#im good at talking to people i promise (im sorry)

[flaming-thing]

OK SO first of all: im so sorry about how long this has taken, I've been both very busy and very forgetful these last few weeks (exams are both a blessing and a curse). Hopefully, I'll be able to respond in my normal very fast manner, but no promises there im afraid. Just know that im still here and still very much loving and obsessing over this story, Second: I have actually read this one already, so here is an approximate recreation of my thoughts and some extra ones i had while rereading:

A whole chapter section?? In one go?? We're being spoilt

Oh? Shadowhawk time? I wonder if zubeia will realise what the still white one means? If she realises it's because zym was found alive or if she thinks they just failed?

Aah so she dosent know? And they're all just gonna have to hope she waits for them

I know I joke about all the assassins having their 'why do we do this' internal crisis, but I do actually feel sorry for them all. I mean, they've all spent 20/30 years being brought up with and learning this somewhat extreme set of beliefs, probably even more so than other moonshadow elves given their job, and suddenly in the space of like... a week, some kid has completely undone all of it. That must be such a difficult thing to even try to start processing

Someone get this man back to his husband as soon as possible please

Could claudia actaully do anything with the shadowhawk other than stop it from reaching zubeia? I mean it's not exactly *alive* so whether or not she could use it for dark magic...?

Ellis and ava?? Quiet?? Never thought I'd see the day

If these two don't become honarary family members I will revolt. He dosemt have a mum! She wants a child! This is a win win situation!

"He had a brief thought that they would need to discuss custody arrangements" THIS WAS DELIBERATE WORDING. DELIBERATE. "Custody arrangements" the adoption is now not only mental

I don't know why but skor lurking in the shadows is so funny to me. It's giving the same vibes as that one emo cousin who just stands at the edges of the room during family gatherings

Right well. About that. I really don't think that convincing callum that claudia can't come is gonna be a problem after the whole 'I would use your friends fir dark magic' thing

Poor ezran :( callum seriously start listening to your brother

I'd say it was slightly more extreme than just a confrontation, but I can't think of any other words to describe it

Poor callisto. Runaan has no faith in their ability to talk to a 14 year old about love

"Perhaps he needs to see the other extreme of loyalty without trust" GIRL EXCUSE ME HAVE YOU SEEN THEM WITH SKOR?? YES?? I THINK THEY TRUST HIM QUITE A BIT. With everyone else it's a maybe. BUT WITH SKOR??

Soren not being responsible/partly responsible for Harrows death is really gonna throw them all of isn't it? They don't have a clue what's going on

Ok I was so confused for a second i thought you meant like actual fishing and I was thinking 'huh, did I miss something important??' And was actually gonna go back and check until I read the next line

I mean it dosent really create a *problem* with the theory, more that now it's just more confusing as to how it happened

OH NO RUNAAN DOSENT TRUST CORVUS ANYMORE?? NOOO. And they had just started getting along 😔

AMAYA?? NO. COME ON. Amaya would never. I know they don't know that BUT. Not the point

Ezran is always, and i mean *always* right about people's good hearts. Always

Claudia's just kinda evil. She dosent really call into Harrows death, she just wants zym back (as far as i know anyway)

If callum was still defending claudia after that I wpuld not complain if they just left him at the nexus (I actually would. So many missed plot points)

Three DAYS?? THEY HAVE THREE DAYS?? I'm guessing they're not gonna get to the storm spire in that time and are just gonna have to hope zubeia waits for them

Oh ye you could definitely leave while Claudia's asleep. I wanna say siren as well, but being a crowngaurd means he might be a much lighter sleeper

Do they know yet that claudia used raylas hair for the spell? Or does only callum know? As long as they don't leave any hair or anything they'll probably be fine

Ezrans asking ALL the right questions. You go ezran

I FORGOT THAT ONLY THE ELVES KNOW ABOUT THE MOONSHADOW PATH(I think that's what it's called?) OOOH THATS GONNA BE FUN

Oh no callum :(

Right well that was easy. They didn't even need to bring it up!

I'm sorry but corvus is taken aback at literally everything anyone says

Hahahaaaaaa dadnaan is back. Mental adoption is going strong

Yes hug each other. You need more brother bonding time

Oh ok she didn't know claudia used her braid

Oh no poor rayla :( actually she's gotten off very light these last few chapters. I don't think I've had to give a 'poor rayla' since she got on the boat. Or when her and runaan argued actually, I mightve given her one then

Someone... I want to say it was jupiter? (Jupiterrr please see this it's not letting me tag you for some reason but I need to know if this was you or not 🙏🙏) Posted a headcanon that having a part of your body be used for dark magic hurts. Do you have that hc as well? Raylas hair being used probably wouldn't do much, seeing as it wasn't attached and was just hair, but for stuff like blood...

I don't think claudia should be near ANY magical creatures tbh. Keep her away from bait as well!

I NEVER EVEN THOUGHT OF THAT what were they expecting lujanne to do in canon once they'd flown off? Claudia had better not do anything to her

Well that was an ominous statement from skor. Is it just because he's more connected ti the arcanum and can do moon magic better?

Was about to accuse runaan of not trusting corvus but actually that's a good point no one should be alone near claudia. Including soren. Quick someone help him

...see you've said it started quiet. 'Started. That gives me absolutely no hope for the success of this escape

NOOOO ELLIS AND AVA!!! I'll never forget you two :(

Urgh I should've known that Claudia's midnight pee would be what messes up the plan

WHAT?? NO. SKOR. WAIT. WAIT FOR HER TO GO BACK INSIDE. THIS IS WHERE THE PLAN WILL FALL APART

A bolt of FIRE?? I'm SORRY?? CLAUDIA?? YOURE IN A FOREST!! I know you don't care much for that stuff but COME ON GIRL REALLY??

