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stllmnstr · 4 months

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every fragile thing

genre: figure skater au, college au, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

word count: 12.3k

soundtrack: jealousy, jealousy / brutal / the grudge / get him back! / good 4 u - olivia rodrigio

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After an ankle injury lands you in weekly physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for regionals, you’re certain you must be the most emotionally volatile figure skater within a hundred mile radius. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

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Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition.

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted beats, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill.

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best.

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath.

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come.

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin.

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you.

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track?

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals.

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this.

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly.

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question.

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.”

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace.

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully.

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing.

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue.

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space.

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left.

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision.

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door.

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though.

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next.

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows.

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.”

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you.

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new member.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes.

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes.

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs.

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice.

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it.

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up.

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either.

A beat passes.

Two.

Neither of you break eye contact.

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second.

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?”

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink.

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect.

Oh, you know him alright.

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well.

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough.

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess.

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again.

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions.

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane.

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started.

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours.

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule.

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes.

Including him.

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be.

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around.

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.”

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.”

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.”

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade.

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.”

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room.

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible.

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last.

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back.

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you.

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance.

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does.

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth.

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you.

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate.

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.”

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out.

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends.

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant.

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong.

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious.

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look.

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not.

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?”

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all.

“No way.” Jake says.

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission.

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap.

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them.

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces.

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees.

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at sixteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out Coach Kang's.

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice.

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time.

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater.

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip.

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once.

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks.

Not until it all shattered in a single moment.

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart.

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all.

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn.

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger.

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner.

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance.

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself.

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed.

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him.

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone.

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses.

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods.

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage.

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other.

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side.

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always.

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead.

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight.

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile.

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he.

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.” And because the last time we saw each other ended on such great terms.

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car.

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely.

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering.

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home.

And he never says your name once.

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness.

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again.

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays.

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that.

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first.

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze.

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat.

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head.

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests.

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day.

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern.

“Or something,” Jake agrees.

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program.

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts.

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice.

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake.

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question.

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off.

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor.

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again.

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a boy you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know.

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine.

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips.

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod.

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing.

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about me.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant.

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid.

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife.

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier.

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later.

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long.

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low.

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations.

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off.

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing.

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body.

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you.

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp.

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation.

Last time, he let you fall.

You have no idea what he’ll do now.

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target.

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin.

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.”

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon.

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room.

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought.

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt.

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting.

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier.

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer.

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers.

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation.

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception.

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape.

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have.

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe.

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you.

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie.

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread.

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd.

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction.

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared.

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink.

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible.

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice.

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year.

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes.

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit.

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief.

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past.

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “Speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.”

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?”

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to.

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes.

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him.

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear.

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response.

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame.

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry.

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes.

And then another.

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to.

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you.

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right.

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same.

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning.

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace.

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon finally pulls you into his apartment using his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time.

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought.

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet.

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most.

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates.

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough?

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels.

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout.

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return.

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin.

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs.

…

outtake—five years ago.

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission.

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down.

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore.

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse.

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact.

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through.

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger.

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run. Every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck.

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him.

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either.

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors.

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own.

It seems so stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him.

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five long years later.

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you.

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts.

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

#enhypen fanfiction #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #sunghoon fluff #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #oh look! another sunghoon figure skater au how original #everyone point and laugh

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sbdskate · 3 months

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Laws Of Attraction (Epilogue 1) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: Daniel signed with RB at the end of the 2022 season, ending your attorney-client relationship. You decide to give romance a try in the off season.

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings (18+): fluff, language, *SMUT*: p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap)

Word Count: 2,291

February 2023

You woke up to his breath tickling the back of your neck, which you had now grown pleasantly accustomed to over the last few months. His arm snaked over your waist with his hand lightly resting just below your breasts. Sometimes his face nuzzled into the back of your shoulder so that you could feel his stubble lightly tickle you. You treasured these soft, quiet moments that were hidden from the rest of the world.

By a miracle, your budding relationship had not yet been sniffed out by paparazzi or investigative fans, but you knew it wouldn’t last forever. The distance was hard, as expected, but ended up being more manageable than you originally thought. Of course it helped that one of you had almost unlimited resources. He ended up spending a good chunk of time at his property in Beverly Hills which at least got you in the same continent and country. You would make up excuses to work out of the LA office for a week or so and The Firm suspected nothing of it or didn’t care enough to ask why. During the day you worked on other client matters while he hung out with Scotty and other friends, allegedly figuring out plans for the next Enchante drop. At night you stayed with him, cooking dinners together, throwing small parties, watching the sun set over the hills.

When you weren’t on the West Coast, he occasionally stayed with you in your small NYC apartment in the West Villiage. At first you protested that he should stay somewhere else, that there wasn’t enough room for the both of you, and that your accommodations were far too modest for the extravagant lifestyle he had become so accustomed to. Fine, you book the hotel, he would say with a smirk knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to afford the reservation to override him. But he so desperately wanted to a glimpse into your home that you could hardly say no.

It was easier for him to explore the city in the dead of winter where he blended in with everyone else on the street, bundled in at least four layers to keep warm. With a hat and scarf covering most of his face, he went about his day with the rare freedom of being unidentified and anonymous. When you were done with work you would sneak into the diviest dive bar you could find, consisting of dark basements with dark liquor. Or you would order takeout for dinner and eat it out of the container on your couch with a beer or glass of wine.

The two of you relished these moments of normalcy. Including moments like now, in that tiny apartment, on a chilly Friday in February where you bathed in the rays of sun that began to poke through your curtains in the light of morning. He had been on Stephen Colbert the night before and you watched in awe from the comfort of your couch that the man on the screen, in a suit you picked out, would be coming home to you at the end of the program.

Your eyes fluttered open before your alarm went off, Daniel’s breath making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You smiled to yourself, still unable to believe this was your new reality. Just to be sure, you gently grabbed the hand positioned on your upper abdomen to move it to cup your breast. Perhaps you should have let him sleep, but you couldn’t pass up the chance to have extra time with him. You felt his breath pattern change as he slowly woke from the delicate touch. The silver lining of long distance was that neither of you were lacking in libido. Granted your relationship was still in its infancy, of course you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

He pulled you in close flush against his chest and gave your shoulder a kiss.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, voice muffled by skin. You held your hand over his, squeezing it.

“Mmm good morning.” The crook of his nose caressed the path that followed the trails of kisses along your shoulder blade. He began to move his thumb over your sensitive nipple, feeling as it puckered under his touch. Your breath hitched as you squirmed, molding yourself into him. You partially turned your head to face him without disrupting your position. He propped himself on his elbow to meet you halfway and planted a messy kiss on your lips.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look in the morning?” You used to think he was joking, not that you could blame him if he were. There were people who were elegant sleepers, but you knew you were not one of them. Your hair almost always ended up looking like it could home a few birds or small rodent. Your eyes were puffy, slightly crusty, and every now and then there was some dried drool for good measure. Now that you had been at this for nearly two months, it was evident he was very serious each time.

“You have, but you can tell me again,” you mumbled as a smile grew on your face and stretched your limbs.

“You’re beautiful.” It came out muffled as your lips pressed together again, as his thumb continued to lazily graze your nipple.

You gently dragged his hand from your chest to the growing heat between your legs. You pressed against him again, feeling his hardened member against your ass. You smirked, satisfied with the results of your minimal efforts.

He kissed the crook of your neck as he drew tiny circles around your clit with his middle finger. You reached your arm behind you to gently scratch his head as little moans escaped your lips, breath becoming uneven with desire.

“Are you going to be late for work?” Ever the gentleman, you could tell he asked to be polite but it wasn’t actually a point of concern. You grinded into his groin in frustration.

“Not that I care at the moment, but no.” You moved his fingers even further south so he could feel your neediness. “I have twelve minutes and I don’t want to think about responsibilities until then. Do what you will with that information.”

A husky groan escaped his lips feeling how wet you were for him. His hand left you momentarily to stroke himself a few times before aligning with your entrance and you reached down to help guide him.

Two months, and it still took your breath away how full he made you feel. Your back arched into him and he caught your hips in his hand. Laced with sleep, he held on as he dragged in and out of you in deliberate, languid motions as though time didn’t exist. His hand moved slowly up your body, to your waist, over your soft stomach, the swell of your breast, where it snaked over your chest and enclosed around your throat with a gentle firmness that made your core clench. It was equally delicate and possessive. It delighted every surface of your body but his leisure pace now maddened you.

“Faster,” you choked out. He smirked as he slowed down the roll of his hips, tightening his grip around your neck. If he wasn’t awake before, he was now. Daniel was fascinated – you ordinarily enjoyed lazy morning sex but today you were extraordinarily needy for some reason. Not that he was mad at it. Your eyes twisted shut and you moaned through gritted teeth, simultaneously aroused and frustrated. “Fuck you.”

“Happily,” he taunted. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please.” He felt your body quiver around him as you begged for more of him. He closed his eyes and prayed that he would last for the remaining six minutes.

He obliged your pleas, only letting go of your neck to lift your leg up.

Right there

His thrusts deepened with the new angle and watched excitedly as your arm moved down. He couldn’t see you playing with yourself but knew you were as your moans became louder and more frequent and he felt your walls squeeze and twitch. The image seared into his brain and he knew he was done. He inhaled the scent from your hair in his face and he wished he could see you. But you were warm and tight and wet and perfect and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Fuck, I’m-”

“Yes”

Your hips stuttered and muscles spasmed around him. He spilled into you as his fingers sank into your skin, his vice grip unable to let go. You both laid limp for a moment, panting to catch your breath. Eventually you pulled yourself away from him to roll over.

Your hair was knotted and your flushed face was adorned with a shit-eating grin. You were stunning. Glowing.

“Good morning,” you said cheekily.

“Good morning,” he responded. He lifted his arm, inviting you to use his chest as a pillow. You did so gladly, intertwining yourselves in each other once more like vines. It was nice for all of forty-seven seconds before your alarm went off. He pulled you tighter before you could try to get up.

“Now I have to get going.” He placed a kiss at the top of your head.

“What if we just stayed in bed all day instead.” You groaned in silent agreement, but nonetheless peeled his arms off you.

“I would love to but I have to work. And so do you.” You kissed him before hopping into the shower.

Right. Daniel had almost forgotten that today was his first official day back as a Red Bull employee. His presence was requested for the livery launch set to happen in Midtown in a few hours. He laid in bed and smiled to himself as he listened to you sing I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island.

“I still can’t believe it’s in New York,” you said casually as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. He hummed in agreement. “Suspiciously convenient, really.” You glanced at him through your peripheral to gauge his reaction. Nothing. Though he did look oddly pensive. You turned suddenly to confront him. “You’re sure you didn’t say anything to Christian?” He laughed at your skeptic accusation.

“Not a peep.”

“You swear it?” You held out your pinky.

“I swear it.” He linked his with yours.

“Kiss it,” you demanded. He rolled his eyes but obliged lowering his lips to his knuckles as you did yours, his focus on you never wavering.

You continued getting ready, though you couldn’t shake the sense that there was an uneasy intensity to him this morning. At first you thought it might just be nerves about the livery event, but then you caught him staring at you in the mirror while you were brushing your teeth. You spit and turned around.

“Ok you’re being weird. What is it?”

“I’m not being weird!” he said defensively. You brandished your toothbrush at him threateningly.

“Yes, you are. You’ve barely said two words since we had sex.” He scoffed.

“I’ve said lots of words. That was five just now –“

“There’s nothing wrong with being nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous –“

“Then what is it?”

He both loved and hated that you could read him like a book. You seemed to be intuitively aware of all of his deepest thoughts - though maybe not this one. He watched as you walked into the kitchen to pack your work bag. You filled your travel mug as you patiently waited for his response. He took a deep breath before jumping into the metaphorical deep end.

