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izjeon · 6 months

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GONEGIRL.

athlete!jungkook x f!reader

𖥻 genre: s2l (strangers to lovers?), fwb (friends with benefits), pwp, and university au.

𖥻 rating: 18+

𖥻 word count: 3.2k

𖥻 warnings: [MINORS DNI] afab/f!reader, heavy infatuation, they basically stalk each other, a lot of sexual tension, smut is literally the plot, many mentions of wet dreams, debatable infidelity, reader has debatable morals, jungkook & reader are horny, switch!jk (but he does most of the dominating) and switch!reader, a lot of making-out, hickeys (f.receiving), reader lowkey has a praise kink, hair pulling (m.receiving), jungkook whimpers, extra beefy jungkook, dry humping… and they get caught.

a/n: this is not proofread, but why is standing next to you such a bop?? helped me finish this after months of it being stuck in the drafts. also, to whoever told me to stay in the basement, i couldn’t stick to my word, pookie 😔. enjoy!

series masterlist: GONEGIRL

chapter one - ‘slowburn?’

𖥻 GONEGIRL

you knew who he was.

jeon jungkook: the senior that all the freshmen drooled for and the senior that all the seniors wanted to themselves. as a senior yourself, you couldn’t say he didn’t intrigue you. he was a sporty guy, winning national and global championships in track and wrestling for fun on the side. obviously, his matches were the most popular in viewership across the university. the golden boy, he never once failed to add another gold medal to your university’s esteemed profile.

so, you knew who he was, but you couldn’t understand why his eyes were stuck on you and only you.

you’d first met him at a party held by one of his close friends, namjoon. you were introduced briefly and didn’t exchange any numbers or socials. but, that following morning, jngkk_97 followed you on instagram. and, from that day on, he was the first guy to like your posts, the first guy to view your stories and the first guy you knew of to not slide into your dms.

with his intriguing, yet unexpectedly distant, behaviour, he found his way into your mind— 24/7. so, every morning, you awoke, gaslighting yourself into believing that the thought of his pink, pouty lips on yours didn't actually send you into a midlife crisis. they just made you a little faint.

every single night, you tucked your fragile mind into bed, losing yourself in hazy dreams branded by the thought of jungkook's touch. but, after a few weeks of contactless flirting, you let the idea of him go.

because you’d been told he had a girlfriend.

although it usually took a lot to do so, you felt the cowardly urge to give up on your infatuation. it'd been more than 2 weeks of mutual stalking but, still, no message. you guessed, he just wasn't as desperate for you as you were for him.

and you didn't like that. so you quit your daily routine of streaming his instagram and greedily watched as he kept up his own stalkish routine, consecutively failing to direct his focus back onto his girlfriend.

the same gorgeous girlfriend sitting with him on a black and cushy beanbag, radiating as she spoke to the other students around them. and that's when you realised, not having each other's undivided attention must've been a thing in their relationship.

because, his doe eyes of false innocence were only on you.

it was the first time you were seeing each other in person after namjoon’s party.

you stared back at jungkook through the wide, unglazed window in the separating wall between the kitchen and the living room. even with his supposed girlfriend of 5 months on his lap, running her fingers through his hair, his eyes were only on you. you scoffed, chuckling to yourself.

he would be fun.

leaning back on the kitchen counter of jennie’s apartment, you tilted your head to the side. intrigued, you watched as he did the same, copying your actions with a lopsided grin. now, you didn’t have the best eyesight but you weren’t so blind that you couldn’t tell that he was clearly hinting at something. something that would land you in a very taboo situation.

and you loved that.

you lifted your plastic cup to your lips and turned away from the athlete sitting at the other end of the room. you downed your drink as you walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. you looked around for your best friend and there she was, face deep in boobs.

as you made your way to the couch she was sprawled on, you realised the athlete had disappeared from his girlfriend’s side. curious of where he’d disappeared to, your eyes ran across the packed apartment, desperate for the sight of him.

and there it was, the something.

he was standing near the front door and his girlfriend had gone to sit with other seniors. it looked like he was exchanging goodbyes with his friends.

he was leaving— without his girlfriend.

“jennie, i think i’m going,” you mindlessly whispered, eyes stuck on the 5’10" hottie with his foot out the door and doe eyes drifting back across the crowded room. then his eyes were on yours again: a silent exchange of words.

“already…?” a drunk jennie whined, lifting her face from the deep cleavage of her girlfriend. “wait,” she mumbled, eyebrows scrunching into a sobering expression, and squinted her eyes at your side profile. “you think?”

satisfied with your decided future, you turned back to your best friend with your lips curling into a sly grin. “no, i know.”

she lazily propped herself up on her girlfriend and whined, “but how’re you gonna get home~?”

the front door slammed shut.

“i’ll find a ride.”

𖥻 GONEGIRL

jungkook picked at the zip of his thin bomber coat. he was leaning against his black benz, waiting.

ever since he first laid his eyes on you in that little backless, black dress, jungkook knew you were trouble. you were a distraction; more distracting than the pending termination of his current relationship; and much more distracting than the thought of joining the national track team again. you were a parasite living in his mind.

he practically breathed you. when he woke, you were his first thought. when he felt compelled to open instagram, you were there. even when he would try to escape you in his sleep, you were there. he could barely last ten seconds sinking into the thought of you. if you let him sink into the reality of you, jungkook would cease to exist.

jungkook groaned, throwing back his head. he thought he would be fine and perfectly content with your instagram and your daily occurrence in his dreams (sexual or not), but you just had to show up at this party— held by your best friend. how was he supposed to know you guys were best friends? now he was actually waiting for the real you and he could feel himself going mad. he wasn’t sure he could keep his hands to himself and he could already feel the consequences of his future actions creeping up on him—

“who bought that for you?”

his ears twitched.

his heart lunged and his eyes found yours in an instant. but jungkook’s always had a wandering eye.

his eyes almost instantly fell to your body, trailing over your exposed cleavage in your white dress, and then dropping to the high slit on your left thigh, almost exposing your crotch. you were some type of angel for sure.

he was fucked.

jungkook was fucked the moment he met you; the moment he spent over an hour scrolling through countless instagram accounts to find yours; the moment he couldn’t dream of his own future without you showing up; and the moment he began to pray you showed up in his dreams every night before bed.

he was fucked because he feared once he had a hold on you, he would never be able to let go.

a man’s logic.

“my dad,” jungkook finally replied, pulling himself together. “he decided i needed a car— because i run 24/7. and there definitely cannot be a cheaper and better car than a mercedes benz.”

his sarcastic tone made you smile.

“that’s cute,” you smiled.

it went silent.

“do you need a ride?”

“don’t you have a girlfriend?” you rebutted with a smirk. truthfully, part of you didn’t care about his answer. you were an addict in front of a line of coke. you would get what you wanted one way or another.

“ha,” he chuckled, lowering his head in what you thought was shame. your question put jungkook on the spot. and you knew cheaters never worked well when put on the spot. but jungkook looked up with a wincing smile and corrected you, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

oh.

“we’re… complicated.”

now, jungkook wasn’t sure that choyeon would’ve given you the same answer. they weren’t together, but she acted as if they were. and he didn’t make much of an effort to correct her. so, he guessed he was still guilty. but he only felt guilty to a certain extent. he’d already chosen feeling guilty about hurting choyeon rather than missing an opportunity to get what he dreamed of.

what he fucking craved.

the sound of your heels getting closer to him kissed jungkook out of his thoughts. oh, you seduced him: the feeling of your manicured fingers gently grabbing hold of his chin and slowly lowering his clouded eyes to yours.

you whispered, “how complicated?”

jungkook held his breath for a second or two. how complicated were they? well, he knew they were complicated enough for him to forget about her in your presence and only remember her when you asked him to. however, they weren’t complicated enough for them to not be in some sort of a relationship.

but he decided it didn’t matter. when it came to you, she didn’t matter. he realised how beautiful your eyes looked under the moonlight. they glistened with the false innocence jungkook knew would ruin him. after all the nights of imagined panting, moaning and fucking and mornings of bitter reality, post-clarity and cum-stained sheets, jungkook burned for your touch.

fuck, he could almost taste you.

as if you could read his thoughts, your awaiting finger finally fell onto the his plump bottom lip, sweetly kissing the man out of his stupor. your eyes left his and fell to where your finger slowly traced across jungkook’s soft, pink receipt of kisses.

that’s when his lips parted, and he whispered, “as complicated as you want.”

at his answer, your distracted eyes flickered back up to his awaiting, hooded eyes. that’s when you, too, realised how dangerous your infatuation had gotten. just the sight of those buttered chestnut eyes and the intoxicating feel of his slow exhales on your skin forced you into a reality where you lacked even the smallest control over your own body. but, even more dangerous, was how little you cared about the way you drowned in his presence. but then again, you never did learn how to swim.

you smiled, letting your hands fall back to your sides.

“i’ll take that ride.”

𖥻 GONEGIRL

the ride back to yours was almost silent, only filled with random whispers of directions coming from jungkook’s gps system. the voiced map directed him to your address and, yet, everything else pointed his eyes to you.

jungkook took a glance at you. he watched you; he watched you with your elbow propped up onto the rolled-down window, relaxed upper body peeking out into seoul’s night. he saw how you leaned further into the wind licking at your cheeks when he pressed on the gas, a hint of a smile wavering across your partially hidden face. he watched you in the silence, accepting his loud need— his loud need for you.

and he didn’t even know you. but jungkook couldn’t seem to find the rational sense to care. he knew you were a ‘stranger’ but, fuck, you’d overwhelmed his entire existence. you had damned him to the crucifying point where he actually felt the need to breathe you— to accept every single inch of you into his being— and he had no idea why. even as he glanced in your direction for the hundredth time, he couldn’t dare try to understand how you’d done this to him.

once again, as if you could read his thoughts, your head turned, lost eyes running over the lavender lights in the car. and like a key, your wandering eyes pierced his and locked his gaze onto yours.

“you’ve arrived at your destination,” the gps announced, breaking the exchanged glance. jungkook turned back to the road, and you turned back to seoul’s night.

“mm, just here,” you hummed, pointing to an empty parking spot in front of the tall apartment complex. maybe it was just human curiosity, but you found yourself mesmerised by the way he smoothly slotted the benz into the empty space.

fuck, everything he did was hot.

the sound of the engine’s hum softening into a quiet mew reminded jungkook of the anticipation clawing at his skin. it clouded his senses. but when his eyes flitted back onto you, yours were already on his.

he watched your lips part, and stilled as your next whisper left a trail of wet kisses across his mind.

“come up with me.”

𖥻 GONEGIRL

“thanks,” you started, slotting your key into auburn door’s lock. turning to catch a glimpse of jungkook’s dewy eyes behind his black locks, you smiled and continued, “for the ride.”

jungkook’s lips quirked into the same lopsided grin from earlier. “you’re welcome,” he replied.

it was silent again.

with those hidden eyes still on yours, jungkook’s tongue slipped past his lips, running over his bottom lips. your gaze dropped to the pink tongue flitting across those pink, pillowy lips of his, and you sunk. those lips forced you into a familiar daydream where all that mattered was letting your tongue glide across his bottom lip until you slipped in, fucking his tongue with yours— tasting jungkook.

you needed a taste.

you glanced back up into his prolonged stare. then your hands were falling from the keys in the door, fingers smoothing across the nape of his neck and cheek, and tugging his lips down to yours. but jungkook’s hands were already cradling your hips, touch-starved fingers pressing into your sides, as his lips met yours first.

it was a gentle yet deep peck. a peck was quick: it allowed jungkook to draw back for two crucial seconds and let his clouded vision run over your expression. alluring eyes looked up into his gaze and jungkook could finally see it: your mutual desperation, the hunger, and the torture. it was all he needed to see before his finger was tilting your chin up once more, and his lips were taking you in.

from brushing his tongue past yours to savouring the taste of alcohol on your tongue, jungkook sunk into the taste of you. but he didn’t know if he could go any longer without sinking into you. his hand left your waist cold, fingers fumbling with the keys in the door and failing miserably. “no,” you rushed, lips barely leaving his. “turn them to the right.”

after hearing the click of your stubborn door unlocking, you were all over each other again. you stumbled into your apartment, hand quickly muddling with the light switch, with jungkook hurrying after you, tossing your keys and his suffocating jacket aside.

his daring fingers smoothed over your ass, kneading the soft, clothed skin, before lifting you to his hips. a deep hum of approval rumbled against your lips as your legs wrapped around him. but, in this position, your little dress had ridden up, exposing a white thong snug to your weeping slit. and who on earth would jungkook be if he didn’t cop a feel?

lifting you up once more to adjust his arm, the tips of jungkook’s fingers slipped under the white lace, fingers grazing across your supple ass. feeling his fingers inch closer to your needy cunt, your breath hitched and the dull stir in your core began to hum, itching for more than a simple touch.

and, as if he could read your mind, your breath was forced from you, head falling onto the lush cushions on your sofa. wafts of mint invading your senses, your hazy eyes took in how beautiful jungkook looked above you— like it was where he was meant to be. and he realised the same, the apartment’s warm and amber lights cascading through his locks and clouding the irises of your tempting eyes.

in that still second, both you and jungkook came to a silent agreement. your dreams couldn’t compare to reality.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

you blinked. you knew you were beautiful— of course— but hearing the phrase trickle out of jungkook’s pretty mouth felt…different. your eyes followed his as his gaze fluttered across your face, brows furrowing as if he were in awe.

“kiss me,” you begged, and he obeyed.

greedy, jungkook’s kisses were everywhere— on your swollen lips, before tumbling down your jaw to the middle of your neck, littering a trail of bruising hickeys. and you couldn’t do anything but moan, whimper, and sink into his sweet touch.

“oh, fuck,” you whined, head tilting back into the plush sofa. your fingers pushed through the thick rift of hair at the nape of his neck, tugging on it. but you never would’ve expected such a pathetic moan to leave his throat, rumbling into the sweet spot right above your collarbone. you paused. his moan echoed in your mind— a repeating succulent sound. so, you tugged a little harder, relishing in how he muffled a guttural whimper into the base of your neck, “mmf, fuck”. but then his hips began to move against yours, revengeful, and you realised how fucked you were— and would be.

jungkook had a bulge that made you wonder; wonder how he crammed that shit into his boxers; wonder how he lived a seemingly normal life with it; and wonder how he would struggle to cram that cock into your sopping mess of a cunt. so, as he ground down against your erect clit, your hips bucked up into his fucking, eager to measure the sheer size of the hidden dick. “oh, please,” you whined, thoughts stained by the way he licked a hot stripe across your ear’s helix, boner perfectly smushing down against your clit.

bruising lips barely touching yours, half-lidded eyes cruelly watched as you rode up into his clothed cock and stuttered moans so pathetic your cheeks burned, glazed eyes brimming with tears. he was already fucking you so good, and he hadn’t even touched your bare pussy yet.

oh, jungkook ruined you. with a hand trailing down your heated sides, he sent your body into a rabid heat, his touch only licking the wet flame ruining your ability to think. and when his hand finally cupped your leaking cunt, thumb circling over your pulsing clit, you were already begging pitiful whimpers. “please, please, please—”

“___?”

your bodies stilled.

a voice that was not yours or jungkook’s echoed throughout the apartment, piercing the thick haze that’d swallowed your minds whole. you blinked, stare slowly lowering to jungkook’s stunned stare that was already on you. his doe eyes wrinkled into a smile as his lips pursed into an awkward grin. the cringe was evident on his face; he was a grown adult getting caught with his hand deep in the cookie jar.

jungkook’s head slowly raised and turned, peeking over the sofa to see your intruder and his cockblock. then he froze. still hidden from the eyes of your cockblock, you eyed his expression, confused on why remained still, eyes wide, lips pursed and ears burning red.

who was it?

begrudgingly, you shuffled out of jungkook’s caging arms, propping yourself up on your elbows, and looked over the sofa, ready to kick out your cockblocking neighbour. but who you saw wasn’t an unfortunate neighbour you could just dismiss. in fact, the person you saw made you the unfortunate neighbour because there your best friend stood, mouth agape and only a foot into the apartment.

“oh, fuck. well, um. oh wow,” jennie blubbered, feet awkwardly wobbling over the door’s threshold. now, drunk jennie didn’t have the best memory but she could’ve sworn she’d warned you about jungkook’s relationship status. so, as you watched the cogs turn in her head, her brows furrow and her eyes squint, darting between the both of you, all you could do was blink and smile.

“…what the fuck?”

gg: ‘slowburn?’ - fini

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook ff #jungkook fic #bts smut #bts ff #jungkook recs #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #jjk smut #smut recs #🌟: angel’s fics

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ja3yun · 3 months

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Melting Point | P.SH | CH.1

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: heavily suggestive, kissing, perv!hoon, mentions of self doubt and overthinking, yn's mum is an asshole, anything else lmk! ch.1 synopsis: when circumstances unexpectedly bring you and your brother's long-time ice skating rival, park sunghoon, together, you discover a surprising connection. However, your brother forbids any relationship between you. Will you heed his advice or follow your heart? wc: 14.3k masterlist | next a/n: hi! first chapter is finally here and i hope you all like it. each chapter will be released on friday and roughly between 10k - 16k (since people wanted longer chapters, however, i am open to any feedback regarding lengths). enjoy and please leave any comments/likes/reblogs if you wish !! also, peep the new header

‘We’re dancing, dancing, dancing in the moonlight.'

The blaring of your alarm pulls you from the cocoon of sleep, and you groan into your pillow. The idea of getting up before 6 am feels like a crime, yet here you are, abruptly awakened at 4:30 am by the dulcet tones of TO1.

With a begrudging sigh, you reach for your phone, dismissing the alarm, and then collapse back, staring at the ceiling. This routine has been a part of your life since childhood, and you'd think you'd be accustomed to it by now. However, no matter how early you sleep, removing yourself from the warmth of your bed remains a daily struggle.

You can hear your brother and mum scooting around downstairs, their usual ‘Do you have everything?’, ‘Where are the car keys?’, ‘Get your sister’ conversations louder than they need to be at this time in the day. The last one does mean you better get a move on and go downstairs.

While you put on your peach-flavoured chapstick, your brother bursts into your room, “Hurry up, Y/N.” His eyes roll and he slams the door shut as quickly as he opens it.

You have had the same routine since you were 6 years old. Same exchanges, same panic, same everything.

Minhee, your older brother, is the reason you have this same routine. When he was 6 years old, Mum took you and him ice skating for the first time and he was a natural. His feet took to the ice like fish to water, like chocolate to strawberries, like you to garlic bread. It was fated. By 7 years old he was already training and what was once a fun hobby turned into a gruelling regime of early rises and the need for a good winter jacket.

“2 minutes!” You shout down to them, one quick glance over in the mirror to make sure you look presentable.

Running down the stairs you’re greeted by your impatient mum tapping her foot, “Come on, Y/N we really can’t be late today. Coach Kim needs us there as soon as possible. Big announcement.” Her hands are flapping around animated as she speaks, “I think he’s finally going to let Minhee try that quadruple axel we’ve been begging him to let him do for Nationals!”

Your brother looks disinterested, “Mum, he’s already said it’s out of my depth.” His tone is bitter.

Minhee was amazing at ice skating, winning so many medals your mum had you move out of your double room to the box one so she could display them all. By 10 he was the youngest ever in your city to reach state championships and by 14 he was competing at the National level. It did make him the golden, silver, and bronze child in your family, but you didn’t mind all that much - not that you would tell her it did.

It’s not like you’re doing anything half as impressive as winning trophies, now that was what your mother truly found pride in. You could become a CEO or a lawyer but if you couldn’t hit a toe loop worthy of gold it wouldn’t impress her.

You did try skating when you were younger but it was like you turned into Bambi, never able to find your feet. Even when it snows in winter you can’t hold yourself up. Deep down your mum hoped you would be just like Minhee, creating an opportunity for you both to branch into pair figure skating like the Shib Sibs but no matter how many times Minhee tried to teach you or she got his coach to give you a few free pointers, you couldn’t do it. She’s disappointed and quite frankly you think she holds a grudge against you for not being anything like your amazing, spectacular, talented brother.

But you still loved to watch the sport, how efficiently and painlessly each skater would glide across the ice and do manoeuvres that defied gravity. It was a magical sport, so when your mum dragged you along to every practice because she couldn’t afford a babysitter, you didn’t mind all that much.

Tying up your final lace you stand up from the bottom step and Minhee passes you your black jacket with faux fur lining. You mutter a quick ‘thanks’ before grabbing your book bag and all three of you head to the car.

"What if it's the Olympics!" Squealing, your mother fastens her seatbelt. What if it was the Olympics? Despite consistently finishing in the top three, if not first, in most major competitions in his teenage years, his coach never selected him for the Youth Olympic Games. But now that he’s 20 years old, he could compete in the Olympics.

Your brother looks sideways at your mother and widens his eyes, "You think so?" It was his dream to make it to the Olympics, and even if he didn't win, he wanted to experience everything; the different country, being surrounded by the best of the best - he had been planning his routine for it forever.

There is a little envious man who climbs up on your shoulder from time to time when conversations like this happen. Of course, you would be so happy for Minhee, after all, he works harder than anyone you know but you wish it was you. Not necessarily the skating part, but to be so good at something you have a goal and dreams that take you to the top. Just something to make you feel alive.

You’re in your 2nd year of University studying Events and Marketing after your mum said it would be good for you to learn how to pitch reasons why Minhee would be a great brand ambassador. So you did it to please her. Honestly, you actually do enjoy it, you won’t lie about that, but the lack of appreciation for your efforts goes unnoticed 99% of the time. The 1% was when you got to shadow a boss at a Nike headquarters branch a few cities over.

“Get a good word in for Minhee while you’re there!”

She was proud of you that day.

As the car rolls up to the rink’s parking lot your mother turns serious, “If this is about choosing you for the Olympics, Min, you need to act excited and unexpectant, they may be filming a behind-the-scenes documentary on your journey to a gold medal.”

Image. Your mum was big on keeping Minhee’s reputation on brand. Right now his ‘brand’ is being humble and noble.

“Yes mum,” he salutes, “Smile and flutter.” Winking and smirking as he mocks his usual signature poses causes you to laugh but your mum finds nothing funny and her change in aura scares both of you out of the car.

_____

The usually quiet ice rink is filled with chatter and chaos, with over 20 people speaking over each other. Minhee looks down at you and you shrug. None of you had any clue what was going on but if your years of watching Detective Conan paid off you would say that whatever caused this commotion was the reason the coach asked Minhee to come in as quickly as possible.

Customarily, at this time in the morning, it’s Minhee’s solo practice hours to work on his routine for Nationals so this many people here is concerning.

“Listen!” Coach Kim’s voice bellowed around the arena putting the chattering to a halt, “I know this is untimely and inconvenient, trust me, it is for me too,” Your eyes follow his and see another coach standing about 2 meters from him, “But we need to make this work and to do that I need you to listen to me.”

As your family approaches the disarray, Coach Kim beckons you all forward. Minhee is the first to ask the all too important question, “What’s going on, Coach?” The people behind you scatter and begrudgingly tread out of the building, their faces glum and disgruntled.

“Minhee, Ms. Kang, Y/N,” Coach Kim greets you all, “Sorry about all that, although telling them was a lot less scary than you.”

“What? Is this place shutting down?” Minhee jokes but by the look on Coach Kim’s face he isn’t far off.

“Not exactly.” Scratching his neck, Coach Kim looks everywhere but Minhee’s eyes, “You know the Albion Centre? The rink on the other side of town?” All three of you nod despite that he’s only talking to your brother, “Well the council had a little meeting last week and they’re turning it fully into a Hockey training centre.”

The words sit in the air as he hopes Minhee will come to the conclusion himself, “So what? Just means more time for skating here right? If all the Hockey team are going over there?”

Sighing, the coach nods, “For sure, but it also means every skater from there will be, well, here.” He gestures around and then points half-heartedly at the other Coach who is stepping forward.

“Kang Minhee, it’s great to meet you properly, I’ve heard nothing but great things,” he extends his hand which your brother accepts, still dazed from the information, “I’m Coach Lee.”

“Wait so, EVERY skater in the town will be here? in Belmore? Coach Kim, that's not possible, my training time will be cut!” Minhee is sulking but you don’t blame him. This is a fucked up situation.

Coach Lee answers, “Not true, Minhee, with the Hockey team over at Albion it frees up some ice time, you’ll get to train more if you want to.”

“And! No more shield guards around the rink, you always hated those!” Coach Kim smiles and playfully punches his chest.

There is something the Coaches aren’t telling him. Like they’re presenting him with all the benefits before hitting him with a bombshell. You know it and for sure your mother knows it. She has been eerily quiet throughout the whole exchange, if there is one thing more unsettling than her shouting, it’s her silence.

“Albion, huh?” She steps forward and tapers her eyes, “Isn’t that the rink where the Parks are located? And aren’t you Lee Jaeho? The coach of that snake ‘Ice Prince’?”

Tension spreads around everyone’s shoulders, the Coaches can’t look at her, and none of you move.

A loud click echoes throughout the rink as someone walks through the door.

“Coach what the fuck?” The voice booms behind you, “Why did I have to drive almost an hour to come here, why couldn’t we just meet at Albi?”

Park Sunghoon.

What’s that saying? Speak of the devil and he shall appear? His mother shuffles in behind him, vocalising her own distaste for being here as if it were the most inconvenient thing in the world. Little do they know…

It’s like the world stops when Sunghoon and Minhee see each other and not in a rom-com way, “What the fuck is HE doing here?” Sunghoon points to Minhee, not taking his eyes off him.

“This is MY rink, Park.”

Sunghoon and Minhee have been competitors since they were 9 years old. Each of them competes against one another in every competition, always striving for first place. It began as healthy competition, and they were even friends at one point, but as they grew older and each mother became increasingly determined to claim their kid was superior to the others, a rivalry developed. If one of them did something, the other had to outdo it tenfold.

When Minhee learned how to do a double axel, Sunghoon learned a triple. When Sunghoon landed his Euler jumps, Minhee was landing an Euler but following it up with a Salchow. When Minhee won the Junior Silver Medal in 2015, Sunghoon won the Junior Gold Medal in 2016.

It was always like this.

Their similarities didn’t help either, both 20, towering at 6”0, and blessed with faces that effortlessly drew admiring glances from girls. Objectively, you’ve only really seen the attraction to Sunghoon given that Minhee is your brother, however, you're not blind to the bevvy of girls who gravitate towards him either. This is precisely why your mother insisted on Minhee maintaining his brand, which stood in stark contrast to Sunghoon's.

He wasn’t rude or stuck up, actually from what you’ve perceived from afar, he is kind and gentle. But unlike your brother's ‘humble’ persona, Sunghoon knows he’s good and will tell anyone about it. Sunghoon’s confidence is easily mistaken for haughtiness. He can come across as arrogant and cocky, just like those sports journalists have been branding him for years like he thinks he’s better than anyone else past and present.

Having been to every competition Minhee has skated in has led you to know a few things about Park Sunghoon. He was arguably the best skater in the division, even over Minhee, he was determined, hard-working, resilient, and fit as fuck.

To say you used to have a crush on him would be the understatement of the century, matter of fact it was so obvious back then that your mum would often reprimand you for staring at him too long. He was your first crush, you were 8 and he was 9, and like some girls that age you planned out a wedding, a future of 2 dogs and you’d both live in a pink palace. At first, it was his looks, no one in your primary school looked that pretty or even shone a torch compared to him. It was like seeing an angel for the first time. But then you started to grow up, and while still appreciating his face, you focused on how beautifully he skated and how majestic he moved. He was so passionate about the sport it made you feel butterflies, you hadn’t seen love like that before. Sunghoon and the rink were fated to be together.

“Sunghoon, calm down.” His coach whispered, “We need to tell you something-”

“I am NOT sharing my rink with that fucking z-list prick, alright?” Minhee didn’t hold back, he got that anger from your mother.

Turning to his coach, Sunghoon raised his eyebrows, “What does he mean sharing?”

Both Coaches exhaled. You can’t imagine how many times they have had to explain this situation, they probably should have just sent out an email. So as Coach Lee takes Sunghoon and his mum to the side, Coach Kim is looking at Minhee apologetically, “I’m sorry, Minhee. I know he’s your biggest competition, and trust me, I don’t exactly love this outcome either,” rubbing a hand down his exhausted face he whispers, “but work with me here. I’ve scheduled you guys at different times, you won’t even need to see him.”

“That’s not the point, Coach, you know how I feel about him.”

If it wasn’t for your mum you seriously ponder whether Minhee would have such a strong hatred for the fellow ice skater, and as you look at Sunghoon you wonder the same thing.

