#so i just came up with this one in the morning and I just remembered abt it

[punkshort]

Swept Away: Season Two

Prologue: Two Rings

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: To celebrate taking a step forward in your relationship and moving in together, Joel charters a yacht for the night. He couldn't possibly have an ulterior motive, right?

Chapter Warnings: language, reader has a strained relationship with her parents, smut (18+ MDNI), fluff, unprotected piv sex, oral sex f! and m!receiving, multiple orgasms, reader has at least shoulder length hair, food and alcohol consumption

WC: 7.7K

Series Masterlist

"Reschedule it for next week. I made a promise."

Seven days never flew by so fast.

Joel had been pacing around his house like a caged animal all morning. It was Saturday, but he still took a few work calls just as a distraction. It didn't help much. He found his hand drifting to his pocket every two minutes where a flawless diamond ring in an expensive box was kept.

A couple months prior he had woke up early with you curled up against his side. There wasn't anything particularly exceptional about that day. It was a workday, he remembered that much. It was raining, which was unusual for Los Angeles. But on that day he woke up and looked at you sleeping so peacefully in his bed and it hit him out of nowhere: he wanted to wake up like that for the rest of his life. He had never felt more certain about anything.

He quickly ran into a problem, however. You technically already had an engagement ring. One that was used as a prop, although a very fucking real and very fucking expensive prop, back when you first met and accompanied him to Fiji. He had hired you through a dating agency that specialized in catering to higher end clients like himself. His needs were slightly unusual, however. He had wanted you to pose as his fiancée with the stipulation you weren't to breathe a word about your fake arrangement to anybody in order to win over a real estate tycoon and bid for the last parcel of land on the island.

Behind closed doors, you had your separate rooms.

It was temporary. It was only supposed to be one month and he would never see you again.

It made him laugh now to think about it. He didn't stand a chance. You had him hooked from the moment you stepped into his office with your quick wit and no-bullshit attitude. It took him a while to accept it, but once he did, he never looked back.

When you returned from the island, Joel insisted you keep the ring, which you'd worn on your right hand ever since. He went back and forth over it for weeks. Should he get you a new ring, or should he use the old one and propose to you properly?

He was going to let you decide. Either way, they were both yours, which he anticipated fielding an argument over as you still struggled to adjust to your new, lavish lifestyle with him.

As he looked out the window at the moving truck and two cars puttering up the long driveway, he wondered if he should have spaced things out a little for your benefit. Asking you to marry him on the same day you were moving into his home might be a lot for you to handle all at once. But then he saw you step out of your beat up car, one he planned to replace as soon as possible, and smiled at the excitement written on your face.

He was about to step away and go downstairs to greet you when he saw your mother and father step out of the second car. He froze for a moment, an unexpected jolt of nerves rocking through his chest. He hadn't met your parents before and when you told them you would be moving in together, they suddenly decided to drop everything and travel all the way from Tennessee to help you pack your things.

You thought it was a nice gesture given your delicate relationship with them, but he knew better. They were worried about you and they wanted to make sure he wasn't some psycho coming along to take advantage of their only daughter.

He didn't blame them one bit and he suspected he would behave similarly when Sarah met somebody one day. But he knew how he came off to people. He had a tendency to be gruff and a little cold. It was the by-product of a few horribly failed relationships, as well as years and years of cutthroat business deals. Anyone would have to be hardened to get to where he was in his career.

Still, he intended on making a good impression. These were your parents and, hopefully, his future in-laws. He wouldn't let anything screw this up.

"Honey?"

"In here, Mom!" you called from Joel's master bathroom. Your master bathroom now.

Your mother appeared in the doorway, eyes bugging out of her head when she took in the sizable room. A crystal clear glass shower that could easily fit two people, something you and Joel had already proven more than once, sat in one corner with a built in granite bench and custom tile walls imported from Italy. In the opposite corner was a massive claw foot tub that sat in front of a huge window overlooking the breathtaking ocean view from Joel's backyard. Currently, you sat on the floor in front of the double sinks built into the white marble countertop going through your boxes of toiletries.

"My goodness," your mom breathed with a hand pressed gently against her chest. "Why on earth would he have a tub right in front of a window? Anybody could see you bathing!"

"It's one sided," you giggled. "You can see out but no one can see in."

Her face relaxed and she took a step into the room, making a surprised little noise when she felt the warmth emanating from the tile floor.

"It's heated," you explained before she could ask. She nodded slowly and continued to look around in awe.

"I see."

You could hear her tone, a tone you had grown too familiar with your whole life. She wasn't pleased.

"What's wrong?" you asked, setting down your bags of makeup so you could give her your full attention. She bit her lip nervously before quickly shutting the bathroom door and joining you on the ground.

"Don't you think all this is a little... much?"

You frowned. "Much?"

"This lifestyle is what I mean. This isn't you, honey," your mom said with a soothing squeeze of your arm.

"No, but I'm getting used to it," you said defensively. "This is what Joel is used to and I love him. It doesn't bother me so much, it's just an adjustment."

"He's got a whole staff to tend to this place," she continued with a low voice. "I saw a gardener and a pool boy. Don't tell me he has a maid, too."

"Well, yeah, he does-"

Your mother's jaw dropped with a disbelieving snort.

"He can't pick up after himself?"

"He doesn't have to! He's paying someone to do it for him! Besides, he's very busy. He works long hours every day to afford all this. Why should he-"

"It humbles a person to be able to cook and clean for themselves," your mother said firmly. "It builds character."

"Mom," you whined, "it's different out here and you know it. This isn't Tennessee. Most homes have some hired help, it's just how it is."

"Well, I was just envisioning a different life for my only child, don't come for my head about it," she huffed while straightening her skirt.

"No one's coming for your head, I'm just trying to explain how people live out here. It's different but I really like it. And most of all, I'm happy. I love Joel, Mom, more than anything. And he loves me, too. He treats me well, he cares for me... he's a good man," you finished softly. Your parents never liked the idea of you moving to the west coast with your best friend, Celine, for college. It unknowingly deepened the rift between you and them that you had been trying to mend for years.

"Well, I suppose he does seem rather charming. He has nice manners, at least," she sighed. You thought back to the lunch the four of you had shared not an hour earlier, finding it surprising that your mother found something nice to say about Joel at all given the uncomfortable atmosphere. To his credit, Joel really tried. He asked your parents about their jobs and their church. He even shared some stories about himself, trying to find some common ground, but your parents hardly offered anything in return and it irked you.

"Then why were you and Dad so stand-offish during lunch?" you asked pointedly.

"We were not-"

"Yes, you were," you argued back before she could lie. "I was sitting right there. Why don't you like Joel, Mom?"

She sighed and looked around the ornate bathroom again before floating her hands in the air.

"We just aren't used to all this, sweetie. It's a lot for us. Your father feels uncomfortable around all of this... grandeur."

"Well, do you think you can try a little harder? For me?" you asked, sounding exasperated. "All of this stuff shouldn't matter as long as I'm happy, right?"

After a beat, she slowly nodded.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll talk to your father."

"Thank you," you breathed with a small smile. "Now, can you please help me with the last of these boxes?"

She grinned and pulled the last one over to open it up. "Of course," she said, then made a face at the way everything inside was tossed about. "You're lucky none of these things are broken. You pack like a maniac, honey."

You laughed and pushed yourself onto your knees to get a better look inside the box.

"Well, guess it's a good thing you and Dad helped out with the important stuff."

"That reminds me, the boxes for your office are still in the foyer. Dad packed all of that for you," she said while taking out a few bottles of shampoo. "You know him, properly organizing everything. He's retired but he's still labeling and sorting everything in the house like he's working a case." Your father, a recently retired police detective, always had an attention to detail. "He said your important looking work documents were all in one box he marked fragile."

"Oh, great, thank you. I think Joel's still having one of the bedrooms converted into an office space for me so I'll have to ask him where to store it for now," you said, pausing when your mother gave you a look.

"One of the bedrooms?" she repeated. "How many does he need?"

"Mom! You said you'd try!"

"You're right, you're right, I'm sorry," she said with a light laugh. Then she stood with an armful of items. "Where should I put all this?"

"That door right there is a walk-in linen closet."

You noticed her eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the spacious linen closet, but you let it go. Your relationship with them was still a little rocky and you didn't want to press the matter. She said she and your father would try to get used to Joel's lifestyle, so you had to give her time to follow through on her promise.

Your parents left for the airport in the late afternoon. After your tense conversation with your mother, you were ashamed to admit you were a little relieved that their visit had come to an end. But when you saw both your mom and dad give Joel a hug before they left, you softened up a bit, even if their hugs were a little stiff. They promised they would try and that was all you could ask for, even though Joel didn't deserve to be treated unfairly in the slightest. As their car disappeared down the winding driveway, you had visions of all the ways you could make it up to him, but then he surprised you with some unexpected plans.

"You chartered a yacht?" you exclaimed. "Why? To mark the occasion?"

Joel thought about it for half a second.

"Yeah. I wanted to celebrate," he said smoothly while sliding his hands around your waist. "We got it overnight so pack a small bag."

You squealed with delight and grabbed his face to pull him down for a quick kiss. When you turned to hurry back inside, he swatted you lightly on the ass, making you yelp and then giggle your way up the stairs towards your shared bedroom.

The marina was absolutely beautiful at sunset. The last golden rays from the sun reflected off the water as you approached, spreading flashes of deep purples, pinks and greens across the horizon. Joel had insisted on driving you both himself, something that surprised you but you shrugged off, assuming he wanted to allow his driver, Richie, to enjoy the weekend.

"We have this entire yacht?" you asked, mouth agape as you approached a huge two story charter.

"Yep," he had replied, pleased with your reaction. Two crew members had met you at the car and grabbed your bags, leaving your hands free to walk carefully across the bridge to board the yacht. You smiled bashfully when the crew of eight introduced themselves, then tucked yourself into Joel's side as the captain gave you a quick tour. When he paused in the doorway of the master suite to point out all the amenities, you shot Joel a playful look and waggled your eyebrows. He stifled a laugh and rolled his eyes before kissing the top of your head and following the captain through the lounge and to the deck, where there had to have been what looked like a hundred candles lit on every available surface. The sight took your breath away, it was so stunning. Flickering candlelight reflected off the polished wood and glassware that sat atop the table, already prepped and ready for you to be served once you got out onto the open water.

"Pink roses?" you said when you spotted the centerpiece as well as the decorative adornments that were peppered throughout the deck. You leaned in to sniff them and closed your eyes.

"I know you like the pink ones the best," Joel replied as he watched you look around in wonder. Then your eyes found his again and you smiled.

"When did you become such a romantic, Joel Miller?"

His heart skipped a beat in his chest when he replied, "When I met you."

While the yacht made its way a few miles off shore, the two of you found the bar inside the lounge and shared some drinks in front of the small fireplace while soft, classical music filtered through the speakers hidden strategically throughout the room. In the left corner of the room sat a white baby grand piano, sparkling but untouched. To the right was the bar, tended by a discreet looking gentleman with greying hair.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Your leg was draped across his lap and he was drawing slow circles over your calf, but his movements paused when you asked your question.

Joel grinned and nodded, pulling his eyes away from the flames to look at you.

"Glenn's yacht?"

You smiled and leaned in closer.

"Yep," you said, lowering your voice so the bartender couldn't overhear. "Remember the last night we were there?"

Joel bit back a groan at the memory of you on top of him, practically begging him to fuck you, but he had refused. That didn't stop you from finding another way to drive him completely insane. Instead, you had gotten yourself off by riding his thigh. It was the first time the two of you had blurred that line from a business relationship to something more.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember," he murmured. Your eyes looked heavy as you gazed up at him and it took every ounce of strength he had not to toss you over his shoulder and take you back to the master suite right then and there. Instead, he pulled you in for a deep kiss, tasting the sweetness of champagne on your tongue.

His hand drifted back to get lost in your hair when you both heard someone nearby softly clearing their throat. You pulled away and let your gaze sheepishly fall while Joel handled the crew member who had come to let you know that dinner was about to be served.

"Oops," you whispered once the they were out of sight. A low rumble of laughter bubbled up from his chest and once you stood, he tugged you against him and cupped your face.

"Don't worry. Place'll be all ours after dinner," Joel told you. He gave you a quick kiss before curving his arm around your shoulders so he could lead you out towards the deck.

"Wha - Joel! We - we can't drive this thing!"

He chuckled at the panic in your voice. "Just for the evening. They'll drop anchor and be back in the morning. I ain't gonna get us killed, baby."

"Oh," you breathed a sigh in relief. He pulled your chair out and you sat down primly, glancing down at the complicated looking appetizer that waited for you. A small smile played at your lips when you asked, "And why are they leaving overnight, Joel?"

He sat down across from you and flicked out his cloth napkin with a wink.

"You'll see."

Dinner was elaborate and rich, but you had grown used to that with Joel. You had lost count of how many courses they brought out but when a cheese plate was placed between you after the main dish, you gave him a pained look.

"Joel?"

"Hmm?" he hummed while taking a sip of red wine. Your fingers inched across the white linen tablecloth, seeking out his hand. When his own fingers linked with yours and curled around your knuckles, you smiled at him tiredly.

"This is lovely," you began, "but I'm wondering when I'll get my dessert."

"Dessert's after the limoncello," he assured you. He shifted a little nervously in his chair and adjusted his tie. His mind was elsewhere but you had no idea.

"That's not the kind of dessert I meant," you whispered. You saw the realization dawn on him and you stifled a giggle. He leaned forward, hands still intertwined, and picked up a piece of cheese. He held it out between his thumb and forefinger and as seductively as you could, slowly stretched your neck forward to wrap your lips around his fingers and the small cube, all while maintaining eye contact with Joel.

"Good?"

You nodded and swallowed. "But I know something that tastes better."

"Christ," he groaned, eyes darkening as heat began to spread under his collar. Subconsciously, his finger began to slide your ring back and forth, fiddling with it. He wanted to just ask you right then and there. Just take the thing off and put it on your other hand and say the fucking words. But he had to wait. He had a plan.

Mercifully, dessert finally arrived. Actual dessert. Tiramisu, to be exact. But you were growing restless. He could tell by the way you sighed and tugged at the straps of your dress or flicked your hair over your shoulder to rub your neck with a soft moan. You were trying to get him to break and it was working magnificently. It had him checking his watch and mentally doing the math, trying to figure out if he had enough time to fuck you before his plan was set into motion.

The crew was packing up somewhere in the depths of the yacht. The captain had just left your table after confirming with Joel whether or not he needed anything else, and the anticipation of having the boat all to yourselves was killing you. But when he stood and extended a hand, asking you to join him on the deck instead of dragging you back to the bedroom, you hesitated. He grinned and wiggled his fingers.

"C'mon. Trust me."

You did. Of course, you did. So you stood and let him take your hand, leading you out onto the deck which was alight with flameleas candles and string lights wrapped around all the railings. A small seating area sprinkled with rose petals awaited you, the sight causing your suspicions to stir.

"All this to celebrate moving in together?" you asked. Joel didn't respond. He just smiled and sat down on the plush couch, which was facing the vast, empty ocean, and patted the seat next to him. Slowly, you sat down and leaned into his side before scanning the water. The moon was full that night and blazed a bright beam of light across the sea. It was quiet and serene and had you melting into his chest as his arms wrapped around you.

"It's peaceful," you murmured. In the distance, you could hear the soft hum of a motor from the boat taking the crew back to shore. Joel glanced nervously at his watch and you frowned. Tilting your chin up a bit, you caught his eye.

"What's going on?"

"Nothin'," he said immediately in response, only furthering your suspicions. You shifted so you could get a better look at his face.

"Why are you checking the time? What's-"

"You want somethin' to drink? I can get it for you," he interrupted. Okay, now you knew something was up. His fingers were tapping rhythmically against his leg, which was bouncing so fast the deck was creaking.

"No," you said, "Joel, why are you acting-"

A loud boom muffled the rest of your sentence, which ended up being a scream, anyway. Then a flash of color appeared in the sky above your heads and you looked up in surprise. Fireworks. There were fireworks going on above you, being set off from a barge somewhere you couldn't see on the water.

"Joel," you breathed in between booms. You looked at him and he grinned. "You did this?"

He nodded and said, "Wanted to do somethin' special."

"This is too much!" But you laughed and jumped when another firework popped in the sky, undermining any scolding on your part.

Your curiosity vanished, successfully distracted by the fireworks display. Joel curled an arm around your shoulders and you sunk against him once again with your back pressed against his front. You tipped your head back to rest on his shoulder so you could watch the fireworks, completely missing the way his heart began to beat faster against your back when he reached for your hands, which were resting in your lap.

Thinking he was just holding your hand, you shot him a quick smile before refocusing your attention on the sky. Maybe it was the drinks you had with dinner, but you hadn't even realized he slid your ring off your right hand until he held it up. Your gaze dropped down to look at it pinched between his fingers and your eyebrows knit together. The huge diamond sparkled with the reflection from the fireworks, all the reds, blues, and yellows shining within every flawless carat.

"Joel?" you said quietly. So quietly that it was impossible to hear over the loud booms.

Then you saw the tremble in his hand that held your ring and your eyes widened with a slow realization: the private yacht, the fancy dinner, the fireworks... this wasn't an evening designed to celebrate moving in together. This was something else.

Joel lifted your left hand from your lap and adrenaline began to course through your whole body. Your ability to blink and breathe just... vanished. Time might have even stood still as you stared down at your hands, watching in disbelief as he carefully slid your ring onto your left finger. Then you felt his beard brush against the shell of your ear from behind.

"Looks better on this hand. What do you think?"

Tears welled up in your eyes almost immediately. You splayed your fingers out in front of you both to look at the ring on your hand, but your vision blurred and your hand shook worse than his. Then two fingers found your chin, tilting your face to the side so he could look you in the eye.

"I wanna spend my life with you," he murmured softly. Your lower lip began to tremble and your heart stuttered in your chest, but you did your best to focus on his words. "You changed everythin', sweetheart. Changed my entire life. Brought me back together with my brother, with my daughter... reminded me what it's like to enjoy life again." His own eyes grew misty when he gave you a small smile and added, "Made me believe in love."

You laughed a little and two fat tears trickled down your cheeks.

"I've never known a peace like the one I have when I'm with you," he whispered. He was talking softly but even with the fireworks still going off above your heads, you could hear every word, almost as if the entire world melted away in that moment and all that remained was just the two of you.

His eyes looked so warm as he stared at you. They were so adoring and vulnerable. It made you want to crawl into his lap, wrap your arms around him, and never let him go. But you wanted to hear the words. You were desperate to hear the question you longed to hear, so you bit harshly into your bottom lip and fought back the desire.

Finally, he dragged in a ragged breath and asked, "Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" you sobbed, and it was like the floodgates opened. You flipped around and tossed one leg over his lap to straddle him, missing the way his face beamed with excitement when you grabbed his cheeks with both hands and kissed him. Your tongue slid easily between his parted lips, catching his groan between your teeth. When your thumbs brushed over his cheeks, you felt dampness there. Tears. Shortly after, your own streaked down your face, but you couldn't stop smiling.

The fireworks were probably coming to an end, you couldn't really be sure. You were too lost in your little bubble, perched on Joel's lap with his hands fiercely gripping your waist. You couldn't remember if it was you who started to grind your hips into him or if his hands had urged you to move. Regardless, within just a few short minutes, you found yourself dragging your pussy up and down his thigh while your kisses grew more and more urgent.

"C'mon, let's go inside," he panted while you sprinkled kisses down his jaw. When he tried to pull you off him, you shook your head and pushed your knees deeper into the cushion, keeping you both planted in place.

"No - here," you murmured before hiking up the skirt of your dress so it pooled loosely around your waist, freeing your legs to spread even wider. Joel groaned when his chin dropped to his chest, watching as you pulled your panties to the side with two fingers. You bit your lip and swiped your fingers through your folds while he nearly ripped his belt open with shaky hands. He had just unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard and leaking, when you pressed your glistening fingers against his lips. His blood was pumping so fast, he was growing lightheaded, and when he parted his lips to taste your arousal on your fingertips, his eyes fluttered shut and his head dropped to the back of the couch in a daze.

"Dirty girl," he rasped after he licked your fingers clean. You smirked and reached down between your bodies to wrap your hand around his aching cock. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat and opened his eyes so he could watch you stroke him up and down.

His hands squeezed your hips and encouraged you forward, unable to wait any longer. Fortunately, you couldn't, either. You lined him up against your entrance and removed your hand, the only sounds that filled the air now that the fireworks were over was your shared heavy breaths and the water lightly lapping at the side of the yacht.

"It's why you sent the crew away, right?" you breathed as you slowly sunk down on his cock. "So you could fuck me wherever you wanted?"

A strangled groan slipped past his lips when you began to shift ever so slightly, the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him taking his breath away.

"Didn't want them to hear," he replied through clenched teeth. "Didn't think you'd - fuck - didn't think you'd be so fuckin' needy so fast."

The fact he really thought you wouldn't want to jump him as fast as possible after he proposed was laughable, and you told him so as you began to bounce quicker in his lap, gasping when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.

Joel just chuckled breathlessly and clutched your hips harder, helping you glide up and down his shaft.

"Ain't got nothin' to do with it. You wanted me to fuck you halfway through dinner."

"Is that such a bad thing?" you moaned, arching your back when his hips began to buck up into you. You grappled frantically at his shoulders and tipped your head back with a sharp gasp, leaving you with a beautiful view of twinkling stars above you.

With your throat exposed, Joel lunged forward to suck a red mark just below your jaw. You smelled so good and your skin was so soft that it had him sitting up straighter so he could gain better access.

"God, Joel!" you cried out into the night sky. His hands grabbed at your ass, fingers digging roughly into each cheek, forcing your body up and down on his cock while he slammed into you, knocking all the oxygen from your lungs and every thought from your brain.

"Gonna make the perfect little wife, baby," he growled, teeth scraping lightly down your jaw. Wife. The word sent a thrill through you.

"Yeah?" you gasped, eyelids fluttering as you felt yourself nearing your peak. "You think so?"

"Mhm," Joel murmured into your neck. "Love you so much, love you so fuckin' much, y'make me so happy. Just wanna spend my life takin' care of you, give you everythin' you need."

He was rambling now and a lazy smile stretched across your face.

"I love you, too," you whispered before tilting your head down to capture his lips in a searing, messy kiss.

Your hips stuttered and your moans grew more high pitched each time you dropped yourself back down on his cock. And because he knew you so well, he grinned against your mouth and murmured, "You gonna come for me?"

"Yeah," you whined in between heated kisses. Your hands clawed at his face and hair and you gasped shakily every time your clit rubbed against the curls at the base of his shaft. "Yeah, yeah I'm - I'm gonna come," you breathed, too lost in your own pleasure to say much else except repeat him, so fucking close that all it took was one or two more deep thrusts and it sent you reeling into your climax.

You tightened around him with a silent scream. Your brows were furrowed and your mouth hung open against his as your orgasm rocked through your entire body. Boneless, you drooped against him, nuzzling into his neck. He pulled you in tight against his chest while fucking up into you recklessly until he let out a deep groan and his body stilled.

"Look." Joel tapped your shoulder, stirring you back to life. You forced your eyes open and followed his gaze down where you were connected. A second later you watched as a small amount of his thick, milky white release dribbled out of you, pooling at the base of his cock.

Unable to put into words how hot it was to watch yourself overflow with him, your mouth greedily found his, tongue probing past his lips with a moan.

You sat there for as long as he would allow, limp and spent while sharing wet, lazy kisses until his cock softened and he slipped out of you with a grunt. The palm of his hand was soothingly rubbing your back and you had never felt more content in your life, but when a sharp breeze drifted over the ocean and made you shiver, Joel broke the kiss and cupped your face.

"Let's go to bed."

You nodded sleepily and allowed him to lead you back into the yacht, through the abandoned lounge that still played classical music faintly through the hidden speakers, down the well lit hallway, and finally to the master suite. The bed had been turned down by one of the crew members before they left. A bottle of champagne with two glasses with a note that read congratulations! was left next to the bed, but you were too exhausted. It was a miracle you were able to wash up and change out of your clothes before slipping into the plush bedding, but you stayed awake until Joel had turned out all the lights and joined you. With a sigh, you curled up next to him, resting your cheek on his shoulder and slotting your leg between his, then finally drifted off to sleep.

The clock read a little after three in the morning when you awoke. You were in the same position you found yourself before falling asleep hours earlier: fitted snugly into Joel's side with your palm placed gently over his heart. You used the bathroom and drank some much needed water but you had trouble falling back asleep, so you perched on the bench by the window and watched the way your ring shone in the moonlight.

It took you back in time when you saw the ring on your left hand again. Memories of confusing feelings, devastating rejection, fake love stories and intense pain flickered through your mind when you thought back to the whirlwind month you spent with Joel in Fiji, masquerading as his fiancée.

But now, it was real.

Now, that lie, that story, was going to become reality.

You couldn't have been happier. After everything you had been through, all the ups and downs your relationship faced from the very beginning, you were finally going to get your much deserved happy ending.

You just wished your parents and their opinions would stop plaguing your mind.

"What're you doin'?" Joel's groggy voice called from the bed. You snapped your head up in surprise, just to find him sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his eyes.

"Nothing. Sorry. I couldn't sleep. Too excited," you grinned when holding up your left hand. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness, so he reached over to flick on one small lamp next to the bed. The room was cast in a dim, yellow glow, but he saw you holding up your hand and he smiled.

Joel stood and took two steps forward when he froze. Something passed over his face that had you frowning with concern.

"What's wrong?"

"I - shit!" he exclaimed before turning on his heel and rummaging through his suit coat, which he abandoned across a chair on the other side of the room when you came to bed. You cocked your head to the side and allowed yourself a moment to appreciate how fucking handsome your fiancé was, bending over in just a tight pair of black boxer briefs. Your gaze flickered back up when he swiveled around, holding a small, black box in his hand.

"I got you a new ring," he said as he crossed the room, "I'm so sorry. Forgot to give it to you earlier 'cause, well -" he shrugged and shot you a playful grin. "Y'know."

"A new ring?" you repeated as you stood. "W-why? I have this one!"

He opened the box and you gasped when you saw the flawless cushion cut, crystal clear diamond engagement ring, which was bracketed by two smaller diamonds.

"Joel," you breathed, eyes flitting back and forth between the one in the box and the one already on your hand. "I-I can't! I can't have two!"

Joel chuckled and plucked it from the box.

"Why not? You got ten fingers."

You scoffed and shook your head, but he continued.

"I wanted you to have the option and I wanted to get you somethin' new," he explained while holding it out towards you. You stared at it, still in shock, but stopped yourself from reaching for it.

"You know..." you began slyly. Joel arched an eyebrow at your tone. "You never actually did get on one knee."

His hand dropped to his side and he narrowed his eyes.

"You want me on my knees?"

You bit your lip and nodded vigorously, and when he held your gaze and began to sink down to the ground, still clad in just his underwear, your heart began to do flips in your chest.

On one knee, he murmured your name lowly and reached for your hand. You gave him your right one and grinned when he slipped it onto your finger and asked, "Will you marry me?" for the second time.

"Yes," you whispered. You took a step forward and carded your fingers through his hair. Joel leaned into your touch and briefly closed his eyes, enjoying the way your nails scraped gently over his scalp.

"I see the appeal, now," you said softly, "having a man fall to his knee like this."

"Yeah?" he rasped, opening his eyes to give you a heated look. Then his fingers drifted up your legs to push up the satin nightgown you had slipped on earlier and your breath caught in your throat.

"Get used to it, baby, 'cause I'm ready to spend the rest of my life right fuckin' here." He leaned forward, pressing his face right between your legs and taking a deep breath before mouthing hungrily at your waiting cunt through your panties. You gasped, skin tingling, and fell forward almost instantly, hands sliding helplessly over his bare back while he held you up with his hands wrapped around your thighs.

With one swift turn to the left, he pushed you up against the wall and tugged your underwear down your legs. Tossing them somewhere behind him, he lifted one of your legs to drape over his shoulder, spreading your pussy underneath your hiked up nightie.

His fingers dug into your skin when his mouth came in contact with your center, groaning in delight to find you already so wet and eager for him.

Joel's jaw dropped open wide, sealing his lips over your slit and running the tip of his tongue up the middle. Your vision immediately blurred and you threw your head back against the wall in ecstasy. The scrape of his beard against your sensitive skin, the feel of his fingertips dimpling your thighs, the way his hot tongue laved over your cunt all had you reduced to a trembling mess in a matter of minutes.

You wailed out his name into the room, your voice echoing off the walls and suddenly Joel's plan to send away the crew was making a lot of sense.

"More," you whined while rolling your hips as much as you could without losing your balance. The one foot that remained on the ground was stretched, perching on your tiptoes, while the other was curled tightly over his shoulder, holding him in place.

His mouth released you with a gasp and you whimpered pathetically at the loss while your fingers clawed uselessly at his hair.

"C'mon, let's move to the bed. Want you to sit on my face."

His voice was deep and gravelly and it send a shudder through your limbs.

"No, please, Joel, I-I... I'm so close," you begged, looking down at him with watery eyes. He looked like a mess: disheveled hair, wet mouth, flushed neck. He scanned your face and relented, giving you want you wanted and diving back in between your thighs.

You immediately resumed rolling your hips against his face, chasing your high while his tongue slid messily between your lips over and over, collecting the arousal leaking from your hole and flicking over your clit teasingly each time he dragged his tongue back up.

"I'm- I'm gonna come," you gasped, unable to look away from how enthusiastically he ate at you. It was such a turn on to see such a wealthy and powerful man on his knees for you, a man people not only in his office but throughout the country cowered before. But not you. No, you had him wrapped tightly around your finger.

Well, two fingers now that he had gifted you a second ring.

It was the way Joel's lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue over it with a deep groan that had you tumbling over the edge. Your body bent forward with the force of your release, curving over his back with your hands buried in his hair for leverage.

"Fuck, that's it," he whispered into your pussy before swiping his tongue through your slit again. Tears stung the backs of your eyes from the stimulation but you let him continue, trusting him implicitly.

There was no doubt in your mind you would find little circular bruises on your thighs later from the way he clutched at you. The thought of seeing those marks, of seeing the way he claimed you, had your stomach muscles tightening unexpectedly once again. You cried out weakly as another gush of fluid flooded his tongue, then shivered when you heard his surprised groan vibrate throughout your entire body.

"Jesus," you rasped, chest heaving, when he finally pulled away. His pupils were blown wide, making his eyes look nearly black in the dim lighting as he gazed up at you from his spot on the floor.

"So beautiful," he murmured breathlessly, dragging his wet lips over your thighs, kissing your bare skin and working his way up your stomach. His mouth brushed along the silky fabric of your pajamas until he reached the tops of your breasts. Once he found your warm skin again, he peppered kisses all across your chest and neck until he was finally standing upright and plunging his tongue greedily into your mouth.

His cock pressed hard and pulsating against your stomach while his tongue leisurely mapped your mouth, and your legs trembled from the idea of taking him inside your cunt again. You knew yourself. It would be way too much. You were exhausted and your muscles felt so weak, but you would be damned if you went to bed without taking care of him. So you broke the kiss, gave him a playful wink, then sunk to your knees between his body and the wall.

If he had any qualms about the change of plans, he didn't show it. He braced one hand against the wall and the other got lost in your hair when you peeled down the band of his boxer briefs and wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft. You dragged your fist up and down a few times, humming softly under your breath at how hard he was for you.

You locked eyes with him. He looked absolutely wrecked, leaning against the wall and looking down at you, jaw slack and eyes glazed over.

While still maintaining eye contact, you opened your mouth wide and slid your lips carefully around his girth, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock before taking him deeper. His hips shifted forward, gently pushing more of himself inside your mouth until he kissed the back of your throat. You gagged a little and pulled back, earning a chuckle from up above.

"Too much?"

All you were able to do was shake your head. Your mouth was full of him, sucking him deeper once again while taking steady breaths through your nose. Joel's fingers tightened in your hair when you began to bob up and down, hollowing your cheeks with one hand still fisting his base and the other gripping his thigh for support.

"Fuck yeah, that - that's good," he moaned. Your chest swelled from the praise so you kept going, keeping a steady rhythm, sliding your tongue up and down the length of him until your lips felt numb and your jaw ached, and even then, you kept going.

"Oh shit, baby, don't stop," he growled. His fist tugged at your hair a little harder than you expected and you gasped around him. Somewhere above you, his other arm collapsed against the wall, now relying on his forearm to keep him upright while you sucked his cock with the kind of enthusiasm that had his knees going weak and his stomach pulling tight.

His hips rocked forward, meeting you thrust for thrust, groaning your name as he watched himself disappear inside your mouth over and over. Your tongue was flat along the underside of his cock when you felt it pulse and a moment later he spilled down your throat, swallowing every drop of his hot, sticky release.

He was cursing breathlessly above you while you cleaned him up with your tongue, and it wasn't until his hips stuttered and he yanked you off him by the hair that you stopped.

"Christ," Joel whispered, sagging tiredly against the wall with his forehead pressing against his wrist after you kindly fixed his boxers for him. His eyes were squeezed shut and his lips were parted, sucking in air fast as he tried to catch his breath.

"Oughta propose to you more often," he panted with his eyes still closed. You giggled and stood, taking his hand. His eyelids fluttered open, allowing you to lead him back to bed.

"Please don't tell me you have a third ring somewhere," you said tiredly after you burrowed under the covers and he curled himself around you from behind. He chuckled and kissed the back of your neck.

"Nah, just two."

You smiled when he nuzzled your ear, his deep breathing already lulling you back to sleep.

"Where do you think we should get married?" you yawned, yearning to just hear his voice. His fingers searched for your hand resting across your stomach and he gave it a squeeze.

"Thought we already decided a year ago," he mumbled. His lips grazed the shell of your ear when he said:

"Fiji, baby."

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[theolliesaurus]

i'm so sorry,, op.

february this year will mark 10 years since i lost my dad - he passed away in his sleep from an aneurysm in his heart. yet i still remember when we got the phone call - it was the morning and my mum came to wake me up. the news didn't Hit until a later date. i didn't know how to cry when i first found it all out; that he'd passed 3 days prior to the call and was found face down in his bed,, that my sister was preparing to tell him the news of her then pregnancy.

i remember i got out of bed because my mum wanted me to follow her into my sister's room. my sister was sobbing buckets on the bed. and that was when my mum broke the news. i didn't outwardly react or start crying. i don't remember feeling much of anything. but my sister wanted me to come forwards when my mum left the room,, and she just pulled me in close and hugged me. but i still didn't cry.

the one thing i did was turn on my laptop and start watching a video to escape the news instead. but i still didn't yet cry.

but instead the funeral in march was where i broke.

what hurts the most is i never got to see him one last time,, nor did i ever get to say goodbye. and i still feel so guilty about not being able to communicate with him anymore because of the trauma of what he went through in past years,, with his sudden fall that lead to a triple heart bypass surgery,, to which he then would have to remain in a care home for the rest of his years as it excelled his huntington's to the point he couldn't live or care for himself anymore.

and because i no longer have him in my life,, i fear what will happen when i inevitably will lose my remaining parent or how i'll cope - my mum is my carer as i can't live independently due to disability,, there's things i can't do to take care of myself and skills i'm not able to learn.

which then sparks fears of what's going to happen to my sisters and to me,, because i'm planned to be transferred over to one if anything should happen to our mum,, and then transferred over to another if anything then happens to the sister who's first in line to care for me,, and so forth and so forth.....

but;

two or three of my favourite childhood memories that i look back on often include how my dad would take me shopping with him in the car into the next town,, and the shopping center had a little cafe next to it - the cafe had one of those coin-operated kiddie rides outside of it also (it was Scoop from "Bob the Builder"). so when we had finished shopping,, my dad then took me into the cafe and he bought me a cake to eat,, and then would let me play on that kiddie ride.

or there was a moment where we drove to the next town in the car,, and he stopped at one point to buy us a pastry each,, and we just sat in the car together eating our pastries.

or just the simplicity of being taken to the library to rent out a dvd on the weekends when he came to pick me up from my house. then we'd walk on down to his flat afterwards where i'd stay for a couple hours before bringing me back home. i'd play games on his computers,, or i'd take pictures with his photography camera out the back window.

or how when we'd make cakes down his flat,, he'd let me lick the mixture in the bowl and off the spoon. and how he'd let me help out with putting the roast chicken in the oven for dinner.

i still have a piece of his flat. a bit of his wallpaper that was ripped. and yet it's tucked away in a cupboard below my computer.

i have his photography camera that he left me. and yet i just can't bring myself to use it.

i had his computer from his care home that he wanted me to have - because i would always do drawings on it when i visited. it was the one physical thing i had left of him that felt alive. and yet i broke down when it suddenly didn't work anymore. now it sits tucked away in our storage cupboard downstairs; because i still can't part with it.

i still have some money that he inherited to me that i still haven't yet touched or done anything with.

it all still hurts.

and what hurts more is my mum offered for me to see his body in the coffin on the day of the funeral,, but i declined and said no.....

No one prepares you for how crippling grief is, last year my mom died of cancer. I watched her decline so rapidly that my brain couldn't understand who I was looking at by the time she passed. I couldn't understand who I was by the time she passed because I had to become a vessel who makes appointments, dresses, nurses, cooks and an entity who does not sleep. I did it all alone. The reality is that cancer eats away at everything, it lives on even after the patient dies. It ate away at every part of me, I couldn't get out of bed, I had sleep paralysis, I couldn't stop seeing her... like that. They asked me if she's my grandmother when they carried her out of the house. She was in her early 50s. Do you understand? In 3 months, she began to look like she was 80. Everyone wanted me to move on after a month, no one called anymore, not even a text. I thought I was alone when she was alive, but this was a new type of isolation. One that I barely survived. (thank you to my mutuals and tumblr for being an outlet)

It's been a year and 6 months, today I realized she's not the first thing I think of in the morning, or the last thing I think of before I fall asleep. I couldn't even call to do paperwork before, now I'm forgetting why it was even that difficult.

The sun's out, I think i'm going to get ice cream without feeling guilty that it's not something she can do anymore.

[darinawrites]

✦-Drunk for love-✦

Pairing: Thanos x implied f!reader

Summary: you've picked up on some bad habits of your lover, him not being by your side for so long, he hadn't noticed. Only once he came back, eyes transfixed on your passed out body, did he notice his mistake. (thanos finding you passed out from drugs).

Contents: angst and a bit of fluff, pre game, drugs and alcohol, inaccuracy of drugs? (I can't be bothered to let my knowledge expand, only knowing some side effects they have).

A/n: This feels so rushed, I wrote this before (again) passing out of exhaustion, so I apologize if its rushed/badly written 😓 but please give my man anything other than non con, there aren't enough fluff and angst fics of him.

Word count: 1.3k

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How long has it been? You hadn't bothered to check the days anymore, knowing its been a few months since you last saw him. Vanishing with pathetic excuses at your lowest.

You should hate him, you really should. The burning aftertaste of alcohol lingering in your throat. Because of him, to simply forget your worries for one night, multiple bottles of wine and beer surrounding you. He's luminary, letting you follow his leads of bad habits.

Taking another sip, it just wasn't enough. You could still think clearly, thoughts still occupied with him. You wanted to the alcohol to gnawn on your brain, a pernicious affect of a headache the next morning. But it wouldn't give you that, your body getting used to it over the months.

Groaning as your limp body pulled itself up, checking your phone for any messages, his message. Yet none popped up, silently letting your eyes glisten at the empty phone. Shaky hands putting it down, closing your eyes.

