#apply for other jobs so that I can find a full time job again

[once-a-traya]

i've been thinking a lot about the way kingdom come: deliverance ii structures its romances. it's interesting, in the sense that they all feel bespoke - short fling or long term or in-between, there's no hard and fast system that applies to all characters. most games with romances stick to a rhythm: you have the initial flirtation options, then there's a companion quest (or multiple companion quests), then you are 'locked in', and finally you get a scene at the end.

anyway, spoilers under the cut.

the romance with katherine is the closest to that model. which makes sense! she's a traumatized person who needs to be convinced henry is reliable, and she also doesn't know him, so the flirting is apt. it stretches across the entire game, because trust-building takes time and action (sidequests), and much like the romance with hans, a lot of the 'romance' moments hinge on non-romance moments you have with her throughout the story. romance in this game is part of a continuum of human interactions; it's something you can lean into if you want, not a reward toggle.

rosa's romance lasts while rosa is plot-relevant, and is contingent on you flirting with her and giving her the feeling that she and her capabilities are respected. you have to spend time with her and back her up, basically. then there's the various flings, which are all context-dependent. and theresa, which is technically a full-blown romance even if she's only on-screen for five seconds, because henry makes it a romance by bringing her up and speaking of their time together - in that version of the story, she's often on his mind. (but, like the other romances, you have to actively bring her up in the epilogue yourself; the game doesn't hand you "here's your reward romance content")

which leaves us with some interesting implications re: hans and henry. there are, as far as i've been able to find, five heart-icon dialogue interactions between them in the game, one of which is The Big Scene. none of the four romance dialogue options before that are flirty. the flirting happens outside of that, in all the non-romance sections, in ways that can be brushed off as bros-being-bros if you're into that. in fact i'd say most of the development that makes the romance possible happens in the non-romance sections.

the romance choices just let you lean in a little further.

the first romance dialogue comes at the midway point; it's hans apologizing for being a dick and henry can then respond to say it's fine, hans can always rely on him no matter how he behaves, he's the closest friend henry has. the second comes at maleshov, right after henry has staged an elaborate rescue for hans, and it's about henry reassuring a panicking hans that he will always be there for him and they can handle any situation together. the third romance dialogue comes halfway through the italian job and is missable - it's henry telling hans he's missed spending time with him, and repeating that when hans tries to joke it off as a 'yes we should go wenching again soon' kind of deal. finally, the fourth is shortly afterward, with henry worried about hans's claustrophobia, and stating, 'I care about you. maybe more than you know.'

hans brushes all of these things off, it seems like, but then by the Big Scene it's obvious he's been thinking about them a lot. and then hans is the one who makes a move, not henry (though you have to pick the option to trigger it). notably, even if you end the romance scene early by leaving or fumbling the moment, hans makes it clear he thought henry had feelings for him.

so if the difference between non-romanced and romanced katherine is flirting + her feeling she can trust and rely on henry, and the difference between non-romanced and romanced rosa is flirting + her feeling respected by henry, what's the difference between non-romanced and romanced hans? well. it's henry being earnest about his feelings, and going out of his way to make it clear that he cares about and values hans above everything else.

and that, maybe, in this time of extreme trial, he's safe to make this move on.

the extended implication of that is that hans had romantic feelings for henry all along, of some sort or another. he just doesn't address them in a non-romanced path because he doesn't feel confident to abandon plausible deniability and leave the safe, charged ambiguity between him and henry. not outwardly. possibly also not inwardly.

anyway, it's interesting. it also means that the entire game is technically the hans/henry romance arc. and i think that's neat.

[obsessedobsesser]

If you know someone who is in the job search market, give them a hug.

It’s so hard right now.

You can have the experience, education, proper resume and still either get ghosted, rejected, or led on.

It’s all a game right now.

[inkskinned]

it's easier to apply for jobs than ever! so what if you lost your insurance, anyone can get a job these days, even without meds. everyone is hiring! there's a "good employee" shortage!

well you just need to revamp your resume, here's a paid app subscription that can read it for you. rewrite the cover letter they won't read. google jobs in my area and then scrawl through Monster/Indeed/worbly. did you want to save the search? this was posted 98 days ago. over 1 billion applicants! this position is trending.

jobs i actively like doing and get paid for. your search returned no results. easy-apply with HireSpin! easy apply with SparkFire! easy apply with PenisFlash! with a few short clicks, get your information stolen.

watch out! the first 98 links on google are actually scams! they're false postings. oopsie. that business isn't even hiring. that other one is closed permanently. find one that looks halfway legit, google the company and the word "careers". go to their page. scroll past brightly-lit diversity stock photo JOIN US white sans serif. we are a unique, fresh, client-focused stock value capitalism. we are committed to excellence and selling your soul on ebay. we are DRIVEN with POWER to INNOVATE our greed. yippee! our company has big values of divisive decision making, sucking our dicks, and hating work-life balances. our values are to piss in your mouth. sign here and tell us if you have gender issues so we can get ahead of the sexual harassment claim. are you hispanic although let's be real we threw out the resume when we saw your last name.

sign up to LinkHub to access updates from this company. make a HirePlus account to apply. download the PoundLink app. your account has been created, click the link we sent you in 15 minutes. upload that resume. we didn't read the resume, manually fill in the lines now. what is your expected pay grade. oh actually we want hungry people, not people driven by a salary. cut a zero off that number, buddy, this is about opportunity, and we need to be thrifty. highest level of education. autofill is glitching. here is an AI generated set of questions. what is your favorite part of our sexy, sexy company. how do you resolve conflict. will you get our company logo tattooed on your person. warning: while our CEO is guilty of wage theft, we will absolutely refuse to hire a nonviolent felon.

thank you for your interest at WEEBLIX. we actually already filled this position internally. we actually never had that posting. we actually needed you to have 9 years of experience and since you have 10 years we think it might be too many? we'll be texting you. we'll email you. we'll keep your resume. definitely absolutely we won't just completely ignore you. look at your phone, there's already a spam text from Bethany@stealyouridentity. they're hiring!

wait, did you get an interview? well that's special, aren't you lucky. out of 910 jobs you applied to, one answered, finally. and funny story! actually the position isn't exactly as advertised, we are looking for someone curious and dedicated. it's sort of more managerial. no, the pay doesn't change - you won't have any leadership title. now take this 90 minute assessment. in order to be a dog groomer, we need you to explain cell biology. in order to be a copyeditor, write a tiny dissertation about the dwindling supply of helium on the planet. answer our riddles three. great job! we just need to push this up to Tracy in HR who will send it to Rodney who is actually in charge. and then of course it's jay's decision and then greg will need to see you naked and if you survive you'll be given a drug test and a full anal examination.

and of course you'll be hungry this whole time, aren't you, months and months of the same shit. months of no insurance, no meds, no funding, barely able to afford the internet and the phone and the rent - all things you need in order to even apply for our thing. but do it again! do it again and again and again, until you flip inside out and turn into a being of pure dread!

you're not hired yet because you're lazy. there's over one million AI-generated hallucinated jobs in your area. don't worry. with zipruiter, hiring and firing is easier than ever. sign up. stay on-call.

in the meantime, little peon - why don't you just fucking suffer.

[goldfades]

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me | joe burrow⁹ (part two)

part one!!! | here are the people who commented for a part two on part one @rd14

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.9k (oops... sorry)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had spent months apart, each of you learning to live without the other.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧��𝐬 | lots and lots of angst!!! joe finding a new gf, hoe joe 🤗🤗🤗 BUT A HAPPY ENDINGGGG!!! YIPEEEE!!!

Seven months.

It didn’t sound like a long time, not really. Less than a year. Barely two seasons. Just over half of what used to be a full calendar with him—training camps, game days, off-seasons that blurred together with vacations and quiet mornings in bed.

But in reality, it had been everything.

Seven months since you had packed up the life you built and left Cincinnati behind. Seven months of unlearning the habits of loving Joe Burrow, of waking up without him, of forcing yourself to stop expecting a text that never came. Seven months of figuring out who you were outside of being his.

And now, just when you had finally settled into this new version of yourself, life was pulling you back.

Back to Cincinnati. Back to the city that still had pieces of you scattered all over it. Back to him.

It wasn’t about Joe.

You had spent months proving that to yourself, and you weren’t about to start unraveling now. This was about you.

About the job offer that had landed in your inbox three weeks ago, the kind of offer people in sports media fought years for—an on-air analyst role with The Ringer, covering the NFL, sitting at the same table as some of the most respected voices in the industry.

It was the dream. Your dream.

And you weren’t about to say no just because it happened to be in the same city where the ghost of your old life still lingered.

So, for the first time in months, you packed your bags for yourself. Not for a man. Not for a relationship.

For you.

But still, as you stared at your suitcases lined up by the door, heart pounding just a little harder than you wanted to admit, one thought lingered in the back of your mind:

What happens when he sees you again?

--

Joe spent the summer in places that never felt like home.

Hotel rooms, penthouses, beach houses that weren’t his—always someone else’s space, someone else’s idea of a good time. The kind of places that smelled like overpriced perfume, spilled liquor, and bad decisions.

And for a while, that was the point.

His teammates told him this was what life was supposed to be like.

“You’re 27, bro. You should be living.” “You’re Joe fucking Burrow. Act like it.” “Man, you wasted all your good years locked down.”

That last one made his stomach twist. Because it didn’t feel wasted.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he let them drag him to Miami, to Vegas, to private clubs where the rules didn’t apply to men like them. He let women press into him, let them murmur in his ear, let them take his hand and lead him places he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

Because that was the goal, wasn’t it?

To fill the silence. To drown out the memories. To stop thinking about you.

So, he drank.

Not recklessly—never sloppily—but just enough to take the edge off. Enough to let the vodka burn its way through his chest and dull the parts of him that still felt too raw.

He spent the nights doing what everyone told him he should—wrapped up in women he barely knew, letting them touch him, letting them call him baby in a voice that never sounded quite right.

Sometimes, in the blur of it all, he almost let himself believe he was having fun.

But then morning would come. And he’d wake up in a bed that wasn’t his own, sheets tangled, a warm body beside him that felt wrong.

She would still be asleep, breathing slow and even, and Joe would stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of something he couldn’t name pressing down on his ribs. It was always the same.

He’d lie there, his head still heavy from the night before, and tell himself this was good for him.

This was healthy. He was moving on. He was living. He was making up for lost time.

But then she would shift beside him, mumble something sleepily, and for a split second, he would forget where he was. For a split second, his body would expect you.

His arm would twitch, muscle memory almost pulling him toward you—except it wasn’t you.

It never was. And in that moment, when the reality of it came crashing down, Joe had never felt more hollow.

So he would slip out of bed. Pull on his clothes. Leave before she woke up, before she could reach for him, before she could make him feel even emptier than he already did.

Then, like clockwork, his phone would light up with a text from one of the guys.

Round two tonight? Another night, another city, let’s run it. Burrow, we’re not letting you sit this one out.

And every time, he would hesitate. Every time, he would think about saying no. But then he’d think about what saying no meant.

Silence. Loneliness.

A bed that really felt empty. And worst of all—thoughts of you.

So instead, he would type out the same thing he always did. I’m in.

And just like that, another night would begin. Another night of pretending. Another night of trying to convince himself that this was good for him.

That this was better than thinking about the one person who used to make him feel whole.

And the beginning of the season was always theirs.

It had been for years.

It was the one time of year where the entire world faded into the background—where it was just the two of them, preparing for battle in the way only they knew how. Training camp, preseason, the long, grueling days where his body ached and his mind buzzed with too much information—none of it ever felt as heavy when you were there.

Because you had made it easier. You always knew what he needed before he even had to ask.

You knew how to blend his smoothies just right—protein-packed but never too thick, not too sweet, not too chalky, just enough banana to hide the bitterness of the greens he hated but needed. You knew how many calories he needed to maintain weight, which meals gave him the best energy, when he needed something light and when he needed something hearty. You knew when he was too sore to get off the couch, and you’d already have an ice pack in one hand and a heating pad in the other.

You knew him. And now, you were gone.

Preseason was hell. Not just because of the training, not just because every muscle in his body burned by the time he got home, not just because he was still trying to prove he was fully back from the injury—but because this was the first time he was doing it without you.

For the past seven years, the start of the season had always meant you.

It meant waking up to you shaking him gently, telling him his morning shake was ready, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before he even opened his eyes. It meant coming home to meals that were already planned, already balanced, already exactly what his body needed to recover. It meant you running through the nutrition plan with him, tweaking it when necessary, doing the math so he didn’t have to think about it.

It meant structure. It meant routine. It meant you making sure he was okay, even when he was too stubborn to admit when he wasn’t.

Now, none of it was there. And he felt it more than ever.

--

The moment he walked into his house after practice, exhaustion hit him like a brick wall. His body was done—his legs sore, his back aching, his head pounding. All he wanted was to throw his bag down, take a shower, eat, and crash.

But instead, he just stood there. Because for the first time, he realized how much there was to do.

You weren’t there to remind him to drink his recovery shake. You weren’t there to make sure the fridge was stocked with what he needed. You weren’t there to have a meal ready so he didn’t have to think about it.

And fuck, he had never thought about it. Not once. Because you had always done it.

Joe sighed, rolling his shoulders, heading into the kitchen. The fridge door swung open with an empty, lifeless hum, and his stomach sank at the sight.

Nothing was prepped.

There were random ingredients, sure. Leftover takeout. Some eggs, maybe. A couple of protein bars shoved in the back. But nothing was ready. Nothing was measured, planned, easy.

And that’s when it really hit him.

You weren’t just gone. You had been holding his life together.

He shut the fridge, pressing his hands against the counter, breathing heavily through his nose. His head felt too full and too empty at the same time.

For years, he had been able to come home, sit down, and just be.

Now? Now he had to do everything himself.

Now, he had to think about what to eat, had to plan it, had to cook it. He had to wash the dishes after instead of finding them already cleaned. He had to remind himself to stretch properly, to ice his ankle, to foam roll before bed.

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it.

It was just that he had never had to before.

Because you had done it all. Because you had loved him enough to do it all. And he—

Joe exhaled sharply, shaking his head like that could make the thoughts disappear. Like it could make the guilt settle.

But it didn’t. It never did.

So he grabbed a protein bar, ate it standing up, and stared at the empty kitchen like it was mocking him. Like it was reminding him of everything he lost.

--

The morning you left Columbus, the sky was overcast, the air thick with the kind of lingering summer heat that stuck to your skin. It felt heavy, suffocating, like the world itself knew this wasn’t an easy goodbye.

Your best friend stood by the trunk of your car, arms crossed, shifting her weight like she was trying not to say something sentimental that would make you both cry.

"You sure about this?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

No. Not even a little.

But you nodded anyway, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. You were sure—about the job, about the opportunity, about the fact that moving back to Cincinnati was the next step for you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified.

Because Cincinnati wasn’t just another city. It wasn’t just a place on the map.

It was his city.

It was where you had built a life with Joe, where every street held memories, where every turn would remind you of something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You took a deep breath, reaching down to scratch behind Larry’s ears as she sat in her carrier, blinking up at you with wide, judgmental eyes. “Guess it’s just us now, huh?”

Your best friend let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, well, if she could talk, she’d probably tell you this is a terrible idea.”

“She doesn’t need to talk. She’s been staring at me like I ruined her life since I put her in there.”

“Because you did ruin her life. She was thriving here.”

You sighed dramatically, crouching to peer into the crate. “I get it, Larry. You’re a city girl now. But you’ll be fine.”

She flicked her tail. You took that as reluctant acceptance.

Your best friend leaned in, her voice dropping. “For real, though. If it gets to be too much—if you get there and you feel like you can’t do it, like it’s swallowing you whole—you call me.”

You looked at her, something tight forming in your throat.

You had spent the last seven months healing in this apartment, in this city, with her. She had seen the worst of you—the nights you couldn’t sleep, the mornings you barely got out of bed, the moments when you swore you would never go back to Cincinnati, to that life, to the person you used to be.

But here you were.

And you weren’t sure if you were proving yourself right or setting yourself up to fail.

“Promise me,” she pressed.

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise.”

She exhaled, reaching forward to wrap you in a tight hug. “Go be great.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, held on a little longer than necessary, and then let go.

It was time.

--

The first hour of the drive was quiet.

Larry had settled into the passenger seat, eyes half-lidded in irritation but otherwise calm, curled up on the blanket you had thrown there. The GPS said you had just over an hour to go, and the closer you got, the more your heart pounded.

It was happening.

You were actually doing this.

You were going back.

You were going back to Cincinnati, to a city that used to feel like home, but no longer did.

Going back to the restaurants you used to love, the streets you used to walk, the stadium that still felt like an extension of Joe himself.

Going back to a version of yourself you had spent seven months trying to bury.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter.

This was a mistake.

Maybe you should turn around. Maybe this was too soon. Maybe you had done all this work just to unravel the second you saw him again—because you would see him again. That was inevitable.

You sucked in a breath, reaching for your phone, scrolling through your playlists with one hand until your thumb hovered over a title that made you pause.

"I Can Do It With a Broken Heart."

You hesitated.

Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit play.

The first beat kicked in, and the song filled the car, the steady rhythm drowning out the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head.

“I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day.”

You huffed out something that was half a laugh, half a scoff.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

You turned up the volume, tapping your fingers against the wheel as the song pulsed through the speakers.

You weren’t going to let this break you.

You weren’t going to let the fear win.

This was your life.

Not Joe’s.

Not the life you built for him.

Not the future you thought you had.

This was your fresh start.

So you sang along, let the music wash over you, let the lyrics be a reminder that you had already survived the worst part.

Now, you just had to keep going.

The first week passed in a haze.

It was the kind of week where you moved on autopilot, where you unpacked boxes without really thinking about it, where you got up early, dressed professionally, walked into work like you belonged there—even when people looked at you like you were some kind of open secret.

You knew what they were thinking.

Knew what they whispered when they thought you couldn’t hear.

That’s Joe Burrow’s ex. Didn’t she used to be at every Bengals event? Wonder if she got the job because of him…

You ignored it.

You ignored the careful glances, the way some of your co-workers hesitated before talking to you, like they weren’t sure whether to bring him up or pretend they didn’t know anything.

You weren’t Joe Burrow’s ex.

You were you.

And you belonged here.

You knew that.

So you held your head high, settled into the studio, studied film, took notes, prepared for your first on-air segment like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into your work, into the statistics, into the plays, into the debates about teams and formations and Super Bowl contenders.

And it helped.

For a little while.

But then you went home.

And that was when the silence hit you like a freight train.

Because this wasn’t Columbus, where your best friend was always there to fill the quiet. Where you could crash on the couch and vent about your day. Where you could talk about Joe without every conversation feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest.

This was alone.

For the first time since the breakup, you were truly alone.

And God, it was loud.

The absence of Joe wasn’t just in the city itself—it was in the routine, in the things you used to do without even realizing they were because of him.

Like how you still woke up too early, your body trained to match his schedule, expecting to hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, making coffee before heading to the facility.

Except now, the kitchen was silent.

Like how you caught yourself walking toward the fridge with the muscle memory of preparing his post-practice meal—only to stop halfway when you remembered he wasn’t coming home.

Like how you reached for your phone when the Bengals played their first preseason game, fingers hovering over Joe’s contact, because for years, your first instinct was to text him after every game.

But there was nothing to say.

And maybe the worst part?

You weren’t just missing Joe.

You were missing the you that existed when you were with him.

The version of yourself that felt certain—who knew her place in the world, who belonged somewhere, who mattered to someone.

You had spent months finding yourself again, carving out your own identity, telling yourself that you didn’t need him to be whole.

