flash of red at the mention, gone as soon as it came. Lorelai adds with a little extra pep to her voice, “It’s okay! I’ll send him a text, we were planning on dinner tomorrow anyway.”

The side eye you send is met with a light shove. “This one seems serious. Dragging me here for his sake and now dinner with him?”

Lorelai was infamous for taking it excruciatingly slow, the time between the talking stage and the first date stretching for months. She claims it’s to make sure she's not roping herself into something she’d regret, which you’ll admit has seemed to work out in her favour. Her last relationship lasted years before Josh had to move away. 

Jeonghan seems to have her under some warped spell, because Lorelai was hurtling into this relationship like a too compressed cannon ball. There was nothing you knew about Jeonghan other than his friendship with Seungcheol, his position as junior league coach and his habit of loitering on the ice; which means there wasn’t much opinion to be had on the whole conquest. Regardless, you decide to caution her some other day, when she’s not glowing and over the moon like a robust teenager. 

Slipping into the passenger seat, you slump like never before, already dreaming about the bedrotting session you’re about to have; glorious enough for the books. 

“Do you wanna grab food and rot on the couch?” she asks. 

“You’re still hungry after all that?” you huff, your mouth still flavoured with artificial sweetness paired with the savoury of the chicken and fries. You pull out your phone for the first time in nearly three hours, the home screen alarming full of missed notifications. Text messages, mentions and phone calls. For whatever reason, you swipe right past and open your browser. 

“It’ll take about an hour till we’re settled, should be hungry enough by then,” she comments, a gentle growl coming from beneath you as the engine comes to life. 

Somewhere between the lines of the seatbelt sign pinging, and the radio blaring itself into the space, you’ve read a headline that’s enough to halt your world. 

“There’s this new Chinese place that opened nearby here. Or this Persian restaurant but it’s like 20 minutes in the other direction. Or do we just do soup—”

“Lorelai.”

She turns to look at you in the passenger seat, seatbelt alarm still dinging as you remain with your seatbelt off as she pulls out of the parking space, like the official soundtrack to your doom. She brakes, hard. Lorelai is always Lorry with you, her full name only ever when you’re feigning irritation. 

There’s nothing irritating about the situation, but everything is wrong with it. 

It’s like you were in the benches, taking punches while simultaneously throwing a few yourself. You’re out of breath still seated, your skin tingles like a million arachnids crawling under your skin under your layers. You’re in the eddy of a horrifying whirlpool, that’s pulling you down, down, down, down, down, down—

!HOT TOPIC!

FIGURE SKATER OR FIGURINE? NOTHING GRACEFUL ABOUT Y/N L/N’S FALL FROM THE PINNACLE OF THE SKATING WORLD. Read from the Source!

From a pocket princess, to a rising star. From a rising star to the top of the world. From the top of the world to… a bottomless hell? How did Y/N L/N end up here? 

It’s nothing new that L/N’s presence was notable during the flashy ISU Grand Prix held in Beijing last year, the podium notably shuffled as a result. The skater’s ankle injury was never awarded a career ending title, but with the way her comeback remains as foggy as it did since the initial announcement, one must begin to wonder if we’ll ever see L/N on the competitive ice again. 

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her spark? 

Trusted sources report that L/N’s sponsors are growing weary of her extended vacation, and are just about ready to pull the rug! In addition, sources also report her floundering lack of consistency in practice sessions on the ice, her condition beyond someone as onerous as even Isabella Carroll to manoeuvre into success. Talk about futile! 

Now, we’re all hoping that our glittering gold medalist is only a victim of mindless chatter, however, we must concede, neither we nor our sources are holding on to too much hope. 

Keep on the lookout for more updates from us on our fallen (?) star!

[a/n]: hehehehehe remember to reblog and tell me your thoughts

[oxytxn]

OSAMU can’t stand when his beautiful partner is stressed.

everyone who knows the dark-haired twin knows that his love languages are acts of service and gifts, so what better way to serve his lover than to eat you out from beneath your desk as a little present for you studying so hard?

“o-osamu,” you whine when you feel his tongue lick a stripe up your slit. your voice is like the sweetest song to his ears, your glistening arousal the most delicious honey.

he can’t help but smile into your cunt as he draws little figure eights on your clit, causing your hips to jerk, bucking up against his nose. your hand is trembling as you struggle to write the answer to a practice problem you’re currently working on.

this is torture. you can’t even focus and work on anything!

but what’s even worse torture is him stopping his actions, his lips hovering over and lightly blowing your puffy little bud. he’s intentionally avoiding giving you any stimulation, leaving you on edge and whiny.

oh, he’s evil.

“keep studying, darlin’,” he teasingly chides, “or else i’ll stop. i ain’t got a problem with it.”

and to his delight, you got right to work, scribbling away at your notes.

so good for him. ᢉ𐭩

masterlist

had this half- ass thought written in my drafts since one of my inorganic chem exams uhhh enjoy

mdni. do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©oxytxn 2025.

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 . ( a collection of horror - based dialogue prompts . adjust phrasing as necessary . mature themes present . )

you'll never get what you want .

we need to stay together . no 'splitting up' bullshit .

nobody ever prepared me for this .

so you've just been lying to me this entire time ?

there's too much blood , i can't stop it .

this is over when i say it's over .

[ name ] , be careful . i've already lost enough people that i care about .

i never should have trusted you .

this is getting really out of hand , okay ?

i feel like we're not alone .

revenge is the best medicine !

put your head on straight , this isn't over yet .

maybe we should ... y'know , check it out ?

run . run and don't stop .

i thought i saw something ... i - i must be going crazy .

you couldn't pay me to go down there .

the cops are on their way .

would you rather stay here and die ?!

there's no such thing as [ ghosts / demons ] . it's made-up .

you aren't going anywhere .

i'm putting you out of your misery .

i know you think you're untouchable , but they will kill us .

you shouldn't have touched that .

we aren't going to make it out of here , are we ?

why are you following me ?

there has to be a medical kit here , somewhere .

i'll go with you . strength in numbers , right ?

don't move ... a fucking muscle .

fuck , the door is locked from the other side .

don't get ... dead , okay ?

that was the only [ bullet / round / flare ] we had .

did you really think it would be that easy ?

we've come too far , we can't turn around now .

put down the [ weapon ] . please .

come on , help me barricade the door .

[ name ] , is that ... blood ?

haven't you seen a horror movie ? the blonde always dies .

it was you ? YOU did this ?!

you are gonna fucking pay .

i'm going to give you ten seconds . nine , eight ...

i want you to admit what you did .

hey , look at me -- it's not real . it's not real .

do you think they're watching us right now ?

we're in this together . no one gets left behind .

let them go ... please , just let them go .

oh my god , what the hell was that ?!

you know i'm capable of this .

i had to ... i had no choice .

you don't have the guts .

this is fucked up , this is so fucked up .

what we're dealing with isn't even human .

you need to hide . find somewhere & don't come out .

stop ! don't touch that . we don't know what it is .

i've done bad things to good people .

if they catch us , they will kill us .

why are you covered in blood ?

i can't ... i can't feel my -

[ name ] is dead . i saw it happen .

what , you're gonna kill me ? i don't believe you .

there is an evil in you . i see it .

this shit only happens to people in horror movies .

forget about me , just save them .

what's one reason i shouldn't kill you right now ?

you aren't supposed to be here .

please don't . i'm begging you .

are you scared ?

whatever happens , don't let go of my hand .