In that moment you suddenly remembered where Thanos kept some of his drugs. Ideas rushing back to your mind, ideas you've tried to ignore. But the alcohol rushing trough your veins made your mind beg for it, for a release.

Hopping off the couch, accidentally letting bottles shatter as you could barely walk, but you couldn't be bothered. Setting your destination to the bedroom.

You could still remember his voice, blabbering out how strong these new drugs are, your eyes setting on a colourful puny pill you picked up. You could just take the pragmatic approach. Letting the pills fall and rest your body, whom is filled to the brim with liquor. But, why should you? You contemplated, thoughts whirling inside your head as you just stared. Staring at the small pill in your hand that could change everything.

Glancing at your phone beside you, no indication of a message, you knew your choice. Popping the pink pill in your mouth, immediately feeling a difference in your body, a sudden feeling of drowsiness washing over you.

People really weren't lying with how strong even one pill was. Your brain not comprehending anything, mushed by the alcohol and the newly intruding drug in your vein.

You lost your balance, the weight off your body too much to bear as you simply collapsed against the floor, drunken smile on your face, pupils dilated, the world around you becoming smaller.

Giggling for no reason, you let out slurred words, seemingly talking with yourself before the drowsiness traveled to your eyes.

Not fighting the sleepiness, the room blurring as you let your body go limp, mouth agape with your irregular breathing, eyes closed, the darkness so comforting to you. Your thoughts chewed up, exactly how you wanted it, as everything went blank.

Now passed out on the floor, your body not being able to react as your phone buzzed beside your face, the screen enlightening as a message was delivered.

Thanos had a big smile on his face, finally being able to come back as he strode to the door. How long has it been? His fingertips wanting to relish the softness of your skin again, your lips clashing against his. Gosh, he couldn't wait.

The blinds were pulled down, not being able to peek over them. Impatiently pulling against the doorknob, but instead of being met with your lovely perfume, a lingering smell of cigarettes and alcohol were in the atmosphere.His smile faltered, yet his voice still called out with a tinge of hope. Within seconds of no presence to be known, he rushed into the living room and let out a small gasp.

An immense amount of beer and wine bottles laying everywhere, glass shatters between gaps they didn't fill. He knew you as the girl who threw up after 2 shots of vodka, the girl that forced him to take a shower if there even a slight smell of alcohol coming from him.

"What's all this? Heyy, where are you!?"

Worry depend though as your figure could not be seen anywhere, his words once again the only ones that echoed trough his ear. Despair now coming in as he looked around the house, only finding out where you've been once the bedroom door creaks.

Your hair over your face as you were laid down on the floor, familiar pills right beside you.

There's no way, right? You wouldn't have taken what he thought you did, he always tried his best to not let his bad habits rub off on you. He's been away for so long, he couldn't even stop you.

He kneeled in front of you, shaking you, yet your eyes didn't budge. A sign of life was against his fingers as your pulse was irrational, yet still there. He was simply in disbelief, staring down at your resting face.

He wanted to see you, not just a limp body. The urge to take the pill you still held in your hand becoming strong, but he refused. He couldn't do that to you. Breaking out of his trance as his arms wrapped around your torso, freezing to the touch as he lifted you up on the bed.

"Fucking hell...why didn't you tell me" he muttered to himself, running his hands trough his coloured hair. A 'surprise' he wanted to show you.

He normally didn't mind the smell of alcohol or cigarettes, but he couldn't help the scrunch of his face when he smells it on you. That shouldn't be there, guilt now evident in his face.

Sighing, he got out some pain killers for tomorrow placing them nearby before simply plopping down beside you and hugging you tightly, fingers creeping back to your pulse. The stress was too much to deal with, and with not wanting to get high, your one sided embrace set his mind at ease. Not long before his loud snores came back, setting his worries aside for tomorrow.

･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ･ﾟ

Waking up with an ache in your head, your body sore as you softly groaned. You could barely remember last night, mind hazy as your memory seemingly left you. Yet your body was warm and flushed against an unknown person.

A strong and familiar grip around your waist, ears now picking up snores in the air. Nose filled with the smell of alcohol and an extra added weight was on top of your head.

Your breaths turned to small pants, all the evidence leading to the person you've longed for.

Turning around, you could recognise that face anywhere, even beneath the veil of darkness. Eyelashes fluttering up to see his relaxed features.

Gosh, you wanted to scream, to hit him and blame him for everything. To explain how he ruined you, to let him see his mistake, your candor personality spilling everything. But at the same time, his warmth was all you were begging for. Wishing his idiotic face would leave marks all over you.

Overwhelmed. Emotions all over the place, you simply let your head fall onto his broad shoulders. Sniffles coming as tears swelled in your eyes. No matter how conflicted you feel, your tears could always stain his shoulders. The ache in your body only adding to the situation as your arms wrapped around him tightly, wanting your skin to feel his touch.

He gently stirred, but you couldn't pay attention to it, your focus on the tears streaming down your face. You were disillusioned that you let yourself get to this point, how could you? What was-

A hand on your head broke the train of thoughts, caressing your hair. The touch was surprisingly gentle, accompanied by the metal on his fingers.

"Go to sleep, señorita. Rest up." he hushed in your ear, pushing your face in the direction of his neck.Your instincts rushed to let your head nuzzle against his neck, stifling your sniffles as he softly smirked against you.

You'll save your energy to argue for tomorrow, when the day is young and your mind more clear. For now, you let his embrace guide you back to sleep. Mumbling out a 'I love you' before closing your eyes.

How you missed this.

[maskedbyghost]

Simon knew marriage came with adjustments, but nothing could have prepared him for life with a writer.

It wasn’t just the weird questions—though there were plenty of those—it was the way your mind never seemed to slow down. You’d be doing something completely normal, like folding laundry, and suddenly stop, eyes going distant.

He’d barely have time to ask what was wrong before you’d rush off to scribble something down, muttering about plot twists and character arcs.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting up in bed, phone screen lighting up your face as you frantically typed notes because “this idea can’t wait until morning.”

It meant half-finished coffee cups scattered around the house, abandoned when inspiration hit.

It meant narrating your own actions under your breath, like “she sighed, stretching her arms above her head” while actually doing it, which always made him raise an eyebrow.

And then there were the moments that made him question everything, like when you casually asked if he thought someone could realistically survive being shot twice in the chest or how long a body would take to decompose in a swamp. He used to answer with concern. Now, he barely looked up. “For a book?” “For a book.”

At first, he thought the strangest part was the research, but then he realized it was how easily you pulled him into it. You used him for everything—testing out fight scenes by making him grab your wrist so you could figure out how a character would escape, running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms as you mumbled about muscle structure and “what kind of build do you think my main guy should have?”

You studied him constantly, stealing phrases he said, describing his expressions in your notes, even admitting once that a few of your male characters had a bit of his attitude.

And then there was the way you used him for other inspiration. He figured it out one evening when he saw you sitting on the couch, staring at him with that look—one that usually meant you had something on your mind, but this time, you weren’t saying anything. Just watching.

He glanced over from where he was cleaning his gun. “What?”

You didn’t answer right away, just tilted your head slightly. “I think I want to write a new scene.”

He raised his brow, setting his things aside. “What kind of scene?”

A small smile played on your lips as you stood, walking toward him. “Something a bit messy.”

Simon leaned back, arms resting lazily on the couch as he looked you up and down. “You need details, then?”

“Mhm.” You straddled his lap, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Need to get it just right.”

He smirked, his hands settling on your waist. “That why you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to be put to work?”

“You don’t mind a little hard work, do you?” you teased, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

His grip tightened, voice low. “Not if you’re gonna make it worth my while.”

Much later, when you were tangled in the sheets, catching your breath, you rolled over and reached for your phone. Before you could even unlock it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against Simon’s chest. “Nope,” he muttered against your shoulder.

You laughed. “I just had a thought—”

“Don’t care.” His voice was warm and heavy with sleep. “Whatever you’re about to write down, you can remember it in the morning.”

“But—”

A hand slid down your hip, fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I said, in the morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. Then, just to make sure you listened, he added, “Be a good girl and go to sleep.”

Your entire body heated at the words, your brain short-circuiting for a second before snapping into overdrive. Without a word, you bolted upright, nearly diving for your phone as you started typing furiously.

Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, fingers flying across the screen. “This is really good.”

-------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (1/???)

Here I aaam! Remembering that the posts will be every Saturday.

So, enjoy it!

*I'm a little drunk rigth now, so, I'm sorry if you find mistakes*

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Summary: A serie of events makes you fall into the good graces of two older women.

Hey! I've a masterlist

Fascination

You wake up to the first rays of sunlight slipping through the gaps in the curtains. Your bedroom is small, just 23 square meters, but it’s the only space in the world you can truly call your own. A study desk pushed against the wall, shelves crammed with books and notebooks filled to the last page, and plants scattered in every corner—ferns, succulents, and a small cactus that stubbornly clings to life even when you forget to water it.

After stretching, you get up and head straight to the window, where your plants greet the day. You talk to them in a soft tone as you mist them, almost as if expecting a reply. “You look beautiful today. I promise I won’t forget you again.”

Lucky, your overly talkative black cat, meows at your feet. He wants nothing but your attention, and you oblige, stroking his head with a tired smile. “Good morning, Lucky. Seems like you’ve got a lot to say, huh?” He meows back, and you laugh.

In the comfortable silence of the morning, your mind drifts, as it often does, to the past. You grew up in the suburbs, in a small house that was always full. Your father did his best to raise you and your five older siblings, but there was a gap that was never filled: your mother. She left when you were just a child, and though no one in the family spoke openly about it, her absence was a constant shadow in your life.

You remember the nights when your older siblings would laugh and argue in the living room, while you, the youngest, hid in a corner with a book or a notebook. Writing was your escape, your way of creating a world where you had control, where mothers didn’t leave and bad things always had a solution.

She left when you were little, leaving behind you, your five older siblings, and a father who never knew how to handle her absence. You remember the nights when the silence of the house was broken by questions no one dared to ask. Why did she leave? Was it us? Was it me?

No matter how hard he tried, your father couldn’t fill the void she left behind. He worked all day, came home exhausted, and did his best to keep the house running, but affection and kind words were never his strong suit.

“You’re strong. You don’t need to cry over this,” he’d say every time tears threatened to spill. Gradually, you learned to swallow your tears and convince yourself that you needed to be strong, even when everything inside you wanted to collapse.

Her absence shaped much of who you are today, though not in a way you like to admit. It’s hard to look in the mirror and not feel... inadequate. You wonder if she left because you weren’t good enough, because you weren’t good enough.

These thoughts are like shadows that appear at the most unexpected times, especially when you try to open up to someone. Intimacy is terrifying. You fear that if people truly know you, they’ll abandon you, just like she did.

In school, this made you shy and reserved. You always felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, unable to fit in. Your siblings tried to shield you from the worst, but they had their own battles to fight.

You were the youngest, the “baby” of the house, and yet you never had the chance to be treated as such. While they laughed and argued, you hid in your room, writing stories that transported you to worlds where mothers didn’t abandon their daughters.

This absence also gave you a fierce determination. You promised yourself that if no one was there to take care of you, then you would take care of yourself. You studied late into the night, devouring books on screenwriting and filmmaking from the public library.

When the college acceptance letter arrived, it felt like the world had paused for a moment. You’d made it. The first in your family to set foot on a university campus. Despite the pride, the insecurity is always there, lurking. The fear of not being good enough, of failing, of being discarded. You work hard because you feel you have something to prove, even if no one asked you to.

The sound of the bell above the door announces another day of work at the small café. You walk in, adjusting your apron with a resigned sigh. The air smells comforting, like fresh coffee, but the weight of the shift ahead is always present. You do everything there: serve tables, clean counters, even organize the stock. Your boss is an unpleasant man, known for his sexist jokes and invasive behavior. But you need the money, so you swallow your anger and keep going.

América, your coworker, is the opposite of you. Rebellious and fearless, she confronts the boss without hesitation, even knowing it could cost her the job. You make an unlikely team, but somehow it works.

As you wipe down the counter, you hear the sharp click of heels echoing through the café. The sound has a weight to it, cutting through the usual hum of the room. A barely perceptible pause spreads through the space, as if the air itself had been suspended for a second. It’s not just curiosity—it’s reverence.

Your gaze lifts almost instinctively, and it’s impossible not to notice the woman who just walked in. Tall, with perfectly styled dark hair and a black blazer that looks tailor-made, she exudes power. But it’s more than that. There’s something in the way her eyes sweep the room—a sharp coldness, as if she could dissect everyone there with just a glance. And people notice her. Some whisper her name, others try not to stare too long.

You swallow hard, trying not to seem intimidated. But when her eyes finally land on you, it’s as if the world around you has disappeared. She doesn’t look away, and the intensity of that moment makes your stomach churn. For a split second, it feels like she knows exactly who you are—all your fears, insecurities, and dreams laid bare before her.

Summoning what little courage you have left, you adjust your apron and force a smile you’ve practiced hundreds of times. “Good morning, what can I get for you today?” Your voice sounds calm, but your heart is racing.

The woman continues to stare at you, silent. Her dark eyes analyze every detail: the slightly worn apron, your hands gripping the notepad too tightly, even the stray strand of hair that escaped your bun. It’s unsettling, as if she’s assessing every tiny aspect of your existence.

“A caramel latte... and a black coffee. No sugar. To go.” Her voice finally breaks the silence. It’s low, gravelly, like distant thunder, and carries a strange familiarity—as if she’s used to being obeyed without question.

You nod, trying to stay professional. But as you prepare the orders, you feel her eyes on you, watching every move. The weight of her gaze is almost unbearable, like a test you didn’t know you were being forced to take. Your hands start to tremble, and an anxious heat spreads through your body. The feeling of being judged grows.

When you turn to hand over the drinks, the tension in your muscles is so tight that your hands falter. Before you realize it, the hot coffee cup slips, spilling the brown liquid all over the woman’s immaculate white blouse. The sound of the cup hitting the counter is muffled by the low, controlled sound of frustration that escapes her lips—not a scream, but a deep, restrained noise.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, your voice trembling. Grabbing napkins in a panic, you lean in to clean up the mess but freeze when you see the stain spreading across the expensive fabric.

The murmur in the café grows louder. Someone lets out an audible sigh, while another mutters something about “the mighty Rio” being treated so carelessly. The name hangs in the air, and only then does it fully hit you.

You knew she seemed powerful, but you hadn’t realized you were standing in front of Rio Vidal—one of the world’s most renowned visual artists. Like her wife, Agatha Harkness, she’s an icon. Together, they’re one of the few openly gay couples to dominate and be celebrated by the industry. Her fame precedes her, and now you’ve just spilled coffee on her.

The woman doesn’t say anything immediately, but her eyes—once analytical—now seem to pierce through you. There’s something terrifyingly calm about the way she looks at you, as if she’s deciding how much of a reaction you’re worth.

Before you can stammer out more apologies, your boss’s voice cuts through the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouts, his anger exploding. “How can you be so clumsy? A client of this caliber, and you do this?! I should fire you right now!”

The embarrassment spreads through you like the coffee on her blouse. Your eyes well up as you try to explain, but the words won’t come. All you can do is look at the woman, hoping she’ll say something—anything.

She, however, doesn’t even glance at your boss. Her eyes remain fixed on you, as if he doesn’t exist. Finally, she breaks the silence with a low, sharp voice: “That really isn’t necessary.”

Your boss stammers, surprised. “But, ma’am, she—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Her gaze silences him, and for the first time, you see a man who thrives on authority shrink back.

You try to catch your breath, your face burning with shame. With a thread of courage, you murmur, “Please, come with me. I—I can fix this.” Your voice falters, but there’s something in your insistence that makes her tilt her head slightly, as if weighing your determination before nodding.

In the restroom, the silence between you is heavy but not empty. You grab the spare blouse you always carry and try to gather your thoughts, but when you turn around, the air seems to leave your lungs.

The woman unbuttons her blazer with precise movements, and when she removes the stained shirt, she reveals a black silk blouse so delicate that the light highlights the curves of her collarbone and the edges of her lace bra.

Your gaze involuntarily drifts to her shoulder, where the skin reddened by the coffee looks almost fragile. The sight is intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for, and your face burns.

“I... I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have...” you begin, but your voice falters. Your mind is torn between the embarrassment of the accident and the hypnotic presence of her, which seems to fill the small space of the restroom.

“Do you always get this nervous?” Her question is unexpected, her voice low and laden with something you can’t decipher. It’s almost a challenge, a test, and her gaze remains fixed on you, as if expecting more than a simple answer.

“I... I don’t know. Maybe?” You look away, shrinking slightly as you hand her the clean blouse. It’s cheap fabric but carries the faint scent of your homemade perfume. When her fingers brush against yours as she takes it, a shiver runs down your skin, quick and unexpected.

She puts on the blouse slowly, unhurried, and her words follow like an echo: “You shouldn’t apologize so much. Especially when you don’t know what for.” The statement is intriguing, almost disconcerting. Your heart races, as if you’ve just stumbled upon something you don’t fully understand.

Before she leaves, you blurt out, the words tumbling out in one breath: “Please... let me wash your blouse. I want... I need to make it up to you.”

She pauses at the door and turns, her eyes locking onto yours once more. There’s something different now, a genuine interest, almost calculated.

Without a word, she pulls a black card from her pocket, elegant and scented with a faint woody aroma. “When it’s ready, come to this address.” Her voice is low but layered with meaning you can’t interpret.

She leaves before you can respond, her posture impeccable and her steps controlled, as if every movement were rehearsed. You’re left alone in the restroom, holding the card that feels heavier than it should.

Rio Vidal.

The name echoes in your mind. A short, strong name, as enigmatic as she is. And for some reason you can’t explain, you feel like you’ve just opened a door to something that will change your life in ways even the worst coffee spills couldn’t predict.

A few minutes later, you gather enough courage to leave the restroom. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, as if trying to remind you of the disaster that just happened.

You find your boss standing near the counter, wearing the same disdainful look that always makes your skin crawl. But something is different today. He doesn’t explode into shouts as you expected.

“Rio Vidal. The Rio Vidal—” He crosses his arms and sighs, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say, “—said it was fine. And she was very clear that you shouldn’t be punished.”

You blink, confused. The black card in your hand feels heavier now. Why would she do that? Was it pity? Some kind of veiled charity because of your desperation? Or... something more?

The woody scent of the card wafts up to you, a tangible reminder of the woman who, even with coffee spilled on her expensive blouse, had remained impassive and enigmatic.

“Get back to work before I change my mind,” your boss grumbles, but his tone has lost its usual edge. You don’t argue, just tuck the card into your pocket, still feeling every embossed letter like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

[...]

You practically run to the university. Your legs ache, but it doesn’t matter because today is important. When you finally reach the worn-down building that houses the film department, you can barely catch your breath. The room is packed with anxious students, and excited whispers fill the air.

“You’re almost late!” Darcy whispers, pushing a notebook aside to make room for you. Her eyes are wide, nervous. “Agatha Harkness is already here.”

Her name makes your heart race, in a completely different way from the panic you felt before.

Agatha Harkness.

The legend. The queen. The woman who made actors cry on set and screenwriters question if they were good enough to write even a single line of dialogue. She was a monster… but undeniably a genius. Everything that came from her hands was masterful, and you secretly harbored an absurd admiration for her.

Peter, sitting in front of you, whispers to Darcy, “Do you think she’s going to rip someone’s heart out today? She did that the last time she visited a university…”

Darcy, next to him, makes a face. “On the first day?”

“Without a doubt,” Peter replies, shrugging.

Before you can respond, the door swings open. The sound of her heels is the first thing that fills the sudden silence. And then she enters.

Agatha is everything you imagined and more. Tall, dressed in an impeccable purple suit that seems to radiate authority, with a smile that borders on cruel and eyes that scan the room as if evaluating every soul present. Her presence is a punch to the stomach, yet at the same time, something in you feels magnetized by her. It’s impossible to look away.

She wastes no time with warm introductions. Instead, she tosses a stack of papers onto the desk and begins speaking. Her voice is deep, firm, and filled with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

“Writing is an act of courage. And from what I’ve heard, many of you have been content with mediocrity.”

The students exchange nervous glances. Darcy practically sinks into her chair beside you. You, on the other hand, feel your heart race even more. There’s something hypnotic about the way she speaks, as if every word is carefully sharpened to cut.

“Now, here’s what you’re going to do.” Agatha steps up to the blackboard and writes something with an elegant pen. “Write a scene. Any scene. But make it something worth reading. Because if I think you’re wasting my time…” She lifts her gaze, and the silence that follows is more threatening than any word. “—your nonexistent careers won’t even start.”

Agatha picks up the first stack of papers and starts reading in silence, her eyes moving rapidly from side to side. The room is absolutely silent, so quiet that the sound of students breathing feels deafening.

After a few seconds, she lets out an almost exasperated sigh and lifts a paper, holding it up as if it were evidence of a terrible crime.

“Who wrote this?”

A girl in the back of the room timidly raises her hand, almost regretting existing.

Agatha narrows her eyes at the paper, then at the girl. “Is this a love story?”

The girl shakes her head, mumbling something about the plot being deeper than it seemed.

“No. It’s not.” Agatha cuts in, her voice as cold as steel. “This is a cheap fanfic disguised as a script. Characters with no substance, dialogues recycled from a teen drama. Where is the humanity? Where is the real conflict? This isn’t writing. This is a murder of art.”

The girl seems to shrink into her seat.

Agatha tosses the paper onto the desk and picks up the next one. This time, she doesn’t read for long before looking up. “Who thinks it’s acceptable to start a scene with ‘Once upon a time’ in an academic assignment? Are you trying to sell an idea or put a child to sleep?”

A boy in the front row tries to justify his choice, but Agatha raises a hand, cutting him off.

“I’m not here to hear excuses. I’m here to see talent. And so far, I’ve seen nothing worth my time.”

The silence in the room is palpable. You see Darcy whisper something to Peter, probably something like “Yeah, definitely heartless,” but you can’t focus. Your own script is in your hands, and the weight of the paper feels like lead.

Finally, your turn comes. With trembling hands, you hand the sheet to Agatha Harkness, feeling as if you’re handing over a piece of yourself. She takes the paper with an almost deliberate calm, and for a moment, you’re sure she’s going to toss it onto the “failures” pile without even looking.

But then, something in the title seems to catch her attention. Her eyes, previously indifferent, narrow slightly, and she begins to read.

Seconds turn into eternities as you watch her. The room around you fades away; all you can hear is the sound of your own heart pounding against your ribs. Your mind drifts back, inevitably, to the moment you wrote those words—the weight of the story, the piece of your soul you decided to share.

Agatha turns the page. Once, then again. Her silence is like a knife. You don’t know if this is good or bad.

When she finally finishes, she places the paper on the desk. Unlike the others, she doesn’t discard it immediately, but she also doesn’t show approval. Her eyes lock onto you, assessing, and there’s something new in her expression: a trace of curiosity.

“Interesting.” Her tone is neutral, but there’s something hidden in it—a hint of intrigue, perhaps? She leans forward slightly, crossing her arms. “Are you trying to tell a personal story?”

Your face burns instantly, and you feel the weight of all the eyes around you. Still, you find the strength to nod in confirmation, even as shame nearly swallows you whole.

“Hmm.” Agatha raises an eyebrow, pressing her lips into a thoughtful line. “You have no technique. No structure. The writing is messy, almost amateurish.”

Her words cut deep, and you bite your lip hard to keep the bile from rising in your throat.

“But…” She pauses, looking at the paper with unsettling intensity. “You have—” then, she focuses on you, and seeing those ocean-blue eyes so close makes your body tremble. “—something.”

Her choice of words is as vague as it is provocative, and you feel the weight of that “something” hanging in the air between you. She narrows her eyes, as if trying to figure out exactly what it was in the text that caught her—or in you.

“Stay after the bell rings.”

Her voice is final, like a sentence, but there’s no hostility. She dismisses you with a slight wave of her hand, and you feel a mixture of relief and anxiety as you return to your seat.

While the others hand in their scripts, you remain restless, trying to decipher Agatha’s expression and the reason behind her words. What in your text could have caught her attention? The room around you is filled with muffled murmurs, but in your mind, it’s as if you’re trapped in a storm.

As soon as the bell rings, only three people remain in the room besides you. The silence is dense, heavy with expectation, as Agatha moves with the same deliberate calm as before.

Of course, she already knows exactly what she’s doing. This special, hand-picked mentorship was clearly a strategy to appear more "kind" to the public, even though, so far, there had been nothing friendly about her approach.

You watch as she begins the individual feedbacks, calling Darcy first. The girl in front of you seems to be caught between hope and terror but agrees to step forward. As Agatha starts speaking to her, you try to distract yourself, but you can’t stop your eyes from wandering back to the director.

She is... magnetic. Even as she crushes Darcy’s creative dreams with precise, cutting words, there’s something about her that simply demands attention. And then it happens.

For a moment—or perhaps for all eternity—her blue eyes meet yours.

Your throat goes dry instantly. It’s impossible to interpret what’s in that gaze, but it hits you hard. Curiosity? Judgment? Or something else? You try to look away, but it’s as if you’re trapped. She stares at you for only a few seconds before returning to her conversation with Darcy, as if nothing had happened. But you know it did.

Your heart pounds so loudly it feels like it echoes in the empty room. Nervousness is consuming you, but there’s something else, a sensation you weren’t expecting. A tightness in your stomach.

Desire? Nervousness? Anxiety?

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to take a deep breath and organize your thoughts, but it only makes things worse. It feels like she has pulled a piece of the air around you away with just that look.

Time moves slowly. Agatha finishes Darcy’s feedback, moving on to the next student. And then, when your turn finally comes, you don’t know if you’re ready—or if you ever would be.

She calls your name firmly, and you stand up. Your legs feel weak as you walk toward her, carrying the weight of her expectation and your own desire to impress her.

“So,” she begins, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze settling on you. “Let’s talk about what you wrote.”

As soon as you sit before her, Agatha picks up your sheet of paper, holding it carefully, as if she were carrying something precious—or something dangerous. She doesn’t say anything right away, just fixes her eyes on the text for a few seconds before beginning to read again, this time out loud:

"One day, I had a dream about my mother. She was married to the man she truly loved, and without children. There, I had never seen her so happy."

Her voice is deep, but it carries a softness you didn’t expect. It’s as if she’s savoring each word, analyzing every nuance.

When she finishes, Agatha places the paper on the table with a controlled gesture and looks directly at you. The silence that follows seems to last an eternity.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of that gaze, as if she could see every secret you tried to hide.

“Is your mother the main character here?” The question is direct, blunt—like everything about her.

You feel your face heat up, looking away. “I... maybe?” you murmur, the words hesitant.

“No need to lie,” she interrupts, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “The text screams it. Every line, every word choice… it’s as if you were exorcizing a ghost. Tell me, is that what you tried to do? Exorcize the guilt of loving and hating at the same time?”

The brutality of the question leaves you speechless. You shift in your chair, uncomfortable, but she doesn’t seem inclined to ease the tension.

“Did she leave you?” Agatha presses, her eyes locked onto yours, as if she could pull the truth out of you by force.

You hesitate but finally let out a shaky sigh. “Yes.”

For a moment, her face seems to change. Something in her gaze softens, but only for a fraction of a second before she composes herself again.

“And yet, you chose not to hate her.” She tilts her head, as if studying a particularly intriguing piece of art. “That is… rare.”

“I think that… she did what she thought was best for her,” you reply, your voice almost a whisper. “I don’t blame her for seeking happiness, even if it hurt me.”

Agatha remains silent for a few moments, as if processing something. There was something in the text—or maybe in the way you spoke—that seemed to touch an old wound in her. A shadow passes over her face, but she quickly pushes it away, replacing it with a neutral expression.

“You have talent,” she declares, breaking the silence. “Still raw, but it’s genuine. And, more importantly, you have courage. The kind of courage I’m looking for.”

You blink, confused. “Looking for?”

Agatha leans forward, her eyes gleaming with dangerous intensity. “I’m assembling a team for my next project. I need minds that think like yours—that see beyond the surface and aren’t afraid to explore the shadows. Would you be interested?”

Your heart races. Working with Agatha Harkness? The woman you admired, even feared? It was more than you could have imagined, but the answer was obvious.

“Yes,” you respond quickly, barely able to contain the excitement in your voice.

Agatha smiles, and the gesture is as enigmatic as the rest of her. “Good. Get ready, little gem. I’m going to shape you piece by piece," The way she spoke was hypnotic, pulling you in. “and it will be… painful.”

As soon as you answer affirmatively, Agatha pulls something from the pocket of her purple blazer: a business card. It’s blue, with purple lettering in an elegant cursive font. The floral scent of the paper fills the air as she slides the card across the table toward you.

“Come to this address tomorrow,” she says, her voice firm but low, as if each word were chosen with care. “Seven at night. And don’t be late.”

You take the card with trembling fingers, its weight feeling heavier than it should. The moment you touch it, a wave of déjà vu washes over you. The texture, the scent, even the sophistication of the design remind you of the card Rio gave you earlier.

Two women so different, and yet… so similar. Both had a presence that seemed to capture the room, leaving you breathless. Both seemed to see through you, as if they could decipher your deepest thoughts with a single look.

You feel your heart speed up, confusion mixing with excitement. Why had these women, so powerful and enigmatic, captivated you so much? Rio had left something in you—a sense of unresolved mystery. Now, Agatha was doing the same, but in an even more intense way.

“Something wrong?” Agatha’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present.

“N-no,” you reply quickly, slipping the card into your backpack. “I’ll be there.”

She only tilts her head, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before turning and leaving the room. Her silhouette disappears through the door, but the weight of her presence still lingers—heavy, inescapable.

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, a single question echoes in your mind: What the hell were you getting yourself into?

And more importantly, why couldn’t you stop feeling excited about it?

~*~

Y/n... How lucky you are, huh?

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[alastorthirsty]

Hooray For Makeup Sex! Chapter 3 - Alastor x f! fallen angel! reader

THIS IS AN EXPERIMENT

Words: 10101

Warnings/promises: Tons of smut, allusions to domestic violence, smoking, alcohol and drug use, angst, fluff, more smut, reader is a very good friend, arguing about work, piv intercourse, Alastor is a jealous man, Alastor says characteristically fucked up things, gelato

Remember the golden rule of fanfiction: You're responsible for your own reading experience! I trust you will stop reading if something bothers you. You're free to suggest tags to me.

Tags (this was originally going to be Herbert Saves The Day part 2 so you’re in the right place): @sirens-and-moonflowers @diffidentphantom @eris-norwega @1crazychick369 @thatbadassauthor @lukneetoonz @milkissesx @chibistar45 @songbirdpond @junieshohoho @modifiedmonster @screaming-potato @reath-solia @babyfoxflower and especially @genderlessdude92 💖💋

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

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Comments and reblogs sustain me <3

There is an eerie lack of sound, even for the night. Sweat, tears, and blood fall onto the nap of ancient velvet rugs that line the hallways of the Hazbin Hotel. Angel tries not to cry, certainly tries not to bleed, but he hasn’t yet gotten a bandage, so he settles for quiet. Silent tears, silent hiccoughs, vision going blurry as he tries his best to stop. He stops several times to lean against the wall or a random door to catch the breath that had just been knocked out of him not five minutes ago. Each time, his fingers tremble as they come up to wipe the contemptible tears that roll down his cheeks. The rosy rouge for the cameras had worn off on the journey between Val’s studio and the hotel.

The silence is somehow deafening. A dumb little saying, an oxymoron, but it’s how he’s perceiving things, and hey, it isn’t like he’s sober to begin with. It is so very quiet that any little creak, any little sigh is amplified through the corridor. He looks around, over his shoulder, around the corners. Didn’t Charlie and Vagina shack up close by?

Please no noise of fucking please no noise of fucking please—

He takes a deep, shaky breath when he stops in front of Room 126. It has been…a long, long time since he came knocking on your door in the middle of the night, scared and heartbroken and so utterly fucking alone. Angel knows he’s being selfish—what is it, four in the morning? But hey, extenuating circumstances, right? If he knows you at all, he knows you’ll come fervently to the rescue, and that brings a happy tear to his eye.

He knocks gently and holds his breath.

Silence.

Angel knocks again, he bites his lip. He knows it’s way too late, he knows, but the shuddering in his body won’t be ignored. He leans against the wall miserably, knocking one more time. He rubs his face and holds his hand out in front of it. His palm is smeared in blood, sweat, and dirt. His fist closes in a claw and the door finally opens—

“Aw, shit,” Angel says, dragging his hand down his face again. “Hey, disco ball.”

Herbert floats closer and closer to Angel, coming up to his height, and he appears to have…an incredible sense of empathy. He wraps his body, such that it was, around Angel, giving him little pats. “It okay. It okay.”

Angel sobs softly, but forces himself not to break down just because a somewhat-purple bag of lights is giving him a hug. He pats Herbert, but his fingers seem to phase through him, somehow. There was pretty much zero chance Angel himself would ever come to understand this creature, beyond the love that you feel for it and how much Alastor blindly hates it.

That’s when he notices his feather boa slowly being pulled away. He smiles at Herbert and helps him take it off, wraps it around him. Feeling glamorous, Herbert spins in place.

“So, uh…I guess this means your mama’s not here,” Angel says in a shaky voice. He sniffles again.

“Mommy?” Herbert says.

Angel nods. “Yeah, if you prefer. As kids, we always said mama, or ma.”

“Mommy!” Herbert takes Angel gently by the arm, somehow (again), and glides through the halls, up a set of stairs, and to door 369. When they stop, Herbert says it again. “Mommy!”

Ah, shit, it has to be Alastor’s room. Angel had feared he would have to do this to get to you, but he can’t stop here. Not now that he’s come so far already, not when…he really needs…

Herbert interrupts his train of thought. “Popcorn?”

Angel gives a laugh that was more of a gasp. “Popcorn? I don’t got it on me, little man.”

“Al has!” Herbert says.

With a deep, steadying breath, Angel lifts a shaking hand to the door and knocks a few times. His eyes close and he swallows, frozen in place, just waiting. He can’t hear any activity inside, but he hears a buzz coming from behind him and all of Angel’s hair stands on end. He can’t breathe for a moment. He turns around.

“He-hey, Alastor,” he says, arms around himself.

“Angel Dust,” Alastor replies, because it’s your preference that he does not call him ‘spider’ any longer.

Somehow it just makes the man more intimidating. Those teeth are glinting, those eyes are sharp. Angel swallows “I, um, is she…in there?”

“More specifically, she is sleeping in there,” Alastor says. “Her rest is particularly important right now, as you know she has not been…physically well.”

“Oh…” Angel closes his eyes and pictures himself mentally. He knows how pathetic he looks. His clothes are all messy from the fight, there’s still dirt and blood on his face, tears streaking down no matter how hard he tries to stop it. He knows how pathetic he looks, goddamn it. He knows, and he knows how disgusted Alastor must be, but he needs you.

“Listen, I, uh…” He rubs one of his arms against another one. “I…you know I wouldn’t even be here at all, knocking on your door, talking to you at all, if I didn’t have to. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t…”

“Feel that you have to,” Alastor supplies, a correction.

Angel swallows again. “If I didn’t need to. I do need…to. I need her, please. I stayed away, I never bothered you, I never asked her to give up a single second of her time with you for me. I never asked you for a thing in all the time I’ve known you, not that I should have, because I may not have the biggest brain around here, but I know better than to need anything from you…”

“How charming,” Alastor says, his head tilting at an angle. The radio static intensifies.

“No, n-no, I don’t mean it as an insult, I mean it as…you know, showing you how damn scary you are, I know you love hearing shit like that. Is that what you want me to tell you? I’d never have to face a fear like this if I didn’t need her more than I need anything in the whole of Hell right now. I’d give anything you wanted, maybe my goddamn soul, if I even had it to give.”

“I have no interest in a joint-venture with Valentino,” Alastor says, checking his nails.

“Right.” Angel closes his eyes and feels more tears fall down his cheeks. “Right.”

He’s mortified, but the tears keep coming and the silent corridor is suddenly filled with little sobs and sniffles as the last of Angel’s dignity pours right out of him. Alastor visibly becomes more and more uncomfortable, his shoulders tensing, his jaw clenched, until he’s forced to speak.

“If you stop,” Alastor says after several long moments, “I will rouse her enough to ask if she thinks it is worth waking up. For what it is worth, I think not, and resent you highly for this, but far be it from me to interrupt the bizarre little friendship that you share. Wait here.”

He doesn’t want to know what it means for Alastor to highly resent him, but within seconds Angel hears your rising voice, demanding to know why Alastor had kept him waiting, and he already feels much more hopeful. There’s some stumbling on the other side of the door, presumably you getting dressed, and when it opens, Angel feels like a new man, almost.

“Oh, Angel, honey, what happened?” Your arms come around him tightly, and he feels at home, like with…Molly…

Alastor sighs. “At least take Herbert with you. He knows he’s not allowed in this room.”

Herbert approaches him anyway. “Popcorn?”

The Radio Demon hums, snaps his fingers, and a red and white bag of popcorn appears. He looks at you. “Dearest, I hope you come back to bed.”

“I’ll just stay over at Angel’s. Oh, if that’s what you want me to do,” you say to the lanky twink in your arms.

“Please,” he begs, his hands raised.

You smile at him and then at Alastor. “You heard the man. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good, don’t kill anyone that doesn’t need killing.”

Alastor hums in fake outrage and snaps his fingers. “Damn you, woman! Foiled again.”

With that, you laugh and walk up to the next floor with Angel. Herbert follows along, munching on his treat.

“So,” you say when you’re safely behind Angel’s door. “What happened, honey?”

Angel takes a few moments to think before shaking his head. “Something that made me desperate enough to face Alastor just for a shot of being with you tonight.”

He stands up, begins to pace the threadbare rug.

“Here, let me just…” you snap your fingers and all the blood, tears, and dirt disappear from his face.

“Shit, doll,” he says with a trembly chuckle. He sniffs. “What else you got in that bag of tricks?”

“Oh, I have absolutely no idea. Drives Al crazy. He wants me to ‘use my potential’ without me fully understanding what they are. These things, they just come naturally to me. When they present themselves, I intuit them and then…it’s mine forever. I recently removed a bruise from my cheek without any idea that I could do it before it happened. I figured it stood to reason that I would be able to clean your face for you. No puffiness, no nothing. You’re just as beautiful now as when I met you!”

Fresh tears are still coming and Angel’s affirmative response is slurred. He keeps up with his pacing, back and forth, back and forth. Then he suddenly snaps. “Drug time! Time for drugs!”

Your brows draw together with sympathetic concern. “I don’t know, Angie. Maybe you should lay off until you’re feeling at least thirty percent better. I don’t want you going into a drug-induced spiral while you’re already in another spiral. We both know how that turns out.”

He groans loudly. “Okay, Ma, I’ll wait a while before doing a line of coke. A few lines. Many lines.”

“Attaboy,” you say, sitting up in bed and giving him grabby hands. “At least let me hug you.”

Angel chuckles softly and lowers himself to the bed. He really does not want to feel so vulnerable and pitiful as he has been, but at least you would never judge him for it. He knows you to be fiercely loyal, as a friend. You would never judge, never blab about this, not even to Alastor. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable, but of course he loses his fucking shit as soon as your arms are around him. Angel sobs loudly against your neck, his whole body shaking so much that the bed creaks gently. He wraps all six arms around you, holding on for dear life, as if you’ll poof, disappear from his life forever.

You, for one, hold him exactly as he needs to be held. Your arms close around him and the hold is firm, yet gentle. Just enough to remind him that he is loved and protected. Your fingertips push through the soft fluff on his head, playing gently.