But now, back in Cincinnati, back in the place where he existed so loudly—

You weren’t sure if you believed it anymore.

So you curled up on the couch, pulling Larry onto your lap, listening to the faint echoes of the city outside your window, and let the loneliness settle in.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just… empty.

And that, somehow, was worse.

--

The first game of the season was electric.

The stadium roared with life, packed with thousands of fans wearing his jersey, screaming his name, riding the high of the first Sunday of football like it was a holiday. The air was thick with anticipation, the adrenaline thrumming in his veins like a drug, the kind of high that made everything else fade into the background.

It was the kind of game where Joe felt alive.

Where every snap, every pass, every perfectly executed play made him feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Where he could silence the doubts, the guilt, the quiet gnawing ache that had followed him around since the summer.

By the time the final whistle blew, and the Bengals secured their first win of the season, he was buzzing.

His teammates clapped him on the back, Ja’Marr pulling him in with a grin, shouting something in his ear that was lost in the deafening noise of the stadium.

Joe was smiling. Laughing. Letting the moment consume him, letting it drown out everything else.

And then, out of instinct—out of years of routine—he turned to the stands.

He looked for you.

Because that’s what he always did.

After every win, his eyes found you first. No matter how crazy the stadium was, no matter how many cameras were flashing, no matter how loud the world got—he always, always found you.

You, standing there in the family section, wearing his jersey, waiting for him with that soft, knowing smile. You, with your hands cupped around your mouth, cheering louder than anyone else. You, who had been there since before all of this, since before the world knew his name, since before he was anything more than a college quarterback with big dreams.

You, who always made the wins feel real.

But tonight?

You weren’t there.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

The stands blurred, the celebration around him suddenly too loud, too suffocating.

Because of course you weren’t there.

You hadn’t been there for months.

And still, somehow, some way, he had forgotten.

For the first time in seven months, he had let himself exist in a space where you were still his. Where you were still waiting for him, still there at the end of it all, still his person.

But you weren’t.

You were gone.

And in your place, in the section where you used to stand, where you used to belong—

Was Katie.

His girlfriend.

She was standing there, blonde hair perfect, wearing a Bengals hoodie that was probably brand new, clapping politely as she smiled down at him.

Nice. Sweet. Pretty.

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

Because Katie wasn’t bad. She wasn’t anything, really. Just another part of the life he had built in your absence. Something easy, something light, something that should have made him feel better but didn’t.

Because she didn’t know him.

Not really.

Not like you did.

She didn’t know what to say to him after a loss. Didn’t know how he liked his breakfast in the mornings. Didn’t know the exact way he liked his shoulder massaged when the soreness became unbearable.

Didn’t know him like you did.

And for the first time since convincing himself this was what moving on looked like, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

A very, very big mistake.

His hands clenched into fists.

The celebration around him felt like static, like background noise in a life he wasn’t sure belonged to him anymore.

Because winning used to mean everything.

But tonight, standing in the middle of the field, looking up at the stands and seeing her instead of you—

He had never felt more hollow.

--

For the first couple of months back in Cincinnati, you told yourself you were thriving.

You said it like a mantra, like if you repeated it enough times, it would become real. You made new friends—real friends, not people who only saw you as Joe Burrow’s ex, not WAGs who looked at you with thinly veiled pity, not reporters who were too polite to ask what really happened.

They were normal. Kind. Fun. The kind of girls who made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, who invited you to wine nights and didn’t bring up Joe once. With them, you could pretend that Cincinnati wasn’t laced with ghosts of your old life. You could breathe.

You picked up new hobbies.

You took a pilates class, went to farmer’s markets on Sundays, tried baking even though you burned half the things you made. You started running again—not because Joe had told you once that he liked how focused you looked when you ran, but because you liked the way it made you feel.

You tried to redefine football as yours.

Not Joe’s.

Yours.

You threw yourself into your job, memorized rosters, studied plays, made sure you knew everything about the game so that when you sat in that studio, behind that microphone, no one could say you got this job because of him.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you really did feel like you were thriving.

But then, one afternoon, it all came crashing down.

—

It was a normal day at work. Normal segment. Normal conversation.

Until it wasn’t.

You were on air, talking through some Week 4 analysis, debating quarterback performances with your co-host, when he said it.

Casual. Offhand. Like it wasn’t about to shatter you completely.

"Well, I guess we can trust your take on Joe Burrow—you did have a front-row seat for a long time."

The words landed like a gut punch.

Your stomach clenched, a prickle of heat rising at the back of your neck.

You forced a laugh. A quick, easy, I'm completely unbothered laugh.

"Guess so," you said, brushing it off, moving on like it was nothing.

But inside, you were shaking.

Your hands under the desk. Your breath. Your entire body.

You spent the rest of the segment in autopilot, nodding at the right moments, forcing yourself to focus on the words, on the script, on anything but the feeling of your past creeping into a space that was supposed to be yours.

And the second the cameras cut, you were gone.

You barely made it to your car before it hit you.

The unraveling.

You collapsed into the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight they ached, and then—

You broke.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was months of holding it together, of telling yourself you were fine, of pretending you had rebuilt yourself from the ground up—only to realize you had been balancing on a fault line the entire time.

The sobs came fast, chest-heaving, breathless.

You had spent so long trying to reclaim Cincinnati, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t just a remnant of Joe Burrow’s life—that you could exist here, in this city, in this job, as your own person.

But the truth was, he was everywhere.

And right now, in this moment, you weren’t sure if you were anything without him.

Because Joe was the only person who had ever truly known you.

He knew the way your nose scrunched when you concentrated, the way you got irrationally angry when you lost at board games, the way you never finished a drink, always leaving the last sip untouched.

He knew your moods before you did.

He knew how you got quiet when you were sad, how you hated crying in front of people, how you avoided confrontation until you couldn’t anymore—until it bubbled over in sharp words and slammed doors.

He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself.

Like how you sometimes clenched your jaw in your sleep when you were anxious. Like how you had a habit of counting your steps when you walked, not even realizing it.

Like how, right now, you would be breaking down in your car, gripping the steering wheel, feeling completely and utterly lost—and the only person who could make it better was him.

But he wasn’t here.

And that was the worst part of all.

--

December used to be your favorite month.

The lights, the music, the warmth of it all. The way the whole world seemed to slow down, wrapped in twinkling lights and the soft hum of Christmas songs playing in the background.

But mostly, December meant him. It meant Joe.

His birthday, tucked right in the start of the holiday season, had always been something sacred to you. It was your thing—the one time of year where you could spoil him without him complaining, where you could go all out, where you could make sure he felt as loved as he made you feel every other day of the year.

You had never held back.

You would spend months planning—picking out the perfect gifts, arranging surprise dinners, making sure every little detail was right. One year, you got him that limited-edition Rolex he had been eyeing but never pulled the trigger on. Another year, you rented out a private cabin in the mountains for just the two of you, knowing he needed to escape the chaos of football for a few days.

Last year—God, last year—you had thrown him a surprise party with all of his friends and family. He had kissed you at the end of the night, hands cupping your face, murmuring against your lips, How do you always know exactly what I want?

Because you knew him. Because you had loved him.

And now, here you were.

A year later. A year without him.

And December didn’t feel magical anymore.

You tried. You really tried.

You put up the tree in your apartment, even though it was smaller than the one you used to decorate with him. You bought yourself Christmas candles, filled your space with the smell of cinnamon and pine, played holiday music when you cooked.

But it all felt wrong.

Because December had always been his month, too. It wasn’t just the holiday season—it was the anniversary of the last time you had ever been his.

The breakup had happened right after his birthday.

It had been cold, the city wrapped in the kind of sharp, biting winter that made everything feel harsher. And in a way, it had been fitting—because that night, when Joe had walked out, when the door had shut behind him, the warmth had left your life, too.

And now, a full year later, it was still gone.

His birthday came and went. You didn’t text him. Didn’t even let yourself think about what he might be doing, whether he was happy, whether he even thought about you at all.

But your body knew.

You woke up that morning feeling it like a weight in your chest, like something pressing down on your ribs. You didn’t check your phone, didn’t open Instagram, didn’t give yourself the chance to see what the world was saying about him.

Because it wasn’t your place anymore. Because you weren’t the person celebrating with him.

Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times you told yourself that you were okay, December would always be the cruelest reminder that you weren’t.

That you had once been his world. And now, you were nothing.

You spent Christmas with your best friend, and it should have been nice. It was nice. Warm. Cozy. The kind of Christmas you had always loved.

But it wasn’t his family.

It wasn’t his mom, who had always pulled you into a hug the second you walked through the door. It wasn’t his dad, who would slip you a knowing smile when Joe snuck a hand around your waist at dinner. It wasn’t his brothers, teasing you like you were already part of the family.

And it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Joe, pulling you against him on the couch, wrapping you in one of his hoodies, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. It wasn’t his voice murmuring, Merry Christmas, baby, in the quiet, sleepy warmth of the morning.

It wasn’t your life. Not anymore.

So, you smiled. You opened presents. You drank hot chocolate and laughed at dumb Christmas movies and let yourself pretend that this was enough.

But when you got home that night, alone in your apartment, staring at your Christmas tree that suddenly felt too big, you let the truth sink in.

December without him was unbearable. And you weren’t sure if it would ever get easier.

--

You had almost convinced yourself that you were fine.

Almost.

The past year had been a cycle—of loss, of healing, of learning how to be you again. But tonight? Tonight, you felt like you had finally gotten there.

You had put effort into your outfit, just because you wanted to. You weren’t dressing for anyone but yourself, weren’t trying to impress Joe or prove something to anyone. You had slipped into a sleek, fitted black dress, let your new friends style your hair in soft waves, even wore that deep red lipstick that had always made you feel untouchable.

And when you stepped out of your car in front of the restaurant, that new Chanel bag resting effortlessly on your shoulder, you felt good.

Not just okay. Good. Like yourself.

Or at least, the version of you that wasn’t still haunted by him.

--

Joe had seen you first.

And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

It wasn’t just the shock of seeing you—it was how he saw you. It was the way you walked into the restaurant, laughing at something one of your coworkers had said, your smile easy, effortless, real. It was the way you carried yourself, exuding that same quiet confidence that had once made him fall for you in the first place.

And God, you looked good. Not just good. Stunning.

Like you had stepped right out of a dream, wearing that black dress like it had been made for you, your hair falling in perfect waves, that red lipstick making his mouth go dry.

For a second, Joe forgot how to breathe. Because this was the first time he had seen you in a year. And somehow, you looked okay.

Without him.

The nausea hit immediately.

Because the last time he had seen you—really seen you—you had been crying. You had been begging him to fight for you, to stay, to want you enough to make it work. And now, a year later, you weren’t the woman who had walked away from him, heartbroken and lost.

You were this. Whole. Beautiful. Radiant.

Like he had never even existed in your world.

You didn’t see Joe right away.

Your coworkers were leading the way to your table, your heels clicking against the polished floors, your heart light in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. You were okay. You were doing this. You were thriving.

Until your stomach dropped. Because suddenly, you felt it.

That indescribable feeling—the one that came when someone was watching you. And when you turned your head, your breath caught in your throat.

Because he was there.

Joe.

Sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, not alone. You blinked. Your heart lurched. Your ears started ringing. He had a girlfriend.

You didn’t even know he had moved on.

And yet, here he was, sitting across from some blonde—long hair, perfect makeup, the kind of effortless beauty that made your stomach twist in a way you hated.

Because Joe wasn’t supposed to move on.

Not when you were still here. Not when you had spent the past year rebuilding yourself just to survive the loss of him. And now, in a single second, everything inside you cracked.

You felt sick.

Not because you wanted him back. But because, for the first time, you were faced with the reality that he had built a life that no longer included you.

That the man you had once known better than anyone—the man you had loved with everything you had—was now sitting across from another woman.

That you weren’t his anymore.

Joe watched the realization hit you.

Watched the way your face fell, your eyes widening slightly, your body stiffening like you had just been punched in the stomach. And suddenly, he hated himself.

Because you looked like you—strong, composed, pulled together—but in that brief second, he saw it. That crack in the armor. That hurt.

And fuck, fuck, he wanted to fix it.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t moved on.

Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

Yeah, Katie was nice. Yeah, she looked good on his arm. But she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he needed after a bad game, didn’t know the songs that made him think of home, didn’t know that he couldn’t sleep with the TV on because the noise made his brain race.

She wasn’t you.

And as much as he had tried to convince himself that this was right—that you were the past, that this was his future—he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

Because seeing you here, standing across the room, looking like this, feeling like this, made him realize something.

He didn’t want this life without you. And for the first time in a year, Joe felt something worse than heartbreak.

He felt regret. And Joe could feel Katie watching him.

She had been talking—something about how the steak wasn’t as good as the place she went to in LA—but he hadn’t heard a word. His eyes were locked on you.

On the way your body tensed, on the flicker of hurt that flashed across your face before you smoothed it over like it was nothing. On the way your fingers twitched at your side like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Like you wanted to run. And fuck, he hated that.

Hated that he was the reason you looked like that. Hated that even after a year, he could still hurt you just by existing. Then he felt it.

Katie’s hand sliding up his arm, curling around his bicep, nails digging in slightly as she pressed herself closer. She knew.

Of course she knew.

He hadn’t talked about you much—at least, not in detail—but she wasn’t stupid. She knew you had been important. That you had been in his life for longer than most people had even known his name.

And now, here you were. The ghost she had probably been waiting to meet.

"Joe," she said, sweet but pointed, her voice breaking through his haze. "You okay?"

Her fingers squeezed his arm. He barely resisted the urge to shake her off. He was so close to losing it.

He could feel his patience hanging on by a thread, could feel the way his body was coiled tight, his chest aching with something he didn’t want to feel.

Because it was his late birthday dinner. His friends were here. He was supposed to be happy. But all he could think about was you. And how you were standing there, looking like that, looking like everything he had ever wanted and everything he had already lost.

He pulled his arm from Katie’s grip as casually as he could, pretending to adjust his watch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because every second that passed, the more wrong this felt. The more suffocating the entire situation became.

The dinner had already been irritating—his friends were drunk, the restaurant was too loud, and Katie had spent half the night making passive comments about how he never posted her, about how she just wanted to feel special.

And now, this? Now, you were here?

It was like some kind of cruel joke.

Joe felt like the room was closing in on him.

The sounds of the restaurant—the chatter, the clinking glasses, the faint hum of music in the background—blurred into nothing, white noise against the sharp, singular reality of you.

Standing there. Looking like that. And worse—looking like you didn’t need him anymore.

That realization settled deep, lodged somewhere between his ribs, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake.

His fingers twitched in his lap. His knee bounced once before he forced it to stop. He was trying, really fucking trying, to play it cool, to keep his face neutral, to ignore the way his body had tensed the second he saw you walk in.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to see you like this—unexpectedly, in a crowded restaurant, after a year of living separate lives. He had told himself that when it happened, it wouldn’t matter. That by the time he saw you again, he’d be fine. That whatever you two had been, whatever had been left unsaid, whatever this was, it wouldn’t affect him anymore.

But he had been wrong.

Because seeing you now—standing there in that black dress, your hair falling over your shoulders in that soft, effortless way he used to push his fingers through when you were tired, your lips painted that deep shade of red that had always driven him insane—he felt like his entire body was betraying him.

His stomach clenched. His throat went dry.

Because for a split second, before his brain caught up, before reality sunk its teeth into him, he had expected you to walk toward him.

Like you always had. Like you were supposed to. Like this was still your moment, your ritual, your life together.

And then, just as quickly, he saw it—the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, the way your lips parted just barely before pressing into a tight line.

The way your hands shook.

No one else would have noticed. But he did.

Because he had spent years learning you, memorizing you, knowing every single tell, every little habit, every reaction before you even knew you were having one.

And that? That fucked him up the most. Because it meant this hurt you, too.

It meant you weren’t indifferent. It meant that even after a full year, he still affected you. And that should have made him feel better.

But it didn’t.

Because the way you had reacted wasn’t the way you used to. There was no fond exasperation, no teasing smirk, no warmth in your expression.

It was shock. Discomfort.

Like you didn’t want to be here. Like he was the thing making you feel sick.

And the worst part? He knew he had no right to be hurt by that. Because he had done this. He was the one who had walked away first. He was the one who had let you go.

And yet, even knowing that, even with the weight of that truth pressing down on him, he still felt something ugly coil in his chest at the thought of you not caring at all.

At the thought of you moving on without him, just as much as he had tried—and failed—to move on without you. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. His skin felt too tight, his pulse hammering in his ears, and then—Katie.

Katie, who was still gripping his arm, nails pressing into his sleeve like a silent claim, like she knew. Like she could feel the shift in his body, the way all of his attention, all of his focus, had zeroed in on you.

And then, as if to confirm it, she pulled herself closer, her chin tilting up, her lips curling into something sweet but firm.

"Joe," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the restaurant, "you’re all tense. Relax, baby."

Joe clenched his jaw. Because now? Now, it wasn’t just about you being here. Now, it was about this.

About the fact that he had spent the last year convincing himself that this—Katie, this relationship, this new life—was what he needed. That this was how he moved forward. That this was the best thing for him.

But the second you walked into the room, it had all come crashing down.

And when Katie pressed even closer, her hand sliding down his arm, her fingers curling into his, something in him snapped. Not visibly. Not obviously.

But he felt it.

Because for the first time in months, maybe even the first time since the breakup, he wanted out.

Out of this night. Out of this restaurant. Out of this version of his life where you weren’t in it.

But his friends were here. His teammates. People were watching. So instead, he inhaled sharply through his nose, casually slipping his fingers from Katie’s grip under the guise of adjusting his watch.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice tight. "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because when he glanced up again, when his eyes found you across the restaurant, he saw the moment you turned to your coworkers and muttered something under your breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Saw the way you inhaled deeply, steeling yourself, before turning on your heel and walking toward your table like he wasn’t even there.

Like he didn’t exist. And that?

That hurt worse than anything.

--

You had spent a year healing.

A year rebuilding yourself, re-learning how to exist outside of him, re-training your mind to stop associating every little thing with Joe Burrow. A year convincing yourself that you were okay, that you were better, that you had made it through the worst of it.

And then, in a single moment, it all shattered.

Because he was here. Not just here—here with her.

You felt it before you even saw him. That undeniable shift in the air, the creeping sensation of familiarity that made your breath catch in your throat. And then, when your eyes finally landed on him—on Joe—it felt like something inside you cracked open, raw and bleeding.

Because he wasn’t alone. He had a girlfriend. And it wasn’t just that. It was how he looked.

Relaxed. Unbothered. Like the past year hadn’t touched him the way it had ruined you. Like he had moved on so seamlessly, so effortlessly, while you had spent sleepless nights trying to pick up the pieces of yourself that he had left behind.

And maybe the worst part?

He looked happy.

Not the kind of happiness you had memorized—the quiet, real, content kind that came when he let himself breathe around you. Not the kind of happiness that was soft and easy, that came from forehead kisses in the morning and whispered inside jokes.

No, this was performative.

This was the kind of happiness you pretended to have when you were trying to convince everyone—including yourself—that you were fine.

And yet, even knowing that, even recognizing that this wasn’t real, it still hit you like a knife between the ribs. Because while you had spent the last year trying to be better, trying to move forward, Joe had spent it trying to erase you.

Like you never existed. Like the seven years you had spent together were just some forgettable chapter in his life, one he could close and move on from without looking back.

And that? That was unbearable.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms damp as you curled your fingers into fists under the table. You felt like you were spiraling, like you were seconds away from breaking right here, in the middle of this crowded restaurant, in front of everyone.

No. No, no, no.

