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envy-of-the-apple · 1 month ago

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Pass it Forward

Dark!Sung Jin-woo x reader

Synopsis: You gain a new client. Even though you're sure you've never met him in your life, he feels familiar

note: commissioned by a very lovely anon. ty so so much for being patient!!!!!

Word Count: 5.4k

(Warnings: implied kidnapping, implied drugging, stalking, violence)

You never wanted to be a hunter.

Fighting magic beasts, doing raids, getting caught in red gates was all too much for your liking. Even if you did have an awakening, you doubt you’d go get tested. Besides, you weren’t a fan of hunters to begin with. You found most egotistical, violent. The higher-ranking ones especially thought they were above the law and above social order. You weren’t a fan of hunters.

It’s a shame that your job revolves around them.

Dungeons have created multiple industries. You may never get to explore one, but admiring the multiple finds hunters bring in is more than enough for you.

It’s nothing more than a glorified appraisal shop. Still, you enjoy your job, because you’re introduced to finds no one has ever seen before. The store is a little on the higher-end, so your customers are mostly B and low tier A-ranked hunters, each looking to see what their finds are worth.

It’s a nice job, the pay is wonderful, and if you can look past working with hunters directly, it’s not all that bad.

There’s a tap on your desk. You glance up.

She gives you a grin.

“We got five new swords.”

“Five new swords?” you repeat, staring back at your desk. “Amazing.”

She scoffs.

“C’mon be more excited!” Your co-worker whines. “It’s four more than my last haul.”

“I am.” You assure, “Honestly! What grade were they?”

“Bronze, mostly.” She deflates. “But they were all from a B-rank dungeon.”

“A B rank dungeon.” You repeat. She frowns. You send her an apologetic smile.

“Ignore my tone. I’m just exhausted. That’s amazing.”

“Don’t bother, no one gets impressed when they have your numbers.” She sighs before immediately perking up. “Before I forget: your special customer’s waiting for you.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re getting up from your seat.

“Stop making it sound dirty.”

“I’m not!” She argues, but there’s a grin on her face that follows you as you step out of the room and into the gallery.

The gallery is breathtaking, as always. Most of the displays are the ones you set up. You can’t help but admire them as you pass through rows of gauntlets and knives and crystals. It’s your work and your pride.

He’s in the same spot as always. You spot his blue hoodie a mile away, face always covered by a mask. The routine is the same as last time. You press a smile onto your face, stopping right behind the glass case.

“Hello.” You say politely. “How are you doing?”

As always, there’s no response. Instead, he’s placing a tiny sack onto the glass. Usually, he’s hauling around bigger items. His dungeon raid must not have gone too well this time.

You peek into the sack.

Two purple essence stones stare back at you.

It’s only customary to bring out the loupe, to check the weight, the density. You already know these are S-rank essence stones. You’ve only admired these from behind the glass, but to actually touch and inspect one? It’s almost too much.

“Okay,” you breathe, placing down the last crystal. “Each one is about 2.5 million won. Would 5.5 million be enough to part with these?”

Unlike the other hunters, he doesn’t negotiate or groan or boast. He gives a tiny nod, so subtle you had to actively look at his face.

Not like you could considering it’s buried in that mask. One of your most tolerable customers, and yet you barely even see his face. The only thing you can see of him are those eyes. It’s a familiar kind of blue. His eyes remind you of a hunter you once knew.

“Great.” You pull away with a smile. “Please wait for me to get my manager.”

It’s only ten minutes later when your manager is cheerfully sending the hunter away, still clutching the stones in his hands.

“Everytime,” he sighs, and you watch the hunter’s disappearing back. “I don’t know how you do it, but keep it up.” He pats your shoulder.

You smile, but you don’t know why this hunter keeps visiting this store, especially when he has such high-end items. You don’t know why he insists on working with you and only you. You don’t know why he hides his face, barely even looking at you.

He’s an odd one, but which hunter isn’t?

On your off days, you visit the outdoor mall that’s just outside of the city.

It’s a cute place. During hot summer days, they have free snow cones and ice cream, sales are almost always plentiful. You can spend hours milling around, walking from shop to shop, only to end up with nothing.

You don’t mind it. It’s fun to waste your time on nothing. You let your mind wander from shop to shop, stopping to pick up trinkets and Knick-knacks, only to place them down when they’re far too expensive.

One booth catches your eye. A lady with a practiced customer-service smile sits right behind it.

Awakened? Take the free hunter’s exam to find out!

They’ve even taken malls now, hm?

Hunter’s have completely overtaken culture. They’re everywhere: in media, podcasts, celebrities, actors, singers. Even D-list hunters are famous. They are completely untouchable by both the law and the public.

When will people finally realize that’s a bad thing?

There’s a scream.

You barely turn around before you see the truck. It’s wobbly, unbalanced. The driver had clearly lost control, he’s wildly honking in his panic, you can see his pale and horrified face, barely obscured by the dirty glass.

The truck is headed straight towards you.

You try to move. You can’t. You’re frozen. Your feet have planted themselves on the ground, too stubborn to run. Fight or flight, most ask. What would you do?

The answer is clear, now. Freeze.

You blink, and suddenly, you’re not on the road anymore. The sounds of panic feel more distant.

You moved? Teleported?

There’s a hand on your back, steadying you. You catch a glimpse of a blue hoodie.

He’s not wearing his mask this time.

“Youー” You barely have time to think before he’s gone, jumping back into the fray. You’re left on the side of the building, watching as everyone else picks themselves up.

When you look down, your bag has fallen.

You never even got a chance to thank him.

Usually, the appraisal shop closes along with the usual work hours. Today, your boss had closed a big deal with a favored investor, and as a ‘valued’ employee, you had to stay behind.

By the time you were freed to go home, it was already dark.

You clutch your jacket closer towards your body, but it does nothing to stop your shivers. You can still remember the way that A-rank hunter looked at you. He never did anything. Never touched you, barely even spoke to you.

He just stared with those beady black eyes. When you met his gaze for too long, his mouth would spread into this sick smile that made you want to slink behind your oblivious boss.

It was horrible, you were just glad you got out when you could.

All hunters were egotistical assholes.

…Okay, you were being mean. Not all of them were horrible. You know a couple of C-rank healers who were the sweetest pair of girls you’ve ever met. There was also that D-rank kid who just started out and was already filled with so much motivation and charisma.

That one nameless hunter wasn’t all that bad.

You almost miss your step, narrowly avoiding stepping into a giant puddle as you think about that nameless hunter with the blue hoodie and the white mask. Blue eyes. You remember he had blue eyes.

Almost silver.

Pretty.

He never once gloated over his rank, now that you thought about it, you didn’t even know his rank. It had to be high. B maybe even A? He looked strong, the kind that carried his strength with his silence.

Also, he’d saved you. You can still remember the pulsing in your heart as the vehicle slowly careened it’s way to you, showing no signs of stopping, and you just stood there, stupid, idiotic, frozen. You’d be badly injured, or worse, if he hadn’t saved you.

Not all hunters are bad.

At least, he wasn’t bad.

Just then, it started drizzling.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, feeling the droplets hit your head, as you clumsily pulled over your jacket’s hood. You know there’d be a slight chance of rain today, yet you hadn’t brought an umbrella. You assumed that you’d be home before the storm.

You fiddle with your jacket a little more, unaware that you were the only person on the street. Usually, you’d be more aware of your surroundings, not so distant, thoughtful.

You don’t notice him until he grabs your arm.

You open your mouth, intent on screaming, but he’s faster, shirking a hand across your mouth to hush you into a pitiful whimper. You kick. It does nothing. He’s so much larger than you, pushing you forward until you’re trapped between him and the wall.

Panic, you can feel it clawing up your throat, into your chest. You can feel his hot breath into your ear, a rasp of a laugh.

“Shut up,” he snaps, impatient, angered and you can feel your heart sink even faster. “Wallet. Now.”

He loosens his grip on your arm, just a bit. When you flinch, he squeezes down even tighter. You wince.

“No funny business.” He demands. “Just reach into your pocket, nice n’ easy and—“

He releases his grip. Silent.

You stay there, facing the wall, eyes shut and shaking for what feels like hours.

Nothing happens.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open. You look to the left, then to the right.

The entire street is empty.

You don’t think. You don’t care what happened. You don’t care that it might be a trap. You just run. You race down the street, past the flickering lamps, running up your apartment stairwell. You don’t stop until you reach your apartment, shoving your keys into the slot and slamming the door closed.

When you’re sure you’re alone, when the only company you have is your rapid heartbeat, you sink down into your carpet and finally let yourself have a sob of relief.

Hours later, when you’re calmer, showered, warmer, tucked into your blankets and a good book, you’d think back to that incident as well as your assailants strange disappearance. Everything about that interaction was so odd.

Also, this may just be because of the panic, but you could have sworn your shadows were longer in the flickering lamplights.

You only see him again a month after the vehicle incident.

Your customer is in the same spot as always, right in the corner, always silently waiting for you to acknowledge him. He’s dressed differently this time. Instead of that iconic blue hoodie, he’s switched to a long black cloak. The only thing that remains of him was that stubborn mask that always kept him anonymous.

Before you can say anything, he’s already dropping his latest findings onto the table. The sack makes you recalibrate. Buffer.

You forget your words, silently reaching forward, aware of his eyes watching you the entire while.

You take the chance, just then, meeting his gaze. Silver clashes onto yours. They remind of you a weapon, a sword, a dagger. Dangerous.

You look back down again, staring at the treasure he brought you.

This time, he’d brought weapons and mana crystals. A ton of mana crystals. You immediately total it in your head, the numbers getting higher and higher. After putting the crystals in their designated piles, you start on the weapons. The smallest of the weapons is a tiny blade. It’s featherlight, you can barely feel it.

“Careful. It’s sharp.”

He’s never spoken before. You jump at his voice. Deep, quiet. It suits him.

You offer a tiny smile; it flutters on your mouth.

“I will.” You give.

You place it aside, tallying the total before reaching for the second smallest. An arrowhead with a tinted yellow metal. You balance it on your fingers, watching as a tiny drop of liquid balances along the arrow’s edge—poison. That would easily up the price for this.

“Thank you, by the way.” You start, still not looking at him. “For saving me, that day.”

As predicted, he’s silent, still as a statue. It’s more of a quirk than a flaw at this point. Out the corner of your eye, you swore you saw him stiffen, just the tiniest bit so you know he heard you.

Eventually, you finish tallying up the worth of each item, handing him the total. He examines the price, and when he deems it acceptable, he gives a slight nod. You pack away the mana crystals and the weapons, promising yourself you’d put the weapons in that open part of the gallery you’d always wanted to fill. You doubt your boss would mind you taking the space—especially since you’ve snagged such rare items.

You wait for him to accept the money and walk off. He reaches over the table, fingers itching to grab the packet.

Then, he hesitates.

“You get into a lot of trouble.” He suddenly says.

It’s not an invitation for conversation. It’s a fact. The sun is yellow. The trees are green. Your eyes drift up to meet his.

That same familiar blue.

You think he’s talking about the day he saved you on the street, but somehow, you feel like he knows about the mugger incident. How? Was he there? Was he watching you—

He takes the packet, slipping it into his cloak and turns away. You watch him until the doors shut behind him.

You’re blinking, and then you’re laughing. No way, you’re overthinking this way too much. Of course he didn’t know. He was just worried, like any normal person would. You needed to stop seeing the worst in people.

You ignore your shadows, the way they jumped when he was near. It was almost like they wanted to follow him out the door.

Once again, your boss asked you to work in the back.

You don’t mind the job, with rent reaching sky high prices, you know you needed it. You just wished he’d give you more of a heads up when he told you about the amount of work you’d have to do. You highly doubt you’d be able to organize all the dungeon artifacts in a few hours.

At least, he was nice enough to give you a helper.

“What is this?” Your co-worker asks. She’s one of the newer ones, hired just last month, so she’s less of a competent independent worker bee and more of a baby you have to keep your eyes on. It didn’t really matter if she wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, you needed extra hands.

You look up, spotting her messing with a grade-A trinket.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” You say, glancing back down to your own pile. “The last person who did disappeared.”

“What?” She drops it back in the pile, her voice is pitchy.

Your mouth curls into a smile.

“Kidding kidding.” You tell her. “But, seriously, grab the gloves over there before you start handling things. Most times, the hunters take care of runes and poisons, but they might miss something every one in a while.”

She nods, the color returning to her face, before strapping on the gloves. Again, not the brightest crayon, but at least she’s a good listener. You can work with that.

Above you two, the TV is running. Typically, you’d like to work in silence, maybe a podcast running if your boss allows it. However, the newbie insisted on playing the news, claiming there’s a new S-rank hunter that’s being revealed tonight. You heard about that. Although you were also curious, you felt it was a bit too soon for yet another S-rank to be announced. Wasn’t the last one unveiled just under a year ago?

“I’m excited!” She pipes up with little prompting. “It’d be nice to see people excited for once, instead of upset of all the gates forming. At the same time, they are kinda’ getting to be a hassle. One popped up on my way from work, two weeks ago. It took me three hours to get home and I live thirty minutes away. Oh, and this other time, my boyfriend got stuck in a subway because a gate had formed right on the tracks. Can you believe that? Honestly, I—“ You hum along, half-listening to her ramblings as you find your eyes drifting to the screen.

It was one of those old-fashioned TVs, the ones that were getting more and more outdated with every passing year. The images were grainy, a bit hard to focus on until you squinted your eyes a bit.

Movement caught your eye. The camera was pointing right at the entrance of the Hunter’s Guild. The speakers were quieter than you’d liked, but you could hear the excited murmurings as the reporters talked to themselves of the newest S-rank hunter being revealed.

Even your colleague had quieted down, just in time to watch as the doors swung open.

You recognized him immediately.

For the first time, he wasn’t wearing that mask. His eyes were staring straight at the camera, his hands were up, his mouth was open. He was surprised. It was the first time you’d ever seen emotion on his face.

It’s a little funny: Remembering that a human being is human.

Cameras and lights flashed at him. He winced, backing away as people shouted ‘Sung Jin-woo!’ ‘Sung Jin-woo over here!’ ‘Sung Jin-woo have you already chosen a guild yet?’ ‘Sung Jin-woo are you—‘

“He looks like a model!” Your colleague gasped. “Was he in a movie or something? He seems a little familiar.”

You shrug, turning back to your work. Strangely, you weren’t too surprised that he was the S-rank everyone was frothing over the mouth for. He’d always struck you as odd, out of place, otherworldly.

Now, that you thought about it, you felt like you’ve heard his name before.

After his reveal, he doesn’t show up at your shop anymore.

He doesn’t need to. S-ranks have their own private tradesmen that give them better deals and ever greater packages. Those days of silently looking over the artifacts and essence stones he suspiciously hauls over your desk were long gone.

He’s famous now. Everyone knows Sung Jin-woo, the 10th Korean S-rank hunter. You don’t tell anyone he used to come to the shop, looking to sell his items. Firstly, you don’t think anyone would believe you. Secondly, it felt like your way of repaying him; he seemed like a pretty secretive guy.

Thirdly, it was like a secret for you: personally catering to an S-rank hunter was an honour. Despite how badly you think of hunters, the sheer magnitude of what an S-rank hunter is, is enough to even bowel you over.

Despite having not seeing him for months, you still see his existence all over your screen. The ant raid, the numerous dangerous gates popping up left and right, red gates, double dungeons. He’s been everywhere, doing everything.

He’s there, but he’s far away. Always in the back of your mind. A distant memory. You forget to pay attention to him, and eventually, he disappears.

Hunters are a weird group of people.

The D ranks are the most tolerable. They’re the most humble, down to Earth. They treat it like a job: just go in and out. C ranks are a little full of themselves, but they mostly leave people alone. High and mighty, think they’re on top of the world. B ranks are the same, but most have the skills to back it up.

Anyone higher than that…those are typically the problems.

“What’doya’ mean it’s only worth 150 million?” The hunter demands.

A-rank. You can tell from the quality of his armour. Also, from his demeanor, the way he eyes you like a pest. The way he knows that if he crushes you right now, he’d get away with it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” You say as softly as you can, “but I’m just repeating store policy. These essence stones are–”

“Bullshit.” He hisses, the gaps of his teeth clench into nothing. “I worked my ass off for this haul, and all I get for it is 150 million? What, so you can just gimme a shitty deal and I’m supposed just to accept it, Bitch?”

You knew nothing you would do would calm him down. Hunters are volatile creatures. They spend their days in caves, holed away from the rest of the world, fighting monsters beyond humane comprehension, and when they come home, society is expected to treat them like humans?

What kind of humans would willingly do that kind of work?

No, they were monsters. Just like the monsters they shred apart for jewels and crystals.

You don’t negotiate with animals.

It’s why you know there’s nothing you can do to prevent this from growing violent. Just by his look, you could tell he wasn’t even mad at you specifically. He was just walking around, waiting for someone to give him the tiniest reason.

And then, you fell into his trap.

Your manager was nowhere to be found. Your co-workers were all in the back, cowering from the yelling you know they can hear. No one is going to save you. You can’t even blame them. You’d do the same thing if you could.

He raises his fist, ready to strike. You can see his power, fire sparks in his fingers.

And then, something blue barrels into him.

It’s a flash, you barely catch it before it zips from behind you and launches at the man. He and the thing are both sent crashing into the back, smashing into the display sets.

It’s a bear. But it’s larger, almost looks like a hologram, even though you know it’s real. It’s pinning the man to the ground with force. You could feel it as it flew past you.

The bear roars. It’s loud enough that it rings your ears. You cover your ears, keeping your eyes open as you watch the man kick the bear off of him, scrambling to his feet.

“What the fuck!” He yells, staring at you with a deadly glare. “Are–are you some kinda’ summoner? Who the fuck are you?”

This wasn’t your doing, though. You couldn’t summon. You weren’t a hunter. When you look around, the shop is empty. By then, everyone had fled. There was no one close enough that was controlling this creature.

Which meant, whoever did that had the power to control beings far away….what kind of power was that?

“Who cares.” He spits in your direction. It lands by your feet. “It’s just a B-rank. I’m gonna rip your precious pet apart. And then, I’m comin’ after you.”

It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. You had to go. Earlier, this man just wanted to scare you a little. Now, it’s clear he wants to kill you.

Your legs scramble across the floor. Your heart is thudding loudly in your chest, and you can barely hear the sounds from the fight. There’s more growling, there’s a spark of pain in your leg. You feel hands, the ghost of fingers trailing over your jacket, your clothes, about to pull you back into the fray.

And then, everything’s gone.

The silence happens all too quickly. You don’t realize it until you’re pushing past the glass doors when you slip and cling onto the railing. You expect to feel scorching heat from the A-rank’s hands–the unbelievable power from a man who foolishly thinks he is God.

Instead, you feel nothing but a freezing, calming chill.

The shop is in total disarray. Dungeon loot worth thousands and thousands were scattered around like measly trinkets. The only things that were kept safe were the precious armor, each cemented into glass by a powerful rune. The bear was gone, the A-rank was unmoving on the ground, face-first into cracked cement.

Like a Monarch of destruction, he looms right in the center of it.

He’s turned away from you, but you know it’s him. You can recognize his features even from miles away. Sung Jin-woo is leaning over the body, once a monolith of destruction, now just as mortal as you are, inspecting it. You don’t have to see what happened to put the pieces together.

Slowly, things start to come back to life. The police are there in just a few moments. You can see the blue and red sirens flicker from the windows. A paramedic checks up on you a little while later, and you understand why you tripped. Sometime, during the scuffle, something had cut your knee. The pain didn’t set in until after the moment faded, when your breathing was starting to calm down, when you started to feel like a person again.

The paramedics tell you it’s a minor scratch, looks worse than it actually is. You try to pay attention to them, but you can. Words filter in and out like muck. Your eyes drift, trailing over to the cops and the other paramedics that were checking on the A-rank hunter. He’d only passed out, he wasn’t dead.

Sung Jin-woo is gone, by the time the police take your statement and release you. You shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a man of few words, you’ve known that of him for months now. Still, your mind lingers on the man who saved your life for the second time, even after the police take your statement, even after you’re manager tells you that the shop will be closed until further notice, even after your remaining colleagues fret over you.

You’re still thinking of him, even when you step out of your co-workers car, thanking her for the ride home as you hobble up the stairs to your apartment.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s in your living room, lingering next to the bookshelf.

You don’t scream, even when your heart is pounding in your chest. The door shuts and clicks behind you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence.

“Do you have a favorite genre?” Sung Jin-woo asks.

You stop, torn between thanking him and asking how the hell he’d even gotten in. His nonchalance keeps you from doing either.

“Yes.” You respond. You don’t say what your favorite genre is. He doesn’t pry any further.

He sets the book down, carefully tucking it back into its original place.

“Why are you here?” Your voice wavers, even when you’re not sure why. All logic points to that he’s harmless. You’ve known him for months. You’ve spoken to him. He’s saved your life multiple times. He’s a well-known hero.

And yet, that strange feeling of offness comes back. Your shadow is reacting to him, jumping every time he moves.

“How did you get in?” You try instead. Just like last time, there’s no answer.

Sung Jin-woo finally looks up at you. You expect to see that familiar shade of blue.

His eyes are different.

Blue and silver and so cold.

Like all the light is gone, snuffed from his being.

“You should sit,” he tells you, soft voice, impassive tone, “you’ve been through so much today, you shouldn’t stress yourself.”

You can’t do anything but listen. Odd, this is your home, but he occupies the space as though he owns it. When you take your seat, sinking in the cushions, he doesn’t follow suit, preferring to stand over you. You can’t tell if it was to provide comfort or to intimidate you further.

It’s barely a touch. One of his fingers lightly grazes your injured knee. Before you can flinch or even scream, gentle green light emits from your bandages. The aching and soreness fades. When the light is gone, you hesitantly lift the bandages up. Your skin is untouched, unscarred, not even a blemish. As though you’d never gotten hurt in the first place.

“How–how did you–” Your voice is dry and scratchy. You look up at him, mute, filled with questions but no clear answer.

There’s a twitch of a smile on his face.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He asks suddenly. No presumptive buildup. Everything with him is cut and dry. To the point.

It’s why you can’t keep up with him.

“What?”

“It’s okay, if you don’t.” He tells you, ignoring your questions, moving on as always. “I was a little disappointed when you didn’t recognize me, but I’ve changed a lot since that day. I understand that now.”