“I do mean it,” you offer. “You are still as beautiful as the day I met you. Just as sassy, too. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. You are not required to just hand over your vulnerability like that. Just know that I’m here. I’m here with you, and not even my husband can drag me away.”

Angel stops crying for a moment. “Husband?”

You laugh softly and hold up your finger. “Yeah. We decided we’re walking through eternity together, why not be husband and wife? Enough about me, enough about me. Sorry, not intending to make things all about me. Tonight is all about you.”

God, he hates himself for being so covetous of the pure happiness in those few words. He’d give anything to be in love with someone who loves him back. Well, at least he’s got you. That’s something. That’s love.

“I’m not ready to talk about my shit,” he says. “Maybe I won’t ever be. I don’t know. But I do want to know…what’s going on with you and your…situation?”

“My situation?”

Angel nods. “Last time we talked, you said you had an unwanted admirer, outside of Alastor. You were convinced he would end it if he found out. So…did he find out?”

“Angel,” you say gently, “this is your night. I don’t want to make it all about me.”

“What if what I need is for this to be about you for a while?” he asks.

With a little sigh, you begin to fidget at the drawstrings on the pyjama bottoms you had put on. Next you nibble at your already nearly raw lips, then you cross your jostling legs.

“Shit,” Angel says. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“It’s fucked,” you admit.

“Giddiyup, buttercup, I gotta know it now.”

Herbert curls up in your lap, his popcorn now entirely eaten; he’d gotten himself all sleepy. You stroke him slowly as you think, still troubling your lip. “He does know, and he didn’t leave me.”

“That much I could tell,” Angel says, nodding. “What does the stalker do?”

“He’s in a…unique position to be the greatest stalker Hell has ever known. He has me followed, he has people taking pictures of me, he takes pictures of me, he aggressively sends roses to me every day at the studio—don’t ask me how it’s aggressive, it’s weird. Just suffice to say. There’s so much more. I just…it terrifies me just to think about it.”

Angel nods, captivated by the misfortune of another person for a moment. Not that he wanted that for you.

You sigh and continue. “He does everything he can to let me know he’s in charge of things. Sometimes he kidnaps me—“

“What? Kidnaps you?”

Now it’s your turn to nod as misery plants itself all across your features. You sigh again and pull your hair up.

“He hacks my phones. I had to destroy them. He always finds me and my phone, no matter how hard I try to protect myself against him. I have no intuitive ability against him, I’m helpless.”

“But…you said Al knows now. Even if you’re helpless against him, which I don’t completely buy, mind you, he should be able to handle it, no worries. Has he?”

You shake your head, jaw clenched. “No. At least not yet.”

The air of incredulity is stifling.

“Why the fuck not?”

You hold up a hand. “Don’t be quick to judge.”

“Who is it?” Angel asks. “You know you can tell me. I won’t tell nobody.”

It takes several moments to build up to a response. Feelings of guilt, fear, and sheer helplessness cause you to pick at your fingernails. “It’s, uh…it’s…Vox.”

The way Angel gasps is borderline comical. “Vox? Vox? Vox?”

Your eyes widen before narrowing. “I don’t know whether or not to be offended.”

“Oh, it ain’t an insult, really! More just…shock? Come to think of it, Val’s been complaining he can’t fuck Vox no more because he’s into somebody. Can’t believe it’s you. Fuck, I’m sorry, doll.”

“So you see, it’s just not feasible for Alastor to just…go in, guns a-blazing. Not yet.”

Angel nods along. “Yeah, yeah, they fought before, right?”

“Yeah, they have. I don’t know the full details. If he wanted to tell me he would have. No, he has this multi-stepped plan for psychological warfare. Stress him out, piss him off, get him desperate, get him sloppy, where he’ll make mistakes.”

“What’s he doing then?”

“Well, he’s done step one,” you say. “He walks me to and from the studio every single day. He can’t appear on camera so the drone footage is warped and glitchy, so Vox can’t feed his obsessions by watching my every step.”

“Why is that?” Angel asks.

“Why is what?”

“His deal with him and video cameras. Is it by choice or by design?”

“Oh, hell, I have no idea. If I ask, he just starts talking about how radio is the proper way to express one’s self and giving him that opportunity is just no bueno. The last time it happened was an accident, actually, it just slipped out of me and he just kept going and going. I was so rude, I just got up and left. He followed me, though, and he never once shut up. He followed me to the library, to the radio tower, to the parlour, everywhere, and never once shut up, ever.”

Angel laughs at that and Fat Nuggets climbs onto his lap. He pets him absently. “So, step one is just to ruin the video. What’s step two?”

“Step two was acquiring the souls of every flower vendor in town and forbidding them to allow any flowers to be sent to me, except for him. Now Alastor is the one sending them. Lilies, tulips, orchids. Vox had a habit of sending roses every day with little messages and gifts.”

“Gifts? What kinds of gifts?”

“Shit that probably had bugs, tracking devices, who knows what else.” You pause. “I feel the need to tell you something you have to promise me you’ll never repeat. Ever. Not even to me.”

Angel nods, completely entranced. “Yeah, of course.”

You take a deep breath and sigh heavily. “I considered it.”

He looks at you blankly. “Considered it?”

“Can I smoke?” you ask, already pulling one from thin air. When Angel lights it for you, you take a deep drag. “So, when we first met it was just like nothing, there was no flirting, no nothing. The first time he sent flowers and a note, I thought…’Man, that would really piss off Alastor.’ We were broken up then, and I was feeling so bitchy and angry, and I thought…But all those fleeting thoughts did was make me miss him more. I missed him so much. I knew Vox was trash. It was never a serious thought, but it was one that crossed my mind.”

Angel chuckles. “Don’t kick yourself around for that. I thought you were going to say something bad. It was petty, but it’s not wrong to think of shitty ways to get back at your ex. That’s actually a franchised sport in hell, toots.”

“Just…not a word, okay? It’s not my proudest moment. Herbert, no.” You bat the little creature away from trying to grab at the cigarette.

“You know your secret’s safe with me. You got way worse dirt on me than that.” Angel leans against your shoulder. “Is it all going to be okay?”

“I’m going to make it all okay,” you say, just as always. “For as ever much I can.”

He tightens his hold on you, all six arms, and you kiss the top of his head. “I know, honey. I know. And I love you.”

“I still don’t wanna talk about it,” he says after a long while, and you nod.

“You don’t have to. Maybe you should change into something more comfortable, though,” you suggest.

Angel actually gets up to do so, which honestly surprises you. He makes a twirling gesture with his wrist. “Go on. Just keep talking to me about stuff. Talk about Alastor.”

“Hm…” You click your tongue a few times in thought. “Oh, I am getting fucked a lot.”

Angel snickers. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, literally morning, noon, and night. He shows up at the studio during my lunch hour, right? He makes one of those pocket dimension thingies and shoves me up against a tree and fucks me so rough and dirty that I have to take extra care not to have any leaves or bark in my hair afterward.”

“Why’s he doing it? How, uh…you seem a bit less shy now, so I’ll just ask, but how often did you do it…before?” Angel crosses his arms.

“At least five times a week. I’ve been fucked 90 times this month, though. I’m not joking. Now I am getting shy, though! So let’s do something else.”

A profound sadness came over Angel’s features. His eyes burn as he tried to hold back a surge of fresh tears.

You rub his back. “What, it makes you sad that Alastor’s hitting it so much?”

He shakes his head, leans against your chest, and he sobs, prompting your arms to wrap around him again. You pat his back gently, then rub gentle circles over it.

“Oh pumpkin,” you say, pressing a kiss to his hair. “What can I do? Tell me what could make you feel better and I’ll do it, my love.”

Angel continues to sob for some time, until his voice becomes hoarse and he just can’t cry any longer.

“Fuck,” he rasps, rubbing his raw, sore eyes. “Fuck, I can’t do this no more. Please, I gotta fucking…”

“No, not until you’re feeling thirty percent better. I mean it, Angel, just trust me and the process. I have no reason to not let you get high other than watching you go down that road too many times. Please, Angie, let’s do something else to make you feel better and then I promise we’ll get super fucked up.”

He closes his eyes as his foggy brain tried to come up with something, anything, not drug-related to calm himself down, to soothe him. Then, it hits him like a Mack truck.

“Oh!” he says. “I know! I don’t know if we can make it, though…”

You give his arm a gentle nudge. “Name it.”

“My Nonna used to make this unbelievable olive oil gelato on Christmas and Easter…”

“That sounds really good!” You stand up and pull him to his feet. “Let’s go downstairs! We’ll make it and I’ll keep anyone from disturbing us. I’ll close everything off.”

“It kinda takes a while to set up…”

“Not for Angels it isn’t. I’ll get it frosty right away, we just have to make the base.”

Angel cracks a smile for the first time in a while. “All right. Let’s do it.”

In the kitchen, he plays music. It’s obscene, but you expect nothing less from him. You use magic to block the doors off and soundproof the room and Angel finds a recipe he approves of.

It’s actually quite simple, too. Blend together sweetened condensed milk, extra virgin olive oil, and vanilla, then whip the cream, then fold it into the mixture, then just a little more magic makes it smooth and cold.

Angel sits upon the cupboard with his bowl and spoon, scarfing it down with gusto. He tells tales, the way his Nonna dragged him to Midnight Mass, the first time she let him have a sip of grappa, how she looked the other way when he started kissing boys. You smile more and more as you listen to him, laughing, eating the smooth gelato. When the bowls and spoons are magicked clean and the doors open, Angel stands tall.

“So,” he says. “Ready to get fucked up?”

“Let’s have one of our classic sleepovers!” You say. “I’ll go get copious amounts of alcohol. Do you have any coke?”

That makes him snicker and lift a brow. “That husband of yours okay with you doing coke?”

“Never stopped me before!” You kiss his cheek. “I’m just going to say goodnight to him and get the booze. I’ll leave my shadow with you, just in case you feel lonely. She’s very supportive!”

Your shadow wraps her arms and wings around Angel’s shadow.

He looks at you with a bit of wonder. “What exactly is your fuckin’ superpower, bitch face?”

You smile and shrug. “Like I said, who knows? Want to play Cum Sluts Vs Zombies?”

“Now we’re talking!” Angel says excitedly. “I’ll go find all the coke. I have to hide it now or Fat Nuggets will eat it.”

“Probably a good idea to keep Herbert away from it too. God knows what he’s capable of doing, all coked up. Or at all. I’m still not sure what all he can do, aside from stealing my jewellery. Okay!” You clap your hands together. “I’ll meet you back in your room with the hooch. You’ll be fine with Her.”

“Her?”

You point to the wall where your shadow cuddles his. “Her.”

With a wink and a blown kiss you’re gone, making your way upstairs to Alastor’s room. It hurt to see Angel suffer so much, but things were looking up, even if substance abuse was involved. A little now and then in hell couldn’t hurt. You smile when you see the light under the door come into view.

You open the door. “Al?”

He looks up from the book he’s reading by the fire. “Oh, quelle surprise. My lovely wife, sans spider.”

“He has a name,” you insist as you come to stand before him. He has to start getting that right, to start acknowledging the people that are part of your life, even if he doesn’t accept them into his.

“Angel Dust.” The book closes and Alastor stands. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You smile at him. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

“Why? I don’t sleep,” he says.

“But I do. Eventually. Maybe not until tomorrow afternoon. You won’t be seeing me for a while so I thought I would come say goodnight, a brief goodbye until I’ve sobered up enough for you to ravage my fucking body.”

He rolls his eyes. “Cocaine again? Really, it’s so pedestrian. That’s what poor veterans used to take after the Great War, cocaine and heroin.”

“And alcohol. Promises to be a wild night.” You wink at him. “But I missed you while I was gone. I’ll miss you more when the feelings are intensified by massive amounts of blow and vodka.”

Now he sighs and moves his monocle so that he can rub his eye. “Darling, for one you know I do not approve of vodka in any of its forms, and I don’t think—“

“You saw him,” you say in a gentle tone, squeezing his forearm. “You saw how he was. I’ve spent the past few hours cuddling him better, but that only gets so far with him. Now he needs to be free from thinking of it for a while. Come on. I’m your wife, and I’m his friend. Stand by me.”

He sighs again and rolls his eyes. “Fine. No phones, though. Do not even touch his. Do not let him so much as point the camera at you.”

You nod along. “I’m going to take his phone away from him anyway, when he’s on coke he has a tendency to text…unwise statements to Valentino. I’ll put it in a Faraday cage.”

His eyes light up and he stands straighter. “That’s actually quite a good idea. Maybe we should keep you in a Faraday cage.”

You scoff and push his shoulder gently, but then he suddenly pushes yours until your back touches the wall, and then he leans down to kiss you.

After a few moments, though admittedly blissful, you break apart. “No, no, not now, not now, I can’t. Angel is waiting.”

Alastor lifts a brow. “I think this is the only time you have ever denied me. What a new feeling.”

“Is it?” You tilt your head. “All the same, I should still—“

“I will wager that I can make you come in two minutes or less,” Alastor challenges.

You can’t help the smile that works its way to your features. “A bet, huh? What are the terms?”

“When I win, I am going to fuck you so hard you will be walking a slight bit funny when you go back to the spider’s chambers.”

“Angel Dust,” you correct.

“Indeed. Angel Dust. And if I lose, which I will not…”

You wait for a moment. “If you lose you can’t give me any kind of shit about all the booze and blow I’m going to consume tonight.”

His shoulders tense for a second before he relaxes again. “Very well. I will not even mention it. If I lose. I most certainly will if I win.”

You laugh, your hand on his stupid, precious face. “Yeah, I know, I know!”

“Are you ready?” he asks, pressing you against the wall again.

“You don’t want to do this in bed?”

“Nope.” Alastor easily reaches into your pyjama bottoms and stares right into your eyes as he touches you. “Aw, look at that. Already wet for me. Tell me, what did it for you?”

His fingertips, now blunted, move smoothly through your folds at the slick gathered in them. His grin turns lascivious, self-congratulatory.

Your head tilts back against the wall and you bite your lip when you smile at him. “What am I to do, apologise that you can get me wet?”

“No,” he says, “I just assumed it would take effort.”

You laugh softly, pull him down and kiss him. Rather quickly, though, you’re moaning against his lips. His middle and ring fingers slip inside you and his thumb works against your clit. Your grip on him holds more firmly, and he becomes bolder. Brazen, even.

“Ah, look at you,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers working faster, that fucking ‘come hither’ of his. “Coming apart for me, as always. Relax, darling, enjoy yourself. That is the point, and I want to see how soon I get you there.”

“Trust me, I’m not fighting it,” you whisper, your breath mingling with his.

He leans closer. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

That’s all it took. Your thighs clench around his hand, your pussy clenches around his fingers, and you’re screaming for him.

“Atta gal,” he says, grinning down at you.

“How long was that?” you ask, panting.

“Exactly one minute and forty-two seconds,” Alastor says, now pushing you over to the bed.

You laugh playfully, pulling his coat off of his shoulders. “Damn, that easy, huh?”

“Quite the contrary, my love,” he says, shoving you into the mattress. “It is not that it is easy to do, I simply know you. I know your body, every little bit of it, and it is so utterly and completely mine that I know how to play it perfectly. Every note, composed by me. Now, would you prefer to be on your belly or your back?”

“Hm.” You test the positions. “My back this time. I have mattress burn on my knees from earlier.”

“Poor thing.” He presses you down harder, a smirk on his face, when he completely rips away the clothes you’re wearing. His hands move up and down your sides, grazing over little marks his teeth had left earlier in the night. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, chills on your skin from the heat of his fingertips.

His forehead touches yours; his hand dips down below your waist again, fingers moving in and out, keep you stimulated. “Say how much you love it. Say how much you need it. How much you need me.”

“Oh, darling, isn’t it apparent?” you ask, kissing your way up the side of his neck. “I could never have enough of you. Such a thing could never exist. I’ll hunger for you every day of my life until the end of it all. I love every fleeting moment your hands are on my skin. Your touch warms every part of me and leaves me wanting more. I need you so much, Alastor. Words are inadequate.”

Alastor’s free hand comes to cup your cheek. “You are all there could ever be. Understood?”

You smile at him and lean into his hand. “Yeah, understood.”

He carefully pulls his hand out from between your legs and quickly gets his pants open. His clothes disappear and he’s on you again, so deep inside you, and pushing further and further in.

“Goddamn,” you gasp, hanging onto him. He’s knocking the breath out of you, your diaphragm working overtime just to get enough oxygen flowing through your body. Your fingers finally dig into the fur on his back, hanging on for dear fucking life. You manage one single word: his name, spoken breathlessly in the crook of his neck.

One of his hands grips your hip so hard that it leaves blue marks, the other holds your head by the hair, twisting in it.

“Say it again,” he growls. “Who do you belong to?”

The way he’s slamming in and out of you makes it even harder to breathe, let alone speak, so it takes several moments for you to muster it.

“You, Al,” you whisper. “You.”

He shoves your right knee aside so that he can go deeper. The hand in your hand travels down to your throat. “You beautiful, beautiful little thing.”

He doesn’t squeeze, but he doesn’t have to. Never does. All it takes is the weight of his hand against your throat to push you ever the edge. Your pussy clenches around him, making him grunt, and he relishes every little moan and gasp that escapes your lips. For good measure, he fucks you harder and harder until his orgasm nearly breaks him.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim when you get up to dress after. A pleasurable little ache.

He smirks. “I told you that you would be walking a tad bit funny. Enjoy the alcohol and cocaine, dearest. I will be nagging you about it the next time that I see you.”

You blow him one final kiss goodbye before leaving the room. When you get up to Angel’s, two bottles of vodka in hand, that little wobble in your step, wearing different clothes after being gone for quite a while…

Angel cocks a brow at you, grinning. “You whore.”

###

The comedown from the coke was chased by alcohol and six hours of playing video games before you fell asleep together, with Fat Nuggets and Herbert nestled between you. When you finally woke up, it was only to find a quick note from Angel thanking you for being there for him and letting you know he’d left for Val’s studio/fuck-chamber. You sit up, stretch, and luxuriate in the fact that you’ve never had a hangover in your life, not even in hell. You make sure to give Nuggets before leaving him with his cartoons. Herbert slips out of the room with you, still wrapped up in Angel’s purple boa.

“You’re looking rather glamorous,” you say, smiling at him as you walk downstairs. “What a dapper little guy you are. You were so good last night! You’re going to have lots of apples today. Come on, I’ve got to wash all the coke and booze off of me and then we’ll go downstairs and get some breakfast. Or lunch. Maybe dinner? I’m not sure what time it is and I had to throw out my smart watch.”

You open your door and jump about ten feet when you see someone on your bed, but it’s just Alastor.

“Jesus Christ!” you exclaim, followed with frustration. “Herbert, go sit on him, he’s an asshole.”

This backfires; Alastor actually pats Herbert’s new feathers and lets him sit in his lap. “For your information, my love, it is one in the afternoon. I expected you much later.”

“Wait, then why are you here already?” you ask.

Alastor lifts a brow and crosses his arm. Herbert bounces up and down in his lap. “Am I not welcome in here just as you are welcome in mine?”

“You are, of course.” You sit beside him and kiss him. “How did you fill up all your time while waiting for me?”

“Work-related pursuits,” Alastor assures you. “I believe you said something about a shower.”

“You heard that?”

“I could hear a mouse breathe if I wanted to.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you say before standing.

“Would you like a bit of proof?” he offers.

“No, there’s no actual way to prove it, I can’t perceive things for you. But I did say I was going to take a shower. I spilt a good bit of vodka on myself and that I know you heard. It was a reasonable distance.” You kiss him quickly. “I’ll be fast.”

“I have no doubt in that, my dear,” he says before opening his book again.

When you return, towelling your hair, you sit down beside him again and he sets aside his book.

“Why did you come here to wait for me? Surely you know I’d seek you out.” you ask.

Alastor fiddles with his book. “I did not want to miss out on any quality nagging time, but the longer I sat here the more I pondered something.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and kiss his neck. “And what was that? Vox vengeance?”

“No, although I did have some new ideas about that last night after the spi—after Angel Dust stole you from my bed.” Alastor presents an apple to Herbert, who takes it to his nest. “I have something to speak about and it is very important to me. I have been modestly pushing for this for months and now I am going to assert it. Now, play with my ears.”

“That’s what you’re asserting?” you ask, putting a pillow in your lap and pulling him down to it.

“No, merely a bonus.” He closes his eyes when you touch his ear. “I am here to aggressively pursue the idea of moving to my hotel room.”

You smile as you look down at him. “No. I’m not living in a bayou.”

“It is a swamp,” he corrects.

“All the same. I respect that it’s for you, but it took a long time just for me to get used to sleeping in there, I don’t think I can live with it full-time.”

Alastor tenses, regardless of the sensory pleasure. “Then move into the room next door and we will open the doors between them when the situation calls for it.”

“How is that any different?”

“It isdifferent to me,” he insists before sitting up and taking your hands in his. “A lot has happened. Many things have transpired that change the nature of our relationship irrevocably. This is not the same as it used to be. We lived this way when we were not even in a proper relationship and now we are married. It is no longer tenable. I simply cannot live this way anymore. I want you with me. Just as you respect my living arrangement, I respect yours, but that does not mean change is not necessary.”

After a few seconds, you nod. “I see that. Okay. I have my own swamp-free space next door and at night I simply walk through the door to sleep with you, full time.”

He perks up. “Really? That is a commitment you are willing to make?”

“For you?” You smile at him and pull him back down to the pillow. “Of course I will. I was being a little selfish.”

“You were not,” he says. “My living space is unique, that is true, and I appreciate that you have never once attempted to change it. I respect that.”

“And Herbert can stay in my space,” you suggest.

“I can live with him being next door, never crossing over.”

“And Charlie won’t mind?”

Alastor waves the thought away. “It is the same amount of rooms used, and anyway, she more or less leaves me to my own devices and does not ask questions. I am the host of the hotel, after all.”

“Then it’s official. We’ll do it.” Your fingers move on to his antlers, which instantly branch out. “I love you.”

“And I you, beloved,” he says. “Now, I believe we have some time to make up for.”

“Make up for what?”

His hand touches your thigh and he takes you through the dark, to his bed. He shoves you down onto it.

“The way that I look at it, we should have been intimate by now. Twice,” he adds.

You smile and chuckle softly. “You’re insatiable.”

“Merely reacting to hormones and stimuli,” he says, eagerly taking off your shirt. Alastor nips your ear lobe, his tongue trails down your neck. “I love to pleasure you.”

Your eyes flutter closed and your fingers mesh through his hair, grasping, but not too hard. You knew each other’s bodies well. You moan when his nimble fingers conquer the clasp of your bra and the clothing is pulled away from your body. Your heart is already racing with the sheer potential of this, this shared moment. When he kisses you, your fingers go straight to the little buttons on his shirt.

His tongue is deep in your mouth when his scarred chest is finally revealed to your roaming hands. His shoulder twitches when your fingers pass along a particular long, deep scar, but he makes no move to stop you. When they trail lower, down to the zipper on his trousers, he growls and shoves you down onto the bed.

He runs his hand through his hair before looking down at you, how he’s holding you there. “You smell so sweet and I’ve hardly even touched you yet. I can tell that you’re wet and I haven’t even touched you there—yet. Look at you. Shameless. Brazen in your lust. Mine.”

Just before you speak, one hand completely covers your mouth, pressing you down harder against the mattress, while the others yanks off the bottoms you put on after the shower. The touch is rough, but not violent. Your sense of safety is never once violated. All you can feel is arousal and intense anticipation.

“Not a word,” he commands when his hand leaves your lips. He doesn’t pay attention to your nod of acknowledgment, but getting the rest of his clothes off; when they’re gone, he holds you down again, his hand covering your mouth again. “If you thought last night was intense, you should adjust your expectations and spread those pretty legs wide. For the next few hours, you will be in this bed. You will be fucked again and again. You will thank me for it, if you know what’s good for you. Do you understand me? Nod your head.”

You do, feeling a surge of heat between your legs before the head of his cock presses against you, rubbing along the lips of your pussy.

“You really do feel perfect,” he admits. “So good for me. Are you ready?”

The kiss you pressed to his palm was all the indication he needed before he pushed into you, all at once, bottoming out. His hand slips his hand away from your mouth, but he’s still pressing you down into the mattress.

“You beautiful fucking thing,” he says, his strokes hard, rough. “You feel so soft, so warm. I can hear how fast your heart is beating for me. I can hear how hard it is for you to take breath. You are the loveliest sight I have ever seen, every time, every day.”

He reaches down between you, his fingertips swirling around your clit. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he chases that. He chases every little moan, every muffled little gasp, chases them like they’re his own breath. When your pussy clenches around him he moans, too.

“You were made for my cock,” he says, fucking you harder and harder. “Your whole existence, that’s what you were fucking made for, my beautiful little dancer, all worked up, just for me.”

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly.

He smirks. “So obedient, darling. That’s a good girl. Tell me, what were you created for? Piqué turns, or this?”

You’re quickly losing your breath again, and Alastor is not a patient man. He grabs your chin and forces your eyes to meet his.

“Were you made to twirl around a stage?” he asks.

“No,” you whisper, a rasp of a sound.

“Was your little cunt made solely for me?” Alastor asks, his pace brutal.

You cry out and nod as quickly as you can. “Yes, yes!”

His breath lingers over yours as he nods, apparently unable to speak again, not just yet. His eyes close and you look up at him with such long and wanting. Your pussy flutters around him as the pleasure gets closer and closer, grows, and the pressure around his cock forces his eyes open again.

“Oh, you’re filthy,” he says, fucking you harder and harder. His tongue flicks up to touch his lip. “Such a good fucking pussy. I’m going to do this to you every goddamn day, and you’re going to thank me for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe, nodding as his hands grip your hips just a tad too tight.

“Good girl,” he says. “Good fucking girl.”

You gasp loudly, diaphragm working hard again. “For you?”

He gives an amused little huff. “For me, for eternity.”

You’re not the only one breathing a little harder, but for the most part he ignores the burn in his chest. There’s something so much better, so much more meaningful and important—namely those delicious little trembles of those thighs wrapped around him. He can tell that you’re getting close and he’s considering how merciful he should be. Let you come, or make you work for it?

He starts to rub your clit again and takes in all the little moans and throaty breaths that fall from your pretty lips. He wants to bite them. He wants to see that little wrinkle between your brows that always forms when you come, and he wants to see it now. He lets out a sharp gasp when he feels how your pussy is squeezing him. Not long now. He’s never fucked anyone else, but he still believes with all of himself that you’re still better than any other woman possibly could be. He’s never wanted anyone else, ever, hadn’t thought it was possible, until he did.

He’s pulled out of this little reverie when you shout and he realises just how close you really are. His fingers work quicker on your clit. “Come for me, sweet girl. Come for me.”

It’s always so beautiful when you come. That little crease he’d been wanting to see, but also the way your lips part. The feeling of your tight pussy fluttering and clenching around him, the feel of your chest heaving against his, and he doesn’t stop rubbing your clit until your whole body is shaking. He never normally does this without express permission, but he bites down on the side of your neck until a few drops of golden blood collect on his tongue.

That’s when the pleasure is almost unbearable. He comes inside of you, thick ropes running up your walls, and he pumps into you a few more times just for good measure before falling onto the bed beside you.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your shoulder before kissing it. “So fucking good.”

You’re still catching your breath, which makes him smirk. He wraps his arms around you.

“Come here,” he says, grabbing you closer, tucking your head under his chin. At the same time, he uses his fingers to shove cum back inside of you. He does that a lot, actually…

“Holy fuck,” you whisper breathlessly before laughing.

“Indeed, my darling. Holy fuck.” Alastor gives you a little squeeze. He swallows. “You are all that I love.”

You smile when you remember the last time he’d used that exact phrase. “I love you too.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says. “You have fifteen minutes before I take you again, and there shall be no mercy this time.” 

“Someone is waiting for you,” Natasha says quickly, marching past you quite quickly. It was lunch hour at the studio and every single dancer and instructor present knew not to go to the dressing rooms. You practically skip on the way there, whistling a tune Alastor had played yesterday evening during his radio broadcast. You catch a glance at yourself as you walk down the mirrored hallway, the lights bright, your leotard, practice tutu, and bun in perfect condition.

When you open the door, you see Alastor fumbling with something.

“What are you up to, troublemaker?” you ask.

“Hello, darling,” he says. “I am trying to figure out this device.”

You take a look. “That’s a balancing pad. Alastor, leave that alone, you’ll pop it.”

“What joy does this give you?” he asks, the tip of his staff now touching the delicate tulle and silk of your tutu. “Hm? This really is quite revealing. Ballet is thought to be so prudish but I can see the entirety of your gorgeous legs in this manner of dress.”

“Alastor if there’s blood on that—“

“Yes, I know, you’ll teach Herbert a new word. You know, that threat is rather…blunted, now. He says something new every day.” He smirks and moves closer to you. “There’s no blood, darling. I can touch you as much as I like.”

“Well, at least use your hands!”

And that was all the invitation he needed. Yes, he was very careful in removing the tutu, pulling it off of your body and onto a nearby clean surface, but that was the last thoughtful incident.

You, however, have other plans. Before he can summon up a swamp, you push him down onto his back on the rug.

He looks flummoxed. “Exactly what do you think you are doing, my darling?”

“I want it this way,” you say, and he flips your positions so quickly that it jars you. You’re on your belly, your cheek pressed against the rug.

Alastor gives an amused little chuckle when he pulls aside the crotch of your leotard, his thumb creating a hole and stretching it just wide enough. “I can see that you’re feeling like a rather naughty girl today. I can accommodate that, and quite gladly, I might add. If you move out of this position, if you so much as lift your head, I will punish you.”

There was no such thing as ‘funishment’ when it came to Alastor, but his promise makes you grin nonetheless.

“Not too hard, please,” you say softly. “I still have to dance after.”

“I am aware of your activities and will not stand in the way of your success, however much I would like for you to finally quit, but that is neither here nor there. Now spread your legs for me, slut.”

You try so hard not to giggle when he says that, and you do manage to cover it up as a slight cough into the rug. If he sees through the ruse, he says nothing of it. You do as you’re told, spreading your thighs wide for him, and he continues to stretch and pull at your tights until they rip further and further. 
“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him. “I have like five extra pairs in my dance bag.”

“Lovely.” He just rips the fabric away now, stretching the material as much as he needs.

“Now,” he says, lowering down behind you as you breathe against the rug. “I want you to beg.”

You hear a bemused little chuckle when he touches your pussy and finds it as wet as ever. There’s a zip and then you can feel his cock against your lower back.

He presses you down harder against the rug. “I said beg.”

You take a few deep breaths, eyes closing. “Alastor, please. I need you to fuck me in this tiny little room with the paper thin walls that anyone can come into at any time. There’s not even a lock on the door. I need you to fuck me, please, fuck me here against this rug. Please, love, please.”

“You make a very compelling argument,” he muses, the blunt tip of his cock right against your entrance. “I suppose I should give you what you want. . .”

“What I need,” you supply. 
“Well, if you need it. . .” Alastor, for the first time in days, pushes in slowly, almost lazy in its hedonism. His lips press against the back of your neck, and presses a kiss there. His arm comes around you as he fucks you, holding your hips the way that he wants them. All of his movements command control.

“Alastor. . .” You moan loudly. “You just fit. You fill me so perfectly. . .”

As he fucks you, deeper and deeper, a static growl emerges from his throat. “Say that again right now.”

“You fill me so fucking good, Al,” you whisper hoarsely. Your breath comes in uneven spurts as he pumps in and out of you. “You’re all I want, you’re what I need. . .”

He’s relentless now, but you can tell he’s keeping himself under control so that you can still dance properly once this is over. It brings a smile to your face, full of love and wonder. He hits your g-spot and you moan loudly, legs shaking.

Alastor lets out an amused chuckle. “Careful, darling. We would not want for everyone in this corps to hear what kind of desperate slut you are, hm?”

“God, I don’t know why it makes me fucking gush when you say shit like that but it does, what does that say about me?”

This time he laughs outright. “Because I am touching on the truth without touching it completely. I can call you a slut whilst the both of us know that it is limited to me. A slut for me. It makes you feel. . .closer, in a way. More intimate.”

“Does it make you feel closer? More intimate?” you ask.

“It embodies the power that I have over you, the control that you give to me. I think it is. . .different than what you feel, but I would say it’s equivalent in its effect. Darling, you’re squeezing me so good. . .”

You’re panting now. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Your orgasm is a breath away, simmering beneath the surface, and he’s working harder and harder to force it out of you as quickly as possible, and. . .why make the man wait?

You cry out quietly, or as quietly as you are able, as your body trembles, your pussy clenching down around him, forcing a loud grunt from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he whispers against the column of your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Pretty soon you’re both gasping for air as his cock spurts inside of you. When he pulls out, as he’s been doing here lately, he pushes cum back inside of you. It’s a tad odd, but never off-putting or even notable enough to comment on. If it’s what he wants to do, you won’t stop him from something so trivial.

When he lets you stand up, your stumble over to your dance bag to change your tights and leotard. “You see, I’ve been telling you how insatiable you are these days.”

“I’m not the one that shoved you down onto the rug first, my love,” he points out. “I believe it was I that hit the rug before you did, I simply followed your lead and had you ‘gushing’ on my cock. That was the word you used, wasn’t it?”

You laugh from your position in front of the mirror. Your bun definitely needed to be redone, so you pull out the elastic and reach for a hairbrush. “Yeah, gush.”

“See? My own dirty little slut.” His arms wrap around you from behind and he leans his head down to kiss the side of your neck.

You chuckle loudly. “You’re messing me up!”

Alastor takes the brush away from you and does it himself. “Oh, that girl I sent for you, what is her name?”

You had to think for a moment. “I think it was Natasha? If I’m remembering who came to me correctly.”

“Ah, Natasha.” Alastor ties the elastic in your hair again. A perfect high bun. “If she speaks to me again I will pull her spine through her throat.”

“Strong words,” you say. “I’ll make sure she knows. They’re all very, very afraid of you, even the instructors.”

“And no one will ever dare say a word to you about that,” Alastor says proudly. “They know what’s good for them.”
 You smile at the mirror and then turn around to kiss him. “I love it when you visit.”

“And I have no intent to stop coming to visit. Perfect couple, honestly,” he says.

“Perfect couple indeed.”

He picks up his staff and twirls it. “Now. When shall I expect you to return to me tonight?”

You wince in anticipation of his next words. “Late rehearsals. You’ll just have to wait to get me when you’ll get me.”

“Quit.” he says loudly. “Just quit.”

“You know that I’m not going to, so why are you always pushing for it? I don’t want to end this interaction on a bad note, I don’t want us to part in anger. The performances are two weeks away and opening night is going to be huge for us, two of the Sins will be attending.” Technically three, since Lucifer had his ticket and let it be known that he would be present, but now wasn’t the time to tell Alastor that.

“Which Sins? Wait, I do not actually care which Sins are in attendance. Fine. If it gives you joy, then I will not stand in the way—but you will rest. I am not ‘playing’ with you, you will take proper time to rest and recover on the days you do not perform. Things are out of control. As if polar spells were not enough, you’re coming home exhausted.”

“Okay, okay! I promise I’ll find more time to rest, as long as you promise not to keep talking about this,” you say. “No nagging when I’m in compliance.”

“Fine,” he says eventually. He looks at his pocket watch and puts it back. “Now is the time for us to part, my love. I expect you’ll be coming to me as soon as you are done?”

You nod. “And you’ll get Mexican food?”

“Yes, all that you want.”
 You smile at him and kiss him. “Thanks, my love. Go on a killing spree. There’s supposed to be some sort of parade today, maybe start there.”

“I believe I shall! Until tonight, dearest.”

“Until tonight.”

Once he’s gone, you take your water bottle to the sink for a refill and head back up front. Rehearsals stretched on for hours still, and when it was finally over, you were dead on your feet.

You’re just scooping your bag up from the floor when Natasha comes up to you again, but this time there’s something different.

“Someone’s waiting for you,” she says, just like before. “Back there. Someone is waiting for you.”

She’s gone before you can even thank her.

Fuck, had he even left at all? You pull the strap of your dance bag over your shoulder and head to the back. You head for the same room as before. When you touch the doorknob, there’s a pop of static, zapping your fingertips.

“Shit,” you say, looking down at your hand as you enter the room. “I just shocked the fuck out of myself.”

“Sorry about that, my love.”

You look up from your hand instantly and your lips fall apart.

“Vox,” you say softly, backing up to the door. “You shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here.”

“I know that he’s made it very hard for us,” he says, advancing on you until you’re close enough to take your hands in his. There’s no static this time, but it still feels as though his hands burn through yours. “I know that he’s selfish, that he hides you from me, that he doesn’t want us to be together.”

“I don’t want us to be together,” you manage to say before gulping hard. The hands in his shake, tremble.

Vox just chuckles. “Of course you do. He’s not here, there’s no need to pretend.”

When you shudder again, it’s from the cold. The intense, bone-biting cold that floods your body. You can’t stop shaking, but this can’t happen, not now!

“Vox, go. Go now.”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, tilting his flattened head.

You push him away weakly, but it does nothing. You sink down to your knees, trembling out of control as your skin grows lighter from the cold.

Vox sinks down next to you, pulls you into his arms.

“Ssh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

[chimcess]

⮞ Chapter One: Homecoming 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: 19.1k+ 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, meet-cute reference to an unhealthy relationship with mom, absent father, parental issues, pining, low self-esteem, reader has anxiety, reader is very stressed out, honestly my girl is just exhausted, very pushy neighbors (but we love them for it), Taehyung is adopted, this is really just an introduction to everyone so not many warnings here... A/N: Happy New Year! Let's kick things off with a new massive series. This one will touch on very heavy topics such as toxic parents, mental health issues, and non-consensual touching. Please proceed with caution. New Chapters every month!

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I never used to think about what came next. Why would I? It felt pointless, like trying to guess the ending of a book while you were still tangled in the messy, middle chapters. Life just kept happening—fast, breathless, one page after another. And sometimes, if you were lucky, you got close to something that felt like a dream. So close you could almost taste it. But right when you reached for it? That’s when life reminded you—books close, lights go out, and suddenly, you’re right back where you started.

Normal? I wouldn’t know normal if it walked up and smacked me in the face. Normal was for people who wore stiff blazers and drank bad office coffee. My mornings started in the dark—lacing up my skates, the air so cold it bit at my skin. Stretch until it hurt. Practice until the moves weren’t moves anymore, just instinct. The rink smelled like sweat and frost and that sharp, unmistakable scent of wanting something too much. It clung to me.

That was my life. Until it wasn’t.

I don’t even remember learning how to skate. I just always had. The ice was the one place that made sense, the only place where my body and my brain felt like they belonged to the same person. My mom, Emily, saw it first. That spark in me. And once she saw it, she never let go. She didn’t just support me—she pushed. Hard. Like a storm rolling in, relentless and all-consuming. Maybe to her, that’s what love looked like.

People whispered about her. Said she was chasing her own lost dreams through me. Maybe she was. But I never resented her for it. Her ambition was like a fire—sometimes too hot, sometimes too much. But it kept me warm. Even when it burned.

She’d been a skater once, too. Until life happened. Until she got pregnant with me, married my dad, Jim, and let go of whatever dreams she had left. Some people move on. She never did. She carried that regret around like a weight, year after year, until all she had left was me. And the ice. I was her second chance.

