#I think this is the last ask for this game? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

purplereina11 · 2 days ago

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In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 3: 36 hours in Munich Other Parts

Word Count: 8k

⚽️

You’re in the locker room, post-session. Freshly changed but, pulse still settling, water bottle half-drunk and rolling somewhere near your bench. Everyone’s moving slow — stretches, recovery gear, shower queues. Typical post-training lull.

But you’re pacing already packing away, quicker than normal, you normally linger for longer. You sit finally. Jacket half-zipped. Legs twitchy, breath short, heart doing sprints while your teammates are winding down.

You check your phone for the sixth time in two minutes. Still nothing. Still soon.

“Alright,” a voice cuts through behind you. “Who is it?”

You look toward the voice. Georgia. Leaning against the wall, towel over her shoulder, one brow cocked. You blink. “What?”

“You’re all… shifty.” She waves a vague circle around you. “Nicely-dressed, hair down. You keep checking your phone like it's gonna grow lips.”

You try to brush it off. “It’s nothing.”

Georgia doesn’t even flinch. “Liar. Spill it.”

You stare at her for a second. You weren’t going to tell anyone. But something about her tone — casual but not cruel — makes your chest loosen. And you need to say it out loud. Just once.

You sigh, grab your other boot, and sit. “She’s flying in.”

Georgia pauses. “She?” You assumed Beth would of blabbed by now.

You swallow. “Alexia.”

That name lands like a stone in a calm pool. Georgia blinks once. “Putellas?”

“Yeah.”

She’s staring now. Like full-body-turn, jaw-slightly-dropped, towel-falling-off-the-shoulder staring. “For… ?” she tries.

You sigh a hand going through your freshly washed hair. “For a day.”

Her mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “As in…”

You shrug, but you can’t help the way your face warms. “Yeah. As in that. She followed me after the home game against Barca, after the away game, that's when she first started DM'ing me" You smile at Georgia's mouth hanging open.

"Saying what?"

"Football stuff mainly, about the games, but after the last game at Wembley, she asked if she could come here to see me. I said yes.”

Georgia whistles low. “Bloody hell. You’re actually—” she stops herself. “Wait. Are you nervous?”

You nod, fast and helpless. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

She laughs, loud and bright. “You scored a free kick at Wembley in front of ninety thousand, but you’re sweating because the Queen of Barcelona herself is flying in for a sleepover?”

You put your hand out, "You say it like they're not both just as equally massive" You groan, head in hands. “Why did I tell you.”

Georgia grins. “Because you needed to.” She slaps your back once, warm and steady. “She’ll have a nice time I'm sure. And you're interesting when your social battery is full. Just don’t overthink it.” You look up. Georgia’s still smiling — not teasing now. Just sure. “Go get the girl from the airport,” she says. “Don't over think it, just take it for what it is, it's her idea to come here so let her lead what it is"

You roll your eyes. But you’re nodding too. Because yeah — it’s real now. She’s coming. And you have to be ready.

“Meado knows about mine and Alexia’s conversations, she doesn’t know about her coming. If you know, you need to freak out about this when I’m gone”

⚽️

The car is parked just beyond the pickup loop, engine idling low. Your hoodie’s half-zipped, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other drumming nervously against your thigh. You’ve been here twenty minutes early, but you’d never admit it.

Your phone lights up with a text.

Alexia: Just got my bag. Coming out now.

You swallow hard.

You glance in the rearview mirror, tug at your hair, check your reflection. You don’t even know why — it’s her, you’ve already been through matches and mud and bruises together — but somehow, this is different.

It’s real. And quiet. And outside the lines. The terminal doors slide open again. A few people walk out. Not her. Another group. Still not. Your fingers tap faster.

Then there she is. Alexia. Dressed in all black, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, duffel bag over her shoulder. She walks out calm, casual, that familiar captain’s posture in every step. But her eyes are already searching.

And the second she sees you, they soften. You watch her approach through the windshield, heart thudding so hard you’re sure she’ll hear it before she even opens the door.

She pulls it open and slides into the passenger seat with that impossible grace, dropping her bag between her feet. You look at her.

She looks at you. And for a second, neither of you says a thing.

“Hey,” you breathe, voice barely above the hum of the engine.

“Hey,” she says back, softer.

You both smile. It’s awkward and perfect and so much. “I can’t believe you’re actually here,” you say as you pull out into traffic.

She leans back in the seat, eyes still on you. “I told you,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want to miss you.”

The city rolls past in a blur of grey and gold. Low sunlight spills across the dashboard, and the soft thrum of music — something wordless and warm — fills the quiet between you.

You’re both a little awkward. Not painfully so. Just… cautiously new.

It’s strange, this version of her — in your passenger seat, seatbelt clicking into place, fingers drumming lightly on her thigh. She’s looking out the window, but keeps glancing at you when she thinks you won’t notice.

You notice. “Airport was easy, then?” you ask, just to fill the silence.

She nods. “Very. One person tried to sneak a photo. But I gave them the look.”

You smirk. “The full ‘Putellas Death Glare’?”

“Level three only,” she says, mock serious. “Mild warning.”

You laugh under your breath, relaxing a little. Her accent’s thicker in person, softer in a car. You don’t know why that makes your stomach twist the way it does.

She glances at you again, a little longer this time. “It’s weird,” she murmurs. “Hearing you talk without a crowd around us.”

You smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

You make it through another light, and the silence stretches — still easy, but expectant.

Then suddenly — you freeze. “Oh shit.”

Alexia blinks. “What?”

You wince. “I forgot to tell you something kind of… important.”

She turns in her seat, curious. “What did you forget?”

You drum your fingers on the wheel. “I have a dog.”

Alexia blinks again. Then a slow smile tugs at her lips. “That’s what you forgot?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, already cringing. “I just—I meant to tell you. I’m not one of those people who spring dogs on people. He’s sweet. I swear.”

She’s laughing now — full, rich, effortless. “You make it sound like you’ve got a bear waiting at the door.”

“He’s just… enthusiastic,” you say, biting your lip. “His name’s Teddy.”

Alexia tilts her head, teasing. “Named after?”

“Teddy bear. Don’t judge me.”

She holds up both hands. “No judgment. But I can’t believe you didn’t lead with that.”

You glance at her. “Still time to turn around, you know.”

She smiles wider, looking straight ahead again. “I came here to see you,” she says softly. “Teddy’s just a bonus.”

And just like that, the nerves quiet. Just a little.

⚽️

You pull into the parking spot in the street, heart suddenly faster than it was on the pitch at Wembley.

Alexia’s quiet beside you, seatbelt undone, hands folded in her lap. But you feel her eyes on you as you kill the engine and sit for a second longer than necessary.

“This is it,” you say, finally, looking up at your loft apartment on the third floor

She nods. “Cute street.”

You grin. “Cute flat.”

She smirks. “Cute dog?”

You shoot her a look. “He’s trying his best.”

You both laugh as you get out. The early evening air is cool, the sky dipping into that soft lilac blue. You grab her small bag from the boot, and as you unlock the door, you hesitate.

“He might bark.”

“I can handle it,” she says, smiling.

You push the door open. It takes exactly one second.

Teddy barrels around the corner, all paws and excitement, nails tapping on the floor like a drumroll. His tail is going wild, and he’s already launching toward you when he spots the new presence behind you.

Alexia steps in, closing the door behind her. Teddy freezes. Then bolts straight for her.

You open your mouth to intervene—“Teddy, no!”—but before you can, Alexia’s already crouching down, calm and soft.

“Hola, precioso,” she murmurs, holding out a hand. And Teddy melts.

Tail wagging, head pressing into her palm, tongue ready for her cheek like she’s his long-lost soulmate.

You blink. “Well,” you mutter, “traitor.”

Alexia looks up at you, grinning as she scratches behind his ears. “He has taste,” she says. “Clearly.”

You lean against the doorframe, watching her — hair falling into her face, Teddy now rolling onto his back like he’s never known loyalty — and something in your chest settles. Warms.

Alexia stands, finally, brushing dog fur from her knees.

“Welcome to Germany,” you say, quieter now.

She doesn’t look away when she answers. “Thanks,” she says. “It already feels like a good idea.”

And for the first time all day, you believe you can relax. Because she’s here. This is just the beginning.

You toe off your shoes by the door, glance back to find Alexia standing just inside, Teddy still sniffing reverently at her shoes like he’s found royalty. Her bag’s at her feet, her jacket draped over her arm.

You clear your throat. “Right—um. Tour.”

She smiles like she’s already charmed. “I’m ready.”

You lead her into the main space — open-plan living room and kitchen. The walls are clean, but lived-in. A few photos on a shelf — one of the squad after a cup match, another of you and Beth pulling stupid faces at the camera. A soft throw blanket is half-fallen off the back of the couch. A candle you forgot you lit earlier is still flickering on the coffee table.

“This is the, uh—living-slash-existing space,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “Teddy thinks it belongs to him.”

Teddy immediately hops onto the couch, circles twice, and settles like you’ve just proven his point. Alexia grins.

You lead her into the kitchen, flicking on the under-counter light. “I don’t cook much, but the kettle works. Coffee pods are in here.” You tap a cupboard. “Mugs — there.”

She opens it, scans the shelves. “All mismatched.”

You shrug. “I collect them. Kind of.”

“I like it,” she says, softly. “It feels like someone lives here.”

You duck your head, smiling.

You show her the bathroom next — small, clean, stocked with too many hair ties and one towel you warn her not to use because it’s definitely Teddy’s now.

And then the hallway. Two doors.

“That one’s mine,” you say, thumb over your shoulder. “The other’s yours while you’re here.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Just peeks inside. A double bed, made neatly. Fresh towels folded at the foot.

She steps inside. Smiles softly looking around more.

You clear your throat. “I didn’t want it to feel weird.”

“It doesn’t,” she says. “It feels like you thought about it.”

“I did,” you admit.

It slips out quieter than you mean it to, but you don’t take it back.

Alexia meets your eyes. “Thank you. For having me.”

You nod toward the room. “Make yourself at home, yeah? My place is your place.”

She steps a little closer. Not much. Just enough that you feel her presence like a hum. “I already feel at home,” she says.

And the way she says it. It makes your chest ache. In the best way. You raise your eyes when they moved away from hers, "I'll um, leave you to unpack" you take a step back, "Teddy" you call, he appears around the foot of the bed, "Come" you give Alexia one final look and you walk back down the hallway.

She smiled opening her bag as she heard you chatting away to Teddy about getting him some treats, asking for various tricks from him.

⚽️

You tried to cook. You really did. But somewhere between boiling the pasta and burning the garlic, you gave up and ordered takeaway. Alexia didn’t mind. In fact, she looked almost relieved.

Now you’re both curled up on the couch, watching a show on a streaming app neither of you are paying attention to, warm plates in your laps and the soft, flickering glow of your fairy lights stretching across the ceiling.

She’s in one of your hoodies now. You hadn’t meant to offer it — just handed it over without thinking when she mentioned how cold planes make her feel.

It swallows her in all the right ways.

Teddy’s curled at your feet. Loyal again. For now.

“Okay,” she says mid-bite, glancing at you. “I need to know something.”

You look over, wiping your fingers on a napkin. “What?”

She gestures with her fork. “Do you actually like this pasta place, or is it just close?”

You fake a gasp. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” she says, trying to hide her smile. “I just—your face when you handed it to me said, ‘This is the best I’ve got, but I know it’s not the best in the world.’”

You laugh. “Alright, yeah. It’s proximity-based love.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Respect.”

The TV plays something forgettable in the background — neither of you are really watching it. The kind of background noise that just fills in the edges of something far more focused. Like the way she’s sitting. One leg folded beneath her, turned just slightly toward you. Or the way you’re watching her mouth more than listening to her words.

She puts her plate down on the coffee table, wipes her hands, then leans back. “You were nervous,” she says suddenly.

You blink. “When?”

“Earlier. At the airport. In the car.”

You roll your eyes. “Was it that obvious?”

She smiles, soft and real. “A little.”

You look down at your plate, then back at her. “I just… didn’t want it to feel weird.”

Alexia tilts her head slightly. “It doesn’t. You make it easy.”

That catches you off guard. You blink once, then set your plate down too. The silence stretches. But it’s not awkward. It’s warm. “I’m glad you came,” you say.

She leans her head back against the couch, eyes on you now in that slow, deliberate way she does everything. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” she says.

Alexia is fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie — pulling at the hem with her thumb like she doesn’t realise she’s doing it. She’s not really looking at you. Not often. Just quick glances. Then back down. Then away.

You’re talking about random things. Easy things. Football. Training. Travel. Things you are confident you have in common.

She tells you about a weird airport coffee she had in Zurich. You tell her about the time Teddy accidentally got locked in your bathroom for 20 minutes and emerged looking personally betrayed.

And every now and then, there’s a pause that lasts a little longer than it should. But neither of you fill it. You just let it be. Eventually, you nudge your leg gently against hers. “You’re quiet.”

Alexia shifts. “Am I?”

You smile. “A little. For someone who just flew here to hang out with me.”

She huffs a quiet laugh. It’s barely there. “I’m just…” She trails off. Shrugs. “I’m not good at this part.”

You tilt your head. “What part?”

She stares at the coffee table like it’s got answers. “The talking part.” You wait. She finally looks at you — really looks. “I know how to show up to a match,” she says, voice low. “How to lead. How to win. That makes sense to me. But this?” She gestures between you. “This is…” She doesn’t finish.

You finish it for her. “New.”

She nods. And for a second, you think maybe she’s going to stand up, shift away, hide behind something safe. But she doesn’t. She just sits there. Awkward. Present. Willing.

You offer a small, understanding smile. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”

She exhales, a little lighter now. “Good. Because I didn’t bring a tactics board.”

You both laugh. Softly. Easily. She doesn’t say anything else for a while — just leans back again, arms crossed over her chest now, head tilted slightly in your direction.

Eventually, she mumbles, almost like it’s for herself, “I’m glad I came too.” You nudge her foot with yours, with a gentle smile.

Alexia’s sitting sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out slightly, your hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. You’re close, but not quite touching.

The conversation’s slowed to a hum — soft music talk, playlists, half-confessions about guilty pleasure songs. She mentions a Catalan band you’ve never heard of, and while she’s scrolling through her phone to find a song, your eyes drift downward.

And then you see it. A couple of faint lines on her knee. Pale, clean, but unmistakable. The scar. You pause. Not out of shock — you knew. You remember the coverage, the months out, the comeback.

But seeing it? That’s different. It’s not just a story now. It’s her. She notices your eyes drop. And for the first time all night, she goes still.

“Yeah,” she says softly, not quite looking at you. “That’s… that.”

You meet her eyes again. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. But there’s something guarded in her voice. Like she’s used to people staring at it, asking about it, expecting something from it. You don’t ask. You just nod once, gentle. “Looks like strength,” you say, matter-of-fact.

Alexia’s brow furrows, unsure if you’re serious. But you are. She shifts slightly — not closer, but more open somehow. Her hand moves instinctively toward her knee, fingers grazing the scar once, like she’s reminding herself it’s still there.

“Sometimes it feels like I left a part of myself in there,” she murmurs. “The version of me from before.”

You let that hang. Then, quietly, “The version of you now scored against me. Twice.”

She huffs a breath. “Only one actually went in.”

“Still counts.”

She glances at you — and her smile is tired, genuine, laced with something like gratitude. Not for the words. For the way you didn’t try to fix it. Just saw it. And stayed.

The playlist she queued has faded into a quiet acoustic hum — soft, wordless, like it knows it shouldn’t interrupt. The light in the room has gone warm and low, one lamp casting golden arcs over her face as she leans back into the couch, knee still bent, hand still ghosting near the scar.

You don’t speak. You wait. And eventually — slowly — she does.

“I didn’t think I’d come back,” she says, voice low, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it’s easier not to look at you. “Not really.”

You blink, still, letting her keep control of it.

“Everyone kept saying I would. That I’d be fine. That I was strong, that I’d be back in a year. But inside…” She swallows. “I didn’t feel strong. I didn’t even feel whole. I felt… like I’d been cut out of myself.”

You shift just slightly. Not closer — not yet. But enough to let her know, I’m here. She breathes, slow.

“I’d watch games and feel like I didn’t belong anymore. Like I’d already been replaced. And I didn’t want anyone to know how scared I was because… I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m her, you know?” She finally looks at you now. “La Reina” You meet her eyes, steady. She adds, barely audible, “But I felt like glass.”

The words hang in the room — fragile, but not broken. You nod once. Then say the only thing you really believe in this moment. “I think you’re better now.”

Her brow pulls, confused. “What?”