[ name ] , this isn't you .

well , what the fuck are we supposed to do ?!

get out of my house before i call the cops .

you're going to regret that .

there's that smile ... i'm glad it's the last thing i'll see .

if we make it out of here , tonight will haunt me forever .

[lovemewednesdays]

sag-aftra press conference.

In case you missed it, SAG-AFTRA just finished up a press conference where they talked to union members and the press about what's up.

Here are the big things (that I remember):

The deadline extension from June 30 to July 12 was made in good faith on SAG-AFTRA's part. They thought the AMPTP would utilize the extra time to come to the table with a fair deal. They did not. It is suspected that they wanted the extension to have more time to promote their summer blockbusters.

The studios wanted to be able to have AI scans of background actors. These actors would be paid once, and then the studios would be able to keep the actors' likeness, use the data for eternity without the actors' consent, and never pay them again. Keep in mind that only two percent of SAG-AFTRA members are big names. This proposal would've affected the other ninety-eight percent of members, many of whom are living paycheck to paycheck at the moment.

The AMPTP tried to turn union membership against Fran Drescher (current union president) by circulating a picture of her "living it up" in Italy with Kim Kardashian. This was a work obligation on Drescher's part. She's a brand ambassador for a fashion line, and whenever she wasn't on set, she was working with the negotiation committee via Zoom and text.

The video that was sent out to union members on June 28, in which they were told that the negotiations were going well, was filmed before the negotiations got to the core issues – AI, residuals, etc.

The AMPTP's deal was "disrespectful and egregious."

The other labor unions in the industry stand in solidarity with each other.

Fran Drescher called the AMPTP's plan to wait out the WGA until they were homeless "unnecessary evil."

While SAG-AFTRA is open to returning to the negotiating table at any time, leadership was signaled that the AMPTP was not interested; they believe the strike could last for a while.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

I had fun with the Magnus Protocol poll and thought it would be fun to do another, this time featuring the maddening life of my favourite guy Jonathan Sims.

@galaxynajma I hope it’s okay to tag you in this one as well!

[gutsby]

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

[heavyhitterheaux]

“You’re gonna get me in trouble” with Joe and wifey

It was almost eight in the morning and you were currently holding your husband hostage.

In your bedroom.

Underneath you.

And he literally had ten minutes to leave the house before he would be considered late to practice.

You had simply wanted extra cuddles since you had been up half the night with brutal menstrual cramps and there was nothing that you did that would relieve the pain. Looking over at your husband, you were jealous as he had been sleeping peacefully while no position that you moved in was giving you comfort.

So in order to make up for this in your eyes, you had a tight hold on him and wouldn't let him move.

You did however let him get up, take a shower, and get ready for the day and as soon as he reached down to kiss your forehead because he assumed that you were asleep, you attacked.

“Baby doll, I know you don't want me to leave, but I have to. Otherwise, I'm going to be late.” Joe told you and you picked up your head to look at him before laying back down.

“No. I want cuddles.”

“And I can give you all the cuddles you want… when I get home.”

“Wrong answer, Burrow.”

“And how are you not sleeping right now? When you told me that you were awake the majority of the night and in pain?”

“Well, I was in pain because you decided not to get me pregnant this month. If I have to suffer, so do you.” You told him as you gave him the evil eye.

“I…. We had this whole discussion. I thought we weren't going to try until later this year?”

“You should have told me no and said babe, I don't want you to have to deal with this pain every month, so let me get you pregnant.”

“But when the baby is born aren't we right back at square one?”

“Not the point, at least I would get some type of relief for nine months.” You told him as he continued to rub small circles across the lower part of your stomach.

“You're gonna get me in trouble, baby.” Joe told you as he tried to move, but you held onto him tighter.

“So, what you're saying is that you don't love me?”

“Y/N Katherine…..”

“I…” You started to say as you picked up your head slowly to look at him in disbelief.

He pulled out your government name.

“You better not EVER let me hear that come out of your mouth again. Now, I am giving you one more minute of cuddles. That will end with me kissing you and going to practice. What do you want me to bring you when I come back?”

“Um, crumbl cookies, please.” You quietly said, still trying to wrap your head around him saying your full name.

“Anything else?”

“A positive pregnancy test would be nice.”

“Hmm, maybe next month. Now give me a kiss so I can leave.” He told you, and you complied, giving him several.

"This isn’t over, Burrow."

"It is for now. You can argue with me when I get back, and I'll have you bent over the kitchen counter."

[bunnywonyo]

HEAR ME OUT ‼️‼️‼️ BUT WHAT IF.. SNOW WHITE & THE SEVEN DWARFS EXCEPT IT'S A HAREM TYPE SITUATION (READER BEING SNOW WHITE)???? LIKE.. PUT THE MOMMIEST KPOP IDOLS THERE WE GONNA SEE KARINA, WONY, SANA, ETC. ?????? IT'S SEEMS PRETTY BIG FOR A SINGLE FIC BUT IDKKK

SNOW WHITE AND HER SEVEN EIGHT MOMMIES??

g!p karina, g!p wonyoung, g!p sana, g!p sakura, g!p rosé, g!p minnie, g!p yeji x innocent snow white! reader x secret bonus g!p celebrity (what a mouthful)

synopsis: after running away from the evil queen for something you overheard, you found shelter in a house shared with not one, not two, but seven attractive women who all happen to have the hots for you

word count: 10.2k

tags: smut, g!p, somnophilia, choking, spanking, double penetration, may get ooc sorry, lmk if i missed some

a/n: i'm terribly sorry if this took too long college bit my ass, but please do enjoy even if this is shitty

your legs have started hurting from all the running. how long have you been running? hours probably. far too long than what your weak legs could handle. but you had to keep running. you need to get as far away from the castle as possible. far from the evil queen. but did you run far enough? hopefully yes.

taking a break from all that running, you spot a house by a lake hidden behind the thick covers of the forest. it was your only chance of surviving this forest so you decided to try your luck and ask the house’s owner if you could stay there. 

knocking at the door, you waited for any response. receiving none, you noticed that the door was slightly open. after some internal dilemma, you decide to just enter hoping the owner was nice enough to forgive you for trespassing into their property.

the first thing you noticed when you set foot inside was how dirty and disorganized everything was. the sink was filled with unwashed dishes, there were food crumbs everywhere, the dining room table had chairs all over the place, and clothes littered the couch. you shuddered in disgust before a bright idea concocted in your brain. you were gonna clean this whole house to show the owner of this house that you would be a helpful addition. you grabbed a broom and dustpan that were leaning by the front door and started cleaning

after hours of cleaning, you found out that seven people lived here based from the disorganized items in this house mostly being seven. seven pairs of fork and spoon, seven plates, seven disorganized chairs. while cleaning the second floor of the house, you also found seven bedrooms, each with signs on the door that showed the owners’ name. wonyoung, karina, sana, sakura, rosé, minnie and yeji they read. 

suddenly feeling drowsy, you headed downstairs, deciding to sleep on the couch. (you’ve already trespassed, you wouldn't want to worsen your possible friendship with the owners now won’t you?) laying down, you felt your eyes getting heavy, so you let go all the tension in your body and started to drift off to dreamland.

after what seemed like hours, you could hear whispers. naturally, this woke you up. stirring, you slowly opened your eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep. as your vision cleared, you realized you were not alone. seven pairs of eyes were fixed on you, each pair belonging to a remarkably beautiful girl. they stared at you, a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and something else in their expressions. you quickly sat up, feeling your cheeks flush under their collective gaze.