She met Jim when she was still young and restless, and he was passing through town for police training. They fell in love, or at least, something close enough to it. Then I came along. A courthouse wedding, a move, a slow unraveling. Eventually, Emily and I left for Colorado—chasing the ice, chasing the dream. Jim stayed in Olympia, sinking into his routine until it swallowed him whole. I became the thing in between, stretched between my dad’s steady, distant world and my mom’s all-or-nothing drive.

Michigan wasn’t home anymore. Hadn’t been for years. But here I was.

The intercom crackled to life, yanking me out of my head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We’re beginning our descent into Detroit, where it’s currently five-eighteen p.m. and a frigid fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. Please secure your belongings.”

Fifteen degrees. Typical Michigan.

I stared out the window, my knee aching, a bitter little reminder. I was supposed to meet Dr. Jeon on Monday. People swore he was the best. But I already knew it didn’t matter. The moment my skate caught that rough patch of ice, when my body twisted and my world turned upside down—I knew.

It was over.

I could still see it, clear as a photograph: the rink bathed in pale afternoon light, Swan Lake drifting through the air. I wasn’t even competing, just skating for the sake of skating. My mom and my coach sat in the stands, talking about my next routine. I picked up speed, heading into a fan spiral—when it happened. My blade caught. My leg gave out. I went down hard.

The plane’s landing gear hit the tarmac with a screech, shaking the memory loose. My heart pounded. I gripped the armrest, swallowing against the lump in my throat.

Passengers stood, jostling for overhead bags, but I stayed put. No point in rushing. My crutches were cold in my hands, awkward, unfamiliar. A few months ago, I could glide across the ice like I belonged there. And now? Now I could barely walk through an airport without feeling like I might tip over.

At baggage claim, I stared at the conveyor belt, watching suitcases circle like they had all the time in the world. My hands were full. My leg was useless.

"You need a hand?"

The voice came out of nowhere. I flinched, turning too fast, and there he was—tall, brown-eyed, and looking at me like he could see straight through all my carefully constructed defenses. Before I could respond, someone bumped into me, and my crutch slipped from my grip, clattering against the floor.

I wobbled, reaching out for something—anything—to steady myself. But he was faster. His hands caught my arms, firm but gentle, like he’d done this before. Like he knew exactly how to keep someone from falling.

For a second, the world around us—the airport, the noise, the blur of people—just stopped.

"You okay?" His voice was warm, steady, like it belonged to someone who never panicked.

I nodded quickly, my face heating. "Yeah. Fine." A lie, probably. But what else was I supposed to say? No, actually, I’m currently living my worst nightmare, thanks for asking?

He let go slowly, like he was making sure I wouldn’t tip over again, and bent down to grab my crutch. When he handed it back, his eyes lingered—not with pity, but something else. Something softer.

"Thanks," I muttered, gripping the crutch tighter than necessary.

He smiled—easy, unbothered. "No problem." But there was something behind it, like maybe he had more to say.

The airport rushed back to life around us. People zigzagging past, voices bouncing off the high ceilings, the endless hum of somewhere-to-be energy. But for just a moment, it still felt like we were in a separate, quieter place.

He glanced at the mess of luggage by my feet. "Need help with your bags?"

My pride answered before logic could. "I’ve got it."

Which was a bold thing to say, considering I clearly did not have it. My knee throbbed, like it was rolling its metaphorical eyes at me.

But he didn’t argue. Just shrugged, like it was all the same to him. "Alright. But it’s no trouble if you change your mind."

I shifted my weight, felt the sharp twinge, and sighed. "Okay, yeah. I could use some help."

The words tasted weird in my mouth. He didn’t seem to notice. He just grabbed my suitcase like it weighed nothing, balancing my smaller bag on top.

"Someone picking you up?" he asked as we made our way toward the sliding glass doors, where the cold Michigan air lurked like a villain in a horror movie.

"Nope. Just grabbing a cab," I said, weaving through the crowd. But I was aware of him next to me, solid and steady, like an anchor I hadn’t realized I needed.

"I’ve got my car in the overnight lot," he said, so casually it almost sounded like a throwaway offer. "I could give you a ride."

I hesitated. Too fast. "No, it’s okay," I said, maybe a little too quick, a little too sharp.

Something flickered across his face—disappointment? Or was I just imagining it?

We stepped outside, and the cold hit. Hard. I sucked in a sharp breath, my fingers instantly regretting every life choice that led to me not bringing gloves.

He noticed. His mouth twitched into a knowing smile. "Forgot what Michigan feels like in January?"

"Yeah," I muttered, hugging my coat closer. "Something like that."

I should be used to it. I grew up on ice, for God’s sake. But this cold felt different. It wasn’t just outside—it was creeping in, settling deep, gnawing at something raw.

"So, where were you before this?" he asked, breath curling into the air like smoke.

"Nevada. Before that, Colorado. We moved around a lot." I didn’t even know why I was telling him this. I didn’t even know him.

"We?" He raised an eyebrow, like he already knew the answer but wanted me to say it anyway.

"Me and my mom," I said, my voice quieter now. "She’s not really the ‘stay in one place’ type."

He nodded, like that made perfect sense. "A modern-day nomad. Sounds... exhausting."

I let out a small laugh, more reflex than anything. "Yeah. It can be."

And maybe it was just the exhaustion, or the cold, or the fact that he felt easy to talk to, but this whole conversation was starting to feel less strange. Less like a fleeting airport moment and more like something solid.

"You staying here for a while?" he asked, his dark eyes locking with mine, the cold suddenly not as noticeable.

"For the foreseeable future," I said, surprising myself with how easily it came out.

"Good to know." His voice softened, like it was some kind of inside joke I didn’t know we were sharing yet. And that crooked smile? Yeah. Dangerous.

My pulse did something stupid.

What was I even doing? Standing here, flirting with a stranger in the dead of winter? This wasn’t real life—this was the kind of thing that only happened in bad rom-coms and half-formed daydreams. But with him, it felt real. Too real.

"Maybe I’ll see you around," he said, running a hand through his hair, which—of course—fell back into place in that perfectly messy, I-don’t-care-but-I-do way.

"Yeah, maybe," I said, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

"You live nearby?"

I should already be in a cab. I should be out of this cold, heading toward whatever was left of my life. But instead, I was still standing here, asking questions I had no business asking.

"Detroit," he said, his breath hanging in the air like something unfinished.

"Me too," I blurted out. "Just moved there, actually."

"Downtown?" He asked it like my answer mattered more than it should.

"Royal Oak," I said. "The old houses there... they’re beautiful."

"They are," he agreed, and there was something in the way he said it, like he was noticing things about me I didn’t even realize I was showing. His gaze flicked from my eyes to my lips, and for a second, the space between us felt smaller, thinner, like something was about to snap.

Then the wind did it for us, slicing between us like a blade.

"Welcome to Michigan," he said, laughing, his voice warm against the cold.

And then, before I could react, before I could process anything, he reached down and took my bare hands in his.

His hands were warm. Too warm. Like touching them had flipped some hidden switch inside me.

I felt it. Everywhere.

For a second, I swore the ground shifted.

"We should get you a cab," he said, glancing down at my frozen fingers, his expression softer now. "You’re not exactly dressed for this weather."

"Yeah, I probably should’ve planned better," I admitted with a laugh, but I was barely paying attention to the cold anymore. Just the heat from his hands, the way they made everything else feel less cold.

He waved down a cab like he’d done it a hundred times before, easy and effortless. I stood there, watching as he loaded my bags into the trunk, every movement feeling like a countdown. And then, when he pulled open the door for me, I just... stood there.

At the edge of the moment. Caught between stepping forward and holding still. Between leaving and staying.

“Thanks for the help,” I said, looking up at him, my heart knocking against my ribs.

“Jungkook,” he said, soft, like he was handing me something delicate. His smile was still there, tugging at the corner of his mouth like he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. “I’m Jungkook.”

“Y/N,” I replied, my own name slipping out so easily, like it had been waiting to be said here, in this exact moment, in this freezing air between us.

He repeated it—slowly, like he was trying it on. Like it was something worth holding in his mouth for a second longer. “Y/N,” he said again, quieter this time. And then he leaned in, just a little, like he was about to tell me a secret.

And suddenly, everything else—the cold, the noise, the rush of people around us—blurred out. It was just him, standing too close, that crooked grin making me wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end of whatever this was.

“Yeah, Jungkook?” I asked, my breath hitching, anticipation curling in my stomach.

“My friends and I... we go to this bar on Grand most Tuesdays. Bronx?” He said it like a casual suggestion, but it wasn’t casual. It was a bridge. A next step. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?”

A thrill shot through me—quick and unexpected. He wanted to see me again.

“Yeah,” I stammered, trying to sound normal, trying to sound like my pulse wasn’t suddenly in my throat. “I could swing by. Once I’m settled in.”

“Great.” His whole face lit up, and it was like watching a door crack open, just enough to glimpse something softer behind it. "I’ll see you around then, Y/N."

And just like that, he stepped back, shut the door behind me, and the moment ended.

The cab pulled away, and I turned, craning for one last look. He was still standing there, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, watching me go. When he caught my gaze, he waved, easy and casual, like this whole thing hadn’t just knocked the wind out of me. I lifted my hand in return, but my chest was still tight, my heart still racing.

I slumped back against the seat, pressing my forehead to the cold window, hoping the chill would slow my thoughts down. Because now that I was alone, the doubts started creeping in. The what-ifs.

Would I actually show up at Bronx? Or would I do what I always did—let the moment fade, tell myself it wasn’t real, convince myself it was just a weird, fleeting connection that didn’t actually mean anything?

But then I thought about him. About that lopsided smile. The way he said my name like it was something worth remembering. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder...

What if?

It was a little past seven when the cab finally rolled to a stop in front of my new apartment building. The sky had darkened into that deep, bruised purple, the kind that makes the world feel just a little heavier. The cold hit me full force as I climbed out, my crutches clattering against the pavement.

I was so tired. That kind of exhaustion that settles into your bones, heavy and unshakable.

The doorman noticed immediately—a grizzled guy with kind eyes and the weary patience of someone who had seen a lot of people start over. He moved toward me with the kind of practiced ease that made it clear he had done this before. Watched people show up with too many bags and too many hopes. Watched them leave, sometimes with less of both.

Without a word, he took my luggage, leading me toward the elevator like it was second nature.

Apartment 311 smelled like fresh paint and nothing else. The kind of emptiness that didn’t just sit in the air—it echoed. My footsteps bounced off the bare walls, and for a second, it felt like I was in a storage unit, not a home. No couch. No bed. Just a hollow space waiting to be filled with something real.

I let out a long breath. The cold inside the apartment was different from the cold outside—sharper, lonelier. Like even the air hadn’t settled in yet.

I pulled out my phone and ordered a pizza. Pepperoni and mushrooms, with a side of breadsticks. It felt like a stupidly normal thing to do, like maybe if I just ordered dinner, it would trick my brain into thinking everything was fine. That this wasn’t weird. That I wasn’t standing in the middle of an empty apartment with nothing but a suitcase and a sinking feeling in my stomach.

By the time I hung up, the ache in my chest had settled in for the night. This was real. No backing out now.

I called Emily.

Her voice was a mix of relief and tension, like she wanted to be happy I’d made it but also wanted to remind me that I had things to do. That I had to get back to training. That I couldn’t just pause. But I was pausing. I was standing in an apartment with no furniture, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers. And I just... couldn’t deal with it right now.

After a few strained minutes, I made an excuse and hung up. The silence rushed back in, filling the space like water, drowning out everything else.

I wandered through the empty rooms, my fingers grazing the white walls. The place felt sterile, like a waiting room for a life I hadn’t started living yet. Outside, the city buzzed—car horns, laughter, people moving through their lives like they knew exactly where they were going. I pressed my forehead to the window, watching them pass. Families. Students. Dog walkers. Everyone seemed to belong to something. To someone.

And me? I felt like a glitch in the system. Like I’d been dropped into the wrong life by accident.

Jungkook’s face flashed in my mind. The way he’d said my name, like it meant something. Like maybe I wasn’t as lost as I felt. I let myself picture it—walking into Bronx on a Tuesday night, catching sight of that crooked grin. It was just a thought, a little flicker of something warm. But I wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

The apartment was still too empty, but at least tomorrow there’d be furniture. A couch. Shelves. A coffee table, maybe. The kind of things that made a place feel real.

But the real gem of the apartment wasn’t the kitchen or the big windows. It was the alcove by the entrance—a tiny nook with a built-in window seat, framed by bookshelves. A little space that felt hidden from the rest of the world. I could already imagine curling up there on winter nights, listening to the snow tap against the glass. And for the first time since I got here, I could almost picture it—this place turning into something more than just four walls and an address.

A knock at the door snapped me out of it.

I hobbled over, stomach growling. Pizza. Finally.

But when I pulled open the door, it wasn’t the delivery guy.

It was a girl. Petite, but somehow larger than life, dressed in a black knit sweater dress and a sequined mini that shimmered in the dim hallway light. Her hair was buzzed short, dark and soft-looking, and she had cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. But it was her eyes that stopped me—deep brown, warm, familiar.

They reminded me of him.

“Hey!” she chirped, like we were old friends. “I’m Mina. I live in 312. The pizza guy accidentally brought your order to us, so I figured I’d bring it over and say hi.”

I blinked at her. Processing.

“Thanks,” I said finally, shifting on my crutches. “Would you mind setting it in the kitchen? I’m a little... restricted.”

“Of course!” Mina breezed past me like she’d lived here her whole life, her boots clicking against the hardwood. She set the pizza down and turned back, eyes bright with curiosity. “So... what happened?” She gestured at the crutches.

“Sports injury,” I said, keeping it vague. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Just not the whole truth.

Mina nodded like that was good enough. “Well, I hope you’re healing okay. Must be rough, moving in while dealing with all that.”

“Yeah,” I said, relieved when she didn’t press. “Thanks again for bringing the pizza.”

“No problem! Consider it a ‘Welcome to the Building’ gift.” She grinned, then suddenly froze, her eyes going wide.

“Wait... you don’t have any furniture, do you?”

I sighed. “I’ll figure something out. It’s just one night.”

Mina looked personally offended by this information. Then, before I could stop her, she scooped up the pizza box and waltzed right back out the door.

I just stood there. Staring. Processing.

Did she really just take my dinner?

With a groan, I grabbed my bag and pulled out fleece pants, a tank top, and my track jacket. Changed. Gathered up my toothbrush, phone, and keys. Then, still half-stunned, I hobbled down the hall to apartment 312.

I knocked, my heart pounding for no good reason.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Mina standing there.

It was a tall blonde woman—striking in that effortless kind of way, like she had never tripped over a curb in her life. She had long, golden hair that fell like silk, sharp dark eyebrows, and deep brown eyes that were almost black. Where Mina crackled with chaotic energy, this woman felt like still water. Collected. Unshakable. The kind of person who didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

“Hey, come on in,” she said, her voice low and a little raspy. “Mina said you’d be staying with us tonight.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, stepping inside, feeling weirdly self-conscious. “I don’t want to impose—”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving a hand like my words were actual garbage. “Once Mina decides something, there’s no point arguing. You might as well accept your fate.”

Before I could respond, Mina barreled into the room, now in yoga pants and a t-shirt that looked like it had been washed a thousand times.

“I knew you’d come!” she declared, triumphant.

“Well, you didn’t give me much of a choice,” I said, trying for casual, even though my chest still felt tight. “You did steal my dinner.”

“See? It worked!” Mina grinned, entirely unrepentant. “Trust me, this is way better than eating alone in an empty apartment. You’re smart for coming over.” She paused, eyes widening like she had just remembered something vital. “Oh my God, I didn’t even ask your name. I get so carried away sometimes.”

“Y/N,” I said. “Y/L/N.”

“Welcome, Y/N,” the blonde said, leading me toward the kitchen. “I’m Leera, but you can call me Lucy if you want. And don’t worry—you’ll get used to Mina’s... enthusiasm.”

The apartment was warm and lived-in, a contrast to my own echoing space. I caught sight of the pizza box Mina had stolen—but there were three more stacked on the counter, the air thick with the smell of melted cheese and garlic.

“What’s with all the pizza?” I asked, glancing between them.

“We ordered some too,” Mina said, flipping open a box like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “They just happened to show up at the same time. Fate, obviously.”

Lucy pulled my bottle of Diet Coke out of the fridge and held it up. “Want some ice?” she asked, like she already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” I said. And just like that, I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease.

It didn’t take long to figure out that Mina and Lucy were more than just roommates. Mina was an event planner—weddings, galas, parties—which made so much sense. Her whole vibe was confetti and last-minute ideas and carrying three coffees at once. Her family was originally from Wisconsin, though her great-grandparents had immigrated from Korea. Lucy, on the other hand, was her exact opposite. She worked in classic car restoration, which honestly stunned me. She had the kind of delicate, elegant energy that made me assume she spent her time doing something refined, like designing couture dresses or sipping espresso in a minimalist art studio. But no, she rebuilt engines. She smelled like vanilla and motor oil.

“Most people don’t believe me when I tell them,” she said, smirking as she popped open a can of sparkling water. “But I love it. It’s in my blood.”

Mina and Lucy weren’t just best friends—they were family, their lives so tightly woven together it was hard to tell where one story ended and the other began. Mina was engaged to Lucy’s brother, and Lucy was dating one of Mina’s. It was the kind of connection that felt inevitable, like the universe had put them in the same orbit on purpose. Every time Mina mentioned her fiancé, Taehyung, or Lucy talked about her boyfriend, Jimin, their expressions softened, like even thinking about them made the world a little warmer.

And somehow, I was here too. Sitting at their kitchen island, laughing, eating stolen pizza like I belonged.

By the time I glanced at the clock, it was past eleven.

Somehow, what was supposed to be a couple of awkward hours had turned into something else entirely—something easy. Something that felt suspiciously like belonging.

“Get used to late nights,” Lucy teased, nudging me with her elbow. “Being our friend means you have to be a night owl.”

Friends?

I wasn’t sure the last time I’d used it to describe myself. Maybe never.

Growing up, there wasn’t space for friends. Emily and my coaches made sure of that. My life had been structured and scheduled within an inch of its existence—early mornings, late nights, a constant push toward something bigger, something better. And at some point, I had started pulling away from people before they had the chance to do it first.

But Mina and Lucy? They weren’t waiting for me to prove anything. They weren’t measuring my worth by what I’d achieved.

They just saw me.

And that was almost scarier than being alone.

“So, Y/N,” Mina said, shattering the comfortable silence. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Big day,” I admitted, exhaustion creeping in. “My furniture’s arriving, plus all my stuff from Nevada. I need to grab groceries. Thought about picking out paint colors, but that might be too ambitious.”

Mina’s face lit up like I’d just invited her to an amusement park. “Need help? I’m free tomorrow. And I’m ridiculously efficient. We’ll knock it all out in no time.” She gestured toward my crutches with a cheeky grin. “Especially since you’re a little limited.”

I hesitated. I wasn’t used to accepting help. But Mina had this way of making it seem like it would be more work to say no.

“That would be great,” I admitted. “Thanks.”

Lucy shot me a knowing look from where she stood by the sink. “Just don’t let her bulldoze you. Once she gets going, she’s unstoppable. Your place will look like a West Elm catalog before you even blink.”

Mina gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m just trying to help her create a cozy space. Is that so wrong?”

“I’m just giving her fair warning,” Lucy said, eyes glinting. “You’re in for the full Mina experience.”

I yawned before I could stop myself. Mina noticed immediately.

“Go freshen up,” she said, waving me toward the bathroom. “I’ll set up the couch for you.”

I shuffled off, grateful for the moment alone. As I brushed my teeth and splashed cool water on my face, I felt the weight of the night settle in. When I returned, the couch had been transformed into a nest of blankets and pillows—so much cozier than the cold, empty apartment I’d left behind.

“Thanks, guys,” I said, sinking into my makeshift bed. “This is way better than crashing on a pile of sweatshirts.”

Lucy grinned as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “I’ll swing by around four tomorrow, just in time to rescue you from Mina’s overzealous decorating spree.”

“I’ll need it,” I said, throwing Mina a smirk.

Mina gasped, deeply offended. “You’ll love every second of it. Actually, I’ll call the guys and see if they can help with the heavy lifting this weekend. They’ve got a game in Anaheim on Friday, but they should be free after that.”

“Game?” I asked, frowning.

Mina blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Jimin, Taehyung, and my other brother—they play for the Michigan Red Wings.”

The name rang a bell, but faintly. Like a half-remembered dream.

“Should I know what that means?”

Lucy smirked. “NHL, Y/N. They’re professional hockey players.”

“Oh,” I said. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it. Hockey wasn’t really on my radar. The only time I even thought about it was when Emily complained about hockey players hogging ice time.

“We’ll have to take you to a game,” Mina said, already vibrating with excitement. “They’re mid-season, and the team’s so good right now.”

“Mina, you say that every year,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes.

Mina grinned. “Because every year, it’s true! Even if they weren’t good, it’s still fun. The speed, the energy…” She trailed off, lost in her own little hockey world.

I laughed, but something about all of this—this easy, effortless warmth—felt almost too good to be real. Like I’d borrowed someone else’s life for the night.

“Mina,” I said, nudging her. “You do realize two of those players are your brothers, right?”

She made a face. “Obviously, Y/N. I’m not checking them out. But let’s be real—they’re objectively attractive. And if you happen to take an interest, there’s plenty of other man candy on the team.”

Lucy chuckled. “She’s not wrong. Her brothers are hot. Not that I’m looking—Taehyung is more than enough—but Jungkook? Yeah, he’s got the looks.”

Jungkook.

The name hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Could it be my Jungkook? 

My brain raced back to the airport. The luggage, the easy smile, the way he had helped me like it was nothing. That Jungkook had just been… a random act of kindness. A nice stranger.

…Right?

I felt ridiculous for even thinking it. For even considering the possibility.

My Jungkook?

We’d spoken for maybe fifteen minutes, and I was already putting a claim on him. Maybe I was going crazy.

“He hasn’t dated anyone since he and Sky broke up last year,” Leera said casually, like she was commenting on the weather. “Kind of a waste. A guy like that shouldn’t stay single for long.”

Mina nodded, but there was something a little sharper in the set of her jaw. “Jungkook’s not the type to jump from girl to girl. He’s waiting for the right one, and when he finds her, he’ll know.”

Leera smirked. “Well, that’s not stopping half of Detroit. Pretty sure every girl in the city knows he’s single.”

Mina groaned, flopping back against the couch cushions. “Don’t even get me started on the rink rats. If I have to witness one more girl trying to sneak into the locker room, I might actually lose my mind.”

I laughed, sinking deeper into my pile of pillows. “Noted. I’ll make sure to stay on your good side.”

Mina pointed at me, all faux-seriousness. “Good call.” Then, with a sigh, she added, “I just hate it. Those girls don’t care about hockey—they don’t even like hockey. They just want the bragging rights.”

I nodded, watching the way her protectiveness settled over her like armor. She wasn’t just defending Jungkook. She was looking out for all of them. Her brothers, her family.

“Well,” I said, meaning it, “they’re lucky to have you watching their backs.”

Mina’s lips quirked up like she wanted to argue, but instead, she just said, “Goodnight, Y/N.” She was already halfway down the hall when she called over her shoulder, “Yell if you need anything.”

Leera lingered, watching me for a beat longer. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I said, exhaling, feeling the weight of the day settle over me in the best way. “Thanks again. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

“Don’t mention it.” Leera’s voice was soft, knowing. “I’m up early for work, so sorry if I wake you.”

I waved her off. “I’m used to early mornings.” Too many years of predawn practices had made sure of that.

Leera just nodded, still smiling, before disappearing down the hall.

I sank deeper into the blankets, warmth curling around me like a secret. My body felt heavy, like it had finally gotten permission to stop holding itself together. My eyes fluttered shut, and I didn’t even hear Leera’s door close.

That night, I dreamt of chocolate-brown eyes and tousled black hair.

I woke up the same way I had for the past eight weeks—with my knee throbbing like it had a personal vendetta against me.

I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know today was going to suck. The dull ache had settled in overnight, but now, thanks to yesterday’s cramped plane ride, it had sharpened into something meaner. I pulled my leg toward my chest, stretching carefully, trying to loosen the stiffness. Moving boxes and setting up furniture? Yeah, that was going to be so much fun. Looked like the painkillers would have to make an appearance.

After a few more stretches, the ache dulled to something that felt less like a knife and more like a bruise, and I finally cracked my eyes open. The room was still wrapped in that early-morning darkness, the kind that sits heavy over Michigan in the winter, refusing to budge. I reached for my phone. 5:48 A.M. The apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the radiator trying—and failing—to make the place feel less like an icebox.

I wasn’t going back to sleep, but I also didn’t feel like getting up yet. So I stayed where I was, curled up on Mina’s obnoxiously comfortable couch, staring at the ceiling.

Yesterday came back in pieces. Mina and Leera. The unexpected invitation. And, of course, Jungkook.

Just thinking about him sent an embarrassing little jolt through me, which was so stupid. It wasn’t like I’d never seen an attractive guy before. But Jungkook wasn’t just attractive. He was the kind of good-looking that made you blink twice. The kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second while you tried to process if someone could actually look like that.

Okay. Fine. So he was hot. That didn’t mean anything. I’d talked to him for maybe fifteen minutes. That wasn’t life-changing. That wasn’t even significant.

Except… my body had noticed him in a way it never really noticed anyone. Heart pounding. Skin tingling. That stupid, unsteady feeling like I’d just stepped onto a rink without my skates tied properly. That was significant.

I sighed, scrubbing a hand over my face. It didn’t matter. Even if, by some ridiculous stretch of the imagination, Jungkook was interested, what would I even do about it? Relationships, dating, flirting—those were all foreign languages to me. My parents had been a masterclass in what not to do. My dad stayed, but only in the financial sense. And Emily? Her version of love came with conditions. Perform well, and you got a rare “good job.” Fail, and… well.

I didn’t know how to do affection. It had always felt awkward, like a sweater that didn’t quite fit. Hugs? Hand-holding? Kissing? Yeah, no. Just thinking about it made my pulse do something weird.

I needed to stop. My life wasn’t some tragic sob story. So my childhood had more training schedules than sleepovers—big deal. I had what I needed. Time to move on.

With a groan, I pushed myself upright, my knee protesting the movement. Enough self-pity. Caffeine. I needed caffeine.

The apartment was still dark and silent as I shuffled into the kitchen. I hesitated before opening any cabinets—rummaging through someone else’s stuff before sunrise felt like a weird level of intrusive—so I settled for finishing off the last of my soda from last night. The cold fizz helped a little, at least enough to push through the haze of sleep deprivation.

The microwave clock blinked 6:04 A.M. Mina didn’t seem like the early riser type. No point in waiting around. I could head back to my place, shower, stretch like the doctor said to, and get my life somewhat together.

By 8:30, I felt almost human again. The stretches had helped, the painkillers had kicked in, and I’d even managed to scribble out a to-do list. Groceries. Figuring out where my limited furniture should go. Maybe pretending I had any idea how to decorate an apartment.

Mina knocked just as I was finishing up, looking far too awake for this hour and shoving a cup of coffee into my hands like a peace offering. “Morning! Ready for some fun?”

I took the coffee, eyeing her suspiciously. “You’re a morning person, aren’t you?”

She grinned. “I’m an all-the-time person. You’ll get used to it. So, what’s the plan?”

“The furniture’s supposed to be here at nine.” I handed her my list. “After that, I figured we could set things up, then go grab the essentials.”

Mina scanned the list and nodded. “Super Target it is. We’ll knock this out fast.”

While we waited, she plopped onto the floor with a notebook and started sketching out a floor plan—like, a legitimate floor plan—complete with little boxes for furniture and arrows for “optimal flow.” She rattled on about color schemes and accent pieces like we were designing a magazine spread.

I just nodded along, knowing I was going to have to veto at least half of it. The eight matching throw pillows? Absolutely not.

When the movers showed up, Mina shifted into full drill-sergeant mode, directing the poor guys with a terrifying level of efficiency. The second they left, another truck pulled up with my boxes from Nevada.

For once, something in my life was actually going smoothly.

Mina eyed my stack of boxes like she was waiting for the rest of them to show up.

“That’s it?” she asked, incredulous.

“Yep. I travel light.”

She frowned, like the concept physically pained her. “Y/N, half of these are labeled Books. How do you not have more stuff?”

I shrugged. “Less stuff, less hassle.”

Mina let out the kind of sigh that people reserved for lost causes. “Minimalist doesn’t even begin to cover it. Taehyung’s old dorm room had more personality than this place.”

I smirked. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. But let’s focus on getting toilet paper first before we start worrying about ‘spicing up’ my apartment.”

“Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “But we will revisit this. I’m not letting you live in a place that looks like a bachelor pad.”

“You’ve known me for fifteen hours,” I pointed out.

“And just imagine what it’ll be like in a couple of weeks,” she grinned wickedly. “I won’t hold back then.”

“This is you holding back?” I teased. “You’re kind of terrifying.”

“In the best way,” she said, completely unfazed. “Now, ready to hit the store?”

“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my list. “But I don’t have my car yet—it’s still at the dealership.”

“Good thing I’m your chauffeur for the day!” she declared, already heading for the door with the kind of enthusiasm that made me feel like I was being drafted into something. I sighed, but I couldn’t help smiling as I followed her. Life with Mina, I was quickly learning, was never going to be boring.

“No worries,” she added, whipping out her phone with the speed of someone who always had a plan. “I’ll call Jimin and see if we can borrow his truck.”

A quick call later, we were off—Mina behind the wheel of her bright yellow Porsche, driving like she had a personal vendetta against speed limits. The engine roared as she weaved in and out of traffic with terrifying precision. I gripped the door handle, silently promising to live a better life if we made it out of this drive alive.

By the time we pulled up to Jimin’s place—miraculously in one piece—I had officially retired from being a passenger in Mina’s car. We swapped vehicles, and before I knew it, we were barrelling down the road in Jimin’s truck, off to tackle what would soon become the longest shopping trip of my life.

Two hours later, I had come to two conclusions:

One—I would never, under any circumstances, voluntarily shop with Mina again.

Two—I actually liked her. A lot.

She was everything I wasn’t—loud where I was quiet, confident where I hesitated, effortlessly stylish while I stuck to jeans and sneakers. And yet, somehow, she just clicked with me. Maybe it was her relentless energy, or maybe it was because she bulldozed past the walls I hadn’t even realized I’d built.

As we wheeled our overloaded carts to the truck, I glanced at my phone. Just past noon, and I was already exhausted.

“I’m telling you, Y/N,” Mina said, tossing bags into the truck bed like she was throwing confetti, “those shirts were a necessity. When you find one that looks that good, you have to buy it in every color.”

I smirked, shaking my head. Somewhere between arguing over which brand of dish soap smelled less like a hospital and Mina sneakily adding things to the cart, I had realized something horrifying.

Mina could talk me into just about anything.

And there it was—three identical Converse button-ups in different colors. Cute? Yes. Necessary? Not even a little.

“I’m not sure how you did it,” I said, giving her a sideways look, “but somehow, you got me to buy three of the same shirt. You’re dangerous.”

Mina grinned, completely unapologetic. “You’ll thank me later when you’re rocking those shirts.”

I sighed, shaking my head in mock defeat. “Fine. The shirts are cute. But can we find food now? The gimp needs to recharge.”

Mina laughed, slamming the tailgate shut. “How do you feel about Korean? There’s a great place on the way back.”

“Perfect,” I said, already dreaming about a meal that didn’t involve protein bars or sad, airport vending machine snacks.

On the drive back, Mina launched into a full-on campaign about how we needed to recruit Jimin to help paint my apartment. She was convinced the walls needed a fresh coat before anything else could happen.

I argued. She countered. I pouted.

She finally caved. Victory.

For now.

Once we got back, we hauled everything inside, dumping the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter in a completely unorganized mess. We shoved the cold stuff into the fridge in a way that would probably horrify any reasonable adult, then collapsed onto the couch with greasy containers of food.

As I hobbled over with my takeout, my crutches snagged on the coffee table, making me stumble.

Not once.

Not twice.

Three times.

Each time, Mina gave me a look that was somewhere between amused and mildly concerned.

“You okay there, Y/N?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I sighed dramatically. “I am so ready to be done with these crutches.”

Navigating life on two feet was hard enough. With crutches? It was like trying to cross a balance beam in roller skates. The countdown to my next doctor’s appointment was on.

After lunch, Mina got lost in a wedding magazine she’d picked up from the mail, which left me with a rare moment of peace. I stretched out on the couch, my mind finally allowed to wander.

And, of course, it wandered right back to him.

Jungkook.

I didn’t know much about him—barely more than his first name—and yet here I was, thinking about him like a teenager with a crush. Which was ridiculous. But also undeniable.

He was absurdly good-looking. The kind of guy you noticed in a room. And for some reason, I couldn’t shake him.

Bronx. Tuesday nights. Five days from now.

Could I actually work up the nerve to go?

Part of me wanted to. Just to see him again. To feel that weird, electric thing that had sparked between us at the airport.

But another part of me—the part that had spent years keeping people at a safe distance—was already coming up with excuses.

Maybe he was just being nice.

Maybe Bronx was just a casual recommendation, not an invitation.

But then why mention Tuesday?

The uncertainty gnawed at me.

I sighed, half-wishing life was as simple as those old country songs—Do you like me? Check yes or no.

But it wasn’t that easy, was it?

Before I could spiral any further into my overthinking, Mina’s phone went off—a series of high-pitched squeals that could only mean one thing: bridal emergency.

She groaned, already getting to her feet, phone pressed to her ear before she was even fully upright. “Promise me you won’t touch anything while I’m gone,” she said, pointing at me like I was the kind of person who might start unpacking just to be difficult. “Lucy and I will help you sort everything later.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Satisfied, she turned on her heel and disappeared out the door, already deep in crisis management mode.

For once, I didn’t fight it. I wasn’t about to wrestle with the mountain of bags and boxes on my own. Instead, I let myself sink deeper into the couch, the cushions swallowing me whole. I popped in my earbuds and let my iPod shuffle through songs, the familiar hum of music settling over me like a blanket.

And before I knew it, I was out.

I managed to avoid Mina for two whole days, using jet lag and my aching knee as perfect excuses to dodge any heavy lifting. But, of course, Saturday morning came, and so did she—armed with coffee, muffins, and an all-important battle plan. Today, she declared, was Divine Design Day, and reinforcements were on their way. Jimin and Taehyung were due to arrive at 10:00 AM sharp to help paint and set up the loft. I groaned inwardly at the thought of another long day of projects, but I couldn’t help but feel a little curious about the guys Mina and Lucy had been raving about.

Apparently, Mina had tried to recruit her brother Jungkook too, but he was busy spending the day with the team doctor after taking a nasty hit during last night’s game. I’d heard Mina and Lucy screaming from across the hall—wild cheers when the game went well, furious shouts when the refs blew a call. They’d invited me to watch, but I’d opted for a quiet evening with a book instead. After hearing their passionate recap, though, I made a mental note to join them next time. It sounded like it was quite the spectacle.

“Let’s move it, Y/N,” Mina clapped her hands, already pushing me toward the door. “We need to hit Home Depot for paint before the guys crawl out of bed.”

I dragged myself along, grumbling as I grabbed my coat, purse, and crutches. “Isn’t Lucy coming with us?”

“She threatened to spike my coffee if I woke her before nine,” Mina laughed. “She’ll catch up when we get back.”

“Just don’t go overboard, okay? I don’t need my apartment looking like it belongs on the cover of Better Homes & Gardens.”

“You’re no fun,” Mina pouted, but then a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Okay, fine, how about this: you get veto power, but I promise you won’t need it.”

“Deal,” I sighed, knowing full well this was as good as it was going to get.

We took Lucy’s BMW since it had more trunk space than Mina’s Porsche—which, considering how much Mina shopped, made me wonder why she even owned a sports car in the first place. As I buckled in, I was reminded that I still hadn’t picked up my own car from the dealership.

“You know, I really should get my car sometime,” I muttered as I adjusted my seatbelt.

“Not a chance,” Mina scoffed. “You’re not driving anywhere with those crutches.”

“Well, I’m hoping to be rid of them after my appointment on Monday. I’ve got a new doctor, Dr. Jeon.”

Mina’s eyes lit up. “Dr. Jeon? That’s my dad! I can’t believe I didn’t mention my last name was Jeon.”

“Small world,” I muttered, still processing. “So, your dad’s my new doctor?”

“Yep! And trust me, you’re in the best hands. He’s patched up half the hockey players in Michigan.”

Home Depot was its usual chaos, but Mina, ever the drill sergeant of design, had the entire trip organized to perfection. Armed with measurements, color swatches, and detailed diagrams, she had us in and out in under an hour. The fact that she could pull that off while also looking like she belonged in a magazine made me half-wonder if she secretly had superpowers.

For the first time that morning, I felt a spark of excitement—seeing my empty, bare-walled loft finally coming to life didn’t seem so bad after all.

When we pulled up to the building, Jimin’s truck and a rugged-looking Jeep were already parked out front.

“Right on time,” Mina said, grabbing her phone. “I’ll call the guys and have them unload everything. And don’t even think about protesting, Y/N.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender.

“No, but I know you hate asking for help,” Mina added sweetly, though there was no arguing with her tone. “Too bad. You’re not lifting a finger today.”

“Mina, your dad’s my doctor, not you,” I teased, but she just stuck her tongue out at me while dialing.

“We’re outside—come unload,” she barked into the phone, then slipped it back into her purse with a satisfied grin.

Within minutes, Lucy appeared with two guys in tow. One of them was immediately tackled by Mina, who launched herself at him like a human cannonball. He caught her with ease, laughing as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

The other guy—who I assumed was Taehyung—had his arm casually draped around Lucy’s shoulders and looked like he could bench-press a truck. He was huge, his broad chest stretching the fabric of his jacket, but there was this boyish grin that somehow made him less intimidating. His dark hair was cut close, and his deep brown eyes twinkled with a playful, mischievous glint.

Lucy led him over to me, and Taehyung sized me up with a cheeky smirk. “So, you’re the fresh meat, huh?”

“That’s me,” I replied with a laugh. “Straight off the butcher block.”

“I like this one,” he said to Lucy, ruffling her hair. “She’s got sass. Can we keep her?”

“You’re such an idiot,” Lucy shot back, shoving him playfully.

Taehyung glanced at my crutches. “What’s with the wingmen?”

“Huh?”

“The crutches,” he clarified, grinning. “Your wingmen.”

“Oh, right. Sports injury.”

“A player, huh?” His grin widened, teasing me.

“Not exactly,” I said, laughing.

“I dunno, Lou,” he said to Lucy, “I don’t think she’ll keep up with us.”

“Keep it up, Tae,” Lucy teased, nudging him, “or I might dump you for her.”

“Eh, Jimin can do the heavy lifting. I’ll just carry the cripple,” Taehyung said with a wicked grin, and before I could protest, he scooped me up like I was weightless. A startled yelp escaped me as my crutches clattered to the sidewalk. And just like that, I was cradled in his arms like a rag doll.

“Taehyung!” Mina shouted, pulling herself away from Jimin to storm over. “She’s injured! You can’t just throw her around like that.”

“She’s tiny, almost as small as you,” Taehyung laughed, totally unbothered. “Besides, if she’s sticking around, she’s gotta get used to a little manhandling.”

“She won’t be sticking around if you scare her off by treating her like a sack of potatoes,” Mina snapped, hands on her hips.

Taehyung just grinned and looked down at me. “You don’t mind, do you, Y/N?”