“I know trust me, you and your mother make that perfectly clear every time we cross them at comps, but you just gotta live with it, son.”

The coaches come back together and look at both of their young prodigies, “Minhee you’ll train morning, and Sunghoon you’ll train nights. Because of the merger of rinks, we have an excessive number of skaters, so we are making it a 24-hour arena but ONLY for you two and Wonyoung since Nationals are coming up.” Both coaches nodded their heads as if agreeing with themselves that this was a good choice, “So if you happen to turn up at the same time, you respect each others’ space and behave like grown men. Got it?”

Grumbling, your brother rolls his eyes, and Sunghoon nods. This is going to be a disaster.

Just as you think all bickering would be over, the mothers start chasing after the coaches as they head into the office. You felt bad for the trainers having to deal with this and getting blamed for it all, but most importantly, you feel sorry for them because they have to listen to both your mum and Mrs. Park for at least an hour.

Once the door to their office shut, it was silent, the only noise coming from the large ACs.

Scared to look any of them in the eye you place a hand on Minhee’s arm, “Come on, you need to practice.”

“Emphasis on the ‘need’.” Sunghoon pipes up and you wish he hadn’t. You were a fool to think this parting would be civil.

Minhee pokes his tongue in his cheek and looks at his rival, “You got something to say?” He’s challenging Sunghoon, baiting him to start something, but Sunghoon doesn’t budge, “Better watch my skate doesn’t somehow come flying off and slit you open.” Minhee was all bark and no bite, you knew this, but he seems deadly serious right now.

“Is that a threat?” Sunghoon stands tall against Minhee.

“It’s a fucking promise, Park.”

No one says anything else, they don’t have to, the look in their eyes is scary as they stand toe to toe with one another. “Let’s go, Mini.” You squeak out his nickname. By no means are you a timid person but you don’t want to interject and suddenly find yourself in the firing line.

With a grunt, your brother obeys and storms out and into the changing rooms, leaving you and Sunghoon alone.

His stern eyes flicker to your soft ones, it’s been a while since you’ve been this close to him, close enough to admire him. His black hair is fluffy and unstyled unlike how it is usually when you see him at competitions, the bags under his eyes prove how hard he’s working whether at skating or general life and the freckles that are perfectly placed on his face suddenly look more ethereal than before. Sunghoon is the epitome of beauty.

While you’re staring you fail to notice how he is staring right back at you, taking in all your features like he’s trying to commit them to memory. He hasn’t seen you since Sectionals which didn’t seem like that long ago but to him, it feels like a lifetime. You’ve cut your hair since then and Sunghoon noticed.

Meeting his eyes once again you see how they sparkle, just like they do when he’s on the ice.

“Sorry for my brother, he can be-”

“A dick?”

“A lot,” Your tone is filled with warning. Sunghoon might have been right but that’s still your brother, “He can be a lot but you already know that.”

Walking up to you, he tilts his head and smiles softly, “Don’t start apologising for him now, Sweets.” He leans so his face meets yours, “Or else you’ll be apologising your whole life.”

Sunghoon pats your head and makes his way to the coach's office, leaving you mesmerised.

______

Minhee and Sunghoon have successfully kept their distance from each other for the past two weeks, which has been a relief to everyone. If this pattern continues, there is hope that everything will just be a harmonious as before the merge.

Although the rink was now open for their disposal, you were never more grateful. No, it wasn’t for you, the coaches explicitly said it was for the future medalists, but you knew the receptionist for the building and she would let you away with anything if you batted your lashes and gave her a box of Toffees.

Growing up at the rink meant you found solace in the atmosphere and surroundings, so much so that you went there to simply study, the arena oddly hugging you in comfort while you tore the hair from your head. Skaters and staff became your friends with how much time you’ve spent in the bleachers. Typically, it would be during the day with what little spare time you had, but with the building being open around the clock it means you can inhabit the premises in the middle of the night, the perfect time to get your head down and work.

That is where you are headed right now just after your shift at the supermarket. It was as painful as ever with customers not understanding that you don’t make the prices, or that no you cannot watch their baby while they run for a jug of milk. It’s baffling how dense some people can be.

The rink is a nice place to relax and get away from it all.

Pushing open the door you see the receptionist, Miss Barbara, filing her nails. She was a friendly woman, the kind type, but when Coach Kim told her she would have to work some nights she wasn’t so sweet and caring, not to him anyway.

Her real name is just Barbara but as the years went on, she adopted this regal persona and insisted everyone call her Miss or Ma’am. Only you and Minhee gave in to her request though.

“Hi, Miss Barbara,” You wave. Reaching into your white tote bag you retrieve her bribes, eh, goodies, and pass them to her.

With much delight, she wiggles her fingers and slips them from the desk into her lap, “Y/N you are my favourite person that walks through those doors!” Her eyes are trained on the sweets rather than you when she speaks which makes you chuckle.

“Glad I can be held in such high regard, Miss Barbara,” You change your accent to a posh one and wave like a Queen in her tiny town car. Lifting her head, Miss Barbara sees your roleplay and laughs, dismissing you into the rink.

As you step into the arena, the chill of the air greets you, accompanied by the soothing sound of skates slicing through the ice. Finding your way to the centre of the second row of bleachers, you settle in, unpacking your bag and gracefully arranging your belongings. Crossing your legs to create space for your laptop and paper, you deftly balance everything, a skill you've honed to perfection.

Typing in your password you hear the skates coming towards you and scraping to a halt but you don’t look up.

“If you’ve come to spy on my routine you aren’t doing a very good job at hiding.” Sunghoon playfully remarks. You hadn’t even noticed it was him who was skating, since it was usually Wonyoung gracing the ice you just expected it to be her. He looks at your mess of a lap and scrunches his full eyebrows, “Like you’re really not making it discrete.”

You look up and see him pointing to your laptop, “Oh, no I’m just studying.” Returning to typing you hear him scoff, making you look at him again.

“You expect me to believe that?” The look on his face is incredulous when you don’t budge, “What? Don’t they have libraries at your Uni?”

Sunghoon’s tone is accusatory and you don’t like it. “Look, I don’t have beef with you okay? That’s the wrong Kang sibling.” There is no reason for him to be giving you attitude right now, you hadn’t done anything wrong, an innocent bystander in all this.

Deep down he knew that too, but he couldn’t be too careful.

Crossing his arms, he leans on top of the barrier and rests his chin, examining you and how much you’re telling the truth, “So, what? You genuinely just sit here and study? Does the cold stimulate your brain or something?”

“No, it’s like white noise at this point, comforting.” Glancing up you see his still dubious expression, “Ugh, look I come here all the time, ask anyone!” Your arms gesturing to the empty rink is not really helping your case.

Having had enough you slam the laptop shut and stand up, “Whatever, I’ll just go somewhere else.”

Sunghoon shoots his arms up to mock surrender, “Woah, Sweets, calm down, I was just making sure. Need to air on the side of caution, yeah?” His voice softens.

Making you uncomfortable wasn’t on his list of things to do, but his mum made it very clear your whole family wasn’t to be trusted, and he always heeded his mother's warnings even if he thought she was being overdramatic. “Listen, stay here as long as you want but if I see your brother doing a double toe loop into a triple axel I know who to blame.”

With a smirk, you sit back down, “See now you’ve just told me your big secret,” a laugh leaves your lips, “Changed your mind on trusting a Kang so soon huh?”

He’s flabbergasted.

Did he really just tell you part of his routine like it was nothing, in an instant after he just told himself not to be so trusting of you? You’re more dangerous than he first thought, and you aren’t even trying.

After seeing the realisation come over his face you laugh loudly, “Sunghoon, don’t worry. My brother can handle you on his own, he doesn’t need to cheat to beat you.”

“Say that to my 8 first places over him.” It goes silent. It’s not like you could argue with him, Sunghoon did beat Minhee in a lot of skates.

Trying to lighten the mood he points to you, “No pictures.” He jokes and skates away adroitly.

You don’t see the smile creeping onto his face, or the way tries to shake you out of his head. That conversation between you made him want it to be the start of many more, much more.

________

Emerging from your room, you're taken aback to find your mom standing right at your door, narrowly avoiding a collision. Both of you gasp and instinctively clutch your chests. "Jesus, Y/N, you scared me," she exclaims. Ignoring the fact that she's lingering around your room, you offer an apology, which she quickly dismisses. "A letter came for you," she informs you, handing over the manila envelope before walking away. At least she isn't one of those moms who loiter and wait for you to open it; she doesn't fuss over things like that. Or perhaps, she doesn't fuss over you.

Abandoning your plan to head to the kitchen for a cup of tea, you return to your bed and sprawl across it, letting your legs dangle off the edge. With a swift motion, you tear open the envelope and unfold the letter, eagerly scanning its contents.

Dear Y/N Kang,

At Yonsei University, our students consistently impress us with their dedication and commitment to excellence. Each year, we have the privilege of acknowledging one outstanding student whose remarkable progress merits special recognition. This year, we are delighted to announce that you have been selected as the top student of Yonsei University.

In light of your exceptional achievements, we would be honoured to celebrate your success by presenting you with an award. A special ceremony, bringing together top students from across the city, will be held on the 23rd of September at 7 pm in the historic Cathedral adjacent to our university campus. You are welcome to bring a plus one to share in this momentous occasion.

Congratulations once again on this well-deserved honour.

You skim-read the rest, and a triumphant smile creeps onto your face. There's no conceivable way you're at the top of the University this year - perhaps the top of your year, but the entire university? It feels like a surreal, sick joke. Investigating the envelope, you spot the official stamp of Yonsei. It's real.

Bounding down the stairs, you find your mum and brother already seated at the dining table, ready for dinner, "Mum, Mini, look!" You flap the paper in their faces, excitement bubbling within you. Your mum tuts and carefully opens the letter, reading it with precision. You're searching for any sign of a reaction, but nothing surfaces. She simply places it down and checks her phone.

You sit down gingerly, awaiting her acknowledgement, hoping for some form of appreciation, "Hmm, thought so." Clicking the lock on her phone, she sets it aside, "Sorry, Y/N, Minhee has a schedule that day."

"But aren't you happy for me?" You ask, your excitement dampening. It's not just about the ceremony; it's about the achievement itself. She should be proud of you, "I'm at the top of my university."

"Yes, you are, darling," your mum responds, her tone lacking enthusiasm. Normally, it wouldn't bother you, but this is a big deal, huge even, and she couldn't spare you the time of day to at least pretend to be happy for you.

Your heart sinks, and the elation you felt a moment ago dissipates. She really did not care, and the void of her indifference casts a shadow over your significant accomplishment.

Minhee places a comforting hand on your shoulder, sensing your disappointment. "Top of the class, huh? Finally, you get one of your awards in my trophy room." His attempt at humour falls flat in the weight of the moment. Minhee notices your lack of response, withdrawing his hand and sinking into silence, his gaze fixed downward.

“We just can’t go, your brother has an advertisement to film that day, we’ve been planning it for months. You understand.”

You had no choice but to understand.

“Yes, Mum.” The acceptance cuts deep. You've never blamed Minhee for the uneven distribution of favouritism; it wasn't his fault, yet, the sting of yearning for a moment in the spotlight, just once, remains. The chair you rise from screeches against the floor. "I need to go tell my friends about it."

There isn’t a protest from her, so you slip out quietly. Minhee extends a hand toward you, a silent gesture of support, but you don’t bother acknowledging it. The door closes behind you, leaving a trail of unresolved emotions lingering in the air.

In truth, you didn’t want to tell your friends right now, when you tell them you want it to be a happy occasion, not tarnished by your mum's attitude.

How could she be so nonchalant about the fact that you achieved such an award? You weren’t looking for bells and whistles but a simple ‘Well done, Y/N.’ would have sufficed. Was it too much to ask for? You did all this for her, after all.

A deja vu of last week, you push the heavy doors to the Belmore Centre, greeting Miss Barbara before heading to the rink.

The familiar scent of ice and warm rubber infiltrates your nose, offering solace and temporarily numbing the thoughts swirling in your mind. The rink, with its unique aura, never fails to bring you a sense of contentment.

As you take your usual seat, you can't help but notice an unusual absence of the rhythmic sound of skates cutting through the ice. It's just past 8 pm, yet the rink is eerily silent. For a change, it's pure bliss, the absence of the usual hustle and bustle providing an unexpected sanctuary.

Sitting with your head in your hands, you succumb to overthinking. If only you could have skated and achieved something that your mum could be proud of. What would it take?

A tear slips down your cheek, and you're oblivious to the approaching presence.

Sunghoon’s smile is subtle as he takes in your dishevelled appearance. You’re not in your usual jacket, in fact, you look like you've hastily run out of the house as if you were just popping into the shop for milk.

With your hands buried in your head, he hears a sniffle, realizing that you're crying, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Sunghoon drops his bag and skates as he rushes over to you, concern all over his face.

Shaking your head you just cry harder as your brain screams at you. It is so loud you can’t hear anything else, certainly not the boy sitting next to you.

He rubs your back to calm you down but to no avail. Instead, you cry harder and he doesn’t know what to do. Sunghoon isn’t exactly an expert when it comes to crying girls, “Sweets, stop crying.” Great, Sunghoon, just great, he curses himself, “Umm, no wait, shit, breathe! I’ve heard that works before.” He quickly made the realisation he would never make it as a therapist.

Sunghoon is always so confident and self-assured but right now with you he has no idea how to act.

What he doesn’t realize is that his awkward attempt to console you has genuinely worked. Sunghoon fumbling over his words gives you something to focus on, and hearing him mutter to himself about how awful he is at this makes you laugh. It’s a small laugh but one that breaks through the heaviness of the moment.

Hearing your laughter, Sunghoon whips his head to face you, his hand continuing to rub soothing circles on your back. “What happened, Y/N?” His voice carries a gentle concern, inviting you to share, but you just shake your head, not ready to delve into the details. “Nah, come on. Whatever it is has really upset you. It’s better to talk about it.”

His voice resonates with a soothing calmness, making you feel like you could confide in him about anything.

“I just feel like I'm not good enough and that anything I do will never meet her standards,” you shrug, expressing the weight of self-doubt that has been dragging you down.

“Ah, it’s your mum, right?” His lips purse as he gazes ahead to the rink. The elude to ‘her’ being his only anchor of reasoning.

Your silence serves as confirmation. Sunghoon, all too familiar with the feeling of not being enough, understands your pain. But in this moment, it's not about him. He can only offer superficial advice, “If you live your life based on other's expectations, you’ll never be truly happy.”

“Says the competitive figure skater,” you lightly laugh, a hint of sadness slowly dissipating from your face.

Sunghoon pauses the reassuring circles between your shoulders and sighs, “You got me there.” You were right; who was he to tell you to stop living for other people when that’s all he has ever done since he was 6?

Seeing how his shoulders slump, you worry you might have hit a nerve. “Hey, I didn’t me—”

“Do you want to do something reckless?” The sudden switch from sadness to confidence confuses you, and you gaze at him as if he has two heads. It's remarkable how quickly he pulled himself out of his own thoughts, and you can't help but feel a twinge of envy.

When you don’t respond, he pushes the idea further, “Come on, Sweets. Didn’t have you as the type to say no to a little fun.”

“There's a big difference between reckless and fun, so which is it?” you ask.

“Come and find out.” He smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Suddenly, Sunghoon springs to his feet and yanks you out of your seat, propelling you into whatever scheme he has up his sleeve. As his hand interlocks with yours, a peculiar flutter dances in your stomach.

“Where are we going?” You glance around as he drags you past the rink and into the back rooms. "What’s so fun about plain grey walls and 'Employee of the Month' posters?”

Sunghoon simply rolls his eyes in response to your question.

The next thing you know, you're in a warehouse-like room, surrounded by old skating equipment, acrylite shields you've seen hockey players collide with, and an army of mannequins.

What somehow escapes your notice is the giant red Zamboni that Sunghoon is confidently strolling towards.

Seeing you mesmerized by the mannequins, Sunghoon waits for you to turn around, but you're too engrossed in the plastic figures to notice him. “Looking for your next boyfriend in there?” he teases, his voice slicing through the silence of the room.

Jumping at the unexpected remark, you hastily remove your hand from one of the figures' chests and whip around. Sunghoon leans against the Zamboni, a tilted smirk gracing his face, hands tucked casually in his trouser pockets. Embarrassed, you mumble a quick 'shut up' and shuffle over to him. To be honest, those dummies probably would have offered a more exciting conversation than most men.

Your eyes finally land on the Zamboni. It gleams, proudly bearing the bold inscription 'Zamboni Campbell' on the side. A few years ago, Coach Kim, in a moment of whimsy, had asked people to name the ‘new love in his life’ through a Facebook post. Some 7-year-old had chosen 'Zamboni Campbell.' It might not have been the most clever name, but considering his age, you let it slide.

“Please stop leaning on Zamboni Campbell; she’s a national treasure,” you interject, half-joking. If anything were to happen to her, you imagine Coach Kim might have an aneurysm.

The figure skater scoffs and pushes himself off the machine, “She’s no Zamby Malik.” He jokes, “My baby boy is probably being abused right now.” The comment raises an eyebrow; what is it with some people and their weird fascination for anything with a motor? Your expression remains neutral as Sunghoon looks at you. “Zamby Malik? Albion’s Zamboni? Named after Zayn Malik?” he questions.

“Yeah, got that reference, thanks.” Stepping forward, your eyes meet his. “I have been a Niall worshipper for many, many years,” you say proudly. You’ve been a dedicated fan of Niall and all the One Direction boys forever.

“Eh, more of a Louis girl myself,” Sunghoon shrugs and turns to face the ice resurfacer. “So, how badly have you ever wanted to ride her?” His hands rub together in a way that eerily resembles a villain plotting an evil scheme.

Nope. Absolutely not. You're not getting on that thing. For one, Coach Kim would undoubtedly kill you both if he found out. He loves the Zamboni more than his own children. And two, you have no idea how to operate it. Disaster is inevitable. “I am not getting on that thing!”

Sunghoon gives you a look that says ‘Of course, you are getting on that thing.’ but he can give you all the looks he wants, you are not doing it.

“Sweets, you need to have a go. It’ll help whatever is going on in that pretty little head of yours.” Sunghoon's hand playfully ruffles your hair before he strides towards the steps of the Zamboni.

Fixing your hair consciously, you find yourself following him. “How will it help exactly? When I die from crashing it or at the hands of Coach Kim, at least I'll be free of my thoughts?”

Sunghoon spins around, and you walk right into his chest. “I was thinking more along the lines of a clear rink, clear mind, but your reasoning works too, I suppose.” His hands grip your shoulders and push you at arm's length. “So?”

As you weigh up your options, for him, there's only one option – getting you behind the wheel of Zamboni Campbell.

“I don’t know how to drive it though, Sunghoon.” That would surely deter him from this ridiculous idea. But it doesn't.

“Duh,” His eyes rolled once again, “I’ll teach you obviously.”

It’s at that moment you understand that regardless of how long you’ve known him, you don’t actually know him. In fact, you haven’t even had a conversation this long before.

“Since when did you know how to ride a Zamboni?” You inquire and Sunghoon removes his hands from your shoulders, running his fingers through his hair. God, he is so handsome.

“You learn a thing or two being on the ice so long.”

The truth is, he was constantly pestering the maintenance guy at Albion to clean the ice before his practice. He got so fed up hearing Sunghoon complain he told him to do it himself. So he learned, and ever since, he’s been whizzing on a Zamboni.

You are running out of excuses, and part of you is agreeing with him that this will be good for you. “Fine.”

“That’s a girl!” Sunghoon huffs, and you move to walk up the steps, but he stops you, holding up two fingers. “Two things first.”

Removing his long liquorice-colored coat, he gently places it on your shoulders. The warmth lingering from his body heat in the linings of the jacket makes you realize how cold you were. “It gets cold up there,” he says, straightening out the collar.

You push your arms through the holes and wrap yourself up in it. Sunghoon has broad shoulders, so the jacket makes you look ten times smaller than you are, creating a cosy cocoon.

If he knew it was okay to say, he'd probably tell you how cute you look. For now, he keeps that thought to himself.

Murmuring a polite ‘thank you,’ you're grateful he doesn’t ask why you don't have your jacket. Sunghoon hasn’t pushed you to talk about it at all, and that's something you appreciate.

Sunghoon climbs up and gets situated behind the wheel.

“Wait, you said there were two things?” The jacket is one, and what else?

“Ah, there’s only one seat up here so,” he pats his lap, “You’re going to have to sit on my knee.”

He has to be joking, yet his face looks serious, a tinge of red sneaking onto his neck and ears. He’s blushing. The playful challenge in his eyes mixes with genuine warmth. It's clear he wants to make you smile.

Cute.

“I can’t teach you from down there, now come on up.” He continues.

He won’t give up, apparently, so with a huff, you start scaling the steps, standing at the top and realise how high this thing is. Sunghoon puts his hand out for you to take as he guides you to sit down. “This is super high,” you state patently.

Sunghoon laughs and shakes his head, “You’re just small, Sweets.” His hands go to your waist to stabilise you while you hike one leg over him. “That’s it, not so scary, huh?”

Slowly, you sit down on his lap, getting yourself comfortable. You feel his thighs tense under you. “Oh, am I too heavy?”

Quickly, he shakes his head, “No, not at all, I’ve got legs of steel.” He slaps the side of his thigh and relaxes them a little. Sunghoon won’t say it, but the way you wriggled to get comfy was putting pressure straight on his cock, making him tense up. It would be rude to pop a boner right now no matter how good you feel, given the circumstances.

“So what do I do?”

“Hmm?” He was too busy lost in his thoughts he forgot what he was doing. “Oh, right,” he turns on the machine and guides you through the steps. “So there are six levers, each does their own thing—conditioner, elevation, brush, tyre wash, wash water,” he continues going through the controls.

While he’s explaining, you observe how fast his lips are moving. Is he always this talkative, or is it just with you? A part of you hopes for the latter. “And we are good to go.” He finishes and smiles. You probably should have paid attention because now he’s looking at you expectantly. “You didn’t listen to a word I just said, did you?”

“Something about water being washed?” you bring your shoulders up sheepishly and smile, showing all your teeth.

The look on his face feigns annoyance, “How about I drive and you sit there and look pretty, yeah?”

Pretty. That’s the second time he's inadvertently called you pretty.

Sunghoon reaches his arm around you, starting the machine up and driving it onto the rink, his other hand is holding you securely in his lap. The ice resurfacer is in full swing as it sweeps the edges of the rink. You haven’t seen the rink from this angle before and it brings forth a new appreciation.

“Gonna need you to pump for me.”

It takes you a minute to process his words before craning your neck around to look at him, “Excuse me?” You have no idea in what context that sentence couldn’t be laced with innuendo.

He seems unphased, or maybe just unaware of his words double entendre, and points to the right of the machine, “This Zam has a manual wash water lever, you need to pump it for me, Sweets, I can’t reach it with you on my lap.”

Can he please stop saying pump for all that is holy?

You screw your head back on and see the black lever he is talking about, “This one?”

His one hand on your hip squeezes slightly when you reach over, “Yeah just lift it up and down, it might be heavy for you so be careful.”

Sunghoon watches you pump the water washer a few times, you use both hands to grasp the lever so he tightens his hold on your waist to ensure your safety. After he has focused on the task at hand he notices the way your hands are gripped around the lever, your fingers barely able to wrap around it. He can’t stop the next thoughts that come into his head. What he wouldn’t give to have you stroking his cock with those pretty hands.

The next thing he notices is how you’re softly grunting as you put the work in and your arms losing pace due to repetition and tiredness. The scene in front of him isn’t calming his thoughts down any because now he’s thinking if these noises are similar to ones you would make while bouncing on his dick. He feels like a pervert because here you are upset and he’s got crude thoughts of you infiltrating his mind.

“That’s enough for now, Sweets.” His voice is strained, he could have watched you do that for hours but for the sake of the ice and his dignity, he needs you to stop.

Pulling away and shuffling back to comfort on his lap you smile, “That was weirdly fun. It got some frustration out of me.”

It’s ironic because frustration has seeped into Sunghoon, horny frustration, and you are so blissfully unaware.

“Wow, look how sparkly it is!” You exclaim as your eyes are glued to the ice behind you. Maybe only once have you seen the rink so clean, but even then it wasn’t like this, it’s practically glistening. Zamboni Campbell needs to pat herself on the back.

The boy steering her also needs to praise himself not just for the excellent resurfacing job, but also for helping you. It’s not until now you see that his plan worked, he got you out of your head and stopped the crippling thoughts that were bound to consume you if you didn’t have this distraction.

Both of you lap the rink 4 times before Sunghoon looks at his handy work and smiles, “She drives like a dream.” He steers back into the warehouse, trying to park the Zamboni close enough to where they found it.

“Better than Zamby Malik?” You tease.

“Never, but she’s not far off.” Sunghoon doesn’t let go of the hold he has on your waist despite the ice resurfacer being stagnant. Instead, he’s slightly massaging your sides, an action you can barely feel because of his coat engulfing your body, but you feel it enough.

Turning around so your legs are draped fully over his thighs, you're about to get off him, but you don't. You should stand up, climb down the steps, and leave it as a nice memory, but this future memory feels too short like there should be something more to it.

Sunghoon feels it too, that’s why he’s staring at you so intensely. The once shallow smile he had on his face now dropped off; his eyes are looking deep into yours, and his hands move up your waist slightly, yet he doesn’t make a move.

This has to be your decision. Something you want.

If there was ever an inappropriate time to think about your brother, it’s when you’re two seconds away from kissing a guy. Minhee’s face flashes in your mind, and you realize what you’re about to do - you’re about to kiss Minhee’s biggest rival, his arch-nemesis, how could you even face your brother if you gave in to this?

Sunghoon watches you while your brain flips out; you don’t look like you’re 100% certain of the idea of his lips on yours. “Sweets?” he squeezes your waist and sighs, “We should get going.”

Oh.

All you’re thinking about is why he didn’t kiss you, and why it hurt a little that he didn’t. It looked like he wanted to; maybe you took too long, or he stared long enough to realize you weren’t actually pretty. You guys don't even know each other well, but you feel yourself being pulled towards him. Wasn’t it the same for him? Your brain went from overthinking one thing to another.

Nodding your head, you stand up carefully and make your way down. You can’t even look at him out of shame and guilt for even entertaining the idea of kissing him. Your mum would be so disappointed if she knew.

Sunghoon follows you down but unlike you he is keeping his eyes fixed on your face, focusing on every change in your manner both positive and negative. He wanted to kiss you but you looked like you were about to pass out from the thought of it. Sunghoon wanted you to be certain, “I’ll drive you home.”

“No, no it’s fine, I’m not that far from here.” Being in a car with him after this wouldn’t be the best outcome, your mind is still on his lips.

“Please, Y/N, it’s late. I just want to make sure you’re safe. Anything could happen.” Sunghoon doesn’t want you to walk home, yes because of safety concerns, but also because he wants to spend even a fraction of a minute more time with you. You seem to be one of the few people in this world he can relax around.

He should have just kissed you.

The look on his face is serious but his eyes are soft, not asking but begging you to just say yes.

“Sure.” The atmosphere is heavy, filled with longing and tension. You’re both thinking different things.

You’re analysing every specific detail from tonight to see if you have done something wrong, anything that would have stopped him from kissing you.

And Sunghoon’s brain is filled with various thoughts of you from tonight. The lever, the way you felt so right sitting in his lap, and more importantly how amazing it felt to be the one that made you smile. The way you smiled and giggled on the Zamboni is something he is going to commit to memory.

As of today, he will start keeping part of his brain solely for you to occupy.

The walk to Sunghoon's car is silent, free of the laughter and conversation that previously filled your space. Both of you appear to be over-analysing each other's previous acts, which makes the situation more awkward than it needs to be.

Sunghoon's car is impressive: a sleek monochrome Peugeot New 2008 with a black interior. The scent of his fresh cologne combines with the ocean-scented tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

“This is a nice car.” You note, buckling up your seatbelt.

“She’s a beaut, isn’t she? Got her as part of a brand deal with Peugeot Sport.” His hands caress the smooth wheel and his lips upturn into a proud smile. Brand deals and advertisements are not what you want to hear about right now, especially when it’s the one thing your mum cared about instead of your award. Your sour mood doesn’t go unnoticed, “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

That was the one place you didn’t really want to be right now but you nod, shoulders slumped a little at the thought of facing your mum again.

“Or,” Sunghoon starts, “We could get some food? The University Cafe is always open late.”

It was like he could read your mind, “Yeah, I could eat.”