You lean back, resting your head on the couch, looking up like she did. “You’re smarter. Sharper. Your passes don’t just thread — they cut. You’ve got control most people don’t even understand. And there’s a weight to the way you move now, like you know exactly what it costs to step back onto the pitch.”

You turn your head to her again.

“I’ve watched you before. Really watched you. You were always brilliant. But now?” You shrug. “You’re something else.”

Alexia stares at you, mouth parted slightly — like no one’s ever said it that way. Not like that. Not to her. She doesn’t say thank you. She just shifts — this time closer. Not dramatic. Just enough. Her shoulder brushes yours. Her knee bumps your thigh. And she lets out a breath that sounds a little like relief. “Thank you,” she murmurs eventually, eyes back on the scar. And then, softer: “I’ve never said that stuff out loud.”

You nod. “I know.” The quiet returns — not heavy this time. Comfortable. Like something sacred just happened, and you both know it.

She’s close now. Arm resting lightly against yours. Your hoodie sleeves bunching at her wrists. The scar still visible — but no longer raw. You glance down at her, the way her gaze has softened since she spoke, how her edges feel less guarded, like your living room gave her permission she didn’t even know she needed.

You swallow once. Think. Then speak. “You know… when I moved to Germany, people said it was career suicide.”

Alexia turns her head slightly, brows faintly drawn. Listening now. Not out of politeness. Intention. You stare ahead.

“Agents stopped calling. Interviews dried up. One coach — someone I used to really trust — told me I’d disappear. That I’d ‘fade out quietly.’” You huff a laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “I hadn’t even unpacked yet.”

Alexia is silent. Not interrupting. Just there.

“I’d scroll through social media and see all the squad updates, the camps, the conversations I wasn’t in anymore. And I thought… maybe they’re right. Maybe I peaked.”

You pause. Swallow.

“I started believing it. Like I was a mistake that was just waiting to happen.”

Alexia shifts slightly, her arm pressing into yours, grounding you.

“But then,” you continue, voice quieter now, “I played. I worked. And I kept showing up. And slowly… something changed. Not in them. In me.”

Alexia tilts her head. You glance at her.

“I stopped playing to prove people wrong,” you say. “And I started playing like they didn’t get a say.”

There’s a pause. And then—so soft you almost miss it—she says, “I noticed.”

You look at her. She’s watching you now — full on. Not blinking. Not shrinking. And when she speaks again, it’s steady.

“You didn’t disappear. You became better.”

You smile, but there’s a knot in your throat. Because you know she means it. And you never expected to hear it from her. Alexia leans her head back against the couch, her body still relaxed but her voice dipped low again.

“I know what that doubt feels like,” she says. “And I know how heavy it is to prove yourself to people who already made up their minds.”

You nod. “It’s exhausting.”

She murmurs, “And lonely.”

The room goes quiet again. But this time? Not lonely. Just two people sitting in a space neither of you were sure existed — honest, open, real. No spotlight. No pressure. Just you and her. And the ache you’ve both come back from.

⚽️

It’s late.

So late the playlist stopped a while ago. So late the city outside your windows feels like it’s on mute. You both stretch at almost the same time — that lazy, reluctant movement that means okay, maybe we should sleep but neither of you want to break the quiet just yet.

You stand first. Alexia follows. She’s still in your hoodie, tugging it down slightly, bare feet padding across the floor as you walk her to the guest room — side by side in a hush that feels warmer than anything words could’ve done.

You pause at the door.

She turns to face you, one hand on the doorframe. Her hair’s a little messy now, eyes slightly glassy with exhaustion. Her voice, when it comes, is soft and almost shy.

“Thanks for tonight.”

You smile, slow. “Thanks for coming.”

She nods, then looks down like she might say something else. But she doesn’t. You step back slightly, hands in your hoodie pockets, eyes flicking to hers.

“Goodnight, Alexia.”

She looks up at that. And for a second — just one second — the look on her face says everything else she didn’t say. Then she nods, once. Barely a smile. But it reaches her eyes. “Goodnight.”

She slips into the room. You don’t linger. Just turn toward your own — quiet footsteps down the short hall. You push the door open and Teddy. Right there, already curled up in the middle of your bed. One eye open, tail thumping lazily against the duvet like, about time.

You smile, rubbing the back of your neck as you sit on the edge of the bed. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You pick it up.

Alexia: Sleep well. You talk less than I thought you would. I liked it.

You stare at the message for a second, then type back:

You: You talk more than I thought you would. I liked it too.

Teddy sighs dramatically. You laugh under your breath. Then switch off the light. And for the first time in a long time, you fall asleep not needing to prove anything. Because she’s here. And you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

⚽️

You wake to the smell of coffee. And the distinct sound of Teddy betraying you. You roll out of bed, hair a mess, hoodie tugged low over your hands, padding barefoot into the kitchen where—There she is.

Alexia.

Still in your hoodie. One sock on, one foot bare. Mug in hand, eyes still puffy with sleep, standing at your counter while Teddy leans against her legs like he’s never loved anyone else.

She glances up when you walk in, and her smile is soft. Unbrushed. Unfiltered. Real.

“Morning,” she says, voice husky.

You squint. “How’d you find the biscuits?”

She holds up the mug in salute. “I’m elite. And you left a post-it that said ‘left cupboard, top shelf, if teddy won't leave you alone'.”

You grin. “I knew past-me had potential.”

She turns back to the counter, pouring more water into the kettle, while Teddy attempts to wedge himself between her and the cabinets, tail sweeping the floor like a metronome.

“You realise he’s using you,” you say, grabbing a clean mug.

“He can use me all he wants,” she says, reaching down to scratch his ears. “He’s warm.”

You watch her — the way her fingers slide under Teddy’s collar, the way her mouth twitches when he tries to climb into her actual lap. It’s not a moment. Not a capital-letter Event. But something in your chest aches anyway.

Because she looks right here.

You grab the eggs, start cracking them into the pan. She pulls down two plates without being asked. Neither of you talks much. Just a few sleepy comments, heads bumping once as you both reach for the cutlery drawer.

When you sit across from her at the little kitchen table — plates steaming, dog underfoot — she catches your eye as you tuck your leg up under you. She doesn’t look away. Not for a while.

You hold it. You hold her. And the smile she gives you. It says I see this. I feel it. I’m here.

After breakfast, you throw a hoodie over your tee, pull on your trainers, and rattle Teddy’s lead. He loses his mind, of course — spinning, barking, pawing at the door like it personally wronged him.

“You wanna come?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder at Alexia.

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

She throws on a coat of yours on hook, slips into her trainers, and follows you out the door — hair tied up, sleeves rolled down, sunglasses perched on her head like she forgot the sun lives here too despite the cold.

You walk through quiet neighbourhood streets, Teddy darting side to side, nose in every hedge. You and her? Side by side. Not touching. Not saying much. But every now and then, you catch her watching you. And when you glance back— She doesn’t look away.

You loop around the quiet end of the park, the noise of the street fading behind you, and find your bench — tucked under a tree just starting to bloom, a little weathered, sun-warmed. Teddy bounds ahead, lead dropped loose in your hand, tail sweeping in wide arcs like a painter’s brush.

Alexia sits first, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying not to take up space but still wants to stay close. You drop beside her, leg stretched long, hands resting over your thighs.

For a while, you both just sit. Watching Teddy. Letting the quiet settle.

Then Alexia speaks, voice dry. “You really weren’t kidding about him being enthusiastic.”

You glance at her. She’s staring at Teddy, who’s currently rolling in something deeply questionable on the grass. You sigh.

“Yeah but he’s loyal.. until someone has better snacks anyway.”

She snorts. “I didn’t even have snacks.”

“Exactly,” you say, nudging her foot with yours. “He’s just shallow.”

She smirks, then leans back a little, adjusting the sleeves of your coat again. “He’s got taste, though. He likes me.”

You raise a brow. “Are you calling yourself a snack?”

“I’m not denying it.”

You laugh — sharp, sudden, surprised. And it makes her smile wider “You’ve got this whole mysterious captain thing,” you say, squinting at her. “But secretly, you’re kind of cocky.”

She tilts her head, smug. “Only when I’m right.” You roll your eyes, but your grin’s too soft to mean it. There’s a pause. Then, more gently “I like this,” she says, not looking at you now — just forward, at the dog, at the path.

You shift, the warmth of her words settling low in your ribs. “This?” you echo.

She nods. “The quiet. You. Teddy. This bench.” She pauses, then smirks again. “Even your coat.”

You laugh, quieter this time. “You make it look better than I do.”

“I know.” She meets your eyes then. And the silence that follows doesn't last long until you're leaning into each other laughing about it.

You clear your throat, picking at a thread on your sleeve, when the little old lady that you see everyday was eyeing you with annoyance, "So, um… are you always like this when you’re off the pitch?”

Alexia blinks. “Like what?”

You shrug. “A bit smug. Surprisingly funny. Secretly soft.”

She narrows her eyes, mock offended. “Secretly?”

You smirk. “I mean, the brand is very serious captain with cheekbones that could cut glass.”

Alexia hums. “Cheekbones and a scar. Very dramatic.”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re one trench coat away from being a Bond villain.” That gets a real laugh — full-bodied and sudden. She leans her head back against the bench, still smiling.

Then, “You make this easy,” she says, softer now. “Being here.”

You glance at her. And for a second, it’s all there again — the pitch, the free kick, the weight of it all.

But here, it’s light. You bump your knee gently against hers. “I’m glad you came, Alexia.” She doesn’t look away this time.

“I am too.”

You stretch your legs out in front of you, glancing sideways at her — Alexia, sitting there so casually now, one foot tucked beneath her, face tilted toward the sun like she’s been here a dozen times instead of just once.

You reach down to pat Teddy’s back as he wanders close.

Then glance at her.

“Do you like clichés?”

She lifts a brow. “What kind of question is that?”

You shrug, casual. “Like, romantic comedies. Grand gestures. Saying the same dumb things everyone else does. Standing on famous streets pretending you’re having an authentic experience.”

Alexia leans back, lips twitching. “You’re stalling.”

You grin. “Maybe.”

She squints at you now, playful. “Okay. Ask me properly.”

You turn toward her fully, arms folded over your chest like you’re about to deliver something serious.

“Would you like to do all the ridiculously cliché tourist things in Munich with me today?”

Alexia’s head tips slightly to the side, considering.

You keep going.

“I mean the whole deal — the Marienplatz selfie. Pretending to care about the Glockenspiel. Giant pretzels. A walk through the Englischer Garten where I’ll tell you lies about German history I definitely make up.”

Her smile creeps in slowly — then fully.

“I want lederhosen photos.”

You gasp, dramatically. “That’s advanced cliché.”

“I’m committed.”

You laugh. “God help us.”

She leans in slightly. “Only if you wear them too.”

You groan. “I’ve made a mistake.”

“You offered.”

You hold her gaze for a second, heart kicking a little louder now beneath all the lightness.

And she’s still smiling.

But there’s something genuine behind it.

Like maybe, for the first time in a long time, she’s just saying yes to a day that doesn’t come with pressure, or cameras, or expectations.

Just you.

She nudges your knee with hers. “So? We going or what?”

You whistle for Teddy. “Marienplatz, prepare yourself.”

⚽️

You start with Marienplatz. Because of course you do.

The crowds are already gathering under the watchful clock of the Neues Rathaus, phones out and necks craning toward the tower. You know the Glockenspiel starts at eleven. You’ve seen it a dozen times. It’s slow. It’s slightly underwhelming. But you still pretend like it’s sacred.

“People clap after this?” Alexia murmurs beside you, watching a small bronze knight rotate in a slow, juddering circle.

“Every time,” you whisper back. “It’s powerful.”

She gives you the driest look you’ve ever seen and it almost takes you out.

You snap a selfie right there — her unimpressed expression next to your exaggerated awe. It’s perfect. You don't even check it before saving.

From there it’s Viktualienmarkt — where you insist on finding the most absurdly oversized pretzel possible. Alexia watches you barter with a vendor and somehow ends up paying instead. She splits it with you anyway. You walk through the stalls like locals, even though you're both definitely not.

You buy her a little pin shaped like a beer stein. You stick it to her jacket pocket. “Souvenir,” she says.

You end up in the Englischer Garten by early afternoon, the kind of place where the trees stretch wide and people picnic like they’ve got nowhere else to be. Teddy loses his mind over a pigeon and nearly pulls Alexia into a fountain.

You don’t let that one go quietly. “Two time Ballon D'or, and you still couldn’t hold the line.”

“It was a very fast pigeon.”

You laugh until you’re leaning against her, shoulder to shoulder, catching your breath while Teddy runs victory laps around you both.

At the beer garden, you sit under the shade of chestnut trees, and Alexia orders something she can’t pronounce while you pretend to translate and definitely make it worse.

She tries white sausage and doesn’t hide her reaction.

You raise a brow. “Too real?”

“I can mark out midfielders. I can’t defend this texture.”

You toast anyway.

Later, you wander without purpose — through side streets with painted shutters and ivy-streaked balconies, past musicians playing under archways and little kids holding balloon strings tight to their wrists. Alexia keeps her sunglasses low on her nose, watching it all.

“I get why you like it here,” she says.

You glance over. “Yeah?”

She nods, then adds softly, “You fit here.”

It sticks.

You end up near the river as golden hour starts to take the edge off the buildings. There’s a stone ledge overlooking the water. You sit. She leans back on her hands, face turned to the sky.

“Okay,” she says finally. “This was... fun.”

You grin. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. I didn’t think cliché could feel like this.”

“Like what?”

She glances at you. Her expression doesn’t change much — but her voice does. “Easy.”

You don’t say anything for a second. Just smile. Then bump her knee gently with yours. “Think we earned ice cream?”

She tilts her head. “Is that part of the cliché package?”

“Obviously.”

You walk back into the city with cones in hand, Teddy leading the way again, tail wagging like a metronome keeping time with your steps.

And somewhere along that walk — maybe crossing a street, or brushing hands as you trade bites of each other’s flavours — something soft settles between you.

Not tension. Not expectation. Just understanding.

⚽️

You swing by the flat first — the front door barely closed before Teddy flops dramatically across the hallway floor like he’s survived something immense.

Alexia kneels down beside him, ruffles behind his ears, and says, “You’ll be alright without us.”

He sighs like he won’t.

You both change quickly — nothing fancy, just different hoodies, fresh faces, the kind of casual that looks better on her than it has any right to.

The bar you pick is a local one — tucked into a side street off the main square, part wine bar, part café, part 'we might have regulars but we won’t pretend to know your name unless you want us to.'

You take the corner table. The lights are soft and golden, the walls cluttered with mismatched frames and shelves of wine bottles. You order a bottle of white you’ve had before — one you hope she’ll like — and a snack board that arrives faster than expected: warm bread, cheese, olives, salted almonds.

She looks around, impressed. “You bring all your international friends here?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Only the ones who knock me out the champions league.”

“Fair,” she says, hiding a smile behind her glass.

You’ve barely had a sip before you reach into your bag and pull out a battered Uno deck.

Alexia blinks. “You brought cards?”

“They have them as you walk in. I’m competitive,” you say, shrugging. “And brave.”

She laughs once, short and sharp. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I’ve already accepted that.” You deal. And it begins.

It starts civil. Friendly. Smirks over skips. Light jabs when she stacks draw twos. You both pick at the snack board between plays, hands brushing occasionally as you reach for the same olive.

But by the second game, It’s personal.

She slams down a reverse like it’s a tactical sub in a final. You pull a draw four from your hoodie pocket like a weapon of war. She narrows her eyes. You lift your brows, mock-innocent.

It’s deadly serious. It’s ridiculous. And you’re both grinning like you haven’t stopped since this morning.

The bar starts to fill in slowly, but your little corner stays quiet — like a bubble you haven’t noticed growing around you. Just you, her, your wine glasses catching the light, and a stack of discarded cards that tells a very messy, very entertaining story.

Somewhere between games, you pause — mid-sip, watching her draw her hand.

“Are you always like this?” you ask. “Lowkey evil under all that calm?”

She looks up, unbothered. “Only when provoked.”

You laugh, leaning back. “Remind me not to cross you again.”

She smirks, eyes flicking up at you over her cards. “You already did,” she says, laying down a wild card.

The round ends. She wins.

You groan dramatically and throw your cards onto the table. She raises her hands in mock celebration, then quietly steals another piece of cheese from your side of the board.

“You know,” she says casually, chewing, “This might be the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

You blink. She doesn’t look up right away — just flips the deck over and starts reshuffling it absentmindedly.

But you’re watching her. And there’s no doubt in your mind. She means it.

⚽️

The walk home from the bar is slow. No rush. No real conversation either. Just a lot of little smiles. Shoulders brushing sometimes. The city quieter now — streetlights pooling in soft circles at your feet.