This was the most he’d ever talked, but you can’t pay attention to that feat. You’re still lagging behind him, trying to understand what he’s trying to say.

“It’s also my fault.” He admits, the ghost of a smile growing a bit the more he talks. “I never formally reintroduced myself. Whenever I tried to, I always found myself backing out. I just wished I’d kept better care of that dagger you gave me. That way I could’ve given it back.”

Dagger? It sounded familiar. You rack your brain over and over again, turning over every corner, every nook, every cranny until–

How did you not see it sooner?

“You.” Your words feel like sand, sticking in your throat. “You were that E-rank…”

His smile widens ever so slightly as an answer.

It was years ago, back when you were still so enamored with the idea of hunters being good-standing Samaritans. You were standing right next to the road, like most other pedestrians, waiting for the light to turn red.

He was standing there too. You noticed him because of the bandages, one on his face, the other wrapped around his arm. His hair was hiding most of his face, you couldn’t see his features.

You also noticed him because he was standing way too close to the road.

It snapped him out of whatever fog he was in. He apologized profusely for disrupting you. You had laughed it off, thinking nothing of it.

It was easy to figure out he was a hunter, it was even easier to figure out he was a weak hunter. You saw the bandages stretching over his face and hands and skin. The slight limp in his step. You remember there was a raid near the area earlier.

Sometimes, your employer allowed you to bring some trinkets home. Loot that’s barely worth paper. That night, you’d snagged a dagger. Lower than e-rank, honestly. Probably would’ve only lasted a few more hits. Nothing more than a rusty kitchen knife. You were just planning on framing it. It’d be useless in your hands. Honestly, the more you looked at it, the more of an eyesore it became.

It was thoughtless. Nothing, on your part. But the way his eyes widened when you handed it to him. He clutched it like it was the most precious thing to him.

‘Thank you. Thank you so much. How—how can I ever repay you?’

You remember the words, they were forever etched in your brain.

“Do you remember what you said to me that day?” He asks, now in the present.

You blink, and you’re sitting back down on that couch, looking at the ghost of your past. Someone you didn’t even know was still alive.

“I—“ your voice fails “I-just.”

“You told me to pass it forward.” Sung Jin-woo finishes. “You told me to help someone who needed it next time. I just don’t think you realize that person was you.”

Too much was going on. Your brain couldn’t keep up. However, you just knew this conversation was headed to a place you didn’t want it to.

“I’ve kept tabs on you.” A confession, but there’s no guilt. “You keep getting into trouble, again and again. I’ve saved you countless times and I’m afraid that one day…” He trails off.

He’s shaking his head. “No, no, I won’t let that happen. Not again.”

You stand. You don’t think you should be below someone who’s looking at you like that. Like you’re: small, tiny, insignificant.

But if you were in his shoes, you’d probably think the same.

You can feel it in the air, now. Heavy, close to crushing you to dust. You’ve never once been face-to-face with an S-class hunter, until now. You finally understand why they were so heralded in society.

Power, unrelenting power.

And when you look into his cold, dead eyes, it’s all focused on you.

You don’t understand. But you do. Enough.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, but it doesn’t sound sincere, not when it’s watered down by that look in his eyes.

“But you need to be protected.”

Something materializes in his hand. A glass bottle filled with something red.

Your vision blurs, before blacking out completely.

“I can do that.”

#yandere solo leveling #yandere sung jinwoo #yandere sung jinwoo x reader #dark sung jinwoo x reader #dark sung jinwoo #tw kidnapping #tw stalking #tw violence #yandere #dark content #sung jin woo x reader #yandere x reader #ooc jinwoo #i cannot get his character down fsr ughhhh

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muniimyg · 4 months ago

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𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (19) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

note: the last. freaking. written. oh my god,, where did the time go !!! i honestly could've finished this fic in dec but got so busy w family stuff,, but i'm glad i'm wrapping it up now.. slower and more content <3 so happy to have seen all the love and support this bbydaddy ,, and can not wait to share more of the series with u !!! love u,, see u at the end :)

warnings: dirty talk, ass slapping, titty play, doggy,, missionarykissing, creampie and so much vibes !!!

“hi mommy!”

you roll your eyes and almost shut the door in his face.

“go away, jungkook.”

he laughs, loud and shameless. then, without warning, jungkook wedges his body between the door and the frame, stopping you from fully shutting the door. his arms are full of takeout bags, the smell of fried chicken and tteokbokki filling the entryway immediately. the aroma should make you hungry, but instead, it twists your stomach.

you're too tired to want anything.

“you look radiant,” jungkook teases, setting the bags down on the nearest counter. he can’t help but notice how pale you are and how slumpy your posture is. though he teases, he still means it as he says; “glowing. motherly. beautiful.”

you give him a flat look.

“i will hurt you.”

“sure you will,” jungkook says, grinning like you’ve just handed him the greatest compliment in the world. “why would you? actually, how can you when you have that giant thing in front—”

the sound of more footsteps behind him makes your heart sink.

you lean to the side, peeking past his broad shoulders, and your suspicion is confirmed—hyemi isn’t alone. the rest of the friend group piles in behind her, all laughter and overlapping voices. and then it hits you.

it’s just like last time.

the time they all found out you were pregnant—and you can’t figure out what to feel first.

relief? excitement? annoyance?

“surprise!” jin exclaims, throwing his arms out dramatically. “we’re here to cheer you up!”

you blink at him, then at everyone else, too stunned to speak.

“what’s that face?” hyemi asks, stepping inside with a bag of desserts in hand. she glances over her shoulder at the crowd behind her. “awh, ___… don’t look so excited, or they’ll think you’re happy to see them.”

“i’m not.”

“we know.” namjoon smiles as he ducks into the hallway, carrying what looks like half a pharmacy’s worth of supplies.

“why are there so many of you?”

you feel yourself beginning to get lightheaded.

“because we love you,” hobi says simply, dropping his shoes at the door before making a beeline for the kitchen. “now sit down before you pass out. you look exhausted.”

there it is.

health care friends at their finest.

you love your friends. you love your friends. they care for you. you love them. you love them. you love them. you love them—

hyemi hums in agreement, giving you a once-over.

“shit, ___. you’re grumpier than usual. reminds me of when you’re on your period.”

the jab earns her a collective groan from everyone else.

“don’t start,” hobi says, holding a hand up like he’s warding off bad energy.

“what? it’s true!” hyemi grins, clearly unbothered by their reactions. “___’s been pregnant for 9 months and suddenly you all forget what she’s really like when she’s over it.”

you’re too tired to even retort.

you are really over it.

“i wasn’t expecting all of you, that’s all. feels a little invasive especially when i’m about to birth an entire being.” you say, attempting to defend yourself.

“and we support you,” taehyung chimes in, entering with a huge smile on his face. “isn’t this the best-case scenario? yoongi wouldn’t let us bring any drugs but if we stress you out enough—we can help deliver the baby!”

the voices fade into the background as you sink onto the couch, the ache in your lower back easing slightly with the change in position. your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as you exhale slowly.

the sound of the front door opening again makes you lift your head, though, and when you see who it is, your pout returns.

yoongi steps inside, looking a little sheepish, and offers you a soft smile.

“hey.”

“hey,” you mumble back, watching as he crosses the room toward you.

he leans down, kissing your forehead before his lips find yours, gentle and familiar. the kiss lingers, quieting the irritation buzzing under your skin.

at this point of your relationship, it feels like every kiss after the other was a million years ago. like you need to be kissed by him every 5 minutes just so you can function. it’s a high you never expected to get addicted to, but who cares?

he’s all yours.

“i’m sorry. i really thought this would cheer you up. hyemi suggested it—and… i-i didn’t think they’d annoy you this fast—”

“i wasn’t flirting with jungkook,” you grumble against his mouth, the words spilling out before you can stop them. your sudden change of subject has yoongi pulling back.

a smile tugs in, soft but apologetic. he brushes a thumb over your cheek, leaning in close again. “i know,” he murmurs. “i’m sorry for overreacting.”

just like that, the fight is over.

yoongi then slips an arm around your waist, helping you to your feet with ease. his hand lingers on the small of your back as he leads you back toward the group, his presence steadying you as the noise and laughter fill the space once more.

you lean into yoongi instinctively as he helps you back into the living room, his hand firm and steady on your waist. you swear he moves slower than necessary like he’s afraid you might topple over if he so much as lets go for a second.

“yoongi, i’m pregnant. i’m not glass,” you hiss, though you don’t pull away.

“same difference.”

you sit back on the couch with a little huff, and yoongi crouches beside you, carefully adjusting the blanket draped over your legs like he’s tucking you in for the night. his fingers brush your knee through the fabric, and the touch sends a ripple of warmth through your chest.

“anything you need?” he asks softly, voice low enough that only you can hear.

“for them to leave.”

he chuckles under his breath, a low sound that makes your pout falter.

“i’ll take care of them later. they want to be here for you right now. is that okay?”

“it’s okay.”

“good—”

“don’t go anywhere,” you stop him for getting up. “stay besid me. i’m scared of taehyung right now. he wants to deliver my baby—”

yoongi snorts.

“okay, okay.” he promises, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knee before he stands. but he doesn’t go far. instead, he perches on the arm of the couch, staying close enough that his hand finds its way to the back of your neck, his fingers curling there with a familiar ease.

“what’s this?” jin’s voice cuts through the moment, his tone pitched just enough to be obnoxious.

you glance up, startled, and catch him pointing at your hand. more specifically, the small, delicate ring glinting on your finger.

“that’s been there,” hyemi says, leaning back against the armchair with her arms crossed. she tries to act coy with it, but she’s only really seen the ring on your finger once. “you’re just noticing now?”

“wait… that’s new,” jungkook interjects, squinting. “like... really new.”

a ripple of realization passes through the group, and their gazes flick between you and yoongi with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement.

“it’s a promise ring.”

“sure,” namjoon says, dragging the word out as he adjusts his glasses. his lips twitch, failing to hide a grin. “are you two even together?”

you and yoongi pause.

“promise ring this, promise ring that… everything but boyfriend and girlfriend. baby and all. holy shit, do you even love the lord?” jimin teases.

“promise ring? what are you guys? 16?” jin adds, earning a round of laughter.

“can you not?” yoongi mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. his hand shifts to your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

hyemi catches the way you lower your gaze.

“what i think they mean to say is that… we’re happy for you,” hyemi says, her voice softer now, a rare moment of sincerity slipping through her usual banter. she attempts to correct the guys but steers the ship in a completely different direction. “you two are good together. and even though ___ would’ve said yes if that was an engagement ring—”

“w-wait, what?” yoongi’s head snaps toward hyemi so fast you’d think she just revealed a state secret. his eyes are wide, disbelief etched across his face. “hyemi, what did you just say?”

hyemi grins, clearly enjoying the chaos she’s unleashed.

“you heard me.”

you groan, dragging a hand over your face.

“god, don’t listen to her. she’s talking nonsense.”

but it’s too late.

yoongi’s gaze is locked on you now, searching for something in your expression.

“but is it true?”

“no,” you say quickly, your voice sharper than intended. “why would you even—”

“___, if it was an engagement ring…” hyemi chimes in, her voice sing-song, “wouldn’t you have said yes, ___?”

“hyemi!” you snap, glaring at her. your cheeks burn, the heat spreading all the way to your ears.

yoongi blinks.

his lips parting as if he’s about to say something, but you cut him off.

“can we not do this right now? i’m tired, i’m grumpy, and i’m this close to kicking you all out.”

the room goes quiet for a beat, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

then taehyung, ever the instigator, leans forward with a wicked grin.

“so… that’s a yes.”

the teasing simmers down after that, the room settles. namjoon and jin argue over whether or not they should check your blood pressure, while jungkook, taehyung, and jimin try to beat hyemi and hobi with some card game.

yoongi hasn’t left your side. his arm draped casually along the back of the couch. when your head tips onto his shoulder, he doesn’t hesitate, pressing a kiss to your temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“they’re not leaving anytime soon, are they?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“probably not,” he replies, lips quirking in a small smile.

you sigh, closing your eyes. the room is loud, but his presence is grounding. for a moment, you let yourself sink into it, the warmth of his hand on your arm and the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear.

“okay, let’s be serious for a second,” namjoon announces, standing in the middle of the living room with a no-nonsense expression that only half-convinces anyone. “you’re due any day now, so we should probably—”

“no.”

you cut him off so fast that it takes him a moment to register.

“but—”

“no.” you shake your head, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “absolutely not. you’re not poking me, prodding me, or whatever else you have planned. not happening.”

jin sets his drink down and raises a brow. “we’re doctors. we’re just trying to help.”

“you run a dermatology practice. you are not my OBGYN. you’re my friends,” you retort, glaring at them. “i love you all so much. thank you for caring and for all the support you’ve given me for the past 9 months. whether it was running an errand or picking up a craving, to planning a surprise baby shower and for this—i am so grateful. but holy fuck, i do not want to be touched. if you guys are here as my friends, then do that. be my friends right now and distract me since no one brought any fucking drugs.”

yoongi glances between you and the two men, hesitating. “honey, maybe just—”

“no.”

“you seem stressed. maybe checking your blood pressure isn’t an awful idea—”

“yoongi,” you snap, turning to him with a warning look. “don’t.”

he holds his hands up in surrender, lips twitching as if fighting a smile.

“okay, okay. no check-ups.”

“she’s scary,” jin mutters to namjoon, who nods in solemn agreement.

the moment is interrupted by jungkook’s sudden, blunt proclamation: “you’re really pretty, though. personally, i like it when you’re bitchy.”

your head whips around to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“what?”

“i mean, you’re glowing and all that,” he continues, shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “but also... just pretty. i can’t wait to see your boobs get all big and milky—”

you stare at him for a beat before snorting, laughter bubbling up despite your irritation.

“shut up, jungkook.”

“i’m serious!”

“she said shut up,” yoongi interjects, his tone calm but edged with something sharper. he leans forward, smacking jungkook lightly on the chest. “remember what we talked about before coming here? boundaries, right? she’s the mother of my child, not some girl you get to flirt with.”

“but... she’s ___. our ___.” jungkook protests, gesturing at you.

“my ___,” yoongi corrects him.

your heart skips a beat, the simple declaration sending a wave of warmth through your chest. you glance down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket to hide the smile threatening to break free.

“ugh, you’re both annoying,” hyemi interrupts, rolling her eyes. “can we focus on something fun? karaoke, maybe? or better yet, you guys can cook.”

“cook?” you echo, sitting up straight. “absolutely not. do you know how much yoongi paid for that stove? you’ll burn the kitchen down.”

“you need to relax,” hyemi says, waving you off. “it’s your last few momments of peace before you officially become a milf. let us take care of everything.”

“i don’t need to be taken care of,” you argue, even as yoongi gently pushes you back against the couch.

“you do,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just for tonight.”

you glance around at the group, their faces bright with amusement and affection, and something in you softens.

no one waits for you to answer.

truth be told, you don’t have much left in you. so, you let them do their thing. soon enough, the room buzzes with laughter as the guys head to the kitchen, their voices mixing with the clatter of pots and pans. hyemi sets up the karaoke machine, throwing you a wink before belting out an off-key rendition of some pop song.

yoongi stays by your side, kneeling in front of you with a plate of food in hand. he picks up a piece of kimbap and holds it out, his expression soft and expectant.

“open,” he says simply.

you narrow your eyes at him, but the corners of your lips tug upward despite yourself.

“i can feed myself, you know.”

“we talked about this, remember?” yoongi reminds you. “figure out how to need me.”

“i’m fine—”

“then humor me.”

with that, you sigh but obey. you lean forward to take the bite. his thumb brushes against your bottom lip as he pulls his hand back, and your cheeks warm at the casual intimacy of the gesture.

the noise in the background fades for a moment, replaced by the steady thrum of your heart.

you glance around the room, taking in the laughter, the teasing, the warmth that fills the space. it hits you all at once—this is the last time you’ll all be like this. the next time they come over, there’ll be a baby crying in the background, diapers on the counter, and toys scattered across the floor.

your throat tightens, a mix of happiness and nostalgia swelling in your chest. you reach for yoongi’s hand, squeezing it gently. he looks up, his gaze softening when he meets yours.

“what?” he asks quietly, leaning closer.

“nothing,” you murmur, resting your head against his shoulder. “just... thanks for being here… and for not letting them touch me right now. i just… i only want you. i'm sorry i'm being such a bitch.”

“don't be... and for the record; i want you to only want me,” he replies, his voice steady and sure. “because me? i want you always.”

and somehow, in the chaos of it all, everything feels exactly as it should be.

always.

by the time everyone leaves, you fell asleep about 3 times.

as yoongi manages to kick taehyung, jimin, and jungkook out, he wakes you up gently and helps you get to bed. in between little giggles and stumbles along the way, yoongi manages to tuck you in.

he leaves you be as he gets ready for bed. then, after what feels like an eternity, he joins you. laying beside you, he pulls you close.

“so… are we getting married or—”

“oh my god.” you bury your face into his chest. you mutter curses under your breath.

yoongi chuckles, bringing his hands to your hair. as he pats your head and plays with your hair, you feel his hand up your cheek. lifting your face up, his eyes look into yours.

“you’d really say yes?” he asks.

with wide eyes, you look at him and feel it. your heart stutters at the way he’s looking at you. it’s too much—too sincere, too raw—and frankly? you aren’t too sure if you’re in the mood to dea with it.

“would you stop?” you sigh, averting your gaze. “it’s late.”

“so… yes?,” yoongi echoes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

you huff, reach up and place a kiss on his lips.

“yes,” you admit. “if you had asked me to marry you, i would’ve said yes.”

“noted.”

“go to sleep, babydaddy.”

“is that all i am to you?”

“yup.”

you’re past your due date.

to be exact, you’re 1 day past your due date.

to be even more exact—it’s 2AM on the day of your due date.

you’ve been tossing and turning in bed, unable to get a wink of sleep. perhaps it’s the excitement or perhaps it’s the fact that you’ve never been so fucking uncomfortable in your entire life until now. regardless, you push and shove the blanket off of you and get up from bed.

yoongi is asleep, his face half-buried in his pillow with one hand tucked under it, the other resting on your side of the bed like he’d been holding you before you slipped away. you glance at him, briefly considering crawling back in just to steal some of his calm. but the restlessness gnaws at you, so you leave, careful to avoid the creak in the floorboards as you shuffle out of the bedroom.

in the living room, the hospital bag sits exactly where you left it by the door. it’s already been double-checked—more than triple, honestly—still, you kneel (slowly and not so prettily) and unzip it again.

clothes, baby onesies, snacks, charger. waterbottle. pillow. pajamas. fully charged iPad.

your fingers brush over each item as if they might’ve magically disappeared since the last time you looked. satisfied, but still not satisfied, you zip it back up and wander into the kitchen.

the fridge hums softly, and you open it, scanning the shelves of prepped meals, labeled containers, and the stash of snacks yoongi insisted on packing "for himself, but really for you.” he’s always prepared like that—calm, measured, thinking five steps ahead.

it’s part of what’s kept you grounded through this whole thing, but right now it’s also infuriating.

how can he be so fine when you’re this... this?

your hand rests on the counter as you exhale sharply, shoulders slumping. keys, wallet, slippers—all lined up neatly by the door.

everything’s ready.

except you.

you feel a swell of emotions—anxious, impatient, annoyed—and it only intensifies as you pad into the bathroom, flipping the light on softly.

the mirror reflects your tired eyes first, then your body. your hands instinctively go to your belly, fingers tracing over the curves and stretch marks that have formed like vines around your stomach. it’s beautiful, really. the garden that you are and the flower that blooms inside of you.

it feels almost bittersweet now.

“what’re you doing up?”

yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, gravelly with sleep. you meet his eyes in the mirror, his hair tousled, a crease from the pillow faintly etched into his cheek.

“couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, watching as he steps closer. his arms wrap around you, warm and secure, his hands resting on the swell of your belly. he presses his chin into the crook of your neck, placing a soft kiss against your cheek.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low and soothing. “hmmm? tell me, honey.”

you sigh, leaning back into his hold.

“i feel… anxious. and annoyed. and so tired but not tired enough to sleep. and you’re just in there snoring like nothing’s happening.”

“you’re mad at me for sleeping?”

“yeah.”

he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through your back. “okay. you’re cute when you’re mad.”

“don’t start,” you warn, glaring at him in the mirror, though the edge in your tone is dulled by his touch.

“seriously, though,” he says, turning his head to kiss your temple this time, “you’re doing amazing, and everything’s ready. we’ve checked through everything over and over again. ___, you don’t have to stress.”

you huff, crossing your arms over his. “easy for you to say. you’re not the one carrying a human who’s decided to take their sweet time coming out.”

he chuckles softly, nuzzling into your neck. “baby injeolmi is taking their time because the home you are for them isn’t an easy goodbye. you’ve been glowing throughout this entire pregnancy. you’ve been so healthy and perfect, ___. baby injeolmi is allowed to take their time. you’re the perfect home.”

“well, i’m ready,” you snap, twisting around in his arms to face him. the irritation bubbling in your chest spills over, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “maybe we should just—i don’t know—have sex or something. isn’t that supposed to help?”

yoongi freezes for a beat, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “...what?”

“i heard that if you cum inside of me, it helps soften my cervix,” you say, arms akimbo now, glaring up at him like he’s the one keeping the baby from arriving. “this baby’s already late, and i’m losing my mind. i don’t really care to try other remedies right now—”

“you’re serious?” he cuts in, his lips quirking up into that infuriatingly lazy grin. “you’re actually suggesting this right now?”

“what’s wrong with the suggestion?” you grumble, the heat rising to your cheeks more from frustration than anything else. “you don’t want to have sex with me, is that it—”

“shut up,” he bites back a laugh, his hands coming up to rest gently on your waist. “i can’t take that sentence seriously… but you know, most people don’t demand it like they’re negotiating a business deal.”

“yoongi,” you warn, shooting him a glare that could burn a hole through steel.

he leans down slightly, his face softening as he brushes a thumb over your cheek.

“alright, alright,” he says, voice dropping to that low tone that makes your knees feel a little less steady. “if it’ll make you feel better.”

you roll your eyes but don’t move away when he tilts his head, kissing you slow and deliberate, like he’s determined to tease you just a little more.