“Since things are official with Red Bull as of today, I figured we should be too.”

You snorted coffee through your nose. A not-so-subtle tomato hue dusted your cheeks immediately. Yet again, you weren’t sure why you were so surprised. The man was traveling half way around the world for you. With the amount of time, effort, care, and money spent, how could you ever believe he would lull you into something as malignant as a situationship? As it was in the beginning, you were the stop-gap preventing things from progressing. He had been respectful with taking things at a glacial pace, as you kindly requested. He had given you the proof you needed that there was a way to make the relationship work when you weren’t traveling constantly together. When you considered that you had now existed in each other’s orbits for nearly five months, he really had been as patient as a saint with you.

But he misconstrued your stunned silence as confusion, so he rephrased his proposition.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your timing was impeccable as always, as you choked on your own saliva before breaking into a coughing fit. He sighed and poured you a glass of water, slightly disgruntled by your antics.

He had been putting this off. He had wanted to wait for the right time, for it to be romantic and dreamy, everything you deserved. But each time the opportunity arose he lost his nerve, and now here you both were: in your kitchen, before you had to go to work, choking on thin air, decidedly unromantic.

“I’ll take that as a no.” You shook your head ferociously before attempting to sip the liquid. He frowned “Well shit, you don’t have to be so enthusiastic about it.” You shook your head again, then nodded. “Yes, that’s right, you’re not interested?” You decided that this was the worst game of charades, ever. You shook your head again.

“Yes,” *cough* “I want,” *cough* “to be your,” *cough* “girlfriend.” Despite the fact that you were barely breathing, Daniel’s thousand-watt smile appeared before you.

“Drink your fucking water and stop coughing so I can kiss you.”

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

A/N: Please don't be a ghost reader and thank you for reading! I'm happy I've been on a roll with my posting schedule but I know the next Epilogue part will not be ready by next week, so expect a little bit of a break after this (hopefully not four months again).

And thank you @thef1diary for your help

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runa-falls · 5 months

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my ex’s tapes

summary: you and basil broke up, and now, you're seeing some other guy. but basil just can't get over you. and you know it.

pairing: ex!basil stitt x reader, fwb!jake lockley x reader

rating: explicit (18+)

cw: dub-con, smut, creep!basil, voyeurism, stalking tendencies, piv sex, virtual!cucking, m!masturbation, no aftercare, angst

wc: 1.5k

a/n: this fic was originally for someone else, but basil just fit the vibes so much more!! and yeah, the poll ran for less than 10 hours BUT 🤷🏻‍♀️ im impatient. y'all know me, i can't hold on to a finished draft for more than a day -- so this is this, take it or leave it.

masterlist

----

He sighs as he opens up his laptop.

It’s depressing, he’s depressing -- disgusting.

A hot veil of shame washes over him as the monitoring app automatically opens for him as he logs in. A reminder of his dirty habits. And yet, for some reason, it makes it that much hotter.

The screen brightens as the program displays the soft pinkness of your bedroom. A small smile quirks at his lips as he spots you laying prettily in your mini nightgown, sprawled out on your bed, as you idly text someone on your phone.

A quick ping makes Basil switch programs and scan over your conversation.

Jake: be there in 5

You: ok! text me when you arrive :)

It’s like clockwork.

Every Friday he comes over, fucks you into the mattress then leaves before he can fall asleep next to you.

What a piece of shit, leaving someone like you alone at night.

You deserve better. You deserve someone like him. Someone that will cuddle you to sleep and wake you up with a cup of coffee, or kiss every inch of your body while telling you how perfect you are.

And for a moment you did have him–but then your friends went and fucked everything up.

Despite all the shit he did for you, you weren’t satisfied, or rather, your friends weren’t satisfied. Apparently, his idea of protection and security was overbearing and controlling. And he was being clingy because he wanted to spend time with you. They’ve been filling your mind with bullshit ever since you introduced him to them.

Basil easily concluded that you were pressured into breaking up with him. That you aren’t really done with him–you’re just waiting for the right time to get back together. That’s his excuse as to why his cameras and safety initiatives are still in place. Because you’re still his.

A feminine giggle pulls Basil from his thoughts and back to what he was doing. He alt-tabs back to the security cameras, eyes immediately darkening at the image of you clinging onto Jake’s shoulders as he effortlessly carries you into the room.

An ugly weight pulls at his stomach when he sees you happily draped around another man. That should be him coming home to you, carrying you to your bedroom to show you his love.

You’re plopped onto your bed with a squeak, bouncing slightly before pushing yourself up to eagerly crawl over to your hook-up. As you straddle yourself over Jake, he immediately starts to work his mouth over your topless chest.

Basil’s hand brushes over his twitching bulge as your back arches prettily to push yourself further against Jake's lips. Encouraging gasps and sighs fill the room as he nips at your sensitive buds. Your breath quickens as a hand drags up your body to fist at your throat. He sucks harshly at your skin, leaving a pattern of faint bruises and teeth marks along your soft skin.

Your nearly naked figure moves lithely over his clothed body, already getting off on anything you can get your hands on. Basil watches hungrily as your hips roll fluidly over Jake’s lap, cunt barely covered by a flimsy pair of underwear. He pushes against his erection when he sees your blissed-out expression, imagining it’s him that’s making you this desperate.

With a quick motion, Jake pushes you away to unbutton his pants, making sure to only push them down enough to free himself. You suck on your lip as you watch a bead of precum roll over the silken skin of his cock. You wish you could have a taste but that’s not how Jake likes it.

Jake tilts his head as he considers you on his lap, cockily taking in the way your hungry eyes drink him in. With a light tap on your thigh, he commands you to move, “Get into position, sweetheart.”

You climb off of him and settle yourself at the top of the bed, swiftly getting on all fours to present yourself to him. His hand grazes over your ass, clutching the softness before dipping into the heat of your center.

The soft fabric of your underwear is shoved to the side, exposing your glistening cunt to the room. Basil audibly groans as he catches a glimpse of your dripping hole, remembering how hot and tight you are. Your body is built perfectly to wrap around him.

Jake lazily slides himself along the seam of your cunt, humming lightly as he soaks himself in your slick. “Look at this weepy pussy…” You let out a breath as you relax your body against him, enjoying the gentle way he rocks over you. “You’re so messy for me.” Your body buzzes as his cock nudges against your clit with every stroke, fogging your mind with intoxicating pleasure.

You don’t expect it when Jake’s hips abruptly snap up into you with one smooth motion, quickly filling you to the brim with a stinging stretch. The rough texture of his jeans chafes against the back of your thighs as his legs push harshly over you. You whine as your face is shoved into a pillow, barely allowing you a second of fresh air.

Basil grips himself over his sweatpants as he watches your body struggle to get used to the sensation of being filled, legs shaking as you attempt to hold yourself up for him.

Jake easily ignores your trembling and immediately starts to pound into you, strategically angling himself to continuously prod against the electrifying spot inside of you. Despite the sharp sobs dripping from your lips, he knows you love it. Being treated like this. Like a toy.

Basil strokes himself as he watches your greedy cunt swallow another man's cock, effortlessly moving back and forth with each thrust. He can feel his cock desperately throb for you as the filthy sound of your slick sopping down your thighs travels through the camera’s microphone. What he would do to taste you right now, the zingy flavor of your lust on his tongue.

Though he can’t see your face, he can tell you’re already close. It’s the way your body stiffens ever so slightly like you’re holding yourself back from reaching nirvana. He hates how your moans are muffled by the pink pillow. He craves to hear how your noises crescendo as you near the edge, how you crumble as pleasure takes over your body.

You almost feel like you might collapse from the aggressive way Jake drives into you. Jake’s calloused fingers grip bruises into your hips as he pushes and pulls you onto him, setting an unbeatable rhythm that you can barely keep up with.

Jake’s motions briefly stutter as your cunt grips around him. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, barely able to process his words as he continues to fuck into you. “Mm…Your cunt flutters so–fuck–sweetly around me. You gonna cum baby?” Your legs threaten to give in as molten heat rapidly blooms in your stomach, pulling you toward your peak.

You cry out as he begins to drive himself impossibly deeper into you, slowing down when you fail to answer him. His chest vibrates against your back as he growls behind your ear, “Too stupid to speak? I asked you a question, honey.”

With another nudge of his hips, you sputter out a response. “A-ah, yes—I’m so close, sir.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Basil’s sweats are messily shoved halfway down his thighs as he watches your tired body move bonelessly along with each movement of Jake’s hips. The stroke of his hand moves in sync with yours, cock leaking as he grips himself tightly to conceptualize the feeling of being inside of you.

The rawness of your climax causes your body to writhe underneath Jake and you involuntarily start pulling away from his cock as your cunt convulses with ecstasy.

Basil’s eyes squeeze shut as he’s coaxed into his release by your soft muffled whimpers. His hand works quickly along the length of himself as he rides it out, effectively spreading his mess with his hand and on the tops of his thighs.

Jake groans as you suck him in, hands shoving you further into the mattress as you’re unable to control the way your body flutters and jerks around him. With one last push, he spills into you, coating your walls in warmth before pulling out.

Basil watches as Jake steps out of the room after murmuring something about a towel, leaving you there panting in the middle of your bed.

Alone.

You slowly turn over to your back, pushing your hair out of your face as you come down from your orgasm, face thoroughly flushed from exertion. His heavy eyes admire you from afar, wishing he could join you on the bed and hold you against him.

He takes one last glance at you before reluctantly closing the laptop.

----

You reach upwards with your arms pulled taut and stretch your body until you feel light-headed. Though you enjoy being fucked from behind, your back is always left sore from arching so deeply. Jake is fine. Good even. But that’s it.

You’ve tried your hardest to ignore it, but something’s been missing from your life. Or someone.

Your eyelashes shadow over your gaze as you subtly glance at the stuffed kitten on your shelf. Your heart flutters when you notice the faint red light on its collar blinking right back at you.

He’s still there.

#*throws fic in your face then trots away*#basil stitt #basil stitt x reader #basil stitt smut #lightning face #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley smut

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homewrecking-lore · 1 year

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The thing about the fandom’s interpretation of Data and Pulaski is that it makes both characters extremely flat and boring while also erasing their whole relationship. Data’s made into this flawless, naive baby that can’t defend himself (when he does - when Pulaski mispronounces his name, he tells her exactly why she should pronounce it correctly), while Pulaski is an ugly bitch-hag who is morally reprehensible. Most fanfics portray Data as being uncomfortable or scared of her, while Pulaski’s chomping at the bit to break him into parts. Their whole relationship in season two is based around the fact they both have flaws, and that Data is still learning about what exactly he is capable of as an android.

In “Elementary, My Dear Data”, the big question of the episode is if Data can solve a narrative mystery without it being based on his knowledge of the original stories. Geordi doesn’t know the answer. Pulaski doesn’t. Data doesn’t. From what they know of Data, Pulaski outright dismisses the possibility that Data can, which sparks the episode’s plot.

So when Geordi goes back later and prompts the computer to alter the program to be more challenging, both Data and Pulaski are excited! They want to see where this goes! They are openly having fun with this.

In her first episode, Pulaski dismissed Data when he tried to stay during Troi’s labour, and only relented when Troi said she wanted him there. But by “Penpals”, she assures Sarjenka that Data will be at her side the whole time. When Data expresses doubts, she assures him that this is what’s best for Sarjenka, but that his memories of her will still be important. This is also the same episode where Pulaski defends both her and Data’s personal involvement in the situation to Worf.

In “Measure of A Man”, the game opens with some of the crew playing a poker game. Data and Pulaski are obviously friendly and comfortable enough to socialize together outside of professional circumstances. And again, the scene shows Data calling the game simplistic and assuming he will win, but he turns out to be wrong.