With that, Sunghoon starts the car and drives to the cafe. The way your face turned a little paler when he said he would take you home alarmed him. He doesn’t think you’re in danger there, Minhee might be a dick but he was protective over you, he wouldn’t let anything happen, and Sunghoon knew that. Whatever it is, you didn’t want to go home, and Sunghoon is more than willing to keep you to himself for a couple more hours.

The journey to the cafe, situated more on his side of town, unfolds in silence, only disrupted by the gentle strains of Hozier's "Like Real People Do" emanating from the radio. A wry smile tugs at Sunghoon's lips, finding the song's relevance a touch on the nose for the current situation.

Upon arriving at the cafe, you're taken aback by its shabby appearance - chipped walls, adjacent graffiti, not to mention it’s deserted. Sunghoon, attuned to your hesitance, reassures you, “It’s a lot nicer than it looks, promise. I’ve been coming here forever.” Stepping out of the car, he leaves you with the choice of venturing into the weathered establishment or remaining in the safety of the car. Despite your reservations, a rumble from your stomach nudges you to join him inside.

The interior mirrors the exterior's wear and tear, yet a certain comfort envelops the air as Sunghoon guides you with a reassuring hand on the small of your back. “Sit anywhere you like, Sweets.”

Opting for a seat by the back window, you settle into the firm, brown booth without ridding yourself of Sunghoon's coat, a silent acknowledgement that your stay may be short-lived. You aren’t a snob but you have a cafe like this in your side of town and it isn’t somewhere you choose to occupy.

Noticing your scrutiny of the surroundings, Sunghoon, with a laugh, takes a seat across from you, studying your expression, "You don’t like it, huh?"

Huffing, you cast a critical eye around the place, "Not really, no."

You were brutally honest, he’ll give you that, “Wait until you try their food and then judge okay?” He chuckles and hands you the menu on the table.

A waitress waltzes over with a pen and paper. She’s too beautiful for a place like this, her rosy cheeks and long flowing brown hair make you jealous, “Sunghoon! My favourite ice slasher, how is it going?”

While they engage in small talk you look at the menu looking for something safe to eat. Maybe you should just wait for Sunghoon to order and get the same thing.

“Y/N, you know what you want?” He turns to you.

“Oh, so you’re the Y/N?” the waitress grins.

What does that mean? How does she know your name? When you glance at Sunghoon, you notice his intense stare fixed on the girl. This is strange. The waitress seems to pick up on Sunghoon's unspoken communication, smirking as she says, "I mean, you're Kang Minhee's sister, right?" She then slowly turns her attention to you.

Ah, that's how she knew. He must have spoken ill of Minhee and you enough times for her to recognize you. Fueled by this assumption, you shift into defence mode. "Yeah, I am," you reply sharply, your expression hardening as you lean back, raising your eyebrows and waiting for her response, half-expecting her to be rude to you.

Strangely, the waitress's expression brightens. "It's nice to meet you, Y/N. Can I get you anything?" Her voice carries genuine warmth.

Now you feel a bit guilty. She seems genuinely nice.

"Uh," you glance at the menu again, uncertain of what to order. "What's good?"

Sunghoon intervenes with a smile. "She'll take my usual," he tells the waitress as she departs. Ordinarily, you dislike when men presume to order for you, but in this instance, you're grateful for the assistance. "It's just a plain cheese and ham panini with tomato, pesto, and hot sauce. It sounds simple, but it's delicious."

You expected Sunghoon to be a burger and fries kind of guy, but with his physique and strict regimen, you should have known his tastes would lean towards the healthier side of things.

“Did you order a drink with this ‘usual’ or am I supposed to just swallow it dry?”

“Comes with diet coke and a lime.” He says timidly, now for the first time he is self-conscious about his food choice. Sunghoon would like nothing more than to chomp into a pizza and a full-fat Pepsi but with National’s coming up at the end of the year, he needs to stick somewhat to his meal plan. In hindsight, he should have ordered you something you might have liked. What did you like? He didn’t even know that simple fact, “Do you want something else? I can change it.”

“No it’s okay, I’ll trust your judgment,” You relax into the booth, “Shoot me if i’m being too straight forward but don’t you have enough money to go like, I don’t know, somewhere nicer than this?”

Raising his hands in a gun motion he pretends to shoot you and you fake a wound in your shoulder. It’s nice to be playful like this, Sunghoon hasn’t had this for a long time, “You know how to ask a question, Sweets.”

He then shrugs and looks around the cafe, not unlike how you were doing earlier but his eyes aren’t filled with distaste; they’re shining in fondness.

“It’s where my dad would take me after practices. Mum would never let me come here once I started aiming for professional level, too much grease and too many carbs.” He recalls a time his mum had him on a diet at 11 because he wasn’t flying high enough and a frown appeared on his face, “My dad though, he wanted me to be at least somewhat a normal kid so every Wednesday when mum worked late we would come here. Eat whatever we want and then pop a breath mint in the car.”

Sunghoon’s features are mixed with hurt and fondness, “Sorry, about your dad.” You offer your condolences.

When Sunghoon was 15 his dad died of a heart attack right before the Junior Championships and it broke him to the point he didn’t want to skate anymore, it wasn’t fun because his dad was always the one to cheer him on. His parents had their roles, his mum was strict and direct, getting him to train hard and achieve his best. And his dad was the reliever, encouraging him to have fun and let loose, be a kid. With one half of the balance scales gone, it was difficult for Sunghoon to maintain any adolescent normality. Perhaps that’s why he’s so fond to have you around.

In the silence you speak up, “You know your dad used to sneak me a packet of Haribos nearly every competition.” The boy's head whips to look at you and tilts, a knowing look on his face, “Yeah, and every time he would say ‘With everything so sour, we deserve something sweet’.” You smile at the thought.

“I-, he was kind like that.” He wants to say more, but he stops himself.

His dad was the nicest man in the whole world. When you found out the news that he passed away, you cried a little. Your mum being your mum she didn’t understand it, claimed you didn’t know him enough to mourn. Regardless of how well you knew him, people who were so kind and loving don’t deserve to be taken from this world so quickly.

You see the look on Sunghoon’s face lighten up a little, the shadow over his eyes washing away and when he looked at you, the sparkle came back, “So, you can’t hate this place or else I can pull the dead dad took me here card.”

“Fine. I love it.” The words feign mocking when in actuality they are full of understanding.

The waitress from earlier brings over the drinks in a frosted glass with a lime wedge on the rim, “There you go! Added extra ice for my Ice Prince.”

My. She could have said ‘The’.

It stirred up something within your chest. Jealousy? Okay but why are you getting jealous over this? You don’t know because you aren’t exactly his and you have never been the threatened type, so you don’t know what’s going on with you.

“Food will be right out!” She hops away and she is back in a flash with the Paninis.

What you don’t expect is Sunghoon to take both of them and add some condiments, opening up the middle to pour a slight bit of salt and some mayonnaise.

“Excuse me, I don't need your hands all over my food.” Crossing your arms you wait for him to stop but he doesn’t. Instead, he shows you his hands, stretching them over the table.

“Look how clean they are, Sweets.” They are clean and oh-so pretty. Suddenly you’re jealous of the food that receives his touch, wishing it was you. You need to get a grip, first the waitress, and now a piece of toasted bread are the objects of your envy.

It’s like your crush from when you were little came back tenfold, with every second you spend with him that little innocent pash is turning into full blown infatuation. Now with added hormones, it’s like you’re drawn to him more than ever. It’s scary how quickly you fell back into your feelings, whatever they were.

“Y/N?” He brings you back to reality with his low voice, retreating his hand, “Lost you for a minute there.”

Passing you the food you thank him, “Sorry, happens a lot. I tend to overthink literally everything.” It’s a confession you haven’t let pass your lips. Not ever. “I learned to control it as I got older but if I’m upset I can’t stop it 99% of the time, even if it’s something simple like putting salt on this food.”

Sunghoon sees you physically overthinking what you just said. It’s the exact same face you made when you were inches from kissing him.

He understands the situation earlier a little better now.

“So what’s upsetting you now, Sweets?” He asks, “You said you didn’t feel good enough, what happened?”

Shuddering, you remember your words. You’re embarrassed that you blurted out your feelings so readily, “It’s nothing.” Then you remember, “Why did you think it was my mum?”

“If your mum is anything like mine, and I guarantee she is, then I don’t ‘think’ it was your mum, I know it.” There’s an empathy shining in his eyes, “What did she do?”

“I got some good news, and when I told her about it,” Sighing, you try to aggregate your feelings. Sunghoon’s hand makes contact with your forearm as he sees you struggle. The soothing motion of his thumb calms you instantly, “she just dismissed it. Like my achievement wasn’t up to par with Mini’s.”

“What was the good news?”

“Nothing major I guess. I’m the top student at my University for the year and I’m receiving an award.”

Sunghoon is furious. Your mum had downplayed your achievement and now you don’t think it’s a big deal and he wasn’t having it, “Y/N. You go to Yonsei, right?” Once you nod he continues, “Then that IS major, what are you talking about?”

“It’s not exactly a Championship medal.” Your shoulders slump.

“And?” Squeezing your arm he tries to make you see past your mother and her shitty attitude, “Some people would think your achievement means more than one of his, does that make Minhee’s less than yours?” You mumble a quick ‘of course not’, not grasping what he’s saying, “Then why do you think that way about your award? Sweets, it’s fucking amazing you should be proud of yourself.”

You are, it’s your mum who isn’t and that’s what you can’t get over.

Instead of answering back you avoid the conversation altogether and start eating the food in front of you.

One bite has you falling in love with the taste, the pesto combination with the cheese and parma ham melts in your mouth and makes your tongue dance. You owe this shabby place an apology.

Triumph etches onto Sunghoon’s face as he sees the same fireworks behind your eyes that he had when he first tried the food. He knew you’d like it.

“Oh, my days.” You stare at him wide-eyed, one hand covering your mouth. Never will you doubt him again.

“Told you.” He smirks and eats some of his own, the familiar aroma and your face make his chest fill with glee and gratification, “I’ve just learned two things about you in this last minute.”

“And what’s that?” You question, taking another bite.

“You love the food here and will never question my taste again,” Your eyes are still on the food but you nod to agree, “And you’re an avoider.”

What is that supposed to mean?

“An avoider?”

Sunghoon leans back and picks up a tissue, cleaning the crumbs from his fingers, “You changed the topic pretty fast when you didn’t want to have a conversation you’re uncomfortable with. You can’t accept what I’m saying is right, your achievement is just as mighty as all of Minhee’s and it IS a big deal.”

Arguing with him about it is pointless. Does it mean you won’t though? No.

“It’s not that I'm not accepting what you’re saying,” it is, he thinks to himself, “I just don’t need to air my drama or feelings to someone I don’t know.”

“Believe it or not, asking questions and having conversations like this is how you get to know people,” Sunghoon pushed the food to the side and leaned forward, “I just want to get to know you.”

You challenge him by matching his posture and leaning on the table, “Whatever happened to, oh I don’t know, what’s your favourite colour?”

“White. See, easy right?” He’s smug. Sunghoon isn’t trying to pressure you to answer the question, he just thinks if you speak about the issue, it’ll alleviate the burden. A problem shared is a problem halved after all. “How about you ask me anything at all, and I’ll answer it because I know that’s how you get to know me.”

“Anything at all?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you kiss me earlier?”

Stunned. Shocked. Astounded. Whatever other synonym he could use, that’s exactly how he feels right now. For the first time in his life, he is speechless. How do you keep doing this to him? Never has anyone been so forthright with him.

Seeing his cheeks flush red and eyes dart around as if finding the answer in his brain you know you’ve won, “Not so eager to speak now, huh?”

Exhaling, Sunghoon sits back, “You looked like you were going to pass out,” He begins his answer, “You got in your head about something and it made you second guess.”

“I was thinking about Minhee.”

Sunghoon’s face shrivels, “Sweets, I know we’re compared a lot but I didn’t think he’d be my competition with you too?” Sunghoon’s voice is playful but he is worried about the next words out your lips.

Stretching over the table you slap his chest, “Ew, no that’s disgusting! Don’t even think like that!” You’re appalled at even the inclination, “It’s just that, you’re Park Sunghoon, you said it yourself he’s your competition,” He goes to say something and you stop him, “in SKATING. You’re so disgusting.” Laughter fills your booth, food and drinks forgotten, “If I ever kissed you he would freak the fuck out.”

The boy across from you knows exactly what you’re talking about, more than know, “If Minhee wasn’t a factor, would you have kissed me back?”

“Yes.”

Responding before your brain has a chance to filter the words is also a downside to your overthinking mind. So many thoughts in one brain make it easier for slips like this to happen, but you aren’t too concerned about this one, he probably already knew you would have kissed him back there if you weren’t preoccupied with contemplation.

Just as you think you’ll get to speak about what transpired earlier, the waitress comes over to take your plates away, “All done?”

Sunghoon nods and goes to pull out his wallet to pay but as he pats himself down to find it, he remembers it’s in his coat - the coat you’re still wearing “Uh, Sweets?” He points to his coat trying to tell you it’s in there.

Smirking you search the inner pockets to find a Prada wallet. You could have some fun with this.

“That’s okay, Hoonie, I’ve got it.” You pull out a few £20 notes and hand them to the waitress, “It’s my treat tonight, didn’t I tell you that? Only the best for my hard-working man.” Making kissy faces at him, his face goes red and his lips go in a thin line.

It wasn’t the fact you just paid £80 for a £12 meal with his money, although that will be addressed later on, it was the nickname and calling him your man that has him trying to control himself. The sweet albeit lightheartedly jeering way of your words made his heart tight in the best possible way. If there was a button board on Sunghoon’s chest, filled with all his emotions like annoyance, lust, happiness, solace, and aggravation, you had pushed every one of them tonight.

Laughing you put the wallet back into his coat. He looks so cute when he goes red like that, it almost makes you want to treat him like an actual princess or stuff him in your pocket. Either way, you wanted to look after him in some form or other.

“Are you quite done now?” Sunghoon gains back his composure as he watches you chuckling away to yourself.

Suddenly, nothing was funny anymore when your phone goes off, flashing your brother's name on the screen.

You have to go home and Sunghoon knows it too, “Y/N, I would keep you out all night if I could, but Minhee might send out a missing police report if I do.”

Now that you’ve somewhat spoken the issue out loud, you think you’re being a bit over the top about it all but your body still has the overbearing weight placed on your shoulders. Facing your mum right now was the last thing you wanted but you know you can’t avoid her forever.

“I’ll text him. He thinks I’m at Rina’s place telling her and Allen the news.” Quickly standing up you type a generic reply back, telling him you’ll be home soon.

Sunghoon keeps two steps behind you while you walk out of the cafe, his arm hovering by your side to guide you as you text and walk at the same time, he waves goodbye to the waitress and she wafts the cash in her face, fanning herself with his hard-earned money. All he can do is laugh and show his disbelief at her flaunting through his expression.

“There. Sent.” You put the phone into Sunghoon’s coat pocket. You’re almost at his car when you hear him speak up.

“Hey, Sweets?”

“Hmm?”

Sunghoon grabs your left arm, twirls you around, and presses his lips against yours.

The action knocks the air from your lungs and your eyes widen. Park Sunghoon was kissing you. His palms cup each of your cheeks, his lips moving against yours as he backs you up until your back hits the side of his car. This is what you wanted back at the rink, to have the feeling of his mouth moulding to yours, except it was better than expected, it felt like heaven.

He can't seem to get enough of you as he fervently kisses your mouth, his tongue sliding along your lips, eliciting a soft moan from you that's music to his ears. It was a daring move to kiss you so suddenly, and in an ideal world, he would have asked for permission first. But he knows that might have sparked another bout of overthinking from you, and he couldn't risk losing this second chance to kiss you tonight.

Sliding his hands into your hair, he gently pulls your head back, granting him better access to your open mouth, deepening the kiss. Lost in the sensation of your lips, he doesn't even notice the subtle movement of your fingers dancing along his waist until they settle between his lower back and the top of his ass.

At this moment, nothing could stop you from kissing or touching him.

Except, perhaps, one person.

Your phone vibrates, indicating an incoming call, but you're too entranced by Sunghoon's lips and tongue to notice. Pressing his body against yours, he traps you between him and the car, the sensation of his hips against yours causing you to instinctively grind against him, using your hands to pull him closer.

However, in the intimate closeness, he can feel your phone vibrating against your body. As much as he wants to ignore it, he knows you can't. "Sweets, your phone," he murmurs between kisses, his hands dropping from your hair to reach into your pocket, even as your lips continue to chase after his. "It's Minhee; you better take it."

No way has he cock blocked you twice in one night.

Grumbling, you take the phone from Sunghoon and answer, “Hi Minhee…No, I wasn’t ignoring you, I was putting on my shoes…no no, you don’t need to pi-”

You pause mid-sentence when Sunghoon starts kissing your neck and squeezing your waist. What does he think he's doing? Glancing down, you catch his eyes sneakily looking up at you. Attempting to push him away only results in him biting down, his fangs teasing the verge of breaking skin. In any other situation, you might have found it hot, but with Minhee yapping in your ear, you don't have time to appreciate it.

“Look, I’m on my way home…I’ll walk, it's not that far…seriously, Minhee- Oh,” you moan involuntarily when Sunghoon kisses your sweet spot, and once he's found it, he doesn’t stop licking and nibbling, “Hoonie, stop it!” You remove the phone from your ear and whisper-shout at him.

“I love it when you call me that,” he smirks, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Hearing Minhee’s voice come through the phone again, you lift it back up to your ear, “What? Oh, I stubbed my toe, look I’ll be home soon alright…Yes, Allen is here…you know he and Rina are together. I’m going to go, see you soon.” Hanging up, you sigh in exasperation.

Giving Sunghoon a few light whacks, you demand, “Why did you do that?” You're almost certain Minhee heard him, or at least now he might think you're hooking up with Allen.

Bringing his face back up to yours, Sunghoon just shrugs and kisses you again with as much fervour as before. His lips are addicting, and you don’t want to stop, but Rina lives 20 minutes from your house if you walk, and this cafe is at least a 30-minute drive. “Sunghoon, I need to go back,” you say between his insistent kisses.

“How long do I have?” He needs to know how long he can indulge in this before having to let you go.

“Not even a second. I’ll already be late even if we leave now.” When his forehead falls on yours you see the pain on his face, like you’re depriving him of a basic human need.

"Don't say that, tell your friend to phone and say you're staying with her tonight." Sunghoon can't stop his lips from capturing yours again. It's as if he's had a taste of you and doesn't want to give it up, especially now. His hand teases the waist of your trousers, tempting to dip in and touch you where you desperately need him.

Personally, you would love nothing more than to call Rina up and get her to lie, she would do it in a heartbeat but Minhee would never believe it, “I can’t. I never stay over when he has practice in the morning. Mum never wants to make a stop off to pick me up.”

“You’re killing me here.” He states breathlessly, his fingertips dancing down to your pussy as he ghosts your neck with his breath. He’s waiting on you to give him the green light but you are far too concerned about getting home.

He suddenly hates your mum a little more than before. If it wasn’t her dismissing your accomplishments, it was her inability to put you on her priority list, “Can’t you just skip his practice? He’ll have more, trust me he needs it.”

“Don’t ruin this.” You warn him from speaking any more about your brother. It does bring you back to reality just who you were kissing, but you can’t focus on that right now, your only concern is getting home.

Sunghoon apologises by kissing you again, this time more gently, like it came naturally to him, “I need to go home. No excuses.”

It isn't what he wants to hear, but he has to accept it. Stepping away from you, his gaze remains fixed on your lips, which are lush and swollen; he can only picture what they would look like if he had more time to toss you in the back seat. His mind immediately returns to you with the lever, and to be honest, he could throw a tantrum right now over the situation at hand. It was unjust that he couldn't just have you, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever get the chance again.

Moving to his side of the car he slides in and you follow suit. He uses the excuse of buckling your seatbelt for you to give you another kiss and it has you internally giggling and kicking your feet.

You do the same to him, grabbing the seatbelt from him and clipping him in, leaning over to press your lips against his soft ones.

“All I need is 5 minutes,” He whispers against your lips and you laugh, swatting his chest.

You can’t say you don’t ponder it, and when you see his hard on poking so slightly against his trousers, you look at the time and really wonder if you could, but you can’t risk Minhee even getting a whiff of this, “Next time.”

Sunghoon's eyes change from desire to hope in real time, "There'll be a next time?" His cool and confident demeanour fades and is replaced with puppy-like grin as he realises you want more than what you had tonight.

“If you get me home in the next 25 minutes there can be.” You pose and with that, Sunghoon drives out of the car park and down the highway going 10 above the limit.

Reaching closer to your house you put a hand on his thigh as you speak, “Better to drop me off here, so Mini doesn’t see you.” You also have to fake that you walked home from Rina’s so if a big fancy car starts pulling up outside your house, he’s going to know something is up.

Sunghoon takes your hand on his thigh and brings it to his lips, maintaining eye contact with the road as he stops at the curb of your neighbour's house 2 doors down. His grip tightens on your hand as he looks at the time, “Got you here in 27 minutes, Sweets.” Proud of himself he adorns a smile that splits his face in half.

Tutting you pout at him, “I guess there can’t be a next time, so sorry Hoonie.” His stunned face was worth holding in your laugh to act like you’re serious, “If only you had gotten here 2 minutes quicker.”

“Come on,” He exasperated, “There were like 10 red lights in a row.” His thumb points back to where you just drove from.

It’s true, it was bad luck, but you liked playing with him like this.

“Sorry, see you at the rink yeah?” You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to get out your side of the car, but Sunghoon isn’t letting it end here.

He stretches over to shut the door back over making you gasp, startled by the sudden move, “You don’t want to be a thief do you?” You think he’s going to hit out with something cheesy like how you stole his heart of something, but when his hand grips the coat you’re wearing you understand what he means, “Bad enough you gave my money away but now you’re trying to steal a £500 coat?”

Perplexed by both the price and the unexpected accusation, your mouth hangs open. No wonder the coat is so cosy and warm—it costs most of your month's paycheck. Exiting the car, you impishly mutter a 'fine' as you remove the jacket, placing it on the passenger seat before walking away, feeling considerably colder than before.

Just as you reach the vicinity of your house, Sunghoon calls out, "Sweets?" You spin around to see him jogging up behind you, holding your phone. Ah, you put it in his coat pocket after Minhee's call. Taking it from his grip, you thank him, only to be surprised again when he says, "You also forgot this." What else did you even have on your person to forget?

Sunghoon's mouth quickly meets yours for the nth time tonight. A kiss. You forgot to kiss him.

Sighing, you realize you have to put an end to it. Lingering out in the open so close to your home practically guarantees Minhee will see. "Hoonie."

"Shh," he hushes you, continuing the kiss, "I know, but let me have it since there won't be a next time." A fake sad look takes over his face, his hands running up and down your sides.

"Ugh fine, since you gave me my phone I suppose I could spare you some time." Crossing your arms, you act irritated, while his 'sadness' transforms into a self-satisfied smile. That was the dynamic between you both, always giving what you got, and you wanted to explore it more, no matter how difficult it was.

“See you at the rink then, Sweets.” Messing up your hair he skips back to his car like a kid on Christmas. He was the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

Spending these past few hours with Sunghoon was like nothing you had ever experienced before. He knew how to wash all of your worries and woes away better than some people you’ve known for years. And when he kissed you it sent shooting stars through your body. If only 8-year-old you could see what had just happened, she would burst with excitement.

With a smile on your face, you rapidly run into your house and up the stairs, trying to be quiet but also too lost in the dizziness from Sunghoon’s kisses. As you reach the top of the stairs, Minhee opens his door and gives you a quizzical look. Oh no, he didn’t see, did he?

“Why do you look like you won the lottery?” Phew, he hadn’t.

“Just, excited about getting the award, that’s all.” It wasn’t totally a lie, he would see right through you if you started to babble out any other excuse so you had to stick to something believable. You are happy about the award, there isn’t a doubt about it, but Sunghoon reassuring you throughout the night made you stop and acknowledge how happy you really were to receive it. Your mum was the one that ruined it for you.

Minhee follows you when you walk into your room, “Y/N? You know I would be there if I could right?” Facing him, you see how sorry he looks about the situation, “I tried to phone the company to move the filming but they can’t.” Of course, he would try to move it for you, that was the kind of brother he was.

A surge of guilt overcomes your body. Here he was trying to move his schedule around, a big important schedule might you add, and you were out there kissing the one boy you shouldn’t be. If Sunghoon wasn’t such a threat to Minhee, you think they could go back to being somewhat friends, but that’s never going to happen.

“It’s okay, Mini. I know you can’t just cancel it.” Your voice is reassuring but his features still hold hurt.

“It’s not okay, Y/N. You’re the most important thing to me in this world, I want to be there for your big moments like you’ve been there for mine.” You could cry. Minhee wasn’t the type to show his emotions so being on the receiving end of such words makes you tear up a little, “Hey, Bubs, don’t cry.”

He hasn’t called you Bubs in so long, the childhood nickname growing out as you both got older. There was a bond between you and your brother, other siblings used to say how envious they were.

“I don’t want to speak ill of our mum but she was a bitch tonight. I should have said something.”

Shaking your head, you wipe your tears and look down before speaking, “Mini, it wouldn’t have helped.” Your voice cracks and your throat closes a little, “She’s always like that anyway.”

“It doesn’t make it right.” He says disapprovingly.

Minhee pulls you into a tight hug and you instantly relax. Your brain starts to overthink everything again. The lack of proudness from your mother, the kisses from Sunghoon, and the brotherly affection you’re currently receiving. Could you have it all? Getting to know Sunghoon tonight, you don’t think you can leave it where you did. There was something there between you both, you fit together like skates to ice.

“I am so proud of you, Bubs.” Minhee strokes the back of your head, “and I might not be able to go to your ceremony, but when I beat that prick and come first at Nationals? I’m dedicating that to you. I promise you that.”

That prick…Park Sunghoon.

You couldn’t have it all.

taglist: @heelee-01 @zerasari @beomgyusonlywife @iwaplant @monstanctiny21 @chiiiiiiiiis @minniejenseo @run2gyuz @jngwnlvs @haelahoops @capri-cuntz @nctislifue @jaehoonii @weyukinluv @skzenhalove @enhypenlovre @cherriruto @ariadores @chwesuh-imnida

#enha smut #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #aj writes #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enha fluff #sunghoon x reader

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hugheses · 24 days

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ellen weinberg

a lot of people online like to praise her because they love her kids, but before she was mama hughes, ellen weinberg was an even more accomplished athlete than her wikipedia page can tell you. well i have way too much time on my hands and an affinity for googling things, so here is a not-so-little primer on the matriarch of hockey who has contributed far more than just her superstar children.

(basically anything not sourced is from the cammi & aj podcast i have a transcript of)

born in st. louis, she was told she couldn't play hockey because girls couldn't play on boys teams in the state of missouri, and there were no girls teams. went to bob johnson's hockey camp in aspen at age 7. moved to dallas at age 8, where she was allowed to play on the boys team. at age 12, is featured in a news clip "girl hockey player" where she says she wants to one day play professional hockey.

at 15, wins nationals with her U-19 soccer team, the dallas sting, and they are sent to represent the US in the first ever FIFA-sanctioned world women’s tournament in china and proceeded to win gold against all expectations becoming the first US team to win any international soccer competition, male or female. also on this team was her best friend, future woso legend carla werden (overbeck). 1, 2

other noteworthy teammates: she played with mia hamm on her state team and was roommates with brandi chastain at her first youth national team camp for soccer.

she was recruited to lots of top schools for soccer, but chose the university of new hampshire because it was also offering hockey. she describes this as "the lack of landscape really drove my next move" because there was only 31 D1 women's soccer programs in the country at the time, and none in the state of texas.

she reached out to the women's hockey coach at unh, russ mccurdy, and told him she was being recruited for soccer but was really coming to unh because she wanted to play hockey, and he told her that it was unlikely she would make the team. so bob johnson called and asked him to give her a shot, and he said ok. he allowed her to have a one week tryout once soccer season was over, and after the first day, he asked, "what size skates do you wear?" and that was it, she was on the team.

the women's soccer coach, marge anderson, was also a lacrosse player, and encouraged ellen to join the lacrosse team that needed more players. so she did. in her own words:

"I wasn't very good. I could run, but my stick skills- and I learned and I did everything, and it was great, and we went to the Final Four, but I was out at that point. So everybody always says I played three sports like, I was on the team. I was, you know, three sports at that level. I was done at that point and I stuck with soccer and hockey after my first year. But it was a really cool experience."

she may have not been very good but she did go on to coach her own kids teams in lacrosse (and potentially owen power, who is confirmed to have played lacrosse with them but it is not confirmed that it was when she coached them)

(she was #21)

she was an elite skater and creative player, and "would often find herself in trouble in Durham for rushing the puck from her defensive post or trying things like a spin-o-rama".

she helped UNH win 3 hockey championships in 4 years, made the all-new england team (soccer) as a freshman, was named an unh athlete of the year finalist after an injury that kept her out for an entire school year, was named to the ECAC all star team, was an ISAA senior recognition award winner, was soccer co-captain in 1990, and then captain of both the soccer and hockey teams as a senior X

in april 1991, she participated in the Eastern Regional Tryouts of the US National Women's Hockey Team

"We've got it pretty good, playing defense," says senior Ellen Weinberg to fellow defenseman Weston. "There aren't as many of us to choose from. But then, when you look at who's there, they're all good!"

she then went on to pursue a graduate degree at UNH where she was an assistant coach for both soccer and hockey for two years, all the while contributing to historical hockey research to the point that she is named in the acknowledgements of Hockey: A Global History by Hardy & Holman

“It was my way of staying involved because I had nowhere to play. Then I participated in the 1992 World Championship, finished my master's degree. Then I really had nowhere to play." (google translated)

The New Hampshire Vol. 83 No. 18 (Nov. 6 1992)

then in 1992, she played for the women's national team in both soccer and hockey.

the soccer team didn't play in any big tournaments that year, but for hockey she went to women's worlds in tampere, finland, where she was an alternate captain. the US won silver, with ellen scoring 3 or 4 assists in 5 games (depending on which source you believe) and ellen was named to the all-star team by the media as the top player in her position.

also in 1992, she was a power skating coach at the summerland female hockey academy, teaching future star hayley wickenheiser.

there was hope that women's hockey would be a part of the 1994 olympics, but when that didn't happen, ellen went to norway anyways to grow the game.

