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pedropascallme · 2 days ago

Text

Happy at Home

Pairing: husband!König x wife!Reader

Summary: "But you humored him, because you enjoyed the ritual of it. You enjoyed being tucked away with your husband, loving on him day in and day out until the two of you decided it was time to really go home, letting him have his peace—being his peace."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) p in v sex, shower sex, fingering, softdom!Köning, tiny bit of size kink (obviously), praise, dirty talk (a lot of it is in German), creampie, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Having some big feelings about husband!König and how in love with you he is and how needy he would be after coming home from deployment. Per usual, I don't speak German, so sorry in advance for any straight up nonsense my translations might be <3

The slow tick of the clock hand over the twelve marked another full day of waiting for König.

You sat idly in the living room, waiting impatiently for the mug of tea in front of you to cool. As the days wore on, you became more impatient about everything; unable to quell the excitement you felt at the promise of his return, the suspense of when the door might open with him there on the other side to greet you.

Fiddling with the string of the teabag, you turned your attention to the window, watching the sun dip behind the horizon

The setting was pretty, at least; the peaks and dips of the hillsides perfectly paralleled the waves of anticipation that rolled over you.

König always insisted on staying at the house in the hills when he came back from deployment. It was quiet, peaceful, and he preferred it to being immediately thrust back into the bustle of city life in Vienna after spending months at a time being used as a human battering ram.

He liked the tranquility that the rustic, rural parts of Germany offered; he liked isolating after deployment; he liked waking up in the morning and knowing that you would be the only person he would see all day.

You knew he loved it, but it was a pain to travel over the border, and the house was so far north, you felt you might as well be in Copenhagen.

Being in the house alone was no fun, either—the city, at least, was swathed in light and sound at all hours; here, though, the stillness offered little comfort late at night, and you worried about the old, rusted locks on the windows.

But you humored him, because you enjoyed the ritual of it. You enjoyed being tucked away with your husband, loving on him day in and day out until the two of you decided it was time to really go home, letting him have his peace—being his peace.

In the grand scheme of things, you didn't mind. If he was with you, you were already home, no matter the setting.

So you always got there before he did. You busied yourself with grocery shopping and ensured that the house held the necessities you would require over the days, or weeks, you ended up staying; you knew when he got here, you wouldn't have the time to do errands. You took in the sunshine and the landscape, trying to get through the days without focusing too much on counting down the hours that brought him closer to arriving.

You blew on your tea, still admiring the view from the window. You'd done all the shopping, you'd stared at the hills for long enough; now, all you really wanted was him.

When you heard the door click, it pulled you from your thoughts, and you felt a momentary rush of anxiety; it might be him, but it might be a crazed, chainsaw wielding farmer.

The door swung open, and you were giddy to see that it was the former.

"Meine Liebe—?" König called, dropping his bag unceremoniously by his feet as he trudged in.

His eyes fell to you, watching as you jumped from your seat and greeting you with open arms that swept you up. You reciprocated the action, scrambling to wrap yourself around him and hanging off of his body.

When you managed to pull him down enough, standing on your tiptoes and wrapping your arms around his neck, you pressed your lips to his; an eager, passionate welcome for the man you'd missed to desperately. He moaned softly against your mouth, and you swallowed the sound with pleasure.

"Ah...You have missed me?" He teased when you pulled back, petting your hair.

"Yeah," you muttered, not willing to tease him back; not willing to lie by saying that you couldn't care less that he had been gone. "So much."

"And I have missed you, Schatz," he squeezed you tighter. "But I am back."

You laughed quietly against him. He never seemed to grasp the satisfaction, the ease that swept through you when he returned. To him, it was just another day; to you, it was proof that he was still alive.

"You're still in your uniform." You pointed out the obvious as you tilted your head up at him, pressing your cheek into the scratchy fabric of his kit.

"People get out of my way when they see that I am uniformed."

"You're ten feet tall," you cooed, "They'd do that, anyway."

He shook his head, brows knit in vague confusion.

"Ten is too many."

You laughed, and he seemed content to be the source of your amusement.

He'd had the foresight to remove his hood before coming home, at least—he wanted a completely unobstructed view, to be able to see you without the occasional sway of fabric in his peripheral.

And being able to kiss you freely was a plus.

You lifted a hand to stroke his cheek, eager to take all of him in, to openly adore him.

"You're filthy." You pointed out, your admiration of his face forcing you to notice scratches and bruises, the grimy discoloration from mud and blood on his skin.

"Es gefällt dir, Liebling," he chuckled above you, "Or do you lie when I am making you—"

"Different kind of filthy." You pressed a hand to his chest, backing away and smirking up at him.

"Bitte,” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back in. “You will come bathe with me."

You made a face, now more than willing to tease him.

"You're all bloody..." You trailed a finger over a shallow scratch on his cheek, "And I showered this morning."

"You will need another." He stared down at you, expression tender but eyes hungry, starved for you.

"You think so?” You quirked a brow, reciprocating his obvious need but still taunting him.

König said nothing as he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder. He grabbed at your legs, pressing kisses to your thigh and staining you with the dusty remains of the dirt still on his skin.

"Schmutziges Mädchen," he tsked, as if you had been lying, "You must let me clean you."

"Hey!" You pretended to fight his grip on you, wriggling in his arms.

"Sh," he laughed as he carried you to the bathroom, "You complain for no reason, Kleine."

"You would complain, too, if I picked you up and dragged you to the bathroom." You grumbled, giving in and slumping over his shoulder, smiling as you tugged on the back of his shirt.

"Ich würde nicht," he shook his head, finally setting you down on the edge of the bath and looming over you. "I do not see any reason to complain, if a beautiful woman treated me this way."

"I'll remember that." You rolled your eyes, and he grinned down at you.

You took the position as an opportunity to reach up, dragging your hand over his clothed thigh and letting your fingers brush just beneath the hem of his shirt.

"You have a question to ask me, Liebling?" He sighed, folding his arms as he admired you from above and waited to see if you would submit.

“…Take off your uniform.” You hooked your fingers beneath the waistband of his pants.

“That is not a question,” he smirked down at you, letting your hands roam over his form. “You have forgotten your manners? I was not gone so long…”

“Will you take off your uniform?” You smiled softly up at him, “Please?”

You could hear the quiet, satisfied grunt that rumbled from his chest as he bent forward to take your hand in his, kissing your knuckles before straightening up and stripping himself down.

He paused when he got to his belt buckle.

“You as well, Engel.”

You bit your bottom lip, made more eager by his impatience, thrilled to have gotten the okay from him. You stood, stripping off the thin layer of clothing you’d been wearing, tossing them into the pile he’d begun to make with his uniform.

You were barely out of your shorts when König grabbed you by the waist, hauling you off your feet and bringing your face to his.

“Schöne Frau,” he kissed you slowly before dipping his face down and nipping the exposed skin of your neck and chest. “More perfect every day.”

You wrapped your legs around him, supported by his hands and waist as he left love bites on your neck.

“I missed you,” you breathed, closing your eyes and succumbing to the warmth that bloomed in your abdomen, the heat of his palms and the drag of his lips. “I missed you so much.”

“Do not miss me anymore,” König murmured against your neck, “There is no need, Kleine. I am here now.”

You rested your hand on the nape of his neck, desperate to be close, to seal off any gaps between the two of you.

“Are you gonna hold me here like this all night?” You mused, tilting your head back further when he began to suck on your pulse point.

“What is so wrong with that?”

“You’re covered in blood.”

“It is not my own.” König didn’t miss a beat, still pressing kisses to you, grazing his teeth against the marks he made as he argued.

“Still,” you sighed, “You’re d—dirty.” You lost the proper words momentarily when his hand dipped between the crevice of your thighs from behind, fingers barely ghosting over your slit as he changed his grip on you. “Shower with me.”

Now he paused, leveling his gaze with yours again.

“You are asking for the shower now?” He smirked, and you stopped yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Yes.” You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

“You said you had no need to bathe, Liebling,” he tilted his head forward, brushing your nose with his. “What has made you change your mind?”

He wanted so desperately to hear you say the words, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him that joy—especially not when you were itching to say them, to forfeit your previous teasing and cocky attitude and plead for him to do what you both wanted.

“Will you fuck me?” You pressed your cheek to his, purring into his ear. “Please, will you fuck me? Nice and warm in the shower?”

He let out a satisfied sound, and you could feel the vibrations travel through his body where you were pressed up against him.

“If you are insisting…” He feigned disinterest, though you could see right through it—and he knew that.

You laughed against the crook of his neck when he finally stepped over the edge of the bath, wobbling slightly in his arms when he reached to turn the water on.

“I will put you down now.” He said it with finality, easing you onto your own two feet and staring down at you.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy having you close, carrying you around like a doll, but he was eager to get a proper look at you; drink in your nude form as the water danced over your skin.

“Turn around,” you ordered, “Under the water.”

In the fashion of the obedient husband that he was, he turned, swapping places with you to ensure the faucet was spraying him directly.

“You take orders so well, Colonel.” You taunted, grabbing the soap and lathering it over him.

“Nur von Dir,” he closed his eyes briefly when you began washing him, but he quickly opened them, not wanting to miss a single moment; set on admiring you as much as he possibly could. “I am usually in charge, you know.”

“Are you?” You scrubbed grime from his face with only a bit of pushback from him. “They just give anybody authority, huh?”

“Seien Sie vorsichtig, Kleine.” König grabbed your wrist, halting your washing of his chest. “Or I will remind you of my rank.”

“Can’t pull rank on your wife.” You grinned up at him, knowing he was all bark and no bite when you had your hands on him like this.

“I will try,” he smirked, “Come to me.” He kept his grip on your wrist, pulling you against him and dropping his hands to your hips. You could feel him pressing his steadily hardening length to your stomach, and you swallowed the whine that threatened to escape you.

“At least let me wash off the dirt you smudged on me,” You pulled away from him coyly, turning your back to him. “Fair?”

He grunted briefly in protest but continued to let the water soothe him.

He watched you bathe yourself, a small part of him feeling greedy, desperate to have you return your hands to him so that he could bask in your warmth and your tenderness. In a moment of weakness, he almost allowed himself to feel jealous of the bar of soap in your hands, the object receiving the attention he so craved.

You went slowly, scrubbing lightly at the streaks of ashy brown that his hands had trailed over your legs and torso. It wasn’t meant to be teasing, but you certainly didn’t put any effort into going faster.

König huffed, impatient, and pulled you back to his chest, wrapping his arms around you so that you couldn’t move away again.

You let out a quiet sound from the back of your throat in warning; a completely empty threat.

“Do not walk away from me, Liebling,” his words were meant to be domineering, but his voice came out pleading. “Ich will meine Frau.”

His hands traveled lazily up your sides, and you could feel yourself giving in.

“Need to clean up,” you muttered half-heartedly, “Got me all gross.”

“You may clean,” he chuckled behind you, dropping his face to speak into your ear, “I simply wish to be near you, ja?”

He pulled you closer to him, forcing his erection up against your ass and making you shiver.

You loved this game. You loved that even after marriage, there was excitement; that you could play cat-and-mouse and rile yourselves up before giving into the very real, very intense urges you felt for each other.

Being here with him was unparalleled; you could live and die like this and be completely content.

His hands strayed over your stomach, one keeping you in place while the other dipped lower, running his fingers down to your clit before tracing your slit and teasing your entrance.

“That’s—” A quiet whimper escaped your lips when he pushed a finger to the first knuckle into your cunt.

“Sh,” you could hear the smile on his lips, “I will not get in the way.”

He gripped your hip, keeping you steady so that when he finally pushed his finger deeper into you, he had the leverage to thrust it in and out.

“Oh—” You let your eyes flutter shut, immediately forgetting about your prior insistence that you be able to wash yourself.

“It has been so long, Liebling,” König sighed, bending down to kiss your shoulder as he continued to move his finger in and out of you slowly. “I have been worried—what should I do if you forgot how I feel inside of you?”

“Could never forget.” You sighed, meaning it wholeheartedly—there was absolutely no way your body or your mind could erase the pure bliss of having him touch you; of having him stretch you to his liking over and over again.

“Gut,” he smirked against your shoulder, “I will not let you.”

He drew his hand back briefly to add another finger, pushing into your cunt with a quiet groan as he explored you for the first time in weeks. He could get off like this, if he really wanted to; bucking his hips against you as he worked your cunt open with his fingers, listening to the soft sounds you made over the drip of the water.

König felt breathless, leaving any remaining care behind, focused solely on you and the way you felt around him. He stared down at his hand, watching his fingers disappear into you only to reveal themselves again, covered in your arousal.

He reached up awkwardly, smacking lightly at your cheek to hold your attention before placing his hand back on your hip.

“Watch,” he ordered, though his voice was soft in your ear, “You will look at how I open you.”

You craned your neck, watching him thrust his fingers into your eager cunt, slick dripping down over the digits only to get semi-rinsed by the water that still fell from the shower head.

“Do you see?” He mused, grinning at the way you admired yourself, “How beautiful you look on my hand? How you paint me?”

You whimpered, nodding. You kept your eyes glued to the spot where your bodies connected.

“Sprich mit mir, Kleine,” he nosed your neck, eager to hear your voice, to have all of you to himself, “Tell me how beautiful.”

“It’s—it’s pretty,” you whined, back arching to chase his fingers as they exited you, “I look so pretty with your fingers in my pussy.”

He groaned, nipping at your throat to express the gratitude that rushed through him upon hearing your words.

The hand he had perched on your hip traveled up to your chest; calloused fingers running over the peaks of your nipples until they stiffened, giving him the ability to pinch them and roll them between his fingers.

You leaned back against him, searching for stability as the coil in your stomach tightened almost uncomfortably. You waited for the final twitch of his fingers inside of you, and the gruff voice behind you to give you the permission you needed.

You could feel yourself squeeze the digits he had buried in you, walls pulsing around him tightly; he felt it too, groaning out deep huffs with every throb, trying to move his hand further between your legs in an attempt to stroke the delicate spot he knew so well.

You took a shuddered breath, eyes threatening to flutter shut as he just barely ghosted his fingers over your g-spot before pressing down more aggressively.

“Jetzt,” his voice came out soft and low, like he was holding his breath, “Bitte—jetzt, Liebling. Cum, and I will give you anything.”

You grabbed at his wrist, grip solid as you encouraged his movements.

“Just want—” you felt the initial trembles, the familiar constriction of your abdominal muscles as you succumbed to your high. “Fuck—I just want you.”

König moaned; dropping his face to your shoulder to stifle the sound, he moaned deep and wantonly at your admission.

It wasn’t as if he was shocked—of course a wife would desire her husband, crave his immediacy and his touch after so much time apart. But it was the way you said it, the adoration in your breath and the bodily responses he pulled from you.

He only ever wanted you, and to know for certain that the care was mutual, no matter how many times you confirmed it, was nothing short of orgasmic for him.

“Ja,” he sighed, arm snaking around your waist to hold you taut against him, “Gut. Gut, Kleine.”

He stroked lazily at your front wall, delighted by the harsh intake of breath it forced you to take and the way your body seized ever so slightly in his grasp as he prolonged the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Christ—” you finally tugged at his forearm—not irritated but realizing your need for even more. “You’re insatiable.”

“I have a pretty wife,” König chuckled, “It is only natural to want more.”

He removed his fingers from your cunt, bringing them to his mouth and groaning softly at the taste of you.

“More where that came from.” You murmured, turning your body to press your face into his chest, reaching up to stroke your fingers over the nape of his neck.

His cock pressed against your stomach, and you didn’t care to fight the way your thighs so obviously squeezed together, made only more desperate by the way the fingers of his free hand stroked idly over your flesh.

“Ich weiß, ja,” he released the fingers from his mouth, both hands moving to grip your waist. “And will you give it to me, Liebe?”

“Yeah,” you sighed into him, his wet skin absorbing the heat of your breath, “I’ll give you everything.”

You looked up at him, admiring the way the water of the shower flowed down his temples and converged to drip down his chin.

“You can take it from me,” you blinked away the stray droplets that threatened your eyes, determined to appreciate the view of him so close to you. “Just take it.”

He reached for your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek in a moment of tenderness.

“Ich werde.”

His tender grasp on your face dropped as he bent slightly, hungry hands slipping just below your ass to lift you up effortlessly. You laughed at his overzealous actions, the pleasant connection of comfort, trust and eager physicality not lost on you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, as you pulled yourself closer to him.

“I wanted to…” you collected yourself, sighing through the last of your giggles, “I was expecting you to let me go down on you, at least.”

König shook his head, brow furrowed.

“Why would I use your mouth when I can have your cunt?” He moved to press your back to the wall, trapping you between his body and the cool tile.

“Thought you loved my mouth.” You responded haughtily, looking up coyly through hooded eyes.

“Ja,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “But I like even more for you to use it to tell me how good I fuck you.”

You felt your cheeks burn, though the blush was due more to the way your heart pumped frantically in your chest rather than any embarrassment.

Your need for him was absolutely shameless.

König adjusted his grip, letting his hands hook beneath your thighs as he lifted you enough that your entrance was easily accessible to him where he had you against the wall.

“Hold on to me.” He commanded, focused on finally being able to thrust into you.

You didn’t need to be told twice, tightening your grip around him so that he could hold you comfortably in one hand and know that you were secure.

He reached between your bodies, tugging at his thick, leaking cock as he pressed his tip to your hole.

In a moment of clarity, his gaze drifted up to you, meeting your eyes with a look that read as pleading, and who were you to deny him his wishes? Doing so would only be denying you of your own, anyway.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss in lieu of a verbal confirmation that you were ready—but he knew, he always knew, and when he pushed his tongue between your lips so, too, did he push his cock into you.

You cried out. Already slick from his previous ministrations, he had little trouble thrusting into you. But his fingers paled in comparison to his cock, and to be stretched so intensely after such a long period of waiting made your fingers dig into his shoulders on their own accord.

But he liked the pain just as much as you did. Leaning forward to bury himself in you, he bottomed out with a grunt.

“You are—” he was at a loss for words, something that happened so consistently when he fucked you, but still something that made you swell with pride. “I have missed your cunt.”

“Use it, then,” you gasped when he bit a mark onto your breast, beginning to grind against him as best you could, “Show me—wanna feel it.”

König moaned, whiney and unrestrained, as he drew his hips back, pressing yours into the wall as he pulled out almost completely before slamming back into you roughly. You let out another cry for him, grasping at his biceps and tilting your head back.

“I will make you feel it, Kleine,” he grunted, repeating the action, “I will make sure.”

He settled on a less frenzied pace, bucking his hips into you while barely pulling back to ensure he stayed close. He craved your warmth; the heat of your body, the press of your chest to his, the vice-like grip you kept on his shoulders to make sure he stayed put, as if letting go meant he’d disappear.

The thought made him frustrated with himself—he never wanted to leave; he just had to. He had no choice but to submit to the whims of KorTac despite his unending want to do nothing but be near you.

But he would never abandon you as long as he lived, and he’d live as long as he could to ensure that you had anything and everything you wanted.

The rush of guilt eased into a shudder of pure devotion. He was here with you now; he had not a care in the world beyond watching you come undone over and over again.

“Ich liebe dich,” he leaned down to murmur the words into your jaw, letting his voice carry the short distance to your ear. “Ich liebe dich, meine Frau—meine Engel, meine Schatz.”

His head dropped to rest against your shoulder. You smiled at his words, tilting your face to press your cheek against his.

“I love you,” you whispered it, words meant only for him. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re home again.”

He whimpered softly, straightening up to capture your lips and lead you in a passionate kiss that only vaguely captured the increasing possessiveness of his thrusts.

It wasn’t out of an avidity to own you; he wanted you to see that you owned him, that he was yours, body and soul, and he’d do anything to provide comfort and pleasure and love for you.

You clawed at his back, rolling your hips in response to every one of his rough thrusts.

“I thought of you every day,” König’s head leaned back as he lost himself fully in the way your cunt felt around him, “You are on my mind always, Kleine—sheiße—I thought of you every moment. I think of you only.”

You mewled at his words and the depth of his strokes, working in tandem to push you quickly towards what would inevitably be a dizzying high.

“I thought about you all the time,” you whined through needy moans, “Always do, when you’re gone—needed you, needed you so badly.”

“You have me, Liebling,” he growled, “You will always have me.”

Again, his pace increased, and you were left clinging to him desperately, whimpering in his ear every time he nudged your cervix to the point of searing pleasure. One of his hands again snaked between your bodies, splaying over your stomach as his thumb stretched down to toy with your clit.

You bucked your hips, grinding against his cock as you eagerly accepted the friction he was providing you.

“Fuck—yeah,” you moaned, dropping your head to watch him play with you. “That’s—yeah, please, just like that.”

He laughed, smirking, as he pressed down harder on your clit.

“You are desperate, Kleine,” he accused you, lovingly, pointing out your frantic need. “Do you wish to finish so soon?”

He was teasing you now, and you could only whine out your reply.

“Said you’d give me anything…”

“Ja,” he mused, “And you, that I could take.”

He leaned into you again, practically flattening you between his body and the wall as he pushed his cock as deep as your body would allow.

“Will you let me take your pleasure, Liebe?” His lips ghosted over yours, “Bitte. Speak.”

“Ye—es,” you whimpered, “Yes. Please.”

He growled almost animalistically at your plea, slamming himself into you repeatedly as you remained at his mercy.

“I want it, Engel,” his voice carried an almost predatory tone, “I want for you to show me what I have missed so much—on my cock like this, you will give me what I want.”

You nodded dumbly at him, eyes closing slightly as your pupils rolled back at the way he matched the strokes of his thumb over your clit to the rhythm of his unforgiving thrusts. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, right on the edge of the high you so craved.

When König nuzzled into your neck, juxtaposing the relentlessness of how he fucked you with such a tender display, your back arched, and all bets were off.

“Bitte, Liebling,” his voice was whinier now, tinged only slightly with a dominant edge but almost fully drowned out by desire. “Bitte, bitte—I need it, I need to feel you.”

He pressed down harshly against your clit, angling his body to ensure that his cock nudged the delicate spot at your front wall, and your body responded with shivering enthusiasm.

With a gasp, you could feel yourself cumming for him; tightness met with immediate fluidity, your muscles spasmed comfortably as you clung onto him through your high.

“Verdammt, ja—ja,” König grunted, hips stuttering in response to the way your cunt hugged him, pulling him back into you with every increasingly sloppy movement of his hips. “Gut, Liebe—fühlt sich gut an…”

“Your—you...” you gasped out, letting your words float onto his skin as you leaned into his chest. “Please…want it.”

You didn't have to specify; you both knew what it was you wanted.

“You want it?” König groaned a laugh, “You may have it, Liebling—I will—Gott, perfektes Mädchen—I will give it to you.”

He hugged you to his body, bringing you off the wall enough to slam you down onto his cock as he hurtled towards his own orgasm, rambling in two languages at once about nothing in particular except for how amazing you were; how much he adored you.

“I—I will give it to you, Kleine,” his tone was practically pleading, for no real reason other than to show you the urgency he felt to give you what you wanted and to have you take it from him. “T—take it from me as you would like—bitte, take it all.”

He moaned loudly for you as he came, spend coating your walls; the warmth made you shiver. When he pressed you back against the wall to rest, your shivering was only heightened by the chill that passed through you upon making contact with the tile again.

You took labored breaths, still tilting yourself forward to find comfort nuzzled against him.

After a moment of stillness, his cock still twitching inside of you amidst an atmosphere of pure, endearing intimacy, König spoke up.

“Do you believe we are clean now, Schatz?” He reached for your face, coaxing you to look at him.