When you reach your building, you both slip inside quietly, Teddy greeting you at the door with a sleepy grumble and a thump of his tail.

You toe off your shoes, hang your jacket, glance over at her — and then, impulsively:

“Wanna see something stupid?”

Alexia blinks. “Not usually the way someone convinces me to follow them, but… sure.”

You grin.

You lead her through the flat — past the living room, into your bedroom. Teddy hops onto the bed like he’s reclaiming his kingdom. You move to the window — the one you always leave cracked just a little — and unlatch it the rest of the way.

You glance back at her.

She’s standing with her arms folded, watching you like she��s bracing for something truly ridiculous.

You duck out first — onto the sloped bit of roofing just beyond the window, socks scraping softly against the tiles. You crouch low, then stand carefully, balancing with practiced ease.

You turn and beckon. Alexia just stares. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

She steps closer, looks out.

The drop’s not that bad. 22 feet, maybe. But the tiles are slick with dew, and there’s no railing, no barrier, no sensible adult supervision.

“This is wildly unsafe,” she mutters.

You just smile. “Come on. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

She glares at you, muttering something in Catalan that sounds very judgmental. But you can see it — the twitch at the corner of her mouth. She’s not really mad.

She’s just concerned. Which somehow only makes it better.

After a few more seconds of muttering under her breath, she sighs dramatically, steps up onto the ledge, and eases herself through the window with surprising grace — a little unsteady at first, reaching for your hand instinctively.

You catch it. Steady her. “See?” you say, squeezing her fingers lightly. “Easy.”

“Still stupid,” she mutters.

But she doesn’t pull away. You lead her a few steps up — careful, slow — until you both settle onto the slightly flatter part of the roof, side by side, legs pulled up to your chest..

She finally looks up the whole city stretches out in front of her.

The rooftops curve into the skyline, lights twinkling like fallen stars. The dark river cuts a lazy path through the buildings. A few stray sirens whine in the distance, but mostly it’s just quiet. Wide and open and impossibly still.

Alexia exhales — a soft, almost disbelieving sound. The corners of her mouth lift. And whatever worry she had before melts off her shoulders.

“Okay,” she says, voice lighter now. “Maybe it’s worth the risk.”

You bump your knee against hers. “Told you.”

You sit like that for a long time — no rush, no plan. Just the two of you, the city breathing around you, your hands close enough to touch if you dared.

Every now and then, you glance over and catch her watching the lights, the horizon, the night itself like she’s letting herself believe she could belong to something this simple.

The climb back in through the window is quieter than the climb out.

Alexia moves slower now, heavy with the kind of tired that comes after a day full of laughter and nowhere to be but here. She drops softly into your bedroom, feet padding across the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands again.

You follow behind, closing the window gently behind you.

Teddy’s already curled up on the bed, barely lifting his head to acknowledge your return. He gives Alexia one approving thump of the tail. You’re not sure if it’s for coming back safely or for still being here.

You rub at the back of your neck, eyes a little hazy, wine long gone.

Alexia stands in the doorway to the guest room now, hand on the frame. Her expression is soft — not sleepy exactly, just settled.

She looks at you. And it hits again — this moment. How simple it is. How much it means. You lean against the wall across from her, arms crossed loosely, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“I’ll make sure you don’t miss your flight in the morning,” you say.

She smirks faintly. “You better.”

“I’ll set three alarms.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Four.”

You laugh, quiet and tired. “Pushy.”

She shrugs. “Punctual.”

The pause that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. Of all the things neither of you are saying right now. But it’s okay. You already said so much.

She shifts slightly, head tilting. “Today was…”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to.

You step forward, and without thinking, you pull her into a light hug — not long, not heavy, but enough. Enough to feel the warmth of her hoodie, the steady beat of her breath, the soft slide of her hand as it rests briefly on the back of your head.

You pull back just a little. She’s still close. “Goodnight, Alexia.”

Her eyes flicker — tired and unreadable, but warmer now “Goodnight.”

She steps into the guest room and closes the door behind her with a gentle click. You exhale.

Teddy stretches across your bed with a groan like he just ran the city.

You flick off the hallway light, pad back into your room, and crawl beneath the covers.

The room is dark now. But your chest is full. And your alarms are definitely set. Tomorrow she leaves.

⚽️

The alarms buzz you awake just after six.

Teddy barely lifts his head as you stumble into the kitchen, yawning, the world outside still caught between night and day.

Alexia’s already up. You find her sitting on the edge of the couch, tying her sneakers — hair messy, hoodie slung loose over her frame, backpack by her feet.

She looks up when you walk in, and there’s a small, tired smile waiting for you. “Morning,” she says, voice thick with sleep.

You hum a reply, rubbing your eyes. Neither of you rush.

You load Teddy into the backseat. He whines a little, sensing something is different. The drive to the airport is quiet — warm coffee cups in the holders, the radio playing something soft neither of you bother to change.

She leans her forehead against the window once, watching the fields blur into concrete. When you pull up to Departures, you leave the car idling, glancing over at her.

She’s already unbuckling her seatbelt, but neither of you move right away.

The city is waking up outside. You’re wide awake here. Alexia shifts in her seat to face you. “This was…” She trails off, the words sticking again.

You smile, small. “Yeah. It was.”

She fiddles with the ring on her finger.

You grip the steering wheel lightly. “You’ll make your flight.”

She nods. “Thanks for not letting me oversleep.”

You bump your shoulder against hers gently. “Thanks for making it hard to say goodbye.”

That gets a real smile — tired, fond, a little crooked. She opens the door, stepping out into the sharp morning air. You get out too.

You meet her around the back of the car — not rushed, not dramatic. Just standing there, with a sea of taxis and early travelers moving around you like another current you’re not ready to step into yet.

She shoulders her bag. You jam your hands into your hoodie pockets.

Then — simply — she steps closer. You think she might hug you. You think you might need her to.

But instead, she reaches up — slow, careful — and hooks one finger lightly around your hoodie drawstring. Tugs it once. Soft. Playful.

“Text me when you get home,” you say, even though you’re already sure she will.

Alexia nods. “You too.”

And then — because she knows when to let things stay perfect — she turns and walks toward the entrance. You watch her weave through the doors. She doesn’t look back. Not until she’s just inside, bag slung over one shoulder, ticket in hand. Then she does. Just once.

She finds you through the glass — through the crowd and the noise and the press of the world. She smiles. Small. Sure. Enough.

You lift a hand. She does too. Then she’s gone, swallowed into the current of the airport.

You stand there a moment longer, breath fogging in the chill, Teddy’s nose nudging your hand.

You pat his head. Then you climb back into the car. And drive home, to grab a few more hours of sleep before training.

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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urcoolgf · 2 days ago

Text

bf¡drew’s reaction to you posting him to ‘dandelion’ by ariana grande

¡ sexual/suggestive content !

drew had been out of town working on a new film, and it had left you… needy—to say the least. he had only been gone a few days, but your body’s desperation made it seem like months.

you were proud of him for getting to be apart of another big project that he was super passionate about, but you missed him. your body missed him. it wasn’t helping that you were ovulating…

you scrolled mindlessly through your photos, admiring all the photos of your boyfriend, hoping it would give you some kind of satisfaction. but, nothing.

you came across a specific photo that embarrassingly made your thighs clench. it was drew during a game night you had recently with some friends; his stance, the way his jeans fit, the keychain hanging from his belt loop, how his chest was puffed, and his shirt fit him just a little too tight in the most perfect way.

you don’t know what came over you—a sort of impulse? you clicked off the app, going straight to instagram, and creating a new story.

—

drew had just finished his last scene of the day—happy that he could finally call his girlfriend, but before he could, he saw an absurd amount of mention notifications from instagram.

thousands of people talking about some ‘story’ his girlfriend posted?

he quickly navigated to her profile, clicking onto her story. a devious smirk spread across his face as the lyrics appeared on his screen.

i got (got) what you need (you need)

i’m thinking you should plant this seed

i get this sounds unserious

but, baby boy, this is serious

he stared at the picture for a moment, totally unaware that you had even taken it. he pictured you, at home alone, with your hand between your thighs, all needy for him. the thought alone made his pants tighten.

he wasted no time calling you.

—

you were chasing your own pleasure, fingers working yourself open on the couch, but it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t him. suddenly, your phone lit up, and your beautiful boyfriend’s contact picture presented itself. your hand escaped your panties, accepting the call with an unnecessary urgency.

“hey, baby!,” you answered, not bothering to hide your enthusiasm. you fell back against the couch, sprawled out like a dramatic housewife—which is exactly who you felt like right now.

“you postin’ me, pretty?,” it was obviously a rhetorical question. he had already seen it. his smirk could be heard through the phone, and there was no use trying to deny it.

“maybe…,” you drew it out, curling a strand of your hair between your fingers. you tugged your lip between your teeth, waiting for his response.

“so fuckin’ lucky i’m not there right now, pretty girl,” his low laugh broke up the sentence, like he was in a mixed state of disbelief and amazement.

“i don’t feel very lucky,” you pouted. your dramatic, sad tone was evident in your soft words. your thighs involuntarily clenched together, trying to hide your heat—even if just from yourself. you could basically feel him inside you just from memory. it wasn’t enough.

“no? well… when i get back you’re gonna feel like the luckiest girl in the world. promise you that. i’ll plant as many damn seeds as you want—over ‘n over again if you ask me to,” his words were dirty, but his voice sounded so sweet, like he would walk across the country to get back to you right now if that was the only way home.

he didn’t even give you time to respond before continuing, “you’re gonna be so full you’re not even gonna remember what bein’ empty feels like, baby,” you could hear his cocky smirk tugging at his lips again, and it made your heart flutter, and your core clench.

“mm sounds good to me,” and he hated the way your voice alone made him hard, that low, sultry hum that made his head spin. why did he ever leave the house? no more movie deals outside of walking distance.

“‘nd don’t bother tryin’ to use your fingers, pretty girl. we both know it won’t satisfy you. you wait for me to get home… and i promise the next time i leave, you’ll have our baby on your hip to keep you occupied.”

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half-of-a-gay · 3 days ago

Note

PART 4 OF RUGBY VIKA X MANAGER READER PLEASEEEEE ITS SOO CUTE <\3

[A/N: You guys keep asking for this and I have a problem saying no so here you go. Enjoy!]

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3

PART 4:

Rugby player!Sevika x Team manager!Reader

The morning after the date starts slow.

You're in bed longer than usual, half-buried in blankets and replaying everything from the night before on a loop - the warm light of the diner, the way Sevika’s laugh had turned unguarded by the end of the evening, the brush of her hand finding yours.

You try not to think about it too much. You try to school your expression and put on the best poker face you could muster. But the second you step into the coffee shop to meet your friends, you know you’re not getting away with anything.

They’re already at a booth by the window, hands wrapped around steaming mugs, mid-conversation until one of them spots you and immediately smirks.

“Well,” she says before you’re even seated. “Someone’s looking suspiciously well-rested this morning.”

You slide into the booth and fight the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m just in a good mood.”

“Mhm. Spill.”

You hesitate for a moment. It’s not that you don’t want to tell them - it’s just that talking about it out loud makes it feel… fragile. But they’re your friends, and you did promise to fill them in.

“We went out last night,” you say finally. “Me and Sevika.”

You keep going, your words measured. “She took me to this old diner. Said it was kind of her safe spot. We just talked, ate pie, nothing wild. But it was… good. She was different than I thought she’d be.”

There’s a brief, telling pause. One of your friends glances at the others, exchanging a look that’s hard to miss.

“She didn’t even kiss me until I did it first,” you add quickly, almost too quickly. “She was actually kind of nervous.”

Another pause- longer this time. The weight of it hangs between you, and the air feels suddenly thick.

“I thought she ghosted you after the away game,” one of them says, their tone carefully neutral, but the undertone is there. It’s pointed. “Didn’t you say something happened, and then she just… disappeared?”

You feel your chest tighten at the reminder. Your hand wraps around your cup, fingers tightening around it, but you force yourself to stay calm.

“It wasn’t like that,” you insist, a little too forcefully. “She didn’t ghost me. She just… shut down for a while.”

“Isn’t that worse?” someone else chimes in. “I mean, you barely said what happened but we just don’t want you getting blindsided again.”

You stiffen. “It’s different now. She opened up. She took me somewhere that matters to her. I don’t think she does that with everyone.”

“Are you sure?” one of them asks gently. “You’ve had a thing for her for ages. You really think you’re seeing this clearly?”

You blink. The warmth from earlier starts to feel thinner. Shaky.

Another one of your friends leans back in her chair, arms crossed. She’s quiet for a beat, then speaks slowly, as if weighing her words. “I don’t know… I mean, it sounds nice and all, but you’re talking about Sevika. The same Sevika who’s kind of known for sleeping around and disappearing when things get real? And, I don’t know, you really think she’s different with you? After all that… history?”

Her words are gentle, but they sting, the undertone of doubt there- unavoidable.

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “She’s been different. I’m telling you, she’s not what you think.”

They exchange another look. You know they’re trying to be careful, but there’s something in the way they’re looking at you- something a little too knowing.

“She’s got a reputation,” another says, a shrug in her voice. “It’s not personal, it’s just… you said yourself she doesn’t let people in, right? How do you know she’s not running the same play she always does? Maybe that diner’s her move. Sob story, meaningful eye contact, pie, boom. Hooked.”

Your heart sinks, but you fight it. You’re not going to let them make you doubt this. Not yet. Not when you know, deep down, it’s been real between you two.

“She’s not like that,” you say, quieter now. You take a breath, then meet their eyes, more firm. “You don’t get it. Sevika’s… complicated. But I’m telling you, she’s trying. And she’s not the person you think she is.”

There’s another long pause. This time, the silence feels different- not like understanding, but like uncertainty.

—

The conversation with your friends lingers in the back of your mind as you walk towards the field for practice. The buzz of the café around you fades, but their words, the doubts - they stick. You had been so sure of yourself before, so open, so willing to jump in without hesitation. But now, a voice in the back of your head asks: What if they’re right? What if you’re just another one of Sevika’s fleeting moments?

You push the thoughts away, trying to focus on the here and now, as you arrive at the field earlie like you usually do. The sun paints the world in soft, golden hues. The morning air is cool, a contrast to the rising heat of the day. It's quiet, just the sound of your footsteps echoing across the grass, your mind still tangled from your conversation with your friends. You tell yourself it’s no big deal, that you’ll shake it off, but a little knot of doubt lingers.

As you make your way across the field, you spot Sevika already warming up. She straightens when she sees you approaching. Her posture is relaxed,arms crossed, but there’s a quiet tension in the way she watches you approach. She’s early. You weren’t expecting her to be, since she’s late for practice. For a moment, you can’t help but feel a little warmth in your chest. That’s what she does to you - makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room, even when it’s just the two of you.

You step closer, the soft crunch of grass beneath your shoes the only sound between you.

A slow smile tugs at the corners of Sevikas lips as she greets you. “Hey,” her voice is low but warm. “I didn’t think I’d beat you here.”

“Neither did I,” you say, chuckling softly, though you can’t help but feel a little lighter in her presence. You don’t want to overthink it, but it’s hard not to. “How long have you been here?”

“Not too long,” she replies, not offering more than that, but the way she glances at you - just a little longer than necessary - lets you know she’s been waiting for this. For you.

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel the familiar stir of doubt creeping in. Your friends' words still echo in your mind. You try to push them away, but they linger, casting a shadow over everything. You bite your lip, not sure if you should say anything. You should just act normal, but you can’t help the way your heart stutters when Sevika looks at you like that.

You don’t say anything right away, just stand there in front of her, your eyes bouncing from her to the side and back, not quite sure how to act. It’s quiet, uncomfortably so. There’s an expectant hum beneath it . She doesn’t tease, doesn’t smile - just looks at you with that open, steady expression of hers that always makes it hard to hide.

"You’re being kinda quiet today,” she says finally, tone low, careful. “Everything alright?”

You hesitate. There’s a soft warmth in your chest at her asking, at the way her voice dips, gentle just for you. You nod, but it's shaky, uncertain. “Yeah, I just... stuff’s been on my mind.”

She doesn’t push. Just tips her head slightly. “Want to talk about it?”

You almost say yes - almost spill all your insecurities - but then your chest tugs and twists and you find yourself unable to loosen your tongue. Your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Sevika just waits patently, eyes locked on yours. You’re about to finally spit it out, about to open the door to the mess you’ve been carrying all morning - when the sharp crack of a cleat on gravel pulls your attention.

Voices. Laughter.

The sound of Sevikas teammates spilling onto the field bursts the quiet little world you'd just started to build between the two of you.