"i'm so sorry for intruding," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "i was running away and found your house. i didn't mean to trespass, i just... i needed a place to stay."

the girls exchanged glances before a tall girl with a mole above right cheek stepped forward. "you cleaned our house?" she asked, her voice soft but firm. there was something familiar about her, like she reminded you of someone

you nodded, feeling a bit self-conscious. "yes, i thought it might help. i wanted to show you that i could be useful if you let me stay."

another girl stepped closer, her eyes twinkling with amusement and somehow, mischief? "well, you did a pretty good job," she said, looking around the now spotless living room. "it hasn't looked this good in ages."

another tall girl crossed her arms, you noticed a mole below her lips, a smile tugging at her lips. "why were you running?" she asked, her eyes searching yours.

you took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "i was escaping from the evil queen," you explained. “yesterday, while i was cleaning the castle courtyard, i heard her tell her adviser, “i want that y/n girl in my special room by tonight.” the girls gasp, but sensing that there was more to the story, they let you continue.

“i was really suspicious so i followed the queen around. then before she entered her quarters, i heard her mutter under her breathe, “finally, after all these years i can finally take her” when i heard that, i panicked and ran away from the castle until i ended up here” you continued, “i didn’t know what she was gonna do to me, if only i knew i would’ve never worked there” you innocently finished.

when you finished your story, something shifted with the girls. their expressions, already intrigued, took on a darker edge, a subtle heat in their eyes. they exchanged another series of glances, this time laden with a silence. you didn’t notice, too naive and too caught up in your own story, but their gazes lingered on you a little longer, their thoughts clearly taking a different, more intimate darker direction.

a blonde girl stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, her touch lingering just a bit too long. “you’re safe here,” she said, her voice soothing but with an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. “you can stay with us as long as you need.”

relief washed over you, and you smiled gratefully at them. “thank you, thank you so much.”

still not letting go of your shoulders, she squeezed them gently before letting her hand fall away. "why don't we sit down and get to know each other a bit more?" she suggested, gesturing toward a cozy seating area nearby.

as you all settled into the plush chairs, the atmosphere became more relaxed, the tension from earlier dissipating into the background. you and the girls conversed with each other and that’s when you learned who the names you read upstairs belonged to. they discussed where you would sleep and what tasks you were assigned to do. after a while, it was finally decided that you are going to sleep in the attic and cleaning the house was your job. soon, night arrived and after eating the dishes sakura cooked(10/10 would eat again) and tidying up the kitchen, you all went to bed. you sighed in content as your body relaxed against the soft cover of the bed. you were really happy, not only did you escape from the clutches of the evil queen, you also gained seven attractive friends! (very attractive if i say so myself). as you pondered with your thoughts, you could slowly feel your eyes getting heavy. you yawned and let your mind wander into dreamland. 

minutes passed by and you were already in deep sleep. so deep that you never hear the door to your room open as a figure enters. 

you were awakened minutes later by the sensation of something entering inside you and a body on top of yours thrusting. you tried screaming for help but the person saw this and covered your mouth. tears welled up in your eyes as the pain spread all over your body. your tried to fight back but they were so strong that your futile attempts only made the already creaking bed creak harder. 

“shh y/n” you recognized that voice, “you wouldn’t want the others to see how much of a slut you are now won’t you?”

you looked up to your perpetrator and what you saw drained the life out of your face. the person forcing themselves onto you was none other than sana!

sana noticed the shock in your face before she giggled and leaned closer into you. 

“surprised? sorry honey i couldn’t help myself.” she whispered “but i’m serious, you better shut that pretty mouth of yours before you wake everyone up” you replied but since sana’s hand was covering your mouth, it came out muffled. removing her hand from your mouth, you spat “why? are you afraid cuz you know that the moment they wake them up and see this they’ll do something to you?” while glaring at her.

this ticked sana off before she dropped a truth bomb to you “afraid? oh honey, the one who should be afraid is you” she grinned. “the moment the other girls wake up, they won’t be able to control themselves. the truth is, the moment we saw you, we all wanted you. i just happen to fuck you first. i just want to savor you first.”

panting, you retort “you’re lying! you’re only saying that to trick me! you’re nothing but –ah!” sana’s harsh thrust cuts you off. “shh shh shh, less talking, more moaning.” you shook your in response and bit your lip. 

“don’t hide your moans, i know you want this too” you denied this by shaking you head. this response caused sana to tighten her grip on you waist and thrust even harder. 

one of her hands snaked in between your thighs, her fingers trying to find your sensitive bundle of nerves. when she found them, she abused the hell out of them. this action caused you to roll your eyes in pleasure and let out a loud moan. sana smirked at your response, rubbing harder.

“lying little slut acting like you don’t want this but here you are moaning like a whore”

you couldn’t handle it any longer, tired and weary, you finally stopped resisting and fully submitting to sana. your whines and moans soon filled the room. sana delighted with your submission and you with your head way up in cloud nine, both failed to notice the two pair of eyes by your door, watching your every move. 

“ahh mommy! s-something’s happening” you cried out, “my tummy feels weird”

sana smirked at the nickname before giggling “sweetheart that’s called cumming. that’ll make you feel really good” she then groaned “i feel like im gonna cum soon too”

“im gonna cum inside you ok? gonna feel your insides with my seed, gonna paint you insides white”

“y-yes please ahhh f-feel so good mommy” “fuck here it comes baby” her hips thrust for one final time. this being her deepest thrust inside you, all in effort for her cum to fully reach deep inside you. the feeling of her cum inside you caused you to also go over the edge.

legs shaking, sana pulls out her cock from inside you. she sees your juices mixed and flowing out of your pussy. sana groans at the sight before plopping on beside you, one arm slung around your waist.

“that felt good baby?”

as much as you wanted to lie, you couldn’t. even if sana forced herself onto you, you can’t deny that what she did somehow removed stress out of you.

too shy to admit it, you muzzled your face onto her neck and nodded. sana ruffled your hair before yawning. both of you shuffled on bed to get comfortable, ready to sleep the night away. well that was the original plan before someone spoke.

“that was it?” a voice asked, breaking the silence in the room. this caused you and sana to sit up from the surprise. “that was kinda boring right minnie?”

“really short if you ask me, and really sana? one round and you’re done? i’m so glad rosie brought me here” minnie tsked causing sana to blush.

“why don’t minnie and i teach you how to properly feel good, what'd you say y/n?”

although tired and dazed, you were curious. ‘what exactly did they mean by properly?’ you thought. apparently, your curiosity was written all over your face because the two started snickering. they both went on each of your side, stripping off their clothes on their way, their hot breaths lingering in your ears.

rosé turned to sana, “why don’t you be a dear and sit by that chair? you’re free to watch or go back to your room.” she spoke. sana grumbled before picking up her discarded clothes and heading to the chair, one hand wrapped on her dick.

“ew you’re gonna jerk off watching us?” minnie bemused. “what? i bet you were doing that a while ago too!” sana spat back. rosé rolled her eyes, pushing you to lean against minnie before also leaning closer. you blush at being sandwiched by two attractive women.

rosé grabbed your chin, your lips meeting hers. you moaned at the feeling of her soft lips against yours, which she immediately took advantage of. darting her tongue inside your mouth. minnie on the other hand, busied herself with your breasts and your neck. fumbling your mounds like there’s no tomorrow while sucking and nipping on your neck. eventually, they got tired of all the foreplay. even sana was getting bored, evident in her groans in the background.

the three of you changed your position resulting to you straddling rosé while minnie was behind you. you gasped at the the feeling of their dicks rubbing against your nether regions. 