Oh no poor skor :( I feel as though this is very much *not* gonna help his mental state at all

SOMETHING CAUGHT HIM AROUND THE STOMCAH?? OH MY GOD CLAUDIA WHAT ARE YOU DOING!??!

Ok off topic but when claudia does that spell in s6 to turn into a half octopus thing, what happens there biologically speaking?? Do the limbs fully turn into octopus tentacles? Do they stay as her legs but have the illusion of being tentacles? What happens to the veins and arteries? The bones? Muscles? Someone from tdp team needs to answer my questions I'm so intrigued

ANYWAY back on track CLAUDIA?? WHY?? How??

Oh no. Oh dear. This does not at all bode well for skor. Poor guy

Wait did soren push claudia? Character development?

OH OK NEVERMIND IT WAS CORVUS!! Cone on skor you gotta trust him now

Yesss realise he's a good person and actually somewhat cares about you all now yesssss

Now it's skors turn to be confused. He cares about you skor!! And dosent want you to die!! And generally is just a good person!!

UH SOREN?? BUT MUCH?? My guys already fell out of several trees, i really don't think he needs another head injury or concussion to add to the list

I was gonna say. They better not kill him

HES HESITATING?? AAAAAJAJSKDKSJKAJHSSKSKAKKA- Ahem. This is good. They're gonna be travelling together soon. This is very good

I've probably asked before, but when in the story are you planning for corvus skor and callisto to split off? Before or after they reach xadia?

It's ok skor corvus will be back :( I hope :( ACTUALLY will he be back? He needs to be with soren and claudia for the whole Pyrrah attacking the village thing. Does he catch up to them later?

YES THAT IS EXACTLY WHY HE DID IT!! This is very good. Very good indeed. Skor is maybe starting to get over his fear/prejudices against humans, or at least see that it's not all humans who are like that

Different Path Taken Ch33

I actually finished this the same day as chapter 32 and was like hey, I could get a backlog going, that could be nice, but then I was writing today and realized like. Nah bitch I've been checking the posts on tumblr and ao3 for chapter numbers and losing track of which one was even the last one I wrote, if I try to build up a backlog I'm gonna end up skipping a chapter entirely at some point in the posting and not realizing it until the comments section is confused as hell. SO here we go here's chapter 33 in its entirety

Runaan stood alone on the roof near Phoe-Phoe’s perch.  He breathed slow and even as he methodically pulled the blood ribbons from his coat and tied them around the shaft around the shadowhawk.  He took care to do every step properly, though the blood red ribbon of the king’s life felt sticky with blood that had never touched it, and the silver one for the prince felt sharp enough to cut at the edges.  This was different than the messages he had sent before. 

He could send no message of success with this one.  This one sent a disaster back to the throne, and he could do naught but pray the queen waited for his explanation.

It wasn’t that he felt no guilt for the lives he had taken.  He would be heartless if he didn’t care about what he’d done.  Life was sacred.  Life was precious.  Of course it ached in his soul to take it.

He had believed for so long that it was necessary.  That the lives he took were guilty of harming more than they helped; that there was a line a life could cross where they were no longer worthy of keeping it.  

In a way, he still believed that.  If a person truly threatened more than they helped, if they refused to change, he would ache for the loss of the love they could have given, the good they could have brought into the world, but he would not regret taking the life they were no longer owed.

But . . . doubt swirled in his mind and made his hands shake as he tied the ribbons slowly and carefully into knots that would indicate he had time to send a message.  Who was to make the decision about whether someone threatened more life than they loved?  He had placed his trust in the dragons, and they had betrayed it.

Did it matter what he believed, when all that he held dear lived only on the merit of the dragons’ mercy and the old Treaty of Blood?

Even if he risked his personal loves, for the sake of his beliefs, would it matter?  Could his doubts, his actions, make any impact upon the judgment of the dragons or the Sunfire kingdom?  Or would he be sacrificing his life and his people for nothing?

Finished now with the knots, Runaan ran his fingers carefully over the intricate craftsmanship of the arrow, his mind’s eye leading him to trace the same lines as his husband’s fingers in his memory.  The way Ethari examined each arrow for a single flaw and rejected even the smallest imperfections.  This shadowhawk thrummed with magical power not his own, but as intimately familiar to him as his beloved’s breath.

The thought of his love steadied him.  Another slow breath as he held the shadowhawk in his hands brought Runaan’s hands still again.  He could not send this with any hesitation, any tremble in his resolve.

She would sense it.

This task was one he had to take one step at a time.  For now, he would send news that her mate had been avenged - her son alive, recovered, and on his way home.  He could send no more with a message such as this.

As for what to do next . . . only time would reveal how to proceed.

Runaan drew his bow and aimed the shadowhawk to the moon. “Regina Draconis.” He recited firmly, and loosed the shadowhawk into the air. 

He watched as the arrow flew, waited for it to morph from the form of an arrow into a crow, blood red mottled with silver, and vanish into the night.

Now he only hoped the dark mage had not seen it fly. 

Runaan descended the stairs taking quiet stock of who had congregated, whispered word throughout the day gathering the trusted to Lujanne’s house to plan.  Ellis and Ava were quiet for once in the corner with Zym, the little dragon curled up to the wolf’s side where she lay with her ears pricked attentively.  Andromeda had taken an armchair that allowed her to have Ezran perched on the arm, halfway in her lap; the boy had apparently gone to her for comfort the night before when Runaan had been busy.  He’d had the brief thought they would need to discuss custody arrangements before filing it away for later.  Corvus entered as he descended, taking up a seat across from Andromeda and Ezran, beside Rayla, and as he reached the lower floor he spotted  Skor lurking in the shadows nearer the door.