“They were hoping women’s hockey was going to be sanctioned in the ‘94 Olympics and it wasn’t, so the Norwegian ice hockey federation had all this extra funding so they asked USA Hockey for an ambassador to go over and help grow the women’s game,” she said. “We had played in the ’92 World Championships and I was one of the older people and they offered me that opportunity to go over and work with the Norwegian ice hockey federation and what I did was I lived in Oslo. “And I went around to all the little towns and taught the girls how to play. It was awesome. Since Norway was such a small country with four million people at the time, they needed all the buses during the Olympics so everyone went on holiday, so my job stopped for three weeks.” X

ELLEN WEINBERG of Boston and the University of New Hampshire was interested in Coach TIM TAYLOR's tactics at practice. The 25-year-old Weinberg, one of America's best female players, is advising Norway's women's teams. Women's hockey becomes an Olympic sport in 1998. "They complain in Norway that I coach too long on the ice," she said. "They should see this guy, always instructing." X

she was invited to camp in lake placid for the 1994 women’s worlds (which took place every two years then), but suffered a serious knee injury that she believes is because they didn’t have proper support/training facilities

“We didn’t have a gym at the time. It was so different. We just played relying on our athletic instincts. If I got injured, it’s probably because I didn’t have the ideal support,” (google translated) X

by 1996 she was playing for the itech blaiders roller hockey team in NJ (and her then-boyfriend, jim, was coaching the new jersey rockin’ rollers) while also working in broadcasting

she had been considered a lock for the nagano olympics, despite being “old” but that “blown-out knee effectively ended her competitive career” :(

she ended up in nagano anyways as a reporter for cbs, one of her first big gigs in her media career, which i can do a part 2 on if there's interest.

and currently she’s on the USA hockey foundation board and is a player development consultant for the women’s national team

#hopefully this was interesting/helpful #it’s been half finished for so long #ellen weinberg-hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes

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tigertales9 · 3 months

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Hard Reset XI

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut / Fluff / Angst

Description: This chapter covers the week 9 win against the Bills and the week 10 loss against the Texans with a couple of flashbacks thrown in.

Time/Place: Tuesday, Nov. 7, 2023 - Tuesday, Nov. 14, 2023 / Cincinnati, Ohio (with flashbacks to New Orleans & NYC)

A/N: This is the eleventh fic in the Hard Reset series.

This chapter got totally out of hand, y'all. It jumps around a bit due to the flashbacks, so I hope it's not too hard to follow. It's also long as hell even though I tried to condense it as much as possible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You close your eyes and tilt your head back, a proud smile gracing your lips as a blizzard of purple and gold confetti rains down on you from the roof of the Superdome in New Orleans.

"He did it," you whisper, brushing away happy tears as you return your attention to the field where Joe and his LSU teammates are celebrating one of the most impressive undefeated seasons in college football history. You take a deep breath and exchange hugs and high fives with everyone around you, never taking your eyes off of Joe for more than a few seconds while you wait for him to hoist the Championship trophy.

~ A month ago, you watched him hoist another trophy, the Heisman, at a ceremony in NYC. It was the largest margin of victory in the history of the award, and his speech was still being talked about. You knew the exact moment he went off script because he'd practiced the speech with you over and over, nervous that he'd forget to thank someone or somehow embarrass himself. Instead, he spoke from the heart and delivered an emotional Heisman speech that folks will be talking about for years to come. The impact of his heartfelt words -- bringing attention to the high poverty rate and food insecurity in Athens County -- was evident in the amount of donations pouring into the local food bank. The Joe Burrow Hunger Relief Fund was just getting started but showed no sign of slowing down anytime soon.

Joe was surprised at the outpouring of support, but it wasn't the only time he spoke something into existence. He spoke this Natty into existence when he transferred from Ohio State to LSU; from day one he told his new teammates that all they had to do was work harder than everyone else and the results would follow. He led by example, as always, first to arrive and last to leave, never asking for more effort from others than he was willing to give. The buy-in came swiftly for some and a little slower for others. By the end of his first season at LSU -- a very respectable 10-3 record culminating in a victory over UCF in the Fiesta Bowl (snapping UCF's 25-game winning streak, the longest in the nation at the time) -- even the most hardcore doubters were begrudgingly starting to admit that something special was brewing in Baton Rouge.

At the start of his final season at LSU, optimism was at an all-time high, but a few folks were still a little hesitant to believe that this team might catch lightning in a bottle and prove the naysayers wrong. One by one the dominoes fell, and by mid-season, even the skeptical were made into believers as one of the most dominant offenses in college football history rolled through opponents with an unrivaled flair and swagger. ~

Silent tears roll down your cheeks as you watch Joe lift the Championship trophy that he and his teammates worked so hard for, his expression showing equal parts accomplishment and relief; you take a deep breath as you soak in the moment, the love you feel for him -- your fiancé since about a month ago, although nobody knows it yet -- creating a visceral ache in your chest. You close your eyes and hear words from his Heisman speech in your head … "Just a kid from Ohio, coming down chasing a dream …"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Tuesday, 11/7/23 - Cincinnati, Ohio

You flutter your eyes open, disoriented for a few seconds before you realize you were dreaming about Joe's Natty; you turn your head and look at him sleeping peacefully beside you, the bed covers pushed down below his waist revealing a delicious amount of bare skin since he's shirtless. You check the clock on the bedside table -- 3:33 am -- before returning your attention to Joe as you push up onto an arm and look down at him in the dim light filtering in from the bathroom. You both hated to sleep in total darkness, so there was just enough light for you to appreciate the view.

And what an amazing view it is, you think to yourself, your gaze slowly moving from his beautiful face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular chest and sculpted abs, lingering for several seconds where his dirty-blonde treasure trail disappears beneath the sheet. You lean a little closer and take inventory of all the scrapes, scratches and bruises from his most recent game -- a 24-18 victory at home over the Bills on Sunday Night Football day before yesterday.

Joe stirs in his sleep, rolling onto his side to face you before letting out the tiniest snore from between his parted lips. How can one man be so damn adorable and hot as fuck at the same time? you muse, a smile gracing your lips as you let your gaze slide back down to his treasure trail.

"Like what you see?" Joe purrs, causing you to jump and let out a squeal.

"Damn it, Joseph! You scared me!" you scold, softening your tone with a smile. "I was just looking at your boo-boos," you deflect, ignoring his dirty grin that tells you he knows exactly what you were looking at. You clear your throat and run your fingers over a couple of bright red scratches on his left forearm. "Do they hurt?"

"Nah, that's football, baby."

You roll your eyes playfully as he continues.

"Besides, you put way more scratches on my back during our post-game victory sex."

"You asked for those," you remind him.

He gives you a wink. "I didn't ask; I ordered."

"Exactly," you agree, biting your lip as you think back to the intense sex y'all had when he got home from the game early Monday morning (yesterday); it was a fairly quick session by your usual standards, with Joe feeling himself for the prime-time win over a major conference rival, and your arousal red-lining due to the fifteen minutes of filthy talk he teased you with on the phone during his drive home from the stadium. The result was pure, concentrated pleasure, frantic and feral, more raw need than finesse.

His voice interrupts your thoughts. "Why are you awake at this ungodly hour?"

"I had a really vivid dream about you, and I guess it woke me up."

"Mmmm, a really vivid dream, huh?" He gives you a naughty smile while dropping a hand beneath the sheet to squeeze your bare thigh. "That sounds promising."

"It wasn't that kind of dream, horndog," you chuckle, shaking your head when he pokes his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

"Dang," he mutters, heaving a sigh while keeping his hand firmly wrapped around your leg. "What was the dream about?"

"You winning the Natty. We were back in the Superdome with confetti raining down."

"Sounds like an awesome dream."

"It really was."

"Did you dream about the crazy-hot victory sex we had that night?"

"You mean the next morning?" you tease, since it was well into the wee hours of the next day before you were finally alone with him.

"You know what I mean," he states, licking his lips and inching his hand higher up your thigh, stopping just before reaching your crotch.

"I actually woke up before that part," you admit. "The last thing I remember is a quote from your Heisman speech."

"You dreamed about the Heisman, too?"

"Yeah. The quote was 'Just a kid from Ohio, coming down chasing a dream'." You give him a smile as you continue. "It occured to me in the dream that you sometimes speak things into existence."

His eyebrows inch toward his hairline. "Like what?"

"Like the Hunger Relief Fund that eventually morphed into the Joe Burrow Foundation. You spoke that into existence by mentioning the food insecurity in Athens County in your Heisman speech. That started all the donations rolling in." He studies your earnest expression in the dim light as you continue. "Plus you kind of spoke the Natty into existence. You told anyone who would listen that y'all had the right stuff to go all the way, as long as you worked like hell for it."

"Half of doing something is believing you can," he states, sounding every bit like a coach's son. "But make no mistake, that speech only worked because our Championship team was loaded with talent. If I ended up just about anywhere else, there would be no Natty. Fiery speeches and pep talks only work if you've got the goods to back 'em up."

"And the work ethic?" you ask.

"Yes."

"And the insane team chemistry?"

"Yes."

You smile at each other for several heartbeats before a thought hits you. "It's been a while since I thought about this but … it's crazy to me that we came so close to never meeting. You really wanted to transfer to Nebraska, and …"

"And thank God they didn't want me," he finishes, giving your thigh another squeeze.

You roll over onto your back and stare at the ceiling, a little surprised that this is still messing with your head after all this time. "Do you ever think about it?" you ask.

"Think about what?" He scoots closer and pushes up onto an arm to look down at you.

"About how close we came to never meeting?"

"No, I don't ever think about it because what was supposed to happen happened. Me transferring to LSU was meant to be, not just for football but also for you. -- For us. -- It was fate."

You take a deep breath and let his words soothe you; it's not the first time he's had to talk you down off of this particular ledge.

"Also," he forges ahead. "Just so you know, I spoke our relationship into existence."

"How so?"

"Mainly pep talks after all of the many times you shot me down before finally agreeing to go out with me; sometimes the pep talks were just in my head, sometimes they were out loud while staring at myself in a mirror like a huge dork."

"What did you say?"

He thinks for a few seconds before answering. "Don't give up. Be respectful but also relentless. Prove to her that you want more than a quick fuck."

"You were def relentless," you chuckle. "I figured you were chasing me so hard because you'd never been told no before, and it hurt your ego."

He's shaking his head no before you finish your sentence. "I chased you so hard because I wanted you more than anything. I thought if I could prove I wasn't a fuck boy, you'd hopefully give me a chance."

"I'm glad you didn't give up."

"Me too." He leans down and presses a quick kiss on your lips before continuing. "Speaking of the Heisman, you scared the shit out of me Heisman week-end when I thought you were gonna break up with me, but it all worked out in the end."

"Heisman week-end will always be extra special for your acceptance speech, and also for the amazing marriage proposal you surprised me with."

"I was persuasive as fuck, wasn't I?" he grins.

"Very persuasive."

His grin levels up from cute to cocky. "I guess you might say I spoke our engagement into existence?"

"You might say that," you agree, rolling your eyes playfully at his cocky demeanor.

"Okay, but on a serious note …" he clears his throat before continuing. "Remember when I said -- 'Death Valley, where opponents dreams come to die, but where mine came true?'"

"Yeah."

"I know I've told you this before, but I want to say it again. When I said that, I wasn't just talking about football. I was also talking about you. You're a dream come true for me."

You close your eyes as you feel that familiar visceral ache in your chest; you always thought the saying "I love you so much it hurts" was just hyperbole until you met Joe.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"I love you so much it hurts," you admit, pressing a hand against your chest. He drops a kiss against your hand before gently moving it aside to drop another kiss between your breasts, his lips warm through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. He slowly kisses his way up from your chest to your neck, his breath tickling your ear when he finally speaks.

"I love you more than anything. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," you whisper, your pulse picking up as he kisses and nuzzles the sensitive spot behind your ear for several heartbeats before capturing your lips, treating you to the kind of slow-burn kiss that always makes your pulse race and your toes curl. You lean into him, your body craving more contact as he deepens the kiss, a thrill shooting through you when you feel his erection against your thigh.

Before you have time to grind against his obvious hard-on, he pulls his hips back and breaks the kiss, giving you a sheepish smile before speaking. "I'm trying really hard not to be a horndog right now."

"Why?" you giggle at the look on his face before scooting closer.

"Because we just had a soft, tender moment, and I don't wanna ruin it with a raging boner."

"Nothing wrong with a soft moment being followed by a hard one," you purr, dropping a hand down to tease him through his boxer briefs.

"Who's the horndog now?" he asks, hissing when you slide a hand inside his undies to grip his hard length.

"Both of us," you whisper, spreading your legs to accommodate his big body as he crawls on top of you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sunday, 11/12/23 - Cincinnati, Ohio (after the home loss against the Texans)

Joe finishes brushing his teeth and does a swish-and-spit of mouthwash; he pats his lips dry with a washcloth and throws you a look that you can't quite read as he strides from the bathroom.

He's in a hurry to get in bed. That seems promising, you think to yourself, your pulse picking up as you quickly finish your nightly skincare routine before following him into the bedroom, making a face at the sight of the empty bed. "Guess I was wrong," you mumble, taking a deep breath as you step out into the hallway, the faint sounds of game film drawing you toward his office.

He'd been grumpy as hell ever since he got home from the game -- a 30-27 home loss against the Texans. Since it was an early game -- 1:00 pm kickoff -- his parents headed back to Athens before Joe got back from the stadium.

"Lucky fuckers," you mumble under your breath as you plaster a smile on your face and breeze into his office. "Hey babe," you chirp, leaning down to drop a kiss on his cheek as he watches one of the four sacks he took.

"Hey," he grunts without taking his eyes off the computer screen.

"You almost done?" you ask. "You've watched a lot of film at this point. Maybe it's time to take a break."

"I took a break for dinner," he states, giving a derisive snort as he watches himself throw an interception. "Dumbass," he seethes, quickly turning his head to lock eyes with you. "I was talking about me not you. I'm the dumbass."

"You're not a dumbass," you soothe, running your fingers through his tousled curls. "And I appreciate you taking a break to have dinner with me, but let's go to bed, okay? You can watch more film tomorrow."

"I'm not sleepy," he grumps, closing his eyes as you massage his throwing shoulder.

"Who said anything about sleep?" you tease, giving him a dirty wink when he opens one eye to check your expression.

"I don't want pity sex," he mutters, hissing when you hit just the right spot on his sore shoulder; he threw for 347 yards, so you know that thing is barking.

Not this 'pity sex' shit again, you think to yourself. This is the first time he lost a game since y'all got secretly married, so you decide to use that as leverage. "Did you just accuse your wife of offering you pity sex?"

"Sorry," he mumbles, raking a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to his computer; you step behind him and continue the shoulder massage, your mind running through options to get his mind off the game so he can get a good night's sleep.

Food and sex, you think to yourself. That's pretty much it. A full belly and empty balls. You lean down and press a kiss against the nape of his neck. Full belly is a done deal, just gotta finish him off.

"You can go to bed," he grumbles. "I have more film to watch."

Fuck that, you muse, knowing that the film watching is just self-flagellation at this point. You watch as he rewinds a play a couple times before scribbling a note in a small spiral notebook. A thought forms in your mind, and you smile as you give it some consideration. "Perfect idea," you whisper.

"Huh?" Joe asks, spinning his desk chair around to face you.

"Nothing," you shrug, reaching past him to snatch his precious spiral notebook before retreating a few steps.

He rolls his eyes when you waggle it at him. "Give it back," he orders.

"Come and get it," you purr, backing toward the door as he narrows his eyes at you.

He spins his chair back around, and you think he's going to ignore you, but instead he shuts his computer down and slowly stands up; he gives you a thorough once-over, taking in your bare legs and purple t-shirt -- one of his -- that hits you mid-thigh. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he states, giving you a loaded look while yanking his socks off, leaving him wearing slinky black shorts and a gray t-shirt.

Ohhh, he means business, you muse, a little thrill shooting through you at his obvious intention -- he knows you're going to run, and he's getting ready to chase you. "You know I'm gonna pick the hard way," you tease, putting as much sexual innuendo in your voice as possible. You watch in fascination as his nostrils flare, like a predator catching the scent of his prey; you give him a dirty grin before spinning around and running for the door.

You let out a squeal when you hear him pounding down the hallway right behind you, literally inches away when you finally bust into the bedroom and spin around to face him, holding a hand up as words spill from your lips. "Okay, okay, okay," you pant, your pulse racing way more from excitement than exertion as you continue to back away from him. "Stop right there and I'll give you what you want." You hold the notebook out toward him like a peace offering, giving him an innocent smile as he steps forward and reaches a hand out to take it. You let out a naughty giggle as you snatch the notebook back at the last second and dance away from him.

"You better stop playin'," he warns, the husky tone of his voice setting off a steady throb of arousal deep inside you. "Or what?" you chirp, sticking your tongue out as he takes a step toward you. He doesn't answer; instead he continues to walk toward you, his gaze dropping to your chest where your hard nipples are very visible through the thin fabric of your shirt. "Hold on a sec," you say breathlessly, giving him a smile when he drags his gaze from your breasts to your face. "Let's play a game."

He gives you a skeptical look as he stops about a foot away from you. "What kind of game?"

"Guess which hand it's in, and I'll give it to you." You wave the notebook at him before hiding it behind your back.

"I think I'll just come and take it," he smirks, closing the distance between you in one long stride and reaching a hand behind your back; you transfer the notebook from one hand to the other before lifting it over your head and rising up onto your tiptoes. He gives you a bemused look before easily plucking the notebook out of your upstretched hand. "Should've gone low, shorty," he gloats, his eyebrows rising as you give him a wink while dropping to your knees at his feet.

"Good idea," you purr, holding eye contact while palming his erection through his slinky shorts; you eventually slide your hands up and sink your fingers in the waistband of his shorts, pulling them plus his undies to mid-thigh. You catch his hard cock as it springs free, your tongue immediately lapping at the precum on his tip.

"Fuck," he hisses, his gaze locked on your mouth as you continue to tease him. "I just got played, huh?" he asks, more than a little admiration evident in his tone. "Like a motherfucker," you admit, giving him a cocky smile before tracing your tongue over a prominent vein, base to tip, finishing it off with a slow swirl and thorough suck. "Just consider this my victory formation," you purr, relishing the angle as he towers over you, his feel and taste on your tongue causing a gush of liquid heat in your mouth and core; he makes a sound low in his throat as he drops the notebook on the floor and wraps a hand around the nape of your neck, his grunts of approval spurring you on as you hit a rhythm that has his hips thrusting forward, dirty praise spilling from his pretty lips as you continue to pleasure him.

"Hold on a sec," he rasps after several minutes. "Let's get naked."

You pull off of him and give a quick nod before shoving his shorts and undies all the way down; he steps out of them before stripping his shirt off, dropping it on the floor as he backs up a few steps and sits on the bed, his thick thighs falling open in his usual manspread. "Come here," he orders, giving you a dirty grin when you strip your shirt off and walk toward him, your eyes dropping down to his impressive erection as you lick your lips in anticipation of finishing what you started.

"Hold on," he stops you as you start to kneel between his thighs. "Lose the panties."

You slide your thong off, your eyebrows rising when he reaches a hand out to grab it before quickly bringing the scrap of black lace to his face; he takes a deep breath and then another, his cock twitching at the scent of your arousal. You feel a gush of wetness between your thighs as you sink to your knees, your lips barely making contact with his shaft before he reaches down and picks you up. "What are you doing? I wasn't finished sucking you," you yelp, spreading your legs so you end up straddling his waist with him flat on his back on the bed.

"I'm calling an audible," he states, gripping your ass in both hands and sliding you up his body toward his face. "I need to taste you."

"I need to taste you, too," you whine. "Don't get me wrong, I love the manhandling, but I wanna finish you with my mouth."

He laughs at your pouty expression. "There's a way we can both get what we want."

"How?"

He raises one eyebrow, smiling when a look of realization hits your face.

"Sixty-nine?" you mumble, sticking your tongue out at his 'well, duh' expression. "It's your fault I didn't think of that sooner," you grump, trying and failing to keep a stern look on your face.

"How is it my fault?" he asks, helping you spin around and get into position.

"You got me so dickmatized I can't think straight."

"Ohhh, I love that. I'm gonna get you a t-shirt that says that."

"Shut up," you giggle, gasping when he grips your hips and pulls you toward his face.

"Don't worry," he purrs, licking a long stripe up the length of your wet slit. "I know better than to talk with my mouth full."

The last coherent thought you have is thank goodness y'all are alone in the house, since there's a 100% chance of you getting loud as hell.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You watch the play unfold in slow motion on your TV screen, your heart skipping a beat as two defenders converge on Joe; you gasp in horror as they wrap him up and twist him to the ground, his body language and grimace of pain speaking volumes as he grabs his knee. "Oh no!" you yelp, tears streaming down your face when you realize how much pain he's in. "Noooooo!" ~

"Babe, wake up! You're having a bad dream!"

Joe's voice snaps you out of your nightmare; you take one look at his concerned face and break down crying. "What day is it?" you ask between sobs.

He throws a quick glance at the bedside clock before answering. "It's Tuesday, November 14th, 2023. 1:44 am to be precise."

"Thank goodness," you whisper as you collapse against him. "I thought I was still dreaming for a sec."

"You're awake," he soothes, pulling you tight against him, your hot tears falling on his bare chest as he cradles your head in one big hand, his other hand rubbing your back. "It's okay, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss on top of your head.

"It's not okay," you sniff. "I was dreaming about your knee injury. That awful dream where it happens in slow motion and I can't look away."

"Damn," he mutters, pressing a couple more kisses against you as your tears continue to fall. "That's def a nightmare."

"I felt so helpless since I couldn't be at the game because of Covid," you sputter, grinding your face against his chest as your emotions overwhelm you.

"You got to me as soon as you could," he murmurs. "And you helped me through that hideous rehab. I couldn't have done it without you."

You cry for a few more minutes before your tears finally taper off; you take a deep breath before speaking, your words muffled against him. "Sorry for crying all over you," you sniff.

"It's okay. I'm waterproof," he says, dropping another kiss on your head before hopping up to grab some tissues for you. You blow your nose, cringing at the loud noise before placing the soiled tissues in his outstretched hand; he disappears into the bathroom to toss the tissues before rejoining you in bed.

"Booger check," you urge, tilting your head back for him to inspect your nostrils. "You're good," he assures you, stretching out beside you and pulling you against him. You bury your face in his neck, his warmth and familiar scent soothing your frazzled nerves.

Several minutes pass before he breaks the silence. "You haven't had that dream in a while. I was hoping you'd never have it again."

"Me too," you mumble. "I think I had it again because I'm worried about you."

He tries to pull back and look at you, but you burrow your face deeper into his neck; you feel him take a deep breath, hold it for several seconds, then slowly let it out. He repeats the action before speaking up. "Talk to me."

"It's just …" you scramble to organize your thoughts before continuing. "The short week has me worried. Playing Sunday the 12th then Thursday the 16th seems crazy. That's basically no time for your body to recover."

"I'll be fine," he murmurs. "My calf's been feeling damn near 100%."

You finally pull back and lock eyes with him. "What about your arm?"

"What about it?"

"You've been wearing the compression sleeve pretty regularly lately."

"My arm is fine. The compression sleeve is just precautionary to keep the normal swelling down that most QBs experience at this point in the season."

You study his face for several seconds before speaking. "You'd tell me if something was actually wrong, right?"

"Of course I would."

"This week just feels so rushed, doesn't it? You just played a game two days ago, and you've got a night practice tonight at 6:00 pm, then you're on the team flight tomorrow headed to Baltimore. I also hate that it's a late game. You're gonna be dead tired by that 8:15 pm kickoff."

"Kickoff could be at midnight, and I'd be ready to go." He gives you a cocky grin as he continues. "Don't you think I might have a little extra adrenaline flowing going up against a division rival?"

"Obvi," you concede, returning his grin even though you still have a vague sense of dread. "Sorry for waking you up," you continue, snuggling against him. "Let's try to go back to sleep. You need all the sleep you can get."

"I wasn't actually sleeping when you had the nightmare."

"You weren't?"

"Nope. I'd been awake for about thirty minutes. I tried to go back to sleep, but I was having a hard time turning my brain off."

"Thinking about the upcoming game?"

"Obvi," he admits, scrunching up his adorable nose when you push up into a sitting position and look down at him.

"What will help you sleep?" you ask. "Maybe a snack? How about a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie?"

"I was thinking of a different kind of snack," he purrs, licking his lips and dropping his gaze down to your crotch.

"Marriage has turned you into a shameless horndog," you chuckle, raising your arms as he sits up and strips your t-shirt off.

"That's a good thing, though, right?" he asks, tossing your shirt on the floor.

You nod, giving him a wink as you lie back. "That's a very good thing."

"Good. 'Cause I can't help that I'm perpetually horny," he teases, giving you a dirty grin as he slides your panties down your legs before crawling between your spread thighs. "I mean, have you seen my wife? She's smoking hot."

Your giggles turn into groans as he lowers his head, your vague sense of dread quickly disappearing with every stroke of his talented tongue.

~ ~ ~

An hour later, you gently ease out of bed and look down at Joe sleeping peacefully, the last words he said before he drifted off echoing in your head. Get some sleep, babe. I promise there's nothing to worry about.

You grab your t-shirt and panties and creep out into the hallway, quickly shimmying into the articles of clothing before tiptoeing downstairs to the kitchen; you pour a glass of water and grab a cookie, savoring a few bites before rolling your shoulders to ease some tension. "There's plenty to worry about," you mumble under your breath. "Football is violent as fuck, and a bunch of players get hurt every week."

You hadn't said that to Joe earlier because he needed sleep more than you needed to make a point, so you held your tongue. "It is what it is," you mutter, "no reason to argue about it." You finish your cookie as you try to put the negative thoughts out of your mind; you heave a weary sigh as you walk to the living room and plop down on the sofa. "I'm not sleepy," you grumble, trying to decide what to do to take your mind off of things. You don't feel like watching TV or reading or scrolling your phone, so what does that leave?

After a few minutes, an idea hits you, and you open a drawer on the end table and pull out a book bound in black leather. You tuck a plush blanket around your legs before you flip the book open, reading the title out loud. "The Story of Us - Volume One." A smile immediately graces your lips as you peruse the pics of you and Joe, and you laugh quietly at how awkward y'all look in some of the pics from when you first started dating.

You slowly flip several pages before stopping on a page dedicated to Joe's Heisman win. There are pics of him on stage accepting the award, in Times Square with his face and name in flashing lights, and pics of both of you the following night at the gala dinner where everyone in attendance couldn't get enough of him. "Especially the women," you mutter, shaking your head as you close your eyes and let your mind rewind.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ December 15, 2019 - Marriott Marquis Times Square NYC

You take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds as Joe follows you into the elevator and presses the button for the 18th floor. He gives you a smile as the door slides closed, cutting you off from the crowd of people still mingling after the Heisman gala dinner. "Alone at last," he murmurs, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips as the elevator whisks you upward.

