#but you seem like you want to be kind to people first

[euthymiya]

Sukuna who never was close to his twin brother and never cared about the pipsqueak runt of a kid who’s his nephew.

He doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be associated with that bullshit. His brother doesn’t take the hint ever and invites him to everything. “My sons’s birthday party” this and “my son’s kindergarten graduation” that. What sort of graduation is meant for a kindergartener anyway? That’s a load of nonsense. But Jin is as annoying as ever with insisting on keeping contact and trying to get Sukuna involved and he hates it until by some tragedy out of nowhere, his brother and sister and law are dead. Yuuji’s left an orphan and no one can care for that kid because there’s no one left.

No one except Sukuna.

They ask him, too. The social workers. They turn to him and say some pitiful script about being “the only family left to take custody of him.” He knows pretty well what’s going to happen to the pipsqueak if he doesn’t agree. The foster care system and the possible horrors such a bright (even if annoying) kid could face makes him question saying no for a second. He’s surprisingly conflicted.

And it’s out of sheer impulsiveness alone does he end up as a single, grumpy, begrudging uncle who’s got custody of a child he never really cared to know in the first place.

And then he meets you.

Sweet, bubbly, warm, and so weirdly happy. Dictionary definition of what an elementary school teacher should be. Yuuji’s absolute favorite person on the planet as he waves hello at you enthusiastically every time that Sukuna drops him off and goodbye every time that Sukuna picks him up.

“I heard his new guardian would be his uncle. It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur to him the first day he picks up Yuuji after school, a look of pure melancholy on your face as you stare at him with an unearthly amount of compassion and sympathy. “Yuuji’s parents were wonderful people. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Wasn’t that close with either of them,” he grunts out. You look over at where Yuuji’s gleefully playing on the slide of the playground. Too young and innocent to realize that’s been ripped away from him. Too naive to understand what it means to grieve. Too hopeful about the world around him to realize just how cruel it can really be.

“Oh,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

He thinks that your unnaturally kind demeanor will finally be broken for a split second of judgement. What sort of heartless bastard doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for his own brother’s death? Instead, however, you seem to look at him with some weird sense of wonder.

“You’re a good uncle for stepping up regardless,” you say softly, “it’s more than what most would do in your shoes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he clicks his teeth, unbearably uncomfortable with how weirdly sentimental this all is. “He’s just a five year old. How much trouble could he be?”

You raise a brow in amusement, eyeing him like he’s got one hell of a surprise waiting for him. He doesn’t like the vague way you hum, “Yeah. How could such a little human cause trouble, right?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles, a little annoyed that you seem to think that out of all things, a simple child would be enough to cause Sukuna any issues.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you smile.

Yuuji calls to you from the distance, squealing look what I can do! before he does a rather clumsy spin. Sukuna raises an unimpressed brow. You clap and praise him with an exaggerated gasp of approval.

It’s oddly endearing, he thinks to himself—you, not the kid. The kid’s barely tolerable.

“C’mon, you brat,” Sukuna calls. And then he looks at you and gruffly adds, “And I don’t need help.”

“Okay,” you grin brightly. It almost feels like you’re saying that a little sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve got this parent thing down.”

Before he can even correct you that he’s an uncle, not parent, Yuuji comes running over on clumsy, short little legs and grabs onto Sukuna’s hand.

“C’mon, Uncle ‘Kuna!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften. Weirdly enough, he feels this odd sort of squeeze in his chest that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he’s just getting old—that has to be it.

[goldfades]

TROUBLE ─── RAFE CAMERON

request for blurb night! : "ev, hear me out—reader is sarah’s best friend who used to babysit wheezie. she's always thought rafe was just some spoiled rich kid until one night he helps her out of a dangerous situation, and she see a different side of him"

The sound of cicadas swells in the sticky summer air as you maneuver your car into the Camerons’ circular driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house stands before you, grand and overbearing, like something pulled straight from a Southern Gothic novel. Even after all these years, it still has a way of making you feel out of place, like you’re trespassing on a life far removed from your own.

You killed the engine and take a deep breath, your hands lingering on the steering wheel. Coming here used to feel second nature—a daily part of your routine back when you were just Sarah’s friend who needed extra cash and Wheezie was a chatty eight-year-old who never seemed to run out of energy.

Now, it feels complicated. It’s not like you’re unwelcome here—Rose is always polite in her distant, Stepford kind of way, and Wheezie practically lights up whenever she sees you. Sarah treats you like family, but there’s always been one Cameron who makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

Rafe.

Spoiled, sharp-tongued, entitled Rafe, whose condescending smirk had been a permanent fixture of your teenage years. The golden boy with a black hole of a temper, a trust fund, and an ego that stretched for miles. You’d never understood him, and frankly, you’d never wanted to. He was a hurricane you learned to avoid at all costs, never lingering too long in his orbit.

But life has a funny way of pulling you into places you swore you’d never go.

You grab your bag from the passenger seat and step out into the muggy heat, your sandals crunching against the gravel. Somewhere inside the house, you hear the faint echo of laughter—Wheezie, probably, shouting at Sarah over a card game or some other nonsense. The sound makes you smile despite yourself.

You weren’t always someone the Camerons—or anyone from Figure Eight, for that matter—gave the time of day. Growing up, you were just another Pogue, another kid from the Cut with hand-me-down clothes and a chip on your shoulder. The people from Sarah’s world weren’t interested in you back then. Why would they be? You had nothing they wanted—no yacht, no country club membership, no sprawling waterfront property. You didn’t mind much. You had your own circle, your own rhythm, and you learned to brush off the condescending stares whenever you ventured into their territory.

But everything changed when your dad’s business took off. What started as a small, bare-bones construction company turned into one of the most in-demand firms in the Outer Banks almost overnight. Suddenly, the same people who used to look through you like you were invisible started remembering your name. Invitations to parties you’d never have been considered for started showing up in your mailbox. They weren’t just tolerating you—they wanted you there.

Sarah was one of the first to genuinely befriend you during that whirlwind of change. She wasn’t like the others, who only smiled at you because their parents said it was polite or because they wanted a favor from your dad. She liked you for you—your sarcasm, your groundedness, your tendency to keep it real in a place where everyone else seemed to be faking something. And through Sarah, you met Wheezie.

Wheezie was eight at the time, still caught between childhood and whatever it is that happens when you grow up as a Cameron. She adored you from the start, trailing behind you whenever you came over like a little shadow. You didn’t mind. She was funny, curious, and refreshingly unfiltered—a lot more like the kids from the Cut than anyone wanted to admit.

When Rose offhandedly mentioned they needed someone to look after Wheezie while she was busy managing the house (or hosting one of her endless charity luncheons), Sarah volunteered you without hesitation. “She’s perfect,” Sarah had said with that trademark confidence of hers, as though your schedule had already been cleared.

To your surprise, it worked out. Wheezie loved you, probably because you didn’t treat her like a chore or talk down to her like so many others did. You indulged her weird little interests, let her ramble on about books and whatever new drama she overheard in the house. You made her laugh.

And if the Camerons noticed you weren’t exactly one of their own, they didn’t seem to mind much anymore. After all, in their world, proximity to success was enough to erase just about anything.

Even after a couple years had passed, it’s a little funny how much has stayed the same. Every time you pull into the Camerons’ driveway, you still get the same sinking feeling, like you’re stepping onto foreign soil without a passport. Except now, it’s become a routine. Cameron game nights.

It started as an extension of the babysitting gig—a casual invite from Sarah, insisting you stay for dinner one night after watching Wheezie. Dinner turned into a board game that Sarah claimed was “super quick,” which turned into three hours of family chaos. It was ridiculous, overly competitive, and a little awkward with Rose monitoring everything like a referee, but Wheezie loved having you there, and Sarah was relentless in making sure you felt included.

At some point, it just became normal. Even after Wheezie grew out of needing a babysitter, the tradition stuck. Every week or two, Sarah would text you about game night, and somehow, you always said yes.

“You’re like an honorary Cameron,” Sarah had joked once, and you’d laughed because the idea of that felt ridiculous. But there were moments, like now, when you almost believed her.

Wheezie’s voice echoes from the living room the second you step through the door. “You’re late!”

“I’m literally on time,” you call back, closing the door behind you. The smell of freshly baked something wafts through the air, probably cookies Wheezie convinced Rose to make under the guise of a family bonding activity.

“Technically, Rafe’s late,” Sarah says, popping her head around the corner, already grinning. “You’re just cutting it close. Come on, Wheezie’s already plotting your downfall.”

You laugh and follow her into the living room, where the familiar chaos is already brewing. Wheezie’s sprawled across the couch, a pile of board game pieces spread out in front of her, while Ward sits in his chair, sipping a scotch like it’s all beneath him but still keeping a hawk’s eye on the rules. Rose flits between the kitchen and the table, not-so-casually reminding everyone to keep the snacks on coasters.

And then there’s Rafe.

He’s leaning back in one of the armchairs, his legs stretched out like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. A half-smirk tugs at his lips as he spins a stray game token between his fingers. He barely glances at you when you walk in, but you catch the faintest flicker of recognition.

It’s been years, but Rafe is still Rafe: cocky, restless, and way too pretty for his own good. He’s toned down some of the more obvious brattiness since the early days, but the edge is still there, sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful.

And, as always, you do your best to steer clear.

The quiet hum of the boutique fades behind you as you pull the glass door shut, twisting the key to lock it. The click echoes in the empty street, a sharp sound against the stillness of downtown this late at night. The once-bustling sidewalks are deserted now, the streetlights casting uneven pools of orange on the pavement. Most of the shops had closed hours ago, their dark windows reflecting the faint shimmer of the moon.

You adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder and glance at your phone. 11:43 p.m. Later than you’d intended. It wasn’t your shift to close, but your coworker had begged you to cover for her last minute, and you couldn’t say no. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this before. Downtown isn’t that bad, and your car is parked just a block away. Still, there’s something unnerving about the silence, the way the shadows stretch a little too far when you’re alone.

Reaching your car—a trusty but aging sedan that you inherited from your dad—you fumble with the keys before sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior smells faintly of the vanilla air freshener you keep on the rearview mirror, a comforting contrast to the chilly night air outside. You toss your bag onto the passenger seat, then grip the steering wheel as you turn the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

You pause, frowning. That’s… odd. Your car’s old, sure, but it’s never been completely unresponsive. You twist the key again, harder this time, willing it to come to life.

Still nothing.

A low groan escapes your throat as you lean back against the seat. This can’t be happening. Not tonight. Not here.

You pull out your phone, half-tempted to call Sarah or even your dad, but you hesitate. Sarah’s probably asleep by now, and your dad’s a good thirty minutes away—not to mention, he’d definitely give you a lecture about not keeping up with the car’s maintenance. Sighing, you pop the hood and step out into the cool night air, shivering slightly as a gust of wind cuts through your jacket.

The street around you is unnervingly quiet. A stray cat darts across the road, its shadow flickering under the streetlights. You glance around, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It’s just your imagination, you tell yourself. No one’s here.

With a deep breath, you lift the hood and stare down at the engine like it might magically fix itself. You know a grand total of nothing about cars, but you wiggle a few cables anyway, hoping for a miracle. When you try the ignition again, the result is the same—silence, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp overhead.

Panic starts to creep in now, slow and steady. Your phone’s battery is hovering at 10%, and downtown—normally picturesque and charming by day—feels like a completely different place at night. The empty windows of the closed shops look less quaint and more sinister, their dark interiors like gaping mouths.

You lean back against the car, tapping your fingers against the metal as you weigh your options. Call someone? Walk to the gas station a few blocks down? Stay here and wait it out? None of them sound appealing, especially with the growing sensation that you’re being watched. You tell yourself it’s just nerves, but your skin prickles anyway, and you can’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath. “This is how horror movies start.”

You huff out a shaky breath and decide to at least look under the hood. Not that you know what you’re doing, but it’s better than standing here like a sitting duck. Popping the latch, you step out into the cool night air again, every sound amplified in the unsettling quiet. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk to the front of the car, lifting the hood and leaning over the engine.

The faint metallic scent of oil hits your nose as you peer into the mess of cables and parts. It all looks like a foreign language to you, but you fiddle with a few wires anyway, hoping for some kind of miracle.

That’s when you hear it—footsteps.

At first, you think maybe it’s nothing, just your imagination running wild, but then you hear them again, deliberate and getting closer. Your stomach clenches, and you straighten up, instinctively glancing over your shoulder.

Two figures are walking toward you from the opposite side of the street, their strides slow and unhurried. The dim streetlights reveal faces you vaguely recognize—Kooks, no doubt, probably from the same parties Sarah used to drag you to back in high school. Their names escape you, but the looks on their faces don’t—grins too wide, eyes too sharp, the kind of predatory energy that sets every nerve in your body on edge.

“Car trouble?” the taller one calls out, his voice carrying an edge of amusement as they stop a few feet away.

You force a tight smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I’ve got it handled. Thanks.”

The shorter one, stockier and wearing a backward baseball cap, steps closer, tilting his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Doesn’t look like it,” he says. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes flick over you makes your skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” you insist, taking a small step back toward the car. Your heart is pounding now, a sick thrum in your chest, but you keep your expression as neutral as possible.

“Hey, we’re just trying to help,” the taller one says, holding up his hands like he’s harmless, but there’s something almost mocking in his tone. “No need to be rude.”

The stocky one smirks, moving to your other side, effectively boxing you in against the car. “Yeah, we’re just being friendly.”

The air feels heavy, oppressive, and the space between you and them feels like it’s shrinking by the second. You can feel the tension in their postures, the way they’re both leaning in slightly, testing how far they can push.

Your throat tightens as you glance around, desperate for someone, anyone to come walking down the street. But there’s no one—just you and these two strangers who clearly don’t care that you’re uncomfortable.

“Look,” you say, trying to sound firm but calm, “I appreciate it, but I’m good. You don’t need to stick around.”

The taller one laughs, a low, unpleasant sound that makes your stomach churn. “Aw, come on. You’re out here all alone. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we just left you like this?”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the hood, your mind racing for a way out. You consider making a run for it, but they’re too close now, their presence suffocating.

Just as the stockier one steps even closer, his grin widening, a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding.

“What’s going on here?”

The relief is instant and overwhelming, like a lifeline being thrown to you in a raging sea. You turn toward the sound, and there he is—Rafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into his pockets but his posture rigid, his eyes hard as they lock onto the two guys.

The taller one straightens up immediately, his smirk faltering. “Rafe,” he says, a weak attempt at sounding friendly.

Rafe doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting to you for the briefest moment before snapping back to them. “Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he says, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. “You two invited?”

The stockier guy takes a step back, muttering something under his breath. “We were just leaving,” he says quickly, his bravado crumbling under Rafe’s glare.

“Yeah, you are,” Rafe says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The two exchange uneasy glances before slinking away, their footsteps echoing down the street until they disappear around the corner.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your heartbeat and the faint hum of Rafe’s truck idling in the distance.

“You good?” Rafe asks, his voice softer now but still steady, grounding.

You nod, your throat dry as you manage to croak out, “Yeah… I am now.”

Rafe watches the shadows where the two guys disappeared, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. You half expect him to say something cutting, maybe some sarcastic remark about how you can’t take care of yourself, but when he finally looks at you, there’s no smugness. Only something... softer, almost hesitant.

“You’re lucky I saw you,” he says, his voice low. “That could’ve gone bad. Fast.”

You nod, your throat still tight from the tension of the moment. He’s right. You don’t even want to think about how that could’ve ended if he hadn’t shown up. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s brow furrows like he’s surprised you said it. He leans back slightly, glancing at the car hood still propped open. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

“Won’t start,” you reply, gesturing vaguely at the engine. “Not that I’d know what to look for.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to.” His tone lacks the usual edge, though—it’s not a dig, just a statement.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet. The night air feels less suffocating now, the earlier tension replaced by a strange calm. Despite everything you know—or think you know—about Rafe Cameron, there’s something about his presence right now that makes you feel… safe. It’s unsettling, in its own way.

“You should be more careful,” Rafe says, breaking the silence. His gaze is steady, not mocking or judgmental, just serious. “Downtown this late? Alone? That’s asking for trouble.”

You bristle slightly, your instinct to defend yourself flaring up. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down.”

He raises an eyebrow, but instead of snapping back, he just nods. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. Rafe steps closer, peering under the hood with a practiced air, and you’re struck by how uncharacteristically gentle he seems. No biting remarks, no smug superiority—just calm focus.

He taps a cable lightly, muttering something under his breath, then steps back, closing the hood with a decisive thud. “Battery’s probably dead,” he says, glancing at you. “You need a jump.”

You nod, your nerves finally starting to settle. “I guess I’ll call someone.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, already walking toward his truck. “I’ve got cables.”

You blink, caught off guard by his matter-of-fact tone. He’s not offering—he’s telling you he’s going to help. And for some reason, you don’t argue.

A few minutes later, Rafe has his truck pulled up nose-to-nose with your car, the cables stretched taut between them. He works in silence, his movements efficient, and you watch from the sidelines, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“You should get in,” he says, nodding toward the driver’s seat.

You do as he says, sliding back into the familiar confines of your car. The moment feels oddly intimate—just the two of you on this empty street, the hum of his truck filling the air.

“Try it now,” he calls out, stepping back.

You turn the key, but instead of the engine sputtering to life, it lets out a defeated whine and falls silent again. You try one more time, your chest tightening with frustration and dread, but it’s no use. The car isn’t going anywhere tonight.

You let your forehead drop against the steering wheel with a groan. Of course. Just your luck.

Rafe’s voice cuts through the night air, low and steady. “It’s not gonna work. Battery’s dead for real.”

You sit up, pressing your lips together as he leans against the open driver’s side door, his arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

“Great,” you mutter. “So, what now? I call a tow truck and wait here till dawn?”

Rafe tilts his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before landing on your car again. “Or,” he says, “I could just drive you home.”

The offer catches you off guard, and you hesitate, your immediate instinct to say no. Riding home with Rafe Cameron? That’s about as far outside your comfort zone as you can imagine.

But then you glance down at your nearly dead phone, the empty street around you, and the sheer impossibility of getting a tow out here tonight. What other choice do you have?

“Seriously?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Rafe shrugs, the motion easy, like it’s no big deal. “You got a better plan?”

You don’t.

“Fine,” you say finally, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and climbing out of the car. The night air feels colder now, pressing against your skin as you walk toward his truck.

Rafe opens the passenger door for you without a word, and you slide in, the faint scent of leather and cologne filling the cab. It’s clean but lived-in—practical, not flashy, which surprises you.

He climbs in on the driver’s side, pulling the door shut and starting the engine with a smooth turn of the key. The sound is steady, reliable, and for a moment, you envy how effortlessly everything in his life seems to work.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, the only sound the low hum of the truck and the occasional creak of the suspension as it rolls over uneven pavement. You glance out the window, watching the darkened storefronts blur past, trying to ignore the strange tension sitting between you.

“You gonna sit there and sulk the whole way?” Rafe asks, his voice breaking the silence.

“I’m not sulking,” you shoot back, turning to glare at him.

He smirks, his eyes still on the road. “Sure you’re not.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just… processing the fact that my car officially hates me. And that I had to be rescued by you of all people.”

His smirk softens into something closer to a smile, and for once, it doesn’t look mocking. “Yeah, well, it’s your lucky night, I guess.”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond, and the quiet settles over the truck again. It’s not entirely uncomfortable this time—just strange, like you’re both trying to figure out how to navigate this unexpected moment.

After a while, Rafe glances over at you, his expression more serious now. “You really shouldn’t be out here alone like that,” he says quietly.

You shift in your seat, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down,” you mumble.

“Still,” he says, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “Things could’ve gone bad. You know that, right?”

You do. The memory of those guys, their leering smiles and the way they cornered you, is still fresh in your mind. A shiver runs through you, and you glance at Rafe, his profile sharp in the dim light from the dashboard.

“Thanks,” you say, softer this time. “For stepping in.”

His jaw tenses for a moment before he nods. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

The rest of the drive passes in a blur of streetlights and quiet conversation. When he finally pulls up outside your house, you feel an odd sense of disappointment, like the night is ending too soon.

Rafe cuts the engine and looks over at you, his expression unreadable again. “You good?”

You nod, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

He hesitates, his eyes searching yours for a moment, and you swear you see something uncharacteristically soft in his gaze. “Anytime,” he says, his voice low.

You climb out of the truck, turning back as you reach your front door. Rafe is still there, leaning slightly out of the window, watching you with an intensity that sends a strange flutter through your chest.

“Night, Rafe,” you call out, your voice steadier than you feel.

He nods once, his smirk returning, but there’s a warmth to it now that wasn’t there before. “Night.”

You watch as he drives off, the tail lights disappearing down the street, and you can’t shake the feeling that tonight, something shifted. Something you didn’t see coming.

The living room is alive with laughter and the sugary smell of freshly microwaved popcorn. Wheezie is sprawled across the couch, her legs tangled in a blanket as she debates the finer points of the movie you’ve just paused, while Sarah snorts beside her, throwing a handful of popcorn in her sister’s direction.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, sipping from your drink and soaking in the warmth of the moment. It feels good to let your guard down like this—to laugh and tease and forget for a little while.

“Okay, but how does she not realize he’s the bad guy?” Wheezie demands, gesturing dramatically at the screen.

“Because she’s blinded by love,” Sarah says, grinning. “Or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

“Excuse me?” Wheezie gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I feel like if someone was being that obvious about being evil, I’d notice.”

“Would you, though?” Sarah teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” you protest, chucking a stray pillow at her.

The playful banter continues, the night stretching on in a haze of easy conversation and snack-fueled chaos. You’re halfway through arguing over which movie to watch next when the sound of the front door opening pulls your attention.

You glance toward the entryway just as Rafe steps inside, his hair slightly mussed, his keys jingling in his hand. He pauses when he sees you all, his expression flickering from mild surprise to something unreadable.

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar mix of curiosity and amusement. “A girls’ night?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, throwing a popcorn kernel at him. “And you’re not invited.”

“Tragic,” Rafe deadpans, stepping fully into the room. His eyes flick to you for a split second, and your stomach does an unexpected flip.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just residual nerves from the other night. Nothing to do with the way his presence seems to fill the space or the way his gaze lingers just long enough to make your cheeks heat.

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

“Good,” Sarah says. “Bye.”

He ignores her, pushing off the frame and heading toward the kitchen instead.

“I’m getting more popcorn,” you announce quickly, needing a reason to escape the sudden heat prickling at your skin. You grab the empty bowl and dart toward the kitchen before anyone can respond.

The kitchen is cooler, quieter, and you exhale a sigh of relief as you cross to the counter. You’re halfway through scooping kernels into a bowl when you hear the low hum of Rafe’s voice behind you.

“Didn’t know you were here tonight.”

You jump slightly, glancing over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, well,” you say, turning back to the task at hand, “I’m kind of a regular around here.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his tone light but edged with something that makes your stomach flutter.

You keep your focus on the popcorn, refusing to let him get to you. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” he shoots back smoothly.

You roll your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “Interesting? That’s a stretch.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I don’t think so.”

His voice is closer now, and you glance up to find him standing beside you, his gaze fixed on your face. You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around the bowl as you try to think of something—anything—to say.

“Relax,” he says, his lips quirking up into a grin. “You look like you’re about to run out of here.”

“I’m not,” you insist, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I was starting to think I might scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you say quickly, your voice a touch too defensive.

“Hmm.” His smirk deepens, and he leans back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. “If you say so.”

With that, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge and steps away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.

“Goodnight, trouble,” he calls out, his tone teasing but soft enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You stand there for a moment, staring after him, your heart racing and your face burning.

By the time you return to the living room with the popcorn, Wheezie and Sarah are too busy laughing at some inside joke to notice how flustered you are. You settle back into your spot on the floor, your mind still replaying the way Rafe’s voice sounded when he called you trouble.

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[usuallydyinginside]

"No One Mourns the Wicked" is about Glinda, not Elphaba

Okay, but hear me out. Wicked songs are so good at saying one thing and meaning something entirely different once you have more context. For instance, "I'm Not That Girl" is Elphaba singing about Glinda initially, then in Act 2 flips to Glinda singing about Elphaba. Because it turns out, Elphaba IS that girl and Glinda is not. When we meet the Wizard, he sings about how he always wanted to be a father. When you get to Act 2, you get the sad little reprise in the background music as he realizes that WHOOPS, he was one and he destroyed his only kid. "Defying Gravity" starts with "I hope you're happy" in the sarcastic sense and ends with them both using the same phrase to genuinely wish one another well.

"Thank Goodness" is set up as a cheerful engagement song where Glinda genuinely means "thank goodness for how great my life is" and ends in a place where she's insisting that she IS happy even as she realizes her engagement is a sham, her best friend is gone, and she's left with the Wizard and Madame M, who she doesn't even like.

You get the picture.

Basically, the whole musical is about subverting what you expect, starting with the base premise of "what if the Wicked Witch was the hero of the story" and digging in from there.

Honestly, I'd never paid much attention to the first song. It's a good opener, sets things up well, but it has some big competition with later songs. However, in the movie the staging and camera choices made me really notice it for the first time. Because you know what? Someone DID pay attention to that song, and you can really really tell.

For those who need a refresher, the lyrics to the chorus Glinda sings are: And Goodness knows The Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows The Wicked die alone It just shows when you're Wicked You're left only On your own I was always so busy noticing Glinda's grief over thinking Elphaba was genuinely dead that I failed to notice Glinda's grief over her OWN fate. The movie did such a good job with this because every time we get to the pink lines about being alone, Glinda IS alone. She is standing apart from the crowd who adores her. Standing above them. Standing at the center of a bunch of people yet still, isolated.

Because in the end, we know that Elphaba DIDN'T die alone. We know she wasn't on her own. We know her life WASN'T lonely ultimately. She had her flying monkey and animal friends. She had Fiyero.

And who does Glinda have?

Everyone, but realistically, no one. She is an ideal, not a person to most of Oz, just as much as Elphaba has become the token scapegoat. Where Elphaba is the "Wicked Witch," Glinda is "Glinda the Good Witch" - she is literally supposed to be the embodiment of goodness.

And what does Glinda have at the end of this whole thing (as of this song at least)? A disastrous end to her engagement, the death of her best friend, a sorceress who has hated her, demeaned her, and dismissed her from the start, and a con man who is also just a symbol more than a person.

I think it really hit me when Glinda throws the fire on the giant effigy of Elphaba. Ariana's acting was SO good there, because I'd expected us to see that private moment of horror or regret. What I didn't expect was the sort of determined and almost angry glare at the effigy.

But it makes sense. At this point, Glinda has realized that she lost everything and everyone she actually cared about.

As she so aptly puts it in "Thank Goodness"...

Though it is, I admit The tiniest bit Unlike I anticipated. But I couldn't be happier, Simply couldn't be happier, Well, not "simply" 'Cause getting your dreams It's strange, but it seems A little, well, complicated.

There's a kind of a sort of cost. There's a couple of things get lost. There are bridges you cross You didn't know you crossed Until you've crossed!

And if that joy, that thrill Doesn't thrill like you think it will Still-- With this perfect finale, The cheers and the ballyhoo! Who wouldn't be happier? So I couldn't be happier, Because happy is what happens When all your dreams come true.

Well, isn't it?

Happy is what happens when you're dreams come true.

It's not Elphaba's fault that Glinda has ended up this way. Glinda chose it every step of the way. Yet, if Glinda had never met Elphaba, (if she'd never known her, you could say), she might have stayed shallow and vain. She might never have been challenged to look deeper and realize how empty it all felt.

So as Glinda sings "No One Mourns the Wicked," she realizes that even if the Munchkins are singing about the "Wicked Witch," she's not.

She's singing about herself.

The one who traded her morals, friendship, and love for a taste of the admiration and power over those who don't really know her. The one who was so worried about being likable that she herself doesn't like who she's become.

Even after she makes things better for Oz and herself by sending the wizard away and getting rid of Madame M, it just leaves Glinda by herself as the leader and source of goodness in Oz. It leaves her on a pedestal she can never step off of.

It leaves her lonely.

Entirely alone.

[demonic0angel]

OWO, you take prompts? How about this?

Danny was born a premature and with a heart defect. The Fenton's try to make a clone so they can get his heart transplanted without fear of organ rejection. But they end up making a full on baby and don't have it in them to kill another version of their son just to save their original boy. Danny ends up pulling through and the clone gets filed as a twin that no one noticed was still in when Maddie was in the hospital. So Maddie "had him at home" and went back so he could be medically examined. The new parents feel ashamed of what they initially were going to do and give the child to a cousin who couldn't conceive.

Tim Drake doesn't know he's adopted until a DNA test reveals that the 'Meta' running around Gotham is his 'twin brother'. And the babies he has, that he does babysitting gigs with, are his twin's 'children'.

(I don’t exactly take prompts, but I don’t mind if you send them. Also, I’m going to assume that the twin’s “children” are Dan and Dani, since that seems to be what people prefer.)

“… are you serious?” Tim asked through the phone.

“Yep,” Dick said, sounding like a mixture of amusement and concern, “How do you feel about it?”

Tim thought about it and then responded, “I guess it makes sense why my parents neglected me so much, since I’m adopted.”