“make it worth it,” you mutter against his lips, still annoyed, but letting yourself be pulled under his warmth anyway.

“oh, i’ll make sure of it,” he murmurs back, his smirk pressing against your mouth as his hands trail lower.

you giggle as he begins to feel you.

the night gown you’re wearing is pretty thin and and low. yoongi has no problem tugging the top part down, revealing your breasts. he stares at them through the reflection of the mirror as he guides his hands around them. massaging your breasts, you let out a moan as he sloppily kisses your cheek.

“y-yoongi?”

“yes, honey?”

“i love you,” you breathe. “need you to know that… because i want you to fuck me like you don’t.”

for a moment he’s stunned.

“you want it rough, baby?”

“so rough…” you hum. “bend me over, slap me around, and treat me like your favourite toy.”

he hisses.

“not my toy,” yoongi mutters. “___, you’re the love of my life.”

you pause.

“w-what?”

yoongi pauses too. he brings his hands to cup over your cheeks and looks into your eyes.

“i love you. i’m in love with you. you’re the love of my life, ___. nothing has ever made more sense than this.”

yoongi fucks you like he never has before.

it’s fucking wild.

the way his pelvis hits your ass as he pulls your hair has you absolutely floored. every time your knees shake, he slaps your ass and hisses at you. you can’t help but feel so fucking horny.

“take more,” yoongi grunts. “you wanted more, right? you said you could handle it? fucking handle it.”

he thrusts in you, hard and rough. his pace is selfish—almost relentless… but it also feels so fucking good. yoongi fucks you like he has been wanting to this entire time.

“n-nghhh,” you moan. “y-yes… like t-that daddy! fuck me so good…”

yoongi continues to fuck you like a dog. he whimpers and mutters things under his breath, causing you to focus on his breathing. you like the way he’s panting and losing his mind over your pussy. before you can make a comment about it, he holds you in such a way that turns your body over.

he towers over you and practically drools at the sight of your tits.

yoongi lowers himself, shoving his face into them. he licks your nipples, flicks them, and bites. you throw your head back, feeling how sensitive they are as he uses his tongue to play with them. they harden but it’s nothing compared to how hard his fucking cock is.

he lifts himself up and hits your his dick agaisnt your folds. without warning, he sinks his heavy cock inside you. you gasp, but he interrupts it with a kiss.

the kiss starts slow—like yoongi’s testing your resolve, coaxing you out of your annoyance with the deliberate press of his lips. but when your hands grip his hair, pulling him closer, his control unravels. his mouth moves against yours with a deeper urgency, his fingers curling into your waist like he’s anchoring himself. whatever frustration you have suddenly dissolves, replaced by the heat pooling in your chest as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

fuck.

it’s not just a kiss; it’s a conversation, a promise, a distraction.

yoongi kisses like he’s reminding you of every reason to trust him, to lean into him, to let him take care of you. and for a moment, you forget why you were ever annoyed in the first place.

against his lips, you murmur; “i love you.”

he smiles.

“i love you too.”

with that, yoongi digs himself deeper inside you.

you feel him everywhere. his fat cock hits different angles and reaches further than what you remember. you feel choked about it to be honest… his dick has always been big and it’s never been easy for you to adjust to—but perhaps with all the pregnancy sensitivity, his cock feels even more insane to you.

it’s so insane.

like, you’re near sobs insane.

“a-are you crying?”

“no,” you pant. “i… i just… fuck, i love this so much. i’m gonna cum soon—o-oh, god! y-yoongi… mhmmm…”

he chuckles, tucking your hair back. yoongi fucks you, deep and fast. you gasp from the sharpness that suddenly occurs. he smirks at the way your lips curve. they twitch and it boosts his ego.

“you like that, mama? you like that i’m fucking your pretty pussy like this? like a fucking dirty slut? been fucking flirting with jungkook all week—”

“i wasn’t—”

“should’ve just stayed patient, honey,” yoongi growls. “what? you think he can fuck you like this? fuck you like you’re the most perfect thing on earth? no. he can’t. only me, mama. only i can fuck you like this, okay?”

“o-okay—”

“say it,” yoongi demands. “fucking say it.”

“only you.”

yoongi inhales sharply. “yeah, that’s fucking right. my little creampie slut… god, you love my cum, don’t you?”

you nod. “love is so much. so milky and creamy—so fucking good. want you to fill me up again, daddy… i want it so bad. will you do it? cum inside me? love it so much…”

“whatever you want,” yoongi breathes. “but first, tell me how good i fuck you.”

you don’t hesitate. instead, you let your words spill out.

“you fuck me so good, daddy. so fucking good, i can’t breathe… your cock is so thick and big—i’m so sad i can’t suck it. i love how it fits inside me… i love how it makes me feel. so big. so fucking b-big… ughhhh… you have my pussy drenched, honey. so fucking wet for you all the time… i love your cock s-sooo much… don’t even know how to say thank you for fucking me like this. thank you, thank you, thank y-youuu… o-ohhh… oh my god! oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! yoongi—”

yoongi picks up the pace and fucks you so good that you’re at a loss for words.

you begin to sob, wrapping your arms around him. you hold tight as he drills himself inside of you, using you like a fuck toy. but you don’t mind… espeically when he’s this hot and this fucking perfect for you.

before you know it, he mutters; “holy fuck.”

and you feel it.

a big gush of his cum floods your insides. you feel his cum spill out but he continues to pump himself inside and out of you. you hold onto him, attempting to catch your breath too. truth be told, you came minutes ago… you’ve just been too into it to stop.

as he’s about to move, you stop him.

“don’t pull out. want to keep as much cum inside me.”

“i can’t get you pregnant again.”

you laugh as he kisses your neck.

he joins your laughter and holds you close too, his arms warm and steady around you. the sheets are tangled at your feet, your body still humming with the intimacy you just shared. for the first time all night, the tension that had been coiled in your chest is gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion and something softer—something sweeter.

“you good now?” he murmurs against your shoulder, his lips brushing over your skin in a lazy kiss. “can you get some rest?”

you hum, resting your cheek against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a comfortable haze.

“yeah. i think i might actually sleep now.”

“good,” he says softly, his voice thick with sleep as he presses his chin to the top of your head. “you need it, mama. we have the next few years to lose sleep.”

his hand strokes absentmindedly over your back, his touch grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into the quiet. the two of you are on the edge of drifting off when the words spill from your lips, unfiltered and raw.

“yoongi?”

“hmm?” he replies, barely awake but still tuned in, like he always is with you.

“i’m really glad it’s you.”

his hand stills on your back, and you feel him shift slightly, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“what do you mean?”

you glance up, meeting his gaze. the room is dim, the glow from the streetlights outside casting faint shadows across his face, but his eyes are clear and focused, waiting for you to continue.

“i mean…” you take a breath, your fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone as you search for the right words. “i’ve always wanted this for myself, you know? the baby thing. the family thing… honestly? us. ever since the day i met you, i think i’ve always known you had the qualities i looked for and find attractive in a man… i never did anything because we barely knew each other but honestly? i’m so relived it’s you.”

“oh, are we confessing?” yoongi sighs. “i’ve wanted you for a long time.”

“really?”

“mhmm,” he kisses the top of your head. “all of this? all of you? worth the wait.”

the air stills.

“yoongi?”

“yeah?”

“the most healing thing i’ve ever done for myself is choose a good man to be the father of my baby. and that’s you.”

his lips part slightly, his expression softening as the words sink in.

“you’re patient and kind and thoughtful. you make me feel safe, even when i’m a mess. you make me laugh and you let me cry. you… sit with me through it all. you hold my hand and when i’m ready to run again, you’re right beside me. i can’t tell you how much i wanted this—how much i had convince myself i was worth being with a man like you… yoongi, you make everything better.” your voice cracks a little, and you laugh at yourself, shaking your head. “i don’t know how else to say it and it makes me so sad that you will never know the extent of it all but—i’m really glad it’s you.”

he’s quiet for a beat, his gaze steady, his thumb brushing over your cheek where a tear had slipped out unnoticed. then, he leans down, kissing you—not with heat or urgency, but with a tenderness that feels like an answer, like a promise.

when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“you have no idea how much that means to me,” he says, his voice low and steady, but the emotion behind it makes your chest ache. “to know that i’m good enough for you—it’s overwhelming. beyond anything i’ve ever imagined for myself. but to have you like this? to have you trust me, to love me the way you do... it’s everything, and i can’t fathom it. you and baby injeolmi are my everything. you always have been.”

9 months ago, yoongi murmured; "what are friends for?"

this.

moments like this.

where you’re reminded of how incredible it feels to love, to fall in love, and to be in love with someone like him. it’s not just a relief—it’s a revelation, a warmth that blooms in your chest and refuses to fade.

it's always.

#bts smau #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #yoongi scenario

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circeyoru · 9 months ago

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Loyalty of The Shadow

[Sung Jin-Woo x Friend!Reader]

Part 1 (here) — Part 2 — Part 3

“Huh?” You blinked with a questioned gaze while Jinwoo tried his best to get you to see something that wasn’t there. You wondered if he hit his head or if he still wasn’t back to his senses from the double dungeon he survived. There he is, trying to tell you about some system that would help him level up and sent him to the desert just because he didn’t finish his daily quest.

Though, with how desperate Jinwoo was, you just nodded and tried to understand and sympathize with him. Even when you lack the knowledge of what was going on and what he was talking about. What you thought was a phase turned out to be wrong as he continued his ‘daily missions’ from the system. When you urged him to rest, he told you ‘no’ and continued even though he was exhausted. So you stood by him and encouraged him when he was about to give up.

It might have been a few days or maybe a week or so when you were too busy with your life that you missed some visits to Jinwoo here and there, but when you got back to him, he was different.

No, that was an understatement.

He was taller, buffer, and more handsome? Well, he was cute before, but now he was all mature and hot. Not that you’ll admit it. When you first saw him again, you blankly told him, “Sorry, can I have your number?”

“Huh? It’s me! Sung Jinwoo.”

“Haha, nice joke. But I’m going to snatch you up before anyone. Jinwoo would understand, I’m sure.”

Until now, he still thought you were playing a joke on him and didn’t recognize him. Since his sister recognized him and just said he gone abs and got taller. Your reaction was unexpected and it got Jinwoo fearing. If you were to meet another person more handsome than him, would you do the same advances.

You’re not that shallow, while you would ask for numbers, you don’t actually do anything with them and just let it be a moment where you refreshed yourself. You knew handsome people were out of your league. It was funny, however, when Jinwoo was calling to ask if you had someone in mind from time to time. You told him countless times that you never made romantic advances to anyone (including him sadly).

But back to his little secret of leveling up. You believed it when he showed you how strong he was at a training center, destroying all the dummys and targets with ease. That wasn’t the best part. To you, the best part was that he had someone to rely on while he was in battles and raids.

You’ve long heard of the rumoured ‘lizards’ among the Hunters, them using weaker and lower ranked Hunters to use as bait for the monsters within the gates, then keeping the benefits and money for themselves. Truly wicked people.

As Jinwoo’s title as the weakest was latched onto him for the longest time, you can’t help but worry everytime he went to a raid. Abusing your connections, you’d keep an eye out for Hunters that would take advantage of Jinwoo, luckily, he soon found a crew that would welcome him and help him. You were furious when those same people felt Jinwoo in that double dungeon.

Now, Jinwoo has a loyal group that would stand by his side. The Shadow Army.

When Jinwoo first summoned them before you, he told them they have to listen to your commands as well. You hummed and made them do silly things, even had them acting like slaves and to treat Jinwoo like the king he is. Even though they would do so without your demands. Jinwoo didn’t stop your madness but he did question why you were doing all that.

In the end, you voided all your commands and had them all kneel before Jinwoo while he was seated in an armchair. You stood by his side and smiled while you poked Jinwoo’s cheek, “Please watch over Jinwoo in my stead while he’s in battles I can’t join. You guys are the ones he can truly rely on everywhere and anywhere.”

His Shadows all bowed their heads while Jinwoo looked at you with an expression you can’t understand.

The day came and Jinwoo was reevaluated for his rank, no surprise that he made an error of things. Korea’s 10th S-Rank Hunter, you already knew the headlines would be a buzz with such a talented man. You were waiting for the day that people would name him the strongest and not the weakest. And laughed like mad did you when his silly expression was broadcasted to the news.

“Igris! He looks so silly!! Hahahhaa!!” You laughed to the point you nearly fell but the loyal knight caught you, still you didn’t stop laughing your head off. “Look at that face!”

With that reveal and look, you forgive him for not telling you about his little mining incident with the Hunters Guild. While it wasn’t his intention to reveal himself, he did catch the attention of a certain S-Rank Hunter. You egged him so long if he felt anything for her, to which he said no and told you to drop it. You shrugged and that was the last conversation you two had before he went for another dungeon raid arranged by the system he has.

You were in the hospital looking after Jinwoo’s mother when he suddenly appeared with a serious look on his face, in his hand, he held something. You left the room and let him have his time with his mother, you stayed in the hallway and just waited. You waited until an hour or two passed before you entered the room again, you nearly dropped the beraverage in your hands when you saw what you did.

“Sh.” Her angelic figure gave you a soft smile while a finger was raised to her lips to make a shush motion, you noticed her other hand combing through Jinwoo’s hair meanwhile the man was out cold by his mother’s side.

You nodded and turned to manage the paperworks so Jinwoo could leave with his mother without delay when he wakes, you also called Jinah and just said ‘come to the hospital’ without any elaboration. Truly, it’s a day to celebrate.

“This is a giant ant.” You stared at the ant Shadow in front of you named Beru.

“Kekekeke…”

“Can I leave him with you and maybe have you teach him how to act normal?” Jinwoo asked as you turned away from the Shadow.

“Why does he need that? He’ll listen what you say anyways.” Your head tilted with confusion.

“He was a killing machine before and I just… It’s a pre-caution.” Jinwoo sighed.

You smirked, “Hmm… No take backs though.”

Jinwoo nodded, “I have full faith in your teachings.” And with that he left you with Beru.

You turned to the ant who was still standing and towering over you. “Hmm, so the first thing you need to understand.” Beru’s head tilted, “Is that Jinwoo is a King above all Kings.”

“Kekekekekeke!!”

“Jinwoo is the only one that can save the world if it’s ever in anymore crisis.”

“Kekekekekeke!!”

“So, you need to address him with the right he has. Since you’re the only one he can talk to at the moment, you must lead by example.”

“Kekeke!”

You smirked, “Let’s start with some titles.”

Well, teaching Beru was a bit hard since he only communicates with monster, or insect, tongue. But you had this feeling that Beru was an excellent student and he learned everything that you taught him. You knew Beru doesn’t disappoint.

“So, is there a reason why Beru calls me ‘My Liege’ and speaks all… weird like to me?” Jinwoo questioned while you two were enjoying a lunch at his usual spot, Korean BBQ.

“Hm? I just taught him the normal stuff.” You spoke as you cooked a piece of meat. “I don’t exactly know what he says as a response since it’s all insect noises that comes out for me.”

“Huh?”

“You can’t understand them?” Jinwoo looked at you in disbelief.

“You don’t know I can’t understand them?” You looked back at him in confusion.

“I thought you could understand all this time.” Jinwoo exclaimed in mild panic. “Because you were understanding them so well and they were following your words easily!”

Your head tilted, “I just read the mood. Plus we all have one thing in mind.”

Jinwoo’s face twisted to a look of denial. “What thing?”

“Serving you like the king you are!”

Jinwoo could feel the Shadows shifting and cheering from your words while you remained ignorant of what you’ve done. He was thankful that you can’t understand them while you were peacefully cooking your food and bumping some into his bowl and he was trying to calm down from the words of his soldiers.

“The Queen is right!”

“When are you going to make a move?”

“I want to serve the Queen!”

“My Liege, your Queen is perfect!”

Jinwoo would agree that you’re perfect and he has been waiting for the moment he confesses to you, but he can’t seem to find the right timing or place when he was that busy with his S-Rank. He knows that more than just calling you his, he wants to make you his.

“Soon.”

“Huh? You said something?” You looked up to see his smile.

Jinwoo chuckled and gave you a toast, “Nothing, just answering something my Shadows said.”

Note: Haha. Shh. I'm in another fandom. Originally I wasn't going to post this story until my writing motivation stayed longer and I had more pieces, but I was encouraged by a friend of mine @forbidden-sunlight to. And here it is! Hope you enjoyed this~

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Solo Leveling #Only I Can Level Up #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #Loyalty of The Shadow

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yourownutopia · 3 months ago

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❥001 ╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗ 𝙖 𝙃𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧'𝙨 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ˗ˏˋ ʚ♡ɞ ˎˊ˗ ╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝ 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥! 𝘑𝘪𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘰 𝘹 𝘧𝘪𝘢𝘯��é𝘦! 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ┊𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧┊𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵┊ 𝘌𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘙𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱┊𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘵┊

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ Silently, the door clicked shut as Jin-Woo stepped into the apartment. The darkness that greeted him sparked a glimmer of hope—maybe his late return had gone unnoticed. He paused, scanning the room with sharp eyes before glancing at the open bedroom door. At least the lights were off, offering him a small sense of relief.

With a swift motion, he shrugged off his coat, draping it over one of the kitchen chairs after slipping out of his shoes. His goal? The bathroom. He was covered in sweat and grime; the raid had taken a lot out of him, and all he wanted was a quick shower before crashing on the couch.

On tiptoe, he carefully maneuvered through the living area. Just as he thought he was safe, a soft voice from the bedroom froze him in place.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The familiar voice sent a shiver down his spine. A moment later, the soft click of a nightlight filled the room, and he felt like a deer caught in headlights. His beautiful fiancée sat upright in bed, her gaze locked onto him.

Her hair was a little messy, and she was wearing one of his shirts—far too big for her—while the blanket covered her legs. She was... breathtaking.

He knew immediately that he had messed up. Again.

"It's four in the morning," she stated, disbelief clear in her tone.

Jin-Woo scrambled for an excuse but came up blank.

"Oh... it's that late alrea—" He forced a nervous smile, but it faltered under her unimpressed stare. He was making things worse.

"I was just—" he started, but the moment she sighed and looked away, he felt a painful sting in his chest.

She wasn’t even angry anymore—just exhausted. Exhausted by his late-night disappearances, the excuses, the secrets. Did he not understand that she worried about him? That, despite knowing how strong he was, she still spent every moment dreading his return? That she couldn’t sleep when he wasn’t beside her or at least safe within their home?

Was it her fault? Did she make him feel like he couldn’t confide in her?

Jin-Woo watched her, lost in thought, before quietly stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the bed. His gaze flickered to the engagement ring resting on the nightstand before returning to her.

When she noticed the shift in the mattress, she looked up, her tired eyes meeting his. The guilt weighed heavily on him.

He hated seeing her like this. Hated how distant she become. Hated how she stared into nothing, her body tense, her thoughts spiraling. It had been happening more frequently—especially when he screwed up.

But more than anything, he hated himself for causing her pain. For not being able to stop. For not telling her the truth.

"I-I know I'm not really helping lately," she admitted, fingers clutching the blanket over her lap, her gaze dropping.

Beneath the blanket lay her legs, the scars of battle still not fully healed. On bad days, she could still feel the pain—or the numbness in her limbs. It had taken weeks for her to walk again, and only this month had she finally been able to slowly but surely resume her training, regaining her Strength as an S Rank Hunter slowly but steady.

She hated feeling weak. Hated that, right now - she couldn’t fight beside him—that she was bound to the sidelines while he faced the dangers alone. Especially now, when everything was spiraling out of control.

Jin-Woo didn’t like the thought of her returning to the battlefield. The fear of her getting hurt again was too great. He thought that if he could just become strong enough, then she wouldn’t have to fight at all. That he could carry it alone. But he didn't realize how distant they had become.

His eyes widened, his throat suddenly dry. Was that what she thought? That she was the problem?

"Stop," he said firmly, his voice both serious and gentle. He needed to end that thought before it could take root.

He reached for her hands, covering them with his own as if she might break under too much pressure.

He had kept everything bottled up, thinking it would protect her. Thinking he was sparing her from worry. But in the end, he had only hurt her more.

"You didn’t do anything wrong. I—" He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to put his thoughts into words. Emotions were never his strong suit. How could he make her understand?

She watched him closely, noticing how he wrestled with himself. His eyes darted nervously, avoiding hers.

"Talk to me," she pleaded softly, barely above a whisper.

Their gazes met, and he felt himself drowning in the endless depths of her [E/C] eyes. She was the only person he could ever be truly honest with. The only one he trusted enough to be vulnerable around.

"I’m afraid," he finally admitted, his voice barely audible. "Of what?" she asked gently—patiently—giving him the space to speak at his own pace.

"That I won’t be able to protect you," he confessed. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, their intensity locked onto her delicate form. His greatest fear was losing her. Failing her. Being forced to live in a world without her.

"How could I go on if something happened to you?" His expression darkened, as if his worst nightmare was unfolding before him.

"I can’t—" he began, but the words died in his throat.

Images flashed through his mind.

Her pained expression as Beru’s claws tore through her stomach, the blood spilling from her lips, her body going limp.

Her nearly lifeless form collapsing into his arms—just in time to catch her.

The helplessness that had consumed him, knowing there was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch as she slipped away, growing weaker by the second, until the battle was finally over and he could reach her.

He didn’t realize that tears had gathered in his eyes as he saw the concern on her face.

Jin-Woo remembered it all as if it had happened yesterday.

The suffocating fear. The panic that made his hands shake. The overwhelming relief when he was told she would survive. And the tears in his eyes when she finally woke up.

That was the moment he decided—he would never let her go. The Moment he decided that he would make her his wife.

"I can’t," he whispered again, his normally composed voice trembling. His body tensed, reacting as if he were reliving the nightmare all over again. His breath quickened, his palms grew clammy.

[Y/N]’s eyes widened. She recognized the signs of an impending panic attack.

Instead of pulling him into an embrace, she gently took his hands, pressing them against her chest, right where her heart beat steadily.

"can you feel that?" she asked softly, a warm smile gracing her lips as she held his hands against her - earning a confused look from the Shadow monarch.

"Do you feel it?" she repeated. "I'm right here", she added.

Her words reached him. His lost, empty gaze slowly refocused. Under his fingertips, he felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Calm. Strong. Real.

His own heart was racing, but hers—hers was solid, grounding him. He took a shaky breath, pulling away just enough to wrap his arms around her instead.