You blink, shoulders tensing. Like you’ve been caught. You take a step back before Sevika can say anything. “I- uh- I’ll see you out there.”

Her brows knit, confused. You don’t wait to see if she calls after you.

Practice is a blur and Sevika can’t focus at all.

Not on the drills, not on the plays, not on her teammates shouting out positions or the coach barking through a megaphone. She runs the plays, hits her marks, does everything right on paper- but her mind keeps drifting.

To you.

You, on the far side of the field, planner in hand, expression tight. You’re not watching her. Not like you usually do. Usually, you steal glances when you think she’s not looking- those little flickers of interest, that slight raise of your brow when her muscles flex. Sevika's always noticed. Always looked for it.

But today? Today, you're all business.

Eyes on the team. Voice clipped, efficient, distant. And Sevika hates it.

She catches herself glancing over at you again- fourth time in ten minutes. Her steps stutter. She curses under her breath and pushes harder through the drill, jaw tight. "Focus," she mutters to herself.

But she can't- not when something’s wrong and you won't even look at her long enough to say what it is.

On the other side of the field, you're trying to look like everything’s normal. Pen tapping the cover of your planner in a controlled rhythm. But your eyes keep drifting too. To her and worse- to the girl beside her- number 9.

A newer teammate, a year younger, shorter than Sevika but just as quick on the field. You’ve noticed the way she hovers around Sevika for a while now. Always close. Always laughing at anything Sevika says. Always “accidentally” brushing against her arm when they line up. And Sevika never pushes her off.

You’d told yourself it didn’t bother you. That it didn’t mean anything. That Sevika’s body language was stiff- barely engaged. And besides who were you to be bitter about it, she wasn't even yours.

But you couldn’t help it. Today your chest is tight with every little interaction. Every time she stretches way too close beside her. Every time she leans in, grinning like she knows something you don’t.

And Sevika just stands there. Not encouraging it- but telling her to fuck off either.

It gets to you even if it shouldn’t. Because you can’t help but think: Was there something between them? Did she ever bring her to the diner?

You shake your head, trying to shove the thoughts down. Trying to focus on your job. On the team. On not caring.

But your eyes find Sevika again, just in time to see the girl laughing too loudly at something and resting her hand on Sevika’s arm- too casual, too familiar.

And the way Sevika doesn’t flinch- doesn’t shrug her off- It hits you right in the stomach. You look away before you can let it show.

But Sevika sees your eyes narrow, sees the set of your jaw shift, and her gut twists. She doesn’t know what she did, but she knows something’s off.

The rest of practice blurs by in a haze of second-guessing and tension. And the secondit+s over, you’re gone. Your strides are long and brisk, head down like you’ve got somewhere urgent to be. You don’t. You just can’t be here. Not with the weight in your chest getting heavier every time you catch Sevika out of the corner of your eye. Not with that girl still smiling at her like she knows her. Like she’s been there.

Maybe she has. Maybe that diner wasn’t special. Maybe all of it was just another version of a thing she’s done before.

You feel stupid. You told your friends they were wrong. That Sevika was different. That what you had meant something. But now, with every second that passes, you’re starting to wonder if you just saw what you wanted to see.

She didn’t even pull away from that girl…

Across the field, Sevika sees you move. Sees your sharp exit, the set of your shoulders, the way your head stays low. And her stomach drops.

She doesn’t move. Just stands there, eyes fixed on the corner you disappeared around. Her hands flexing at her sides like she doesn't know whether to chase you or punch something. And the only thought running through her head is: Fuck. I messed up again.

Behind her, number 9 walks up and bumps her shoulder bringing her out of her daze. “Hey, Cap,” she says, voice bright. “Drinks with the team tonight?”

Sevika blinks at her. “What?”

“You know. Post-practice. You in?”

She hesitates, eyes still on the space you just vacated. “…Not tonight.”

The girl’s smile falters. “Oh. Okay.”

Sevika doesn’t even offer an excuse. Just turns and starts walking toward the locker room.

—

Sevika sits alone in the locker room long after most of the team has cleared out. The only sound is the low hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of pipes somewhere in the walls.

She hasn’t moved in ten minutes. Just sits there, elbows on her knees, hands loosely hanging, staring at the floor like it might give her answers. But all she can think about is the way you walked off the field. And the way you refused to look at her. Her stomach churns.

What the hell happened?

The date had gone well. At least she thought it had. You said you had a good time. You wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t true… right?

So what changed? Was it the diner?

She swallows hard, jaw tightening as her thoughts circle back there.

Was that too much? Too personal?

She wanted it to mean something. She thought it did. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe it scared you off. Maybe you saw too much of her, too much of the quiet, lonely parts and decided she was too much, too complicated.

She scrubs a hand down her face, leans back against the lockers with a dull thud. Her eyes squeeze shut.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. So off-kilter. You weren’t supposed to matter this much, this soon. But you do.

And now she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She replays every moment from the date again. The way you looked around the diner like it was magic. The way your fingers had brushed hers across the table. The way you kissed her so softly at your door.

She’d gone home that night feeling something she didn’t let herself name. Something that sat heavy in her chest and warm in her ribs. Now she feels like she’s watching it slip away. And she doesn’t even know why.

Behind her, there's a quiet scuff of feet and a soft thunk of a locker door.

Then a familiar voice- calm and too perceptive by half. “Hey.”

Sevika stiffens slightly. Looks up.

Ran.

They’re leaning against the lockers across from her, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded like they’ve been there long enough to read Sevika’s whole emotional state and draft a thesis on it.

But her expression isn’t mocking. Not this time. Just curious. Concerned. Sharp around the edges in that way only Ran can pull off without sounding like they’re lecturing you.

“You good?” she asks.

Sevika exhales, slow and tight. “Fine.”

Ran tilts their head, unconvinced. They sit in silence for a while. Sevika keeps scowling at the floor until– “...No.”

Ran’s arms loosen just slightly across their chest. They don't smirk, don't push. They’re reading the room, watching Sevika carefully like she’s a skittish animal ready to bolt.

“She left fast,” Ran says, voice even, like it’s just an observation.

Sevika’s jaw flexes. “I noticed.”

Ran shifts their weight but doesn't break eye contact. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

After a long pause, she adds, casually: “She looked upset.”

That lands hard. Sevika doesn’t respond, but her eyes flick up- sharp, stung. Ran watches her reaction. Tucks the confirmation away without comment.

“I don’t know what I did,” Sevika mutters finally.

Ran nods slowly, arms still folded. “Date go bad?”

“No. It went—” Sevika breaks off, shaking her head. “It went good. She smiled. She kissed me. We texted after.”

“Then maybe it’s not about the date,” Ran says.

Their tone stays light, neutral. But they watch Sevika closely. Measure the way her brow furrows, the way her hands clench tighter between her knees.

“Could be something else,” Ran adds, “or someone.”

The shift is subtle. Intentional. She doesn’t say the teammate’s name. But Sevika’s body goes still.

Ran sees it but doesn’t press. Just lets the implication sit. A nudge, not a shove.

“Shit,” Sevika mutters.

And that’s all Ran needs to hear. They push off the locker, stretching lazily like they’re just making conversation. “Look, I don’t know what happened,” they say. “But if it’s important maybe stop staring at the floor and start figuring out how to fix it.” And just like that, they turn to go.

No judgment. No teasing. Just their usual quiet brand of tough love, dropped like a stone in the middle of Sevika’s spiral.

Sevika stays where she is for a few more seconds. Then drags both hands down her face with a groan, before reaching for her phone.

—

You’re halfway through changing when your phone buzzes across the desk. You don’t even look at first. You know who it is. You feel it in your chest.

Eventually, you check– Sevika. Calling.

Your thumb hovers over the screen but you don't answer. Not out of spite. Just… you’re not ready. Still too wrapped up in your own head, caught between doubt and guilt and god, I wanted her to be different.

The call rings out. The screen goes dark. You sit back against the chair, heart pounding, mind racing. You tell yourself it’s fine. That she’ll get it. That you’re allowed to need space.

But a minute later- She calls again.

You stare at the screen longer this time. There’s a weird ache in your chest. The same ache you felt after that night at the away game- when she pulled away without a word. When she vanished and left you scrambling, wondering what you’d done wrong.

And now you’re doing the same thing. You sigh. Run a hand through your hair.

Then you swipe to answer.

“…Hey.”

There’s silence on the other end for a second too long.

Then: “You picked up.” Her voice is rougher than usual tense, but quiet. Like she wasn’t expecting you to actually answer.

“Yeah,” you say. “I didn’t want to ignore you. I just… needed a minute.”

Another beat. Then she asks, cautious: “Did I do something?”

You close your eyes.

“No,” you say softly. “I mean- not on purpose. I don’t know.” You pause, then add, “It’s not fair to make you guess.”

More silence. You hear her exhale through her nose.

“Can we talk?” she asks. “Like- really talk?”

You hesitate, then nod before realizing she can’t see you. “Yeah,” you say. “Okay.”

You don't know exactly what you’ll say yet, or how to explain the way your mind spun out all day over something that probably wasn’t even real. But you know one thing for sure: You don’t want to hurt her. Not like that. She doesn’t deserve that.

—

Twenty minutes after the call, there’s a knock at your door. You hesitate for a second, then cross the room and open it. And there she is- Sevika.

In a hoodie that’s a little too big on her, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the veins in her forearms. Her hair is still damp from the shower, pushed back messily like she didn’t bother with a mirror. Her jaw is tense, her mouth set in a line that tries to stay calm, but the twitch in her fingers gives her away. Like she couldn’t stay still after hanging up. Like she came straight here, nerves and all, just to make this right.

She looks beautiful. Your breath catches a little. Because somehow, she always looks the best when she’s like this- unguarded. Like she doesn’t know how fucking magnetic she is.

The hard line of her shoulders. The storm in her eyes. The rawness she doesn’t know she’s showing.

God, she’s too much.

“Hi,” she says, voice low and rough at the edges.

You blink, breath still caught in your throat. “…Hey.”

You step back. “Come in.”

It’s quiet for a while.

You sit on the couch with Sevika, the space between you charged with quiet tension. She’s waiting. Not pushing- just waiting. You take a shaky breath, looking down at your hands in your lap. You’ve been turning the words over in your head all day, but now they feel jagged in your throat.

“I know it’s dumb,” you start. “But… I saw you today. With her.”

Sevika’s eyes narrow slightly, not defensive- just focused. She knows who you mean immediately.

“That girl- on the team. The one who’s always- flirting with you. All over you.” You say it flatly, trying not to sound bitter.

“Oh,” Sevika says, voice low.

“And it just… got in my head,” you admit. “Because you didn’t push her away.”

Sevika shifts like she wants to explain, but doesn’t interrupt.

Your throat tightens. “And then I couldn’t stop thinking about what my friends- ” The words come too fast.

You freeze. Eyes wide. You cover your mouth with your hand like you could shove the sentence back inside.

Shit. You didn’t mean to say that. But it’s out now.

Sevika sits up straighter, eyes sharpening immediately. “…Your friends? What did they say?” she asks carefully.

You look away. “Forget it.”

“No,” she says, firm but low. “Tell me.”

You shake your head, but she leans in- voice softer now, but insistent. You stare at the coffee table like the grain in the wood might save you. Then, reluctantly: “They said some stuff. After the date.”

Her hands are already curled into fists in her lap.

You rush to soften it. “It wasn’t like- they didn’t mean it like that. They just… they’re protective. And they remember how upset I was after the away game. And they think I’m-”

Your voice drops to a near whisper. “-setting myself up to get hurt.”

That hangs there for a second too long. You look down again, swallowing hard. Sevika stills. Her hands curl into fists in her lap, slow and tight. And her jaw clenches so hard you see the muscle twitch. And when you finally glance up at her, her gaze is on the floor, her face holds an unreadable expression. But the silence is brutal.

She breathes in, shallow. Then finally says- soft, flat: “They think I’m not serious.”

You wince. “I’m not saying they’re right. I’m just- ”

“No,” she cuts in. “It’s okay. I get it. I know what I look like from the outside.”

You turn to face her. “Sev- ”

“I know what people say about me. That I’m cold, distant, not the relationship type. They're not wrong. I’ve always kept people at arm’s length, kept things short, casual. Easy to build a wall when no one expects anything from you.”

She swallows, jaw clenching.“So yeah, I get why it looks bad. Why they’d think I’m just doing it again.”

There’s no bitterness in it. Just cold honesty.

“But that’s not what this is,” she adds. She looks up, and her voice is rougher now. “I need you to know that.”

You don’t interrupt. You just watch the way her eyes shine more than they should, the way her jaw clenches like she’s holding something back.

“I’m trying,” she says. “I’m fucking trying.” Her voice breaks- just slightly. Her jaw flexes again. Her chest rises with a shaky breath, and her eyes flick down, then quickly away, like she doesn’t want you to see it.

But you do.

You see the way her eyes gloss over, the way her shoulders tense like she’s barely holding it together. Not crying, but on the edge of it. Misty and raw in a way Sevika never lets herself be seen.

And your heart just splinters.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, your voice catching. “I’m so sorry. I just-” You exhale shakily. “I got scared.”

You feel it more now- the weight of it. How unfair it was. The way her voice cracked. The way she’s sitting so still, trying not to fall apart.

“I let them get in my head,” you admit. “And that’s on me.”

She doesn’t respond, but her breath hitches. She blinks hard and presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to choke the feeling down. Her hand in yours is warm and solid, but her fingers twitch, betraying the spiral beneath the surface. Then her eyes dart away, and you catch it- the tear that spills over before she can stop it.

She rubs it away with the back of her hand- rough and fast, like it embarrassed her just to let it fall. You reach up, gently, and brush your thumb along the other side of her cheek. She stiffens at the touch, but doesn't pull back.

You search her face. “You’ve been doing everything right, Sev. I just- got in my own way. And I’m so sorry.”

She blinks again. Breath shaky. Voice rough.

“I’m not good at this.”

You give a tired, self-deprecating little huff in response. “I’m not proving to be much better…”

“I mean- I let a couple offhand comments from people who weren’t even there outweigh everything I saw and felt that night. I’m not exactly winning any awards over here.”

Her mouth twitches, just barely. “So we both suck at this.”

You smile, just a little. “Yeah, well… at least it keeps us even”

She huffs something close to a laugh, but it tapers off fast. Her face still feels warm and flushed. “Fuck,” she whispers, sniffling. “I don’t cry. What the hell are you doing to me?” A shaky breath escapes her, half a laugh and half something else.

You lean in until your forehead presses to hers, your hand cradling the side of her neck. Her eyes flutter shut. Her shoulders finally drop. And for a long, quiet beat, you just sit there. Forehead to forehead. Fingers tangled between you.

After a while you pull back just slightly, just enough to look at her. Her eyes are still red around the edges, still glassy, but she doesn’t try to hide it anymore.

You tilt your head. “Wanna stay a while?” You smile, small and warm. “We could… put something on. One of those bad action movies you like. Something with explosions and horrible acting. Preferably violent.”

She huffs under her breath, but there’s the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth. “Watch it,” she mutters. “Those are classics.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Mmm, sure. Deeply nuanced storytelling… Nothing says emotional range like twenty minutes of slow-mo gunfire and a one-liner about justice.”

“Okay, now you’re just asking to be kicked off the couch.” she says, deadpan.

“I’d like to see you try, big girl” you murmur, grinning.

She looks at you, eyes a little softer now. Like she can breathe again. And then you tilt your head, tone dropping low, teasing around the edges.

“I mean… your shoulder must be acting up again. It’s been weeks since you crawled into my lap whining about how you needed to be held?”

She groans immediately, dragging a hand down her face. “Fuck’s sake.”

You smile—just a little. “I’m just saying. You made a very convincing case last time.I’m just trying to be a responsible manager here.”

“Don’t,” she warns, but she’s already fighting a smile.

You don’t say anything. You just tug her gently down with you, guiding her head onto your chest. And when she follows- quiet, still a little raw- you don’t push or tease anymore. You just cradle her into your arms, wrapping them around her and letting her sink into you, like gravity takes her.

And maybe that’s all they need right now- just this. Just here. And for it to finally feel like a beginning.