“Awww, baby bird…”

“I’m fine, Dick,” Tim said. He picked Dante and set him on a baby chair. Said child stared at him with electric blue eyes, scowling with his pudgy cheeks as if he wanted to tear Tim apart with his nonexistent teeth. Tim rubbed his chubby cheek with a finger before moving away, still holding the phone to his ear as he picked up the other baby.

Dick continued, “Yeah… also, Bruce says that he’s sorry that he checked your blood without telling you.”

Tim snorted, “No, he didn’t.” Bruce was never sorry for that kind of stuff.

Dick sighed. “Yeah, I lied. Sorry. But he did look guilty! He didn’t want to tell you at first, but Jason convinced him so I’m the one telling you right now.”

Tim hummed, picking up little Ella, who was stubbornly holding onto a small cardboard box. Tim let her hold it and placed her onto the baby chair next to her brother, who immediately reached out for her. It was kinda funny seeing how clingy he was compared to his sister.

“We have more information too. We tracked down the new meta and we’ve been looking into his routes. We suspect that he’s living around here, in Bristol,” Dick said. “We think he’s living in an apartment, at XXX on XXXX street, possibly with a roommate named Jazz.”

Tim paused, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he was in the same building, babysitting a bunch of kids on the same street, who also lived with another woman named Jazz. “Uhh. What else?”

“We think he lives on the third floor and possibly also works at a pizza delivery place? Or maybe a fast food restaurant? He’s been flying back and forth between two places besides the apartment.”

Tim began to sweat. “Uh… anything else?”

“There’s a high chance that his name is Danny Nightingale, and Jasmine Nightingale is in on the fact that he’s a meta.”

Fuck.

Tim looked at his niece and nephew with a new light, eyes wide. Ella beamed at him, giggling while Dante just glared.

Welp. At least Bruce would be happy to be a grandfather now. Even if it was to Tim’s secret meta twin brother.

[zorbik-guligan]

Not really sure what incongruous means so I'll look it up after but it does feel like as i get older life gets more complex theres more things i understand now that sure i knew about them before but not in great detail but it feels like I've become so fucking complex as a person that if i tried to explain what i actually think and feel it would just overwhelm a person so i try and section myself off into pieces and just use different parts of me with different situations or people and it may just be because ive spent most of my time these past 2 almost 3 years now alone with nothing to do but think and figure myself out that when im asked what i think about something slightly personal its kinda hard to say it just got lost in my head somewhere and that whatever i think will change at a moments notice like i can bring up memories of lots of things and remember nostalgic times but i spent so long thinking about why i feel a certain way or what makes me feel a certain way in order to try and get a better hold of myself that ive kinda forgotten alot of my past like so many memories that i made are just gone because remembering them made me feel a way i dont want to feel like i remember realizing the beginning of 6th grade that i had completely forgotten 5th grade and the reason why was because that time i had was so nice yet not at the same time my brain just frogot because it didn't want a reminder of how good yet not something can be like great teachers who for the first time ever actually seemed to care as far as i could tell class mates who were generally friendly and occasionally checked on me if i seemed off yet i felt so alone cause nobody there really seemed like a real friend like the friends i had before who even when we were in deep trouble wouldn't rat me out and would stick with me who genuinely cared and missed me if i was sick getting older and not having anyone to socialize with for really formative years off my life has made understand those really old dudes who are nice and always up to make friends but just seem extra lonely for some reason despite knowing so many people i guess technically being that alone did hurt me but i kinda learned that im just not alone ever when im outside theres always some squirrels birds or plants nearby that make it more lively its why ive grown so fond of certain forested spots they are always lively and it feels like hanging out with all my friends its also why i enjoy making things like with metal or wood stone or even writing and painting those things feel alive in a way same with music and having time to think so much has made me reflect and realize that no day is the same and even when something changes something else stays the same or gos back to how it was in a weird cycle like growing but remembering where you were growing older for me anyways is like gaining more skills and more knowledge not just on the stuff around me but on myself too obviously people change sometimes pretty quickly too but getting older makes you learn more about yourself which duh that how life works but still it feels weird to be aware of it at 17 when it feels like i should still be trying to figure out my favorite youtuber or something not contemplate who i am as a person and what makes me feel the way i do but its a good kind of weird and theres always more to learn and find so i still have plenty of room to learn more about myself still not being able to really fully let a person know you kinda sucks but to be fair that is a rather special thing its also nice being able to put into words why i feel a certain way so that i can actually explain myself instead of just going quiet cause i dont know myself that well still kinda funny to know your own problems but not be able to jusy fix them when you know its a very deep problem even when it seems surface level and damn i got kinda personal there woops also just noticed that im shaking so might be overwhelmed remembering 5th grade which is probably why i frogot it or at least thought i did

anybody else feel that being human is like being a long-time syndicated cartoon character watching the world get more complex while your own design stays the same until youre incongruous with the reality around you??

[jk-kiwi]

The glass queen

The glass queen (18+)

Characters - King JK x queen Y/N reader (Woman)

Genre - Royal Au, heavy angst (?), drama, suggestive/smut, fluff, THIS is fiction

Summary - In a once-thriving kingdom, filled with love and care, the queen, who ruled along with her devoted husband, fell deeply ill. Desperate to save her, the king falls into a restless journey to try and restore what once was lost.  Warnings - Illness and description of illness (the reader is sick), pregnancy and kind of baby craze from some characters, alluding to cheating (?), parental manipulation, double marriage (one is forced), misunderstandings, fictional characters, heavy feelings, harsh words, mentions of wishing to disappear and never return (once I think), mentions of blood, throwing up (not detailed).  Jungkook is one loyal man I tell you. Warnings for the not so holy parts (18+) - Description of male and female parts. They bathe together, aphrodisiac usage and itercourse while on it, consensual but one time Jungkook doesn’t remember, hickeys, Y/N on top once, no heavy/crazy stuff, they do it twice. I hate detailing about it so…Read at your own risk!

MINORS PLEASE STAY AWAY!

Author’s note - Not as happy with this one, but oh well. If anyone wants to detail about the 18+ parts in a comment, I will copy and paste it! Tell me if I missed anything in the warnings or if there are any errors. Enjoy!

Word count - 16.5k

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

There was once a glorious kingdom, a loving queen and her devoted king ruling it with wisdom and care. Their people were thriving under their protection after the heartbreak of the late king passing away had diminished. 

It’s been three years ever since prince Jungkook has tied the knot with you, making you the queen of his people and heart. Three years that were filled with love and devotion, three years that seemed to vanish in an unfortunate blink. “The queen has fallen ill.” It all began on an autumn morning, both of you were ready to celebrate your third anniversary, a huge banquet was about to be held in honor of the king and queen of this land. But that morning was not the beginning of a celebration, a new year beside your king... 

All that you remember to this day is the dizziness, the nausea. You felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore, your lungs were suffocating in a burning pain. You couldn’t speak or scream or cry, you laid there frozen, statue-like, taking in the misfortune that laid upon you. 

You remember a doctor coming and checking on you, you remember your husband’s worried eyes, your maiden crying, and beside the pain and fear, the only thing that stuck with you were the words “The queen has fallen ill.” That was almost two years ago, the beginning of the nightmare you had been fighting ever since. 

At first nobody knew what was happening to you. The doctors, unsure of the illness you were carrying. But your people wanted answers and nobody had them. They tested and tested, they tried all types of medicine, but your state only further declined. So they gave you a nickname, the glass queen. 

The nickname haunted you. Fragile. Delicate. A figure meant to be admired but could never be touched. You hated it.

It made you feel weaker. Nobody knew how much you had left, if you would be getting better or not at all. The people grew impatient and slowly started their gossip, the whispers within the palace walls. “How much could she still bear this, I would’ve ended it much sooner in her place.”, “I pity her, just imagine the aches she’s going through”, “Just think of the poor king, having to deal with such pain everyday.”. You heard them all, outside the palace being even worse. People expected you to be by their side and provide them with the duty you were given, the one of a queen. But you locked yourself in your room in shame, becoming weary of people’s eyes, showing yourself less and less, not wanting them to see how pitiful you have become. Truth to be told, you would’ve withered away much faster under their insensitive words, only if it wasn’t for Jungkook, your determination to live and fight further, hoping that one day you could return to what you once were. 

He stayed by your side, day and night, devoted to you and only you. You hid away from him at times, ashamed of what has become of his queen, but he always saw the light shining deep inside of you, the light of wanting to survive, to be close to him and hold him without pain and worry once again. So he stayed by your side, blinding you from all the hate, not letting you know he was battling his own demons… “Under no circumstances!” His jaw clenched, hands turned into fists. “Jungkook! I am your mother and I know what’s good for you, it’s time you look outside the box you created! The people are unhappy!” He scoffs looking at his mother in hatred, enraging her further.

“And I said no, I’ve been ruling for the past 5 years, do they not trust me? My judgment? Their king!” His voice raised in anger and disbelief.

“She’s been like this for almost two years already, God knows how much she has left! You need an heir, if she dies, who's going to take over the throne?” the mother fights back, trying to open her child's eyes. He didn’t want to succumb to fear, the fear of losing you, fear of everything you’ve built crumbling at his feet, under his helpless gaze. Being a king was not easy, solving issues, pleasing people, arguing all day with his mom over this and that all while trying to help you overcome it all.

Jungkook had a lot on his plate, and now, a more ridiculous and outrageous request came in.

He needed an heir. 

If the queen passes away he’ll be a widower. He could still rule, yes, but his blood line would not continue, making him the last standing from his family, forcing a new power to take over what decades of his generation had already built.

“It’s not much I ask of you to do. You marry her, give an heir to the throne and then it’s your decision on how to handle things further.” He had refused to entertain the idea, long ago. Not wanting to believe that his own mother would impose such ridicule. Him, the king, having a concubine by his side since his sick wife could not bear children? Outrageous! “I’m not doing such awful thing to my wife. Don’t you think she’s gone through enough? If she finds out I’m marrying a second woman she might…” Tears start to gather into his eyes in pure frustration. The thoughts of you leaving, eating him alive. How could he do something so cruel to you? “She will understand, it’s her duty to bear a child, and since her illness she can’t comply with it. She needs to understand this is for the better good of the kingdom!” Jungkook slouches in his chair in defeat, this is a battle he might never win. His mom has been pushing this idea for almost a year now. “Yujin is a nice girl, she’s the daughter of a duke! Trust me she’s well fit to be your quee…” “She will never be a queen!” He shouts, fist hitting the desk in front of him in rage. “She will never be my queen, I won’t allow it.” His mother scoffs and folds her arms looking away from her stubborn son. “I’m sending her here tomorrow to have dinner with you. I’m tired of your antics, your father would be rolling in his grave knowing this is how you rule.” She spits out, tired of pointless arguing, before storming out of his office. 

Jungkook sighs, fighting back the urge to scream and cry, to just run far away from all his responsibilities. He wants to be a powerful king, someone people will look up to and follow without fear. But his own self is breaking into pieces, crumbling more and more with the heaviness thrown on his shoulders. He raises from his chair defeated, ready to go and find his own support, his only safe place. Exiting his office he takes fast steps towards the chambers, but before he can enter the hallway his body collides with someone else. His arms are quick to catch and without any further thoughts he pulls you into his embrace, his body already recognizing yours, scent way too familiar to mistake your presence for someone else's. “What are you doing here, my love?” He cuddles you close to his chest, hand gently caressing your hair, his muscles relaxing. “You should rest. Did the doctor come and you were scared?”

“No” You answer quietly, inhaling all of his sweet scent, grateful to receive his warmth . “I’ve been bored. I waited all day for you to come, but you didn’t even dare a second to pass by. Do you not love me anymore?” You ask teasingly, making him chuckle, his head shaking in denial. “How can I not? You’ve been in my head all day, couldn’t focus on any work.” He mumbles back making you smile, wrapping your weak arms around him. “Then carry me back to my room please, show me how much you’ve missed your wife.” He laughs and in a rush he picks you up, you gasp. “A little too rough for my queen?” He says looking up at you, your hands resting on his shoulders while he was holding you from above your knees. “You could try to be more gentle, I bruise easily.” You pout and he just maneuvers you in such a way that you end up being carried bridal style towards your room. Arriving, Jungkook places you gently on the bed, letting you sit on the edge. “You seem to have something on your mind” Looking at him fidgeting with his fingers. He is indeed a little restless, making you wonder why is he avoiding your gaze all of a sudden? “Don’t worry about me, just work. Has the doctor come yet?” He asks like in a rush to leave and you nod “I should let you rest then, the medicine will kick in soon.” He bows down to your level kissing your forehead, but before he can leave you gently tug on his blazer. “Why don’t you stay? It’s been long since we spent the night together.” You look up at him with expecting eyes, hoping that he can hold you close just for tonight. “You should be tired, love. I will not hold onto your sleeping time today.” He says apologetically. “But, Jungkook. You never come by anymore…I miss you...”

You knew the reason he wasn’t coming, you were getting weaker and he was afraid. It’s been long since you’ve shared a bed, let alone him daring to touch you in any other way. You craved him, even only his embrace and it would release the aching pains you were feeling. He was touching you like handling a frail piece of glass. You felt sad. But you can’t condemn him, he’s your man and you know deep down he also wants to be close like before with you, but with all the medicine you must take it’s hard to even walk sometimes, let alone engage in other strenuous activities. So he kept his distance. And it pained you, to know you can’t give him anything. To know he has to hide away from you. You felt the guilt, hurting more than the illness itself.

"Just stay tonight, let’s sleep here, together.” You plead for the last time, hoping it’s not in vain like any other nights, slightly ashamed to ask for more, to pursue harder. He tries to fight the urge, to just shove aside everything and love you like you deserve. But he can’t.

You sigh at his silence, fighting the bitter taste in your mouth, his silence being enough of a response.

“I understand…you must be tired too…I think it’s better if you also head out to sleep, I’m getting tired.” And you were. Tired of the burden you were carrying and casting above everyone else. Tired of cursing the people you loved.

You lay down between the mountain of pillows and blankets you’ve collected along the years in hopes to soothe you better and by shoving your face in one you try to mask the tears that fall down on your face.

You close your eyes hearing him sigh before caressing your arm, leaving a kiss on your shoulder and then leaving. The room empty and cold without his presence.

You grab the pillow muffling your sound into it, throwing it across your beautiful room. You look outside the window, the sky dark, the moon shining above making you remember all the past moments you shared with Jungkook, walking into the dark of the night, holding hands, being deeply in love and without a care. When will you get them again? The walks and sleepless nights spent holding each other, the promises and dreams you made together, his hands gently caressing your body, lips making their way down your neck, the feeling of burning passion flowing in the air. You wish to disappear and never return. Life will be much easier for you and for those around, getting rid of the burden you bring, you feel meaningless.

Slowly you fall asleep, the substances finally making their way into your body, calming the pains you had. 

Outside the door, without your notice, Jungkook was resting. His back pressed to the door, biting his lip in regret. He should’ve held you. He should’ve told you about what’s to come, the pressure he was feeling. He should’ve not run away like he always does when responsibility arises. He’s still young and naive, tough. Brought to the throne before even turning the age of 18, still mourning his father’s death and now with a crown on his head, having to take over much harsher tasks. The only thing he had along, being you.

You were there when he needed you most…but now, when you need him most, he isn’t here. 

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

The morning came by fast for Jungkook after spending almost all night by your door. The maids began waking him up and his personal adviser didn’t even hesitate to shove down his throat the list of things he had to do for the day.

“My lord, don’t forget about the meeting with lady Yujin. She’s on her way to the palace.” The adviser reminds. “Tell her not to come.” He says without hesitation, voice latched with indifference. “But, my lord, our elder queen has said that it’s a must for you to attend.” 

He didn’t want to enrage his mother, surely, but the thought of your heart breaking by meeting another woman was far worse. In his mind he was neglecting you already, but betrayal? Such thoughts would never dare cross his mind on their own.

“I will not attend then.” He manages to button up his shirt leaving his room with the stressed adviser following behind. “My lord, please, it’s just a dinner meeting, nothing serious, the queen won’t know.” Jungkook stops in his steps, fists clenching in rage seeing how even his servants push this further, not respecting the status he has. “One meal, that’s all. After that I don’t want to hear about her.” He finally complies, thinking you will not hear about this and he will just make it clear that he is not interested and end it all forever. 

And so he found himself sitting in front of the duchess, Lady Yujin. She was beautiful, not to deny. Small body, always dressed in expensive dresses and jewelry. Her hair was curled up in a bun, fingernails perfectly done and a lingering, intoxicating perfume, the last point of her perfect image. Every man would fall for such high beauty, and despite her looks she was also young and vigorous, only 19 of age, 3 years younger than you two.

She was a refined lady, clearly showing that her parents were wealthy and put a lot of work into her education and manners, spoiling her with everything she desired.

“It’s a pleasure to be at the same table with you, my Grace.” Her voice was melodious, alluring even. “Thank you for making time to be here, Lady Yujin.” Jungkook felt bothered by her presence, he wished the meal would end soon. “Oh, please! Just call me Yujin, no need for formalities, my Grace.” she says, eyeing the man up and down. People referred to him as their grace all the time, but this gave him an ick, hearing it roll out of her tongue so easily, so nonchalantly.

“I’m here with a proposal, my dear father has sent me.” She picks up her tea cup, sipping slowly, every now and then locking eyes with the boy. “I’ve heard the queen has fallen ill, I felt sorry to hear such unfortunate news.” She sighs sadly, her voice holding mock concern.

“Since then I’ve heard you two have been avoiding each other. Perhaps it’s the fact that she’s weak and frail, or maybe…she can’t give an heir to the throne?”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, eyes darkening, the air around him heavy and suffocating when hearing her discuss matters like his wife’s feelings didn’t matter. “The elder queen has gotten in contact with my family, proposing a marriage between the two of us in order for the kingdom to receive its precious descendant.” She continued, her lips curving into a coy smile.

Jungkook’s gaze bore into hers, his expression hardening. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but my mother has not been in command since long ago. I’m loyal to my wife and I don’t need a mere concubine by my side. The queen is my wife, and she will remain so, heir or not.” he spits sharply.

The young girl tilts her head, a glimpse of bitterness could be catched for one second before her expression softens just enough to appear sympathetic. “Your loyalty is truly admirable, my Grace.” 

Her tone was almost sweet, while her fingers played slowly with her curls, twirling them around. “But loyalty does not sustain a kingdom. Your people grow fears, they doubt your judgment, they wonder what would happen to their land after you lose the throne.” She sighs once again, trying to appear concerned for others. “Sooner or later, your Majesty…” she said, leaning closer, her voice dropping just above a whisper “You will have to choose. And faced with the options of loving her or the survival of your empire, what will your judgment decide upon?” Her words were harsh, showing parts of her true self. Jungkook's breath hitched at her boldness. His mind recognizing the guilt trap she was setting, but his heart was aching.

He is the king, his main priority is to protect his people before all. He was already faced with splitting between love and responsibility.

“Perhaps we can discuss mathers in further meetings.” she said, her voice smooth, uninterested in toying with him anymore. “I know Your Grace will make the best decision regarding the safety of people.” She offered a graceful smile, while rising from the chair.

“Let’s meet again tomorrow. It’s my first time here, I would love to be shown around.” “Of course.” He stood up as well, the tension beneath him almost breaking his calm exterior. “Unfortunately I have a long list of duties that call my name. I will have one of the servants arrange a proper tour for you, Lady Yujin.” His tone was cold, a quiet reminder that despite her boldness, he was still the one in control. 

Yujin’s lips parted wanting to say something else, to try and stop him and achieve what she wanted like she was always thought to do, but both were stopped when the doors of the dining room were opened, your body peaking through, your maiden following behind. “Your Majesty,” you were surprised, your voice steady and curious at the sight of your husband being with an unknown lady. Your eyes darted between the two of them, taking in the room's tense atmosphere. 

“I apologize for the interruption, I wanted to get my dinner outside my room today. I didn’t know we were having guests over.” You bow down lightly, making Jungkook soften at the sight. His rigid posture calming down, legs taking him closer to you in a habit. “Y/N.” he said, his voice gentler now. “You should be resting, my love.” You smile, fingers caressing the beautiful embroidery on his blazer, admiring how well built he is in comparison to you.

“I’ve rested long enough. I can’t spend the rest of my life locked up in that room. I’ve been feeling better since this new medicine.”

“I see,” he murmured, his lips falling into a faint smile. “Don’t push yourself too hard, you still have a long time to recover.” Your tender moment, a sight for those around, was now being interrupted by the woman sitting across the room, envy in her eyes. 

“Such a heartwarming moment to witness.” She says clasping her hands together. “Though I must admit, I hadn’t expected to see Your Grace today.”  she added, directing her words toward you. “I figured since you’ve been in such a delicate position, you would like to rest, not entangle yourself with administrative problems.” Your gaze met hers, you felt calm despite the stab hidden beneath her words. “I appreciate your concern,” you replied smoothly, detaching yourself from Jungkook. “But I know my limits better than anyone.” you say while eyeing her. Jungkook’s hand grasps yours gently, making you look up at him giving a reassuring smile in response to his concern. Yujin’s smile falters ever so slightly seeing you stand with such confidence, but she quickly recovers, lightly chuckling. 

“I hope I didn’t upset Your Grace, these were not my intentions. I am a devoted woman when it comes to the good of the people.” She starts again, the same story of how good she wants to appear in front of you, wishing just a tiny part of her acts could tone you down.

“Y/N’s dedication has never been in question either.” Jungkook interrupts firmly, his voice steady. “She is not only my queen but the heart of this kingdom, you should admire her for the efforts she’s putting in.”

Yujin froze in place, taken aback by the sudden confession. “Of course,” she murmured, a flicker of frustration obvious in her gaze.

“Your Majesty is fortunate to have such a queen by his side.” She mumbles before bowing deeply to the both of you and making her way towards the exit, but not before leaving her last words to linger around. “I’d love for his Majesty to join my tour tomorrow, if possible. We have important matters to discuss” she said, pausing, her gaze briefly meeting Jungkook’s before she turned and disappeared through the doorway. The room was silent for a moment. You turned to Jungkook eyeing him, his expression unreadable. “Jungkook, who was this lady?” You cut down formalities when met only with him. 

For a moment he didn’t answer, his mind and heart running wild, weighing whether to share more of what’s happening with you or not, scared of your reaction towards what’s happening. “Don’t worry.” he said carefully, avoiding your glance. “She’s just an acquaintance…” You could read him, you knew him for a long time, he was hiding stuff from you.

You exhale abruptly, turning your body away from the man. “Is this your way of protecting me? I could read through your lies every day, Jungkook! I know you better than anyone else.” You huff in annoyance, signaling your maiden. “I have no appetite anymore.” Your frustration was building up, you were tired of pretending everything was fine around you two. You could hear him follow behind you, trying to stop you in your steps. You didn’t look back, you didn’t stop…you couldn’t. Is distance and lies what has become of your relationship? Arriving at your door you send your maiden away, turning to finally seek the man. You could see the hurt in his eyes, the way he was trying to avoid your glance in shame for being caught. “Is this what I am to you?” You say, your heart racing in your chest. “I can’t keep pretending everything is fine when you keep lying to me, hiding away stuff, avoiding me.” Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, his doe eyes finally meeting your sad ones. “I am no longer the person you turn to, Jungkook. I can see this, I can feel this.” you pause for a second, trying so hard to gather the words that were scattering around your head.

“You don’t come anymore, you don’t see me anymore, you don’t want to touch me anymore. Is this the reason she’s here? Are you trying to replace me?” You ask upset, tears burning in your eyes. “You know this is not true! You are everything to me.” he says, his voice cracking, defending his actions. “Everything I’m doing is for the kingdom, for us...” He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out for yours, but you pull away. “Is it?” You whispered, a single tear running down your cheek. For a moment, neither of you move, his silence was cutting you deep. Finally, he finally breaks, voice quieter now, almost pleading. "Please love…I don't want to hurt you.” his hand finds his way up, the back of his fingers barely caressing your face. “But you do, everyday! Do you even see me as your woman anymore?” your voice was trembling, a mix of frustration and pain in it.

"Y/N, you are still everything to me, you are my woman, my queen.” he was frustrated too, wanting to keep you safe and show you love, but being afraid of losing you. He wanted you to understand him too, how hard it is for him to stay away. “You used to want me, you used to look at me like I was your world. Now I don’t know who I am to you anymore!" You break down in rage and upset.

Jungkook’s chest tightened seeing how he only causes more pain then relief to your aching pains. His arms wrap around you so tight, finally giving in, the craves he has for you spilling. "I still want you. I always will" he says, his feelings raw. You look up at him, your teary eyes and pouty lips making him melt. “Then love me, I won’t break.” and that’s all it takes.

He picks you from the ground, one hand opening then closing the door behind you. His lips find yours after so many days of being untouched, honey-like taste lingering around. You cry. The feelings of being close with your husband breaking every wall you build around yourself all these years. He lays you down between the mountain of pillows and blankets, his lips never breaking from yours. “I am afraid.” He says when you pull away for a fresh breath of air. “I don’t want to lose you, but pushing you away kills me everyday.” He whispers letting his own fears alive, tears falling onto your neck. You raise your hand to reassure him, gently combing through his hair, shooting away his own hurt. “Then don’t push me away anymore. I need you by my side and you do too.” You let him sob on your chest, finally grasping how hard everything has been for him. “I want to stay by your side, Jungkook. I wish to be the queen I was before. So please…stop throwing me into the shadows.” His arms tighten around you. “I’m sorry.” he chokes out, his voice muffled against you “I want to be better at this, but I feel like I have no one. Everyone wants something from me and I feel…so alone…” He finally confesses, showing all of his emotions. 

“I’ll do better, Y/N. I promise.” he looks up and you cup his cheek, your thumb wiping away his tears. “I am not much of a support, but don’t hide away from me. I am not as weak as people make me to be.”

His brows furrow, guilt flickering across his face knowing he lets you think you’re weak, you being the strongest person he’s met. “You’re not weak.” he whispers. “You never were.”, “You will never be.” He kisses you gently once again, his salty lips burning against yours before pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. “Let’s take it easy from now. I’ll trust you and you trust me. No more running away” his breath feels warm against your face. “I’ll sleep with you today, it’s been long since we spent time together.” He takes off his clothes, remaining only in his white shirt and pants and rests down next to you, arms wrapping around your figure from behind. 

You could feel it for the first time since forever, the feeling of reassurance, the walls you’ve built along the years beginning to rebuild. You lean deeper into his touch without the care for the future, feeling in the moment like you could conquer the world together.

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

The next day, the palace was too full of life. The maids and servants were going crazy trying to find the king. A problem has arised, a big one. The doors of your bedroom flew open with a loud bang, startling the both of you, making Jungkook almost fall from the bed. Your maiden, Seol gasping in shock and embarrassment seeing the both of you entangled between the sheets. 

“Y-your Grace! Oh my, I apologize for intruding in such a way. I-I didn’t know you and my Lady.” Her head quickly lowered in shame of witnessing such a scene. You hid under your blanket trying to suppress your laughter. Jungkook ran a hand through his messy hair, letting out a sigh, he was a little irritated by the disturbance. “Seol. What’s the meaning of all this?” 

The girl gulped, bowing deeply “Forgive me, Your Grace! The elder queen is here, she’s demanding to talk to you.” Your heart sank at the mention of the elder queen, she was never fond of you and you knew from way before how harsh she is with Jungkook, trying to keep him under her strong control. You glanced at Jungkook, who was already frowning. “What is it now?” Jungkook muttered under his breath before getting out of bed, making Seol shriek and turn away blushing in embarrassment. “I will go and see what this is about.”  He puts on his blazer and shoes and exits the room leaving you and your flustered maiden behind. You sit up and look at the girl, concern running through your veins. “Seol, what is this about? Why is Jungkook’s mother here again?” You heard from around the palace a thing or two, having a close bond with your maiden has always proven efficient in letting you be in touch with what was happening around.

Seol hesitates, wringing her hands nervously. “My lady, I…I don’t think I should…” You huff in annoyance with her trying to keep the secret. “You should, we don’t keep secrets around here. Why is she here?” You ask for answers in a more demanding tone. She lowers her voice, glancing toward the door as if afraid someone might overhear, before finally breaking the news to you. “The elder queen… she’s growing impatient. She’s been making arrangements, calling for meetings with the king behind closed doors.”

“Arrangements? For what?” you press on, wanting a proper answer. “From what I know it’s exclusive between her, the king and his adviser. I tried to get more info, but I’ll be beheaded if they find me sneaking around!” “Why didn’t Jungkook tell me… Is this all you know?” you ask, eagerly expecting. Seol bites her lip before coming even closer to you. “That lady, she’s also here.” She whispers, making your heart skip a beat.

“The girl from yesterday? The one that had dinner with my husband?” You ask stunned and Seol nods, her expression filled with unease. “Yes, my lady. She’s in the garden with the elder queen now. They are waiting for the king to be there, I feel like something is going to happen.” You sigh and raise from the bed. “This only sounds like trouble. Prepare my dress, I’m going to see what’s happening there.” “My lady, I think you should not!” Seol tries to stop, but you turn and look at her with angry eyes. She can only comply under your authority, you are the queen and she can’t tell you want to do. With shame she bows her head and starts to help you dress.

“Don’t push yourself too hard, my lady...” she says worried before following you to the garden.