One hand tangled in her soft [H/C] hair, the other clung to her waist as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. Her warmth seeped into him, soothing his frayed nerves.

[Y/N] was startled by his sudden embrace but quickly reciprocated, holding him tightly.

"I love you so much" he murmured, his voice raw. She felt the dampness of his silent tears against her skin. He had said those words before, but this time, they carried a weight unlike any other. It was as if the words were engraving themselves deep into her soul, carrying so much weight and meaning that she would never forget them, even beyond this life. "I love you too" she whispered, tracing slow, comforting circles along his back.

Slowly, the tension in his body faded. His heartbeat calmed. But he didn’t let go.

"Jin-Woo?" she murmured after a long silence, noticing how his head grew heavier against her. He only responded with a soft hum. Exhaustion had finally won.

She smiled, carefully guiding him onto the pillow and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"Sleep well," she whispered, resting her forehead against his before drifting into slumber beside him.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ꨄ︎ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ I just wanted some quick fluff and comfort, nothing too special. I hope you enjoyed it anyways <3 Thanks for all reblogs, likes & comments.'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*' ˋ°•*⁀✎ 𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑎

#jin woo x reader #solo leveling #jinwoo sung x reader #shadow monarch #solo leveling x reader #fanfic #x reader #one shot #angst #fluff #comfort

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m1stm3 · 4 months ago

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now playing…

stay soft by mitski

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

cw’s!!: some angst and fem! reader (reader is referred to as a woman and uses she/her pronouns) :]

wc: 916 (my longest posted yet!!!)

imagining shigaraki who announces to the league that he found a temporary place to stay a few weeks after the base gets destroyed, answering zero questions as to how exactly he found a place for a group of villains to stay after they had seemingly exhausted all of their options (“someone owed me a favor” was all he had said. none of them believed him).

they’re all confused when they arrive at a relatively residential neighborhood. they’re even more confused when their boss walks up to the front door of a random house as if he’s done it a thousand times before (he has. he’d always crawl back to this doorstep, always looking a little small and wounded).

and — not to be repetitive — but imagine their shock when the sweetest looking woman opens the door. you. you’re all smiles and sugar, giving their boss a wide smile before greeting the rest of them and inviting them inside. they’re practically gawking at the way you dote on them as if they’re normal houseguests and not a group of strangely dressed villains.

the blonde girl and the two men in masks are the only ones that introduce themselves (himiko, jin, and ‘compress’. you recognized them from tomuras previous explanations. he thought they were all pains in their own right, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree). the others stay close by tomura, allowing him to guide them through the new environment (as if they had much of a choice). he hadn’t said a word since the nice woman opened the door, even ignoring spinners insistent, whispered questions.

tomura suddenly stops, gesturing to three doors. “we’re taking up these two rooms, the garage, and the living room.” he points to the last door in the hallway. “that’s the bathroom. figure it out amongst yourselves.” he explained flatly, making his way back to the main area of the house with nothing else said. they were left with more questions than when they had initially gotten there.

their boss had settled into a couch by the time they wandered back into the main area, slouched against an armrest with that blank look he wore whenever he was lost in thought. you had taken to the more talkative three, smiling softly as you answered their questions while offering them mugs of something warm (you couldn’t help the softened look in your eyes when you saw the brief shock in their expressions at the gesture).

it was quiet for a while after that. peaceful, even… until you dropped a mug while trying to tidy up your kitchen. it had been a while since the league had seen their boss suddenly so alert, no hesitation in his movements when he briskly made his way into the kitchen. they had braced themselves to hear yelling or some form of harshness. anything to express his displeasure towards the sudden interruption to his thoughts. only, that’s not what happened. at all, actually.

you were a little more frantic, murmuring soft apologies while crouched down and picking up the larger shards of ceramic. only the three at the table could see what was going on, but the quiet way everything was handled was enough for everyone to connect some dots. tomura hadn’t said anything, simply moving down to your level to help you pick up the bigger shards.

when he finally spoke, it was like witnessing a different person. ‘soft’ was an adjective the league wasn’t familiar with. they didn’t have the privilege of really knowing what that word meant… they understood it better now though, with the way their boss was reassuring you in a quiet voice. his words were scolding as per usual, (even you weren’t immune to his small lectures urging you to ‘be more careful’) but he said them with a lightness none of them had heard before.

and then you touched him and suddenly they understood (those who witnessed it, of course). the contact was brief, just a small, grateful squeeze to his shoulder. something so easily overlooked by the general population… but they knew their boss well. they knew the weight of the small gesture. it was so painfully normal, he didn’t even blink an eye at the small touch.

the three at the table — who usually had had so much to say — could only spare each other small, knowing glances. the others that had settled on the couch still looked expectant, as if waiting for the storm that was soon to come pouring down (they could’ve waited years, it was never going to happen).

the league stood at your house for two weeks after that, the interactions between you and the members short but sweet. tomura had bunked in the garage, walking into the house throughout the night with the weak excuse of having to use the bathroom.

they decided not to call him out on his lie.

you remained kind even as they were leaving, wishing them well and softly urging them to stay safe. only himiko noticed the look you and tomura shared as he walked past you. a secret something she was sure only the two of you knew the meaning of. she found herself foolishly hoping that the pretty lady who had taken care of them would be okay.

you found yourself foolishly hoping to see them again (in another life, maybe. things would be better then.)

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sweetflanfiction · 5 months ago

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Asymmetrical Symphony - Part 4

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of death.

A.N.: Enjoy the 1st meeting.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3

• ··········· • ············ •

Death was a definite thing. No matter where you were. Undercity, topside, mid-city. Death didn’t choose. It wasn’t picky. It plucked children from mothers and fathers from children. And it was cruel. As if losing a loved one wasn’t enough, it took the memories. Their voice is the first to go, then their face becomes blurry, and then you only remember what they were when a particular tune comes up or a smell drifts from the window. And then it hits you. Slowly and all at once. A person that had been filling that hole in your heart, and now they're gone.

“Mother?”

The woman’s gaze turned to you and softened, eyes starting to wet just as yours were. Her voice. You remembered her voice.

“Madame Rainemour.” Caitlyn stood even straighter, almost backbreaking. “I don’t think interrogating a suspect is a contact sport, Miss Kiramman.” Her eyes steeled as she looked at the younger woman. “Where’s their lawyer? If I remember correctly, every prisoner has the right to have a representative to defend them. Where is it?”

Caitlyn's mouth opened and closed, eyes shifting around for an answer.

“Very well.” The older woman, your mother said. “They shall use the Rainemour's attorney as their defender, and until you have summoned a judge, they will be coming home.”

“Home? Judge?” Caitlyn suddenly snapped out of her stupor. “Madame Rainemour, this person is suspected to be entangled with Jin—the author of the attack. They have also assaulted several enforcers and attempted to escape the hospital we had placed them in. I don’t know who this is to you, but to us, they are a person of interest.”

“This is my child, Miss Kiramman. And I will not have you abuse your grief and your power chasing a shadow in hopes of getting to the light bulb.”

“Can we discuss this outside?” Caitlyn hid the surprise well, but her eyebrows shot up, and you had half a mind to not mumble, I told you so. Mostly because you didn’t think your brain was functioning correctly and any thought you would try to convey would come out a jumbled mess. “Uncuff them and will.” “I can’t uncuff them; they are a suspect. They have tried escaping once!” “Caitlyn, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. I can have the family's attorney here in minutes. He will spin whatever case you have into the tightest knot he can. You’ll be untangling it for months. Or you can uncuff my child and talk to me, and we can find a better solution for all of us.”

You could sense Caitlyn’s frustration as she turned to the table, grabbed the key ring from her belt, and unlocked the cuffs.

“Thank you, shall we?”

They both left the room silently, and you crossed your arms on the table, resting your head in them.

You realized how tired you were. Not just physically, with all the aching bones and bruises starting to make themselves noticed as the stress levels diminish a little, but also your mind is chaotic and exhausted. And you haven’t even stopped to properly think about this. This shift, the runes, the magic, your mother? This world…

“Hello.”

You jumped from your curved position, placing a hand on your heart while turning your body in the chair to look at the owner of the voice.

A serious-faced Viktor stood against the wall, near the door. Leaning on his cane with two hands.

“Blue balls of Hextech Vik.” You exhale quickly. “You want to kill me; just boink me in the head with the cane.”

“Blue balls of Hextech?” His square eyebrows raised in confusion, and you realized the slip-up.

“It’s…huh… It’s…complicated… It’s a joke.”

It was easy how quickly you had forgotten this wasn’t your Viktor. This was their Viktor. And this Viktor didn’t have the memories of your Viktor. All the jokes, the quips, the way you three could have whole conversations in silence.

“It is funny because Hextech does exist in a blue ball form.” he said, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

“How come they allowed you to be inside the room with a very dangerous criminal such as myself?” You pointed to your pitiful figure.

They didn’t get you a change of clothes, but they gave you some pants. So now you were sitting there, wearing a crimped hospital gown, gray pants that didn’t fit you, feet clad in dirty socks, bandages around your arms, and recently open wounds and bruises. You looked as menacing as a wet dog.

“They did not.” he simply said, shrugging and rolling his eyes.

You shook your head; of course they didn’t. Viktor did what Viktor wanted.

“Alright. I’ll remake the question.” You placed your arm on top of the wooden chair’s back and laid your chin on top of your upper arm. “Why are you in the room with a very dangerous criminal such as myself inside?”

“I have a conundrum.” He said fishing something from the inside of his white vest. A folded piece of paper that he handed to you. “Excuse the scratchiness of the lines. I did it on the trolley rides.”

You raised an eyebrow and unfolded the paper. It was definitely a Viktor sketch. You touched the lines on the paper gently, not even paying attention to what you were looking at. His neat cursive handwritten notes were scattered around a less neat sketch of a broken cog. It was made in pencil, and you assumed there were no erasers around since some of the sketch lines had been drawn thicker to hide previous mistakes. There were fingerprints, smudges, crossed-out words, and the little, neat hatching lines on the corner of the sheet he did when he was deep in thought. This was Viktor, your Viktor. You sigh deeply, doing your best to not think about the past right now.

You blinked the moistness out of your eyes and looked at the sketch. It was a broken cog, cracked in some places. There was a thin arrow pointing to one of the cracks.

‘Councilor Hosket, deceased.’

In the lower right corner, two dotted, parallel lines are drawn with a note pointing to it.

‘No major damage.’

A little V drawn right next to the lines, near one of the cracks, had two arrows coming out of it. One arrow, thicker, went from outside the dotted lines to the inside, where another V was noted down, next to an interrogation point. The letters M J were also scribbled between the ‘no major damage lines.’

The other arrow was thinner and had another V next to a cross.

‘Councilor Bolbok: deceased’ a line read next to the cross.

This wasn’t a cog. It was the table at the councilor chamber and the damage after the attack. You narrowed your eyes first, confused, but grinned a second after. Of course Viktor would have investigated the attack. Especially because you did tackle him out of what he figured out was the line of fire.

“I do not believe in luck. I believe in chance, but not luck.” He explained, leaning back into the wall, his golden gaze on you. “But I do believe the facts. Especially ones I can prove. You see, in all of the calculations I made, and I’ve been making them since I woke in a hospital bed.” He spat the last part with a palpable distaste. “Of the people who were in the path of most destruction, myself and Jayce were saved with mostly bruises and scratches. Jayce, I hypothesized, in an attempt to save Councilor Medarda, saved himself, pushing both out of the way.”

Sighing, you realized how much you missed his ramblings. He could have just said ‘I should have died, but I didn’t and I don’t know why.’ But here he was going on and on about the waves of destruction and the building infrastructure and how having a glass dome was just vanity and very unsafe. Excitedly talking with hands, always having one on the cane while the other moved through the air. His expression became animated, eyebrows raised and falling, his head bobbing around. And you couldn't help but smile softly at him.

Until he looked at you straight in the eyes.

“You're staring.” He stated, and you quickly moved your gaze elsewhere. Anywhere but him. “Sorry, old habit.” “It’s quite alright. I’m used to it. The cripple with the big words.” He stopped the sentence abruptly. “I don’t know why I said that to you. Anyway. My question is. Why did you push me out of the way?”

You searched your tired brain for a reason that didn’t involve time-jumping to save him from himself. Although if there was someone who would believe you, it would be him.

“Well, I knew about the attack… and I was trying to warn the councilors before it was too late.”

He frowned and shook his head, his eyes narrowing and widening as he thought about something.

“The quickest way to evacuate the Academy and the Council Chamber would have been to pull the fire alarm. You must have passed at least... He looked up mapping your hypothetical path to the chamber. “Four.”

“There was a rocket going straight to the Academy. I wasn’t thinking straight.” You answered, reverting to defending yourself.

His eyes narrowed for a moment, pushing himself off the wall with his shoulders and taking a step towards you. His cane and another familiar metal thump made you shift your gaze to his leg. He had already enhanced it.

“But you were focused.” He said as he got close to you, so close you could smell the minty hard candy he kept in his pocket. He grabbed the paper from your hands, leaned down, hooked the handle of his cane on the table, and placed the paper on the table, the broken table schematic turned over. A small map was drawn surrounded by math equations.

You took the opportunity to look at his face up close. He looked less tired; the bags under his eyes were less dark but still present, his hair was still shaggy and long, but he looked…healthier, livelier. You dropped your eyes to his leg. Was it already eating him inside and pretending it wasn’t? Was this the calm before the storm?

“You are staring again.” You heard him, but this time you looked up at him. “You remind me of someone.” He searched your eyes for deception but found none.

He was about to speak again when the doors to the room burst open, and you both looked up and back.

Fuming was a mild way to describe Caitlyn’s mood as she strode to the table and slammed a pen and a paper down. You turned your body, watching Viktor grab his cane from the back of the chair.

“Sign this.” She barked. You looked back to watch your mother looking at you, her nose held high and a slight grin on her face. She nodded.

You read the paper in front of you. Father always said never to sign anything without reading it first.

In sum, it was a bond contract. The council would let you go free, but aside from a hefty sum of money paid, you could not leave Piltover and had to be present whenever the Enforcers notified you for questioning. You must always be accompanied by a counsellor of your choosing, and you could reschedule it to your liking. If you were caught doing something illegal, you would be apprehended and shoved off to jail until further notice.

You almost didn’t finish signing your last name as Caitlyn pulled the paper under your hands.

“You’re free to go.” She hisses through gritted teeth. • ············ •

The sky was still specked with the colors of morning when you stepped outside, closely followed by Viktor and your mother.

“I think this belongs to you, dear.” She grabbed your hand and placed the locket on your palm.

The metal was warm with her own heat, and your palm was cold and scarred, the soft gold contrasting with the rune that had appeared there. You stared at the familiar locket, silently.

Standing in the middle of a whole new Piltover, it looked the same; it smelled the same. You confirmed with your mother’s presence that it wasn't just a time jump. You were in a completely new universe.

And in the middle of it all, whoever the bigger deity was who had decided to do this had given you a very illegal and very cool new power. Magic. You weren’t dumb; you spent enough evenings in the Talis lab hearing both of the boys yapping about runes and magic. And you had spent enough time with Heimerdinger to know the use of magic was not allowed in Piltover.

You were drowning in your heartbeat, but your lungs were working overtime.

Are you supposed to stay here? Are you going to go back? Do you want to go back? To the end of the line? To the place where everything ends? With Jayce on his knees and the Herald destroying everything you knew and loved. What if you stayed here and did something that could make it all worse?

“Child?” The touch on your face sent a shock through your body, and you jumped back, eyes wide with fear.

The expression on your mother’s face softened, and she took a step towards you.

“Let’s go home now. We’ll sort this out after you take a bath and eat something.”

Her voice, her voice was like a song loved and forgotten. Every word she said was a stroke of a piano key flooding your senses with warmth and love.

Her eyes matched your own, but you guessed that. You used to roll them whenever someone told you you had your mother's exact eye color. You got a little angry that they remembered her that well and you didn’t. But they were right.

Her face hadn’t shown many signs of aging. Some crow's feet and laugh lines, but she looked beautiful. Graceful. Bright.

And you felt dishonest when you mentioned her as your mother, or when she mentioned you as her child. You weren’t. Not really.

“I don’t think I am your child.” You whispered, sadly, after a second.

“I know, sweetheart.”

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @angelsukiipls @casey8522 @moons-lighttrail @buttermilktea11 @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @hazzawillian

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dani-in-the-daniverse · 1 year ago

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After guanyin temple, jin ling goes back to lotus pier with jiang cheng. He spends the day in a haze. He takes a bath to wash all the dirt and grime and grief off him, then dresses in purple yunmeng jiang disciple robes, because he didn’t have any spare jin clothes.

He has dinner with jiujiu without saying a word, then they say good night and jin ling goes to his lotus pier bedroom. He’s exhausted, but he can’t sleep. Fairy is curled up next to him and he pets her soft fur to try and calm himself down, but he can’t. He hasn’t cried. Not yet. But he can feel it coming as the events of the previous night crash over him. His xiao-shushu threatening him, taking him hostage. Then zewu-jun stabbing xiao-shushu’s heart. Jin ling didn’t know whether to grieve his death, or hate him for what he did. He couldn’t breathe.

He gets up from bed and exits the room, fairy quick to follow him despite the fact that she was dozing off. He stops right in front of jiujiu’s room and knocks on the door.

“LEAVE”, roars a voice inside.

“Jiujiu…” jin ling hates how weak his voice sounds, “jiujiu, it’s me.”

The door opens. Jiujiu is in his sleeping clothes, with his hair undone… and wet streaks on his cheeks, that shine silver from the weak moonlight coming through the windows.

Jin ling throws his arms around him and crashes into his chest, sobbing. Jiujiu returns the hug and cradles jin ling protectively, like he always did. But jin ling can feel him shaking, and there’s some moisture on the side of his head, where jiujiu’s cheek is. Jin ling cries harder. He feels his legs not holding him up anymore and they both slide to the floor, uncle and nephew crying in each other’s arms. Fairy lays down next to them, and lets out a soft whine, as if she’s sharing their pain.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jin ling #jiang cheng #some jiujiu and a-ling from my twitter #my writing

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chimcess · 9 days ago

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❆ Chapter Two: Number 10 Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Hockey Player!Jungkook, Figure Skater!Reader, Hockey Player!Taehyung, Hockey Player!Jimin, Hockey Player!Namjoon, Hockey Player!Hoseok, Figure Skater!Jin, Coach!Yoongi Genre: Hockey!AU, Figure Skating!AU, Olympic!AU, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Self-Discovery, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn Word Count: 19k+ Summary: Y/N Y/L/N has always been destined for greatness as a competitive figure skater, her dreams of the Olympics sparkling like the ice beneath her blades. But when a devastating injury sidelines her, those dreams seem to melt away. Just when she feels lost, she unexpectedly meets Jeon Jungkook, a talented NHL hockey player. Warnings: Reader is injured and still using crutches, toxic mom, absent father, parental issues, pining, low self-esteem, reader has anxiety, reader is very stressed out, honestly my girl is just exhausted, self-doubt, insecure, virgin!reader, verbal abuse, parental abuse will be a common theme in these warnings, overbearing friends (but we love them for it), hocky playing, might be some inaccuracies because I've never played and only watch in passing, hang over, honestly everyone is so sweet to our girl (except her mother), stage mom, controlling behavior, awkward humor, bad jokes, Tae is so obnoxious sometimes, horrible self image issues, all Kook wants to do is be nice to her, idiots in like with each other, but mostly Y/N being a complete overthinker, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Aaaaaand we're back. Sorry it's taken a while to update. I've gotten distracted by another series I've been working on. I will be better about making sure I don't lose track of this though. Thanks for reading!

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Fucking hell. My head… Jesus Christ…

I groaned before I even opened my eyes. The pounding wasn’t just behind my temples—it was everywhere, echoing in my jaw, reverberating through my neck, pulsing like my head had its own heartbeat. I squeezed my eyes tighter, like maybe I could just wish the pain away, but that only made it worse. Light crept in through my eyelids, sharp and invasive, like needles made of daylight and shame.

I let out a low, pathetic sound and yanked the pillow over my face. Maybe if I smothered myself gently, I could slide back into unconsciousness. That had to be better than this.

My mouth was dry. Like desert-dry. Cotton-ball, sandpaper, someone-stuffed-a-towel-in-there-while-I-slept dry. My teeth felt... weird. Fuzzy. Like they had grown sweaters overnight.

And then, it hit me.

The kamikazes. The wine. Titanic. Lucy trying to reenact the “I’m flying” scene on top of the coffee table. Mina snorting soda out her nose when I confessed I’d never had a proper date. The entire ridiculous, amazing mess of it.

Right. So this is what a hangover feels like. I wasn’t impressed.

A shrill, persistent beeping cut through the fog like an airhorn through a funeral. I ignored it. It beeped again. And again. It wasn’t going to stop. I whimpered as I flung the pillow aside and cracked one eye open.

Big mistake.

The brightness of the room was criminal. My apartment looked like a war zone. Blankets and pillows were everywhere, a trail of snack wrappers lined the floor like breadcrumbs leading to poor life choices, and there was an actual wine bottle with a straw sticking out of it on the coffee table.

God help me.

I sat up slowly, testing gravity. The sheets were twisted around my legs, the evidence of someone who had clearly tossed and turned all night like a possessed burrito. I peeled myself free, shuffled to the bookshelf, and spotted the source of the beeping.

My phone. I picked it up and squinted at the screen. Twelve missed calls. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was from.

Nine calls yesterday, starting right after I declined the first one. Three more already today. I winced. A part of me felt guilty, but the rest of me was still too hungover to care.

I checked the time. 12:08 p.m. That couldn’t be right.

I stumbled into the kitchen and checked the clock on the stove. Also 12:08. My jaw dropped slightly. I had never in my entire life slept this late. Sleeping past eight usually gave me hives. Sleeping past noon? That was borderline criminal. It felt... indulgent. Wicked, even.

Weirdly, it also felt kind of great.

Still, I wasn’t about to take a call from my mother in this condition. That was a form of self-harm. I set the phone down, started the coffee maker, and dragged myself into the bathroom for a shower. Twenty minutes later—face scrubbed, teeth brushed, hair shoved into a bun—I was feeling mostly human. The caffeine helped. So did the Advil. So did the complete silence.