Still processing the fact that I was four feet off the ground in the arms of a complete stranger, I blinked, and to my surprise, I nodded. “Uh, sure, Taehyung,” I muttered, feeling oddly at ease despite the absurdity of the situation. His energy, his laugh, the warmth in his eyes—it was impossible to feel uncomfortable around him.

“See? Y/N’s my homegirl now,” Taehyung said with a triumphant grin, like he’d just won an award for best human being.

“Oh, you know it, G,” Lucy chimed in, laughing like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Chim, come meet my new best friend!” Taehyung called over his shoulder, still holding me like it was the most natural thing in the world—like this wasn’t a situation where I probably should have been, I don’t know, walking?

Jimin, who had been watching the whole circus unfold with a quiet, amused smile, finally made his way over. He extended his hand, his voice as soft and melodic as the warm look in his eyes. “Pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, each word carrying a kind of gentleness that made it impossible not to like him instantly.

Still awkwardly perched on Taehyung’s back, I reached out to shake his hand, the usual wave of discomfort that came with meeting new people creeping up. But something about Jimin’s calm presence, those kind eyes of his, made it easier than I expected. “Don’t worry,” he added with a knowing grin, “you’ll get used to this bunch of lunatics.”

I let out a small laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing just a little. “I’m starting to think you’re right.”

“Alright, enough with the pleasantries!” Mina’s voice cut through, sharp and loud, as always. She clapped her hands with military precision. “We didn’t drag you guys here for social hour. Time to work!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jimin said, snapping a playful salute before heading over to the trunk to start unloading supplies.

I wriggled a bit on Taehyung’s back, trying to find a way down. “Okay, Taehyung, time to put me down.”

“Nope,” he replied, patting my leg like it was a done deal. “I told you, I’m carrying you in.”

“I can walk, you know,” I protested, feeling the need to remind him that I still had two fully-functioning legs, even if they weren’t exactly in peak condition. “And Jimin could probably use your help.”

“Jimin’s got it covered,” Taehyung said nonchalantly, grabbing a bag of paint supplies with one hand while still managing to hold me securely on his back with the other. “Lucy, grab her crutches—aka Goose and Maverick.”

“Goose and Maverick?” I raised an eyebrow, thoroughly confused.

“Your wingmen,” Taehyung explained with utmost seriousness, like I was supposed to get this. “You can’t fly without them.”

“You’re ridiculous, Taehyung.”

“I know,” he replied with a wide, disarming grin. “That’s what makes me so lovable.”

And with that, he hauled us both inside, with Jimin, Mina, and Lucy following behind, their arms loaded with paint cans and brushes.

By the time we made it up to my apartment, I’d stopped trying to escape Taehyung’s “manhandling.” It was clear this “Divine Design Day” was more like a crazy, fun-filled bootcamp than your typical painting party. But weirdly, I didn’t mind. Between the laughter, the constant banter, and the easy camaraderie, I realized something—I was smiling more than I had in a long time. The tension I’d carried around for months, maybe even years, seemed to melt away with every joke and every shared moment of laughter.

As the day went on, I noticed something else: this wasn’t just about painting or setting up furniture. This was their way of pulling me into their world, a world that felt warm and open in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. By lunchtime, I had Taehyung laughing so hard he nearly dropped his paint roller, and I felt myself slipping back into sarcasm, something I hadn’t felt comfortable doing in a while.

Lucy, Taehyung, and Jimin worked seamlessly together, taping off the walls and laying down tarps while Mina orchestrated the whole operation like a general overseeing her troops. At first, I tried to stay out of their way, but before long, I found myself pulled into the action—sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by paint splatters, as they worked around me. It felt oddly comforting, this strange, unexpected bond forming around me.

By late afternoon, the loft had transformed. We’d painted two rooms and were almost done with a third. The place was beginning to feel like an actual home, a place I could settle into. The thought of unpacking didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore, so I decided to start with something familiar: my books.

Jimin carried the three boxes over like they weighed nothing, flashing me a smile before heading back to help Taehyung with the last of the painting. I opened the first box, and immediately, nostalgia hit me like a wave. Books had always been my safe haven. The feel of the pages, the scent of old paper—it was like stepping back into a world where everything made sense. As I started stacking them by genre and alphabetically, a sense of calm washed over me.

“Hey, Y/N!” Mina’s voice called out from the living room, interrupting my quiet moment. “Do you want us to start unpacking these other boxes? The paint’s dry enough now.”

“Yeah, sure,” I called back, not thinking much of it. “There shouldn’t be much in them.”

Mina’s voice got closer as she poked around. “One’s labeled ‘Miscellaneous,’ and the other doesn’t have anything written on it.”

“Huh, that’s weird,” I said, frowning slightly. “I thought I labeled everything.”

“Well, want me to open the mystery box?” Mina asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Go for it,” I said, feeling a small tug of curiosity myself. What could it be?

I heard the familiar sound of tape being ripped open, followed by Mina’s high-pitched squeal that could probably be heard by the neighbors. It echoed through the loft, loud enough to make me jump.

“Geez, Mina,” I muttered, stacking another book on the shelf. “Are you trying to summon every dog in the city?”

“Y/N!” Mina’s voice was filled with barely-contained excitement. When she popped her head around the half-wall, her eyes were wide with mischief, the kind of look that usually meant trouble.

“What is it, Mina?” I asked, wary.

She strutted over, something in her hands, her face lit with that mischievous gleam. And then, she held it up.

It was the plaque. That plaque. The one my mom had made after the 2020 Olympics, with “Olympic Silver Medalist” gleaming beneath my name. My stomach dropped, like someone had yanked the floor out from under me.

Shit.

Everything inside me screamed to grab it, shove it back in the box, pretend I’d never seen it. But I was frozen, staring at that plaque like it had just upended everything I was trying to build here. There it was, in all its shiny, unapologetic glory—my past, casually standing right in the middle of my future like it belonged. Like it had every right to.

“Care to explain why you never mentioned this?” Mina teased, her grin stretching wide like she had just found the golden ticket.

I groaned and rubbed a hand over my face. Of course, of course this would come up now. I wasn’t ready for this conversation—not now, not ever. “Where did you even find that?”

“In the unmarked box,” she said, like that was all the explanation needed.

Of course. The unmarked box. Thanks, Emily, I thought, bitterly. Of all the things my mother could’ve sent, this had to make the trip.

Mina was looking at me like she was a detective who’d just cracked the case. Her eyes were practically burning holes through me, waiting for me to spill the beans. I sighed, knowing I couldn’t avoid it. “Was there anything else in there?” I asked, stalling, even though I already knew exactly what else was hiding in that box.

“Oh, plenty,” she replied, clearly loving this. “Or should I say... Y/N Y/L/N, Olympic Silver Medalist and National Champion Figure Skater? Care to explain why this little tidbit never came up in conversation?”

Her words hung there between us, playful but pointed, and I sighed again. Mina wasn’t mad, not at all. She was just amused—like she’d just uncovered some secret Easter egg in a movie she wasn’t expecting.

“Okay, yeah,” I muttered, feeling the flush creep up my neck. “You got me. I was going to tell you eventually, I just... didn’t want it to be a thing, you know?” I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with the spine of a book. “It’s not like I’m ashamed of it. I just... liked that you didn’t know. It was easier that way. I could just be Y/N, without all the... assumptions or whatever.”

Mina’s face softened, and she lowered the plaque with a quiet chuckle. “I get it, Y/N. Honestly, I do. And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t change anything. Lucy and I? We’re still the same girls who’ve been feeding you pizza and hauling in your groceries.” She gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “And trust me, Jimin and Taehyung? They’re probably the last people on earth who care about figure skating. No crazed fans here.”

Relief flooded through me, but a little bit of that lingering embarrassment stayed in the back of my mind. “Thanks,” I said, my voice quiet. “I’m sorry for not saying something earlier. It just... it felt good to be normal for a while.”

Mina grinned, nudging me with her shoulder. “Normal’s overrated. And you didn’t lie—you just... omitted a few sparkly details.”

I laughed, feeling the tension start to melt. We made our way back to the box. Inside, it wasn’t just the plaque—there were old photos, magazines, medals, and even some of my old costumes, glittering with sequins. It was like a time capsule from a life I thought I’d left behind, packed up meticulously and sent across the country by Emily, my ever-persistent mother.

Pinned to one of the costumes was a note in her unmistakable handwriting: Just in case.

“Subtle, Emily,” I muttered, tossing the costume back into the box.

“Who’s Emily?” Mina asked, plopping down beside me on the floor.

“My mom,” I replied, letting out a long sigh.

Mina nodded, picking up one of the magazines with my face plastered on the cover. She turned it over in her hands like she was still trying to process it. “So... I’m guessing you didn’t pack all this yourself?”

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “I left all my skating stuff back in Vegas. But Emily—she has her own ideas about what’s best. She thought I might need a little ‘reminder’ of my accomplishments.”

“Or a lot of reminders,” Mina said, holding up another sparkly costume, her eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

I snatched the costume from her, laughing despite myself. “Well, I didn’t exactly want all of this here. I’m not sure if I’ll ever skate again, so I didn’t feel like living in sequins and medals every day, you know?”

Mina’s grin faded a little, and she placed her hand on my knee, her touch gentle. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine,” I said, trying to push away the heaviness creeping into my chest. “I’m dealing with it. I just... didn’t think I’d need all this while I’m... figuring things out.”

We sat there in a quiet, heavy silence, surrounded by the ghosts of my past life that refused to stay buried. I glanced down at the shimmering fabric in my lap, running my fingers over the beads, feeling too familiar, too close to everything I was trying to leave behind.

“And that’s exactly why she sent it all,” I added, offering a bitter smile. “In Emily’s world, this injury is just me being dramatic. I should be back on the ice by now, training for my next competition.”

“That’s insane,” Mina scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Doesn’t she know what’s going on with your knee?”

“Emily only hears what she wants to hear,” I half-laughed, half-sighed. “But don’t worry. She can’t push me into anything anymore. I’m in control now.”

“Well, whatever you need, we’re here for you, Y/N,” Mina said softly, her words warm and solid. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

I smiled, a warmth spreading through my chest that chased away some of the darkness. “Thanks, Mina. I know I’m not great at all this emotional stuff, but... I’m really glad I met you. It’s been a long time since I had real friends.”

Mina beamed, knocking her knee against mine. “Best friends, Y/N. Not just regular friends.”

I nudged her back, laughing, my heart feeling a little lighter. “Yeah, best friends.”

We sat there, sprawled out on the floor, amidst the remnants of my past life—photos, costumes, memories of who I used to be. And for the first time in a long time, the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It was easy. And, for once, I didn’t mind the mess.

"Hey, lazy bums!" Lucy’s voice rang out from the bedroom where she’d been helping Jimin and Taehyung tape off the last wall for painting. "Are you two just gonna lounge around while we do all the work?"

"Yep, that was the plan," Mina said, not missing a beat.

"Sounds good to me," I chimed in, grinning.

Lucy appeared in the doorway, her grin already in place as she plopped down next to us on the floor like she had nowhere better to be. "Well, if you’re gonna be lazy, I might as well join you."

Mina shot me a sly look and turned to Lucy. "So, Lucy," she drawled, dragging out the words, "did you know that Y/N here is a big-time figure skater?"

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up for a second before she shrugged like it was no big deal. "No shit? I knew your name sounded familiar," she said, totally unfazed. "That’s pretty cool."

Mina gave me a look that clearly said See? No big deal, and I tried not to laugh at how casually Lucy took it.

"You know, Y/N," Lucy said, leaning back on her elbows, "you kinda kick ass out there."

I couldn’t help but laugh. "Thanks, Lucy."

"Seriously," Mina added, rolling over onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. "The things you can do with your legs... If I were that flexible, Jimin wouldn’t let me out of the bedroom for days!"

I giggled and shook my head. "Please, Mina, you’re giving me way too much credit."

Lucy grinned, mimicking Mina’s pose. "She’s got a point, Y/N. All that flexibility? Total game-changer in the bedroom. Think of the positions you could get into."

"Wow, thanks for the confidence boost, Lucy," I joked, feeling my face heat up. "Glad to know I’ve got you all worked up."

"Not me, you dork," Lucy said, with an exaggerated eye roll. "Guys. You know, the ones who actually matter in this scenario."

"Well, I wouldn’t really know," I said, trying to keep my tone light, though my chest was tightening a little. "But hey, good to know I’ve got options. Stripper? Kama Sutra demonstrator? Naked contortionist?"

Mina suddenly sat up, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Wait a second," she said, her voice suddenly full of disbelief. "Wouldn’t know? Y/N, are you... a virgin?" she asked, as if I had just confessed to being a secret agent.

Heat surged to my cheeks, and before I could even think about how to respond, I shot up like I had just been caught doing something illegal. "Okay, I think that’s enough prying into my personal life for one day," I called over my shoulder, trying—and failing—to sound casual. Embarrassment crawled up my neck like wildfire. "Let’s save the deep dives for when we’re knee-deep in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s at some inevitable sleepover. Pillow fights optional."

"Oh no, Y/N," Mina’s voice rang out behind me, dripping with playful menace. "We’re your best friends now—there’s no such thing as ‘enough prying.’" She paused dramatically, and I could practically hear her smirking. "But fine, keep your little secrets for now. Just know that Lucy and I are official Y/N Y/L/N spelunkers. No secret is too deep, no skeleton too buried. We’ll dig it all up eventually."

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I rifled through the fridge, pretending to look for something—anything—that would change the subject. The truth was, with Mina and Lucy around, there was no way in hell my past was going to stay hidden for long. They were relentless, the kind of friends who didn’t just scratch the surface. They dug. They prodded. They excavated until they hit bedrock. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Monday morning, I woke up before dawn, as usual. But instead of jumping out of bed and rushing straight for the coffee maker, I stayed under the soft feather pillows that Mina had insisted would help me sleep better. I wasn’t sure they had, but for the first time in a while, it felt easier to just stay there, letting the weight of the day press down on me slowly, like a shadow growing across the room.

Today was the day my path would be decided. I might have been being melodramatic, but it was hard not to be when the appointment felt like the turning point. The moment I’d have to choose which way to go. I’d been stalled at this fork for too long. It was time to pick a direction, any direction.

A lot of that decision would depend on the new doctor. Dr. Banerjee back in Vegas hadn’t been hopeful. He practically told me not to get my hopes up. Would Dr. Jeon say the same? Emily had made it clear she thought I was just milking the injury, playing the drama queen. And sometimes, I wondered if she was right. Was I just dragging this out? My knee still throbbed when I pushed it too hard, but maybe I was just being weak. Maybe I needed to toughen up, ignore the pain, and push through.

Enough lying in bed. The answer would come soon enough.

I climbed out of bed and started my usual morning stretches, paying close attention to how my knee felt. The lack of soreness gave me a little spark of hope. My flexibility was still there, too—thankfully, I hadn’t lost that during the months of inactivity. That was what had made me stand out on the ice, those long, graceful spiral sequences. If I could still do them, maybe I could skate again. And if I could skate again, I’d need to get back to my Pilates routine, pronto. The longer I waited, the harder it would be to regain the strength and flexibility I’d need.

But for now, all I could do was stretch and hope. The future could wait a little longer.

The truth was, I missed the rush that exercise always gave me. The kind of energy that made my limbs feel electric, the burn that felt almost like a reward. Sitting around, doing nothing, had turned out to be more suffocating than I’d imagined. The first week after surgery had been kind of a relief—like a forced break from the rigid schedule that had ruled my life for so long. I had sprawled out on the couch, devoured three Jane Austen novels in a row, only stopping for food, bathroom breaks, and the occasional nap. It was pure bliss.

But then... the days started to blur. By mid-December, boredom had sunk its teeth in, and I could feel it gnawing at me. Emily, of course, decided I needed a “push.” So, she dragged me back to the rink to “knock some sense into me,” as she put it. The rehab exercises Dr. Banerjee prescribed weren’t enough for her. She complained that it was all taking too long, and after one mortifying demonstration where she shoved me out onto the ice and I immediately fell flat on my ass, she finally stopped insisting I skate.

That didn’t mean she backed off, though. Oh no. She still had me show up every day to “consult” with Yoongi, my coach, about what came next. But it only made me feel trapped. Like a prisoner pacing in the perimeter of a shrinking cell. That was when I started thinking about leaving. With Emily always there, it was like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t hear myself over the sound of her voice barking orders and issuing demands. If my career was over, I needed space to figure out what came next, and staying in Vegas wasn’t going to give me that.

Dr. Banerjee had mentioned a few specialists in Michigan who had experience with my kind of injury. As soon as he said it, I latched onto the idea of moving back. The doctors would satisfy Emily’s need for reassurance, and the distance would give me the space to breathe, to be. She didn’t like it at first—said it was a waste of time, of resources—but when she saw I wasn’t backing down, she caved. Not without conditions, of course.

She found the apartment, bought the car, booked the doctor’s appointments, arranged the flights. The only thing I cared about was leaving as soon as possible. So, I did. I boarded a plane, said goodbye to the warmth of Nevada, and didn’t look back.

And here I was now. Sitting at the edge of a decision. Despite the tight knot of anxiety in my stomach, I had to admit, moving back was starting to feel like the right choice. There was something about Michigan that felt more like home than anywhere I’d been in years. It wasn’t just the cold air or the city’s winding streets; it was something deeper, something about being away from the noise of expectations, the pressure to constantly prove myself. Here, I could just be Y/N, and for the first time in a long while, that didn’t feel like a hollow title.

I went through the motions of getting ready—showering, drying my hair, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I wasn’t sure if the routine was helping calm my nerves or just delaying the inevitable. I ate a lemon poppy seed muffin, wiped the crumbs off the counter, and tried to ignore the tension creeping up my shoulders. My mind kept drifting back to the appointment. What would Dr. Jeon say? Was I still Y/N Y/L/N, competitive skater? Or was I about to become someone else entirely?

A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts. Mina’s voice floated in, cheerful as ever. “Morning!” she called out as she let herself in. I’d given her a spare key yesterday—mostly because she insisted, and I hadn’t come up with a good reason not to.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt, as she waltzed into the kitchen, all bright-eyed and grinning.

“Happy Lose-the-Crutches Day!” she proclaimed with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“You’re weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t tell me you’re not excited to ditch your flyboys.” She shot a glance at the crutches leaning against the wall. “Maybe with fewer appendages to trip over, you’ll stop bumping into things so much.”

“Doubt it,” I replied, holding back a smile. “I’ve always been a klutz. Kind of ironic, don’t you think? Champion figure skater who trips over air.”

“Not ironic,” Mina said, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “You were born to be on the ice. That’s all.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, a little skeptical. “You really think so?”

“Definitely,” she said, her tone sincere, her eyes steady. It made me pause. “I’ve seen you skate, Y/N. It’s like watching something otherworldly.”

I’d heard words like that before—usually from articles or fans—but hearing it from Mina, with that quiet belief in her eyes, felt different. It felt like maybe I could believe it too, if I let myself.

I cleared my throat, avoiding her gaze. “Thanks, Mina.”

She grinned, brightening up. “Come on, babe. Let’s get going. Grab Goose and Maverick and let’s jet.”

I rolled my eyes at the ridiculous names she’d given my crutches but grabbed them anyway. The sooner this was over, the sooner I’d know what came next. Mina and I headed out, slipping into her car as she cranked the heat.

“Thanks for chauffeuring me,” I said, trying to make light of the anxiety gnawing at me.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” she laughed. “I’m happy to do it. Besides, it gives me an excuse to pop in and see Dad. Makes me look like the ‘good child.’”

“I have a feeling you don’t need much help keeping that title.”

“True,” she said, her voice filled with fondness. “But I like stopping by the hospital now and then. It’s funny how different we all are—my brothers and me—but we’ve always been close. Taehyung’s a tank on the ice, and Jungkook’s fast as hell, but they’ve always looked out for me. And growing up with them... well, let’s just say I’ve had a lot of practice handling troublemakers.”

"How did they end up playing on the same team, anyway? Doesn’t that kind of thing usually not happen?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the knot tightening in my chest.

“It doesn’t,” she admitted. “Taehyung wasn’t a big name in the draft picks. Being a hometown boy helped, but once the Red Wings saw him play, they knew they had a hidden gem. Then Jungkook came up the next year. Having Taehyung already on the team definitely helped his chances. Plus, it’s good PR—two hometown brothers in the NHL.”

“Guess I’ll have to learn a little more about hockey,” I said, offering a half-smile.

“Y/N, trust me. You’re in Michigan now. It’s practically a requirement.” She winked at me as we pulled into the hospital parking lot. The knot of anxiety tightened in my chest again, but it didn’t feel the same. The difference now was, for the first time, I felt like I had a little more control over where I went from here—even if I had no idea what the next steps would look like.

The uncertainty was still there, but it didn’t feel like a shadow I had to run from. For now, it was just another stretch of ice I’d have to navigate. And if I stumbled a bit along the way, well, I could live with that.

“That’s pretty cool,” I said, and Mina’s face lit up, her voice picking up speed as she launched into more stories about her brothers and their love for hockey.

“Yeah, they’re living the dream. Mom and Dad were all in on their decision to go pro. A lot of the hockey parents we knew were pulling their kids out, saying they should focus on school or get 'real' jobs. But my parents never did that. They always cared more about us finding something we loved, not just something practical.”

As she kept talking, sharing memories of their childhood, I could practically feel the warmth of the Jeon family’s bond. It was one of those things you could almost touch, the kind of closeness that felt familiar and distant all at once. Taehyung, I learned, was adopted. His birth mother had been Mina's aunt—Yuri's sister—who’d passed away when he was a baby. The Jeons had taken him in, raised him as their own, and made him the oldest son.

There was something comforting in the way Mina talked about them. It was like hearing about a life I’d never had but always kind of wished I could. A life where family wasn’t just a word, but a real, tangible thing.

We pulled into the parking lot of St. Joseph’s, and I felt the weight of it settle over me. Signing in at the front desk felt like signing away the last of my denial. And when the nurse called my name five minutes later, the nerves hit, deep and clawing at my chest.

In the exam room, everything smelled like antiseptic, cold and sterile, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones from the linoleum floors. The nurse did her usual routine—height, weight, blood pressure—and then left us alone. Mina sat in a chair next to the exam table, and I perched on the edge, my hands folded together so tightly that my knuckles were almost white.

It was ridiculous how fast my pulse was racing. I’d been through so much worse before—competitions where the world was watching, where one slip-up could cost everything. But this... this was different. This was my future, maybe even who I was, dangling on a thread. Figure skating didn’t give you time to waste. I always thought I had more. Now it felt like the curtain was coming down, and I was stuck in the dark.

My foot started tapping a nervous rhythm against the cabinet. I bit my lip hard enough that it almost hurt. Mina leaned over and gently placed a hand on my foot, stilling it.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I nodded, but it felt like a lie.

Before I could say anything, the door swung open, and in walked a man I assumed was Dr. Jeon. If this was Mina’s dad, then he was definitely proof that some people aged like fine wine. He had salt-and-pepper hair slicked back in a way that looked effortless but somehow stylish. His brown eyes were warm but sharp, taking in the room with a kind of calm authority that made me wonder if Michigan doctors all looked like movie stars instead of regular people.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” he asked, his voice shifting from professional to something warmer as his gaze landed on Mina. “Oh hey der, Mina! Didn’t see ya there!”

I almost snorted. Did he seriously just say ‘hey der’? I felt like I’d stepped into a Michigan stereotype, except, instead of flannel-wearing folks talking about fishing, everyone here looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine.

Mina jumped up to give him a hug, and the bond between them was clear. The way his arm slid around her shoulders, the way she grinned so wide her eyes sparkled as she introduced me.

“Y/N’s my new neighbor! Thought I’d bring her by to say hi,” she said, practically bouncing.

“Well, that’s just great! Hope she hasn’t been driving you too nuts already,” Dr. Jeon said, the playful gleam in his eyes making me smile, even though my nerves were still jittering.

“No, Mina’s been great, Dr. Jeon,” I said, but my voice came out a little tighter than I wanted.

“Please, call me Suho,” he said with a grin. “Any friend of Mina’s is a friend of mine. And if you’re hanging out with her, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Oh! That reminds me,” Mina interrupted, her eyes suddenly wide with mischief. “Are you and Mom going to the game on Friday?”

“You betcha! Wouldn’t miss it.”

Mina turned to me, practically glowing. “Y/N, do you want to come to the Red Wings game with us? Lucy and I are going, and we always meet up with the guys afterward. It’s a blast! Please say you’ll go?”

“Mina, you’re pulling out the puppy lip,” I warned, though I felt my resolve weakening.

“I know! It works every time. Come on, please?”

I sighed, feeling the last of my resistance crumble. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Yesss!” she cheered, her excitement contagious. “This is going to be so awesome. Oh, and can I pick out your outfit?”

“Alright, Mina,” Suho interrupted with a chuckle. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I need to actually, you know, consult with my patient here.”

“Oops, right,” Mina said, sheepishly. “I’ll be in the waiting room. See you Friday, Dad!” She kissed his cheek before bouncing out of the room, leaving behind a silence that felt almost too loud.

“She’s always been like that?” I asked, half-amused, half in disbelief.

Suho chuckled, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yah, she’s always been a bit of a firecracker. But she means well. Now, let’s take a look at that knee, shall we?”

The fluttering in my stomach kicked up again as he flipped open a manila folder. “Your doctor in Nevada sent over your records,” he said, drawing out the ‘a’ in Nevada in a way that made me bite back a smile. He caught my look and grinned. “What’s the matter? My Michigan accent getting to ya?”

I let out a breathy laugh, the tension starting to ease. “Sorry, I’m still readjusting. It’s been a while since I’ve lived here.”

He leaned in like he was about to share a secret. “Oh, don’tcha worry. We’ll have ya speakin’ like a northerner again in no time, ya betcha.”

The exaggerated drawl pulled a groan out of me, but it was hard to stay tense with him grinning like that. The atmosphere in the room felt lighter, easier to breathe in. Maybe it wasn’t just the change of scenery that would help me adjust. Maybe it was moments like this.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” he said, flipping open my medical records with a practiced flick of his wrist. His voice shifted, more serious now. “Looks like you tore your ACL pretty badly back in November and had surgery not long after. I see you also had a concussion from the fall?”

I nodded, the words tight in my throat as the memory of that day washed over me. The fall. It was one of those moments that replays on a loop in your head, like a nightmare you can’t escape. Every time I closed my eyes, there it was again.

“The good news is,” Suho continued, “it looks like the concussion’s healed up nicely. And your knee—well, it’s a long road, but you’re making progress. Any soreness left?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted. “It still aches if I’m on my feet for too long. I’ve been doing the rehab exercises, but it’s slow. Really slow.”

Suho nodded and gently moved my leg, testing the range of motion. “That’s to be expected. Recovery from something like this doesn’t happen overnight. It’ll still be sore. It might even throb as you rebuild strength, but you’re healing. You’re making progress. I think we can start transitioning you off the crutches. Take it slow, though—walk short distances without them at first, see how it feels.”

His words hit me like a lifeline I didn’t even know I needed. “So... does that mean I can skate again? Not right now, but... eventually?”

Suho met my eyes. His face was serious again. “If you stick with the rehab, listen to your body, and don’t rush it, then yes, I think it’s possible. But it’s going to take time. Patience is going to be key.” He paused, his gaze anchoring me. “We can start you on the treadmill by the end of the week. Slow, steady walking, just to get your knee used to the movement again. Maybe—just maybe—if everything goes well, we can start with some light skating. No jumps, no spins—just laps.”

Relief hit me like a wave, a warmth that spread through me like the first hint of daylight after a long night. It wasn’t a promise, but it was something. And right now, that was enough.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice fragile, barely holding it together.

Suho smiled, kind but firm. “One step at a time, Y/N. You’re not in this alone.”

I sat there, absorbing the weight of his words. This wasn’t the end. It was a new beginning, a different kind of fight. But it was mine.

He flipped through my records, his voice settling back into its practical tone. “Keep up with the therapy. Let’s schedule a follow-up in early April to see how you’re doing. Any questions?”

One question burned in my chest, the one I’d been too scared to ask for months. My heart pounded in my ears, and I swallowed hard, trying to push past the lump in my throat. What if he said what Dr. Banerjee had said? That the damage was too severe? That I’d never skate again? That I’d never compete again?

“Yes, Y/N?” Suho’s voice was calm, patient, his eyes urging me to ask.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to speak. “Will I be able to compete again?”

For a split second, he didn’t answer, and in that pause, the whole world seemed to hold its breath with me. Then he exhaled slowly, his voice careful. “That’s a good question. It’s possible. A lot of athletes come back from ACL tears, some even making a full recovery. But a lot depends on how well the next few months go. You’ve got to retrain your knee without overdoing it.”

He leaned forward slightly, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. “The next month is crucial. You’re going to start feeling like your knee’s back to normal, but that’s when you’re most at risk for re-injury. It’ll be tempting to jump right back into your routine, but you’ve got to stick to the plan. If you can do that, we’ll reassess in April.”

I nodded, my mind spinning with all the things he was telling me. There was so much to process, and the fear—God, the fear—still lingered like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of my hope. But then Suho’s next words broke through that darkness.

“Y/N, I don’t want you to lose hope. I know it’s frustrating, but mental determination is going to play a huge role in your recovery. If you stay patient and committed, there’s every reason to believe you’ll get back to where you were.”

A tiny spark of hope flared in my chest. “Really?” I asked, barely daring to believe it.

Suho smiled, a warmth in his eyes that made me believe him just a little more. “I can’t guarantee anything, but if you stay the course, there’s a good chance you’ll be back on that ice—maybe even as an Olympian again.”

The weight I’d been carrying for months felt a little lighter. A little. I felt like maybe—just maybe—there was something to hope for. “Thanks, Dr. Je—uh, Suho,” I corrected myself, sheepish at the grin he shot me.

“No need to thank me,” he said with a chuckle. “This one’s all on you. Just don’t push yourself too hard. There’ll be plenty of time for that later, once you’re healed.”

I gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

We wrapped things up, and as I grabbed my crutches to leave, Suho gave me one last smile. “See you Friday night... at the game.”

“Oh, right! See you then.”

The cold January air hit me as I stepped outside, sharp and biting, but I didn’t mind. Not today. Hope had a way of making everything feel a little warmer, even when the world was still so cold.

After the appointment, Mina insisted on lunch, and we made our way to our favorite café. The kind of place where the staff knows your name, and the menu’s practically burned into your brain. Then, she drove me straight to the dealership where Emily had promised my new car would be waiting.

As we pulled up, my stomach did that familiar drop when I saw it: a shiny Mercedes Benz SUV, gleaming under the dealership lights like it was posing for a magazine cover. It screamed luxury—so Emily. So her. I mean, of course it was a Mercedes. Nothing less for someone like her. But to me, it was just... a reminder of how little she really understood me.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but there it was—the familiar weight of disappointment settling in my chest like a stone.

I reluctantly climbed into the car, too shiny and new, the leather too pristine beneath me. As I pulled out of the lot, my phone buzzed—Emily, of course. She’d been waiting for me to finish the appointment so she could call and get her feedback. Normally, I’d answer right away, quick to please. But not today. I hit decline, sending her straight to voicemail. If she got upset later, I could always claim I was driving, still getting used to the new car.

We arrived back at the apartment just as Lucy was pulling in, practically radiating her usual excitement. As soon as she saw us, she bounded over, brimming with that energy that made me laugh even when I wasn’t in the mood. The two girls—always together, always bouncing off each other—decided it was the perfect time to test out my "sea legs" with a walk around the block.

“Guys, it’s January. In Michigan. And you want to go for a walk?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

“Come on, Y/N, you’re a figure skater! Don’t tell me you can’t handle the cold,” Mina teased, already bundling up in an impressive number of layers.

“I’ll manage,” I said, surprised at their enthusiasm. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could handle it, but they seemed so excited, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

“It’s twenty-two degrees. Practically a heat wave!” Lucy laughed, wrapping a scarf around her neck like she was about to conquer Everest.

We set off, no real destination in mind. It felt surprisingly good to walk without crutches, to breathe in the sharp winter air, to move like I had control again. Like I wasn’t just waiting for my body to catch up with me.

Less than a block in, my phone rang again—Emily. I sighed and quickly muted it before either of them could notice.

“Who is it?” Mina asked, glancing over at me with a curious look in her eye.

“My mom,” I shrugged. “I’ll talk to her later.”

“You were living with her until last week, right?” Lucy asked, her voice full of that inquisitive, "I-want-to-know-all-about-you" tone that she never quite managed to hide.

“Yeah,” I said, glancing up at the sky, trying to gather my thoughts. “My parents split when I was a kid. Dad’s in Washington now, and Emily and I—well, we bounced around for a while.”

“That sounds exciting!” Mina said with wide eyes, like I’d been living some kind of glamorous life. “You must’ve traveled to so many cool places with skating.”

“Sort of,” I said, smiling a little. “I’ve traveled a lot, but mostly it’s arenas and hotel rooms. They all kind of blend together after a while.”

“Really? You don’t get to sightsee?” Lucy asked, surprised.

I shook my head, feeling a little embarrassed. “Not really.”

“That kinda sucks,” Lucy said bluntly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, a little. I mean, I’m lucky to have had the opportunities, but it’s not all glitter and lights. Mostly it’s just ice rinks and gym time.”

“Not much of a social scene, huh?” Mina asked, clearly intrigued now.

“Nope,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just a lot of catty, ultra-competitive girls and their stage moms.”

“Ever seen anyone pull a Tanya?” Lucy asked, her voice suddenly teasing, the mischievous glint in her eyes impossible to miss.

“Harding? Nah, usually the sabotage is a little more subtle than a baton to the knee.” I giggled, feeling a little lighter. The past few months had been so heavy, and for a second, it felt like the weight was finally lifting.

“That’s not how you got hurt, is it?” Mina’s voice softened, the concern slipping into her tone as her eyes searched mine.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I just... fell during practice. Stupid. My skate caught on a rough patch of ice, and down I went. Concussion and a torn ACL.”

“Ouch,” Lucy winced, looking at me like I’d just told her about some medieval torture device.

“Yeah, it wasn’t great,” I said, feeling the sting of it even now, even though it was months ago.

“There wasn’t much news about it, though,” Lucy added, brow furrowing in thought. “I didn’t even know you were off the ice.”

“Oh, come on, Lucy!” Mina teased, rolling her eyes. “Y/N’s a big celeb. It was bound to be news eventually.”

“No, it’s okay,” I reassured them, wanting to avoid feeling like I was in the spotlight. “My mom’s my manager, and she kept it quiet. She was hoping I’d bounce back quickly and didn’t want the press all over it. I’m sure once I don’t show up at Nationals, something will leak.”

“Is it weird?” Lucy asked, her curiosity obvious. “Having your mom as your manager?”

“I never really thought about it,” I said, shrugging. “It’s always been that way. When we moved away after the divorce, she was already handling all my schedules and practices. It just sort of... evolved from there.”

“Do you miss her?” Mina’s voice softened, no teasing, just a gentle curiosity.

I sighed, the question catching me off guard. “Honestly? It’s been nice having some space. She couldn’t stop talking about my knee, about how I needed to get back on the ice. It’s like she doesn’t know what to do with herself if I’m not skating.”

“That would get old fast,” Mina agreed with a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah, it really did,” I said, appreciating the distance from it all. For the first time in a long while, I could breathe without worrying if I was letting someone down.

The conversation shifted after that, and soon we were all laughing again as Mina told us about her latest wedding-planning disaster—because, of course, there’s always something.

Before I knew it, we were back at our building, heading up in the elevator.

“So, it’s Monday night,” Lucy said, her grin widening like she was about to make a really good point. “None of us have to work tomorrow, and the guys are busy. You know what that means?”

I shook my head, clueless, watching as she and Mina exchanged a look.

“Girls’ night!” Mina squealed, her excitement practically vibrating in the air.

“Girls’ night?” I echoed, frowning slightly, still trying to wrap my head around what that actually meant.

“Oh, you have no idea what you’ve been missing,” Lucy teased, flinging an arm around my shoulders like we’d been friends for years instead of days. “It’s sacred. We eat junk food, drink cocktails, and watch chick flicks until we pass out from a sugar coma.”

“And this is… fun?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be intrigued or terrified.

“Uh, yeah!” Lucy said, like I’d just asked if the sky was blue.

“I’m not really much of a drinker,” I admitted, feeling a little awkward all of a sudden.

“Lightweight or just don’t like it?” Lucy asked, her curiosity sharpening like she was about to dissect me.

“Neither, really. I just… never really had the chance. Training and alcohol don’t mix, and I was always in bed by nine.” I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, my embarrassment showing through the words.

Mina’s eyes went wide, like I’d just confessed to living under a rock. “Wait, you’ve never had a drink?”

“Not really,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling like I didn’t belong in this conversation at all.

“No moral objections or anything?” Mina asked, her voice teasing but still full of genuine curiosity.

“No, I just… never got around to it,” I said, trying to brush it off but already feeling the weight of my own weirdness.

Mina grinned, practically glowing with excitement. “Well, no bedtime tonight! You in?”

I hesitated. The idea of drinking for the first time made me nervous. But the way their enthusiasm was lighting up the room—well, it was kind of infectious. “Yeah, okay,” I said, even though I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

“Great! We’ll be right over with the provisions!” Mina practically dragged Lucy into their apartment, leaving their door wide open as they disappeared inside, their voices floating back out into the hallway.

"Mina, let’s get the movies! What’s the vibe?" Lucy’s voice called from inside, pulling me into their whirlwind without even asking.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a grin. Lucy was already ransacking their kitchen, piling snacks and bottles into a laundry basket like she was gearing up for some epic battle. “What kind of movies do you like?” she asked, still rummaging around, not even looking up.

“I’m not picky,” I said, laughing at how absurdly fast she was moving.

“Perfect! Chick flicks it is!” she declared, holding up a bag of chips like she’d just discovered treasure.

“Wait, are we really watching all of those?” I asked as Mina emerged from the bedroom with a stack of DVDs taller than her head. It looked like enough to keep us glued to the screen for a week.

“No, but it’s good to have options,” Mina said with a wink, tossing the cases into the basket like she had it all figured out.

“Alright, give us a sec to change into some sweats, and we’ll be over,” Lucy said, already heading to her bedroom with her spoils.

“Sweats, Mina?” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “Do you even own any?”

“It’s girls’ night, Y/N. Concessions must be made,” she replied, pretending to be scandalized.

Back in my apartment, I changed into fleece pants and my old Team USA hoodie, pulling on a pair of fuzzy slipper socks. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for whatever this was, but I was definitely curious. The second I stepped into the living room, I was hit with the full blast of their “party zone” transformation. Mina was fiddling with the DVD player, while Lucy was already setting up the counter with snacks and drinks, making a delightful symphony of chaos in the kitchen.

A wicked grin spread across my face. Emily would flip if she saw this junk food carnival. Tonight was about firsts—first girls’ night, first chick flick binge, first cocktail, first indulgence in all the things I’d never let myself have. I was ready to enjoy it all.

“So, what’d you start us off with?” I asked, as Lucy tossed a bag of Doritos to Mina, who caught it in mid-air with a triumphant grin.

“Well, we’ve got to save our tearjerkers for later,” Mina said with a mischievous smile. “I thought we’d kick things off with How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Gotta get the laughs and the man candy going early, you know?”

“Mmm… McConaughey…” Lucy sighed dreamily, stretching out like a cat. “That man makes me miss Southern boys.”

“Hey, you could’ve snagged yourself a Texan. You and Jimin both went to Texas Tech,” Mina giggled, throwing a pillow at Lucy.

“Taehyung more than makes up for the lack of an accent,” Lucy shot back with a smirk.