…

Slowly you see it. The garden doors come into view making you take a deep breath in nervousness. You could hear their voices and you could definitely see a stressed Jungkook through the glass window.

“I told you to cut it down, this is not happening! Why can’t you understand!” He’s trying to keep his composure, he was angry for some reason unknown to you.

“Bring that damned girl here! It’s not your decision to make, she has to give her word! What king are you, ever since two years ago this place has been running wild!”

Beside him sits the elder queen, her presence commanding and cold, and next to her the girl you saw before, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

You open the doors making them stop, all eyes being on you. “Forgive my intrusion.” you say, your voice calm but firm. “But I believe I should also be present to whatever is happening here.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise and fear seeing you. The elder queen scoffs, leaning back in her seat when she sees you enter. “Do you realize how long the kingdom has waited for you?” Her eyes were piercing, punching holes through your body.

“It’s been long since we’ve seen each other, Y/N. I think it’s time we discuss a little about the future of this land.” You met her icy gaze, the way she spoke without a care. “You’re right, mother.” you replied, taking a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken, why don’t we catch up?” 

The elder queen’s eyes narrow. “You know what this is about?” You look a little confused, but before anything could be said Jungkook moves to your side abruptly, not wanting you there any further.

“This discussion is over.” He says, glaring at his mother, trying to assess dominance in front of the woman who brought him to this earth. “You think this discussion is over?” she asks unamused, rising from her seat. “This has to be discussed, Jungkook. We’ve waited long enough.” Jungkook clenches his jaw trying to pull you away from all the madness. 

“Are you with child?” She asks carelessly, stunning you at her sudden boldness. “Excuse me?” You could feel your chest tighten at her words, eyes widening in disbelief. “Are you with child?” The elder queen repeats, her tone impatient. You remain frozen, mind scrambling for a response.

“How could I be?” you respond, voice trembling slightly. "The kingdom needs an heir. You and Jungkook have been married long enough, where is the future descendant of this kingdom?” she adds nonchalantly.

Jungkook steps forward trying to shield you away from his mother’s harsh words. “It is not for you to decide when we should bear children, mother.” he says, making the queen chuckle. “She’s sick. How could she even bear children?” her words venomous, filled with disgust.

You felt the world spinning around you. What was all of this about? The future of the kingdom, an heir?  Your heart starts to quicken as the words sink in. “Y/N, you’ve done enough till now, I respect the work you’ve done for the good of the land. But we need someone to rule further.” His mother says, coming closer to you, her hand trying to grasp yours only to be stopped by Jungkook.

“The people are growing restless. If you cannot fulfill your duty as the queen, then we must take other measures, my dear.” she says, ignoring her son’s desperate actions in trying to stop her from reaching further to you. 

You wanted to argue with her, to defend yourself, but all your words were stuck in your throat. “Jungkook is still young, he can still provide children. All that I ask of you is to accept a small change in your life.”

She pulls you closer holding both of your hands in her. “Lady Yujin here is a nice girl. She is young and able to bear the child everybody wishes upon.” Your eyes widen, finally catching on her sick plan. You pulled your hands back slowly, taking a step back. “No.” you respond, shaking your head, body trembling with unknown emotions, trying to take in what was suddenly coming your way in rapid motion. 

“All that I ask is for you to agree on their marriage. She will bear an heir for the throne and then it’s your and Jungkook’s choice on what’s going to happen further, I won’t bother anymore.” She was calm in her words, a heartless woman hiding behind her facade. Your eyes begin to fill with tears. “No” you say once again shaking your head in denial. You turn your head to look at your husband, wondering about the emotions he holds in his eyes. “Jungkook…is this what you want?” You ask, defeated. Hoping for him to not be on the other side. He comes closer to you holding your arms, looking deeply into your eyes in desperation. “No, of course not!” Raw guilt was taking over him, he couldn’t find the words to reassure you, to explain that this wasn’t the choice he wanted to take.

You glanced at her, the woman who was meant to replace you, seeing her smile in victory made your stomach twist and turn. “I’m only here to help, Your Majesty. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that benefits everyone.” she says swiftly, eyes glinting with satisfaction. You could barely look at Jungkook now, the man you thought was your everything, the man you trusted above all. “You’re all so quick to tear me apart.” You say ripping yourself from his embrace.

“But it's your role as the king…” you say unsure, mixed feelings were creeping inside, his mother’s manipulation getting to you.

You bite your lip thinking about the situation. You know the harsh words of your people, the whispers, the stares. Your situation is uncertain and just for a split second your judgment is clouded. 

The persuasion of Jungkook’s mother, the suffocating stares of Yujin, Jungkook’s guilty eyes. You caved in, giving up your principles for the better of the kingdom, like any other queen would. You try to remain calm and think, but maybe you were not as strong as you thought. In a blink you cough, gasping for air. Jungkook rushes to your side before you manage to collide with the hard concrete, his arms wrapping around your frail frame. “Call the doctor!” he shouted, his voice frantic. 

"My love…" his voice trembling as he gently held you close to his beating heart. You could hear his voice, see the way he started to scream at his mom for making you go through this, his tears falling on your face, staining your cheeks.

Your ears were ringing louder and louder and looking at his worried face, your vision starting to blur until you could not hear or feel anything anymore. 

A deep slumber engulfing you.

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

It’s been 2 months since the incident has occurred. Ever since you’ve been on bed rest. The medicine you were taking was experimental since there was no known cure for what you had, it was to assume that side effects would appear sooner or later and after the shock you suffered, you decided to stay enclosed.

You received the news in your bed, in the end your husband succumbed to his mothers urgings, now married out of will to a second woman, the one who’s seen to bring peace and stability to the kingdom. A new hope.

Yujin quickly became loved by the people, showing up along with your husband to all the events you should’ve attended, stepping up on the duties you should care for.

She made the people feel safe again, making them forget the real queen they have, turning their back to you, wishing Yujin would take your spot forever. However, these were only what the outside could see, inside the palace was a nightmare. She was a vile woman, a two faced snake. After she got the taste of power she started showing her rotten self.

Nobody dared to speak in front of her, let alone oppose to any of her sayings. But with all the power she holds right now, she’s missing something she dearly desires, the key to your husband’s heart. Jungkook refused. 

He refused anything that has to do with her, to eat with her, hear her, see her, and clearly he refused to consummate his “marriage” making her rot in envy every time he came to spend time in your chamber.

He stayed by your side now, day by day, night by night. Lulling you to sleep when the pain was too much to bear, singing to you through the day if you felt upset or too sick. He showed you that no matter how many ups and downs he has, you’re still his number one priority. The person he deeply adored. You felt at peace now, Yujin’s arrival did not bring as much chaos as you thought, it only made your and Jungkook’s relationship grow stronger, blooming after years of being caged. She wanted him so much it made him run far away from her, deeper and deeper into your arms. It was evening right now, you were sitting in your bed like usual, feeling much better these days. Seol was sitting behind you, gently combing your hair, preparing you for your bath. “You look so pretty, my queen.” she murmurs. 

“Thank you, Seol,” you replied, gazing at your reflection in the window. “You’ve been glowing recently, I could see you’re getting better.” she chuckles softly, admiring you. “The medicine has been working so far, the doctor said it’s a promising solution.” Seol hums unconvinced with your excuses. “Are you sure that’s the reason, my lady? Your Grace has been visiting a lot lately, hasn’t he?”  she says, her tone a little teasing.

“He really has, hasn’t he? I was afraid she would steal him away, but it seems he carries no interest.” You felt a small sense of gratitude towards the two of them, the ones who stood beside you no matter what.

“I’ve heard Lady Yujin created a monstrous scandal just the other day. The king still not bedded with her, right?” you scoff at her boldness, since when did she become like this? “A little bold of you to ask your queen such things.” you say crossing your arms, trying to appear upset just to mess with her a little.

She gasps and stops her actions, coming to her senses about what came out of her mouth. “I-I’m so sorry! I should’ve never stepped this far! It’s not my business on what's happening in the king’s life, I’m so sorry!” She bows down, ashamed, making you burst into laughter, achieving with glory your goals. “I was just joking, I consider you my best friend Seol! Don’t be so rough around me, we already speak of all.” You tease back. “And to answer your question. No, he hasn’t. I think he never will.” You smile proudly, showing off your loyal husband before the reality starts to kick in again.

“But this doesn’t mean he’s doing it with me either. It’s been more than a year since we’ve been intimate with each other.” you sigh sadly, resting your head on your palm.

Seol looks up at you, her eyes soft with concern. “My lady, don’t let the distance get to you. You’ve both been through so much already, he must be afraid." she reasures you kindly. “Afraid of what exactly?” You both stop in your tracks, blush creeping up when Jungkook enters the room, confusion obvious on his face.

“Jungkook...” you start trying to collect your words but failing. Seol is quick to excuse herself and leave the room, but you have nowhere to go so you face the man. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting you two. But, Y/N...what is this about me being afraid of?” he comes closer to you, wondering what were you scheming behind his back. “We were having a one on one girl talk, clearly not your business.” You pout crossing your arms. He smiles briefly. “Hmm, I’ll let it slide this time, only because it was a girl talk.” He pats your head coming closer to leave a peck on your lips. “I see Seol prepared you for a bath, should I help you with it since she’s not here anymore?” he questions, making the air around you grow thick. Your heart skips a beat, he hasn’t seen you naked in a while, why now all of a sudden? 

“You don’t have to do that, I can manage myself!” You rush to say, feeling shy in front of him all. “What if I want to?” He teases, eyes shining with love when looking at you. And you shyly comply thinking it might be for the best to have him around, fastly getting your necessities and heading for the bath with your husband behind you.

Once you enter you slowly let the night gown fall to the floor, back facing the man. You take off your undergarments as well, a blush creeping on your cheek knowing he’s watching you undress, wondering what he thinks of you right now, seeing you so exposed in front of him.

“I’m shy.” you whisper. “Why? I’ve seen you before.” He’s quick to add without shame, a shiver coming up your spine at his seductive tone.

He comes from behind holding your hand, helping you hop into the bath, warm water engulfing your body. You look away for a second, hiding your breast with your hands, but quickly turning around when you hear the rustling of clothes echoing through the enclosed space.

He’s getting undressed. Jungkook watches you carefully, seeing your eyes preying on his body. “Like what you see?” He asks, amused. You lock eyes with him for a second before turning back around, hiding your red face from him.

“You’re a pervert.” He could hear you mumble. “You’re the one acting worse than on our first night together.” he responds, making you huff. “What’s gotten into you, it’s been long since we were this close…”

He tilts his head a little hurt by your words. “I know it’s been long, but do you not want me to be here?” you feel the guilt creep in, you should be grateful. He's trying to be close to you again and instead of letting him in your heart again you say rude words making him question his decisions. “I didn’t mean it like that.” you quickly clarify. “It’s just… it’s been so long since we were close like this. I wasn’t expecting you to be so… forward with it.” you finally admit. You look at him, his eyes are softly looking back at you. He doesn’t say much, only signaling you to make some space for his body to fit behind. You sit in silence, your body tense, hugging your knees close to your chest. Jungkook is spread behind you, his arms on each side of the tub, eyes closed. “Relax a little, will you? I won’t eat you.” you don’t trust his words, he’s scheming something. One of his arms comes closer to you, resting at the base of your neck, pulling you to lay your back on his chest. “I should’ve done this sooner. I missed being close to you.” He lets out a satisfied sigh, hands wrapping around your front, resting on your waist. 

Jungkook gently nuzzles his face into the back of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “I want you.” He says, making goosebumps erupt on the surface of your skin.

“Do you think we can?” He reluctantly asks, a sniff of persuasion hiding behind. You were melting into his touch, his hand trailing down slowly, caressing your closed thighs. “Can you? Hmm, love?” Your breath starts to hitch, the water feeling colder than your body temperature. You slowly open your legs, letting his hand touch your privates, opening a way for him. His fingers gently caress through your folds while his lips start to leave kisses on the back of your neck.

You gulp when his thumb comes in contact with your little bundle of nerves, a faint whimper leaving your lips. His other hand starts to cup one of your breasts, playing gently with it.

It's easy to say you were in a bliss, nothing you’ve felt before was making you feel as good as what the man you love was doing right now.  You didn’t want to stop, falling deeper into the haze. But just when everything starts to feel much sweeter, you hear a knock on your door, freezing you in place, making Jungkook’s finger stop right at your entrance, leaving you unsatisfied.

You whine loudly, hands covering your face in desperation. From the other side of the door you hear Seol’s voice asking for you, making you startle in fear. “Seol, stay outside!” you shout horrified that she might enter the room.

“Are you okay, my Lady? Why did you bathe alone, what if something would’ve happened?” She's always the one to accompany you when you bathe, just to make sure you won’t have any accidents. But now, Jungkook was here, it would be improper for her to walk on you two, especially during such lewd actions.

“Don’t worry, Seol, I’m with her.” Jungkook responds, annoyed himself, at the fact that he had to stop after managing so much persuasion.

Seol only rushes to get her words out once she finds out you two were bathing together, you could imagine her face being so red by the embarrassment.

“I w-will leave her in your care, your Majesty! I didn’t know, I’m so sorry! Oh heavens, I always come in at the wrong time!” her last phrase was probably for herself. 

“Seol, before you leave. I have a favor to ask. Tell the guards around to not come close to her royalty’s chamber tonight. Don’t disturb us until I come out and say so, understood?” You blush at his words, wondering what was going on in his mind. Seol on the other hand is even more flustered, catching what the king is about to do on first hearing. She excuses herself and leaves. Between you two is silence. You looked at him from over your shoulder, he was staring at you, half lidded, licking his lips when your eyes met. “I think we should get out right now.” He rises from the water, stepping outside of the tub, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist in hurry. You look confused at him, you didn’t even wash properly. “But, we haven’t even washed…” Jungkook lends you his hand and you take it. He wraps another towel around you, showing you the way back to your room. “We will need to bathe later on anyway.” He says before gently laying you down on your bed. He gets rid of the towel, letting it pool at his feet, and then you see it. Standing proud and heavy, in all of its glory in front of you. Now you understand. 

He wants you in that way.

You blush, but hands work fast like a reflex, dragging the towel off of you, letting you naked in front of him as well. He comes closer, kneeling on your bed, above you. You raise your hands to touch his chest, fingers trailing down, but stopping right above his hardened member. “Don’t be a tease now.” he grunts. You smile, letting your hands gently grasp him, stroking him up and down, giving him what he wants. Jungkook looks at you from above and whimpers, you look so beautiful under him, stroking his cock up and down like the goddess you are, working him up like never before. “How should I serve you next, my king? Do you want my mouth?” You ask seductively. He smiles, dirty thoughts of you doing what he wants flooding his mind. He has to be tame though, your state is still not stable, he promised to take it easy. “It’s fine, how about I work you up a little instead? We want this to last without getting you too tired.” You let go of him, happiness feeling your veins knowing you have such a caring man beside you.

He leans down to land a kiss between your breasts, his hands finding their way back to where they were earlier. One of his fingers entering you eagerly, breaking a gasp and a loud moan from such unexpected intruding.

He comes back up, pushing a second one in, followed by a third. You were a moaning mess, trying to keep composure in front of him, but when his lips latch on your sweet spot you lose it, all the strings breaking in your body making you come undone under his touch.

“That was fast my love, was I too eager for you?” He is breathless as well, his cheeks and chest flushed with a red color. “It’s been long, I’m not used to the feeling anymore.” you barely manage to rip out.

He chuckles, taking his fingers out. “That’s funny, you took three of my fingers like they were nothing.” You whine at his teasing, body heating up quickly. He leans back, still on his knees looking at you from above.

“Look at all the mess you made.” you can’t manage to respond anymore since his hands grab your legs, spreading them nice for him to see. “I guess we should make even more now that we’re at it, don’t you think?” “Yeah, I would love that.” You say, biting your lower lip seductively, enticing him even more. “You’re the real definition of a pillow princess.” He looks at your body, beautifully spread beneath him, hair messy and all over the pillows in your bed, cheeks flustered and shiny arousal pooling between your legs. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.” He says grabbing his member, aligning it to your entrance. “Don’t we need protection?” You suddenly ask, not wanting to break the mood, but also trying to be careful about your actions. He hums a little, slapping the head of his thick cock on your wetness before nudging your entrance with it. “Let’s not tonight.” He says before pushing in slowly, breaking a loud moan from you before bottoming out in one go. “Jungkook!” You scream, not in pain, but in so much pleasure you could already come again. Feeling him inside you, so raw, so real, clouding your mind breaking any rational thought you have left. Between you was a desire you never felt, a passion that took years to build up only to spill all over in this moment. His touch felt nauseating, his lips burned your skin with pure emotions, the stretching of his cock pushing through your walls just the right way.

You were on cloud nine, if not even further, lost somewhere in the universe, never wanting to return from such heights this man continued to rip out of you. You were loud, so loud you thought for a second the whole empire could hear you, could hear the way he claimed his only love, his only wife, his only queen.

Jungkook was lost too, his mind filled with the thought of you, the erotic images of your actions imprinting deep within his conscience, craving more of you. 

He also wanted to let everyone know, to know he was the only one he could make you feel this way and you were the only one who he would go unbelievable lengths to satisfy.

He didn’t want to be afraid anymore, you would have him by his side for the rest of your life long or short, and after that he would not be this close with anyone ever again. You were close once again, this time he was too. You can’t even remember how many times you were at breaking point tonight, coming undone under him and his intoxicating touch.

 “Jungkook, I’m so close, don’t stop.” you pant trying to regain your breath. The boy does not stop, pleasing you, keeping his peace, feeling his climax coming just as close.

In bliss you both moan loudly, coming together. His breath rages, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest. He kisses you once again, making sure you’re safe and alright in his arms.

And then, when you both regain a bit of composure you go again, over and over, loving each other all night long until both of you can’t take it anymore. Just him making sure you feel all the love you’ve been missing for the past two years.

…

On the other side of the castle, news flow rapidly, arriving in the end at the ears of the other “queen”.

“Does he think I’m a fool?!” she hisses, her voice harsh. Her maiden bows in respect for her. “Where have you heard such news anyways?” she asks, looking at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “My lady, the queen’s maiden has come out rushing and telling everybody not to come close to her chamber.” “She told everyone to stay away from her chamber?” she questions, her voice low and dangerous. Her maiden nodes hesitantly. “Yes, my lady. They say His Majesty is inside with her... and has been for hours now.”

Yujin’s anger was boiling over. It’s been two months since their wedding officiated, and ever since he had refused her presence entirely. She felt insulted, the thought of the king being intimate with the other woman and not with her was driving her crazy.

“Of course, he’s with her.” she spat. “I was promised a place here to bear an heir, yet he’s still clinging to that pathetic excuse of a woman!” Her maiden kept her gaze down, her hands trembling slightly as she fondled with the hem of her dress.

“How long would he keep going on with this? He finally sees her now?” “My lady.” the maiden whispers with a quivering voice. “Perhaps, if you showed patience, His Majesty might…” Yujin cut her off. “Patience? Does he think I’ll simply stand by and watch while he engages with her?” she was enraged by the thought. “Or perhaps the king is only showing pity.” The maiden tries to reassure only to be met with more explosive feelings. 

“Do you think pity is what drives a man to spend hours behind locked doors? Forgetting who he should sleep with in order to get that damned heir? ” She scoffed bitterly, rising from her chair. The girl lowers her head further, wishing she could disappear. “I-I only meant that His Majesty might be torn, my lady. The queen has been with him for so long and he’s been neglecting her.” 

“She’s weak!” Yujin snapped. “Nothing but a disgusting living corpse! How could he engage with her?!” she says while placing through her room. “Perhaps...it is not about what she gives him, but what she means to him.” the maiden suggests.

Yujin freezes mid-step, her eyes narrowing as she turns to face the girl, coming dangerously close to her. She was blinded by the goals she has to achieve, madness driving into her.

“Are you suggesting that she is somehow…irreplaceable?” 

“N-no, my lady!” The girl stammered. “I only think that since they’ve been together for long, their bond might be hard to break.” 

“Silence!” The woman shouts out, sharp and commanding, making the poor girl shiver. “He must come to his senses. This kingdom needs me, only me!” she turns around looking at her reflection through the mirror. “I’ve had enough of this waiting. If His Majesty won’t act, then I will.” Yujin says, lips curled into a sinister smile.

“What will you do, my lady?” the maiden asks cautiously. “I’ll just remind Jungkook that this kingdom’s future depends on me, not on a woman who can’t even stand on her own two feet let alone bear his children.”

“Mark my words,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Before long, I’ll be the only queen this kingdom knows.”

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

Morning came by fast, the rays of sun burning on your cheek. You whine trying to move only to find yourself trapped under a muscular body. Your eyes flutter open to find Jungkook sprawled on top of you, sleeping soundly. 

You brush your hand through his hair, taking in the sight of him being so calm. It felt surreal, as if the weight of the world outside this room didn’t exist, the only place being in the warmth of his arms. “Good morning,” you murmured, seeing him stir in his sleep. “Morning, love,” he whispered, his voice deep and husky. You tried to wiggle out from under him, but he only held you tighter. “Where do you think you’re going?” he teased, nuzzling into your neck. “Let’s just stay a little longer like this.” his voice still laced with sleep. The room quiets down, you close your eyes, enjoying Jungkook's presence just a little more.  “Last night...” he began, his tone teasing. “It was the best sleep I’ve had in years.” His smile was cocky. “And not just because of the other things we did.” You have blush creeping up your neck as you avoided his gaze. 

“It’s because for the first time, I felt like I had you back. Like nothing else around mattered.” he said looking at you with such sincerity in his eyes. 

“Well.” you started, “Maybe we’ll have more nights like this.” you say shyly, still avoiding his gaze. He grins as he pulls your naked bodies closer together. “Careful what you promise, my queen,” he teased. “I might hold you to it.” Both of you smile as you melt away into one another. You stayed in his arms all morning, until he was ready to get back to his duties. 

…

Jungkook made his way down the halls of the palace after working hard all day. He had in mind one thing, to get some comfortable clothes and come around to see what his sweet wife was doing.

But as he approached his chambers, he noticed the door was slightly open. Without thinking much, he pushes through the door, expecting his adviser or some maid to be in it. To his surprise, on his bed was seated Yujin. Jungkook froze for a moment wondering who allowed her to enter his room. “What are you doing here?” His tone was sharp while talking to her, devoid of any emotion.

“I came to talk,” she said simply, her eyes burning holes in the man. “You should leave, Yujin. I have nothing to say to you.” His words were cold. The girl rises from his bed, coming closer to him, her eyes locking with his. 

“You’ve refused me for months, my Grace. Is this your way of bringing good to the people?” she continued, her voice tainted with frustration. By this time his patience was running low as well, tired of having to deal with her.

“What do you expect exactly?” Jungkook asks, folding his arms. “One night. Give yourself to me for one night and that’s all.” she whispers seductively, hands caressing his arms.

“I thought I made myself clear already. I want nothing to do with you.” he pushes her aside, resuming his task, his body craving something else, someone else. 

“You’re lying to yourself.” she murmured, grabbing his sleeve. “You can pretend all you want, but I know what you need. And right now, it’s not her. I could give you something she can’t, a bliss you never felt.” She persuades, making the man clench his jaw in annoyance. 

"Leave." he commanded, his voice controlled, cold as ice. “Have you really bedded with her?” she asks all of a sudden, not wanting to believe the rumors that were going around. “You don’t get to question me about what I do.” he hisses back. “I didn’t want to believe it at first, but I’ve heard you spent the whole night in her chamber.” Her words were bitter, she didn’t want to accept it. “Yujin!” 

Jungkook shouts, startling her. “You do not get to question what I do, especially with my wife!” “I am also your wife! Why are you playing only on one side, Jungkook!” He raises his hand, making her flinch. He felt pity bubble in the bottom of his stomach at that moment, he took a deep breath tone lowering even deeper if possible. 

“I will tell you this, once. Only Y/N can call me Jungkook. You never…never, dare to use my name again!.” His hand combs through his hair in frustration. “Second, I do not want to see you around again, I told you I have no interest in being involved with you. The only woman that I want is Y/N, she is your queen.” 

Yujin stood frozen, her fists clenched at her sides as Jungkook’s words pierced through her like daggers, a mixture of disbelief and anger blooming into her, but she couldn’t fight back. She pushed his limits way too far already, even though the two were married she could still be punished for coming against the king. 

She bit down her bottom lip bowing to him then leaving his chamber, tears spilling in anger. Her mind was already thinking of what steps she needs to take next in order for him to fall in her trap and ensure her duty is accomplished.

She entered her room, throwing her stuff on the floor in rage, the commotion making her maiden, Byeol, come to see what’s going on. Her eyes widened in concern seeing the state of her lady. 

Yujin took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "He’s chosen her." she hissed through clenched teeth, "I will make him regret this. I will show him I’m the better one to stay by his side!” her breath was ragged, trying desperately to keep composure. Yujin faces Byeol, her eyes darkening, an evil plan scheming in her mind. “Bring me the royal doctor.” she says, her voice cold and determined, making the maiden shiver in fear. “I have a plan that’s going to end all this havoc for good.”

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

For the next few days neither of you were bothered by Yujin, which makes you feel uneasy, wondering if she’s really given up or not. Jungkook, however, we could say his mood has been lighter without having her on his back all the time. He was preparing for something else anyway. Your 5th wedding anniversary. The palace hasn’t held the annual banquet for this celebration since you’ve fallen ill, but this year, with your approval, he decided to enlighten the people and show them that you are fastly recovering, coming even stronger than before. The palace buzzed with activity as preparations for the grand banquet began, he’s gotten busy enough through the day, but he managed to always join your side at night.

The servants hurried through the halls, carrying colorful dresses and fragrant flowers. Everyone was looking forward to such a night. In your room the atmosphere was even more chaotic, this being the 10th dress you tried on only to discard it with upset. “This is not it!” you huff making Seol lose her mind, the dresses supplies becoming limited. “My queen, please decide upon one. We have no more left!” she says, making you let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s not about the dress anymore.” you mumble, throwing yourself on your bed. You wanted to look good tonight, to impress all the guests and mostly your husband.

You growl a soft knock interrupting your sulking. But before you could respond, Jungkook steps in “Am I interrupting?” he asks, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“No…I’m just trying to find the right dress.” you replied disappointed, eyes staring at the ceiling above. “No luck until now? I’ve sent you loads of dresses.” you whine rolling on your tummy, looking outside the window. “She’s been trying for three hours already and no luck.” Seol stays exhausted.

“Y/N, my love.” he coos sitting next to you, patting your back gently. “You know you could be dressed in a potato sack and I will still think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon?” he says while you pull slightly at your hair in desperation.

“I just want everything to be perfect.” you sadly whimper, making him chuckle. “How about this one then?” He picks the last dress from the stall. A beautiful and pretty simple white gown.

“I think you will look like an angel in this one. Want to try it on for me?” he asks, raising a brow.

“Won’t this make me look like a bride?” you question and he smiles. “I think this will be a good reference, my beautiful bride.” you laugh and grab the dress. “I’ll try it on then.”

Seol helps you in it, tying the corset and putting a frame under it to puff it up a little. You look in the mirror, the dress was indeed beautiful, soft fabric flowing gently down your body, it made you seem so pure, so alive. 

Jungkook slowly steps behind you, his hands resting gently on your waist. “There she is, my beautiful wife.” he says, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror’s reflection, looking at you with true adoration. “Thank you.” you say, turning to him, his lips pecking yours slowly. “I should let you get ready, the banquet is close to starting.” satisfied the man leaves your room leaving you to resume your preparation. As the time drew near, you also grew more nervous. Finding yourself in front of the door almost made you turn around. “Don’t be nervous!” Seol urged, pushing some courage towards you. “This is your night.” she puts her hand over yours before arranging the last piece of your outfit, something that has been missing from your head for a long time, a crown.

You took a deep breath and entered the room, the grand hall quieting when they saw you at the top of the stairs. You look down, spotting many familiar figures, the one of your husband’s catching your eyes, taking your breath away. Jungkook was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, his hand reaching for you to take it.  The soft sound of your heels against the marble floor take over the room, whispers erupting around. When you reach him, he takes your hand, pressing a kiss on your ring finger before turning to address the crowd. “The queen has arrived!” A wave of applause and cheers fill the room, people enchanting “All hail the queen!” making you tear up in surprise, grateful to see you were not well forgotten. You could see genuine smiles on many faces, their respect and affection for you evident. “Shall we open the banquet with a dance? What do you think?” Jungkook leads you to the center of the room, your beauty shining brighter in the dim lights. The music starts and you let yourself get carried away by your husband’s lead. More and more people joining along. It felt magical, something so memorable you could remember it for years. You chatted away all night, catching up with important nobles, everyone showed so much love towards you…well, almost everyone. In the corner of the room, a black dress decorated with many precious stones and expensive jewelry prepared for a big showoff, a glass of blood like wine in her hand. Yujin.

Her fingers tighten around the glass, eyes burning on you, seeing you so full of life all of a sudden. She was surrounded by a few nobles who attempted to be polite with her but only managed to get on her nerves. 

“She looks radiant, doesn’t she?” one of the women remarked, glancing at you speaking with the crowd. “Yes.” Yujin replied through gritted teeth, her gaze unwavering. “Radiant indeed.”