“i–i’ve never tried taking two at once before….” you whined hiding your face on rosé’s neck

“don’t worry baby, rosie and i promise to be gentle” to which rosé nodded in agreement.

you took deep breathes before nodding in submission to them. seeing your response, their eyes twinkle before plunging their dicks inside you at the same time. your scream at the sensation while the two groaned at your tightness. it felt so painful, like your were being ripped in half. the pain was overwhelming but so was the lingering pleasure that was starting to build up. the girls started thrusting until they reached a pace they were comfortable with. 

soon, your pained gasps turned into pleasured moans. hearing this, the two started getting rough. they started thrusting harder while their hands lingered all over your body. rosé fondled with your breasts while minnie snaked one of her hands, searching for your sensitive bundle of nerves. once her hand reached its destination, she was merciless. she rubbed so hard you started twitching from the sensation.

“ahhh minnie feels so good~” you moaned, “rosie, minnie mommies –ahh– faster please” you pleaded.

“you like that y/nnie? you like taking dicks abusing your holes?” rosé asked, amused at how helpless you looked.

you aggressively nodded in response, yelping when she suddenly smacked one of your buttcheeks. “shit do that again please” you pleaded. 

rosé smirks at your reaction before sending a barrage of alternating smacks between your buttcheeks. two dicks inside you, minnie stimulating your clit and rosé smacking your ass caused your brain to be overwhelmed your back arching. the two groaned at the sight.

sana, who has been quietly jerking herself by the chair also groaned before standing up, walking towards you, hands still jerking herself. she positioned herself near your head before grabbing the base of her dick, aiming it to your mouth.

“open up” she grunted. although dazed from pleasure, you managed to process what she asked for. you opened your mouth, taking her member in. sana groaned before starting to thrust in your mouth. tears ran down your cheeks from all the pleasure you were receiving. 

this continued more until suddenly, you felt it again. the knot in your stomach was starting to form making you whine more on sana’s dick. the three noticed this, based on how they all suddenly started thrusting harder onto you.

“fuck–you’re cumming baby? could feel you getting tighter.” minnie grunted, her thrusts starting to reach an uneven pace. she was close too; you could feel it, and so were the other girls.

“shit baby im cumming, you’re gonna take it all right? gonna keep my seed deep inside you like a good girl.” rosé hissed before releasing her load this caused to be over the edge and cumming too. your holes tightened causing a domino effect of minnie and sana also cumming.

the four of you layed there for awhile before they all pulled away. sweat running down your faces as you tried to catch your breathe. after awhile, you suddenly spoke up.

“well now that that’s over, im gonna catch some sleep now. it’s up to you guys if u want to return to your rooms or if you want to sleep here with me. good night girls” you announced, ready to sleep for the nth time today.

“sleep? oh baby you think we’re done? we’re just getting started. you won’t be able to sleep a wink tonight” minnie interjected, hands already snaking all over your body. you shivered at the feeling before praying in your mind.

‘lord, have mercy on me tonight.’ you pleaded as the three starting shifting their positions.

the next day, you woke up feeling sore. specially in your nether regions and your mouth. you turn to your left to see the cause of your pain, all tucked together and sleeping like they never gave you those mind boggling orgasms. you rolled your eyes at the sight before grabbing your pillows and started hitting them.

“ow ow y/n? ow!!” yelped sana as she was surprised and confused with your actions while rosé and minnie grumbled, clearly annoyed with getting their sleep disturbed.

you payed no heed to their reactions, “you guys need to get out! i need to fix myself up” you continued hitting them.

though drowsy and annoyed, the three obliged. they, picked up their clothes and got dressed. as they started heading out, rosé turned to you, “you know y/n, kicking us out to get dressed is kinda useless now. cause we’ve already seen everything.” she laughed as she dodged the pillow you threw at her.

you grumbled in annoyance as you tried to stand up and fix the bed. keyword = tried. as soon as you stood up, pain struck your whole body causing you fall flat on the floor. it let out a thud loud enough to send someone running to knock on your door.

“y/nnie?” it was karina, “are you okay? i heard a thud.”

“im fine! i just fell!”

“are you sure? can i come in?”

“rina im butt naked right now.”

“o-oh… i can help you(?)”” “WHAT?!”

despite your protest, karina wanted to see your naked body help you. she took a deep breathe before barging in, one hand covering her eyes but she was obviously peeking.

“RINA!” you squealed before covering your body with a fallen blanket. 

for a while, karina just stood there, mesmerized with how innocent and helpless you look. countless thoughts entered her mind, all of them involving her having her way with you. this lead her to feel a sudden tightness in her lower region. your eyes then trailed to the tent on her crotch causing an idea to pop inside her head. a smirk spread on her face but was quickly replaced by a faux look of distress.

noticing her discomfort and getting concerned, you asked “are you okay rina?” to which she shook her head no.

“it hurts……down there…..” she started whining whilst gesturing to her nether region. “can you help me? please?”

this of course caught you off guard, blood rushing to your cheeks. although flustered with the situation, you wanted to help karina and hey you’ve already experienced pleasuring someone three times last night right? you could say that you were already experienced. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

realizing that you have yet to respond to karina, you again tried to stand up this time succeeding (if standing on wobbly legs was successful at all).

“down there?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper as you gestured towards karina’s crotch. your cheeks were on fire, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest. this was certainly not what you expected when you woke up this morning.

karina nodded, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of vulnerability and something else you couldn’t quite place. she looked at you with a pleading expression, and you knew you couldn’t just leave her in discomfort. despite your own flustered state, you wanted to help her.

gathering your courage, you reached out and clasped her hands. “alright, i’ll help you,” you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. you carefully guided her to the bed, feeling the tension between you both rise.

karina’s internal smirk was hidden behind her innocent facade, but you could sense a shift in her demeanor. she seemed more confident now, her eyes glinting with a spark of mischief.

as you both sat on the edge of the bed, you took a deep breath and leaned closer to her. “just… tell me if i’m doing things right” you murmured, your voice gentle.

karina’s breathe hitched as you positioned yourself between her legs, “i trust you, i know you’ll do great” she replied. 

you nodded back, feeling a rush of determination. you wanted to make her feel better, to ease her discomfort. slowly, you started by palming her erection through her shorts to which she shuddered. you then unzipped them and pulled them down along with her boxers. her cock sprang up, almost hitting your chin in the process. you heard karina let out a sigh of relief while you stared at her member.

it was noticeably throbbing, a sign of how much pain karina was suffering right now. poor baby, if only you knew.

not wanting karina to be in pain for any longer, you quickly went down in business. you wrapped your hands around the rigid member. karina’s eyes fluttered shut, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress the sounds of pleasure that threatened to escape. you leaned in, your lips brushing against her ear. “let me know if you need me to stop,” you whispered, your voice husky.

she shook her head slightly, her grip on your hands tightening. “don’t stop,” she breathed, her voice laced with need.

encouraged by her response, you continued your ministrations, your touch growing bolder. you could feel her body responding to your touch, her tension melting away. 

karina’s breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts now, and hips started thrusting against your hand. you could see the desire in her eyes, and it fueled your own passion.

“y/n baby……….. your mouth” she gasped “i need it” 

although you were caught off guard by her request, you still complied. you opened your mouth to accommodate to her plea. 

karina whimpered as the warm, wet mouth enveloped her throbbing member. it felt so good to have this intimate part of her worshiped in such a lewd manner. the stimulation was overwhelming, and she arched her back in delight. head nearly falling to hit the bed, her upper torso barely being supported by her forearms and elbows against the bed.

she groaned, one of her hands moving to get tangled in your messy hair as they bobbed up and down on her member. the suction increased, and she gasped for breath. the pleasure was intense, making her feel like she was floating on a cloud.