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #sevika arcane

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joejhang · 3 days ago

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wake up babe it's thinking about jeanneil hours. thinking about them being "misplaced forever partners". thinking about neil being jean's "broken promise". thinking about those miserable two weeks in evermore and jean dragging neil back to his feet every time he fell. thinking about jean having to hold neil down and witness neil go through the same traumas he had all these years. thinking about jean losing control which was maybe why riko didn't actually kill neil that night. thinking about jean working dye into a half-conscious neil's hair. thinking about jean telling neil "you shouldn't have come here". thinking about what jean suffered after neil got inked with his rightful number. thinking about the "unexpected rush of anger" neil felt when he saw what riko had done to jean. thinking about "of course it'd be you, you tedious malcontent" and "good morning to you too". thinking about jean watching riko take a swing for neil on tv and just thinking, run. thinking about neil and jean being the same "property" in riko's eyes. thinking about "pop and he was gone. how easily these monsters die in the end". thinking about jean reaching blindly and catching hold of the hem of neil's jeans. thinking about "neil. it was a good game" and the smile that jean could hear when neil replied, "yes. it was, wasn't it?". thinking about the narration change from nathaniel to neil. thinking about jean noticing andreil immediately but never mentioning it because "nathaniel was his broken promise; neil's life was none of his business". thinking about neil connecting the dots about grayson. thinking about neil parking the car and saying with urgency, "jean. i'm sorry." when jean finds out his family is going to take the heat. thinking about neil ordering a hit on grayson and telling jean, "lock your door tonight if it will help, but grayson will never bother you again". thinking about neil taking the phone from jean and saying, "i've got him, coach". thinking about neil asking jean what he needs and planning an escape route so he can grieve in private. thinking about them murmuring to each other in french in the back of the police car. thinking about "chances of them understanding french?" "none. they're american." "hey." "you barely count. don't waste your time feigning offence". thinking about "jean's french. he brings out the violence in people every time he opens his mouth". thinking about neil encouraging jean to exercise his freedom and live his own life. thinking about "so was elodie". thinking about jean echoing neil's words after grayson's death. thinking about "you do not have to trust him. i do." and then ten seconds later, "that ill-bred child is not my friend". thinking about jean trying to snatch the cigarettes out of andrew's hand and saying, "you were barely fast enough to save him last time. the next time someone takes a swing at him, you and your brisket lungs will have to watch him die. i wouldn’t have GIVEN HIM TO YOU if i’d known you would just throw him away so carelessly." thinking about jean calling neil and neil actually picking up. thinking about neil saying bringing up jean's broken ribs in an interview and jean calling him a "rancid menace". thinking about jean watching neil take a hit and holding his own ribs because he remembers how it felt. thinking about jean with his hands to the tv screen as he watched neil on the floor. thinking about neil's voice in jean's head at the end of the book, "the rules have changed".

#GOD THOUGH #i think about them endlessly #forever mourning the relationship we could have had #give me jeanneil #bringbackjeanneil2025 #they have me gnawing on my fists #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #jean moreau #jeanneil #the sunshine court #tsc #the golden raven #tgr #tgr spoilers #zoe yaps

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lavenderprose · 2 days ago

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Love the idea of Emmrich standing back and letting Rook defend herself because he knows she can and she deserves to be allowed.

As a general rule, people don't step to Rook too often. She's outspoken, she's got a presence about her that basically screams Play Stupid Games Win Stupid Prizes, but the world is not lacking for morons. She's short, attractive, and has very loud opinions of right and wrong. People do fuck with her, if only because she fucks with them first.

Emmrich tends to stay out of it. She's capable, his wife, and he got out of the habit of throwing punches around the time he traded in a leather jacket for a doctorate.

There is, however, one memorable occasion.

They were in Rivain, and Rook had just trotted into her second trimester of pregnancy. They were on the first of several planned babymoons--the first for the two of them as a couple, the second to include Emmrich's energetic preteen son Manfred and have some time as a family before it grew, and the third for Rook to enjoy some time alone before the Big Day. Rook was glowing, having left morning sickness behind her at some point in the last few weeks. The curve of her stomach was precious and small. Emmrich had lovingly gifted her symbolic golden jewelry, rich with meaning in their shared Nevarran culture, to wear around her waist, which she kept mostly bare in the beaming Rivaini sun.

Afterwards, Emmrich will never be quite sure how the incident started--they were waiting in line for grilled pineapple skewers at a beach side establishment, and the Qunari manning the till was a flustered woman who may have been a recent immigrant, judging by her less than fluent Trade. A man in front of them had grown impatient with the length of the line and the clear language barrier.

"Cut her some slack," Rook said--and Emmrich absolutely loved that she could never make herself overlook injustice, but that didn't mean that he didn't sigh and close his eyes and think Here We Go.

"You got something to say to me?" The man asked, and Emmrich looped a finger into the belt loop of Rook's shorts to preempt any shenanigans. Rook could, at times, be likened to a particularly vicious terrior.

"Yeah, I already said it: lay off."

"Tell your girl to control herself, Gramps."

"Oh," said Emmrich, demurely. "She's more than capable of managing herself." He tugged on Rook's beltloop--a reminder that he did not want to end this vacation with a citation for misconduct.

"He's got nothing to do with this," Rook said, throwing her arm back to push Emmrich behind her. Absurd, because he was a head taller, but he supposed it was the principal of the thing. "You're talking to me. Stop making an ass of yourself and walk away."

"Or what?" The man, also significantly taller than Rook--though not as much as Emmrich, because few people were--stepped into her space and stared down his nose at her. "What are you gonna do, you little ankle-biting knife ear bitch?"

"Walk the fuck away," Rook snarled. "If I weren't pregnant, you'd be on the fucking ground right now for that shit--"

"You think I won't take you down just because you're knocked up?" said the idiot--which he truly was, because he proceeded to make possibly the biggest mistake a person could make in that circumstance.

He put his hand on Emmrich Volkarin's pregnant wife.

He shoved her, with surprising force, back against Emmrich's chest--and Rook yowled like a flung cat, preparing to launch herself, though not before the smallest microexpression crossed her face. Something anxious, as she passed a hand over her stomach and the gold chains, jingling from the violence of the shove, and Emmrich saw red.

"Oh, absolutely not," Emmrich said, very primly, before uppercutting a motherfucker with vicious efficiency.

"Oh shit!" Rook yelled, not without glee, as Emmrich bent down, grabbed the man by the collar, and punched again. "Emmrich! Emm! Alright, that's--babe, stop."

The squabble ended with a pair of security guards from a nearby hotel entering the fray and pulling them away from each other--Beach Asshole had a beautiful fat lip and Emmrich had probably wrenched his shoulder in a way that he would be regretting in the morning, but fuck. Fuck.

He felt twenty years younger.

He and Rook barely made it back to their hotel room before she was on him. Pressing him back against the door, dropping to the floor, yanking his pants down with tugs powerful enough to jostle his entire body.

"That was so fucking hot," she hissed, smearing kisses up his thigh. "Holy shit. That was--Maker. I didn't know you could punch like that."

"A man lives many lives in the time he's given," Emmrich gasped, or something similarly flowery as she curved her tongue around the head of his cock. "Oh, Rook. Are you alright, darling--?"

"Shut up," Rook snapped. "Don't even pretend to be a gentleman right now. I just saw you deck a guy wearing a muscle shirt."

"He deserved it," Emmrich warbled as she reached a hand up, massaged his balls, and then snuck a finger back.

She bobbed her head for a moment, gazing at him filthily from under her lashes. Then she rose all at once, fisted a hand into his collar.

"Fuck me like I deserve it," she said, and led him to the bed.

All in all, a roaringly successful babymoon.

#Emmrich Volkarin #Emmrook #We love to see him sopping we love to see him mad. He's a man of many talents and colors. He's Joseph's beautiful coat.#This is so purely self indulgent I'm a little embarrassed. But who cares about shame.

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v6quewrlds · 2 days ago

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what was meeting the parents for the first time like for both joe and wifey?

love this series btw 🤎

thank you so much babe! that's so sweet of you <3

she met joe's parents pretty early on in their relationship. if my mental timeline is correct, she would've met them completely by accident. like joe was in the middle of the preseason, so he was suffering from major football brain.

they hadn't seen each other in a few weeks. between the preseason and her residency, they were starved for some face-to-face time together. she was so starved, she decides the four-hour drive down to cincinnati wasn't really that bad.

even if she has to settle for a handful of hours together ,mainly spent sleeping, at least she'd be sleeping in his bed, in his arms, and waking up to his touch, kisses, and love before she'd make the four-hour drive back to cleveland. so she texts joe in the morning before she goes into the hospital, packs an overnight bag just in case.

joe, suffering from horrible football brain, sees her proposition on his way into the facility and immediately responds, "please do. i need to see you." and that's that.

what joe didn't take the time to consider, however, was the fact that his parents would be stopping by to see him as well. they had some business to attend to in cincinnati on joe's behalf. their permanent guest room was waiting for them, so of course, they'd be staying the night at his.

she's mildly confused by the car she doesn't recognize in joe's driveway, but shrugs it off, assuming it's a teammate stopping by late at night. joe has responsibilities as a leader, she rationalizes, so one of his guys losing track of time talking plays, concerns, and strategy doesn't bother her.

except it's not one of his guys, it's robin and jimmy burrow in their son's kitchen listening to his review of where the team is at going into the last game of the preseason. wifey has a key, so she lets herself in and almost cries when they turn around and see her.

it goes well, really well. robin fixes her a plate to eat, doting on her immediately, "oh, you poor thing getting here so late after a long day." jimmy is all smiles, taking shots at joe's football brain, and asking wifey about herself, assuring her that they've heard so many good things about her and have been looking forward to meeting her.

joe is smug because of course he is. even when they curl up together in his bed, wifey still upset with him not remembering the very important detail of his parents staying with him, joe's all, "i told you so" and "at least that part's over?"

as for joe meeting wifey's parents. he got a proper heads up. her sister and her family were coming back to the states for a week and she decided it was a good time to bring joe along to meet everyone all at once. he was not amused with this idea but after being reminded of how he ambushed her with his parents, he sucked it up with a begrudging smile.

wifey's family in general is very impressive. her entire family drips with success and pride, and the realization that he'll have to officially meet them kind of drives joe to the brink of insanity. especially with his knowledge that her father is generally not a fan of the nfl or football as a sport.

he secretly studies up on her family, maybe even stalks their facebook pages late at night when he can't sleep because he's crawling in his skin. on the way over to her parents' house, he all but forces her to quiz him.

"what's my mom's favorite show?"

"dynasty. too easy, next."

and he's so cocky in the car. he's feeling good, and she can see that, thinks it's so attractive that he's taken this much time to study up on her family and learn all their preferences and what they do. he's got an oversized bouquet of flowers for her mom, a bottle of her dad's favorite rum, chocolates for her sister, a signed jersey from ja'marr for her brother-in-law, and stuffed animals for her niece and nephew.

then they cross the threshold of her childhood home, and he switches. it's not obvious to her family, in fact, they don't even pick up on it. but she does. she recognizes joe cool in action. he's studied well, cracks little jokes, indulges the kids, but she sees right through him.

she sees the way his adam's apple bobs, the restlessness of his knee, the way he nervously swipes his tongue over his lips. she doesn't comment on it, doesn't make a big deal out of it but she tries her best to ease him. places a hand over his heart, tells him he's doing such a great job, stills his knee when it starts bouncing, and looks at him with those eyes that make him breathe just a little lighter.

when he asks her how he did, she holds his worried face in her hands and kisses him so softly, so gently, and that's all the confirmation he needs.

#&. joe x doctor!reader: asks.#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #long ass post <3

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sugar-and-spite · 5 hours ago

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i hope it's ok to add onto this? (trans & autistic person with a spin in harry potter; ftr i agree with everything op said. just drop it.)

BUT: you also asked if engaging with the franchise non-monetarily would be harmful

media doesn't exist in a vacuum. you always get it from somewhere (even if you're pirating). with harry potter in particular, there's a very high chance that whoever you're getting the media from is going to take your engagement with it as a tell that you're on Their Side (that is to say, a terf).

there's also the question of social media (and fanworks also tie into this). if you pirate hogwarts legacy and post about it on social media, that's going to be seen by others, including terfs, and they'll think you're one of them. any trans people that see it will probably no longer think you're safe. (and also as op pointed out, the game itself is just garbage, from what i've heard, and full of white nationalist and antisemitic messages.)

as far as fanworks - you have to think about whose fanworks you're engaging with. older fanworks can be hard to tell if they were made by a terf or not, but what about ones made in the last few years? who do you think is still engaging with the fandom now, and making fanworks for it? and what messages might those fanworks have, based on who created them? and even for older fanworks - using ao3 as an example, if you read a fanfic, the hits go up. if you leave kudos or a comment, those counters go up. even if this is all done anonymously, that's still visible engagement that others can see - and it can be used by malicious parties to gauge interest in harry potter as a franchise.

the tldr of all this is that op is very correct - it's not worth it. it's far safer to just drop the franchise as a whole, at the very least until such time as jkr is dead and gone and can't use the franchise to fund her political agenda. it can be really hard to do! (especially for someone like me with a special interest.) but ultimately, any form of engagement, even non-monetary engagement, still indirectly supports jkr and directly makes trans people feel less safe. my safety and the safety of my trans friends and family are more important to me than my special interest. you have to come to your own conclusions on what is or isn't worth it for you

Ok so I’ve had this question for a while and I feel like you’ll be able to give me a good answer. I understand that we’re absolutely not supposed to support anything JKR does monetarily and I never intend to do so. However is engaging with Harry Potter media *at all* also something I should not do or is it only things that give her money?

Like, would there be anything wrong with me playing Hogwarts Legacy if I pirated it? Is fanfiction and fan art ok to consume? Or is engaging with the IP at all going to be harmful in a way that I don’t see atm?

Thank you for your time!

I don't really think a cis person is the right person to ask about this, but I also know that trans people are sick to death of having to field these questions so I'll do my best to answer this, if everyone who reads my answer will promise me that you will NOT use anything I say in this post as an annoying argument against a trans person who has a different opinion on the matter. Remember whose opinions are actually important here.

And look, number one, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Nobody can stop you. If you, in yourself, in your soul, feel morally comfortable consuming Harry Potter by some convoluted method of Ethical Consumption™, then go and do that, and own it, and have the strength to be judged for your decisions.

Trans people might not trust you - hell, I'll probably not trust you either. They might get angry at you, and criticize you, or roll their eyes and call you a fucking loser. If you have the moral conviction that what you are doing is right, and that you are acting in accordance with your beliefs and you are not doing harm, then stand by that conviction and face the consequences. Have that strength of character.

But if you feel the need to go around posting and arguing that it's unfair, that you shouldn't be judged, that you should get to be a special exception and people are unreasonable when they get mad at you... then that is evidence, proof positive, that you are a fucking loser. That you are cowardly, and you don't actually believe that what you are doing is right, you just want the world to affirm your fragile ego while you enjoy your little treats.

To be clear, I am not accusing you of doing this (you seem to just earnestly be asking for guidance), but there's a hell of a lot of people who do do this, and you don't want to be one of them.

So that's number one. Do whatever the fuck you want, and face the consequences with a spine.

Number two is... just fucking drop it. That is my earnest advice to you. Just fucking drop Harry Potter. They are children's books from the early 2000s, they just are not that fucking good or important. The Hogwarts Legacy game is live service slop; the movies are passable at best and their quality comes from the actors being better than the source material. Just drop it. Harry Potter has nothing to offer that you can't get elsewhere from better media with better authors, or problematic authors who have good grace to at least be dead.

Don't waste your life thinking about complicated ways to circumvent the moral problem of JK Rowling's rancid transphobic hate-aura at the center of the franchise, don't waste your finite time on Earth trying to thread that stupid needle. Harry Potter isn't worth this. Rowling is old, and shriveling from hate and mold fumes, at the very least just wait for her to fucking die, and for her political project to fail, before you pick that world back up again.

I speak as someone who read the first book at age 11, hyperfixated on relating to Harry, and whose entire cultural life was consumed by the franchise for over a decade. It is not worth it. You don't need it, you don't need the stress of trying to navigate how or whether to engage with it ethically. You almost certainly have an enormous backlog of other books, games, movies and TV shows you've been meaning to get around to, so just go do that instead. I promise you it will be infinitely more rewarding, and infinitely less compromised by stress and guilt and cognitive dissonance.

And while you're at it, send some money to a trans charity and go scream invectives at a transphobic politician some time.