That left Callum, Callisto, and Ram.  They would be keeping an eye on the mage and soldier, and Callum, along with Lujanne, until they went to bed, so he didn’t trouble himself with waiting for them.  For the first part of this conversation, it was best Callum wasn’t present anyway - they would need to figure out how to convince him to leave his friends behind.

“We all know why we’re here.” He said, quiet enough his voice wouldn’t carry outside the building. “Ezran, you know your brother the best of us.”

Ezran frowned. “I don’t know how to convince him not to let them come.” He said quickly. “I told him Claudia scares me, but he won’t listen.”

“He may be more receptive than we think, now,” Andromeda said carefully, and avoided Ezran’s eyes in favor of Runaan’s to explain. “We had a . . . confrontation, earlier, between Claudia, Lujanne, and myself.  She was . . . handsy and disrespectful, and it caused him to flee in tears.  I told Callisto, they said they would speak with him when we switched shifts.”

Runaan’s brow tightened and his lip curled a bit, thoughtfully. “Callisto may not be the most effective person to have that conversation,” He pointed out. “Their perspective on relationships is quite different from Callum’s.”

“That’s why they might be the best,” Andromeda countered. “He’s excessively trusting - perhaps he needs to see the other extreme of loyalty without trust.”

“Runaan?” Ram’s voice interrupted very seriously, and Runaan turned to the door to raise his brows abruptly at Ram’s expression. “A word, please?” His maroon eyes flickered to Ezran and back meaningfully.

Runaan obediently stepped away, letting Ram drop his voice to a whisper to relate the information to him. “What is it?” He signed rather than speaking.

Ram took his cue and replied in the same style. “Before you scold me, I did not confront him directly.”

“What did you do?” Runaan asked, unable to suppress the exasperated sigh. 

“I went fishing with Soren.” fishing for information, he meant. “He didn’t tell me anything explicit except - whatever his orders are, the ones from Lord Viren, his father is threatening him to complete them.”

Runaan’s brows shot up at the claim and he frowned deeply. “His father is threatening him how?”

“Dark magic, violence.  The consequences this time were not explicit, but his reactions were clear enough, and he related previous incidents of having his voice taken away.” Ram reported.

Runaan bit the inside of his lip. “This creates a problem for the theory that Lord Viren killed the king, it seems.” He wondered if they had been played all along - if Corvus was either a better actor than they thought or as duped as they were - if General Amaya had been the traitor to begin with.

“Does it?” Ram spread his hands to punctuate the question after signing it. “If he believed in the cause, why not just kill the boy outright?”

“If he did not, why construct an accident?” Runaan pointed out.

“Because he fears his father’s fury more than he believes he can fight it,” Ram replied, firm and meeting his eyes. “We cannot be certain.  But Ezran might be right about his friend’s good heart.  It is not enough to trust him without a spine.  But . . . if Ezran is right about him, as he has been about everyone else so far, that fuels the theory that Lord Viren killed the king.  He has threatened his son into trying to eliminate the heir, but Soren is faltering with it.”

Runaan breathed a tight sigh through his nose and looked back at Ezran’s worried young face. “Where does the mage fall in this?”

Ram shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“She threatened Andromeda earlier.” Runaan said bluntly, and watched the surprise and then anger flit across Ram’s expression. “And Lujanne.  In front of Callum.”

“Is he still defending her?”

“Not that Andromeda remembers, but Callisto was with him last.” Runaan stepped back into the room, frowning deeply, and resumed speaking aloud to the room. “Your news changes little about our next steps, unfortunately.  We cannot risk a confrontation.  A single soldier is one thing, and between Ram, Skor, Lujanne, and myself we could handle a single mage as well - but not without injuries, and further injuries will slow us down.  I’ve sent the shadowhawk to the dragon queen tonight - it will reach the Storm Spire in no more than three days.  Our time just got much more limited, so we cannot afford to lose any.”

Corvus cleared his throat. “So how do you suggest we escape without Claudia and Soren finding out?” He asked.

“They’ve been sleeping through the night,” Andromeda pointed out. “Leaving shouldn’t be the issue.”

“How do we keep them from following us?” Corvus asked then, frowning deeper as it sank in for him what their real problem was.

Runaan shook his head. “We should be able to cover our tracks well enough from physical skills.  What troubles me is the spell they used to locate us last time.  I don’t know if they can do it again.”

“They know we’re going to Xadia,” Ezran said, frowning. “Does it matter if they know where we are in the middle if they know where we’re going?”

“It might,”Andromeda said carefully. “Once we cross into Xadia it will get much more difficult for them to follow us.  And if we lose them before we reach the border, it will be even more difficult, as they’ll need to find a way to cross without us.”

Ellis tilted her head at the same time as Ava. “Isn’t the Breach the only way across?” She asked curiously.

“No,” Runaan replied for her, evenly. “The Moonshadow have our own way.”

They were halted from further discussion by the door being abruptly shoved open by Callum, the boy stumbling inside with his face soaked in tears and Callisto at his heel.  Callisto shut the door firmly behind them and Callum only glanced around enough to find Runaan before saying, young voice rough with sobs, “We can’t let Claudia come with us to Xadia.”

“We can’t let Claudia come with us to Xadia.” Rayla blinked with shock at the clearly disheveled prince’s distress and his abrupt change of heart.  She glanced at the others for their reactions and found even Andromeda looking somewhat startled, and Skor’s pale yellow eyes slightly wide even as his shoulders stiffened.  Corvus was entirely taken aback. 

Runaan crossed the room swiftly to kneel in front of Callum to meet his eyes. “I’m glad we agree,” He said patiently, and wiped some of the damp from Callum’s face. “What happened?”