"y/n" she moaned, her voice thick with desire. she felt like she was on the verge of exploding, and she couldn't help but beg for more. "harder, baby," she pleaded. "more." her hips starting to thrust inside your mouth

hearing this, you started sucking harder. you found your hands playing with karina’s balls causing her to cry out in pleasure, her body shuddering as she felt intense waves of pleasure wash over her.

she screamed out in ecstasy, her body shaking with the feeling of her nearing climax.

"i'm gonna cum," she warned, her voice ragged. "don't stop, baby."

you didn't miss a beat, and moments later, karina exploded in a symphony of bliss. her muscles tensed, and her cries of pleasure filled the room. it was a moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure that she would never forget. it was better than those times when she relieved herself.

as the aftershocks of her orgasm faded away, karina collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily. while you, climb on top to lay beside her.

"that was amazing," she breathed, reaching down to stroke your hair. "thank you, baby." as she kissed your forehead.

karina then rolled over, pulling you on top of her. her fingers traced along your back, urging you closer as her lips met yours in a passionate kiss. although caught off guard, you matched her passion. but before you could further continue, a knock was heard on your door. groaning in annoyance you asked who it was. “WELL IF YOU DON’T WANT YOUR BREAKFAST TO GET COLD YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS DOWN NOW!!” the person yelled back, revealing herself to be minnie.

the mention of breakfast made you realize how hungry you were and apparently you weren’t the only one, judging by how karina’s stomach grumbled. her ears reddened making you laugh at her. “say, let’s eat breakfast now what do you say?” you offered to which karina quickly agreed, nodding quickly you’d think her head will fall off.

you both got up, picked your discarded clothes and fixed yourself and your bed before heading downstairs for breakfast. reaching the kitchen, you saw that everyone was already there and are eating what seems to be sakura’s cooking. the smell caused karina’s already grumbling stomach to further grumble louder making everybody look at her. silence lingered in the room before a snort, then a giggle, then full on laughing was heard all over the room. “HAHAHAHAHA Y/N MUST’VE TIRED RINA OUT FOR HER TO BE THAT HUNGRY!” sana jokes amplifying the laughter. embarrassed, karina fought back “AT LEAST I COULD CONTROL MYSELF AND NOT WAKE THE WHOLE HOUSE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!”

this caused sana to gasp but before she could answer back, sakura cut them off “now now, breakfast’s gonna get cold, eat first then you settle things later when you do the laundry” to which they grumbled but still sat down making you also sit down.

“so y/n,” sakura began, “how did you sleep last night? good hopefully minus some nightly visitors.” eyeing three people making them look away.

you blushed at the reminder of last night before bashfully answering “it was nice, i slept great and i appreciated their company last night.” this made the three smirk and sakura to huff. 

you heard someone muttering but chose to ignore it, maybe it wasn’t important right? wonyoung then opened up a topic leading to a breakfast filled with chitchat. you guys divided up today’s task and as expected, yours were to wash the dishes and tidy up the house. you weren’t alone of course, sakura and yeji volunteered to help which you were grateful for. 

soon, everyone was finished with breakfast. prompting them to all stand up and for you to collect the plates and do the dishes while sakura and yeji disappeared in the house gathering the cleaning materials and the rest go out to either collect firewood, hunt for meat or forage carrying with them, the packed lunches that sakura prepared.

as you stood at the sink, warm water flowed over your hands as you scrubbed the final few dishes. the frequent sound of running water and the soft clinking of dishes runs through the silent room. your attention drifts a little, concentrating on finishing the rest of the task.

suddenly, you feel a set of arms gently wrap around your waist, drawing you back in an embracing hold. surprised, you turn to your side to find sakura leaning her head against your shoulder, her breath hot against your ear and her eyes filled with hunger. this made you feel hot on the inside.

“you think this is all just a game don’t you? getting fucked by nearly everyone in this household?” she spat in your ear as her hands found their way to your underwear, toying with your clit. “you’re already this wet? you are a slut aren’t ya.” making you whimper and to lean against her. 

“kkura-ah!” she clamped your mouth before you could catch any unwanted attention. 

“quiet,” she spat. “now bend over for me like the slut that you are.” her words making you feel even hotter. you wordlessy obliged sakura’s demand making her smirk.

as you bent over, her hands ran down your tank top covered back. it was as if her palms were trying to memorize the curves of your back. you felt her hands on the hem of your pajama pants 

as she starts to pull them down along with your panties. your slick making the panty stick to your nether region. sakura bit her lip at the sight before in to give it a long lick. you rolled your eyes at the sensation, even leaning back to be closer to her.

sakura chuckled at you reaction before she stood up and unbuckled her pants and pushing it down along with her boxers. you turned to look at her only to be faced with her throbbing member sitting between you buttcheeks. you blushed at the sight making her grin. leaning over to your ear, she began “im gonna fuck you on this sink until your breasts get imprinted here and everytime someone puts their dishes here, they get reminded of how good i fucked you here.” hands on your waist while humping against you.

then without any warning, she plunged herself inside you. you gasped at the intrusion, feeling how deep she was inside you. sakura grunted at how your walls tightened around her and how warm it was being inside you. she waited a few moments, letting you adjust around her size.

she soon started thrusting making your body press even further against the marbled sink. as moans, whines, gasps and a mix off all came out of your mouth, sakura thrusted harder. she then soon remembered that yeji was still inside the house.

“you’re moaning here like an attention seeking whore. you want yeji to hear you? i bet that riles you up, getting caught whoring aroung, being a whole household’s fuck toy” her taunting was proven when you tightened at her words making her smirk.

“ah— stop saying it like that” you tried to defend yourself.

“but isnt it true baby? i felt you tighten and all” sakura rebutted one hand leaving your waist to smack one of your cheeks, leaving a red hand print.

“it’s embarrassing—ah kkura!— when you say it out loud” you cried as your body responded to her stimulations. tears running down your eyes from the mixture of pleasure and pain as sakura maniacally laughs with bits of groans coming out at times.

this onslaught of moans continued on until you felt the familiar knot in your stomach starting to form. “kkura im close —ah!” you warned her turning to her sweat covered face. 

“hold it,” she grunted, “i know it feels good but i don’t give a fuck, i want you to hold it.” 

this made you whine, your body saying no but you knew better than to disobey sakura. 

“please kkura! i need it.” you pleaded but sakura’s face remained unchanged. the only thing that seemed to change was how her thrust became uneven, a sure sign that she was also near. 

but what you didn’t know was how great sakura was at holding her release. determined to prolonged your pleasurable suffering, she bit her lips as she held her release. minutes passed by and you felt like you could no longer hold yourself any futhwe.

“kkura,” you begged. “i can’t take it anymore, i wanna cum please please please please” sakura groaned, knowing that she also can’t hold it any longer. “just a little more love, i’m near” she thrusted a few more times before finally letting go, her hips shaking as she buried herself deeper inside you seemingly trying to prolong her pleasure. the moment you felt her warm fluid inside, you also let go. eyes rolling to the back of your head, your legs twitching and your mind going blank. sakura pressed her face against your neck, inhaling your post sex scent leaving a trail of soft kisses as she does so. 

a few moments passed and your rapidly beating hearts have finally calmed down. sakura pulls away from you, including her member, leaving you whining at the lost of contact. her eyes trailed down to your nether region, the sight of your mixed fluids making her eyes glimmer as she licked her lips. but it all crumbled down when she heard you groan in pain as you attempted to raise your upper body that lied against the marbled surface for so long. 