You refused. You had spent too long putting yourself back together just to fall apart now. So you inhaled sharply, forcing a small, tight smile as you pushed your chair back.

Your coworkers looked up, brows furrowed.

“You okay?” one of them asked.

You nodded, already reaching for your bag, voice light, too casual. “Yeah, I just—ugh, I think something I ate earlier isn’t sitting right. I’m gonna head out.”

They nodded, accepting the excuse easily, offering quick well wishes as you grabbed your things and turned for the door. And you didn’t look back.

Not once. Not even when you felt the weight of his gaze burning into your back. Not even when every single step felt like it was dragging you further away from the life you had once lived with him.

Not even when, for the first time in a long time, you realized that no matter how much you had tried to heal, there were some wounds that time just couldn’t fix.

Joe watched you leave, and something inside him snapped.

It happened fast. One second, you were there, and the next, you were gone, slipping through the restaurant like you couldn’t get out fast enough. And fuck—fuck, he hated that.

Hated that you looked right at him and then turned away. Hated that you had left, just like that, without even acknowledging him.

Like he was nothing. Like he had never existed in your life, either.

It made his hands twitch, made his jaw tighten, made his stomach coil with something sharp and awful and unbearable.

It made him move.

He barely heard Katie calling his name. Barely registered the way his friends were still laughing, still drinking, still living in a reality where everything was normal.

Because nothing was normal. Nothing had been normal since you had walked out of his life. And for the first time in a year, Joe didn’t fight it.

Didn’t push it down. Didn’t try to convince himself that he was fine. Instead, he stood up, threw some cash on the table, and went after you.

Joe pushed through the restaurant doors just in time to see your taillights disappear into the night.

Gone.

Just like that.

And it felt like he was right back there again—standing in the middle of your living room, hands shaking, heart in his throat, watching as you begged him to just say something. Just fight for you. Just be the man you needed him to be.

But he hadn’t. He had let you go. And now, a year later, he had done it all over again.

His chest ached, his ribs felt too tight, his pulse was hammering so loud in his ears that he barely heard Katie calling his name behind him.

But then she touched him—her fingers curling around his wrist, her voice dripping with confusion and irritation.

"Joe, what the hell was that?"

He ripped his arm away so fast that she stumbled back a step.

"Are you serious right now?" His voice was rough, raw, his body vibrating with something he couldn’t contain anymore.

Katie scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I am serious. You just humiliated me in there! You followed your ex-girlfriend out of a restaurant when I was right there—on your birthday dinner, Joe."

She said it like it mattered. Like any of this fucking mattered. Like this wasn’t the single worst night of his life. Like he cared.

Joe let out a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face, feeling like he could burst out of his own skin.

"Jesus Christ, Katie," he muttered. "You knew. You always fucking knew."

Her eyes narrowed. "Knew what?"

"That this—us—was nothing." His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. His hands were shaking, his chest felt too fucking tight, and suddenly, everything came out. "You knew I was never over her. You knew you were never—never fucking her."

Katie flinched like he had slapped her. And maybe, in a way, he had.

Because he never said it. Never admitted it. Never acknowledged the fact that he had spent the past year trying to force himself to be okay, to be normal, to be the guy who could move on.

But it had always been bullshit. It had always been a lie. Because he had been living in a fucking delusion thinking that he could be with someone who wasn’t you.

And now? Now, he was standing outside a restaurant, watching the only woman he had ever truly loved drive away from him again, and he felt like he was being ripped in half.

Katie’s eyes were burning. She was angry, but worse—she looked humiliated.

"You are such a fucking asshole," she spat. "You let me think—" She cut herself off, shaking her head, biting the inside of her cheek before exhaling sharply. "You know what? Fuck you, Joe."

He barely reacted. Because nothing she said, nothing she could say, would make him feel worse than he already did.

He was a fucking mess.

A fucking idiot. A fucking coward.

"You need to go," he muttered, voice hoarse.

Katie huffed out a bitter laugh. "Gladly."

He pulled out his phone, tapped the Uber app with shaking fingers, ordered her a ride, and barely looked at her as he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.

She scoffed. "Seriously? You’re not even gonna drive me home?"

Joe clenched his jaw, staring down at the pavement. "I can’t."

And that was the truth. Because if he got in his car right now, he knew where he was going.

He didn’t remember the drive. Didn’t remember putting the car in gear, didn’t remember making the turns, didn’t remember how his foot even got on the gas.

One second, he was standing in the cold outside the restaurant, and the next—

He was here.

In front of your apartment complex.

The one he only knew about because of some casual conversation in the locker room, when one of his teammates had mentioned running into you near downtown.

He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t thought about coming here. But his hands were gripping the steering wheel, his breath was uneven, and he was here.

His knuckles were white. His mind was blank. His heart was breaking all over again.

And for the first time in his life, Joe Burrow didn’t know what the fuck to do.

--

Joe stood outside your door, heart hammering against his ribs, hands curled into fists at his sides, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt like he understood.

All of it.

The songs, the poems, the movies that had once felt dramatic, exaggerated, over the top. The grand gestures, the desperate pleas, the kind of heartbreak that knocked a man to his knees.

Because this—this—was the lowest he had ever been.

Worse than losing a game. Worse than getting injured. Worse than anything he had ever experienced. Because he had lost you. And he couldn't live like this anymore.

Couldn’t keep pretending that he was fine, that he had moved on, that he didn’t miss you every single second of every single day. Because the truth was, he did.

He missed everything.

Missed the way your voice sounded in the morning, still laced with sleep, soft and warm and home. Missed the smell of your shampoo when you curled against his chest. Missed your laugh, your stupid little quirks, the way you always knew exactly what he needed before he even said a word.

He missed loving you. And he missed being loved by you.

Because no one—not Katie, not any of the women who had tried to take your place, not a single person in the past year—had ever come close to what you were to him.

And maybe it had taken him too long to realize it. Maybe he had been too fucking stupid, too proud, too scared to fight for you when he should have.

But he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

So before he could talk himself out of it, before the fear could win, before he could convince himself that he had already ruined everything beyond repair—

He knocked.

The sound echoed in the quiet of the night, and for a second, all he could hear was the deafening thud of his own heartbeat.

Then—

The lock clicked, the door creaked open.

And there you were.

Standing in front of him, still in that black dress, your hair a little messier now, your eyes red-rimmed, like you had spent the last hour doing exactly what he had been doing—falling apart.

Joe felt something crack inside him.

Because you looked just as broken as he felt.

And before you could say anything, before you could slam the door in his face, before you could tell him to leave—

He broke.

“I—” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It all came out—rushed, jumbled, messy, barely coherent, but real.

“I can’t—fuck, I don’t even know where to start. I—I don’t know how to make this right, I don’t even know if I can, but I have to try because I can’t—” His breath hitched, his hands shaking at his sides, tears burning his eyes as he forced the words out. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t keep waking up without you. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. When I haven’t been since the second you walked away.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like you weren’t sure if this was real.

But Joe couldn’t stop. Because if he did, if he gave himself a second to think, he might break down completely.

So he just kept going.

“I was a fucking idiot,” he choked out. “I—I should have fought for you. I should have been the man you needed. I should have—fuck—I should have never let you think for a second that you weren’t the most important thing in my life. Because you were. You still are.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he didn’t even try to stop it.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I miss you so much that I don’t know how to—how to breathe without you. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His throat was closing up, his chest heaving, his heart fucking shattering, and all he wanted—all he wanted—was to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to show you how sorry he was.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet. Because this was your decision now. So he just stood there, completely open, completely raw, completely yours, and waited.

Waited for you to slam the door in his face. Waited for you to tell him that he was too late. Waited for you to break his heart all over again.

But there it was again—that ache.

That deep, unbearable, all-consuming ache that only Joe Burrow had ever been able to pull from you. That had always been the problem, hadn’t it? That no matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how much you had tried to move on, he was still Joe.

He was still your Joe.

And now, he was standing in front of you, breaking apart at the seams, giving you everything he should have given you a year ago. His eyes were glassy, his breath uneven, his entire body taut like he was waiting for you to destroy him.

And you could have.

You could have slammed the door in his face. You could have walked away, left him out in the cold, given him a taste of his own medicine.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you had never stopped loving him.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before your mind could catch up with your heart, you stepped forward and pulled him in.

The second your arms wrapped around him, Joe broke.

A sharp breath shuddered out of him as he buried his face into your hair, his body sinking against yours like he had been waiting for this moment for so long—like he had been starving for this.

His arms circled you, strong and desperate, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid to let go, like he needed to hold onto you to keep himself standing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his voice cracked and raw. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face into his chest, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie as your tears finally spilled over.

Because fuck.

This was the first time in a year that you had felt this. The warmth. The safety. The rightness of being in his arms.

You hated how good it still felt. How much you still wanted it.

Joe tightened his grip, his arms pressing you closer, his body trembling slightly as he mumbled more apologies, more I should have fought for you, I should have never let you go, I should have never—

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.

And for the first time in a year, you really looked at him.

His face was different. A little more tired, a little more worn, his jaw sharper, his cheekbones more defined, but his eyes—his eyes—were still the same. Still that impossible shade of blue, still holding that same intensity, that same Joe-ness that had always made you weak.

And suddenly, that was all you needed.

All the months of heartbreak, all the lonely nights, all the pain—it all blurred for just a moment. Because the only thing that mattered was him.

And then, you let him inside.

Joe looked around, taking in your apartment, the newness of it, the little things that weren’t his, that weren’t yours and his.

And then, finally, you both sat on the couch.

There was no space between you—his thigh pressed against yours, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to sit up straighter, forcing yourself to speak.

Because if he was here, if he was really going to do this, he needed to hear everything. He needed to understand what he had done.

So you told him. You told him everything.

“You broke me, Joe.” Your voice was quiet, but firm. “You really, really broke me.”

Joe inhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt him.

“I spent months—months—trying to figure out what I did wrong,” you continued, your throat tightening. “Trying to understand why I wasn’t enough for you. Why you couldn’t just try. Why you let me walk away when I was begging you to fight for me.”

Joe’s head dropped into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His breathing was uneven, like he was barely holding it together.

You swallowed hard, wiping at your cheek. “I had to learn how to exist without you. And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Joe let out a slow, ragged breath. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked, your hands gripping your knees. “Because while I was trying to survive losing you, you were out there—” You hesitated, shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. “You were living. You were drinking, partying, fucking around with people who weren’t me. You had a girlfriend.”

Joe flinched, his jaw tightening. “She was nothing.”

“That’s not the point, Joe.”

His shoulders slumped, defeated. “I know.”

You blinked, breathing through the sharp ache in your chest. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I haven’t thought about this moment a million times,” you admitted, voice softer now. “Because I have. But if you think I’m just gonna let you back in, like none of it ever happened, you’re wrong.”

Joe sat up, nodding, his hands clasped together tightly. “I don’t expect that,” he said, voice low but steady. “I don’t expect anything. But I—” He let out a heavy exhale, running a hand through his hair. “I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

Your heart clenched.

Joe turned to face you fully, his knee bumping yours, his expression desperate and real and so fucking raw.

“I never stopped, not for a second,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I could live without you. I thought I could move on, that I could distract myself, that I could convince myself that I made the right choice. But I didn’t.” His hands curled into fists. “I ruined the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”

Your chest felt like it was being squeezed, your body so tired of carrying all this pain.

Joe swallowed hard. “I will do anything to make this right. Anything.” His eyes were pleading now, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you. “But you have to tell me how.”

You hesitated, inhaling deeply, your fingers twisting in your lap. And then, finally, you said it.

“You have to try.”

Joe nodded instantly, like there was no hesitation, no doubt, no fear left in him. “I will.”

But you weren’t finished.

“I’m not just gonna let you back in.” You met his gaze, steady despite the storm inside you. “I need you to prove that you mean it. That this isn’t just guilt, or nostalgia, or regret.”

Joe didn’t blink. “I know.”

“I’m serious, Joe. I’m not gonna be your safety net. I’m not just something you can come back to because you’re lonely. I need you to prove that this time, you’re not gonna leave when things get hard.”

Joe shifted forward, his voice so sure, so certain.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time in a year, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to fight for.

The next few weeks felt new.

Not in the way falling in love for the first time does—full of naive excitement, full of the rush of this is forever without ever questioning what forever actually means.

This was different.

This was love with edges, love with history, love that had been broken down to its very foundation and rebuilt with hands that knew how fragile it was.

You and Joe didn’t fall back into old habits, didn’t slip into the comfort of what once was. Because what you had before hadn’t worked, and maybe that was the point.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

You weren’t together every second of every day. You weren’t just Joe’s girlfriend anymore. And maybe that was exactly what you had needed all along.

Joe never stopped trying.

He took you on real dates again, ones that weren’t just convenient dinners after practice, but ones he planned—a private table at your favorite restaurant, a weekend getaway, tickets to that concert you had mentioned in passing months ago.

He brought you presents—not extravagant, expensive gifts, but things that showed he listened to you. The signed first edition of that book you’d been searching for, the rare vintage jersey you casually mentioned once, the perfume you used to wear back in college but stopped because you thought it was discontinued.

He gave you space when you needed it. And when you talked, he listened.

Really listened.

And that gave you hope. Because this? This was the old Joe.

The one who had loved you before the fame, before the pressure, before the weight of the world had sat heavy on his shoulders. The one who had once promised you the world and had meant every word.

And maybe—just maybe—this time, he would keep that promise.

And Joe had never been happier.

He hadn’t realized what he had until he lost it. Until he spent a year trying to pretend like life without you was still life at all. And now that he had you back, he would never, ever lose you again.

So he did what he should have done the first time.

He showed up for you. For everything.

For your job, which he saw now wasn’t just something you did, but something you loved, something you were good at. He watched every segment, sent you texts after each one, grinned when you debated your co-hosts on-air like you were born for this.

For your hobbies, the ones you had picked up when he wasn’t around—reading late at night, running at sunrise, perfecting your French braiding skills just because you could. He watched you bloom into a version of yourself he hadn’t seen in years.

And he realized—this was you.

The you that had existed before the NFL, before the noise, before the expectations. And fuck, he had missed you.

Not the girlfriend who had once made his life so seamless, so easy, so comfortable.

But you.

The woman who never let anyone take her for granted. The woman who had built a life outside of him. The woman who had once loved him enough to let him go when she realized he wasn’t ready to love her the way she deserved.

Joe had spent years thinking he wanted someone who fit perfectly into his life. But the truth was, he didn’t want a trophy wife.

And you had never wanted to be one.

He wanted this. You, with your own ambitions, your own life, your own dreams.

And now, he had you back. Not because you needed him.

But because you had chosen him.

And he would spend the rest of his life proving that he was worth that choice.

--

Three months had passed, and somehow, this felt normal again.

Not in the way it once had—not in the suffocating, all-consuming way where your life revolved around Joe and his schedule.

This was better.

This was right.

And tonight, for the first time in over a year, you were his date to an NFL event. The NFL Honors, to be exact. The kind of night that used to feel like pressure, like you had to be perfect, like you were a reflection of him rather than your own person.

But not this time.

This time, it was just a date. A night out. A moment to celebrate him and everything he had fought to reclaim this season.

You would have been excited, had it not been for the fact that you were currently doing your makeup in a moving vehicle.

“You’re gonna stab yourself in the eye with that thing,” Joe mused, eyes flicking to you in the passenger seat as you struggled to apply mascara.

“I wouldn’t have to if someone had given me more time to get ready,” you muttered, carefully swiping the wand through your lashes.

Joe scoffed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Are you kidding me? You literally had hours. I was ready thirty minutes before I even came to get you.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head back for another coat. “Yeah, well, some of us have more to do than just put on a suit and fix our precious curls.”

Joe smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “You love my curls.”

You ignored him, reaching for your lip liner, only to fumble and drop it between your seat and the center console.

“Fuck,” you hissed, shifting to try and reach it.

Joe took the opportunity immediately. “Damn, you that excited for tonight?”

You groaned, pressing your head back against the seat in defeat. “Joe, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he mused, one hand on the wheel, the other casually adjusting his watch, looking way too pleased with himself. “All dressed up, sitting next to me, getting flustered… You sure it’s the event you’re excited for?”

You turned to glare at him, your face already burning, and the second he saw it—that blush—he grinned.

Like he had just won the fucking Super Bowl.

Like making you blush had been his goal all along.

And honestly? Knowing Joe, it probably had been.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you muttered, arms crossed.

Joe reached over and gave your thigh a small squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel, still grinning. “Yeah, but you love it.”

And the worst part?

You did.

You knew he was going to win before they even announced it.

There had been a lot of speculation, sure, but there was no doubt in your mind.

No one had fought harder than Joe. No one had come back from a worse season to prove himself the way he had.

So when they called his name—Joe Burrow, Comeback Player of the Year—you barely heard the crowd over the sound of your own excitement.

You were on your feet in an instant, clapping, beaming, so proud.

And when he turned toward you before heading to the stage, his hand brushing against yours in a silent moment of acknowledgment, your heart clenched in the best way.

This was his moment.

But you were his person.

—

Joe took the stage, adjusting the mic, the gold trophy shining under the lights.

“Uh—wow,” he started, shaking his head slightly, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was trying to gather his thoughts.

The crowd laughed, and he let out a small exhale, gripping the trophy a little tighter.

“I’m not gonna stand up here and act like this season was easy,” he admitted, his voice steady but raw, real. “It wasn’t. At all. I went through a lot—personally, professionally, mentally. And honestly? There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be back up here again.”

Your chest ached a little at that.

Because you knew.

You knew how much it had taken for him to get here.

Joe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “But I had a lot of people in my corner. My teammates, my coaches, my family. And—” He paused, just for a second, and then his eyes found yours.

“And someone who reminded me what I was fighting for.”

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t a grand declaration.

It wasn’t over the top.

It was just a moment—a split second where it was just you and him in a room full of people.

Joe cleared his throat, shifting his weight, nodding once. “This is for all the people who never stopped believing in me. And to anyone going through something they don’t think they’ll come back from—keep going. You never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Joe gave a small nod, turned, and walked off the stage.

And when he got back to your table, the first thing he did was lean down and press a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “Told you I’d make it worth your time.”

And yeah.

He really, really had.

--

The night felt easy.

The way it always had, before everything got complicated. Before the pressure, before the expectations, before you had to fight for something that should have been effortless.

Now, it was effortless.

Joe was next to you, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot of pasta while he rambled about the upcoming Super Bowl, going on about the defensive schemes and how the media was making too big of a deal about certain matchups.

Larry sat perched on the counter, her tail flicking every now and then, eyes trained on Joe like she actually cared about football, which was something Joe found endlessly amusing. He had already started referring to her as his cat, despite the fact that she had only tolerated him in the beginning.

“She loves me more than you now,” he had said just last week, smirking as Larry curled up next to him on the couch.

And you had just rolled your eyes. "Not a chance."

Now, standing here, making dinner in your quiet apartment, it felt like you had never left each other’s orbit. Like no time had passed at all.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past.

You were just here. With him.

You turned toward the fridge, reaching to grab the parmesan, when you felt it.

A tap on your shoulder. Instinctively, you turned back. And everything stopped.

Joe was on one knee.

Your breath caught, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared down at him, frozen.

His hands were slightly unsteady, his fingers wrapped around a small, velvet box. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his lips parted like even he couldn’t believe he was doing this right now.

But his eyes—his eyes—were sure. There was no doubt. No hesitation.

Only love.

Joe exhaled sharply, running his free hand over his face before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

“Okay,” he started, shaking his head slightly. “I had this whole plan. I was gonna wait until after the summer, do some big, romantic thing, maybe take you on a trip, make it perfect.” He swallowed hard, looking up at you. “But, uh—yeah. Clearly, that didn’t happen.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, your heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear anything else.