“Are you okay?” Ezran burst out, hopping down from the chair with Andromeda to come to his brother’s side.  Runaan shuffled aside to let them hug. 

Callum clung to Ezran like some sort of lifeline. “No,” He choked out. “Claudia, she - she was cruel to Andromeda and Lujanne earlier, but I talked to Callisto, and I wanted to try again, to make her see she was wrong, but she just - she started saying these awful things, about how Xadia would never accept a peace and elves don’t deserve respect and - and how to use magical creatures for dark magic.  Any magical creatures.  She said she used someone’s hair for the spell to locate us.”

Rayla flinched, a flash of molten ice running down her bones. “My braid,” She choked out. “That got shot off at the Banther Lodge.”

Runaan looked up at her and though he’d been distant since her slip in the training yard, his eyes softened. “Take comfort in that it was no longer attached,” He said bluntly.

“I just - I don’t want her anywhere near you guys anymore,” Callum sniffled reluctantly, shaking in Ezran’s arms. “It’s - it’s not safe.  And she shouldn’t go anywhere near Zym, or - or Xadia, either.  We have to get away.”

“We were just discussing that,” Runaan said evenly, turning his attention back to the human princes. “We can’t lose any time by fighting them directly.  So we sneak out.  Tonight, once we’re certain they’re asleep.  We notify Lujanne, so she is prepared to defend herself, but they should have no reason to attack her once we have gone.  Then we slip away under the cover of darkness.”

Skor huffed softly through his nose and shook his head slowly, though more in resignation than refusal. “I’ll cover our tracks,” He rasped. “The shadows follow me easily.”

Corvus stood up and straightened his clothes. “Then we should all make sure we’re packed,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on Claudia and Soren to make sure they’re in bed and asleep.”

“Ram, stay with him.” Runaan ordered. “No one moves near the mage alone.”

Both young men nodded seriously. 

“The rest of you, pack.  We leave as soon as we’re certain they’re asleep.”

Their exit from the Moon Nexus started quiet.  Everything seemed to be going according to plan.  Everyone had packed swiftly and knew where they were meant to disperse, only to gather just outside the protection of the Nexus on the slope of the mountain.  They had been alternating watches on Soren and Claudia’s location overnight, but it was time to go now.  They were leaving in shifts.

First to make their way out of the Nexus were Runaan, Ezran, Zym, and Rayla.  Second were Andromeda and Callum.  Next were Ram, Ava, and Ellis, with the girl reluctantly announcing she would just be splitting off to go home.  Callisto had followed them alone.  Corvus had just left.  Skor would bring up the rear and cast a shadow spell to cover their retreat.

Of course, it was on his final step of the plan that things went to shit.  Mid-drawing of the rune Skor spotted the young mage exit her house in a hurry, yawning.  Her shuffle indicated a need for the bathroom and he quickly smothered the glow of his runes so she would not notice the spell being cast.

He stayed frozen in place, praying she would not look towards the forest, as she shuffled to the outhouse and back out, much more relaxed.  He cursed his luck when on her return she took her time, looking up towards the sky and twirling around as if enjoying the magic of the Nexus.

He resented her for it.

Carefully, Skor took a calculated risk and remade his runes.  She was preoccupied, and sleepy, and this was meant to cover his presence as well as their absence.  If he finished the spell quickly enough, he would have nothing to worry about.

He didn’t manage.  A bolt of fire lit the brush beside his feet and he leapt away from it, swearing as the heat seared all too close to his leg.  He wiped the runes from existence and bolted, taking to the trees to escape. 

Not quick enough.  Not quick enough.  Just like last time.  His weapon - his magic, now - had failed him.  He heard her shouting through the roaring in his ears, just barely, and stumbled as the branch he stepped on was suddenly slick.

Something caught him around the stomach and he looked back, swallowing down the fear in his throat, to see glowing tentacles sprouting from the girl’s arms.  They were partially translucent, like a spell, but they felt incredibly solid as they wrapped around him and squeezed.

He lost his breath first, choking on it.  Struggling did him no good against the strength of the creature whose power she’d summoned.  The smell of death burned in his nose and he drew his own rune in the air to blacken her vision, taking all the light from her, blinding her.

It wasn’t enough for her to release her grip.  She shouted for her brother, calling for assistance.  Soren charged up with only his sword, his armor abandoned for pajamas, looking disoriented.

Abruptly, the crushing pressure around his ribs abated and Skor fell hard to the ground.  What wind he still had was knocked out of him with the impact but he rolled to his knees and then his feet anyway, whirling with his eyes wide to look at what could possibly have interrupted her if his spell had failed to do it.  

Corvus.

The human he hadn’t trusted.

He’d come back and was fighting with the others, for no reason but to save Skor’s life.  It didn’t benefit him or the mission in any way.

Skor was too stunned to move for a moment.

“What are you doing?” Claudia demanded.

“Keeping the princes safe from you,” Corvus retorted, dodging her spell and lunging back towards the forest where Skor stood. “Skor, go!”

Corvus clashed with Soren and their distraction bought Skor the few precious seconds he needed to cast the spell that would bring the darkness to cover their tracks.  He turned to flee and found his steps frozen in place for a moment, looking back at Corvus, still hardly able to comprehend what he had done.

Hesitation pulled at his steps when he saw Soren hit him in the head with a rock, and Corvus collapsed on the ground.  If they tried to kill him - 

But they didn’t.  Soren and Claudia abandoned the tracker there, looking towards the woods where he was now hidden by magic that would fool more than just their sight.  Corvus would be left alive - he’d told Skor to go.

He wouldn’t hesitate if it were another elf.

His team had never hesitated when he was the one left behind.

Skor set his jaw and bolted as he’d been ordered.  Explaining this to Ezran and Callum would be difficult, but . . . 