#rey rambles #there's obvs nuance and such but like #the simplified version is that any engagement Will make trans people uncomfortable with you #you have to decide if that's something you can live with as op said. accept the consequences

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dropoutconfessions · 1 day ago

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dropout absolutely can and should do better with diversity and representation. that’s not the controversial part here, because i think everyone basically agrees on that

the issue here is people claiming that dropout is awful and horrible and transmisogynistic and ableist and whatever other extreme inflammatory buzzword (last month it was all about the antisemitism)

because that’s way out of proportion. dropout is doing better than like. 90% of current commercial content when it comes to diversity. i think people need to remind themselves that progress is not instantaneous. things have become a lot more diverse and representative in media over the last 20 years, but there are plenty of us that remember it wasn’t long ago that that wasn’t the case. and additionally, dropout has expanded their catalogue significantly recently, but it’s still at-heart a very niche, very nerdy platform. the representation you want might not want to be on d20 or game changer or wherever. improv is a hard thing to be good at and frankly looking at the talent on dropout would be intimidating to look to join, especially if a minority demographic isn’t already highly represented, and knowing this started as a group of friends. it’s not an excuse, but i can see how that might affect things

you can say you want more from dropout, but the bitching about just how shitty they are is ragebait, and i don’t think it’s at all helpful to post or respond to it

I agree with some of the sentiment of this post, but I would like to add a few things

Everyone is transmisogynistic. Everyone is racist. Everyone is ableist. Everyone is antisemetic. Etc. This includes the people within these oppressed groups too. Because these are systemic and widespread social issues that seep into our belief systems in subtle ways because bigotry is normalized. Dropout is likely not intentionally avoiding hiring transfems, but that doesn't mean that subtle, internalized transmisogyny isn't the reason people have noticed a lack of transfems.

These words aren't inflammatory or extreme words. These are simple actions, none of them are necessarily malicious. Like I said, it's incredibly easy to be accidentally bigoted.

Yes progress is gradual, but all of these instances are people asking for gradual progress. The increase in transfem and in general, trans representation, has stagnated throughout dropout's existence, with the exception of The Seven creating a sharp spike in the amount of representation / episode. Disabled representation haven't even sparked an argument, it's just been people wishing there were more visibly disabled people involved, like wheelchair users.

While improv comedy is a hard thing to get into, dropout is not just an improv comedy show anymore. And honestly, several of the shows have had people who aren't improv people for ages now. Um, Actually, Dirty Laundry, Dimension 20 are all examples of this. Nerd shit and ttrpgs are places where minority groups thrive already, so it's not out of the question for them to find representation. And basically anyone can be on Dirty Laundry.

#ask #dropout #dropout tv #dimension 20 #d20 #dimension twenty #brennan lee mulligan #bleem #sam reich #game changer

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cabintenangel · 2 days ago

Text

filling in the blanks as we go

jason grace x roman!reader ♡

author’s notes ౨ৎ part two of this jason fic! i also posted this last year and after this part it’ll all be new writing 😋 enjoy

disclaimers ౨ৎ nothing really, a bit of swearing and pop culture references LOL :)

You liked to think of your life as pretty normal.

Training sessions, mythology studies, war games, the usual. In your free time, you would hang out with your friends, visit New Rome, read books, listen to music, and occasionally sneak out to the mortal world.

But the praetor pretending to be your boyfriend? That was new.

Walking out of Cyclops Books, you thought about what to do next. You’d just finished baking the cupcakes with Tyson, and he’d let you take the extras home. You were planning to share them with Piper and relay the recent events, since who was better to tell than the daughter of love?

Just then, you saw your SPQR tattoo emanate a dark purple glow – the sign to return to barracks immediately.

A few months ago, the Council had proposed that all probatio and those of higher ranking have some way to be alerted if there was an emergency. In response, the praetors had worked with the children of Vulcan to design a little chip that would be placed underneath one’s forearm skin. It was connected to a special device that could activate a color change to the Camp Jupiter purple when needed. Probatio didn’t have tattoos yet, so they got the smallest (and least painful) chips, while other rankings received slightly larger ones so all their SPQR markings lit up. It was nasty to get them inserted, but if anyone complained, Reyna would list off a variety of unpleasant situations where they might be killed if they didn’t have the system. If anyone chose to ignore the alert, they were guaranteed to drop a rank.

You hurried back to the New Rome entrance and exit area. Upon seeing your glowing tattoo, Terminus (surprisingly) made no judgemental comments and ushered you out of the city. At least, you thought he did. It was hard to tell, since he had no arms.

As you headed inside the official campgrounds, you spotted a circle of worried-looking demigods waiting near the barracks. The two praetors as well as Hazel, Frank, Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and another boy you didn’t know were at the front, urgently discussing something in hushed tones. You suddenly realized that this probably had to do with the reason Jason had abruptly left Cyclops Books – something about needing to help out a soldier?

Piper, Leo, and Nico were all gathered near their friends, but the two groups weren’t speaking. Piper had her arms crossed and was talking to Leo as he nodded along.

You rushed to them, out of breath. “Hey. Do you guys know what’s going on?”

Leo shook his head. “No. We tried asking them about it, but they said they’d tell us soon enough. We didn’t push it any further, since they seemed really stressed. Honestly, considering the last time this alert was triggered, it’s probably nothing too serious. Gods, that was embarrassing. People can’t even enjoy Sabrina anymore, man.”

(Last time, Frank had caught Leo at a party dancing shirtless on top of a table while Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter played. The big guy panicked and sent out a signal to the entire camp. After that incident, Reyna banned him from using the device any more.)

Piper looked at you and grinned mischievously. “Speaking of Jason, he’s been glancing at you a lot since you arrived. Anything you want to tell me?” You almost choked on air.

Nico sighs. “Just because a person looks at another person doesn’t mean there’s something between them, Piper. We’re not all like you and Shel who give each other heart eyes when you’re not sitting together at the campfire.”

“Can’t a girl admire her beautiful and perfect girlfriend? Anyway, stop pretending you and Solace weren’t staring at each other like forbidden lovers last night just because you were on different Monopoly teams–”

“That’s different!”

“Oh, are you being sexist right now? You clearly haven’t unlearned the ways of the 1930s–”

“Attention!” Reyna’s firm voice silenced everyone in the area. “We have assembled here today due to a missing young soldier from the Fifth Cohort. We have good reason to believe she is in the woods just beyond the Field of Mars. With the help of Jake Mason, a son of Hephaestus from Camp Half-Blood–” She gestured to the boy that had been talking to their group earlier. “–we plan to send two soldiers as scouts.”

Whispers broke out among the demigods when Reyna said the last bit. They didn’t last long, however; Aurum and Argentum barked furiously, which was enough to make people listen.

The praetor continued. “Recently, we’ve discovered that more than one individual may have an empathy link as long as a satyr is involved, so we plan to set up one between the two soldiers and Grover Underwood here in case any danger is encountered on the way. Jake has found an old device that scans brain similarities: thought process, frequent emotions, cognitive functions, and so on. We will select the individuals with the most alike minds so the empathy link takes up the least energy. Please gather in a line for this assessment.”

You and your fellow campers (plus Reyna’s group) quickly did as she said, and Jake came around. The machine was pretty simple – it looked a little like those no-touch forehead thermometers a doctor in the mortal world would use. The purpose was entirely different, though, as with any demigod contraption. Everyone was a little restless until the son of Hephaestus tested himself and announced the results.

He cleared his throat before saying, “The two soldiers are–” He pointed at you. “Uh, what’s your name? Sorry.”

Stunned, you told him.

He nodded. “Ok. You and Praetor Grace will go to the woods together.”

You didn’t dare look at Piper.

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” asked Nico, his voice full of concern.

You gave him a small smile. “Yes. You really didn’t have to pack for me, you know. I could have done it myself.” The empathy links had been set up and you were just about to leave.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. You’re very independent. Just let me do this one thing. For all we know, this trip is a death wish.”

“Very motivating, Nico,” Piper said dryly. “No but seriously, stay safe out there. And don’t have too much fun with Jason. You are on a professional mission, after all.” She winked.

Now you rolled your eyes. “Pipes, you need to let that go.”

You caught a whiff of something that smelled like… clean laundry? Turning around, you found yourself looking at a certain blonde boy, except this time he was wearing a dark blue New Rome University hoodie and a silver dog tag necklace on top, paired with baggy gray cargo pants.

He really had to stop sneaking up on you like that.

“Um, hi. You ready to go?” Jason’s voice was a little rough, like he’d been talking for a while and was now tired.

You nodded and waved to your friends. “Bye, guys.”

For the first ten minutes or so, it was painfully awkward. As you two walked to the woods, the only sound was chatting from the barracks and the crunchy gravel underneath your feet. When you reached your destination, nothing much changed apart from instead hearing the crickets sing and the leaves rustle. You were also half-expecting a monster to pop out of nowhere – there was a reason people avoided this grove.

Venus was probably having the time of her life watching.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

You looked at Jason, startled.

“It was kind of a dick move to just throw that whole boyfriend thing on you. I wasn’t thinking, and now we’ve got to commit to this act, and now you’ve got to lie to your friend, and go on a whole fake date with me, and it’s really all my fault, sorry. If you’re mad, that’s totally fine–”

“You know, you really talk too much.” You were surprised that your voice came out so calmly, considering that you were kind of freaking out. “Yes, you did not make the smartest move there. But that’s okay. Just because you’re a praetor doesn’t mean you can’t fuck up sometimes. Besides, we don’t really have a way out of this.”

For a few seconds, there was no response.

Until Jason chuckled, deep and gravelly. “Wow. That was probably the most honest yet most comforting thing I’ve ever been told.”

“You’re welcome. So how are you thinking we execute this whole… situation? The date shouldn’t be too bad, but I’m mostly worried about how we’ll have to make it public to the camp. Tyson and Percy are half-brothers, and you know how Percy is–”

“He loves gossip. I’m guessing both camps will find out within a day if he knows.” Jason smiled. “I propose we reveal it in a subtle way, so people take a while to piece together that we’re, you know, quote unquote dating.”

You looked at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you cold?”

“No?” Jason frowned. He smirked and added, “Quite the opposite, actually.”

Raising an eyebrow, you replied, “Okay, Mason.” (He flushed.) “Give me your hoodie. I’ll probably get a load of it from Piper when we get back, but I think it’ll help our plan work.”

The boy did as you said and handed the hoodie over. You put it on, not expecting it to be so comfy. Jason was wearing a shirt underneath that read “I ♡ SABRINA SLUTS” which very much did not hug his biceps a little too tightly. You guessed the clothing choice was courtesy of Leo.

You were about to compliment it when you heard a faint sobbing echo through the woods.

The praetor looked at you. “Think that’s our soldier?”

You both jogged towards where the sound came from. Sitting against the trunk of a willow tree, you saw a dark-haired girl that looked about 10 years old. Her denim shorts had dark splotches from where her tears had fallen. Upon hearing you approach, she quickly wiped her face.

Jason knelt down next to her and gently took her hand. “Hi.”

You copied his actions, taking her other hand. Softly, you asked, “What’s your name?”

“Gracie.”

Jason smiled. “That’s a very pretty name. You wanna tell us what’s going on?”

The girl put her head in her hands and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I was just thinking about how much I miss my mortal home and how scared I am now. It feels like there’s danger everywhere and I can never feel safe. I wish I was back at school like a normal kid, but instead I’m preparing for battles and having wolf ladies train me. I started feeling really bad so I came here, hoping it would help. I’m sorry, it’s really stupid and probably caused a fuss if you both had to come find me–”

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t say that. It’s okay to feel that way. There are so, so many demigods who have thought the same things as you. Even I did, and I’m the praetor.” Gracie laughed a little at the last bit Jason said.

“Exactly,” you agreed. “You are being so brave right now. Just telling two people you haven’t ever talked to before about how you’re feeling takes courage.”

“You really think so?” Her voice was small.

“We know so.” Jason squeezed her hand. “Now, do you want to sit down here for a little longer, and we’ll tell camp you’re okay? We can stay with you.”

Gracie shook her head and declared, “I’m ready to go back now.”

“Okay.” He grinned. “Wait. I know what to do.”

Jason picked her up, bridal-style, and the girl squealed. Looking at him, with his slightly messy hair and huge smile, you felt closer somehow. Perhaps it was the empathy link, but it was like you were seeing a side of him that not many people knew. You were seeing Jason Grace, the boy who loses his glasses and thinks he’s being a burden (even though he isn’t) rather than Jason Grace, the praetor who fought the Titan Krios.

You liked this look better on him.

“Hello? Are you there?” Jason was staring at you intently, which made your cheeks grow warm. You hadn’t realized the two expected a response.

“Sorry, what?” You started walking back to camp, and they followed.

“Gracie here was just telling me that key lime pie is her comfort food, so I asked you if you’d like to bake it with us.”

“Oh, I love key lime pie! Sure.”

He beamed at you. Gracie continued her conversation, and you listened to her talk about the time she almost burned down her house a few years ago trying to make it. It was a peaceful walk, and you felt like you were with old friends.

Maybe, you thought, you could get used to Jason Grace.

#signed siara #u guys i need to speed up my pjo and hoo reread to refresh my info... rereading this made me realize i forgot everything ab how cj works #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fanfiction #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #jason grace #jason grace x reader #jason grace fanfic #jason grace x you #heroes of olympus fanfic #hoo

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dailynnt · 2 days ago

Text

ONE NIGHT AS THE PRICE OF A REQUEST

⋆˙⟡ Summary: You hate your neighbor Jungkook, but you have to ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend at a party to get rid of your annoying boss. He agrees, but you don't even imagine what you'll have to pay him with. Everything goes according to plan until Jungkook reveals his true price during the dance: one night with him or your life in the neighborhood will be hell.

⋆˙⟡ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

⋆˙⟡ Age restrictions: 18+

⋆˙⟡ Index of chapters: ≣

⋆˙⟡ Number of chapter: 11/?

⋆˙⟡ Tags: enemies-to-neighbors-to-lover, fake relationship, hate to desire, dom!Jungkook, heated blackmail, one bed trope (later more than one bed), undeniable chemistry, forced deal, mutual obsession, dangerous game, unexpected feelings, passion on edge, impossible to resist, tension and desire, unprotected sex, sexual tension, slow burning

⋆˙⟡ From author: Chapter 11 is ready for you guys. I'm sorry I haven't written for so long, I hardly have a free minute lately. But I tried to spend every free minute writing 🥰 So, what do you think of the chapter on behalf of Jungkook? And what do you think of his thoughts? I did all my best for you, my dear, and I hope that this long wait is worth it ❤️‍🔥

⋆˙⟡ Dedication: to my biggest love @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle for loving me for nothing. I love you girls twice as much 🥺🤭💜🫶🏻

⋆˙⟡ Tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @ottergirl, @vantelover1306, @deepikhaprakash, @mar-lo-pap, @zeytiable, @lallataegi, @vintagemoonsstuff, @indigomoonchild09, @diame93, @bts-ruu, @asyr97, @taeloversblog, @songbyeonkim, @miniruuu, @hubbytaehyung, @queen1599, @goldenboysmuse, @nikkinikj, @kookiesncreamri, @guwol (If you want to be on the tag list, let me know)

⋆˙⟡ Warning: English is not my native language, so please be lenient with mistakes in the text 🥹

Chapter 11. The love he doesn’t know and the desire he can’t control

For the first time since last night, Jungkook's hand rested on your waist, relaxed. No pressure, no usual lust. It was just there, as if to say: you're here. You're close. You are his. Now, and tomorrow, and, damn it, any time as long as your agreement is in effect. Your body was warm nearly his strong chest, and your head was almost resting on his shoulder.

Yesterday, you surrendered, and Jungkook beat every ounce of resistance you'd ever had out of you. For the first time, you didn't hide your eyes, didn't hiss back. For the first time, you accepted him.

Jungkook smiled to himself, looking at your relaxed face. You were sleeping, and he... he looked at you and felt like a winner. Finally. After all those days when you passed him by, giving him cold looks as if he were worthless. After all the harsh words you used to push him away. After every argument, every challenge from you, he waited. Patiently, confidently knowing that one day you would break down, open up, let him in. And now you are here. In bed with him, in his arms, with his breath on your skin.

He has never been denied. Never. Not even once. But you did it with such stubbornness that it made him crave it. It wasn't enough for Jungkook to just want you. It was when he saw you talking to Namjoon, when you smiled at him, that Jungkook wanted to possess you.

And now, lying next to you, he realized that you belonged to him. At least for this period, while your agreement lasts. The agreement is his favorite thing right now. Because it doesn't give you the right to leave, it doesn't give you the right to be with someone else, even if you want to run away for a second.

Jungkook took in a deep, slow breath, feeling his body stirring again just from your proximity. Your scent. Your warmth. Your skin. He remembers how you begged him yesterday, how you begged him on the yacht, a couple nights ago, and he's already getting hard.

Jungkook doesn't think about feelings. But he thought that there is something else going on between you. Something that burns somewhere between lust and the need to appropriate. Your resistance has made him want you even more. And now that you've destroyed the fucking rule that annoyed him so much when you didn't run away, he realizes he can have you whenever he wants.

His fingers find their way up your thigh. Gently. Slowly. As if checking to see if you're real. You stirred slightly in your sleep, slightly raised your eyelashes, yawned. But you didn't wake up completely. This excited him even more.