A few seconds later, the elevator slows to a halt, and Joe throws a look over his shoulder to see what floor you're on. "Six," he mutters, spinning around and using one big hand to tuck you behind him as three very loud and rowdy guys join you in the elevator.

"Oh shit!" one of them yelps. "It's Joe Burrow, right? I mean, I know it's you since your face is all over Times Square right now."

"Yeah, it's me," Joe mutters, exchanging greetings with the very inebriated guys while you stay firmly hidden behind his large frame.

"Dude," one of the drunks slurs. "You're about to be living the life! Heisman winner and soon to be first pick in the NFL is no joke, bro. You're gonna be absolutely drowning in pussy."

"No shit!" another drunk chimes in. "Hot chicks will be throwing themselves at you!"

Before Joe has a chance to respond, the elevator crawls to a stop and the door swishes open, the trio of loud-mouths cackling as they stumble out into the corridor. You stare at your feet as the door slides closed, encapsulating you and Joe in a very tense silence; he turns to face you and you swallow hard, fighting back tears as the elevator continues its ascent.

"Bunch of drunk idiots," he mumbles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as you continue to stare at your feet. "You okay?" he inquires, turning to look at the floor number as the elevator grinds to a halt. "This is our floor."

The words are barely out of his mouth before you dart around him and exit the elevator, hiking the hem of your dress up and legging it down the long hallway toward your suite; you swipe the key card and sling the door open, immediately rushing through the lounge area into the bedroom then into the en suite bathroom as Joe follows close behind.

"Are you okay?" he asks again, his voice slightly frantic.

"I'm fine. I just need to pee," you lie, shutting the bathroom door in his face before locking it. You toss your tiny, sparkly bag on the counter and stare at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, a wave of nausea rolling through you as you replay the words said in the elevator. "Drowning in pussy, indeed," you sneer under your breath, yanking the sleeves of your slinky black dress down your arms, relishing the ripping sound as you roughly shove the gossamer fabric over your plump butt. "Fuck it," you grit out, kicking the dress off and stomping on it a few times, literally grinding it under your stiletto heels for several seconds before catching a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.

"Calm down," you whisper, taking several deep breaths while studying your reflection, your gaze raking over the purple lace teddy you wore under your dress because you knew Joe would love it, especially the way your breasts spill out of the demi cups and the snap crotch just waiting to be unsnapped.

"So much for that," you mutter, kicking your heels off and reaching for one of the plush hotel bathrobes hanging beside the door. You shrug the robe on and gather up your dress and heels, slinging the door open and giving Joe a bland smile as you walk into the bedroom. You notice he's changed out of his tux into a pair of gray sweatpants and a black long-sleeve t-shirt. He's sitting on the bed looking nervous as hell.

"You okay?" he asks for the third time, quickly standing up as you walk in the room.

"I'm fine," you mutter, jamming your dress and heels in your suitcase before breezing past Joe to walk into the lounge area; you head straight to the bar and grab a glass, dropping a couple of fat ice cubes in it before adding a mini bottle of vodka. "Fuck it," you mumble under your breath, grabbing a mini bottle of silver tequila and adding it to the glass with the vodka, swirling it around for a few seconds before taking a sip, the potent elixir burning all the way down just like you hoped it would.

"Can I have a taste?" Joe asks, giving you a smile when you turn your head to look at him.

"Sure," you answer, walking to where he's sitting on the leather sofa before offering him the glass; you watch closely as he takes a hearty gulp, his eyes immediately going wide.

"Got damn! What kind of cocktail is this?" he wheezes, making a face as he hands the glass back to you.

"Fuck boy repellant," you state, your full lips curling into a cunty sneer as you drop into an armchair directly across from him, the hotel robe you're wearing -- which is too big for you -- sliding off of one shoulder far enough to reveal a strap of your teddy. His eyes are drawn to the wisp of purple, lingering there for several seconds before you part the robe just below your crotch, letting it fall open to reveal your bare legs. You take a small sip of your drink and watch in annoyed amusement as his gaze drops down to your smooth legs, slowly sliding from your feet -- toenails painted LSU purple -- all the way up to your barely-concealed crotch. Men are so fucking predictable, you think to yourself. Even the decent ones are constantly thinking with their dicks.

He eventually clears his throat and meets your eyes. "Are you mad at me?" he asks, nervously picking at his thumbnail in a way you wish you didn't find endearing.

"I'm mad at the situation."

He nods vigorously. "Because of those rude drunks spouting bullshit in the elevator, right?"

"They may have been drunk, but they were 100% correct," you state, taking another sip of your godawful drink before sitting it on a coaster on the side table. "No bullshit detected."

He opens his mouth to argue, but you beat him to the punch. "I wouldn't try to deny it if I were you. At best you come off as an oblivious doofus, and at worst you come off as a manipulative liar." He snaps his mouth closed as you plow ahead. "Having said that, I don't really want to have this convo tonight. You've had an amazing couple of days, and I don't want to ruin that. Let's save this heavy topic for some other time."

"I prefer to have the conversation now," he urges, swallowing hard when you raise an eyebrow at him. "Please?" he adds. "I won't be able to sleep or think or anything until we clear this up."

"Fine," you state, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Remember when we first met just after you transferred to LSU in the summer of 2018?"

"Yeah."

"And remember how I refused to go out with you for several weeks before you finally convinced me?"

"Yeah."

"This shit right here is the reason I was so reluctant."

He furrows his brow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean … once I found out you were a football player, I promised myself I'd stay away, even though I was super attracted to you."

"Because you thought I was a fuck boy."

"Exactly. And now -- after being with you for almost 18 months -- my worst fears are about to be realized."

"I don't understand. You know I'm not a fuck boy, so what's the problem?"

You take a deep breath as you struggle to find the words to say, fighting back tears as your mood shifts from mad to sad. "Look … I don't think you're a fuck boy, but you're only human, and you have women throwing themselves at you left and right. I lost count of how many women propositioned you right in front of my face tonight."

"And damn near every man in the place was eye-fucking you, but I know you'd never cheat on me. Don't you trust me?"

"That's a loaded question," you mutter. "I mean … you're a Heisman winner, and unless an asteroid destroys the Earth before January 13, 2020, you're gonna be a National Champion." You wipe a tear before continuing. "Then you're gonna be a number one pick in the NFL draft and an instant multi-millionaire. There's a saying about how a man is only as faithful as his options." You shrug as you continue. "And you're about to be drowning in options."

"I don't want options; I want you! I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you!"

You give him a sad smile. "I want you, too, but I also want to live a normal, quiet life. I had no idea when we started dating that you were gonna have one of the most amazing college football seasons of all time and end up in the NFL."

"Are you breaking up with me?" he grits out, his voice cracking with emotion.

"I'm … not sure."

"Oh my God," he snaps, leaping off the sofa like he got poked with a cattle prod; he paces back and forth several times, raking a hand through his hair while muttering under his breath. You watch him with equal parts fascination and trepidation, not exactly sure where this is going.

He eventually stops right in front of your chair and stares at you for several seconds before grabbing the lethal drink; he takes two gulps before slamming it back down. "Fucking hell, that's awful," he gasps, his gaze locking onto yours as he drops to his knees at your feet. "Have I done something wrong?" he asks, his earnest expression breaking your heart.

"You haven't done anything wrong. I just … I don't want you to feel like you're stuck with me."

"Stuck with you? Are you serious?" He shakes his head as he continues. "These last 18 months have been the best of my life, and football is part of that, but you're also a huge part. You're a dream come true for me."

You chew on your bottom lip as he scoots closer and forges ahead.

"And you're right, this season has been absolutely crazy. You've been the eye of the storm for me. My safe space." He reaches a hand out toward you, waiting for you to grasp it before continuing. "I'm not sure we can have a normal, quiet life for however long I'm in the NFL, but I promise I'll do everything I can to shield you from the bullshit."

"I feel like I'm already waist deep in bullshit," you mutter, "and I think you're being a little naive to think you can shield me from it."

"You're right," he admits, "all I can do is try my best. Whatever you need from me, I'll do it." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "Football is gonna be one chapter in our story, but there are so many other things I'm looking forward to experiencing with you."

"Like what?" you ask.

"Like house hunting when I finally know which team is gonna draft me, finally living together so we can go to sleep and wake up in the same bed all the time, vacations, marriage, kids, stuff like that."

"Stuff like that?" you laugh. "You threw marriage and kids in there pretty nonchalantly."

"I kind of got ahead of myself," he grins. "It's probably not the right time for this because I'm totally unprepared but fuck it, I'm calling an audible. Hold on a sec," he continues, hopping up and striding to the coat closet in the entryway; he pulls out his LSU letterman jacket and shrugs it on as he walks back into the lounge, dropping to one knee in front of you and reaching both of his hands out. Your heart skips a beat at the look on his face as you place your hands in his.

He swallows hard and licks his lips before speaking. "Coming to LSU was my destiny, not just for football but also for you. I was gonna wait until I signed my rookie contract to do this so I could give you the engagement ring you deserve, but right here, right now, I need you to know that I want you by my side for this journey. It's our journey, not just my journey. Will you marry me?"

It takes you a few heartbeats to be able to speak, so you nod your head as tears roll down your cheeks. "Yes," you finally manage, burying your face in his neck when he pulls you close. "I love you," he murmurs. "I love you, too," you sniff, relaxing into his embrace for several minutes before he pulls back and stands up.

"Take your robe off," he urges as he shrugs out of his letterman jacket. You stand up and do his bidding, smiling when his eyes go wide at the sight of your purple lace teddy. "Damn," he mumbles, "hope I get to see more of that later. But for now I want to give you my jacket." He holds the jacket for you while you slip into it. "We need something symbolic since I don't have a ring yet."

"Thank you, babe," you whisper, rising up on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips. "It's a little big, huh?" you giggle, spinning in a circle to show off the fit.

"It's perfect," he grins, engulfing you in a hug for several heartbeats before pulling back. "We need a pic," he mutters, grabbing his phone before plopping into the armchair and patting his lap; you dab the tears off of your cheeks as you sit in his lap. "Do I look okay?" you ask. "You look gorgeous," he answers, waiting for you to get settled before snapping the selfie.

Y'all are admiring the pic when his stomach growls loudly. "Those dinner portions were tiny," he grumbles. "You wanna order room service?"

"Sure," you agree. "What sounds good?"

"I'm thinking club sandwiches, fries and a bottle of champagne to celebrate."

"Sounds great."

~ ~ ~

Thirty minutes later, y'all are sitting side by side at the bistro-size table, feeding each other fries and guzzling champagne while looking out the window at the bright lights of the city that never sleeps.

"We can't tell anybody we're engaged until after the Natty," you state, accidentally wiping your salty hand on your robe before you realize it's not your napkin (the letter jacket is safely back in the closet). "Not even family," you continue. "The pressure on you is insane right now, and you don't need the distraction."

"True," he agrees. "I was actually thinking we might wait until we get your engagement ring to tell folks. The draft is April 23rd, and I should sign my rookie contract some time in July. We can tell close family and friends before that, but I want the ring on your finger before we make a public announcement. Is that okay?"

"Sounds good to me," you smile, feeling a little lightheaded from the champagne and the sheer giddyness of the moment. "Just so you know, I don't need an expensive ring."

"We'll see." He grins with a mouthful of sandwich before hopping up to root around in his duffle bag; he sits back down and places a small spiral notebook on the table. "We need to make a to-do list," he states, flipping to a blank page and brandishing a pen before continuing. "First off, next Sunday the 22nd, there's an important game between the Bengals and Dolphins. If the Dolphins win, the Bengals secure the first pick in the draft. So if that happens, we need to start looking for houses in Cincinnati, preferably close to the stadium."

"And two days before that," you interject, "you're gonna receive your master's degree. Be sure to put that on the list."

"Yes, ma'am," he grins, doing your bidding; you top off your champagne glasses as y'all continue to add items to the list:

Dec. 20, 2019 - Joe receives master's degree

Dec. 22, 2019 - if Dolphins beat Bengals, start house hunting in Cincinnati

Dec. 28, 2019 - beat Oklahoma in the Peach Bowl

Jan. 13, 2020 - win the Natty

April 23, 2020 - NFL draft

May 15, 2020 - Y/n receives bachelor's degree (you're a year and a half younger than Joe - also keep in mind spring semester was mostly done virtually b/c of Covid)

July ??, 2020 - Joe signs NFL rookie contract

July/August, 2020 - buy engagement ring & make public announcement + buy house

Joe reads the list out loud before giving you a look. "Can you think of anything else?"

"Not right now, but I'm feeling kinda lightheaded from the champagne."

"Let's finish it off," he grins, pouring the remainder of the bubbly in each of your glasses.

"You're such a bad influence," you giggle, taking the champagne flute as he hands it to you.

"Just one more sip, okay? I wanna propose a toast."

"Okay, go ahead," you snicker, busting out laughing at the look on his face.

"What's so funny?" he laughs.

"Nothing really, I'm just giddy as hell. Combination of drunk and high on life."

"Cool," he grins, holding his glass up. "Here's to happily ever after. Is that cheesy?"

"Cheesy as fuck and I love it," you giggle, clinking your glass against his before downing your entire drink.

"Am I gonna have to carry you to bed?" he asks, sliding a hand up your thigh and under your robe until it's nestled against your crotch; he makes an inquisitive face as he runs his fingers over the snap crotch of your teddy. "This feels different," he muses, his forehead wrinkling in consternation as he tries to figure out what he's feeling.

"It's a snap crotch," you state.

"Oh. -- Sooo I can just … unsnap it?" he asks, the look on his face sending a sizzle of heat through you.

"Yeah," you whisper, shrugging the robe off as he stands up and reaches for you, picking you up bridal-style as he heads for the bedroom.

~ ~ ~

Joe's voice pulls you out of your flashback.

"Hey babe," he mumbles around a mouthful of peanut butter chocolate chip cookie. "What ya looking at?"

"Our picture book," you answer, giving him a smile when he sits beside you on the sofa.

"That was an amazing night," he says, looking at the pic of you sitting in his lap wearing his letterman jacket. "I really thought we'd be married super fast, but it didn't happen that way."

"No, it didn't," you whisper, your mind thinking back to all the reasons why -- Covid -- Joe's horrible knee injury -- losing the Super Bowl -- etc. Plus, the stress of planning a big wedding was something that neither one of you wanted to deal with.

"But we're married now," he states, "even if nobody knows it yet." He takes the picture book off of your lap and places it on the coffee table. "You wanna try to get a little more sleep before we have to get up?" he asks, stretching out beside you on the oversized sofa when you say yes; he tucks the blanket around both of you as you snuggle against him, dropping a kiss on the nape of your neck as he pulls you close, your back to his chest.

You close your eyes and try to relax, but your mind has other ideas. Why do I have such an uneasy feeling, you think to yourself. I'm sure everything is gonna be just fine.

"Relax, babe," Joe mutters, dropping another kiss on your neck. "Everything's gonna be just fine."

"You really need to stop reading my mind," you chuckle. "It's getting a little crazy."

"I'm not really reading your mind, we're just always on the same wavelength."

"That sounds like something a shameless mind reader would say."

"Okay, you caught me. I always know exactly what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking right now?"

He considers the question for a few seconds before answering. "You're thinking that you wanna have super naughty shower sex before I leave for practice."

"You are such a horndog," you giggle.

"Obvi, but is that what you were thinking?"

"No, but I'm thinking it now."

"I love it when a plan comes together," he gloats, laughing along with you for a bit before quieting down; you feel the tension leave your body as he pulls you closer and drops another kiss on your neck, your eyelids fluttering closed as you drift off to sleep in his embrace.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

shoutout to @sofferaddict for the idea to incorporate more flashbacks while we wait for good news on Joe's wrist.

shoutout to @joeys-babe for requesting a flashback of Joe proposing.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine

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mecachrome · 3 months

Text

pre-mclaren oscar piastri primer (ft. maxf, landoscar)

0. introduction

for a few months now i've been wanting to make both an oscar primer and a timeline of pre-mclaren landoscar moments, but i couldn't figure out which one to prioritize… then after some deliberation i finally realized i could just combine the two things together! so. here is an oscar-centric timeline that is mainly about his racing background, moving to the uk, and how he became acquainted with other members of the rfm pack—aka lando, maxf, and logan. i don't know whether any of this information is useful or even vaguely interesting, but i mostly just wrote it for myself and thought i'd share what i had in case anyone else wanted to check it out. please feel free to comment or shoot me an ask if anything here is egregiously incorrect; i've checked and linked as many sources as i could but it's of course possible that some errors remain :)

1. background, rc racing, early karting days (2007-2015)

oscar piastri was born on april 6, 2001 in brighton east, a suburb of melbourne not far from albert park circuit, as the son of chris and nicole and to-be oldest brother to 3 younger sisters. a love for all things automotive ran deep in the piastri family: both of his grandfathers were mechanics and his father had also co-founded his own vehicle diagnostics software company, hp tuners, aka oscar's sponsor throughout his racing career. thanks to his father's business, oscar's family was objectively well-off and managed to contribute a fairly substantial amount of support toward his junior career, but they also weren't swimming in cash by multi-millionaire motorsport standards either.

(L-R) mae, edie, hattie, and oscar, from nicole's twitter — each sibling is ~2 years apart (source)

while most drivers on the current grid were introduced to motorsport through go-karting, usually at or before the age of 7, oscar's path to single-seaters differed slightly. he first developed an interest in racing via remote-controlled cars at the age of 6, when his father brought him a monster truck as a souvenir back from a business trip in america. oscar began racing them that same year, eventually moving to safer electric track vehicles and even winning the second class of the national titles in 2010, at the age of 9. he was so small then that he often needed to stand on a milk crate to see the cars on track, and the next-youngest competitor at the time was twice his age. (source)

youtube

oscar on the podium at age 8 (nov 16, 2009)

oscar with his father chris, who often competed alongside him in a separate class (dec 21, 2010)

by 2011, oscar and his father were seriously considering his potential of pursuing rc racing as a viable career path, but things changed when he was introduced to karting via a friend's daughter in the rc community and his aspirations slowly shifted toward racing from inside a car. oscar was an unsurprisingly sporty and competitive child growing up; he'd played some cricket and aussie rules football and knew that all he wanted to do was race professionally, full-stop, at the time thinking along the lines of australian racing categories like v8 supercars. he was still competing in remote car racing as late as 2013, but he began karting seriously within australia in 2014, placing respectably in the junior categories of several regional karting series against relatively senior and more-experienced racers, and even going to france for a one-off event where he finished on the podium of the iame international junior x30 final. this outing affirmed his potential to his father and motivated the two of them to split time between australia and europe in 2015 as they juggled his karting future; plans for two more european events that year fell through, including the cik-fia world championship at the kfj level (which logan sargeant would go on to win), but at this point they were officially looking to take his career to the next level and commit fully to european karting in 2016.

this is when ricky flynn (and the hypothetical idea of lando norris!!!) comes in. before we get into rfm and karting professionally in europe, it's important to note that the defining aspect of landoscar's junior careers is that their pathways never once intersected. in fact, they don't even seem to have met properly before oscar entered the f1 grid as alpine reserve, although they'd spoken over social media and oscar was familiar with several people around lando's life—for example, maxf, logan, guanyu, and even lando's older brother oliver, who had also raced for rfm.

in short, you could say that landoscar's biggest hindrance was their parallel excellence. oscar was good enough to catch up and even surpass everyone else at lando's level, but lando remained untouchable throughout the years. oscar is only 1.5 years younger than him, but their f1 careers are offset by 4 years (2019 vs. 2023 debut) because of exactly two things: oscar's 2022 gap year in alpine and his two attempts at formula renault eurocup. on the other hand, lando sped through all of his junior categories in blistering fashion, falling short of the championship only once: the year he placed 2nd in f2 behind george russell. this is significant because many talk about the clinical nature of oscar's rapid single-seater ascension and three b2b2b victories (still very impressive, especially given his limited karting career!), but all of that speaks equally to the illustrious nature of lando's junior success and the sheer magnitude of faith placed in him as mclaren's "golden boy" coming up the ranks. to put things into further perspective, lando was teammates with maxf and jehan daruvala at rfm until 2014, jehan competing in the same class and max one below, yet by the time oscar was racing max and jehan—in f3 in 2020 and f2 in 2021, respectively—lando was already into his 2nd and 3rd years of f1. here's a chart that hopefully makes a bit more sense:

majorly simplified timeline showing lando, guanyu, maxf, logan, and oscar's junior careers + the karting classes they primarily competed in each calendar year. maxf did not complete his 2nd f3 season and many of them contested multiple/different formula renault series, but this is just a rough overview of their feeder series experience.

2. moving to europe, rfm, regional formulae (2016-2019)

back in australia, oscar was a member of the oakleigh go-kart racing club and being actively mentored by james sera, a multi-time australian karting champion and fa kart dealer who worked with young karting talents alongside his cousin david. in late-2015, he presumably helped oscar and his father reach out to ricky flynn, who ran ricky flynn motorsport (rfm) and whose team was at the time enjoying exorbitant success in the karting scene; lando had won the world championship at the kf level the year prior, and logan would soon clinch the kfj title in 2015, results which further drew oscar's interest toward the team. ricky flynn agreed to take oscar on and have him and his dad move out to europe, and by november 2015 oscar announced on social media that he would be joining rfm the next year. in january of 2016, he and his father moved to hertford, uk, so that oscar could begin a 100-day karting program and travel extensively around europe to attend races. this is where he met logan sargeant, who was in his final year on the team but competing a class above, now at the ok (previously kf) level. oscar himself was only competing in the okj class.

not oscar-related, but as you can see guanyu, logan, and maxf were already acquainted before oscar and logan met, since the three of them and lando had been in rfm together as of 2014 — (may 11, 2014) & (feb 6, 2015)

oscar and logan in 2016

in an interview published on june 7, 2023, oscar reflected on leaving australia and committing to his racing dream, saying:

"i think if there was a turning point, it was probably when i started finishing towards the front in australia, and i started winning a couple of races here and there and finishing in the top three of championships and stuff, and then went to europe and fully committed to going down that route. [...] there's obviously a very big commitment at that point when you move halfway across the world without family and stuff. so i knew at that point that i really wanted to become a professional because, firstly, that's what i want to do anyway, but, secondly, now i'm sacrificing seeing my family, and stuff like that to be able to do this — which was a sacrifice i was more than willing to make."

like the majority of oscar's karting career, his time with ricky flynn can primarily be summarized as decent. none of his performances were particularly stellar, and in november 2016 he placed 6th in the fia world championship final behind the likes of victor martins and théo pourchaire (he mainly competed against guys like them, dennis hauger, caio collet, etc… once again logan was a class above and lando/maxf had already graduated to single-seaters), but he showed promising racing foundations and a great capacity for improvement, especially given that he'd moved to europe the same year and was still adjusting to life and racing on the opposite hemisphere. about 6 months into his new karting venture, oscar had settled in reasonably well and his father decided he would return to australia to continue on with his life, so they made the joint decision that oscar was to begin boarding at haileybury's uk campus and continue racing in europe entirely on his own. uk and australian school years are misaligned, so my personal understanding is he moved to europe after finishing year 9 in australia, attempted online school/took a few months off (he says he did online coursework here, but mentioned here that he was out of school, so it sounds like it must have been a very half-hearted effort…), came back to australia over the uk summer to do some more karting, then began boarding in september 2016 as a year 10 student. he spent ~4 years there and eventually received his a-levels in 2020, except his final year was disrupted by covid and he never sat his exams. (blog post mentioning his a-levels + btg transcript excerpt about his exams; his website says he attended haileybury from 2016-19, but i think this mainly encapsulates his boarding period, as he was still doing remote work in april 2020.)

oscar in f4 with his gcse revision guide, 📸 sebastiaan rozendaal (may 20, 2018)

2016 is also when oscar began his well-documented super-liking of several of lando's social media profiles. i think understanding oscar's time in rfm and his extremely british single-seater origins helps better paint his history with lando and maxf; my personal understanding of pre-mclaren landoscar is that while oscar never formally met lando or maxf during his karting days, he knew of them quite well through rfm and thus followed them on instagram/twitter after moving to the uk. of course, oscar has a fairly active social media presence in general, so young oscar quietly liked instagram posts and tweets from many different people, but i do feel compelled to note that in the early days he liked lando, maxf, and logan's posts with seriously impressive frequency compared to anyone else on the grid (or anyone in general, really); after creating his twitter account in may 2016, some of the very first tweets oscar liked were from maxf, and he also liked a multitude of mundane lando tweets from 2016 until… today, while on the other hand he didn't start liking george's tweets—another similarly-aged young british talent—until late 2017. (he does have some fun george-admiring moments though, but that can wait for another time!) outside of rfm, other people oscar was familiar with during his early racing years were british f4 teammate ayrton simmons, to-be series champion jamie caroline, and old australian karting friend christian pancione, who appears to still be one of his best mates (if not his best) as of today. fun fact is that christian raced for the carrera cup as a support event to the australian gp in 2023; here's oscar allegedly checking the quali live timing at lunch during his own media day.

so, to conclude, oscar's early lando focus basically traces back to the motorsport path he took at the behest and guidance of his early rfm connections in the uk. the thing is that despite growing up in australia and vaguely admiring several aussie drivers in f1 as a child (read: mark webber and eventually daniel ricciardo), oscar has never had a specific driver he consistently mentions when pressed for his racing "idol," likely since his personality inherently resists idolatry and he instead views successful people more as actionable benchmarks or reference points for self-improvement rather than as unattainable paragons of accomplishment. as a kid forced to grow up almost entirely on his own, the majority of his racing aspirations were molded independently in the uk—he completed his karting career in the uk, boarded at haileybury for 4 years (fun fact: other drivers to attend include jehan, callum ilott, and clément novalak; callum was a few years above oscar and finished school in 2017, but the two would later become quite talkative over social media anyway), raced in british f4, became a brdc member, contested eurocup under a british license and therefore had the british flag raised and british national anthem played during his wins, stayed in the uk even at alpine since the factory is based in enstone, etc. oscar basically moved to the uk from australia without having really met anyone significant in the racing scene (other than jack doohan, or more importantly jack's father mick, but jack is younger and did an extra year of karting) and pretty much didn't have anyone specific to "look up to" at the time. oscar's first acknowledgement of lando's online existence was in december 2015, when he liked one of lando's instagram posts prior to moving to england, so it can be assumed that lando basically functioned as his most accessible reference point in the junior ladder as a 14 year old dipping his toes into the european racing scene for the first time. that is my highly subjective analysis of the situation!

select quotes re: oscar's inconsistent responses to his motorsport "hero" (or his favorite driver / a driver he looks up to in general):

(f1fs; mar 9, 2022) "i started watching f1 in… 2009 was the first season i properly watched. so when brawn came in, obviously mark was the only aussie on the grid at that point, so i was kind of naturally going for him. then joined by daniel, so obviously going to support the aussies, but i think watching lewis has been nothing short of spectacular, and a very good role model. [...] i think when i was first watching, i supported mark, but, you know, and i hope he takes no offense to this—vettel was winning everything at that point. so i was supporting mark, but vettel was doing most of the winning. i think now that i understand more about racing though, i would say [the driver i look up to the most is] lewis, mainly. the way he goes about things on and off the track is quite exceptional."

(mcl youtube; mar 29, 2023) sporting idols mentioned: ayrton senna, alain prost, michael jordan (see also ultimate athletes list)

(p1; aug 10, 2023) "i would say i never had like one specific idol. when i was growing up watching mark webber was at red bull, and obviously being australian, red bull being very quick at the time, i kind of naturally followed him. i mean—even like some of the guys in the junior ranks above me. like lando was always kind of two, three years above me, winning… most things on his way up. so i guess kind of him in some ways?"