Later in “Peak Performance”, Pulaski sets up Data to compete in Strategema, only for him to end up losing, to everyone’s surprise. The reason why Data’s confidence falls is because he had the exact same assumption about his computational abilities as Pulaski. They were both wrong! When she sees how much losing has affected him, she apologizes:

Data says that he must be malfunctioning. It’s not until Picard tells him that failure can happen even when you do everything right that Data accepts he can make mistakes - and that making mistakes is okay! By the end of the episode, they both know that Data is not infallible, and that he can be affected by failure as much as any human.

Pulaski makes assumptions and mistakes, and so does Data. They learn and grow from them, and their relationship is overall a very positive one despite their very different personalities. It’s an interesting dynamic that gets rewritten by fans entirely, despite the fact that it’s weirdly one of the more developed dynamics in the show.

#tng #st tng #data soong #data tng #katherine pulaski #star trek next generation #i promise this is my last rant post about data and pulaski #tng fans: i wish the crew had more developed and complex dynamics :(#also tng fans: no not like that #anyway my point is data and pulaski were pretty rounded characters in this season #and their relationship is really interesting!#and i dont think its a coincidence that a big chunk of data's growth drops after season 2 #which sucks because its interesting to see him learn about what being an android means!#him and geordi and pulaski on the holodeck was so fun #anyway in this house we love and respect pulaski in both data related and not-data-related matters

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sluttywonwoo · 1 year

Text

aemulus. (noun) latin for rival or competitor. thought to be the origin of the name emily.

park seonghwa is in no position to ask you for a favor. but being underqualified for something has never stopped him before.

pairing: academic rival!seonghwa x fem!reader

details: grad school/nursing school au, fake dating

word count: 8.1k

warnings: swearing, food allergy, smut (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, discussion of birth control methods

a/n: for @sluttywoozi's birthday <3 (just a month and a half late)

playlist

“I need a favor.”

“From me?”

Seonghwa tongues his cheek and looks around. “Is there anyone else in the room?”

You scoff. You aren’t friends with Park Seonghwa. You don’t even particularly like Park Seonghwa. You know the feeling’s mutual so why was he asking you for a favor?

“If you want something from me you should try being a little nicer,” you mutter, turning your attention back to the textbook on the desk in front of you.

You hear Seonghwa sigh beside you before he tries again. “Sorry, yes, I need a favor from you. I need a date to this event Dr. Harvey is hosting for all of his graduate mentees next weekend.”

Date? You? Your face must be scrunched up into an expression of confusion and concern because Seonghwa puts his hand out to stop you before you interject.

“Yes, it has to be you. I-I’m trying to secure a position on his research team next semester and I need an extra edge.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And I’m the extra edge?”

“Exactly! Dr. Harvey loves you. If I show up with you on my arm, the spot is mine for sure.”

“You really think it’ll be that easy? I haven’t taken one of Dr. Harvey’s classes since undergrad.”

You’re not even a student in Seonghwa’s program, the one Dr. Harvey was the head of. There just happened to be some overlap between your field of study and his that required you to take some of the same courses.

“But you were his TA last semester, and you’re the top student in the department, after me-” you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, “he brings you up in almost every meeting we have,” he continues, sounding more than a little annoyed, “when we’re supposed to be talking about my dissertation.”

Despite the non-case Seonghwa was making on his behalf, you couldn’t help but feel a little curious. “He does? What does he say?’

“Usually, it’s little comments about how you would do something differently, which is not-so-subtle code for better. If you ever decide to write a dissertation on microbiology, let him know. I’m sure he’d love to be your mentor-” Seonghwa stops himself there, taking a deep breath as if to physically shake the bitterness from his demeanor. “Sorry. The point is that he thinks very highly of you and it would really help me out if you were my plus-one to this thing.”

“And what exactly does ‘this thing’ entail?”

“It’s a little appreciation banquet for all of the students he’s mentoring. He said it’s at this hotel, I think it’s downtown, and it’s a dinner and drinks in the evening and a brunch the next morning-”

“Wait, it’s overnight?” You hadn’t meant or intended to interrupt him but the prospect of spending the night in the same room with Park Seonghwa was enough to make you panic and forget your manners.

Seonghwa looks annoyed that you cut him off but holds himself back from responding with something snippy. Instead, he lets it go. Unheard of for him.

“Yes, but it’s just one night.”

“One night?” He nods. “And I just have to show up with you?”

“Well, you’d pretend to be my girlfriend. ”

Right. That had sort of been implied when he asked but you were hoping that wasn’t the case. It honestly sounded like a nightmare, but the idea of having something to hold over Seonghwa’s head was tempting.

Doing him the favor was one thing. The execution of said favor was another. Were you going to be able to put on a believable act as Seonghwa’s girlfriend? It certainly wasn’t going to come naturally to you... but you were friends with a bunch of theatre kids. You could pull it off. Probably.

“Okay, well, what’s in it for me?” you ask.

He blinks, clearly caught off guard by your question like he hadn’t expected to get this far.

“What do you want?”

Oh fuck. You scramble to think of something worthwhile that he could be of use for, coming up short in pretty much all aspects.

“My dad’s getting married in a couple of months. Our little duet can have an encore then.”

Seonghwa grins and offers his hand for you to shake. “Send me the details. Pleasure doing business.”

It isn’t until Seonghwa’s already left the classroom that he realizes he doesn’t even have your number. He’s known you for years now but has never had to contact you outside of the context of school. Never had reason to. He could turn around right now and go back and ask for your phone number. You’re still in there.

He lets his pride get the better of him, and with a quiet groan, he shoves his hands in his pockets and keeps walking. He’ll just email you later to ask for it.

You iron out the details over text, once Seonghwa finally gets your number. You had made fun of him in your reply email for forgetting to get it back when he begged you to come with him in the first place, which only reassured Seonghwa that he had made the right choice that day. It would’ve been way more embarrassing to have you say that to his face.

He asks you to meet him at a cafe the day before the event so you can iron out your story together. You look nervous, he notes, so he tries to break the ice.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet here. I would’ve had you over to my place, but my roommates are kind of obnoxious.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.” You gesture with your cup, shaking the ice around before taking a tentative sip.

“Least I could do, considering.”

You shrug. “You’re already repaying me by going to my dad’s wedding with me, but I’m not one to turn down free coffee.”

“Fair enough.” He clears his throat. “So, how’d we fall in love?”

Seonghwa picks you up at five pm on Saturday. He makes some comment about you looking nice that you don’t really believe he means, but you return the compliment anyway. He does look good. Annoyingly so. He had told you it was a formal event but you hadn’t expected him to show up in a fucking three-piece suit.

His hair is slicked back on the side to show off his undercut, and wire-rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, the reflection of traffic lights and street lamps shining in the lenses. It’s a little intimidating to be on his arm for the night when he looks like that, not that you didn’t also dress for the occasion, he just... looks so sharp.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asks as you climb into the passenger seat. “Pajamas? Toothbrush?”

“I think so.”

“If you forget something we can probably grab it at the kiosk they have in the lobby,” he assures you.

You groan. “Yeah, but we’ll have to pay a small fortune for it.”

“That’s the price of convenience.” He puts the car in drive and navigates out of your apartment complex’s parking lot onto the main road. “You can pick the music,” he offers after a moment of silence.

“But you’re the one driving.”

“Is that a rule?”

“Yeah, the driver picks the music. Have you never heard of that before?”

He shakes his head but hums thoughtfully. “No, but I don’t mind. I’m not picky.”

“Shocking,” you mutter under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

You plug the aux into the lightning port on your phone and scroll through your playlist until you land on something you deem to be neutral enough to play in the background. You can feel Seonghwa watching you out of the corner of his eye but you willfully ignore it.

“Do you remember the story?”

You nod. “We only got together officially a couple of months ago. You asked me out by waiting outside the door of one of my classes last semester-”

“Which class?”

“Um...” you frowned, trying to remember.

“It was pharmacology.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Just be sure to remember that.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to be interrogating us about our relationship,” you scoff.

Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. This is just important to me and it needs to be believable. If anyone were to find out that I tried to pull this shit off just to get on Harvey’s good side... I don’t even know what would happen to me. Like, would I get expelled? I definitely wouldn’t get the position, I-”

“Woah,” you cut him off before he can spiral any further, “we... don’t have to do this. You can drop me off back at my apartment and pretend like it never happened. I won’t make you go to the wedding...”

“No, no I need you,” Seonghwa insists, panicked. “It just... didn’t occur to me how stupid this idea was until now.”

“If you think it’s a bad idea we shouldn’t do it,” you reason.

“It is a bad idea,” he agrees, “but I don’t know what else to do. Jung Wooyoung is vying for the same spot and he’s way more likable than me.”

“That’s not true, he’s just more of a kiss-ass.”

“Same thing. Either way, I already told them I was bringing a plus-one so I can’t show up without you.”

You nod, holding back from suggesting other alternatives. Seonghwa seemed resolute on going through with it and it wouldn’t do any good to try and convince him otherwise. He was like you in that way. Stubborn to a fault. Trying to “fix” the problem would only start an argument and that was the last thing you needed right now. So you let it go, and it only killed you on the inside a little bit.

Seonghwa checks into your room as soon as you get to the hotel. Since it’s late in the afternoon, it’s already ready, and you go up to drop off your things before navigating to the ballroom together.

You try to ignore the single king-size bed in the middle of the room but it’s like it’s glaring right at you, taunting you in the reflection of the vanity mirror as you reapply your lipgloss. If Seonghwa notices your apprehension about it he doesn’t say anything.

“We don’t have to go over the top,” Seonghwa reminds you in the elevator. “You don’t have to kiss me or be super touchy if you don’t want to. Some hand holding and familiarity should do it.”

“Are you sure?”

He smirks at you. “I mean, if you want to kiss me, you’re more than welcome to. But it wasn’t part of our agreement.”

You stare at him. He had never said anything like that to you before. It felt like it had come out of nowhere. The smirk falls when he sees your reaction and he side steps away from you, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Sorry, I was, uh, I was kidding. It was, I wasn’t-”

The elevator dings to signal its arrival on the first floor before Seonghwa can finish whatever excuse he was stuttering through. He motions for you to exit first, putting his arm in front of the door to keep it from closing. When you turn back to look at him, he’s all calm and collected again like nothing even happened. The only evidence of ruffled feathers was the pressed set of his lips and the pink tinge of his cheeks.

“Ready?” he asks, straightening his tie.

“As I’ll ever be.”

He offers his hand to you and you take it, entwining your fingers with his. His thumb finds the back of your hand and draws absentminded circles. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to be comforting but it is.

There are already a few people mingling when you and Seonghwa make it to the ballroom. You don’t recognize any of them but that was to be expected. Seonghwa had said that it was an intimate event, just Dr. Harvey, his mentees, and their potential plus-ones. Not everyone is here yet from what you can tell. You can’t hear Jung Wooyoung’s loud voice echoing throughout the hall so you figure he must be one of the late ones.

The way the room is decorated reminds you a bit of Christmas with the opulent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the ivy garlands laid across the tables. All that's missing are the trees wrapped in lights and potted poinsettias in every corner.

Dr. Harvey is in the middle of a conversation with a couple of other students when he spots the two of you. He excuses himself and approaches you with a smile.

“I’m glad that you both could make it!” he says, greeting you with a hug.

He hugs your fake boyfriend next and claps him firmly on the back. Seonghwa coughs at the unexpected hit but plays it off easily with a chuckle.

“When Park told me he was bringing you, I thought he was kidding. I couldn’t believe he finally got the guts to ask you out.”

Seonghwa stiffens next to you but keeps the smile plastered on his face. You, on the other hand, can’t mask your surprise.

“What do you mean?” you press.

“Oh, just that I sort of wondered if you kids would get together,” he explains. “You used to argue in my class all the time as undergraduates, but whenever we had group activities you would pair up anyway.”

“That’s because we didn’t trust anyone else with the work,” Seonghwa points out.

You squeeze his hand urgently, trying to tell him to shut the fuck up before he ruins his chances with his big mouth. Thankfully, he seems to get the message and relaxes a little but you can tell he still wants to protest.