“oh dear did i overdo it? i have some pain relievers in my room, do you need some? what about water? are you feeling thirsty?” your eyes just started staring at her in shock  like a tarsier.

……‘is this really the same woman that made me submit and called me names.’ you asked yourself as you continued to stare only breaking your train of thoughts when you realized that sakura was starting to panic and ramble. you giggled at how cute she was in contrast to how dominant she was a few minutes ago. you pinched her cheeks to stop her from rambling which thankfully was really effective. sakura blushed at the gesture before you began, “im fine k kura, just tired” you reassured her. 

“but i think i need to rewash the dishes, sweat got all over them”

she rolls her eyes before joking, “don’t bother, some freaks in this household would want that” and then cackled

your eyes widened at her statement making you playfully shove her shoulder. “don’t say that, that’s so unsanitary!”

wiping her sweat, she picked both your clothes up, helping you get into them before also wearing her own clothes. her fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face as she leaned down, her soft voice filled with warmth.

“rest for a bit, alright? i’ll finish my task first’’ she said, her tone comforting. with one last glance over her shoulder, she walked away, her steps light but satisfied.

“oh by the way,” she paused, facing you “if you want more of me, just go to my room” she winked before finally leaving. you rolled her eyes at her statement before rerinsing the dishes. 

after finishing the dishes, you dried your hands and walked into the living room. yeji was sitting on the couch, her face flushed as she quickly grabbed a pillow and placed it over her lap.

“you’re done already?” she asked, her voice slightly shaky, avoiding your gaze as she fidgeted nervously.

you raised an eyebrow, noticing her unusual behavior. taking a step closer, you tilted your head in curiosity.

“what’s wrong?” you asked softly, your voice laced with concern.

yeji’s hands gripped the pillow tighter, her gaze darting away as her cheeks grew even redder. “n-nothing!” she blurted out, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

you knelt slightly, trying to meet her eyes, your curiosity growing. “yeji, are you sure? you look… flustered.” you pressed gently, your tone teasing but kind.

her lips parted, but no words came out as she shifted awkwardly, clutching the pillow like her life depended on it. 

“come on, you can tell me yeji.” you urged. this made her let out a sigh of defeat, finally giving in.

“fine, it’s just that i uh-uhm…” she stammered, her voice starting to fade. “i watched you and sakura at the sink.”

it was now your turn to blush at what she said, “what?”

“yeah i uh-uhm got a situation down here……” she admitted. 

you gasped at what you heard, feeling guilty at the situation you’ve placed yeji into. you wanted to help and you were going to, with the ways you learned from this household.

“oh my gosh! im really sorry about that.” you apologized making yeji shake her head. “no no it’s fine y/n” 

“i can help you with your situation if you want” you offered. this perked her interest, countless thoughts running through her head and making herself smirk. “well…. if you want that” she accepted, ears reddening. you beamed at her before she took your hands pulling you upstairs to her room. 

when you both reached her room, she wasted no time pinning you against the door while locking it. her lips locked with yours rubbing her bulge against your core making you whine. her lips travelled from your jaw to your neck, trying to find your sweet spot. when she found it, she abused the hell out of it, your already loud whines were getting louder at this point.

while your mind while being turned into putty, yeji’s hands got busy too. they snaked around your body, slowly undressing you and herself. with all your clothes now pooling on your foot yeji pulled away, pushing you down on her bed. as you’re gasping for breathe, yeji sat between your thighs, hand placing one of your thighs on her shoulder. she then guided her member against your folds, spreading the wetness secreted by your greater vestibular gland. 

you whined at the teasing wanting nothing more but to feel her inside you. yeji on the other hand, wanted this as much as you but she wanted to take some necessary precautions to avoid hurting you. when she deemed you wet and lubricated enough, she pushed in. a satisfied groan soon ripped out of her throat, as you cry from her intrusion. yeji stays still for a while, letting you adjust to her size.

as soon as you seemed to adjust to her member, she began to thrust wildly making your eyes roll at the back of your head. in a moment, yeji’s room became filled with your pussy squelching accompanied by your whines and her groans.

“ah-ah-ah yeji!” you gasped out as you felt her member repeatedly hitting your cervix. yeji eyed the way your chest heaved up and down, how your breasts shook, a trail of drool running down to your jaw. she leaned in to lick it as one of her hands crept to wrap around your neck, giving it a light squeeze. your walls tightened as response to your body suddenly receiving a limited amount of oxygen arms thrashing against yeji’s back. 

yeji, feeling your reaction smirked as she further tighten her grip on your neck as black dots start to dance around your eyesight. 

“you look so beautiful like this, my hands around your neck”

just when you were about to pass out, yeji let go. you gasped for air as she continued to thrust roughly inside you. while you were catching your breathe, yeji leaned in to engage you in a lip locking session. moaning against the kiss, you wrapped your legs around her waist as you feel your climax approaching making her hiss at your tightness.

“fuck. are you getting close dear? you’re getting tighter all for me.” as she said those words, she began to feel her release too. determined to let you cum first, she held her release as her thrusts became became deeper and messy. your eyes well up from yeji’s change of pace as you reach your climax.

“ahhhh-im cumming!” you squealed wrapping your arms around yeji’s neck, pulling her to your chest, smothering her face in near your breast as you came. yeji groaned against your chest at how you tightened around her, finally letting go and filling you with her release. your bodies shuddered at the peak of your pleasure, your chests heaving up and down in an attempt to catch your breathe.

yeji stayed inside you for awhile, resting, before finally pulling out. you whined at the feeling of emptiness inside while yeji remained silent. you looked at her and her eyes was glued to your nether region. as she starred at how your mixed liquids flowed out of your folds, she let her intrusive thoughts win and she swiped her fingers to collect your fluid bumping against your clit making your body twitch as she licked it off her fingers.

“that was hot” you muttered, making you both look at each other before giggling together as if the two just didn’t have sex. 

“yeah it was” yeji agreed, closing in to cuddle you. minutes passed by as you both rested in her bed, nothing could be heard but your relaxed breathing as your eyes start to get heavy but a knock at the door interrupts the silence.

“yeji? y/n? i know the both of you are really tired but please do know that the others will be coming home soon and if you don’t want to be the subject to their teasings, you both better be by now” sakura advised. 

“yeah yeah we’ll be ready in a bit” yeji answered back, getting up and picking up your discarded clothes. your eyes followed her as she moved around the room picking up the clothes. as yeji finished, she sat back down at the bed handing you your clothes.

“you heard kkura, get dressed, when you’re done we’ll head downstairs” she said, getting up again to properly wear her clothes.you nod, thanking her as you also got up to wear your clothes. 

when you were both finished, you headed down to find sakura by the couch reading a book. she catches you guys in her peripheral vision, and she smiles closing her book. she patted the space beside her calling the two of you to sit close to her. you smile back pulling yeji with you as you jump to sit at the couch. the two giggle at your antics as yeji reaches over the coffee table to get some of the cookies that sakura seemingly baked. the three of you lounge and chat as you  wait for the others to arrive home. 

while the sun sets, you hear a bunch of familiar voices outside and the door opens with a bang.

“I’M HOMEEEEE!!!” sana yells and rosé hits her in the head to quiet her down. 

“shut your yap i’m already tired of hearing you all day” rosé complained rolling her eyes.

sana ignores her, eyes landing on you making her squeal.

“Y/NNIE I MISSED YOUUUU!” she exclaimed tackling you in a hug.