Corvus had turned back for him.

Corvus had saved him.

For nothing.

From all appearances, just out of sheer compassion, a compassion that extended to elves, of all things.

Skor sent a prayer to the Moon that the human didn’t meet the end of this phase of existence before he saw him again.

He owed Corvus an apology.

And his life.

[monotone-artist]

[id in alt]

some idw redraws

[lovelytayforce]

Alright, KFP fandom, we gotta talk about "Discrimination" 🎉

Cause, not even to be mean, y'all kinda dumb. Y'all sound like the type of person to tell me "No racism exists in the North" and lemme tell ya as someone from the North, there is but it's DIFFERENT. And before you ask, Yes this is about The Chameleon (who will be called Cammy cause I am lazy and deserve to be paid for this shit.) and the fandoms massive misunderstanding of her single line about being denied access to Kung Fu because she's "little". And I see your lil fingers tapping away to howl about "MASTER MANTIS" and some LOA rejects. And remember that earlier example I brought up about discrimination existing in the north but its just different from the South? Yeah, its the same thing. Some people can get past that challenge but some of us aren't that lucky and you all forget about my MAIN MAN, THE GOAT, Crane!!!

Yeah, the brother whose almost as tall as Tigress, yeah he was discriminated against for his skinny frame and detered from trying out and I think it's funny y'all leave my boy out but that doesn't fit your little gotcha, now does it?

but that's okay, that's why you have me, to be your funny and slightly cute know it all~💕 Back to the topic at hand, this conversation also leaves out how Po wanted Shifu to change him, after all the verbal abuse that lil man hurled at him. This is where that line "We're not so different, you and I." comes to shine. Cammy didn't have an event such as Oogway's death to shake those Master's to their core to train her. No, they were probably just proud teachers who denied all those beneath them, which is not uncommon, you can see this in a lot of Kung fu flicks, keeping certain arts from certain territories close and always wanting to prove whose kung fu is superior. Again, NORMIES GO WATCH IP MAN! Go watch peak cinema!!!! It's on YOUTUBE FOR FREE: https://youtu.be/zGD9OFmxYXM?si=XL-aetJOnCSftIP_

Anyways, I hope this enlightened you all a bit so we can stop this very shallow puddle of an argument against her words cause you sound ignorant doing that considering all the discrimination present in the series as it is, especially Tigress. Whoo, that needs its own post! That's next level of discrimination upon a child. 💀 Anyways, stop forgetting about Crane!!!!

[ganondoodle]

i often really do feel like an .. unwanted part of the fandom, i dont draw beautiful landscapes, i have unpopular but strong opinions im constantly annoying about and rarely change, dont like/dont draw the pretty young popular twinks and hot gurls to fanboi over nor do i turn characters into one, the opposite moreso, draw only one ship no ones heard of really, got little energy to interact with the few people that are nice to me and send me asks so it probably looks like im ignoring everyone and unfortunately but still rarely get so stressed i get overwhelmed and emotional about pehaps seemingly minor things and spiral almost into a breakdown feeling super embarrassed about it afterwards but the damage is already done and i look like a freak or agressive weirdo

[chaikajpeg]

Will you draw Violet & Jasmine or Philomela?? If so, I'm really looking forward to it

For now my plan is

Chise x Chise

Chise x Elias

Chise x Elias (female form)

Chise x Joseph

Chise x Philomela

If I included everyone I want to draw in the list it'd probably have 50 entries, including but not limited to Violet x Rian and Philomela x Veronica, so I had to stop myself at 5 for now. But I do understand that these won't be the most popular designs and I should also make some single character pins/charms

[m0th-t33th]

'they didnt use scottish accents for the main chracters because theyre the main characters and those accents are hard to understand' im gonna end up on the news.

[monards]

i know i joke about it a lot. but i want to make sure its known i dont hate people who want to say rhine is still a good person in some capacity. i feel like im notvery clear on it but it is okay to interpret her howver you want (as long as its like. something you can rationalize. even then go crazy!!!!) >> (also. as long as it isn't *completely* erasing her character. )

[theokusgallery]

I see it now! I was literally reading and listening about their relationship in your podcast! i really thought that Statice and Nick DESPISE eachother. This AU is interesting, I love it vry vry much. Im not fond of it at first because I can't really Imagine Basil. Basil doing all of that stuff. because he's my favorite character(and I can't really see him being like that). But I eventually learnt to separate them and sees Nick as his own character. Like an actual oc(Still sees him a little bit as Basil if you understand what I mean)( can't wait when Sunny's other friend gets revealed or maybe the parents. *Maybe* they're not that important to the story but the CURIOSITY IS TOO STRONG AND SORRY FOR YAPPING HSJSKAK IT MUST BE TIRING TO ANSWER ANY OF MY QUESTIONS I WON'T DO THAT AGAIN)(Also excuse my grammar also, english is not my first language 😣)

-Anon from the previous previous post.

(the aura I felt after asking that is unimaginable. I used to be so shy to ask anything on people's blog so Im a *bit* proud of my confidence!)

Oh I see !!

Yeah Nick is... more or less an OC, he's got very little to do with Basil now. I refuse to cut of all ties to OMORI/Basil because it's very important to his origins and taking that from him would be taking out a lot of how I personally see him, but, well... He wasn't exactly based off of normal in-game Basil, either, so it makes sense that he's very different. He looks different, acts different, has a different family, age, personality, story, nationality even, different interests... He's like, 70% OC and 30% OMORI AU. Basil is also my favorite character, and that's not how I see him at all either.

I understand why you thought Statice and Nick hated each other — to be fair, there aren't a lot of people who don't hate Nick, lol. Being around him and knowing why he is the way he is makes it easier to love him, though.