He greeted you with a smirk that you returned, blissed out and content.

“Clean enough,” you laughed, “Though I think there’s a spot between my legs that might need a second swipe over with a washcloth.”

“No,” he tsked, purposefully adjusting himself to nestle his softening cock deeper inside of you. “You should not have to clean that yourself.”

You smiled, mewling softly when he readjusted your body in his arms. You pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck before letting your head settle properly on his shoulder.

“Getting all pruney,” you mumbled, “Should probably get out.”

“I will have to put you down, Kleine.” His smirk only widened as he spoke.

“But then you can pick me back up.” You pointed out.

He pretended to think for a moment before finally easing himself out of you with a hiss; you inhaled sharply, as if to protest the loss, but you didn't offer any verbal complaint. He helped you to your feet, an arm wrapped around you for support as you found your footing.

You stepped out of the shower once you stopped wobbling, leaving König to turn the water off. The slick between your thighs now more than obvious as you toweled off the beads of water still stuck to your skin. You had hardly begun investigating the stickiness between your legs, attempting to clean yourself up, when you felt his large hands on your waist again.

“Was machst du?” He had emerged, not stopping to dry off before he grabbed you, picking you up bridal style and looking down at you with wide eyes.

You wrapped your arms around him, unbothered by the notion that his hold on you would make the point of having toweled yourself off in the first place completely moot.

“Messy.” You made a face, legs fidgeting in emphasis of your point.

“I said you should not clean it yourself,” he scoffed, “My wife should not bother with such things.”

He began walking you to the bedroom, trying to shield you from the doorframes he passed through, though his large form ensured he did so rather clumsily.

“You gonna do it for me, then?” You quirked a brow, stifling a laugh when he bumped his elbow on the wall.

“Ja,” he spoke earnestly, “But I will not do it now.”

“No?” You smiled, “Why not?”

“Because it does not make sense to wash what I will only make a mess of again, Kleine.”

Before you could think of a snarky response, he dropped you gently onto the bed, clambering to join you; to give you more until you were properly sated, and then to do it all again.

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sourle · 1 day ago

Text

Starting point

君はずるいずるい人だもう

WARNINGS: minor description of injuries

Note: I wrote this for an ask but then scrapped it because it does not make sense for the ask sob

You boredly yawn, leaning against Taph as you two listen to Chance speak while he flips his coin again and again. "... Hey Chance, what if I bet it's gonna land on heads next? If I'm correct, I'll get to use your gun in the next game." Chance seems to perk up from the idea, judging from their smirking widening.

"Oh, ya wanna bet? A'ight. And if it's tail, you have to clean my room." "Bet."

Chance flipped the coin and—

Head.

"Yes! Ha!" You sat up straight and held out your hand, Taph clapped his hands beside you. Both your energy is matching in hype-ness. "Where's my price at?" You drag out the last words as Chance gives you an amused chuckle before placing his flintlock in your palm.

"You won it fair and square, Cheater." You rolled your eyes at the nickname and spun the flintlock in your hand.

"Of course I did, Gambler."

The three of you relaxed there, chatting away while waiting for the other survivors who were in a match. Suddenly a cosmic like sound came from the dining room of the main cabin followed by a bright light.

The three of you looked towards the entrance of the dining room, the first to walk out was Builderman. He looked beaten up, and the others that followed behind him didn't look any better.

You watch as Elliot starts cleaning the others' injuries, tending to them all by himself. You contemplated if you should help or not. But you need to make yourself useful in this place, you can't just be a sitting duck all the time.

You got up and went to grab a spare medkit somewhere that you hid in case of emergency and approached 007n7 first, knowing Elliot will definitely tend to him last.

He looked up confused as to why you approached him. "Heya," you greeted with a soft smile which made him a bit more confused though he still greeted you back.

"Hi.. uhm—" he watches as you kneel next to him and open the kit, taking out a gauze.

"Can I?" Your action surprised him, he just curtly nodded and watched as you tended to his injuries. Gently with your care unlike someone in red he knows.

Once you are finished, you give him a pat on the shoulder. "There! You're all good to go!”

Your enthusiasm despite the dreading reality of the place is a nice fresh sight. He smiles at you, "Thanks..”

"No problem! If you need any help on replacing some bandages don't hesitate to come to me." He watches as you leave. You didn't just help him with his injury, you also helped him bring hope.

Next you tend to Two time despite their protest, "Spawn doesn't like this, Spawn doesn't want that, blah blah blah!" You mocked, but not too harshly disrespecting their beliefs.

"And the Spawn doesn't want its devoted follower to be hurt, now let me help you!" "And The Spawn think you're unworthy to care for m—" "NON BINARY FELLA IF YOU DON'T—”

In the end you manage to convince them, gently tending to their injuries and bandaging the rips on their back. You can't help but chuckle as you see their tails wag.

They're an odd fella, but you can't help but think they're just some weary cat. You pat their shoulder, “You're good to go, thanks for your corporation!" your voice is laced with bitter sweet sarcasm.

Two time muttered something along the line of The Spawn but you choose to ignore it and watch as they walked away.

You hissed, staring at Dusekkar's arm. The scar has red marks around it with the teared skins burning into a black scabs on the edge.

“C00lkid?” you cleaned the area around the scar with a cotton wet with gauze. The former admin shook his head.

“The kid plays rough alongside his companions, though as you say, he's not aware of the hurt he inflicts.” you hum, finding his speech to be calming.

You wonder if he's hurting at all with his call demeanor, though his pained grunting answered your question.

“I'm.. trying to help him come to a realization, I don't know if it's working.." Dusekkar hummed in response. He lets you hold his arm in your hand as you begin bandaging the cleaned wound.

“All done!.. If it's starting to irritate, tell me so I can check on it." You placed back the remaining bandage into the kit, closing it seeing as the others had been healed.

“Much appreciation, I've seemed to have mistaken you as ignorant, fed by the rumors. But you kneel and heal for the injured despite the hatred put on you. Deepest apologies from me and deep thanks for the help." You process it all in. Confused and bashful.

"I-it's alright! No biggie—" "Though even as conflicts swim in between you, I recommend you help a fellow survivor."

Dusekkar cuts you off, motioning a hand towards Elliot who's tending to his wounds on his own. You glance at him before back at Dusekkar with uncertainty yet all in response he just nods. A push for you to help Elliot.

Elliot huffed, trying to reach a hand to his back and failing to do so. The others have gone to their own cabins due to his insistence on them to rest, leaving him alone. He would ask you, but he knows you would not be pitiful enough to tend to him.

He struggled to tie the bandage on his injured hand, hissing in frustration before pausing as he saw two knees in front of him. He looked up and saw you.

"Need help?" You offered, kneeling down in front of him.

"I'm fine." You wince at his cut answer, despite the denial of help you still opened the kit and placed it next to the one Elliot's using.

"I'll help anyway." Elliot opened his mouth to retaliate but hissed as he felt the searing of his burnt scar on the back.

"Here," you reach over and grab the wet cloth from the bowl next to him before getting behind him, "Please let me help you."

He has no other choice, the others already retreat into their cabins except for Taph who's sitting on the couch waiting for you.

He lets you and you carefully clean the burnt scar, careful not to touch the gashing area. You placed the red tinted cloth back into the bowl of water before grabbing a napkin to dry the area.

"I'm sorry.. About c00lkid.." you start, "I know it's not enough, but I'm truly sorry for him hurting you guys. He's.."

"Just.. Playing. He was playing with.. him." You listen as Elliot begins to tell you what had happened. At first c00lkid wasn't aggressive, playing with his father.

The only thing that made c00lkid start to hurt them was due to c00lkid uncontrollable power. He told how c00lkid apologize for hurting him and Dusekkar, including accidentally hurting his father who tried to stop him.

And Shedletsky attacks and c00lkid is mad.

"What.. Made you hate them so much?" He paused and you fear you might've touched a sensitive topic.

"Like you, 007n7 exploits. He hacks small things like his neighborhood, then the park, before he gets to builder brothers' pizza place." "Your workplace," "My workplace."

You hum, you listen. Letting him speak about his past with 007n7, letting him ramble about his feelings, and what it made him feel. You felt bad when it was made worse when you began exploiting because when the issues with 007n7 then came c00lkid, and after that you.

"I'm sorry—" You furrowed your brows in sympathy, "I am. I truly am, I'm sorry for causing you this much stress."

"If you truly are, then you would've changed years ago, think about what you've done." He sneered, hands clenching at his sides.

"I did and you all refused to believe I've changed!" "It's hard to believe when you don't even think to apologize sooner or regret it."

Your eyebrows furrowed further, pursing your lips tight. You got nothing more to say, he's right.

"Then help me. Just let me know what kind I do as proof." He stares at you, seeing the genuine look in your furrowed eyes. He let out a deep sigh.

"Maybe you should start with Builderman. He's the one who carried the weight of your doings to his people." You nod, closing the kits.

"You should rest. We don't know when the next hell starts. Best you regain more energy, you're important to the team." He watched as you walked away, leaving him to lean against the wall of the staircase.

#lemon rambles #lemon writes #forsaken #forsaken x reader #yearning for a touch au #>tags devider<#taph #chance #elliot #007n7 #two time #dusekkar

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chimcess · 1 day ago

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

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Fucking hell. My head… Jesus Christ…

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

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

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

And then, it hit me.

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

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

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

Big mistake.

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

God help me.

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

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

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

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

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

Weirdly, it also felt kind of great.

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

Time to check on the damage.

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

“Hey, sleepyhead!” she beamed.

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

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

“I hate you.”

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

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

“Mmh.”

“That’s all I get?” I asked.

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

Fair.

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

“Sleep?” I offered.

“Silence?” Lucy tried.

“Grease-fueled breakfast burritos?”

“Nope.” Mina beamed. “Shopping.”

Lucy perked up immediately. “You said shopping?”

“Et tu, Brute?” I muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

“Not helping,” I deadpanned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday.

The word hit me like a slap.

I froze in the passenger seat.

Jungkook. The bar. Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I felt nauseous.

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

I blinked. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Out?”

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, my fate was sealed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just enough time.

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

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

She picked up on the second ring.

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

“Hi, Mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m calling you now, aren’t I?”

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

“I didn’t. It went fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The line went quiet for a moment.

“You’re being dramatic.”

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

Another pause. Heavier this time.

“Are you finished with your little tantrum?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” I said quietly.

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

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

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

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

“It’s what the doctor said.”

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

I froze.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Not yet. But I will if I have to.”

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I’m tired of not being asked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another pause. Heavy. Tense.

“Are you finished?”

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

“Y/N—”

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

“We can’t afford to wait—”

“You’re going to have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despair, maybe. Or the beginnings of it.

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

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

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

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

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

A knock at the door pulled me out of it.

I flinched. Shit. Mina.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded. “I promise.”

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

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

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

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

I swallowed. Nodded. Blinked too fast.

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

I smiled, watery but genuine. “Okay.��

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

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

Goddamn it, Emily.

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

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

Things that were mine.

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

But today, I had said the wrong thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7:53 p.m.

My chest tightened slightly.

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

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

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

I wasn’t one of those girls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was still mad at myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, I called a physical therapist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this week had been different.

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

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

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

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

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

I was mid-Scorpion when the door burst open.

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

She stopped in front of me, tilting her head.

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

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

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

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

“You’re deeply unwell,” she muttered.

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

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

“That’s debatable.”

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

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

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

I raised an eyebrow. “Promise?”

She smirked. “Mostly.”

I muttered something under my breath but headed for the shower anyway.

She was ridiculous. But she was mine.

“No way, Mina. I’m not wearing that.”

I took a step back like the sparkly T-shirt she was holding might leap off the hanger and attach itself to me against my will. Arms crossed. Voice flat. Unmoved.

Mina just blinked at me, expression somewhere between offended and amused. “Are you kidding me right now?”

I pointed at the shirt. “That thing has rhinestones.”

“It’s a team shirt,” she said, exasperated. “It’s cute. Festive. Fun.”

“It’s bedazzled.”

She held it up higher, inspecting it like I might change my mind if I saw it from another angle. “Lucy and I are both wearing one,” she said, as if that somehow made it better.

“That’s not the argument you think it is.”

Mina narrowed her eyes and thrust the shirt closer. “What exactly is your issue with this? It’s not like it’s covered in glitter. It just has the logo. With a little sparkle.”

I took another half-step back, as if distance alone could help me win this battle. “I don’t do rhinestones. Or sequins. Or things that make me look like a disco ball.”

She didn’t say anything—just stared at me, unblinking.

“What?” I asked, already suspicious.

Still nothing. Just that look.

“Mina,” I said slowly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Her lips twitched. “Because I have literal photographic proof that you both can and do wear rhinestones. I’ve seen your costumes, Y/N. You’ve basically worn a Swarovski factory on ice.”

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “That’s performance. There are spotlights. Judges. Music. I don’t wear rhinestones in real life. Ever.”

“Okay, well,” she said, shoving the shirt into my hands, “tonight’s not ‘real life.’ It’s Girls’ Night Out, Game Edition.”

I frowned down at the shirt. It was… less offensive than I’d thought. Fitted, soft cotton, with the Red Wings logo in the center—outlined in delicate red crystals. Just enough to catch the light. Still unnecessary, but not as aggressive as it could’ve been.

I sighed. “Fine. But I’m wearing jeans.”

“Obviously.”

“And comfortable shoes. Like, ones I can walk in.”

She looked like she wanted to argue but thought better of it. “Okay.”

“And a hat.”

That made her pause. “A hat?”

“Yup. Baseball cap. Something to offset the sparkle situation.”

Mina groaned, dragging her hand down her face. “You’re ruining the vibe.”

“These are my terms. You want me in rhinestones, I get to negotiate.”

She huffed but nodded. “Fine. Can I at least pick the hat?”

“If you or Lucy have a team cap, I’ll wear that. But I’m not going full glam at a hockey game, Mina. I draw the line at lashes.”

She vanished into her room, muttering something about “fashion heathens,” and came back a minute later holding out a simple red cap. It had the Red Wings logo stitched across the front—no sparkles, no fuss.

“This is the best I can do. It’s Lucy’s. Taehyung gave it to her.”

I took it like it was a precious object. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Mina gave the shirt a wistful glance. “If you’re going to sabotage a perfectly coordinated outfit with that thing, can I please do your makeup? Minimal. I promise.”

I gave her a skeptical look.

She held up both hands. “Swear on my favorite heels.”

I hesitated. “No glitter. No false lashes. No contouring wizardry.”

“Done. You won’t even know it’s there.”

“I better not.”

Mina grinned like she’d just won a court case. “You’re going to look so good.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the bathroom. “I already do.”

“You’re damn right you do,” she called after me.

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and ready—hair still a little damp at the ends but tucked neatly through the back of the Red Wings cap, falling in a low ponytail down my back. The makeup Mina had insisted on was surprisingly understated. True to her word, she kept it simple—just a swipe of mascara, a little eyeliner, and lip gloss that tasted faintly of mint.

It felt nice. Comfortable. Not like I was trying to be someone else. For once, I actually looked like... me. Just a slightly glammed-up version.

Mina had run back to her apartment to finish getting ready and track down Lucy. Meanwhile, I sat on the edge of the couch and laced up my new combat boots, tugging the laces tight and double-knotting them for good measure. Easily my best impulse buy in weeks—soft leather, good tread, no break-in time. They were already giving my Converse a run for their money.

When I knocked on Mina and Lucy’s door a few minutes later, I could hear the familiar chaos unfolding on the other side. Music blasting from somewhere in the back, a hairdryer whirring at full volume, and Mina’s voice rising above it all in a tone that sounded both panicked and bossy.

“Come in, Y/N!” Lucy shouted.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Lucy was balancing on the arm of the couch, zipping up a pair of knee-high black boots like it was the most normal thing in the world. Her hair was done in soft waves, and her lips were already painted a glossy cherry red. She looked completely unbothered.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey! Mina’s almost ready. She claims she needs fifteen more minutes, but I’m betting on five. She’s freakishly efficient when she’s running late.”

As if on cue, the hairdryer cut off mid-whine, and Mina burst out of her room thirty seconds later like she’d been summoned by name. She was fully dressed, makeup flawless, hair curled and pinned back with surgical precision. Not even a trace of rushed energy left on her face. She looked—of course—like she’d spent hours getting ready, not five frantic minutes.

And I had to admit, she wasn’t exaggerating when she said they were wearing the same thing as me. The shirts were clearly part of the same sparkly set—Lucy and Mina in the red versions, mine in white. Theirs had deeper necklines and sleeves that barely qualified as sleeves, but it was definitely a coordinated look. At least they’d had the foresight to bring jackets, slung casually over the backs of dining chairs.

January in Michigan wasn’t exactly crop-top weather, especially in an ice rink. I felt cold just looking at them.

From the waist down, though, we might as well have been triplets—skinny denim and black boots all around. Theirs had heels. Mine didn’t. No regrets.

Mina gave me a once-over and grinned. “Look at us. We’re unintentionally aesthetic.”

“Speak for yourself,” I muttered, adjusting my hat.

Lucy winked. “You look great, Y/N. The hat works.”

“Thank you. I fought hard for it.”

“She did,” Mina admitted, grabbing her coat. “It was a whole diplomatic negotiation. Rhinestones for headgear. A fair compromise.”

“I still say you could’ve worn a little red lipstick,” Mina added, eyeing me as she slipped into her leather jacket.

“Let’s not push our luck.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Fine. No more beauty interventions tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” she amended, “none that you’ll notice.”

Lucy snorted. “Shall we?”

Mina threw open the door with a flourish, stepping aside like a maître d’ ushering us into a five-star restaurant instead of the apartment hallway.

“Ladies,” she said, “to the rink.”

We stepped out into the hallway, our laughter still echoing behind us like static warmth. The air outside was biting, sharp enough to make our cheeks sting the moment we hit the curb, but none of us flinched. We were too wrapped up in our own excitement—or maybe just too proud to admit how freezing it actually was.

We ordered an Uber to Little Caesars Arena. It wasn’t far—maybe ten minutes in normal traffic—but walking was out of the question. It was January in Michigan, and the temperature had dipped below “maybe doable” hours ago. Plus, Mina mentioned we might meet up with the guys after the game, depending on how it all went. If the team won, there’d be celebrating. If they lost... well, probably still drinks. Either way, none of us felt like navigating parking or arguing over who was going to be the designated driver.

They had a rhythm to these nights, a system honed by habit. I was just tagging along, a guest in someone else’s tradition, but somehow it didn’t feel that way.

By the time our car pulled up to the arena, the place was buzzing. Packed. Everywhere I looked was a blur of red and white and flashes of green from the opposing team’s fanbase. People in beanies and face paint, scarves with player numbers, kids wrapped in oversized jerseys. There was this pulsing energy in the air—familiar, in a way that caught me off guard. It wasn’t unlike the adrenaline of a competition, that low hum of anticipation before something big.

We moved through the crowd slowly, shoulder to shoulder, the three of us keeping close as we made our way toward the entrance. I started noticing names on the backs of jerseys: Jeon. Park. T. Jeon. It stopped me for a second. I don’t know why it surprised me—of course people wore their names. They were professional athletes, fan favorites.

Still, it was surreal seeing those names on strangers. On kids. On grown men with plastic cups of beer. It made it real in a way I hadn’t felt before.

Once our tickets were scanned, Mina and Lucy linked arms with me and pulled me deeper into the chaos. It was like being swept into a current of red jerseys and foam fingers and the unmistakable scent of stadium nachos.

“There they are,” Mina said, pointing ahead as we finally broke free from the crowd bottlenecking at the escalators.

I followed her gaze and spotted Suho standing near one of the tunnels, talking to a woman I hadn’t seen before. She was tiny and elegant, waving wildly when she saw us.

Before I could even register what was happening, Mina took off at a near sprint.

“Wait—Mina!” I called, but she was already gone, weaving through the crowd like it was second nature. Lucy and I shared a look before jogging after her, laughing under our breath like we were chasing a runaway cart at the grocery store.

By the time we caught up, Mina was wrapped around both of them in a three-person hug that looked more like a reunion scene from a family holiday than a quick hello at a hockey game.

Lucy slipped in easily, wrapping the woman in a warm hug before turning to Suho with a mischievous smirk that suggested some long-running inside joke. He laughed, shaking his head, like this was all part of the usual chaos.

I hovered awkwardly at the edge, unsure if I should step in or wait to be pulled.

Suho turned to me, his smile as easy and genuine as I remembered. “Y/N,” he said, his voice warm. “Glad you made it.”

And then—without hesitation—he pulled me into a hug.

I froze for half a beat, not because I minded, but because I hadn’t expected it. It took me a second longer than it should’ve to hug him back, my brain briefly short-circuiting at the casual intimacy of it all.

“Yeah, uh—good to see you, too, Suho,” I mumbled, awkwardly patting his back before pulling away.

He gestured to the woman beside him. “This is my wife, Yuri.”

I turned to her and immediately felt the need to stand up straighter. Yuri was stunning—not in a showy, flashy kind of way, but in that quiet, Old Hollywood way that made you wonder if she’d stepped off the set of a black-and-white movie. Her features were soft, her hair styled in loose waves that looked like they’d fall apart if you touched them but somehow never did. Her eyes, warm and almond-shaped, reminded me of Mina’s—just a little lighter, a little softer. The family resemblance was obvious, but Yuri had her own gravity.

She smiled as she stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug, too—short, warm, completely genuine.

“Honey, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said. Her voice was smooth, like she’d spent a lifetime hosting dinners and knowing exactly what to say to make someone feel welcome. “Suho and Mina have both told me such lovely things. And Taehyung, of course.”

I blinked, surprised. “Oh—um. Thank you.”

What had they said?

She smiled again, like she knew exactly what I was thinking. “Sit next to me during the game, won’t you? I’d love a chance to get to know you myself, since the rest of my family seems to have already adopted you.”

“Oh—sure,” I stammered. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Perfect.” She linked her arm through Suho’s like it was second nature. “Let’s head in before warm-ups. Suho gets antsy when he misses them.”

He grinned and kissed the top of her head like he’d been doing it for years. No performance. No pageantry. Just muscle memory. Love, distilled.

Mina and Lucy darted ahead, already arguing playfully about snacks—something involving nachos and an aggressive popcorn strategy—while I lingered for just a moment longer, my eyes following Suho and Yuri as they walked ahead, hand in hand.

It wasn’t anything flashy. There were no grand gestures or public displays of affection. Just... ease. The way Suho leaned in when she spoke. The quiet way she smiled up at him. The natural way her fingers found his, without looking.

There was something about it that stuck with me. Not just the love—they obviously had that—but something steadier underneath it. Something that felt like friendship, and history, and the kind of trust that only time could build.

They didn’t just love each other.

They still liked each other.

And maybe that was what I envied most. The simplicity of it. The comfort of knowing someone would reach for your hand, and that your own would already be halfway there.

I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Y/N! Let’s go!” Mina called over her shoulder, waving me forward with exaggerated urgency.

I snapped out of my thoughts and hurried after her, slipping into the tunnel that opened into the heart of the arena. The moment we stepped inside, the sound hit me like a wave. Loud. Electric. Alive. Fans talking, laughing, shouting from every direction. The game was still half an hour away, but the place was already buzzing with anticipation.

We emerged into the main bowl of the stadium, the rink stretching out below us in all its sharp, glittering brightness. The ice gleamed beneath the overhead lights, impossibly clean, like glass waiting to be broken.

Something twisted in my chest.

It was beautiful. Familiar. And hard to look at.

I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d seen a rink from the stands. Usually I was on the other side of the boards, lacing up, blocking out the noise. But from up here, it was different. A stage. A memory.