Joe’s fingers tightened around the ring box. “Because the truth is, I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait. I’ve been thinking about this since the second you took me back, and I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I bought this ring the week we got back together. I didn’t even fucking hesitate. Just walked into the store, told them exactly what I wanted, and bought it right there. Because I knew.”

Your chest ached.

Joe let out a small, nervous laugh, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I knew the second I lost you that I had made the biggest fucking mistake of my life. I knew that I couldn’t do life without you, that I didn’t want to do life without you. And I know—I know—I have spent the last year proving that to you. But let me prove it for the rest of my life.”

Your vision blurred, tears spilling over as you let out a soft, choked breath.

Joe’s voice wavered slightly, his own eyes looking glassy. “I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we always planned. I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we should do. I want to marry you because I choose you. Every single fucking day. Over and over again. For the rest of my life.”

Your hands were trembling now, your lips parting as you tried to breathe.

Joe swallowed hard, shaking his head. “You are the love of my life. You always have been. And I am done wasting time.” His jaw clenched slightly, his fingers tightening around the box. “So, please, for the love of God, put me out of my misery and say yes.”

A breathless laugh bubbled out of you, your whole body trembling, your face wet with tears.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Joe’s face broke into the biggest, purest smile you had ever seen.

And then you were falling to your knees in front of him, your hands grabbing his face, pulling him in for a kiss that was everything—every promise, every ounce of love, every second of waiting for this moment.

Joe kissed you back instantly, his hands shaking as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as possible, like he could never get enough.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, his thumbs swiping at the tears on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And for the first time in forever, you said it back without hesitation.

“I love you too.”

Joe grinned, slipping the ring onto your finger before he could drop it, and then exhaled dramatically.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “That would’ve been awkward as hell.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as Joe pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, Larry watching in the background like she knew exactly what had just happened—

You realized something.

This was exactly how it was meant to be.

[yanderefarm]

Can I request Emil catching one of his maids flirting with us

yandere king emil

cw;; violence, stalking, yandere stuff, manipulation

im gonna post this bc i don't think its bad per-say but i don't know if it fits exactly what you wanted. if you're not satisfied feel free to send your request again!!

i don't really imagine this as the reader being oblivious but more like looking past all the obvious red flags because they thought they had a friend who could understand them better than the other people around them including emil.

also im a whore for rofan manhwa bullshit. please check off "cartoonishly evil maid/noble woman minor love rival" on your bingo cards.

usually emil wouldn't feel threatened by the lower class, obviously you wouldn't be interested in them. except you are.

he notices it first when she comes into your shared bedroom in the morning. she's not the usual maid and the way she goes about pouring the morning tea is atrocious, probably because her eyes are glued to your half dressed body. you smile at her and thank her even though she spilled some of your tea with her gawking. when emil mentions dismissing her for her unacceptable behavior you just brush it off saying she was just nervous.

apparently that day the normal maid was sick. and she's still sick a week later. you're currently in the garden trying your hand at some embroidery but you're not very good at it. emil watches from his office window as that maid comes up and offers to help you. you are too excited to accept her help, can't you see she just wants something from you? he finds himself hoping she accidentally pricks you with the needle so he can have a good excuse to kill her. she didn't.

then there's the bath incident. usually he likes taking baths together but you wanted to be alone. that would be fine if he hadn't just watched that annoying maid slip into the bath room. he finds himself following her. the bath room is full of steam as you soak in the hot water making it hard for emil to see anything exactly. but he'd recognize your relaxed form anywhere. the maid steps through the thick steam and asks if you want her to apply some new oils to your hair. its something she found at a market and its supposed to be relaxing lavender. its technically her job to do these tasks so emil can only watch in frustrated silence as she gets to run her fingers through your hair. you smell like her for the rest of the night and god it makes him angry.

every time he sees you with her his stomach twists in anger. he can't be angry with you, you're a kind person and you've proven it time and time again. but this maid. she doesn't deserve your kindness, she doesn't deserve to gently touch your arm, she doesn't deserve to laugh with you. he's asked you what you think of her and you tell him it's so nice to have a friend and how apparently she was born in your home kingdom before moving here. it makes him want to kill her even more. but he holds back because you're just so happy.

finally she goes too far. you're outside excitedly talking to her about a new book you read. you showed him that one too but he didn't share your excitement for the story. not like she was. he wanted to run over there, to run her through with his sword. but he couldn't stop it. he watched helplessly as she touched your arm again and with a blushing face she shyly confessed her feelings. he watched her try to kiss you. he watched the way your face changed from shock to horror. your eyes darted around until they landed on him, you always knew he was nearby if you needed him.

apparently she'd lied about being from your home country to get closer to you. apparently she'd learned your native tongue at another job and used it to manipulate you. apparently she heard a rumor that you would take concubines and she saw it as her chance to climb the ranks. emil was standing behind her, his blade through her chest and his eyes dark with anger. you stood there with tears in your eyes looking at him with so much hurt.

emil isn't lenient with maids that flirt with you anymore. they get a warning from the head maid and if they continue the behavior then emil reserves the right to punish as he sees fit. its not always violent, sometimes he just sentences them to jail for 10 years.

[heart4gyu]

wet dreamz || sim jaeyun x reader

note: 18+ mdni!! y’all know the song lol changed it up a lil for the story tho :P this turned out longer than i expected and maybe needs a part two (??? lmk) also this is my first time writing full smut so i hope it’s not too bad and that y’all enjoy anyway okayy gn :3 not proofread sorry!! | pt.2 here |

this had honestly never happened to jake before; waking up in his bed, heart racing, covered in sweat, and pants soaked.

he just couldn’t help it though.

you hadn’t even noticed him before you got partnered up for a project. but him? oh, his eyes were on you the second you walked through that door on the first day of class.

how pretty you looked laughing with your friends. the sweet smell of your perfume as you walked past. the way you always got the answers right when you got called on. it started off so innocent, just a little campus crush.

after you became partners, everything changed though. the project went perfectly, of course, with both of you acing the class it was easy. but after it was over, you didn’t go back to sitting with your friends like jake thought you would. you stayed there, right next to him, every day.

you became friends. you exchanged phone numbers and you hung out quite often in the library or student center. the more time you spent together, the more jake’s want for you grew.

jake just didn’t understand how you could be so effortlessly perfect for him though.

you, on the other hand, knew exactly what you were doing. you’d observed jake long enough to know that he’s probably never made it past second base with a girl.

the way he’d turn red when you’d scoot over touching your thighs to his. the way his mouth went dry when you’d lean over his desk in a very low cut shirt. even the way he’d stare at your lips after you applied your lip gloss.

all the things you purposefully did to get his attention. because obviously how could you not go after him, he was just your type. sweet, nerdy guy who was also extremely hot.

and so far, you were doing an excellent job at it. but you were getting a little impatient with him, so you decided to tell him about this loser guy who took you out the other day. and fuck it, you decided to slip it into the conversation that he couldn’t even make you finish.

you smiled when the text bubbles appeared and disappeared over and over again. how cute.

jakeyjakey: don’t let someone like that take you out again.

you: ikr. need to find someone who can get the job done…

jakeyjakey: if you gave me the chance y/n, i’d show you a great time.

it definitely wasn’t expected but who were you to complain when this is exactly what you wanted. so you let him know that your roommate would be gone visiting family this weekend & that maybe he should come over…

so he went to bed that night, thinking about the weekend coming up. thinking about you.

and he had a sweet, sweet dream. it was so realistic too. the way your pillows smelled like you as he laid back on them with you on his lap. how soft your thighs were as his fingers grazed over them. your eyes darker than he’s ever seen them, and your voice so quiet he could barely hear it over his heartbeat.

he felt the coil in his stomach tighten the second your lips were on his. you tasted like strawberries (or at least that’s what he thought you’d taste like because of your pink gloss).

you held his face gently as you kissed him. and your tongue slipped inside his mouth so easily when he let out a deep moan for you. his eyes squeezed shut as he felt you grind down on him. your pace speeding up the longer his lips were on yours.

“jake,” you panted, he didn’t know he could want to hear your voice more but you proved him wrong with the way you sounded right now. “can you touch me?”

he could’ve came right then but he took a deep breath to compose himself and nodded, his eyes not leaving yours. he dragged his hands up your thighs and under your skirt, stopping at your ass to give it a squeeze to which you let out a whine.

giving his confidence a boost, he kept going up with one of his hands, pressing down on your lower back to close the small distance between your bodies and grinding up into you.

he broke the kiss to look down between your bodies and saw your hands working on unbuttoning his pants. he didn’t know how his breathing could become even more ragged but it did. especially so when he felt your cold hands pull his cock out of his pants, and he had to look away. he squeezed his eyes shut trying to focus but how could he with your delicate hands stroking him so perfectly.

“jakey, you said you’d show me a good time,” you said, looking up at him with those irresistible eyes of yours. fuck, fuck was all jake could think as he rolled you over, positioning himself between your legs.

“i know i did, angel,” he whispered by your ear, placing a kiss right below it. he reached under your skirt, then pulled your underwear all the way down your legs. “i’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

he lined himself up quickly, not wanting to look like he’d never done this before. then he leaned down for a quick peck making you smile into the kiss and hearing that pretty little laugh he loves to hear. now he could push in gently and it was easier than he thought it’d be.

there was still resistance though because you were tight. so tight he had to drop his head down beside you and just breathe for a second. he could honestly just stay here forever, his cock buried so deep in you. he loved the feeling more than he expected.

you placed a hand on the nape of his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, your other hand soothing his arm that supported his weight above you. and he wanted this you always, every day, never wanted to hear you talk about another man again.

so he started thrusting into you, slow but hard thrusts. with you squeezing his arm, pulling on his hair, and moaning out his name, he was a goner for sure. “yes, that’s what i wanna hear,” he said, lips on yours as he kissed you again.

he kissed on your neck, and brought his hand down to rub circles on your clit just like in the videos he studied for you. he never heard your voice this loud before, couldn’t believe the way you looked with your head thrown back as you came around him.

he was close now too, knew his thrusts were getting sloppier. but you wrapped your legs around his waist, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. “god, you’re so good for me,” he whined.

“i’m so close,” he said, kissing you again as you put your arms around his neck. then he heard you whisper something that he didn’t quite catch, he leaned in closer so you could repeat it.

“babe, please come in me,” you whispered. and that’s all it took for him to come undone, a moaning mess as he filled you up. he was panting at this point, trying to regulate his breathing.

and unfortunately that’s exactly how he woke up. in his own bed, heart racing, covered in sweat, and pants soaked. only one thing, or more specifically, person on his mind.

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Wing Grooming

lucifer x gn reader

warnings: i’ve written before but i don’t do it often so be aware, written on mobile, no mention of skin colour/bodytype/gender/hair type, no use of Y/N, slightly sexual but no real smut, cursing.

i love lucifer and i love the wings shtick <3 also i’ve worked with birds so im applying my knowledge of them here teehee

lemme know whatcha think this is only the second time homegirls written an xreader. also writing on tumblr sucks it deleted my shii so many times and i had to keep rewriting paragraphs

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔗𝔴𝔬 :)

—

Lucifer anxiously paced around his room in the hotel, unable to relax due to his wings, they were itchy. Normally he used various different objects to break the casting of new feathers, and remove those pesty pin feathers. He’s been so busy at the hotel recently, he completely neglected his feathers causing some unfortunate issues with his malt. After all he didn’t have only two he had a whole six, and it wasn’t easy to take care of all at once. In all honesty, Lucifer would rather cut them off before asking for assistance with preening them. Tossing his hat to the side his wings popped out unwillingly loose feathers flying around him. Curling the first set in front of him, he picked through to find the cause of the itch and discomfort. Chills ran up his back as his fingers gently searched through, they were sensitive from lack of care not to mention preening never failed to give him goose bumps. A knock sounded from his door making him jump, his wings puffing out around him. “Uh, ah, one moment.” He shouted in a sing songy voice, jumping to his feet from where he sat he hurried over eager to get back to preening.

Swining the door open you stood on the other side smiling with papers in your grasp. Keeping his wings hidden slightly behind him and the door he greeted you with a charming smile. "Hi luce, Charlie said these belonged to you something to do with the different rings?" Quirking your head to the side you observed the king with curiosity. He was visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting and shifting from side to side. "Are you alright?" He blew air out in a pft sound at you and stood a little straighter. "Just a little feather issues, you know how it can be..." Lucifer trailed looking off to the side trying hard to ignore the stinging itch that shot through one wing.

“Oh can I help in any way, if that’s not strange?” You ask innocently but Lucifer’s mind went immediately to the gutter with the thought of you tracing your hands down his back and his combing through feathers, it made him shiver with delight. Although his blush was evident and his demeanour dropped to a slightly more shy one, you remained waiting patiently for his answer. “It’s- uh, normally, i don’t let anybody touch them. Um, but you can! Of course..” He trailed switching between stretching himself up with confidence and shrinking down again with doubt, regardless of his apprehension he still stood aside opening the door wider for you to enter. “It’s just the preening process is all. Difficult to reach.” Lucifer muttered as you welcome yourself into his room. With a bright smile you reassured him that you would do as he asked and you’d rather help than have him be stuck with that icky discomfort.

Setting the paperwork down on a table, Lucifer closed the door and lingered next to a bench sofa whistling as his wings flapped him at random behind him. Turning to him he looked a little shy still not fully meeting your gaze. Unsure of what exactly to do but you gave him an assuring smile. “I don’t have to do this, I can get Charlie to?”

Lucifer laughed quickly shaking his head. “Ha ha, no that would make things worse actually, you’re much preferred! Just y’know it’s a lot to work on.” Plopping down on the bench he outstretched his wings behind him on full display for you, his heart pounding against his ribs. You felt a zap of emotion shoot through you at the admission that you were wanted by him for this job.

It wasn't a secret Charlie's dad woo'd you the moment he waltzed in the door, but your loyalty was with Charlie and you didn't want to disrespect her by eye fucking her divorced father while he's here to help. Although Charlie seemed pretty enthralled that her father was making an effort to spend time with her friends, even elbowing you and whispering that he seemed to particularly enjoy conversation with you.

After that it was harder to ignore the way you felt for the King, Charlie would constantly drop not so subtle hints that her dad took a liking to you and that caused your mind to wander and fantasize. From there on you got more confidence putting yourself in situations to catch him alone in conversation or help him with different tasks he had to complete. Beginning your work on his wings, you hummed quietly to yourself easily spotting several pin feathers coming in that needed to have the keratin shell taken off. Carefully you split the feathers away and massaged off the shells one by one listening to Lucifers pleasant hms, groans and sighs. He visibly slumped, and his body rested just barely against your thigh as you worked on the very top wing. “These look pretty cluttered hun, have you been struggling to care for them?” You didn’t even notice the pet name slip as you called everyone off handed pet names, but Lucifer did notice and it brought him a warmth he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Sweetly talking to him about his wings without judgement, combing them comfortingly, humming like an angel just to him. It felt as good as when his ex wife was still around caring for his wings. It’d been so long since someone was by his side caring for him like this.

Lucifer never responded properly to your question about upkeep only humming in a trance like state as you worked your way through the top set of wings "You're so good at this, sheesh, I wish you'd do this all the time." You blushed faltering slightly which Lucifer panicked about, tensing and opening his eyes. "Of course i'm only spit balling, heh, it's just so relaxing like a sauna!" Shaking your head you moved down to the last set of feathers not missing the way he shuddered with your touch. "It's alright i don't mind that you say that. It feels nice actually, to help you." Lucifer didn't say anything feeling suddenly heated as ever as if hell wasn't hot enough. The feathers closest to his hips were unsurprisingly the most sensitive and the touches although innocent felt suggestive to him. The King felt dirty for feeling a euphoric sense of pleasure ripple through his bodv and straight to his junk while you unknowly worked through his feathers. “You okay? Did I hurt you?" You asked noticing his breath picking up and his body stiffening. Lucifer grinned and turned to look at you you meeting his gaze and seeing just how dazed he truly was. "I'm just... well,"

It was like his throat closed as he looked back at you crouched down to get at the last row of feathers that were draped along the floor. The king swallowed snapping his head forward again. “Ahem, I’m sensitive, good, sensitive.” He had hoped you understood his insinuations. Which you had. Breathing in deeply you flattened your hand out spreading your fingers and combing through the feathers more methodically from the base of his wings and outward. That cause him to jump up standing straight, you followed in persuit, panicking that you crossed a big line. His wings twitched but he stayed staring forward rigid, you quickly walked around the bench calling to him softly. “Lucifer i am so sorry if i crossed the line, that, that was unacceptable i’m so sorry.” To which Lucifer spun to you, face red, grabbing your shoulders he smiled a somewhat embarrassed smile. “No no, that was completely fine, i just,” Lucifer pulled away tucking his hands away from you, again which was kind of upset you.

“I think if we continue that, type of grooming, I won’t be able to control myself.” Although still shy about his admission his eyes were half lidded and his smile sly. You felt fire explode in your stomach all innocence out the window as your mind settled on one thought. You were gonna bang your friends divorced dad.

[singstaircase]

When the Phone Rings– CS55

Summary: The plan was simple– pretend to be your own kidnapper, pressure the cold and distant husband into either divorcing you himself or paying 'you' enough to do it yourself. What wasn't accounted for? His unexpected care and sheer stubbornness.

contains: angst, fluff, implied unhappy marriage, Carlos Sr is the villain because I needed one, reader can speak but is selectively mute, marriage of convenience or is it? Based on the few episodes I saw of the show of the same name.

Carlos and his family think the reader can't speak. The only people who are aware that she can speak is her mother and her friend, Alexandra. Alexandra is the only person the reader speaks to. Felipe and Sofia are the reader's stepfather and stepsister. Alexandra is Alexandra Saint-Mleux.

This is the seventh call. Maybe the eighth, (Name) is starting to lose the count at this point.

She places her steaming cup on the bedside table and at seven pm sharp, dials the number.

Carlos picks up after the first ring.

"Again?" He says. His voice has a hint of irritation but also something else– determination.

"You're persistent, huh?" (Name) rasps, trying to disguise her voice, though it's not needed. The burner phone came with a voice changer after all. Still, she does this every call, just to be safe.

"And you are repetitive," he shots back. The line goes quiet for some time after that, so (Name) picks up her cup and takes a small sip.

Sensing Carlos won't break the silence, (Name) decides to speak again. "You are awfully calm for a man being threatened, Mr. Sainz."

Carlos chuckles, the sound both amused and tired. "You say the same thing everytime. It's getting repetitive."

Het jaw tightens. "Then here's something new. If you don't divorce her, something will happen."

A pause. Then, "To me or her?"

(Name) blinks. She wasn't expecting this. "Why do you care?"

"You act like I don't care," his voice is steady, firm, "but I care about her, more than you realize." and full of confidence.

Her grip on the phone tightens. "Then pay me. I'll leave you both alone."

"You won't succeed in separating us," Carlos speaks so confidently that it makes her chest ache. "No matter what you try."

(Name)'s breath hitches.

Before she can respond, the line goes end.

She stares at her phone, a sinking feeling growing in her chest.

This isn't working.

1.

That evening, Carlos knocks on her door.

"Let's make dinner together," he signs. His hands moved with an ease that tells her he thought this through and practiced before asking.

(Name) hesitates.

Carlos never did this before. Never tried to involve her in his life.

But she finds herself nodding anyway.

***

What starts as a simple meal, turns into flour fights, laughter and accidental touches.

Carlos isn't the best at cooking—he sliced the onions too thick and nearly set the oil on fire—but he laughed and it was infectious.