“You didn’t even trust each other with the work,” the professor corrects. “You would bicker about every little thing under your breath when you thought I couldn’t hear even though you always sat in the front of the classroom.”

“I guess we are a little competitive,” you admit with a grin, looking up at Seonghwa with what you hope comes across as affection.

“That’s an understatement, my love,” he agrees.

“Well, it’s nice to see that you’ve been able to turn that energy into something positive,” Dr. Harvey says. “What changed?”

“Well, we’d been seeing each other for a while and finally decided to make it official,” Seonghwa muses.

And by ‘seeing each other’ he meant fucking. When you decided on your story that day in the cafe, Seonghwa had said it would make the most sense if your fake relationship budded from a friends-with-benefits thing- or acquaintances with benefits, whatever the two of you were. But of course, you couldn’t tell your professor that so you had to more so imply it by talking around the subject.

“Well, I hope that you being together means I’ll get to see more of your face. Park, you need to bring your girlfriend around the department some time. I’m sure the other faculty miss you too.”

Seonghwa nods. “I’ll be sure to do that, sir.”

“Great! I think some more people are starting to trickle in so I should go say hello, but please help yourselves to drinks while we wait for dinner.”

You both thank him and wait before saying anything else to each other.

“I think that went okay,” Seonghwa sighs.

“Could’ve been worse,” you agree.

He takes a quick look around before turning back to you. “Do you want something to drink, baby?”

“God, yes.”

At the bar, Seonghwa orders you both a glass of wine. It’s an open bar but there’s a little fish bowl for tips balanced on the edge of the counter so he deposits a couple of bills in it as he thanks the bartender.

He holds one of the glasses out to you with a half-smile. “Cheers.”

“To getting through the night,” you propose.

“To getting through the night.”

Dinner is a choice between a chicken pasta dish, a beef and potatoes dish, and ratatouille that could be made vegan upon request.

“Does the pesto have pine nuts in it?” Seonghwa asks the server when he reaches your end of the table.

“No, all of our options tonight are nut-free,” he replies.

“Perfect, thank you. Did you want the pasta, then, baby?”

“I- yes please.”

“And I’ll get the beef and we can share.”

“Sounds good,” the server says as he jots down your orders on his little notepad.

You wait until he moves on to the next guest before leaning over to your date and whispering “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Hm?”

“You remembered... I’m allergic to tree nuts.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal and murmurs, “you almost dying in the middle of chem lab our freshman year is pretty hard to forget.”

He had a point. Still, you were surprised he remembered the girl that collapsed to the floor and had to be stabbed in the thigh with an EpiPen all those years ago as you. You’re not sure if you’d remember the details so clearly if it were the other way around.

All of the dishes were pre-prepared by the hotel’s event catering staff so they were served almost immediately after the orders were taken.

Dr. Harvey led the conversation, engaging each of his students about their studies and personal lives. He was even sure to include the plus ones at the table, making an effort to get to know them as well. That was why Dr. Harvey had been one of your favorite professors, why you’d agreed to TA for him when he asked. He genuinely cared about his students, wanted them to succeed and was willing to go the extra mile to help them do so. You still remember crying in his office over a failed lab report, remember how he had patiently walked you through what you’d done wrong until it finally clicked for you, how he ended up giving you half of the credit you missed back just for following up and showing how dedicated you were to learning the material.

Even now as he listens to his mentees talk about everything under the sun, he doesn’t want anyone to feel left out.

A hand on your thigh startles you out of your zoning out. You had been trying your best to pay attention but it’s just so hard to stay attentive when Wooyoung opens his mouth. He’s been talking about algae for what you estimate to be the past twelve minutes- so in your defense, you never stood a chance anyway.

“Do you want another glass of wine?” Seonghwa asks, low enough for only you to hear.

You hadn’t even realized you’d finished your first one. It had probably happened sometime in the middle of Wooyung’s rambling.

“Yes please.”

“Okay, be right back.”

He stands from the table and takes both yours and his empty glasses in one hand, using the other to push his chair back in. Thankfully, he’s back before you can be cornered by the others at the table. You can feel it, the curiosity your presence invokes from your peers. You only recognize a few of them but all of the sideways glances make you wonder how many of them suspect why you’re really here. Maybe you’re being paranoid. Maybe they’re just surprised Seonghwa managed to pull anyone at all... no, that couldn’t be it. He’s too hot, his personality alone wouldn’t be enough to deter anyone from going out with him.

“What’s wrong?”

You take a sip from your newly refilled glass of wine and try to play it off. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“You’re making a face.”

“What face? This is just my face.”

“No, you’ve got that wrinkle in between your eyebrows. You’re worrying about something. What is it?”

You sigh and lean over to whisper in his ear. “I feel like your... friends think it’s weird that I’m here.”

“These people aren’t my friends.”

“I know. I didn’t know what else to call them- is that really the part of what I said that you think is important?”

“Why do you think they think it’s weird?”

“I don’t know, I just keep noticing everyone looking at me.”

“It’s probably because you’re pretty,” he suggests, which makes you want to change the subject entirely.

He thinks you’re pretty? Does he think you’re pretty or does he think other people think you’re pretty? What would possess him to say something like that?

“That- no, it’s not that.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I know what a dirty look is and I’ve been getting a lot of them. Do you think they’re onto us?”

Seonghwa makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat. “I don’t know. Maybe I underestimated the number of people applying for the same position as me.”

“Maybe, and maybe they know we haven’t always gotten along and are suspicious of why this is the first they’re hearing of us dating.”

“I guess we need to turn it up, then,” Seonghwa muses under his breath.

“Wha- that’s not what I-”

After dinner, there’s a bit of mingling. You get the opportunity to formally introduce yourself to the guests you’ve never met before and answer the burning question on everyone’s mind as to why you’re there in the first place.

Seonghwa’s hand is warm on the small of your back, making you wish you had decided against wearing a backless dress. Although, you suspect you still would have been able to feel the heat of his palm through the silk had it offered more coverage.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Park,” Hongjoong, you thought his name was, says as he wraps an arm around his own date. In her heels, she’s taller than him by an inch or so, and somehow it only makes the man more intimidating. “Thought you were too busy for dating, or was that just an excuse?”

“I am busy. But when you meet the right person, you make time. You of all people should know that.”

Hongjoong narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly and grins. “You’re right, we’re all fools for love, aren’t we?”

“It certainly seems that way.”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong continue exchanging semi-polite small talk until the latter’s date tugs him away, mumbling something about needing another drink.

“I didn’t realize you were so popular,” you say under your breath once the two are out of earshot.

“Yeah, you’re not the only one who hates me,” he mutters.

“And here I thought we had something special.”

Seonghwa gives you a half-smile. “Sorry to break it to you like this.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you,” you clarify, voice lowered.

He can’t hide his surprise as his eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

He straightens up a bit, stiffening, and you wonder if you’ve said something wrong. “Good to know.”

You each have another drink before the night ends. Champagne is served with dessert and Dr. Harvey proposes a toast to all of his students once everyone’s gathered around the table again.

You clink your glass to Seonghwa’s and take a sip. The bubbles soothe your throat, making the lies you’ve been telling all night easier to swallow.

You’re not drunk, you haven’t had that much to drink, but the alcohol is definitely making you feel lighter. People have started filtering out of the ballroom to go to their rooms but a few linger a little longer, taking advantage of the free booze and relaxed atmosphere. Your professor flits between the remaining students, continuing conversations that had been cut short during or before dinner.

Soft music is playing over the speakers and a few couples are dancing to it. Seonghwa hadn’t said anything about dancing, it probably wasn’t on the actual itinerary, but he draws you out to the floor without warning. You want to protest but his hands are already on your hips and your chest is already pressed to his. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him, save bumping into each other in labs and accidentally spilling samples down your coats. Based on the number of times that had happened, you don’t expect Seonghwa to be particularly graceful. But he seems intent on proving you wrong as he leads you to the rhythm.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you murmur.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he quips back.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Yeah? Like what?”

He seems to think about it for a moment before answering. “I love Star Wars.”

“I already knew that.”

“What?”

“You used to bring a Darth Vader thermos to class. The lid was his helmet.”

“Legos?”

“Lego guy keychain.”

“Animal Crossing?”

“You’d literally play it in class.”

Seonghwa smirks. “Wow.”

“What?”

“I just didn’t realize you were obsessed with me.”

“Wha- I’m not obsessed with you!” you sputter. “I’m just very observant! And you make your interests too obvious.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” he teases, making you roll your eyes.

He spins you before you get the chance to argue again, extending his arm all the way and then whipping it back so that you’re stumbling into his embrace.

“My turn, then?” he asks.

You feel your face scrunch up in confusion before you can stop it. “What do you mean?”

“Your favorite color is pink,” he whispers, as if it’s some kind of secret. “You love The Lord of the Rings. You quote it all the time. You like to cook. You always brought your leftovers for lunch and everyone would ask how you made whatever it was because it smelled so good.”

You’re staring at him now, lips slightly parted in surprise. His gaze flickers down to them and then back up. He smiles.

“You’re not the only observant one.”

A song is still playing but you’ve stopped dancing. It’s like you’re standing in the eye of a storm, surrounded by music and conversation that blurs and distorts around you. It all sounds muffled, but that might just be the ringing in your ears. You realize what’s about to happen a moment before it does but you’re still unprepared when Seonghwa kisses you.

His lips are softer than you expected, not that you’ve imagined kissing him before... not that you ever wondered. His arms are still around your waist and he pulls you in closer, deepening the kiss.

You’re stiff at first, unsure of what to do with your arms or your own lips, but you relax when you feel his tongue swipe at your bottom lip. He makes a contented sort of sound in the back of his throat when you open your mouth for him. It’s just slightly, just enough for him to get a taste, but he seems pleased nonetheless.

Distant cheering in the background startles the both of you out of your daze, pops the little bubble you’d somehow found yourselves in. It’s then that you remember that you’re in public, and that you probably shouldn’t be sucking each other's faces off in the middle of this very nice ballroom in front of your peers.

You part, both a little breathless.

“I hope that was okay,” Seonghwa whispers against your cheek.

“It was, yeah. It was okay. More than okay.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He grins, the upturn of his cheeks pushing his specs higher on his nose, making glimmers of light from the chandelier dance in the reflection of the glass like stars falling from the sky. One of his hands strays from your waist to take your own. “Wanna get out of here?”

You’re nodding before your brain can fully process the question. “Yes please.”

The journey back up to your room is a blur. You vaguely register bidding Hongjoong, Dr. Harvey, and a couple of other people whose names had long since slipped your mind goodnight. You’re not sure what you said, Seonghwa probably took the lead.

Your cheeks are warm with embarrassment as you make your way out of the hall hand in hand. You feel like everyone knows what you’re about to do. And with a kiss like that in a crowded room, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out.

But did it really matter if they knew you were about to get your back blown out? It would only help sell the story to them even more. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself, still not ready to admit that you’re not playing pretend anymore.

The clicking of your heels on the marble sounds entirely too loud as you walk through the lobby to the elevator bay. The lights have been dimmed for the night, emulating the darkness outside. Only a few employees remain behind the desks, stationed for any late check-ins. The rest had surely clocked out hours ago when the rush ended.

“Do you have a key?” Seonghwa asks you, eyeing the purse you’d somehow remembered to grab on your way out.

You did, but, “there’s one in your pocket.”

His hand comes to the front of his pants, feeling for the plastic card. “Right. Sorry.”

He uses the key to activate the elevator and then he uses it again to open the door to your room. The ride up had been silent, and a little awkward, both of you standing on opposite sides of the tiny room, avoiding eye contact.

You wonder if the energy has shifted, if the moment has passed. Had he suddenly come to his senses? Was he already regretting kissing you?

You don’t get the chance to ask either of these things, however, because he’s kissing you again as soon as you stumble into the room. It’s dark, so everything is a little uncoordinated, but it almost seems fitting for you and Seonghwa.