Byeol was sitting right behind, her fingers playing nervously with the bottle in her pocket. “My lady, your plan…” she leans in to whisper.

“Not yet,” Yujin muttered, her voice low and calculated. “Let her enjoy it a little more, it will be her last moment after all.” she adds, her actions dangerous. The evening carried on beautifully, the grand hall brimming with music, laughter, and conversation. You felt alive again, dearly missing such events in your now dull life. Jungkook remained by your side as you engaged with the guests, from time to time asking about your condition only to hear you’ve never felt as alive as now. He smiled looking down at you, his heart at peace knowing you were shining again, soon the servants started to bring more glasses into the room, people holding toasts in your honor. The servant stopped near you and Jungkook, offering the drinks. He took one, raising it slightly toward you. “To us” he whispered, his eyes sparkling with affection. You smiled, reaching for your own, but before you can grasp it the sound of broken glass startles you. Red liquid spilling at your feet, the bottom of your dress staining in it, shiny shards flickering into the bright fluid. “Oh! My lord!” You hear the commotion, at the bottom of your feet collapsed Yujin, her hand trembling as red wine mixed with the crimson of her blood. "My lord…" she gasps, vividly scared. “The glass…it broke."

You looked down at her, wondering what to do. The room was tense, the whispers of the guests growing louder. “The poor woman.” someone murmured. “Why isn’t the king helping her?”.

“You’re bleeding.” he sys, his voice calm but distant, barely reaching out to her. She starts to cry, sobbing in fear, putting on a show for everyone to see, her maiden pacing worriedly around. 

“You should call the doctor, take her to her room, My Lord, she’s bleeding out!” she says in panic. Jungkook looks at you for a second, searching for your reaction, before he helps her back on her feet, his clothes staining with blood. 

“Jungkook.” you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. “I’ll be back, I’m taking her to her chamber.” he lets out a breath, his expression unreadable.

“Please, forgive me.” Yujin whimpers, her voice frail. “I didn’t mean to disturb your celebration.” she says towards you before leaving along with your husband, a glint of evil lying under her fake facade, her hidden grin making a shiver run down your spine.

You look at them as they leave the grand hall, the murmurs growing louder, leaving you exposed under the glares of the crowd. Seol steps closer, her hand brushing your arm gently trying to reassure that everything was going to be alright, but you were not at peace, heath hammering in your chest with a bad feeling.

You stayed calm on the outside, telling people to enjoy what was left of the night, every now and then looking towards the big doors, waiting for your husband’s return not knowing it will be all in vain.

He didn’t return.

You wanted to leave, to go and search for him, but you had a party to lead now so instead, you sent Seol to look after him, hoping something bad didn’t happen.   After a couple more hours of agonizing wait you said goodbye to the last guests, the banquet finishing earlier under the worry of your sickness. You left in a rush, looking for Seol, she was nowhere to be found either.

You get back to your chamber, rushing panic flowing into your veins. Should you go search for him some more, perhaps visit his chamber? You gulp, hand cupping your throbbing heart, fear creeping through the cracks of your body.

You jump on your feet when you see the door of your room peaking open, someone falling at the step, a hand showing through the open crack. You rush towards them, opening widely just to be met with a horrifying sight. “Jungkook!” you scream, leaning down to grab the man by the arm, the high temperature of his body hitting you in an instant. He looks up at you, sweat dripping down his forehead, breath raging wild. His eyes were half lidded, barely gazing at you through his lashes. “Do not believe it…I didn’t do anything…” these were the only words he could say, it was like he is in a trance only chanting for you not to believe. You look outside, hoping to see someone, something, the hall was empty. You drag his body inside, taking in more of his ravished look. His shirt was fully unbuttoned chest on full display, so were his pants, his underwear peeking through the gap in the front. He was bright red and breaking in a sweat. For a second you wondered if he’s gotten sick from something, but when he laid down on your bed you could see his raging bulge trying to break free. You didn’t know what to do or say, what happened in the time he was missing? Why was he in such state? You look back for a second, biting your lip, you should go and ask for the doctor. But when you try to take your first step, his hand drags you down, making you fall on top of him.

“Help me.” he whispers. “It hurts…” you look apologetical at him, your feelings running wild with worry. “What happened to you?” you manage to ask, but to no avail. His hands grip the sleeves of your dress, pulling them down your arms, undressing you. “Jungkook, answer me!” you don’t fight back his touch, but you are worried, not knowing what you have to deal with. He only mumbles incoherent words, lips latching onto your neck, sucking purple bruises down your throat.

“Just help me, please.” He whines, his hand rubbing his prominent bulge searching for some relief. You gulp, putting your own hand over it. “We shouldn’t do this, I don’t know what are you on. I should call the doctor.” but despite that you still caress his throbbing member in hope of making him feel better.

“I need you. Now. Just…Y/N, please…” he struggles to take off his clothes while you watch, once naked he lies down in your bed, his eyes closed. “Come on top.” he motions with two fingers towards you. You sigh and take off your dress, climbing gently on top of him.

“This is like our first night together.” he smiles brightly, making you chuckle in slight embarrassment with the thought of such memory. With a little of his help you push his aching cock inside, whimpering at the stretch. He moans loudly, feeling his pressures being relieved. “Good job, baby. Now bounce a little.” He seems completely out of it, but somehow he still takes control over what you do, fully aware of what are you engaging in. 

You adjust for a second before you take on, rising from his member until only his hot tip remains inside before bottoming out in one go, ripping loud moans and whimpers out of your chests.

His hands find their way on your waist, helping with your movement, his hips jerking up every now and then, adding to the feeling. 

The moonlight was shining upon your naked forms, beams of light reflecting beautifully onto your glittering bodies. “You look like you’re made of glass.” He says, eyes lingering lazily, seeing you deliciously bounce up and down on his cock, enjoying yourself.

“Such beautiful skin, shining brightly into the moonlight, I could stare at you forever, my love.”

You whine, feeling closer to your release, his words almost bringing you over the edge. His hand starts to caress your sides, working higher and higher, fingers dancing on your skin leaving a lingering feeling.

“Are you really made of glass?” he asks in a daze while rising in a sitting position, sticking his chest close to yours, holding you close.

“You’re beautiful…my glass queen.” he whispers, lips catching yours in a fiery kiss, passionate but gentle, handling you with such care, wondering if you are really going to break under his touch.

“Jungkook…” your mind was clouding, coming closer and closer to the feeling you were eager to know once again, the man showing signs of being even further on this height while being held in your embrace.

Without any care and only with another passionate kiss you come undone, body trembling under his touch. Him following, spilling hot inside of you, letting his head rest on your shoulder while trying to search for air.

“My queen…my only queen.” he kept mumbling until he fell limp on your bed, you following right after, too tired to search for answers in the moment. His touches detach you from reality, making you forget the events that have happened tonight.

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

When the morning came again you realized Jungkook didn’t remember a thing. He woke up with a throbbing headache wondering how and when he got into your bed. 

He couldn’t remember anything after he left with Yujin. You realized. “You really don’t remember?” you ask cautiously, slight guilt crawling into you. “Not a thing. She hurt herself and I took her to her room, I can’t remember what happened after that.” His jaw clenches trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. “What did she do to me?” he wonders. Your stomach twists, trying hard to digest the knot that formed in it. “Should we talk to her?” you ask with worry, a heavy silence breaking between you two.

“Or do we speak to the guards, the servants, anyone who might’ve seen or heard something?” this reminded you, where is Seol. “I’ve also sent Seol to look after you, she’s not since returned!” You rise from the bed in hurry, dressing in the first gown you see. The two of you rush through the palace, your steps dragging you towards the chamber that started all of this, eager to find answers. 

Just your luck you thought, her maiden was just leaving the room as you two arrived. Byeol froze, immediately bowing down to you. “You Majesties, what brings you two here?” she hesitantly greeted. “Where is Yujin, I need to talk to her.” says Jungkook in a demanding tone. “Lady Yujin is resting, she’s had a hard night, my Lord. Don’t you remember?” she says with a coy smile. “A little cut won’t need that much bed rest.” his tone laced with skepticism. Byeol hesitates for a split second, thinking, before being interrupted by the door opening.

“What’s with all the noise, I need peace and quiet!” Yujin emerges through the room, her expression one of irritation before laying her eyes on Jungkook, a shy blush appearing on her face.

“My lord, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” she says putting a strand of hair behind his ears. “So soon?” your husband questions.

“Oh, my poor king! You were so exhausted, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” she says with smooth words, excitement in her voice.

“Though…I’m a little sad, I thought you'd be happier knowing we consummated our marriage.” she says with an embarrassed look, her eyes meeting yours.

You take a step back gasping, eyes widening in shock at what you heard. Has Jungkook slept with her? 

“What did you just say?” he asked, just as stunned. “You were so tender with me last night. It was beautiful. Just as I always imagined it would be.” Her eyes flicked between you two for the brief moment, a spark of triumph obvious in her eyes. You felt your heart drop, staring at your man you could see his knuckles turn white. “Stop lying, I didn’t do anything with you!” he growls at her.

Yujin’s expression falters for a moment “My king, why would I lie about such a thing? Wasn’t this the reason I am here in the first place, the elder queen would be thrilled to find out I’ll bring an honorable heir to this world.” 

“You really think I’d believe that?” Jungkook snaps, his voice rising. “She’s lying. Whatever she claims...it’s not true. I swear to you, Y/N.” he says, turning around, his eyes searching for yours. “I feel sick.” you say, nausea overwhelming you as your knees threaten to collapse. Jungkook reaches for you instantly “Don’t trust her, you know I would never dare.” his dark eyes bore into yours, pleading for your trust. You wanted to trust him, the memories from last night kept playing in your head “Do not believe it…I didn’t do anything…” that’s what he kept telling you.

“I’m going to throw up, you say in a rush.” shoving Jungkook away from you kneeling to the ground, your stomach twisting in a hurry. 

Jungkook immediately kneels beside you, his hands hovering over your back, unsure if you’d let him touch you any further. You clutch your stomach, trying to calm the turmoil within but failing miserably.

You closed your eyes, the room spinning as you try to steady yourself. “Let’s get you back to your room, I’m calling the doctor. You’re clearly unwell.” He picks you up hurrying to bring you back to the safety of your bed, ordering Byeol to bring the doctor. Yujin is also quick in her steps, following you two trying to look concerned about your situation.

“I don’t need you here!” argues your husband when the mistress enters the room behind. “I only want to help!” she argues back, but deep inside her she just wished to witness if these were your final moments. “Please, just try to relax. The doctor will be here soon.” he calms you down seeing you twist around in your bed, moaning in pain. In a matter of seconds Byeol and the doctor enter the room, both filled with concern. Your Majesty, let me see where it hurts.” he checks up on you briefly before his eyes widen in realization, urging everyone outside the room. Outside the air was tensionate, Jungkook pacing restlessly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he shot anxious glances towards the door, hoping he could receive a quicker response regarding your well-being.

Yujin stood in the corner, arms crossed over her chest, huffing every time her eyes landed on the man, upset she couldn’t get his attention.  "Why are you so worried?" She finally breaks the silence making him stop in his tracks. “She’s just having a rough moment, my lord. There’s no need to be so dramatic." she scoffs, making the boy's sharp gaze snapp to her.

“You think this is just a rough moment?” he was on the edge, closer to bursting in anger than he was ever before. “You need to stop with this Yujin. All that’s coming out of your mouth are lies.” he says through gritted teeth, his patience running thin. “You did something to me didn’t you? Yesterday, after I took you out of the grand hall.” he finally asks. “Oh? I did something to you? If I remember correctly I only brought you a few hours of pure bliss my king, too bad it slipped your mind.” she steps closer, her fingers drawing circles on his clothed chest.

“You want me to remind you what we did? How lewd we were?” Yujin’s lips curled into a sneaky smile.

“You’re delusional.” Jungkook says, backing away from her. “Mark my words. I’ll never, in my whole life, engage with someone like you.” “You can’t deny what happened between us. Soon you’ll see the sweet fruit of our labor.” the girl says, making Jungkook’s face twist in disgust.

He wanted to fight back again, to get the answer he desired, but the door of your chamber opened, the doctor showing up with an unreadable expression.

“The queen…” he starts, Jungkook’s stomach dropping with concern. The doctor hesitates for a brief moment, seeming to choose his words carefully before erupting into a heartfelt laughter. “The queen is with child.”

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat at the announcement, his mind struggling to process the doctor’s words. "With child?" he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, a dumb smile on his face in realization. The doctor smiled kindly at him. “Yes, my king. The queen is expecting. Congratulations!”

A child. His heir. The future of this kingdom. All from the woman he loves most.

He rushes inside the room seeing you waiting patiently on the bed, your hand caressing your belly. “My love!” He says, throwing himself at the edge of the bed. He sobbed in happiness, your hand caressing the top of his head in confort. He could hardly contain his happiness. His child. Your child.

“Thank you.” he says softly, kissing the back of your hand. “Thank you for this blessing.” tears build up into his eyes, this was the beginning of your future, nothing and nobody could change it.

"Rest now, my queen." he soothes you softly, his voice calm, yet holding so much love. "We have so much to look forward to." he kisses your temple, then your eyes, and then your lips. You felt joy, so much joy, but also worry, mind lingering on Yujin and her words and also wondering about Seol’s whereabouts.

There were many things that needed to be solved, but for now you need to rest, to protect the life you are carrying in your womb.

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

A ceremony was held in honor of you after the news broke out. The word about your pregnancy spread like wildfire through the royal court and with it came waves of happiness and anticipation for the future of the kingdom. Soon after it was also announced that Yujin was also expecting, leaving the world in shock of how something like this would happen at the same time. Jungkook was critiqued behind closed doors.

He remained resolute though. In private, he only held you close, making sure you felt his unwavering support. You trusted him, you promised to do so.

You knew what Yujin was capable of and even if a part of you felt uneasy, you knew it was for the greater good to not think about her.

As the days passed, Yujin’s presence in the palace became increasingly uncomfortable for you. It was because of her bold attempts to maneuver her way into Jungkook’s life. Every time there was happiness for you it felt like it got stolen away by her.

She seemed to be everywhere you went, when servants made remarks about how beautiful you looked with your growing belly, she’d swoop in with her own subtle reminder that she’s also carrying the king's child.

You tried to ignore her, but the more you tried, the more her presence became impossible to escape. Every time you found a moment of peace with your husband, she included herself demanding his attention.

It wore you down, slowly and methodically. At night, you would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet the unease that bubbled inside you.

When you would hear Yujin’s laughter echoing through the halls, or see her standing too close to Jungkook, a cold sense of dread would settle over your chest. You felt like you were battling a whole army with bare hands, and it didn’t help that you also lost your trusty maiden in the process.

Seol’s absence felt like the final blow to your morale, the one thing you didn’t expect. Her sudden disappearance left you vulnerable wondering who else was there to trust? You felt isolated. 

Staying in the garden, with Jungkook by your side, holding your hand, his thumb gently caressing it, you felt secure, his presence bringing you the comfort you needed.

The atmosphere was peaceful, a gentle breeze blowing through your hair, the smell of fresh growing leaves invading your senses.

But close enough the beautiful scenery was disturbed by a surprising presence. “Mother.” Jungkook says, walking towards to greet her in surprise.

“Jungkook, my son, Y/N.” She says, her gaze lingering on you for a moment, a little warmer than before. “I trust you are well, my daughter?” “Yes mother.” You say, bowing slightly but being interrupted by the growth of your child. The elder queen’s lips curl slightly as she looks at you. “You seem healthy.” The elder queen was not one to express warmth without reason, her words made your heart race. “This child has cured me, I’m no longer ill.” you smile caressing your belly. “It is my blessing.” The Queen’s gaze softens for a second. “A blessing indeed.” she murmurs before turning to her son. “How about Yujin, how come you don’t care for her like you do for Y/N?” she asks. “I’ve made myself clear, mother.” the boy replies. “Yujin is no longer of importance to me.” not like she ever was in the first place, he thought “My priorities lie with Y/N and our child.”.

The elder queen’s lips twitch. “She’s also pregnant with your child, Jungkook.” The mention of Yujin’s pregnancy brings a wave of sadness over you, knowing you have to share this spot for the rest of your life.

“The thing she’s carrying is not my son or daughter.” he fights back coldly. 

“Are you certain of that, Jungkook? She recalls you don’t remember, but she’s for sure with child, the doctor confirmed.” 

“It’s fine, mother.” Yujin’s voice echoes through the garden, making her appearance. “The king clearly cares only for one of his offspring. I’ve learned to accept it.” she says, her tone sad, bitter.

“You should care for both Jungkook, don’t ignore your duties.” the mother scolds him. “I’ve told you, it’s not my child. I won’t care for it.” he firmly declares.

Yujin’s laugh was dry, void of any humor. “Just because you can’t remember doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I’m pregnant too, can’t you see?”. “He’s right, though. It didn’t happen, not how you wanted at least.” Someone interrupts, the new voice was calm but firm, and it belonged to none other than Seol.

"Seol?" you whisper, disbelief washing over you, tears burning into your eyes in happiness. Yujin’s confidence wavered when seeing the maiden."What are you doing here?" she hisses, her tone far less composed now.

“I’m here to reveal the truth you’ve worked so hard to bury. You thought you could silence me by having me removed from the palace? Locked far away from my queen?”

Seol turns her gaze to Jungkook, bowing deeply in front of him. “Your Majesty." she says, taking a step closer.

“She’s drugged you with aphrodisiac.” Everyone freezes at her crude statement. “What?” Your husband questions. “The court physician unknowingly provided her with herbs meant to ‘ease her nerves’ but they were mixed with potent aphrodisiacs. She slipped it into your drink the night of the banquet.”

Your heart pounded in your chest with ease, the pieces of Yujin’s scheme finally falling into place.

“You’re lying!” she screeches, her voice desperate “You’re just a servant! How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I am a queen!”

“I dare!” Seol shoots back. “I have proof, one of the guards has seen all.” Yujin stammers trying to find an excuse, her eyes darting between Seol, Jungkook, and the elder queen, searching for an escape.

“That means nothing! He didn’t want to bed with me! She turns to the elder queen, her voice now a frantic plea. “It’s still his child after all! That can’t be denied!”

The maiden scoffs. “No, it isn’t.” she growls at her. “He left you, he fought back until he arrived at my lady’s room. You wanted to take advantage of him, but even with a clouded mind he still only thought of one woman, the only one he loves.” she says pointing towards you.

“Since the guard has seen he threatened to turn you out, but you paid and promised him a good life if he gave you what you wanted. The child you’re carrying.”

Gasps echo through the garden, and all eyes turned to Yujin, who stood frozen in shock, her face pale. “You’re bluffing!” the woman shrieks, desperate and wild. “You have no proof! This is just another ploy to ruin me!” “The physician and the guard are ready to testify before the court. He’s also here demanding to claim his child.”

Seol confirms, making way for the guard to enter. His first instinct was to throw himself at your feet, pleading at the king to not behead him for his unfathomable actions against him.

“It’s true.” the man declares, his head on the ground. “I am the father of the child she carries. I have betrayed you my king, I beg for your mercy.” The silence that followed was deafening.

Yujin stumbles back, her composure crumbling as her face twists in panic. “N-No! He’s lying! H-He’s trying to destroy me!”

The elder queen’s cold gaze fell on her, unseen fury hiding behind her eyes. “Enough!” she commands “You’ve deceived us all, Yujin! Your lies end here.”she turns to the guard, raising his head from the ground.

“You swear this is the truth?”“I swear on my honor, Your Majesty. She sought me out in her desperation to fulfill your wishes. I could only comply, I was a weak man.” Yujin’s knees buckle, her body hitting the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Guards, take them away!” Jungkook commands, all of you witnessing them being taken away.

Seol turns to you and bows deeply. “My queen, I only wish I could have acted sooner.” she says with sadness in her tone. “You must have endured so much.”

You step forward, your hand resting lightly on her shoulder in reassurance. “Thank you, Seol. You’ve done more than anyone could ask.”

Jungkook approaches, wrapping an arm protectively around you, resting his head on your chest. “It’s finally over, my love.” you smile looking at the family you were building, at the man you never failed to trust. 

Jungkook turns towards Seol, his hand resting on top of her hair, blessing her. “Seol, you’ve proven your loyalty to this family and this kingdom. You’ll be rewarded for your bravery.”

The elder queen approaches you with an apologetic look. “This child you carry is a symbol of hope, a way to your strength.” she begins

“I hope you can spare me some forgiveness for all my wrongdoings.” her hands clasp in front of her showing vulnerability.

“Forgiveness is not something I withhold, mother, but it requires time. You’ve hurt us dearly.” She understands you, stepping back, giving you the space you need. It takes time to heal after everything you’ve gone through, perhaps, you can forgive her one day.

You feel hopeful now, the events being a lesson from where you learnt great knowledge. They’ve taught you about loyalty, love, and resilience, lessons that will guide you as a mother, as a queen, and as a partner to the man who has stood by your side. 

The sun bathed the palace in its golden light. In that moment you smiled at him, taking his hand into yours, looking lovingly into his eyes, seeing not only a new beginning, but also a future greater than you had ever dared to imagine. In the end, you truly were The Glass Queen, not frail and delicate, but someone who shines the brightest, even after the most treacherous storms.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

OKAY HELLO UH. SAVANACLAW DREAM UPDATE SPOILERS ?!?!!2!!2!2

THE. WAY BOTH JACK AND RUGGIE ADMIRE LEONA SO MYCH AND FEATURE HIM IN THEIR DREAMS 😭😭😭😭 Jack making Leona basically nOT HAVE DEPRESSION QUFBWKANDK 😭😭 and making him a fair player... Jack my boy... your dream is lovely but you made him do stuff hED NEVER DO 😭😭

AND RUGGIE. THE FACT HE AND LEONA NEVER MET IN THIS DREAM *BUT* THE AMAZING DRESM SCHOOL HE ATTENDS WAS SKGNKENAKjfkenalNIfjeksksn MADE/PROPOSED TO BE MADE (?) BY LEONA 😭😭😭 AND HE SAYS THAT PRINCE LEONA IS MORE POPULAR THAN FALENA AMONGST TYE YOUTH AJFNWKNudnekskalakdknsk tHEY WANT ME DEAD. D E A D.

and then ... ruggie says smth about him choosing the king he'll follow and LATER WHEN REFERRING TO LEONA HE SAYS SMTH TO JACK LIKE. "LET'S GO WAKE UP OUR KING" I'm fuckifnwjzbslakznaklNdkdkals akehueuqjakansksk THEY ADORE HIM SO MUCH. I CAN'T DO THIS.

So this means we'll get a full chapter ONLY for Leona's dream... I don't think we'll see him crying like Jack and Ruggie but GOD IF WE DO SEE THAT I'LL BE FOUND DEAD- i just knowwww that whichever way they go w it (the "he already knows it's a dream theory" or SMTH else), there WILL BE drama and I *WILL* die internally... my Leona plushies will pay the price (they will be hugged very tightly)

[Referencing the book 7 part 11 update!]

Me, coping: Oh, the book 7 Savanaclaw update is split into two parts? That means the first part must be dedicated to Jack and Ruggie and the second part must be Leona only. Surely this means I am free from being sniped in the Jack and Ruggie segment. Me, from the future:

. . .

ME EXPERIENCING THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF ALL AT ONCE

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT 💀💀💀 I was kind of expecting some element of respecting their dorm leader to come up (definitely for Jack's), BUT NOT THIS EXTENT OTL

Of the two, Jack's dream was the more obvious one to feature Leona in a very positive light. His admiration for the guy was clear ever since book 2, in which Jack--someone who regularly sucks at expressing his feelings--confessed MULTIPLE TIMES that it was Leona's passionate magift play on TV that inspired Jack to follow in his footsteps. And that's why he was so disappointed to learn that the guy he admired all along was a scumbag that would play dirty to get ahead. The Leona in Jack's dream might be that version that Jack had in his head... The Leona he yearns for the attention and praise of, the Leona he thought was a virtuous leader who values hard work and good sportsmanship, the kind of person who gives speeches to inspire his team and helps people up by the hand when they fall. Another reading could be that this is the Leona Jack believes is still possible if he works toward it, because this dream seems to be set a YEAR after their loss to Diasomnia. And this is Leona at his best and most dangerous because he's throwing literally everything he has into this training, so he'll probably do the same in combat; Yuu and co. have to develop a whole strategy in advance to isolate Jack because they KNOW they're going to get blasted by dream!Leona if they give any inkling of trying to wake the dreamer up. JACK LITERALLY DREAMED ABOUT LEONA THRIVING, BEING HIS BEST SELF... Jack, the self-proclaimed LONE WOLF, who claims he doesn't like GROUP ACTIVITIES/SPORTS, longs to be part of the pack that LEONA leads... But he won't follow just anyone, Jack has standards AND LEONA APPARENTLY MEETS ALL OF THEM (or, in Jack's eyes, Leona can meet those standards).

THEN WHEN JACK WAKES UP... Hoo, boy... The way he was smiling but then broke down into shouts and sobs... That's literally got to be my favorite kind of emotional distress (part of why I loved Idia's breakdown when he was introducing his newly built little brother to the Styx researchers). You can hear how betrayed he feels in his voice, all the raw emotion that didn't come through as strongly in book 2. ASKHLBLBIASDIVDAI SORRY TO DUNK ON BOOK 2 AGAIN BUT IT'S TRUE. Jack's feelings of betrayal... They were so blunted there, it felt like he was reacting to a minor setback (he seems to easily shrug off being called a traitor by the guy he supposedly admires) rather than genuinely being hurt. I'm glad that the emotional weight that wasn't addressed then is finally getting the spotlight it deserves now.

Then Ruggie's dream???? 😭 That one caught me SO off-guard. The way it opens with Yuu and co. suspecting it's Leona's dream because they arrived in Sunrise City, one of the few industrialized places in Sunset Savanna... The lore review of how it's difficult to get the people to get behind developing the land due to how it would negatively impact the nature they want to live in harmony with (plus the brand-new reveal that these disagreements can become VIOLENT)... and Idia realizing that this, THIS is why Leona actually decided to take an internship at an energy and mining lab back home--because Leona realized he cannot change the country on his own, no matter how often he butts heads with his brother. He needs even more knowledge and a team to work with him. An NPC donut vendor lady randomly drops it on us that it's thanks the PRINCE LEONA that Ivorycliff Academy was able to be established. Not only that, but turns out Leona has graduated already and has spent his time after NRC building schools and establishing magift teams for Sunset Savanna (the latter being something Leona expressed interest in, as having a national sport and/or famous sporting teams can enhance his country's soft power). AND HE'S MORE POPULAR AMONG THE YOUTH THAN FALENA IS???????? MR. LEONA I-HATE-DEALING-WITH-KIDS KINGSCHOLAR IS POPULAR WITH... THE KIDS????? ? ?? ?? ?? ? ?? ?????? ?? ? 💀 The guy who claims to only help the underclassmen because they'd otherwise be an inconvenience to him... is admired by the same underclassmen... and now that has translated over to Ruggie's dream as the youth of Sunset Savanna loving him... OTL YOU'RE KIDDING ME RIGHT/????? ? ??? ? ??v????? ? ? ????

The most bewildering detail to me about Ruggie's dream is that he and Leona haven't met at all; Ruggie acts pretty clueless when asked about it and Leona graduated from a completely different school than him (NRC). There's no way they could have met, yet the dream still deemed that Leona was an important enough aspect of Ruggie's life that he was incorporated into it... and, unlike in real life, Leona now has the influence to make these systematic changes not just for bettering Ruggie's life, but the lives of everyone in Sunset Savanna...

UUUURURUGUUGHHGHHHHHHHGHGHHHHHHH H H HH H H HHHHHHH H H H HH H H AND THEN WWHEN RUGGIE FINALLY WAKES UP AND AND ANADNANDANDANASHADSNADSNADSNAN NDDDSDD SD SM ADSB,M ADSDBSM DDD HE CALLS HE WON'T FOLLOW A "FAKE KING", HE WANTS TO CHOSOE THE KING HE FOLLOWS 😭😭😭 RUGGIE TELLS JACK THEY SHOULD GO AND WAKE UP "OUR KING"... Ruggie, who constantly complains about how easy rich people have it and how hard Leona makes him work for his coin, is standing right here and HE'S CHOOSING LEONA.