“hey sana…….” you greet hugging her back.

“how as your day? did kkura and yeji give you a hard time? did you have any fun? are you tired?” she interrogated.

“now now sana-chan, don’t overwhelm her so much” karina tried calming the squirrel down.

murmurs of agreement spread around the room making sana pout hugging you tighter. you all giggled at her adorable antics before sakura stood announcing that she’ll start making dinner.

“you guys should freshen up” she advised, pertaining to the group that stayed outside the whole day.

they all agreed with her, not forgetting to thank her for again cooking a meal for everyone. as sakura left to go to the kitchen, the rest proceeded to go to their rooms upstairs to freshen up, yeji towing behind saying she forgot something in her room. 

you were left there alone in the living room as you leaned back against the couch eyes glued to the ceiling as you let today’s events sink down. minutes pass by and you feel the couch dip beside you. you turned to your left to see wonyoung looking at you curiously.

“penny for you thoughts?” she asked.

“oh im just thinking of the things that happened today” you admit.

“how is it so far? have you been adjusting well?” she wondered.

“yeah, im loving it here.” you answered.

the two of you kept conversing as the rest of the girls joined after freshening up. time passed by and soon, sakura finished cooking, prompting you to stand up to help her set the table. one you were done, sakura called the rest over.  

wonyoung was the first to arrive, her bright energy filling the room as she eagerly claimed a seat. "it smells so good, sakura! what did you make?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.  

"you’ll see," sakura replied with a small smile, bringing out the dishes.  

sana followed shortly after, laughing softly as she settled beside wonyoung. "it’s nice to just sit down together like this after such a long day," she said, stretching her arms.  

karina nodded, sliding into the seat across from them. "no kidding. carrying all that firewood back was no joke. my arms feel like they’re about to fall off."  

rosé joined next, brushing snow off her cloak as she sat down. "you think that’s bad? try foraging for berries in the freezing cold. my fingers are still numb," she said, holding her hands out toward the fire.

soyeon walked in with yeji close behind, both of them looking a little worn. "hunting today was rough," yeji said as she dropped into her seat, her tired expression softening as the aroma of the food reached her. "but at least we managed to bring something back."  

"yeah, but i think the deer were mocking us by how fast they ran," soyeon added with a small laugh.  

soon, the table was filled with laughter and conversation, everyone sharing stories about their tasks and the small triumphs of the day. sakura’s cooking didn’t last long as everyone happily dug in, the warmth of the meal matching the lively energy of the group.

after dinner, everyone helped clear the table, but you offered to handle the dishes. the sound of laughter from the other girls slowly faded as they headed to their rooms, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

once the last plate was cleaned and dried, you wiped your hands and headed to your room. exhaustion weighed heavily on you, and you were grateful for the softness of your bed. as you settled under the covers, just on the edge of sleep, a gentle knock startled you.

"come in," you called softly, sitting up slightly.

the door creaked open to reveal wonyoung, holding a small cup of water. her usual brightness was dimmed by concern as she stepped inside. "i noticed you didn’t drink much during dinner," she said, offering the cup with a sweet smile. "i thought you might need this before sleeping."

"oh," you murmured, touched by the gesture. "thank you, wonyoung." taking the cup, you sipped it without a second thought.

as soon as you set the cup down, a strange dizziness overtook you. the room swayed, and your limbs felt heavy. panic rose in your chest, but your body refused to respond.

"w-wonyoung...?" you managed to whisper, your voice slurring.

"shh," she said gently, brushing your hair back. "don’t worry. you’ll be fine." her words were soothing, but the darkness that pulled you under was anything but.

when you woke, the cold bite of metal against your wrists jolted you fully awake. your hands were tied above your head, the cold shackles digging into your skin. your previous clothes were now replaced with a thin white nightgown that barely did anything against the cold. your surroundings were unfamiliar, a grand yet eerie castle chamber, with high ceilings and dark stone walls. the luxurious bed beneath you was in stark contrast to the situation you were in. it was eerie yet seemed familiar…….

your heart pounded as you struggled against the bindings, but they held firm. the dim light from a single window only added to the suffocating sense of dread. how did you end up here? and more importantly, where was wonyoung?

your train of thoughts was cut by the loud bang made by the door, a figure entered and faced you a smirk evident in her face. all the color drained from your face as you properly saw the figure. standing infront of you was the person you were running away from in the first place, the queen herself. queen jang daah.

your shocked must’ve been really obvious because daah began laughing.

“h-how did you find me?” you tensely questioned.

“oh y/n y/n, my sweet innocent y/n.” she mocked. “you thought i’d never find you? you thought a house hidden deep in the forest would be out of my reach? i have eyes everywhere my dear.” she finished, leaning close to you.

if you were first scared, now you were terrified. countless thoughts ran through your head. if daah knows about the house, what happened to the girls? were they caught? oh god hopefully not you prayed.

“why the silence my sweet? cat your tongue?” she giggled, her hand cupping your cheeks.

“w-what did you do to the girls? are they okay? did you hurt them?” you asked, tears starting to well up if your eyes. you let out a gasp at her response.

“oh your housemates? oh dear why would i hurt my attendants? that would be counterintuitive” she tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with menace.  

“a-attendants?” you repeated, your mind racing.  

“yes, my darling. attendants,” she cooed, leaning in closer. “they’ve been serving me all along. my eyes in the forest… such loyal little helpers, don’t you think?”  

your heart sank as her words began to sink in. “they… they were helping you?”  

“of course,” she said with a smirk. “did you think they were just simple girls living in a cottage? no, no, my sweet. they were tasked with bringing you to me. and oh, they did such a fine job of earning your trust.”  

you shook your head, tears spilling over. “no… no, they wouldn’t do that. they’re my friends. you’re lying!”  

her grip on your cheeks tightened slightly, her smile widening. “friends? oh, my dear, how adorably naive. they played their roles well, didn’t they? but don’t fret. their loyalty is rewarded, and now, you are here, right where you belong.”  

“why?” you choked out, struggling against the bonds. “why are you doing this?”  

her expression softened, though the glint in her eyes remained predatory. “because you, my sweet, are special. and i’ve waited far too long to have you. you should feel honored, you’ll never have to leave this castle again.” you didn’t believe her words, surely she ulterior motives right? like she’ll use your body for a ritual or something. 

“don’t struggle, my sweet,” she murmured, her face drawing closer, her lips curving into a smile that sent a chill down your spine. “this will only make it easier for you to understand… you belong to me now.”  

her hand trailed to your jaw, tilting your face up as she leaned in. her breath was warm against your skin, her lips dangerously close. you tried to turn away, but her grip was firm, holding you in place.  

just as her lips were about to meet yours, the door slammed open with a thunderous crash, the sound echoing through the room.  

“get away from her!”  

your eyes widened as you saw wonyoung standing in the doorway, her chest heaving like she’d run all the way there. for a brief moment, relief washed over you until you saw her lips curl into a sly smile.  

“oh, sister, you didn’t think you’d get to have all the fun without me, did you?” she said, stepping inside.  

your heart dropped, confusion and betrayal crashing over you. “w-wonyoung… sister? what’s going on?” you stammered, your voice shaking.  

daah let out a delighted laugh, her hand still cupping your cheek. “oh, my sweet, you didn’t realize? wonyoung isn’t just anyone she’s my sister. and she’s been helping me all along.”  

it all made sense now, why she looked familiar, why she reminded you of someone. she was the queen’s sister. the one rumored to have left the palace in pursuit of a much simpler life, hence you never saw her. but her resemblance to the queen was undeniable

wonyoung’s eyes softened as she approached the bed, but the warmth you’d once found in them felt twisted now. “don’t look so scared,” she murmured, crouching beside you. “we didn’t bring you here to hurt you. we just… couldn’t let you go.”  