He guides her hands as they knead dough, his warmth lingering even after he stepped back.

At one point, without thinking, Carlos reaches up to brush flour from (Name)'s cheek. His thumb lingers longer than it should have.

(Name) should have pulled away. But she doesn't.

When they finally sit down to eat, she finds it hard to look at him.

This is a dangerous game she's playing.

2.

(Name) wasn't expecting to get the job.

She applied for the job of the interpreter on impulse, wanting something of her own.

No one on the Williams team knows about her relation with Carlos. It just makes things easier, and the perfect choice.

She was also not expecting Carlos to care.

So when he finds her, that day, after training and signs, "Congratulations."

She freezes.

She didn't realize Carlos knew or cared.

That night, there's a knock on (Name)'s door.

On the other side, Carlos is holding a small velvet box. Inside is a delicate necklace with a tiny charm.

"For your new job," he signs, almost shyly.

(Name)'s breath is caught. Before she can react, Carlos steps closer and clasp it around her neck. His fingers barely touch her skin but she feels the warmth lingering.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

(Name) swallows hard.

She is supposed to make him want to let go.

Then why does it feel like he is holding on tighter ?

3.

Live.

In front of cameras. In front of thousands of people watching.

(Name) stands beside Carlos, hands gripping her notepad tightly. The interviewer is chatting with another driver first, giving her a few extra minutes to calm herself.

Her heart, however, is anything but calm.

She has done this before. But not live. Not where any mistake will be instantly broadcasted to the world.

She feels Carlos shift beside her. Then, quietly, he leans in.

"You’re going to do amazing," he murmurs. His voice is warm, reassuring.

Slightly startled, (Name) looks up at him.

Before she can react, Carlos reaches for her hand under the table, giving it a small, firm squeeze. He lets go only when the interviewer turns to them.

***

The interview starts and (Name) forces herself to focus. She translates Carlos' answers effortlessly, her hands moving with confidence.

The longer it goes on, the more natural it feels. She barely notices Carlos watching her—how, every time she moves, he follows her gestures like she is the only person in the room.

It isn't until later, scrolling through her phone, that she sees what the world saw.

Twitter and Instagram were filled with clips of the interview. But instead of just Carlos’ words, people were fixated on something else.

“The way Carlos looks at his interpreter is so!!!!.”

“Someone tell me why he’s staring at her like she is the stars in the sky???”

“Imagine being so in love you forget you’re on live TV.”

(Name) frowns, scrolling through video clips of Carlos speaking. His gaze was always on her. Always. She didn't even noticed.

Her stomach twists.

Then, she feels a presence besides her.

"Interesting choice of content," Alexandra teases, peering over her shoulder.

(Name)'s hands tighten around her phone.

"I was just—"

"Analyzing?" Alexandra finishes, smirking.

(Name) scrolls back to a paused clip, Carlos’ expression frozen mid-sentence—his eyes warm, his lips curved in a way that looked almost… soft.

It doesn't mean anything. It can't.

Alexandra nudges her. "So… second thoughts?"

(Name) hesitates.

"I still want the divorce," she says. But the words felt unsteady.

Alexandra hums. "You think so, at least."

(Name) doesn't respond.

4.

(Name) tries to keep her distance.

She reminds herself of the plan. Reminds herself that Carlos isn't her's, not really.

And then, it rains.

Carlos was with the team all afternoon, testing at the track. And (Name) stayed late to wrap up some notes.

By the time she steps out, the sky is pitch black.

Carlos is leaning against his car. Judging by his bored expression and constant darting at his watch, (Name) can tell he is waiting for someone.

Is he waiting for me? The thought makes her heart flutter.

(Name) shakes her head. He doesn't care, at least that's what's she's been telling herself for the past few days.

But she can answer to herself, Carlos' eyes find hers.

He opens the door to the car before even speaking. "Let's go home."

(Name) shakes her head, phone ready in hand to answer.

It’s fine. I’ll call a taxi.

Carlos frowns. "In this weather?" He gestures to the rain, where the track lights makes the downpour shimmer like falling glass. "Just get in."

She hesitates, but another gust of wind sends rain splattering against her.

So she climbs in.

***

They don't speak—not out loud, at least. Instead, (Name) pulls out her phone.

You don’t have to do this.

Carlos glances at her. "Do what?"

Pretend that you care.

His grip on the wheel tightens. "I am not pretending," he says.

They stop at a red light.

Carlos reaches toward the dashboard, turning up the heater. "Are you cold?"

(Name) swallows but shakes her head.

When they arrive, he pulls up in front of the house but doesn't unlock the doors immediately.

"You think I don’t care," he says quietly. "But I do."

(Name) doesn't move. Doesn't look at him.

She opens the door and steps out without a word.

Inside, she presses her back against the door, her heart hammering.

She has to end this.

But somehow, Carlos keeps making it harder.

5.

The dinner was uncomfortable from the start.

Carlos warned (Name) about his father but nothing could have prepared her for this.

***

(Name) spent most of the evening in silence, answering questions with polite smiles and written responses on her phone when necessary.

And then, Carlos Sr turns his attention to (Name).

"This whole marriage," he starts, and points at Carlos and (Name), swirling his wine glass lazily, "was a disaster from the start. We were supposed to get Sofia. But Felipe pawned off his broken daughter and we were fools to take her."

The table falls silent.

(Name) doesn't do anything, but her fingers tightens its grip on her fork.

Shaking his head, Carlos Sr leans back in chair. "She can't even speak. Pathetic."

Carlos' jaw clenches.

"She is a disgrace," his father continues. "We give them everything and they humiliate us with–"

"Enough!"

Carlos' voice is sharp, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

Carlos Sr scoffs. "Excuse me?"

Everyone on the table looks around, trying to figure out a way to diffuse the situation.

And then, Carlos puts down his glass. "I said enough."

His father narrows his eyes. "I don't appreciate that tone, boy."

"And I don't appreciate you insulting my wife."

A murmur ripples through the table.

Carlos Sr scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't act like you actually care about this marriage, Carlos. You wouldn't even acknowledge her in public–"

Carlos pushes back his seat and gets up.(Name) looks up at him in alarm.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Carlos says coldly. “You think (Name) is pathetic? That she’s some kind of burden? She’s the only person in this family with any real dignity.”

Carlos Sr's expression darkens. “Watch your mouth.”

“No, you watch yours.” Carlos leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “You want to be president, right? You need Felipe’s influence to make that happen. So maybe you should start talking to my wife with the respect she deserves.”

Carlos Sr's face turns red with rage.

Carlos turns to (Name) and holds out his hand. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

(Name) hesitates.

His father stands up. "Carlos." His voice is dangerously low. “You will not walk away from this table.”

Carlos doesn't even look at him.

“I won’t stay in a place where my wife is being disrespected.”

(Name) places her hand in his and together, they walk out.

+1

(Name) needs air.

Carlos steps away to handle a call, and (Name) finds her way to the rooftop of the estate.

Her plan is falling apart.

Carlos wasn't supposed to care. Yet, he does. He wasn't supposed to defend her.

And yet he did.

She pulls out the burner phone and almost like a second nature, seeks out Carlos' number. With trembling fingers, she dials his number.

Carlos answers almost immediately. "What do you want again?"

(Name) swallows. She can't stop, not now.

She checks her surrounding and then, lowers her voice. "Why are you still with her?"

Carlos exhales sharply. "Not this again."

“She’s pathetic.” Every inch of her body screaming at her to stop, hating herself for every word. But (Name) presses on. “She can’t even speak. She is a damaged good. A replacement for her perfect sister. Why are you still holding onto her?”

There's a pause.

Then, Carlos starts speaking.

"Because she is the only good thing in my life."

(Name) steps closer to the edge of the roof and closes her eyes. The night breeze cools her skin but isn't able to reach in and calm her pounding heart.

Carlos continues in a steady pace. “Because in a world where everyone takes and demands, she asks for nothing. And still, she gives everything.”

(Name) opens her eyes and grips the phone tighter. A familiar feeling.

“She makes me feel alive,” Carlos admits, his voice starts to get quieter. “Like I can breathe normally for the first time in years.”

(Name)'s chest aches.

“She is not a replacement. She’s not some extra chapter in someone else’s story.” Carlos say. His voice is softer now but full of confidence as well. “She is a brand-new language. One I want to learn.”

(Name) steps back from the edge as tears begin to blur her vision.

"Don't ever talk about my wife like that again," Carlos finishes.

"Then why?" she whispers, the words slipping out before she can stop them, " Why did you treat her like she didn't matter?" She needs to to know. I need to know.

Silence.

"Why did you act like she was invisible?" (Name)'s voice is uneven by now. "Why were you so ashamed to tell everyone that she was your wife?"

There is no answer.

Then–

A chime.

The elevator door behind her slides open.

(Name) turns around, her heart stopping.

Carlos steps out, staring at her, his phone still pressed to his ear.

And in her hand, the burner phone.

His eyes flickers between her tear-streaked face and the device.

Realization dawns.

(Name)'s world caves in.

This literally came to me in my dreams a few weeks ago and I knew I had to write it.

[pipwritesoccasionally]

midnight emotions (two little lines pt. 2)

in which your stepson has a bad dream and you feel guilty.

this one has less to do with your pregnancy but it is still relevant!

toji x reader (same stuff from last time applies, technically AFAB because of pregnancy but it's also a world with sorcery so I am not here to stop AMAB people. kept it pretty gender neutral, but let me know if it doesn't seem like it.)

wc: 850

parts: 1 3 4 5

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

the darkness floods your eyes as you blink awake for the second time that night. body aching, you roll over, feet fluffing the carpet of you and toji’s bedroom. your arms reach up, exposing your growing stomach to the cold air. 

as you stand, the bed creaks, and you hear your husband groan. 

“doll?” his voice is low from sleep, and you place your hand on his arm. 

“i’m good. i just have to pee.” 

“again? you went two hours ago,” you’d never think that toji could be so whiny, but it sure was a very cute surprise. 

“babe, a whole human is growing next to my bladder. i’m going to be peeing all the time for the next few months,” you chuckle, and you hear him roll over on the bed. 

“fine. see you soon.” 

with that, you begin your walk to the bathroom, able to navigate the dark hallways perfectly after following this routine for weeks. after doing your business, you walk back down the hall, but this time you find that it’s much easier. 

in fact, there’s a light on in one of the bedrooms, which you quickly discern to be megumi’s. you knock, hearing a little “come in” on the other side. 

“megumi? what are you doing up?” you whisper, seeing him sitting up in bed. he furiously rubs his hands with his face, and the sight brings tears to your eyes. 

“i…had a bad dream.” he says, his little voice full of sadness. you move to kneel next to his bed, hoping to reassure him. 

“what happened? you can talk to me about it, if you want. or i can get your dad if you’d prefer.” he shakes his head, but still seems to hesitate. 

“dad’s not going to…leave us, will he?” worry strikes through you. 

“never. what would make you think that?”

“i don’t know, i guess i just wish we could see him more. he’s always pretty busy and only comes home for dinner.” another tear falls down his little face, and you can feel one mirror on your own. curse your hormones. 

“he’s busy, yes, but it’s because he’s trying to provide for you as best as he can. he just wants you to be happy,” megumi nods, but you can see that there’s still something on his mind. 

“it’s just that…when the baby comes, will he still have time for us?” your heart brakes at his statement, guilt shattering you. 

“of course he will. i promise you that he will always have time for you. he can be gruff, but he loves you.” 

“pinky promise?” he holds his little pinky out, and you immediately hook your much larger one around it. 

“pinky promise. now go back to bed. if you’re tired in the morning, let me know and i’ll call you out of school.” he nods, and you walk to the door, turning his light off. 

“sleep tight kiddo.” the door closes with a soft click!, and you immediately head back to your shared bedroom. your face feels wet, and you realize belatedly that you’d been crying. 

the bed is comforting, but you feel your breaths come out shakily. 

“doll? what’s wrong?” you jump, not realizing your husband’s still awake, and scoot in closer. 

“megumi’s worried that you won’t have time for him once the baby comes, and i feel so guilty. i didn’t even think about how this would affect them.” you’re hiccuping now, and his large hand comes to rest on your back. 

“you didn’t do anything wrong, i should be here more for them.” he whispers, and you shake your head. 

“no, you’re just doing what you can to help us.” he sighs, and you place your head on his chest. 

“yeah, but maybe it’s not enough. i’ll try to cut back on how many jobs i take weekly so i can be here more. we make more than enough money between the two of us anyways.” 

you hum, remembering exactly why you fell in love with him all those years ago. he isn’t exactly the most open person, but he does love his kids in his own way. 

“you need to stop being so cute. this isn’t good for my blood pressure,” he snorts, squeezing you lightly. 

“cute, huh? never thought someone would call me cute,” you laugh at him, wrapping your arms around his body. 

“why wouldn’t they? you just ooze cuteness, from your thick biceps and rippling abs-” 

“i’m starting to think you might be in love with me.” you can just hear the grin in his voice, and you move to roll away before one of his strong arms stops you. 

“ah-ah,” he tuts, “need my doll next to me so i can protect her.” 

“you sure you’re not the one in love with me?” his chest is firm as you run your fingers across it. 

“you wish,” he presses a kiss against your temple, and your body heats up. you huff, feigning annoyance, and his hand comes to cup your face. 

“fine. i might be in love with you. just a little bit."

[lexsssu]

Sweet (Totsumoto Yuushi)

TAGS: Yuushi/F!Reader, smut, breeding, impregnation, some plot Ao3 ver.

Iɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ ғɪɴᴅs ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡ ᴏғ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜᴛᴛᴇʀʟʏ ɪʀʀᴇsɪsᴛɪʙʟᴇ.

Totsumoto Yuushi had been down on his luck ever since the recession had forced his former company to let go of him. Applying to other companies also yielded no results, so he was stuck moving from part-time job to part-time job.

However, it wasn’t all that bad.

Before he’d lost his former job as a salaryman, he’d met cute little you.

Soft, fragrant, and probably the sweetest cinnamon roll he had ever come to meet in his entire life. 

You with your saccharine smiles and genuine warmth and concern for some random older man you’d met (he passed out on the side of a dingy alley, having drowned himself in beer after being forced to do some more unpaid overtime).

You could have simply ignored him back then because he would have woken up some hours later with a hangover and got back home relatively in one piece.

But you didn’t.

Out of the goodness of your heart, you managed to drag him back to your own apartment and had him settled on your sofa-bed. Hell, you even went as far as laying a blanket on him and putting a pillow that was softer and smelled nicer than any pillow he’d ever used beneath his head.

“Good morning. I just made breakfast if you’re feeling hungry,” your melodic voice greeted him as he sat up, somewhat disoriented and wondering where the fuck he’d ended up after passing out last night.

But speaking of breakfast, Yuushi feels his stomach grumbling as the scent of freshly cooked rice, eggs, toast, and bacon permeated around the homey apartment. 

“If it’s not too much trouble…” 

“Please, help yourself. I made more than enough to share!”

And for the first time in a very long time, he finds himself sharing a home-cooked meal with someone. Even if you were virtually strangers, he already feels much closer to you than anyone he’s currently acquainted with.

Yuushi goes home with his stomach full, heart warm, and your number on his contact list.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Contrary to popular belief, he does not sleep with you the next time you two meet up (which was at a popular cafe where he finds himself mesmerized at the sheer happiness you exuded just from tasting the pastries and one of those creamy, fruity drinks). 

He does his best to ignore the way the thick, white cream decorates your lips before you lick it off with your pink tongue.

Nor does Yuushi sleep with you even after every time you hang out after that.

He doesn’t do anything to break the ‘platonic’ friendship you two share, because he is so starved of human connection that he finds these moments with you more than enough…for the time being, that is.

Besides, how can he even dare to prey on cute little you, when you blushed so prettily when he so much as placed a hand on your shoulder or on the small of your back as he steered you somewhere?

You certainly deserved better.

A dirty old man like himself isn’t worth your attention and affection if you asked him.

But then he loses his job, fails to find a new one, and continuously fails to pay rent at his old apartment.

Just when it feels like his entire world is crashing before his very eyes, there you are again with a hand held out to him.

“You can stay with me for as long as you need to.”

Yuushi doesn’t hesitate, nor does he hold himself back anymore.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“I want to impregnate you. Gonna make sure my cock keeps kissing your womb like this.”

With your legs wrapped around his waist and your lower body practically folded in half to accommodate the heavy weight of the older man’s body, Yuushi is as deep inside you as he could be. And just like his words, the tip of his cock keeps bullying the entrance to your womb in this position.

“I'll take good care of you and all the little ones we’ll make, I promise.”

The way your insides practically choke his dick with just a few words renews his stamina, and so you both lose yourselves in a haze of pleasure just before the first rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You become Mrs. Totsumoto not too long after, and the both of you move outside Tokyo to manage the strawberry farm you inherited from your grandparents. While your husband does most of the heavy work, especially as your pregnancy progressed, you still helped around with light housework and making different kinds of products with the strawberries you produced.

Aside from the fruits themselves, your humble farm also made strawberry jam, milk, strawberry ice cream, etc. You also had contracts with several businesses, supplying them with your high-quality products.

All in all, business was booming and life was good.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

At a newly opened inn somewhere in Japan, the new owner received this week’s shipment of strawberries as his otherwordly wife peeked from behind him.

“Ooooooh, this new batch of strawberries from our supplier is especially tasty today! Would you like to try some K-ko?”

[babsaros]

t4t lesbian couple facing imminent eviction

We have just under two weeks to figure out where we're going now.

After 5 years of living here with no issues, my personal relationship with our landlord has suddenly deteriorated to the point of hostility and intolerable disrespect. They gave us until the 31st to be out of their house and we intend to follow through fully. Our bathroom is freezing due to holes in the walls and poor insulation. The shower gets moldy from it growing in the walls. We can always, ALWAYS hear stomping footsteps and loud conversations overhead. The landlord has recently been coming into our bedroom while we're not home to mess with our belongings without informing us. We cannot use the kitchen unless it is very late at night, so we have to be extremely quiet or risk getting in trouble for waking the dogs up, so we skip meals or get takeout. We don't have windows. Living here is incredibly detrimental to our mental health and overall wellbeing, we cannot do it anymore.

I've been applying to every apartment we can find within our budget, but the majority of listings turn out to be scams. We were incredibly hopeful about a place we toured and applied to, only to be left on the hook for the past week before I had to ask and be informed that we were denied. I'm scrambling now to figure out a plan B, C and D. Hopefully something workable crops up, but I'm researching at nearby campgrounds in case we are living out of the car for a while.

Long shot, but if there is anyone in the Long Island area open to housing us, or at least my girlfriend temporarily, please please reach out. We would appreciate that so much.

No matter what, this move is going to be costly, and we keep getting hit with small emergencies that eat through the funds we're trying to save.

We've already received so much support from friends and strangers alike, and I couldn't be more grateful or in awe of the generosity shown. Thank you all for sharing my posts, leaving kind words, and encouraging others to donate.

I work full-time in retail, and my girlfriend is currently searching for a job too. I have slots open on Kofi if you would like to commission a piece of art. We both do online sex work as well, anyone interested in supporting us through twitter and onlyfans can DM me for links.

Thank you all again, and I hope I can share positive news soon.

[iwillbringyouruin]

Visions Magazine with Tobias Forge on the idea behind Rite Here Rite Now, the importance of soundtracks in general and how he distinguishes between himself and his characters (Visions Magazine issue nr. 377, 08/2024)

Full translation of the included interview by me below the cut - buckle up, this is a long post! There are no spoilers for RHRN in this.

Markus Hockenbrink: Tobias, have you ever watched the movie Metallica: Though The Never?