(eff won; dec 4, 2023) "i don’t really have like one specific [idol]. i think what lewis has been able to do in terms of getting to seven world championships was incredibly impressive. i think what max is doing now is also very impressive…"

the first lando post oscar liked on instagram (dec 21, 2015)

the first maxf posts oscar liked; instagram (feb 26, 2016) & twitter (may 9, 2016)

anyway, back to british f4! despite his initially unconventional foray into motorsport, oscar's journey progressed in a much more orderly fashion once he stepped up to single-seaters. his actual debut was in f4 uae, which he ran 3 rounds of between 2016 and 2017 (another fun fact: this is where he briefly acquainted himself with mclaren indycar driver david malukas, who would later recall him being very intelligent and whom zak brown allegedly spoke to oscar about before appointing to their indy team). after cutting his teeth on actual car-racing for the first time, oscar decided against moving up to the ok class as he felt confident in his ability to be competitive in single-seaters. his first full season was therefore the 2017 british f4 championship, during which oscar signed with arden while logan went to reigning champions carlin (lando had won with them in 2015, then maxf in 2016). oscar made his way to the top step 6 times in the season and placed just barely above logan for 2nd in the championship, finishing behind the considerably more experienced jamie caroline. arden was also founded and is currently owned by red bull team principal christian horner, so it was during oscar's time there that christian took note of and interest in his talent; oscar reportedly did a few runs in the red bull simulator but was passed over for joining the academy, which christian later voiced regret on. (source)

maxf, logan (center), and oscar (to max's right) on a day maxf was visiting the 2017 british f4 grid (april 11, 2017)

linus lundqvist, oscar, and logan on the podium at snetterton (jul 30, 2017)

jamie and oscar, who were… er, mathematically in the main championship fight. for some reason they made them take these photos (sep 30, 2017)

after a successful f4 outing with arden, oscar returned to the team for his first season of formula renault eurocup in 2018, a renault series that ran in its specific configuration until 2020 before merging with the parallel regional series frec to become what is today known as freca. this season proved to be less competitive for oscar, as arden was relatively inexperienced in this series and oscar's three teammates were afflicted with what can colloquially be referred to as a "skill issue," making it difficult to collectively develop the car throughout the season. (blog interview) the series was thus returning driver maxf's to lose, who at the time was racing for reigning champs r-ace with teammates that included oscar's fellow rookies logan and victor martins.

despite the unideal environment, oscar managed to prove his worth by placing a respectable 8th in the series, scoring 110 points as a rookie driver and capping the season off with 3 podiums and a top-finish of 2nd place—a jarring contrast to his teammates' joint total of 12 points. this result attracted the attention of r-ace and granted him a seat with them for the 2019 season, at which point maxf and logan both graduated to f3. thankfully that wasn't too much of a concern for oscar since he'd always intended to do two seasons of eurocup, and now he finally had a chance to win the first serious championship of his racing career with an established racing outfit.

oscar, max, and yifei ye on the hockenheim r2 podium (sep 23, 2018) [full gifset]

oscar's second season of eurocup is when he truly started proving himself as a driver, or at least to the people whose names, money, and opinions mattered around the paddock. his main competition in 2019 was again victor, who was now racing for mp and had been made a member of the renault sport academy back in 2018 after a strong performance in french f4. despite a close title fight, oscar managed to hold him off for the championship in the final race of the season, kicking off what would soon become an impressive string of consecutive single-seater series titles. even sweeter was the fact that all eurocup champions were awarded a renault sport academy spot that could be left or taken as they pleased, and of course—while the finances weren't nearly as impressive as alpine would later proclaim in their baseless smear campaign—oscar's connections in the racing world were limited as an australian driver almost exclusively managed by his father, so he gladly accepted the offer for the many venues of support renault presented to him.

see also: bby oscar briefly mentioning lando after winning eurocup in 2019 (@ 1:10)

oscar being lifted by his team (r-ace) after placing 4th in the abu dhabi finale and winning the title by 7.5 points

3. renault sport academy, lockdown, f3 (2020)

many things happened in 2020. one: oscar became an official member of the renault sport academy, joining the likes of max (who'd been picked up on merit after winning british f4 in 2017), guanyu, christian lundgaard, caio collett, and fellow new recruit hadrien david (victor had been strategically demoted after oscar's win because renault is a notoriously unserious organization, but again this is not the post). two: by the time oscar was ready for f3, moving up the ladder proved to be exorbitantly expensive, and he realized he needed better funds and managerial support to sort his career out. he'd been offered a spot in prema's f3 team by team-owner rené rosin at the end of his eurocup season, who'd named him for the post-season test before the championship was over and stressed that the spot was his no matter where he finished. (source) prema is unquestionably one of the top—if not frequently the top—teams one can drive for in most junior series (though there is also somewhat of a self-selection bias; if you ask oscar he is not a significant beneficiary of prematax!), having absolutely demolished the f3 competition that same year and achieved a clean sweep of the drivers' standings with rob shwartzman, marcus armstrong, and jehan at 1-2-3 consecutively. oscar completed post-season testing with them in spain alongside to-be teammates logan and fred vesti in october (source), before confirming on jan 26, 2020 that he would be joining them for the f3 season as a renault junior.

so, where does mark webber come in here? apparently mark's trainer from red bull and wec had also been oscar's trainer since 2016 (i'm pretty sure this is australian physiologist simon sostaric), and it was through their joint connection that oscar was introduced to mark. according to mclaren's 2023 season preview, "the pair hit it off, and webber took his countryman under his wing," signing oscar to jam sports management, aka the management agency he runs with his wife ann. mark's support would become a major factor in helping oscar progress through the feeder ranks and establish himself in f1, mainly because he had actual connections and could help oscar network with sponsors and negotiate his way during future signings. of course, more on this later.

as an aside, here are a few things mark has said about oscar:

"he’s got that white line fever when he puts his helmet on and turns into a different character, which is sensational." (mar 1, 2020)

"one of oscar’s biggest strengths by a mile, compared to everyone he is competing against — and this will be a huge string to his bow when he makes it to f1 — is his composure. he has immense levels of composure. [...] if you are weak mentally you won’t make it. he was on his own from an early age. he did brilliantly with his studies. but the racing disease would not go away, he wants it very much." (sydney morning herald; dec 11, 2021)

"he’s a prost, mate. he’s such a thinker and so calm. at first i thought i needed to inject a bit of urgency in him, but actually no, he’s got his own frequency. that’s just where he is." (the race; oct 7, 2023)

estimates provided by chris piastri on the cost of oscar's junior career, stressing the million-dollar commitments of running a single season of f3 or f2 (source)

anyway, back to the chaotic events of 2020. i think something that's good to keep in mind when discussing oscar's time in the renault sport academy is that he was actually a relatively new recruit, as in he only participated in a single training camp with the other juniors in 2020 and most of them (max, christian, guanyu, the temporary ghost of victor) already knew each other before. oscar essentially met with renault's factory team in early 2020, filmed promotional material with other juniors in january before attending the season opener together in february and then heading to winter training camp later that month, after which he and max left early for f3 pre-season testing in bahrain on march 1—a blessing in disguise, seeing as caio, hadrien, and christian remained behind and would soon be stuck quaranting in a hotel in tenerife—then briefly spent a week at school before returning home for what was meant to be a quick pit stop at the australian gp, which at the time had yet to be canceled.

then, of course, lockdown happened.

simplified breakdown of renault junior stints, notably showcasing the academy's struggles to meaningfully promote any of its juniors

oscar at the 2020 renault season opener alongside then-academy director mia sharizman, then-tp cyril abiteboul, alain prost, f1 drivers esteban ocon and daniel ricciardo, and the other academy juniors: fewtrell, lundgaard, zhou, david (feb 12, 2020)

oscar and maxf behind the scenes of the same event (feb 12, 2020)

stuck in australia for three months, oscar would end up participating in two fia virtual races, one for f2 and another for f1 (jun 7, 2020). a fun landoscar tidbit is that he finished 5th in the virtual gp right behind lando, so they technically had raced each other before 2023, depending on... well, whether you count a 2020 sim race wherein george russell and alex albon lead the pack as a real race. nevertheless, this was a time when drivers were becoming much more active online, seeing as streaming was the best way to keep their images relevant and connect with fans, and despite oscar expressing little interest in streaming on twitch he would still experience a considerable uptick in his online activity and twitter reach that year.

racing resumed on july 4 at the red bull ring in austria; oscar had been granted an exemption to travel to the uk and complete a 2-week quarantine back on may 27, a reassuring indicator to the motorsport world that the f3 season would run after all. now that he no longer had to attend school, having received 2 b's and 1 c for his maths, physics, and computer science a-levels, oscar relocated from hertford to oxford in june to be near the renault facilities, which he visited nearly every day to train at, and began living independently (as in in a flat) for the first time since 2016, rooming with fellow renault junior caio collet.

as i said before, this season is when oscar's online presence and "memeability" began to really conceptualize, enabled primarily by the fact that he was a) finally living outside of a school dormitory, and b) now, of course, signed at prema, a team notorious for its social media visibility, literal family atmosphere, and frequent youtube pandering. according to this f3 article, his twitter followers jumped from 795 at the start of the season to 11.6k by the time he won the championship, an audience built significantly off the self-deprecating string of jokes he used to tweet regarding drs and general reliability issues faced throughout the season.

what i guess i want to touch on here is how oscar's online presence has always been concentrated around the bare fundamentals of his personality: dry humor, candid words, sparing emojis, a few humorous photos detailing the mundane reality of his everyday routines, and at most the occasional inopportune meme or reaction gif (#thepiastri 🤷‍♂️, f2 in baku, jetpack guy, so on). he's bantered frequently with callum on twitter and near-obsessively liked memes, videos, and other updates lando shares with his audience, but he also has seemingly little interest in building up his own "brand" the way lando so smartly has with ln4 and quadrant, and quite frankly seems viscerally incapable of wanting to engage one-to-one with fans or otherwise leveraging the popularity of his material image. basically what i like to say is that oscar enjoys being adjacent to "lad humor" and will happily enable it, but he really has no interest in being the one to initiate it himself!

"there's some things you want to share, some things you don’t. in today's age and sort of having the profile that us drivers do, we kind of just have everything shared,” piastri said. “but (social media) can be used for good, certainly within the profiles that we have. but in some ways, it can be negative, and there's always going to be people out there that don't like you for being you.” piastri tries to write as many of his posts as possible, and he checks those written by his team to be sure they sound authentically him. (the athletic; jun 29, 2023)

along these lines, oscar does enjoy the spotlight, only he seems to prefer it concentrated in a specific lens toward a specific productive end. he's endlessly capable of seeing the objective upside of a situation, joking after he was made a meme in baku following his f2 sr1 collision that he was all for it if it got him popularity. after his eurocup championship he also said: "i think everyone loves a bit of spotlight on them. i think that's just human nature, so a bit of attention's always nice." which is interesting to me!

but back to racing. this season would unexpectedly become two things: maxf's last competitive season in motorsport—especially disappointing considering that he'd gone into the championship expecting to put on a second-season title charge, instead failing to gel with the hitech team to the point that each increasingly poor weekend made him spiral mentally—as well as oscar and logan's last season racing against each other before f1, since logan would later encounter financial difficulties that left him stranded in f3 as oscar catapulted himself to f2 victory. 2020 was obviously a weird season in general because of covid and the gap from pre-season testing, so it also meant that oscar had gone into the season fairly rusty; he managed to win the first race of the season, but on top of his drs rollercoaster he did struggle with middling results in qualifying and was met step-by-step throughout the championship by logan.

maxf's last race in f3 was the barcelona sprint race on august 16, with three rounds left to the end of the season. he dnfed in an unfortunate first-lap incident mere moments after oscar charged his way up from 5th on the grid to the front of the pack, where he would eventually breeze his way to victory and pull himself near-level with logan for the championship lead. i recognize that this is an oscar post and not a maxf post, but i think their time in f3 during an extremely isolated and covid-affected period speaks to both an interesting dynamic between them (the little kid who always lagged a series behind you suddenly beating you on merit) and their respective temperaments toward racing. while at renault, max reportedly lived with jack aitken during the week but would return to his family home on weekends, so it makes sense that he struggled to adapt when covid hit and drivers were collectively forced into very regimented sporting bubbles. mark webber, who worked for channel 4 as a commentator and had access to the f1 paddock, basically couldn't see oscar in person and instead spoke to him over the phone every day on race weekends. maxf said of his decision to quit:

"normally [...] i’m able to stay calm under pressure and i don’t let many things get to me but when you have a bad qualifying result and you see guys up there that you know you’re capable of beating, it definitely takes a dig at you inside and it’s been a lot to process throughout the year." (source)

while then-academy director mia sharizman, who worked closely with the renault juniors, spoke of oscar's inherent propensity for independence and how he adapted well to the pressures of living on his own:

"if you look at oscar piastri, he has been living on his own, [away] from his family who are in melbourne for the past five to six years. because he has been living on his own in boarding school, he learns how to live on his own, and he thrives in that. we have to force him... 'have you spoken to your father?!' it's just things like that, but he thrives in that. that's why he thrived in those weekends racing. he loves being on his own without anybody. on the other hand, we had max fewtrell, for example, who can't – he couldn't survive the 11 weekends racing, because he always needed his family to be around him. so those are the things that suddenly you see and, i think that that we see now, after a few years a driver who is quick, a driver who has the talent, and then the driver who is stable." (source)

2020 is also when lando and oscar spoke to each other on twitter for the first time. yay! after lando went semi-viral for having a meltdown over a hornet on three separate social media platforms, oscar first joked with him about it on august 24 (this was incidentally also the day maxf announced his functional retirement, which oscar liked as well 😭), before referencing the incident again a few weeks later in september.

(aug 24, 2020) / (sep 10, 2020)

outside of drs tweets and trying desperately to banter with lando norris, oscar's popular tweets at the time included several food-related mishaps and home appliance tragedies. while this isn't actually a lando moment, he was also slandered by the LN4 twitter account a month later on october 17 for reasons that remain a mystery, resulting in this set of interactions:

(oct 17, 2020) / (oct 19, 2020)

bonus: maxf's tweets @ oscar (when you aren't close enough to just text him.......)

but back to f3. similarly to his second season of eurocup, oscar would go on to clinch the title in only the final race of the year, this time even more stressfully—he never got pole that season and won arguably off of consistency, benefiting from errors and unfortunate collisions involving his primary competitors. after a hectic qualifying and string of contentious grid penalties set for the before-last round in monza, he began the feature race 15th on the grid but put on an impressive performance to finish on the podium, buffing his points lead after logan was tapped by clément and put out of the points. he, logan, and fred all dnfed in race 2 (read: the novalak pendulum swung away from oscar's favor to maintain stringent cosmic equilibrium, while logan and fred threw away a points opportunity with a teammate4teammate love tap), and oscar went into mugello with only an 8-point lead over logan and a 24-point lead over pourchaire. this weekend proved equally hectic, as is frequently the case with f3 racing standards, but in short oscar and logan entered the final sprint race level on points, with théo approaching terrifyingly near in their rearview mirrors. logan was unceremoniously taken out of contention on the first lap after contact with zendeli, and oscar managed to squeak his way to 164 points in the championship by placing 7th in the race; théo finished 3rd, with 161 points, two positions away from claiming both the race and the championship title.

a succinct summary of an eventful season! (posted jun 30, 2021)

despite winning the f3 championship in far-from-dominant fashion, oscar's career was now steadily on an upward trend. on october 30 he was rewarded with a private test in the r.s.18 at bahrain alongside christian and guanyu, and a month later confirmed that he would be racing for prema again in f2 (december 1, 2020). as a rookie f3 champion there was a moderate amount of interest in him, but no one really expected him to carry home the f2 title on his first try and so one of the main favorites going into the next season was his second-year teammate and 2019 f3 champion rob shwartzman.

4. f2, alpine reserve duties, #piastrigate (2021-2022)

at the start of 2021, fernando officially took daniel's place at renault and the team rebranded itself as alpine, parting ways with team principal cyril abiteboul and functionally replacing him with new ceo laurent rossi—part of a no-tp management structure, frankly a self-evident infrastructural faux-pas from a million miles away. the renault sport academy was then also renamed to alpine academy; again i know that this is an oscar post so i won't get too into the details of Alpine Being Alpine, but understanding how the academy functioned does help better contextualize the inevitable unfurling of piastrigate.

the main issue, really, would always be laurent rossi, or at least the values laurent rossi had been hired to represent and which he willingly peddled during his controversial tenure at alpine. after rossi's appointment it was reported that "the renamed alpine academy was now being tugged in two directions between director mia sharizman's ideal as a creator of future f1 drivers and alpine's chief executive officer laurent rossi's commercially-led preferences." (source) mia directed the academy from january 2016 until may 2022, and had been the one to restructure its recruitment process by demanding better funding and robust testing programs to cyril:

"when we first restarted the team in 2016, it was, we didn't even have a two-year-old car program at that time. we had to use a 2012 program using the [lotus] e20. [...] then in 2018, i went through it, and i said to cyril abiteboul, "look, let's try and do this." we needed financial resources. i needed a head start with financial resources to kick start the program whereby you entice drivers, and you offer [a place] to the academy drivers. it was more to see how they are... it was more of an evaluation process... that was what the first idea was. then we developed the program to develop the drivers to suit their formual 2 program." (source)

(note: mia also believed that 2020 was a disappointing year for all of his juniors save for oscar's performance in f3, which is a whole other thing. but rossi's greatest shortcoming was that he had singular, insulated vision, and he resisted any external input to the detriment of reactionary business decisions, a fact that alienated alain prost and soon led to his exit from the outfit in 2022. not a good look!!! prost would later call rossi "the best example of the dunning-kruger effect, that of an incapable leader who thinks himself able to overcome his incompetence with his arrogance and lack of humanity toward his troops." 🤌)

so basically, the cracks of mind-boggling incompetence within the team's leadership structure were long evident. on a brighter note, oscar's 2021 f2 season would quickly become his strongest single-seater contest ever (f1 youtube has a good summarizing video of his season, if interested); because of covid, f2 was experimenting with a three-race format this year in which quali set the reverse grid for sr1 and sr1 results then set the reverse grid for sr2, which essentially meant high qualifiers were rewarded for simply maintaining composure in the first sprint and running cleanly in the top 10 in order to secure a favorable grid spot in sr2. oscar adapted well to this format, building off his reputation of smooth, consistent driving on top of slowly improving his qualifying results over the course of the season, finally breaking through with his first feature-race win in monza.

oscar with mia sharizman

this is also around the time when lando mentioned oscar in official f1 media for the first time, reading off a question about him to daniel in an interview posted in october:

"this one's not even about formula one. it's about oscar piastri. oscar pias-tree! [...] he's been on it this year." — (full video) (oct 1, 2021)

of his own f2 campaign, oscar said:

"i thought that i could challenge for race wins, but i probably wasn't expecting to be so consistently at the front. consistency is something that i’ve had as a trait throughout my career, and i was expecting to be consistent in my results this year — but maybe a bit lower down!" (source)

not only did he end up being consistently at the front, he became virtually unstoppable in the second half of the season. on december 11, oscar clinched the title in abu dhabi with two races to spare, ending the season with 5 consecutive poles and 4 consecutive feature wins, 60.5 points above his previously-favored teammate in the standings. #notbadforashitqualifier!

by now oscar was a hot commodity in the paddock; the only problem was that alpine didn't really care, mainly because rossi had enthusiastically re-signed ocon to a three-year deal in 2021 and held zero intention of actually promoting any of its juniors to one of the race seats, plus the one open spot at alfa romeo had instead gone to guanyu and his considerable financial package (though oscar has always been vocally defensive of guanyu's appointment to his detractors). instead of moving to another series, such as indycar or super formula, oscar recognized that he'd proven everything he needed to prove within the feeder system and opted to remain on the grid as alpine's reserve driver, mainly so that he could embed himself in an f1 team environment and—most crucially—avoid being left "out of sight, out of mind," because once you go to america you usually don't come back.

i'll keep the rest of this post brief since i feel like everyone already knows What Went Down, but a quick highlight for fellow landoscar enjoyers was the 2022 australian gp on april 10, during which oscar accompanied rosanna tennant for the post-race show and awkwardly participated in a chaotic lando & alex interview. as far as i know, this was landoscar's first time interacting on-camera!

o: "i haven't raced either of them, no." l: "not yet!" o: "not yet. hopefully soon." — (full video) (apr 10, 2022)

then silly season started, and everything was thrown into disarray when sebastian vettel announced his imminent retirement and fernando subsequently took his place at aston martin; alpine scrambled to recover from this blindsided move and prematurely promoted oscar to an f1 seat, to which oscar eventually posted The Tweet—claiming he'd never signed a contract with alpine and would not be racing for them in 2023, thus kicking off #piastrigate. or the piasco, or whatever you prefer to call it.

here's a good article that properly summarizes the crb ruling, but tl;dr: mclaren and alpine had come to an agreement back in march to loan oscar to mclaren's stable of reserve drivers after daniel contracted covid; mark webber, who was close to andreas seidl from their time at porsche in wec, quietly negotiated a contract with mclaren for 2023 that oscar would then sign on july 4, which was reportedly initially a reserve deal with an upgrade clause to a full-time drive given a dr buyout; alpine's legal team turned out to be essentially one overworked legal director who mishandled the situation thanks to a lack of organizational support, while a concrete williams deal never actually existed no matter what people continuously allege, and any proprietary right to oscar's services that alpine purported to have for the 2023 season would soon be voided by crb rule on september 2. in other words, they dun goofed.

because tumblr dies when i try to include it in this post, here's a link to a condensed chronological timeline version of this post.

that's it for now. i'm sure you know how the rest goes!!!

#oscar piastri #*m #quite possibly the dumbest thing i've ever written and most likely of no use to anyone at all. but i had fun so no flames pls 🥲☝️#there's so much more i could have said this is quite frankly the condensed version... scrapped a whole separate section on just his psyche #i need 2 be normal.........

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luminalunii97 · 1 year

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I've seen non Iranians admiring the Islamic Republic national football team for not singing the national anthem. And then they were confused as to why iranians were happy that the team lost. Yes not singing the anthem might have consequences for them, but it won't change the fact that these people went to visit Raisi, the Islamic Republic president and bowed to him, posed happily for pictures while we were dealing with Kiam Pirfalak news, and said they don't care about politics and what's going on Iran in an interview, stating that they will focus on the game only. Not singing the anthem is nothing in comparison. And you might think they were under pressure. So were other athletes in Iran, let's see what they did:

Picture on the right is Elnaz Rekabi, an Iranian rock climber who was the first athlete to take off her hijab during Mahsa Amini protests to show her solidarity with people. She's currently under house arrest. she wasn't the first Iranian woman ever doing that. On the left, that's Shohreh Bayat, her story is so sad.

In many interviews I've seen of her, she always cries when she says her story. She was to referee the final of the Women's World Chess Championship a couple of years ago. While in another country she decided to wear her hijab loosely in an act of rebellion. She got warning from Islamic Republic twice and everytime she made it worse. She was asked to apologize but she refused, saying that she wouldn't apologize for what she believes in. At last, even though she wasn't ready to leave everything behind and start from scratch in a foreign country, she decided to ditch the compulsory hijab completely and never come back to Iran, because her life would be in danger if she did. Because of her choice she can't come back to visit her family anymore. her family supported her which made the authorities to force her father to resign (her father was the president of chess association in Gilan, Iran).

Then we had Iranian national beach soccer team. I think they were the first group who refused to sing Islamic republic national anthem. And after they got threatened to sing the anthem, they did something even more iconic. One of the players cut his imaginary hair after he scored.

Then we had these two scenes after scoring. They were recreating an inhuman thing Islamic republic did. The guy on the right is Khodanoor Lajei. He was murdered on bloody Friday in Zahedan. He was a Baloch guy. I'm going to post about Balochs and the thing that's been done to them by Islamic republic in details. For now know that this guy got killed in protests but this picture of him is for a couple of months back. He insulted a Basiji guy or something, Islamic republic police chained him to a pole in the middle of the city to make him an example for others, after beating him. When he asked for water they brought him a cup but they put it out of his reach in front of him and laughed at his thirst. (You see why we hate Islamic Republic, IRGC and Basij?!) The picture got out only after his death because Baloch people didn't think the rest of Iran would care about them enough to react. That broke my heart unspeakably much.

With so much bravery, our national girl's basketball team has been posting photos without mandatory hijab ever since the protests have begun.

Last but not least, Parmida Ghasemi, iranian archer ditching mandatory hijab inside of iran. She took it out for receiving the prize and while she was being photographed.

(Btw, non of these women "forgot" their hijab accidentally. If you're iranian you learn to never forget your hijab since you're 7, the age you start school. Without a formal head wearing you won't be allowed to attend school classes. When you grow up with it, you'll get used to it. You have no idea how weird it feels to not wear a veil in public, I'm still getting used to it.)

we've witnessed many iconic brave moves by our athletes but non of them said we don't give a shit about what's happening in Iran before the game. I'm not saying they won't be redeemed one day, I'm just saying they should work to win their respect back.

#iran news #iran #mahsa amini #iran protests #human rights #politics #sports #middle east #archery #basketball #football #soccer #qatar world cup #beach football #chess #rock climbing #iran revolution #revolutionary athletes #civil disobedience

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

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Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 7

Warnings: oh boy okay so Angst! profanity! Violence! Mentions of blood! Injury! Abusive-ish behavior!!! MARTIN!!!!!! Ferran! Blackmail!! Just shitty behavior!!!! pls don't read if you're not comfortable!

Word Count: 14.1k (fun fact! If you've read all 7 parts, you've read 87 pages single space!)

A/N: Guys this is one of the chapters I had planned out from the beginning. I really have poured a lot of my own soul into this, so I hope y'all enjoy! I'm actually so ready to read the reactions to this one lol. GIF by @rubendiasatl

You thought you had met the love of your life in college. He appeared to be perfect. He was the captain of the swim team, rumored to get a national championship that year in the 100m freestyle. He was the secretary of Phi Pi Delta, the largest business fraternity in the region, set to work on Wall Street making $200k right after graduation. You two were the perfect couple: Ryan, with his perfect hair and perfect smile, the sexy, sporty Spanish girl on his arm. You were conquering medicine as he ruled the world of finance. Sometimes on your walk to class, you would daydream about what your wedding would look like.

You did everything that was required of you as "Ryan's girl". You were an academic badass, but in a completely different field, so he could have a smart girl that would never be his competition. You worked as a sports manager, showing that "Ryan's girl" was a powerhouse on her own that commanded respect, but turned into a shy little lamb around her man. You worked hard and played harder, going to every PPD event and mixer. You always drank to show people that you weren't a prude, but you were never the girl hunched over the toilet losing her innards. You were good at beer pong, but only when Ryan was your partner. You played 7 minutes in heaven, but were so cold and intimidating that everyone left with blue balls and a muttering of "what a bitch". For 8 months of your senior year, you were "Ryan's girl", and you were the absolute best at playing the part.

It was a tiring job, but one you balanced with all your other actions. You learned how to get him and his friends basketball tickets mere hours before tipoff. You were an expert at covering hickies, but also enhancing them when he wanted to prove to the guys at a rival frat that he wasn’t soft. You killed your complaints and your gag reflex, knees growing used to the rough carpet of the frat house. You never asked for his location, and never made a face when other girls talked about how much they wanted your man. You never bored him with talks of your futures after graduation. You were perfect.

You looked perfect the day you walked into the frat house, hair pulled back in a slick ponytail to show off the piercings in your ear and the tightness of your polo shirt. Your khakis hugged your thighs, Jordan’s pristine as you slipped them off before heading upstairs. The basketball team had offered you a full time position; you could stay for the next several years if you so chose. Everything was perfect. The sky was the perfect shade of blue. The air was the perfect temperature with a perfect breeze. And as you opened the door to your boyfriend’s room, you saw a bare figure on top of him, connected at their cores, with her mouth shaped in a perfect “O”. And one perfect tear ran down your cheek as you silently walked back down the stairs, ignoring the yells about it not being what it looked like, and left Ryan behind forever.

You hadn’t thought about Ryan in years. But his memory came back to you as you pulled up to Martin’s house and found his car parked out in front of his door instead of it’s usual place in the garage. The Benz stared back at you, looking so different from that first date. It had been bright and welcoming and joyous that very first time it rolled up in front of your building. Now it was different, the blue taking on a more hue, feeling ominous and serious. It was the color of midnight - the color of fear. Why was the precious Benz parked out front? Martin wouldn't even let some valets park his car for fear of it getting scratched. His tires were still turned. The Benz was crooked in the driveway.

You walked up to the door, and you thought about Ryan again. You thought about the countless texts he sent you afterwards, telling you how much he loved you and how he would never do it again. And you read every single one, waiting with baited breath for him to say what you needed to hear: that he regretted it. That he had made a terrible mistake when he was out of his mind and he hated every second. But it never came. He wanted you, but he never regretted that moment with her. He never felt remorse about the moment he decided she was more important than you were. It didn't make you sad or angry - just empty. It was like a hold had been carved out, and it was another reminder that it would never be filled. You would never be the first choice. You would never be that girl that was above it all. You would always be a pretty good girl that needed to be supplemented by someone else.