“Uh, speaking of accents…” I chimed in, still trying to shake the sound of Dr. Jeon’s voice from earlier.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Mina burst out laughing, catching on immediately. “I should’ve warned you about my dad. Isn’t his accent hilarious? I’m used to it, but even now, sometimes it catches me off guard.”

“That man is like sex on a stick at the State Fair,” Lucy added, already heading back to the kitchen for more drinks.

“Lucy!” I exclaimed, feeling my face heat up like a furnace.

“Just admit it, Y/N—Dr. Jeon is drool-worthy,” Lucy teased, her grin so mischievous it was practically glowing.

“Yeah, he’s good-looking,” I stammered, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “But isn’t he, like, practically your future father-in-law?”

“Exactly,” Lucy said, holding up her drink like she’d just won a gold medal. “Gives me a glimpse into my future, and it’s looking damn good twenty-five years down the road.”

I blinked, trying to process the absurdity of the conversation. “I’m sure Mina doesn’t appreciate you associating her father with… well, that.”

“Stop being such a nun, Y/N. I know my dad’s a DILF,” Mina said, so casually I almost choked.

“A what?” I asked, horrified but somehow intrigued.

Mina and Lucy exchanged a knowing glance. “Oh, sweet summer child,” Lucy sighed dramatically. “DILF stands for ‘Dad I’d like to—’”

I choked on my chip before she could finish, coughing like I’d just swallowed a firecracker. My face was even hotter now.

“Didn’t need that visual, thanks,” I muttered, half-laughing, half-wincing.

Mina patted me on the back, giggling like she couldn’t contain herself. “Oh, Y/N, you’re just too much fun to corrupt.”

“You underestimate the power of the Dark Side,” Lucy added, her voice dropping into a low, Darth Vader impression, complete with heavy breathing.

“Mina, there is no place for Star Wars geekery at Girls’ Night,” Mina interjected with a mock-serious tone, like she was the gatekeeper of some sacred tradition.

“Mina, there’s always a place for Star Wars geekery,” Lucy shot back, turning to me for backup, her eyes wide with earnestness. “Right, Y/N?”

“Uh, sure?” I replied, suddenly feeling very much like I was in a conversation I hadn’t quite signed up for.

“You’ve seen it, right? Star Wars?” Lucy asked, her disbelief written all over her face.

“Actually… no,” I winced, bracing for the fallout.

Lucy gasped like I’d just told her I’d never seen the sun rise. “OH. MY. GOD!” she screamed, the force of her voice almost knocking me over. She dropped her drink onto the counter with a clang. “Are you kidding me? Mina, go get my special editions! We need to fix this now!”

“No way!” Mina shot back, hands on her hips like some kind of movie-critic superhero. “Girls’ Night equals chick flicks, not galactic battles.”

“Hey, The Empire Strikes Back is very romantic,” Lucy protested, her voice full of conviction.

“Yeah, until someone gets their hand sliced off with a lightsaber,” I countered, feeling a little bolder now.

“Whatever, you uncultured heathen,” Lucy rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Soon, Y/N. I’ll fix this, I swear.”

Lucy handed each of us a glass as she emerged from the kitchen, and Mina reached for the remote. “We ready?” Mina asked, settling in next to me, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“Yup, everything’s prepped,” Lucy said, raising her glass like she was about to make a grand speech. “Alright, ladies, a toast—to the first of many Girls’ Nights with our new BFF, Y/N.”

“And to getting Y/N tipsy enough to spill all her secrets,” Mina added, making me laugh mid-sip.

“Cheers!” we clinked glasses, and I took a cautious sip of what I thought was water but tasted like pure fire. The burn hit me so fast, I practically choked.

“That’s disgusting! How do you guys drink this stuff?” I gasped, pushing the glass away as my throat burned like it had just met lava.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Lucy said with a grin, clearly enjoying my suffering. “Next round, I promise something fruity.”

Mina snapped her fingers at Lucy. “Make the woman a Kami!”

“So demanding,” Lucy sighed, but a few moments later, she handed me a frothy, pink drink. “Try this. You’ll like it.”

I took a cautious sip, surprised to find it actually tasted good. The burn was still there, but it was wrapped in this sweet, tangy burst of raspberry. I took another sip, feeling warmth spread through me like I’d just been wrapped in a blanket of comfort.

“Good, right?” Lucy prompted, watching me carefully, her grin not quite hiding her excitement.

“Really good,” I nodded, a little more confidently this time, taking a bigger drink.

“Just pace yourself,” Mina warned, raising an eyebrow. “There’s more alcohol in those than it tastes.”

Hours flew by in a blur of movies, laughter, and progressively more ridiculous makeovers. By the time we finished Clueless, I was sprawled across the couch, my head resting in Lucy’s lap with Mina snuggled up against my legs. The room felt warm and familiar, and—surprisingly—comfortable. Like I belonged.

“The night’s still young! What’s next?” Lucy stretched, her voice muffled by the pillow she was hugging to her chest.

“Leo!” Mina shouted, her eyes practically sparkling. “The night isn’t over until we’ve seen Leo!”

Lucy popped in Titanic and grabbed another drink from the kitchen, moving just a little slower now, like the alcohol was finally starting to catch up. “Anyone else?”

“I shouldn’t—” I started.

“Nonsense!” Mina interrupted, poking me in the side with a wicked grin. “You’re still way too coherent for a proper Girls’ Night.”

Rolling my eyes, I accepted the glass she handed me. “Fine. But if I pass out, I’m blaming you.”

By the time Jack was sketching Rose, I’d stopped keeping track of the drinks, and the night had dissolved into fits of laughter and way-too-drunk confessions. At one point, Lucy and Mina reenacted the “I’m flying” scene, nearly knocking over the wine bottle in the process.

But as the movie stretched into the early hours, I found myself comfortable—maybe too comfortable, considering how much I’d indulged. As the credits rolled, Mina turned to me, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Okay, real talk, Y/N. Never?” Lucy asked, her voice serious but with that mischievous gleam in her eyes that I knew meant she was circling back to the topic she was clearly obsessed with.

“Nope,” I said, crossing my arms like some sort of rebellious fortress. I wasn’t budging.

“That’s just... so wrong,” Lucy groaned, her eyes practically rolling out of her head. “Your lady business must be staging a rebellion.”

“There are plenty of people who make it to twenty-four without sex,” I said, rolling my eyes like I was offering them the most obvious truth in the universe.

“Yeah, but you’re hot!” Mina chimed in, her hands waving around like she was making a dramatic point. “Guys should be lining up for you!”

“I’d jump you,” Mina added with a grin, her finger lazily plucking at the fuzz on my pants like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Thanks, Mina,” I laughed, genuinely amused. “That’s true friendship right there.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, her expression pure contentment, like she’d just solved world peace.

“I don’t know what to tell you guys,” I admitted, my thoughts briefly flickering to Jungkook. “I just never really had the opportunity.”

“There’s gotta be at least one hot male figure skater you could’ve, you know, jumped in the weight room,” Lucy teased, her tone teasing but somehow still playful.

“Lucy, some people actually use the gym for exercise,” I shot back, feeling like I was dodging a slow-motion car crash.

“Oh, believe me, Y/N, I use it for recreational purposes,” Lucy quipped, her grin devilish. “My idea of ‘recreation’ just doesn’t match yours.”

“Perv,” I muttered, laughing, trying to shield myself from her shenanigans.

"Proud to be one!" Lucy declared, her laughter echoing through the room like a contagious wave.

“We need to find you a guy,” Mina said suddenly, tapping her chin like she was a mastermind concocting a plan for world domination. “Lucy, who do we know?”

“No way!” I held up my hands defensively. “You are not setting me up with anyone.”

“But, Y/N!” Mina protested, as if this was a criminal injustice.

“I can find my own guy if I want to,” I insisted, my thoughts unwillingly drifting to Jungkook. I bit my lip, and it was like they could read me like a book.

“Oh, look at that face!” Mina practically lunged at me. “You met someone, didn’t you?”

“No!” I shot back a little too quickly, feeling the heat of embarrassment climb up my neck.

“You can’t fool us, honey,” Mina said, her voice full of mock disbelief. “That face has ‘crush’ written all over it!” She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Who’s the guy? Is he hot? Is he here? Did you kiss him? Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Her questions were coming at me like a machine gun, and I was about to implode.

“There’s nothing to tell!” I mumbled, sinking deeper into the couch, wishing I could just disappear.

“Y/N!” Mina cried dramatically. “We’ve been with Chim and Tae for years! We need to live vicariously through your romantic escapades!”

“What romantic escapades?” I shot back, trying—and failing—to sound cool and detached.

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her look knowing and challenging. “You’re hiding something boy-related. Spill.”

“Fine!” I groaned, throwing my hands up in defeat. “I met a guy at the airport. We talked for a few minutes while he helped me with my bags. That’s it. Can we move on now?”

“No, we cannot move on!” Lucy said, her eyes practically popping out of her head. “Was he cute?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent, but the truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“You guess?” Mina echoed, her brow almost disappearing into her hairline.

“I wouldn’t really call him ‘cute,’” I muttered, my face burning as I tried to downplay it.

“Well, what would you call him then?” Mina’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Hot? Sexy? Drop-dead gorgeous? Fuckhawt?”

“Uh… all of the above?” I finally admitted, which sent them into a squealing frenzy that could’ve shattered glass.

“Did you kiss him? Did you give him your number? When are you seeing him again?” they fired off at me, like they were in some kind of interrogation scene in a rom-com.

“No, I didn’t kiss him, and I didn’t give him my number,” I confessed, biting my lip as I fought to suppress the butterflies. “But, yeah, he suggested we meet up again. That’s all.”

Mina looked at me, her expression downright disappointed. “Why didn’t you give him your number?”

“I don’t know, Mina!” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I have no clue what I’m doing when it comes to guys. He didn’t ask for my number, and I wasn’t about to throw it at him if he was just being polite.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t just being polite, Y/N,” Lucy said, her tone dripping with conviction, like she knew something I didn’t.

“Whatever,” I sighed, trying to steer the ship away from that topic. “He was gorgeous and sweet, and yes, he gave me butterflies, but I’ll probably never see him again, so can we please talk about something else?”

Mina leaned back with a dreamy sigh, her eyes practically glowing with unspoken wisdom. “Don’t worry, Y/N. Your butterflies are still out there. You just have to catch them.”

© chimcess, 2025. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Taglist: @smartkookiee @knightofmidnight @mar-lo-pap @jjeonjjk7 @somewhatjungkook @lovingkoalaface @jimineepaboya @iswearimover5feetall @blissingtaehyung @futuristicenemychaos @kooloveys @jenniebyrubies @8thmuse @beattiestreet @tatzzz-25

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Tell Me a Lie

Matt Murdock x Reader

Words: 4617

Summary: Months of hell lead you to one moment- finding out your boyfriend is really alive. After figuring out where he’s been hiding, you concoct a plan- a very stupid, very dangerous plan- to draw him out. 

Notes: This is a terrible summary, but whatever. I finally started season three and I thought putting the reader in this situation would be really interesting. Obviously, his relationship with Elektra wasn’t the same, but the whole self-destructive Matthew is here and ready for angst. I’m imagining this kinda between the episodes where Matt goes to the hotel and the prison, but doesn’t really follow the plot of the episodes, just my own. This is also just a mess, but oh well. (And I know this is kind of what Bella does in New Moon, but I kind of dig it so I won’t apologize haha)

Warnings: Attempted assault, violence, abandonment, alcoholism literally looking for danger (obviously, spoilers for season three)

More Matt Imagines: HERE

-

It didn’t smell like him anymore. Such a weird, stupid complaint, but it made you sick to your stomach to breathe in the musty air of the apartment. 

You sat up, nursing your head in your hand, still pounding from the night before. Not that you’d slept, but hangovers still found a way to bite you in the ass. It was getting pathetic. Not that you cared. And not that your friends had actually used that word. 

‘Concerning’ was Foggy’s favorite. 

He could have his concern. 

You chased the numb. 

Anything was better than remembering he wasn’t here and the apartment you’d just started to share didn’t smell like him anymore. 

You got out of bed on shaking limbs, feeling the nausea roll over you. You swayed, wondering if you’d throw up again. You didn’t. 

You went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee to pull you out of the haze. Karen and Foggy were coming by today to talk about rent. You had to seem at least somewhat put together or they would try and talk you into getting help. Getting help meant moving on. Moving on meant giving up. Giving up meant lying to yourself. Admitting that he was dead and he wasn’t coming back. 

But Matt Murdock wasn’t dead. 

You could feel it. 

The pounding at the door felt like knocking on your skull. You groaned. 

Foggy stepped inside. 

“Morning,” he greeted with his usual chipper smile. 

You didn’t understand it. How he could still seem so happy after everything that happened. Then again, things went rather well for him after…

You shook the thoughts from your head. This wasn’t Foggy’s fault. 

“Hey,” you croaked. You took a long, burning drink from your caffeinated cup and let its effects wash over you. “I thought you two were coming together?” 

“Karen had… other stuff.” Foggy peaked around the corner, plastering a smile across his face. He figured he’d ease into the news. Especially because you looked- well- you looked the way you usually did these past few weeks. “But she says hi.” 

You nodded and took another drink. “Coffee?” 

“I already had some, thanks.” 

He stood silently. 

You stood silently. You raised a brow. “You can sit down, Foggy.” 

“Right. Thanks.” He nodded awkwardly and took a seat on the couch. So much for playing it cool. 

You set your mug to the side and leaned on the counter, fingers gripping the edge like a lifeline. 

“What happened, Foggy?” You stared at the back of his head and felt that familiar squeezing, wrenching breathlessness in your chest. The same feeling when Claire dragged you out of Midland Circle. The same feeling when you watched the building fall. The same feeling when Matt didn’t walk out. “Is it… is it Matt? Did they find him?” 

“No, it’s not about-” He blew out a sigh. “God, you haven’t seen the news then?” 

You hurried around to stand in front of him, panic still evident in your exhausted eyes.

Foggy had to look away. 

“Why, what’s on the news?” 

He gulped. “Maybe you should sit down.” 

“Just tell me what happened,” you scoffed. The sound came out as a nervous laugh, but on the inside, you were screaming. 

His blue eyes met yours. 

“Wilson Fisk made a deal with the feds. He’s out of prison.” 

You blinked. The crushing in your chest was replaced by your heart stopping. 

“What?” You choked out. Of all the things you were expected to hear, Fisk’s name wasn’t one of them. 

“Well, not out exactly. He’s apparently giving them information that’s made him a target in his old prison so they’re keeping him in a cushy penthouse for ‘safety purposes.’” He spat each word out. 

You put a hand on the back of the chair for support. “Fisk is free?” 

“Like I said, he isn’t free, but-”

You held up a hand to stop him.“Where’s this hotel?” 

-

The courtyard was absolute mayhem. Reporters scurried in every direction, each harassing a different agent for information they wouldn’t get. Matt dodged in between them. The noise made his still recovering head pound, but he could still pick out enough to get through. He ducked his head when he heard Karen’s voice, a small moment of panic almost making him turn around. 

He kept moving. 

The crowds didn’t surprise you. And neither did seeing the familiar blonde head weaving through the groups with determined strides. You hurried after her, almost bumping into the man in front of you, but he stepped out of the way just in time. 

“Karen!” You called. 

Gold strands whipped around. Her clear blue stare cut through the crowd. 

“Y/N?” She said, pushing through to you. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“So it’s true.” You tilted your head to the top of the building, its windows reflecting the sun in blinding brightness. “Wilson Fisk is up there?” 

She sighed. “Foggy told you then?” 

“If you’re planning on an ‘it isn’t safe for you to be here’ speech, save it,” you snapped. “I could tell you the same thing.” 

She bit her cheek, looked you over, and determined you looked sober enough. “Alright, follow me.” 

Matt couldn’t move. He tried to force his feet forward, but the heavy beating of his heart filled his ears and made it impossible to navigate the space around him. 

Your voice. Your scent. Even your heartbeat stood out amongst the dozens of people there. And for a moment, just a moment, he wanted to turn around. 

“Promise me we’ll go on that trip we talked about, yeah?” You laughed, though the air was salty with your tears and your voice shook. He kissed your lips for the last time.

“I promise.” 

But that wasn’t what haunted Matt for the last few months. Your sweet words of promise and hope stung, but they weren’t what kept him from going to you. Your screams were. 

“Let me go! Matt! No! Matty! I won’t leave him! Matt!” Even with countless floors between, Matt could hear your gut-wrenching screams as the others dragged you out of the building just before it blew. “Matt! Please! Matt!”

“Matt?” 

It took him a moment to realize that your voice now wasn’t from his memory. It was now.

You’d seen him. But judging by the direction, there was a chance you hadn’t seen his face. He could ignore you and chances were, you’d think you were crazy. Just another offense he’d committed against you. 

He wanted to turn around, to hold you and kiss your lips again and tell you he was okay and everything was going to be okay. That he was still your Matt. 

But the man you fell in love with was gone. He was buried under Midland Circle. 

Matt kept walking. 

-

You’d seen him. As crazy as it was, you knew it was him. He’d heard you. He must have because he stopped- just for a second, but he stopped. Karen may not have believed you, though you could tell she wanted to, but it didn’t matter. 

It was Matt. 

Somehow, it didn’t make any sense but it all made sense at the same time. He was going after Fisk. Of course, he was. Not even the grave couldn't stop your Matt from protecting his city. From protecting you. 

What you didn’t understand is why he kept walking. He acted like you weren’t there, but he of all people couldn’t have simply not noticed you. He’d left you there on purpose. 

He’d left you.

You paced the apartment with your hands raking through your hair with one question on your mind. 

Why? 

Sure, Matt would always use the excuse of protecting you before, but this time felt different. Had you done something? Had you not done enough at Midland Circle? What happened to him? 

Was it your fault?

The explosion was your idea and it buried him. Did he blame you as much as you blamed yourself?

Your feet halted in front of the closet door. Behind the door was a box. Inside the box was the emptiness that haunted your every waking moment for the past you didn’t even know how many days anymore. Your fingers clutched at the neck of the bottle on the table. The drink burned. 

None of it mattered. ‘Why’ didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was out there and he left you and as the burn raced down your throat you knew what you needed to do. 

And you knew where he might be.

-

The gentleness of your touch eased the sting of the disinfectant as you dabbed it on his wounds. It wasn’t the first night he’d come back cut and beaten, but you didn’t let your worry deter your movements. He came back. That’s what mattered. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your voice as soft as your motions. You touched a particularly sore spot and he winced. As you went to draw your hand away, he caught it in his, fingers grasping at yours, still clenched around the towel. 

“Can we just… sit for a while?” He breathed. 

You nodded. He wiped away any blood remaining on his skin and set the towel aside. His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you to his chest. He listened to your heartbeat. You listened to his. 

Matt remembered the woman he’d come across earlier that night. Two men had jumped her. They were going to take what they wanted and leave her for dead. He’d taken his time beating them senseless while she got away. But her screams still echoed through his head. 

He tensed beneath you and you looked up at him through your lashes. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing.”

You sat up. “Matt.” 

“It’s nothing,” he managed a laugh. “Really. Just come here.” He coaxed you back to him, but the tension was still there. He breathed in your presence and let out a low sigh. His arms tightened around you. “I’d never let anything happen to you.” His tone was different. Almost afraid. 

You drew lines on his chest. “I know.” 

“And I’d never hurt you, or at least mean to, anyway, but I know that I have and I’m-”

“Matty.” You crawled up so you were beside him, taking his face in your hands. “All I ask is that you come home at the end of the night.” You kissed his cheek. “In one piece, preferably.” He chuckled and you pressed your lips to his. You whispered in between kisses. “Just come home.” 

-

He talked about this place sometimes. Not often. Getting Matt to open up about his childhood was like pulling teeth, but in those last few months together, he’d started to trust you enough to let you in. 

This felt like a betrayal of that. Using your knowledge to expose him. To confront him for leaving you behind. A sober you might have thought of that. But the whiskey-fueled your anger, the rum your despair, and everything else blocked out any logical thought. 

What was the word Foggy used? 

Right. 

Concerning.

“Alright, Matthew,” you called out. Your voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper as you tried to hold back sobs. The wind stung the streaks of tears on your cheeks, but the more you tried to wipe them away, the more they fell. You took a drink. “This is it. Now or never.” 

You waited. You gave him a chance to stop you. 

“You always said you would never let anything happen to me, right? That you’d never hurt me.” You held your arms out at your sides. “Well, here we are, you goddamn liar!” Your voice echoed through the street. He would have been able to hear you for blocks, but standing just outside his damn door had to be good enough. “Come out, Matt!”

“Dude, check out this crazy bitch,” a voice said from behind you. 

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed the nervous bile in your throat. This was part of the plan. Sure, you thought you’d have to do a little more seeking, but this worked even better. There was only one way your tangled-up mind could figure that would get Daredevil to come out to play. You just hoped he would bring your Matt with him. 

You turned around. Two men stood in front of you, both of them with eyes scanning your body and lips forming smirks. Oh yeah. They were perfect. 

“What did you just say to me?” You tried to make your voice sound more confident than you actually felt. You wanted their anger, not their pity. 

“Hey, no need to be like that, I was just kidding,” the taller one said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “I was just about to tell my buddy that you look a little lost.”

“Yeah, maybe she could use our help,” his friend agreed. “Do you want our help?” From the sound of his tone ‘help’ was the last thing he was offering. 

They both stepped towards you. 

And then a thought broke through your intoxicated, reckless mind. 

What if Matt really was dead?

It made you freeze. It almost made you sober. 

What if you just saw some guy that looked like him? What if you’d imagined it all together? What if all this time you’d been hoping- hell, even praying- that he would come back and he was still down there, at the bottom of Midland Circle, crushed and bloody and… gone? 

The men took another step forward, looking equally confused as they were intrigued. 

What if there was no one around to save you?

You held your head high. 

You hoped they’d kill you.

Either way, at least you would know. 

“You alright there, sweetheart?” The tall one asked. Sweetheart. The word stung. It belonged to someone else. 

You didn’t say anything and just started swinging. Fist to teeth, then foot against knee, you actually managed to do some damage before the friend grabbed your arms from behind. You stomped on his foot as hard as you could. Just because this was part of your plan didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for them. It had to at least look like you tried. For Foggy and Karen. 

The thought of the two of them threw you off. It made you blink, which allowed the lead prick to get a hold of your hair and use it to throw you to the ground. 

“You wanna play it that way, fine,” he growled. 

“Hair pulling?” You sneered up at him. “What, did your little sister teach you that move?” 

“Mouthy little bitch.” He brought his heel down on your head. Hard. It probably should have knocked you out, but you could still see through blurred vision with darkness around the edges. They started to walk away. 

“W-wait,” you said. The feet at the edge of your vision stopped. “Wait, come here.” You beckoned him to you with your hand. He crouched down. “Is that all you’ve got, pussy?” 

The hit came faster than you prepared for, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He kicked. And kicked. And kicked. Blood filled your mouth. You thought you heard a knife click open, but then everything went silent. 

And there was only one pair of feet.

A grunt. A thud. A body hitting the pavement. 

“What the…” Your main assailant gasped.  

You blinked, trying to see what was going on.

“Hey, man, she started it, I swear.” Another grunt. Another thud. Another body hit the pavement. 

A masked face appeared over yours.  

You smiled through the pain. “I knew it.” 

He took off the black band, revealing his panicked face. It was the last thing you saw before the darkness in your head took over. 

-

Matt carried you downstairs, every sense tuned into the creaking of your broken ribs, the smell of the blood leaking from your lips, your head, your nose. He focused on the sound of your heart. It was still beating. 

It was still beating.

“Sister!” He called. 

Sister Maggie, in all her wise-cracking wisdom, had known to be there. Matt didn’t know how, but not for the first time he was grateful for her presence. She helped without him having to ask. 

“Is she breathing?” She asked. 

“Barely. Her ribs are broken. I-I can’t tell how hard she hit her head.” He laid you on the bed, still listening to the semi-steady thump thump, thump thump. 

“Who is she?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands roamed your features, the gentle curve of your cheek now split with a bleeding gash. He ran a finger over your lips. As if to confirm it was really you. He had to feel, had to know. Know that this was his fault. Your words echoed in his head. 

You’d never hurt me.

You goddamn liar. 

You were here for him. The reckoning for his sins these past weeks. 

“Matthew, who is she?” Margaret pressed again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Just help her.” Matt’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please.”

Sister Maggie frowned, fingers clenched around the cloth she’d used to clean some of the blood. “You need to take her to a hospital.”

“Don’t.” Your voice rasped between them. “Don’t you dare.” You started to sit up, using shaking arms to push yourself upright even as your insides felt like they wanted to rip out of you just from breathing. 

“Stay down,” Matt said. He sat on the edge of the bed, easing you back to a lying position. “Try not to move.”

“I knew it.” 

“Y/N-”

“I fucking knew it.” You pushed back. He was stronger. Matt kept you down as gently as he could. 

“Sister, will you give us a minute?”

You turned to the woman you hadn’t noticed. She seemed glad to leave. 

Matt didn’t face you. He stood up from the bed and paced along the concrete floor, keeping a distance away that made you want to scream. You wanted to touch him. To make sure he was really there. But he hovered away from you like a ghost. 

“Those guys really did a number, huh?” You managed to sit up and this time, he didn’t stop you. Your head, however, wanted to bash itself in. Between the trauma and the liquor, you weren’t sure which made you more nauseous. “But the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is always around to save the day.”

“You did it on purpose,” Matt said, shoulders stiff. “You provoked them. They could have killed you and you-” He sucked in a breath. “Why?”

“I’m an adrenaline junkie. I drink, I look for trouble. It’s becoming quite the hobby.” You were lying. You knew he could tell. 

He stood still, head tilting slightly. “You knew I’d come.” 

“Ding ding ding.” You fell back on the bed and let the ceiling spin. 

Matt couldn’t speak. The panic he’d felt was slowly being engulfed by anger, though it was hard to tell at who. You were looking for a fight, that much he gathered was true. You were drunk, though the fight sobered you up some. Everything he’d ever told you, everything he’d done to try and keep you safe, would have been thrown away tonight. You would have let those men kill you if it meant he wasn’t there. 

And it was all his fault. 

He did the one thing he promised he wouldn't. He left. You’d never judged him, never questioned his need to put on the suit. All you ever asked was that he come back to you and this time, he didn’t. By choice, he didn’t. Just like everyone in both of your pasts, he abandoned you. This was your choice to get back at him, whether or not you believed he was alive. 

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “Today, at the hotel. I knew it was you.” The sure, stubbornness in your voice was gone, replaced by a cracking, wrenching sadness. “I had to know.” 

Matt didn’t say anything. He just reached for the lamp and switched off the light. 

“Get some rest.” 

When you woke up, you were in the hospital, bandages on your cuts, and more hungover than you’d felt in a long time. 

Matt was gone. 

-

They didn’t discharge you, but you left anyway. If they looked too closely at your emergency contacts, they’d find someone who was supposed to be dead and Karen. The latter was not someone you wanted to face right now. 

So, with a couple of busted ribs and one hell of a concussion, you went back to the apartment. His apartment. The place where he first kissed you, first touched you, first-

Now it was just yours. He didn’t want it anymore. 

You half debated going back to the church and demanding he talk to you. You’d like to see the brilliant lawyer try to talk his way out of this one. But in the end, everything hurt too much to face him. You wanted a drink. 

Unlocking the door, the click hit your chest harder than any of that creep’s kicks. 

You knew. 

You may not have had his abilities, but you knew. 

Walking in, you didn’t dare turn around and look at the stairs. You didn’t have to. 

“I’m all better now if that’s what you wanted to see,” you said. You threw your jacket on the floor and kicked off your boots. 

Matt didn’t move from his place by the roof entrance. He stood over you like a judgemental god and you wanted to hit him for it. You might have if he didn’t already look like hell itself spat him back out. 

“You wanted them to kill you,” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear. Not an accusation. An acknowledgment. 

“I wasn’t going to stop them if they tried.” You shrugged. You moved to the kitchen. “Beer?” 

“You shouldn’t drink with the amount of pain medication they gave you.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Like he was just your boyfriend and looking out for you. But he wasn’t and you didn’t know what he was to you anymore. 

“Yeah, well, it’s going to wear off at some point so I might as well get ahead of the curve here.” 

“Y/N-” He stepped. The steps creaked. 

“Don’t.” You held up a hand. “Don’t come anywhere near me, Matt Murdock.” 

He flinched at the sound of his name like it was a blade you held against his throat. 

“Stay where you are,” you said and twisted off the bottle top, grasping so hard the rigid edge dug into your palm. “Shit.” It sliced your skin and your blood dripped onto the wooden floor. 

You didn’t watch him descend the stairs or cross the space between you. You closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see his hand grab yours, wrapping the small but deep cut with gauze he carried with him. You yanked away the moment his hold lightened. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Y/N-” He said again, your name hurting more than his own. 

“You’re dead!” Your scream filled the apartment. You knew it filled his head. Everything always did. Good. Let it. 

Matt didn’t step away, but he did let his hand fall back to his side. 

“I know.” 

You tried your best not to shake, not to cry and show the weakness you’d felt for the last weeks. Then again, you wanted him to know. You wanted him to feel everything you’d felt. 

“Tell me you were trapped somewhere. Tell me you tried everything you could to get back to us and you just broke free,” you pleaded. “Tell me a lie, Matt, because I’d rather hear that than whatever bullshit reason you can give me.”

He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak, reading his face before he could say it. 

“I swear, if you say something about ‘protecting me’, then you should have just left me to those creeps because that would have been better than listening to that broken record again.” You turned your back and for that second, you let yourself crumple, but only for a second and completely silent. 

“It wasn’t about you.” 

You straightened up again. “It never was.” 

Now, with you facing away, it was his turn to break. Matt sucked in a sharp breath to keep himself together as you continued. 

“It was always about you, Matt. About your insisted martyrdom.” You didn’t try to stop your tears now, tasting their salt as they flowed past your lips. “Your city. The rest of us just live here, right?” You turned around, stepping towards him. “But at least we live.” With your hands on his chest, you pushed him back. “Which is a hell of a lot harder than hiding.” 

You pushed again and again and again and he just stood there and took it. Your flattened hands turned to fists, hitting harder and harder until you were sure you’d leave bruises on his chest. 

It was when you collapsed that he finally moved, throwing his arms around you before you could hit the floor, your legs giving out under the weight of your utter, complete agony. Your sobs choked you and rattled through Matt like gunfire. You kept fighting him, even as he held you, the pain of your injuries was nothing compared to what you felt in your soul. Like the shattered pieces were being forced back together, but didn’t fit anymore. 

Matt wanted to make it stop. He wanted more than anything to take all of the pain away and tell you it was going to be okay. He was here now. But he was the cause of it all and there was nothing he could do to change it. 

And while there was still a dark part of him that wanted to leave you here, to shield you from him entirely, Matt knew if he tried to walk away now, he wouldn't survive it. Daredevil or Matt Murdock, it didn’t matter. He was yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. 

“You were dead,” you said again, this time with broken words blending together with your sobs. “I tried to go back. I tried to get into Midland Circle, but they dragged me out. I tried, Matt, I-”

He cut you off with a kiss on the forehead and held you closer. 

“I know.” He could still hear your screams, your pleas to give up your life to try and save him. He’d thrown it away, everything you’d tried to make of him. Of the two of you, together. 

You’ll get her killed too. Fisk’s voice in his head pierced his skull like a blade. I will crush her. I’ll tear her apart piece by piece, Matthew, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. 

“She’ll put up a hell of a fight first,” Matt muttered. 

“What?” You pulled back to look up at him. 

He shook his head and held you closer still until the lines between you blurred together. 

“Nothing.” 

Even though every part of him now screamed to get away, he couldn’t move. Even as you knelt in front of him, pulling his lips down to yours, he didn’t fight it. A shock worse than any punch went through his system the moment you kissed him. Like every nerve was finally waking up. 

Maybe he wasn’t dead after all. 

Matt cupped your cheek with one hand and slipped the other to the small of your back, urging you to stand and walk with him to the bed neither of you had slept in in weeks. 

He’d decide in the morning.

[dear-satan]

Beginning Of the End III

player 230/Thanos x Reader

★ word count: 10K

★ CW: fem!reader, reader is a player 457, funding issues, fraud, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, mentions of death, blood, normal squid game stuff

★ previous part, next part

Player 001's voice changed everything.

You stood there, even though the voting had ended a moment ago. You felt like you were still dreaming. Like the nightmare you woke up in would never end. You even pinched the bare skin on your hand. The momentary pain only confirmed your belief that it wasn't a dream or a nightmare, but a terrifying reality that you were stuck in by your own will.

Tomorrow more innocent people will die, and you didn't have the strength to keep playing.

You didn't want to keep playing.

So tomorrow you'll die too.

"Is everything okay, honey?" his voice brought you back to earth. His shaking hand gently touched your cheek. "Are you feeling bad? Why are you ignoring me?" the questions he asked you made you angry and feel helpless. You looked at his name tag first - a blue O. Looking at it, you felt like he betrayed you in the worst possible way. But then you looked at his face, his eyes. His dilated pupils almost covered his unique, for an Asian, blue irises.

It was too much.

"Are you kidding me?" You said it quietly at first, far too quietly for Su-bong to hear. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" You pushed him away, your chest moving at a rapid pace. "You're high." It wasn't a question. "You're fucking high, having the time of your life when people around you.. When WE almost died and you're asking me if I'm okay?!"

His jaw clenched. You watched as he swallowed the unspoken words, a lump growing in his throat. He always acted like this when he was high. He couldn't get a word out when you first screamed at him not to take.. To be clean. But he never listened. Never. And you knew he wouldn't listen this time either. That your words will only echo empty, one he wouldn't remember when he sobered up.

That's why you didn't continue.

Barely holding back tears, you shook your head. You turned around and walked away, leaving him in the middle of the hall. You sat down on your bed with a loud sigh. You felt helpless against everything - the world, life, your boyfriend.. And your love. You thought Su-bong would press X with you. That he would follow in your footsteps just this once, when you were playing for your life together, and not for money.. Not anymore.

But he didn't go.

You weren't even disappointed, because he hadn't done it in a long time. Su-bong had disappeared somewhere, along with his stupid jokes, songs written just for you. It's funny that you only noticed it now.

Damn blue O.

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

The morning was really hard. If you could, you would stay under that thin blanket all day. But you couldn't, and you knew it.

Players, another game will start soon. Get ready and remember to follow the rules.

“I wonder what's in store for us today.” a foreign girl crouched next to your bed - a 380 player with a blue O on her right chest. She looked in front of her for a moment before turning her head toward you and bestowing a small, but really sincere smile. “I hope there won't be that big doll. Disgusting, it will haunt me every night.”

For the first time in a long time, you laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

“You are with player 230, right?” She asked “Sorry, I don't want to be nosy but…I saw your argument yesterday…. And, he's really an asshole.”

Your smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. You started searching with your eyes for purple hair. He was sitting on his bed with player 124. “He quickly found a friend,” a lump appeared in your throat, but you ignored it. “Yes, we… We have been dating for a long time. We live together but…. You know, debts came up. Senseless investment in crypto, loans, loss of work…. You know.”

“You agreed to invest in crypto? You seem more reasonable than him.” was curious, which you couldn't blame her for.

“Yes.” the lie was heavy ”We let ourselves be made like children.”

“I see.” The 380 player only nodded, looking ahead again.

“But you're right, he's an asshole.” You added quickly, at which she laughed quietly..

“You know, if you want we can stick together.” She looked at you again. You saw the warmth in her eyes and the will to survive that you lacked. “Me, you, and player 125 - we'll make a nice team.”

For a while you steamed at her without any response. The thought of the team filled you with some form of hope. But what about Su-bong? You couldn't leave him alone, you weren't a horrible heartless girl thinking only of herself. “I…” you looked at Thanos once again. You were angry, so terribly angry at his behavior. But something inside you told you that he could handle it and, despite everything, he would be beside you. “Gladly.”

“Great!” she got up from the floor and extended her hand toward you, ”I am Se-mi.”

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

Going through the pastel corridors again was much worse than the first time. Guards stood in every possible place, guarding you with guns in their hands. It's funny how false a sense of security they tried to give you at the very beginning.

You entered a huge square, similar to a classroom for kindergarten children. Two large rainbow circles were painted on the ground. Everything about the messy place was candy, looking seemingly safe. But wasn't that exactly how you were supposed to feel? Safe?

Players, you have ten minutes to assemble a team of five.

The announcement was loud, too loud for you. You immediately looked at Se-mi and Min-su with whom you formed a team of three. You started looking around for potential companions. Unfortunately, people matched up in teams really fast leaving you with fewer and fewer options.

“Damn, I didn't find anyone,” you groaned disappointedly. Time was slowly running out.

“I didn't manage to find anyone either,” Min-su also said, still looking around.

Se-mi opened her mouth, but before she could say anything a familiar voice interrupted her, causing all three of you to look toward its owner. “Señorita, excuse me.” Thanos' smile widened as your gazes met, “I noticed that you were looking for two players. Here we are, Thanos will grace your team with his presence.” he couldn't be serious..

You rolled your eyes amused when 380 commented on his artistic nickname. When Su-bong greeted Min-su then approached you. The warmth of his body eminated enough to send a shiver through your body.

“Still angry?” he asked, cautiously nudging your hand with his finger as if he feared your repulsion.

“Still high?” you answered with a question to a question, but did not move away.

Thanos laughed while shaking his head. His hand grasped yours and lifted it to place a gentle kiss on your skin. “Don't be angry, this is the last game.” you didn't know , whether to believe him. “After it, I'll vote for X, you'll see. We will return to our home. Safe and sound with our money.”

The time to find a team was over, and all the teams were sitting in the middle of two rainbow circles. The game you would play was titled Six-Legged Pentathlon, during which you would play five, smaller games - ddakji, biseokchigi, gonggi, paengi chigi, and jegi. You started to determine who would play what - you chose ddakji. You were really good at it, considering that you won over the recruiter almost immediately. Se-mi chose biseokchigi, claiming that in childhood she had won against every kid in the yard. The boys divided among the other three games, each choosing what they felt most comfortable with. They were, after all, games from your childhood, nothing new so theoretically winning was really easy.

The game had begun. You all sat close together. Thanos' hand was on your knee as you watched with precision as the guards pinned the legs of the first two teams. They had five minutes to pass each competition and reach the finish line. That complicated things. Five minutes is really not a lot of time, considering the possible failures with each game.

You swallowed saliva, squeezing Thanos' hand. Fear set in your body again. “I can't handle it, I can't do it.”

“If you talk like that, we'll definitely lose.” Nam-gyu looked at you, and more at the red X on your chest. You saw something along the lines of contempt in his gaze, and you didn't know why. After all, you had never spoken to him before. “Get it together.”

"Nam-su-"

“I'm Nam-gyu.”

“After all, I did say that.” Su-bong clenched his jaw. His hand squeezed your knee. “Change your tone when you speak to her. Is that clear? Because I don't like to repeat myself.”

Player 124 only muttered something under his breath, turning his head away. “Sure, bro.”

・・・・★・・・・★ ・・・・

The paper square seemed extremely heavy when you held it. Your ankle was pinned to Thanos' ankle. The black material was fastened far too tightly, bruising you with every step. You took a breath and threw at the pink square - it didn't fall over You bent over picking up the blue square and threw again - this time it hit next to it. Your breathing sped up, you heard Nam-gyu's nervous voice and Se-mi's disappointed groan. Your hands began to tremble.