[the-moon-pal]

Well i have put now in drafts all my art fight attacks ive done this year - so yall will see em soon!!

[chartreuxcatz]

I swear to God my brain tries to pull me in a thousand directions at once and it always looks like I'm just standing there ignoring people.

[forehead451]

stream of consciousness type deal.

[mit0bee]

ℍ𝕌𝕊𝔹𝔸ℕ𝔻!

Calling the twst boys your husband!

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

warnings: fem!reader, no beta we die like men, yuu!reader, harassment (leonas part), pre-book 7 malleus

a/n: hi im very sick take this unfinished work from my drafts (I PROMISE ILL MAKE MORE OF THIS I JUST CANT LOOK AT A SCREEN ANYMORE 💔) plz tell me if theres any inaccuracies since i do not have the energy to read it through

also it got glitched out this morning when i tried to use my phone to finish it so now theres bullet points everywhere

It wasn't actually intentional when you called him your husband, more of a spur of the moment thing.

During a (n unwilling) adventure to Sam's, a guy had come up to you. Of course, being the mysterious transfer from another world had garnered you some popularity. One such consequence were people like him.

"Hey. You're that transfer girl, right?" The boy asked. He looked like a badly designed sleazeball from a basic anime; dyed hair, quite a few piercings, and a look on his face that just screamed incel.

"Uh. Yeah." You looked between the milk you had in your hand, the guy, and Leona, who was out of earshot, eyeing a selection of meat Sam had on display. "Why?" You could practically feel the dread in your gut. He obviously wasn't trying to be friends. Or, at least, not the good kind of friends.

"I was just wondering..." Smirking, he took a few steps to close the gap between the two of you, "Some of my friends and I were going to have a little party down in the woods behind the school. We could use some entertainment."

"Er...." Your head tilted downwards in fluster. This guy didn't seem like the type to take no for an answer. Even if you tried to pull the 'I have a boyfriend', he probably wouldn't listen, "My.... husband and I had plans." You blurted out. It was a split second decision, but there was no way this guy would go after a married woman. Right?

"Oh, husband." You shot Leona a look; one that begged for help. He turned from where he had been very focused, and noticed the sleazy guy pestering you. His ears flattened against his head, and his expression shifted from curiosity to irritation. "Come over here."

The nameless guy looked very close to pissing himself when he saw just who you were referring to. The Leona Kingscholar. But he had a wife? Since when?!

"Oh. Uh. Him?" The guy asked, almost unbelieving. There was no way someone like him would be tied down. He could barely go to class, much less commit to someone!

But, as if by fate, the lazy lion gave a smug smirk and rested his hand over your shoulder. "What's up, wife?" He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "This guy buggin' ya?"

You smiled knowingly, "I don't know. Are you?" Your tone wasn't one to be underestimated. All three of you knew what was going down. The only difference between You and Leona, and the guy was that the guy couldn't do anything to refute your claim.

"N-No, ma'am!" The guy stiffened, which made Leona let out a huff of amusement, "I'll be on my way now!" He announced, running off with his tail between his legs.

You and Leona were left in silence for the next few moments, both of you not wanting or having anything to say. It was Leona, though, who broke the silence.

"Husband?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." You faced your lover with redder cheeks than before, "He was getting on my nerves, and it was the quickest way for him to leave me alone." You sighed, your eyes trailing from Leonas emerald ones to the wooden floor of the shop, "I know we haven't talked about it. Sorry..."

Leona rolled his eyes at your change in demeanor. You went from confident to bashful in only the span of a minute or two. "Whaddya talking about? I never said I wouldn't mind getting married, so don't apologize." He stated, keeping his arm around your shoulders.

"Wha...?" You gazed back up at him with shock, your mouth slightly ajar. You would accept him not wanting to get married, and it was a real possibility you had prepared for in the past. Now he's stating he might want to?

He didn't explain further, and opted to (surprisingly gently) lead you out of the store. "Let's go." He said, "I'll get Ruggie to finish the trip."

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

"Sam. What is this?"

"It's a wedding present, my little imp!" Sam presented you with a large purple box. It had a glittery black ribbon tied into a perfect bow at its plateau. "Don't think I didn't see what you and the Savanaclaw housewarden were doing in my shop a few days ago!"

You took the box carefully. Knowing Sam, just about anything could be inside. It could be the best thing you could ever receive, but it also could be a load of crap you'd never use.

"Look here!" Sam lifted up two items from inside the box. One was an iridescent stone, while the other looked like a black ticket with gold accents. He held out the stone, "This one is a lucky charm! Perfect for newlyweds, right?" Then, he held out the ticket, "And this gets you a 1% discount at any Sam's Mystery Shop locations in all of Twisted Wonderland! Terms and Conditions apply."

You smiled, but felt the irritation in your body growing. You and Leona weren't actually getting married. It was just a topic of discussion now. But, the items might come in handy around Ramshackle, and you'd take all the help you could get. It wasn't like everything would be useless, right?

You decided to grit your teeth and bear it, "Thank you, Sam. Really." You let him place the two items back in the box, "We'll be sure to use all of this." You quickly turned on your heel to escape.

"Oh, and tell the kitty I said hi!" He called out as you left. Once you were gone, he placed a hand on his cheek with a sigh.

"Ah, young love."

Azul has a lot of business partners.

With all of those partners comes lots of exhausting meetings. His only escape from all of it is you.

Though, that doesn't mean your opposed to playing a prank or two on him to lift his spirits.

Azul dropped down onto his (your shared at this point) bed, and you couldn't help the snicker that you let out at this rare side of him.

"Rough day?" You asked. One of your hands dropped from your book to find purchase in his hair. He let out a relaxed groan, slowly moving his way from the side of the bed to lay on top of you.