Time to check on the damage.

I knocked on Mina and Lucy’s door, weakly. Mina opened it like she’d been waiting all morning. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, her skin glowing, and she was already dressed like she was about to go to brunch with the Kardashians.

“Hey, sleepyhead!” she beamed.

I scowled. “That’s just cruel. Please tell me you’re secretly dying inside too.”

“Nope,” she said, far too cheerfully. “I’m blessed with a steel liver and a high tolerance for cheap vodka.”

“I hate you.”

“Most people do,” she said, stepping aside to let me in. “Come on. Lucy’s clinging to her coffee like it’s the last branch before the fall.”

Sure enough, Lucy was slumped over the counter, her cheek mashed against the granite. She lifted her head one centimeter when she heard my voice.

“Mmh.”

“That’s all I get?” I asked.

She blinked at me, slowly. “It hurts to exist.”

Fair.

Mina clapped her hands, far too chipper for the current emotional climate. “Alright, grumpy girls! I know exactly what we need today.”

“Sleep?” I offered.

“Silence?” Lucy tried.

“Grease-fueled breakfast burritos?”

“Nope.” Mina beamed. “Shopping.”

Lucy perked up immediately. “You said shopping?”

“Et tu, Brute?” I muttered.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Lucy said, already reaching for her shoes. “You haven’t even been to the mall yet.”

“I’ve seen malls before,” I said. “They have food courts and bad lighting. It’s not a cultural experience.”

“You wound me,” Mina said, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “This isn’t just a mall. This is the Mall of America. Four levels. Five hundred stores. An aquarium. An actual roller coaster.”

I stared at her. “You want to drag me through five hundred stores? I’ll be a corpse by dinnertime.”

“Please,” Mina scoffed. “Half of them are for children or tourists. We’ll only go into, like, two hundred.”

“Not helping,” I deadpanned.

“Get dressed,” she said, nudging me back toward my apartment. “It’ll be great cardio. Think of it as physical therapy.”

I sighed, knowing I was outnumbered. “Fine. But I swear, if I see a single pretzel stand, I’m throwing myself into the koi pond.”

Back in my apartment, I threw on a pair of jeans, a flannel, and my most supportive sneakers. I didn’t bother with makeup. If I was going to be emotionally and physically assaulted by capitalism, I was doing it with a clean face and minimal effort.

As I grabbed my purse, my phone buzzed again. I didn’t even read the message. I powered the phone off and shoved it in the drawer. Not today.

Keeping up with Mina was going to be a full-time job.

We took my car—Lucy driving, since I still didn’t know my way around—and Mina declared it had the best trunk space. That made me nervous. Like this was the shopping version of “we need a bigger boat.”

“This,” Mina said, buckling her seatbelt, “is why it’s so great that none of us work traditional jobs. Weekday mall trips. No crowds. All the discounts.”

“Tuesdays are the best,” Lucy said. “Peak performance shopping day.”

Tuesday.

The word hit me like a slap.

I froze in the passenger seat.

Jungkook. The bar. Tonight.

I had looked it up the moment I got home from the airport. Saved the address, noted the parking situation, mapped out the route. Seven minutes away. Easy.

Except it didn’t feel easy now. It felt like a hundred miles. A whole different life. I stared out the window, chewing the inside of my cheek.

I wanted to see him. But I also wanted to crawl under a blanket and pretend I wasn’t the kind of girl who had no idea how to navigate whatever this was. I’d never dated. Never flirted. Never had a boyfriend. The boys I grew up skating with were more interested in eyeliner than eye contact. The rest? Coaches, managers, staff. Off-limits.

Jungkook was different. He had this quiet confidence, this way of seeing me like I wasn’t just my résumé or my rink time. Like I was someone interesting. Someone worth noticing.

What if I screwed it up? What if he wasn’t who I remembered? What if I went tonight, made a fool of myself, and destroyed the one genuinely exciting possibility I’d had in years?

What if he expected me to be someone I wasn’t? Someone experienced. Someone sexy. Someone who didn’t flinch every time someone got too close. What if I disappointed him? What if I disappointed myself?

I felt nauseous.

“Earth to Y/N,” Mina sang, snapping her fingers in front of my face from the passenger seat.

I blinked. “Huh?”

“You okay? You haven’t said a single word since we got on the freeway.”

“Oh.” I fumbled for something to say. “Just thinking.”

She exchanged a glance with Lucy in the rearview mirror. The look said everything—they knew I was full of it, but they didn’t press.

Instead, Mina just looped her arm through mine the second we stepped out of the car and headed toward the massive glass entrance of the mall. I hadn’t even realized we’d parked.

“Easy, Seabiscuit,” I muttered as she tugged me along. “Some of us are still walking with one leg and a half-functioning knee.”

She grinned, slowing her pace just enough. “You’ll be fine. Think of it as a warm-up.”

As we neared the doors, Lucy perked up like she’d just remembered something exciting. “Hey, are you coming out with us tonight?”

“Out?”

“Yeah. Tuesday’s our night,” she said, like that should’ve been obvious.

“I don’t know...” I hedged. The words came out slower, more cautious than I meant.

Mina clutched her chest in mock betrayal. “Come on, Y/N! Taehyung and Jimin would be so excited to see you again.” Her voice pitched up as she clasped her hands together. “And it won’t be the same without you.”

I smiled weakly. “I might already have plans.”

Mina narrowed her eyes like she was trying to read a lie in my expression. “Then we’re definitely finding you a new outfit. Just in case.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed.

We disappeared into the sprawling, multi-level madness of the Mall of America. Store after store. Rack after rack. It was like stepping into another world, one filled with dizzying amounts of fluorescent lighting, pop music, and pushy mannequins in overpriced denim.

Half the time, I didn’t even know where we were. Mina and Lucy, though—they moved with the precision of seasoned hunters. They had a sixth sense for clearance racks and hidden gems, and somehow, they pulled me along like I’d agreed to this willingly.

By the third level, I was holding more bags than I could count. My arms ached. My feet throbbed. I had no idea how it happened—how I’d ended up buying four different tops, a dress I wasn’t sure I could pull off, and a pair of boots Mina swore I “needed.” There was something dangerous about shopping with people who actually thought you deserved nice things.

The mall was exactly what they promised: huge, loud, overwhelming. But there were moments—small ones—where I forgot everything else. Where I laughed at Lucy’s commentary on the store mannequins. Where I actually liked the way I looked in the mirror for the first time in a long while. Where I let myself be just a girl at the mall, not an injured athlete trying to pretend she wasn’t falling apart inside.

I hadn’t touched my phone since that morning. I hadn’t thought about Emily. Or skating. Or the weight of the last six months.

Mina filled every silence with something—jokes, fashion debates, weird questions that came out of nowhere. Lucy followed up with commentary like a one-woman sitcom. All I had to do was keep up, and even that felt optional.

By the time we finally called it quits, the sun had dipped low behind the parking structure and the bags digging into my arms made me feel like I’d just run a marathon. We packed into the elevator like clumsy thieves, arms full of shopping trophies and half-finished iced coffees.

Mina unlocked her door like she was clocking in at a job she loved, already talking about reorganizing her closet before I’d even reached mine.

“Hey—what about tonight?” Lucy called down the hall before I closed my door.

I hesitated. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know soon, okay?”

“No rush. We usually head out around seven.”

I gave her a weak smile. “Sounds good.”

As soon as my door clicked shut behind me, I let go of everything—literally. The bags hit the floor in a heap of rustling tissue paper and overly optimistic purchases. I dropped onto the couch like someone had cut my strings, head falling back, arms limp at my sides.

My knee throbbed, but it was a manageable ache. The kind that told me I hadn’t overdone it—maybe even that I was getting stronger.

I let myself close my eyes for a minute. Just one.

When I opened them again, the clock read 4:25 p.m.

Just enough time.

I picked up my phone, hesitating for a second before powering it on. The screen lit up immediately. Twelve missed calls. Four voicemails. One new text. All from Emily.

I stared at it for a beat, steeling myself, then hit speed dial.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Well, well,” she said, voice sharp and polished. “I guess you’re still alive.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“‘Hi, Mom’? That’s all I get after ignoring my calls all day?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” I said, already tired. “I was busy.”

“Busy with what? You don’t have a job. You don’t have school. You don’t even have skating right now.”

I rubbed the heel of my palm against my eye. “I was out with some friends.”

“You were too busy making friends to update me on your knee?”

“I’m calling you now, aren’t I?”

“A full day later. For all I knew, you missed the appointment.”

“I didn’t. It went fine.”

“I wouldn’t call not being cleared to compete fine, Y/N.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard. “He said I’m healing well. He’s optimistic.”

Emily scoffed. “Well, he would say that. But optimism doesn’t get you a spot at Nationals. That requires action. Discipline. Commitment.”

“I haven’t lost any of that,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

“You’re not acting like someone who cares about their future.”

“And what does that look like, exactly? Refusing to rest? Pushing myself back onto the ice before I’m ready?”

“You’re twenty-four. This is your prime. You don’t have time to waste.”

“I know that,” I snapped. “I’ve been living it.”

The line went quiet for a moment.

“You’re being dramatic.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I’m being honest.”

Another pause. Heavier this time.

“Are you finished with your little tantrum?”

I dropped the phone onto the couch and grabbed the nearest throw pillow, pressing it to my face before letting out a long, guttural scream. Three times. I didn’t care if the neighbors heard. I didn’t even care if the building collapsed around me.

It didn’t fix anything. But it let some of the pressure out, like cracking the lid on a soda that’s been shaken too hard.

I stayed like that for a while—still, quiet, my heart pounding in the silence she’d left behind. Even though the call had ended, Emily’s voice still echoed through the room, clipped and clinical and so deeply embedded in my nervous system that I almost expected her to start talking again.

My eyes drifted to the mess on the floor. The shopping bags, the tissue paper spilling out like ribbons, the dress Mina had declared “life-changing,” the boots Lucy insisted were “man-bait.” They were supposed to be fun. They were supposed to be part of tonight—just in case I went out, just in case I saw him.

Just in case I had a life that felt like mine. The phone buzzed in my hand. I stared at it. Another call from her. Of course. I closed my eyes, drew in a breath, and—against my better judgment—answered.

“Yes?” I said quietly.

“Do you think you could manage to fill me in on what the doctor said?” Her tone was sharp, but smug. She knew she’d reeled me back in.

I pressed my fingers to my temple. “I’m off crutches. I’m setting up physical therapy this week. I’m cleared for basic activity—no pivots, no sudden stops, no cutting. He wants a follow-up in April. That’s when we’ll know more about training.”

I kept my voice flat. Short. Bullet points. That’s how she preferred things—concise, efficient, like a coach reviewing footage.

“There,” she said, satisfied. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You should’ve said all this yesterday. I want that PT appointment scheduled immediately. Maybe once you’re moving again, you’ll feel motivated. And April? Honestly. That’s excessive.”

“It’s what the doctor said.”

“I doubt it. He’s probably being overly cautious. But fine. We’ll be aggressive once you’re cleared. I’ve already started talking to a new coach.”

I froze.

“What?”

“I’ve been in touch with someone new. A coach with the kind of training approach you need now—someone who’ll actually push you.”

“What about Yoongi?” My voice sharpened without my permission. “Why would I need a new coach?”

“Yoongi is soft, Y/N. You’ve outgrown him. He doesn't have the fire to get you back to Olympic level after so much time off.”

My stomach turned. A tight, anxious knot pulled just under my ribs. “Did you fire him?”

“Not yet. But I will if I have to.”

I stood without realizing it, pacing across the room like I could walk off the panic. “You can’t do that. Mom—he’s been with me since I was twelve. He knows me.”

“I know what’s best for your career. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Don’t I?” I snapped. “Don’t you think I should have a say in who coaches me?”

Emily sighed, the way she always did when she thought I was being difficult. “You don’t need to get emotional. This is why I handle the logistics.”

“Maybe I’m tired of not being asked.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. You’ve always been like this when you’re hurt.”

My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You mean like when I was fourteen and had a stress fracture, but you still made me perform at Regionals?”

“That was a strategic decision. And you medaled.”

I stared at the far wall, feeling something inside me slip sideways. “You keep acting like this is about strategy. Like I’m a product. But I’m not. I’m your daughter.”

“Exactly,” she said crisply. “Which is why I care more than anyone. I’m the one who got you here. Don’t forget that.”

My chest burned. I pressed a hand flat against it, like that might help. “Then maybe start acting like it.”

Another pause. Heavy. Tense.

“Are you finished?”

I laughed, but it was brittle and joyless. “You know what? Yeah. I think I am.”

“Y/N—”

“I’m not talking about this anymore,” I said. “Not today. Not until I’m cleared to compete. Right now, none of this matters.”

“We can’t afford to wait—”

“You’re going to have to.”

She was already revving up for another counterattack, but I didn’t give her the chance. I ended the call, set the phone face-down on the coffee table, and walked away like it was made of fire.

My hands were shaking. I could feel the rage thrumming under my skin, not explosive, but steady. Persistent. Like a hum in my bones.

I picked up the same pillow and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a soft thud and landed in a slump. I sank onto the couch and pulled my knees to my chest, pressing my forehead into them.

Of course, the phone started ringing again. I stared at it. Ringing. Again. Ang then again. My jaw clenched so hard it ached. I reached for the phone—and powered it off. The silence that followed was like breaking through the surface of deep water. Shocking. Still.

Tears threatened, burning at the corners of my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Not yet. Not for her.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mother. I did. In my own way. But I was so tired of being something she managed instead of someone she knew. Fifteen years of this—of letting her make every decision, schedule every training session, dictate every moment of my future. I had let her. Because I thought that’s what it meant to be good. To be successful. To be loved.

But I wasn’t sure I could do it anymore.

I pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and walked to the window seat. Curled up in the corner, knees tucked under me, I hugged a pillow tight to my chest and rested my forehead against the cool glass.

Outside, the river moved slowly along its curve, calm and indifferent. Unbothered. Like time existed differently out there—measured not by medals or seasons or recovery timelines, but by the quiet, steady rhythm of water meeting shore.

I breathed in through my nose. Let it out slowly.

By the time the sky turned that moody shade of dusky blue, the anger had drained out of me completely. All that was left was something quieter. A kind of sadness that settled low in my chest and refused to move.

Despair, maybe. Or the beginnings of it.

She hadn’t asked how I was. Not once. Not if I liked living alone, or if I was making friends. Not whether I was sleeping okay, or eating anything other than frozen protein waffles. Nothing about the move, or the adjustment, or if I’d stopped waking up every morning convinced I was already falling behind.

Just the usual questions—when will you train again? How soon until you’re back on the ice? Can we salvage this season?

As if that was all I existed for. Jumps. Spins. Gold medals and press appearances. The choreography of usefulness.

I hugged a pillow tighter to my chest, wishing it felt like something solid. Something that might, just for a second, hug me back.

Outside the window, the last hints of sunlight faded, leaving only the reflections of streetlamps on the river and the soft, muted flicker of headlights. I watched them for longer than I meant to, blinking slowly, mind quiet. Not really thinking. Just... feeling. Letting the ache in my chest take up space for once.

A knock at the door pulled me out of it.

I flinched. Shit. Mina.

I hadn’t even noticed the time. A quick glance at the clock told me it was just after seven. The plan had been to go out. I was supposed to be getting dressed, figuring out what version of myself to wear tonight.

Instead, I padded to the door and pulled it open, every movement heavier than it should’ve been.

Mina stood there in a fitted black dress and heels I wouldn’t survive five minutes in. Her hair was pinned back in soft waves, and her lipstick was the perfect shade of dangerous. She looked beautiful—effortlessly so. And happy. Until she saw me.

Her smile faltered. “Hey... what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing.” I blinked at her, tried to smile. It felt clumsy. Like trying to fake warmth with a burnt-out bulb.

Mina tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Y/N, come on. I may not have known you that long, but even I can tell when you’ve been crying.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “Really, it’s nothing.”

She crossed her arms, not budging. “If it were nothing, you’d just tell me. But you’re hiding it, which means it’s something. That’s how friends work, by the way. We notice things.”

I exhaled, slow and shaky. “I’m just... not up for it tonight. That’s all.”

Mina stepped closer. “Then I’ll stay. We can order takeout, watch trashy reality TV, do literally nothing.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Please. Go. You should go. You’ve been looking forward to this all week. Jimin’s probably already there.”

She hesitated. “I see him all the time.”

“I know. But it’s okay. I just need a quiet night.”

She studied me for a beat, and for a second I was sure she was going to argue. But then she softened. “You promise you’ll be okay?”

I nodded. “I promise.”

“Fine,” she said, exhaling. But she didn’t leave. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me without another word.

I froze. The instinct to pull back kicked in before I could stop it—too tight, too close—but then I exhaled and let myself lean into it. Her hug was warm and firm, not rushed or careful, just there. Steady in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. And it hit me, sharply, how unfamiliar this felt. How rare it was.

When was the last time someone hugged me like that? Not because I won something, or finished a clean program, or needed comforting after a bad skate—but just because?

She pulled back but didn’t let go entirely. Her hands rested on my arms, grounding me. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”

I swallowed. Nodded. Blinked too fast.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said softly. “You can pretend you’re okay until then. But I’ll be back for the full breakdown.”

I smiled, watery but genuine. “Okay.”

She left without needing another word, her heels clicking softly down the hallway. I shut the door behind her and slid the chain into place.

Then I leaned back against it, body sinking slowly to the floor.

Goddamn it, Emily.

She wasn’t even in the same zip code, and she was still managing to pull the strings. Still controlling my thoughts, my emotions, my everything. I hated how easily she got in. How quickly she could dismantle me with a few words, a few carefully placed criticisms wrapped in concern.

I looked at the shopping bags scattered across the floor, some still half-open, tissue paper spilling out like an afterthought. A pair of boots. A slouchy sweater I’d never normally pick for myself. That navy wrap dress Mina had insisted was a “game-changer.” Little things. Things that felt indulgent, yes—but also strangely personal. Things I had chosen. Things I liked.

Things that were mine.

And yet all it took was one phone call with Emily to unravel that sense of ownership. One conversation, and suddenly I was thirteen again—sitting silently in the passenger seat of her SUV, hands curled around the straps of my skate bag, scared to say the wrong thing. Scared she might look at me and see disappointment.

But today, I had said the wrong thing.

I hadn’t just thought the words. I’d spoken them out loud. I'd told her no. Not angrily, not with dramatics—but plainly. Honestly. That terrified me more than anything. Not because I feared what she might do. But because I knew it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t hear me. She never did.

Maybe it was distance that made the difference. The physical miles between us. Or maybe it was time—these quiet days away from rinks and routines, away from the pressure of being whoever she needed me to be. Maybe it was Mina and Leera.

Leera, with her sharp laugh and sharper mind. A woman thriving in a world that had tried, more than once, to shrink her. Mina, who radiated energy like she manufactured her own sun, who built her business from the ground up and did it on her terms.

They didn’t wait for permission. They didn’t need anyone to define them. I admired them so much for that, because what had I been doing all these years?

Chasing approval. Trying to live up to an expectation I never helped set. I trained longer. Jumped higher. Skated harder. I collected medals like they were evidence in a trial only Emily was judging. I told myself if I just worked harder, if I got better, if I won bigger—she’d see me. She’d be proud. And maybe, finally, she’d stop looking at me like I was a project halfway to perfection.

Deep down, I knew the truth. Even Olympic gold wouldn’t have been enough, because it had never really been about me.

Yes, I loved skating. Yes, there had been joy in the triumphs, in the beauty of movement and music and flight. But the pressure? The sacrifices? They weren’t mine. They were hers, and I couldn’t do that anymore.

I pushed myself up off the floor, my limbs heavy but sure. Something inside me had shifted. I didn’t have answers. I didn’t have a next step. But for the first time, I wanted to find one. A step that was mine, even if it was small. Even if it was quiet.

Whatever came next—it wasn’t going to be for Emily.

In the kitchen, I opened the freezer and pulled out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s Mina had insisted I needed. “Emergency ice cream,” she’d called it, throwing it into the cart like it was medicine. I’d rolled my eyes at the time.

Standing barefoot on cold tile, spoon in hand, staring into nothing in particular—it felt like the most rational choice I could make. I dug in.

The first bite was numbing. The second—comforting. I didn’t bother with a bowl. Mina would’ve been proud.

I leaned back against the counter and glanced at the clock.

7:53 p.m.

My chest tightened slightly.

Jungkook would be at the bar by now. Or arriving. The thought hit me harder than it should’ve.

I wondered if he’d remember mentioning it to me. If maybe he’d glance at the door once or twice, casually, just to see if I’d show.

Probably not. Guys like him didn’t wait around. He probably had girls lined up without even trying—girls who knew how to play the game, who could flirt without blushing, who wore confidence like perfume and didn’t have a mother in their head critiquing their every move. Girls who didn’t second-guess everything. Girls who didn’t freeze in the middle of a moment because they weren’t sure if they were allowed to want it.

I wasn’t one of those girls.

Still, the thought of never seeing him again left an ache behind. A quiet kind of ache. The kind that hums under your skin and doesn’t really go away, even after you’ve tried to reason it out of existence.

I stood there, spoon in hand, eating my way through the pint until it was nothing but soft, half-melted swirls at the bottom. Then I rinsed it out and dropped it in the sink.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. I curled up on the couch with a blanket and reached for the remote. After a few seconds of scrolling, I landed on The Cutting Edge. Comfort movie. Familiar. Predictable.

Somewhere between the second argument and the first glimpse of choreography, sleep pulled me under.

The rest of the week passed in a strange, blurry haze—like I was watching my life on fast-forward but couldn’t find the remote to slow it down. The days came and went, marked more by weather shifts and coffee refills than anything memorable. I woke up, did my rehab exercises, pretended to text Emily back, and tried not to think too hard about anything.

Mina showed up the next morning, just like she said she would—armed with two lattes, a cinnamon roll big enough to qualify as a cake, and that look in her eye that I’d come to know meant she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“You promised me a breakdown,” she said as soon as she walked in, kicking off her shoes and settling into my kitchen like she lived here.

“I promised you coffee,” I muttered, accepting the latte.

She smirked. “You promised tomorrow. And guess what? It’s tomorrow.”