He presses you up against the door, fingers fumbling with the ties on the back of your dress. It’s hard for him to undo them when he can’t see what he’s doing, too occupied with kissing his way down your neck.

“Fuck this,” he gasps, breaking away. “Lift up your arms.”

You do, gasping as Seonghwa tugs the silk up and over your head. It’s the kind of dress you can’t wear a bra with so you’re left completely bare from the waist up.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, running his hands over your body.

“I’m trying.”

A beat lapses before Seonghwa lets out a quiet chuckle. You’re the one to pull him back this time, tugging at his suit jacket as you kiss him in an attempt to get it off his shoulders.

“Let me, um,” he mumbles against your lips, feeling along the wall of the little hallway you’re standing in for something. “Let me turn on a lamp or something. I want to see you.”

The comment makes you feel shy but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see him too so you let him go and only laugh a little bit when he trips over his suitcase on the way over to the desk.

“Oh, would you rather have it off?” he asks, noticing the way you’re holding your arms over your chest.

“No, no, I want to see you too,” you assure him. “I just feel kind of weird being the only one naked.”

“Well that’s an easy fix.”

He makes his way back over to you, loosening his tie as he does. He leaves it hanging around his neck so that you can take it off for him. The satin feels heavy in your hands and you wonder briefly how it would feel tied around your wrists- another time, maybe.

Seonghwa focuses on unbuttoning his shirt while you lift the tie over his head, hands brushing together as you work in tandem.

You reach for his belt but he ducks out of your grasp with a grin, shrugging off the button up as he sinks down onto his knees in front of you. You barely register the feeling of his hands on your thighs. You’re too caught up with the way he’s looking up at you. He’s taken his glasses off, though you don’t know when- or where he’s put them for that matter, and is gazing up at you like painted the cosmos themselves. Like he fully intends on worshiping you.

Park Seonghwa on his knees. What a sight.

“Can I?” he asks, fingers gently wedging themselves in between your legs to part them. “Please?”

You nod.

“I need you to say it.”

“You can,” you whisper.

“I can... what?” Seonghwa presses. “I haven’t even said what it is I want to do to you.”

He’s taunting you now. It’s obvious what he meant when he asked you but he just loves pushing your buttons too much to stop, even when he’s on the verge of begging to taste your pussy.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” you breathe.

“Fuck.”

You nearly lose your balance as Seonghwa lifts one of your legs over his shoulder but he plants both of his hands on your ass and pulls you onto his face before that can happen. He groans at the first taste of you, even though it’s over your panties. You’re not sure whether he meant to leave them on to be even more of a tease or if he had just simply forgotten to take them off in the rush to get you on his tongue.

They’re the seamless kind, the kind that aren’t supposed to show through thin material. You’d chosen to wear them with your dress instead of suffering through the discomfort of a thong all night. The comfort was a benefit. The sheerness was a drawback. You might as well not be wearing anything with how form fitting they were, especially considering how wet you already are.

Your hands are in Seonghwa’s hair and you’re trying not to pull too hard but you have to anchor yourself to something or you’re afraid your knees will buckle.

“That’s it,” he praises, nose nudging your clit as he licks into you. It’s muffled but you can still make it out, if just barely. “Harder, baby.”

“Are you s-sure?”

He nods and the motion makes you want to cry out. “I won’t break. Promise.”

You decide to trust his word and tug a little harder. He moans and rewards you by pushing his tongue inside of you. He can only go so far with the fabric of your underwear restricting him but it’s enough to get you to whimper his name.

God, you sound so pretty, it’s almost too much for Seonghwa to handle. You taste just as good as he’d always imagined, better even, and he’s losing all sense of control because of it. He can tell he’s making you feel good but this won’t be enough to get you to cum, at least, not as hard as he wants you to before he fucks you... if that’s where the night ends up going. He would be more than happy to have you cum on his tongue, kiss you goodnight, and then fall asleep beside you if that’s what you wanted.

He manages to get your panties out of the way and to the side with his teeth before diving back in and sucking your clit into his mouth. You make a little surprised sound and melt into him even more.

He wants to get his fingers inside of you too, but it would be difficult with the way the two of you are positioned so he pulls back and jerks his head in the direction of the bed. You help him to his feet and pull him in for a kiss, moaning at the way you taste on his lips.

Seonghwa didn’t think it was possible for him to get any harder than he already is but you’re always going and proving him wrong.

You release him after another moment and fall back onto the mattress, calling to him like a siren. You don’t actually say anything, but you don’t have to. The sight of you on the bed you’ll share with your legs spread and your thighs still glistening with your arousal and his saliva is all it’d take for Seonghwa to throw himself into the sea and drown in you.

He takes off his slacks finally, just to give himself a bit of relief, and joins you on the bed as fast as humanly possible.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, running his fingers over the soaked patch of your underwear.

“Please,” you laugh.

You lift your hips so that he can pull them off of you and then he’s back in between your legs with your thighs clamped around his head so tightly he can’t hear anything aside from your desperate pleas for him not to stop.

He doesn’t even realize he’s been grinding into the mattress until you’re cumming on his tongue and it takes everything in him to hold back from falling over the edge with you.

“Hwa...”

Your voice is so distant he doesn’t hear it until you repeat it. The nickname makes his heart do a little somersault. You’ve never called him that before. It makes him want to smile like an idiot and not fight so hard to suppress those pesky feelings he’s been harboring for you for God knows how long. He wants to kiss you all over and make love to you and give you a little house on his Animal Crossing island even though he’d have to rearrange the entire layout. He actually brought his switch with him, it’s in his bag and he could go get it right now and-

“Hwa!”

Fuck. Right. He pushes the aforementioned feelings down again, clears his throat, and plays it cool. “Hm? What’s up?” His voice cracks on the ‘up’ because of course it does. So much for playing it cool.

“Can you fuck me, please?”

He feels like he could fall through the floor. How the fuck could you sound so polite asking to get your back blown out like that? His dick twitches against his thigh and Seonghwa has to take a deep breath to steel himself before answering.

“You sure you want to keep going? You want this?”

“God, yes,” you whine, leaning forward to try and pull him on top of you. “Are you going to make me beg for it?”

Tempting, but, “no, it’s just... I have to tell you something.”

Jesus, was he really doing this now? It felt like the worst possible moment to bring it up but he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he slept with you without coming clean. He’d already gone further than he probably should have, judgment clouded by lust and alcohol and the lingering scent of your perfume on your neck.

You face falls, making Seonghwa realize he definitely should have worded it differently.

“It’s not anything bad! I don’t think...”

“Just tell me,” you say flatly.

“Um, remember in the car earlier today when we were going through our story, and you couldn’t remember what class I asked you out after?”

“And you yelled at me about it?”

“I didn’t yell at you-” he pauses, and squeezes his eyes shut. This was why he kept going back and forth over what he was about to say, why he was hesitating even now. “I reacted the way I did because... I actually was going to ask you out that night after your pharmacology class got out.”

“What?”

“I was there, waiting outside and I-I chickened out.”

You blink in disbelief. “You don’t... hate me?”

“Hate you? I never hated you!” You give him a look. “There was a bit of... animosity between us, but it was never hate! At least, not for me! Did you hate me?”

It’s your turn to feel exposed. That’s what Seonghwa thinks you feel anyway, from the look on your face.

“No... I already told you I didn't! It was... what you described.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes at you. “I don’t believe you.”

“I mean, like you said, it wasn’t hate. I just didn’t particularly like you. And I thought that was a mutual thing.”

“It was!” he agrees quickly. A little too quickly, maybe. “It was. For a while. And then it wasn’t. But I never said anything about it because I kept thinking it was just a phase I was going through. I thought I’d get over it and you’d never have to know.”

“But that never happened?” He shakes his head. “But you built up the courage to show up and ask me out that day. You had to have accepted it then.”

He sighs and rolls onto his back. “I guess I did, but like I said, I was a coward. When I peeked through the window on the door, I saw you laughing and joking around with your friends and I just thought about how it’s never been like that with us. And I thought it’d never work out because we’re... us. We bicker all of the time. We’re always competing. That didn’t magically go away when I realized I had feelings for you. So I thought you deserved someone who you’d actually get along with.”

“Well, that should have been up to me to decide,” you say.

“I know,” Seonghwa admits with a groan. Then, he bolts upright. “Wait, would you have said yes?”

“Probably.”

“What do you mean probably?”

“I mean, I would’ve liked to see where it went. I’ve always thought you were attractive.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s one of the things about you that annoyed me.” Seonghwa scoffs. “Just being honest.”

“Well, if I’m being honest,” he counters, propping himself up on his elbow. “I kind of like it when we bicker.”

“Don’t tell me it turns you on.”

“Only sometimes.”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re sick.”

He shrugs. “It’s only because you’re so hot when you’re mad at me.”

“You must be really horny right now, then,” you mutter.

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yes, I’m mad at you! You’ve been keeping your little crush on me a secret all this time! And you chose now to tell me?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I have the worst timing.”

“Understatement of the year.”

Seonghwa figures he deserves that one so he lets it slide even though it chips at his pride. “Wait, so... what does that make us? If we feel the same way, shouldn’t we give it a real shot?”

You groan, putting your hands over your face. “Can we talk about it after you fuck me stupid? I’m still so wet I can’t think about anything else.”

“Oh yeah, right.” He sits up and rolls back on top of you, caging you in. He presses his thigh between your legs so that you can grind on it as he kisses you again. “Are you sure arguing with me doesn’t make you horny?” he teases. “Can feel you throbbing against me, baby.”

“I’m horny because you’re hot and your dick is hard.”

And because you like him, Seonghwa thinks giddily.

“We can talk about it later, then,” he surrenders, reaching down to pump himself a few times. “As long as you’ll say you’re mine.”

You tilt your head to the side as you process his request. “Yours?”

“Mine.”

“You want me to be yours?”

“If that’s something you want.”

“It is something I want.”

“Then say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” Seonghwa hisses, grinding against you. He’s not even inside of you yet and he feels like he could explode.

“Please, Hwa,” you whisper and reach down to line him up yourself.

“Wait fuck, I don’t have a condom.”

“I have an IUD. It’s okay,” you assure him.

“Are you sure?”

“As long as you’re clean.”

“I am, I haven’t been with anyone since last year, and I’ve been tested.”

“Me too.”

“Then we’re good?” he asks.

“We’re good.”

“Perfect. Deep breath, baby.”

Seonghwa’s arms threaten to give out the instant he begins to push himself inside of you. He should have been the one to take a deep breath. He already knows how you taste so he really should have been more prepared for how good you would feel but then again Seonghwa had always been a bit Icarian in nature so his overly ambitious attitude is pretty par for the course in light of everything.

“Hold on, just... just give me a second,” he stutters.

He swears you clench around him purposefully, playing it off with a meek “sorry, it was an accident” when he glares at you. He wouldn’t put it past you to turn this into a competition too, but he wants to remember your first time together as something special. He wants to be in the moment with you, wants to make you cum over and over and over on his cock until you can’t say anything but his name. He wants to make tonight all about you. He wants to make every night about you, but he’ll have to start with tonight.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, voice so sweet he almost has to pull out so he doesn’t end what’s barely started.

“You feel too good,” he admits, dropping his head into the crook of your shoulder.

“If you cum now, we can just go again, right?”

Right. He forgot about that. He needs to stop thinking with his dick.

“Yeah, right. Right.”

“Fucked out already?” you tease, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“It’s you,” he pants weakly. “How can I not be?”

You open your mouth, probably about to say something smart in reply but he rolls his hips just as you do, pushing himself deeper inside of you. The words seem to dissolve on your tongue, your mouth falling open in a moan instead.

“What was that, baby?” he asks, moving even faster now.

You answer in mumbled nonsense. Seonghwa smirks down at you and leans forward to kiss the point where your neck meets your collarbone. He thinks about what a hickey would look like there, what kind of attention it would draw from everyone tomorrow morning.

He can’t dwell on it for too long, though, because you’re yanking him back up by his hair, warning him that you’re about to cum.