I felt something ache in my knee—a quiet reminder. I wasn’t out there anymore.

Before the thought could spiral, someone jostled me from behind. I muttered an apology and stumbled down toward our row, letting the crowd pull me forward.

When I reached Mina, I offered a weak smile. “No suite tonight?”

She laughed as she took her seat. “We’ve done it before, but Yuri likes to be in the thick of it. Says it makes her feel like part of the team.”

I had to admit, the view was incredible. We were only a few rows from the glass, right at center ice. Close enough to see every stride, every shift in momentum, every crash against the boards. I settled in between Mina and Yuri, with Suho on the aisle.

“This your first hockey game?” Yuri asked, leaning in slightly.

“Yeah,” I said. “First one in person, anyway.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s fast, it’s messy, and the energy is completely addictive.”

I smiled. There was something about her—genuine and warm and disarming. Like she’d known you forever, even if you’d just met.

Mina turned around in her seat and nudged Lucy. “Snack run?”

Lucy gave a solemn nod. “Popcorn. Nachos. Gatorade for Taehyung. You two want anything?”

“Just water for me,” Yuri replied.

“I’m good,” I added quickly.

Mina narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

I was absolutely getting popcorn whether I asked for it or not.

Once they disappeared into the crowd, Yuri turned to me again, folding her hands in her lap. “Mina mentioned you lived in Michigan before?”

“Yeah. I grew up here for a little while. My mom and I moved away after the divorce.”

Her face softened. “That must’ve been difficult.”

I nodded. “It was a lot, but I was pretty young. I think it was harder on my dad. He’s in Washington now, and my mom’s still out in Nevada.”

“Quite the climate change,” she said with a laugh.

“I forgot how cold it gets here. But honestly? I kind of like it. The city, the seasons. It’s big enough to feel alive but small enough that I don’t feel swallowed by it.”

“That’s how Mina always describes it. She says it’s the kind of place where you can breathe.”

I smiled. “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

“And you’re settling in okay?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. Mina and Lucy have been amazing. Jimin and Taehyung helped me move in—they even assembled my IKEA furniture, which I’m pretty sure qualifies them for sainthood.”

She laughed. “They really are something, aren’t they? Jimin and Leera have been so good for Mina and Tae. You know, as a mother, there’s nothing more comforting than watching your children be loved the way they deserve to be.”

I nodded. “From what I’ve seen, they’re really happy.”

“They are,” she said, and then paused, her smile dimming just slightly. “I just wish my youngest would find something like that.”

I tilted my head. “Jungkook?”

She nodded. “He’s not like the other two. He’s quieter. He keeps to himself. Doesn’t thrive in the spotlight the same way.”

“People expect him to be a certain way, don’t they?” I said quietly. “Because of the name. The job. The attention.”

“They expect a celebrity,” she said, her voice gentle but certain. “But that’s not who he is. He’s a homebody. He’s thoughtful. He’d rather spend a quiet night in than be photographed at some fancy event. And not everyone understands that. Especially not the women he meets.”

I considered that for a moment. “That doesn’t surprise me. The life of a professional athlete isn’t glamorous, not really. The work is exhausting. The pressure’s constant. And the personal part—the real part—usually gets lost in the noise.”

Yuri looked at me then, really looked. Like she was seeing more than I realized I’d offered. After a moment, she smiled again. “It’s refreshing to hear that from someone your age.”

I ducked my head, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I guess I’ve been around it long enough to know.”

She hesitated, then reached out and gently tapped my knee—the one still wrapped under my jeans, stiff but healing. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but... I’ve admired you for a long time.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“I’m sure you hear it all the time, but you’re a beautiful skater. Graceful. Powerful. You have that rare thing—presence. I remember watching your last Olympic free skate. Mina cried during Clair de Lune, though she’ll deny it. And Suho made the boys watch it on replay. Twice.”

I laughed, startled and genuinely touched. “That’s... really kind of you. Thank you. Especially now.”

Yuri gave my knee a soft pat, her expression tender. “If it’s meant to be, it will be. I believe that. But even if it isn’t—even if the road ahead doesn’t look like the one you planned—you’ll still find your way.”

Her words hit deeper than I expected, sinking into that quiet part of me I tried not to look at too often. And before I could stop myself, the fear I’d been holding back, tightly wound and buried deep, finally slipped out.

“What if I’m not meant to be on the ice anymore?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “What if I already had my moment and I just... haven’t accepted that it’s over?”

Yuri didn’t blink. She didn’t give me a soft platitude or a well-rehearsed response. She just looked at me with that same calm steadiness, the kind of gaze that came from years of seeing people exactly as they were.

“Then you’ll find the next thing,” she said gently. “The next version of yourself. And it will be just as extraordinary.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how much I needed someone to say that—and how much I believed her when she did.

“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted, the words so raw they felt foreign on my tongue.

Yuri reached out and lifted my chin, her smile slow and sure. “You will. You’re stronger than you realize, Y/N. Most of the remarkable women I know didn’t see their strength until they had no choice but to use it.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just nodded, the lump in my throat growing too tight for words.

Before either of us could say more, Mina and Lucy came clomping down the row, balancing snacks and drinks like circus performers. Mina slid a massive soda into the cupholder beside me and dropped a salted pretzel into my lap like it was a peace offering.

I looked down at the buttery, salt-covered spiral, then up at her with a wry smile. “You’re a menace.”

“Say thank you, menace,” Mina corrected, grinning as she tore open a wrapper around a hot dog. “You looked like you needed carbs and sodium.”

“You’re a bad influence,” I mumbled through a bite. “At this rate, I’ll be a blimp by the time I’m cleared to jump again.”

Mina waved off the comment like it was absurd. “You’re tiny. If anything, this pretzel might save your life. Besides, it’s a hockey game. This is sacred junk food territory.”

“You’ll burn it off with your freakish acrobatic talent,” Lucy added, already halfway through her nachos. “It’s like your body eats physics for breakfast.”

I laughed, and for a moment, I let myself relax. The pretzel was warm, soft in the middle, perfectly salty. The crowd’s energy was rising, a low hum turning into a collective buzz. A sudden roar of cheers echoed across the arena as the players began skating out for warm-ups, and I glanced down at the rink, the lights bouncing off the fresh sheet of ice.

That sound—the scrape of blades, the thud of pucks against the boards, the crackle of movement—sent something humming through my chest. Not quite longing, but close. Something like recognition. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until it was right in front of me.

Lucy and Mina were already waving and whistling, calling out through cupped hands like they were trying to make themselves heard over the whole stadium. “There’s Jimin! And Taehyung! Look at number six skate—God, I love him,” Mina gushed.

Suho leaned forward, forearms on his knees, watching the players like he was studying film. He didn’t cheer. Didn’t shout. He just watched—quiet, focused, analyzing every move with the calm of someone who understood more than he said.

Yuri nudged me with her elbow, lowering her voice. “You won’t get a word out of him now. He’ll be like this the rest of the night. Afterward, he’ll give the boys a play-by-play like he’s their coach.”

“He’s never played?” I asked, surprised.

“Not once,” she said, smiling. “He’s always loved it, though. When the kids were little, he got obsessed with stats and strategies. Started a betting ring in college, if you can believe it. All math and odds. Got into some trouble with campus security.”

I blinked. “Suho? Quiet, dignified Suho?”

Yuri laughed, a rich, warm sound. “Oh, the stories I could tell you. It’s always the quiet ones, Y/N. They’ve got more going on under the surface than they let on.”

I smiled, turning my gaze back to the rink. Players were moving into drills now, sending pucks flying at the net. My eyes swept the ice—recognizing Taehyung’s long stride, Jimin’s low, smooth turns—and then paused when I caught sight of a figure skating toward the blue line. Fast, clean, low to the ice, stickhandling like the puck was magnetized to his blade.

Number ten. J. Jeon.

He stopped, lined up for a shot, and launched the puck into the top corner of the net with practiced ease. And then he turned. The helmet and face guard obscured most of his features, but the moment I saw him clearly, the breath caught in my throat.

It was him.

It took a full second for my brain to catch up to what my eyes already knew. But once it did, the realization crashed into me like a slap of cold air.

That wasn’t just any player. That was Jungkook. The guy from the airport. The one who’d helped with my bags. Who made me laugh. Who looked at me like I was something unexpected. And now, here he was. In full gear. Warming up for a professional hockey game. Wearing his name on his back.

It all came together—the Tuesday night plans, the way Mina talked about her “other brother,” how she said he was quieter, more private. His name. His eyes. Her eyes. How hadn’t I seen it before?

My Jungkook—if I could even call him that—was Mina’s brother.

Panic bloomed in my chest. My palms went sweaty.

I clamped my mouth shut the second I realized it had fallen open. My jaw clicked as it snapped back into place, and I turned to Mina, doing my best to look like I wasn’t in the middle of a low-key identity crisis. She didn’t notice. Too busy elbowing Lucy, eyes shining as she pointed toward number ten on the ice.

“That’s him,” she said, nodding toward the player skating backward across center ice. “Jungkook. You’ll meet him after the game.”

I made a sound in response. Not a word—just a raw, vaguely human noise that might have meant “cool” or “kill me now.” Hard to say.

Inside, though? I was spiraling.

Because I’d ghosted him.

Not flaked. Not rescheduled. Not offered any excuse. I just... didn’t show. No text. No call. Nothing. One minute we were supposed to meet up, and the next I had vanished like smoke. And now, here I was, standing with his sister, about to be formally introduced like none of that had ever happened.

My fingers tightened around the half-eaten pretzel in my hand. I couldn’t feel my legs. My stomach felt like it had been replaced with a washing machine mid-spin cycle. Part of me wanted to sink into the crowd, duck under the seats and disappear into the concrete underbelly of the arena. The other part—the reckless, traitorous part—was already wondering if he’d remember me.

If he’d been thinking about me.

If he’d cared that I didn’t show up.

Mina, blissfully unaware of the internal meltdown unfolding just a few inches to her right, leaned in. “You’ll have to excuse him if he’s a little... off. He’s been weird lately. Not really himself.”

Yuri nodded, her expression creased with genuine concern. “He usually opens up to me when something’s bothering him, but lately he’s just been... I don’t know. Distant.”

“He’s a total mama’s boy,” Mina added with a casual shrug. “Usually you can read him like a picture book. Lately? Not so much.”

Yuri shot her a look, half scolding, half amused. “Mina Lynn, be nice. You know Jungkook feels things deeply. He doesn’t bounce back the way you or Taehyung do. He carries it all.”

“He’s been carrying something, that’s for sure,” Lucy chimed in, eyes flicking to the ice, where Taehyung executed a smooth turn. “My guess? Girl trouble.”

My heart lurched in my chest like someone had yanked it with a string.

“Why do you say that?” Yuri asked.

I sank lower into my seat, wishing the brim of my hat could somehow collapse over my entire face like a cartoon character.

“He was jumpy at the bar last week,” Lucy said. “Kept looking at the door like he was waiting for someone. Wouldn’t sit still. He was fidgeting with his hair nonstop, and by the end of the night, he was doing that thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose and stares at nothing. Classic broody Jungkook.”

Mina frowned. “I would know if he met someone. He tells me everything.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Lucy said with a smirk. “You’re not omniscient. Maybe he didn’t tell you because it didn’t go the way he hoped.”

Her words echoed in my chest, knocking loose the secret I’d buried: what if it was about me?

What if he’d been waiting for me at the bar?

What if he’d been hurt?

The idea hit like a punch. I shoved it aside, unwilling to let myself fall down that particular rabbit hole. It was too neat, too perfect, too... hopeful. But hope, cruel and persistent, clung like static.

And then Jungkook looked up.

Our eyes met through the glass, and the noise of the arena vanished. The roar of the crowd, the clack of skates, even Mina’s voice—all of it faded into a dense, ringing silence.

His gaze locked on mine. Electric. Steady. Like he knew exactly who I was.

I forgot how to breathe.

Should I wave? Smile? Look away? My limbs wouldn’t cooperate, my body frozen in place while my pulse pounded like a drumbeat in my ears. The air felt too thick to swallow.

Then someone stepped in front of me, and the moment shattered. Sound came crashing back. The crowd, the music, the sharp buzz of an overhead speaker—it all returned in a rush. Jungkook was still looking in our direction, but Taehyung had joined him now, nudging him playfully. Jungkook laughed, shoving him back, but his eyes... his eyes didn’t stray far from mine.

“He’s cute, right?” Mina said suddenly, jarring me back to reality. I jumped, nearly spilling my drink as I blinked up at her.

“What?” I managed, trying for nonchalance and failing spectacularly.

“Jungkook,” she said with a grin. “You think he’s cute.”

“Uh... yeah. Sure,” I said, fumbling for words. “I guess.”

“Don’t ‘I guess’ me, Y/N.” She narrowed her eyes, her grin turning sly. “You’re blushing. Even under that tragic hat.”

I tugged the brim lower, wishing it could hide more than my cheeks. “You’re imagining things.”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “I can practically see the butterflies flapping around in your stomach. He’s got you twisted.”

I scoffed, mostly to cover the truth. “Other girls are staring too. You said it yourself—he’s cute. It’s not a crime.”

“Sure,” Mina said, nodding. “But he’s not looking at them.”

That pulled me up short.

I turned slowly, heart lodged in my throat.

Jungkook was still watching. Just a flicker of a glance, a subtle tilt of the head—but enough. Enough to feel it in my bones. His expression shifted when our eyes met again. That same crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted one gloved hand in a wave—small, almost secret, just for me.

I couldn’t help it. I waved back.

My hand trembled.

And I was smiling. Helplessly, stupidly, completely. Like someone had cracked me open and poured sunlight inside.

The buzzer blared—sharp, jarring—and Jungkook skated toward the bench, his strides fluid and purposeful. The rest of the team trailed behind, sticks tapping against the ice, helmets glinting under the overhead lights. But just before Jungkook disappeared into the tunnel, he turned.

And looked straight at me.

My breath caught. Just a second. That’s all it was. But it felt like something opened and closed in my chest, like the moment had hooked into me.

“Ahem.” Mina’s voice was louder than necessary, and I flinched, tearing my eyes away from the ice. When I turned, she was already watching me with a smug little smirk, eyebrows raised like she’d just caught me sneaking out of someone’s bedroom.

“Really subtle,” she whispered, nudging Lucy as she leaned in, and the two of them exchanged a look.

I’d get an ear full from them later.

I ducked behind my drink, hoping it was tall enough to hide behind. My cheeks were on fire. Yuri was talking to me—something about a coffee shop near the bookstore she liked—but it was hard to focus. Everything around me felt loud, too sharp, like someone had cranked the volume on life itself.

The Zamboni swept slowly across the ice, trailing glistening water behind it like a brush over glass. Lights dimmed overhead, throwing the arena into near darkness. Then a pulse of sound hit—hard rock blaring from the speakers, pounding out a rhythm that made my ribs vibrate. On the jumbotron, a montage of last week’s goals lit up the screen, bodies slamming against the boards, fists in the air, helmets flung off in celebration.

The crowd roared, and I couldn’t help but be swept up in it, the excitement crashing over me like waves.

Then the music shifted—louder, sharper, something anthemic and aggressive. A kid skated out onto the freshly smoothed rink, no older than eight, grinning from ear to ear as he planted the team’s flag at center ice like it was a mission from God. The crowd clapped in unison. It was the kind of moment that sent chills up your spine, even if you didn’t know a single thing about hockey.

“Okay, Michigan, on your feet!” the announcer shouted, and like a switch had been flipped, the arena erupted. Everyone stood, stomping and cheering like they were trying to shake the walls. Lucy grabbed my hand and yanked me up with her.

“Here they come: your Michigan Red Wings!”

A foghorn wailed, and the team poured onto the ice like they were shot from a cannon—jerseys flying, blades slicing the rink with brutal precision. It was chaos in motion, and my heart was hammering against my ribs like it was trying to keep up.

“Let’s meet your starting lineup!”

Jimin’s name was called first for defense. A roar went up around us—Mina and Yuri whooped like proud sisters.

Then: “Starting at center... number ten... Jungkook Jeon!”

The sound that followed could’ve lifted the roof off. I swear, I felt it in my teeth.

And maybe I imagined it, or maybe I just wanted to believe it, but in that split-second before lining up with the others, Jungkook’s eyes flicked our way.

No—my way.

The national anthem began, sung by a woman with a haunting voice that carried through the rafters. Jungkook stood at center ice, head slightly bowed, eyes on the flag, but every few seconds, he’d glance over—quick, barely there. But I felt it every time. Like a thread tugging me forward.

When the final note echoed into silence, the players fanned out, readying for face-off.

Jungkook crouched into position, tense and coiled. It was like watching a panther mid-prowl. My breath stalled as the puck dropped.

And the game was on.

Suddenly it was all motion—bodies crashing, pucks slapping, the sharp staccato of skates carving through ice. Mina and Lucy shouted with every pass, every hit, while Yuri surprised me by turning into a tiny coach, yelling strategy like the players could actually hear her from the stands.

Suho sat motionless, his arms crossed, but I saw the twitch in his jaw every time the puck changed hands.

I tried to keep up, clapping and nodding when Mina pointed things out. But my attention kept drifting.

To him.

Jungkook moved like nothing I’d ever seen—fast, sharp, almost too fluid for the violence of the game. It wasn’t soft, not in the slightest. He was like a controlled burn. Raw power, tightly wound.

And then it happened again.

He looked at me.

A quick glance. Barely more than a beat. But it was real. Direct. My stomach flipped like I’d gone down a drop on a roller coaster.

“What the hell is his problem?” Mina said beside me, her voice low and annoyed.

“What?” I said, trying to act casual and failing miserably.

She tilted her chin toward the ice. “Jungkook. He’s totally off tonight.”

My heart thudded uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“He’s making stupid mistakes. Missed a clean pass, offside twice. He’s distracted.”

I looked back at the rink, just in time to see Jungkook collide hard with the boards. I flinched. So did Mina. The sound echoed.

But before I could really react, Jimin was there, helping him up, giving him a quick shove like get your head back in the game.

Jungkook’s face was tight, jaw clenched. He shook it off and shot up the ice like he was running from something—or toward it.

Seconds later, he had the puck.

He faked left, cut right, and fired off a shot so clean and fast that it stunned the goalie. The puck slammed into the net with a thud, and for a beat, the arena paused.

Then it exploded.

I jumped up, hands in the air, screaming with everyone else, heart in my throat. The energy surged through me like lightning. It wasn’t just watching him score. It was something else entirely. Something electric.

His teammates tackled him in celebration, gloves slapping his helmet—but even through the chaos, Jungkook found me.

That grin—the one he’d given me the first night we met—spread across his face.

It was a little cocky. A little wild. And unmistakably his.

I grinned back, caught up in it, feeling ridiculous and elated and totally alive.

The energy in the arena didn’t dip—not for a second. The score bounced back and forth like a rubber band stretched too tight, snapping between teams, each goal setting off another eruption of cheers or groans. It was relentless. Bodies collided against the glass, sticks clashed like weapons, and the puck zipped across the ice with a kind of ruthless intent.

And Jungkook—he was everywhere.

He wasn’t just skating. He was commanding. Scoring, assisting, checking players so cleanly it looked choreographed. There was this sharpness to him tonight, something fiery, coiled just beneath the surface. He didn’t just play the game.

He took it.

Next to me, Lucy was mid-sentence—something about icing and neutral zones—when suddenly the crowd gasped. Everything shifted.

Taehyung had just been slammed, hard, into the boards.

The hit came out of nowhere—cheap, unnecessary. I didn’t even catch the number of the player who did it. Just the crunch of contact and the way Taehyung’s head snapped back before he crumpled slightly against the glass.

Leera let out a sharp gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.

Yuri erupted. She shot to her feet like a rocket, voice slicing through the sea of boos like it had been building in her chest all night.

“Are you serious, Ref? That’s cross-checking! Are you blind, or just incompetent?”

I blinked. Hard. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I should be laughing or ducking for cover. People in the rows ahead of us actually turned around. One guy raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed.

But Yuri wasn’t embarrassed. Not even a little. Her eyes were locked on the ice, jaw set.

Mina leaned toward me, barely holding in her laughter. “Don’t mess with Mama Bear’s cubs,” she whispered.

I laughed—more from nerves than anything—but I didn’t disagree. Yuri had snapped, and it was kind of amazing to watch. She sat back down eventually, her arms crossed tightly, muttering under her breath about suspension-worthy hits.

“That guy should be in the box,” she said, still fuming. “Total garbage hit. The league’s gonna review that. Mark my words.”

“She’s right,” Lucy added, eyes tracking the puck again. “But Taehyung’s not the type to forget. Just wait.”

And sure enough, we didn’t have to wait long.

Barely a minute left in the period when the same opposing player who’d hit him skated by again, puck on his stick, skating just a little too casual. Taehyung spotted him and moved in fast—silent, deliberate. Then—bam. He slammed into the guy with a precision check that knocked the wind out of the whole section. The crowd roared. I winced, but there was something deeply satisfying about it.

Taehyung scooped the puck before the guy even hit the ice and flew down the rink. One crisp pass to the left, a teammate picked it up, and the puck was in the net before the other team knew what had hit them.

The place exploded.

It was chaos. Mina was yelling, Lucy was on her feet. I was clapping before I even realized it, adrenaline buzzing through me like I’d scored the goal myself. Taehyung didn’t celebrate much—just a quick nod—but the fire in his eyes said everything. That wasn’t just a play.

That was payback.

By the time the third period rolled around, I could hardly sit still. Every time Jungkook took the ice, my heart jumped. He was unstoppable now. His third goal slid into the net like it had always belonged there. A hat trick.

The crowd lost their minds. I could barely hear myself think over the screaming.

But when I turned to Mina, she just rolled her eyes and gave me a dry look.

“What?” I asked, still a little breathless from cheering.

She tilted her head. “He’s showing off.”

I raised a brow. “You mean... playing well?”

“I mean, first period? He was all over the place. Off his game. Now he’s practically leading the league. He doesn’t usually pull a hat trick out of nowhere. He’s good, yeah, but this? This is... weird.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a shrug. “Weird.”

But I knew. Or at least—I thought I did.

Every time he’d messed up earlier, he’d glanced in my direction. Like the mistake burned a hole through him, and he was trying to recalibrate. Refocus. I understood that. I’d been there—in skating, in auditions. When I blew a jump or missed a step, I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head until I made up for it. Maybe Jungkook was like that. Maybe he needed the mistake to flip the switch.

Or maybe it was more personal than that.

The final minutes ticked down, the Red Wings holding the lead, and by the time the buzzer sounded, the arena was still buzzing—shouts and laughter and post-game commentary echoing all around us. The team saluted the crowd before skating off toward the tunnel. The lights started to come back on full strength, brighter now, revealing the emptying seats and discarded popcorn boxes. But the energy still lingered, like the game had left its mark on the air itself.

Suho finally blinked, coming back to life. “Good game,” he said with a half-smile, high-fiving Yuri as they both stood.

“Proud of them,” she said simply, eyes still scanning the ice.

We lingered, chatting in that soft, warm haze after something exciting ends. No one seemed in a rush to leave. Eventually, Mina and Lucy filled me in—there was a post-game hangout planned at some local place the guys liked. They’d be going. Yuri and Suho were heading that way too.

Before they left, Yuri surprised me by hugging me—not a polite, surface-level thing, but a real one. Like she’d decided I was in.

“We should grab coffee sometime,” she said as she pulled away, her voice low but genuine.

I didn’t even hesitate. “I’d love that.”