"You wouldn't believe. Dozens of grown men and not even one can solve a simple problem." He sighed, remembering the horrid, stale meeting he had to endure, "They're leading me to believe most landers are like this."

You closed your book with a crisp clap, setting it on the safe right by his bed. Instead, you devoted your time to messing with his well-kept hair. "Not all of them. I'm an exception, right? As your wife?"

"That's true-" He paused, your words sinking on him like a heavy weight. His face exploded into a coral pink, and he inelegantly picked himself up onto all fours, looking into your eyes with confusion and maybe a little glee. "What...? Wife..? As in- Us?" One of his hands frantically pointed between the two of you.

"Unless you don't want to get married to a foolish lander." Pouting, you knew he'd take the bait. Hook, line, and sinker. "It's fine. I get it. Species racism, you know?"

Desperately, he shook his head. "No! That's not it at all!" He brought his face dangerously close to yours, "I just wasn't expecting it." As if realizing how close you were, he averted his eyes from yours, "...I was supposed to receive my grandmothers ring. After graduation."

After such an honest confession, you felt your resolve for the prank crumble into a million pieces. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, earning a surprised yelp from him. "Azul!" Is all you could manage to articulate.

"....Y-Yes, my love?" His voice was muffled from being so close to you, but you could still hear the worry in his tone. It didn't make you feel any more calm, though, and you squeezed him even harder.

"I think we need to get married right now."

"What?!"

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

The next morning was surprisingly uneventful. The only thing you could notice of slight difference was the weird looks you got from the twins, and the slightly softer way Azul treated you. It was only that evening that everything shifted on its axis.

You were waiting in Mostro for Azul to finish with some contracts. Not wanting to bother him, you waited in the main dining area, lone in a booth. Only lone for a while, though, as the aforementioned Leech twins came strolling up with knowing smirks.

"So..." Floyd started, "Miss Ashengrotto, huh?" He sat right next to you, "You apparently had a whole spectacle last night. Very romantic."

"Just make sure you both don't forget us as newlyweds." Jade engaged in the teasing too, but didn't sit nearly as close. "We'd be very lonely. Right, Floyd?"

"Yup. Anyway. Baby names."

"Huh?!"

"Floyd Junior has a nice ring to it."

"Or Jade Junior."

"What are you three talking about?"

"........"

"We should leave. Come on, Floyd." Jade stood up, taking Floyd by the arm and dragging him out of the booth.

"Yeah. Have fun, lovebirds."

"So..." You smiled sheepishly, "How is my fantastic husband doing?" You said, just loud enough for anyone in the immediate vicinity to whip their heads around and gawk.

"Please." Azul chuckled, "I'm good. How is my beautiful wife?"

"Ready to give you a baby." You whispered.

"Slow down!"

on one of the rare times idia actually went out of his room, it was for this limited deluxe edition of a game he had been waiting for for months.

problem was, it was an in-store only promo. if he wanted the game, he'd have to endure the stress of other people.

if only to make the trip a little less painful on his cortisol receptors, he decided to invite you to join him.

the store was packed. like the only reason the two of you got in was because you had waited there for at least five hours before it opened.

even then, it took another hour or two to actually get to the checkout with two copies of the game in hand.

it was at the checkout that the incident happened.

after being out and waiting for almost half your day, you had obviously gotten bored.

and what better cure for your boredom than to play a silly little prank on your unsuspecting boyfriend?

"You two excited for the release?" The clerk asked. He looked obviously exhausted, but kept a weary smile and his tone light. "I hear this ones better than the prequel. Bugs and cheeses have all been patched."

You nodded enthusiastically, deciding that now was the time to enact your totally thought-out plan, "Yup! My husband and I are going to have a little gaming date. Right, Id-" You turned to your boyfriend, stopping your sentence midway through. He looked like his entire brain shut off, hair lit up a bright pink and his face dusted with a blush to rival even the reddest tone. If he was a cartoon, he'd have steam coming out of his ears and the top of his skull would come up like a geyser.

"I- Um- My-" He couldn't even utter a single sentence. "My wife-" He gestured to you. Eventually, he gave up on even trying to articulate himself, slammed the required thaumark bills on the counter, and made his way out of there as quickly as he could. Unceremoniously, he shoved you (with surprising gentleness considering how clumsy he was being) into the passenger seat of his rarely used car, and quickly turned to book it into the drivers seat.

The two of you sat there in silence for a minute or two. His expression was unreadable, and you couldn't tell if it was upset, excitement, or anxiety.

He finally broke the silence with a mumble. ".... -married?"

"I couldn't hear you, hun. What'd you say?"

"I said.... -get married?"

"My love. Please speak up."

"I SAID, DO YOU REALLY WANT TO GET MARRIED?!"

"......."

"........"

"What...?"

"You know. Because I'm not very marriage material...?" His statement was more of a question, and he turned away from you in shame, "I mean, there are all of those princes at NRC. SS+ level otome MMC's."

"Idia."

"I was just thinking you'd rather them."

"Idia."

"I mean, there's, like, a million of them." He fiddled with the bottom hem of his hoodie in embarrassment. God, if he could just hide in a hole forever-

"IDIA!" You snapped, taking him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at you, "I don't want them. I want you." Putting on your best comforting smile, you leaned over the gearbox to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I woke up at five A.M. for this. If that doesn't make it clear that I'd want you and only you, then maybe me saying it to your face will."

If it was even possible his hair got even wilder and even pinker. It was a miracle it didn't set everything in the car on fire. "A-Are you sure...?" He half-whispered, half-squeaked.

You nodded, placing a hand on his cheek. Your other hand rested on the gearbox so you could lean closer to him. "Dead serious."