“Already?”

“It’s you,” you repeat his own words back to him, and he feels his own stomach tense up in anticipation. “You and your perfect dick.”

Okay, so, less romantic than his sentiment but the structure was still there. It made him feel warm inside nonetheless.

“Can I cum, please? Please?”

“Do you think you can be quiet? We don’t want a noise complaint, remember?”

“I c-can be quiet.”

You’re lying through your teeth and Seonghwa can tell, he’s known you for so long now that he;’s memorized all of your tells. But he’s right there on the edge too and he wants nothing more than to cum with you.

“I’m close too, baby. Shit, can I cum inside you? Please?”

“God, yes- please, give it to me...”

He kisses you as he cums, managing to swallow some of your moans and cries of his name as you cum even harder than you did the first time. He’s sensitive by the time you finally come down from it but he doesn’t pull out.

“Can we lay like this for a second?”

You nod easily, letting out a soft laugh when Seonghwa drops his weight on top of you. “I don’t think I can move anyway.”

“Not with that attitude, you can’t.”

“Oh my god, get off of me.”

“Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“You’re the worst!”

“The worst at what?”

“Everything!”

“You didn’t seem to think that a few minutes ago,” he points out.

“I’m having post-nut clarity,” you mumble, pushing weakly at his shoulders.

“I didn’t know that happened to girls,” he muses.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about women,” you snap, still struggling underneath him. “Maybe if you talked to one once and a while you’d be more knowledgeable on the subject.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“That’s because I- are you getting hard again?” you ask in disbelief.

“I told you that bickering with you turns me on!”

“You are unbelievable!”

Seonghwa kisses you and rolls his hips experimentally. You moan, relaxing under him immediately.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you sigh against his lips.

“Yeah, we’re definitely going to be late to brunch tomorrow.”

happy birthday emily!! i'm so lucky to call you my bestie and i hope you enjoyed your very late present :)

#aemulus #ateez smut #atz smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #ateez x reader #ateez x female reader #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x female reader

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thewertsearch · 2 years

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You don't know how he does stuff like this. What does this even mean? It's nonsense. Is it even syntactically viable?? Are you allowed to color text like that??? ARGH. Maybe you should ask him about it some time.

...hm.

You see, at first glance, this code does look syntactically viable, but only if we don’t pair the brackets in the way the coloring implies. If we write the code like this:

Then it’s a loop bound to the lifespan of Universe 1. Inside that main loop, it’s running a loop bound to the inverse of Universe 2′s lifespan - my guess being that this loop only runs while Universe 2 is dead.

If Universe 2 is ever registered as ‘alive’, the program waits for the blue THIS to die, and then continues. And when the main Universe 1 loop ends, it will wait for the red THIS to die, and finally exits.

In other words: This program will exit when U1 is dead, U2 is alive, and both ‘bifurcated’ iterations of THIS are dead.

However, the red/blue coloring implies that the brackets are paired in a completely nonsensical way.

I’m with Karkat here, this is nonsense. You can’t put the top half of one code block inside another - at least, not in any language I’ve worked with. I’m sure there are weird, esoteric languages that do it, but it’s definitely not the syntax du jour.

This ‘merged bracket’ interpretation is probably the correct one, though, since the colors match up. The reason this compiles at all is probably due to the special behavior of bifurcate THIS[], which we’re not privy to.

I do have a theory about what bifurcate is doing here, but... oh my god , guys, this is so silly. Will I post it? I’m going to post it.

TA wears 3D glasses, right?

What if we’re meant to do the same?

If we view these two loops as not inside each other, but adjacent to each other in 3D space, then this code makes a lot more sense. Suddenly we’re just looking at two simple death loops - one which exits when U1 dies, and one which exits when U2 lives.

They’re not blocking each other, because they’re probably executing on different threads, which may be the true function of bifurcate. Viewed like this, this code becomes a simple, multithreaded script that works similarly to my original interpretation - the difference being that now, the colors match up properly. It’s kind of beautiful, to be honest.

Now that I’m viewing this program as two threads, it seems as if the blue loop waits for the red thread to die before it can exit, and vice versa.

If I’m right about this, it means that this program is deadlocked - neither thread can exit, because it’s waiting for the other one. The two threads are back to blocking each other, and this program will never exit.

This code, when executed, immediately causes the user's computer to explode, and places a curse on the user forever, along with everyone he knows, and everyone he'll ever meet.

Not surprisingly, later on you would run this code in a fit of stupidity.

None of this, however, explains why it curses the user.

I think I need to borrow Karkat’s ~ATH manual.

#2026 #homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5

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phantom-0-writer · 8 months

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scene 03: get in loser, we’re going shopping

original prompt: gotham academy's mentorship program

more at: table of contents

timeline: much later after scene 1 & 2

Danny and Damian sat at one of the corner tables in the library. Danny had finals coming up, and was busy reviewing the term’s worth of topics from all his classes. Damian, who had insisted on joining him, sat bored. having nothing left to study.

Danny looked at the younger boy when he sighed for the 3rd time in the past five minutes. Deciding that maybe he should take a break and indulge Damian, Danny finished the last problem, and let his book shut with a loud finality.

Damian looked up at him hopefully, “Are you done, now?” He asked. Danny could tell he was trying his best to not seem too eager, but Danny couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.

“Yup,” packing his things away first, he waited for Damian, when he noticed what the boy had taken up in his boredom. “Woah, Damian.” He whispered in awe, picking up the paper closest to him. “You did this?”

Damian seemed to need a moment to understand what Danny was referring to before becoming flustered and embarrassed, a soft pink spreading on his ears, “It was simply mindless work.” He sounded defensive, like someone had berated him for his artist interests before. Danny tried not to react to that, knowing Damian would probably find it insulting.

The sketch was on the back of a math worksheet Damian had long since completed, it was of a fighter who seemed to be using his sword to attack a nondiscript opponent. Danny knew from his many intensive training sessions with Pandora that the figure's form was slipping into leaving them open for an easy frontal attack from their opponent, while simultaneously leaving the fighter to not have the range of motion they might need to defend themselves. Most of the lines of the drawing were scratchy and short but overly repeated giving the fighter the illusion of fast movement, directly in contrast the hard outline of the fighter’s form made it seem like the fighter was stuck in their position.

Liminals and liminal-agencent people by definition did not have a strong awareness to manipulate ectoplasm consciously like other more ghostly beings could. Coincidentally, liminals tended to leak their own internally produced and stored ectoplasm when they acted on their deep emotions. Scientifically this usually showed itself as a person ‘harnessing their full potential’ in moments of crisis or in some more extreme and rarer cases accessing their metagene (meta’s were not to be confused with liminals or ghostly beings they hold few to no similarities outside of coincidence). Danny had known from the beginning that Damian was a liminal, likely from prolonged exposure to ectoplasm, and paradoxically had a difficult time understanding and accessing his own emotions. Emotional negligence was never healthy for an ectoplasmic being, and Danny knew it would be a long process for Damian to learn how to properly deal with his layered and complex emotions.

That being said, there was a steady level of ectoplasm spread over the paper, something that did not match what Danny would have expected from Damian’s current state with his emotional and subsequently his ectoplasmic abilities. The fighter was clearly a character Damian had either consciously or subconsciously created to represent himself.

Danny could work with this.

During the long moment of silence Damian seemed to have grown more and more anxious for Danny’s reaction. Danny let his emotions display easily on his face, wide eyed, “This is so good, Damian. I didn’t know you drew. Do you like art?”

“I do not draw. Art is a meaningless waste of time and only those without higher goals would indulge in such an activity.” Damian sounded conflicted, and the words he was saying were pretty obviously echoed from what someone else had said to him.

“That’s ridiculous,” Danny scoffed, “Art is a very important basis for almost everything. I mean it would feel pretty stale to live in a world where there was no uniqueness anywhere. Drawing, painting, writing, acting, sculpting, singing, or whatever else, are all unique forms of making something that no one else could truly ever recreate exactly. Even if it’s minute, there are always differences in the way that one person would commit to something than another person. It’s the basis of humanity and in the core of the human mind. If you try to block it so harshly from yourself, you’ll end up locking up an integral part of yourself that sets you apart from the other 7 million people on this planet.”

Damain stood there, considering what Danny said.

Not waiting another moment, Danny grabbed Damian’s bag heading out of the library. “What are you doing?” Damian asked suspiciously, quickly falling in step with Danny, grabbing his bag back.

Danny smirked at him, “We’re going shopping, Loser.”

Damian looked scandalied at the nickname, not understanding the reference. “I am not a loser.” he huffed.

Danny just laughed as they waited for the next bus. Once they got to their stop and entered the store, Danny beelined for where he knew the art supplies to be. Damian followed behind him, unfamiliar with the store.

Sure, if Damian wanted, he could easily buy the more top of the line supplies, after all he was a Wayne. But Danny was pointedly a broke scholarship kid right now, and it didn’t sit right to let Damian pay for things he was buying, no matter how much of a trust fund kid he may be. Not that Danny was exactly broke, but he imagined the cashiers at their local supermarket wouldn’t appreciate him trying to pay for a sketchbook, a couple sketch pens and pencils, and a 25 pack of Crayola markers with solid gold coins.

It was around 4:30 when they left the store with their stuff, Damian eyeing the bag curiously the whole time. They walked the rest of the way to a local cafe, and Danny sat Damian down.

“Okay, we’ll be here for the next hour,” He pulled out his own sketchpad, the concepts filling the pages were more accurately blueprints more than drawings, “Draw whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what to draw.” Damian huffed, awkwardly taking the supplies from Danny, and examining his surroundings carefully. Damian sat in the corner for a while, blending into the surroundings as he watched how the world spun around him. Danny was half-way through reviewing one of his older designs when Damian finally decided to open the pack of pencils and the first strike on the paper was made. They stayed there for long over the allotted hour, both sucked into their own projects.

“I finished.” Damian breathed in satisfaction, stretching his hand and back in his chair at the admission.

Danny eyed him with curiosity. “Can I see?” He asked. Danny wasn’t sure how right he had been about Damian using drawing to help regulate his ectoplasm and emotions, and he wanted to check how consistent it would be. Also he was really curious to see what he had drawn.

Damian looked a little bashful at his request, but he nodded, handing the sketch book over to Danny. Danny could easily feel the ectoplasmic energy scattered across the page, it wasn’t as constant as the first drawing had been, but it was still there. So he was right.

The drawing this time was of what had likely originally meant to be the barista, based on the outlines of the industrial coffee machine and register that had started out but been forgotten later for the center of the piece. The man was wearing an apron similarly like the one the barista had been wearing and a similar uniform, but that was the only similarities that Danny could draw from his surroundings in the drawing. The man, unlike their teenaged barista, was quite aged, with thin but well groomed hair, and a mustache. He had a longer face scattered with wrinkles of old age. The old man was looking down, presumably working on something, and seemingly happy with whatever it was. The ecto-signature was more concentrated around the old man, leading Danny to believe it was someone Damian likely loved and admired.

“You’re so good at this.” Danny complemented, honestly. “Did you have fun?” He asked, it was starting to get dark and they had stayed at the cafe longer than Danny had asked him to without complaint.

“Yeah, I did.” He answered after a moment. Danny ruffled his hair affectionately, “Hey, you’re gonna mess it up.” He complained, making no effort to remove himself.

“C’mon, let’s get you home. I have to go to work soon.” Danny led them out of the store, just in time for an expensive looking black car to pull around the bend and expertly stop in front of him.

“Young Master Damian, I’ve come to pick you up.” An old British gentleman spoke from the driver seat, it was the man from the drawing.

“Understood, Alfred.” Damian turned to hand the art supplies back to Danny.

“They’re yours.” Danny refused.

“I’ll take care of them.” Damian promised, placeing the supplies carefully inside his book bag.

“I’m sure you will.” Danny nodded, stepping back so the car could drive away.