Mina had this talent—a gift, really—of making her interrogations feel like casual conversation. She didn’t press too hard. She didn’t push. But somehow, over the course of a few sentences and sips of caffeine, you’d find yourself saying things you hadn’t meant to. Secrets you’d sworn you’d keep. It wasn’t even sneaky. It just felt easy with her. Like breathing.

Unfortunately for her, I’d been breathing around Emily for most of my life. And that meant I was professionally trained in the art of holding everything in.

So we had a friendly little standoff: Mina asked carefully worded questions, and I offered vaguely acceptable answers. She poked, I dodged. She made gentle suggestions; I gave noncommittal shrugs. She brought up “trust” at least three times.

I gave her just enough to keep her from worrying. That I’d had a rough call with my mom. That we’d argued—nothing new there. That I was still figuring out what I wanted, and maybe that wasn’t the worst thing. That sometimes healing isn’t just about your body.

What I didn’t tell her—what I couldn’t bring myself to say—was that I’d stood her up. That I didn’t go to the bar Tuesday night. That I didn’t see Jungkook again.

Because if I told her, she’d ask why. And I didn’t have a good answer. Not one that made me look like someone I wanted to be.

If I did tell her, she’d launch into full Mina Mode—talk about bravery and seizing the moment and how life wasn’t going to wait around for me to feel ready. She’d quote a rom-com, probably Notting Hill, and say something about regret being worse than rejection. And she'd mean it.

But I wasn’t in the mood to be inspired.

I was still mad at myself.

Mad at the way I froze up the second I thought about going. Mad that I let fear win. That I let Emily’s voice echo louder than my own. I’d told myself I was tired. That I needed rest. That I wasn’t in the right headspace. But really, I was scared. Scared of what it would feel like to want something just for me—and then risk not getting it.

Now it was too late. The Jungkook ship had sailed. He’d said Tuesday. He’d given me an opening. And I didn’t take it. I didn’t even try. What stung most wasn’t the idea that I’d never see him again. It was that I hadn’t shown up for myself.

That I’d let the moment slip away, standing frozen on the edge of possibility while the chance disappeared quietly into the night—leaving nothing behind but an aching kind of what-if and a soft, stupid crush I couldn’t seem to shake.

Mina didn’t push again. Maybe she saw something in my face. Maybe she just knew when to let silence do the heavy lifting. She finished her cinnamon roll and told me I needed to get out more. I agreed, even though we both knew I didn’t mean it.

That was the thing about Mina. She never gave up—but she gave space.

So she stood, kissed the top of my head like a sister might, and told me she’d text me later.

And when the door closed behind her, the quiet came rushing back in.

The last few days felt different. Not perfect, not painless—but better. Not like I was suddenly back to who I used to be, but like I was finally brushing up against someone I recognized. A version of myself I hadn’t seen in a long time.

It started with small things. I made it back to the gym—a dusty, underused little room on the first floor of our building that smelled faintly of disinfectant and old ambition. Nothing fancy. A few cardio machines, a weight rack, and a yoga mat that had definitely seen better days. But it was something. A place to move again. A place to feel my body do more than just exist.

Progress was slow. Frustrating, honestly. Ten minutes on the stationary bike felt like a full workout. My knee protested with every step, but not in the sharp, hopeless way it used to. This pain was different—dull, manageable, like the soreness that reminded you your muscles were still in there. Still trying.

I stuck to what Dr. Jeon told me—brace on, pace steady, no sudden movements. But God, it was already getting old. My old routine would’ve crushed this one in the first twenty minutes: Pilates, a five-mile run, three hours on the ice, then back to strength training after lunch. Days that left me wrecked and exhilarated. Days that gave me purpose.

Now? Some stretches. Light weights. A glorified power walk. Still, it was something. And that counted.

Mina and Lucy stopped by the gym once or twice—not to exercise, but to keep me company. They brought iced coffees and gossip, sat on the mats next to me like we were at some wellness retreat instead of a basement-level fitness room with flickering overhead lights. I didn’t say it out loud, but it helped. Just having someone there. No pressure. No judgment. No stopwatch.

I knew I couldn’t rush it. I repeated that to myself like a mantra. But the itch to do more sat just beneath my skin. To push. To get back to the version of me who felt strong.

So, I called a physical therapist.

Malichi was young, easygoing, and had the kind of dry humor that put me at ease without trying too hard. He cracked dumb jokes while adjusting my form, and always seemed to know when to reel me back in just before I overdid it.

“You’ve got two speeds,” he said during our first session, grinning as I scowled through a round of banded leg lifts. “Too slow and way too fast. We’re gonna find the middle.”

I liked him. PT was still going to suck, but at least it wouldn’t suck alone. I’d be seeing him twice a week until April. Lucky him.

Meanwhile, Emily was still a constant presence—without ever actually being present. My inbox filled up with clipped emails, her voicemails bouncing between cold, professional concern and passive-aggressive digs disguised as “constructive input.” She was furious beneath the surface, and I could feel it, even when her words were polite. She hated not having control. Hated that I hadn’t given her one inch of it since that phone call.

And maybe that was why I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not because I missed her, exactly. But because I was starting to see how much space she’d always taken up in my head.

I was twenty-four years old, and it still felt like I was just now figuring out how to live on my own. I didn’t understand taxes. I barely managed my own schedule. I hadn’t booked a competition or a press appearance in my life—someone else always did that for me. I showed up. I skated. I smiled.

That was my job. And I was good at it. I wasn’t sure who I was without her voice in my ear.

The girl in the mirror felt… plain. Not ugly, just unremarkable. The only thing that ever made me feel different was the body I’d carved from years of training—muscle layered over bone like armor. But even that felt foreign now. Softening. Shifting.

The world had called me beautiful, but only when I was dressed for it. On the ice, with flawless hair and strategic lighting. I didn’t hate it. But it never felt like me.

What I hated—what I was only starting to admit—was the way Emily had coached me off the ice. Every word, every gesture, every smile that wasn’t mine. She dictated everything: what I ate, how I spoke in interviews, when I slept, who I talked to. And I let her.

But this week had been different.

This week, I wore leggings and old T-shirts. I ate snacks for dinner. I took naps at weird hours. And no one told me I was doing it wrong.

Mina might raise an eyebrow now and then, but she never tried to change me. She accepted me exactly as I was—even when I didn’t know who that was yet.

So when I looked at the clock and saw it was almost six, I decided I had time for a quick yoga session before we went out.

The hockey game was tonight—Mina and Lucy had been talking it up for days. Apparently, it was a whole event, not just a game. I was kind of looking forward to it. It’d be nice to see everyone again. Maybe even feel... normal.

I rolled out my mat, shifted the coffee table aside, and let my body fall into familiar movement. The flow of breath and stretch and balance. Yoga had been part of my routine for years, but it hit different now—less about performance, more about presence. Each pose reminded me that I was still here. Still in this body. Still healing.

I was mid-Scorpion when the door burst open.

“Knock knock!” Mina’s voice rang through the apartment like a bell, sharp and cheerful. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked in, eyes already scanning the room.

She stopped in front of me, tilting her head.

“Has anyone ever told you your laziness is truly disgusting?”

I laughed, lowering my legs and shifting into Child’s Pose. “Some of us weren’t born with magical metabolism and perfect skin, Mina. The rest of us have to try.”

She perched on the arm of the couch, watching as I transitioned into Flying Crow. “That looks like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“It’s easier than it looks,” I said between breaths. “Kind of peaceful, actually.”

“You’re deeply unwell,” she muttered.

“I’m almost done,” I promised, easing back to the mat. “Didn’t forget about you.”

“You better not have. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Rude,” she said, already kicking off her heels. “Go shower. I’ll figure out your outfit.”

I groaned, dragging myself to my feet. “Mina, it’s a hockey game. Not fashion week.”

“It’s still an event,” she said, hands on hips. “You’re coming out. You will look cute. And no,” she added, cutting me off before I could protest, “I won’t put you in a cocktail dress.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Promise?”

She smirked. “Mostly.”

I muttered something under my breath but headed for the shower anyway.

She was ridiculous. But she was mine.

“No way, Mina. I’m not wearing that.”

I took a step back like the sparkly T-shirt she was holding might leap off the hanger and attach itself to me against my will. Arms crossed. Voice flat. Unmoved.

Mina just blinked at me, expression somewhere between offended and amused. “Are you kidding me right now?”

I pointed at the shirt. “That thing has rhinestones.”

“It’s a team shirt,” she said, exasperated. “It’s cute. Festive. Fun.”

“It’s bedazzled.”

She held it up higher, inspecting it like I might change my mind if I saw it from another angle. “Lucy and I are both wearing one,” she said, as if that somehow made it better.

“That’s not the argument you think it is.”

Mina narrowed her eyes and thrust the shirt closer. “What exactly is your issue with this? It’s not like it’s covered in glitter. It just has the logo. With a little sparkle.”

I took another half-step back, as if distance alone could help me win this battle. “I don’t do rhinestones. Or sequins. Or things that make me look like a disco ball.”

She didn’t say anything—just stared at me, unblinking.

“What?” I asked, already suspicious.

Still nothing. Just that look.

“Mina,” I said slowly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Her lips twitched. “Because I have literal photographic proof that you both can and do wear rhinestones. I’ve seen your costumes, Y/N. You’ve basically worn a Swarovski factory on ice.”

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “That’s performance. There are spotlights. Judges. Music. I don’t wear rhinestones in real life. Ever.”

“Okay, well,” she said, shoving the shirt into my hands, “tonight’s not ‘real life.’ It’s Girls’ Night Out, Game Edition.”

I frowned down at the shirt. It was… less offensive than I’d thought. Fitted, soft cotton, with the Red Wings logo in the center—outlined in delicate red crystals. Just enough to catch the light. Still unnecessary, but not as aggressive as it could’ve been.

I sighed. “Fine. But I’m wearing jeans.”

“Obviously.”

“And comfortable shoes. Like, ones I can walk in.”

She looked like she wanted to argue but thought better of it. “Okay.”

“And a hat.”

That made her pause. “A hat?”

“Yup. Baseball cap. Something to offset the sparkle situation.”

Mina groaned, dragging her hand down her face. “You’re ruining the vibe.”

“These are my terms. You want me in rhinestones, I get to negotiate.”

She huffed but nodded. “Fine. Can I at least pick the hat?”

“If you or Lucy have a team cap, I’ll wear that. But I’m not going full glam at a hockey game, Mina. I draw the line at lashes.”

She vanished into her room, muttering something about “fashion heathens,” and came back a minute later holding out a simple red cap. It had the Red Wings logo stitched across the front—no sparkles, no fuss.

“This is the best I can do. It’s Lucy’s. Taehyung gave it to her.”

I took it like it was a precious object. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Mina gave the shirt a wistful glance. “If you’re going to sabotage a perfectly coordinated outfit with that thing, can I please do your makeup? Minimal. I promise.”

I gave her a skeptical look.

She held up both hands. “Swear on my favorite heels.”

I hesitated. “No glitter. No false lashes. No contouring wizardry.”

“Done. You won’t even know it’s there.”

“I better not.”

Mina grinned like she’d just won a court case. “You’re going to look so good.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the bathroom. “I already do.”

“You’re damn right you do,” she called after me.

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and ready—hair still a little damp at the ends but tucked neatly through the back of the Red Wings cap, falling in a low ponytail down my back. The makeup Mina had insisted on was surprisingly understated. True to her word, she kept it simple—just a swipe of mascara, a little eyeliner, and lip gloss that tasted faintly of mint.

It felt nice. Comfortable. Not like I was trying to be someone else. For once, I actually looked like... me. Just a slightly glammed-up version.

Mina had run back to her apartment to finish getting ready and track down Lucy. Meanwhile, I sat on the edge of the couch and laced up my new combat boots, tugging the laces tight and double-knotting them for good measure. Easily my best impulse buy in weeks—soft leather, good tread, no break-in time. They were already giving my Converse a run for their money.

When I knocked on Mina and Lucy’s door a few minutes later, I could hear the familiar chaos unfolding on the other side. Music blasting from somewhere in the back, a hairdryer whirring at full volume, and Mina’s voice rising above it all in a tone that sounded both panicked and bossy.

“Come in, Y/N!” Lucy shouted.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Lucy was balancing on the arm of the couch, zipping up a pair of knee-high black boots like it was the most normal thing in the world. Her hair was done in soft waves, and her lips were already painted a glossy cherry red. She looked completely unbothered.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey! Mina’s almost ready. She claims she needs fifteen more minutes, but I’m betting on five. She’s freakishly efficient when she’s running late.”

As if on cue, the hairdryer cut off mid-whine, and Mina burst out of her room thirty seconds later like she’d been summoned by name. She was fully dressed, makeup flawless, hair curled and pinned back with surgical precision. Not even a trace of rushed energy left on her face. She looked—of course—like she’d spent hours getting ready, not five frantic minutes.

And I had to admit, she wasn’t exaggerating when she said they were wearing the same thing as me. The shirts were clearly part of the same sparkly set—Lucy and Mina in the red versions, mine in white. Theirs had deeper necklines and sleeves that barely qualified as sleeves, but it was definitely a coordinated look. At least they’d had the foresight to bring jackets, slung casually over the backs of dining chairs.

January in Michigan wasn’t exactly crop-top weather, especially in an ice rink. I felt cold just looking at them.

From the waist down, though, we might as well have been triplets—skinny denim and black boots all around. Theirs had heels. Mine didn’t. No regrets.

Mina gave me a once-over and grinned. “Look at us. We’re unintentionally aesthetic.”

“Speak for yourself,” I muttered, adjusting my hat.

Lucy winked. “You look great, Y/N. The hat works.”

“Thank you. I fought hard for it.”

“She did,” Mina admitted, grabbing her coat. “It was a whole diplomatic negotiation. Rhinestones for headgear. A fair compromise.”

“I still say you could’ve worn a little red lipstick,” Mina added, eyeing me as she slipped into her leather jacket.

“Let’s not push our luck.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Fine. No more beauty interventions tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” she amended, “none that you’ll notice.”

Lucy snorted. “Shall we?”

Mina threw open the door with a flourish, stepping aside like a maître d’ ushering us into a five-star restaurant instead of the apartment hallway.

“Ladies,” she said, “to the rink.”

We stepped out into the hallway, our laughter still echoing behind us like static warmth. The air outside was biting, sharp enough to make our cheeks sting the moment we hit the curb, but none of us flinched. We were too wrapped up in our own excitement—or maybe just too proud to admit how freezing it actually was.

We ordered an Uber to Little Caesars Arena. It wasn’t far—maybe ten minutes in normal traffic—but walking was out of the question. It was January in Michigan, and the temperature had dipped below “maybe doable” hours ago. Plus, Mina mentioned we might meet up with the guys after the game, depending on how it all went. If the team won, there’d be celebrating. If they lost... well, probably still drinks. Either way, none of us felt like navigating parking or arguing over who was going to be the designated driver.

They had a rhythm to these nights, a system honed by habit. I was just tagging along, a guest in someone else’s tradition, but somehow it didn’t feel that way.

By the time our car pulled up to the arena, the place was buzzing. Packed. Everywhere I looked was a blur of red and white and flashes of green from the opposing team’s fanbase. People in beanies and face paint, scarves with player numbers, kids wrapped in oversized jerseys. There was this pulsing energy in the air—familiar, in a way that caught me off guard. It wasn’t unlike the adrenaline of a competition, that low hum of anticipation before something big.

We moved through the crowd slowly, shoulder to shoulder, the three of us keeping close as we made our way toward the entrance. I started noticing names on the backs of jerseys: Jeon. Park. T. Jeon. It stopped me for a second. I don’t know why it surprised me—of course people wore their names. They were professional athletes, fan favorites.

Still, it was surreal seeing those names on strangers. On kids. On grown men with plastic cups of beer. It made it real in a way I hadn’t felt before.

Once our tickets were scanned, Mina and Lucy linked arms with me and pulled me deeper into the chaos. It was like being swept into a current of red jerseys and foam fingers and the unmistakable scent of stadium nachos.

“There they are,” Mina said, pointing ahead as we finally broke free from the crowd bottlenecking at the escalators.

I followed her gaze and spotted Suho standing near one of the tunnels, talking to a woman I hadn’t seen before. She was tiny and elegant, waving wildly when she saw us.

Before I could even register what was happening, Mina took off at a near sprint.

“Wait—Mina!” I called, but she was already gone, weaving through the crowd like it was second nature. Lucy and I shared a look before jogging after her, laughing under our breath like we were chasing a runaway cart at the grocery store.

By the time we caught up, Mina was wrapped around both of them in a three-person hug that looked more like a reunion scene from a family holiday than a quick hello at a hockey game.

Lucy slipped in easily, wrapping the woman in a warm hug before turning to Suho with a mischievous smirk that suggested some long-running inside joke. He laughed, shaking his head, like this was all part of the usual chaos.

I hovered awkwardly at the edge, unsure if I should step in or wait to be pulled.

Suho turned to me, his smile as easy and genuine as I remembered. “Y/N,” he said, his voice warm. “Glad you made it.”

And then—without hesitation—he pulled me into a hug.

I froze for half a beat, not because I minded, but because I hadn’t expected it. It took me a second longer than it should’ve to hug him back, my brain briefly short-circuiting at the casual intimacy of it all.

“Yeah, uh—good to see you, too, Suho,” I mumbled, awkwardly patting his back before pulling away.

He gestured to the woman beside him. “This is my wife, Yuri.”

I turned to her and immediately felt the need to stand up straighter. Yuri was stunning—not in a showy, flashy kind of way, but in that quiet, Old Hollywood way that made you wonder if she’d stepped off the set of a black-and-white movie. Her features were soft, her hair styled in loose waves that looked like they’d fall apart if you touched them but somehow never did. Her eyes, warm and almond-shaped, reminded me of Mina’s—just a little lighter, a little softer. The family resemblance was obvious, but Yuri had her own gravity.

She smiled as she stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug, too—short, warm, completely genuine.

“Honey, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said. Her voice was smooth, like she’d spent a lifetime hosting dinners and knowing exactly what to say to make someone feel welcome. “Suho and Mina have both told me such lovely things. And Taehyung, of course.”

I blinked, surprised. “Oh—um. Thank you.”

What had they said?

She smiled again, like she knew exactly what I was thinking. “Sit next to me during the game, won’t you? I’d love a chance to get to know you myself, since the rest of my family seems to have already adopted you.”

“Oh—sure,” I stammered. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Perfect.” She linked her arm through Suho’s like it was second nature. “Let’s head in before warm-ups. Suho gets antsy when he misses them.”

He grinned and kissed the top of her head like he’d been doing it for years. No performance. No pageantry. Just muscle memory. Love, distilled.

Mina and Lucy darted ahead, already arguing playfully about snacks—something involving nachos and an aggressive popcorn strategy—while I lingered for just a moment longer, my eyes following Suho and Yuri as they walked ahead, hand in hand.

It wasn’t anything flashy. There were no grand gestures or public displays of affection. Just... ease. The way Suho leaned in when she spoke. The quiet way she smiled up at him. The natural way her fingers found his, without looking.

There was something about it that stuck with me. Not just the love—they obviously had that—but something steadier underneath it. Something that felt like friendship, and history, and the kind of trust that only time could build.

They didn’t just love each other.

They still liked each other.

And maybe that was what I envied most. The simplicity of it. The comfort of knowing someone would reach for your hand, and that your own would already be halfway there.

I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Y/N! Let’s go!” Mina called over her shoulder, waving me forward with exaggerated urgency.

I snapped out of my thoughts and hurried after her, slipping into the tunnel that opened into the heart of the arena. The moment we stepped inside, the sound hit me like a wave. Loud. Electric. Alive. Fans talking, laughing, shouting from every direction. The game was still half an hour away, but the place was already buzzing with anticipation.

We emerged into the main bowl of the stadium, the rink stretching out below us in all its sharp, glittering brightness. The ice gleamed beneath the overhead lights, impossibly clean, like glass waiting to be broken.

Something twisted in my chest.

It was beautiful. Familiar. And hard to look at.

I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d seen a rink from the stands. Usually I was on the other side of the boards, lacing up, blocking out the noise. But from up here, it was different. A stage. A memory.

I felt something ache in my knee—a quiet reminder. I wasn’t out there anymore.

Before the thought could spiral, someone jostled me from behind. I muttered an apology and stumbled down toward our row, letting the crowd pull me forward.

When I reached Mina, I offered a weak smile. “No suite tonight?”

She laughed as she took her seat. “We’ve done it before, but Yuri likes to be in the thick of it. Says it makes her feel like part of the team.”

I had to admit, the view was incredible. We were only a few rows from the glass, right at center ice. Close enough to see every stride, every shift in momentum, every crash against the boards. I settled in between Mina and Yuri, with Suho on the aisle.

“This your first hockey game?” Yuri asked, leaning in slightly.

“Yeah,” I said. “First one in person, anyway.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s fast, it’s messy, and the energy is completely addictive.”

I smiled. There was something about her—genuine and warm and disarming. Like she’d known you forever, even if you’d just met.

Mina turned around in her seat and nudged Lucy. “Snack run?”

Lucy gave a solemn nod. “Popcorn. Nachos. Gatorade for Taehyung. You two want anything?”

“Just water for me,” Yuri replied.

“I’m good,” I added quickly.

Mina narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

I was absolutely getting popcorn whether I asked for it or not.

Once they disappeared into the crowd, Yuri turned to me again, folding her hands in her lap. “Mina mentioned you lived in Michigan before?”

“Yeah. I grew up here for a little while. My mom and I moved away after the divorce.”

Her face softened. “That must’ve been difficult.”

I nodded. “It was a lot, but I was pretty young. I think it was harder on my dad. He’s in Washington now, and my mom’s still out in Nevada.”

“Quite the climate change,” she said with a laugh.

“I forgot how cold it gets here. But honestly? I kind of like it. The city, the seasons. It’s big enough to feel alive but small enough that I don’t feel swallowed by it.”

“That’s how Mina always describes it. She says it’s the kind of place where you can breathe.”

I smiled. “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

“And you’re settling in okay?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. Mina and Lucy have been amazing. Jimin and Taehyung helped me move in—they even assembled my IKEA furniture, which I’m pretty sure qualifies them for sainthood.”

She laughed. “They really are something, aren’t they? Jimin and Leera have been so good for Mina and Tae. You know, as a mother, there’s nothing more comforting than watching your children be loved the way they deserve to be.”

I nodded. “From what I’ve seen, they’re really happy.”