It wasn’t just small talk. I meant it. There was something solid about Yuri. No nonsense. No posturing.

And then... they were gone.

I sat back in my seat, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the game. Mina and Lucy were still there beside me, chatting about the bar’s playlist and which players were most fun to go out with, but I was barely hearing them. I was nodding when I was supposed to, giving vague smiles, the occasional “Mm-hmm.”

But my focus was gone. Completely hijacked.

I was scanning the arena like I’d lost something—no, someone. My nerves buzzed under my skin like static. I kept smoothing down my jacket, shifting in my seat like maybe if I got comfortable enough, I’d stop feeling like my insides were tap-dancing.

And then I noticed it.

The way Mina and Lucy kept leaning into each other, whispering, casting glances my way with matching grins. They knew. They definitely knew. And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to crawl under my seat... or run straight into whatever was coming next.

Somewhere across the arena, I heard it—loud, playful, and entirely unmissable.

“Newbie!”

Taehyung.

My heart jumped before my brain even registered the sound. I turned just in time to see him barreling toward me like a one-man stampede. He didn’t slow down—not even a little—before sweeping me into a hug that lifted my feet clean off the ground.

“Hi, Taehyung,” I wheezed, ribs protesting as he crushed me to his chest.

“Missed you too,” he grinned, finally setting me down with a little bounce like I was made of air.

He stepped back, surveying me with his usual mischievous glint. “Flying solo tonight? What happened to the flyboys?”

“Retired,” I said dryly, brushing hair out of my face. “Hopefully for good.”

He gave a satisfied nod, all dramatic approval. “Excellent. Now I can throw you around without anyone getting jealous.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. “Mina doesn’t let you do that?”

“She bites,” he said, deadpan.

“Damn right I do,” Mina chimed in, suddenly appearing beside me with Lucy right on her heels. “You learn survival skills when you grow up with a human golden retriever for a brother.”

“Squirt, you wound me,” Taehyung said, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. Then he messed up her hair with one large hand before she could duck away.

“God, you’re the worst!” she squealed, scrambling behind Jimin, who had just strolled up looking completely unbothered, like this circus was perfectly normal.

Unfazed, Taehyung swept Lucy into a massive hug next, spinning her slightly before planting a loud kiss on her temple. She shrieked with laughter, shoving at him half-heartedly.

And then—he was just there.

Jungkook hovered behind the group, just slightly out of the spotlight, but somehow still the center of it. No gear. No helmet. Just a dark grey long-sleeve tee that clung in all the right places and jeans that looked like they’d seen a few years of good wear. His hair was damp, curling slightly around his forehead, and the scruff I’d noticed at the airport was gone, leaving his jawline sharp and freshly shaven. He looked unreal. Ridiculously good-looking in a quiet way that felt unfair.

And then he looked at me.

My stomach flipped like it had a mind of its own. I dropped my gaze too quickly, cheeks heating, and when I looked back up, he was already stepping closer.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a little rough around the edges.

“Hey,” I echoed, softer than I intended.

For a moment, it felt like the noise faded, like everything around us had dimmed and the only thing that existed was the space between us. There was something electric about it. Charged. I wanted to say I’m sorry, or I missed you, or maybe just hi, again, but none of it came out. So I just stood there, feeling my pulse skip in my throat.

And then, right on cue, Mina crashed through the silence.

“You two know each other?” she asked, glancing between us with a knowing smirk.

“Sort of,” Jungkook said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to sound casual.

“We met at the airport,” I added quickly, a little too quickly. I winced. Nice and cool, Y/N.

Mina’s eyes lit up like she’d just won something. I realized, a second too late, that I’d made a mistake. A rookie mistake.

“Ohhh,” she said in a syrupy tone, dragging out the vowel like it was laced with every ounce of teasing she could muster. “So this is your airport crush. Well, I guess I don’t need to do introductions after all!”

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

“Y/N Y/L/N, meet Jungkook Jeon—my brother,” she added with a flourish, in case I’d somehow missed the fine print on the situation.

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver. His lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh, but when he spoke again, his voice had gone softer.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he repeated, and hearing my full name in that voice did something weird to my lungs. Then he held out his hand. “Nice to finally meet you... officially.”

I slipped my hand into his, and it was like touching a live wire.

Warm. Steady. Something underneath it that made me feel like I was being pulled forward without moving.

“Nice to meet you too,” I murmured, not even bothering to hide the smile tugging at my lips. His grip was firm, but not rushed—he held on just a beat longer than he needed to, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Neither was I.

“Let’s goooo!” Jimin’s voice cut in from across the lobby, dragging us back to the real world. He had Mina piggybacking on him now, her legs swinging like it was just another Tuesday. “We’re heading out. Drinks await!”

Jungkook glanced at me. “You’re coming, right?”

There was something quiet in his voice. Not quite pleading, but definitely hopeful.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, a little breathless. “I’m in.”

We fell into step together, trailing after the others. Jimin was carrying Mina like it was no big deal, and Taehyung had one arm casually slung around Lucy’s shoulders, the two of them laughing at something I couldn’t hear.

The doors swung open ahead of us, and the night air swept in like a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It was crisp, laced with the scent of cold pavement and distant car exhaust. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest, rubbing my hands over my sleeves as we stepped out into the street.

Jungkook walked beside me, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill. We didn’t talk, not at first. We just walked. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was the kind of quiet that felt… shared. Comfortable. Like neither of us wanted to break whatever was stretching between us.

Across the intersection, a neon-green sign glowed against the stone facade of a low-slung building: The Liffey. An old-school Irish pub, all dark wood and warm light, with music spilling out through the open door like a welcome mat. Inside, it was packed. The kind of post-game crowd that buzzed with leftover adrenaline and cheap beer. People clapped the guys on the back as we made our way through, a few of them yelling out congratulations or waving phones in the air.

I stuck close behind the group, trying not to get bumped or trampled, until we reached a quieter corner table tucked away from the noise. It was one of those high-top setups with mismatched chairs and scuffed-up edges, and I was grateful for it—grateful for the bit of space, the lower volume, the chance to breathe.

The group settled instinctively into their usual pairings. Mina curled up next to Jimin, Lucy dropped into the seat beside Taehyung with an ease that came from years of practice. Which left me and Jungkook, standing next to each other in a small awkward pocket of space, unpaired and slightly out of sync.

I pretended to study the beer list scribbled on the chalkboard behind the bar, then slipped into an empty seat. Jungkook followed, dropping into the one beside me. I could feel the warmth radiating off him, even from a few inches away.

A waitress showed up moments later, barely giving us time to open our mouths before Taehyung launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed order.

I raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Jungkook, who caught my look and leaned in slightly.

“It’s a thing,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“What is?”

“The order,” he explained. “If we win, Tae orders for everyone. If we lose, we each do our own thing.”

I blinked. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Yeah. Well.” He shrugged. “Everyone copes with a loss differently.”

He gestured across the table. “Jimin drowns his in Southern Comfort. Taehyung swears by Captain and Coke. Says the sugar makes him ‘funny again.’”

“Is he not always funny?” I asked, smirking.

“Oh, he thinks he’s hilarious,” Jungkook replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But he once tried to reenact a cologne commercial after three of those things and ended up falling through a folding chair.”

I laughed, the image too vivid to resist.

“What about you?” I asked.

Before he could answer, Taehyung piped up from across the table. “Jungkook loves the girly drinks.”

Jungkook let out a groan, shooting him a withering look. “Seriously?”

“One strawberry daiquiri,” Taehyung declared proudly. “One! And he sipped it like it was a damn mimosa at a garden party.”

“It was summer,” Jungkook said, shaking his head. “And it was delicious.”

I raised a brow, fighting a smile. “You don’t strike me as a strawberry daiquiri guy.”

“Don’t let the muscles fool you,” he said, his voice quiet but playful. “I have layers.”

“You’re like an alcoholic parfait,” I said before I could stop myself, and then immediately wished I hadn’t.

But Jungkook laughed—an easy, genuine sound that made something flutter just beneath my ribs.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was still going. “You know he once called it refreshing? Like a damn spa day.”

“Remind me again why I’m still friends with you,” Jungkook muttered, batting away Taehyung’s hand as it reached over to muss his hair.

“You’ve tried to quit me, Kookie. It never sticks.”

Across the table, Mina sighed dramatically. “Can we not start this again? It’s been three hours since your last fake breakup.”

“Three and a half,” Lucy chimed in, sipping her water. “I’m keeping track.”

Just then, the waitress returned with a tray of drinks—pints of Guinness, each topped with a thick, creamy head. She slid one in front of me and I blinked at it like it might bite.

I hesitated. “So… this is the famous Guinness?”

“Never had it?” Taehyung asked, eyes widening like I’d confessed to never seeing snow.

“Nope.”

He gasped in mock horror. “Y/L/N. I expected better from you.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Mina added, rescuing me. “Don’t listen to him. It’s bitter as hell.”

Taehyung placed a hand over his heart. “It’s smooth. And rich. And sacred.”

“It’s beer,” Jungkook added, a little more practically. “Irish beer.”

“And I’m Irish,” Taehyung said in a terrible accent. “Green as the hills of Galway, lass.”

“You’re a quarter Irish,” Mina cut in, unimpressed. “Maybe. And I think Dad’s side cancels it out.”

“The only part that counts is the part that drinks,” Taehyung declared as he raised his glass.

Lucy joined in with an accent even worse than his. “Shall we raise a glass, boyos?”

Taehyung looked personally offended. “Please never do that again.”

“Oh, I will,” she grinned. “Especially after two of these.”

The conversation buzzed around us like static—snappy, familiar, full of half-teasing jabs and deep belly laughs. Jimin was leaning back in his seat, smirking as he egged Taehyung on about something that had happened in the locker room. Mina, with a warning look and a playful threat, was poised to dump her beer on someone if things got out of hand. It was the kind of chaos that made you feel like you’d stumbled into a sitcom.

And right in the middle of it, Jungkook leaned in again, just slightly. His elbow brushed mine—casual, not deliberate, but somehow very much there—and then he tapped the rim of his glass gently against mine with a soft, “Cheers.”

“Well played tonight, guys,” Lucy chimed in, lifting her glass. “Seriously. That was electric.”

I raised mine in quiet agreement, but as I tilted it to my lips, my gaze met Jungkook’s over the edge of the pint glass. The moment stretched, just for a breath. The pub around us, full of clinking glasses and background laughter, seemed to blur. His eyes held mine, unflinching, and when he took a drink, his throat moved with that effortless kind of grace that somehow made my own feel dry.

The Guinness wasn’t what I expected. Rich, slightly bitter, smooth. It was the kind of flavor that lingered—bold but not overpowering. Like Jungkook’s voice when he wasn’t trying to be heard. Low. Measured. Intimate.

“You like it, Y/L/N?” Taehyung asked, grinning like he already knew the answer.

I set the glass down and nodded. “Surprisingly… yeah.”

“Hope for you yet,” he said, pleased, and winked like he’d converted me to some exclusive club.

The table’s energy kept rolling forward. Talk shifted back to the game—what the cameras didn’t catch, the inside jokes, the minor disasters that made perfect stories. Apparently one of their teammates had forgotten his cup before the first period.

“I’m not kidding,” Taehyung said, leaning forward with a laugh that bounced off the table. “It was like the Canucks knew. The guy took three hits to the family jewels before anyone could figure out what was going on.”

I winced. “Oof.”

“He walked back into the locker room and just lay on the floor. Flat. No words,” Jimin added. “We gave him a moment.”

Everyone laughed—loud, unfiltered, the kind that made strangers glance over and smile without knowing why. Mina and Lucy jumped in next, recounting their run-in with two overly enthusiastic superfans dressed in sequins and team beads. One of them had apparently been keeping stats in a glittery notebook.

“I thought he was going to propose to the mascot,” Mina said.

“He blew a kiss to the goalie,” Lucy added.

I was laughing so hard I nearly choked on my drink. The stories, the rhythm of it all—it felt weirdly effortless, like I’d been part of this group forever. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was just them, but there was something about how they included me without making it feel like an effort. No one was posturing. No one was performing. They were just... real.

But even with the warmth of the group around me, I was hyperaware of Jungkook’s arm when it moved—slowly, casually—along the back of my chair.

I stiffened for half a second, unsure if it was intentional. But when his fingers brushed my shoulder lightly, and didn’t move, I realized it was.

My breath hitched. Just a little. Not enough to draw attention, but enough that I noticed. Every time he shifted slightly or leaned in to laugh, the warmth of his arm stayed close. Close enough to make me forget what we were talking about.

And then, as if he felt the shift in my focus, he cleared his throat and turned toward me slightly, pulling his arm back but keeping his eyes on mine.

“So,” he said, quieter than the rest of the table. “You’re the hotshot.”

I blinked. “The what now?”

“Mina’s been hyping up the new girl next door. Olympic skater, total legend, star athlete… no pressure.”

I groaned softly, slumping back in my chair. “She did not.”

“She did,” he said, smiling. “Several times.”

I exhaled a laugh. “I wouldn’t call myself a hotshot. More like... moderately coordinated.”

He chuckled, eyes still fixed on me. “You were on crutches at the airport. I just thought you were clumsy. Turns out, you're an elite athlete.”

I bit my lip, smiling as I picked up my glass again to hide how flustered I felt. “I don’t usually lead with the crutches.”

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning in again, voice just for me. “Kind of made you stand out.”

Something in my chest pulled tight. I felt it—clear as day—that he wasn’t just flirting to pass time. He was really looking. Seeing me.

“Well,” I said, finding a smirk somewhere in the blush creeping up my neck, “if you’re jealous, there’s always figure skating. I can lend you a sparkly costume. Do a little jazz hands.”

“Jazz hands?” He blinked, confused.

“You don’t know jazz hands?” I demonstrated with exaggerated flair.

He frowned. “I think I’m more of a power-slide-into-a-fist-pump kind of guy.”

“Ah yes,” I said. “The gold medal move of champions.”

He grinned, and something about it—soft, amused, unguarded—made my stomach flip. From there, conversation came easy again. We fell into it like we’d done it a hundred times. Music, books, food, weirdly specific YouTube rabbit holes. He told me he played piano. I told him I sang, but only in the shower or when I thought no one was home. We discovered we both had a weird soft spot for sad girl music—Billie Eilish, Amy Winehouse—and neither of us understood the appeal of MGK.

I told him about my favorite childhood coach. He told me about his first time skating on a frozen pond in his neighborhood, how he cracked the ice and ended up waist-deep in freezing water. We laughed, and it wasn’t just surface-level banter—it was comfortable, the kind of connection that sinks its teeth in before you even realize you’re caught.

At some point, I reached for my drink and realized it was empty. I glanced around, blinking at how much the crowd had thinned. The hum of the room had faded to something softer, quieter. Taehyung was leaning back, arm slung loosely around Lucy, who looked half-asleep on his shoulder. Mina was still animated, probably running on pure caffeine and stubbornness, while Jimin watched her with a lazy kind of affection, like he’d long since accepted that she’d never tire before 2 a.m.

I glanced at Jungkook just as he looked at me. Neither of us said anything, but in that small silence, I knew we were both thinking the same thing—we weren’t ready for the night to end. Not yet.

The group was slowly collecting their things near the bar, the energy softening as the post-game glow started to settle. Voices lowered, jackets were shrugged on, and someone—probably Lucy—had already asked the bartender for change to split the bill.

“You guys are heading out tomorrow, right?” Mina asked, her voice casual, but her eyes tracked each of them like she already knew the answer.

Jimin, arms loosely wrapped around her from behind, grinned against her hair. “You know we are, baby.”

“And you’re back Sunday morning?” she pressed, already mentally juggling the next few days.

“Early,” Taehyung groaned, throwing his head back with theatrical agony. “Like, ‘why-does-this-flight-even-exist’ early.”

“We should do something!” Mina perked up, glancing between me and the rest of the group. That spark in her eye—the one that meant she was planning something I’d probably get dragged into—was already there. “All of us.”

“Don’t even think about making me get out of bed before noon,” Taehyung warned, flexing his arms like he needed to prove how heavy they were. “You couldn’t lift me even if you tried.”

“Please,” Lucy snorted. “You’re the first one awake in every hotel room. You’re literally doing push-ups before most of us are conscious.”

Mina nodded solemnly. “He’s the only person I know who stretches like he’s about to do a triathlon... to walk to the hotel breakfast buffet.”

“I have to maintain this physique,” Taehyung shot back, smoothing down the front of his jacket.

“Anyway,” Jimin cut in, “the Winter Carnival kicks off this weekend. Campus Martius should have the outdoor rink set up by now.”

Mina lit up. “Perfect. We could all meet up, skate, get cocoa after—like something out of a rom-com montage.”

My eyes flicked instinctively to Jungkook, who was already watching me.

“Is that okay with you?” he asked, his voice quiet, thoughtful. “I mean, you’re still healing, right? Probably shouldn’t be pushing it.”

There was something about the way he said it—casual, but laced with concern—that made my chest tighten.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, offering a small smile. “Your dad gave me the green light to take it easy. I won’t be doing spins or jumps or anything. Just... slow laps. I think I remember how to glide.”

Jungkook gave a small nod, but his eyes lingered for a second longer, like he was still debating whether to believe me.

“One o’clock?” Mina offered, looking around. “That gives everyone time to sleep in. Even you, Tae.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. “I guess I could grace the ice with my presence.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you’re not already planning your entrance.”

Mina gestured to me. “Y/N will probably be home, fed, stretched, and halfway through a yoga flow by the time I’m peeling myself out of bed.”

I grinned. “Old habits.”

We started moving toward the exit. Jimin stepped outside to wave down a cab, and the night air wrapped around us the moment we stepped through the door—cool and quiet, the city humming in the background like a distant lullaby. The air smelled like damp pavement and the last whispers of winter.

One by one, the girls climbed into the back of the cab, crowding together with the ease of people who’d done this a hundred times before. Mina settled in first, Lucy curling up beside her. The door was left open behind them, space enough for one more.

But Jungkook didn’t move. He stayed by the door, one hand resting on the top of the frame, his posture loose but watchful.

I turned toward him. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and familiar.

“Feels like we’ve been here before,” he said, eyes lit with something quiet and amused.

“Déjà vu,” I murmured, a smile blooming before I could stop it. “Except this time, I’m not disappearing.”

He looked at me for a second longer, like he was measuring something behind my words.

“You sure?” he asked. Lightly. But I could hear the real question in it.

I nodded. “Pretty sure. You know where I live now.”

That made him smile wider. “Guess you’re out of excuses.”

I was about to reply when he stepped forward, reaching up slowly to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle, but my breath caught all the same. His fingers grazed the side of my face, warm even in the cold, and for a moment, the city felt still.

“See you Sunday?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” I said, and my voice felt steadier than I expected. “Sunday.”

“Y/N!” Lucy called from the cab, dragging the vowel out in dramatic agony. “Let’s go, lover girl!”

I laughed, but as I turned to climb in, my foot caught on the edge of the curb. I stumbled slightly—nothing dramatic—but before I could catch myself, Jungkook’s hands were already on my arms, steady and sure.

“Déjà vu indeed,” he murmured, helping me back upright.

His hands lingered for a second, sliding gently from my elbows down to my wrists, then curling briefly around my fingers before letting go. It was soft. Intimate. Enough to leave my skin tingling.

“I’ll have to stay close,” he added with a crooked grin, “just in case you fall again.”

I bit my lip, trying not to grin too hard. “I’ll try not to make it a habit.”

“Goodnight, Jungkook!” Mina sang from inside the cab.

“Night, Nana. Lucy,” he replied without looking away from me.

Then, softer: “Y/N.”

I met his gaze one last time. “Night, Jungkook.”

The door clicked shut, and the cab rolled forward, leaving him standing under the pool of amber streetlight, his hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders a little hunched from the cold. Taehyung and Jimin flanked him, already lost in their own banter, but he didn’t take his eyes off the cab until we turned the corner.

I stared out the back window for as long as I could.

The cab had barely pulled away from the curb before Lucy turned toward me, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Oh my God, Y/N,” she said, eyes wide. “I can’t believe Jungkook was your airport baggage claim hottie! How did you not say anything?”

“Seriously,” Mina added, twisting around to face me from the front passenger seat, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “When did you figure it out?”

“And more importantly—do you like him?” Lucy asked, already grinning like she knew the answer.

I opened my mouth, but Lucy was already barreling ahead.

“Because he definitely likes you. That was not subtle.”

“You should’ve seen you two at the bar,” she went on, now directing her words to Mina like I wasn’t sitting right between them. “It was like watching the first ten minutes of a rom-com. All dreamy stares and soft smiles.”

Mina gave an exaggerated sigh. “I know. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d be kind of jealous. That look he gave her when she got in the cab? Please.”

Lucy clutched her chest dramatically. “Ugh. To be young and in love.”

“Oh, please,” I finally cut in, raising both hands like I was trying to hold back a tidal wave. “First of all, Lucy, you’re literally one year older than me. And you’ve been making heart eyes at Taehyung all night.”

“Yeah,” Mina said, glancing back at me with a smirk, “but that’s different. Tae and I have been together for three years. That early-stage, slow-burn, butterfly-stomach kind of thing? That’s its own kind of magic.”

“And right now,” Lucy added, pointing at me like I was exhibit A, “you’re kind of glowing, so...”

“I’m not glowing.”

Mina laughed softly. “You kind of are.”

I groaned, pressing my fingers into my temples. “Okay, just to set the record straight—yes, I figured it out when we got to the bar. Yes, it surprised me. Yes, he’s attractive. But—and this is important—there’s a big difference between attraction and love.”

Lucy tilted her head, unconvinced. “We never said love. Just... interest.”

“And you looked interested,” Mina added, voice warm but teasing. “He did too.”

“I don’t even know him,” I said, trying not to sound panicked. “I don’t know what I’m doing with this stuff. Dating. Flirting. Whatever this is.”

Mina’s tone softened. “You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

“Some people actually like dating,” Lucy said, nudging my leg. “You get to hang out, eat good food, find out if you click. It’s not a test.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I admitted, my voice a little too tight. “What if I say the wrong thing? What if I mess it up?”

“You don’t have to do anything, Y/N,” Mina said gently. “Just... be who you were tonight. You were relaxed. You were laughing. He liked that.”

“It didn’t feel like a date,” I mumbled.

“Because we were there,” Lucy said with a grin. “But you guys barely acknowledged the rest of us. We might as well have been ghosts.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” she said, one eyebrow raised.

The cab slowed in front of our building, headlights cutting through the dark. Mina reached into her coat pocket and pulled out some cash for the driver.

“Sunday’ll be easy,” she said as we climbed out of the car. “We’ll all be there—Tae, Chim, Lou, me. No pressure. No expectations. Just skating and hanging out. Okay?”

I nodded, though the nerves were still stirring under my skin.

Back upstairs, I went through the motions—face washed, teeth brushed, the same old hoodie tugged over my head. But even in the comfort of my routine, my thoughts refused to settle. As I crawled into bed, Mina’s voice echoed in my head.

Just go with it. See what happens.

It sounded so simple. But to me, it felt like the edge of a cliff.

Still, as I curled beneath the blankets, I found myself thinking about Jungkook. The way he’d looked at me when I stumbled—calm, steady, amused. The warmth of his hands on my arms, the quiet way he said my name. That lopsided smile, like he was letting me in on something no one else knew.

I couldn't get him out of my mind no matter how hard I tried.