“Mister Daniel, I would have no problem taking you home as well. It is quite late now.” The driver spoke kindly. It surprised Danny how accurate Damian had drawn that picture without so much as a reference.

“No it’s alright.” Danny waved away the idea, “I have to go to work now, and it’d be too out of the way for you.” He explained.

The driver didn’t press, but Danny noticed how his eye caught on something in the distance before he bid his farewells and left.

Danny made his way to the bus stop, and waited, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Moments later another older teen approached the bus stop as well, waiting idly for the transport to arrive. He had black hair with a white tuft in the front, a sign of prolonged ectoplasmic exposure Danny knew all too well, roughly 6’ and some inches, and wore a hood of his red jacket over half his head.

Danny supposed it was fitting for someone who called himself the Red Hood.

The bus arrived, and both Danny and his co-passenger got at the stop before Arkham Asylum. Park Row AKA Crime Alley. By the time Danny clocked in and changed into his uniform for his shift it was already dark outside.

“Welcome to BatBurger.” He said in chorus with the rest of the workers at the bell chime of the door opening. The man walked to the counter silently, his white tuft of hair skillfully swept under a baseball cap he hadn’t had before. When he approached Danny’s station, Danny took his order, and right before completing the transaction, as per procedure, “Can I get a name for your order?” He asked.

“Jason Todd.”

#the effects of talia's parenting is showing and danny is a little concerned #damian learning to channel is inner artist #love to see it #also i really wanted to explore liminalness and ectoplasm here so theres that #idk if its kinda random lol #jason trained by the bats and the LoA mob boss extraordinaire and holder of bat paranoia: gives his full legal name #danny: 0_o #jason is literally so dumb smh #danny and damian bonding #damian inherited his dad's emotional competence #luckily danny's here to save the day

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10yrsyart · 5 months

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Connor needs more friends and Tron lost/ destroyed all his friends, so i think they should be buddies 😤👌 they have a lot in common, they can bond over their shared trauma hahah

(the crossover came to me in November and then i shot myself in the foot by deciding to do traditional instead of digital 😂 ...and it hasn't left me alone, so there may be more still)

DBH/ Tron AU

transcript:

Connor: -nothing so far. It appears to be a library archive of ENCOM's back up files. Copies of layouts and simulations. But no location of the GRID server or current status.

Markus: Alright Connor, keep me posted. And be careful.

Connor: I will, Markus.

Connor: (A corrupted security file..? Why-)

Connor: --W A K E U P--

Connor: I'm sorry. Your updated matrix was corrupt, so I had to access your base code.

Tron: Are you a User?

Connor: My name is Connor, I'm th- I'm an android.. a detective with New Jericho.

Tron: My name is Tron. To what do I owe a super computer for the rescue?

Connor: New Jericho received an anonymous tip about the existence of ISOs in ENCOM's dormant system, and I recovered your security program during my search. Perhaps you'd be able to help me?

Tron: I cannot condone any program, or AI for that matter, actively working to harm the Users or ISOs.

Connor: That's not our intent, I promise you.

Tron: ...Very well. On one condition.

Connor: Yes?

Tron: ..I'm an old program, Connor. Would you tell me.. how the User world has changed?

Connor: (smiles)

(BONUS)

Tron: Connor! It's good to see you.

Connor: Hello, Tron.

Tron: How are you?

Connor: I'm well. I was telling my friend Hank about you and the date of your origin. And he said, “For pete's sake, kid, what'cha doin with all us old guys? Ya gotta get out more, get some sun.”

Tron: He sounds like he would have enjoyed one of MY User friends.

Connor: Maybe if he knew who you were, Hank would feel differently-

Tron: NO... no, I'd rather keep my anonymity. It's better that way..

#detroit: become human #connor rk800 #dbh connor #tron #tron 1982 #tron legacy #dbh markus #comic page #comics #traditional art #sketchbook comic #my art #long post.#DBHTronAU

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teeny-tiny-revenge · 3 months

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It's home cinema manufacturing time! 🏴‍☠️ Gonna put my pirate show on my shelf! (I'm doing an Arts and Crafts Project and I'm making it everyone's problem.)

After seeing how much they cost, I abandoned the idea of getting a Blu-ray writer for now. For the time being, good old DVDs is what it's going to be! My TV is old and not very big, so DVD resolution is gonna be fine.

It's been ages since I last burned a DVD. For the full experience, I'm gonna create nice menus and pretty sleeves for the boxes. Graphic design is my passion! Um.

Well. First needed to find a program to do stuff with. I'm a Linux guy, so I'm using Devede. (Which is free, btw. In case someone else wants to do a low cost spot of putting pirate show on the shelf.)

DVDs fit a maximum of 120 minutes of video. So, four episodes, I thought. But after a quick attempt, the program refused to do more than three (maybe because of the menu also taking up space, and four episodes cutting pretty close to the 120 min mark?). Anyway, three episodes per disc it is. It's a pretty nice runtime for watching the entire disc, IMO. An hour and a half, and then you can return to reality to realise you should probably eat something, or go to bed because it's midnight.

OFMD with its current two seasons has a total of eighteen episodes, which is divisible by three. You get the following setup:

Disc 1: Pilot, A Damned Man, The Gentleman Pirate - That's pretty good, Stede's introduction to piracy all on one disc!

Disc 2: Discomfort in a Married State, The Best Revenge is Dressing Well, The Art of Fuckery - All bangers. Great to watch together, our boys meet and shenanigans happen!

Disc 3: This is Happening, We Gull Way Back, Act of Grace - Many romantic moments, lots of great scenes, shit hits the fan at the end there. Alright!

Disc 4: Wherever you go, there you are, Impossible Birds, Red Flags - ... Pain and angst! What have I done!?! The disc of horrors. Gotta make sure to have tissues at hand when I watch this. But hey, it also has messy bun Ed! Small mercies.

Disc 5: The Innkeeper, Fun and Games, The Curse of the Seafaring Life. - Another disc with all winners. I love all these episodes so much! (You can watch this disc to recover from the trauma of the previous one!) But seriously, this one slaps.

Disc 6: Calypso's Birthday, Man on Fire, Mermen - Great combination again. Season finale! Love and excitement!

... Honestly, except for the psychological damage of putting all the most painful episodes together, this is coming out pretty cool. Says a lot about how good the show is. I actually really love all the episodes (yes even the painful angsty episodes of massive depression). Thinking about this little project really reminded me how much I love this entire show.

So, we got a tracklist, now menus, then we can burn this stuff!

I did the menu backgrounds in GIMP. Realised I have a big folder full of screenshots I took myself, screenshots someone else took and posted on Tumblr, official promo pics for the show, and I have no idea anymore where most of them are from, because I named the files according to what's on them. Which is useful for when you want to find pics (Need a picture of cursed suit Stede? I have files named that, easy peasy!), but not so great if you wanted to give credit to whoever took a given pic you used. (It's probably @sherlockig or @ofmd-ann or @blakbonnet. Please feel credited, your beautiful screens and gifs brighten my day, and some of them are now probably part of my DVD menus. Shrunk down and cropped, but, yeah.)

I originally wanted to structure my menus as having the title of an episode, then some pics from it, then the next episode, then pics from that, and so forth, but I couldn't convince the program to give me the necessary padding between the menu items, so I ended up just putting the episode images below the menu. Still like it.

Anyway, DVD menus can also play sound! Behold a crappy video of my beautiful creation (provided entirely for sound):

It plays Gnossienne N°5!

More crappy pics of my other disc menus:

Gonna make them some nice sleeves next. Some day. Gotta make sure they all work properly first. So. I'll be on my sofa, watching my DVDs. With menus! (Edit: here are!)

#piracy ho!#ofmd #teeny rambles #ofmd dvds

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 8 months

Text

Cure [Sex Pollen Trope]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x AFAB Reader x Frank Castle

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Sex Pollen Situation 1. A fictional substance that makes the characters experience unbearable pain if they don't fuck. "You, Bucky, and Frank are exposed to a strange chemical in an abandoned Hydra warehouse. And there's only one way to make the effects wear off faster."

Warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio). No use of Y/N. AFAB Reader. Implied sexual assault of and by Bucky during his time as the Winter Soldier. Implied past/current casual sexual relationships between the Reader/Bucky and Reader/Frank. All the dubious consent circumstances that come with sex pollen. Unprotected P in V, threesome, breeding kink, creampies, multiple orgasms, pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart, honey).

WC: 3,200

A/N: Trope de Sept order got a little shuffle. Don't worry, everything is still coming, I just wanted to space out characters, fic types, etc. now that I have a better idea of what the rest of the fics will be.

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

How you and Bucky managed to get separated from the rest of the team, you weren’t sure.

The Hydra base was recently abandoned. Tipped off that the Avengers were on their way, they scrambled to make their escape, leaving miscellaneous papers, weapons, and other evidence of guilt behind.

You certainly weren’t going to take anyone in on this, but at least you’d have some clues that could maybe point to where they’d be next.

You and Bucky made your way into some kind of lab, the rest of the team raiding other areas of the base. Coms were down, but you weren’t too concerned as there seemed to be no threat that required back up. Hydra left this place abandoned and disheveled due to their hastened exit.

“Shit. There’s no one here.” Bucky lamented, sending a set of empty beakers crashing to the floor in frustration

“Not no one, but sure as shit ain’t Hydra.” a gravelly voice cut through the darkness of the lab

You and Bucky turned to the source; a tall figure attached to dusty combat boots, vest dripping with white paint smears and long-ago dried blood splatters. He wore a scowl on his tired face, a bruise covering the left side of his jaw, and had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Castle.” Bucky nodded toward him

“Barnes. Sweetheart.” he nodded back to the two of you

“I’m sorry– sweetheart? How do you two…” Bucky asked, pointing between you and Frank.

“Remember when you said I should get a hobby? You know when weeks go by and there are no missions?” you said

“I meant like, take up pickleball or crocheting; not get sexually involved with vigilantes.”

“Hey, hey!” Frank rebutted

“Woah!” you also interrupted Bucky’s implication “Who said anything about me sleeping with him? No, I started taking on some– let’s just call them personal cases outside of work. You know, using my powers to be the everyman's hero. I run into Frank on rooftops sometimes.”

“So your hobby is being a superhero, when you’re not at work being a superhero?”

“I mean sometimes we also sleep with each other.” Frank added

Frank was lucky your powers didn’t involve laser vision, or else he’d be burnt to a crisp by the way you glared at him.

“Really, doll? Castle?”

“You know what Bucky, I don’t need judgment from someone who's dating pool includes all four of the Golden Girls. Wait, how do you two know each other?” you motioned between him and Frank

“A mutual friend of ours, Curtis Hoyle, runs a veterans therapy group once a week. It usually also turns into a poker game at my place afterwards.”

“Wilson joins sometimes too.” Frank added

“Didn’t think this was your scene, Castle,” Bucky said, bringing the subject back to the mission “Thought you worked alone. You’re not thinking of joining up are you?”

Frank scoffed. “Nah. Following a lead. Led me here.”

“To a world wide terrorist orginization’s base?”

“You’d be surprised how many of the street level scumbags I chase down are involved in shit like this.”

“So you came here to go all Punisher on them?”

Frank raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“Sure, the Avengers have been playing whack-a-mole with them for years, but the vigilante with a rage problem and a bunch of guns is gonna do it.” you said with a roll of your eyes.

“Fairness to me, didn’t know just what this place was til I got here.”

Bucky let out a deep exhale. He glanced between you and Frank, before returning his focus to the abandoned lab around you.

“Well you’re here now, might as well make yourself useful.”

The three of you looked high and low through the lab and turned up nothing of real value that could even be a glimmer of a lead on what Hydra was planning next or where they had scurried off to.

Bucky used his vibranium arm to bust open the door of a locked walk-in freezer, the last place it seemed you hadn’t searched.

Various test tubes and bags of medical supplies sat on the shelves, some full of odd looking substances, others spilled over and shattered from Hydra’s escape efforts.