The hole within you had not been filled, but it started to be covered by some good people in your lives. Your friends at your physiology program made you always feel competent and capable in what you were doing in school. Angelika and your other university friends gave you comfort, covering the emptiness with warm feelings. And now, you had the boys at Barca had worked to cover that hole with positive affirmations, reminding you that you were just as much a part of the team and how much you were valued. And there was a bit of the hole that started to close, one centimeter at a time, every time you looked at your phone and saw that Gavi was checking up on you.

You felt that hole fill with butterflies as you wrote out your Christmas card to him. You hadn't wanted it to come across as cheesy or desperate, despite you reassuring yourself that you couldn't be desperate if you were in a relationship. You had begged the media team for any photo of you and Gavi, knowing how much the sentiment would mean to him. One thing you had noticed during your two brief appearances in Pablo's home was his appreciation for the few pictures he had. They were taped to the wall beside the door: photos from his youth at his La Masia matches, his family on vacation, and a polaroid with a few of the Barca boys. A part of you hoped you would make it onto the wall.

But with each knock on Martin's door that went unanswered, the butterflies disintegrated, filling you with smoke and ash and bile, the hole in your very soul aching. As you turned the doorknob, you felt it give way easily - the door was unlocked. He had come home, car parked haphazardly, with the door remaining unlocked. You braced yourself, not exactly sure for what, and entered the house.

You should have seen it coming. You should have known from his demeanor and the way he spoke to you when you were with him versus when you were away. You should have listened to the whispers on the internet and in the locker room. But you ignored it all, believing that people were inherently good and caring. And now your naivety had all culminated and led to this moment: you standing in Martin's entryway, staring at his hideous brown couch, a trail of clothes leading from your feet to the naked girl perched on the dark fabric. The two of you locked eyes, and her mouth dropped agape. She grabbed the closest piece of fabric to cover her bare form, her pale cheeks turning scarlet from embarrassment.

"Bonita, hurry up so I can call my girl-"

Martin's eyes locked with yours, stopping dead in his tracks and freezing as his girl on the couch did. You waited for either of them to speak. With baited breath you waited for the feminine screams of "you have a girlfriend?" and the begs to provide an explanation. But the air was heavy with nothing but guilt and the disappointment of being caught. As your breath grew heavier, the nausea settled into your stomach. You tried to muster a tear, deciding it would be less embarrassing to cry than to throw up on the tile.

"Bonita, it's not what it looks like. If we could just talk-"

"How are you going to use the same pet name for the both of us?" You asked, patience finally snapping. The emotions from the last four months came flooding through, boiling the blood in your veins. You had cut yourself up and torn your very being apart to please this man. The things you wore and said and did and ate and enjoyed were all altered to fit his impossible standard. You were playing a part again. You had sacrificed so much of yourself for one crumb of affection and security, and once again you weren't enough.

"Just calm down an let me explain."

You tried with every fiber of your being to keep the tears at bay - you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt you.

"All I ever did was try and be a good girlfriend. Do you realize that? Through the stupid dinner dates and your rants about football, I tried to be patient and fun and understanding. I never complained, not once, about your lack of support or how everything you did made it clear you didn't like me. I dealt with all of your cold fronts, your unfounded jealous, your below mediocre sex - all of it, because that's what you do when you're in a fucking relationship until someone finally cuts the cord and frees you both. But you didn't have the decency to pretend." You spat the words out at him, no longer caring about if you cried.

"The least you could do was not fuck anyone else in the house that you asked me to move in to."

Everyone on the room had gone silent, from Martin to his mistress. How could he retaliate? Where could he start? The flood gates had been opened, and the realization of how much this man made you hate your life was flowing freely.

"Goodbye Martin." You turned and walked out the door, your keys in hand, ready to go home and lose consciousness. Tomorrow you would wake up and be as you were - single and free of the burden this relationship placed on you.

"Come back here." You heard Martin's voice shout behind you, before a hand reached out and grabbed you by the wrist, ripping your keys from your hands, cutting your palm in the process. As the red fluid pooled in your palm, you looked up at Martin in shock and fear. He looked back at you, then at your outstretched hand still pooling with blood.

"Shit, I'm- I didn't mean to do that. But you can't just drive away until you let me speak. I won't let you."

"As if you're allowed to decide what I can and can't do. Give me back my keys before I call the police."

"You're not calling anyone or doing anything until I speak to you." Martin said, lunging at you and grabbing the sleeve of your shirt. You cried out and struggled against him as he tried to pull you towards the house, hoping to prevent a scene in front of the neighbors. Martin's side piece stood at the door, now fully clothed, watching silently as the two of you struggled by the entryway.

"Get off of me you cheating sack of shit! I don't want to hear anything you have to say, let me go!" His grip loosened as you pulled away, unable to restrain you with both hands for fear you would take your car keys back.

"Bonita, I'm not trying to hurt you, I love you and I-"

"Bullshit! And stop calling me fucking bonita." You tried to reach for your keys again, but Martin's hand came and wrapped tightly around the collar of your shirt.

"No. You don't get to abandon me without hearing what I have to say. All I have ever done is try and look past how difficult you are to love and be around," his grip tightened on your collar, the fabric now bunching to restrict your airway slightly. "And now that I've made one mistake you think you get to just run? You're not going anywhere until I say you can. If you know what's good for you, you'll just listen."

The bile started to rise in your throat as your heart beat faster. For the first time in your life, you really felt like you were in danger. The sting of your palm was hard to ignore now, the blood nestling into the lines on your palm, dots littered across your pant leg. Once you felt Martin's grip loosen lightly, you put all your weight behind you and shoved him as hard as you could, causing him to fall backwards. You bolted for the door, keys forgotten as you ran at a speed you didn't know you were capable of.

The fall did not deter him for long, as you heard your name in Martin's deep, agitated voice carry to your ears on the night air, accompanied by heavy, fast footsteps. You were being chased. Heart racing, your feet slammed against the pavement, trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. Your throat started to tighten with anxiety, fight or flight now in full control. You didn't even know where you were going. You took whatever turn felt natural, willing yourself not to turn around.

Martin realized with every step he took that it was too late to turn back. There was now street camera of him chasing you shirtless through the streets of a Barcelona neighborhood. He wasn't even sure why he had done it. By it he meant the chasing - not the sleeping with other women. That part was quite simple. He was 24 now, and it was time he was photographed with the same girl more than once. His club going days had become the topic of every family dinner and every call with his mother.

"Martin, when are you going to stop going to the club every night and actually bring us a nice girl? You're ruining your reputation by taking all these different girls home."

He was nothing if not a boy that wanted to make his mother happy. When he say Angelika in the club that day, he sensed he had been getting close. She was funny and outgoing and actually had a job that didn't involve her sponsoring Bang energy on the internet. But she was still at the club on a Tuesday night, and had flirted her way into the VIP section. Too high maintenance. But then as he left the club, pretty young drunk thing slung over his arm, he got to see you.

Initially, you didn't make a huge impression. Boring looking and kind of loud - not the girl he would usually go for. He was still a little hazy from the club air, sweat and tequila still lingering in his lungs. He had just handed Angelika off to you, before he took a look at the back of your car. A few stickers were there, displaying the name of your universities, and a bright blue one that read 'ask me about ACL tears!'. It sparked his interest - not only that you could afford the car, but that you were obviously decently intelligent to be touting all these universities. It prompted Martin to ask for your number, just as a backup in case finding a "good girl" was harder than he thought.

It was, in fact, much harder than he thought to find a girl to bring home to his mother. All the smart girls tended not to give him the time of day, either taken or too busy. Pretty girl were too expensive and high strung - not what he needed. And those sweet girls that he found at the supermarket and the park? Most of them were ready to live the football WAG life, wanting to go public with him immediately. If there's one thing Martin was sure of, it was that he wasn't ready too commit to just one screw for any period of time. He had a rotation of girls in and out of his bed, shower, car - he couldn't just cut all of them off.

That's exactly what was on his mind when he saw Angelika in line for the club again. She was cute enough to take home that night, but girls usually didn't open up without some conversation. He can't remember how the topic turned to you, but Angelika gushed about how much she adored you.

"But she's just so busy. She's always so focused on work that she doesn't have much time to even process what's going on around her."

Getting you was quite easy after that. He had listened to girls long enough to understand how to keep them happy. It was the lack of instant sex that really hurt his pride. This was not the 1940s - he was not going to wait 3 months, taking a girl out and showering her with love, just to get some pussy. He would just supplement with other women. Ferran was often the person that would help him get girls, as they usually recognized the young Barca bench boy before they realized who Martin was. So they worked as a team: Martin supplying money and alcohol, and Ferran supplying girls.

It was when Gavi started to enter the picture that he, for the first time in his life, felt the angry weeds of jealousy take root in his throat. No matter what he did behind closed doors, you were his, not Gavi's, and it would be a cold day in hell before he let a love-sick teenager take his girl. Now he was chasing you down the street, 10 days before he planned to introduce you to his mother at Christmas, willing all the neighbors to stay away from the windows and ignore the eventual screams they heard from the street.

Your eyes focused, the adrenaline fog leaving your brain as you wildly scanned the street: this was Gavi's neighborhood. Identifying the houses, you made a sharp right turn and ran towards his house at end of the street. You prayed that he was still awake as you got to the door, banging as hard as you could, and yelling out his name.

"Pablo! Let me in! Get the fuck away from me!"

You watched as Martin slowed down, walking towards you cautiously with his hands in the air. He moved his lips to say something, but your heartbeat was in your ears, tears streaming down your face as you kept banging on the door. The slit across your palm seared with pain, and every pang circulated more fear through you. Martin was capable and willing to hurt you.

The door opened, and you caught a glimpse of Gavi's face. That was enough reassurance for your legs to give out from the effort, sobs still shaking your entire being as you fell into his chest. Your palms grabbed at his shirt, needing anything to ground you in reality. Gavi was not a large boy; Martin had 5 inches and 6 years on Gavi, which would make any betting man wary of the outcome if a fight were to break out. But none of that mattered to you. Gavi's arms were around you, holding you up and against him, and you felt safe.

Gavi tore his eyes away from Martin, who was shirtless and frozen in his walkway, to look at you. As he pulled you away from his chest slowly, he felt a warm wet spot spread across his shirt. It was too large to be tears. He wished he hadn't looked down to see the red spot darkening his t-shirt. Grabbing your wrists, he looked at the jagged cut on the skin there, still bleeding freely. Gavi hugged you closer into his chest, one hand around your waist and one by your head, hiding you in his shoulder as you continued to cry.

"What did he do?" He asked, voice tight and strained. You shook your head, crying harder, trying to gulp down any air to stop the light-headedness. You could not see or think straight, the questions too overwhelming.

"Pablito, just let me talk to my girl, and go back inside." Martin instructed, walking towards the two of you slowly, as a hunter would approach a deer. You clung onto Gavi tighter, a shrill 'No!' yelped against his skin, sobs coming back in full force. Gavi couldn't stand it. The blood in his veins grew hotter the longer he held your fragile form. He was quick to anger, but this was different. You had run to his house crying and bleeding because of the vile man you had been dating. On an average day, he was ready to go to blows because of a stray leg in a football match. This was more serious - more sinister. He had hurt you in ways Gavi couldn't fathom a man hurting any woman, let alone you. He turned over the idea of manslaughter in his head as he tried again.

"Please, y/n. Please tell me what he did. Because at this rate, I'm going to kill him. Y/n, please."

Gulping down breath after desperate breath, you muttered out what had happened to Gavi in the best way you could. You knew there was nothing you could say to get Gavi to just walk away, but you couldn't stand the idea of Pablo doing irreparable damage to his future on your behalf.

"Found him... cheating... took my... k-keys.. that's why m-my hand. But I'm-"

"Don't you dare tell me you're okay." Gavi put you down on the ground, resting your back against the wall before he stood. The edges of his vision were dark and red, and in that moment he swore he could have killed Martin with his bare hands. When would this man have taken enough? Martin had snatched you off the market, keeping you hostage in a crumbling, decaying relationship while Gavi fawned over you. Martin chipped away at you soul, dimming the once radiant light that enamored those you encountered. Martin made you insecure and self-hating, all while keeping a line of girls wrapped around his bedroom to fool around with as you chased your dreams. Martin had taken everything Gavi had loved about you and poisoned it, leaving the ashes of a bright young woman in his path. Now he would pay for it.

"Martin, give me her keys and get the fuck away from my property before I make your mother regret the day she lost her virginity." Gavi was seething, You looked up at his squared shoulders and tight face, and couldn't tell if the wisps of smoke emanating from him were real or not. You wanted to stand, block the warpath Pablo was on, and prevent the violence you knew was about to ensue, but your head and eyes felt heavy, keeping you firmly planted to the ground.

"Ay, Pablito, no need to be vulgar. Don't you think it's silly for you to be involving yourself in a little lover's quarrel at this time? Go inside and let me take care of my girlfriend." Martin took a step with every word he said, now less than a meter from Gavi, whose fists were curled and strained.

"Lover's quarrel? She's bleeding and had to run from you screaming. You've stolen her keys and now you want me to let you harass her further? Give me her keys and fuck off, before my patience runs out. Because I've been eager to bash your skull for weeks now."

Martin took another step forward, now on the same plane as you and Gavi. He locked Pablo's vision as he pulled your keys from his pocket, tossing them at your feet. You flinched at the noise scared to look up at Martin. Just the sound of his voice sent ripples through you.

"There, bonita. You have your keys back. Now enough of this nonsense and come with me." A fist curled into your hair and pulled you upwards, causing a scream to release from your throat. Gavi watched all of this happen in slow motion. He took two steps towards Martin, vision now fully red, and connected his closed fist with Martin's lower jaw. The accompanying CRACK could probably have been heard all the way in Madrid. The grip had disappeared from your head, and you used your last bit of strength to push yourself from the floor and run into Gavi's house, keys firmly in your grasp for protection. You peered through the window, catching Martin spit out a large glob of blood, more crimson dripping from his mouth like a dog drooling.

Martin wasn't provided much more time to recover as Gavi grabbed his collar, pulling him in once again, and again cracking him hard right beneath his eye socket. The delicate skin there split, and more blood oozed from Martin. It didn't bring Gavi disgust or joy. There was no space in his entire being to feel anything other than the need to protect you. Moving his grasp from Martin's collar to his hair, he hit him one final time, a bone split and a scream polluting the otherwise silent air of the Barcelona night. You thought to yourself, rather ironically, if the naked girl in his living room knew how to set a broken nose. Pablo pushed Martin to the ground, the older landing on his face sprawled across the concrete of the pavement.

"If you get up and you're not running, I'll break another bone."

Martin struggled to breath, the blood running away from his body in rivers, dripping onto the street.

"You little piece of shit! Just wait till I call the police! You'll be in jail until you're 70. You little cunt." Martin wailed, on his knees gripping his throbbing fractured nose. Gavi approached Martin, picking him up by the collar once again. It was quite a sight to behold: the younger and smaller boy lifting Martin off the ground, blood dripping from a broken nose on to Gavi's tensed forearm, as his hazel eyes conveyed murderous intent.

"In case the blood has already left your brain, allow me to remind you: the cameras saw you chasing a woman through the street. There is a decent amount of her blood on you and at your house. Everything from that moment on is self defense. And I can absolutely afford a better lawyer than you can, little boy. So best run and put some ice on that nose before you become more permanently deformed than you were originally." Martin was thrown to the pavement once again, cries of pain bouncing between the stone of the buildings. He picked himself off the ground, not daring to glance over his shoulder, as he hobbled back home.

Gavi took a deep breath, looking down at his hands in the light of the street lamp. It had been a long time since his anger was allowed to run wild. Usually there was a player (or 6) holding him back from blows. But that was football. Nothing was ever that serious in football. This was different. It was you. And as he entered his home, locking eyes with your huddled form by his couch, the thought appeared in his mind clear as crystal: you were someone he would kill for, and someone he would die for.

But now wasn't the time for such a confession. It was the time for Gavi to step up as your friend and provide you with comfort and support. He walked into the house and started to head for the bathroom before you called out to him.

"Pablo? Where are you going?" Your voice was small and fragile, like that of a scared child when the thunder got too loud. Keys still gripped tightly in shaky hands, you pushed yourself off the floor, and Gavi rushed to meet your stride, helping stabilize you as you stood. You were not close to fainting anymore, but the fear still pumped through you, making it harder to walk at more than a snail's pace. Eyes locking with Gavi's, you brought a hand up to rest on his bicep, squeezing it lightly to provide him with some reassurance that you were okay. Hand trailing down, you wrapped your fingers gently around his wrists, turning his hands over to look at his knuckles. The skin had cracked and burst from the impact against Martin's skull. Bruises bloomed on the high points, droplets of blood - owner unknown - littered his fingers and hand, the scarlet a contrast against his warm tan. As you ran a thumb over one of the open cuts, Gavi hissed, trying to pull away from your touch. You looked back up at him with tears welling in your eyes anew.

"You're hurt." You croaked out, not wanting to continue crying in front of him. He grabbed your hand, holding it against his as he rubbed over the drying cut through your palm.

"So are you. But we'll be okay." He smiled at you, and you could have sworn that there was an actual fist squeezing your heart in your chest. He pulled you towards the staircase with him.

"Come on, we need to wash our hands. You've taught me enough about infections to know we shouldn't wait much longer."

"I obviously haven't taught you enough, because for open cuts like this we need rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, not water."

Gavi stopped on the stairs, still gripping your wrist as his smile broke out, returning warmth to his face. Even when he had hit Martin, you hadn't feared Pablo. You knew the anger was residual, and he would never turn this harbored rage your direction. It had brought a few baby butterflies to your stomach, knowing that Gavi had thrown his tranquility and caution to the wind just to defend you. But this was the Pablo you liked the most: the one that smiled for you in a way that seemed to appear only when you were around.

"There you go, doctora. Putting that degree to use. I think I have a first aid kit in my room. The medics gave me one to keep after I got my second black eye." The statement, not meant as a joke, allowed a laugh to run through you, cutting through some of the lingering heaviness. You wondered if this experience would forever trauma-bond you to Gavi forever. But you knew subconsciously that Pablo was already bonded to you. You would never be able to look at the Barca crest or the dew on the grass or the chocolate milk in the store without thinking of Pablo. You would never be able to choose anyone else's contact at 2am to send a random text to, because you need Pablo to be the one to send the response. You knew in that moment that Pablo was going to be in your life forever.

Walking into his bedroom, Pablo peeled his blood-stained shirt off, tossing it onto the bed.

"You should..." Your sentence trailed off as Pablo faced you, shirtless with sweats hanging low on his hips, waistband of his boxers tight against the V of his torso. You had seen attractive men shirtless before, but something about it being Pablo, and the two of you being alone in his bedroom, made everything seem more charged and, for lack of a better term, sinful. He tiled his head in questioning, prompting you to finish your sentence. Clearing your throat, you looked at the shirt instead of Pablo and continued.

"You should put peroxide on that shirt now to get the blood out so it doesn't stain."

"I think getting some peroxide on your open wound is more important right now." He said, returning to his dresses to rummage around for his first aid kit. You stood awkwardly against the wall, unsure how to proceed. You didn't feel comfortable enough to sit on his bed, and though it would be weird to seat yourself on Gavi's floor. He turned back around, watching you scan the room and calculate if you should sit or stand.

"You're covered in blood." He said. You looked down at your shirt. You definitely had some splotches, but you wouldn't use the word covered.

"It's fine, I'll change when i get home..." You trailed off again. Your car was outside Martin's house, and there was no way you could possibly bring yourself to go back there tonight. Maybe Gavi would be kind enough to walk over with you in the dark.

"You're spending the night here. There's no way I'm going to let you be by yourself tonight. Let me get you something to change into." He said, moving past you towards the closet.

"Oh no, Pablo, it's fine. I should really go back to my place-"

"Why?" He asked, abruptly turning to face you. He walked towards you, and your heart rate picked up as he stood within your air space.

"Why do you need to go home? We are on international break for the season. I don't start training until next week. You just finished your finals, so you don't need to do anything tomorrow. And, more importantly, the only way to get to your house is to either go get your car from your psycho abusive ex and drive home at this time of night, which is not happening. Or for you to take a taxi home, which is also not happening. I'm not letting you out of my sight." He turned back to the closet, rummaging through his clothes before pulling out a pair of sweat pants and a La Masia t-shirt. Placing them in your hands, he turned back to his mission to find the first aid kit.

"The bathroom is through there. You can go and get changed and wash up. What's mine is yours."

Nodding, you shuffled towards the bathroom. The door was quickly shut and locked behind you, and you stared at yourself in the mirror. You definitely looked worse for wear, mascara smudged under your eyes, which were red and puffy from sobbing. You washed your face with your non-injured hand, thanking Pablo silently for owning a decent face wash. As you stripped off your dirty clothes, you couldn't help the images that flashed in your mind, and the thoughts that seeped through your subconscious. You remembered the daydreams you had for several weeks, bursts of his eyes and lips and hands, and thoughts of all the ways they could touch you. Your cheeks burned as you grabbed a washcloth, running cool water onto your skin to remove the sweat and grime lingering. You thought of that day on the couch, when you had finally entertained the idea of seeing Pablo in a sexually attractive light. Bumps raised onto your skin as you fully wrapped your head around the situation. You were in your underwear in Gavi's bedroom, only a bathroom door separating the two of you.

A part of you wanted to open the door - to present yourself to Pablo, physically and emotionally bare, and tell him your feelings. But what were your feelings? You felt safe with Pablo, supported, and able to be your authentic self. Was this a friendship that you had over committed to? Was Pablo treating you any differently to how he would treat Pedri or one of the boys? You pushed those feelings aside, slipping on his clothes, breathing the scent of his detergent in deeply. You took one last glance in the mirror, reminding yourself that you had a tendency to spontaneously combust when it came to relationships, and you wouldn't allow yourself to do that with Pablo. He was going to be in your life for a long time - you wouldn't accept anything otherwise - but maybe the role he was meant to fill was that of a close friend and never more.

You walked out and saw Pablo rubbing his bare chest with an alcohol pad, cleaning the excess blood from his chest. He had changed into some clean shorts, and turned to face you when he heard the door. His eyes scanned you from top to bottom, taking in the sight. His shirt hung off your shoulders slightly, draped over your frame and covering your form in worn cotton fabric. His sweats hugged your hips, sliding precariously low on your torso and lose in the thighs, just small enough for them to not pool at your ankles. Gavi's mouth went dry as he stared at you. You crossed your arms over your chest, covering yourself with your folded dirty clothes. Gavi caught a glimpse of your bra in the pile. He had no moisture in his mouth whatsoever.

"What are you staring at, Gavi? Close your mouth you'll catch a fly." You said, trying to come across cool and unbothered despite the situation. He swallowed hard, trying to form a single sentence.

"They fit. I'm surprised." That was all he could muster.

"Me too. I thought everything would be too short on me." You teased, and he rolled his eyes.

"Low blow, doctora. come help me with these bandages."

He sat on the floor with the first aid kit, and you joined him on the soft rug, protecting from the chill of the tile in December. You grabbed the different solutions and began cleaning his hands. His hands were rough and calloused to the touch, and you made a mental note to get him some lotion as a late Christmas gift. You moved slowly over each knuckle, cleaning the blood and bruises, gently moving your fingers across Pablo's skin. You heard gentle hisses at the burning sensation from the alcohol, but he kept his protests to a minimum as you worked.

It was easy for Gavi to distract himself from the pain when you were the one sitting in front of him. The burn of his hands was basically forgotten as he traced the curves of your face with his eyes. That familiar look of concentration settled into your features, warming Gavi's heart. You were coming back, in short bursts and fleeting moments, but everything he loved about you was still there. Try as he did, he could not prevent his eyes from moving lower, settling on his shirt draped over you. It was one of his most well-loved shirts - the one that he had gotten when he began playing for La Masia's senior team. This is when he started to bulk up, biceps and pecs stretching out the shirt, creating the baggy look he currently saw on you. The colors had faded from dozens of washes, and it was now pilling and threadbare - really something that should never see the light of day.

But here you were wearing it, and suddenly there was no article of clothing that had ever made a woman look sexier. The baggy fabric moved with you, and when you turned behind you to gram more gauze, it tightened against your bare chest, and Gavi willed himself not to focus on it. He couldn't - not right now. No matter how much he tried to rationalize it, he couldn't describe what about it made the shirt look so good on you. It was just the fact that it was his shirt. You were in his house, in his bedroom, wearing his shirt. You were merging with his space, and in a way, becoming a part of his home. It was the closest you had ever been to being his.

You finished bandaging his hands, looking at your work, and making sure that everything was secure so he wouldn't lose the dressings in his sleep. Engrossed in the moment, you leaned down and kissed the top of Gavi's knuckles, pulling back before realizing what you did. You both stared at each other, mutually deciding it was best not to comment on what just occurred. You quickly cleaned and dressed your own cut, with Gavi's assistance, and once the bandage was secured, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. All the boxes were finally ticked - you and Gavi were safe and clean and dressed, and now your body felt relaxed enough to crash from the exhaustion of the day. Pablo noticed your eyes drooping, and moved off the floor, helping you stand as well.

"Let me go get an extra blanket." He said, moving towards the door. You followed him out of the room, and he turned to you, confused.

"Where are you going?" He asked, arm against the wall and blocking your path.

"The other room?" You said, phrasing it as a question.

"The guest room doesn't have a bed in it yet. My sister is helping me pick one out since she visits the most often."

"To the couch, then." You said, and Pablo's eyebrows scrunched together in frustration.

"You're not sleeping on the couch. You've had a stressful day to say the least. You're going to sleep on the ridiculously expensive mattress and get a good night's rest."

"Then where are you going to sleep?" You asked, heart skipping a beat at some of the possible answers.

"The couch. I want to give you your space. Let me go get that extra blanket - the top floor gets cold in the winter."

You grabbed his arm stopping him from continuing down the staircase.

"You're not going to destroy your back by sleeping on the couch again. You're about to get called up for the national team, and their physios suck. They will replace you with a 3rd tier player before they help you fix a dorsal muscle strain. You have to sleep on the bed Pablo."

"I don't actually have to do anything. This is my house."

You both stared at each other, the two of you unmoving on your position, and both ignoring the obviously solution to your argument. After a minute, it was Pablo who was brave enough to make the suggestion.

"We could always just... both sleep on the bed. If you're comfortable with that. We can made a divider in the middle and everything."

Blushing, you looked at the floor before responding.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Gavi got into bed, shirtless in a pair of shorts, and beckoned you to join. You walked slowly to the other side of the bed, crawling in and pulling up the covers, body stiff and muscles tense.

"I forgot to get the lights." You whispered quietly, making a move to get up. Suddenly the lights switched off, leaving the two of you in complete darkness, a weak ray of light filtering in from the half-moon.

"Expensive houses have a lot of pointless features, but this one is actually useful." Pablo said quietly, mentally kicking himself for making small talk about a light switch. He curled on his side away from you, uncomfortable but wanting to give you your own space, and let out a deep breath. You peered at Gavi, and then curled the other way, also in discomfort, but too scared to face him while conscious. It was too much. He was so close: enough to hold in your arms, to exchange body heat, to listen to his heartbeat and be lulled to sleep. But it was too much of a leap to take. It was too far out of your comfort zone, and you couldn't risk the delicate relationship with a desperate and ill-timed proclamation of... whatever it was you were feeling.

Pablo's heart hammered in his chest. Though it had been his idea, he had never actually thought it through. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder before, and he had survived, so he figured this experience wouldn't be that much harder. He was so sorely mistaken. The fact that you were laying an arm's length away from him kept his nerves on fire, and he couldn't even keep his eyes closed for more than a minute as the time. Despite the winter chill, his body was on fire, and the lack of clothing didn't help. You had just been attacked by your ex boyfriend, and Gavi wanted to hold you in his arms and protect you from the entire world. Patience wasn't his best trait, but he knew that it wasn't the time to ask you to be his. He needed to wait. He needed to be there for you right now

"Pablo?"

An hour after the two of you had settled, lights off and room quiet, you called out for him. Sleep escaped the two of you, and he turned over almost instantly when he heard you whisper his name. Turning to face each other, your eyes adjusted so that you could look at his features in the dark. He was beautiful. There was no denying how conventionally attractive Pablo was. But there were so many little things that enhanced his beauty, only visible from this close. You wished the moon would shine a little brighter so that you could look at the flecks in his eyes, and count the lashes fluttering above them. His features were relaxed, lids drooping and lips slightly puffed out. The scars and moles on his face were the only markings on the smooth skin, and you longer to run your fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes.

"Can... can we do something? To help me sleep? But then promise you'll forget about it tomorrow?"

Pablo swallowed hard for the nth time that night. He hesitated. There was no way he could promise to forget a single moment of this night with you, but he could control himself from speaking about it, and that was all he really needed to do.

"Anything."