This is all so crazy to think about because back in book 6 (citing the moment that broke me Yet Again, lmao) Leona implied that while he has hope in others (like Jamil), HE DOESN'T HAVE THE SAME HOPE FOR HIMSELF. But there's literally his whole dorm who trust him to lead them and their futures as professional athletes 😭 Jack who believes Leona is capable of being that shining, ideal senpai he dreamed of... Ruggie who believes Leona can and will change not only his life for the better, but also the lives of marginalized beastmen like hyenas, the younger generation, and heck, why not their whole country too... OTL

THIS IS LITERALLY THE WORST POSSIBLE OUTDCOME FOR ME... . . . . ....... . .. . . . .. . / / / / / . . . .. . .. ... . . . ... . . YOU JAVE JACK'S DREAM SUPPLYING THE RELIABLE BIG BRO/ONII-SAN LEONA... THEN RUGIGE'S DREAM SUPPYL inG THE SMAR TDETERMINED PRINCE LEONA ... AND THEN NEXT UPDAT.E.XBBCXL V.CV . . . . . . . . ...... .. .. . . . . OTL ASCTUAL LEOPJNA DFGFAYVAFIVAVIYAIAGIGEIYGEPEIQAGfhgpaebpyrwqeg,hpgqeugqm[gqepg./l.,pjm9hmh4 gephmhurwhbaudavmudfsgnyofegnyoifui

GOD IF EW SEE THAT BITCH CRYi NG gkj eabihlaegbiaegibyegoqetpr13569 87q3tbkhl3o tyb6fOfonfOTFsugfaiugfanyoigFGION qit' S LEOVER FOR MEAMBFFVHAJVFFVEUGFO EOFAENYFEOFHdhmFSLJGADFsmf aLALLL OF HIS PENT IUP FRUSTRATIONS JUST SPILLING OIUT;V .F,DSBFAHLFLFFNODGOVSMHFAV UEGOFEAHMAEGDGSKPFSHIM THE RAGE AT MALLEUS DFN BAFVKJAFYGLAFGIDGIDGIODGSOIDN FOR FOTRICNG THIS LIE UPON HIMFDS NFASVAEFBLADFIOBY AGIOQEGONYFWmpdphGAMGobf IT'D BE SO SEXSYFDH HOT IF HE KNEW IT WAS A DREAM ALL ALONG PELEEEEEASE 🙏 I'M ONT MY HANDS NAD NDD KNEEESLSD DFS,SFHBAFLHAFDLI EO FQEYG VADGNOVSHUPVPUFFmhagyo 4wpeq/pll.,wjph9q80th9umpdbsaihoadnFSuov fsogyFSGUOFSu SNOGYAVUO FSA

.

.

. Ah-HEM!! 😇 Sorry, I don't know what overcame me... I just blacked out and when I came to I don't remember what I was doing or saying for the past several minutes 💖 Now if you'll excuse me, I am filled with an intense desire to enact violence on the nearest lion-shaped object I can get my hands on--

[fictionfixations]

this is my first time hearing of this so i dont know if theres like some other context related to this im missing (or if this message just happened out of the blue) but i dont really wanna know either way.

^^^ but all points in this are valid (the reblogged post i mean)

i would like to at least hold out hope that nothing bad happened until it is confirmed (do not ask them what happened, im sure its stressful as it is) but that is not to say that i invalidate the people who spoke up because im sure they have their reasons too but we do not know what happened and we cannot know what (again do not ask what, we are not entitled to that information)

i want to believe in both sides. i don't want to end up being the kind of person who doesn't believe in a victim or is against a person who didn't actually do anything wrong, so im going to be patient and if nothing ever gets said about it thats fine too

do not speculate. what comes out of it could be aiming pitchforks at someone who didn't do what you think they did, or bringing out someone's trauma over something all over again because you want to know or you think oh maybe this could be why so and so happened

this is my own opinion, but id say to withhold any judgment and thought you might have on this until we get a confirmation. this is not to say that you can do whatever you want with this information after, because that is not true at all.

feeling uncomfortable regarding it is valid, im not saying you cant have your own opinions over it, id just prefer it if people could treat this sensitively, and with respect for the other members to not try to find out more then what has been shared, nor overly target people over something you do not have confirmation over

im sorry as ive been repeating points a lot, but ive seen people acting really disrespectfully to all the people involved in something similar to this because they want to know, but they do it with zero regard for the person on the other side of the screen

(this is more referring to people asking those who were friends to that person about it but it was a really bad situation overall, and they were attacking them when they didn't get a response out fast enough without considering that they'd just learned that someone they cared about was a terrible person and needed time to process that. now in this case its not fully confirmed but i really dont want to see that happen again.)

^ updating my response above, as there is a doc with information about what happened which i noticed in one of the comments on the original post. i just wasnt sure if something really bad happened considering the vague statement in the twitter post but considering its been spoken out now of what happened i can safely conclude that hes probably not innocent (understatement). (again, please do not hound the victims nor the hermits on information about this)

i just didnt wanna assume anything. this isnt to say that i didnt trust in what evidence they saw that made them conclude that the accusations were credible, it was just worded in a way that sounded very vague, and as a person who would like to see the goodness in everyone i tend to stay in denial about these kinds of things because i want to believe that they are not that kind of person, at the very least until its either admitted by the guilty party, or theres a credible statement from the victim

also it might feel like im understating things with how i describe them, thats my bad. i usually describe things in swear words but considering hermitcraft has a mainly young audience im trying not to and it also feels a little inappropriate over a serious topic. but it means i default to referring to something as 'bad' or 'not so good' which can come off as like im trying to make it seem not as bad as it actually is which isn't true at all. im just trying to be really careful about how i word things or what i say considering this is a serious topic but it means im not sure how to describe it so i end up going with what i default to outside of swears.

um. also please dont go asking for proof from the people affected nor the hermits cause i really dont think its appropriate and could lead to triggering them further. its also very personal.

i emphasize my point as a person who has also gone through bad things, and trying to look back through those old messages were really triggering and it was just not a good time. i imagine it was rough enough to get screenshots of what they did get so please leave it alone. they went through the trouble of sharing it in public, you are not entitled to more

and i get it might be rough to trust CCs after having your trust broken with one being revealed to be a bad person but PLEASE do not accuse other CCs of the same behavior. they are just as shaken as you that someone they thought they knew could be like that. please leave them alone, thank you.

PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND:

we, as fans, do not have a right to private information. anything shared with us on this is a privilege. please do not abuse it. the cc's could shut down and never talk about it if we overwhelm them.

also, please keep in mind that ONE HERMIT and THE ENTIRETY OF HERMITCRAFT are NOT THE SAME THING. the entire fandom is not 'ruined' or 'completely unsafe' because of the actions of one person.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME THAT THE OTHER HERMITS KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT WHATEVER'S GOING ON WITH ISKALL. this is not some big conspiracy, it's the consequences of one person's actions. they weren't hiding this from us, that's not how hermitcraft works, they truly didn't know. they probably knew as much as us about this, so making it an 'us against them' situation is immature and shortsighted.

ALSO, I AM BEGGING EVERYONE TO PLEASE NOT SENSATIONALIZE THIS. PLEASE DO NOT TURN HATING ISKALL INTO A MEME OR A JOKE.

mcyt'ers being revealed to be less-than-great people is not a rare thing, sadly, but i've seen it turned into a joke/meme/trend in other fandoms. this both minimalizes the actual people's/victims' struggles, makes the entire situation feel less serious than it is, especially to outsiders looking in, and makes everyone in the fandom look immature, petty, unable to take anything seriously, and genuinely harmful.

this server, fandom, and community are not dying, it is not ruined forever, this is one (major, i'm not trying to minimalize it) issue that we're currently dealing with. it will be okay. we will move on. this is not the beginning of the end. please calm down. i love this fandom, god bless all of you. <3

edit: doc has said on stream that we will likely get more information as time passes. like i said, this is a PRIVILEGE. we are not OWED information. please be grateful for what we're given, and POLITELY ask questions if you must. if a cc doesn't give you the answer you want, or doesn't answer at all, LEAVE THEM ALONE. THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO HARASS PEOPLE. the hermits are likely just as stressed out as us, if not probably more so, so please keep that in mind when contacting them.

don't freak out, we'll be okay, this is not the end of the world, nor is it the end of Hermitcraft. we will be okay.

second edit: please remember that (at least as far as we know) ISKALL AND STRESS WERE NOT KICKED OR BANNED. THEY LEFT OF THEIR OWN VOLITION.

ALSO!!! VERY IMPORTANT!!!

WE. DO. NOT. KNOW. EXACTLY. WHAT. HAPPENED.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING SIMPLY BASED OFF OF OTHER MCYT'ERS PAST ACTIONS/SCANDALS. WE DO NOT KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE MIGHT NOT EVER KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE NEED TO BE OKAY WITH THAT AND NOT DRAW OUR OWN CONCLUSIONS.

[thegoogoomuckkk]

ahhhhhh!!! I have so many ideas!! First of all, I love your smaus, they're so fun and cute :) Second of all, I'd love to request just like a comfort smau; any idea you have, just the guys being all nice and sweet to the reader?

Anyway, love you, you're awesome!!!! 💖

comfort -> they're always here for you -> choso kamo, kento nanami, kiyotaka ijichi, satoru gojo, shiu kong, sukuna ryomen, takuma ino, toji fushiguro

this one is kind of a mixed bag. as a smau creator, there are so many prompts that I'd love to do, but so many other amazing creators have done them & the last thing I want to do is make it seem like I'm stealing other people's work. so I just compiled a couple different ideas in here, & I hope it's what you were looking for anon!

did you like it? -> here's my masterlist -> want something more? ask me for it

[hoe4hotchner]

Aaron Hotchner x non bau rich reader. Like a part 2. Reader meets the BAU but they are impressed like reader is so rich but humble and loves Aaron and Jack so much.

The mystery woman | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: nothing it's fluff

A/N: I loooveeeeddd working on this!!!!!

Hotch's relationship with you had always been something of a mystery to his team. While he was naturally private about his personal life, the snippets they’d heard over time painted a picture of someone warm, grounded, and, to their surprise, immensely wealthy. It was something they hadn’t expected — someone who seemed to belong to an entirely different world yet had seamlessly become a part of Hotch and Jack’s.

They never pried — Hotch would have shut that down in an instant — but curiosity lingered nonetheless. For all his long hours, endless casework, and rarely taking a day off, somehow Hotch had managed to meet someone so different from the chaotic nature of the BAU. It wasn’t just your wealth that fascinated them; it was how easily you fit into his life. If anything, it only fueled their curiosity. How had someone as busy and emotionally guarded as Hotch caught someone like you?

It wasn’t lost on the team that Hotch rarely spoke about you unless someone specifically asked. Even then, he was usually brief — mentioning how you’d taken Jack to the park or baked cookies for a school event. But the way his expression softened at the mention of your name hinted at something deeper, something they all could sense but couldn’t quite pin down — something that hinted at a human connection he hadn't felt since Haley.

That curiosity finally found an outlet when you joined Aaron and Jack at Rossi’s dinner party.

Rossi had insisted that the whole BAU team come together, spouses included, determined to create an evening to wind down, where hopefully work could be forgotten for a while. Naturally, the team had been eager to meet you, though they hadn’t dared to push Hotch for details.

Hotch had paused just long enough for the team to notice before replying, almost offhandedly, that he wasn’t sure if you were coming when Rossi announced the party. Your schedule that week had been especially hectic, and he didn't want to pressure you to join if you didn't have the time. “She’s… busy,” he had said, the slight hesitation in his voice giving away a faint uncertainty about whether you’d even be able to attend.

It was enough for the team to conclude: you, too, were a workaholic. Of course, you were — you had to be, considering the kind of lifestyle and responsibilities they imagined you must manage. The thought only added to their intrigue. What kind of person juggled such an overwhelming schedule yet found time to date?

But what they didn’t know — what Hotch himself hadn’t quite expected — was how enthusiastic you were about attending. The moment you’d heard about the dinner, you had set to work rearranging your obligations, clearing your calendar, and delegating tasks. While your schedule may have been packed, you never hesitated to prioritize moments like these.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you had told Aaron firmly, brushing aside his protest about how much effort it would take to move things around. The excitement in your voice had been unmistakable. It wasn’t just about meeting his team—it was about being there for him and Jack, stepping into a part of their world that mattered so much to them, about meeting their family, and showing how much you truly cared for them.

It was a side of you that Aaron cherished, though he rarely spoke of it to others: your ability to make time for the people you loved, no matter how busy life got. And now, as the dinner drew closer, the team’s long-standing curiosity was about to be answered.

When you arrived, dressed impeccably but not overly flashy, the team’s first impression was of someone who exuded elegance. The second thing they noticed — impossible to miss really — was the way Jack clung to your hand, his small fingers wrapped around yours like he never wanted to let go. His face lit up the moment you stepped through the door, his excitement bubbling over instantly.

“Uncle Dave, this is Y/N!” Jack declared proudly as he tugged you forward. “She’s the best. She makes the most awesome pancakes!”

The team exchanged amused glances, charmed by the adoration in Jack’s voice. Even Hotch, standing off to the side, looked relaxed with a rare smile on his lips as he watched the interaction.

You laughed and crouched slightly to tousle Jack’s hair. “Jack’s biased,” you teased as you glanced up at Rossi. Straightening, you extended a hand to greet him with a polite, confident handshake. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

Rossi grinned, shaking your hand firmly. “Well, anyone who can win over Jack is already a favorite in my book.”

The casual ease of the interaction left the rest of the team intrigued. While they had expected someone polished, they hadn’t anticipated such genuine warmth. You seemed entirely unaffected by the fact that you were meeting a room full of highly trained profilers. Instead, you carried yourself with a natural charm that immediately put everyone at ease, making it clear that, to you, this wasn’t a performance or an obligation.

And as Jack dragged you over to show you a plate of cookies Rossi had set out, the team couldn’t help but exchange glances. This was someone who had Jack’s trust and admiration. If there had been any lingering doubts about what kind of person had captured Aaron Hotchner’s heart, they were already starting to dissipate.

As the evening unfolded, the team couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly you navigated the gathering. You shared stories of your philanthropic ventures but downplayed your role in running them. When asked about your background, you focused on your hobbies and interests rather than the lavish lifestyle they knew you could easily flaunt.

But what stood out most was your connection with Aaron and Jack. You weren’t just present; you were integral. When Jack pulled you to sit with him, you leaned in to listen as if whatever he was saying was the most important thing in the world. And Aaron had a softness in his eyes when he looked at you.

At one point, JJ leaned toward Emily. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.”

“Or Jack this smitten,” Emily added, watching as Jack giggled uncontrollably at some joke you whispered in his ear.

Later in the evening, Spencer approached you hesitantly, curious but respectful. “I hope this isn’t intrusive, but… how do you balance everything? Your work, your family, and, well…” He glanced at Aaron and Jack, who were chatting nearby.

You smiled, thoughtful. “It’s not always easy, but with him, it’s worth it. Jack too. They remind me that it’s not about how much you have or do — it’s about who you share it with.”

As the night ended, the team left with a newfound understanding of the person who had captured Hotch's heart. You weren’t just wealthy; you were kind, and deeply in love with Aaron and Jack. And for the first time in a long time, they saw their unit chief not as their leader who had gone through so much but as a man who’d found something extraordinary — someone extraordinary.

[goldfades]

★ 'cause she's watching him with those eyes / and she's loving him with that body, i just know it / and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night / you know, i wish that i had jessie's girl / i wish that i had jessie's girl / where can i find a woman like that? ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 18k (a lot more than i expected...)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | a college student navigates her complicated feelings for her charming yet infuriating neighbor, joe burrow, while dating the seemingly perfect linebacker. after a series of missteps, flirtatious teasing, and an unexpected kiss, she finds herself caught in a whirlwind of tension, confusion, and unexpected sparks, all while trying to avoid the loud, chaotic presence of joe and his ever-constant parade of girls.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | unedited (sorry... i got lazy), NSFW (with lots... and lots... AND LOTS of plot), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it, kids) praise, teasing, lots of kissing/foreplay, p in v, uhhh.. descriptions of big dick joe??? enemies to lovers, roommates, mentions of drinking/alcohol, cheating (not on reader), joe being an asshole, cocky joe, lots of fighting, heated arguments.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this has been in my drafts for a good 2 months and finally decided to finish it up on the sunday before american thanksgiving! so... yaya! please let me know your thoughts!

The muffled sound of Ja’Marr Chase’s bass-heavy playlist seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, rattling the picture frames you swore you hung up straight last week. The tiny LSU apartment complex, with its peeling beige paint and eternally broken elevator, has its charms��like the way the front door doesn’t lock unless you kick it just right or how the air conditioner only works when it’s below 70 degrees outside.

But Joe Burrow? He’s not one of those charms.

No, Joe Burrow is the bane of your existence, the human equivalent of a pothole on a road you have to take every day. His name alone makes your best friend, Ella, roll her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. “Just ignore him,” she says every time you come storming through the door, ranting about whatever fresh annoyance he’s cooked up that day. “He only bothers you because you’re fun to mess with.”

Right. Like that’s supposed to make it better.

Living next door to Joe and Ja’Marr was tolerable at first. Sure, they were loud, occasionally messy, and probably violating a dozen lease terms, but it wasn’t personal. Then, you had one small misunderstanding—okay, so maybe you yelled at Joe for leaving his bike in front of your door after you tripped over it—and now it’s like he’s made it his life’s mission to drive you insane.

Sometimes, it’s harmless: an obnoxious smirk when you cross paths on the way to class or his sarcastic comments about how you always seem to be spilling coffee on your shirt. Other times, it’s borderline infuriating: stealing your parking spot, taking the last box of cinnamon rolls at the grocery store, or claiming the shared apartment complex grill for “official game day business” every single Saturday.

Still, there’s something annoyingly magnetic about him, even when you want to wring his neck. The way his eyes crinkle when he’s laughing at his own jokes. The stupid mop of curls he somehow manages to pull off. The effortless confidence that borders on cocky, though you’d never say it out loud because that’s exactly the kind of thing that would go straight to his head.

Ella always jokes that you two are like an old married couple, constantly bickering but secretly loving it. You disagree. Mostly because Joe already has enough people falling at his feet—like the swarm of girls in purple-and-gold jerseys who show up at the apartment complex every other week, giggling like they’re auditioning for a reality show.

You sigh, brushing a stray crumb off the countertop as Ella flops onto the couch behind you, textbook in hand. And if his stupid grin when he sees you on your balcony later tonight is any indication, he’s already got something planned.

You just don’t know it yet.

The parking lot outside your apartment complex is a war zone at 11 p.m., with far too many cars crammed into a space that was clearly designed with only half the residents in mind. You circle the lot for the third time, your headlights cutting through the dark like a searchlight on some hopeless mission. After eight grueling hours at the campus library helping undergrads figure out why their printers are possessed, your brain feels like oatmeal, and all you want is to collapse into your bed.

But, of course, tonight isn’t going to be that simple.

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

He’s in his Jeep—windows down, music playing softly, and, naturally, there’s a blonde perched in the passenger seat laughing at something he said. Of course, he found the last available spot. Except—it’s not his spot, because you saw it first. Your blinker’s been on since the beginning of time (or at least the last 30 seconds), and you refuse to back down now.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as he slowly starts to reverse into the spot, like he hasn’t noticed your very obvious claim to it. Heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and indignation, you tap your horn. Just once. Polite, but firm. He stops, glances in his rearview mirror, and then—of course—he smirks.

Oh, hell no.

You roll down your window and lean out. “Hey, Burrow! I was waiting for that spot.”

He leans his elbow casually against the window frame, his curls catching the faint glow of the streetlight. “Were you? Didn’t see your name on it.” His voice is slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to be a pain in your ass.

You glare at him, barely suppressing the urge to snap. “I was here first.”

“And I started reversing first,” he counters, raising an eyebrow like it’s a debate class and not a parking lot at nearly midnight. The blonde giggles beside him, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Just let me have it. You look like you could use the exercise.”

Oh, he’s done it now.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you’re too far gone to care. “I’ve been on my feet for eight hours dealing with entitled freshmen, and if you think I’m about to let you—”

“Alright, alright,” Joe interrupts, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not trying to ruin your night.” He throws the Jeep into drive, and with a dramatic sigh, he pulls away, leaving the spot open for you. But not without one last parting comment. “Don’t scratch the paint when you park. Oh, wait—you’re really close to that pole—”

You park with excessive precision, throwing your car into park before leaning out the window to call after him. “I didn’t ask for your help, Joe!”

His laugh echoes across the parking lot, carefree and infuriating. You slam your door shut a little harder than necessary, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you trudge toward the building. Finally, peace.

Or so you think.

Because just as you reach the elevator, its ding announcing its arrival, you hear the telltale sound of sneakers scuffing against concrete and—because your luck is absolute trash—Joe freaking Burrow strolls in behind you, Blonde Giggles McGee still glued to his side.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says casually, stepping into the elevator with you like he didn’t just steal and relinquish a parking spot out of sheer pettiness. The blonde gives you a wide, vaguely clueless smile, her gum snapping between her teeth.

You press the button for the third floor with a pointed jab and cross your arms, leaning against the elevator wall as Joe and his date take their sweet time figuring out which floor they’re going to. The door finally slides shut, and the tension in the small space is unbearable.

“So,” the blonde says brightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you guys, like, live here? That’s so fun! Like, neighbors and stuff. Wow.”

Your lips press into a tight smile, trying to avoid eye contact with Joe, who you can feel grinning at you like this is the highlight of his week. “Yep. Fun,” you reply curtly, forcing the word out like it’s laced with acid.

Joe’s shoulders shake slightly, and you realize he’s laughing. He glances at you, and there’s that damn smirk again, like he knows exactly how close you are to losing it. “She’s real talkative tonight,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “Usually, she’s got more to say.”

You turn to him with a withering glare. “Don’t you have something else to do, Burrow?”

Before he can reply, the elevator lurches slightly as it comes to a stop on your floor. You step out quickly, muttering a polite “Good night” that is entirely devoid of warmth. Joe follows, his pace annoyingly casual as he throws one last look over his shoulder.

“See you around, neighbor,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You don’t look back.

The smell of cheap ramen hits you the moment you open the door to your apartment. It’s comforting, in a way—familiar, like Ella’s answer to every late-night craving or bad day. She’s in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, barefoot and wearing the oversized LSU sweatshirt you’d bought together during freshman year.

“You’re late,” she says without looking up, her voice light with mock reproach. “Was the library on fire, or did you stop to fight Burrow in the parking lot again?”

You kick off your shoes with a sigh, tossing your bag onto the couch. “Option B. Obviously.”

That gets her attention. She turns, spoon in hand, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? It’s, like, midnight. You two are going to give each other aneurysms before graduation.”

You slump into one of the kitchen chairs, letting your forehead hit the table dramatically. “He stole my parking spot. Had the audacity to smirk about it, too. And then—get this—I got stuck in the elevator with him and some girl who wouldn’t stop talking about how ‘fun’ it is to have neighbors.” You lift your head to glare at Ella, who is now struggling to hold back a laugh. “I’m cursed. That man is my curse.”

Ella snorts, pouring the ramen into two mismatched bowls. “He’s not your curse. He’s just a guy with too much charm and not enough common sense. And clearly, you’re living rent-free in his head, which, honestly, is kind of impressive considering he’s got a playbook in there.”

You accept the bowl she slides across the table, your stomach growling despite your lingering irritation. “I don’t want to live in his head. I want him to stop being so… so Joe all the time.”

Ella sits across from you, propping her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Are you sure? You seem to spend a lot of time talking about him.”

You glare at her over a mouthful of noodles. “Don’t start.”

But she’s already started, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, it’s giving sexual tension.”

You nearly choke, coughing as you wave her off. “Nope. Absolutely not. There’s no tension. Only irritation. And rage. And an overwhelming desire to see him move to a different apartment complex.”

Ella laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Whatever you say, babe. But for the record, I think you secretly enjoy it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can form a retort, there’s a knock at the door. Both of you freeze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You expecting someone?” Ella whispers, her tone suddenly conspiratorial.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart sinking as a horrible suspicion creeps over you.

Ella gestures for you to check, and with a deep, resigned breath, you shuffle to the door, bowl still in hand. You crack it open just enough to see who’s on the other side, and—because the universe apparently hates you—there he is. Joe Burrow, in all his smug, infuriating glory, holding a box of cinnamon rolls.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says, his grin infuriatingly wide. “Figured I owed you something for stealing your spot.”

You stare at him, speechless, for a moment. Then, finally, you manage, “It’s 11:30 at night.”

He shrugs, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable time for a peace offering. “Better late than never, right?”

From behind you, Ella’s voice rings out, barely containing her amusement. “Is that Joe? Invite him in!”

You turn to glare at her, silently vowing revenge, but when you look back at Joe, he’s already stepping inside like he owns the place.

“Nice place,” he says, glancing around before holding up the box. “So… cinnamon roll?”

You sigh, shutting the door behind him. It’s going to be a long night.

Joe leans casually against the counter, still holding the box of cinnamon rolls like he’s been invited to stay for a late-night hangout. You narrow your eyes at him, folding your arms. “So, what’s this about, really? Cinnamon rolls aren’t exactly your style.”

“Wow, judgmental much?” he says with a mock-wounded expression. “What if I just wanted to be neighborly?”

Ella snickers softly behind you, spooning up her ramen as she watches the exchange like it’s prime-time TV.

Joe grins, ignoring your skepticism. “Actually,” he says, setting the box on the counter with a little too much flourish, “I’m out of sugar. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

You blink at him, incredulous. “Sugar? You came over at almost midnight to borrow sugar?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the “p” for emphasis, completely unbothered by your glare.

Ella, ever the peacemaker—or enabler, depending on the situation—sets her bowl down and gets up to rummage through the cabinets. “We’ve got some,” she says reluctantly, pulling out a small bag. She walks over and places it in Joe’s outstretched hand, but not without narrowing her eyes at him. “You better bring this back, Burrow. Or at least repay us with something better than cinnamon rolls.”

“Noted,” he says with a charming smile, tucking the bag under his arm. He turns to you, his grin softening into something almost teasing. “Thanks, neighbor. You’re a real lifesaver.”

You don’t bother replying, instead stepping aside so he can leave. He makes his way to the door, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and don’t forget to check your parking job in the morning,” he says with a wink before slipping out into the hallway.

The second the door clicks shut, you groan, slumping against the counter. Ella bursts into laughter, practically doubling over as she grabs her bowl again. “You two are ridiculous,” she says between bites.

“I’m moving out,” you mutter, dragging yourself to the couch. “I don’t care if it’s to a cardboard box in the quad. It’ll be quieter than this.”

You think that’s the end of it—Joe’s random sugar-borrowing adventure, Ella’s endless teasing—but of course, you’re wrong. Because a few hours later, just as you’re finally starting to drift off in the tiny bedroom you call your sanctuary, you hear it.

A muffled giggle. A low, rumbling voice you’d recognize anywhere. Then, unmistakably, the rhythmic creak of a bed frame against the wall.

Your eyes snap open, and for a moment, you pray you’re imagining things. Maybe it’s a nightmare—a cruel joke your overtired brain is playing on you. But then you hear it again, louder this time, followed by a very enthusiastic “Oh my God, Joey!”

You groan, grabbing your pillow and pressing it over your ears.

From the other side of the wall, Ella’s muffled voice reaches you through the darkness. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” you hiss, your voice barely audible through the pillow. “It’s him.”

She snorts, and you can hear her shifting in her bed. “Well, at least he’s getting good use out of that sugar.”

You let out a strangled laugh, torn between exhaustion and disbelief. “I swear, if this goes on all night—”

As if on cue, there’s another creak, louder this time, followed by more giggling and exaggerated moaning.

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

“Apparently,” you mutter, rolling onto your side and glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended you.

The noises continue—giggles, muffled moans, the occasional thud that makes you wince. You bury your face in your pillow, silently cursing Joe Burrow and his audacity.

It’s going to be a very, very long night.

The next morning comes too soon. Despite the symphony of creaks, giggles, and thuds that plagued the night, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, bleary-eyed and cranky. The coffee pot sputters as you pour yourself a life-saving cup, muttering curses at your neighbor under your breath. Ella, still in her pajamas, watches you from the couch with an amused smirk.

“You look alive,” she teases, spooning cereal into her mouth. “Barely.”

“I hate him,” you say flatly, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

You don’t dignify her with a response, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

As luck—or fate—would have it, the universe isn’t done with you yet. Because just as you’re locking your apartment door, you hear the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking down the hallway.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

There she is. Last night’s Blonde of the Hour, strutting toward the elevator with a walk of shame so confident it might as well be a victory lap. She’s wearing Joe’s oversized LSU hoodie, paired with last night’s skirt and heels. Her hair is tousled, but she doesn’t seem to care.

And because the universe apparently has a sense of humor, she notices you at the same time you notice her.

“Morning!” she chirps, her voice way too chipper for someone who clearly didn’t sleep much.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, nodding in acknowledgment. “Morning.”

The two of you step into the elevator together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you. You steal a glance at her from the corner of your eye, wondering if she has any idea that her night of “fun” ruined yours. But then she sighs and adjusts the sleeves of Joe’s hoodie, completely unbothered, and you realize she probably doesn’t care.

The doors slide open to the lobby, and you step out first, your pace brisk as you make a beeline for the exit. But as you push through the glass doors into the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collide with none other than Joe Burrow himself.

He’s leaning against his car, coffee cup in hand, looking far too put together for someone who should be as tired as you. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, then flick over to the blonde trailing behind.

“Morning, neighbor,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.

“Morning,” you reply dryly, brushing past him toward your car.

But of course, he can’t just let it go. “Sleep well?”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you can’t tell if he’s genuinely clueless or just messing with you.

“Thin walls,” you say pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

The blonde, oblivious to the tension, giggles. “Joe, you didn’t tell me your neighbors were so fun!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead unlocking your car with more force than necessary. “Oh, we’re a blast,” you mutter under your breath, sliding into the driver’s seat.

As you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of Joe in your rearview mirror, still leaning against his car, watching you leave. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity—but you don’t have the energy to figure it out.