“Hey hey hey.” Su-bong leaned over and handed you a paper square, “Relax. You can do it. . Take a deep breath and throw it again.” His tattooed hand stroked the top of your head.

You nodded and closed your eyes. Time seemed to stop as you took air into your lungs. Your heart slowed down and when you were ready, you opened your eyes, throwing the paper square once more.

You've succeeded.

Joyful cheers spread through the room and your team moved on. Se-mi handled the biseokchigi effortlessly, as did Min-su in the gonggi. At the spinning top there was a problem, but Nam-gyu turned it around on his second attempt. You were at the very end, Thanos' game remained. By the high he was on, he seemed not to notice the time pressure when the last 40 seconds. But he bounced the damn ball five times. Crossing the finish line was like having a weight lifted off your back. Your legs were splayed and you immediately hugged Thanos standing next to you.

“Thank you.” You groaned inhaling his scent.

He just picked you up and turned you around, hugging you as if he had completely forgotten how soft and comfortable your body is. “It's all right now señorita, we're going home.”

taglist: @ttokyocat @itsvaleriegarza @jdbxws @hyunjinieandlix @chrisstyle @the-iridescent-phoenix

[duckduckgoosebutitsinatrench]

So when I wrote this I meant like, Ace Just Some Guyed his way into some ambiguous "will they won't they" Totally Platonic cuddles, but in light of recent events, I think they should kiss actually. They should get married.

AceYuu headcanons:

Ace both fell first and fell harder. My boy spent the night at Ramshackle one weekend to go on a horror movie binge, and then Yuu fell asleep- not even ON him, Yuu just fell asleep next to him on the floor in a blanket cocoon- and then his brain decided to finally process all the feelings he had and engage his pattern recognition like "aw yes, I've seen this before, time to date" and just dropped the FONDEST, most Hozier level yearning "I love you" bombshell on this poor, poor mans internal dialogue

You should've seen it, it was the most accurate windows crash buffer screen to ever grace the world of twisted Wonderland

Bro shut down. Bro zoned out so hard he had a whole ass out of body experience and he was still too busy staring at Yuu drooling in a raggedy ass quilt to even notice. Bro did NOT finish that horror movie! (It was a pretty shitty one anyway so he didn't really care) Bro barely slept, he just stared at the ceiling until Yuu woke up the next morning (if 12:37 pm still even counts as morning to you) and came out of their little one man blanket fort wearing HIS OLD T-SHIRT HE LENT TO THEM- FUCK

... Welp. Time to roll with it. In love or not, Ace Trappola is Ace Trappola and Ace Trappola is an asshole! But now he's an asshole that's buying Yuu coffee twice a week and then complaining about it even though he's the one who insisted on buying it in the first place

Finds every fucking opportunity to make a flirty ass "joke" that everyone and their mama can tell isn't really a joke trying to gauge how Yuu feels about him. Sebek is gripping the steel chair getting ready to swing

You know how Yuu gets into a Situation every other day? Yeah. You know how Ace is now getting very very close to having an actual fucking heart attack?

Ace prides himself in taking care of Yuu, it's one of the things he'd do even if he can't take care of them in exactly the way he wants. But seriously Perfect! You can't just text him in the middle of basketball practice saying you fell off your fucking ROOF- WHAT WERE YOU DOING UP THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?!?!

Ortho dead ass has to put them both on house arrest for a few days to monitor them because Ace actually almost came close to a medical emergency from the stress.

He wants so badly to be mad at Yuu- and he is! But their guilty face and whispered apologies and the weird little cat-like bonk they gave him are taking up an unusual amount of space in his mind and for some reason he can't remember what he was supposed to be angry about right now

He thinks he's being so damn slick with this crush and keeping his very very intense feelings a secret and laying low and shit and then you go and talk to a Scarabia student B and he's like "I thought they were already dating?... What do you MEAN they're not even together?!"

Worst kept secret in all of NRC. Cater goes live and starts talking about his "cute, oblivious little freshmen" and Yuu watches it and is like "damn, wonder who he's talking about :D" and Ace wants to die

The pinning stage is so real bro! Ace is over here taking them out to arcades and cafes and local pop-up fairs and is trying his best to pretend this is a date that Duece and Grim are just third wheeling on

I honestly don't think there's even a real confession? It's gonna be one of those "Didn't realize we were dating" things. Ace somehow just sweet talks his way into Yuus bed for the night after lying and saying he was kicked out of heartslabyul and they're just cuddling and then Yuu just gives a little sigh and is like

"I kind of want to kiss you right now", it's barely a whisper and he more so feels the breath on his neck than hears the actual words but OH BOY

Give him a minute. Give him a minute he needs it. He'll kiss you in a minute just let him freak out first

You almost regretted saying it, regretted breaking the ice that you both had seemed to silently agree Wasn't There.

Maybe f you were more awake, then you would. Maybe you would fluster and try to take it back, or maybe you would have a sudden surge of bravery and double down on your desires.

Maybe.

But you were tired, and Ace was warm- he was always so warm, you know? His skin always seemed to run hotter than anyone else you knew, with the exception of his cold hands, which were currently wrapping around you tighter than they were just a few seconds ago, something you were too sleepy to truly process. All you noticed was how his fingers dug into your skin, into your waist, into your shoulder and the back of your neck and how his breath hitched.

Your eyes were getting heavier by the second. Being trapped in your best friend's arms and knowing you were safe, knowing, that on some deep, unconscious level, that you were loved, would do that to you.

Sleep always came easy when he was here to protect you and look after you, even with him complaining the whole way.

Ace's breaths we're coming out shallow and slow, like he was trying his best not to break something fragile, and your tired mind briefly wonders why before you feel his thumb drawing circles into your nape and your brain goes peacefully blank again.

Taking in a slight shaking breath, his voice comes out in the same barely-there whisper yours had, with a tone filled with something you knew you weren't quite ready to face, "...Do you mean it?... Hey", he shook you slightly, just enough to jostle you out of the sandman's gentle grasp, "Yuu! Do you... Do you mean it?"

His voice wasn't even really there by the end, but his hand had moved to your face, his palms gently cradling your face and his chilled fingers caressing the space just under your eyes, seemingly trying to wake you up through the small touches as his body shifts to be just barely hovering over yours.

You blink slowly up at him, and answer with a yes that was based more on instincts and intuition than actually logically understanding what he was asking.

You were so tired, but he was just so damn beautiful that you felt you would give him the world in this moment, if only he asked for it. You would find a way for him.

And as he slowly moved his hand down to trace your bottom lip, his eyes flicking between your lips and your half asleep eyes as he slowly leaned in, you felt your heart swell with a more intense feeling than you ever thought you could have.

The feeling of his lips, soft from the cherry chapstick he'd bought a few months ago, the same one you found every excuse to borrow, somehow felt more right than anything else ever since you got to this strange new world.

It helped that he wasn't a bad kisser either.

Seconds felt like years, and your heartbeat was speeding up ringing through your entire body when he pulled away, a loving, disbelieving smile that was quickly pulling into that boyish smirk you loved so much was right there on his face, seared into your memory

"I knew you couldn't resist me"

You knew how it should have sounded, you knew how he meant it to sound, how it was supposed to be smug and slightly condescending, but it just came out so, so fond. Like he had waited a thousand lifetimes for this, and he would've waited a thousand more.

You hummed, a faint knowing in the back of your brain that you would be nearly as calm about this once morning came, as you tangled your hands in his messy hair, and kissed him again.

The next morning was an EVENT, all the blood in your body relocated to your face and Ace had never teased you so hard! just ignore the fact that he hasn't let go of your hand all morning! Please.

The first people to find out about this is, of course, Grim and Deuce, who share a look with various levels of played up disgust

The next person is surprisingly Sebek, who finally stops white knuckling that chair to congratulate you... and somehow drag your friendship with Malleus into said congratulations

He becomes so damn insufferable. Once he realized he can be a boyfriend and live out all the fantasies he's had in his head for months? All bets are off baby! He is so annoying about it! You love it

He's such a good boyfriend? Surprisingly? I firmly believe that the only reason he treated his ex like that is because he didn't really know her before they started dating, he just thought that being in a relationship would be fun and cool and he just jumped into it without actually thinking about it first

WITH YOU THOUGH?! WITH HIS BEST FRIEND THAT HE CARES ABOUT VERY VERY MUCH?! OH HE IS STEPPING IT UP! HE IS GONNA GET A GOOD GRADE IN BOYFRIEND IF IT FUCKING KILLS HIM

Not much changes, really. You were both already kind of dating before this anyways, the only thing different is that he can kiss you and use those cheesy ass pet names that he pretends to cringe at but secretly loves. That's right! He's going to unironically call you some shit like "sweetie pie honey bunches" and then pretend he was calling you that ironically! Epel is in hell

He still isn't gonna stop complaining about buying your coffee though- no! Put your wallet away he's still gonna do it, dammit!

As much as i love all the other Yuu ships like Malleyuu, Silyuu, Jadeyuu, floydyuu, Jamiyuu, etc. NOTHING and i mean NOTHING is funnier than Ace mother fucking Trapollo Just Some Guying his way into Yuus bed

[bellixpog]

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Ultraviolence- Kang Noeul

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pair: Kang No-eul × F!Reader

context: part.2 of my other imagine

warning: hair pulling, bad word (just one sentence), possessive and obsessive jealousy

words: 4,5k

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Two weeks passed. No-eul watched you walk past the store every morning, heading to the café in front of the clothing store, with only a road separating the stores. No-eul noticed that you worked there, simply because you came in at the same time as her, and left work half an hour after her. As soon as she noticed this, she started to leave work in a hurry and go to your cafe, sitting at the tables in the back, watching you work, every move you made. Everything watched by her. She also noticed that you hated your boss, because every time she spoke to you, you would give a fake smile and turn away, rolling your eyes. She loved watching you. It was, however, one afternoon that you finally noticed the woman.

You recognized the face, but you couldn't remember where it came from. Ignoring that, you walked over to the girl, smiling slightly. "Hi... Would you like to order something?" You asked, with your notepad and pen in hand. No-eul smiled slightly and replied, "A chocolate donut and a black coffee, please." You nodded, writing down the order. Before leaving, you looked at the girl and analyzed her, "You work at the store in front, don't you?" You ask, tilting your head slightly. No-eul's smile widens and she nods. "Yes, that's me." You bite your lip, smiling and letting out a nasal laugh. "What is your name?" "No-eul...And yours?" No-eul asks, leaning slightly over the table, curious "Min-young..." You answer and No-eul analyzes you "Nice name... It suits you" You blushed and smiled shyly "Your order will arrive soon"

You say, and head to the counter, still slightly red from the woman's compliment. She exuded a confidence you had never seen before, it was like nothing affected her. It both delighted and frightened you, in a way. You left it aside, starting to prepare the order for No-eul, and other pending customers. You just needed to finish those last few orders and your shift would be over, and you would finally go home to see your little dog, Molly. A sigh left your mouth when you realized your shift was over. You took off your apron and let down your hair, looking around the space, noticing that No-eul was still there, sitting on the same place. "We're closing... Do you need anything?" No-eul raised her head and smiled, standing up. “To take a girl home, if she accepts…” You raised your eyebrows in surprise, and lets out a nasal laugh, grabbing your coat. "I don't think she sees any problem with that..." You say, and No-eul smiles, walking towards the door. "Ladies first." She says, opening the door and making room for you to leave. You smile shyly, stepping out the door, waiting for No-eul.

We can say that these little "dates" were repeated for two months. No-eul was amazing to you: She wrote you letters by hand, your Fridays were spent at a restaurant you both liked, and your Saturday and Sunday mornings were lazy, with No-eul's wet kisses on her neck and shoulder. You noticed No-eul's jealousy. The shape bit the inside of her cheek whenever she saw you talking to someone she didn't know who it was - that is, everyone - This slight possessiveness was something you happily accepted, and sometimes ignored. The request for a date was not something surprising, after all, you were actually being treated as a married person. Over time, there were some things that bothered you a little.

No-eul started to get more jealous, checking her phone every day, even asked you to change jobs so she could "spend more time with you". She even tried to hire someone to walk your dog Molly so you wouldn't have to leave the house, but giving up your dog was not in the cards. Over time, things got...intense. One day, you were putting on your coat, getting ready to take Molly for a walk, when you felt No-eul grab your hair, pulling you back. You groaned in pain, and No-eul rested your head on her shoulder, and whispered in your ear "Where the fuck are you going, Min-young?" No-eul whispered in your ear, she seemed calm, but to you, who knew her quite well, you knew that there was anger in that whisper.You didn't have to say anything: Molly appeared, and barked, wagging her tail. No-eul understood and let go of her hair and took Molly's leash "I'll go with her, babe. You stay." No-eul said wearing her coat. It wasn't the first, nor the last time that his displays of love were a little... rough, so to speak. But every time she hit you, or pulled your hair, it was like a kiss. A real kiss of love. That's how you knew she loved you, in her own way.

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a/n: that one is so small, someone kill me, please

THAT'S IT BABIES, I'M ALREADY WRITING THE NEXT ONE

Hope you liked it, xoxo!

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[bestruction]

His favorite positions

Summary: Just a few headcanons about his favorite sex positions with you because i'm a horny mf

Warnings:...Sex?

Missionary

Sasuke favored missionary because it allowed him...Many possibilities. Like with many people, it was the first position you two tried but eventually, the more you two had sex, the bolder he got.

He fucking loved the feeling of your legs around his waist, but what if he pushed your knee up to your chest? What if he puts your legs on his shoulders? Maybe he should place his hands on the inside of your thighs and keep you spread open for him...

This man is addicted to control for many reasons, which makes the idea of you lying down on the bed, just for him, ready to take anything he has to give you way too appealing. On top of that, he gets to watch you bite your lips, whimper his name, and melt as he fucks you just right and eye contact was something that felt deeply intimate and grounding to him.

Missionary allows him to hold your hands softly or pin them above your head. He could just switch it up depending on his mood.

Spooning

Lazy Sunday mornings were always a problem. The sun would shine through the curtains, telling him it was already time to get up. If he came back from a particularly long mission it'd be even worse because it means he needs to visit the Hokage's office to report, but how can he when you are sleeping so peacefully in his arms?

If he tried to call your name it would never work. So based on his experience as your boyfriend, he tried to get your attention by kissing your temples, and behind your ears. He swears it's always innocent at first. But the way these kisses quickly slide down your neck, leaving a warm trail on your skin, makes you doubt his intentions.

He loves spooning because in these moments all he has to do was stick his hands inside your pajama shorts to quickly push through your folds and find your clit. Your back pressed against his chest as your legs instantly opened more for him, giving him easier access to your pussy never failed to get a smirk out of him. He'd whisper "morning" in your ear with that husky voice that you loved, pressing down your bud of nerves to make you whimper his name.

Sasuke liked the gentle intimacy of spooning, how it allowed him to make you cum on his fingers, and still play with your nipples, how everything he had to do to fuck you right was pull down your shorts and pound you slowly until you are begging him to go faster. Definitely one of his favorites.

Against the Wall

I feel like at a certain point, there isn't a wall in the house that you haven't been pushed up against at least once. He is a very impulsive and impatient person and also loves physical touch. It's a way to express what he is feeling without having to use words, which he struggles with a lot. This all means if you two are fighting or you are annoying him a bit too much just because you like teasing him, you might end up getting dicked down.

The first time it happened you were teasing him a bit too much while you two organized the living room, you liked pushing his buttons to see how much you could get away with since he had a soft spot for you. It started with some silly joke you don't remember but when he told you to stop, you didn't and the next thing you knew was that you were being pressed against the wall with your knees shaking, trying to keep yourself upright. If it weren't for his hands on your hips you would have been on the floor in an instant, which is why he loves it.

Again: control. He loved knowing he could make you feel like this. Like a mess against the wall who can't even stop drooling because he keeps hitting that sweet spot inside of you each time, he shoves his dick in your poor pussy. Where's all the teasing now? Lost behind your glassy eyes.

Cowgirl

Sasuke appreciated this position because it allowed you to take control, which he secretly enjoyed more than he liked to admit. Watching you on top of him, hair freely around your face as you place your hands on his chest and do your best to accommodate his size always left him in awe for you. The way your breasts bounce each time you let your hips fall on his cock, how you let your head fall behind you each time his tip kisses deep inside of you making you smile at how good it feels. He had to hold himself back from not cumming way too fast every time he saw that naughty smile of yours. Plus, it gave him the chance to rest his hands on your hips and guide you gently (not so gently sometimes) if you say you are too tired because what do you mean you can't take it anymore? Of course, you can, you can do it for him, can't you?

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Back Forty View (On Our Piece Of Ground)

7 - You're What My World Spins Around

Pairings: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: Birth of a child, Mentions of death, swearing as every other chapter I don't even put it anymore hahah

A/N: I feel like this chapter is kinda crap? Idk, but anyway we are finally here, it's time for baby Jaycen to be born! Total disclaimer, I tried to do my research but I don't know shit about pregnancy or babies or any of that so I did my best with details. No, I did not go into full details of the labor and all that just kind of glanced over it. I just felt this this was a huge plot point that's been looming for so long that I need to just get it down. As always comments, reblogs, likes, and feedback is always appreciate 100%. Thank y'all for continuing reading! Pics from pinterests! Gifs by @kaizsche I hope you enjoy this one.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @dizzybee03 @coloraturadiva @kmc1989

Tyler and Jake were born in the very early morning and gave their mother hell. Well, Jake did more so than Tyler, but altogether her labor had been nearly forty hours. Tyler came into the word silent as the night and Jake came screeching like a fighter jet, his attempt to break the sound barrier at the first try. The joke became, as the boys got older that Tyler snuck into the world and Jake came in like he'd been left behind by Tyler, and that he was pissed about it. Their father, Randall Owens, was the proudest man on earth, and the most supportive too. He took as much time off as he could when Jeanie had the boys. He spent as much time as her, if not more sometimes, with the boys, getting to know their individual personalities and their quirks. In most ways the boys were the same, but in some they were totally opposite.

For a long time after Randall died, Jeanie was devastated. She didn’t know how to go on without him, but she figured it out. She raised up two wild little boys who were always getting in trouble, and always just like their father in the one way that carried them through life. Both of Jeanie Owens' boys had compassion for others. 

Both of her boys were lovers and fighters. She’d taught them to always give people a chance, but to be adamant when they wanted something and to not settle. She taught them to go after their dreams. That’s why Tyler worked his ass off becoming the best bull rider he could. That’s why Jake got top of his class at the Naval Academy and got into the Top Gun program. That’s why both boys were both book smart and street smart. That’s why both of Jeanie’s boys, when they wanted something, they went after it and didn’t give up until they got it. 

Nothing was handed to Tyler and Jake. Jeanie didn’t bend when it came to rules. She made them do chores from a young age to learn responsibility. She made them care for all the horses. They were driving before they were supposed to be. And when Jeanie met Kenneth Seresin, those boys gave him hell. The boys were respectful of course, but that didn’t mean they didn’t challenge Kenny. What they remembered of Randall was how he had been with Jeanie. Always gentle with her, always supportive, and even though at their young ages they didn’t quite understand all of it, they remembered it later in life. There had been so much love in the little ranch in Dardanelle, Arkansas and until Kenny showed them the same level of reverence for their mother, those boys gave him a run for his money.

Kenny did everything with Tyler and Jake that he could. It was as if he was trying to make up for lost time and the loss of their father. He tried to be the best replacement to Randall that he could. He took them to roping events and the high school rodeos to compete. He took them up in military helicopters and on base before he was honorably discharged due to an injury, He helped them fix old beat up trucks that the boys had bought with their own savings. He taught them that no matter when you meet a person, you can love them as if you’ve always loved them their entire life. Tyler and Jake knew he wasn't their father by blood, but because of how he was with them, they treated him all the same in the end. And Kenny was damn proud to call those boys his sons.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Tyler and Dustin took turns caring for Ducati, but not without Georgia right there, on the outside of the pen. By Tyler’s rules, until Jaycen was born, she wasn’t allowed in the pen with the horse, just in case he spooked or charged at her. However, the mustang was proving more trustworthy each day. Each time Dustin went in, whether it was to scrub his waters and refill them, pick out his poop, give him hay, or throw him grain, Ducati followed him just like the puppies. When Tyler went in to do the same chores, Ducati only wanted Tyler to love on him. Tyler would rub the mustang’s forehead, and then his neck, and he’d even offer his belly and his back for scratches. After a week, Tyler was able to touch the horse all over. After two, he was able to pick up each of his feet, without a halter, and after three...well Georgia wanted Tyler to try and throw a saddle pad over his back.

“Gee, I don’t know. Seems kinda fast.” Tyler said, as Ducati pushed his neck toward Tyler, begging to be scratched. Tyler obliged readily and then he glanced at Georgia, who had thrown the saddle pad over the top bar of the panels.

“He trusts you. I trust you. Just give it a try.” Georgia said softly, reaching out to rub Ducati’s nose. Tyler slowly took the saddle pad from the top bar and held it out for the gelding to sniff. He was uninterested and just pushed his neck toward Tyler again. Tyler raised a brow and then touched the gelding with it. Again, uninterested. Tyler tilted his head and then gingerly placed the pad on Ducati’s back. The gelding glanced at him and licked his lips.

“She said he’d had a saddle on.” Georgia said, sneaking a piece of carrot from her pocket to the gelding’s awaiting mouth. He churches happily on it and then turned his nose toward Tyler. 

“Got nothin’ bud, sorry. Just a silly saddle pad.” Tyler chuckled as Ducati poked his nose toward Georgia’s belly. She smiled and Tyler spoke again. “He’s smart that’s for sure. I figured since she said he had been buckin’, he wouldn’t be too keen on the saddle pad at all.”

“I think he doesn’t care much about the equipment. She didn’t give us the full story. I’d put money on him spookin’ at somethin’ while she was ridin’ and he bucked, bolted, and got her off. She was too scared to get back on so he’s probably squirrelly under saddle, not on the ground. I think he was how he was at her place because she never got rid of any of that anxiety. She just left it in there. Here, he didn’t feel like he needed any anxiety because we were gentle and calm from the start. And you’re not afraid of anythin’ so.” Georgia explained, as Tyler’s gaze settled on Ducati. The gelding swished his tail and cocked a hip. 

“Can you get Jake?” He asked and Georgia nodded, going back into the barn. Jake had been helping to muck out the stalls and Georgia had put Sam in charge of brushing horses. Georgia was determined at some point to get Sam on one of their horses and see if she remembered how to ride. 

“Hey Jake, Tyler needs you.” Georgia said, just as Jake was pushing the wheelbarrow out of the stall he had been cleaning. He closed the door behind him and pushed the wheelbarrow out the front so that he could dump it after. Tyler, being ever ingenuitive, had come up with a dump trailer and manure spreader to use for the back fields, effectively fertilizing them so that when the summer came around, the horses would have beautiful grass to go out on.  

“Can you grab my saddle?” Tyler asked as Jake stepped out of the barn. He immediately doubled back and Georgia inhaled a sharp breath.

“Okay, now who’s pushing it?” She asked, as she hung her arms over the rail. Ducati once again, placed his nose gently at her belly. Jaycen kicked hard then and Georgia closed her eyes and groaned softly. 

“Did he just talk back for me ?” Tyler smirked, as he placed his hand on her belly.

“I think so. That hurt a bit.” She said and Tyler chuckled as Jake reappeared, Tyler’s huge roping saddle easily slung over one arm. 

“Seems like Jaycen wants his horse ready for when he comes out.” Tyler joked and Jake threw the saddle over the panel so Tyler could pull it down. Georgia kept her eyes on Ducati the whole time and the mustang barely moved. In fact, he looked bored. 

“Okay buddy, let’s try somethin’ huh?” Tyler said, stepping over to Ducati with the saddle. He gave an out loud count of one, two, three and then swung the saddle up and onto the horse’s back. Ducati flinched a little at the weight, but his expression stayed the same and he licked his lips again. Tyler reached under to grab the cinch and secure it, then the back cinch. He pulled the breastplate around and buckled that before stepping back. Ducati simply followed Tyler, seeming to not even notice the saddle that had been put on him.

“Do I dare?” Tyler asked, glancing at Georgia, then Jake.

“If you’re gettin’ on, I’m takin’ a video for Tiktok, you dumb sonofabitch.” Jake laughed and held up his phone. “Dumb ways to die!” He sung, which made Tyler laugh, but not Georgia. She glared at him.

“ Don’t be stupid, Tyler. ” She said. Tyler patted Ducati and then turned to Georgia with a small smile.

“Oh let me have a little fun, darlin’.” He mused as he reached over the gate to grab the rope halter they had been using for the gelding. It was old and tattered, but still solid. Ducati walked over, placing his nose through the halter and letting Tyler secure it. He rubbed the horse’s neck and then brought him to the middle of the pen. “Any advice before I ruin this horse, Peach?”

“If you get on and he bucks you off...well...you’re fixin’ it later, Arkansas .” Her tone was well on the way to annoyed. Tyler placed his foot in the stirrup, bouncing a few times and paying attention to the horse’s ears. They flicked back and forth and he blinked a few times, but stood remarkably still. Tyler jumped up and laid across the saddle, then hopped back down. He repeated this step a few times before finally swinging his leg over the other side. He felt Ducati go round and suck up his belly underneath the saddle. Tyler grabbed the horn and the back of his saddle, ready for whatever was about to happen. Everyone held their breath, except Tyler. He took a deep breath and as if he was back in the chute, he blew the breath out at the same time as Ducati exploded into the air.

He vaguely heard Georgia yell at him, he heard Jake whoop and shout and he saw Sam and Dustin run out of the barn from the corner of his eye. Tyler pulled himself tight to the saddle and as Ducati quite literally bronced underneath him, Tyler fought the urge to move his legs in a spurring motion like he used to do when he rode bulls. Even though it had been years, it was hard to quell something that had been so ingrained in his brain as a habit.

They made it about two times around the round pen before Ducati lost his balance and hit Tyler’s leg on the panel, scaring himself and making Tyler yelp. Georgia turned away, the nauseous dread creeping up from the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t watch. Jake was still filming and both Sam and Dustin’s mouths were ajar in awe as Tyler too lost his balance, lost his grip on the cheyenne roll on the back of the saddle, and scared Ducati even more as he tumbled from the mustang’s back onto the dirt. He landed with a loud thud, on his ass and Ducati immediately froze. 

“TYLER!” Georgia nearly screamed, knowing he’d fallen. The wind had been knocked out of him, but when she heard him laughing, she sighed heavily, relieved. “You fuckin’ idiot! I say it out of love and because you scared me, but you’re a dumb ass!”

“Ah, I never thought I’d be so turned on havin’ my pregnant wife reprimand me.” He chuckled and coughed, then shot her a flirty glance as he stood stiffly and rubbed his ass. If looks could kill, Tyler would be a dead man walking up to kiss his wife. She brushed the dust off of him and glanced around him. Ducati had walked up behind him, apologetically. Tyler rubbed the gelding’s nose. “Bud, not your fault. I pushed ya. I also fell off. Bad ridin’ on my part.”

“Well, now you have to do it again.” Georgia said, tugging at his shirt. He leaned down and kissed her again and then smirked. Jake was doubled over, laughing his ass off, and Sam smacked him gently. Jake stood and took a deep breath before leaning back on the panels.

“Yes ma’am. Anythin’ I could do different?” Tyler asked, as he was ready to mount up again. He was a little shaky and his hips were stiff, but he knew if he didn’t get back on it would be bad for both of them. Tyler had dissociated during the bucking fit, trying to block out any sort of fear or anxiety he had, although it didn’t feel the same as it did with the bulls. He felt like he could trust Ducati. He knew he couldn’t trust the bulls. And, he lost his balance and fell because he started thinking. He figured if he stayed on this time, Ducati might quit bucking on his own, knowing that his rider could stick it out and not be afraid.

“Just don’t fall off again. You’re gonna be sore as hell tomorrow.” Georgia said softly, placing her head on her hands on the panel rail. She blew out a long breath as Tyler climbed aboard again.

“That the first time you been bucked off since your accident?” Jake asked and Tyler nodded.

“Wasn’t that bad, He’s not trying to get me off, he’s just scared shitless. If I can stick it, he’ll quit.” Tyler said, looking to Georgia for guidance. He picked up the rope and not feeling Ducati ball up this time, he asked him to turn left. Ducati obliged, moving off softly. Tyler asked for a little more speed, clicking his tongue to get the horse to trot. He wiggled his legs a little as well, unsure of how much education the horse had. Ducati scooted forward and when Tyler didn’t tense up, the horse took a breath and let it out. 

Tyler asked for a little more again, urging the horse to canter. As soon as he stepped into it, Ducati became overwhelmed with worry and went to bucking again. He folded in two and Tyler quickly grabbed for the saddle. The bucking fit was shorter this time and Tyler stayed on successfully, letting Ducati come down to a trot again. He asked for canter, got a few crow hops, then Ducati slowed down. The little horse had a comfortable trot and an even canter that Tyler asked for once more. There was no broncing this time and as Ducati cantered around a little, Tyler realized what he had just done. He let Ducati come to a full halt, right by Georgia.

“How’d I do?” He asked, rubbing the horse all over, just making sure he was okay with everything that was going on. Georgia nodded.

“Not bad, Arkansas. You might get good at this if you keep at it.’ Georgia teased and Tyler leaned over the panels to kiss her. He dismounted and immediately removed the tack and handed it all to Jake to take back in the barn. Georgia turned and began to walk back into the barn, satisfied with her husband’s stupidity that actually worked out in the end. She threw a lascivious grin his way and waved as she spoke. “You might even get a surprise later on.”

Tyler’s eyes widened and he smiled. He glanced at Dustin, who pursed his lips and motioned for him to go follow Georgia. Jake and Sam had headed back into the barn to finish up what they had been doing. Tyler knew he'd be sore for a few days but it was worth it if he helped Ducati feel a little better, and made less work for Georgia once she could get back on and put some more time into him.

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Jake had taken to doing extra sessions with the puppies and he even helped Tyler with their dogs. Ryker had imparted upon Jake that it was imperative to be consistent with the dogs, so while down in Oklahoma, Jake spent at least two hours each day with each dog. One in the morning and one at night if he could, going through every aspect of training that he had learned so far. Sam spent about an hour with each dog as well, usually taking them as a group for a walk. They wanted the dogs well rounded in a pack and as individuals so doing this would only help and it made the bond between the three dogs stronger too. Jake had even taught Sam everything in the short amount of time that they’d been there. 

Ballast exceeded every expectation that Ryker had for the pup. Jake never had any, so Ballast surprised him at every turn. At just over eight months old, the dog was essentially a lanky, mini version of what he would be as an adult. The bite work was where Ballast really shined. Jake already had a competition ready focus heel available at any moment. Jake could out Ballast from any bite with just his voice command. And Ballast would take down anyone for Jake. A true protection dog in the making. Jake noticed something else though and that was that Ballast was also fiercely loyal to Samantha. That was ultimately what Jake wanted, so that when he wasn’t around, Samantha wouldn't have to worry about a thing. He knew Rocco would give his life for Sam, but Ballast would back him up and avenge that death if he had to, tenfold.

Muster on the other hand, was not what they expected. She excelled in all the obedience and protection work. Her bite work was great and she was a powerful little fur missile in her own right, but Muster wanted much more than anything to cuddle and hang out with Sam. Muster was absolutely Sam’s dog and while she liked Jake, she found solace in Samantha’s company. Muster also knew that Georgia was pregnant and if the cattle dogs and Ballast got too rambunctious around her, Muster would break it up. The female dog knew the importance of rest and recuperation for everyone. She wasn’t exactly a party pooper, but she did like her peace and quiet. She was a calming presence for the other dogs and that was an excellent thing to have with such a high drive, high energy pack.

Jake had even taken to teaching Rocco some of the obedience training. Rocco actually took to it pretty well too, considering his breed. Dachshunds tended to be stubborn and difficult to work with if you didn’t know how to motivate them. Jake figured out that Rocco’s motivation was simply pleasing Samantha so any time he worked with Rocco, he made sure that Sam was there and she was ready to praise him. Jake had never thought he’d grow to love the little dog as much as he did, but there was a special spot in his heart for Rocco. One that he thought would be empty from Dixie forever, but he was certain that the little red dog might be able to fill that hole with his big, courageous personality. 

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Georgia firmly believed that just like the calves and foals that her father used to raise, it wasn't up to mom when the baby came. It was all up to when that baby wanted out. And at exactly nine months to the day, Jaycen Alexander Owens decided he was ready to see the world for the first time.

Georgia had been laying down for the majority of the day, not feeling particularly well. She’d been somewhat nauseous all day. She picked at the lunch that Tyler had made and when she decided she couldn’t lay down any longer, she elected to take a walk outside, ending up in the barn, which she had come to expect. She’d felt some pressure in her pelvis just after lunch. She mentioned it to Tyler and he’d been concerned, checking in on her every hour or so after that. She’d also felt like when she went back out around dinner time, that she was waddling like a penguin. Her steps felt particularly heavy the longer she stayed out there and she was nearly done feeding the horses. She just had to drop grain but she had an overwhelming feeling that something wasn’t right.

Tyler had been working on his truck, had gone in for a shower because he had oil and soot everywhere, and had come back out to help Georgia finish feeding the horses dinner. He’d assumed that was where she was when he didn’t find her in their bedroom or on the couch. Jake hadn’t noticed her step out either. When he walked into the barn, Georgia was standing frozen, looking down at the barn floor. Her water had broken and it was time.

“Gee? You okay?” Tyler placed a hand on her back, feeling her shaking.

“Tyler...we have to go to the hospital. Like now.” She said, glancing at him and he could see fear in her eyes, wide as she tried to breathe evenly.

“Wait why...oh..oh shit...baby's comin?” Tyler's eyes widened too and he took her hand and began to lead her to the front of the barn.

“Very much yes!” She exclaimed as they crossed the threshold of the barn.

“Got it hold on! I'll be back in a sec!” He said, letting her lean on the door frame. He called the dogs and swung the front door open, yelling to his brother.

“Jake! Start my truck! Gotta get to the hospital. Dogs! Inside!” Tyler yelled as he burst through the door, all six dogs bounding through the open space, nearly knocking him over in the process.

“Baby time?” Jake asked excitedly, leaping from the couch and grabbing his boots. Sam, who had been sitting next to him, got the dogs settled, and then grabbed her shoes as well.

“Baby time!” Tyler exclaimed, turning on his heels to go help Georgia the rest of the way to the truck. 

“Woohoo! I'm aboutta be an uncle! And you’re gonna be an aunt!” Jake hugged Sam, then kissed her hard, making her giggle as they headed out the door. Once they were all settled in the truck, they were off.

Tyler made the drive short, nearly getting pulled over, but the cop recognized them and knowing that Georgia was pregnant, realized why Tyler Owens, the Tornado Wrangler,  was speeding down Interstate 177. They took Georgia to a room immediately and got her prepped. Tyler helped her change into a hospital gown, his hands gentle as they then guided her into the open space of the room. Dr. Ginnie Halstead was going to be helping deliver, and she was the one they'd been seeing throughout all of their appointments, so they were comfortable with her. Then the waiting began.

Jake had made sure that the bag in the back of Tyler’s truck with everything that Georgia needed, including some extra clothes for them both, some of the onesies they’d gotten for Christmas, extra toiletries, and some snacks among other things, had made its way into the room. He and Sam were going to stay until Georgia was actively giving birth, then they would step out and let her and Tyler be with each other. 

“Tyler, this is too early.” Georgia said, as she paced back and forth. Her contractions were getting closer together, slowly but surely. 

“Doc said it’s fine. Everything’s been good so far. Sometimes they come a little early. We wanted this.” He said, finally sitting down after having followed her back and forth for the past thirty minutes. 

“I know but it feels too early .” She said softly, glancing over at Jake and Sam. They were curled on the small couch that was situated in the corner of the room. The room itself was nice, a little larger than a normal single bed, plenty of space to move around, a spot for the baby and a full bathroom with a shower. The lighting was softer than a normal hospital suite and it put Georgia at ease, slightly. 

“It feels too early because we were both freaking out about this like a month ago and now we're here. It’s actually happening.” Tyler said, reaching for her, stopping her. 

“Why are you so calm right now?” Georgia asked, pausing her pacing.

“Well one of us has to be and it sure as shit ain’t you. Respectfully darlin’, you’re supposed to be a little scared.” Tyler’s eyes were soft as he watched her from his seat on the bed. His hand lingered at her side and as soon as the next contraction came, she was off again, walking back and forth. She breathed in and out, slowly and carefully. They subsided and her eyes met his.

“You’re not scared?” She asked. Tyler stood, walking toward her slowly. He pulled her into his arms, his hands careful around her waist. 

“I’m terrified but I’m holding it together for you.” He admitted readily. This stirred Jake’s attention, just as Georgia began walking again. Even though Jake knew how to be with Sam, he was still taking notes from his brother. 

Several hours later, and lots of pacing, Georgia’s legs were starting to shake. She had been walking and pausing endlessly. She feared for when she needed to be still and that time was coming rapidly. Dr. Halstead had come in a few times to check on her and see how her pain was. They’d decided she was going to have an epidural as close as possible to when she needed to push, as sometimes the epidural could slow down the process.

Tyler had pulled her onto the bed, putting a halt to her pacing that was becoming slightly frantic. He situated her between his legs and began to massage her shoulders.

“Just breathe, mama. You got this.” He whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. She leaned back against him and grinned. He'd removed his boots so that he could be on the bed with her, so for the past hour or so he'd been sliding around in his socks.

“At least your feet don't stink.” She murmured, taking a deep breath as another contraction steamrolled over her. He felt her shudder as she grabbed for his legs and leaned forward. His lips turned up as they met the back of her neck. 

“No, darlin’ they don't.” He chuckled softly as the doctor came in to let them know that the anesthesiologist would be along shortly to administer her epidural, so Tyler would have to scoot out from behind her, but he took up until the last second that he could to stay there. He had taken to massaging down her back and her sides until he had to get up. He took a hold of one of her hands and gently pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Gettin’ about that time. You ready?” He asked. She nodded and squeezed his hand as she felt pressure at her back where the doctor positioned the needle and administered the medication. It only took about twenty minutes for Georgia to feel some relief. 

Sam and Jake elected to leave the room then. Jake shook his brother's hand, hugged him, and kissed Georgia gently on the top of her head. Sam hugged Tyler and she rubbed her hand up and down Georgia's arm a few times. 

“Good luck!” Jake said as he and Sam marched out of the room and headed to the waiting area. The doctor and another nurse came in and prepared everything for the next stage. Georgia grabbed for Tyler then, nearly crushing his hand.

“Tyler. Don't go anywhere. Please.” She said, her eyes darting to his. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. He knew she was scared shitless right now. 

“No need to worry. I'm gonna be right here the whole time. No matter what.” He said softly. He stood to the side of the bed, as close as he could to her, his arm around her shoulders. Their doctor smiled as her and the nurse readied everything they needed in the event of complications. They had discussed what could go wrong and what they would do if something did happen, but they were hoping for an easy birth. 

“If it will help and you're comfortable with it, Tyler can sit behind you like he was earlier. I find especially with first time mothers, the more encouraging their birth partner is, the smoother it goes.” The doctor explained and without hesitation, Georgia scooted forward so that he could climb in behind her again. He locked her in with his legs on either side of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her cheek, then rested the side of his head against hers. Georgia shifted uncomfortably, and Dr. Halstead reassured her that everything looked good so far.

“Okay, Georgia, you're gonna push on my count, ready? One, two, three, push!” Dr. Halstead's voice was calm but somehow excited. Georgia bared down, and as she did her grip on Tyler's thighs tightened. He'd probably have bruises there, but it would all be worth it in the end. 