“this has to be some kind of sick joke,” you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks. “you… you lied to me.”  

“we did what we had to,” wonyoung said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “don’t you see? you’re special. you’re ours.”  

“ours,” daah echoed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “and now, there’s no escaping it.”  

you struggled against the bindings, your heart pounding in your chest, but neither of them seemed fazed. instead, wonyoung leaned in, her touch unnervingly gentle as she rested her hand on your arm. daah’s grip on your chin tightened, her possessive smile sending shivers down your spine.  

“don’t fight it, my sweet,” daah whispered, her lips dangerously close to yours. “this is your new life. you’re ours now.”  

daah closed the gap betweens yours lips while wonyoung snaked her hands around your torso. her hands played with your breasts until your nipples were erect. this made you moan against daah’s mouth giving her the chance to push her tongue inside your mouth as her hands found their way to your clothed folds, gently rubbing it. 

tears ran down your cheeks as your body responded to their touches in ways you didn’t want. but how could you resist it when two extremely attractive sisters are currently playing with your sensitive regions. daah pulled away for moment giving you the chance to breathe as she ripped your nightgown, exposing your bare body to the cold.

as your body’s natural response, your arms attempted to cover your body but daah caught them in time. 

“no need to hide your beautiful body my sweet,” daah cooed but her toned changed. “we deserve to see it after all the shit that you’ve put us through.”

wonyoung giggled at her sister’s sudden shift before joking, “calm down sis, we have all the time in the world don’t we? after all, she’s ours now”

daah said nothing, only nodding in agreement before sitting up on her knees to unzip her 

gown. wonyoung, seeing her sister, then followed suit. your eyes widened at the sight of their members stood tall between their thighs. seeing your reaction, the sisters dissolved into laughter at how you looked.

“why are you so shocked? it’s not like this is first time seeing one right?” daah mocked leaning closer again, “wonyoung told me about how much of a slut you were to my attendants.” her statement made you whine, closing your eyes in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.

the sisters grinned at your reaction before you felt the tightness of shackles against your wrist suddenly vanish. you open your eyes in confusion and just as you were about to ask a question, wonyoung already cut you off.

“we’re giving you the chance to redeem yourself, so be a good girl for us.” she explained. “and you better not waste it or you’ll face some severe disciplining.”

her last words made you shiver in fear but nevertheless, you nod. it was useless to fight anyway, your first and final attempt to freedom was nothing more than a facade so why not accept and enjoy your new life now?

“words pretty, i need to hear it.”

“y-yes mommies….”

“good.”

“now where we’re we?”

as those words left daah’s mouth, it was like a switch was flicked inside them. their grinning faces turned into faces filled with desire, almost predatory. like you were some sort of prey trapped.

“say sis, which one do you prefer? the front or the back?” wonyoung asked her sister.

“hmmm… i think i’d prefer her backdoor” daah replied, already moving behind you as her hands found their way on your breast. her actions making you moan, leaning back against her which in turn causing your body to rub against her member. this made the queen groan, pulling you closer to her rubbing her member against you.

“don’t forget about me.” wonyoung spoke, leaning in to capture your lips. you moaned against her lips wrapping your arms around neck. you were so loss into the kiss and the amount of stimulation you were receiving that you never noticed that the sisters have already lined their members against your holes.

you pulled away from the kiss to let out a squeal when you felt them enter you. you smothered your face against wonyoung’s neck as you tried to adjust to their sizes. this was only your second time taking two shafts inside you and it wasn’t easier than the first time. the sisters groaned as your walls tightened around them in an attempt to adjust to their sizes.

they stayed still, letting you get used to them. when your whimpers died down, a sign that you’ve adjusted, they were ruthless. daah moved first, and wonyoung followed suit their thrusts pattern all over their face as they try to find a rhythm. your eyes rolled to the back of your head, blindly grabbing anything in your reach. daah’s mouth found their way at the base of your neck leaving light kisses all over, but she soon gave a hard bite making you scream out it pain.

“may this be a reminder of who you belong to, us” daah whispered, thrusting harder than before, her hands slithering down to find your bundle of nerves, abusing it when she found it.

tears ran down your face from the combined sensation of pain and pleasure. wonyoung, seeing this leaned in to kiss your tears away her thrusts, following behind her sister’s. 

“fuck you’re so tight for us y/nnie~. for someone who ran away from us, you’re awfully enjoying this so much” she teased, her lips also finding their way to your neck leaving out her own mark. she pulled away, admiring your mark filled neck that the two of them made. she made eye contact with her sister, smirking as if they read each other’s mind. you felt them slowing down to a stop, pulling out and just as you were about to plead for them, they suddenly plunged back inside you with full force. your mind, now already deteriorated into putty made you mindlessly babble as more tears ran down your face. 

the room was soon filled your cries of “mommy”, your pleas, and the sister’s groans of pleasure as you felt their members hitting your deepest crevices and as you leaned forward in exhaustion your eyes caught sight of something. a bulge can be seen in your womb area, the sight rousing your attention making your moans start to quieten down.

daah, confused with your sudden silence, looked over your shoulder to take a look at whatever it is that caught your attention. seeing the bulge she smirked, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“fuck, you feel us my sweet? that’s us, that’s us that your slutty body is taking” pressing down the bulge making you wail and wonyoung to let out a groan as her hands found their way to play with your breasts.

“she’s getting tighter–shit i’m getting close ahhh fuck!” wonyoung yelled out, her thrust getting out of control as she tried to chase her high.

“ahhh me too fuck y/n keep that up my sweet” daah followed, groaning as she laid her face in your neck, sniffing your scent. 

with their thrusts being all over the place and getting rougher and deeper inside of you, of course you also felt yourself being pushed over the edge. 

“mommies!” you wailed, “i–fuck cum!” words being forgotten, pleasure overtaking over your cognitive functions. 

“no! you’re not allowed to until we cum!” daah demanded, the restriction worsening your already sobbing state.

“b-but!” you tried to plead, only to be cut by wonyoung “i don't care how good it feels you better not cum unless we tell you to” she spat, closing her eyes.

fortunately, with how much you were squeezing them, they reached their highs. wonyoung came first, gripping your thighs, her nails digging against your skin as she shakingly tried to pump into to you in an attempt to maximize the pleasure that she felt. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt the warm fluid fill up your walls.

daah followed suit due to your anal orifice tightening in response to wonyoung’s release. she grabbed you by your neck, forcing you to look at her, your lips being caught in a liplocking session against her own lips as she releases inside you. 

the overstimulation got to you and without warning, you felt yourself release, your legs twitching as you let out an ear splitting squeal of pleasure, before leaning back against daah in exhastion. wonyoung layed against you too and you all layed there, in a sandwich position, all you of breathing deeply in exhaustion. 

you felt your eyes start to get heavy from fatigue as you squirmed to find a better position to sleep in. as you tried you moved around, the two pulled their members out of you to give you some space to move. when you finally settled down, they both layed beside you, each taking one side. 

“sleep now our darling, you need to regain your energy for next time” wonyoung whispered by your side, leaning in to kiss your cheek. daah seeing her sister’s actions, did the same kissing your other cheek. you smiled at their gesture, as you finally let your sleepiness take over you, finally able to accept your new life in the castle, pleased with the fact that their intentions with you have been cleared.