Later that afternoon, when you’re back in your apartment trying to catch up on work, Ella pops her head into the living room with a mischievous grin.

“Guess who I ran into at the coffee shop?”

You glance up warily. “Who?”

“Joe,” she says, plopping down on the couch. “He said he’s planning a little ‘building mixer’ this weekend. Invited everyone on the floor. Including us.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to some Burrow-hosted mixer.”

“Oh, come on,” Ella says, nudging you with her foot. “It could be fun. Free food, free drinks… awkward encounters with your mortal enemy…”

You glare at her, but she just laughs. “You’re going,” she says firmly. “I already RSVP’d for us.”

And just like that, you realize your week is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Saturday night rolls around faster than you’d like, and with it comes the so-called “mixer” that Joe Burrow somehow convinced Ella you had to attend. You’d held onto the slim hope that it would be a small, quiet gathering of your neighbors in the building, with maybe some snacks, polite small talk, and an early exit for you.

Instead, you step off the elevator into what can only be described as chaos. The hallway is packed with people, the distant thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Someone’s yelling about finding the keg, and the faint scent of spilled beer and cologne wafts toward you.

“This is not a mixer,” you mutter to Ella as you both navigate your way through the crowd.

Ella, of course, looks thrilled. She’s dolled up in a crop top and high-waisted jeans, her hair and makeup perfectly done. “Relax,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “It’s just a party. Have a drink, let loose. Who knows? You might even have fun.”

You highly doubt that, but before you can argue, she spots Ja’Marr Chase leaning against the doorway to Joe’s apartment and perks up immediately. “I’ll catch up with you later!” she says, already untangling herself from your arm and heading toward him.

“Ella!” you call after her, but she’s too busy tossing a flirty smile Ja’Marr’s way to notice.

Great. Now you’re alone in the middle of a party that feels like half of LSU showed up to, surrounded by strangers and sticky floors. You push your way toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a drink and then find a corner to blend into until Ella decides it’s time to leave.

But, because the universe apparently loves messing with you, you hear his voice before you see him.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up.”

You groan internally and turn to see Joe leaning against the counter, a Solo cup in hand and that ever-present smirk on his face. He’s dressed casually in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, but somehow still manages to look like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.

“I’m only here because Ella dragged me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Joe chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Come on, admit it. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan. “Sticky floors and loud music are exactly my idea of fun.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your irritation. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with me so badly, you could’ve just asked. No need to pretend Ella dragged you here.”

“I—” You stop yourself, realizing there’s no point in arguing. It’s exactly what he wants. Instead, you grab a bottle of water from the counter and turn to leave.

“Hey, hold up,” he says, stepping in front of you. “You’re not just gonna drink water all night, are you?”

“Yes, Joe, I am,” you say, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to block you.

“At least let me get you a real drink,” he says, gesturing toward the makeshift bar someone set up on the other side of the room. “I make a mean rum and Coke.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, stepping aside, but not before adding, “But you’re missing out. My bartending skills are unmatched.”

You roll your eyes and head toward the living room, finding a spot near the wall where you can observe without being dragged into the chaos. You sip your water and watch as Joe works the room, effortlessly charming everyone he talks to.

About an hour later, you’re starting to regret not leaving when Ella abandoned you. You’ve been stuck making awkward small talk with strangers, and the music is only getting louder.

Then Ella appears out of nowhere, grabbing your arm with a giggle. “Come with me,” she says, pulling you toward the corner where Joe and some of his teammates are lounging on a worn-out sectional.

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

“Because Ja’Marr wants to introduce me to his friends, and I don’t want to go alone!”

You sigh, reluctantly following her over. Ja’Marr greets Ella with a grin, and she practically melts under his attention. You, on the other hand, find yourself stuck sitting next to Joe, who looks far too pleased about the arrangement.

“Miss me already?” he asks, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

“Not even a little,” you reply, glaring at him.

He chuckles, clearly unbothered. “You’re really bad at hiding how much you enjoy my company, you know that?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, one of his teammates interrupts. “Yo, Burrow, who’s this?”

“This,” Joe says, gesturing toward you with a dramatic flourish, “is my lovely neighbor.”

“Neighbor, huh?” the guy says, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem… close.”

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

Joe grins, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind you. “Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just shy.”

You shoot him a withering look, but he only laughs, clearly enjoying himself.

As the night drags on, Joe makes it his personal mission to annoy you. Every time you try to leave, he finds a way to pull you back into the conversation, teasing you relentlessly. His teammates, to their credit, seem amused by the dynamic, occasionally chiming in with their own jokes.

By the time Ella finally decides she’s ready to leave, you’re exhausted—physically and emotionally. You practically sprint for the door, eager to escape Joe’s smirk and the endless teasing.

As you step into the hallway, he calls after you, “See you around, neighbor!”

You don’t bother responding, instead dragging Ella toward the elevator. But as you press the button for your floor, you can’t help but feel like you haven’t seen the last of Joe Burrow tonight—or any night, for that matter.

The next week at LSU passes like any other, but somehow, Joe Burrow has managed to worm his way into your daily routine. It starts small—running into him at the mailboxes, hearing his muffled laughter through the thin walls at ungodly hours, and the occasional “good morning, neighbor!” shouted across the courtyard when you’re clearly not in the mood.

It’s maddening, really, the way he seems to delight in being everywhere you don’t want him to be. And yet, despite your annoyance, you can’t deny that his presence makes life just a little more… interesting.

FRIDAY NIGHT

Ella bursts through the apartment door, her face lit up with excitement. You’re sprawled on the couch, flipping through lecture notes and wishing the week would end already.

“Guess what!” she exclaims, tossing her bag onto the counter.

“Let me guess,” you say dryly. “Ja’Marr invited you to another party?”

“Close,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ja’Marr and Joe are throwing a tailgate tomorrow before the game, and we’re invited.”

You groan, already dreading the idea of spending yet another afternoon dodging Joe’s incessant teasing. “I’m busy,” you lie.

“You’re coming,” Ella insists, plopping down next to you. “It’s practically a campus tradition, and besides, you could use a little fun.”

“Fun,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling being forced to socialize with half of LSU now?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Food, drinks, and—” she grins mischievously—“a chance to hang out with your favorite quarterback.”

You glare at her. “Joe Burrow is not my favorite anything.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you. “Wear something cute. We’re leaving at noon.”

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

The tailgate is, unsurprisingly, a spectacle. Rows of tents stretch across the field, decked out in purple and gold, with grills smoking and music blasting. Students and alumni alike mill about, laughing and chatting as they gear up for the game.

You follow Ella through the crowd, clutching a plastic cup of soda and trying to blend in. She, of course, makes a beeline for Ja’Marr, who’s manning the grill with an ease that suggests he’s done this a thousand times.

And where there’s Ja’Marr, there’s Joe.

He spots you almost immediately, his trademark smirk spreading across his face as he waves you over. “Hey, neighbor! Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, but he’s already stepping closer, his easy confidence making it impossible to ignore him.

“What, no hug?” he teases, holding his arms out dramatically.

“Not in this lifetime,” you reply, sidestepping him.

Ella, now fully engrossed in a conversation with Ja’Marr, leaves you to fend for yourself. You glance around, debating whether to make a run for it, but Joe blocks your path, clearly amused by your discomfort.

“You’re really bad at this whole socializing thing, aren’t you?” he says, leaning casually against the nearest table.

“Maybe I just don’t enjoy your company,” you retort, taking a sip of your drink.

He grins. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls his name, distracting him long enough for you to slip away. You find a quieter spot near the edge of the field, letting the noise of the crowd fade into the background.

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

“Thought you’d try to escape, huh?” he says, appearing at your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I wasn’t escaping,” you lie, crossing your arms.

“Sure you weren’t.” He pauses, glancing at the crowd. “Not a fan of tailgates?”

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

He nods, surprisingly serious for once. “Fair enough. They’re not for everyone.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the genuine tone in his voice. It’s a rare moment of sincerity from someone who seems to live for getting under your skin.

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Still,” he says, his smirk returning, “you’ve got to admit, the food’s pretty good. Ja’Marr’s burgers? Best on campus.”

The party stretched well into the night, turning the once-bustling tailgate into a dimly lit, hazy scene of music, laughter, and scattered conversations. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated these kinds of events. The air was warm, the smell of grilled food and spilled beer thick, but for once, you weren’t faking a smile just to survive.

Instead, you were leaning against a folding chair near the makeshift DJ booth, chatting with a guy named Wes. He was a linebacker for LSU, though, by his own admission, mostly a benchwarmer. Shy, soft-spoken, and refreshingly normal, Wes wasn’t at all what you expected to find at a party like this.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to Mike’s cage?” he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

You laughed. “I don’t know, it just never seemed like a big deal to me. It’s a tiger.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “It’s not just a tiger. It’s our tiger.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” you said, grinning at his enthusiasm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement, and instinctively, you glanced over. There, leaning against the bar table, was Joe.

His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on you and Wes.

The sight of his uncharacteristically cold expression sent a jolt through you. Was he annoyed? No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t care about you, not really.

Wes was saying something about the tiger habitat, but your attention flickered back to Joe. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his red Solo cup, and he seemed to be muttering something to Ja’Marr, who only shrugged in response.

“Everything okay?” Wes asked, his brow furrowed as he followed your gaze.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Joe, however, was impossible to ignore. At one point, he stormed past your little corner of the party, brushing close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm against yours.

Wes had just finished telling a story about his first LSU practice, his nervous laughter making you smile, when Joe’s voice cut through the conversation like a jagged knife.

“Nice to see you making friends,” he said, his tone just sharp enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

You turned to find Joe standing a few feet away, his trademark smirk forced and strained. He wasn’t looking at you but at Wes, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Burrow,” Wes said, his voice even but noticeably quieter.

Joe stepped closer, ignoring you entirely as he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Wesley Evans, right? Linebacker extraordinaire.” His words were light, almost teasing, but there was a strange undertone to them.

“Uh, yeah,” Wes said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Though ‘extraordinaire’ might be a bit of a stretch.”

Joe chuckled, his laugh cold. “Oh, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I mean, someone’s got to keep the bench warm, right?”

The group went silent.

You froze, your stomach dropping as the words settled over the conversation like a wet blanket. Wes’s easygoing demeanor faltered for just a moment—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But he recovered quickly, letting out a forced laugh. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.”

“Joe,” Ja’Marr said sharply, stepping forward. “That was uncalled for.”

Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering. “What? I was just joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ja’Marr said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at Joe, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and confusion. What was his problem? You’d seen him tease people before, but this was something else. This was cruel.

Joe’s eyes finally flicked to yours, and for a brief second, something like regret flashed across his face. But just as quickly, he turned away, muttering, “Whatever,” before stalking off into the crowd.

The group stood in awkward silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said softly, turning to Wes.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”

But you could see the way his shoulders sagged, the way his fingers tightened around the edge of his cup.

Ja’Marr sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not usually like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, still staring at the spot where Joe had disappeared.

Ja’Marr shot you a look but said nothing. The group eventually dispersed, the easy energy of the night soured by the encounter.

And as you followed Ella home later, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head, trying to piece together why Joe Burrow seemed so determined to ruin the night—not just for you, but for Wes, too.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the faint buzz of crickets and distant party music filling the air as you and Ella navigated the dimly lit sidewalks. The night had been long, and your head was still spinning from Joe’s earlier outburst. You’d always known him to be annoying, maybe even a little infuriating, but tonight was different. There was a sharpness to him, an edge that left you unsettled.

Ella broke the silence first, her voice soft. “What do you think that was about? With Joe, I mean.”

You shrugged, kicking a loose pebble down the pavement. “Who knows? Maybe he ran out of people to torture and decided to branch out.”

Ella laughed lightly but didn’t press further. By the time you reached your apartment complex, the cool night air had started to seep into your skin, making you shiver. All you could think about was collapsing into bed and forgetting this day ever happened.

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

There he was, right in front of your door, pressed up against yet another blonde, her manicured nails tangled in his hair as they made out like the world was ending.

You stopped dead in your tracks, Ella nearly bumping into you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

At the sound of your voice, Joe broke away from his hookup, turning to face you with a smirk that was equal parts shameless and infuriating.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Wes not invite you over for a post-party study session?”

Your jaw tightened. “Get out of the way, Burrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s the rush? You don’t want to hang out? I can introduce you to…uh…” He glanced at the girl beside him, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember her name.

The blonde giggled, clearly unbothered. “Stephanie,” she offered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Right. Stephanie,” Joe said, his grin widening.

Ella groaned softly beside you, crossing her arms. “Joe, move. We’re tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping aside but not before leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking your path again. “But seriously, where’s Wes? Thought you two were hitting it off. Or is he back on the bench already?”

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped, finally losing the last shred of patience you had left.

Joe straightened up, clearly surprised by the sudden bite in your tone. “What? I’m just messing around.”

“No, you’re being a jerk,” you shot back. “First, you humiliate Wes at the party, and now you’re standing here, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of joke. What’s your problem?”

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between you and Joe. “Uh, maybe we should—”

“Not now,” Joe cut her off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes locked on yours.

Stephanie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Just go,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

For a moment, the three of you stood frozen, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then, with an indignant huff, Stephanie grabbed her purse and stormed off, her heels clicking angrily against the pavement.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply before turning back to you. “Happy now?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re still here.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I committed some crime. I was just joking, okay? It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

“Teasing?” you repeated, incredulous. “Joe, you embarrassed Wes in front of everyone tonight. And for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you’re the big man on campus?”

His jaw clenched, the cocky facade cracking ever so slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me,” you challenged, taking a step closer. “Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tense. “Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his door slamming echoing through the quiet hallway.

Ella let out a low whistle. “Well, that was…something.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something.”

“Did he just…?” Ella’s voice was barely a whisper beside you.

You swallowed hard, not trusting yourself to speak. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t like Joe to be vulnerable—hell, he practically lived to get under your skin. And yet, there it was, hanging in the air: the truth you never asked for, wrapped up in all his stupid teasing and annoying antics.

“Forget it,” you finally muttered, fumbling with your keys as you moved to unlock the door. “He’s just trying to mess with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Ella said slowly, following you inside. “Because, you know, the guy who just ditched a hot blonde to argue with you at midnight clearly doesn’t care.”

You shot her a glare, unwilling to entertain the idea. “I’m going to bed.”

Ella raised her hands in surrender, smirking knowingly as she headed for her room. “Okay, but don’t act surprised when he shows up tomorrow. He’s not exactly the type to let things go.”

“Goodnight, Ella,” you said firmly, shutting your bedroom door behind you.

But as you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention. Was he serious? Or was this just another game to him, a way to throw you off-balance and make you question everything?

With a frustrated sigh, you rolled over, punching your pillow as if it was somehow Joe’s fault that you couldn’t sleep. Whatever his deal was, you weren’t going to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But deep down, you knew it was too late. Because whether you liked it or not, Joe Burrow had already wormed his way into your thoughts—and no amount of denial was going to change that.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of loud knocks on your door, far too early for any sane person to be awake. Groaning, you pulled the covers over your head, but the knocking continued, persistent and unrelenting.

“Go away!” you yelled, but the noise didn’t stop.

With a huff, you threw off the blankets and stumbled out of bed, yanking open the door with every intention of giving whoever it was a piece of your mind.

But, of course, it was Joe.

He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t just woken you up at the crack of dawn, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Morning, neighbor.”

You stared at him, too stunned and too tired to muster a response.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he said, his tone annoyingly chipper.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, rubbing your eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

His smile widened, and he held up a to-go coffee cup, the LSU logo bright against the paper sleeve. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

You blinked at the cup, then at him, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, still holding it out. “Just coffee. Truce?”

You hesitated, the words from last night still lingering between you. But, against your better judgment, you reached for the cup, your fingers brushing his for a brief second. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

His eyes gleamed, like he’d just won some kind of invisible battle. “I’ll take it.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way—I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the doorway with a coffee cup in hand and the distinct feeling that, somehow, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Things between you and Wes have been going really well. You’ve been texting each other daily since that first meeting in the quad, and his messages always seem to bring a smile to your face. Some days, you talk about classes and the usual college chaos—complaining about professors who seem to thrive on assigning last-minute papers, laughing over campus gossip, or sharing music recommendations.

Other days, the conversations drift into deeper topics: family, future dreams, and the things you never thought you’d share with someone you’d barely known a few weeks ago. It's easy, effortless, and you feel like you've known him forever. There's a connection that grows stronger with each passing day, his texts becoming a constant you look forward to amid the swirl of college life.

When game days roll around, you make sure to watch, even if football has never been your thing. You learn enough of the basics to text him encouragement before each game and tease him when his team makes a stupid play. And every single time he wins, you get a photo of him in his jersey, sweaty and glowing with victory, his smile so wide you can feel it through the screen.

One crisp Saturday evening after a particularly big game—a win that had the entire stadium roaring and chanting for more—your phone buzzes. It’s Wes, as expected, but this time the message is different.

Wes: Big win tonight. You should come out to celebrate—party at the house. It'll be fun, promise.

You hesitate for a moment. Frat parties aren’t usually your scene, but the idea of seeing Wes in person after weeks of building up this text-based connection makes your heart beat a little faster. It feels like the right time to finally break out of the comfort of your phone screen. You don’t want to overthink it, so you respond quickly.

You: Okay, I’ll come! What time? Wes: Perfect. Starts at 9, but I’ll be there around 10. Meet me out front? I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.

You can’t help but laugh at that—his protective side has become more apparent lately, and you find it kind of endearing. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of anticipation. You try on half your wardrobe, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness that makes your stomach flutter. After way too much deliberation, you settle on something that’s cute but comfortable—a black crop top, jeans that fit just right, and your favorite sneakers. Casual, but you don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.

The party was in full swing by the time you and Wes went in, the familiar buzz of laughter and music filling the air. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders as you made your way through the packed house, a red solo cup already in his hand. It was a typical LSU post-game celebration—teammates hyped up from their win, students eager for a reason to cut loose, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting.

Wes, ever the golden retriever type, was all smiles as he greeted his teammates. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you plastered on your own smile. Wes was great—sweet, thoughtful, and good-looking to boot—but there was something missing. Conversations with him always felt a little too polished, like he was sticking to a script.

Still, you weren’t going to let your wandering thoughts ruin the night. As he led you toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen, you decided to let loose a little, leaning into his world for the evening.

You were two drinks in when you felt it—a shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing across the room, your eyes locked with Joe’s. He was leaning casually against the wall, his cup dangling from his fingers as he laughed at something Ja’Marr said. But his focus wasn’t on his teammate—it was on you.

That look.

You’d seen it before, the one that screamed I’m up to something. Your stomach twisted as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“What’s wrong?” Wes asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Wes didn’t notice your distraction, too busy rambling about the game. You nodded along, but your attention kept drifting back to Joe. He was still watching, and now he was moving.

Straight toward you.

“Wesley,” Joe said, his voice louder than necessary as he clapped a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Man of the hour! Hell of a game tonight.”

Wes beamed, his chest puffing out a little. “Thanks, Burrow. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Joe said smoothly, his grin sharpening. “You’re really making a name for yourself out there.” He paused, his tone dipping just enough to make the compliment feel off. “You’ve got a solid five minutes of playing time this season, right?”

Wes laughed, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Yeah, Coach says I’m improving every week.”

Joe nodded, his expression the picture of sincerity. “No doubt. You’re an inspiration, man. Really showing the bench how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to step in. Wes didn’t deserve to be Joe’s verbal punching bag, even if he was too oblivious to notice.

Then Joe shifted his focus.

“And this,” he said, gesturing toward you with his cup, “is the girl everyone’s been talking about?”

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

“She’s great, right?” Wes said proudly, tightening his arm around your waist.

“Absolutely,” Joe said, his eyes locking on yours. “Smart, pretty, patient.” His lips twitched as he added, “Definitely one of a kind.”

The room felt hotter, smaller. You knew what he was doing, and you refused to let him win.

“Wow, Joe,” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “That’s almost a compliment. Are you feeling okay?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “What can I say? I’m a generous guy.”

Wes chuckled awkwardly, clearly missing the tension simmering between the two of you. But the people around you weren’t as oblivious. Conversations around the kitchen began to quiet, heads subtly turning in your direction.

Joe leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Though I gotta say, Wes, you’ve got your hands full. She seems like the type to keep you on your toes. Always ready with a snappy comeback.”

You took a step forward, your jaw tightening. “Maybe because some people deserve it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re talking about me,” Joe said, his smirk widening. “But hey, you’ve got to admit, I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You mean infuriating.”

By now, you were toe-to-toe, the space between you charged with unspoken words and something else you refused to acknowledge.

Joe’s eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he smiled again, softer this time. “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were certain everyone in the room could see the way your cheeks flushed, the way your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

Joe straightened, patting Wes on the back. “You’ve got a good one here, man. Don’t screw it up.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd with that stupid smirk still on his face.

Wes turned to you, oblivious as ever. “Man, Joe’s great, isn’t he?”

You didn’t answer, too busy trying to calm the storm raging inside you. Because as much as you hated to admit it, Joe Burrow had just gotten under your skin again. And this time, you weren’t sure you could shake him off.

The days blur together after the party, each one bleeding into the next with a heavy quiet you can’t shake. Joe hasn’t teased you, hasn’t made any more snide comments in passing. It’s almost like he’s disappeared entirely, and the silence he’s left behind feels suffocating.

But it's not the kind of peace you wanted—it's the kind that echoes, that bounces around inside your skull, replaying the things he said over and over again until you can’t ignore them anymore. You try to focus on Wes, try to let his easygoing, good-natured attitude soothe the irritation that keeps curling under your skin, but the more you think about Joe’s words, the more they fester. Suddenly, everything about Wes feels too soft, too careful. He’s kind, yes, but there's a blandness to it, a safe predictability that only makes you itch for something sharper.

Then, days later, you find yourself in the apartment lobby, bundled up against the late autumn chill, glaring at a maintenance form on the wall. The hot water’s been out for days, and you’re halfway through filling out a complaint when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is—the shift in the air is enough.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here," comes Joe’s voice, smooth and mocking, with just enough bite to make your spine stiffen. You don’t turn around, don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you keep writing, the pen pressing hard enough against the paper that it almost tears.

"Cold water bothering you too?" he continues when you don’t respond, his tone amused. You can feel him looming behind you, a little too close, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

"Just trying to get it fixed," you reply curtly, finally turning around and catching the cocky smirk tugging at his lips. You’re not in the mood for whatever game he’s about to play, but of course, he’s not about to let you off that easy. His gaze slides from the form in your hand back up to your face, one eyebrow quirking up in that infuriating way that always makes you want to wipe the smugness off his face.

"Surprised you’re handling it yourself," Joe drawls, his eyes bright with something almost like delight. "Thought you'd get your little boyfriend to do it for you."

Your fingers tighten around the pen, and you force yourself to take a breath, ignoring the way your pulse quickens. "Not everything revolves around Wes," you shoot back, but your voice wavers just enough to make Joe’s smirk widen. His eyes flick over your face, and you hate the way he seems to read every expression, every crack in the mask you’re struggling to hold up.

"Really?" he says, the word heavy with skepticism. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall like he’s settling in for a show. "Could’ve fooled me. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, huh? I bet you’re the perfect, supportive girlfriend." His voice drips with sarcasm, and something inside you snaps.

"Shut up, Joe," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. You turn back to the form, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. In fact, he leans in closer, his breath warm on your ear.

"Why?" he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting, like he’s got all the time in the world. "Hit a nerve?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, he did hit a nerve. And he knows it.

"Come on," he pushes, a note of genuine curiosity in his tone now. "Don’t you ever get tired of it? Playing nice, doing everything right, sticking with someone who’s… I dunno, safe?"

You spin around, eyes blazing, and Joe’s face lights up with triumph. "You don’t know anything about him," you snap, but there’s a waver in your voice that makes Joe’s eyes narrow with interest. "Wes is kind, and he’s decent, and he actually cares about people, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

Joe’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it only grows wider, almost wolfish, and you hate that it sends a thrill through you, a charge that leaves your heart racing. "Yeah," he says, his tone almost pitying, "he’s safe. Boring. He’s exactly the kind of guy who’d never get in your way, never challenge you, never push back. And you’re happy with that? Really?"

You glare at him, your blood boiling, but you can’t look away. Because some part of you—the part you’ve been trying to silence for days—knows he’s right, and it makes you want to scream. "What the hell is your problem, Joe?" you demand, your voice shaking with anger. "Why do you even care? What does it matter to you if I’m with him or not?"

For a moment, something flickers in Joe’s eyes, something you can’t quite read, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "I don’t care," he says, too quickly, his voice a little too smooth. "I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Watching you pretend like he’s enough for you."

You step closer without realizing it, your fists clenched at your sides. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," you insist, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. Joe’s gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you feel a jolt of something hot and dangerous twist in your stomach.

"Don’t I?" he murmurs, and suddenly, you’re standing toe-to-toe, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his smirk softens just enough to be dangerous.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

There’s a beat, a moment suspended in time where it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air. Then, suddenly, Joe’s expression shifts, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face as he leans back, breaking the spell. He claps you on the shoulder, his touch light but lingering.

"Good talk," he says, his tone infuriatingly cheerful as he pushes past you towards the elevator, leaving you standing there, breathless and rattled.

"Have fun with Wes," he throws over his shoulder, and the door slides shut behind him before you can find the words to reply. You’re left staring at the closed elevator doors, your chest heaving and your hands still trembling around the pen, the echoes of Joe’s taunting voice ricocheting in your mind.

And for the first time in days, the silence feels even louder.

The days drag by, and every one of them feels heavier, weighed down by Joe's words. They hang over you, echoing whenever you try to ignore them, seeping into your thoughts when you're with Wes. The way he holds your hand, the way he smiles politely at your jokes, the way he never raises his voice or teases you too hard—it’s all safe. It’s what you thought you wanted. But now, thanks to Joe, it’s all starting to feel empty, like a shell with nothing inside.

As if to make matters worse, Joe's been louder, more present, and more irritating than ever. He’s upped his game, bringing a new girl home almost every night, the kind who giggle just a little too loud in the stairwell, whose heels click sharply against the tile floors, waking you and Ella up in the middle of the night. You hear them laughing through the paper-thin walls, their voices carrying long after you wish they’d shut up. Ella throws a pillow at the wall one night, groaning in frustration, but you just lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, the annoyance mixing with something else—something you refuse to name.

And then Wes’s birthday sneaks up on you, like a storm you’d been pretending not to see on the horizon. Everyone's talking about it—the party of the semester, hosted at his parents’ mansion on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. You know it’s a big deal. Wes’s parents are the kind who throw events instead of parties, the kind where everyone’s wearing their best, and you’d feel out of place if you weren’t on Wes’s arm. You spend way too long picking out your dress, ignoring Ella’s teasing smile as you change twice and then settle on something classy, something you think Wes’s parents will approve of.

The mansion is even more extravagant than you expected. Tall, stately, and glowing with warm light spilling from every window. A string quartet plays softly near the entrance, and there’s enough champagne to drown in. It’s a perfect picture of Southern elegance, the kind of party where everyone’s on their best behavior and no one dares spill a drink on the white marble floors.

You’re almost able to relax, standing with Wes as he introduces you to old friends and relatives, his arm around your waist like you’re some kind of prize. But then, from across the room, you catch sight of someone familiar stepping through the grand double doors, and the air goes still.

Joe. And he’s not alone.

On his arm is a girl who looks like she’s stepped straight out of a beauty magazine—perfect curls cascading down her back, a dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and a pageant smile that could light up the whole room. She’s everything you’re not: polished, pristine, and undeniably beautiful. And Joe’s leaning in close to her, whispering something that makes her laugh, the sound light and carefree, echoing above the music.

Your heart sinks. You should have known he’d be here. You should have known he’d show up with someone like her.

The moment he walks in, it’s like the temperature drops. You feel him scan the room, his gaze sliding over the crowd until it lands on you. There’s a flicker of recognition, a half-smile that tugs at his lips, and for a second, you swear he’s going to make a beeline for you, but then he turns to his date, all easy charm and confidence.

You look away quickly, swallowing down the hot, bitter twinge of jealousy that rises in your chest. Beside you, Wes is oblivious, laughing with some cousin or another, completely unaware of the storm that’s building in your mind.

The party moves on, but you can't shake the weight in your chest. Every time you turn around, Joe is there—always in your peripheral, laughing with his date or effortlessly sliding into conversations with people he’s never met, commanding attention without even trying. And it’s driving you mad. You hate that he’s here, hate the way his presence seems to seep into every corner of the room, hate that you can’t stop looking for him, even when you don’t mean to.

Wes’s parents announce dinner, and you find yourself at a long table, perfectly set with silverware that you don’t even know how to use properly. Wes is on your left, chatting away, and you force yourself to smile and nod at the right moments, though your gaze keeps drifting over his shoulder. Joe is at the far end of the table, but his eyes meet yours—bright and full of something that feels like a challenge. He raises his glass in your direction, and you don’t miss the way his date practically glows under his attention, leaning into his side.

You grit your teeth, focusing on Wes, who’s completely unaware of the way your stomach is twisting. He’s sweet, attentive, a perfect gentleman, and you wish you could ignore the itch under your skin, the restlessness that grows with each passing minute. But it’s there, burning hotter every time you catch sight of Joe, laughing too loud or leaning in too close to whisper in his date's ear.