Tobias Forge: Yes, once, when it had just come out. The topic Metallica came up when we were taking care of the funding for [RHRN]. Every larger production company – and I have to emphasise here that this was before Taylor Swift’s The Eras Tour and her extremely successful movie about it – voiced a lot of concern back then whether anybody would still be interested in concert movies. I had to explain time and again that my movie wouldn’t be a typical concert movie, to which I was asked several times: “Oh, so something like Through The Never?” I had to deny that again. We tell a story in our movie most of our fans are already familiar with. So it’s not an entirely new concept, which is already the first distinction from Through The Never. If you only consider that there is a concert part and a feature film part, then those two movies are probably similar. But that also applies to La La Land.

M. Hockenbrink: You describe your movie as a combination of Kiss’ Alive II, Ralph Bakshi cartoons and silent film horror. Is that a kind of childhood dream that comes true there?

T. Forge: Definitely. For as long as I’ve been interested in music, I’ve also been interested in film and television. Working in film could have also been a career option for me, but I always got the rather annoying impression that one would have to go to film school to really find a place in that field. School was never my strong suit, I see myself more as a autodidact in that regard. That I had the opportunity to work on/contribute to my own movie as a sorcerer’s apprentice of sorts is a real privilege. That is a dream come true but it is also something I can picture more of in the future. Next time maybe without the band.

M. Hockenbrink: Can you remember a specific moment in your life when you realised that you were especially drawn to topics that are slightly morbid and unsettling?

T. Forge: I think that due to my family I came in contact with vastly different kinds of pop culture from a very young age. In more traditional families with more conservative parents and siblings of similar ages, you only really start with your respective journey to find yourself in your teens. Then there are often restrictions that are meant to distract from those darker influences. My parents on the other hand are very liberal and my brother was 13 years older than me. There were never limits or censorship for me. My childhood didn’t go by without rules entirely, but I was always allowed to watch or listen to what my brother was also watching or listening to. That way I was exposed to all kinds of teenage culture from the beginning. Sure, I also liked Pippi Longstocking and He-Man. But that was always combined with the French arthouse films my mother liked to watch or the horror flicks my brother was into. I can’t recall a particularly striking horror film experience, but I still remember the first time it dawned on me that movies don’t just exist, they’re made.

M. Hockenbrink: How do you mean?

T. Forge: My father worked as a documentary maker in television. His job was to connect the video track and the sound track in a fitting way for different film production. I saw Jaws on television with him as a small child. It’s important to note that my father is not somebody who can just quietly enjoy films but somebody who likes to butt in. Thanks to him I already had a kind of epiphany during the introduction. He said: “Look closely! There is nothing to see in this underwater scenery except the algae. Technically completely harmless. But it only takes the ominous music to turn the whole scene into pure horror already!” And I thought: Wow! That’s true! Later in the movie you only have to hear that music and it immediately puts you on edge, even when there’s nobody in the water right now. They don’t even have to show the shark anymore. I found it fascinating that the [viewer’s] senses/perception could be manipulated like that. Ever since, I’ve been viewing films with different eyes. I can still allow myself to dive into the story but at the same time I see the practical aspect to film-making.

M. Hockenbrink: I had a similar feeling during the introduction of Shining: technically a cozy road trip in the mountains, but a pure nightmare with the music.

T. Forge: I’m with you on that. Shining is one of the best movies of all time. And funnily enough, only the intro sequence was actually shot in nature. All the other scenes, even if they were outside, were filmed in the studio. Exactly that kind of craftsmanship is what I find inspiring.

M. Hockenbrink: With that in mind, what makes a good soundtrack in your opinion?

T. Forge: We already talked about Jaws, but I can think of Eyes Wide Shut as another example. There is that short piano theme that comes up again and again, incredibly effective. A good soundtrack needs to deliver something that you don’t have to be able to see to perceive its existence. Sure, there are no monsters in Eyes Wide Shut, aside from the main character’s jealousy as an internal monster maybe. But just like the music in Jaws, the theme from Eyes Wide Shut symbolises something that doesn’t have to be shown. The sound is enough. That is also a commonly used effect in adventure and love movies. You just put in a short vignette to describe the love between two characters. In Star Wars, Luke Skywalker also has his own theme, that is used every time when things get emotional and you’re supposed to feel that hope. You’ve got to pay attention to that. Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th also has a personal theme to recognise him by. Every time you hear it you immediately know “Oh shit, he’s nearby!”

M. Hockenbrink: What about soundtracks that are made up of songs?

T. Forge: With that, I’m especially thinking of Silence of the Lambs. In the scene where Buffalo Bill dresses up as a woman and dances around his basement, a song called Goodbye Horses by Q Lazzarus is playing. I have no idea how the artist felt about that since the song is now so irrevocably connected to that awful scene, that you can’t listen to it anymore without thinking of it.

M. Hockenbrink: Do you feel like soundtrack work is more appreciated now than it used to be?

T. Forge: I think that it’s definitely gained importance over the last 40 years. The right song on the right soundtrack can be incredibly powerful. Just think of Stranger Things. Obviously, Metallica and Kate Bush already had successful careers before, but what happened with Master of Puppets and Running Up That Hill following the series was something else entirely. The songs were associated so strongly with the narrative, that way more people listened to them than before. Of course I’m a strong advocate for live music but I also realised that nothing is as strong as the connection of visuals and music. That is still the most powerful way to appeal to a deeper emotion through the association.

M. Hockenbrink: More or less a shortcut to the subconscious.

T. Forge: Exactly. But you can’t be cynical about that either. If I was an A&R person at a big label, I would probably also say: “You just have to find a spot for one of your songs on a popular soundtrack, then you’ll have made it!” That’s really how it is. But when you view it from an artistic perspective, when you want to reach people a certain way or bring across a certain message or a certain feeling, the combination of visuals and sound can’t be topped.

M. Hockenbrink: It especially lends itself to an immersive experience, as seems to be in the foreground of [RHRN]. An album by Black Sabbath or Iron Maiden ends at some point, then you’re gone from that metal world again. With Ghost, however, you get the feeling that the illusion just keeps on going, across several media. Did you plan the Ghost mythology like this from the start?

T. Forge: In part. When I started with the band, I only wanted to make a standalone album. The concept was supposed to be interesting and practical, but I wasn’t planning for Ghost to be a huge thing. The style I pictured has its own limits in my opinion. The band was supposed to function a certain way and appeal to a certain target audience. The concert was supposed to be a theatrical performance in the literal sense. Ghost were never supposed to perform in a normal rock club nor go on tour. I wanted more of a kind of Vaudeville show in a proper plushy theatre. The band was supposed to be as anonymous as the actors that stand on stage and play, say, Faust. The idea behind this was: Those who don’t know who the people are on stage are more ready to follow the story. Then we would perform three days back-to-back in select cities. Berlin, Amsterdam, London. Just like Diamanda Galás who can more likely be found at a culture festival than in a rock shack. But things turned out differently in the end, and I had to kiss my original ideas goodbye again, so to speak.

M. Hockenbrink: Why?

T. Forge: After the success of our debut album, it became clear to me that more conventional concerts were going to be demanded of us and that I could only really say yes or no. This problem became worse after our shift to a bigger label. It became clear that my vision of telling stories clashed with the live sector and requirements for success more and more. At a certain point anonymity doesn’t work anymore and I had to make peace with that in the end.  I originally didn’t even want to do interviews but that’s obviously tricky when you want to sell records. The question that I constantly ask myself since is how I can do those things best in the Ghost way without denying the original Vaudeville spirit.

M. Hockenbrink: In his autobiography Golf Monster, Alice Cooper talks about himself in third person a lot when he is talking about his character. Are you feeling similarly at this point?

T. Forge: At least I can definitely see where he’s coming from. There is a difference between the person Vincent Furnier and the character Alice Cooper. I believe that he was on the verge of completely transforming into Alice Cooper at one point – to the point where one has to decide where they want to live or die. In the end he decided to remain Vincent Furnier and only become Alice Cooper for work, on stage. So far I’ve been fortunate to combine the two pretty well, but had I started Ghost ten years earlier in my life, it would have probably affected me similarly to how Alice Cooper did with Vincent Furnier in his time. But with my humble experience as an actor I have to say: every character you play becomes a part of you to a certain extent. You have to find certain qualities – good or bad – within yourself to bring such a character to life. I think that most actors only play one or two roles throughout their life that they then end up being known for. The different characters that I’ve portrayed on stage are not only very similar but actually also a part of me. Fortunately a part of me that I don’t want to deal with all day long.

M. Hockenbrink: Too cynical and antisocial?

T. Forge: Cardinal Copia or Cardi, as I like to call him, is not an all-around cool person, but that makes him so fun to play for me. He is half Freddie Mercury and half Jacques Clouseau. Kind of clumsy, kind of silly, kind of stupid. The kind of guy who trips over his own feet but catches himself elegantly. That’s also me in a way, but not just. And I think that’s easier to embody than a daredevil hero character who can rival anyone and gets all the ladies. When somebody plays only those characters their whole life, it will probably really go to their head. Especially when there are drugs involved on top of that.

M. Hockenbrink: With all that fondness of doom that can be found with Ghost, that universe also has something humorous about it, benign even. It that an intentionally included contradiction?

T. Forge: Yes, and it is also very important to me that it comes across like that. For me that also has something to do with the evolution of metal. Originally it was mostly a phenomenon connected to the youth, nowadays the musicians and their fans are close to retiring. That brings a certain maturity. Even the Norwegian black metal musicians who were super pissed and extreme 30 years ago and were only made of hate and aggression are well-adjusted people now. Bearded fathers and grandfathers with a pleasant view on life that make others laugh. I see a certain duality there. Everything that has something to do with goth, with metal, with horror, appears dark, dismal and hostile at first. But in reality, that can all be extremely life-affirming and a source of great joy for many people. So pretty much the opposite.

M. Hockenbrink: Speaking of horror: could you imagine making a real feature film some day?

T. Forge: Yes, I would love that. I’m well aware that it’s not going to be easy to make what I’m picturing a reality, just because I’ve done directing once with [RHRN] now. The creative liberty I got to enjoy there also was due to the fact that I funded the movie myself. So nobody was meddling with it. That is likely completely different when you work on behalf of a big studio, because we are talking about different sums here. If I only go off my dreams, I would name two points of reference. One is Shining, the other Bram Stoker’s Dracula by Francis Ford Coppola. I would like to make a movie that’s only shot in a studio, with elaborate sets, matte painting and all that. No outside shots, no special effects, no green screen. And no actors who only gets to see what they were actually doing after the fact. Proper old-school. The way movies are actually meant to look.

[caelivir]

rayne ames relationship hcs (part ii)

— WARNING: creepy behavior from a guy but that’s it

— author’s note. i feel like the author’s note from when i posted this doesn’t apply anymore, but anyway, this is part two but isn’t actually because i lost the first part when i accidentally deleted my account… again im so sorry. ALSO!! the writing is a little different bc i’m cringing rereading my old stuff. (how did u guys let that slide)

— HUGE HUGE HUGE THANK YOU TO @mikadzukis FOR SAVING MY OLD HCS I AM INDEBTED TO U!!!!

rayne ames loves dates with you. he loves them.

but he especially loves picnic dates

you introduced him to the idea on one of his days off

you promised it wasn’t going to be draining because you knew being a visionary is a taxing job

so he agreed

and he loved it

spread across the red and white checkered picnic blanket are plates of grapes, cheese, and sandwiches. two goblets of iced tea rest on top of a wooden board so they can remain balanced.

rayne’s large hands support his weight as he leans back onto the blanket. the half-blonde cranes his neck to stare up at the leaves. rays of sunlight peek through slivers of space between them. a butterfly flutters its wings above him.

“rayne!” you call for his attention.

your lover hums as a reply before directing his eyes toward you, offering his full attention.

“i made something for you.” you speak, grabbing for another basket on the blanket. you lift up the cover, reaching carefully inside it. you pull out a cake platter and set aside the lid that protected the dessert residing on it.

“it’s a cake!” you continue with a smile. “this is the first time you’ve been off in a while so i thought i could make a cake to celebrate! i even decorated it with some bunnies!”

a small grin grows on the visionary’s face. he pushes himself up. rayne takes the platter out of your hand and gently places it on a free board on the blanket. you’re caught in surprise as his arms wrap themselves around your waist. his head finds warmth in the crook of your neck.

“thank you.” he whispers.

rayne’s protective of you

he knows you’re capable of fighting your own battles, but there are certain situations where he just had to take care of it

if someone’s saying things about you or harassing you, he isn’t going to tolerate that

the entirety of easton knows not to mess with you, because messing with you means messing with rayne, and no one wants to put themselves through that

he’s already scary enough as is so all it takes is a couple of threats for the person to leave cowering in fear

you wait outside of the café as rayne uses the restroom. people of all ages each other as they navigate their ways theough marchétte street. one of them approaches you, but it’s not rayne.

“so what’s a fine thing like you doing alone here in the street.” a guy smirks, trailing his eyes up and down your body. you shift uncomfortably. he’s definitely a few years older than you and inches taller than rayne. a single line cuts through his right cheek, indicating his level of magic.

you swallow down an anxious gulp before speaking. “i’m with my boyfriend.”

“tell me gorgeous,” the man’s hand travels down the path of your jaw. you’re disgusted by his touch. “does your boyfriend like to share?”

“i really think you should go.” you respond firmly, shoving the grimy hand away from your face.

the guy chuckles, raising his hands in defense. “no need to get aggressive, sweetheart! i just want to know!”

“and who the hell are you?” a familiar deep voice says from behind you. you turn around to discover rayne, and your eyes light up at his appearance. you’re well acquainted with the detachment and chilling coldness of rayne’s gaze, but now, there’s a fire behind them.

rage.

he’s pissed.

recognition becomes evident in the man’s face, and it dawns on him that he just messed with a divine visionary’s lover, but before he can retreat, rayne steps in front of you. he yanks your harasser down to your level. you don’t know what the half-blonde says, but it’s clear that it sparks fear into the features of the other man. once rayne’s finishes with him, he apologizes profusely before running away in the opposite direction.

the anger behind rayne’s eyes fade; they soften when he finds your gaze. “are you okay.”

you grin. “yeah, now that you’re here.”

rayne lets you wear his robes

whenever you hang out in his dorm, your first instinct is to go through his closet and take them

when you first did it, he was going to protest

but you looked so cute i. them that he decided to let it slide

you especially like wearing them when you nap

though you wearing his robes does pose some problems for him from time to time

“you’re late,” orter points out from his seat at the table. his fingers slide the frame of his glasses up his nose. “and where’s your visionary robe?”

rayne strolls past the desert came, not bothering to answer for his actions. he didn’t want to admit—especially to orter of all people—the reason behind his missing robe.

this morning, just as he was almost ready to leave for the divine visionary meeting, rayne realized that he was missing his robe. the half-blonde searched ever crevice of his dorm but to no avail. rayne sighed, reaching the conclusion that you accidentally took it.

yesterday, he had to run a quick errand while you were napping. upon his return, rayne discovered that you had left. you scribbled a message on a notepad, explaining that you didn’t want to keep intruding. you were probably too tired to realize that you had his war robe in your possession.

rayne could waste any more time making a trip to your dorm. it was a bit of a distance from his. the best decision at the moment was to let you have it and attend the meeting without it.

that is how he ended up in this situation, late and stuck sitting next to ryoh.

“y/n has your robe, don’t they?” ryoh teases in a whisper. for some reason, ryoh had discovered rayne’s relationship with you. whenever the two visionaries crossed paths, his senior never fails to mention you.

the sword cane doesn’t respond. “that’s a yes, isn’t it?” ryoh continues with a shit-eating grin. he pokes the arm of the boy next to him

rayne inhales. gods, he was not going to hear the end of this.

whenever you and rayne are apart due to his job as divine visionary, you communicate through letters sent by owls

he talks about the places he’s at and shit talks the people he doesn’t like

you tell him about you classes and how things are back at the academy, especially things going on within the adler dorm

and you occasionally give him updates on finn because you know deep down rayne cares about him

an owl lands on the sill of the open window of rayne’s temporary room. the animal clamps down on an browned envelope placed in its beak. rayne approaches the bird, and it drops the letter into his hands before flying off.

the mattress of the bend sinks under rayne’s weight when he sits on it. he unfolds the piece of parchment in his hands unsealing the envelope. his eyes scan down the letter that reads:

dear rayne,

how’s your trip? i hope nothing’s gone bad. things back at easton have been the same as usual, but it’s not that fun without you here.

classes are boring, but that’s nothing new. i might rip my brain out. i’ve been baking to try and cope. by the way, when you get back, you have to try this cheese tart i made. i had your brother and a friend of his try them. they seemed to like it a lot. i don’t know the name of the kid yet, but he wants me to make cream puffs next time. he says they’re a lot better than cheese tarts so you’ll have to try those too.

speaking of finn, he’s doing extremely well. he’s making lots of friends which is really nice to see. he always seems nervous to talk to me though. am i intimidating or something. i don’t think i am. unless you’ve been saying some things about me then i think we’re gonna have a problem…

gods, i miss you so much. come back soon. i’ll be waiting for you always. take care of yourself and don’t stress too much. i love you.

- y/n

p.s. please get me a souvenir. thank you! i love you, again.

rayne stands up, finding a sheet of paper and a quill. he pulls out a chair by a table. a slight smile flashes on the visionary’s face as he writes back to you—his home.

[moonlitstoriess]

Across the Universe-ch.7 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terrasen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

Warning: mentions of trauma, violence, abuse

See masterlist

All her life, she has been an outcast. After all, rumours spread fast when you live in a small place.

"She is cursed."

"No normal being has what she has."

"Stay away from her."

"Did you hear? She is not fae because of that."

All because of one traitor. All because she trusted the wrong 'friend' to tell and show it to.

It did not get better when the rumours reached him either.

She still has the burns on her legs from that night to prove that.

He was tying her onto the table. She was screaming, trying to fight him, pleading for whoever would listen, to come save her. No one came.

A slap across her right cheek.

"Shut your mouth! You have already embarassed me enough by having your deformity be the talk of every Illyrian camp to exist."

She was completely tied to the table. Her weak, bony, bruised arms and legs were secured to the edges with really tight and thick ropes.

"No! Let me go!"

That was when he took the heated metal, red-hot in appearance, and started to come closer to her.

He prepared for this. He was planning to do this to her all along because that iron did not get so hell-hot in a matter of seconds.

Maybe today was the day. Her end.

To her surprise, he applied it not to her chest, but to her legs. Nonstop, taking turns for each leg.

She tried. She really tried not to scream, not to give him the satisfaction of her pain but, how could she not? She was being burned for Cauldron's sake! She held out for a minute before succumbing into the pain.

She did not remember the rest because she passed out after who knows which burn.

She was 15.

So why her? Why was she the chosen one? Why should she close the gates? Was she not the cursed one? Why did The Book of Breathings send her here? What is her purpose?

So many questions. Seems like her plan to go home as soon as possible and leave them to deal with their own problems would have to be erased.

With a sigh, she looked up at the bright blue sky as she and Fenrys finally made it out of the warded area into the clearing.

Apparently, all this thinking has made her blind because the next thing she knows, y/n is colliding with a hard wall- no, muscle. She looked up to see that it was none other than Fenrys, holding her by her arms so she can balance her body once again. She was pressed to his body.

With an awkward move, she staggered back and tried to stop herself from blushing like a tomato. And from the amused smirk on Fenrys' face, she was doing a terrible job at keeping herself composed.

"I-...sorry,"

He let out a small chuckle as he came closer, "Let that be a lesson to not daydream while walking."