“They are,” she said, and then paused, her smile dimming just slightly. “I just wish my youngest would find something like that.”

I tilted my head. “Jungkook?”

She nodded. “He’s not like the other two. He’s quieter. He keeps to himself. Doesn’t thrive in the spotlight the same way.”

“People expect him to be a certain way, don’t they?” I said quietly. “Because of the name. The job. The attention.”

“They expect a celebrity,” she said, her voice gentle but certain. “But that’s not who he is. He’s a homebody. He’s thoughtful. He’d rather spend a quiet night in than be photographed at some fancy event. And not everyone understands that. Especially not the women he meets.”

I considered that for a moment. “That doesn’t surprise me. The life of a professional athlete isn’t glamorous, not really. The work is exhausting. The pressure’s constant. And the personal part—the real part—usually gets lost in the noise.”

Yuri looked at me then, really looked. Like she was seeing more than I realized I’d offered. After a moment, she smiled again. “It’s refreshing to hear that from someone your age.”

I ducked my head, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I guess I’ve been around it long enough to know.”

She hesitated, then reached out and gently tapped my knee—the one still wrapped under my jeans, stiff but healing. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but... I’ve admired you for a long time.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“I’m sure you hear it all the time, but you’re a beautiful skater. Graceful. Powerful. You have that rare thing—presence. I remember watching your last Olympic free skate. Mina cried during Clair de Lune, though she’ll deny it. And Suho made the boys watch it on replay. Twice.”

I laughed, startled and genuinely touched. “That’s... really kind of you. Thank you. Especially now.”

Yuri gave my knee a soft pat, her expression tender. “If it’s meant to be, it will be. I believe that. But even if it isn’t—even if the road ahead doesn’t look like the one you planned—you’ll still find your way.”

Her words hit deeper than I expected, sinking into that quiet part of me I tried not to look at too often. And before I could stop myself, the fear I’d been holding back, tightly wound and buried deep, finally slipped out.

“What if I’m not meant to be on the ice anymore?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “What if I already had my moment and I just... haven’t accepted that it’s over?”

Yuri didn’t blink. She didn’t give me a soft platitude or a well-rehearsed response. She just looked at me with that same calm steadiness, the kind of gaze that came from years of seeing people exactly as they were.

“Then you’ll find the next thing,” she said gently. “The next version of yourself. And it will be just as extraordinary.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how much I needed someone to say that—and how much I believed her when she did.

“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted, the words so raw they felt foreign on my tongue.

Yuri reached out and lifted my chin, her smile slow and sure. “You will. You’re stronger than you realize, Y/N. Most of the remarkable women I know didn’t see their strength until they had no choice but to use it.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just nodded, the lump in my throat growing too tight for words.

Before either of us could say more, Mina and Lucy came clomping down the row, balancing snacks and drinks like circus performers. Mina slid a massive soda into the cupholder beside me and dropped a salted pretzel into my lap like it was a peace offering.

I looked down at the buttery, salt-covered spiral, then up at her with a wry smile. “You’re a menace.”

“Say thank you, menace,” Mina corrected, grinning as she tore open a wrapper around a hot dog. “You looked like you needed carbs and sodium.”

“You’re a bad influence,” I mumbled through a bite. “At this rate, I’ll be a blimp by the time I’m cleared to jump again.”

Mina waved off the comment like it was absurd. “You’re tiny. If anything, this pretzel might save your life. Besides, it’s a hockey game. This is sacred junk food territory.”

“You’ll burn it off with your freakish acrobatic talent,” Lucy added, already halfway through her nachos. “It’s like your body eats physics for breakfast.”

I laughed, and for a moment, I let myself relax. The pretzel was warm, soft in the middle, perfectly salty. The crowd’s energy was rising, a low hum turning into a collective buzz. A sudden roar of cheers echoed across the arena as the players began skating out for warm-ups, and I glanced down at the rink, the lights bouncing off the fresh sheet of ice.

That sound—the scrape of blades, the thud of pucks against the boards, the crackle of movement—sent something humming through my chest. Not quite longing, but close. Something like recognition. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until it was right in front of me.

Lucy and Mina were already waving and whistling, calling out through cupped hands like they were trying to make themselves heard over the whole stadium. “There’s Jimin! And Taehyung! Look at number six skate—God, I love him,” Mina gushed.

Suho leaned forward, forearms on his knees, watching the players like he was studying film. He didn’t cheer. Didn’t shout. He just watched—quiet, focused, analyzing every move with the calm of someone who understood more than he said.

Yuri nudged me with her elbow, lowering her voice. “You won’t get a word out of him now. He’ll be like this the rest of the night. Afterward, he’ll give the boys a play-by-play like he’s their coach.”

“He’s never played?” I asked, surprised.

“Not once,” she said, smiling. “He’s always loved it, though. When the kids were little, he got obsessed with stats and strategies. Started a betting ring in college, if you can believe it. All math and odds. Got into some trouble with campus security.”

I blinked. “Suho? Quiet, dignified Suho?”

Yuri laughed, a rich, warm sound. “Oh, the stories I could tell you. It’s always the quiet ones, Y/N. They’ve got more going on under the surface than they let on.”

I smiled, turning my gaze back to the rink. Players were moving into drills now, sending pucks flying at the net. My eyes swept the ice—recognizing Taehyung’s long stride, Jimin’s low, smooth turns—and then paused when I caught sight of a figure skating toward the blue line. Fast, clean, low to the ice, stickhandling like the puck was magnetized to his blade.

Number ten. J. Jeon.

He stopped, lined up for a shot, and launched the puck into the top corner of the net with practiced ease. And then he turned. The helmet and face guard obscured most of his features, but the moment I saw him clearly, the breath caught in my throat.

It was him.

It took a full second for my brain to catch up to what my eyes already knew. But once it did, the realization crashed into me like a slap of cold air.

That wasn’t just any player. That was Jungkook. The guy from the airport. The one who’d helped with my bags. Who made me laugh. Who looked at me like I was something unexpected. And now, here he was. In full gear. Warming up for a professional hockey game. Wearing his name on his back.

It all came together—the Tuesday night plans, the way Mina talked about her “other brother,” how she said he was quieter, more private. His name. His eyes. Her eyes. How hadn’t I seen it before?

My Jungkook—if I could even call him that—was Mina’s brother.

Panic bloomed in my chest. My palms went sweaty.

I clamped my mouth shut the second I realized it had fallen open. My jaw clicked as it snapped back into place, and I turned to Mina, doing my best to look like I wasn’t in the middle of a low-key identity crisis. She didn’t notice. Too busy elbowing Lucy, eyes shining as she pointed toward number ten on the ice.

“That’s him,” she said, nodding toward the player skating backward across center ice. “Jungkook. You’ll meet him after the game.”

I made a sound in response. Not a word—just a raw, vaguely human noise that might have meant “cool” or “kill me now.” Hard to say.

Inside, though? I was spiraling.

Because I’d ghosted him.

Not flaked. Not rescheduled. Not offered any excuse. I just... didn’t show. No text. No call. Nothing. One minute we were supposed to meet up, and the next I had vanished like smoke. And now, here I was, standing with his sister, about to be formally introduced like none of that had ever happened.

My fingers tightened around the half-eaten pretzel in my hand. I couldn’t feel my legs. My stomach felt like it had been replaced with a washing machine mid-spin cycle. Part of me wanted to sink into the crowd, duck under the seats and disappear into the concrete underbelly of the arena. The other part—the reckless, traitorous part—was already wondering if he’d remember me.

If he’d been thinking about me.

If he’d cared that I didn’t show up.

Mina, blissfully unaware of the internal meltdown unfolding just a few inches to her right, leaned in. “You’ll have to excuse him if he’s a little... off. He’s been weird lately. Not really himself.”

Yuri nodded, her expression creased with genuine concern. “He usually opens up to me when something’s bothering him, but lately he’s just been... I don’t know. Distant.”

“He’s a total mama’s boy,” Mina added with a casual shrug. “Usually you can read him like a picture book. Lately? Not so much.”

Yuri shot her a look, half scolding, half amused. “Mina Lynn, be nice. You know Jungkook feels things deeply. He doesn’t bounce back the way you or Taehyung do. He carries it all.”

“He’s been carrying something, that’s for sure,” Lucy chimed in, eyes flicking to the ice, where Taehyung executed a smooth turn. “My guess? Girl trouble.”

My heart lurched in my chest like someone had yanked it with a string.

“Why do you say that?” Yuri asked.

I sank lower into my seat, wishing the brim of my hat could somehow collapse over my entire face like a cartoon character.

“He was jumpy at the bar last week,” Lucy said. “Kept looking at the door like he was waiting for someone. Wouldn’t sit still. He was fidgeting with his hair nonstop, and by the end of the night, he was doing that thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose and stares at nothing. Classic broody Jungkook.”

Mina frowned. “I would know if he met someone. He tells me everything.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Lucy said with a smirk. “You’re not omniscient. Maybe he didn’t tell you because it didn’t go the way he hoped.”

Her words echoed in my chest, knocking loose the secret I’d buried: what if it was about me?

What if he’d been waiting for me at the bar?

What if he’d been hurt?

The idea hit like a punch. I shoved it aside, unwilling to let myself fall down that particular rabbit hole. It was too neat, too perfect, too... hopeful. But hope, cruel and persistent, clung like static.

And then Jungkook looked up.

Our eyes met through the glass, and the noise of the arena vanished. The roar of the crowd, the clack of skates, even Mina’s voice—all of it faded into a dense, ringing silence.

His gaze locked on mine. Electric. Steady. Like he knew exactly who I was.

I forgot how to breathe.

Should I wave? Smile? Look away? My limbs wouldn’t cooperate, my body frozen in place while my pulse pounded like a drumbeat in my ears. The air felt too thick to swallow.

Then someone stepped in front of me, and the moment shattered. Sound came crashing back. The crowd, the music, the sharp buzz of an overhead speaker—it all returned in a rush. Jungkook was still looking in our direction, but Taehyung had joined him now, nudging him playfully. Jungkook laughed, shoving him back, but his eyes... his eyes didn’t stray far from mine.

“He’s cute, right?” Mina said suddenly, jarring me back to reality. I jumped, nearly spilling my drink as I blinked up at her.

“What?” I managed, trying for nonchalance and failing spectacularly.

“Jungkook,” she said with a grin. “You think he’s cute.”

“Uh... yeah. Sure,” I said, fumbling for words. “I guess.”

“Don’t ‘I guess’ me, Y/N.” She narrowed her eyes, her grin turning sly. “You’re blushing. Even under that tragic hat.”

I tugged the brim lower, wishing it could hide more than my cheeks. “You’re imagining things.”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “I can practically see the butterflies flapping around in your stomach. He’s got you twisted.”

I scoffed, mostly to cover the truth. “Other girls are staring too. You said it yourself—he’s cute. It’s not a crime.”

“Sure,” Mina said, nodding. “But he’s not looking at them.”

That pulled me up short.

I turned slowly, heart lodged in my throat.

Jungkook was still watching. Just a flicker of a glance, a subtle tilt of the head—but enough. Enough to feel it in my bones. His expression shifted when our eyes met again. That same crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted one gloved hand in a wave—small, almost secret, just for me.

I couldn’t help it. I waved back.

My hand trembled.

And I was smiling. Helplessly, stupidly, completely. Like someone had cracked me open and poured sunlight inside.

The buzzer blared—sharp, jarring—and Jungkook skated toward the bench, his strides fluid and purposeful. The rest of the team trailed behind, sticks tapping against the ice, helmets glinting under the overhead lights. But just before Jungkook disappeared into the tunnel, he turned.

And looked straight at me.

My breath caught. Just a second. That’s all it was. But it felt like something opened and closed in my chest, like the moment had hooked into me.

“Ahem.” Mina’s voice was louder than necessary, and I flinched, tearing my eyes away from the ice. When I turned, she was already watching me with a smug little smirk, eyebrows raised like she’d just caught me sneaking out of someone’s bedroom.

“Really subtle,” she whispered, nudging Lucy as she leaned in, and the two of them exchanged a look.

I’d get an ear full from them later.

I ducked behind my drink, hoping it was tall enough to hide behind. My cheeks were on fire. Yuri was talking to me—something about a coffee shop near the bookstore she liked—but it was hard to focus. Everything around me felt loud, too sharp, like someone had cranked the volume on life itself.

The Zamboni swept slowly across the ice, trailing glistening water behind it like a brush over glass. Lights dimmed overhead, throwing the arena into near darkness. Then a pulse of sound hit—hard rock blaring from the speakers, pounding out a rhythm that made my ribs vibrate. On the jumbotron, a montage of last week’s goals lit up the screen, bodies slamming against the boards, fists in the air, helmets flung off in celebration.

The crowd roared, and I couldn’t help but be swept up in it, the excitement crashing over me like waves.

Then the music shifted—louder, sharper, something anthemic and aggressive. A kid skated out onto the freshly smoothed rink, no older than eight, grinning from ear to ear as he planted the team’s flag at center ice like it was a mission from God. The crowd clapped in unison. It was the kind of moment that sent chills up your spine, even if you didn’t know a single thing about hockey.

“Okay, Michigan, on your feet!” the announcer shouted, and like a switch had been flipped, the arena erupted. Everyone stood, stomping and cheering like they were trying to shake the walls. Lucy grabbed my hand and yanked me up with her.

“Here they come: your Michigan Red Wings!”

A foghorn wailed, and the team poured onto the ice like they were shot from a cannon—jerseys flying, blades slicing the rink with brutal precision. It was chaos in motion, and my heart was hammering against my ribs like it was trying to keep up.

“Let’s meet your starting lineup!”

Jimin’s name was called first for defense. A roar went up around us—Mina and Yuri whooped like proud sisters.

Then: “Starting at center... number ten... Jungkook Jeon!”

The sound that followed could’ve lifted the roof off. I swear, I felt it in my teeth.

And maybe I imagined it, or maybe I just wanted to believe it, but in that split-second before lining up with the others, Jungkook’s eyes flicked our way.

No—my way.

The national anthem began, sung by a woman with a haunting voice that carried through the rafters. Jungkook stood at center ice, head slightly bowed, eyes on the flag, but every few seconds, he’d glance over—quick, barely there. But I felt it every time. Like a thread tugging me forward.

When the final note echoed into silence, the players fanned out, readying for face-off.

Jungkook crouched into position, tense and coiled. It was like watching a panther mid-prowl. My breath stalled as the puck dropped.

And the game was on.

Suddenly it was all motion—bodies crashing, pucks slapping, the sharp staccato of skates carving through ice. Mina and Lucy shouted with every pass, every hit, while Yuri surprised me by turning into a tiny coach, yelling strategy like the players could actually hear her from the stands.

Suho sat motionless, his arms crossed, but I saw the twitch in his jaw every time the puck changed hands.

I tried to keep up, clapping and nodding when Mina pointed things out. But my attention kept drifting.

To him.

Jungkook moved like nothing I’d ever seen—fast, sharp, almost too fluid for the violence of the game. It wasn’t soft, not in the slightest. He was like a controlled burn. Raw power, tightly wound.

And then it happened again.

He looked at me.

A quick glance. Barely more than a beat. But it was real. Direct. My stomach flipped like I’d gone down a drop on a roller coaster.

“What the hell is his problem?” Mina said beside me, her voice low and annoyed.

“What?” I said, trying to act casual and failing miserably.

She tilted her chin toward the ice. “Jungkook. He’s totally off tonight.”

My heart thudded uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“He’s making stupid mistakes. Missed a clean pass, offside twice. He’s distracted.”

I looked back at the rink, just in time to see Jungkook collide hard with the boards. I flinched. So did Mina. The sound echoed.

But before I could really react, Jimin was there, helping him up, giving him a quick shove like get your head back in the game.

Jungkook’s face was tight, jaw clenched. He shook it off and shot up the ice like he was running from something—or toward it.

Seconds later, he had the puck.

He faked left, cut right, and fired off a shot so clean and fast that it stunned the goalie. The puck slammed into the net with a thud, and for a beat, the arena paused.

Then it exploded.

I jumped up, hands in the air, screaming with everyone else, heart in my throat. The energy surged through me like lightning. It wasn’t just watching him score. It was something else entirely. Something electric.

His teammates tackled him in celebration, gloves slapping his helmet—but even through the chaos, Jungkook found me.

That grin—the one he’d given me the first night we met—spread across his face.

It was a little cocky. A little wild. And unmistakably his.

I grinned back, caught up in it, feeling ridiculous and elated and totally alive.

The energy in the arena didn’t dip—not for a second. The score bounced back and forth like a rubber band stretched too tight, snapping between teams, each goal setting off another eruption of cheers or groans. It was relentless. Bodies collided against the glass, sticks clashed like weapons, and the puck zipped across the ice with a kind of ruthless intent.

And Jungkook—he was everywhere.

He wasn’t just skating. He was commanding. Scoring, assisting, checking players so cleanly it looked choreographed. There was this sharpness to him tonight, something fiery, coiled just beneath the surface. He didn’t just play the game.

He took it.

Next to me, Lucy was mid-sentence—something about icing and neutral zones—when suddenly the crowd gasped. Everything shifted.

Taehyung had just been slammed, hard, into the boards.

The hit came out of nowhere—cheap, unnecessary. I didn’t even catch the number of the player who did it. Just the crunch of contact and the way Taehyung’s head snapped back before he crumpled slightly against the glass.

Leera let out a sharp gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.

Yuri erupted. She shot to her feet like a rocket, voice slicing through the sea of boos like it had been building in her chest all night.

“Are you serious, Ref? That’s cross-checking! Are you blind, or just incompetent?”

I blinked. Hard. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I should be laughing or ducking for cover. People in the rows ahead of us actually turned around. One guy raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed.

But Yuri wasn’t embarrassed. Not even a little. Her eyes were locked on the ice, jaw set.

Mina leaned toward me, barely holding in her laughter. “Don’t mess with Mama Bear’s cubs,” she whispered.

I laughed—more from nerves than anything—but I didn’t disagree. Yuri had snapped, and it was kind of amazing to watch. She sat back down eventually, her arms crossed tightly, muttering under her breath about suspension-worthy hits.

“That guy should be in the box,” she said, still fuming. “Total garbage hit. The league’s gonna review that. Mark my words.”

“She’s right,” Lucy added, eyes tracking the puck again. “But Taehyung’s not the type to forget. Just wait.”

And sure enough, we didn’t have to wait long.

Barely a minute left in the period when the same opposing player who’d hit him skated by again, puck on his stick, skating just a little too casual. Taehyung spotted him and moved in fast—silent, deliberate. Then—bam. He slammed into the guy with a precision check that knocked the wind out of the whole section. The crowd roared. I winced, but there was something deeply satisfying about it.

Taehyung scooped the puck before the guy even hit the ice and flew down the rink. One crisp pass to the left, a teammate picked it up, and the puck was in the net before the other team knew what had hit them.

The place exploded.

It was chaos. Mina was yelling, Lucy was on her feet. I was clapping before I even realized it, adrenaline buzzing through me like I’d scored the goal myself. Taehyung didn’t celebrate much—just a quick nod—but the fire in his eyes said everything. That wasn’t just a play.

That was payback.

By the time the third period rolled around, I could hardly sit still. Every time Jungkook took the ice, my heart jumped. He was unstoppable now. His third goal slid into the net like it had always belonged there. A hat trick.

The crowd lost their minds. I could barely hear myself think over the screaming.

But when I turned to Mina, she just rolled her eyes and gave me a dry look.

“What?” I asked, still a little breathless from cheering.

She tilted her head. “He’s showing off.”

I raised a brow. “You mean... playing well?”

“I mean, first period? He was all over the place. Off his game. Now he’s practically leading the league. He doesn’t usually pull a hat trick out of nowhere. He’s good, yeah, but this? This is... weird.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a shrug. “Weird.”

But I knew. Or at least—I thought I did.

Every time he’d messed up earlier, he’d glanced in my direction. Like the mistake burned a hole through him, and he was trying to recalibrate. Refocus. I understood that. I’d been there—in skating, in auditions. When I blew a jump or missed a step, I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head until I made up for it. Maybe Jungkook was like that. Maybe he needed the mistake to flip the switch.

Or maybe it was more personal than that.

The final minutes ticked down, the Red Wings holding the lead, and by the time the buzzer sounded, the arena was still buzzing—shouts and laughter and post-game commentary echoing all around us. The team saluted the crowd before skating off toward the tunnel. The lights started to come back on full strength, brighter now, revealing the emptying seats and discarded popcorn boxes. But the energy still lingered, like the game had left its mark on the air itself.

Suho finally blinked, coming back to life. “Good game,” he said with a half-smile, high-fiving Yuri as they both stood.

“Proud of them,” she said simply, eyes still scanning the ice.

We lingered, chatting in that soft, warm haze after something exciting ends. No one seemed in a rush to leave. Eventually, Mina and Lucy filled me in—there was a post-game hangout planned at some local place the guys liked. They’d be going. Yuri and Suho were heading that way too.

Before they left, Yuri surprised me by hugging me—not a polite, surface-level thing, but a real one. Like she’d decided I was in.

“We should grab coffee sometime,” she said as she pulled away, her voice low but genuine.

I didn’t even hesitate. “I’d love that.”

It wasn’t just small talk. I meant it. There was something solid about Yuri. No nonsense. No posturing.

And then... they were gone.

I sat back in my seat, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the game. Mina and Lucy were still there beside me, chatting about the bar’s playlist and which players were most fun to go out with, but I was barely hearing them. I was nodding when I was supposed to, giving vague smiles, the occasional “Mm-hmm.”

But my focus was gone. Completely hijacked.

I was scanning the arena like I’d lost something—no, someone. My nerves buzzed under my skin like static. I kept smoothing down my jacket, shifting in my seat like maybe if I got comfortable enough, I’d stop feeling like my insides were tap-dancing.

And then I noticed it.

The way Mina and Lucy kept leaning into each other, whispering, casting glances my way with matching grins. They knew. They definitely knew. And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to crawl under my seat... or run straight into whatever was coming next.

Somewhere across the arena, I heard it—loud, playful, and entirely unmissable.

“Newbie!”

Taehyung.

My heart jumped before my brain even registered the sound. I turned just in time to see him barreling toward me like a one-man stampede. He didn’t slow down—not even a little—before sweeping me into a hug that lifted my feet clean off the ground.