Taglist: @smartkookiee @knightofmidnight @mar-lo-pap @jjeonjjk7 @somewhatjungkook @lovingkoalaface @jimineepaboya @iswearimover5feetall @blissingtaehyung @futuristicenemychaos @kooloveys @jenniebyrubies @8thmuse @beattiestreet @tatzzz-25

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nik1okrock · 2 days ago

Text

Vampire ∼ N.RK

Summary: Vampires, what amazing creatures, strong, attractive, even mysterious, but that wasn't Riki's case with you. Genre: smut

Warnings: Vampire!Riki, suggestive, biting, mentions of blood, marking, sucking, unprotected sex (DO NOT!), p in v, oral, nipple play (let me know if i missed smth)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

It was a normal night, Riki struggling at the shoves to cook some ramen as you felt the unusual need to cling to him. You hugged his side, staying close to his shoulder as you got to your tiptoes to bury your face in the crook of his neck, him automatically leaning down to not make you struggle. He was a good friend and knowing that you both didn't ruin your friendship by having drunk sex a few nights before made you sigh in relief.

You were now leaving hot, wet, open mouthed kisses as you sometimes bit down on his cold flesh, sucking and nibbling on it, leaving sore reddish marks behind. It wasn't part of your behaviour, to RIki it seemed like you weren't you. You smelled his neck, bit on it, sucked and nibbled, like you were a newborn vampire that just wanted attention from their partner, struggling to understand but it was impossible, right? You weren't a vampire; he was and you found out early that day, arguing and feeling betrayed by him even if you forgave him. It was like you couldn't stay away from him, you felt this need to mark him and never let him go again. It was then when he noticed the red bruise on your shoulder, the way his shirt hung loosely on your smaller frame as you started to drain blood from his neck. At the sharp pain he pulled you away, hearing your whines as you tried to get back and suck the red liquid from the wound you just created.

"Love..."

He mumbled, tilting your head to the side to look at the mark on your shoulder, the mod pet name slipping off his lips just like earlier, when he tried to make you realize that he wasn't a dangerous vampire.

"Stay put okay?"

He commanded and you obeyed, your body listening to him even if you didn't want to listen. What was wrong with you?

He moved the neck of the shirt off your shoulder, showing fully the red bite mark; it was clearly a few days old, clearly made by a vampire, was it all Riki's fault? Were you now turning into a monster like him because he couldn't control himself as he was drunk and lost in what had been his 4th time releasing that night? He let go of you, your arms thrown around his waist as your whole body collided with his and you almost moaned at feeling him back in your arms, burying your face in his chest and humming in pure joy instead.

"So needy and clingy, my little newborn"

He teased you, his warm voice and soft laugh rumbling in his chest. you didn't really understand what he need meant bay with the term "newborn" but you didn't really care, you just started to suck on his neck again, almost like you were teethings He just turned off the stove at that point, throwing the almost boiling water in the kitchen sink and then left a sweet kiss on your forehead.

"Don't ask me why but I feel like you're not hungry anymore ... Am I right?"

And you nodded, still sucking blood from him until you felt full. You seemed to have very little hunger besides being a newborn, he just wondered if you were craving something else.

Riki brought you to bed, noticing how your eyes looked heavy, you were just like a baby after being fed, which was unusual for vampires who usually as newborns were often hyperactive and hypersexual.

"-Ki, 'm very tired...

You hiccupped, your voice already sounding sleepy as he helped you under the covers.

"Jast doze off, love, I'll be right here when you wake up. I'm not moving!"

He smiled warmly at you, besides being your best friend he, indeed, loved you with his immortal heart, the way you acted so clingy got him. cuteness overload, but also made him hard, like... Really hard, Feeling your boobs pressed on his chest. your hardened ripples, he was just glad you didn't notice his little -not so little- friend poking you.

Unluckily -I'm not so sure about it- you stopped his & weird thoughts by pulling him down on the bed with you, Kicking away your shorts as you started to wake up again.

Nice, you didn't even take a 15 min nap when you already were waking up, maybe you were an abnormal newborn calm but very horny.

"Riki baby."

You whined, your tone already begging him to fuck you dumb and raw. He stiffened a bit as you pushed your head under his shirt, kissing your biting and sucking on his skin until you reached his nipples; they might be small and he was tall and lean, but definitely that turned you on even more.

He blushed heavily at your action, the way your hands roamed over his torso made his blood rush south, just like you did; untying his sweatpants and freeing his cock. You stared at it: the flushed tip, the throbbing veins and the size; you hadn't really seen it this dose last time, the time he took it out was inside you, but not this. already inside you time, you were good even willing to make him feel though you couldn't use your Leep throat, you wanted to give him more than some angry and drunk sex in the room of a party host. You slowly took the tip in, your tongue swirling around it as if it was made for you to do so and, after a few minutes of teasing Riki couldn't take it anymore, he took a fist full of your hair and pushed you down, almost choking on his length. You found yourself crying, moaning against it as he bobbed your head.

"So good love.... So good."

He praised and felt your teeth slightly scrape as you tried to breath, he stopped his movements, still keeping himself deep in your mouth.

"Breathe through your nose love. Yeah, just like that.”

You did as he instructed, starting to move again on your own, earning a low and gruttal sound of satisfaction.

And soon you felt him twitch, your hair being grabbed forcefully as he came, painting your throat with his thick cum.

"Swallow, baby…”

He breathed out, his voice rough and full of lust as he pulled you away from his pelvis and made you lay next to him, cleaning the corners of your mouth once you gulped the salty fluid. He caressed your tears away feeling a bit guilty for having wrecked you. so much, but he wasn't done with you yet and you both knew. He leaned in to softly peck your lip, his full extended fangs grazing the skin there as he could taste himself on you, maybe it just fueled his desire. Without him noticing you kicked off your panties, slowly getting on top of him, pushing him inside of your already dripping wet core, earning a moan from you as you felt the stretch, a gasp from him due the shock and how tight you felt.

You buried your face in his neck, kissing him as your hips unintentionally jerked.

"Can we stay like this? It's nice."

You moaned in his skin, your voice sounding so tired and yet needy. His hands went to grab

your ass, gripping it almost to a bruisin strength; his hips started to snap back and forth, lifting you to meet his movements. You shuddered, already feeling overstimulated, you moaned, cried, and soon you felt like the need to pee, your walls clenching and clenching around Riki, making it almost impossible to move.

A few more hits and you whined, biting his neck to not scream; squirting all over his pelvis and abs. You felt like passing out, Riki was already caressing your back as he soon came too with a loud moan.

“Damn baby… You made a mess"

He tried to laugh out of tiredness, giving you a loving kiss on your temple as you kept biting his neck.

He felt so drained and exhausted at that moment, it was awkward for him, he had a very high sex drive yet he couldn't barely move. You were both asleep within a few minutes, not moving from the position you were in, cuddled together with him still inside of you and nothing much changed from had changed when you woke up, just that he had flipped you over and he was painfully slowly grinding into you. It wasn't really his intention as he was still asleep.

Maybe it was time to accept that you had been turned into a vampire, and even admit to yourself that you acually loved Riki, like a fucking lot.

#enhypen x reader #niki smut #nishimura riki #enhypen niki #niki x reader #engene #enhypen smut

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hy0rii · 18 hours ago

Text

still here

Pairing: Kento Nanami x F!Reader Genre: Angst to Fluff Word Count: 3,101

we will find our way back to each other

He arrived home late once more, his seven-month-old daughter already tucked in and fast asleep. Nanami Kento could already picture the conversation that awaited between you and him. His hands move the key to open the front door, while the other holds his briefcase. Being an office worker is tiring, but being a father is even more so.

Nanami understands that he's not the only one working hard each day. You chose to stop working to focus on caring for your child while he continued with his job. A few months after your precious daughter was born, tensions started to rise between the two of you, even though you both loved her dearly.

When Kento entered, he heard sounds coming from the kitchen. You were pouring yourself a glass of water in the middle of the night. “I’m home, sweetheart,” he whispered, knowing his voice would be heard clearly in the silent house. After leaving his briefcase and jacket on the couch, he approached the kitchen. You’re not upset with each other, yet the relationship feels different. More distant, and that hurts him deeply. Nanami Kento refused to become one of those men who are only tied to their spouses because of their children.

You hear his voice before you see him, quiet but clear in the stillness of the night. Your hand stills around the glass of water. You hadn’t expected him to be back so soon, though you suppose “soon” has taken on a new meaning lately. You don’t rush to turn around, but you don’t ignore him either. A heaviness in your chest, familiar now, rises whenever he comes home, and you realize how little you’ve spoken that day.

You finally speak, softly. “Hey. Long day?”

And he noticed how your hand stilled around the glass of water when he greeted you. His eyes then traveled to your back. You weren’t even turning to greet him. A small sigh escaped his lips when you finally spoke softly. He was tired, and seeing you avoid his gaze when he was right behind you hurt him.

“Yeah…” he quietly replied. His hands rested on your shoulders now that you had stopped pouring the water. Now he could tell how stiff your shoulders were.

You didn’t pull away when he touched your shoulders, but you didn’t lean into him either. Your body remained tense, like you had forgotten to relax under his touch. The warmth of his hands should have been comforting, it used to be, but now it just reminded you how long it had been since you felt close.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the sting of tears threatening, but you held them back; you didn’t want to cry, not because you were angry, but because if you started, you weren’t sure you’d stop. Because you didn’t know how to say everything that had been building up: the loneliness, the resentment, the guilt. How every time he left before sunrise and returned after dark, it felt like you were both slowly forgetting how to be each other’s person.

A mixture of emotions washed over him when he felt the tension in your shoulders. It starkly contrasted how you used to relax under his touch. He remembered how natural it used to feel, but now it felt awkward, distant between the two.

His grip on your shoulders tightened just a bit as he noticed how you closed your eyes. Seeing you like this, trying to hold back tears, made his heart ache. He knew he hadn’t been a great partner lately—a great husband, to you, his precious wife.

“I’m tired, Kento,” you said finally, your voice thick. “I don't want to feel so alone with you anymore,” you admitted quietly.

He felt a pang when he realized how much you were carrying. You felt alone even though he was physically present. “I know…” he replied, gently massaging your shoulders to soothe your pain. His breath hitched before he continued. “I’ve been a terrible husband.”

His words hung heavy between you, their weight pressing against the space that had grown between you over the months. His hands, warm and tentative, tried to convey everything his words couldn’t fully reach. But the tension in your muscles didn’t ease. Maybe because it wasn’t just physical exhaustion, but the emotional weariness that had settled in.

“You haven’t been terrible,” you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t an excuse for him, but it was the truth, even if it didn’t make it all better. You couldn’t deny how much he had sacrificed, how hard he had worked. But you also couldn’t ignore the absence that had slowly crept into your life, longing for him to.

He felt a strange mix of relief and guilt hearing your words. Relief at your understanding, but guilt for letting it come to this. His hands moved from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer than before.

He leaned into you, his head resting against your shoulder. He inhaled your familiar scent, the scent he’d missed so much.

“I’ve been distant,” he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse. “I’ve been so focused on work that I haven’t been here for you. For us.”

You turned your head just slightly, enough that your profile was visible to him. The water glass was still in your hand, forgotten.

“I didn’t want to make you feel like I was angry with you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I just…I felt invisible. Like I was handling everything on my own. And I didn’t know how to tell you that without making you feel like you were failing me.” You paused, the words coming faster, like a dam finally breaking. “I didn’t want to add to your burden, Kento. But my fears came true. I became someone’s mom. I miss working. I miss having you around. I feel like I’m losing my purpose, and I hate it. I needed you.”

His heart ached. His grip on your waist tightened as if he were trying to hold on to you. He rested his chin on your shoulder. His gaze never leaves your profile. You were expressing your feelings, and he was listening to them—the feelings he’d been unintentionally causing. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he let your words sink in. They were a painful but necessary wake-up call. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, pulling you even closer.

“Do you not love us?” you asked quietly, fat, hot tears rolling down your face.

He was taken aback by the sudden question and the sight of your tears. It broke his heart even more. He spun you around to face him, bringing his hand up to cup your tear-stained face.

“No, how can you think?” His voice was filled with desperation and pain. “I love you and our little one with all my heart.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, your noses nearly touching.

“I miss you,” you whispered, your voice cracking, betraying how much you meant it.

He heard those words, and a bottomless pit of guilt formed in his stomach. He had failed. Seeing the pain in your eyes, the tears streaming down your face. Gently, he moved your face, angling it so he could kiss your tears away. He kissed them away one by one, his lips gentle against your skin.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I made you feel this way.” He whispered.

The gentle press of his lips against your skin, each kiss a silent apology, sent a wave of emotion crashing over you. The warmth of his touch, so tender, so full of regret, was enough to unravel everything you had been holding back.

You could feel the sincerity in how he kissed each tear away, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. The rawness broke something deep within you. The man who had been so distant, wrapped up in his struggles, was finally here, reaching for you.

You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t, the pain wasn’t gone, but the softness in his touch, the way he held you so carefully now, was something you hadn’t felt in so long. The space between you that had once felt insurmountable was now filled with a quiet hope– a whisper of what could be if you tried.

“I didn't mean to push you away,” you mumbled, your voice fragile, still shaky from the tears.

Kento knew he pushed you away, not intentionally, but the result was the same. The distance between you is slowly bridging again. “I know, and I should’ve noticed. I should’ve been there for you.” His thumbs caressed your cheeks, the touch both tender and desperate. He leaned closer, his mouth hovering just above yours. He’d missed this intimacy, this closeness.

You let your eyes flutter closed, the closeness between you almost suffocating in its intensity. You missed this, too. The tenderness, the affection, the feeling of being seen by him in a way that had once come so naturally but had been buried beneath the weight of life.

His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for your permission and giving you the space to decide if you both needed this.

Slowly, you closed the gap, allowing your lips to meet his. The kiss was soft, slow, and laden with everything you couldn’t say. The tenderness in the kiss made your heart ache, but it also brought relief. It was a promise, an unspoken agreement to start again, to find each other in the quiet spaces where the words had been too hard to say.

The simple act of closing the gap between your lips was almost overwhelming for him. The flood of feelings it stirred within caught him off guard: pain, regret, and intense longing that had been suppressed for far too long.

As your lips met his, they moved together in a slow, gentle dance. It was a dance of forgiveness, of understanding, and of a love that had been tested but refused to crumble completely.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue lightly tracing the contours of your mouth. His touch was both tender and possessive. You responded in kind, your lips parting slightly, inviting him closer, the kiss growing deeper with each movement. You let yourself feel the intensity of the moment. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. It was a reminder that, despite everything, he was still here, still with you.

Nanami pulled you closer, molding your body against his. Your touch on his chest, feeling the rhythmic beating of his heart, sent a jolt down his spine. The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate. Your lips moved in sync, parting and coming together in an intimate dance, a language you’d forgotten to speak but were now rediscovering. His hands moved down to your waist, his grip tight, pulling you closer.

The kiss slowed, your foreheads met gently, both of you taking a moment to breathe and feel the night's quiet settle against you. His hands still rested on your waist, keeping you close, not wanting to let go of this fragile closeness that had returned between you.

Kento wasn’t just apologizing with his lips. In this quiet, intimate moment, he was showing you that he was here and ready to rebuild. Ready to fight for you, for the love that had been tested but was still worth holding onto.

You pressed your lips to his again, softly, a promise this time—one that said, I’m here too.

He felt your forehead against his, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. His hands still held your waist, the touch saying more than his words could.

When your lips met his again, in a softer, promise-filled kiss, he drew in a smooth, shaky breath. It felt like a revelation, a validation that you were in this together.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, the gesture protective and possessive. He didn't want this closeness ever to fade again. "I love you," he murmured, his voice rough and choked up.

“I love you, too, Kento.”

Hearing those three simple words, it was as if a weight lifted off his shoulders—the weight of his guilt, failures, and the distance that had grown between you.

Hearing you say you loved him, too, was a precious reminder of what he nearly lost.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around you. He buried his face into your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin.

"I promise I'll do better," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I believe you," you whispered back, your hands finding his back, gently pressing into him as if you needed to be reminded of his strength, which both of you could find together. "I just need you to be here."

Your words washed over him like a wave, filling him with relief and determination. He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. "I’m here. I'm here."

The raw honesty in those words, the quiet promise they held, echoed through the stillness of the night. He pulled you even closer, his body pressed against yours.

"I’ll make it up to you," he murmured, his voice determined but gentle. "All of it.”

“I know you will,” you whispered, your voice a soft murmur against his chest, filled with a quiet belief that had been absent for far too long. “You’re already doing it.”

The faintest of smiles curled the corners of his lips as he heard your words. They were both a reassurance and a challenge.

His hand moved up to gently cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles on your skin. "We’re doing it," he corrected you softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. "Together."

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, as your hands found their way to his cheeks, grounding yourself in his embrace. “Together.”

His heart skipped a beat as you whispered the word back at him, your hands on his cheeks anchoring him to this moment of vulnerability and connection. In the quiet of the night, the word 'together' held a powerful meaning, a promise to face the future as a unified front.

He pulled you impossibly closer, his arms encircling you in a tight embrace, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I won’t leave your side again," he vowed softly, his words a quiet declaration of devotion.

EXTRA

As the first rays of morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, you stirred in your bed, slowly emerging from a quiet slumber. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the gentle luminosity creeping into the room.

Beside you, the other side of the bed was empty. The sheets are cool and untouched. Your heart skipped a beat as your mind fully woke, the absence of your husband not unnoticed.

A soft scoff escaped your lips as you sat up in bed, the coolness of the sheets beside you more of a sting than you expected. After the vulnerability of last night, the closeness you’d shared—it stung to wake up and not find him there. You had hoped that he’d at least be beside you in the morning after everything, but there was only a space.

Shaking off the sleepiness, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet meeting the cool floor. You heard faint giggles and soft chatter from downstairs, a sound that immediately drew you out of your thoughts and toward the source. A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you walked toward the stairs.

You couldn’t help but pause just outside the doorway as you approached the kitchen. You saw him, Kento, shirtless, moving around the kitchen with a comforting and familiar ease. His back was to you as he hovered over the stove, the smell of something sizzling in the air.

But it wasn’t just him. He held your seven-month-old daughter in his arms, the soft giggles and the cooing noises coming from her mixing with his quiet, soothing murmurs as he gently rocked her in his arms. The scene before you was enough to stop you in your tracks, your heart instantly softening at the sight.

He was absorbed in his task, oblivious to your presence in the doorway, focused solely on the breakfast that sizzled in the pan, and their daughter.

His gentle swaying movements were like a calming dance, his voice low and soft as he whispered quiet reassurances to the little girl. Now and then, he’d nuzzle his face into her, eliciting another series of giggles.

As your heart melted at the spectacle, a thought crossed your mind, a subtle realization. This man, this stoic and hardworking husband, was also very much a daddy.

You leaned against the doorway, watching the quiet dance of fatherhood unfold before you. There was peace in your heart for the first time in a while. The tension from the night before felt like it had melted away with every soft giggle, every gentle movement.

He continued to move around the kitchen, tending to the food on the stove and stealing moments to play with their little girl. She’d reach for his face, her tiny fingers trying to grab his nose, and he would gently catch her hand, placing a soft kiss on her wrist before returning to the task at hand.

He must have sensed your presence, though, as he must have picked up the subtle sound of your breathing. His gaze darted towards the doorway, where you stood, watching him.

“Morning,” you said quietly, stepping closer.

He nodded. “Morning.”

You glanced at the stove, then at the little one clinging to him, her wide eyes following every movement he made. “This is… probably the best breakfast I’ve ever woken up to.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, a little sheepish. “It’s just pancakes,” he said. “She insisted on helping.”

“Ah. The sous-chef?”

“She takes her role very seriously,” he deadpanned, glancing down as your daughter babbled in agreement. He kissed her chubby wrist absentmindedly, adjusting her on his hip.

You laughed softly, the sound lighter than you expected. “You’re not too bad at this, you know.”

He looked up again, meeting your gaze for a long, quiet beat. No more walls. No more weight. Just him. Here. Present.

“I’m trying,” he said.

And that was enough.

author's note: i finished my 6,000-word project proposal (!!!), so here’s a little treat for you<3

again i would appreciate any feedback or thoughts on how i can improve going forward.

#jjk angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk kento #nanami jjk #nanami fluff #nanami angst

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gingiesworld · 3 days ago

Text

The Scarlet Storm : Hydra Reborn

Chapter Nine

Wanda Maximoff x Fem GiP Reader

Warnings : Fluff, Angst

18+ MINORS DNI

Yelena woke the next day, sitting up in her bed. Sighing knowing that Y/N was just down the hall in her own room. Yelena headed straight into the bathroom. Doing her morning routine before heading down to the kitchen. Already finding Wanda making breakfast for everyone.

"Wanda, how has Y/N been?" Yelena asked as she grabbed a cup of coffee.

"She is adjusting. I think she is remembering more." Wanda said with a bright smile. "Was Y/N the only one to ever call you Lena?"

"Yeah. No one else would call me that." Yelena told her. Her heart racing at the thought of Y/N remembering. "Do you think?" Before Wanda could answer, Y/N had already entered the kitchen.

"Hey Wanda. Why didn't you wake me?" Y/N asked her as she grabbed a bottle of water. Yelena watched Y/N as she joined Wanda.

"You needed the sleep. You helped me a lot in here yesterday." Wanda told her. Y/N started to get the plates and set the table ready for everyone. Turning to finally see Yelena watching the two.

"Hey." Y/N smiled at her. Yelena couldn't help the tears starting to fall as she recognised the eyes. The eyes that she found so much safety and comfort in as a child.

"Y/N." She whispered as Y/N nodded with a gentle smile. "It's Lena."

"Little widow?" Y/N whispered as Yelena nodded. All of the others were stood watching as Nat looked over the scene with jealousy. Y/N remembered Yelena instead of Nat.

"Yeah." Y/N placed the plates down before pulling Yelena in for a bone crushing hug. Tears running down both of their faces.

"God you've grown so much Lena." Y/N beamed before the two turned to Nat. "Sister hug?" The two opened their arms for her. Nat running instantly into the embrace of her sisters.

"I can't believe this." Yelena whispered as the three pulled away. "We're all back together."

"I remember saying that I would never leave you." Y/N told her sadly. "I'm sorry that I was gone."

"You don't have to apologise. That was Alexei and Melina's doing. They worked for Dreykov when we were children." Yelena pointed out. Y/N pulled away from the two. A look of pain and anger on her face.

"They were the reason I lost you both." Y/N started to snarl. "They were the reason I was tortured and punished practically every damn day. It was all because of them, and god knows what you two went through."

"Y/N." Yelena and Nat tried to calm her down but neither of them working. Y/N was gripping the counter harshly muttering under her breath.

"Y/N." Wanda spoke softly. Gently holding Y/N's arm. Causing Y/N to divert her attention to Wanda. "It's ok. You're all safe here." Wanda whispered as she looked into Y/N's eyes. Y/N took a deep breath before she straightened up. Slowly turning around to see both Nat and Yelena with worry on their faces.

"I uh I need some air." Y/N mumbled before she walked passed everyone, outside the compound. Y/N didn't know how long she was out there for as everyone sat and ate their breakfast.

"I don't remember her ever being like that." Yelena said as Nat agreed.

"She has been through a lot. More than what we have." Nat told her. Although they shouldn't really compare their times with both Hydra and the Red Room. Y/N was tortured for nothing. Punished for even breathing while she was there.

As Y/N started back towards the compound after calming down, she was approached by some agents she thought were SHIELD.

"Y/N Romanoff." One of them asked as turned around to face them.

"Who's asking?" She asked, her accent coming out stronger.