She scoffed and turned her face while crossing her arms, "I was NOT daydreaming."

She tried and failed to hide her sneaky smile.

He turned her around so that they were face to face as he said, "Hmmm sure, whatever you say. I can winnow us out of here now. Hopefully, this time you won't make a scene about it."

"I was NOT making a scene either, I was just- wait. Did you just say winnow? As in, the way we say it in Prythian?"

Fenrys simply shrugged before taking her hand and as the world around them began disapearing, all he said was, "Just a slip up. I will never say it again."

Y/n could not stop the smile that formed on her face.

When they arrived at the grand hall, the first thing y/n noticed was that her legs were sore after walking for so many days. Scratch that. Her whole body was sore. Sleeping on the ground does that to you. Damn those tall trees and their dense leaves, she couln't even fly! Going to bed right now and sleeping for a whole day or two did not sound like a bad plan at all.

The second thing she noticed was that Aedion's right arm was covered in bandages and hanging from a sling. How on earth did he manage to break his arm? Looks like they were not the only ones who had a tough journey.

And the third thing she noticed was a new face. Silver hair like moonlight highlighted a face so beautiful, y/n wondered if this woman was even real. Lips covered in a seductive red color that would make any being fall on their knees for her. When her eyes that were the color of burnt gold locked with y/n's gaze, the woman seemingly assesed her from head to toe. In turn, y/n did the same. She was wearing some kind of scale-embossed black, leather coat-dress with a silver chain around her torso, and a small, red fabric dangling from the chain. Her simple, black pants and knee high boots added an air of dominance to her overall look.

Was this Manon? Fenrys mentioned her name earlier but y/n was too distracted with the loud roars coming from that weird flying thing that she was almost not paying any attention.

"Shhh"

"Don't shush me!"

"This is getting a little too intense guys"

"No, it is getting exciting. Just look at the way they are coldly looking at one another! Fight, Fight, Fi-"

"Gods, Aedion stop that! Are you a child?!"

Y/n was pulled out of her haze as she looked around the room to see everyone looking between her and Manon. Apparently, they were too intense with their assessment of one another.

Manon, seemingly unfazed, just kept on staring at her face with cool indifference. So, y/n did the same. She was not about to look scared in front of this woman.

Aelin, clearly seeing the tension, came forward while clearing her throat.

"Y/n, this is Manon. Manon Blackbeak. She is The Queen of Witches and our bestest friend." she said jokingly as she tried side-hugging Manon, to which the woman scoffed and removed her arm while smirking slightly.

So she was a witch. The Queen of Witches. Oh, Nesta would have loved her.

"Manon dearest, this is the one and only Y/n. Anddd I would be glad if you could stop giving her death stares now. You too, y/n."

Y/n held her ground under Manon's penetrating gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. She could sense the power and confidence radiating from the Queen of Witches, and while it intimidated her, it also intrigued her.

"Manon Blackbeak," Y/n echoed, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. "I've heard a lot about you."

Manon raised an eyebrow, her smirk fading slightly as she regarded Y/n with a calculating gaze.

"Have you now?" she replied, her tone neutral yet tinged with curiosity.

Aelin interjected with a nervous laugh, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. "Yes, Y/n, Manon here is not just the Queen of Witches but also quite the force to be reckoned with."

Manon's lips quirked in amusement at Aelin's attempt at diplomacy, but she remained silent, her eyes still fixed on Y/n.

Y/n took a breath, deciding to address the tension head-on. "Look, I don't know what your impression of me is, but I'm here to help," she stated firmly, meeting Manon's gaze with determination. "Whatever it takes to close those gates and protect our worlds....aaaanddd finally get me to MY world."

Manon's expression softened for a quick second, a hint of respect gleaming in her eyes. "Words are easy." she remarked cryptically, her voice low but carrying an undertone of acknowledgment.

Rowan cleared his throat, attempting to diffuse the palpable atmosphere. "Yes, well, we're all on the same side here," he said diplomatically, giving a pointed look to both Y/n and Manon. "Let's focus on why we're all gathered. There's a lot at stake."

Manon's gaze lingered on Y/n for a moment longer before she finally broke the stare, her expression unreadable. "Agreed" she said simply, her voice carrying a tone of authority that resonated through the room.

Lysandra got up to her feet "Very well then! Who wants to go first?"

The second she saw Lorcan open his mouth, Lysandra put up her hand as she said, "Nevermind, we will go first."

There were a few chuckles and a full on cruel smirk from Manon directed right at the angry giant.

The green eyed female turned towards her husband and Elide as she said, "Dearest crew mates, shall we begin?"

Aedion was about to say something when she also shut him up "Do not. I am still pissed at you for what you did. Elide, sweetheart, will you do the honors?"

Aedion rolled his eyes as he scoffed and grumbled something under his breath which made Eva let out a wide eyed laugh.

Elide sat on one of the chairs surrounding the large table and sighed "Well, as much as Lysandra just added dramatics and made it seem like we discovered something beyond shocking, we only managed to find one thing that could help us."

"Hey! We needed to add some dramatics to make it seem bigger than it is. Or else they will be disappointed that we don't come with much information. I guess it is all ruined now anyway." Lysandra finished before jokingly sticking her tounge out at Elide.

"If I may-"

"No you may not Aedion."

"Lysandra, please, starlight."

"Fine! Do whatever you want. It is not like I was able to stop you before!"

Y/n, feeling the tension between them, murmured to the blond queen beside her, "What happened with those two?"

Aelin simply sighed and shook her head "If only we knew."

Aedion cleared his throat before adressing the room, "So, after a two day journey JUST to reach the Sanctuary, we were able to acquire a meeting with the head monk. Thanks to Elide's lovely acting and sweet talking. Once we met with the wrinkly, bony, ghost-"

"He was not that at all! Yes, he was quite ancient but so sweet! He even gave us sweet drinks." Elide said before casting a glare at the blond warrior.

Aedion continued, "Yes. Well, he was only sweet to you. I still did not get over the fact that he called my wife a half-beastie."

Lysandra scoffed "You should have let me deal with him on my own! There was no need to cause that fight!"

At that, Aelin interjected "What fight? What on earth are you talking about?"

Lysandra pointed a finger at Aedion before looking at her queen "Did you know, your cousin-"

"What is wrong with protecting my wife-"

"ENOUGH!"

To everyone's absolute shock, it was Elide who shouted that word and got up from her chair, striding to the center of the room with a determined look on her face.

"Look, we went, I charmed the old folks, they allowed us to go through their manuscripts and ancient whatever else. Of course, even my smooth-talk had its limits because we did not get a full access and there were monks and sages looking over our shoulders at any point."

She took a deep breath before continuing, "So, what we managed to find was that the gates are indeed weakened. Apparently, the barriers between realms are awakening. And guess what? The Valg are exploiting these vulnerabilities to gain access to not just our world, but to any world possible."

She then looked pointedly at Aedion and Lysandra "There was this one specific manuscript. Its cover looked very promising I was just about to take it and quickly go through it but..."

Rowan crossed his arms as he urged, "But...what?"

She sighed before looking at no one in particular "But, a specific shifter and a specific warrior ruined it all."

"Wait what-"

"I ruined nothing-"

"Why me-"

Manon's voice cut through the growing commotion, "You fought with a monk because he called Lysandra a half-beastie?"

Aedion got up to his feet, although y/n did see how he hissed a little due to the condition of his arm.

"No. I was beyond mad when the monk said that in the beginning of our little visit of course, but Lysandra somehow managed to calm me. It was not until these two were searching for information and I was in the hall, looking through the window. That cranky old bastard once again came near me and....and fucking dared to not only insult MY wife again, but also MY queen. Saying things how, 'now she remembers them', that Aelin is a 'spoiled brat' and whatever not. I could not take it no more."

Utter silence was in the room as y/n, seeing the state he got into, carefully asked, "And how exactly did you break your arm?"

He sighed before plopping down on the couch and looking her fiercely in the eyes. "The bastard managed to push me quite forcefully with his magic into a wall. I beat him up in the end of course, but he still managed to win this one from me." He paused as he pointed to his arm before looking at his wife and then, cousin "But I would do it all again if it meant that I could rip his head out this time. The females of my household will never be disrespected."

Rowan came forward and put his hand on Aedion's shoulder, a sign of respect and gratitude for protecting his mate's honor.

Aelin also came forward and sat next to her cousin, put her hand on his right shoulder, before continuing, "You should be more careful next time. I am grateful nonetheless cousin. Hopefully, those bony bastards will know their place from now on."

Before anyone could say anything, she cleared her throat and looked at her mate and Lorcan, "What about you two?"

The two warriors exchanged a look before Lorcan said in a voice so...not agressive or angry that y/n thought she must be hallucinating.

"Anyone who is standing might want to sit down for this one."

Rowan looked at his companion before nodding and then gazing at everyone else in the room.

"When we went to The Riftgate Ruins....while we were studying them, trying to understand anything about what was on them, we noticed that there were recent disturbances or traces of Valg magic that indicate current activity."

Lorcan came forward and continued the story on his brothers behalf, "Since I am, after all, the best and most skilled tracker that there is,"

Y/n nearly felt her eyeballs hit the back of her head because of how hard she was rolling them.

"Detecting Valg magic that leaves distinct residues and traces was not hard. Rowan and I found lingering traces of Valg essence or dark magic around the ruins, which clearly suggests recent Valg activity."

Y/n felt the room physically grow cold as the uncomfortable silence stretched on and on. Is it possible then? Are Valgs back?

Chaol, who was apparently standing by the doorway and listening, asked "But how? We killed them all during the war. Erawan is dead. Shouldn't their connection be severed?"

No one answered him. No one could answer him because no one had an answer to give.

Aelin, fear and determination evident in her gaze, said, "What if they are not all dead? But how would that be? Were they not connected to Erawan?"

Manon sighed before turning her head towards Chaol, "Yrene. Did she find something yet?"

Chaol came into the light and oh Mother above...did he even sleep? His hair was completely dishelved, there were bags under his eyes and why in the seven hells was he limping?

He said in a tired voice, "She is getting close. The language is clearly something she has never seen before so she is giving it her all. Give her some more time."

It was Lysandra who asked, "She won't let anyone into the room, is she atleast well? eating? sleeping? taking care?"

"Of course. My wife is my number one priority. I make sure that she is well."

Fenrys, who had not spoken until now, came closer and put a hand on the brown haired man as he said, "You need rest as well. We will take care of Yrene in whatever she needs. Do not forget what happens when one of you is not well. It affects the other."

What? Y/n made a mental note to ask Aelin on what on earth that meant.

Chaol nodded and got up as he said, "Yes, I will. For her well-being, I will. Just came to give you all the latest news. And apparently got shocking news in turn as well," a look directed at Rowan and Lorcan.

Aelin sighed, "Just go rest. You gave up much of your energy. You both did. We got it for now."

Once Chaol was gone, the queen looked at Eva, smiled sadly and said, "Thanks to Eva's precise book spotting and my exceptional page skimming skills, we managed to quickly find some interesting facts. The Book of Breathings contains ancient spells capable of containing the Valg. In fact, it has a specific text dedicated to sealing them. If this is true, it could only mean one thing, the Valgs already existed when that book was created."

It was Eva who came closer to y/n and looked up at her "But isn't that book in your world? How can we get it into this world?"

Y/n had no idea on what to say apart from, "The book was created using the last of the molten ore used to forge the Cauldron, I thought it only contained spells to control the Cauldron's powers. But if there is a specific area in it that is dedicated to the Valgs then it could mean that when it was created, the Vags attempted to endanger my world as well."

Lysandra put her face in her palms and muttered "This is getting worse by the minute."

Elide sighed as she turned her head towards Fenrys and said, "Please tell me you two atleast found something less....depressive."

Right. Y/n and Fenrys also had to tell about their findings. Great.

It wasn't until Fenrys came and stood near her that y/n realized how her heart was about to rip out of her chest. She was anxious and uncomfortable just by talking about what they found out.

All of a sudden, she felt this overwhelming amount of calm and soothing overtake her body. She turned her head to her right to see him standing right next to her now. She would never say it out loud but, y/n was glad that Fenrys was beside her during this revelation.

He seemingly understood her state because he cast her a quick glance before beginning to talk about their 'lovely' little journey.

Fenrys looked at everyone in the room as he recounted the events, from the appearence of the otherworldly seers to the revelations thrown upon them. Once he was done, the room went through another intensely extended period of silence as everyone processed his words.

Aelin had pure shock on her face while Rowan was just staring at the wall, his gaze unfocused, Lysandra tilted her head backwards and closed her eyes, Aedion stared at the ground, unmoving, Elide gasped before putting her hand on her mouth and looking at no one in particular, Lorcan had a frustrated look on his face directed at Fenrys, Eva was just looking up at y/n with wide eyes and Manon....well she was harder to understand but from the slight furrow in her brows y/n guessed that she was still analyzing Fenrys' words.

Y/n cleared her throat and came a little forward "Well, it seems like I can not go home until we solve your problem."

Aedion, still staring at the ground, replied "It may also become your world's problem if we do not put an end to this quickly."

Before y/n could reply, Rowan said to no one in particular "We need a properly constructed plan" before seemingly coming back from his haze and immediately leaving the room followed by a confused yet determined Lorcan.

Y/n saw how everyone, especially Aelin was still processing the information so, she said with a sigh, "I am going to rest. I do not think my mind is able to form any coherent thoughts right now." without looking back or waiting for an answer, she turned around and ascended the grand stairs.

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes was all the time she could sleep for- or atleast force herself to sleep for. Her body was begging her earlier for some good sleep and food but now, as she lay in bed, she was neither hungry nor sleepy. After staring at the ceiling for the past thirty minutes, y/n huffed before getting up and going to change into a more comfortable attire.

Once she discarded her turtleneck, y/n gently touched her throat, pleasantly surprised by how effective Isolde's salve had been on her injury. The mark that had once marred her skin was now barely noticeable, a testament to the healing properties of the salve. With a contented sigh, she planned to apply it once more later, confident that it would soon vanish completely.

Choosing a clean white turtleneck from her wardrobe, y/n slipped it on, followed by dark brown pants and boots.

Once she was ready, y/n stepped onto the balcony, the serene evening view stretching out before her. With a deep breath, she leapt into the air, feeling weightless and free as she soared above the grounds, her mind momentarily liberated from the concern's coming their way. Where she was going, y/n neither had no idea nor did she care as her wings flapped and she felt a sense of happiness and relaxation fall over her.

Fenrys was tired. Exhausted even. There was so much happening that he could barely keep up. He trusted Rowan to make a proper action plan without his help because if he had to stand for another minute, he would end up falling asleep and kissing the ground.

But, after what happened between him and y/n in the woods, Fenrys also had another question bugging his mind. Who hurt her?

He knew that he shouldn't care. That she meant absolutely nothing to him and therefore, he should let her handle her own problems. In fact, he should be delighted that someone caused her discomfort here, made her realize she is not safe in this world. It should have brought him great satisfaction when he pictured her scared face.

But all it brought to him was an overflow of anger and violence. Something within him forced Fenrys to turn violent whenever he thought of her in danger. He will find whoever caused her that mark. And when he does....let the nonexistent Gods have mercy on them because Fenrys for sure won't.

But first, sleep. Just as he was walking the halls to get to his room, he saw her, flying high in the sky, looking so ethereal-

No. Don't be stupid.

He ignored her, continuing on his path. Just go to your room and rest Fenrys. Yes. You don't need to care for her. Or follow her.

5 minutes later, he was outside getting ready to shift into a wolf and....follow her. Whatever this feeling within him was, it was as if he was being tugged or pulled to go wherever she goes.

In his defense, Fenrys tried to reason with himself that he was doing this for safety. What if she was a spy? Maybe she was going somewhere to meet with her accomplice? He was doing it for his queen. For his country. For his family.

But even as Fenrys shifted and began his way into the woods, he knew what a lie it was. He has no reason to still see her as a suspect because even the seers confirmed her innocence. And value to the book apparently.

After what seemed like twenty minutes, he found her, sitting on a medium sized boulder, overlooking the grassy views of Orynth.

He slowly approached her. Like a beast sizing its prey. If he jumped her now, she wouldn't even have time to react before he ripped her throat. But for some reason, even thinking of such a scenario left a sour taste in his mouth.

Apparently she knew he was here because without even turning around, her honey-like voice said, "Seems like you have this severe obsession with hunting and catching me."

She knew it was him without even having to look back. It made no sense how she would always recognize Fenrys out of a thousand others. So, as the giant white wolf shifted beside her into the familiar male, y/n felt a mixture of excitement and curiosity. The transformation from wolf to man was seamless, a testament to Fenrys' mastery over his shapeshifting abilities.

He wordlessly came and sat beside her on the boulder, leaving a respectful distance between them even though just last night they slept in each others arms. It looks like he won't bring that conversation up anytime soon. She won't either.

So, y/n, still not looking at the male beside her, asked, "Where do your people live? Looks like the forests here are very large."

Fenrys who was apparently also preferring to look towards the view instead of her, replied, "These are the palace grounds. I know, they are quite big but the people live just outside this forest. There are towns and villages. Aelin's subjects love her very much."

Y/n smiled a little "Seems like she is a good queen then."

At that, Fenrys also smiled "Yes. The best."

After a minute of silence, he asked "How....how is your life back in your world?"

To say that she was shocked would be an understatement. Fenrys was asking her a question and not throwing another snark remark? Was he being civil with her right now? It surely must be raining rocks.

He should not have asked her this. What even made him ask her this? Why are you entertaining the idea of her? Get up and leave. Now.

But he did not move. Not even a single inch as he watched her turn her head and look at him for the first time since he arrived here. And....what a sight for sore eyes she was.

The sunset was casting a natural glow over her features as she angled her head towards him and those kissable lips began moving- enough.

"My life....well I have um....gone through many different moments in my life- well, I can tell you about my years serving in the Night Court?"

Why was she hesitating to talk about her life? Some uneasy feeling settled over him but he ignored it as he nodded his head slightly, urging for her to continue.

Y/n took a deep breath before looking back at the view "When I met my High Lord, I was a trainer-of sorts for my own academy. Anyways, he and I had some...common beliefs regarding well-"

"Regarding?"

She sighed "Illyrians. Females like me, coming from the Illyrian mountains. That place is....not a kind one. Towards females, I mean. The males there are so traditional, sticking to the old rules where the only job of a female was to cook, clean and work as some kind of a breeding machine. There is this tradition that when we become old enough...female wings should be clipped."

He felt nauseous. How could a place like that exist? How could- wait. Did that mean..."Did they treat you like that? Did they try to clip your wings too?" even saying these words made him see red.

She was clearly uncomfortable now. Her face suddenly became shiny with a thin layer of sweat as she started fiddling with her fingers and looking everywhere but at him.

Something is wrong.

"Y/n-"

"Velaris is a very beautiful place to live in. Rhysand, my ex High Lord, and his ancestors kept that city a secret for a long time. Protecting it from our enemies."

She was avoiding him but it was alright, he would not press on the matter. After all, he would also avoid it if she were to ask him about his past. About what Maeve would force him to do, about his years as her slave- No. Don't go there. Just listen to her soothing voice.

Why was she even telling him these things? Apparently she was greatly missing home and needed someone to vent to.

"Rhysand introduced me to his family who later on also became my family. Cas or well...Cassian, Amren, Mor and...Az."

She felt him slightly stiffen beside her as he asked, "Who?"

Y/n cleared her throat "Azriel. He um...he-I....we were....acquinted."

She saw Fenrys put his arms on his legs and clench his hands slightly as he asked, "Mate?"

Her heart sank. She hates that word. Despises it. Especially the memories it brings up about Azriel.