You sat up in bed, moving quickly before your confidence evaporated completely. You moved in to the center of the bed, prompting Gavi to do the same. He moved slowly and warily, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you in the middle of the King-sized island.

"Lay down," You said, voice shaking slightly. You were terrified, but you knew that was the only way you would ever find rest before the sun came up. Pablo laid down, stiff as a board, half expecting you to make a desperate dash for the couch. You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes before you laid down beside him. You turned on your side, resting a hand on Gavi's chest. Pablo's eyes widened as he finally processed what your request was. He raised his arm, draping it over your shoulders, allowing you to cuddle even closer into his side. Your head now laid on his bare chest, his hammering heart loud in your ear. He brought his other arm around you as well, resting his hand over yours on his chest. The two of you held each other close, seemingly for dear life, and finally sighed out in belief.

There was no way to describe this feeling. The feeling of you resting against Pablo, arms and legs tangled together, with his head rested above yours. Your hands together, occupying each others' air. There was no way to describe it except for right. There was no awkwardness or strained breathing anymore. There was relaxation and comfortable silence enveloping the two of you. The rest of the world faded away, and in that moment, Pablo could have sworn that he had ascended to heaven.

"You saved me Pablo." You whispered out against him, needing to tell him someway, somehow, how much you appreciated him.

"Anyone would have interfered, doctora." He whispered back, being bold and caressing the skin of your arm that he encased with his.

"Not just today. In general. Since I met you, Pablo, you've made my life better. I just wanted to let you know. Good night."

Gavi tensed so hard it set off a headache. He couldn't cry, not while you were in his arms. He had always been seen as an asset because of his skill, always being told how valuable he was in that respect. But you saw him as a person, and not only did you tolerate it, but you cherished it. You made him proud to be himself.

"You too, in ways you can't even imagine. Good night, y/n."

Despite the way it started, the international and Christmas break was rather uneventful. Your little "sleepover" with Gavi saw the two of you sleeping in until 1pm, a rare occurrence for the both of you. Usually you both had too much going on, both on the schedule and in your minds, to sleep for such prolonged times. Wiser minds might have stopped and questioned why being in each others' arms brought a wash of such immense peace, but alas. There was no such reflection. Only waking up in the middle of the day, exchanging awkward smiled before getting up to change. Gavi had awoken with your leg draped across him and half an erection, causing him to bolt for the bathroom when you turned to check your phone. He wanted to say something - anything - about the night before. But he had promised to "forget", sealing his lips until further notice.

He turned the shower to the coldest setting, trying to stay silent as he killed his hard-on in the least loving way possible. You took the opportunity to slip into your sweats from the night before, and putting Gavi's t-shirt back on. Yours still had bubbled blood from the events and peroxide of the previous night. As you sorted out your hair, Gavi emerged from the bathroom, towel slung around his hips, showing off his toned chest and deep V once again. You lifted yourself and turned to face the wall, looking up at the Lord through the ceiling and asking why you were being faced with such temptation.

"Don't look." Pablo instructed, and you heard the towel thud to the floor. It make your cheeks burn and you crossed your legs tightly. You tried to think of anything else to stop yourself from taking your medical history with Gavi and constructing a complete mental image.

"Pedri is going to ... do you want a clean shirt?" Gavi asked, now in a clean sweatshirt and jeans. There was something about seeing you in his clothes that made him borderline insane. He couldn't tell if he needed you to stop, or needed you to do it every day.

"Oh, no, this one is fine. Thanks again - I'll wash it and return it as soon as I can."

"You can keep it." Gavi replied, turning back to his closet. The last thing he needed was to become aroused whenever he saw the folded shirt in his house. He grabbed a sweatshirt and tossed it to you as well.

"Are you donating clothes to me now? My salary isn't that bad, Pablo." You laughed out as you caught it.

"It's December, doctora. You should know that it's not great to go out in the cold. Your hoodie is still in your car, so wear this for now. Speaking of - Pedri is on his way over. He's gonna drive your car back to your place, and we'll take his. That way you never need to go near that dick's house again."

You slipped the green sweatshirt over your head, and were instantly attacked with the smell of body wash and cologne. Gavi had worn this recently. You brought the sleeves up and took a deep breath again before rushing downstairs to follow Gavi. It was a one time occurrence - you wouldn't allow yourself to get close to Pablo like this again. You were coworkers, first and foremost.

The two of you climbed into Pedri's car, you in the driver's seat and Gavi in the passenger, fingers trembling as you took the familiar turns. You stopped about a block away, dropping Pedri off, and driving off to the café the three of you had agreed to meet at to avoid any chance of being followed. You made idle conversation with Gavi, the two of you feeling the obvious tension. Pedri brought you your car, and you left the boys, giving them both a quick hug goodbye before going home to process the insane 24 hours you just had.

The boys were headed back to Gavi's to pack before heading to Madrid for national team training. On the way home, Pablo bounced his leg, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows more than usual.

"Hermano," Pedri started, "whatever you need to say, please just say it."

"But I'm not supposed to."

"Then stop with the fucking anxious ticks! Either speak or stay silent, but don't drive me crazy. It's a long day." Pedri ended his scolding with a light laugh. He knew Pablo better than anyone, and could tell it was only a matter of time before the younger boy started to spill his guts. Gavi wanted to stay strong, holding the promise he made to you extra close to his heart and his honor, and picked up his phone to pass the time. He opened up his twitter, refreshing the feed.

"Oh fuck. I'm in trouble."

Yes, the break was rather uneventful. You filled your time with studying, revising medical plans, and watching the international matches on TV. You tried your best to stay inside to avoid seeing anybody. You were still mourning the end of your relationship with Martin. Despite the confirmation that Martin was borderline clinically insane, it still weighed heavily on you, day by day, that you had once again been cheated on. That you had once again molded yourself into the absolutely closest thing to perfection, and had again fallen short. The winter weather also made you more lethargic, less keen to go outside and interact with others. And finally, you were terrified of anyone on the street recognizing you.

In hindsight, you should have made Pedri just walk and get your car. Or you should have waited until you knew Martin wasn't home and done it yourself. Because the thing about Pedri's lush green mini Cooper was that is was one of the most recognized cars in Spain, and so girls would flock to every single one they saw. His car had been posted enough for the most dedicated to have the license plate committed to memory. So driving around in such a recognizable car with the most sought-after footballer in Spain might not have been the best idea - especially during the day when the window tints weren't as effective. It took less than an hour for you and Gavi's pictures to be circulated around fan accounts, with people commenting on everything. The fact that you were driving, the hoodie you were wearing, the way that Gavi looked at you- the list was endless.

It took another 4 hours for people to figure out who you were. @gaviraconcubine on twitter had thankfully recognized you as one of the physios from game clips, and informed the rest of the rabid mob. Some had been satisfied with the answer, while others believed this an even more damning piece of information.

@gaviraconcubine: ok so the girl Gavi was with in the car is one of the barca physios - all the squad follows her + some shots of her on the field ! Gavi nation we're safe ;P

4,788 Likes 2,003 Retweets 834 Replies

@barcabarcabarca : guys shes literally a staff member???? gavi cant talk to female staff now wtf

@mrspgavira : if he ignored all of us to fall in love with the first ugly ass girl he bumped into at work ill take a swim with a toaster

@88rizzing : so she just started w barca this szn and got gavi? alexa play mastermind

@loonastansbrazil : more drivers for gavi!! she too old to be his girl

Barca staff were on public record, and so by the end of the day, your social media, school, and entire life history had been published on social media for people to scrutinize. It had sent you spiraling, suddenly being at the center of extreme amounts of attention from teen girls and 45-year old Barca stans alike.

[Pablo]: hey

[Pablo]: im rlly sorry about all the stuff online

[Pablo]: it should all die down soon. will be done at 9pm and I can call you

So that's what you did. Cook, clean, study, watch football, and get in disguise if you ever needed to go out. You spent your evenings chatting with Gavi. First it was about the media circus that you two were going through.

"It'll die down eventually. I'll stand too close to another girl and then everybody will leave you alone."

"Or accuse you of being a cheater."

"Has enough time passed for us to make cheating jokes?"

But as your fears started to ease an your mentions dried up, the conversations went back to the casual, playful tone that always filled the air whenever you and Gavi conversed. It was easier to talk to Gavi than it was with anyone else. You still spoke to your other friends, checking in on Angelika periodically over text, but no one could fill an hour FaceTime call like Gavi could, making it feel like mere minutes. Often, the two of you were both lounging, you on your couch and him in whatever hotel bed the national team had provided. As the days went on, you grew more comfortable answering the phone sans makeup, showing the most natural parts of yourself to who was shaping up quickly to be your closest friend.

Returning to work after the break may have been harder than the break itself. The office was abuzz with the rumors about you and Gavi. For the first few days, you ignored all the chatter. You had seen enough online to know that not knowing was always better. You didn't care what anyone said about you, as long as you proved you were an asset to the team. That is until Antonio came into your office one day with a sealed envelope. He was finishing up with some loose ends in Barcelona, before making his way to the UK to start in Manchester after the January transfer window had closed. He walked into your office, a large manila envelope in hand, and placed it on your desk.

"What's this?" You asked, peering at it from behind your glasses. Antonio was not one to make jokes or pull pranks, so it confused you to see him now, giggling in your office like a school girl.

"Oh this? Nothing important. Just a backup plan. Now it's my turn to ask the questions." He said, coming around and sitting atop your desk.

"Is it true that you're sleeping with Gavi?"

It had been a long time since you had seethed with this much rage. First, shock and embarrassment flooded your veins, freezing you in place, leaving you like a deer in headlights before the question. Antonio's ringing laugh is what pulled you out of your trance. You quickly denied the rumor, stating that you and Gavi were friends, but everything remained strictly professional.

"We heard you went to his house after the last home game before the break, and didn't leave until the following day, and wearing his clothes as well! You don't have to lie to me, I won't tell Dr. G or Xavi. So how was he?"

You promptly instructed Antonio to get the hell out of your office, and you made a move to head to the practice field. How dare Gavi: tell people you slept together when you did nothing of the sort. Well, you did something of the sort, but not in that way! Your job was already in jeopardy as it was, and it didn't help your case to be allegedly sleeping with one of the players. Talk about acts that increase favoritism. As you turned to corner to head to the field, you were met with a hard chest instead. Looking up, you saw the one face you had been trying to avoid all week: Ferran.

"My favorite little nurse. I haven't seen you since before the break. How have you been?" His arms were crossed over his chest, smirk and arrogance across his face. He blocked your path, and you sighed before responding.

"I don't have time to chat, Ferran. I was headed to the practice field to speak to-"

"Gavi? Yeah, I don't think so. My hamstrings need work. You're coming with me."

You followed closely behind, annoyance bubbling in your throat as you followed Ferran to your office. He laid on the examination bed as you closed the door, using the small sink to wash your hands, and donning a pair of clean gloves as he rolled up his shorts and laid on his stomach.

"So sad to hear about you and Martin, y/n. You two really did make a cute couple. I saw him at the end of the break - he's really looking quite worse for wear."

Uncapping your athletic salve, you started working the mixture between your fingers before moving to Ferran's thigh.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you're a cheater. Usually quite a deal-breaker in a relationship."

You had resolved no to speak to the striker on your table, knowing that everything he said would only egg you on further, creating more opportunities for you to slip up and be unemployed. But there was something in you that Martin had broken, no, stolen, that made staying silent astronomically more difficult than it had been. So your tongue release from your cheek quicker than you could process, and you steeled yourself once again to work on his legs. What were his legs even tired from? It's not like he was playing regularly.

"You know that there's more than one way to cheat on a person, right?" Ferran questioned, folding his arms to get more comfortable on the table. You shifted your eyes to look at him, one brow raised in confusion. Your lip curled up in disgust, and again your found yourself speaking without intention.

"I don't want to hear about all the different ways he cheated on me. I know you two are friends or whatever, but I'm not interested in the rest of his dirty laundry."

"I'm not talking about Martin. The other cheater in question is you."

Movements slowing, you locked eyes with Ferran, who held your gaze with confidence - like he was holding all the cards, and you were none the wiser.

"I didn't go around sleeping with other people while I was in a committed relationship." You deadpanned, not enjoying how the morning was progressing.

"Right, that was Martin - how unoriginal if you both did the same thing. He went around and slept with a couple other girls to satisfy his base desires. It's bad, but what you did is much worse, little nurse."

You tore your gaze away from Ferran, working his legs with new vigor, restraining yourself from just grabbing onto the flesh and squeezing until he screamed out in pain.

"This is not a professional topic of conversation and you shouldn't bring it into the workplace." You replied, but your voice had started to waiver.

"Oh yes it is, because it revolves around one of your coworkers. While Martin was out working and training an doing other things - or other people - you were also being unfaithful. Sure you didn't sleep with someone, but you were in a 'committed relationship', as you put it, when you started to fall for Pablito."

You pulled your hands away from Ferran like he had spontaneously combust, running from the flames. The look of bewilderment was not one you could suppress in that moment. Your throat had gone completely dry, but you knew the longer you remained silent, the more Ferran would interpret it as a confirmation of his theory.

"That's - it's not true. Gavi and I are coworkers, friends if you really want to push it. It's highly inappropriate for you to assume otherwise. Look I know you want me to lose-"

"Lose your job?" Ferran laughed callously. "Oh no, hermosa. I love seeing you run around here in those tight scrubs, hair pulled back - you're like my own personal masseuse. I just hate when some people get special treatment. And you and Pablito haven't exactly been subtle."

"There's nothing going on between-"

"Bullshit. What kind of employee is willing to come in early and work unpaid hours for just another member of the squad? He's the only one with your personal number. You drive him home after practice. Everyone knows that those hours he spends locked away after national team training, he's talking to you. For fuck's sake, you hadn't even been broken up with Martin for a day before you spent the night at his place!"

Eyes locked with the floor, your breathing quickened as Ferran's words too root in you. Did everyone think this way? Was it a common assumption that you harbored "special feelings" for Gavi? He continued without allowing you to recover.

"So you can get on your high horse and spew your woes about how your boyfriend slept with someone else. But you let little Pablito get access to the deepest, most intimate parts of your soul, and despite having a boyfriend, you let yourself love him. You let yourself love Gavi the night you watched him throw up outside the club, young and stupid and delirious, and yet you let Martin think he had a chance to be your man, your one, your soulmate. That's what most people would call emotional cheating. And it still makes you a shit person."

Your temples pounded, headache coming on from the lack of air in your system. You couldn't do anything, couldn't move, couldn't process the information being thrown at your brain. Had Ferran been present that first night at the club half a year ago? Had someone else remembered you, recounting the details to everyone involved? Did Gavi know that you were there, and had seen him in that state? Antonio's question from earlier flashed in your mind, and though you had assumed Gavi's lips had gotten loose, the real culprit was sitting in front of you buttered like a turkey. Everything else would have to wait - because you might lose your job if you didn't get this question answered.

"Have you been telling people I slept with Gavi?" You asked, the pain in your voice clinging to every word.

"I haven't been telling people anything that isn't true. I may have mentioned to a couple of the second-team players that you and Martin had broken up. I may have also mentioned that when I went to console my physically and emotionally battered friend, I watched you and Gavi leave his house, together, and you were in his clothes. Well, I didn't really need to provide that one, did I? The pictures are everywhere. And maybe there was a thing or two about how Martin has always been wary of Pablito, who seemed to always go out of his way to be at your beck and call. People connected their own dots."

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You asked, voice desperate as you ripped of your gloves, coming around the table to face the slippery eel that was Ferran Torres directly.

"Why can you not stand the sight of me so much that you need me to lose everything I've worked for my whole life?"

The smirk was glued to his face, and the mal intent in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

"Just because I like watching you squirm. And if they fire you, it's no worry to me at all. The team managers are already embracing this 'diversity' thing, so another bubbly, bouncy little thing in scrubs will be in swiftly to take your place."

Ferran got up, readjusting his training uniform and making his way to the door. You couldn't speak. All you wanted to do was curl into a ball behind your desk. The entire staff thought you were sleeping with Gavi, and the thoughts spiraled onward. Did they think that's why you hadn't gotten fired after Ferran's complaint? Did anyone think you were qualified beyond just a toy for one of the players?

"I would steer clear of Gavi, hermosa. No more late drives, no more sleepovers. Rumor has it, word's gotten all the way up to Xavi. Would hate to have to give him confirmation that you two are more than friends. Because then you'd be looking for physio jobs in the village football teams."

"But we're not." You replied, voice strained and broken.

"Then keep it that way."

Since Pedri's nonexistent project with Adidas had ended, he was back to giving Gavi rides. It's not that he minded - the younger boy was always talkative and good company. But It was the waiting around that made Pedri want to scream. For the entire time they had been on international leave, you were the only thing Pablo thought about and spoke of, filling any silent moments sending messages to as a precursor for your nightly calls. Pedri was mistaken in thinking this teenage lovesick behavior would cease once they returned to Cam Nou.

Every day after practice, Gavi would move at the most glacial, snail-like pace just to time his exit with yours, accompanying you on the walk to your car. Today was no different. As Gavi took his time in the locker room doing Lord knows what, Pedri caught a glimpse of you speeding down the corridor. He wanted to greet you, to ask if you were okay, but he couldn't get the words out before you rushed past him. He turned into the locker room and yelled at his passanger.

"Hurry up hermano! She already left!"

[6 Missed Calls]: Gavi

You ignored the buzz of your phone on your table as you curled into yourself, tears streaming down your face. It was beyond what you could bear. You had sacrificed so much throughout your life to get the "dream" you were supposed to be living now: perfect life in a perfect city, with your perfect job and perfect friends. But all of it had been set ablaze. Your apartment had never felt lonelier or colder, as you looked at the chairs that had never been used, the floor that only you walked on. Since leaving America you found yourself with few to no friends. You never went out or saw anyone, dedicating yourself to excelling in your program. The only friend you ever had over was Angelika, and even she had not graced your home for weeks upon weeks. You had isolated yourself from everyone to make sure you were perfect at work - never tired or hungover, never a thread or hair out of place. Now you were friendless and single, curled up on your couch, cursing every decision you had ever made.

The last person you wanted to see or speak to was Pablo. Pablo, who had entered your life so suddenly, and taken up residence in your brain and heart, was the sole common thread between everything crumbling around you. You willed yourself to be angry with him. You tried your hardest to blame him for every misfortune that had come your way. Your lack of friends, many of whom distanced themselves when you started working for Barca under a perception that you were "too good for them". Your waning relationship with Angelika, which began when Pablo started to tunnel his way into your life, consuming more and more of your time. Your failed relationship with Martin, which was perfectly stale and stable before Gavi showed you what it was really like to be made a priority. The current precarious state of your job, it was his fault, because of his consistent fighting with Ferran, which provoked him to file his empty complaint.

You wanted to curse Gavi and the day you had met him, but you couldn't do it. You couldn't bring yourself to even have an ill thought about Pablo. All you could do was curse yourself. You had known deep down for so long how you really felt. From that night you spoke to him in the club, identity yet unknown, but all his vulnerability on display, you had known that there was something pulling you into his orbit. You had known that the hoops you jumped through for him were special, and not inconveniences you would shoulder for anyone else. You had known when you searched for him on the field, in your contacts, in your subconscious that no one would ever bring you this much peace. His eyes, his words, the energy that radiated from him were rarities, seen once in a lifetime, and often squandered by those to late to grab them. And so you sat on your couch, tears pouring down your face as the realization enveloped you, too great to hide any longer: Pablo Paez Gavira was your best friend, and you were heart-achingly, soul-crushingly in love with him, but you would never be able to do anything about it.

Gavi had given up after 6 missed calls and 18 unanswered text messages. He knew that you would call him when you were ready to do so, but the anxiety gnawed at him nonetheless. He couldn't stand the thought of you upset, and would move heaven and earth just to make sure you were doing fine. He was currently checking his phone for notifications ever 30-45 seconds, leg once again bouncing - much to Pedri's dismay. The two of them, accompanied by Alejandro and Eric, were at a restaurant catching up with some friends. Gavi paid no mind to anyone. He was too preoccupied to engage in idle conversation. Rather, he just wanted to hear the sound of your voice -no , your breathing even, to calm his worries.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, tearing his gaze away from the screen. A short blond stood before him - one of Eric's friends - and she spoke directly to him, asking questions about his age and if he also played for the club. Unhappy with the interruption, Gavi gave quick and curt responses, trying to avoid a prolonged conversation. This did not deter the girl, who introduced herself as Jacinta, from getting Gavi's undivided attention, as she sat beside him, legs pressed against each other, and rested a hand on his thigh. Before he could react, he heard the gasp of his name, swiveling around to find several teenage girls huddled by the front of the restaurant, phones out and whispering to each other. Gavi had lost his appetite, excusing himself and taking a taxi back to his, checking his phone frequently as he prayed for you to give him any indication that you were alive.

Your phone rang once again, and the tone echoing through your apartment was one you welcomed eagerly: Angelika's. You had not heard from her in the last month, trying to give her enough space to do her work, while still reminding her you were there for support.

"Angelika! It's so good to hear from you."

"I'm moving to Paris."

Your face fell as you turned the words over in your mind.

"You're...what?"

You sat up on the phone, listening to Angelika explain how she had impressed her colleagues, being promoted to their Paris office to work on more couture and avant-garde looks. She gushed about what an amazing opportunity it was as you tried to stop yourself from throwing up. How was it that you were losing everything in your life all at once.

"That's so amazing, Ange."

That was all you could muster, deciding to be a good friend and leave your worries and fears to the side, letting her bask in the triumph of her accomplishment. You responded with how proud you were, how much she deserved this, and how you knew she would do amazing things.

"Does Gavi have a girlfriend?"

The sudden mention of Gavi's name alone was enough to knock the wind out of you, but the context of the question really threatened to have you spill your guts on the rug.

"Not that I know of." You said, the feeling of dread dripping into your gut like tar.

"One of the Barca fan pages just posted a pic of him with some girl at dinner. Look I just sent it. I didn't know he was old enough to be getting girls like that. You two are friends, right?"

Your eyes were instantly drawn to the blonde girl's hand on Gavi's thigh. She wasn't his girlfriend. If anyone were to know that Gavi were in a committed relationship, it would be you. But this knowledge didn't help the wounded feeling that settled into you. You were home, pining after this little footballer, as he effortlessly flirted with other women. You were once again in pieces over a man that did not think of you the way you thought of him.

"Yeah, we're friends, I guess."

You would never be more than Gavi's physiotherapist and someone he occasionally sent Tiktoks to. Gavi was a deity in his field, a name that struck fear and respect in the hearts of the opposition. He was a symbol of the next generation of football royalty, and a man that could have any woman at his feet with a lick of his lips and a wave of his hand. This is what he was destined for: days in the spotlight, photographs with mysterious beauties, and a loyal fanbase that worshipped his every move. None of that involved you: an employee. Why would he want you? There was nothing you could give him that didn't come in a prettier package. He would never look at you as more than a friend, because you walked with the common crowd, and he was among the elite. Gavi could have any girl that he wants, and it was obvious he didn't want you.

You moved from the couch and walked to your table, waking up the computer that sat upon it. You glanced at the envelope Antonio had slid to you earlier, and thought about his offer. What did you have left? You typed a quick email to Xavi requesting a brief meeting the following morning, before heading to bed, trying to sleep away the suffocating feeling that clung to you.

Gavi was at your office door when you walked in the following morning, despite you arriving 20 minutes earlier than usual. His arms were crossed, face scrunched in worry, but his features relaxed when you walked to the door. He tried to help you with your belongings, but you refused. You exchanged a dry good morning before entering your office, avoiding his gaze. He asked how you were feeling, and if anything had happened the previous day. Eyes glued to your computer, you responded shortly, informing him that everything was fine and that you had a meeting with Xavi you needed to prepare for.

"Doctora, did I do something?"

You finally looked at Gavi, taking in his pained expression. It hurt in ways medicine understand for you to be freezing him out like this, and yet, all you could do was think about the image of Gavi coupled with Ferran's words. Was it worth it to risk everything for someone who would never be yours? You shook you head, informing him again that everything was fine. Everything was far from fine: you felt like you had been thrown off a cliff, your sense of purpose and direction and meaning in life shattered. But you didn't want to burden Gavi with this knowledge. So you stood and collected your folders, lips pursed tightly. You would just have to pretend that you weren't desperate to confess to Pablo that he was the reason that you breathed air, and that you were focused on your meeting and nothing else.

He was not satisfied with your answer. Gavi searched for your eyes, trying to understand what he could have possibly done wrong to get you to change on him so quickly - to become so cold. But you refused to meet his gaze, and he was left to his own theories. Had the rumors of you two together repulsed you from him? Were you unable to look him in the eye now that someone had put the thought in your head that you two could be more than friends? Had you finally decided you were too mature and good for him? He had chewed his lips and inner cheek all night pondering these possibilities.

"Please, y/n, if I did something, let me make it right."

"Gavi." Bad sign. You never called him Gavi when you were happy with him. Gavi was his official name in the team, the professional term you addressed him by. His stomach sank, and everything in him screamed to take you into his arms, not letting you go until he once again heard the sweet sound of "Pablo" drip from your lips like honey.

You wanted to grab him and shake him, scream at him, and cry into his shoulder. You wanted to tell him that there was no way for him to make it right, unless he was ready to have you, wholly and completely, never letting you go no matter the consequences. You wanted to tell him the only thing that could fix it was the one thing you could never ask for: his love.

"I need you... to stay away from me for a while."

Gavi could swear e felt his heart crack in two. What could he have possibly done? What heinous crime had he committed that made you need such a high degree of separation. He had been right there: he had you in his arms, laid on his chest, and heartbeat synching with his own. Now, everything was slipping through his fingers like fine sand, and he was watching you disappear before his very eyes.

"Not because I'm angry with you, but I just... need space."

Gavi could do nothing but stare, mouth agape, begging every power that be for this to be a cruel joke. But you continued to shuffle your papers, and the punchline never came. Before he could form a response, a knock resounded from the door, and Xavi walked into the office.

"Gavi, you're here early." He said, eyebrow raised at you in suspicion. The young footballer swallowed this hurt and his pride, clearing his throat to speak.

"Yeah, just came to get some more medical tape. Doctora y/l/n told me we have some in the locker room. I'll be going now."

Gave left your office, shutting the door behind him, but he could not move. He leaned against the wall, trying to fill his lungs with air, but the breaths he took didn't feel like enough. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he was reminded of his childhood, when the other boys would bully him and push him around the field. That was the last time he properly cried of pain. It was happening now, for the first time in 11 years, but this was a different kind of pain. There were needles pricking every inch of his skin, and he could do nothing except let the pain overtake him. What could he have possibly done to push you away?

He was taken out of his thoughts by the sound of Xavi's voice through the door. He knew he shouldn't have been listening, but he needed to hear you. He needed to listen to you speak, hear the normalcy in your voice, if he ever wanted to move from that God forsaken spot in front of your door.

"-a little late notice. You should try and schedule further in advance for coming meetings." Xavi said. It was unusual for Gavi to hear you be scolded. When had you asked to meet him?

"I apologize, mister, but it was all some very late occurrences, and I didn't want to delay."

"Alright then, go ahead."

"As you know, we are about 10 days into the January transfer window, and while players are getting offers from all over, this is also the time when clubs try and change staff."

Pablo put a hand over his mouth to cover any sounds he made and prevent himself from vomiting. He didn't like where this was going.

"Yes, I'm aware." Xavi responded. "Antonio is leaving us during this window."

"Exactly. That's actually what I wanted to speak to you about. Antonio, as we all know, is a very talented physiotherapist and sports medic, meaning he got offers from a number of clubs. He received a position as head of physiotherapy at Chelsea, which he had to reject obviously to join Man City. Yesterday, he graciously got the offer forwarded to me."

"Miss y/n, please clarify your intentions. I am not very good at understanding subtext." Xavi laughed out.

"Yes sir. I'll be direct then: I am considering leaving F.C. Barcelona at the end of the transfer window."

~~~~~~~

A/N: guys pls don't kill me I'm sorry for the end (not rlly lol). I hope you all enjoyed what is officially the longest part of the series to date!! Got close to my 15k goal, but not there yet - maybe in the next part. My hands are actually cramping from all the writing this is borderline self-inflicted torture lol. Did y'all catch the subtle title/ lyric references? As usual, please leave thoughts, feedback, predictions, etc. in the replies - I love reading all of them so much!!! Esp watching the way people think the story is going to progress because sometimes y'all are spot on and sometimes y'all are wayyyy off and I'm like "wait that would actually be a great plot for another series". Anyways love you all and hope you enjoy!! Part 8??? She's gonna be intense y'all.

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

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