Jungkook leaned over, raising himself on his elbow, and touched his lips to your shoulder. Your skin was warm and tender. His arm went higher, enveloping you completely, pulling you closer.

You mumbled something as you turned sideways to him, inadvertently pressing yourself against his crotch. Jungkook felt his waking cock needing your entrance, or your mouth for that matter. You were provoking him even in his sleep. You made him greedy. Insatiable.

Jungkook's hand slipped under the covers, and his fingers immediately went under your tank top, which you hadn't taken off even when you had sex last night. Jungkook touched your breasts, very gently. Not like last night. Your nipple hardened in his fingers, and your body reacted without even waking up.

He smiled, his lips touching your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses. And then... his hand slid lower. Under the fabric of your shorts. And Jungkook felt the same thing he'd felt the night before. You were wet.

"Damn..." he whispered over your ear, "Even in your sleep, your pussy remembers me..."

His breathing became heavier. He couldn't stop himself from sliding down, both hands slowly lowering your shorts and underwear. Jungkook settled between your legs, spreading your thighs, gently, almost tenderly. He didn't want to wake you up... not yet. He wanted to savor you in complete silence, enjoying every second of your defenselessness, your submissiveness, which you never showed during the day.

His tongue slid along the inside of your thigh, leaving wet marks, and his hands held your hips to keep you still. He wanted to have you quietly. Slowly. Greedily, without rushing. His tongue finally reached your sensitive spot, savoring your state between sleep and wakefulness. Jungkook's tongue penetrated deeper into you, and after a few strokes, he returned to your clit, licking gently.

You woke up with a soft moan, your stomach shuddered, and your back arched. He felt it and just smiled. You reached out to him with your hand, but Jungkook didn't let you - he gently took your hand away and continued to hold on you the edge, long, painfully, until your breathing became rapid and your moans were audible.

You twitched, sighing softly, and then he licked you again. And again. His tongue was hellishly soft and confident at the same time. He didn't need words. He just ate you-slowly, intently, as if you were the sweetest dessert he'd ever had.

Jungkook's tongue continued to play with your clit, and he breathed deeply through his nose, inhaling your scent, which made him dizzy. Your hips shuddered a little, and your fingers involuntarily clutched the blanket. Only when he felt you fully awake did he slowly move away, blowing lightly on your heated center.

"You're awake now," his voice was low, husky, and full of lust. "I love the way your pussy is shaking for me." he returned to your pussy and eagerly fell to your clit sucking on it. You felt him bring you closer to that longed-for pleasure. As your orgasm swept through your body, he let go - slowly, with one last lick, so sensual that you shuddered once more. Your breathing was ragged, your eyes unfocused, and your heart was racing like crazy.

Jungkook towered over you, licking his lips of the rest of your juices. You could feel his hard cock.

"Good morning, kitten," he smiled. You smiled back. And he could see how happy you were.

"It's a really good morning," you mumbled, still breathing heavily. Jungkook pecked your lips and got off you. He sat down next to you and started to get dressed.

"Where are you going?" you asked him. Jungkook stood up.

"To the shower. I have a meeting today. Do you need to go downtown?"

You watched him put on his T-shirt and couldn't get enough of the sight of his well-toned body, which almost made you salivate.

"Yeah. I wanted to go with my grandmother to buy her some groceries and some things for the house." you said, climbing higher up to the headboard. Jungkook froze looking at you. Your sleepy, slightly disheveled appearance after he ate you made him smile. He thought he'd like to see you like this more often. You darted your eyes nervously.

"What?"

"Nothing." Jungkook shrugged and picked up his phone, checking for texts from Lee's manager and the man he was supposed to meet today. "If you want, I can give you a ride, and I'll pick you up when I'm done with my work?"

You got out of bed. Jungkook noticed your movement out of the corner of his eye. He put down his phone and turned to you when you stopped a step away.

His eyes met yours - familiar, too familiar. A look that meant only one thing: you wanted to talk. His shoulders tensed as he waited for you to speak. Fuck, are you really going to talk that 'we can't do this' shit again?

"So how do you see this deal now?" you asked, and he didn't hear the excitement in your voice. He was surprised. You were cold, confident, and it made him tense up more than if you had started protesting again.

Jungkook still didn't think about "what's next". He just needed to have you. Right now. Always. And your question took him by surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked, taking a step toward you. He stopped very close, towering over you. He wanted to touch you, but for some reason he held back.

"So now I play your girlfriend, and we fuck whenever we want?" you clarified. Jungkook hummed. It sounded harsh coming from you. But it was accurate. This was exactly how he had envisioned the next few months.

"Yes, kitten, something wrong?" he smiled, feeling his heart quicken from your attentive gaze.

"I'm just thinking," you put your finger to your lips, as if to deliberately draw his attention. "What if you fall in love with me? What then?"

Jungkook laughed softly, hoarsely and deeply. If he were "normal," maybe he would. But he didn't know how to love. Not in this way.

"Would it be a tragedy?" he said playfully.

"For me?" you raised an eyebrow, "You know it would be so sweet for me to break your heart," your smile flashed, your eyes sparkled slyly. And he couldn't resist. He pulled you sharply to him, making you hold your breath.

He held you tightly by the waist. His eyes were boring into your eyes, his body tense. You provoked him again. You made his blood boil.

"Sweet, you say?" Jungkook's voice dropped "Kitten, you have no idea how bitter it will be when I decide I don't want you anymore..."

You feigned indifference, but as always, your rapid heartbeat gave you away, which he could feel as if it were his own. He knew what he was doing to you, and he fucking loved it. You can't even imagine how much he enjoyed your struggle for dominance.

You didn't expect him to respond like that. You could tell by the way your eyebrows were drawn together. Jungkook leaned in, and your breath hitched as his lips slid over your cheek and then your ear. His breath caressed your velvety skin.

"But for now, I want to..." Jungkook's hand slipped under the robe you'd already put on, sliding up your thigh. "I'll take you as long as I want. And you know what, kitten?" he pulled back a little to look at you again, "I've already seen and I know you want it too. So let's just let it happen."

You took a gulp of air, and your lips opened slightly. Jungkook was about to kiss you.

"Jungkook..." your voice was barely audible, more like a plea than a protest.

"Mmm?" his fingers touched your heated center and he smiled, sensing how ready you were. "So soon? You just came and you're wet again? Do you think I should fuck you?"

You wanted to answer, but his lips closed on yours in a kiss, hard, as if he wanted to take all the air out of your lungs. Jungkook tilted you backwards, throwing you onto the bed, and before you knew it, you were gasping for air.

Jungkook thought he was going to stop after eating you, but you love to piss him off. He feels aroused and slightly irritated.

He wants you. All the time. And every action you take excites him. But at the same time, he's afraid of the way you affect him. You make him lose control - and he's not the type to like that. Jungkook likes to be in charge. He likes to be dominant. And with you, he's already woken up twice with desire for you before you've even looked at him. It scares him. He thinks he might lose control of himself, and it throws him off balance.

It's just sex. It's just a game.

You're not like the women he's been with. You are not weak. But how you obey to him when he is inside you. How sweetly you give up. And yet, your tongue is sharper than a blade. You don't give him full power. And it drives him crazy. And he likes it... more than he'd like to admit.

"Jungkook," you call out to him, moving your hips in front of him.

"Do you want to beg me like always?" he murmured, kissing your breasts.

"I want you to stop talking and get to the point," you complained. Jungkook stopped. He straightened up and pushed his hard cock into your pussy, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"That's the wrong answer, kitten," Jungkook smiled. He wanted to hear it again. Your begging was something he couldn't get enough of. He kissed you, biting your lower lip. Jungkook was in pain, his semen had already leaked onto his boxers.

"If you want me, say it, otherwise I'll leave you here, horny, and go away."

He demanded you confess.

"I want..." you said, breathing fast, "I want you Kook," his cock twitched with pleasure. From your soft sighing voice, from your words, from your movements.

Jungkook let go of you, got off the bed and stood in front of you. You were confused, losing his closeness.

"Take off your clothes," Jungkook ordered. You slowly sat up, keeping your eyes on him. Your palms touched the silk fabric of the robe and pulled it off. You took off your tank top, and when your hands touched your panties, you froze.

"You're not taking your clothes off?" you asked quietly, without raising her voice. You still remembered that your grandmother could be hearing you.

"You'll do it after you stretch yourself," Jungkook answered. He wanted to see how much you wanted him and how ready you were to listen to everything he said. You got to your feet, forcing Jungkook to back away half a step. His eyes fell greedily on your breasts and erect nipples.

"So maybe I should put you on the bed, sit on your cock, and fuck myself without your participation?" you asked, taking off your panties.

Jungkook smiled again, but not so playfully, but darker, with a dangerous spark in his eyes that meant one thing: you had pissed him off. And now he would take revenge... sweetly, slowly, deeply.

"Do you really want to fuck yourself with my cock?" his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. You walked over to him, completely naked, and caught the edge of the T-shirt he had put on a moment ago. You lifted it up and pulled off over his head. Your fingers grabbed the elastic of his boxers and pulled them down. You could clearly see how excited he was. You looked at your hands, and he just couldn't take his eyes off your face. How sexy you are... how fucking sexy you are when you show your character.

Soon, Jungkook was standing there as naked as you. You took his cock in your hand and rolled it around, making Jungkook moan.

"You throw orders around, but who's to say I'll do it your way?" you looked up at him, smiling mysteriously. And with these words, it was as if you had knocked the ground out from under his feet. He couldn't lose control of the situation so easily.

Jungkook grabbed your wrist and pushed you back onto the bed. You fell gently, bending your knees, and he knelt down in front of you. His gaze crawled over your body: hungry, all-consuming.

"Oh, everything will be my way, don't even doubt it, now, open your legs. Wider." Jungkook's voice became unbearably hoarse. You did as he said. And the very next moment, he brought his finger to his lips, moistened it, and touched your pulsating center.

"There you go. Kitten, this time you prepare yourself for me," he took your palm in his and brought it to your pussy. You were breathing fast and raggedly, pulling your finger in slowly, your eyes never leaving his.

"Deeper, kitten. I know you can do it." His palm was on top of yours, and he helped you push your own fingers deeper into you. You obeyed, his husky laugh echoing near your ear as he leaned down into you.

"You're so beautiful when you're obedient. But you're even more beautiful when you're lascivious..." he bites into your neck, his tongue tracing fire trails across your skin. "I'm going to come if I still watching how you stretch yourself ..."

"Let’s, Kook, I need you, not my fingers."

And he did.

In one swift movement, he pinned you to the bed, his body covered yours, and the next moment you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You thought he was going to do it slowly, as he always did, but the movement was sudden. Jungkook entered you - deeply, completely, without any warning. You screamed, your lips slightly pursed, but not in pain - in pleasure.

"God..."

"Tell me did more," he growled, not giving you time to adjust to his size, he began to move inside you with a stiff slowness, as if punishing. "Say my name. Ask for more."

"Jungkook... more... more... please..."

You couldn't catch your breath, your voice was breaking, and he was coming inside you again and again.

"That's it, baby. You're finally saying the right thing."

His next thrust made your body arc as he moved hard, powerful, deep, his every move as if to erase your awareness of reality. His moan became low and muffled, biting into your shoulder. Jungkook's hand slid between you, finding your throbbing center and ruthlessly began to stimulate you.

"Do you hear your pussy begging for me? It's so wet... all for me..."

You moaned, losing control, and clenched your legs around his waist, forcing him even deeper.

"Jungkook... I can't…" you whispered, digging your fingers into his back, pulling him even closer. And at the same moment, he abruptly changed the angle, and you barely had time to bite your lip to keep from screaming.

"Yes... here?" he smiled, cunning, brazen, absolutely ruthless in his passion. "Now every time I want to make you scream, I'll remember this place..."

His movements became faster, uncontrollable, and your moans could expose what you two was really doing in your room.

"A little, kitten, just a little bit more..." his forehead was touching yours, your breaths merged, and so did your bodies.

"Kook... I'm going to..." you wanted to warn him of your impending orgasm.

"Come...give me everything..." he whispered through clenched teeth, holding back with the last of his strength. A few more deep, sharp thrusts and your body arched in orgasm, wave after wave rolling over you, washing away the world around you, leaving only him.

Jungkook felt your inner walls squeeze around his cock, and it was almost impossible to hold back. He exhaled, hard, hot, and quickly slipped out of you, he freed himself from your legs that held him as if trapped. He sat on top of you, placing his legs on the sides of your chest. Jungkook grabbed your chin, lifting your face up. You looked up at him with a blurred gaze, obviously still under the influence of orgasm.

"Open your mouth, kitten..." his voice sounded low and breathy.

You obediently opened your lips, and the very next moment he wrapped his hand around cock, running it several times along its length, trapping your gaze. Your eyes are blurry with pleasure, your lips are glistening, your tongue is sticking out a little.

That was enough.

"Here you go..." moaned Jungkook as warm, thick cum splashed on your tongue, some on your lips and some deep down your throat as you instinctively swallowed.

You greedily took it all in, not taking your eyes off him as he completed his last strokes with a trembling body. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaved, and his hands trembled slightly.

You licked the cum from your lips, gently, seductively. He looked at you with incredible lust and some kind of wild pride.

Jungkook slowly got off you and sat down next to you, breathing deeply.

"Fuck..." he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair, still unable to recover. His eyes slid over you, watching you lick your lips slowly, your mouth closing.

"You're so insatiable..." he accused you, smiling tiredly. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, still breathing a little heavily, a shadow of a smile on your lips. Jungkook ran a finger along your jaw, gently lifted your chin, and leaned down to kiss you briefly, lightly, tasting his own pleasure on your lips.

"Who's the insatiable one?" you asked rhetorically. Jungkook smiled, because he was the one who hadn't had enough. "I thought you were going to a meeting," you reminded him. Jungkook stood up and pulled on his boxers, then his pants.

"We have twenty minutes to get ready. Will you warn Halmoni?" Jungkook asked. You covered your naked body with a blanket and stretched lightly.

"Yeah, but give me 5 minutes, I need to find the strength to get out of bed," you mumbled, closing your eyes.

The sun was pouring light into the narrow streets of the old district of Busan, where a small market stretched in the center, between houses, surrounded by shops, flowers, and the aroma of spices. You walked next to your grandmother, who stopped at every stall, picking through the vegetables, looking at the prices, and talking to the vendors as if she had known them all her life.

Jungkook walked a little behind, calm, wearing a light shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. He looked attractive and expensive, so almost every vendor paid attention to you, some whispered, but Jungkook didn't pay attention.

He was checking his phone. Kwon Munho, the man with whom the meeting was scheduled, had warned him that he would be late. That's why Jungkook is now walking next to you and Grandma. In another situation, Jungkook would probably be angry that the meeting was postponed, but now he had the opportunity to stay with you and Grandma where he was supposed to play the role of your boyfriend.

Yesterday, he liked the way his grandmother reacted to him - sincerely, with gentle directness that older people only allow themselves to have with those they really like. She told directly that she liked him, and Jungkook took it almost too seriously. He didn't understand why, but he felt that it was important for him to impress your grandmother. Perhaps it was part of the game he was playing with you so subtly - an attempt to win over not only you, but your family as well.

Jungkook locked his phone and straightened up next to you. His hand rested casually on your waist, and a few minutes later, it slid lower, making you glance in his direction in embarrassment. You tried to stay confident, even though your body was giving you away more than your words.

Grandma, though she looked busy shopping, didn't miss a single glance Jungkook gave her granddaughter. She didn't ask too many questions - she was just happy to have him with her.

When you stopped at a bakery, Jungkook's phone vibrated. He took it out and saw that Kwon was already on his way to the appointed meeting place.

Jungkook reached into his pants pocket and pulled out some money. Without hesitation, he put it in your palm. It was 50 thousand won bills. Your eyes rounded when you realized that he had given you 250 thousand won. You looked at him in surprise, and he didn't seem to notice your gaze, but for a moment his eyes flashed with curiosity. He met your confused gaze and smiled, as if this was a normal thing between you.

"Buy whatever you want, my love," he leaned down to your face and whispered softly, "will you buy us condoms that I can cum inside you?"

You instantly blushed and if it weren't for Grandma, you would have lost your temper. You hit him lightly.

"Are you crazy?" you hissed. Jungkook dramatically put his palm to the place where you hit him and rubbed it lightly. He straightened up.

"I have to go, I'll pick you and your grandmother up in an hour. Have a good time." Jungkook kissed you lightly on the temple, a gesture that made your grandmother smile, but you remained indifferent in appearance. In the end, he lightly touched your fingers. Jungkook unconsciously wanted to keep your touch. He politely promised his grandmother that he would be back as soon as he could and walked to his car, which was parked at the entrance to the market.