At 3:01 AM, on February 28th, Jaycen Alexander Owens was born quietly, giving his parents the single most terrifying reason to hold their breaths...and a million reasons to finally let them out in relief. 

Jaycen didn't cry at first. Just like his father, the boy was reserved from the moment his eyes opened and took his first breath. Georgia feared for the worst, but in hearing her son's little whine, she was overcome with emotion. She was exhausted, panting, sweating bullets but she was so relieved and tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched the nurse take him and clean him up. 

Tyler was also crying. He wiped his tears on her shoulder as he waited for the nurse to bring their son to them. Now, it was all real. His dream had come true. After the nurse had dried him off, she wrapped Jaycen loosely in the blanket they brought, a sky blue one that was extra soft, and handed the little bundle to Georgia. She held him  gently to her chest, the first skin to skin contact sending a wave of happiness through her. He was slightly cooler than she'd anticipated, but Dr. Halstead reminded her that she just went through labor with nothing more than the epidural. Her body temperature and heart rate was up like she’d run a marathon from the incredible feat she’d accomplished.

Tyler stayed seated behind her and peered over her shoulder at the seven pounds, three ounces with sparse sandy brown hair atop his head. He looked tiny in Georgia's arms and Tyler was sure he'd look even smaller in his own. He reached around and ran a single finger over the soft hair on Jaycen's head. 

“That's our son, Gee. I'm so fuckin' proud of you, Peach.” He whispered, making her smile. She let out a sigh of relief as everyone else cleared the room. Dr. Halstead was going to let Jake and Sam know that Jaycen had arrived, but that Georgia needed to rest for a bit before they could go in and see her and the baby. The doctor gave Georgia a crash course on breastfeeding and helped her with the first time. When Jaycen took to it no problem, Dr. Halstead sighed.

“If only they could all be this easy!” She said and Tyler smirked.

“He’s an Owens. He’ll give us plenty of trouble later on.” He said and Dr. Halstead nodded. In order to make everything easiest for Georgia, they let her stay in the room she’d been in. As long as Jaycen remained healthy, they could take him home in the next couple of days, but for now, Tyler and Georgia would be staying there. 

After resting for a bit, Tyler asked Jake and Sam to enter the room. Jaycen was sleeping comfortably in Georgia’s arms so they were quiet. Jake actually cried. They were, of course, happy tears, congratulating his brother with a bear hug. Georgia offered for him to hold Jaycen and he readily accepted. Jake was so careful taking his nephew. Tyler, trying to not immediately be a helicopter parent in any sense of the word, left Jake to hold Jaycen, knowing his brother was more than responsible enough to hold a baby. Especially his own nephew. Sam was careful as she brushed her fingertips over Jaycen's little hairy head. She smiled wide and glanced up at Jake.

“You look pretty good with a baby in your arms.” She mused and Jake chuckled. 

“This is gonna be all I can think about, Sam.” He said softly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Over those couple of days, there had been an influx of people. Tyler and Jake’s parents were the first to show up, excited to meet their grandson with two legs. Then came all the Wranglers. Boone and Lily couldn’t wait to see the little bundle of joy. Javi came bearing gifts, some more clothes for Jaycen and he snuck away before Kate and Scott appeared. Kate was ecstatic, hugging Georgia and giving Tyler a punch on the arm. Scott was quiet and he simply congratulated them, but when Kate asked to hold Jaycen, it stirred something in Scott. Seeing the girl he’d developed feelings for with a baby in her arms, sent his mind to a far off place and he had no idea how to get his life there, or how to even begin the conversation he wanted to have with her. He wondered if it was even in his future. But that was all for another time. Dexter and Dani had popped in last, bringing some snacks for Tyler and Georgia and a little stuffed pony for Jaycen. 

Tyler and Georgia couldn’t wait to bring Jaycen home to meet the dogs and the horses. God knows especially Ducati would be waiting for him.

[tiramisuucakeee]

presenting ˙ . ꒷ 🍰 STRAWBERRY GIRL ᝰ.ᐟ fem reader. yjw.

@ ! CHAPTER ONE ( looked my way ). narrated fic.

cherry blossom petals twirled in the light morning wind, as students scrambled inside the high school, talking to their peers and meeting friends at the entrance.

jungwon stood on the street alone, a paper in his hand, with the directions towards his new high school. he was starting this last year in another city since his father had to move for work. of course it was going to be difficult not being with his old friends, but they had promised to meet in university later on in life.

though for that to happen, he would have to graduate high school first, and that will only happen if he was able to find it.

“ah, i think it was the other street,” he stopped in his tracks, looking back, and then around, confused about his whereabouts. he had taken a small shortcut, and now he was lost.

it was then when you appeared, walking down from the other street, recognizing his uniform, but not his face. he must be new and looking for the school. that was something that always happened since it was quite hidden in the block by trees.

“you’re a student right?” you spoke, as he turned to you, stunned. his eyes were wide, clearly not expecting to be surprised in this moment, as his face slightly flushed a pink tint.

you laughed light-heartedly at his reaction, as he nodded. “yes, i am yang jungwon,” he bowed quickly, nervous.

“l/n y/n, you definitely look new,” you commented, reciprocating his actions. he looked up, finally being able to meet her face.

it was as if pure sunshine had come down from the blue sky to greet him, you seemed so warm and inviting he was afraid to say or do something wrong in your presence. “yeah,” he breathed out, looking at you with admiration.

“yeah… you look new? or you are new?” you grinned.

“oh, uh- both?” he blinked.

“follow me. make sure you remember the way,” you murmured, slipping past him down the narrow street, your footsteps light against the worn pavement.

jungwon didn’t hesitate, before going after you, trying to make his mind picture the road, so he would get caught in a perchance like this. maybe, if it were you who found him, he wouldn’t mind.

the quiet between you two felt strange, but comforting, like something that was always meant to happen. when you reached the school, the bell’s chime echoed faintly in the distance, signaling the end of your small journey. but before you could steal another glance at him, your friend group appeared from nowhere, pulling you away as if they had been waiting for this exact moment.

“you’re almost late, what happened?” chaery asked, twirling her bag strap around her finger, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“i found a new student,” you explained, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear as you adjusted the strap of your own bag. “he looked lost, so i just showed him the way.”

your friends rolled their eyes, an expression of playful exasperation on their faces. they knew you too well, how you couldn’t help but talk to anyone who seemed lost or lonely. it wasn’t unusual for you to help a new student find their way or sit with someone who needed a friend. some people thought you did it out of pity, or because you had an excess of kindness to give. but in reality, it was just because you could. you didn’t need a reason beyond that.

and maybe because you read in a magazine that most people regret not doing things rather than doing things.

“hello y/n,” your seatmate greeted you as you sat down with a smile, making you do the same.

you noticed a small transparent bag with some treats inside in your table, and you turned skeptically to him. “kento did you leave this here?”

“me?” kento’s voice was light, casual, as he leaned back in his chair, hands tucked behind his head. “oh no, there was this... gloomy depressed-looking guy who came by earlier. started asking me about where you were, like i had any idea. then he dropped that on your table and just... left."

you frowned, looking at the bag again, your curiosity piqued.

“he might not even know it’s not february anymore,” kento chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “maybe he's a bit... late.”

"hey, don't be mean," you laughed, taking the small bag in your hands and carefully inspecting the assortment of chocolates inside. "they look handmade."

"look," kento said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes, pointing to the bottom of one of the treats. "there's a brand."

"oh," you blinked, a little surprised, "maybe they thought i'd like this brand, or maybe he has no cooking skills."

"you're way too good," kento rolled his eyes, flopping back in his chair, his voice a little too loud. "i can see why everyone loves you." he sighed dramatically. you frowned at him, shooting him a glance that clearly said, don't embarrass me. but he only grinned, clearly entertained by your reaction.

just then, the bell rang, and the classroom fell into a quick hush as the homeroom teacher stepped in, flanked by someone unfamiliar. both of them stood at the front of the class, drawing everyone's attention.

he started explaining how he was happy to spend another year with the class, how he was looking forward to teaching again, his voice light and warm as he spoke. then, he shifted, gesturing to the person behind him. "this is our new student," he said.

as you were about to glance up to get a better look at the new arrival, a soft sound caught your attention. a small folded piece of paper appeared on your desk, almost as if it had materialized out of nowhere. you glanced down at it, your curiosity piqued.

it read: ‘want to go to the mall later today? - kento’

you couldn’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, throwing him a quick, teasing look. he was acting completely normal, staring straight ahead at the teacher as if nothing had happened. ‘sure, let’s! - y/n’ and placed the note on his desk, hearing him open it and let out a hum of agreement.

just as you were about to refocus on the homeroom teacher, the bell rang again, signaling the end of the moment. the classroom erupted into movement as everyone stood up, eager to catch up with their friends before the next class began. the noise and bustle of students blocked your view of the front.

"hey, kento," you called, nudging your blond friend with a playful grin. "we should go to the pork bun shop after. i woke up with this strange craving..."

“are you pregnant?”

"i am going to pretend you didn't ask me that," you blinked, turning away to rummage through your bag for your math book, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck. “the words seem so weird coming from you.”

“it was just a joke, i know you always get weird cravings, if anything, your cravings are more like those of a toddler,” kento took your pencil case, rummaging through the interior to find a mechanical pencil for himself, already making your belongings a shared property.

he was one of your closest friends, someone you couldn’t imagine life without. you’d known him since kindergarten, when, with all the certainty of a five-year-old, he swore he would never leave your side. and while people often misunderstood the closeness of your friendship for a relationship, you didn't care about those rumors. you would never be afraid to admit that you’d cry your heart out if he ever left. and it wasn’t like you both haven’t sincerely tried to feel something for the other that wasn’t friendship love. but it was practically impossible for you both to feel that for the other.

the rest of the day went by in a breeze, and although the climate was still hot from summer vacations, you were glad to be back at school. it was strange, while many loathed going to school, you loved it. you loved seeing your friends, talking to everyone, having a routine, and the apple juice from the vending machine. if anything, you thought, you'd probably loathe the day when you’d have to leave all of this behind after graduation. but that was a future problem for another time. for now, you were content.

the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and you made your way to the bathroom, sending kento a quick message to let him know you’d meet him at the school’s entrance.

when you stepped inside the bathroom, a group of girls from the summer classes greeted you with bright smiles. they were quick to gush about how, despite the heat, your skin seemed to glow in a way that made them envious. you smiled, a little embarrassed, but grateful for the compliment. “thank you,” you said, your voice light. “we should hang out outside of school sometime, maybe go eat something sweet?”

they all agreed excitedly, chatting amongst themselves as they gathered their things to leave for the day, each girl heading off to her own plans. once the door closed behind them, the bathroom felt a little quieter, the buzz of conversation fading.

you let out a small breathy sigh, standing in front of the mirror to fix your appearance, checking it your hair wasn’t down, or else you will start feeling hot. taking a paper towel, you gently patted your face, making sure it wasn’t too shiny, giving yourself one last look in the mirror. satisfied with the little fix-up, you felt a bit more comfortable. you were ready to meet kento and head out to the mall and then the famous pork bun shop, your craving still lingering in the back of your mind.

you were a simple person, even to dumb things like cravings, someone who always vowed to stay true to what you wanted. it wasn’t complicated, and it didn’t require much thought. you were content with who you were and wanted, and that was enough for you. that was why sometimes you didn’t bother to clear up meaningless rumors about you, because even if you did talk with many, it was a small group of people who actually knew you.

you sent kento a message, letting him know you’d be there in three minutes. the school was pretty big for a high school, but after all, it was the only school in the area, and there were many families with kids who wanted to enroll them here. it wasn’t easy to pass the entrance exam, at least you’ve heard from newer students. speaking of new students... as you were walking down the hall on the second floor, you heard some voices through an open window, people talking.

“y/n?!”

“huh?” you stopped on your tracks, looking around, and then figured the voice came from below. “was that kento-“

“absolutely every girl i know is like obsessed with her, everyone wants to be her friend, even my younger sister, she’s crazy,” someone said. you blinked, feeling a blush creep up your neck at the comment. obsessed? you hadn’t thought of it that way. sure, some girls did approach you now and then, asking where you bought your clothes or what face products you used, but it wasn’t like they were obsessed. you were just one student in millions more. you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at how the situation was being framed. it was all so... exaggerated. so much for trying to have many friends.

you didn’t quite know why they seemed so interested, but it was never something that bothered you. still, hearing this, made you feel slightly self-conscious. was that really how people saw you?

“kai don’t say that, it sounds like she’s a celebrity,” someone replied.

“but it’s true, jun,” kai replied, “my sister is always listening to the music she recommends, shopping at the same shops she does, it’s like y/n completely replaced bahiyyih!”

"okay, i don't think that's y/n’s fault, that's your sister's fault," yeonjun chimed in, rolling his eyes as he glanced at the group. he was standing next to jungwon, who looked like a sheep surrounded by wolves. kai was bombarding him with endless questions, soobin was trying to play the role of the class president by wanting to meet the new kid, beomgyu was laughing at everything kai said, and taehyun was lounging under a nearby tree, questioning how his friends managed to handle the heat.

"anyway," kai continued, his grin widening, "what do you think about her?"

“about who?” jungwon blinked.

"about y/n," kai clarified. "is she as awesome as all the girls say she is or what?”. beomgyu smacked kai’s arm at the remark, which definitely sounded a bit more sarcastic than it should’ve.

jungwon thought for a moment, his mind tracing back to the meeting before school, to which you came to save and guide him to school, then, he remembered the way you’d laugh in class, light and effortless, even if you didn’t seem to notice him there. but he noticed you. he noticed how you answered every question the teacher asked, how you weren’t afraid to speak up for those too shy to ask their own questions. jungwon was extremely observant, perhaps more than he wanted to be. but there was something about you, something that made him want to know you better. not just by watching, but by talking to you.

"she is bright," he said, finally breaking the silence.

“bright? smart?”

"okay, stop asking him dumb questions, i wanna go home and you take forever," yeonjun sighed, shaking his head. "it’s starting to look like you’re the one obsessed with y/n, not your sister."

they kept joking for a few moments, before deciding to all walk to the entrance, not leaving a single second for jungwon to say the contrary. they started heading out, not before making fun of taehyun, who was still lazily sitting under the tree, as if the heat had already defeated him. you observed them quietly, leaning against the window, your eyes following the group as they moved further away. what was that all about?

bright. bright. it was the first time someone had described you like that, and it lingered in your mind. did he mean you were smart? or was it your smile, your eyes, your face? maybe it wasn’t even about your appearance at all. was it a compliment, or was it sarcastic? you found yourself wondering about it, trying to figure out which part of you he had seen. what did he mean by that?

as the group walked farther away, it was almost as if jungwon felt something shift in the air. his gaze flicked back in your direction, and for a split second, time seemed to slow. your eyes met from across the wide patio, even from that distance, and something passed between you in that instant. a strange, silent connection. he didn’t mind, not even for a second, that you had overheard their conversation. in fact, it almost seemed like he didn’t care at all.

for jungwon, it was as if he had just been seen for the first time, by someone whose gaze felt different, like bright eyes had captured him in a way no one else had. something about it made him want to say more, to give you a compliment, to let you know exactly what he thought of your small encounter, but for now, he stayed silent. deep down, he felt it. the undeniable feeling that this wasn’t just another passerby in his life. this was different.

and you felt it too. his words had made sense of everything you do, everything you are. in some seconds, he got to know you to perfection without even actually knowing you.

@ masterlist

# TAGLIST OPEN ! @sol3chu @tasnemluvs @enhypen-myworld @firstclassjaylee …

[mommyslittlebird]

If You Wanted to Stay

Married WandaNat x Reader

Summary: It’s been a confusing past 24 hours, and you have some decisions to make. Luckily, Wanda and Natasha are here to help.

CW: Homophobia, Moving, Guilt, Fluff, Still Slowly Burning, Still no Sex/Romance

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Three months of waiting but at least you needn’t wait for Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of A Room of Your Own

You woke up the next morning groggier than usual. You sat up as the events of the previous night came back to you. The fight in the dorms. The girl on the sidewalk. The woman who had come to rescue you.

The woman whose house you were currently in. You groaned and dramatically fell back onto the pillows. You turned to the nightstand to check your phone. Dead. Of course. Your charger was in your dorm room.

You finally rolled out of bed at the smell of coffee. In the morning light, the house was much more opulent than you recalled from last night. The bedroom was on a beautiful awning that overlooked the massive windows lined wall of the front door. You squinted your eyes as they took in the sunlight.

Making your way downstairs, you easily found the kitchen, as well as the woman leaning up against the kitchen counter. It wasn’t Natasha so you assumed it must be her wife, Wanda. She was taller than Natasha but just as lean, and just as absolutely jaw droppingly beautiful. She also had red hair, but much lighter than Natasha’s. More of a strawberry blonde. Her legs showed well defined muscle, and her thighs looked like…

“My my,” the woman tutted, interrupting your thoughts. You redden as you realized she caught you ogling over her thighs, which were hardly covered by her silk robe. “Nat wasn’t kidding when she said you were a cutie. Y/N, right?”

You nodded. “Miss Wanda, I assume?”

She nodded. “Y/N. I like that.” She added. “Is that my sweatshirt you’re wearing?” She smirked over the top of her coffee mug.

You flushed in embarrassment when you remembered that you were still in the sweatshirt you’d found on the bed last night.

The sweatshirt, and nothing else.

“It was… my other clothes were wet and-,” you attempted to explain.

“It’s okay. It looks absolutely darling on you. You can keep it, if you like,” she interrupted, trying to soothe your rising worries.

You frowned. You didn’t want to keep the sweatshirt because if you did, the comfy smell that all but lulled you to sleep last night would fade. Almost unconsciously, you raised your covered hands to your face, taking in the smell again. “No, it’s okay. You can keep it.”

Wanda smiled and chuckled. Whether you knew it or not, you weren’t one for subtly.

“Well good morning,” a raspy voice chimed from behind you. “You’re up early.” Natasha squeezed your shoulder and offered you a sleepy smile before approaching her wife.

God, she looked even more beautiful in the daylight.

She wrapped her arms around Wanda’s waist and leaned up against the counter next to her. Wanda gave her a quick peck on the forehead.

You looked at the clock above the stove. It wasn’t even 8am yet. You really had gotten up early. No wonder you’d been so entranced by the coffee smell. Natasha kissed Wanda on the cheek before drawing out two mugs from the cabinet and filling them with coffee. “Which kind of creamer do you like? We’ve got half and half or…” she picked up the bottle and read the label “peppermint oat?” She shot a teasing glance at her wife.

“Life is short and I want a caffeinated delicacy every morning,” Wanda retorted. “And dairy makes my stomach hurt.”

You chuckled. “I’m intrigued. I’ll take the oat.”

Wanda smirked, smugly crossing her arm while she took another sip of her coffee. “She has a sense of adventure.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, pouring the creamer into your cup before handing it to you. You let out a satisfied hum as you tasted the new flavor. Peppermint had always been a favorite of yours.

Natasha put the creamers away, then propped herself up on the kitchen island. “So, about last night,” she started, “do you wanna talk about it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, sinking into the oversized hoodie. “I wasn’t trying to make anyone uncomfortable.” Your eyes brimmed with tears just at the thought. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, determined not to cry.

Wanda set her coffee mug down and slid closer to you. “Oh honey,” she cooed, reaching out to squeeze your hand, “we know that. If I had to guess, they weren’t so much uncomfortable as they were straight up hateful. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You didn’t do anything wrong.

Your heart sunk. You’d felt so terribly guilty about the whole situation. You had tried so hard to make everyone comfortable. The idea that you’d failed… no, you had done worse than fail. They saw you as a predator. Your skin crawled with disgust and shame.

“I made them scared, but I promise I wasn’t trying to. I’m not like that, I promise.” You wanted to shrink back and disappear. Then you remembered this morning: walking into the kitchen and looking at Wanda. The way she caught you staring at her exposed legs. Not to mention you were half naked after forgetting to put on pants before coming downstairs. Fuck. Maybe you were like that.

Natasha tore you from your thoughts with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “We believe you, sweetheart. Really. None of this is your fault. Why don’t we sit down and come up with a game plan.”

You simply nodded in response, joining them at the kitchen table. “I’ll head back to the dorms this afternoon. I have some friends off campus that I can probably crash with until I get things figured out. Thank you both for your hospitality last night. It really means a lot,” you finally said, taking a long drink of your coffee. As much as you typically loved to savor the drink, you figured the sooner you finished it the sooner you could get out of their hair.

Wanda and Natasha exchanged glances. Something akin to concern washed across their faces. Natasha hadn’t even turned back to face you before saying “I think Wanda and I would prefer if you’d let us go with you…”

“Strongly prefer,” Wanda corrected, finally looking back at you. “After how harshly you’ve been treated, I don’t think you need to be going back all by yourself.”

You stuttered, trying to think of a rebuttal, a reason you’d be fine on your own. Unfortunately the panic you’d just recovered from wasn’t helping your case. Clearly you weren’t fine. “It’s really okay. There’s only a couple boxes, most of the stuff never even got unpacked…”

“Then we’ll make quick work of it. Together.” Wanda interrupted. She put her coffee mug a little harder than necessary, pursing her lips with finality.

Natasha chuckled. “It appears my wife has made up her mind. Good luck changing it now.”

You flushed, hiding your face in the hoodie once again. You weren’t so bothered by the thought of the women helping you move out of the dorm, but finding a place to put your things was another matter entirely. You hadn’t lived anywhere but the dorms for years. Maybe they’d settled for just moving the stuff to your car? You doubted it. You pulled anxiously at the collar of the hoodie.

Wanda gave you a sympathetic look and reached across the table for your hand. “It’s going to be okay, honey. We’re going to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Your bottom lip quivered. You had never been keen on asking for help. You had always hated feeling like any sort of inconvenience. But something about Wanda’s soft smile and green eyes made you feel different. You believed her. Before you could think any better of it you whispered “I have nowhere else to go.”

It was Natasha who spoke this time. “Oh honey, that room upstairs is yours for as long as you need it. I mean it, Wands and I would enjoy the company.”

You considered your options. You could couch surf again, like you’d done in the months before college, but it’s not like you’d be any less inconvenient on a punk squat couch with 20 people already living there. You’d run away from opportunities like this before, robbing yourself of others' kindness just because you didn’t feel like you deserved it. You took a deep breath. Whether you deserved it or not, this wasn’t worth running away from. “I have one condition,” you stated seriously. You weren’t in the position to be the one making requests, but there was one absolute necessity you needed from both of them.

Both women nodded, looking at you attentively. Hope gleaned in their eyes in a way you didn’t recognize.

“If I’ve stayed too long, or it’s just become burdensome, or anything, anything at all happens and I become an inconvenience to you, you will tell me.”

They both soften, seemingly unaffected by your request. Wanda even chuckled briefly. “Darling, you aren’t going to become a burden, we assure you,” she soothed.

Your hardened stare didn’t soften. You felt no relief in her words. You squeezed Wanda’s hand that still held yours. “Promise. Me. Promise me you will tell me,” you demanded. With a whispered desperation you added “please.” This wasn’t going to be negotiable for you. You needed to hear them say it.

They both looked at you with a renewed seriousness. Natasha nodded. “We promise.”

Your grip on Wanda’s hand loosened. Then Natasha put her hand on top of yours and Wanda’s. She raised it and cheered like you had put your hands in a circle before a sports game. You and Wanda both soften, chuckling at the older woman’s attempt to lighten the mood.

“Okay team, let’s suit up and get those boxes out of that dorm room before those college girls wake up at noon,” Natasha said, hopping out of her seat and kissing her wife on the top of the head. “Y/N, I left some clothes and a toothbrush in your bathroom. Be ready in 20.”

************

Packing up your dorm had been as delightfully uneventful as you could’ve hoped. Natasha had been correct, most of the girls on your floor were still asleep. The hall was entirely void of people. Your previous roommates had already packed up their things, so all that remained was two bare college beds.

True to your word, packing took no time at all. Between your car and Natasha’s, it wasn’t even going to take a second trip. You had to turn down Wanda’s offer to ride back with you for directions several times, insisting you could use your GPS. In reality though, you were a bit embarrassed by the thought of Wanda being in your old junker car. There was a notable hole in the floorboard of the passenger side. She would’ve had to tuck her feet up to ensure they didn’t fall through..

You waved goodbye as they pulled off in Natasha’s Mustang. Once you were sure they were gone you dug into one of the boxes Wanda had packed, pulling your teddy bear from the top. It had been tradition that everytime you moved, even if it was just dorms, he would be your copilot on your way to your new home. You carefully buckled the seatbelt over him, hopping in the driver’s seat and driving to your temporary new home.

When you arrived, Natasha and Wanda were already busying themselves with unloading the car. Natasha laughed when you got out of the car. “I’m surprised that thing still moves!” she teased, referring to your very old, very busted car.

You smiled and cautiously tapped the hood. “Cheese Louise runs just fine, thank you,” you retorted.

This time it was Wanda who burst into laughter. “Your car’s name is Cheese Louise?”

“Well…” you gestured dramatically towards the car. It was one of the single most unattractive vehicles you’d ever seen. It was just a shade brighter than mustard yellow, and the whole thing was chocked full of holes that had since rusted into larger holes. You didn’t know what the holes were from. They’d already been there when you bought the car. The radio didn’t work, and neither did the AC. But it was your first car and you had grown rather fond of it over the years. “It’s fitting.”

Wanda shrugged, popping one of the backdoors open to help unload. You expected to be unloading the cars into the garage, just as storage until you found another place to stay. To your surprise, the women were actually bringing the boxes inside.

You attempted to correct them, but Wanda tilted her head in confusion. “We can keep it out here if you’d prefer but we were actually kinda hoping you’d let us make your room more… yours.” She could tell by the expression on your face you were unsure, so she reached out her hand and grabbed yours. “Come on, let us give it a shot.” She winked and squeezed your hand before pulling you upstairs.

********

The rest of the afternoon was spent unpacking all of your things into the large bedroom and around the house. You were surprised by how pleasant it all was. You had never found any joy in moving and packing and unpacking, but it was different this time around. You simply found the company enjoyable.

Natasha had unpacked a speaker, insisting you put on some decorating music. Unsure of what to play, you picked a playlist you had made years ago to listen to when you rode in the car with your mother. It was essentially just old hits and a mix of some more modern pop music. The playlist was honestly kind of a mess, but it was still reliably enjoyable. You collapsed onto the bed with laughter as you watched Natasha teasingly attempt to grope her wife, to “Love Shack” by the B-52’s. Wanda rolled her eyes and continued with her decorating before giving in towards the end of the song.

Wanda seemed to really be in her element as well. Despite her complete lack of interest in the “Legend of Zelda” posters she was hanging, she really had a knack for being able to cohesively visualize the room. You beamed with delight as she unveiled a giant poster from the galleria borghese and asked if she could hang it in her office downstairs. You happily agreed. The poster was from an ex who’d taken a trip to Rome one winter, but it was so beautiful you’d kept it anyway.

Natasha stripped the blankets off the california king bed and replaced them with the blankets you’d brought. You had insisted you were fine with the blankets they already had, but after watching you wrap yourself in your favorite throw and rub your face comfortingly against the soft material, Wanda insisted otherwise. You really did love your blankets.

By the time dinnertime rolled around, you were all collapsed against the large mattress. Natasha starfished out all her limbs and Wanda curled up into her side. You laid on your back with your hands folded against your chest. You had an inexplicable urge to curl up with them. You had only met them yesterday and yet you felt drawn to them. You couldn’t remember the last time that being around people had been so easy. So often you found yourself quickly exhausted or at a loss for words, but you hadn’t felt that at all today. The panic from this morning seemed a distant memory.

“Where’s the bear?” Wanda asked, peeking her head up to scan the bed.

Your face flushed. “What?” you asked. You hoped if you played dumb, she might drop the issue. You wondered how she even remembered such a small detail from helping you pack, but you guessed that a college student having one single stuffed animal must have stood out.

“I packed a stuffed bear from the dorms. Was it not in any of the boxes?” Wanda corrected. She genuinely looked a little worried. You weren’t going to be able to wiggle out of this so easily.

“Oh yeah, he must’ve fallen out in the car. I’ll check in the morning,” you said as nonchalantly as you could. You’d be humiliated if she found out how important that bear was to you. You knew you were too old for it to be such a source of comfort. It wasn’t even a comfort from childhood. You had never kept stuffed animals growing up. You’d just picked him up around two years ago when your therapist had recommended a trip to Build-a-Bear to “heal your inner child” or something. His importance had grown by accident. Still, the idea of either woman learning of him was nauseating.

Wanda finally shrugged, seeming pleased enough with your answer.

It wasn’t until later that night, after you’d already fallen asleep, she decided to check for herself. She tucked the bear carefully under your arm, cautious not to wake you up. “I found him. Sweet dreams you two.”

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 36

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 2,430

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THAT'S F'D UP MAN

...Bucky used to have this image in his head - one of a worn-down but cozy house located somewhere far from any crowded city, at the end of an obscure dirt road that winds through country fields and hilltops.

It was one of those old white homesteads with withered color and creaking floors boards he'd promise to fix up someday, but only after the door that hangs off its hinges, letting in all the warm summer air. There would be this brown porch with a swing and hand-carved balusters - the perfect spot to sit during late evenings while watching the sun set over a freshly harvested field. The songs sung by chirping crickets and croaking toads could lull anyone asleep.

Come the holiday season, there would be a shift in peace. The entire property would transform into a winter wonderland disrupted by tiny boot prints, snow angles, and snowmen. The halls would almost always smell of some sweet treat, and the rooms would be lively with the added addition of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins - so many cousins.

It was a vivid image for the longest time. His sisters fussing about in the kitchen, his parents and in-laws sharing stories by a fire, a handful of rambunctious children counting boxes under the tree...and a lovely wife at the center of it all.

Your entrance would be grand as you'd gracefully step down the stairs to greet guests. You'd wear this beautiful long green skirt and white blouse with a Christmas pin tacked to the front, your hair curled and pinned back after much effort that morning. The silver on your finger would catch the light perfectly as you accept your husband's hand, allowing him to guide you through those last few steps of your descent, right into his lips so that he can steal a quick kiss before anyone else can divide your attention.

...But this was only ever an image -a simple dream to keep him going during the war. Some of the other guys would fantasize about finding ‘the one’. Not Bucky. He already had a gal, and he already had a ring, too. All he needed was that worn-down but cozy house located somewhere far from any crowded city…

He'd be lying to say he hasn't still thought about it, even all these years later, however it can't exactly be called a hopeful dream anymore - not when it feels so unattainable. Now he's only reminded about all those promises he can't make, the quiet sunsets you'd never get to see together, all the holidays neither of you will celebrate. He already had the gal, but he lost her...Now he only has a ring.

It's become an annoying habit for Bucky to reach into his pocket to twirl the cold metal around his fingers. If in private, he'll even find the strength to take it into his hand and observe it closely, desperate to remember how it came to be. Did he see it in a store window once? Was it similar to something his mom or grandmother wore? What made him so sure you'd say 'yes' to this and not a more impressive diamond? …And does it even matter?

You left. You’re gone. At long last, you’ve turned your back to him, giving up just as you should've a long time ago. He should be happy. This is exactly what he wanted, isn’t it - The reason why he gave you the cold shoulder, practically ripping out your heart and stomping on it for good measure despite everything you've sacrificed to be by his side.

Without him in your life - without you constantly feeling the need to run to his side or concern yourself with his self-destructive tendencies - you'll be able to move on. You'll find an amazing partner who will treat you right and keep you safe; someone who won't put a target on your head or risk losing control of themselves and harming you.

With them, you'll be able to live a long, happy life this time around. You’ll be able to take full advantage of your miraculous reincarnation by enjoying all the wonders stolen from you in the past. They'll be there to carry you inside your dream home, to be your warm shoulder during chilly evenings, or the hand you take at the bottom of the stairs, all the while showering you with all the love you're deserving of...

"Bucky, I have loved you ever since I could remember who I used to be. Every second we've spent together - Everything I've ever done and said - It was never an act, it's always been me."

He tries to drown it out, squeezing his eyes shut with his hand clenching around the ring, yet your sorrowful voice is all he can hear.

"I've only ever wanted to see you be happy and doing well - that's my ultimate goal. While I'd like you to be that way with me - While I'd like to be happy together, if you don't -...If you don't see me as her then..."

...Damnit…What has he done?

"- Slacking on the job?"

Bucky startles all too easily, practically leaping in his own skin while stuffing the ring back into his pocket. It’s a rather suspicious reaction from someone found sitting completely isolated on the edge of a dock, however Sam’s nice enough to not draw attention to that - not immediately, at least.

"Relax. I bring refreshments," He instead takes some pride in being able to sneak up on the super soldier, smirking as he holds up two chilled bottles of beer. Passing one to Bucky, he invites himself to sit down and hang his legs over the water in a similar fashion, “‘least I could do in exchange for all your help today.”

“...Will it be enough to help your family out?” Bucky asks after a moment of silence. With ease, he flicks off the cap of his bottle before wordlessly reaching over and doing the same to Sam’s drink when the other man clearly struggles.

“This was only half the work,” Sam snorts before taking a drink, “It’ll still be an uphill battle from here, but once business takes off - which I’m optimistic it will - we’ll have a stable enough income to cover the rest of the repairs, maybe more, after all, most of what we did today is only a temporary fix…Of course, I’ll need to put in some hours of my own to help Sarah get to that point - assuming we ever get this Flag Smasher crap taken care of…

“I spoke to Joaquin,” He continues, dropping into a more serious note, “He’s been doing some digging on their movement since Latvia. Looks like they’ll be targeting the GRC conference next.”

“When’s that?”

“Two days.”

Bucky hums uncomfortably. He wants to say that doesn’t feel like enough time, but really, aren’t they already prepared? Sam has Steve’s shield. He’s been practicing with it nearly every spare second they haven’t been working on the boat - And isn’t half bad at it either. Paired with that new flight suit the Wakandans made for him, he should be able to hold his own against the Flag Smashers…Maybe it’s Bucky who isn’t prepared.

His mind doesn’t feel like it’s in the right place. Despite having put an end to John Walker’s shameful antics and making amends with the Wakandans by returning Zemo to their custody, he still feels distracted; anxious. In fact, he only half listens to Sam’s plan. The words about what Joanqin exactly said or their next course of action merely rumble against his ears as he fiddles mindlessly with his bottle and the precipitation that coats its glass. His thoughts are anywhere but on the mission.

“...Have you heard from (Y/n) at all?”

Sam suddenly jolts his bottle away from his mouth before he can even fully tilt it back. This causes a small wave of liquid to pour out which he manages to at least prevent from hitting his clothes thanks to the guard of his free hand, although he's only temporarily distracted by this inconvenience. His attention quickly sets upon Bucky through a glare, "Are you serious? You're really asking about them now after how you treated them for weeks?!"

To his surprise, Bucky doesn't attempt to argue nor does he show a single ounce of offense. Instead, he bows his head in shame while redirecting his gaze out to the sea, "I know. I'm an asshole."

"...Then why?" Sam gives an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head, "I really don't get it. You have someone who cares about you enough to literally be reborn remembering you, yet you threw them aside despite clearly loving them back - and don't give me that bullshit ‘I don’t’ excuse. Everyone can see it. I see it. Sharon saw it. Hell, even Zemo made his comments, so why? Why play this stupid game, treating them like shit which makes you both miserable as all hell when you could just be together already? When you could both just be happy?"

"It's not that simple...They could do better," There’s a brief pause where neither of them say a word, however there’s a thick judgment in the air as Sam stares daggers into the side of Bucky’s head, eventually forcing him to explain his point after a distressed sigh similar to Sam’s previous one.

"...I'm scared...I'm scared that if I let myself love them again, I'm going to end up losing them again. I'm the reason Hollie's dead. I'm the one who killed her regardless of what she or anyone else says. I’m the one who pulled that trigger.

"And - And I know the Winter Soldier is gone. I know I ended that nightmare - That it’s supposed to be over and done with, but even if that’s true, it doesn't mean that part of my past is erased! At any given moment, someone from that past could show up. They could come looking for me - Looking for revenge, and God forbid Hollie gets wrapped up in the consequences. She already has been with all this damn super soldier serum crap and look what happened! She could’ve been killed back there! One wrong move and it would’ve been her instead of Lamar.

“...I -...I can't lose her again, Sam…” Bucky’s free hand rips through his hair, gripping at strands as he lets out a stammered breath that’s barely choking back a sob, “Fuck, I can't live with that all over again. (Y/n) was the only reason I was able to the first time around. I can’t do it without either of them..."

Sam frowns, wordlessly watching his friend’s breakdown in quiet contemplation. He had a feeling that something like guilt would be Bucky’s motivation behind rejecting you. Seeing his reaction to your injury back in Latvia only seemed to confirm it, but this is much worse than he thought.

Returning his drink to his lips, he hesitates for a second before committing to a response, “...So you decided to avoid her, causing her all this heartbreak and stress in the moment to avoid the possibility - not even a guarantee, just a possibility that she could get hurt in the future if she keeps associating with you?"

"...She already wasted a life on me. I thought that if I could push her away - If I didn’t give her a choice in being together, maybe even make her hate me and leave on her own - that she'd be able to move onto better things. Find someone who could actually give her what she de -"

"- That's fucked up, man," Sam remarks harshly while finally taking that sip of his beer.

Bucky groans at the lack of sympathy he receives, however he voices no arguments for his own defense. Instead he takes full responsibility for his actions, dropping his head into his hand in defeat. Sam’s right. It is fucked up of him. He’s a complete asshole and his ‘buddy’ doesn’t stop himself from rubbing it in further:

“You know, there are guys out there who would kill just to have a girl look at them once with the amount of love and respect as they did you. You had a girl who was so whipped for your sorry ass that she chased you around through not just one, but two lifetimes, yet instead of considering yourself lucky, you decided to punish the two of you for basically no reason…And I’m gonna take a wild guess in saying you never once told them any of this, did you?”

“You know what they’re like, Sam. If I told them the truth, they’d just find all the more reason to hold on tighter and dig their feet into the ground…There’d be no convincing them to leave even if for their own good.”

Sam snorts, "Yeah, you're probably right about that. It seems that Stark stubbornness is strong enough to bleed into different lives…but you know, stubbornness like that isn’t always a bad thing. It just goes to show how much you mean to them and how much they're willing to fight for you.

“...I think you need to just be honest with them. Don’t you think you at least owe them that? I mean, in your own scrambled logic, they’ve already sacrificed a lot for you, right? Might as well pay back some of that debt by facing them like a man and saying what’s on your mind. Otherwise they’re just gonna go on thinking that they were somehow the issue while you’ll be left moping around in self pity with no resolution in sight for all this drama you created.”

Bucky huffs at Sam’s pointed blame, although he does still contemplate his advice. You probably hate him by now - No, you definitely hate him after the way he’s been treating you. Would you even care to give him the time of day to explain things? You’ve already tried that to no anvil. It’s a little too late to apologize, but like Sam said, if he doesn’t, will this feeling of guilt ever go away?

Sam sighs again, this time setting his bottle down on the dock with a 'clink' before standing up, "...Tell you what: you can stay at my sister's house with us for the night. In the morning, I'll make a big o' breakfast which you'll use as fuel to get your ass to (Y/n)'s place where you'll both talk things out like the grown adults that you are...Deal?"

Bucky rotates his grip on his bottle, glancing through the corner of his eyes at the hand Sam holds out towards him before at last taking it, "...Deal."

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