Puck Me 소설 & 이야기

, I chuckled nervously. Please open up and swallow me now, I begged the earth. "Do you know why you're here, Miss Carmichael?" Mr. Drebeille finally spoke. I shook my head rapidly in response, "Did I tell you, you have such lovely skin today Mr. Drebeille" "New soap?" "Yes", the burly man indulged me as he leaned back into his chair, the old stud creaking in the process. "It's called the soap of retaining my job".

He approached cautiously, his heart pounding with anticipation. The object was a sphere, about the size of his head, made of a smooth, dark material that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. It pulsed with a faint inner glow, matching the rhythm of the symbols. As he drew closer, he could feel a strange energy emanating from it, a powerful force that seemed to draw him in.

Most of them have a word in common. "Tits... tits... tits... breasts, huh," I lift my eyebrows in surprise, this one particular hockey fan is very respectful, "He said, 'This broad has the best breasts I have seen. Good job, Kent' well, at least he didn't say tits. I'm going to like that one." Bram chuckles and I continue reading out loud. 'Who is she?' 'Puckslut' 'Are you okay to play again? Please say yes.' 'I missed you, I love you. She's not good enough for you.'

AIDEN POV Regardless, Puck was moody, and I was angry about what was coming for me, so we were both sour when Alice opened the door to welcome us. “Hey handsome, where have you been?” She smirked. “Learning the Hell I am about to endure,” I growled and stormed inside to slump on the sofa in their living room. “What do you mean?” Alice asked in concern after closing the door. “I am being sentenced to fifteen public lashes in a few hours and then being sent to work the fields in some poor man's pack.”

The power at my fingertips was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. Hey guys, I said, hitting record. This is Jade from Being the Little Guy. Welcome to my channel! This is where we dream big dreams and make them come true! Today, I want to talk about something very different than jobs and money and making it in the real world. Today, I want to talk about love.

“That girl was a solution! You need to stop sabotaging this!” “The only solution I need is one that doesn’t make me want to claw my own eyes out. Next.” The last girl scurries out like she’d rather be anywhere but listening to our back-and-forths. For an agonizing long second, it’s just the two of us and the hum of Lewis Capaldi crooning “Someone You Loved” from the corner speaker. The irony isn’t lost on me.

"The campus gossip pages are already reposting it everywhere. Half the athletic boards are calling you a total homewrecker, and the hockey groupies are basically labeling you a puck-bunny who manipulated her way into the captain’s penthouse apartment." Puck-bunny. Homewrecker. Manipulator. Let's pretend that I do know what the word puck-bunny means. I already have a label— a dozen labels— on my back barely one week into resumption. I stared at the video loop as it restarted, watching myself look so small and trapped between the two look-alike brothers. These people didn't know the truth. They didn't know about Caleb's disgusting behavior, or the fact that I was completely broke, or the fake

“You always this charming?” “Only when it’s working.” “It is,” she says easily. Of course it is. Puck bunnies are always too easy. I catch how the gym doors open behind her. I don’t turn, I don’t need to. Instead, I feel her. That sharp, instinctive pull hits before my brain even catches up. My grip tightens slightly around the water bottle before I glance up, catching her passing by in the mirror. Madison. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and she has an oversized hoodie and leggings on. Even with no make up, she’s the most distracting thing in the room.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a bite from the cookie jar in front of me. I heard him snicker but he didn't turn around, “So what names should we give them?” he asked. “Hmm, let’s see, how does Puck sound for Orange, he is always playing around with your puck.” I teased. He turned around and gave me that dead stare that forced thus unpermittdd laugh out of me. “Okay okay, sorry… let’s try again.” I muffled, wiping the tear that escaped my eye. “Oh, how about Penny,” I asked.

It was impossible. They were hanging over the plexiglass, shaking the boards, and holding up massive, neon poster boards that made my stomach twist into sickening knots. MERCER’S MATTRESS.* *DISTRACTION ON ICE.* And then, the ones that made my throat close up and my eyes burn, the ones scrawled with ugly, jagged letters that spelled out slurs I hadn’t heard since I was a kid in middle school. Every time I touched the puck, a chorus of boos rained down on me, so loud it vibrated right through my helmet and rattled my teeth.