His Mercedes drove in the opposite direction of the walking route, getting lost among the narrow streets of Busan.

The Blue Bean coffee shop, located in the Sapodong district, was the place Mr. Kwon had chosen for their meeting. Away from eyes that could follow.

Jungkook easily parked the car outside the coffee shop and went inside.

There was nothing special inside: an old sign, slightly worn furniture, and the faint aroma of cinnamon and freshly ground Arabica. A perfect, unremarkable place.

The heir to the ‘John Group’ looked around, searching with his eyes for the man who had the information he needed.

The man was already sitting. A narrow face, blue shirt, perfect hairstyle. His tablet was not far away, as if he had just held it in his hands. His cup of black coffee was half empty and he was holding it, looking out the window.

Jungkook approached, greeted him discreetly, bowing. The man noticed Jungkook and jumped up and held out his hand, bowing lower, too.

"Have you been waiting long?" He asked, taking off his glasses and sitting down across from him. A waiter immediately came to the table. Jungkook ordered an ice-cold Americano to refresh himself and take the next dose of caffeine his body needed.

"Not so long, just 10 minutes, maybe less," Mr. Kwon replied. Jungkook nodded his head, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"So, how's it going, Kwon-nim, did you find out anything?" Jungkook cut to the chase.

"Oh, yes, Jungkook-sajanim. You asked me to check the ownership structure of the companies that have been actively buying up small stakes in ‘Jeon Group’ in recent months, especially those that have been actively buying up small stakes in this week," the man began, picking up his tablet, "and... I found something interesting."

"Go ahead." Jungkook had an inkling of what Mr. Kwon might have found, but he needed to hear confirmation.

"The companies all look independent. But they all have financial ties to ‘Taemin Holdings’, based here in Busan," Kwon explained. At this time, coffee was brought to the table, and Jungkook began to drink it with a little thirst.

"Who's the ultimate owner?" he asked, tasting the coffee and milk on his tongue.

"Technically, it's offshore. But I dug deeper. The chairman of the board is Park Dongsu, the former CFO of ‘Kang Technology’. He resigned after Mr. Kang's direct visit to Busan six months ago."

Jungkook smiled slightly. It was expected.

"How much has been bought up?"

"11,3%. Through nine different companies. But if we don't stop it, it will be up to 20% by the end of the year."

Jungkook leaned back and looked around the coffee shop. Silence hung between them. Jungkook's phone vibrated. It was a call from his mother. He pressed the block button to keep the vibration from disturbing him.

"That's how Kang Tehwon decided to act," Jungkook said, more to himself than to the other man, "He wants unification. But on equal terms."

"Yeah, it looks like it," Kwon replied cautiously. He cleared his throat nervously and continued, "Forgive me for being rude, Jungkook-sajinim, but is it related to the fact that your engagement to Kang Sukhi was not announced because of, well..." he stopped talking before he could say more. Jungkook smiled as he touched his lips to the cup. The flavor of the coffee blossomed on his tongue and made Jungkook feel better.

"The refusal to get engaged with his daughter wasn’t the root cause. But the active stock purchases over the past week may include it," Jungkook said. "Kang Tehwon started doing this before he and my father decided to merge the companies."

Kwon Munho took a sip as he watched Jungkook carefully.

"Does Mr. Jeon know that you're researching this?"

Jungkook looked up at the man who worked in the accounting department of the Busan branch of the ‘Jeon Group’.

"No, my father doesn't know. That's why I asked for the meeting to be confidential." Jungkook leaned on the table, staring intently into Kwon's face, "I have to gather all the evidence first and then give it to my father. Please keep our meeting a secret. I promise I won't be in your debt."

Kwon tilted his head, approving of Jungkook's seriousness. He was a man who understood well how big money and powerful families worked. He had also been raised in a business environment, so he respected people like Jungkook for their strategic thinking and ability to work in the shadows. But he still couldn't help but be surprised by the determination of the heir to ‘Jeon Group’.

"Of course, Jungkook-sajanim. I understand the importance of confidentiality. And I don't plan to violate your agreement with your father." Kwon replied calmly and handing over a small gray flash drive out of his breast pocket and handed it to Jungkook. "Here is a flash drive with all the data: transfers, sales, and names." He putting the tablet aside. His gaze became more focused.

Jungkook took the flash drive and put it in his pants pocket.

"Good." he leaned back, running his fingers through his hair. "One more question. Are any of the buyers directly related to anyone on the ‘Jeon Group’ board of directors?"

Kwon tapped a few times on his tablet, scrolling through the lists. Then he stopped and looked at Jungkook again.

"I suspect that the chairman of the finance committee, Mr. Min Sang-ho, has connections through a third party intermediary company. On paper, it looks clean, but the money transfers are strange - through the same channels as ‘Taemin Holdings’."

Jungkook looked down, inhaling slowly as if he was holding back anger.

"He voted to change the dividend policy last month... That explains a lot..."

Kwon leaned a little closer.

"Are you going to confront them openly?"

"Not yet. But when the time comes, I'll be ready," Jungkook replied coldly, calmly, with the kind of depth in his voice we’re only comes from those who are used to winning. "I told my father that Kang Tehwon is not a reliable partner, so I have to gather evidence that he doesn't just want the merger... he wants an equal share of the ownership of the company, and perhaps he wants more."

Kwon nodded slowly as he finished his coffee. Jungkook did not linger. After hearing what Kwon had to say, he stood up, leaving the coffee money on the table.

"Thank you, Kwon-nim. Contact me if you will know anything else. And also..." he held his gaze, "Don't trust anyone at the central office. Even if you think they're on our side."

"Understood, sajanim."

Jungkook bowed and walked toward the exit, leaving a scent of perfume in the air behind him - subtle, deep, like his aura.

Around six in the evening, a black Mercedes-Benz pulled up quietly outside a familiar high-rise building in Seoul. The sun was still hanging over the horizon, casting a soft golden light on the windows of the buildings. The sky was clear, with a hint of evening chill, the peachy blue hues were just beginning to appear on the horizon, reminding that the day was coming to an end.

Jungkook turned off another business call without looking at the screen and turned to you. You looked a little tired after the trip, with the same slight tension in your shoulders that he had learned to notice.

"Thank you..." you said first, "I really appreciate your help."

Your gaze slipped to the side, and Jungkook noticed how you were trying to avoid eye contact. He wanted to kiss you. Is it normal for him to want to do that? And can he do it whenever he wants?

He reached for you. You didn't move away when his hand slid down your jaw and he stopped a centimeter from your lips. Jungkook wanted to make sure you were okay with it. And when you closed your eyes, expecting a kiss, he smiled and finally touched your lips.

They were soft, slightly dry. Jungkook moved his lips, tasting each of your pads in turn. His fingers slipped into your hair, pulling you closer, and you barely gave in. He stuck his tongue in your mouth, and that light, gentle kiss easily became greedy, deep, demanding. You grabbed Jungkook's hand, squeezing it. He felt his cock throbbing. You make him so easily aroused.

Jungkook could feel your fingers trembling slightly on his arm. And though he wanted to do more - to immerse himself in your taste, in your touch, in your soft, pliable body - he broke the kiss with an effort.

"You've already thanked me more than once," he winked, sitting up straight and stretching his lips into a satisfied smile. Jungkook glanced at his phone, which was silently glowing with several missed calls from "mom" contact and a message: "Talk to me, now." He sighed and ignored the screen again. His mother could wait. But business could not.

"Are you going to the office?" you asked, distracting him from the heavy thoughts that immediately flooded his mind after he tore his lips from yours.

"I have another online meeting and a few things to do at the office. What, did you want me to stay?" Jungkook asked playfully as he leaned into you.

You raised your eyebrows and grabbed your backpack as if to hide behind it.

"No, you've already gotten your daily allowance of pleasure, so calm down, Jeon Jungkook," you said sarcastically.

"My daily allowance is much bigger than that, kitten, and if it weren't for the office, I'd love to get it in full," he smiled slyly and you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"You're a maniac..." you said quietly. And then you quickly opened the car door, running away from Jungkook.

"See you later?" he shouted at your back, leaning over the seat where you had been a moment before. You froze in a half-turn.

"Not tonight, I have to survive to play the role of your girlfriend," you replied ironically and walked away without waiting for him to answer.

Jungkook watched your figure slowly disappear into the entrance. Something stirred in his chest, pleasant and exciting. He shook his head, smiling, and gripped the steering wheel. The engine roared to life, and the Mercedes moved off. Jungkook pressed a button and the window closed, cutting him off from the warm evening air.

The dark glass of the door of the ‘Jeon Group’ office building reflected the glare of the headlights of the car that pulled into the underground parking lot. Jungkook, a little tired but focused, got out of the car, clutching his phone and carkeys from the car.

Manager Lee was already waiting for him - strict but always calm, with a quiet, measured voice that rarely went to any emotional extreme. The only person Jungkook truly trusted. Not just as a professional, but as a person who knew him too well - and even better than he knew himself.

"How was your trip?" Lee asked with a barely-there smile as they walked down the hallway to the office.

"Very productive," Jungkook replied briefly, but there was a hidden satisfaction in his voice. It wasn't just the conversation about Kang Tehwon, but also the time he spent with you. Manager Lee knew where Jungkook had gone and with whom.

"You look... happy." Lee glanced sideways. "I assume that Y/N-shi also contributed to the efficiency of the trip?"

Jungkook smiled at the very corners of his lips.

"Not without it." He opened the office door after greeting his secretary and stepped inside. "What's the schedule?"

"You only have one online meeting left for today. Also..." Manager Lee pulled out his phone, "I've had several calls from your mother..."

Jungkook stopped near his chair, frowning slightly.

"And?" he remembered how she had terrorized his phone all day, and he had ignored her.

"I told her you were in a meeting. She doesn't know you went to Busan."

"Good." Jungkook breathed a sigh of relief as he nodded. But not for long. "So what did she want?"

"Asked me to get free your evening. She wants to have dinner with you... and Sukhi."

Jungkook sat down at the table and leaned back in his leather chair. His head hurt just thinking about the dinner. Talk of an engagement he didn't want, was tired him.

"Why won't they leave me alone?" he grumbled, closing his eyes.

Manager Lee did not answer. He just stood there in silence, as he always did, knowing when to give Jungkook space.

The silence lasted for a few more seconds until Jungkook grabbed the phone, unlocked the screen, and tapped your name. He had an idea.

"Hello," Jungkook heard your voice on the other end of the line.

"Is the kitten busy?" he asked you, looking at Manager Lee, who stood perfectly still, not a muscle in his face moving.

"I'm taking a bath, what do you want?" Jungkook swayed in his chair, turning away from the manager.

"Oh... if I can video call you?" he asked, lowering his voice. You clicked your tongue.

"Jungkook, say what you want or I'm hanging up," you warned. Jungkook heard the water splashing. He imagined it enveloping your beautiful body and your skin shining.

"You shouldn't have said no, but I'm calling for a reason. Kitten, take a bath, put on something nice. In 15 minutes my manager will come to pick you up, I need you in the office."

"You mean in the office? Why?" you were surprised.

"I'll explain when you get here."

"We just got here, Jungkook, I'm tired after the trip, can I come tomorrow?" you asked protesting.

"No kitten, you must to be here in exactly half an hour." Jungkook said firmly. He heard you exhale a doomed breath.

"What should I wear?" you asked. A smile touched his lips again. His fingers slid gently along the edge of the table as he turned to face the table. His gaze rested for a moment on his own reflection in the black screen.

"Dress like we're going on a date," Jungkook replied.

"I usually wear a T-shirt and jeans, is that okay?" you asked wryly.

"If you feel comfortable wearing those clothes in an expensive restaurant, then of course you can dress like that, kitten," Jungkook replied shortly. There was a subtle irony in his voice. You exhaled nervously into the phone again.

"Okay, I'll be ready in 15 minutes."

"I'm waiting for you," he said. You disconnected first. "Manager Lee, please bring Y/N here. And call my mother and tell her that I have to be at the office in 30 minutes and that you're cleared my schedule." Manager Lee bowed silently with his hands folded behind his back.

"So, Jungkook-nim, is your mother planning to meet your ‘girlfriend’?" he asked and Jungkook noticed a hint of amusement in his voice.

Jungkook just hummed, not answering right away. His fingers found the edge of the table again, sliding along it as if looking for support. Then he looked up at Lee and smiled wryly.

"With any luck... it'll just be a way to avoid dinner with her and Sukhi."

"Understood," he didn't ask any more questions, he was used to trusting Jungkook's decision without question, "I'll bring her in in 30 minutes," the manager bowed slightly and walked out, leaving Jungkook in the silence of the office.

Half an hour later, the office door was barely open. Manager Lee walked in first.

"Jungkook-nim Y/N, here."

Jungkook looked up from his tablet, and his fingers hovered over the screen.

You were standing in the aisle. You were wearing a short cream dress made of textured fabric that looked both elegant and sexy. The dress was tightly fitted around your waist, emphasizing your figure, and fell in light waves to your hips. The front row of mother-of-pearl buttons added sophistication.

On top of it you wore a short jacket of the same material with sharp lapels, which gave the image of severity, Small flap pockets emphasized the lines of the hips, creating an even more elegant silhouette. You wore white sandals on feet.

You completed the look with thin gold chains around your neck, which sparkled delicately as you turned your head to look around the office as you walked inside. Your makeup was neutral, barely shimmering.

Jungkook was mesmerized by your appearance. You were beautiful, too beautiful for him to just sit at his desk. He stood up and stopped a step away from you. You didn't look pleased, and he could clearly see the irritation on your face. Jungkook wanted to erase that expression with a kiss.

"Manager Lee, thank you for bringing me the Y/N. You can go now," Jungkook said, keeping his eyes on you.

Manager Lee gave you a curious look, bowed, and walked out.

"You asked me to look like we're going on a date," you said as you stepped aside, your posture a little tense. "Do I look appropriate?" you returned as you approached his desk. Without waiting for him to answer, you began to look around his office, touching the things on his desk,

Jungkook was silent. He couldn't answer right away. He looked at you and realized that not a single woman had ever looked as attractive in his eyes as you. His eyes greedily traced your figure, and he almost forgot how to breathe.

Jungkook slowly approached you, stopping a behind you. His voice was a little hoarse when he finally spoke.

"You look... dangerously appropriate." His arms went around your waist and he pressed against you, inhaling the scent of your perfume. It was sweet, reminding him of apricot. He touched your skin with his nose and inhaled deeply.

"Jungkook," you said quietly, nervous grabbing his hands, stopping him. "What are you doing? What if someone comes in..."

Jungkook kissed your earlobe, biting it lightly.

"That's my plan..." he mumbled, holding you tighter.

"What do you mean?" you asked, turning your head to him. Jungkook's lips were very close. His eyes looked at your plump pink lips, which he wanted to kiss.

"My mother should be here soon with Sukhi, they wanted to pick me up to have dinner... But I'm busy, I'm going out with my girlfriend,"

Your eyes rounded.

"You're doing it again, Jeon?" you exploded, taking a half-step away from him. Jungkook let you step back. "Why didn't you just say your mother will be here?" you crossed your arms over your chest, throwing lightning bolts at him. "I should have known! I would have at least prepared myself mentally!"

He looked at you calmly, but something flashed in his eyes-something hungry and determined.

"I knew you would react like this," Jungkook whispered, taking a step forward.

"You know and you're always deliberately doing this to spite me." you claimed colorlessly.

Jungkook did not answer. He just came closer, grabbed you by the waist, and pushed you against the table with one decisive movement. Before you could even say anything else, he lifted you up and sat you on the edge, standing between your legs. His hands held your hips tightly, and his eyes, dark and full of desire, never let go of your gaze.

"You don't have to worry, kitten. I'm just going to show you to my mother. It won't take more than a minute. And then we'll go..."

"I don't..." you tried to say something, but he wouldn't let you. His lips covered yours in a passionate kiss that you hadn't expected, but he had wanted from the moment you entered the office.

You wanted to push him away, wanted to run away, but his arms wouldn't let go. He liked to catch you. Every time you tried to run away, he caught you. It gave him a sickly, sweet pleasure.

Jungkook kissed you, deeper, harder. His fingers slid up your thighs, and your back arched involuntarily - and he couldn't help but think how pliable you were when his lips were on yours.

At that moment, the office door suddenly opened.

"Jungkook-ah, son..." a familiar, cold female voice said.

Jungkook reluctantly pulled away, but it was too late.

Standing at the door to the office were his mother - elegant, reserved, with perfect posture - and Sukhi, who looked like she had just swallowed a lemon. Both were looking at you in silence. At you sitting on the desk and at Jungkook still standing between your legs.

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