Frank walked up to a shelf containing vials of cherry-colored liquid, picking one up in his large hand and examining it curiously.

“Don't touch that!” Bucky exclaimed, lunging forward just as Frank turned his head

Their bodies collided, sending the glass canister spinning into the air and crashing down to the ground. The red substance splashed all over the concrete floor and tiny fragments of glass flew in every direction.

“Castle, please tell me you didn’t just do that.”

“The hell you mean, me? You’re the one who pushed me!” Frank argued back

Bucky’s panic stricken gaze met yours and you had never seen fear quite like this in his eyes.

“Don't breathe.” he commanded

“What do you mean don’t breathe?” you asked, shaking off some of the liquid that splattered on your boot

“Oh god, no no no. It’s too late. We’ve all already been exposed.” Bucky lamented, sinking to the floor with his head in his hands.

“Bucky, what is that stuff? What is going on?”

“It’s a serum.”

“Like a super soldier serum?”

“Yes. But also no. This one’s effects are temporary. And highly potent. And very airborne.”

“Airborne. Like we all just breathed it in?”

“Yep.” he confirmed

“So what does it do? What’s gonna happen to us?” you asked, panic rising in your chest

“When I was theirs,” he motioned to the room around you, implying his time as Hydra’s prisoner “They realized all their sick experiments finally worked on me and they wanted more super soldiers, to replicate what they’d created in my bloodstream. The problem was, this was right around the time Dr. Zola got captured and arrested by the team that would become Shield.”

You glanced up and down the shelves once more, hoping something in here could be used for first aid in treating whatever the hell was about to happen to the three of you.

“So without their best scientist, no matter how many liters of my blood they took and tried to recreate the serum with, they couldn’t. In a last ditch attempt, they thought maybe it could be transferred genetically, They thought maybe they could use me to breed more supersoldiers.”

Your attention snapped back to Bucky.

“Breed? Wait, so they made you…? Oh my god, with who?!” you asked in horror as Bucky revealed yet another disturbing detail of his past

“Usually volunteers for Hydra’s cause. Sometimes other prisoners; women they also had been doing experiments on.”

“That’s disgusting.” you commented

“Believe me, I’m aware.”

“But what does that have to do with that stuff?” Frank motioned to the mess still splattered on the floor

“Zola’s prodigy, a real peach of a human named Dr. Whitehall, wanted to ensure the maximum possibility my DNA would take and the women participants would be as fertile as possible. I mean, after all this shit they did to me before, they thought maybe my swimmers would be pretty fried and they could create something to remedy that. So that stuff is a concoction he created in the 70s, basically it enhances all sexual urges to their most primal instinct, so those exposed are inclined to reproduce.”

“So it’s horny juice?” Frank asked

“Eloquent as always Castle, but yes. I’d say we have about ten more minutes before it kicks in. Once it does, it’s really painful until it’s out of your system or until you act on what it wants you to.” he turned to you “Okay here’s what’s gonna happen– Doll, you’re gonna go outside and lock Frank and me in this freezer so you’ll be safe from us.”

“Safe from you? What do you mean?”

“This stuff, it kinda alters your self control for a while. Like I said, it makes you run more on instinct, especially when the painful side effects hit. Once it starts kicking in, we’ll do anything to get rid of the pain. Frank and I won’t be able to resist you and you won’t be up for putting up much of a fight either. Get somewhere where our coms will work again and radio to the team, have them get you to Banner’s lab immediately. He might be able to concoct something to ease your symptoms for a few days.”

“A few days?!”

“Well it fades faster if you… ya know. But if you don’t, it could take a while to move through your system.”

“What about the two of you?”

“We’ll just have to… take care of ourselves here.” he said, making lewd gesture with his hand “Won’t be as efficient as the real thing, but it’ll help.”

“I’m not gonna leave the two of you to just jack off and suffer.”

“Sweetheart, we’ll be fine. Just worry about you.” Frank chimed in, agreeing with Bucky

“If the solution is to… you know fuck it out. I mean shit, it’s nothing I haven’t already done with either of you.”

“Excuse me?” Frank inquired, now the one whipping his head to look between the two of you

“Remember in group a couple months ago when I said I got casually involved with a coworker, but broke it off cause it was getting in the way of our work? Well...” Bucky gestured towards you

“Unbelievable.” Frank grumbled with a shake of his head

You sat on the floor across from Bucky, tac suit suddenly feeling a bit too tight and itchy against your skin.

“This freezer we’re in… it’s still on right?” you asked

“Yeah.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m gonna combust at any minute?”

“It’s the serum. Shit, it’s already taking effect.” Bucky rushed over and crouched down beside you “Doll, you sure you don’t want to get out of here?”

“No. I want to stay. I want to help both of you and I don’t want to go through this alone either.” you said, unzipping your jacket and tossing it across the room without a thought, “Jesus it feels like my blood is on fire.”

You fanned yourself with your hands to no avail. This must have been how your mother felt during your teenage years when she’d lament about hot flashes.

Suddenly, you understood what Bucky meant by pain all over your body. It started small, almost like a needle prick, near your abdomen, but rapidly spread like ink on wet parchment.

Evidence that they were both starting to feel it too was showing; the way Frank’s brows were scrunched and how he was keeled over, hands on his knees with white knuckles gripping at his jeans. Bucky’s supersoldier powers combined with his previous exposures to this substance, he seemed reasonably calm compared to the two of you. His blue eyes were glazed over in a vacant stare as he sat on the ground across from you. Sweat droplets were beginning to form on his unusually pale skin.

“P–please” you begged to both of them, pain suddenly unbearable as you pushed your pelvis off the floor, trying to find relief with friction against nothing.

You reached out to Bucky, but he shook his head no.

“Take care of Frank first.” he lulled his head to look at you “I’m more resistant to it’s effects. I’ll be fine for a while.”

“How many times do we have to… you know, to get it out of our systems?” you asked, still writhing your body against the air.

“As many times as it takes.” Bucky said

“Frankie” you reached a hand forward, beckoning him towards you.

He stumbled as he crossed the room, still slouched over slightly as he walked.

Frank’s cock was obviously strained against his jeans as he crouched down in front of you, deep brown eyes meeting your gaze.

“Sweetheart, you sure?” he asked once more, resistance to the serum fading quickly as he ran the back of two fingers down your arm, stroking you in reassurance.

As soon as his hand brushed your skin, icy relief washed over you, sending goosebumps along your flesh. You had the irresistible urge to press more of his skin against yours, to be as close to him as possible to quell the heat still bubbling beneath the surface.

All you could do was nod in response as you lunged forward, rubbing your hand along the bulge in his pants. Frank whined, a sound you’d never heard him make in the times you’d fallen into bed together, before crashing his lips against yours.

His kisses were fiery, full of tongue and teeth, like he just couldn’t drink enough of you in. Usually so patient and tender in bed, his large hands were now clawing at you, desperately trying to rid you of your clothes as quickly as he could.

He tugged off your boots in one motion, allowing you to shimmy your pants down your body. Both of your shirts were quickly discarded as well. Fumbling to unbutton his jeans and push them down, Frank let out a relieved sigh as he finally freed his aching cock. The cool air from the freezer hit your sopping cunt, refreshing as another wave of heat rolled through your body as the serum was now fully in control.

You glanced over to Bucky as Frank laid you down on the hard concrete floor. His eyes were squeezed shut in a mixture of pain and pleasure, flesh hand down his pants stroking himself to quell the growing anguish as he listened to you and Frank.

“Goddamnit doll, I can smell you.” His breathing was labored as he spoke.

Frank reached down, running a trembling finger through your folds.

“Shit Barnes, of course you can, she’s soaked.”

“P– please Frank” You begged again as Frank touched you where you needed him most, the action unknowingly teasing you into more pain.

“Shhh shh shh sweetheart. I know. It’s hurting me too. I’ll take care of you.” Frank reassured, sliding two fingers into you effortlessly

A strained sob slipped from you as he pumped in and out of you, relieved at the sensation but still in so much agony from not getting what you really needed.

“I think you’re ready.” he commented, barely restraining himself from just taking you roughly

You reached for his shoulders, guiding him fully on top of you. As he lowered himself he slid inside you in one motion, sinking all the way in easily. The serum didn’t allow him any pause, hips immediately snapping in and out with rough thrusts, primal need taking full control. His ample length repeatedly hit that perfect spingey spot inside you, causing you to cry out.

God the sounds in the room were downright sinful. Frank, who had been incredibly verbal during your previous trists, now reduced to only groans and grunts being swallowed by your sloppily placed kisses. Bucky’s lewd moans echoed off the walls and combined with the sound of skin slapping and your mewling. The vulgar symphony only spurred you on. Your peak hit you surprisingly quickly, though you attributed that to the foreign chemical invading your system.

It was like no other orgasm you’d ever had, like those viral videos of a firework finale all accidentally exploding at once. It felt endless, like you’d just be there cumming on the floor for the rest of your life.

“Shit honey, keep squeezing me just like that.” Frank finally found his words, climbing his own summit to relief. His large hand gripped at your jaw, steadying you beneath him as his movements became more erratic, an improvised drum solo of a brutal pace.

His dark eyes met yours, pupils blown out as he watched you come apart beneath him once more. Another overwhelming orgasm washed over you, more intense than the last.

That was enough to drag Frank over the edge with you. He pulsed deep inside you, filling you to the brim so much that you could feel it running down your legs before he even pulled back.

“Goddamnit.” he groaned into your shoulder

Sprawled out on the floor, you were an absolute mess of your own slick and sweat and Frank’s cum, but you didn’t care. You still direly needed more relief and knew Bucky must’ve been in total agony by this point; listening and watching you and Frank go at it.

“How you doing sweetheart?” Frank asked as he rolled off you, now a little more clarity that he’d gotten one orgasm out. You could still see the strained muscles in his neck, his skin still a shade of red as his lust was not yet fully satiated.

“Better. Still hurts a little but much more bearable. Bucky, you ready to take over?”

He was slumped against the wall, eyes still squeezed shut. His jacket and shirt were gone and his pants were undone. But he’d given up on touching himself, knowing it wouldn’t soothe his suffering in the way he needed. You crawled across the floor toward him.

“Hey Buck? Eyes on me baby.”

His eyes snapped open and looked at you, full of desperation and pity.

“Let me help, yeah?” you spoke sweetly

He nodded, watching limply as you fumbled with his fly and exposed his throbbing length.

A switch seemed to flip inside him as you straddled him and sank down, coming alive with an animalistic fervor as you rocked your hips slowly. He let out a hearty exhale feeling your velvety walls all the way down his cock, finally alleviating the anguish he’d been trying so hard to conceal.

Every sensation in your body was amplified, every touch of Bucky’s skin against yours was exquisite, every caress of his metal arm up and down your back shot like lightning striking straight to your core. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every thrust, every exhale. Overwhelmed by it all, you collapsed against his shoulder, letting him take the reins as he began to pitch himself up into you. How different he was too in this circumstance than the times previously you’d had him. Long languid strokes to ensure you’d feel it all long forgotten in favor of dragging you down by the hips over and over to meet his pace, every slam punctuated by lust and fury. Muttering ‘oh god’ and ‘yes baby please’ into your ear.

A soft caress brushed along the back of your neck, Frank kneeling behind you placing tender, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder blades as you and Bucky fucked it out. The urge must’ve been building in him again because his hands were all over you and soon enough you weren’t sure whose grasp was where, only vaguely aware because Bucky’s vibranium touch was cool and calm amongst the heightened temperature of your sweaty skin.

Your orgasm with Bucky blossomed, rising from deep within your core and spreading like wings in the breeze. You cried into his shoulder as he did not relent in his pace, pulling your pelvises flush as he came inside you with a carnal moan.

But you still weren’t satiated and you could tell neither were they. Fuck, this was gonna be a long night.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #frank castle x reader #frank castle #jon bernthal #trope de sept #sex pollen #bucky x you #frank castle x you #imagine #bucky barnes x you x frank castle

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