"Hydra wants their property back." Another sneered before they started to attack. Even with the bracelet, they barely standed a chance. Y/N fought as hard as she could. Even as the Avengers were alerted about the fight. Wanda was the first to arrive. Using her powers to knock the one who had injected Y/N with a syringe.

The rest finally arriving as the others agents disappeared. Steve picked up the agent who Wanda had knocked out. Taking him to the cells.

"That felt like a bitch." Y/N muttered as she pulled the syringe from her neck. Looking at the now empty object in her hand before she collapsed.

"Shit." Wanda just caught her before she hit the ground. "Bruce. She needs Bruce." Wanda used her powers to carry Y/N to the med bay. The syringe in Nat's hand.

Y/N was out cold for hours. Wanda, Nat and Yelena remained by her side. Although they had been informed that Y/N was perfectly healthy. But she was injected with an unknown substance.

"Why didn't they fight harder?" Yelena asked as the two shrugged.

"Steve or Maria will get it out of our new prisoner soon enough." Nat said as she stood up. "I need to get out of here. I need to know why they came for Y/N now and why they didn't take her. Why they just ran." Both Wanda and Yelena watched as Nat left the room before Yelena turned to Wanda.

"You like my sister." Yelena stated with a serious expression on her face.

"What?" Wanda asked her. Confused by her statement.

"Y/N. I can see by the way you look at her." Yelena told her as Wanda chuckled. Shaking her head no.

"I don't even know her." Wanda defended as Yelena smiled.

"You don't have to know someone to like them more than you should. Or for them to make you feel something." Yelena stated as Wanda took a deep breath.

"I just lost Vis." Wanda whispered as Yelena shook her head.

"He died 7 years ago now Wanda." Yelena stated. "We have been back for 2 years. You are allowed to feel for someone else. You are allowed to move on."

"I'm just scared to I guess." Wanda whispered shakily. Tears in her eyes. "All I have ever known since I was 10 was pain, loss and suffering. But then Vis was there to pull me out of the darkness. He was the one to keep me from slowly disappearing and now he is gone."

"That doesn't mean that you should remain distant from something that could be amazing. Something that could change your life for the better." Yelena told her. "Take a chance on her. Maybe your whole future happiness lies with my sister."

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad @reginassweetheart @machyishere @gemz5 @pawiie @duckiekong @womenarehotsstuff @thatssomeplaygirlshit-blog (If you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #natasha romanoff #yelena belova

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paulyenvol6 · 3 days ago

Text

The Bolter

I really want to write a part 4 but I don't really know where this could go, so if you have any suggestions feel free to let me know :) Also, I cried while writing this so there you go.

Part 1 and 2

Contains: fluff, so much cuteness, mentions of pregnancy, reader giving birth to their child, description of pain and discomfort, Joel being a dream, soft and sweet Joel, established relationship

Wordcount: 5,113

Masterlist

5 Months later

"Joel, can you grab my mug for me real quick?" you said over your shoulder, your face tensing in pain at the slightest movement.

"Course, sweetheart."

You listened to his footsteps behind you with your eyes closed, then opened them as you felt the cushions of the sofa give way to the weight of his body as he sank down on them with an exhale.

"Here you go."

You gave him a smile, gratefully taking the cup of tea from his hand and brought it to your lips to blow some air over the boiling hot liquid.

"Thanks."

Joel smiled as well and then moved closer to you, a hand wrapping around your shoulders and his body offering you support with the way he slid behind you so that you could settle against his chest.

"That comfortable, darlin'?" he wanted to know, quietly whispering in your ear because he knew how much you currently hated loud noises.

"Yeah," you replied, shifting one last time to adjust your round belly and then sighing as you dropped your head to his shoulder.

"S'fuckin' killin' me, Joel," you mumbled and were so thankful for the way he knew you so goddamn well. You were at a state in your pregnancy where you couldn't stand too much physical touch which was why Joel kept his hands rested on your bicep, securing you so that you didn't have to hold yourself up, but not stroking patterns over your skin like he usually would. He was listening to you, paying attention to your words and the reaction of your body and you appreciated it so much.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry you have to go through this. Can I do anythin'? Anythin' you want, just gotta ask me."

You hummed, but shook your head while you scratched with the nail of your thumb over the rough fabric of his jeans.

"No. Just wanna sit here like his. Although… can you…" – you slightly sat up – "Can you give me a massage? The thing you do with your knuckles?"

His lips curled into a broad smile and happy to do something helpful, Joel brushed your hair over your shoulders to have access to your back.

"Sure. I told ya, whatever you want. Just needa ask me, baby…"

He began by pressing two of his knuckles into the skin between your shoulderblades, a treatment you had started to fall in love with over the past months. It was nothing more than a simple massage, but you enjoyed it so much, the tension in your body magically disappearing whenever he rubbed your back, that you had recently asked him to do it more often.

"Joel," you said while he worked on your back, your hands gently caressing your round belly and your eyes still shut.

"Yeah?"

"I'm a little bit scared."

He ran his eyes over your profile, his expression softening at the way you nervously sucked your bottom lip into your mouth.

"Of the pain? Or of what comes after?"

"Both, I think."

Joel thought about it for a second before swallowing to remove the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I can't tell you that the pain is nothing 'cause it probably isn't nothing, but what I can tell you is that you're fuckin' strong and brave and that I don't think there's anythin' in the world you can't do. I'm really sorry that you're gonna have to endure it and it's okay and normal to be scared of it, but I know that you're gonna do amazing."

He gulped again, looking at his fingers that were still carefully kneading your back and then continued.

"And about the after… I know s'gonna be fine. You know what my mother told me once? She said that right before she gave birth to me, she was so overwhelmed she thought all of this would be a total mess. She didn't know what she was doin' and neither did my dad and they knew nothing 'bout parenting and stuff. But they did it. Of course it wasn't always easy, she said that too, but she told me that the second she held me in her arms the first time she just knew that it would be fine. I don't think many parents feel prepared or ready before their child comes and maybe you just can't prepare yourself for it. At least entirely. I think you learn over time an' you… you know, you pick up skills and… and make experiences and then everything comes together."

Joel glanced at your profile again, the butterflies in his stomach excitedly fluttering at your shy smile.

"Are you scared?" you then asked and a quiet chuckle left his throat.

"Of course. I'm scared every moment. But I have you. We have each other an' we have all these other people like Tommy and Maria and…" – he laughed out again – "Ellie."

You joined in the laughter and opened your eyes to peek behind you, your eyes meeting and a warm shudder going through your body at his soft brown eyes.

"Can you imagine Ellie babysitting?" Joel laughed, the vibrations transferring from his hands to your body.

"Honestly, why not? I'd just be scared that she gives the child a gun or somethin' or tells horror stories."

He scoffed, quietly shaking his head and then pressed a brief kiss on your shoulder.

"Anyways, the point is that I'm scared as shit. And that I'm wondering what I'm doin' every moment of my life. But what's more important is that I know that we're gonna do this together. And – And I know you can't just switch these fears off like that, but you have to know that I'm never gonna let anythin' happen to you, I'm never gonna leave you alone or abondon you or – or let ya down."

Joel's hands on your back tightened like he wanted to prove something. "You have me."

You swallowed loudly, the lump in your throat thickening at the gravity of his words, quickly blinking a few tears away.

"Thank you, Joel. Seriously. S'kinda helpin', I think."

He nodded although you couldn't see it and then continued to silently knead your aching back until he heard your breath getting heavier a few minutes later and a quick glance at your profile showed him that you had fallen asleep.

He smirked to himself, gently caressing your shoulderblades and thought about it for a second before deciding not to wake you. You were exhausted and had a lot of trouble sleeping in your current state, so he didn't want to deprive you of a good night's rest even if he had to remain in this position behind you that started to feel uncomfortable for him.

Joel's legs had begun to ache, his thighs buzzing, but he knew if he moved a single muscles you, who had a very light sleep these days, might wake up. In the end, it wasn't even a question. Joel didn't move an inch even when his limbs started to burn and endured it until you eventually woke up at around 12pm, your searching hands reaching behind to see whether Joel was still there.

"Joel?" you mumbled, slightly turning in his hold which made his eyes flutter. He wasn't asleep yet, but had been close to dozing off.

"Yes, honey. You wanna go to bed?"

His mind was immediately wide awake, the sting in his numb legs returning and to his relief you nodded and attempted to rise from your position between his spread legs. Joel quickly put his hands on your hips, supporting you as you stood up with wobbly knees.

"Careful, pumpkin. Lemme help you."

You hummed, your eyes closed as the drowsiness threatened to pull you over the edge again at any moment and so Joel was fast to follow you, stepping behind you to lead you into the bedroom.

"There ya go…," he whispered, an arm wrapped around your shoulders so you wouldn't bump into the door frame and then guiding you to sit down on the bed.

"You need anythin'? Are you hungry or thirsty or cold?"

You shook your head as Joel pulled back the blanket for you to crawl under, tucked you in and then sat down on the edge.

"You sure, love?"

"Yes, Joel," you breathed, the exhausted expression on your face turning into one of love and affection as you felt his large hand cradling your head.

You smiled and leaned into his touch while your boyfriend was watching you through soft eyes, looking at you like you were the only thing in this room or perhaps even the world. His mouth was in a thin line, but not in the way that he was angry or upset, but rather a deep and grave longing, the fear of losing what was right in front of him because Joel knew that he loved again. And he had sworn to himself so many times to never allow it again, never let anyone under his skin, but here he was now and it felt so goddamn good and right.

It felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest, but in a beautiful and comfortable way. They were tender hands with soft skin that smelled like you that had taken his heart from him and somehow it felt like these hands were not only carrying it to somewhere safe, guarding and protecting it, but had also taken a huge burden from him that he hadn't even been aware of before.

Joel leaned down to kiss your cheek and when he straightened up again he believed that he could feel a tear rolling down his face.

"I love you," he whispered, the emotion showing in his voice and then cleared his throat as he walked around the bed to lay down as well. You hadn't replied, your chest rising steadily so you were probably already sound asleep.

The next day started pleasantly and somehow you felt better than you had in weeks. Perhaps it was the sun shining through the window or the fact that you woke up with Joel's hand holding yours, but for the first time in a month you hadn't opened your eyes with the urge to complain about your physical state.

You even crawled to your boyfriend who was hugging a pillow in his sleep and instantly felt your insides clench at the picture. Although Joel would probably sooner die than let anyone know, he was an extremely touchy and affectionate person who loved to have a hand on your waist or on your thigh or hug you as many times a day as possible or just sit with you snuggled up against his chest. And right now, with your pregnancy making you reluctant to get too close to anyone, he clearly missed having his arms around you, but of course he was too caring to let you know.

But right now he looked so comfortable and you longed for his closeness and despised the fact that he had wrapped his arms around a pillow instead of you, so you carefully took it away and replaced it with your own body leaning against his broad frame. You lay with your head on his chest, peacefully listening to his heartbeat and your hands grabbing his to toy with his fingers.

Although you had tried not to wake him, his eyelids fluttered after a few minutes, his mouth opening as if he wanted to ask something, but then he smiled at the wonderful view that you were offering him.

"Honey…," he whispered and blinked to get rid of the sleep in his eyes. He squeezed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and then bent his neck to kiss your hair.

"That's a nice thing to wake up to," he mumbled which made you smile from ear to ear and it only consolidated when Joel brought a hand to your belly to follow the curve.

"How're you feelin'?"

"I'm good, actually," you replied, turning your head to kiss his collarbone as a proof and then darted up to him.

"I slept well. Better than yesterday."

Joel pursed his lips looking at you, his eyes sparkling with so much warmth and depth, you just wanted to carve this picture in your head for enternity, restoring it whenever you craved his expression of pure love and he wasn't around. Which you hoped you would never need because you expected him to be around you every single second anyway.

"That's good to hear, honey," Joel whispered, his voice hoarse and husky from the sleep and his eyelids fluttering as the warmth of your body embraced him so wonderfully, he knew he could go right back to sleep.

Therefore the two of you spent a lazy morning, cuddling and dozing until the sun was high in the sky and even when the two of you decided to get up, you took all the time you needed and eventually had a long and extensive breakfast, or rather lunch.

It was 3pm when it started. It was a quick moment of pain that went as sudden as it had come but it had knocked the air out of your lungs.

"Joel," you warned, concentrating on your breathing, your hand pressed on your stomach.

"What is it, darling?"

He was immediately at your side, stabilising you, who had needed the support of the edge of the table to keep yourself steady.

"Contractions. I don't know, I – Fuckkkk."

Joel's eyes popped open as he watched your profile with concern. He felt you reach for his hand and clenched his jaw in pain as you squeezed it tightly, but didn't hesitate a minute to offer you his other hand as well.

"Okay, honey, do you wanna go to the hospital? I can take you there right now if you think - "

"No we gotta wait. We gotta see how much time there is between the… Oh fuck, Joel, I…"

You couldn't finish the sentence and instead let out a long whine, that excruciatingly rang in his ears. He felt helpless watching you cringe and hunch over in discomfort and just wanted to do anything to make you feel better. Anything to make it more bearable and the fact that there was nothing he could do but hold your hand and wait for you to tell him what you needed nearly drove him insane.

"S'okay. We'll wait 'n' meisure the time. Just tell me if you need anythin'. And we can go to the hospital, it's fine. Even if the baby's not comin' yet, we can just go to check if – if everything's fine and maybe they can do something about the pain, n' give you some positions that are more comfortable..."

It turned out the child was in fact coming.

The rest of the day was a chaotic and overwhelming mess with your body experiencing contractions in short intervals until Joel drove you to the hospital and then everything was a fever dream.

You remembered Joel guiding you into a room, you lying down on the bed while he sat on a chair next to you and his hand never letting go of yours. And then there had been nurses scurrying around you and you had closed your eyes, a mixture of excitement and fear flooding your veins and when you had looked at Joel you had seen the same emotions in his deep brown eyes.

"It's gonna be fine, pumpkin. It's gonna be fine, I swear you're gonna do so well," he had whispered as he had pressed a kiss to your hand and then the doctor had entered the room.

Later, you couldn't remember everything. There had obviously been a lot of pain and a lot of blood, which had frightened you so much that you had probably marked Joel's hand for all time, but he hadn't even flinched with his lashes as he let you abuse his poor palm.

You were in labour until almost 11pm, which to you had felt like 2 days, but eventually you had done it. Your face was covered with tears, but by now the majority of them were tears of indescribable and intangible joy. Sweat pooled on your forehead and dripped down your temples, but you couldn't have cared less. Because you had done it. You had given birth to a sweet little baby girl that was now given to you from the doctor.

"Meet your daughter," she softly whispered and placed the little creature on your chest.

A broken sob went past your lips and you felt Joel's grip on your hand tighten as your exhausted eyes took her in. Her eyes were closed and her lips a little bit parted and she… she simply looked so beautiful. For all the evil and terror you had seen in your life, you had also seen a lot of beautiful things, but this… this little girl you were holding in your arms right now was surpassing everything.

"Hi there..." you said, a strange mixture of cry and laugh, as you lowered your face to press a gentle kiss to her scrunched nose. Joel to your left chuckled, but it had more similarities with a sob as well.

"Hi… you look so beautiful... So strong and so fierce… You're not scared of anything, are you? You're gonna move mountains, my sweet girl..."

You giggled again when she wrinkled her nose, but it was hard to make out a lot through the veil of tears that hung like a curtain over your vision. Still it was hard to take your eyes off your daughter, your perfect wonderful daughter, but you eventually did it to glare at Joel.

"Do you wanna hold her?" you cried, pressing your lips together as your body trembled and shook, your chest heaving with the joy and relief of it all.

And looking at him was giving you the rest. The man with whom you had created this beautiful life. The man you had met two years ago and you had believed it to be either a miracle or just a dream. The man who had then left you, causing you to fall into a deep and dark hole, but then had come back and you were never going to let him go. The man you thought about before you went to bed and the moment you woke up. The man who was so closely connected to you, your life's energy seemed to drain away when he was away from you. The man who had stolen your heart.

Joel nodded and if you had been able to see properly you would have seen the traces of old tears on his cheeks as well as the new ones that were creating a path across his face, shimmering like the bright first light of dawn.

"Yeah," he said like he was out of breath and then took his daughter into his arms for the first time with shaky hands.

All you could do was silently stare. Truthfully, you weren't entirely silent because you just couldn't stop crying and sniffling, but who cared. You watched his beautiful face contort, the purest form of love taking control of each muscle and fibre in Joel's face and drawing it to look the most tender and loving you had ever seen him.

"She…," he breathed, but couldn't end the sentence.

She looks so tiny in his arms, you thought, your chest clenching and your mind realising that these were the two most important people in your life.

"Yeah," you said, bringing a hand to your eyes to rub and wipe away a few drops of salty tears so you could see better.

"What do you wanna name her?" Joel asked without taking his eyes off her for a single moment. You hiccuped in response and then gulped as you chewed on the inside of your cheek.

"I was thinking…," you began with your thin voice. "I was thinkin' Tess."

Joel had told you a lot about his best friend from back then, about his adventures with her and Tommy and you knew how much she meant to him. Honouring her by naming your baby girl after her seemed fitting. Of course you had briefly thought about Sarah as well, but had quickly come to the conclusion that Joel might feel like he was replacing his daughter, so you had discarded that thought.

Now brown puppy eyes stared at you that seemed to make the world around you turn and tremble. All you could see was him, your surroundings blurry and unimportant as Joel drew his eyebrows together.

"Really?" he choked and chewed on his bottom lip as he was clearly trying to fight another wave of tears.

"Yes," you replied and then moved your daughter to lay on your chest again with hands that were trembling so hard, Joel obligingly assisted you.

Then he swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers intertwined and his eyes fixed on you as if to make sure this was real.

And then he slowly nodded while reaching for one of your hands, squeezing it lightly and feeling his lower lip twitch.

"Tess."

Three weeks later

It was a cold day with the wind outside howling as if it were singing a song, so you were especially grateful for your warm blanket when you woke up.

"Mhmmm," you made, rolling to your side to face Joel only to find… an empty spot.

You frowned and let out another sigh while running your eyes over the drawn back blanket.

Where was he?

It was so warm beneath the sheets, such a heavenly contrast to the cutting cold outside of the walls of your house and you had looked forward to spending the first few minutes of the day tucked in while cuddling with Joel, but now you found you had no choice but to get up and see why he had left the bed so early.

So you kicked the blanket away with your feet and then climbed off the bed with rather clumsy movements. Just as you were grabbing a sweater to pull over your pyjamas, you heard the first drops of rain fall on the veranda outside and regretted Joel's absence even more. Once you had put on the piece of clothing as well as some warm socks you opened the door to the bedroom and lazily searched the hallway.

"Joel?" you shouted and then listened precisely for an answer. Which didn't come.

"Joel?" you said again, louder this time and now there was a noise that made you purse your lips.

"In here!" his voice echoed against the walls and you realised he was in Tess' room.

Your feet dragged sloppily across the floor as you made your way to the door, your head still trying to fight off drowsiness and your eyes struggling to stay open. You carefully opened the door so you wouldn't wake your daughter in case she was still asleep but when you peeked inside the room your saw her in Joel's arms, gently rocking her from side to side.

"Hi pumpkin," he whispered giving you a bright smile and although his face lit up at the sight of you, you noticed that he looked tired.

"Good morning, Joel. Are you alright? How long have you been awake?"

He lifted his eyebrows and dropped his gaze to Tess again who softly gurgled in his hold.

"Oh, a couple of hours. I woke up because she was crying and then I went to her but she just wouldn't stop so I did the one thing that I know always helps and it did. I was just about to put her back in the cradle."

Your lips curled into a grin and you approached Joel to brush over your daughter's head.

"You played her something on the guitar?"

"Yes. At first, I didn't want to 'cause I was scared it'd wake you up, but I figured her crying would've woken you up anyway."

Joel smiled and then leaned in to kiss you.

"Sorry, my breath is terrible," you giggled and tried to wriggle away, but he grabbed the side of your face and held you close, devouring your lips until he finally pulled away.

"Don't ya worry about that."

You bit your bottom lip while Joel carefully put Tess in her cradle again and then crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"But you know you could've woken me up as well. You didn't get a lot of sleep, Joel and you know how I feel about you goin' on patrols and hunting and stuff without being properly rested."

He tilted his head and then approached you, grabbing your waist with his large hands and pulling you snugly to his body.

"I know. But I wanted you to sleep. You need a proper rest, too. An' I don't go on patrol today."

You furrowed your forehead and slid your arms around his head, toying with the babyhair in his neck.

"Really? I thought…"

"Jesse's going in my place. I..." - Joel smiled crookedly - "I think Tommy wants us to have a day just the two of us. He said Jesse will do the patrol and he said he and Maria will take Tess for the day so we can relax a bit."

You wore a toothy grin as your finger trailed up his jawline until it came to a stop on his cheek.

"Really?"

"Yes. They have Benji, they know what it can be like with a newborn. He said that's what he wished for sometimes in the first few months after they had him."

Joel tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and then gently turned you in his hold to guide you out of the room so you wouldn't wake Tess again now that she was sleeping peacefully.

"Let's have breakfast now. I made pancakes."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, your heart feeling like it was growing wings as you leaned into Joel's hand that was warm and comfortable on your waist.

"Really?" you breathed, thinking that there was no way he was real.

"Yeah. I made them before I brought her back to her room."

"Thank you, Joel," you whispered, the love you felt for him making you want to cry, but you somehow felt it wouldn't be fitting so you just gulped and put your own hand over his palm pressed to your side.

"I love you."

He briefly pressed a kiss to your messy hair. Joel marvelled that you always seemed so taken aback when he made a gesture like that. Didn't you know that he would do anything for you? Making pancakes, taking care of your baby girl so you could sleep… Yes, these were nice things to do, but how was it possible that you still didn't seem to understand that he would do so much more just to see a faint smile on your lips. Just to see this beautiful sparkle in your eyes or make your cheeks flush in excitement.

"I love you, too. And you're welcome," he whispered and then pulled you through the kitchen door.

"Sit down, baby, okay? I'm gonna make some coffee or do you want some tea?"

You briefly thought about it while sinking down on a chair but then shook your head.

"Coffee is perfect."

He was just about to turn around when he saw a suspicious glint in your eyes and as he obviously couldn't pass over it, he stopped in the motion and glanced down to you.

"Baby… What is it?"

Now your bottom lip was trembling, your fingers grabbing the edge of the table and your nose wrinkling as you tried to hold yourself together.

"You… You're so sweet," you stuttered and felt a single tear roll down your cheeks when Joel wrapped his arms around your body, firmly holding you against his chest.

"Oh, darlin'… No reason to cry. You know that I would do anythin' for ya."

"Yeah, b-but… you're so kind a-and sometimes I just… I can't believe s'real."

He chuckled, inhaled the sweet scent of your hair and then nuzzled his nose against your scalp as he gently cradled your head.

"S'okay… I love you so fuckin' much, honey and I sometimes can't believe you're actually real."

Your frantic breathing slowly began to steady until Joel pulled away from you, his face softening at the redness around your eyes.

"Oh pumpkin…," he breathed and traced your cheekbone with his thumb. "I love you. I love you so goddamn much…"

'I love you so goddamn much, it sometimes hurts,' was what he had wanted to say but he found that perhaps it would be a strange choice of words, so he kept them to himself.

It was true, though. Sometimes, when he looked at you his chest tightened and his heart pounded so loudly he could hear and feel his rapid heartbeat in every fibre of his body. And there was this quivering rumbling through his abdomen like he was getting sick, but of course he wasn't actually. It was the opposite and felt rather plesant. More like… butterflies that were swirling and twirling and tingling in his stomach and while Joel knew he couldn't do anything about the tension and excitement, which was sometimes so bad, it bordered on the uncomfortable, he wouldn't want it any other way. He wouldn't want it to feel any different.