“Hi, Taehyung,” I wheezed, ribs protesting as he crushed me to his chest.

“Missed you too,” he grinned, finally setting me down with a little bounce like I was made of air.

He stepped back, surveying me with his usual mischievous glint. “Flying solo tonight? What happened to the flyboys?”

“Retired,” I said dryly, brushing hair out of my face. “Hopefully for good.”

He gave a satisfied nod, all dramatic approval. “Excellent. Now I can throw you around without anyone getting jealous.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. “Mina doesn’t let you do that?”

“She bites,” he said, deadpan.

“Damn right I do,” Mina chimed in, suddenly appearing beside me with Lucy right on her heels. “You learn survival skills when you grow up with a human golden retriever for a brother.”

“Squirt, you wound me,” Taehyung said, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. Then he messed up her hair with one large hand before she could duck away.

“God, you’re the worst!” she squealed, scrambling behind Jimin, who had just strolled up looking completely unbothered, like this circus was perfectly normal.

Unfazed, Taehyung swept Lucy into a massive hug next, spinning her slightly before planting a loud kiss on her temple. She shrieked with laughter, shoving at him half-heartedly.

And then—he was just there.

Jungkook hovered behind the group, just slightly out of the spotlight, but somehow still the center of it. No gear. No helmet. Just a dark grey long-sleeve tee that clung in all the right places and jeans that looked like they’d seen a few years of good wear. His hair was damp, curling slightly around his forehead, and the scruff I’d noticed at the airport was gone, leaving his jawline sharp and freshly shaven. He looked unreal. Ridiculously good-looking in a quiet way that felt unfair.

And then he looked at me.

My stomach flipped like it had a mind of its own. I dropped my gaze too quickly, cheeks heating, and when I looked back up, he was already stepping closer.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a little rough around the edges.

“Hey,” I echoed, softer than I intended.

For a moment, it felt like the noise faded, like everything around us had dimmed and the only thing that existed was the space between us. There was something electric about it. Charged. I wanted to say I’m sorry, or I missed you, or maybe just hi, again, but none of it came out. So I just stood there, feeling my pulse skip in my throat.

And then, right on cue, Mina crashed through the silence.

“You two know each other?” she asked, glancing between us with a knowing smirk.

“Sort of,” Jungkook said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to sound casual.

“We met at the airport,” I added quickly, a little too quickly. I winced. Nice and cool, Y/N.

Mina’s eyes lit up like she’d just won something. I realized, a second too late, that I’d made a mistake. A rookie mistake.

“Ohhh,” she said in a syrupy tone, dragging out the vowel like it was laced with every ounce of teasing she could muster. “So this is your airport crush. Well, I guess I don’t need to do introductions after all!”

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

“Y/N Y/L/N, meet Jungkook Jeon—my brother,” she added with a flourish, in case I’d somehow missed the fine print on the situation.

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver. His lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh, but when he spoke again, his voice had gone softer.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he repeated, and hearing my full name in that voice did something weird to my lungs. Then he held out his hand. “Nice to finally meet you... officially.”

I slipped my hand into his, and it was like touching a live wire.

Warm. Steady. Something underneath it that made me feel like I was being pulled forward without moving.

“Nice to meet you too,” I murmured, not even bothering to hide the smile tugging at my lips. His grip was firm, but not rushed—he held on just a beat longer than he needed to, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Neither was I.

“Let’s goooo!” Jimin’s voice cut in from across the lobby, dragging us back to the real world. He had Mina piggybacking on him now, her legs swinging like it was just another Tuesday. “We’re heading out. Drinks await!”

Jungkook glanced at me. “You’re coming, right?”

There was something quiet in his voice. Not quite pleading, but definitely hopeful.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, a little breathless. “I’m in.”

We fell into step together, trailing after the others. Jimin was carrying Mina like it was no big deal, and Taehyung had one arm casually slung around Lucy’s shoulders, the two of them laughing at something I couldn’t hear.

The doors swung open ahead of us, and the night air swept in like a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It was crisp, laced with the scent of cold pavement and distant car exhaust. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest, rubbing my hands over my sleeves as we stepped out into the street.

Jungkook walked beside me, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill. We didn’t talk, not at first. We just walked. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was the kind of quiet that felt… shared. Comfortable. Like neither of us wanted to break whatever was stretching between us.

Across the intersection, a neon-green sign glowed against the stone facade of a low-slung building: The Liffey. An old-school Irish pub, all dark wood and warm light, with music spilling out through the open door like a welcome mat. Inside, it was packed. The kind of post-game crowd that buzzed with leftover adrenaline and cheap beer. People clapped the guys on the back as we made our way through, a few of them yelling out congratulations or waving phones in the air.

I stuck close behind the group, trying not to get bumped or trampled, until we reached a quieter corner table tucked away from the noise. It was one of those high-top setups with mismatched chairs and scuffed-up edges, and I was grateful for it—grateful for the bit of space, the lower volume, the chance to breathe.

The group settled instinctively into their usual pairings. Mina curled up next to Jimin, Lucy dropped into the seat beside Taehyung with an ease that came from years of practice. Which left me and Jungkook, standing next to each other in a small awkward pocket of space, unpaired and slightly out of sync.

I pretended to study the beer list scribbled on the chalkboard behind the bar, then slipped into an empty seat. Jungkook followed, dropping into the one beside me. I could feel the warmth radiating off him, even from a few inches away.

A waitress showed up moments later, barely giving us time to open our mouths before Taehyung launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed order.

I raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Jungkook, who caught my look and leaned in slightly.

“It’s a thing,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“What is?”

“The order,” he explained. “If we win, Tae orders for everyone. If we lose, we each do our own thing.”

I blinked. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Yeah. Well.” He shrugged. “Everyone copes with a loss differently.”

He gestured across the table. “Jimin drowns his in Southern Comfort. Taehyung swears by Captain and Coke. Says the sugar makes him ‘funny again.’”

“Is he not always funny?” I asked, smirking.

“Oh, he thinks he’s hilarious,” Jungkook replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But he once tried to reenact a cologne commercial after three of those things and ended up falling through a folding chair.”

I laughed, the image too vivid to resist.

“What about you?” I asked.

Before he could answer, Taehyung piped up from across the table. “Jungkook loves the girly drinks.”

Jungkook let out a groan, shooting him a withering look. “Seriously?”

“One strawberry daiquiri,” Taehyung declared proudly. “One! And he sipped it like it was a damn mimosa at a garden party.”

“It was summer,” Jungkook said, shaking his head. “And it was delicious.”

I raised a brow, fighting a smile. “You don’t strike me as a strawberry daiquiri guy.”

“Don’t let the muscles fool you,” he said, his voice quiet but playful. “I have layers.”

“You’re like an alcoholic parfait,” I said before I could stop myself, and then immediately wished I hadn’t.

But Jungkook laughed—an easy, genuine sound that made something flutter just beneath my ribs.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was still going. “You know he once called it refreshing? Like a damn spa day.”

“Remind me again why I’m still friends with you,” Jungkook muttered, batting away Taehyung’s hand as it reached over to muss his hair.

“You’ve tried to quit me, Kookie. It never sticks.”

Across the table, Mina sighed dramatically. “Can we not start this again? It’s been three hours since your last fake breakup.”

“Three and a half,” Lucy chimed in, sipping her water. “I’m keeping track.”

Just then, the waitress returned with a tray of drinks—pints of Guinness, each topped with a thick, creamy head. She slid one in front of me and I blinked at it like it might bite.

I hesitated. “So… this is the famous Guinness?”

“Never had it?” Taehyung asked, eyes widening like I’d confessed to never seeing snow.

“Nope.”

He gasped in mock horror. “Y/L/N. I expected better from you.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Mina added, rescuing me. “Don’t listen to him. It’s bitter as hell.”

Taehyung placed a hand over his heart. “It’s smooth. And rich. And sacred.”

“It’s beer,” Jungkook added, a little more practically. “Irish beer.”

“And I’m Irish,” Taehyung said in a terrible accent. “Green as the hills of Galway, lass.”

“You’re a quarter Irish,” Mina cut in, unimpressed. “Maybe. And I think Dad’s side cancels it out.”

“The only part that counts is the part that drinks,” Taehyung declared as he raised his glass.

Lucy joined in with an accent even worse than his. “Shall we raise a glass, boyos?”

Taehyung looked personally offended. “Please never do that again.”

“Oh, I will,” she grinned. “Especially after two of these.”

The conversation buzzed around us like static—snappy, familiar, full of half-teasing jabs and deep belly laughs. Jimin was leaning back in his seat, smirking as he egged Taehyung on about something that had happened in the locker room. Mina, with a warning look and a playful threat, was poised to dump her beer on someone if things got out of hand. It was the kind of chaos that made you feel like you’d stumbled into a sitcom.

And right in the middle of it, Jungkook leaned in again, just slightly. His elbow brushed mine—casual, not deliberate, but somehow very much there—and then he tapped the rim of his glass gently against mine with a soft, “Cheers.”

“Well played tonight, guys,” Lucy chimed in, lifting her glass. “Seriously. That was electric.”

I raised mine in quiet agreement, but as I tilted it to my lips, my gaze met Jungkook’s over the edge of the pint glass. The moment stretched, just for a breath. The pub around us, full of clinking glasses and background laughter, seemed to blur. His eyes held mine, unflinching, and when he took a drink, his throat moved with that effortless kind of grace that somehow made my own feel dry.

The Guinness wasn’t what I expected. Rich, slightly bitter, smooth. It was the kind of flavor that lingered—bold but not overpowering. Like Jungkook’s voice when he wasn’t trying to be heard. Low. Measured. Intimate.

“You like it, Y/L/N?” Taehyung asked, grinning like he already knew the answer.

I set the glass down and nodded. “Surprisingly… yeah.”

“Hope for you yet,” he said, pleased, and winked like he’d converted me to some exclusive club.

The table’s energy kept rolling forward. Talk shifted back to the game—what the cameras didn’t catch, the inside jokes, the minor disasters that made perfect stories. Apparently one of their teammates had forgotten his cup before the first period.

“I’m not kidding,” Taehyung said, leaning forward with a laugh that bounced off the table. “It was like the Canucks knew. The guy took three hits to the family jewels before anyone could figure out what was going on.”

I winced. “Oof.”

“He walked back into the locker room and just lay on the floor. Flat. No words,” Jimin added. “We gave him a moment.”

Everyone laughed—loud, unfiltered, the kind that made strangers glance over and smile without knowing why. Mina and Lucy jumped in next, recounting their run-in with two overly enthusiastic superfans dressed in sequins and team beads. One of them had apparently been keeping stats in a glittery notebook.

“I thought he was going to propose to the mascot,” Mina said.

“He blew a kiss to the goalie,” Lucy added.

I was laughing so hard I nearly choked on my drink. The stories, the rhythm of it all—it felt weirdly effortless, like I’d been part of this group forever. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was just them, but there was something about how they included me without making it feel like an effort. No one was posturing. No one was performing. They were just... real.

But even with the warmth of the group around me, I was hyperaware of Jungkook’s arm when it moved—slowly, casually—along the back of my chair.

I stiffened for half a second, unsure if it was intentional. But when his fingers brushed my shoulder lightly, and didn’t move, I realized it was.

My breath hitched. Just a little. Not enough to draw attention, but enough that I noticed. Every time he shifted slightly or leaned in to laugh, the warmth of his arm stayed close. Close enough to make me forget what we were talking about.

And then, as if he felt the shift in my focus, he cleared his throat and turned toward me slightly, pulling his arm back but keeping his eyes on mine.

“So,” he said, quieter than the rest of the table. “You’re the hotshot.”

I blinked. “The what now?”

“Mina’s been hyping up the new girl next door. Olympic skater, total legend, star athlete… no pressure.”

I groaned softly, slumping back in my chair. “She did not.”

“She did,” he said, smiling. “Several times.”

I exhaled a laugh. “I wouldn’t call myself a hotshot. More like... moderately coordinated.”

He chuckled, eyes still fixed on me. “You were on crutches at the airport. I just thought you were clumsy. Turns out, you're an elite athlete.”

I bit my lip, smiling as I picked up my glass again to hide how flustered I felt. “I don’t usually lead with the crutches.”

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning in again, voice just for me. “Kind of made you stand out.”

Something in my chest pulled tight. I felt it—clear as day—that he wasn’t just flirting to pass time. He was really looking. Seeing me.

“Well,” I said, finding a smirk somewhere in the blush creeping up my neck, “if you’re jealous, there’s always figure skating. I can lend you a sparkly costume. Do a little jazz hands.”

“Jazz hands?” He blinked, confused.

“You don’t know jazz hands?” I demonstrated with exaggerated flair.

He frowned. “I think I’m more of a power-slide-into-a-fist-pump kind of guy.”

“Ah yes,” I said. “The gold medal move of champions.”

He grinned, and something about it—soft, amused, unguarded—made my stomach flip. From there, conversation came easy again. We fell into it like we’d done it a hundred times. Music, books, food, weirdly specific YouTube rabbit holes. He told me he played piano. I told him I sang, but only in the shower or when I thought no one was home. We discovered we both had a weird soft spot for sad girl music—Billie Eilish, Amy Winehouse—and neither of us understood the appeal of MGK.

I told him about my favorite childhood coach. He told me about his first time skating on a frozen pond in his neighborhood, how he cracked the ice and ended up waist-deep in freezing water. We laughed, and it wasn’t just surface-level banter—it was comfortable, the kind of connection that sinks its teeth in before you even realize you’re caught.

At some point, I reached for my drink and realized it was empty. I glanced around, blinking at how much the crowd had thinned. The hum of the room had faded to something softer, quieter. Taehyung was leaning back, arm slung loosely around Lucy, who looked half-asleep on his shoulder. Mina was still animated, probably running on pure caffeine and stubbornness, while Jimin watched her with a lazy kind of affection, like he’d long since accepted that she’d never tire before 2 a.m.

I glanced at Jungkook just as he looked at me. Neither of us said anything, but in that small silence, I knew we were both thinking the same thing—we weren’t ready for the night to end. Not yet.

The group was slowly collecting their things near the bar, the energy softening as the post-game glow started to settle. Voices lowered, jackets were shrugged on, and someone—probably Lucy—had already asked the bartender for change to split the bill.

“You guys are heading out tomorrow, right?” Mina asked, her voice casual, but her eyes tracked each of them like she already knew the answer.

Jimin, arms loosely wrapped around her from behind, grinned against her hair. “You know we are, baby.”

“And you’re back Sunday morning?” she pressed, already mentally juggling the next few days.

“Early,” Taehyung groaned, throwing his head back with theatrical agony. “Like, ‘why-does-this-flight-even-exist’ early.”

“We should do something!” Mina perked up, glancing between me and the rest of the group. That spark in her eye—the one that meant she was planning something I’d probably get dragged into—was already there. “All of us.”

“Don’t even think about making me get out of bed before noon,” Taehyung warned, flexing his arms like he needed to prove how heavy they were. “You couldn’t lift me even if you tried.”

“Please,” Lucy snorted. “You’re the first one awake in every hotel room. You’re literally doing push-ups before most of us are conscious.”

Mina nodded solemnly. “He’s the only person I know who stretches like he’s about to do a triathlon... to walk to the hotel breakfast buffet.”

“I have to maintain this physique,” Taehyung shot back, smoothing down the front of his jacket.

“Anyway,” Jimin cut in, “the Winter Carnival kicks off this weekend. Campus Martius should have the outdoor rink set up by now.”

Mina lit up. “Perfect. We could all meet up, skate, get cocoa after—like something out of a rom-com montage.”

My eyes flicked instinctively to Jungkook, who was already watching me.

“Is that okay with you?” he asked, his voice quiet, thoughtful. “I mean, you’re still healing, right? Probably shouldn’t be pushing it.”

There was something about the way he said it—casual, but laced with concern—that made my chest tighten.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, offering a small smile. “Your dad gave me the green light to take it easy. I won’t be doing spins or jumps or anything. Just... slow laps. I think I remember how to glide.”

Jungkook gave a small nod, but his eyes lingered for a second longer, like he was still debating whether to believe me.

“One o’clock?” Mina offered, looking around. “That gives everyone time to sleep in. Even you, Tae.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. “I guess I could grace the ice with my presence.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you’re not already planning your entrance.”

Mina gestured to me. “Y/N will probably be home, fed, stretched, and halfway through a yoga flow by the time I’m peeling myself out of bed.”

I grinned. “Old habits.”

We started moving toward the exit. Jimin stepped outside to wave down a cab, and the night air wrapped around us the moment we stepped through the door—cool and quiet, the city humming in the background like a distant lullaby. The air smelled like damp pavement and the last whispers of winter.

One by one, the girls climbed into the back of the cab, crowding together with the ease of people who’d done this a hundred times before. Mina settled in first, Lucy curling up beside her. The door was left open behind them, space enough for one more.

But Jungkook didn’t move. He stayed by the door, one hand resting on the top of the frame, his posture loose but watchful.

I turned toward him. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and familiar.

“Feels like we’ve been here before,” he said, eyes lit with something quiet and amused.

“Déjà vu,” I murmured, a smile blooming before I could stop it. “Except this time, I’m not disappearing.”

He looked at me for a second longer, like he was measuring something behind my words.

“You sure?” he asked. Lightly. But I could hear the real question in it.

I nodded. “Pretty sure. You know where I live now.”

That made him smile wider. “Guess you’re out of excuses.”

I was about to reply when he stepped forward, reaching up slowly to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle, but my breath caught all the same. His fingers grazed the side of my face, warm even in the cold, and for a moment, the city felt still.

“See you Sunday?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” I said, and my voice felt steadier than I expected. “Sunday.”

“Y/N!” Lucy called from the cab, dragging the vowel out in dramatic agony. “Let’s go, lover girl!”

I laughed, but as I turned to climb in, my foot caught on the edge of the curb. I stumbled slightly—nothing dramatic—but before I could catch myself, Jungkook’s hands were already on my arms, steady and sure.

“Déjà vu indeed,” he murmured, helping me back upright.

His hands lingered for a second, sliding gently from my elbows down to my wrists, then curling briefly around my fingers before letting go. It was soft. Intimate. Enough to leave my skin tingling.

“I’ll have to stay close,” he added with a crooked grin, “just in case you fall again.”

I bit my lip, trying not to grin too hard. “I’ll try not to make it a habit.”

“Goodnight, Jungkook!” Mina sang from inside the cab.

“Night, Nana. Lucy,” he replied without looking away from me.

Then, softer: “Y/N.”

I met his gaze one last time. “Night, Jungkook.”

The door clicked shut, and the cab rolled forward, leaving him standing under the pool of amber streetlight, his hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders a little hunched from the cold. Taehyung and Jimin flanked him, already lost in their own banter, but he didn’t take his eyes off the cab until we turned the corner.

I stared out the back window for as long as I could.

The cab had barely pulled away from the curb before Lucy turned toward me, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Oh my God, Y/N,” she said, eyes wide. “I can’t believe Jungkook was your airport baggage claim hottie! How did you not say anything?”

“Seriously,” Mina added, twisting around to face me from the front passenger seat, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “When did you figure it out?”

“And more importantly—do you like him?” Lucy asked, already grinning like she knew the answer.

I opened my mouth, but Lucy was already barreling ahead.

“Because he definitely likes you. That was not subtle.”

“You should’ve seen you two at the bar,” she went on, now directing her words to Mina like I wasn’t sitting right between them. “It was like watching the first ten minutes of a rom-com. All dreamy stares and soft smiles.”

Mina gave an exaggerated sigh. “I know. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d be kind of jealous. That look he gave her when she got in the cab? Please.”

Lucy clutched her chest dramatically. “Ugh. To be young and in love.”

“Oh, please,” I finally cut in, raising both hands like I was trying to hold back a tidal wave. “First of all, Lucy, you’re literally one year older than me. And you’ve been making heart eyes at Taehyung all night.”

“Yeah,” Mina said, glancing back at me with a smirk, “but that’s different. Tae and I have been together for three years. That early-stage, slow-burn, butterfly-stomach kind of thing? That’s its own kind of magic.”

“And right now,” Lucy added, pointing at me like I was exhibit A, “you’re kind of glowing, so...”

“I’m not glowing.”

Mina laughed softly. “You kind of are.”

I groaned, pressing my fingers into my temples. “Okay, just to set the record straight—yes, I figured it out when we got to the bar. Yes, it surprised me. Yes, he’s attractive. But—and this is important—there’s a big difference between attraction and love.”

Lucy tilted her head, unconvinced. “We never said love. Just... interest.”

“And you looked interested,” Mina added, voice warm but teasing. “He did too.”

“I don’t even know him,” I said, trying not to sound panicked. “I don’t know what I’m doing with this stuff. Dating. Flirting. Whatever this is.”

Mina’s tone softened. “You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

“Some people actually like dating,” Lucy said, nudging my leg. “You get to hang out, eat good food, find out if you click. It’s not a test.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I admitted, my voice a little too tight. “What if I say the wrong thing? What if I mess it up?”

“You don’t have to do anything, Y/N,” Mina said gently. “Just... be who you were tonight. You were relaxed. You were laughing. He liked that.”

“It didn’t feel like a date,” I mumbled.

“Because we were there,” Lucy said with a grin. “But you guys barely acknowledged the rest of us. We might as well have been ghosts.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” she said, one eyebrow raised.

The cab slowed in front of our building, headlights cutting through the dark. Mina reached into her coat pocket and pulled out some cash for the driver.

“Sunday’ll be easy,” she said as we climbed out of the car. “We’ll all be there—Tae, Chim, Lou, me. No pressure. No expectations. Just skating and hanging out. Okay?”

I nodded, though the nerves were still stirring under my skin.

Back upstairs, I went through the motions—face washed, teeth brushed, the same old hoodie tugged over my head. But even in the comfort of my routine, my thoughts refused to settle. As I crawled into bed, Mina’s voice echoed in my head.

Just go with it. See what happens.

It sounded so simple. But to me, it felt like the edge of a cliff.

Still, as I curled beneath the blankets, I found myself thinking about Jungkook. The way he’d looked at me when I stumbled—calm, steady, amused. The warmth of his hands on my arms, the quiet way he said my name. That lopsided smile, like he was letting me in on something no one else knew.

I couldn't get him out of my mind no matter how hard I tried.

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