Clearly, her frustration got the best of her because she snapped, "Not a mate."

Did his shoulders just relax? Why was he mad at her?

"Then...what?"

With a sigh, she tilted her head backwards and looked at the sky "We...we were lovers. 52 years. We were happy and in love or atleast I thought that but clearly I was wrong because this whole time he took me for a fool and played with my feelings."

She was on her feet now, pacing around, fuming to herself "I was such a fool, you know. I thought we were mates, that the bond would snap at any moment. That we were destined to be together. In the end, he found his mate, cheated on me with her for two whole fucking years, confessed how he never loved me, how he only saw me as a placeholder for her, and how my so called 'family' knew of this the whole fucking time!"

She saw nothing, her heart was racing, her vision blurry as she continued, "Feyre, long story short, she was a human once then became a high fae. When Rhys first introduced her to us, I was the one who constantly kept her company, I was the one who ensured her well-being, her proper transition to her new life. I taught her how to improve her shooting skills before the war against Hybern. I was loyal to my High Lady. I would follow her to the ends of the earth."

She let out a cruel, mocking laugh before continuing, "Then came Nesta and Elain. Feyre's two sisters. The King of Hybern threw them inside the Cauldron and turned them into high fae against their own will! And guess what? It was me again who took care of both of them. Especially Nesta because she was so misunderstood. I was the one who stood by her side through thick and thin. I was the one to join her little training session's as a sign of support. That was where I met Gwyn. The cause for my downfall. I was the one who talked sense into Cassian about being a proper mate towards Nesta. I-"

Her words were stuck in her throat. She wanted to cry. No. She won't.

"I...trusted them Fenrys. All of them. Mor and Amren, they were like sisters to me. We fought back to back on battlefields together for Cauldron's sake!"

She suddenly turned around and looked at him but did not see anything as her memories took over her "Do you know what I was doing right before I came here? I found out that the male whom I loved for so long was unfaithful to me for 2 years! 2 years, can you imagine?! And everyone fucking knew. Everyone. I was there for them when they were at their lowest but no one ever was there for me when I started descending into darkness all because Azriel was a little coward! But I was an idiot. Of course they would defend him. Protect him."

It felt good. So good to finally let your emotions out. To let your anger out.

But she could not breathe. She fell on her knees. Her mind was being bombarded with memories, her vision was getting more and more blurry, she was-

Y/n suddenly felt her body being pressed to a solid chest. She looked up to see Fenrys on the ground, holding her tightly to him while a mixture of anger, concern, frustration and pain was written all over his face.

His hands gently smoothed her hair as she laid her head on his chest, hearing his beating heart, "Shhhh, calm down now princess. It is in the past now."

She pressed her face further into his clothing as she murmured, "That doesn't make it any less hurtful."

She felt him sigh, "No, it doesn't."

His voice was so distant now. Y/n moved her head away from his chest to take a better look at his face and...yes he was definitely somewhere far off now, staring into the sunset with a mournful expression.

She quietly asked "What about you? What is your story Fenrys?"

He slowly looked back at her "It is a long one."

Her hand moved before she could even think, finding its place on his cheek. A look of surprise passed over his features as his gaze landed on hers. She smiled slightly, "I am willing to listen."

He gave a weak smile back, "You didn't tell me your full story now, did you?"

She sighed and looked down while closing her eyes, "No. I did not."

The next thing she knew, he put his thumb on her chin, followed by his index finger under her chin, and lifted her head up.

They were so close now, his breath was hitting her face. She could count the freckles on his face. Oh how otherworldy beautiful this male was.

Fenrys' gaze fell onto her lips as he quietly said, "Then we shall talk of our lives some other time."

She gave him a slight nod. Did she? y/n could not even remember because her gaze was locked on his as they started inching closer and closer, their lips about to-

A loud rumble shook the whole place as they were both ripped back from their haze and immediately got up.

Y/n turned around quickly so that he wouldn't see her embarassingly red blush that was beggining to form on her face.

"I-um...thank you...for letting me talk my nonsense."

She felt his hand on her arms as Fenrys turned her around. He had a very serious look on his face as he said, "Do not apologize. You did not talk 'nonsense' you let your feelings out."

Before y/n could reply, there was that loud growl again. Fenrys chuckled "Seems like Abraxos is not happy right now."

Right. Abraxos. That giant beast thing.

"I don't understand how you guys have such giant beast thingies-"

Fenrys let out a full laugh at that and for some reason, y/n wanted to engrave that sound in her memory for ever. Because he is always an arrogant prick who does not know what fun means, she kept telling herself.

"Wyverns, they are called Wyverns. Did you see him yet?"

"What?! No, of course not."

"Then let's go."

"Fenrys wai-"

But Fenrys took her hand and they were gone. The next thing she knew, she was in the middle of the palace grounds and there was this large beast thingie- Wyvern in front of her.

Manon was also here together with Eva and Lysandra as the young girl tried petting it.

As they got closer, she could hear Manon saying, "How many times have I told you to not eat the flowers in the royal gardens?! Just eat the flowers here, you know Aelin and how pissed she gets about her sweet little royal flowers, just avoid me the headache and eat the flowers on this side of the land, you stubborn brute!"

Abraxos only snarled back as Eva and Lysandra laughed loudly.

Eva was the first one to notice them as she ran towards y/n and took her hand, dragging her towards Abraxos.

"Y/n! meet Abraxos, he may look scary but he is the sweetest little creature everrr!"

As she came near it, y/n let out a little uncomfortable chuckle, "Doesn't really seem like a sweet little innocent creature to me."

Lysandra put her hand on y/n's shoulder and smirked "Well, he is the weirdest that's for sure. Unlike other Wyverns who eat humans and whatever living being they can get their teeth on, this fellow over here eats...flowers."

She heard Fenrys chuckle behind her as Manon scoffed.

Before anyone could say anything, Abraxos moved towards her with surprising gentleness, his massive wings folded back in a display of docility. His scales shimmered in the final few rays of light coming from the sunset, reflecting hues of deep blues and black that glinted like polished gemstones.

Y/n stood frozen for a moment, unsure whether to retreat or stand her ground. Abraxos approached cautiously, his large eyes fixed on her with an almost curious gaze. She could feel the warmth of his breath as he sniffed the air around her, his demeanor unexpectedly gentle despite his imposing size.

Eva beamed beside her, her enthusiasm undimmed. "See? He likes you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with delight.

Y/N managed a nervous smile, tentatively reaching out a hand to stroke Abraxos' scaled muzzle. To her surprise, he leaned into her touch, emitting a low rumble that sounded almost like contentment.

"He's... actually quite sweet," y/n admitted, her initial apprehension melting away in the presence of the gentle giant before her.

Manon crossed her arms, a begrudging smile playing on her lips. "Don't let him fool you," she warned, though her tone held a hint of fondness. "He's a soft spot for anyone who shows him kindness."

Lysandra chuckled softly. "Well, you've won him over, y/n. Not many can claim that honor."

Fenrys stepped forward, his usual guarded expression softening as he watched the scene unfold. "Abraxos has a way of surprising us all," he remarked, a note of respect in his voice.

She felt the world around them fade away as if it was just her and this beast who was starting to warm its way to her heart. How is this even possible?

A servant came running towards them as she said, "Dinner is ready your majesty and....ladies and...lord Fenrys...." The poor girl squeled and ran away the second Abraxos moved and everyone let out a chuckle, especially Fenrys who said while shaking his head, "Still can't understand why they don't call me by my name when I am not even a lord."

Lysandra and Eva began going towards the palace as the former said while still smiling, "Well it sure is hilarious to watch them stumble over their words when they are in your presence."

Fenrys smirked and moved towards the palace but stopped when he saw y/n still petting Abraxos.

"Aren't you coming?"

"You go. I will join you in a minute."

He smiled slightly but turned around and walked after Lysandra and Eva.

"You know that Eva has a crush on you right?"

Y/n was startled by Manon's voice. She was leaning against her Wyvern's side, arms crossed, watching y/n like a hawk. Seems like The Queen of Witches also hadn't left yet.

"What? No, of course she doesn't"

Manon looked towards the palace as she said, "The girl literally has hearts in her eyes whenever she looks at you. Clings to you like a koala bear. Besides, I heard her telling Lysandra how she can't wait to grow up and confess her 'undying love' for you. Poor child."

The silver haired witch looked back at her. Y/n let out a laugh that was soon joined by a small smirk on Manon's face.

"Well then, I guess I will have to wait for the next 5 years for her to come of age and confess her love to me. Pity that I am over a hundred years older than her." y/n said jokingly while still chuckling.

Suddenly, she let out a low hiss as her hand got pricked by one of the sharp, small scales on Abraxos, causing her blood to trickle down her palm.

No, not here. Please. Not now.

She had to hide her curse. Her lifelong secret. Her lifelong doom.

Manon can not see-

A gasp came from beside her as The Queen of Witches took her hand and inspected it. After what felt like an eternity, Manon raised her head, eyes slightly widened as she said,

"Your blood is blue. You are an Ironteeth Witch."

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

A/n: Sooo y/n's secret is out now. Wonder what will happen next;)) Thank you all for reading!

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[rgbstatic]

Rewatching Marble Hornets really has me questioning why Alex wasn't really included in Creepypasta media, at least alongside his peers with Masky and Hoodie.

This may be spoilers if you've never watched Marble Hornets before (its 15+ years old, but I digress).

First I do want to establish that in Marble Hornets.

Alex is the acting antagonist, Jay is our unreliable protagonist and narrator, Tim eventually becomes a side protagonist. Hoodie is a side character who often seems to help our protagonists. Every other character are side characters that help move things forward and intensify plot- when I go into detail on some characters, some of what I say can be applied to them too.

Next, the Operator's way of controlling it's "proxies".

The Operator has some sort of aura that, when exposed, causes some sort of illness. Coughing fits, seizures, and presumably more. It's presence also in turn causes paranoia, insomnia, memory loss, and a general loss of senses. This is what it seems to use to control others.

You see this with all characters in the series, how ill they get, how paranoid they get, how the worse these all are the more they do things for the Operator. You see this happen to nearly everyone.

For Tim, he is able to eventually curb this via medications, presumably seizure medications. It doesn't fully stop Tim from being controlled by the Operator and acting as Masky, but it does over time seem to make it happen less and less. You also see Masky act in later acts of the series against the Operator, or at least for Jay.

Hoodie is interesting, because you really don't see much from him, but most of his appearances is helping Jay, and you find his house full of medication bottles, presumably stolen from Tim or from some other means. The totheark videos have many purposes. They can threaten Jay, or they can warn him, they can help him. In some you see messages which echo and parrot the drawings Alex makes, in others you see him give Jay clues. He both works for the Operator, but against him and Alex at the same time.

Jay starts off as seemingly one of the only people on the cast/crew of Marble Hornets to not get involved when Alex first started his shenanigans. He remembers Marble Hornets and starts looking, immediately he gets sick and paranoid and starts encountering the Operator. He is tired and irritable, and towards the end you see him make more and more rash decisions, violent decisions. His path seems to mirror Alex, the only difference is that Jay wants to stop all of this.

Alex is the most interesting, because you almost never if at all see him ill. You can presume that maybe he saw the Operator as a kid, as one of the totheark videos show childhood home videos of him and mark him with the Operator's symbols and show's the being there, but you never see it. Alex acts under the operator seemingly at all times. He starts off paranoid, maybe even afraid, but very quickly he becomes numb to it. Seth and Sarah die very early on. He attacks Brian, Tim- all so early on, and he seems to feel no remorse for it. Eventually, it does seem like he falls away from the influence. He moves away, stops recording. This goes on for years, until his girlfriend finds his old camera. Almost instantly the Operator is there. She is missing, but he survives. Once again, the moment the Operator is involved he works under him without skipping a beat. He knows she's gone, he drags Jay into it to stop him from searching further, or perhaps to be a magnet to finish the job of those who escaped before. Alex doesn't have any sort of alter ego. He remembers, he remembers everything. Perhaps he acts out of self preservation, but something else is going on. Alex starts to corrupt the footage just like the Operator, he seems to be able to call it to him and he approaches it, stands in it's wake unaffected. He's too far gone, maybe he always was.

All of this is to say, he is the villain of this story. He may eventually be defeated, but you could argue Tim gets better and moves on and never is a proxy again.

Alex should have, and should be viewed as a more scary person, with the likes of other creepypastas, because for all intents and purposes he was the Operator's favorite, and the one to carry out it's wants and to carry out it's actions. Hoodie and Masky disobeyed time and time again, Alex continued without question or remorse. Killing people not even involved with the story.

Just in terms of story, for the longest time Masky and Hoodie were side characters that popped up once every several entries. It wasn't until over half way through that Tim becomes a central character. Alex is always there. It's his story, it's his tapes, it is him who brought the Operator to them all over and over and over again, he is the main character with Jay as a narrator of things he has done. It all leads back to him.

Something something, i think 15 years is long enough to give this evil guy a bit of spotlight in his own story.

[lorelune]

(aventurine x reader /// continuation of this concept)

"explain to me," the good doctor demands, "why do you need my help?"

"because." you fumble around your words. your lips feel cold. herta's space station, especially this deep in its bowels, is an unpleasant place to have any conversation, let alone one that is also unpleasant. "i don't have time."

"and you assume i do?"

"partially?" you rub a hand over your cheek. "throw me a bone here, doctor."

ratio has been sizing you up for the better part of half an hour, scrutinizing your intent in any way he can. you have been skillfully attempting to dodge most of those attempts, but veritas ratio is as diligent a man as he is intelligent. which is to say that he is not letting up until you divulge the truth.

you sigh.

"you will explain to me," he says outright, gaze piercing. "how one of the intelligentsia guild's most esteemed researchers needs help with an algorithm that is far below both of our skill levels. it's insulting to both myself, and yourself."

you sigh again, deeper and harder, "i, once again, do not have time. i have the 'full time job' of handling aventurine's odds, and those calculations don't run like any other odds i've ever worked with, and he is a variable constantly in motion. i need help making this algorithm so i can have some assistance with my main job at hand."

the doctor scoffs, and walks a circle around you, "i'm sure he's just thrilled with the company."

"we— he manages."

more than. but, veritas doesn't need to know that. you're sure he'll figure it out eventually.

veritas tagged the briefcase on a nearby table. it's gleaming, with a discreet ipc logo embossed on the side. the sight of it makes you nauseous with anxiety.

"is this bribe from him?" he asks.

"no." you've stopped aventurine anytime he has tried to intervene and make things easier for you. he rarely listens, but your relationship with ratio and the guild make him somewhat neutral territory. "higher up."

"i assume diamond wouldn't bother to dirty her hands. so, jade?"

"yes."

dr. ratio, for the first time, seriously considers your offer. then scowls. "it would be a waste of my time."

you sigh. there was a 67.22% chance of this outcome. luckily, you have gamed out the conversation from here.

"so you can't?"

"you know i can."

then, you laugh, and shake your head. "yes, i do. sorry to tease. i'm quite tired."

"you should go find your gambler." veritas crosses his arms, looking sidelong at the briefcase.

"i will, eventually." you turn your back to veritas as you begin to leave the open atrium. the air is hollow and frigid. "i'll just ask some other intelligentsia guild members about the project first. i'm sure they'd be happy to help."

you only take a few steps before dr. ratio grabs your arm. his grip is far too strong.

(chance of failure to secure dr. veritas ratio's assistance: decreased by 31%.)

"don't bother them."

"someone needs to help." you turn back to look at him, expression schooled. "and if you won't, i'm very sure someone else will be happy to work beside 'one of the intelligentsia guild's most esteemed researchers'. or, does such a title not truly apply considering i've been ousted from my previous position?"

he frowns, but before he can speak, you interrupt him. you haven't seen veritas since being tied down to your current post. you haven't let him have it. he deserves it, maybe.

"i heard from jade that i received a glowing recommendation from another well-respected scholar. apparently, the position was being considered for either one of us. somehow, with that recommendation, i drew the short end of the stick and now play handler for a man with a death wish and a statistically measurable chaos quotient that's ever-changing in multiples of three."

veritas's face is unmoving. unchanging. but you know you've struck something. it was to be him or you in this position. and you don't have the pride he does. you place your hand over top of his, posed to speak, to tear him apart—

a shrill ringtone shatters the tension. it's yours. you already know who it is.

you flip your phone open with one hand, still staring at ratio.

"hello," aventurine's voice beckons from the other side, smug and smooth. "where is my favorite, most brilliant mind hiding out? we're due to leave soon."

"sadly, with another one of your favorite, brilliant minds. i'll be finished up shortly and meet you at the docks."

"aw, did he not get onboard? that's quite the choice for him to be making. do you want me to give him a talking to you?"

"no, it's fine. i'm working something out."

"you sound upset."

"i'm tired." you rub at your eyes and break away from veritas with a yawn.

"you can nap on the ship. we have quite the journey."

"that we do. i'll see you in a bit?"

"see you there." you can hear the smirk in his voice.

sending you down to veritas alone was aventurine's gamble. one that is working out, predictably. never mind the damage your reputation will take after these next moments. you close the phone with a sigh and begin toward the grand elevator.

"veritas," you call his name. "i forgive you, for what it's worth. try not to do it again."

"i couldn't."

you laugh and shake your head as you ascend. by the time you arrive at the docks, the ipc's premier vessel is packed away and priming its engines. lights and sirens echo from it. aventurine's idles outside, waiting for you. he beams when he sees you.

"so," he whistles, guiding you with a hand on your lower back. you let him. "was the good doctor as prickly as ever?”

"if not more so" you admit. aventurine gestures with a sweeping hand to your shared quarters for the time being. there's a single bed, but you're used to this. you've come not to mind it. "i think i bruised his ego."

with a genuine laugh, “i don’t think that's possible."

"want to bet on that?" you ask.

your phone's text tone chimes and you shoot aventurine a sharp smile.

aventurine's odds are ridiculous. ever changing, constantly moving. none of your perceptions and calculations that are usually steadfast and unmoving can keep up with him. not with efficiency, anyways. it's exhausting work. however, the likelihoods of everything but aventurine? the predictions of a man like ratio?

easy. simple. you could do them in your sleep.

aventurine squishes against your side as you open your newest message.

[SENDER: Doctor Ratio <intelligentsia guild>]

> here is a first draft. forgo payment. i do not need to be in the stonehearts’ pocket.

[file attached: STONE ALGORITHM DRAFT 1.0.spqxxxiun.pqo]

aventurine laughs, muffling it against the side of your neck. his teeth are sharp and his breath is warm. it settles something in you. you lean into him and deflate, sliding down into your lap so your head is pillows there. a gloved hand cards through your hair.

"you're quite good at the game, when you choose to play." aventurine reminds you. he tells you this often.

"i know." you turn your face into his hand as the ship rumbles. "but it's your job."

aventurine pauses his pets, then thumbs over your lips. he looks sour, only for a moment, before resuming his motions, a bit rougher this time. you relish the feel of it, sinking into it.

"one of us has to, right?"

"right."

"and the other," he taps your lips. your sputter, indignant. "plays support."

"one of us has to." you remind him.

it's silent between the two of you as the ship whirs and bellows, taking off from herta's space station without reverie. onto your next destination, wherever aventurine is deigned to be needed, with you by his side, dutifully.

you press your face into his stomach, letting the smell of linen and his cologne envelope you.

neither of you have a choice to play this game. the cards are stacked, and you best not loose count from aventurine's side. you'll be damned if you do.

(there is a 98.769% chance that you are damned regardless.)

at least, at least, you have each other, you think as aventurine bundles you up closer, and you wrap yourself around him. you'll take that, for as long as it lasts.