Joel wasn't always great at telling you how he felt. He had gotten better at it, sure, but he was more likely to show his affection through gestures and actions or even just a gentle smile and a hand on your body. No one who knew him would probably consider him a very 'smiley' person, but with you… God, he sometimes felt like a teenage boy who was in love for the first time.

He wanted to get better at the other stuff, too, though. Telling you how he felt, verbally expressing his love because you deserved to know how you had swept him off his feet the moment the two of you had met and continued to do so every single day.

So you had taught him, you had opened up to him, shown him that it was okay to be vulnerable and that it actually felt good to share your feelings. Joel had a lot of learning and unlearning to do, getting rid of thick layers of ice that he had built up over many years to protect himself, but he really was getting better.

Joel took a deep breath, still touching and soothing the hot skin of your face, and then leaned down to kiss your lips.

"I love you," he whispered over and over again as you parted your lips for him, and when he pulled away and straightened his spine, you wore a big smile on your face.

"Let's get ya somethin' to eat now," he whispered, his pulse thrumming at the sight of your dimples.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @bbabycass @pascal-mynightlyobsession @zelena89 @orcasoul

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kingkat12 · 13 hours ago

Text

So Kate's (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: dom/sub dynamics, foul language, humiliation, office misconduct, reader is a freak ouf

summary: being a brat has its consequences-- did you really think Mr. Godfrey was going to let that go with no repercussions? time to smarten up, and dress up too.

word count: 9,670

← previous chapter |

a/n: I've been obsessed w Zendaya's shoes as of late, so you best believe I managed to squeeze in a chapter about Louboutins....... and we are FINALLY getting reader and Letha being cute besties again omfg so TIHI ENJOY<333

Handling pain is a skill.

However, there are some people that are born without the ability to feel pain, and that is often a lethal flaw-- if you don't feel pain, then you're actually more susceptible to injury, did you know? I didn't. After scouring BDSM forums all over the internet, I had quite frankly gotten obsessed with finding out everything I could, and the more I got into the pain aspect of it, the more I found myself unable to understand.

I didn't like pain. Never have, never will like pain. That wasn't the part I enjoyed, or wanted, out of my odd relations with my boss. Although, it seemed I might be into the emotional pain of being Mr. Godfrey's secretary-- it certainly made my brain hurt and my cheeks burn, but in the most intoxicating way. Something told me that was a feeling I had been chasing my whole life, and now that I had it, I finally felt complete, and unable to let go.

But, back to it-- if you're unable to feel pain, then you're prone to unintentional self-injury, because you literally can't feel it when you get a paper cut, or when you've bitten your tongue too hard, or even broken your bones. Maybe it's alright to be in pain sometimes? Maybe it's fine to feel it in exchange for health? I had no idea. All I knew, was that I had managed to triumph over the worst pain a woman could handle; not my period, no, not childbirth, but--

Wearing So Kate's.

The classic stiletto by Christian Louboutin, famously worn by Zendaya and probably all of Hollywood.

I'm joking, of course-- I know there are much worse things I could go through. However, I had gotten a pair as a gift for finishing college, and originally, I fucking hated those pretty sons of bitches. They were gorgeous, elegant, classy, perfect, yet agonizing to wear. I couldn't walk for more than five minutes before my feet would beg to be beaten with a hammer in order to not be able to walk in them anymore. However, after about four months of wearing them around my apartment, making dinner in them, washing the dishes in them, doing my laundry in them, they almost started to feel like socks.

I had pushed past the pain, and gained something beautiful-- a wearable pair of Louboutins.

And today, I finally dared to wear them to work. It wasn't like I was running track around Godfrey Industries, right? I could totally wear them without even noticing how ridiculously tall they were. I knew how to handle them, after all. I could totally fucking do this.

Anyway, I needed something to distract me from the psychological warfare Mr. Godfrey was waging on me for biting his fucking thumb. Stupid, stupid girl.

Using my shoulder, I nudged the door to his office open and slipped in like a shadow, keeping myself small and unnoticeable. Hoping to get it over with soon, my first step was hurried, and that made the cup clink clumsily in the saucer; with a quiet hitch of my breath, I deliberately slowed, pressing my steps into silence. Thank fuck I wasn't a spy-- I'd get myself killed with my heavy damn steps. Or was it the Louboutins?

One cube of brown sugar.

Not too much milk.

Stirred three times, exactly.

I always got Mr. Godfrey's coffee just right. I always made it with the utmost precision. If anything, I was the picture-perfect secretary right now (if you excluded the times I got off behind my desk, or the two times in my boss's office whilst he watched me). Had Godfrey Industries been a fair place to work, I wouldn't have any problems here. However, it wasn't-- this place was somewhere I'd guess the Anti-Christ would set camp, if he could choose.

So, with my heart lodged in my throat, I continued making my way to Mr. Godfrey's desk, not daring to take my eyes off the coffee; there was no way in hell I'd spill any of it and give him more reasons to deem me incompetent.

But just as he had done every day for the past week, Mr. Godfrey didn't look up.

There was not as much as an acknowledgement, not as much as a glance. He sat behind his desk, back perfectly straight, one hand poised near his temple with a pen resting lightly between two long, slender fingers. His green gaze scanned some document with such intensity that it was almost theatrical, like he knew I was standing there and he was choosing, with full awareness, not to acknowledge me. Fucker.

With a subtle roll of my eyes, I cleared my throat; "Your coffee, sir,"

I put it down one inch from the edge, centered with the stack of papers to his right, just as he had instructed me to do during my first week here. It was perfect; I was perfect. I put it down with a trembling sort of reverence, my hand ghosting over it for a second, unsure, like maybe if I lingered just a little longer, he'd finally look at me. Maybe he'd say something, acknowledge me? I didn't need much at this point. I'd take anything, just a glance, a huff, a sigh, anything.

But... nothing.

The air between us stretched thin. I could hear Mr. Godfrey's pen scratch against the paper in front of him, could see the way his sharp jaw flexed once, twice, like my presence was physically bothering him-- and then, he moved.

I held my breath as Mr. Godfrey's hand reached forward, slow and unbothered. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something, that this would finally be the morning he gave in and spoke to me again, even if it was just a snide comment or a thinly veiled insult-- I was so starved for his attention, I would've taken it like praise. I would've taken it with open arms, whatever it would be. Even if it was just a tiny 'this coffee sucks', itwould probably make my day, and maybe even make me orgasm on some higher level right in my Louboutins.

But instead, Mr. Godfrey lifted the coffee cup by its delicate handle, turned a fraction in his seat, and... dropped it into the trash bin beside his desk. The ceramic hit the bottom with a sharp crack, and I flinched. The sound echoed in the quiet room like a slap-- I stood frozen, watching the faint steam curl up from the bin, mixing with the scent of scorched sugar and shame.

I balled my hands into fists.

Mr. Godfrey had been pulling this crap on me for a week now, and I knew that it was because I had bit his thumb. I knew it, deep in my gut. But after he had let me cum on his shoe (yes, I know, I'm deeply ashamed, don't you worry), and I bit him (because I was overwhelmed by the power he held over me, like any fucking newbie would be), he had stepped on me and called me a brat! Who the fuck does that?! If anything, I should be spitting in his OCD-coffee!

... Oh, that's a good idea, actually.

I wanted to spit down at his feet too, maybe even specifically on his right shoe, where I had gotten off. How dare he make me feel this way? How dare he play these games with my head?! At the end of the day, it was fucking childish, and at the end of the day, it... was getting to me. Ugh. Why couldn't he at least look at me?

I forced a swallow past the burn in my throat, and I nodded even though he couldn't see it. Or maybe he could? Maybe he was watching me through his periphery with that sick, surgical precision he had, cataloguing my humiliation like it was data, like it was proof that this was working?

Bastard.

However, in the midst of my frustration and anger, I recognized that I had missed the sickness of it all. The twisted feeling of being scorched, and feeling my skin swell in resistance to the burn. I stood in Mr. Godfrey's office a beat too long; way too long, actually. Maybe I was stupid enough to believe that if he got uncomfortable enough, he'd say something? I just needed him to speak to convince myself that I hadn't imagined the whole thing, that I hadn't invented the way he had pressed me down onto this very desk, the way he had looked at me, and the way I had unraveled in his hands like a silk ribbon--

But Mr. Godfrey didn't change his mind. He wouldn't-- not for me. He didn't look at me, nor did he give me anything as much as a hum. Instead, he merely raised his hand and gave a short, dismissive flick of his fingers, a wordless, effortless command for me to leave, the same way one might shoo away an insect buzzing too close to their ear.

The flick of his wrist felt like a phantom bruise, and as though I had been slapped, I turned around on my Louboutin heels and marched out of Mr. Godfrey's office, stomping my every step to his floor. Hopefully, I'd leave a large scratch or two.

How long would this war last? What did I need to do to get him to sign a peace treaty?

Ugh.

This day sucked.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

.... Okay, fine, maybe this day had some redeeming factors after all.

"--He's really sweet and all, but I feel like he can sometimes be too sweet. This isn't high school, y'know? I don't like going on dates with him and feeling like I'm going to prom every time!" Letha swirled the rosé in her wine glass, tutting the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth with disapproval. "What the hell happened to normal men in the 21st century? What happened to them, seriously? Where did they go?"

I could only laugh, glancing down at my Louboutins as she continued complaining-- lunch with Letha was always amusing. She also worked for Godfrey Industries, but much higher up (nepotism alert), and therefore always had access to my schedule. Even though she worked remotely from inside some mansion her father bought for her as her graduation present, she could therefore calculate when she could swoop by the lobby on the first floor and ask for me to be called down for lunch; the Godfreys were all smooth like that.

Letha was the one who had gotten me my Louboutins for graduation, and Letha was the one who got me the interview at the company-- I could trust her. If anything, I needed her opinion on what was happening between me and her cousin, without her knowing who I was talking about. However, I needed to get to that somehow, eventually. "I don't know," I answered, placing my elbows on the table and putting my face in my hands. "But I promise you, you could find someone way crazier than someone who wants to date you the old-school way." Much, much crazier.

Letha sighed, cocking her head to the side as she looked back at me with those classic Godfrey-green eyes. It was almost scary how similar they were to Mr. Godfrey's-- well, of course. They were cousins, after all. Maybe I could keep looking into Letha's eyes for the rest of my life, and that'd relieve the withdrawal symptoms I was having from my boss no longer looking at me? Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.

"You might be right," she purred, steepling her fingers as well, mimicking me. "Or maybe I just find it repulsive that he's into me? I've been scouring the internet, and that's what comes up most of the time."

I shrugged; "I don't know, Lee. Maybe you should bring that up with the guidance counsellor, just like in the good old days?"

"Ha-ha," Letha rolled her eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "But I think my main issue with this guy is that he seems genuinely nice. Big difference from Chad-- do you remember Chad? That asshole didn't even bother to pay for dinner when we flew to Aspen together!"

"Of course I remember Chad! But him not buying dinner for you doesn't really indicate whether he's a nice person or not, though?--"

"Come on! It's enough to show he was a shitty boyfriend!-- Oh, wait, yeah, that one's mine,"

Our conversation was cut off when our food arrived, and as we exchanged polite smiles and short thank you's, I couldn't help but notice the look in Letha's eyes when she scanned our waiter; it was almost flirty, yet openly hungry. She brought her hand up to her shiny blond locks, twirling it around her finger as she locked eyes with the guy, blinking sweetly, innocently-- I had to do everything in my power to not groan or laugh. It was crazy how this sort of stuff always worked for Letha without fail, because as predicted, our cute waiter left the table with a pink tint colouring his cheeks.

Godfrey-green eyes met mine once more with a playful smirk. "I love the waiters here," she purred. "That one's my favourite. He's particularly yummy!--"

"Okay, enough!" I grabbed my cutlery, suppressing my giggles. "You were just talking about the guy you're actually dating. What was his name again?"

A rather pregnant pause ensued. Letha swallowed, clearing her throat with suspicious anxiety. "Well, I call him Barty..." she mumbled, barely audible.

Wait. Immediately, I put down my fork. "No," I breathed, stunned. "Lee, don't fucking tell me his name is!--"

"He's from old money!" Letha whined, placing her glass next to her plate. "Of course he'd end up with a name like!--"

"Bartholomew?!"

"I know!" With a cry-like sigh, Letha grabbed her fork and stabbed her salad, visibly upset. "Okay, now it's decided. I should definitely break up with him."

I bit down on my lower lip, crossing my legs at my ankles as I hoped to regain my composure and hopefully not be too harsh with Letha's endeavours. "Again, I don't agree with that. Maybe he has a crazy name, but at least he seems normal! There are much worse men out there, believe me. Seriously, maybe you should stick around and take it slow, this time?" Believe me, believe me.

Letha stabbed another cherry tomato with such force you'd think it had personally offended her. "I'm not so sure about that," she mumbled. "Ugh... Bartholomew just sounds like the kind of name you moan by accident when you're trying not to finish."

I choked on a piece of salad. "Jeez, Letha!"

"Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You're... not," I muttered, trying very hard not to imagine anyone whispering Bartholomew in a sexual context. Ew. Could not be me. "But I'm also begging you to change the subject."

Letha smirked, clearly pleased with her joke. "Fine, but I'm not wrong about him. He wears Balenciaga shoes unironically. You know how I feel about men who dress like they're about to blow Kanye West in the middle of January!

Ew, ew, ew! "Yeah, but you've dated worse!"

"And that's not a comfort!"

I ended up rolling my eyes, letting her spiral while I pushed my salad around my plate. This restaurant was glossy and cold in that exclusive way, and I knew I had to eat my food until its last crumb to not offend the head chef or something--- with its white tablecloths and modern chairs, this was the kind of place that pretended it wasn't trying too hard, even though you knew a thousand-dollar lighting consultant had planned the ambience. It was a typical Letha-place to dine. The wine was crisp, the water had cucumber in it, and someone was definitely eavesdropping from the next table over.

Still, it was better than the office, where Mr. Godfrey was ready to make my life pure hell.

"Well," Letha said suddenly; "At least your love life's probably better than mine. I haven't seen you in a while, so I expect a good fucking update! Who are you dating at the moment? Does your guy also insist on intense eye-contact during sex? Sickeningly long cuddles afterwards? Ugh, I could barf..."

My fork paused halfway to my mouth-- I set it down gently. Eye-contact? If only. Physical intimacy? I wish. Sex? Oh Lord. I cleared my throat; "Actually, about that..." Your cousin is into some form of office sadism and has seen me cum multiple times. Did I tell you I came on his shoe last week? "I know you have more experience than me regarding relationships and men, so I need your opinion on something."

Immediately, Letha's ears perked up, and she beamed at me from across the table. She grinned like a cat who had just heard a mouse blink; "You're seeing someone?"

"Oh, hardly,"

"You're... sleeping with someone, then?"

"Not really?"

"What?" Letha chewed on a cherry tomato as her brows drew together. "How can you not really sleep with someone? Do you, like, exclusively dry-hump or something?"

"I'm-- yeah, I don't know what the fuck this is," I scooted closer to the edge of the chair, lowering my voice so that the rich aunties next to us wouldn't hear me. "It's not sex, but it's not nothing... it's much deeper than that."

Letha blinked, putting down her cutlery with urgency before leaning closer. "What do you mean?"

"There's-- there's this guy," I whispered. "And I feel like he's literally inside my head! It's like he knows what I'm thinking, like he knows my nastiest thoughts, and it's freaking me the fuck out because he uses it against me!"

Letha looked like she was about to explode like those birds in Angry Birds, barely able to contain her excitement. "I'm listening,"

"No, no, this is not a good thing!" I tried, fiddling with the napkin nearby. "He knows what I want before I even know it, and... these past few weeks, I've done some really crazy shit, and I just-- have you ever let someone control you?"

Letha's plush lips parted slightly, eyes scanning my face with confusion. "That sounds really... kinky,"

"Yes, but have you ever?"

"... No? I don't think so,"

"Are you sure? Has a guy never, like..." I couldn't even say it out loud. I glanced at the nosy ladies next to us who were trying to eavesdrop, and they quickly turned away from us and our conversation. Sighing, I turned back to Letha-- how was I supposed to avoid making it obvious that I was talking about her intimidating (and ridiculously hot) cousin? "Have you ever, like, for example... humped guy's a shoe?" Maybe it was a normal thing? Maybe I just wasn't experienced enough?

But then, Letha practically jumped in her seat, gasping; "Humped a shoe?!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. Oh God. "Lee, please, I!--"

"I need to lie down!" Letha exclaimed, blissfully stunned. "Preferably in traffic, because this is so much juicier than Bartholomew! What the fuck have you been up to, seriously?! Who are you, and what did you do to my best friend?"

"--I didn't know what I was doing, okay? It just happened, and now I can't look at him without thinking about it! And even worse, he won't even look at me anymore!

Letha had both hands over her mouth, but I could still see the unhinged smile hiding behind her fingers. "Oh my god. This is... this is the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life," she whispered, barely containing herself. "You humped a shoe? His shoe?!"

"He told me to!"

"And you just did it?!"

"I told you, I've lost my mind!" I stared down at my plate in shame; I knew I had gone mad when a piece of lettuce started to look judgmental of me as well. "Forget I said anything... Seriously, just forget it."

"Right..." Letha's voice was now a reverent hush, like she was observing a religious moment. "So, you're saying he won't look at you anymore?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

"Maybe he's ashamed?"

I cocked a brow; why was she suddenly sounding like she was actually helping me? "Nope,"

"Well, to me it sounds like he might be toying with you, then," Somehow, Letha had calmed down, and was now casually back to eating her salad. "If he's the type of guy that tells you to hump his shoe and then ice you out, he's playing a game."

"... Oh?"

"Definitely," She tilted her head and flashed me her pitiful, green eyes. Gorgeous. "And I don't know too much about this sort of stuff, but if I were you?" Her voice dropped, soft as a dare, yet served with concern;

"I'd learn how to play the game."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There was a woman waiting for Mr. Godfrey.

I stared at her from where I sat behind my desk later that day, wondering what on earth she was here for. She had been waiting patiently outside his office for about fifteen minutes, refusing to sit down on the designated seats, and it had now gotten to the point where she was clearing her throat and squirming uncomfortably because of her heels.

They weren't very tall, yet I guessed they were a pair of those kitten heels that felt really comfortable in the morning, but became absolute killers by the end of the day.

However, she was gorgeous. With legs that could probably reach all the way to China, she was statuesque, poised, and everything I'd guess Mr. Godfrey was usually into. Something in me burned when I realized that he'd be alone in his office with her, and images of me throwing my computer at her and ruining her beautiful face flashed before my eyes-- I shook my head, hoping to get the thoughts out of my head before I continued smashing my fingers against the keyboard to hopefully complete the weekly report I needed to hand in soon. The harder I clicked the buttons, the more I felt my aggression relieve itself-- God, how I wished I could relieve myself my usual way, yet Mr. Godfrey had installed something in my brain that wouldn't let me. For some reason, I couldn't physically bring myself to go against his words, and that scared me more than anything.

Ms. Long-Legs cleared her throat again, making me wonder whether it was a tic, before she approached my desk for the fourth time today; "Are you sure that he remembers my appointment? I was scheduled for 13:45, and I have been waiting for fifteen minutes! It's almost two o'clock now!"

With a long, dramatic sigh, I glared up at the woman; I couldn't bring myself to be nice to her, knowing she'd be alone with him shortly. Would she also be asked to hump his shoe? Did she get off in front of him too? "Mr. Godfrey is a very busy man," He's not running a business for fucktards, after all. "He will be with you shortly." And you can shove your cock up your ass.

Was he maybe toying with this woman too? Was he making her wait because he knew this would drive her crazy? It seemed he had a pattern.

She scanned me up and down, sensing my hostility. "And you're sure he knows I'm here?"

... Something told me she had been a part of the Godfrey circus longer than I.

Bitch.

I blinked, angered. Because this, I wasn't actually sure about. Mr. Godfrey's blinds were rolled down. Therefore, I had sent him an email about this ten minutes ago, yet he hadn't answered any of my emails the past week, so... ugh, I knew what I had to do. With a sharp breath and an unprofessional roll of my eyes, I got up from my seat, expertly poised in my high heels. As I graciously made my way past her and her pained feet in Louboutins that were nowhere near a heel-height threshold she could handle, it made me feel on top of her in some evil way. Better than her. Why would Mr. Godfrey want someone who couldn't deal with some pain?

Hoping to hide my anxiety from the woman waiting for him, I knocked thrice on Mr. Godfrey's office door.

No answer, of course.

I glanced over my shoulder-- Ms. Long-Legs was still watching me like I was an idiot. Frustrated, and keen not to be seen as incompetent, I knocked again, this time a bit harder. My stomach knotted with anxiety, because I knew the woman was still staring, arms folded, one foot angled awkwardly as if trying to relieve the pain in her heel. When I didn't get any answers again, I pressed my ear closer to the door, feeling as though I was breaking all the laws in the universe.

I quickly pieced together that Mr. Godfrey was on the phone; "--No, I said I don't care who signed off on it, you run it past me first, that's the entire goddamn point!--"

Then, the door flew open.

It was clear that Mr. Godfrey had dragged his hand through his hair multiple times; it was a mess. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and the anger flaring in his green eyes was unmistakable. However, despite all of it, he looked handsome as ever-- bastard.

I blinked up at him, staring; up close like this, I could smell his cologne, probably with hints of his aftershave as well. Just as I started to feel pink mist seeping out of my ears, I cleared my throat, hoping to get his attention through his scattered energy, and--

Oh.

He looked at me.

Mr. Godfrey looked at me.

For the first time in about a week, eyes wide with frustration with the person on the other side of the phone he had pressed between his shoulder and his cheek, he looked at me.

"Sir," I tried, nodding towards his guest. "Sorry to disturb, but you have a-- a visitor... she was scheduled for 13:45."

Visibly annoyed, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes landed directly on her, and immediately, his expression faltered. It was momentary, like he was horrified to see her, and his jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the beautiful woman waiting to get a moment of his precious time. "Right," he breathed, probably debating whether to jump out the window in his office, or if it'd be easier to shoot himself with the gun I knew he had in his third desk drawer. "And you are?"

The woman straightened up; "I'm with HR. We met a few weeks ago,"

HR? What the fuck had he done, now?

Mr. Godfrey sighed, relenting; "Come in, then,"

Ms. Long-Legs straightened immediately, her discomfort forgotten in favour of the crisp swish of her designer skirt as she strutted past me and into his office. I remained outside, still holding the handle, uncertain whether to close the door behind her or not, until Mr. Godfrey made the decision for me-- he slammed it shut in my face.

The blinds stayed up this time, and for a second, just a second, I saw him-- Roman Godfrey. Not the suit, the tyrant, or the freakishly composed bastard I'd come to hate and want at the same time, but the man; pale, quiet, and rattled.

He was visibly uncomfortable, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over himself, as though that would somehow protect him from whatever the woman was there to tell him. I watched as his eyes narrowed and fixated on the way Ms. HR shifted in her heels in hopes of relieving her discomfort.

Then, through the blinds, I watched as his gaze flicked to mine.

My heels.

His lips parted, just slightly. Was he maybe thinking about the difference? The way I looked like I could be in these hell-bringers for hours, yet the other woman couldn't even hold herself for fifteen minutes? High, thin stilettos, black patent; perfectly balanced. I hadn't shifted once-- I didn't need to, and I wouldn't. I could stand in these all day.