By the time dessert is served, you’re practically vibrating with frustration, and Wes’s voice is starting to blur into the background. He’s telling some long-winded story about his summer at the family lake house, but all you can think about is how easy it would be to just walk over to the other end of the table and—

“Hey, you alright?” Wes’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you force yourself to focus on him, pasting on a smile that feels hollow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, reaching for your glass of champagne and taking a sip that burns all the way down. He seems satisfied, squeezing your hand gently under the table, but his touch feels distant, almost suffocating.

And when you glance back at Joe, he’s watching you, his smile sharper than you remember. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your skin prickle, like he’s waiting for something, like he knows exactly what kind of game he’s playing. His date is still chattering away, oblivious to the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like a tether he can’t quite cut loose.

You look away, your face heating, and try to drown out the feeling with another sip of champagne. But it's no use. The night has only just begun, and you already know—it’s going to be a long one.

You escape upstairs, the noise of the party fading as you climb the grand, spiraling staircase. It’s quieter up here, with the muted sound of conversation and laughter drifting up from below, and you can finally breathe a little easier. You’re not even sure what you’re doing—just that you need a break from the suffocating conversation, the polished smiles, and the feeling of being watched. Wes is deep in conversation with a teammate, and it was easy enough to slip away unnoticed. You tell yourself you're only going to the bathroom, but you don’t even bother finding one. You just wander down the hall, hoping to collect yourself, to calm the thudding in your chest.

But then, of course, you see him.

Joe, leaning lazily against the wall at the end of the hallway, like he’s been waiting for you. There’s no sign of his date—she’s probably downstairs, lost in the crowd—but Joe’s here, and he looks too damn comfortable, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He gives you that infuriating half-smirk the second your eyes meet, like he’s been expecting you. Like he knows you’re going to stop.

“Lost?” he drawls, his voice a low, lazy tease, and you freeze, every muscle in your body going tense.

“No,” you snap, hating the way your heart skips when he pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. “Just getting some air.”

“From Wes?” he asks, eyebrows raising, and you can hear the taunt in his tone, the way he draws out the name like it’s a joke. “Or from this whole perfect little party of his?”

“None of your business,” you shoot back, but he’s closer now, and you hate how your breath catches, how the air between you feels thick and electric. He’s looking at you like he’s stripping away all the layers you’ve put up—the polite smiles, the careful charm—and seeing straight through to the part of you that’s restless and hungry for a fight.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost intimate. “Or if you’re just playing the role of ‘good girlfriend’ to make everyone happy.”

“Shut up, Joe,” you warn, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be, and he notices. Of course he notices. He takes another step, and suddenly he’s way too close, the heat of him radiating into the space between you, making it harder to breathe.

“Or is it that Wes is just…too boring for you?” he presses, and something snaps. You step forward, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back a step, anger flaring white-hot in your chest.

“Why do you care?” you demand, your voice rising. “Why do you always have to ruin everything? You can’t stand seeing me happy, can you? You always have to get in the way—”

“Oh, please,” he cuts you off, his voice sharp with irritation. “Don’t act like I’m the one ruining things. You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me. You’re the one who’s pretending this perfect little relationship is enough for you.”

You don’t even think. You just react, stepping closer, your chest heaving with the force of your anger, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You don’t know anything about me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you before you can stop them. “You don’t know what I want or what I need, so stop pretending like you have me all figured out!”

He’s laughing now, a low, mocking sound that sets your teeth on edge, and you want to hit him, to scream, to do something to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face. But then he’s had enough. Suddenly, he moves, quick as a flash, and before you can even blink, he’s grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up as if you weigh nothing, throwing you over his shoulder in one swift, effortless motion.

“Put me down!” you shout, struggling against him, but he just tightens his grip, carrying you down the hall like you’re some kind of rag doll. Your fists beat uselessly against his back, and you’re half-cursing, half-panicking as he ignores you, kicking open the nearest door and stepping inside.

The door slams shut behind him, and you barely register the darkened room—a guest bedroom, dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the curtains—before he’s setting you down, pressing you up against the wall with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You’re too stunned to move, your back hitting the cold plaster, and suddenly his body is pinning you there, his hands on either side of your face, caging you in.

“Finally shut you up,” he mutters, his voice rough, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the way his breath brushes your cheek, hot and fast. His eyes are dark, burning with something you’ve never seen before, and the space between you feels like it’s crackling, alive with an energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse race.

“Why do you have to be such a—” you start, but he cuts you off, leaning in closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his chest pressing against yours. His mouth is inches from yours, his lips twisting into a wicked smile.

“Go on,” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Tell me what you really think.”

You’re breathing hard, your anger warring with something hotter, something that’s been building between you for months, and you can’t stop yourself. “You’re an asshole,” you spit, your hands coming up to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. He just leans in, his nose brushing against yours, the air between you thick and suffocating.

“And you,” he says softly, his voice almost gentle, “are a liar.”

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s him closing the distance or you surging up to meet him—but suddenly his mouth is on yours, hard and desperate, and you’re kissing him back like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. The kiss is furious, full of all the things you can’t say, all the frustration and the longing and the anger that’s been building up for so long it feels like it’s going to explode. His hands are in your hair, his grip almost painful, and you’re clinging to him, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as he presses you harder against the wall.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers against your lips, his breath ragged, and you shake your head, too far gone to think, to lie, to do anything but pull him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shut up,” you breathe, and he laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, like he’s savoring the taste of your surrender. The room feels too small, the air too thick, and you know you should stop, you know this is wrong, but you can’t, not when his hands are sliding down your sides, not when his body is pressing into yours, not when he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

And then, suddenly, it’s too much. You push him away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and he lets you go, stepping back with a grin that’s all arrogance and triumph. Your lips feel swollen, your face flushed, and you hate that you can’t stop looking at him, that you want more even though you know you shouldn’t.

“See?” he says softly, his voice maddeningly smug. “I do know you.”

The words barely have time to leave his mouth before you’re on him again, shoving him away from you, your hands hitting his chest with more force than you intend. He stumbles back a step, a flash of surprise crossing his face before his eyes harden, that infuriating grin vanishing. You’re both breathing hard, the air between you heavy with everything unspoken, with all the sharp words that have been building up since the day you met.

“You don’t know anything!” you snap, your voice cracking, and he just laughs, a short, humorless sound that makes your blood boil.

“You keep saying that,” he shoots back, his voice low and dangerous, “but here you are. Every time, it’s the same thing. You want me to stop? Then say it. Tell me to leave.”

You open your mouth to say exactly that, to tell him to go to hell and stay out of your life, but the words won’t come. They catch in your throat, tangled up with the truth you can’t face, and he sees it. He always sees it. His gaze softens, something like understanding flickering in those dark eyes, and it pisses you off more than anything.

“See?” he murmurs, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You can’t. Because you don’t want me to.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s too late—he’s already crowding into your space, his hand curling around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. You hate him for the way he’s looking at you, like he’s unraveling you with a single glance, like he knows exactly how to break you down, and before you can stop yourself, you’re surging up, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him again, harder this time, angrier.

His arms come around you instantly, pulling you closer, and you hate that it feels good, that it feels right, even as you’re pushing against him, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s a mess of teeth and tongues, the kiss desperate and furious, and you’re drowning in it, in the heat of him, in the way his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

Then the door swings open, and you both jerk apart, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you see Ja’Marr standing there, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. He looks at you, then at Joe, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Really, Joe?” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “In the middle of Wes’s birthday party? Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Calm down,” Joe says coolly, like he’s not the least bit bothered, his gaze still fixed on you, as if daring you to run. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Talking, right. Because making out with your teammate’s girl is totally a normal conversation.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and you step back, smoothing down your clothes like you can erase what just happened. “This—this was nothing,” you stammer, trying to ignore the way Joe’s lips curl into a smirk at your flustered tone. “We’re done here.”

Joe just gives you a lazy, almost triumphant smile, like he’s won some unspoken battle, and turns to Ja’Marr with a shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own, you know,” he says, and you want to punch him, to scream, but Ja’Marr just shakes his head, looking equal parts disappointed and resigned.

“Whatever,” Ja’Marr mutters, grabbing Joe’s arm and pulling him out into the hallway. “You need to get your act together. Wes is going to notice if you keep pulling this crap.”

Joe’s eyes flick to you one last time, something unreadable in his expression, before he lets Ja’Marr drag him away. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone in the darkened room, your heart racing and your thoughts spinning out of control. You know you should follow them, that you should go back downstairs and pretend like nothing happened, but your knees feel weak, and it takes you a long moment to gather yourself, to steady your breathing.

By the time you make your way back down to the party, your face feels numb, and you’ve forced on the brightest smile you can muster. Joe is already back in the thick of things, his arm slung casually around his date’s waist, laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You want to be angry, to hate him for making it look so easy, but then Wes catches sight of you, his eyes lighting up as he excuses himself from his conversation.

“Hey, there you are!” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. You try to smile, but it feels fake, like your skin doesn’t fit right anymore. “Where’d you disappear to?”

“Just needed a minute,” you say, your voice sounding hollow even to your own ears. You’re about to say something else, anything to fill the awkward silence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

Joe’s watching you, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and that’s when you realize—his lips are still stained with the faintest trace of your lipstick, a dark, telltale smear at the corner of his mouth.

Wes follows your gaze, and his smile falters, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Joe, what’s on your—”

But Joe cuts in smoothly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin widening as if he finds the whole thing hilarious. “Guess I got a little carried away,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence, and you feel the ground sway beneath you as Wes’s arm tightens around your shoulders, his confusion shifting to suspicion.

“What’s he talking about?” Wes asks, his eyes narrowing, and you open your mouth to respond, to deny, to do something—but nothing comes out. Your voice has abandoned you, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, as Joe’s smirk deepens and he lifts his drink in a mocking toast, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Good party,” Joe says casually, his tone almost friendly. “Really enjoyed myself.”

You don’t remember what happens next—just the blur of faces, the noise of the party swelling around you, and the hollow ache settling deep in your chest as Joe turns away, laughing with someone else, like he hasn’t just blown everything to pieces.

Wes's smile is strained when he pulls you aside, away from the music and the crowd. There’s a tightness around his eyes you haven’t seen before, something almost defeated, and for the first time that night, you feel a genuine pang of guilt. This is the part you were dreading—the confrontation, the disappointment in his eyes. But instead of yelling, instead of demanding an explanation, he just looks... tired.

“Hey,” he starts softly, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t wanna make a scene, okay? But I think... I think maybe you should go.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die in your throat. There’s no anger in his voice, just resignation, like he already knows the answer before you can even try to lie. You can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.

“Wes, I—” you begin, but he holds up a hand, a weak, defeated smile pulling at his lips.

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, and there’s something achingly kind in his voice, which somehow makes it hurt more. “I think we both know this... isn’t what you want. Not really.”

You feel relief flood your chest so suddenly that it’s almost nauseating, and that’s how you know he’s right. Because instead of being devastated, instead of scrambling to explain yourself, you just feel lighter. Like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying has finally been lifted.

You reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he says quietly, and you let your hand drop, nodding numbly. There’s nothing left to say. You don’t try to apologize; you don’t try to make excuses. You just turn and leave, the buzz of the party fading behind you as you slip out the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a slap.

The walk back to the apartment feels like a blur, your mind whirling with everything that just happened, everything you don’t want to think about. You don’t know if it’s the relief of being free from something you never truly wanted, or the shame of how it all went down, but by the time you reach your building, your hands are trembling and your breath is hitching.

You let yourself into the apartment, your eyes already burning with unshed tears, and you find Ella curled up on the couch, half-asleep in front of the TV. The moment she sees your face, though, she sits up, worry creasing her brow.

“Whoa, what happened?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep, but you don’t even know where to begin.

“Everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and then it all spills out. You tell her everything—about Joe, about the kiss, about Wes’s sad, tired smile and the way he let you go without a fight. You’re talking so fast you’re stumbling over your words, your emotions a chaotic tangle of regret and relief and frustration, and by the time you’re finished, you feel completely wrung out.

Ella listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief to sympathy as you pour your heart out. When you finally go quiet, she just sighs and pulls you into a hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and you don’t realize how much you needed to hear that until the tears start falling. She doesn’t tell you that you screwed up, she doesn’t lecture you about Joe, she just holds you while you cry, rubbing soothing circles on your back until the tears run dry.

By the time you pull away, your throat is raw, and you’re exhausted. Ella doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look that says she understands, that she’s on your side no matter what, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.

But then, just as you’re wiping your eyes and trying to compose yourself, you hear it—a loud burst of laughter echoing through the thin wall you share with Joe’s apartment. It’s followed by the high-pitched giggle of a girl, and your stomach twists. Of course. Of course.

Ella catches the look on your face and scowls. “He’s such an ass,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You want me to go bang on the wall and tell them to shut up?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s... it’s fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You don’t even believe yourself, but you can’t deal with Joe right now, not after everything. So you go to your room, shut the door, and try to block out the noise. You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself it’s over. But sleep doesn’t come easily, and all you can hear is Joe’s voice in your head, his mocking words echoing long after the sounds from next door have finally gone quiet.

Over the next few days, you try to fall back into a routine, but everything feels off-kilter. Wes doesn’t text you, and you don’t reach out, letting the silence stretch between you until it feels like a mutual understanding—something that was always going to happen. Ella hovers, supportive but careful not to push, and you appreciate that. You just need space, time to sort through everything.

Joe, however, is a different story.

You barely see him around the complex, but when you do, it’s impossible to ignore him. He’s still bringing home girls—more than ever, it seems—and they’re always loud, obnoxiously so, like he’s doing it on purpose, like he’s rubbing it in your face. And maybe he is. Maybe this is his way of proving a point, of showing you that he doesn’t care, that he never cared, and the worst part is... you don’t know if you care either. Or maybe you care too much.

One night, after a particularly sleepless stretch of listening to laughter and footsteps pounding through the walls, Ella finds you staring blankly at the ceiling, dark circles smudged beneath your eyes.

“He’s doing this on purpose, you know,” she says bluntly, her tone halfway between irritation and pity. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, rolling over to face the wall. “It’s working.”

Wes’s birthday party fades into memory, and a few weeks pass. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care when you don’t have to face the fallout. You focus on classes, avoid places where you might run into Joe, and try to ignore the way your heart sinks every time you hear his voice next door.

Then, one Friday night, there’s a knock on your door. You’re half expecting Ella’s latest Tinder date or a package, but instead, you find Joe leaning against the doorframe, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he looks at you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it catches you off guard.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you hate how defensive you sound, how you can’t help but put a wall between you.

Joe’s eyes flicker, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing down the hallway before he looks back at you. “Can we talk?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s asking because he wants to or because he thinks he has to. “Please?”

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to slam the door in his face, to tell him to go to hell. “Talk?” you echo, as though the very idea is laughable. “What’s there to talk about, Joe?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his hands still deep in his pockets. “I just—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. For once, he doesn’t look cocky or composed. He looks tired. “I screwed up, okay? I know that. And I just… I want to make things right.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Now you care about making things right? Weeks later? Where was this when you were busy humiliating me in front of everyone at Wes’s party?”

Joe flinches, and the sight of it sends a small, mean thrill through you. You want him to feel every ounce of the anger and hurt that’s been simmering inside you since that night.

“I was drunk,” he mutters, like it’s an excuse. “You know I didn’t mean half the shit I said.”

“Oh, so you only mean half of it?” Your voice rises despite yourself, and you take a step closer. “Which half, Joe? The part where you said Wes was too good for me? Or the part where you implied I’m some kind of charity case?”

Joe groans, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s not what I meant! You’re twisting it—”

“I’m twisting it?” Your laugh is sharp, humorless. “No, Joe. I’m finally calling you out on your crap. You think you can just waltz in here, throw out a half-assed apology, and I’m supposed to forget how you treated me? Newsflash: I’m done being your punching bag.”

“Punching bag?” His voice spikes, and you can see his patience starting to fray. “Are you kidding me? You think I don’t care about you? That I’d say that stuff to hurt you on purpose?”

“Then why did you say it?” you snap, stepping closer until you’re almost toe to toe. “Why, Joe? If you care so much, why do you always find a way to make me feel like I’m not enough?”

He stares at you, his jaw tightening, his chest rising and falling as he tries to keep his temper in check. But then he snaps, his voice loud enough to make you flinch. “Because you drive me crazy, alright? You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s like I can’t think straight when I’m around you!”

You’re stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you crackles with something electric, something you can’t name but can feel in every nerve of your body.

Joe’s eyes are blazing, his chest heaving as he takes a step closer. “You think I wanted this? That I wanted to feel like this about you? I didn’t, okay? But I do. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “Joe…”

He shakes his head, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m sorry, alright? For all of it. I just—I didn’t know how to deal with this, with you.”

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone. Joe’s hands are on your arms, his grip firm but not rough, and you’re looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let the anger rise again. He stays close, his hands still resting on your arms, his grip grounding and firm. His gaze softens, something vulnerable breaking through the tension in his voice.

“You think I like being the guy who gets under your skin?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s no bite to it now. Only honesty. “You think I enjoy pissing you off just for fun?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift, the rawness in his tone. “Don’t you?”

Joe lets out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “No. That’s just the only way you ever seem to notice me.” His words hit like a punch to the gut, and your breath hitches. “If I’m not in your face, annoying the hell out of you, it’s like I don’t even exist to you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He’s too quick, too honest, and you don’t have a defense ready for the truth.

“That’s why I invite them over,” he continues, and there’s no cockiness in the admission. Just exhaustion. “Those girls, the loud music, the stupid games—it’s not because I want them. It’s because I’m trying to get you to see me. To pay attention. Even if it’s just so you can yell at me.”

Your stomach twists, a lump forming in your throat. You want to stay mad, to cling to your anger like a shield, but it’s slipping through your fingers. Joe doesn’t stop; he steps closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I don’t know how else to get through to you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care when I do. So much more than I should.”

Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. Joe watches you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, his hesitation palpable. And then, before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

It’s not rough or demanding like you might have expected. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. His hands slide from your arms to your waist, anchoring you gently, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds back.

For a moment, you freeze, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming need to lean into him. But then your walls crack, and you kiss him back, your hands clutching at the front of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Joe pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing is unsteady, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper. Without a word, he steps forward, his hands tightening around your waist as he gently pushes you through the door.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, then sweeps you off your feet in one swift, effortless motion. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you down the hall toward your bedroom.

“Joe…” you begin, but he silences you with a look—a look so tender, so unlike the Joe you thought you knew, that your words die on your lips.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, the anger and frustration from moments ago have evaporated, replaced by something else entirely. Something that hums between you like a live wire.

He hovers over you, his weight supported by his arms on either side of your head. His eyes search yours, silently asking for permission, for understanding. And when you nod, so small and uncertain, he dips his head to kiss you again, this time deeper, more sure of himself.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging gently as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, every touch making your pulse race. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the fragile moment you’re sharing.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—Joe Burrow isn’t the selfish, cocky guy you thought he was. Maybe, behind all the bravado, he’s just a boy who wanted you to see him. And now, you finally do.

Joe’s lips trail along the curve of your neck, leaving a warm, electric path in their wake. He takes his time, his breath hot against your skin, and every deliberate touch makes your pulse thunder louder in your ears.

His hands glide over your waist, fingers pressing lightly, almost teasing as they trace the hem of your shirt. You feel his smile against your neck when you squirm slightly beneath him, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “No more yelling? No smart remarks?”

You swallow hard, trying to find some semblance of control, but the way his hands move, the way his lips hover so close yet don’t quite touch, leaves you breathless. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you right now,” you shoot back, though your voice wavers.

Joe chuckles, lifting his head to look at you, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” he says, his thumb brushing over the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. “You’ve always got something to say to me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted, your resolve crumbling as he dips his head again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like it when you get all fired up,” he whispers, his tone teasing. “But I think I like this quiet side of you even more.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way your body betrays you, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe smirks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and you shiver at the contact. “Maybe,” he admits, his tone smug, “but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You want to retort, to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but before you can, he shifts his weight, his lips capturing yours again. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, and you feel the teasing edge in his movements as he kisses you until you forget whatever comeback you had planned.

His fingers inch higher, tracing light patterns on your stomach, deliberately avoiding the places where you want him most. It’s infuriating, how easily he has you unraveling, and when he pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, you let out an exasperated groan.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, tugging at his shirt in frustration.

Joe leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips curling into a playful grin. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

He shifts again, his hands sliding up to frame your face as he kisses you once more. His lips are soft but insistent, drawing you in until all you can focus on is him—his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his skin, the way his touch sets every nerve in your body alight.

“Say the word,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but laced with a challenge. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You stare up at him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. But the word never comes. Instead, you pull him down again, your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him with all the pent-up frustration, anger, and longing that’s been building between you for weeks.

Joe groans softly, his hands sliding down your sides, his teasing touch giving way to something more intentional. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs against your lips, his tone smug but laced with something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip.

Joe's lips find yours again, the kiss deepening as his teasing facade begins to slip. His hands roam your body with more purpose now, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. He nips lightly at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Still hate me?” he whispers, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He moves back slowly, before pulling off your leggings, his eyes never leaving yours.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you pull him closer, your nails grazing the back of his neck, and the quiet groan he lets out is enough to make your pulse race.

The leggings are long forgotten now, leaving you exposed in your underwear. Joe chuckles softly, his breath fanning against your lips as he trails kisses along your jaw, then lower, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue follows, soothing the faint sting, and the combination has your hands fisting in his shirt.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His hands slide beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up slowly. “I think you like this way more than you’re letting on.”

“You talk too much,” you manage to gasp, but your retort loses its bite when his thumb grazes just beneath your ribs, sending a rush of heat through your body.

Joe pulls back just enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He takes a moment to look at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with something you can’t quite name, and for a second, the teasing smirk is gone, replaced by something softer.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard.

Your breath hitches, and you feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. Before you can overthink it, his lips are on you again, softer this time but no less insistent. His hands trace slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the band of your bra, and you arch into his touch without meaning to.

Joe grins against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower as he presses kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and then to the edge of the fabric.

He pauses, glancing up at you as his fingers toy with the clasp, his expression both playful and questioning. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says again, his tone softer now, without the usual cockiness.

But stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, you pull him down to you, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that answers his unspoken question.

Joe groans against your mouth, his hands moving to unclasp your bra with surprising ease, and you feel the shift in his demeanor as his teasing gives way to something more raw, more urgent. His lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and every deliberate touch has your body humming with anticipation.

“Still hate me?” he asks again, his voice rough and teasing, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks up at you.

You reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. “Shut up, Joe,” you whisper, your voice breathless but firm, and for once, he listens.

Joe's smirk returns, but it’s softer now, laced with something warmer than his usual arrogance. He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low and full of disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe where the night has led. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets his lips and hands do the talking, his touch reverent but still filled with that undeniable fire that seems to burn between you.

He slowly pulls away, looking up at you with a small smirk before he gets up. Before you could start questioning him, he takes off his shirt and sweats swiftly, your eyes widening at his body.

Joe’s smirk deepens as he catches the way your eyes widen, lingering on his toned frame. His confidence seems to grow with every second you stay silent, your gaze betraying the sharp tongue you usually use to deflect him. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to drink him in.

“You’re staring,” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes burn with something more primal. “I knew you liked looking at me, but this is a new level.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks gives you away. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the effect he has on you.

Joe chuckles, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of you, his face inches from yours. “Too late for that,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve already done it for me.”

Before you can fire back, he trails his hand down your side, fingers skimming over your waist and hip with maddening slowness. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your chest, each one softer than the last, as if he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath his touch.

You can feel his hardened bulge against your stomach, and you're just about done with his teasing. You need him, now. “Joe,” you whined as he pulls back with a smirk.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and raw. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on yours again, his kiss stealing whatever snarky comeback you might have had. His hands move with purpose, sliding over every inch of bare skin, and the slow, deliberate way he touches you has your body aching for more.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, the words a quiet challenge. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with all the frustration and longing you’ve been holding back for weeks. Joe groans, the sound vibrating against your lips as his teasing slips away entirely, replaced by something deeper, more desperate.

“God, you’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice laced with both exasperation and awe. But his actions betray the truth—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He finally pulls away, breathless as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. “I'm gonna fuck you, alright?” he mutters before leaning closer. “And for all those times you pissed me off, and annoyed me, I'll forget about all of that if I can just... hear you.”

You're caught off by the request and you almost think he's joking, but you're mistaken. He's dead serious. All you could was nod slowly in response and Joe leans away, pleased.

Joe’s control starts to slip, and it’s evident in the way his kisses grow hungrier, more urgent. His hands tremble slightly as they trail over your body, mapping out every curve like he’s afraid this moment will disappear. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his breathing uneven.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice raw, the cocky edge completely gone. “You’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Then finally, he slowly peels off his briefs, and his large, hardened cock falls out.

Joe lets out a small groan as his head falls back, relief in his expression. His pink tip is already leaking with pre-cum. You practically faint at the sight, you couldn't help but let out a whimper. His hands find his cock before he slowly begins to pump it, his eyes finding yours again.

He spreads your legs open before leaning in, his lips finding yours as his hands lead his cock to your cunt. His forehead falls against yours as he slowly begins to insert himself, a heavenly groan leaving his lips at the feeling of your warm, tight walls.

You felt like you were being split in half, in the best way possible. You can't even describe how good his cock felt, he wasn't even a quarter inside of you, but you still felt like you were filled to the brim.

“O-oh, fuck, Joey,” you moaned as your swollen lips form an O, your head falling back onto the plush pillows. Now you understood why the girls in his apartment were so loud—they definitely weren't exaggerating.

His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer as if he wasn't inside of you already. His lips crash against yours again, the kiss filled with desperation, like he’s trying to pour every suppressed emotion into it. It’s intoxicating, the way his need for you feels almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clutching at his shoulders, wanting to be as close as possible.

He bottoms you out slowly, and he tries to give you a second to adjust—he really, really tried. He just couldn't. He slowly started thrusting in and out of you, and before you could even process the change in speed, he was rocking his hips against yours like the world depended on it.

The bed was creaking loudly underneath the two of you, the only sounds that could be heard was your loud moans, his grunts of pleasure, and the sound of skin against skin.

His cock was dizzying, to say the least. It hit all the spots you swore nobody had ever reached, making you question all your previous partners. You couldn't even form a singular thought about anything else except for Joe's huge cock and the way he was making you feel.

“Joe!” You manage to gasp as he begins to pound into you impossibly harder, but he cuts you off with another kiss, groaning softly against your lips.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice husky and edged with desperation. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you gasp as his hands spread your legs wider, pinning you to the mattress.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, his kisses growing more frantic, more needy. His hands are everywhere, exploring, worshipping, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. The way he touches you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, leaves you utterly undone.

His words make your head spin, and you can’t find a response. You're too caught up in the way he was pounding into you, like a fucking animal.

But Joe doesn’t seem to care; he’s too caught up in you, his hips moving faster and faster until you're practically crying out loud. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. There’s no pretense now, no games—just raw, unfiltered desire.

You begin to feel the knot in your stomach begin to form, tight and persistent. You begin to grip his shoulders even tighter, your head falling back into the pillow as you moaned.

“O-oh, fuck! I'm gonna cum, please.” You began rambling as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips not faltering one bit—if anything, he began going faster.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He grunted out, his own impending orgasm. “Cum for me, baby.”

That was all you needed. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your whole body spasming as you cried out in utter pleasure. The orgasm washed over you perfectly as Joe's hips began to falter, and a few moments later, his cum spilled into you.

You both lie there, tangled in the sheets, your breathing ragged and your hearts racing as the room settles into a heavy, satisfied silence. Joe’s arm is draped lazily across your stomach, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your skin. The intimacy feels different now—softer, quieter, as if the storm that had built between you for so long had finally passed.

He exhales deeply, his chest still rising and falling against your side. “Well,” he says, his voice low and hoarse, “that was... long overdue.”

You glance over at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile despite yourself. “You think?” you reply dryly, the lingering warmth of the moment making it hard to muster the sharp edge your tone usually carries with him.

Joe turns his head to look at you, his hair mussed and sticking out in every direction, his cheeks still flushed. There’s that cocky grin of his, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you don’t think you’ve seen before—contentment, maybe. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling lightly. “So overdue I’m almost mad at us for waiting this long.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. His grin widens as he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over you. His gaze flicks across your face, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “But hey,” he says, his voice taking on a playful tone, “now that I’ve finally got you right where I want you, I think it’s time to make this official.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head at him. “Official?”

Joe nods solemnly, though the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “Yup. A real date. No fighting, no yelling, no storming off. Just you, me, and a public setting where we try very hard not to tear each other’s clothes off.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, is that so?”

“That’s so,” he replies with a grin, catching your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze softening. “Come on, let me take you out. I’ll even behave. Swear.”

You arch a skeptical brow, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Behave? You? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Guess you’ll just have to say yes and find out,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but undeniably sincere.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound reluctant but failing miserably. “One date. But if you embarrass me, it’s the last one.”