But Mr. Godfrey didn't seem to allow himself to stare on any further. Without a word, he stood up with a sharp clack, and approached the blinds-- I couldn't read him when we locked eyes, and I didn't have any time to, before he snapped the blinds down again.

Ugh. I couldn't see anything now, so I did what any dangerously curious person would do; I stayed frozen and pressed my ear up against the door, just close enough to hear.

"I'm here about the complaint filed last month by your previous secretary," came the woman's voice. Cool, measured, practiced, HR; that was what she was. Not a girlfriend, not a sub, but an executioner. Thank fuck. "I assume you've read through the preliminary documents. There were some... disturbing claims. Specifically about a personal dynamic between the two of you that was allegedly coercive."

A sharp scoff followed from Mr. Godfrey, almost a laugh. "She begged for that job back after I fired her," he huffed. "There was even a whole fucking scene the day I interviewed for my new secretary! If anything, she should be the one in trouble right now! There was nothing coercive of the sort, and I'm even suing her for saying that crap, ask my paralegal!"

"That may be," the woman replied, cold. "But the concern is the power imbalance. The possibility that you encouraged certain... behaviours."

Mr. Godfrey snapped back, raising his voice; "That's bullshit! She was undeniably nuts, you must've realized that during your talks with her?!"

"-- Mr. Godfrey, please, this is simply a formality! You must understand that!"

"I do!" he hissed. "And you've done your job, so are we done? Can I go back to doing mine?"

"If you're asking if I'll be filing a formal report, then no... But this will stay on record,"

Mr. Godfrey groaned-- I didn't need to see him to know that he was rubbing his temples. He did that whenever he got properly annoyed. "If every woman I'm going to work with is going to try to squeeze this company for my money, then I'm compelled to only hire men! But I can't fucking do that because of your fucking inclusivity regulations!"

"Mr. Godfrey, I suggest you stop speaking!--"

"This is my company! If my previous secretary is going to press with crazy claims, then I expect you to be on my side!--"

"I am not here to shield you, sir! I am here to protect your employees, and quite specifically, your young, new secretary who frankly looks terrified of even being in your vicinity!"

Something thudded inside the office-- maybe a drawer slamming, or a fist. I couldn't make it out. In an instant, I scurried to my desk, sitting down with the utmost hurry. So, my suspicions had been correct; the previous secretary had definitely been his sub. Why couldn't Peter have told me this? How many people knew? With trembling fingers, I tried to go back to working on the weekly report-- I had to submit it in about ten minutes, and I realized all I needed was Mr. Godfrey's signature. Fuck.

Then, I heard harsh footsteps nearing. The door to Mr. Godfrey's office whipped open with a gust of air, and the man himself stormed past me like I was invisible.

The HR woman stepped out shortly after, smoothing her skirt and offering me a polite smile; I could see the evil glee behind those gorgeous eyes of hers. I didn't return it. Bitch.

For some reason, I felt beyond angered by what I had just witnessed. If Mr. Godfrey was being hounded for something that was consensual, that was simply unfair. I would never do that to him. I would never, ever, even though Letha confirmed that my afflictions were irrational, even though I knew it was irrational-- in a hurry, I grabbed the weekly report from my desk and rushed after him.

I wasn't terrified of Mr. Godfrey; I needed him to know that. If anything, I wanted him near at all times. The HR bitch had no idea what she was talking about!

That was why I was now on my feet, heels clacking sharply against the marble as I chased after him. "Mr. Godfrey-- sir-- wait!--"

But didn't stop; he wouldn't. He was a storm in motion, cutting through the office like it offended him just by existing. A few people looked up as we passed, some quickly ducked their heads back down behind their screens, and others openly stared. I didn't care; all I saw was the back of his head, the sharp angle of his jaw as he strode ahead of me, fists clenched so tight the tendons in his forearms stood out.

"Mr. Godfrey!" I tried again, clutching the paper against my chest. Maybe talking about the report would make him see that I wasn't scared? I had no idea what I was thinking. "I just-- I just need your signature on the!--"

In an instant, he stopped so abruptly that I nearly crashed into him. Mr. Godfrey turned around, eyes blazing, lips parted with fury-- and before I could take a breath, duck, save myself, he shouted at the top of his lungs; "What do you want?!"

The hallway went silent. Several doors cracked open. Somewhere, a printer stopped mid-page. All I could hear was the thundering pulse in my ears.

I blinked up at him, stunned.

"What," he spat, "is so fucking urgent that you need to chase me like a lunatic down the goddamn hallway?!"

I froze. "Sir, I-- It's just the weekly rep--"

"I don't give a shit about the weekly report!" he barked. "You think I'm in the mood to babysit your paperwork right now?! Don't you see I have more important things to deal with right now than your incompetence?!"

My ears were burning red from the humiliation, but this wasn't the kind I had previously liked-- this felt like torture. I couldn't yell back, couldn't oppose him, not in front of the whole office. My body betrayed me, and I felt my eyes well with tears; did he think I was incompetent? Was that maybe all this week had been about, that I just... wasn't good enough?

Had I imagined everything?

Mr. Godfrey wasn't done. "Oh, don't stand here and look like a victim! I told you to stop stuttering, and to wipe those fucking tears you always have! And still, week after week, you hand in your work like I should be grateful you managed to use a stapler!" he yelled. "If you need my signature on bullshit like the weekly report, learn to forge it, and save me the fucking waste of time! How incompetent is it possible to be?!"

A lump rose in my throat, and I pressed my lips into a straight line, not wanting to give away the way they quivered with my building tears.

But then, Mr. Godfrey's voice dropped, and he got all up in my face-- to truly cross the line, he pressed his finger into my shoulder, giving me a harsh shove in hopes of me losing my balance; I didn't. Not in my fucking Louboutins. I didn't dare to look at him, and I screwed my eyes to the floor.

"Fix it," Mr. Godfrey hissed, low and lethal. "And get out of my fucking face."

With that, the scratch of the heel of his shoe violated my ears before he stormed off, yelling something I couldn't catch at the rest of the employees who were watching.

My hands were still gripping the report, wrinkled now and damp where my fingers had started to sweat. My vision blurred as hot tears finally spilled over and fell, one after another, down my cheeks and onto the paper. I didn't even wipe them away. I just stood there, crying silently like some stupid little girl who couldn't even handle a bad grade. How could I have been so thoughtless? How had I manage to convince myself that Mr. Godfrey was into me, when all along, he was just a plain fucking sadist?

Letha's words stung me as I stood there, frozen, staring at the floor, and specifically at the marble that shimmered faintly beneath the artificial lights. Somewhere behind me, someone coughed. A keyboard clacked. A door eased shut. Life went on, yet I couldn't move. How was I supposed to play Mr. Godfrey's game?

Then, a voice cut through the blur, urgent but soft; "Hey-- hey, hey," A warm hand appeared on my arm, and I instantly knew who it was.

Peter's handsome face was a mix of worry and fury, his brows drawn tight as he stepped between me and the eyes of the office. "Come here," he murmured, shielding me with his body. "Don't just stand here, come on."

I shook my head and tried to push him off, tried to regain my dignity, but he wouldn't let me; "Don't argue with me right now," Peter said, gentle but firm. "Look at the state of you... Jeez, you're shaking. You're coming with me."

Like the saviour he was, he ushered me toward his office, blocking the view of every curious face that dared look up, his hand never leaving the small of my back. He opened his door, pulled me inside, and shut it behind us with a soft click. "There you go," he murmured, guiding me into the chair across from his desk before leaving to close the blinds.

The moment I knew no one could see me, I allowed myself to unravel-- the sob clawed out of my throat before I could stop it, and I bent over my knees, hands clutching at the short skirt I had specifically worn for Mr. Godfrey, just trying to hold something, anything. My pride, maybe?

Peter was already crouching beside me, his sigh falling warm against my knee. He didn't touch me, didn't shush me-- he just stayed still and let me fall apart. "Hey," he eventually said, voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't get to talk to you like that."

I shook my head, but I couldn't speak. The tears kept coming, thick and hot, soaking my lashes until the whole world looked smeared. My ribs hurt from holding it all in, and now it poured out with everything I had been hoarding for a whole week.

Peter shifted closer, eyes round with concern. "You're not stupid," he said, softer now, reading my silence. "And you're not bad at your job. Roman just needed someone to bleed on, and you were standing too close... It's not your fault, kid."

I let out a shaky laugh; my tears were shockingly salty as they spilled over my lips. "I'm so pathetic," I whispered, voice breaking. "Crying in your office... Over him."

"No, you're not pathetic," His voice was steel now; "He's the pathetic one, for taking his shit out on someone like you."

Someone like... me?

The phrase echoed. Someone like me. Someone who still wore short skirts because she wanted the attention, someone who played pretend-submissive in her head like it meant something, someone who thought she could turn lust into safety, or longing into control. Someone delusional. Someone small. Someone pliable. Someone discardable. Someone unimportant.

"I just thought he--" I stopped, swallowing another sob. "I thought he liked me." Stupid, stupid girl. Why would anyone like someone like me? Especially Mr. Godfrey, who could have anyone he ever wanted.

Peter's silence was heavy. It wasn't cruel, wasn't judgemental, but full of all the things he didn't want to say too quickly. "He did-- He does," he tried. "But not in a way that's good for anyone." Peter looked at me, earnest, eyes kind in a way that only made it worse. "I can't say much because of legal reasons, but the way he handled the last secretary wasn't... it wasn't okay. None of it was alright."

He shifted, gently placing his hand on my knee; something about it made my skin pleasantly buzz. "Look... This is a guy who grew up being told he was a God. He's been bathed in wealth we can't even begin to comprehend, and his mind is all screwed up because of it, so anything he says, comes from his sheltered little dream-land. He doesn't understand consequences. He doesn't understand that you're sitting here, upset. Imagine it like... like he's constantly in a moderate bubble of psychosis. Life is not real to him, so you can't make him real. Roman Godfrey is the virus in your computer, and it's time that you either tossed the whole thing out or built a firewall,"

I blinked at him, my heart aching in some small, tender way I wasn't prepared for. "But... I like my computer," I whispered.

Peter reached out with his free hand, slow, careful, and peeled the wrinkled report from my grip. "It's a very nice, shiny computer," he said, rubbing my knee with his thumb in soothing motions. His eyes rounded out further with concern and pity, and he sighed before he landed his last blow;

"But you really need that firewall if you want to keep using it,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Handling pain is a skill.

Going through a full workday at Godfrey Industries was also a skill. It could break the strongest of soldiers, kill the most resilient of wolves, yet somehow, I had gotten through to the end of it.

Mr. Godfrey hadn't come back from where on earth he had ran off to (probably his palace in the depths of Hell, if you ask me), and I had been back from Peter's office for a while now, sitting behind my desk playing my favourite game-- snake. Now that Mr. Godfrey wasn't here to give me any assignments, I had nothing to do, and quite frankly, I couldn't focus on anything that garnered my full attention; I needed something to space out to, and this was perfect.

I had about thirty minutes until I could go home. Hopefully, my crazy, evil, handsome bastard of a boss wouldn't return from Satan's secret lair, where he probably resided, and I wouldn't have to face him until the end of the day.

But as you likely guessed, speaking of the devil--

Mr. Godfrey's steps were usually harsh, quick, rash, and I'd usually be able to hear them from miles down the hall. However, he had somehow managed to appear in front of me with the swiftness of a CIA-trained spy, completely undetected. He leaned against the wall opposite my desk with his arms crossed over his chest, not looking at me-- instead, I saw the way his eyes had fixated on my Louboutins, and most specifically, the heel of them.

Then, just as I thought he was about to yell at me some more, and just as I grabbed my desk with dread, his first words were shockingly soft; "Those are sharp," he mumbled. "Sharp and high. I wondered why you were so tall today."

Stunned, I shifted in my seat, straightening up. I couldn't believe he was talking to me again. Swallowing over and over, I scanned him; was he wearing a different shirt? Maybe he had sweated through the previous one-- the whole incident with the HR lady seemed intimidating, after all. "I'm glad that how I dress doesn't utterly disgust you anymore," I huffed. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Maybe I could go get another cup of coffee for you to dump in your trash?"

Despite my sharp words and attitude, I flinched when Mr. Godfrey's green eyes darted to meet mine. However, they weren't terrifying like they had been earlier. Something had changed. "Yes," he said, pushing away from the wall and swallowing the reprimand he wanted to give me for mouthing off. "There is something you could do. Follow me."

There was something unbelievably relieving about hearing Mr. Godfrey talk to me and treat me like a normal person. If anything, it made everything worth it, and I felt sick for even thinking it. Some part of me would maybe even let him yell at me every day, if he'd come back at the end of it and speak to me softly like this. Without saying a word, I nodded and followed his long steps into his office.

The door shut behind me with a muted thud.

I stood in the middle of his office, unsure whether to sit or wait for him to tell me to. It felt like I had walked directly onto a wooden stand, ready to have my head chopped off by the dreaded Godfrey guillotine.

However, Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me. The silence was suffocating, and the room smelled like that expensive cologne he wore, mixed with the adrenaline still lingering from whatever fire he'd walked through to get back here.

Without saying a word, he went to the bar cart by the dying orchid, fingers brushing over a crystal decanter before pouring a glass of what I could only guess was brandy. That alone told me something was off-- he never drank during office hours, meaning something was brewing, and it might be the cauldron where he was going to cook my remains.

Mr. Godfrey walked over to me and handed me the glass. What? I took it because I didn't know what else to do, and placed it beneath my nose; yeah, this was brandy, alright.

Then, finally, he spoke, still not looking me in the eye; "What happened earlier... wasn't supposed to happen,"

"What are we talking about?" I asked, clutching my glass. "Me getting off on your shoe, or you yelling at me in front of the whole office?"

That did it-- Mr. Godfrey's eyes snapped up, ready to burn a hole through mine. It was clear that I had caught him off guard, and that he had obviously meant the latter, but I had been dying to finally say it out loud. You've seen me cum. You've seen me cum!

I was building my fucking firewall, piece by piece. Thanks, Peter.

I had to play Mr. Godfrey's game to defeat him, the ultimate boss. Was he perhaps the modern equivalent of Bowser? That wasn't a thought I wanted to think right now, but anywho-- thanks, Letha.

"I crossed a line," Mr. Godfrey finally said, his voice tight with discomfort. "But I'm not usually surrounded by like-minded people, so... I got ahead of myself. I got too excited."

"Like-minded people?" I took a careful sip of my brandy as my words echoed the office. What was that supposed to mean?

Mr. Godfrey's mouth twitched like he regretted saying it out loud. He turned away slightly, running a hand through his hair; it was disheveled again in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish. "I saw something in you," he said after a pause, quieter this time. "Or, well, I saw you, and what you did, and I suppose I took that as an invitation. But was it?"

"Was what?"

"Was it an invitation?" he pressed, swallowing. "That first time I saw you? Did you want me to see it?"

I stilled, pressing the glass to my bottom lip as I tried to find my words. "No," I breathed-- that was the truth. It'd had nothing to do with Mr. Godfrey. I was simply doing what I had been doing for years, and I had only wanted to relieve myself, but... "But I think I part of me wanted you to."

"To?"

"To see me, sir," My gaze fell to the floor, glancing at my Louboutins as anxiety burned its way into my fingertips-- or was that the brandy? "I just... wanted to be good."

Mr. Godfrey blinked. "Good?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Good for... me?"

Green eyes burned into mine when I dared to meet them again. The tone of his voice, the way it was painted with a delicate stroke of uncertainty, made my heart skip a beat. "You're doing it again," I breathed. "You're talking to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like this is something more than me being your secretary, and you being my boss,"

The air between us grew thick with tension as Mr. Godfrey's gaze never left mine. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His broad chest rose and fell as if trying to steady himself, like he was trying to catch up with something that had just slipped through his fingers. "You're right," he said, his voice low and controlled, though there was a hint of something raw beneath it; "And I don't think I'm able to stop."

Oh God.

I didn't know how to respond; I was suspended in that breathless pause, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me, and not because of anything cruel, but because Mr, Godfrey was so composed now, so gentle. I opened my mouth, daring to speak, but he lifted a hand-- calm, slow, before he delivered the final blow; "So, if you wish to leave, you're not going to walk out of here with nothing. Don't worry. You'll get the severance package, full benefits, letters of recommendation, glowing ones... You'll be taken care of. I want you to land softly after what I've put you through,"

I stood still.

Very still.

Too still.

It felt like any movement might shatter the fragile air between us, but in this tension, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't exist. So, I downed the brandy, to Mr. Godfrey's surprise-- I put it down on the floor next to me, flexing and unflexing my fingers like a nervous tic. I could feel my eyes well with tears as all my air got stuck in my chest; was this really happening?

No, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

"Sir," I breathed, hoping my voice wouldn't crack. "Are you firing me?"

Mr. Godfrey's eyes widened slightly-- not with anger, not with that usual razor-sharp contempt he wore like a suit, but with something closer to confusion. However, there was no uncertainty when he gave me his answer; "No," Immediate. Definite. "I'm not firing you. If I fired you, you wouldn't get the severance package, so no. I'm not firing you. You're just... allowed to leave."

Something within me had cracked, and I couldn't mend it. I was trying to scoop up my emotions and stuff them somewhere I couldn't reach, but there was no going back. My tears had blurred my vision completely, and I had no idea how they hadn't spilled down my cheeks yet. This was an immediate panic unlike anything I had ever felt before. It felt like I was about to be executed, and like my entire reality was shattering. "Am I really that bad?" I breathed. "Did I-- Did I do that bad?"

"... What?"

"Did I do that bad of a job? Was I-- was-- I that bad?"

Mr. Godfrey stilled, but not like before; this was different, quieter, slower, like I had said something in a language he only half-understood. He took a single breath, and then, almost cautiously, exhaled; "You think this is about your job,"

"I just!--" I swiped at my eyes, furious that I couldn't stop my tears. "I'm just trying to-- to understand, sir! What did I do-- do wrong?"

Mr. Godfrey blinked. His hands gripped the desk even harder, as though that would ground him in this unforeseen conversation. Something told me that no one had cried like this in front of him before, and that he had absolutely no idea what to do with the crybaby in the room. "I thought I was doing you a favor," he tried. "I thought you'd want out, after what I've been putting you through?"

I placed my fingers beneath my lower lashes, hoping to salvage at least a bit of my makeup.

Now that I was faced with the option, I finally knew what I wanted, after all the different inputs of the day. Just the thought of no longer seeing Mr. Godfrey, no longer being told what to do, no longer chasing the pain, the humiliation, the exhilaration, along with the high of having his full attention, made me want to scream. I needed him like water, despite what everyone else thought I needed. I'd had a taste of what I could have with him, and I needed, needed, needed, needed--

"No, I need this," I said, suddenly, voice thick with the kind of desperation I didn't know I was capable of exposing. "I need this job, sir. I need the rules, I need you to keep telling me what to do, I need-- I need this."

I watched as Mr. Godfrey flinched and pushed away from the table, shaking his head as though I was telling him something he shouldn't know. He paced back and forth, chewing on his bottom lip. He stopped with his back to me, his hand dragging down his face. "You can't need that," he muttered. "You shouldn't."

"But I do!" I cried, louder now, surer; it was a relief to say it out loud. "This, whatever this is, has been the only thing that's made any sense to me in a long time! It's like-- it's like I've been living under a damn rock for years, and all your bullshit makes me feel alive!"

Mr. Godfrey practically spun around on his heel, facing me with his brows drawn together in a look of offence; "My bullshit?"

"Yes, your bullshit!" Sniffling, I rubbed my nose, trying to get myself together. "You haven't even as much as looked at me for a week now because I showed some resilience!"

"That's not!--"

"No, that was why, sir! That's why, and I've loved it!" Tears ran down my cheeks as a broken laugh slipped past my lips. God, what a relief, and what a revelation-- all the emotions from my week of being ignored had culminated in something I had never felt before; important. Because Mr. Godfrey had taken the time to single me out, put his energy into ignoring me, and that made me feel beyond special, beneath all the pain and confusion.

I needed this. I needed this.

Mr. Godfrey stared at me like I had just spoken in tongues. He was absolutely baffled-- positively scandalized. I watched it ripple through him; first the disbelief, then the reluctant understanding, and then that flicker of dark, stunned delight. "Are you sure?" he eventually asked, scanning me for any possible cracks. "Are you sure that this isn't just some new obsession of yours?"

I took a shaky breath; I was sure. "It's not,"

"And how can you be sure?" Something told me that Mr. Godfrey was nervous about this too, somewhere behind his deep, green eyes. He had previously had a hefty telling-off from HR, which I definitely should've have witnessed, so I could understand that he was reluctant to step into this again, no matter how much he wanted to; however, something in my head stopped working, and went into a gear I didn't know I had.

My brain short-circuited and did the most instinctive thing I could've done. I stepped forward away from the door, one step, two step-- I was sure, and this was the only way to show him.

I dropped to my knees before Mr. Godfrey.

The carpet grazed my knees, but I barely felt it. My breath came down in hard, choppy motions, but I didn't let it show. I simply placed my hands on my thighs and waited. I waited for him to say something, to deny me, to accept me, to step on me once more and call me a stupid little girl with a brain the size of a nut, anything-- I had to lower my gaze.

And for a few agonizing seconds, nothing happened.

Then, I heard the sound of his shoes.

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward, silent, until the tips of his expensive shoes were nearly touching my knees. I didn't look up, I didn't move-- I couldn't. I was offering myself up to his dominance, to his control, to his liking, so I needed to stay very, very still. This felt like a mating dance I'd see birds do on National Geographic, because that was their nature, and this was ours. I could sense the air change above me, hear his soft sigh, and then--

Mr. Godfrey snapped his fingers, and I didn't need to talk to know what he wanted.

I tilted my head upwards, daring to meet his green, unreadable gaze. From this angle, he was gorgeous as ever, breathtaking-- I couldn't believe I even had a sliver of his attention.

Mr. Godfrey's thumb touched my bottom lip; his skin was warm. The pad of his thumb pressed inward with gentle pressure, and his eyes never left mine, even as they fluttered with my shaky exhale.

I parted my lips, inviting him, accepting him.

He let his thumb rest inside my mouth a moment longer, not controlling, just there, like a question he already knew the answer to; I wouldn't bite. I wouldn't do that again, and he knew that now. When he eventually pulled it out, slowly, carefully, he brushed it against my cheek, smearing my spit into my skin, wanting to see whether I'd whimper with discomfort or squirm with disgust.

I did neither.

With a dreamy sigh, Mr. Godfrey crouched down in front of me, getting on my level for the first time-- it almost felt symbolic. We had accepted each other. It was done. He leaned in closer, so close I could smell his cologne again, so close I could trace the outline of the blessed Forbes nose, close enough to make me wonder whether he'd kiss me or not, before he whispered; "Are you sure?"

My lashes were heavy with my drying tears. "I'm sure,"

"I've been burned here before, so I need you to be clear with me. Do you consent?" Mr. Godfrey's green eyes seared into mine as his words clung to the thick air-- he needed to know. He needed to know, the same way I needed him to doom me.

I needed him to specify; "To working here?"

"No," Mr. Godfrey breathed. "To being my submissive."

My heart stuttered-- finally.

It was out in the open, and in the midst of my joy, my eyes scoured his, searching for lies, searching for anything Mr. Godfrey could trick me with, but this was one of those rare moments where he was laying out everything for me to see. Something told me I wouldn't get him like this ever again. If anything, this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and an opportunity I had been waiting for him to give me since the second I met him.

Finally, there was no question in my mind. I didn't need a firewall; I needed a dominant.

"Yes,"