Joe’s grin is blinding as he flops back down beside you, pulling you against his chest. “Deal,” he says, his voice full of triumph. “You won’t regret it. Best date of your life, guaranteed.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he counters, his tone smug as his hand tightens around yours.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[bugbyte]

This this this. I absolutely hold no ill will toward anyone who got a diagnosis in months. Everyone should have that option. Faster, really.

But it’s been hitting me lately about how many little oddities and weird injuries and other problems that made my life hell growing up were more than likely just undiagnosed EDS/POTS/the other muscular dystrophy situation I don’t want to think about yet.

There’s grief. Being told for decades that you just have weird knees, but being unable to explain why gym class makes you feel like you’re actually dying. I was a skinny little kid and I think doctors and gym teachers wrote it off as me just not wanting to try. I tried and I tried and I tried. I wanted to play a sport like my friends, and because that was apparently the only capital that would get you treated like a real person and serious student by the teachers and administrators. If I had known I couldn’t do it because of a disability, just, fuck. My self esteem would have been a whole lot better.

Doctors saying these kinds of things led me down a path of “well, I just have to work harder.” This turned into an escalator of “eat better” (actually helpful) and “work out more” (coulda been helpful with proper guidance.) So I decided over time to take it to an extreme so hard that no one could deny I wasn’t doing enough exercise: I started training to run marathons. And I did! Multiples of them! It was a unique and delicious hell.

Runner’s high is real, and so I’d spend the first 5 miles staving off agony through mind over matter, snacks, music. Eventually the bone-grinding pain turned to numbness and then the high feeling somewhere between miles 5 to 8, reliably. I could ride that for a while, but when it wore off, it wore off.

Whatever the remaining distance at that point felt like dragging my body through quicksand. Whatever pain I had at the start came back multiplied by ten. But seeing the folks around me, no one was having a great time at the end of the race and I assumed all of this was normal. I would be incapacitated for days afterward, but no one could tell me I hadn’t worked hard enough to get there.

I absolutely cannot do this now. I am sad because despite the pain and injuries, it was a lot of fun. I have no idea if I contributed damage to my body but I try not to think about it too hard because it’s so far in the past.

Anyway, to bring it back around, I guess my point is that not having a frame of reference for why your body seems “wrong” to you, and the people whose job it is to advise you about it just…don’t…can really, really make you spend a lot of time trying desperately to be “normal” and it can be potentially dangerous at worst, or at least a waste of time.

It took my entire life (with a decade in the middle where I gave up for a while) to find the right path and the right people to help me understand myself and my weirdo genetics.

I wonder a lot how my life could have been different if I had known more much sooner. But I try not to think too hard about it, either. Just keep moving forward like a shark, one of the things I’d repeat to myself during races. It still applies.

I’m going to be a bitch for a second, but when I’m conversing with someone newly diagnosed with MCAS/POTS post covid and they complain about “the long wait” to get diagnosed and that “long wait” is 3-4 months my entire brain blue screens.

Like on the one hand, yes those 3-4 months must have been so, so scary and I am so unbelievably glad we’re in a place where doctors know enough to reconize it now. Like truly, I am so sincere I am so happy for them.

But I’m also just like... 30 years, man.

I spent 30 years being told from the age of eight I was manifesting my allergic reactions through anxiety by health care professionals.

Fuck, five years ago when I was starving to death from how severe my MCAS had gotten an allergist told me it was anxiety.

And you got diagnosed in three months.

MONTHS

MONTHS

AND YOU’RE COMPLAINING

I’m not mad at them. I’m not. I’m just sad for myself.

But also, hey, yeah. If you come into an MCAS forum and wonder why a bunch of the old timers get upset when you complain it took months for a doctor to listen to you, this is why.

It's not that you deserved to wait longer. It's that we didn’t either and and sometimes even good changes can unearth a world of hurt.

[autumnsvixen]

Damaged - part 2

previous || next (coming soon)

Azriel x f! reader

After a long and arduous recovery, you are finally able to feel safe in the House of Wind. You can't help but feeling as if something, or someone, is missing.

Word Count: 2777

Warnings: Reader healing from wounds, some mentions of past trauma (including blood, violence, and abuse), Rhys being nice (?)

A/N: Holy shit, thank you all for the love on part 1. I was not expecting that AT ALL, but I’m really glad you’re all enjoying it! This is, sadly, another part without much Az, but he’s coming (he's WHAT), I promise 😊

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The past week was a blur of darkness and pain. Your only real memories consisted of hazy visions of winged males, swirling shadows, and an elderly female fae with kind brown eyes.

As your eyes drifted open, you were blinded by the brightness flowing into the room from the opened curtains. The elder fae you had seen throughout your recovery hissed at someone else in the room, “Morrigan, close that curtain. You’ll give the poor girl a headache.”

Your blurry vision began to clear as the panging in your head became apparent. The pain seemingly spread throughout your body as you fully woke. A groan escaped you as you tried to shift yourself up to better observe the unfamiliar room you found yourself in, only to be gently pushed down by the same female that had just spoken.

“Don’t try to sit up. You’ve recovered a lot, but you still need rest.” Her voice was kind but strict, leaving no room for debate.

When you spoke, your voice came out rough, throat feeling like ash, “where am I?”

Another voice filled your ears as a beautiful female with golden hair moved into your vision, “you’re safe. Cassian and Rhys got you to the House of Wind just in time.” She sounded like honey; soft and sweet.

Her words registered with you, “Rhys, as in high lord Rhysand?” You again tried to sit up in the bed, shocked that Cassian had brought you to the home of the high lord.

The younger fae, who you had figured out was the Morrigan, laughed as the other huffed at you, but she didn’t push you back down. You leaned your back against the headboard, the wood cold against your wings.

“Don’t say it like he’s some god, he’ll get even more of an ego. But yes, the high lord. He winnowed you from just outside of Ironcrest.”

The older female spoke next, “and you’re lucky he did. If you had gotten here any later…” She shook her head, dismissing the thought.

Your heart clenched at the thought that you had almost died.

The two females in the room seemed to notice your thoughts as your eyes glazed over, your last conscious memories replaying in your mind. Morrigan gently grasped your hand, “you’re safe now. I promise those males won’t ever lay a hand on you again.”

A tear fell from your eye as you turned your head to look at her, “I just wanted to be able to defend myself.”

“Those cowards cornered you. It was three against one. Even if you had been training with Cas for years, they would still have had an advantage.” Anger and disgust laced her voice, and the glint in your eyes told you that these were not the first cowardly males she had encountered.

You nodded at her words, but no response escaped you. You couldn’t shake the thought that if you had just been stronger, you could have protected yourself. Or if you had just obeyed your brother’s wishes, you wouldn’t even be in this situation.

Morrigan seemed to sense your reluctance to accept her words as truth, so she turned to the other female in the room. “Madja, do you think it would be alright for her to eat something?”

The elderly fae nodded, swiftly leaving the room. Morrigan sat on the bed next to you, careful not to move your injured body, “Cassian told me your name is Y/N, right?”

You nodded, and she continued, “You can call me Mor. Cassian didn’t tell me much about what happened before the attack, but I promise you that the people here will never treat you the way you were treated back in the camp.”

You didn’t have the words to respond. Part of you hoped what she was saying was true, but another part of you knew that your brother, despite his faults, had always looked out for you. Until now, that is.

“If you want to train once you’re all healed, Cassian and I can help you. If you want to go back to Ironcrest, that is your choice, though one I would hate for you to make.”

You furrowed your brows at her, “You would let me stay? You don’t even know me.”

She smiled softly at you, “let’s just say our high lord has a soft spot for those who have experienced the worst this world has to offer. And Cas has told us enough about you for all of us to trust you.”

Gently, you squeezed her hand, “did he tell you I was the most difficult fae he’s ever had to train?”

Mor laughed, the sound falling gracefully onto your ears and drawing a small smile to your lips. “He told us you had the balance of a newborn fawn, but that you were determined in your training.”

“Do you really think he’d want to train me even after seeing how utterly defenseless I was against those males?” You asked softly, the smile falling from your face.

She looked at you with a kindness you rarely saw, “I’ll say it until your ears bleed, those males are cowards, and it took three of them to face you. You weren’t defenseless and you are not hopeless, you just need training and some more confidence. Cassian would be lucky to have you as a trainee.”

You nodded, “okay then. I’d like to stay here and train.”

Suddenly, Madja entered the room, “not until you are fully healed. You will stay here and rest until I say.” She placed a tray holding bowl of soup and a glass of water on the table next to your bed. “I swear, all you Illyrians are the same, never wanting to heal, always wanting to train,” she mumbled.

Madja didn’t clear you to leave the bed for another three days. In that time, Cassian, Rhysand, and Mor all took turns keeping you company. The first time you had met the high lord, you had clumsily tried to bow from your place in the bed, which more so looked like you trying to fold yourself in half. Of course, with the aching pain in your chest and stomach, this was accompanied by a grimace, which was not the face you had wanted to greet your high lord with. He had chuckled, waving you off with a “please, you’re a guest in my home, I don’t need the theatrics.”

You had quickly developed friendship with each of them, but none as close as Cassian. Perhaps because he was the fae you were most familiar with, or you just associated him with the feeling of safety.

You had thought of asking Cassian about the shadow-made man, but something in your gut stopped you from doing so. Perhaps you had just imagined him, and they would think you were mad if you brought him up.

By the time you were finally allowed to train, almost 2 weeks after waking up, you had begun to feel at home in the House of Wind. You’d had meals with Rhys, Cassian, Mor, and Amren, a member of the household who seemed much older than a high fae should be. Mor had promised once you were at full health, she and Cassian would show you the city and take you shopping, to which Cassian huffed at.

You started to feel at peace.

That was until Cassian woke you up before dawn one day, demanding you change into training clothes that Mor had provided you and meet him in the training arena on top of the house. Though tired, you eagerly complied, excited to start back the training you had gotten so little of back at camp.

When you got to the arena, you marveled at the extensive sand pit and the weapons that hung on racks around it. Cassian laughed at your amusement, “normally Az and I spar with just our hands, but sometimes we practice with the weapons, either on our own or with each other.”

“Az?” You questioned.

Cas’s eyes went wide with realization, “that’s right, you weren’t exactly… conscious when he was here. Azriel is my brother,” he grinned, thinking of the male. “He’s also our court’s spymaster, so he comes and goes pretty frequently. He’s off on a mission to who knows where right now, but he should be back by the end of the week. He keeps to himself, so you probably won’t see much of him when he is here, but once you get to know him, he’s a good guy.”

You nod, wondering if this was the shadow man you had believed your mind made up. But Cassian seemed so bright, you doubted his brother would be covered in such darkness. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.”

Your return to training was slow, but every morning you went up to the arena, Cas pushed you a little harder. By the end of your first week of training, you felt back to the way you were before you’d been attacked at camp.

Everyone was impressed by your progress, including yourself. You had expected to be haunted by the memories of those males, but you instead let it push you to train harder, wanting to ensure you were never in that situation again.

“Would you accompany out to the city today? I have a few things I’d like to pick up and I want to show you around.” Rhys asked you while you were clearing the table from breakfast. “And, no offense, I think it’s time you pick out your own clothes instead of whatever Mor decides to gift you.”

You chuckled, looking down at the dress the female had given you that day. It was tighter than you were used to a dress being, and much more revealing than anything you’d worn in the camps. Mor had called it modest by her standards.

With a bright smile at the high fae, you said, “I would love to.”

The city of Velaris, Rhys informed you, was his closest kept secret, and you could immediately tell why. The bright colors of the Rainbow and the display of culture throughout the city instantly had your heart pounding with excitement. This was a safe haven in the night court, and you felt incredibly lucky that Rhysand had trusted you enough to bring you here.

He had stopped by a few shops, buying himself a new jacket that seemed to absorb darkness and a set of earrings that he intended to gift to Amren as a Solstice present. As you walked, he told you about the different shops in the city and stories of its inhabitants.

Your eyes went wide as he opened the door to a bakery, the smell of sugary bread filling your nostrils. Pastries you had never heard of lined the shelves of a glass case. He bought you a sweet bun filled with lemon-flavored icing, and you swore it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

“I forgot how bland the food is at the markets back in the camps. Now that you’re in Velaris, I’ll make sure you get to experience the best food we have to offer.” He spoke as you gobbled up the sugary goodness.

You swallowed before speaking, “I really don’t know how I can ever repay your kindness, Rhysand. Seriously.”

He waved you off, “keep training and gathering your strength, and I’m sure I can find you a place in my circle. But even if you never work for me, I will continue to spoil you with the goodness of this city. You deserve it.”

Happy tears filled your eyes as he spoke. You had never experienced such care before arriving to the House of Wind, and now it all felt overwhelming. “I don’t have words to explain how honored I am to be here. One day, I will find a way to repay your kindness.”

He smirked playfully, “well, until you do, I’m going to continue to spoil you. I was thinking we could visit the clothes shops in the palace of thread and jewels.”

By the time you had finished shopping, you and Rhys were surrounded by bags filled with clothes and shoes. You insisted you would pay him back, but he simply waved off the expense as a “welcome present.”

The sky was dark as you exited the last shop, and your eyes widened as you spotted the lights lining the river that ran through the city. The high lord seemed to take notice of your amazement, as if he had expected it. “It’s even better from above,” he said quietly. With a wave of his hands, the bags in your arms disappeared.

You were shocked at the easy display of magic, until you realized what he had implied. You looked at him sadly, “I can’t- my wings-“

“I’ll carry you,” he cut you off. You nodded, thankful he understood. He picked you up, strong arms beneath your back and knees, before shooting off into the sky. You wrapped your own arms tightly around his neck as you screeched, the sudden weightlessness of flying catching you off guard.

There was something about being in the air that felt so natural. You knew it was due to your heritage, as Illyrians belonged in the sky, but you had never had the opportunity to actually experience it until now.

And Rhys was right, the city was somehow more beautiful from up here. The lights reflected off the Sidra, the waves making them appear to dance. The city squares seemed alive with lights and people. It was all breathtaking.

Rhys carried you through the air, dipping low before shooting high, as if playing a game of tag with the wind. You laughed as it blew your hair in all different directions. You stayed in the air for almost an hour, though you felt as if you could’ve stayed for years, before you landed on a balcony back in the House of Wind.

“Thank you for that, truly.” You spoke to him, removing your arms from his neck as your feet touched the ground.

He smiled at you, “any time.”

As you both walked into the seating room you had landed outside of, your breath is halted in your throat at the site of a male that had haunted your dreams since you arrived at the house.

Hazel eyes studied you for a moment before moving over to the male standing next to you. “Rhys, we need to talk.”

Rhys smirked, prancing to a nearby bar cart and pouring himself a glass of fae wine, “nice to see you too, brother. Glad you’re home safe.”

The stunning male’s expression remained neutral as he stared at Rhysand, unamused at his antics. You studied the angled bones of his cheeks and jaw, the shadows that swirled around his shoulders and neck. This was the man you had thought you imagined. And now that you had seen him, you were even more interested in learning more about him.

“Rhys.” His tone was stern. His voice pulled goosebumps to your skin, the deepness fitting his dark and shadowy appearance.

The high lord gave you a pitiful smile, “your bags are in your room, y/n, if you’d like to go admire your new belongings. Azriel and I need to discuss some things.”

You nodded, understanding his words for the dismissal they were. In that moment you also realized that this was the Azriel that Cassian had spoken to you so highly about. You remembered his words, “he keeps to himself… but once you get to know him, he’s a good guy.”

You hoped you could find out for yourself.

As you made your way up the stairs, you couldn’t stop thinking about the beautiful stranger’s face, the toned body underneath his Illyrian leathers, and the shadows that seemed to keep him constant company.

You would definitely try to find out for yourself.

[adimouze]

post-las vegas WDC max/daniel, rated M. ~1300 words. @girlsdads mentioned something about a lil bit of LL hating in a fic so. I did a lil bit of LL hating too.

-

A face floats into Max’s field of vision probably three hours into the fifth different party Max had been shepherded to since the race ended. He’s about ninety-percent sure he’s still in Las Vegas. He blinks blearily at it, hoping at least it’s pretty enough to look at. It has been a while since. Since.

Liam Lawson blinks back. Not who he was expecting. Gross. 

“Max,” he says, sounding too sober for whatever time it is. The club is loud but Max can still unfortunately hear him. “Are you okay?”

Max attempts a sweeping gesture, he’s carrying a glass of something and it hits someone’s back, making Max drop it with a smash. Liam cringes, looking like he’s about to complain. “This is my party, mate,” Max says, cutting off whatever Liam was going to say. “I’m fucking great.”

“Christian just left,” Liam says, and Max kind of hates how he talks but what can you do. Maybe he just doesn’t like Liam. “I think there’s another party happening a few blocks from now, do you want to join me?”

If Christian left that means Max can leave without theoretically offending anybody, even though it is his party. Half of the people around him don’t seem like people he knows anyway. “Nah man, you go on ahead, I’ll head back to the hotel –”

“Oh then I’ll head back with you,” Liam’s probably the most cheerful he’s been since Max met him. “Yuki scored and left me here.” 

Pity isn’t something Max feels often, but he does feel a bit of pity now. In his first year he was never left alone in clubs, either Carlos or Daniel were always there making sure they were around to get him back to wherever before they took someone home or to their hotel rooms. More often it was Daniel, and more often Daniel didn’t take anyone home, because they were sharing a room and more often it was just fun to watch onboards together, side by side. 

No one else but them. 

Then again, Max was a teenager in his first year and Liam’s twenty-two. He wouldn’t need babysitting. 

“Alright,” Max isn’t sure where he is. He doesn’t know how to ask Liam without sounding like an absolute idiot. 

“I have a car waiting,” Liam adds, after Max stared off into the distance for a few seconds, willing someone to appear with a car. Maybe Max isn’t being as subtle as he thought he was. 

_____

Red Bull and VCARB drivers are often put up in the same hotel, usually the standard room but Helmut had finangled him a penthouse upgrade on Thursday, telling Max that he deserved a proper room to party in, like Max was going to bring home an orgy. 

He’s pretty sure Liam couldn’t possibly have gotten a penthouse upgrade too. He’s sure hotels only have one penthouse? He’s sure. If he was less drunk he would be surer. But Liam makes no move to push any buttons. 

“Mind if I come up for a nightcap?” Liam asks, smiling. This is the most Max has seen him smile ever since he got Daniel…ever since Daniel left and he jumped in the car. Max does not want him to come up for a nightcap but Max is feeling generous tonight. 

“Sure, why not.” Someone had spilled what seems like a bottle of champagne on him at some point in the night and his shirt is sticking to him. He’s too tired to shower. Meh. It’ll be a problem for hungover Max tomorrow. 

The lift goes up insanely fast but still feels too slow for Max tonight. He’s WDC, four times WDC, he’s used to faster things, sue him. Liam is still staring at him. 

“Good driving tonight,” Max says, for want of anything better to do or say. He has no idea where Liam finished to be honest. 

“I finished 16,” Liam says flatly. Yikes. Well. 

The door dings open onto Max’s floor. And. 

Daniel’s sitting on the giant sectional of the penthouse living room. 

He looks gorgeous. Max wants to stare forever. He looks broad and good and tanned, his beard has filled in a lot more than when Max last saw him in Monaco, his hair thicker. The sweatshirt he’s wearing looks less oversized than usual, fitting his shoulders instead of drooping over them, and his trousers make his thighs look great. 

He’s smirking. He looks like a frat guy. He looks like one of those men from Victoria’s magazines that Max definitely didn’t jerk off over. 

Max is probably drooling, and Liam runs into him as he’s stepping out of the lift. 

“Oh sorry mate I – Daniel, hello.” Liam’s voice is a bit high. Confused. Probably scared. “Didn’t realize you were in Vegas. Red Bull didn’t…”

Daniel stands up and comes over. Max is still staring. Daniel moves like an apex predator and Liam’s just the runt of litter in this.  “Hey Liam. Well. Red Bull doesn’t own me anymore mate, do they? I can be wherever I want.”

He claps Liam on the shoulder in greeting then grabs Max’s limp hand. “Came to see my boy be the World Champion again.”

Liam’s probably saying something but Max doesn’t care, because Daniel’s pulling him in, arms going around Max, sticky shirt and all, and Max is going to swoon because Daniel smells good, good, good, their lips meeting after ages, Daniel’s lips and tongue the best, most refreshing thing Max has tasted all night. Someone’s moaning. 

It’s him. 

“Um…”

Liam’s still there. 

Max tries to pull back but Daniel’s got his hands on his ass, lifting, lifting, and Max’s legs going around him in response, and Daniel’s got them on the sofa in a second, Max perched on Daniel’s wide wide thighs without even separating their lips once. It’s the hottest thing Max has ever felt. He’s going to come just from the thought alone. 

“Liam,” Daniel’s saying, pulling back a few centimeters to give Max some breathing space. “I’m going to fuck my husband on this sofa right now, and he’s going to be screaming loud enough to be heard from the moon. So like,” he pops the k, and Max’s dick twitches, precome dripping into his underwear, “unless you want a front row seat to that for some reason, shouldn’t you be heading to bed?” 

“Husband?” Liam’s stuttering. “Excuse me? You can’t – Does Christian know? He’s going to be so mad at you, Max what the fuck –?”

“Get out,” Daniel says. Max has never heard him sound like that. “Now.” 

“I’m calling Christian,” Liam says as a parting shot. “He won’t – he’s not going to allow this.”

“Yeah you do that, mate,” Daniel rolls his eyes then squeezes Max’s ass harder. God, he’s so hot. Max feels insane. Husband husband husband. “What’s he going to do, fire me again?” 

The lift dings shut again. They’re blessedly alone. 

“Husband?” Max snorts, shivering as Daniel’s fingers undo his pant buttons. “Bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

“The ring’s in the suitcase, baby,” Daniel says, smiling like a wolf, fingers curling around Max’s dick. Max grinds into the feeling, needing Daniel inside him right now. This is the best day of his life. “Was hoping you’d say yes.”

“Let me think about it,” Max laughs, and Daniel bites his nipple through his shirt. “Liam’s probably told the Herald by now.”

“I’ll personally send him the wedding photos,” Daniel cackles, licking up Max’s neck, leaving wet trails in the cold air con of the room, “if he promises to send me photos of Christian when he tells him I was about to fuck him in front of you.”

“Stop talking about Christian and fuck the World Champion already, husband,” Max says, his laughter turning into moans when Daniel all too willingly complies.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

mattheo riddle x single mom!reader where his smile entranced you and your 4 months old son

The day had been impossibly long. You were running on fumes, your back ached from lugging around Benjamin’s diaper bag, and your head throbbed with the distinct pulse of frustration and lack of sleep. Your sweet baby boy, Benjamin, was usually a ray of sunshine, but today had tested even his limits—and yours.

Now, on a crowded bus full of strangers, Benjamin was letting the world know just how upset he was. His cries echoed loudly, shrill and relentless, as he wriggled in your arms. The passengers around you shifted uncomfortably, a few not-so-subtle glares landing on you. One person sighed audibly, another muttered under their breath, and it all made you want to sink into the floor.

“Ben, sweetheart,” you whispered, bouncing him gently, your voice trembling with exhaustion. “Please, please calm down.”

But Ben wasn’t having it. His face was scrunched up in frustration, little fists waving, and tears streaming down his rosy cheeks. You couldn’t blame him, really. You felt like crying, too.

Your cheeks burned as a middle-aged woman shot you a disapproving look over her glasses. You tried to meet her gaze with an apologetic smile, but it faltered halfway. What did she expect you to do? Babies cried. You were doing your best.

Just a little longer, you told yourself. Your stop wasn’t far. You just had to make it a few more minutes.

And then, miraculously, the crying stopped.

You blinked, stunned. For a moment, you thought you’d imagined the sudden silence. But no—Ben was quiet, his wide eyes fixed on something—or rather, someone. He wasn’t just calm; he was positively entranced.

You followed his gaze, turning your head to the source of his fascination.

Sitting two seats away was a man—maybe your age, mid-twenties—with messy dark curls and a face that could stop traffic. His features were sharp yet somehow soft, like they couldn’t decide whether to be rugged or refined. But it was his smile that held your attention—it was the kind of smile that could disarm even the most guarded hearts.

“Hey, buddy,” the man said, his voice low and soothing, but with a playful lilt that seemed to enchant your son. “What’s got you so upset, huh?”

To your utter shock, Ben giggled. A real, honest-to-goodness giggle. The kind that made his tiny nose scrunch up and his dimples show. He even reached out toward the man, babbling happily, his earlier meltdown forgotten.

Your heart squeezed, relief mingling with something else—something warm and fluttery that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You looked at the man, really looked at him. His easy confidence, the soft curve of his lips as he continued entertaining Ben, the way he seemed completely unfazed by the chaos that had preceded this moment... You felt yourself relax for the first time all day.

“Looks like he’s a fan,” the man said, glancing at you with a teasing grin that made your cheeks flush.

You tried to muster a coherent response, but you were so drained you could only manage a sheepish laugh. “I guess he is. Thank you. I don’t know what kind of magic you just pulled, but I owe you.”

“No magic,” he said, shrugging with a casual air that somehow made him even more attractive. “I’ve just got a way with people, I guess. Especially the little ones.”

Ben gurgled in agreement, as if to second this claim, and the man chuckled—a low, rich sound that made your exhaustion momentarily melt away.

All too soon, your stop was announced. You stood, adjusting Ben in your arms and slinging the diaper bag over your shoulder. The man watched you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, before he stood too. You felt a flicker of surprise—and maybe a little nervousness—when he followed you off the bus.

As the bus pulled away, you glanced at him, unsure whether to say something. Before you could decide, he broke the silence.

“Looks like we’re heading in the same direction,” he said, falling into step beside you. “I’m Mattheo, by the way.”

“Hi, Mattheo,” you replied softly, offering him a tired but genuine smile. “I’m—”

Your introduction was cut short by a sharp pang of realization. Ben’s penguin—his favorite plush toy—was missing. You gasped, frantically patting down the diaper bag and checking your pockets. “No, no, no…”

“What’s wrong?” Mattheo asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

“I left his toy on the bus,” you said, your voice trembling. “His penguin. He won’t sleep without it.”

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. “Stay here.”

“Wait, what are you—” But he was already sprinting after the bus, waving his arms like a madman. “Oh my god,” you muttered, watching in a mix of disbelief and awe as he flagged the driver down. The bus screeched to a halt, and Mattheo jumped aboard.

You bounced Ben nervously, watching the bus like a hawk. Benjamin, meanwhile, seemed completely unfazed, cooing contentedly as if he knew Mattheo had everything under control.

Minutes later, Mattheo emerged from the bus, grinning triumphantly and holding the penguin aloft like a trophy. “Found it!”

You could’ve cried with relief. As he approached, you reached out to take the toy, and your fingers brushed his. The contact sent a tiny jolt through you—not unpleasant, but enough to make your breath catch.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice thick with gratitude. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” Mattheo replied easily, his eyes softening as he looked at Ben, who squealed with delight and clutched the penguin tightly. “Couldn’t let my little buddy go without his best friend, could I?”

The way he said it—so genuine, so warm—made your heart skip a beat. Ben clearly adored him, and you couldn’t blame your son. You were starting to feel the same way.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said, smiling at Mattheo. “Really.”

“Just doing my good deed for the day,” he teased, his grin turning a little sheepish. “Plus, I think I’m Ben’s new favorite person.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you joked, though your tone was light and full of affection.

Mattheo laughed, and it was a sound you could’ve happily listened to forever. As the three of you walked away together, the world felt just a little bit brighter. For the first time in what felt like ages, you weren’t just surviving—you were hopeful.

AUTHOR'S NOTE If anyone has any requests/ideas related to this, PLEASE don't hesitate to send. This is my current obsession 💙

[panicdeleter]

It's also kind of annoying because we know how to prevent assault. It's relatively simple. Give children autonomy. Let them say no, and let that be ok. Teach them about consent, don't make them hug relatives they don't want to, let them know that there are things it's not ok to do to other people. Give children bystander education. Give adults bystander education. For things that aren't SA, most of those crimes could be prevented by not being assholes to drug addicts on a societal level, and having robust welfare that's not impossible to get on and full of bullshit rules. Lots of people do crime out of desperation, for food, for drugs. For trafficking specifically, the solutions to that are twofold. Legalize prostitution, give immigrants the same labor protections everyone else gets. There's probably more nuance to the immigration thing, but the top 2 types of trafficking are just -prostitute takes themselves over state lines to do prostitution. this counts as trafficking yourself. -poor international person goes over seas for better life/higher pay/to do seasonal farm labor. Passport gets taken and/or major worker abuse occurs. Generally most rape is family members (for children) or date rape (for adults). Most abuse is people you love, who are supposed to love you. *related: As an adult person who looks like a woman at first glance without a car, the most prevalent form of harassment I've ever experienced from strangers, catcalling, happens at lunch break, by middle class guys who seem very normal. It happens all the time and really never escalates. It is pretty unsettling every time though.

i'm sorry the self-victimization of some women i see online is crazyyyyy, they're saying shit like "yeah being a woman is so crazy, if you go on a date you have to text his full name and picture to your friend, and also where you're meeting, and share your location throughout the date, and check in hourly" girl the only safety measure you need is meeting in a populated place. that man is NOT going to kidnap you from Popular Cafe on Well-Frequented Street in broad daylight at 2pm. i promise. do you go forest hiking as a first date or what the fuck.