Idia's cheeks lit up pink, and all of the blue that had been slowly returning to his firey hair vanished, being replaced by the previous pink once more. "L-Let's just get back to NRC..." He managed to mumble out.

Malleus wasn't the most expressive person. When a simple upset could smite an entire family, the benefits of feeling anger or ecstasy paled in comparison to the concequences.

That wasn't to say he didn't have his moments, though.

Your plan was simple; when Malleus least expected it, you'd call him by the sweet nickname, and watch his head explode. Or, at least, show some more feeling than slightly pleased or slightly upset.

The two of you were walking the halls of NRC almost ritualistically. It had become a routine for Malleus to meet you outside of your classes and escort you to your next one. He was so dedicated that not even most urgencies could prevent him from seeing you. You had asked him a few weeks prior on why he was so devoted, but he only responded with a cryptic 'it's my duty'.

Arriving at your classroom, you leaned up and pressed a quick peck to his cheek. "Thank you, husband." You whispered. You expected him to react in a giddy manner, but quite the contrary, he only reciprocated your smile and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"You're welcome, my wife." He smiled just a little more than he usually did. "I must get to my own class. I'll see you afterwards." And with that, he waved off a confused you.

He didn't even seem to be bothered by the nickname. What's more, is that he called you his wife! Last you checked, you weren't married! Was he just playing along? Or was he trying to retort your prank in his own way? You were supposed to be pranking him!

-----------

Your mind raced with possibilities for the entire time you were in class. It got so bad that Trein had to reprimand you in front of all of your peers. But, in your defense, how were you supposed to focus?! The only solace you got was the dismissal bell, knowing you'd be able to see your fae lover once more.

When you exited the class, Malleus was waiting in front of the door as per usual. He unconsciously and unintentionally was splitting the student body in half like a stone in a river. They avoided him as best they could, knowing full well he was here for you.

"My beloved." He strode his way up to you, the black current of people moving in reaction, "Was your class satisfactory?" He took your hand in his. The two of you had a little extra time now in your schedules due to your paired spare periods (courtesy of the oh-so generous Headmage Crowley. He was definitely not intimidated by a certain dragon fae into it. No sir, no ma'am).

"Mhm." You peered into his eyes thoughtfully, trying to read just what exactly had happened earlier. If it had been a prank on his part, surely there'd be some evidence of amusement, right? You stared like this all the way into the courtyard, where he finally noticed with a furrowed brow and slight pout.

"Something is troubling you."

Oops. You were caught, "It's nothing. Really." You tried to soothe his worries, but your attempts were in vain and only made him worry more.

"You're lying to me." He stopped in his tracks, causing you to turn to face him. He crossed his arms in an almost childlike fashion, "You shouldn't be trying to suffer alone. As your husband I have a duty to help you, do I not?"

With his final sentence, you couldn't help but sigh. You obviously wouldn't get answers from him by just staring. He was as straight faced as a stone cold killer.

"....Can I ask you a question...?" You requested hesitantly. Maybe it was just nothing. If the two of you were just in an unspoken prank war, it might be best to not bring it up.

"Yes." He answered instantaneously, almost before you got your question out. "Anything."

"Are you calling me your wife as a joke?" You blurted out the entire question at once. Luckily, the courtyard was mostly empty to protect you from your blunder, but it was nonetheless embarrassing, "I mean, I was doing it as a silly little prank. Then you did it too. You sounded so serious when you said it, too." You averted your gaze, wanting to look anywhere but at your lover. In your peripheral vision you saw him grow more confused than worried now. Rather than his brow being furrowed in concern, it was furrowed in thought.

It took a moment for him to speak. He tilted his head, as if it would help in deciphering the code you just tossed in his face, "We are betrothed, are we not? We haven't had a wedding yet, so we aren't in technical terms husband and wife. But, you have begun to call me your husband. In turn, I assumed you wanted me to refer to you as my wife."

You froze. He thought you were what? As far as you could remember, he didn't give you any indicator as to being engaged up until now!

"Hold on." You were so confused and shocked that your embarrassment ebbed away quickly. You looked him up and down. Were cameras going to pop out from behind a bench? A tree, perhaps? "I wasn't told anything about being engaged. When did this happen?"

His tone only grew more confused now, "A few weeks prior. You were accepting my courtship advances. The necklace you received was one of betrothal." He stated simply, "It was one from my personal collection, and you accepted it. Is that not a common proposal where you're from?"

"NO?! Malleus, where I'm from, people propose with a ring and ask if they will marry them!"

".....I see. This is quite the conundrum." He placed a hand on his chin, "Am I to cancel the wedding plans, then?" He looked almost sad at the prospect. You could tell immediately that this was something he had been planning since that night he gifted you that silver necklace.

You sighed again, this time bigger and heavier, "....I mean..." You didn't want to let him down, but it all felt too fast! "Maybe don't cancel them persay..." His mood drastically improved at your words. Optimism was a powerful tool, and he was using it right to his advantage.

"Maybe we can do things from my culture now?" You continued, "Once you propose in the human way, then we can start planning our wedding together." You thought this was a fair compromise. He already proposed with fae customs, but you weren't exactly ready to rush into a wedding dress. If things could be held off for at least a few more months, you'd have time to adequately settle into the reality.

Your words didn't come close to deterring Malleus. He nodded with more enthusiasm than ever. "I shall dedicate myself to the education and study of human ways. I will plan out a human proposal posthaste." He looked at you with a fire in his eyes. One you hadn't seen too often, but enough to recognize, you knew what it meant. He only got this look when he was so hellbent on succeeding that it'd take all of Twisted Wonderland to prevent him from reaching his goals.

You'd let out a monster, and you knew it. All you could do now was pray for your survival.

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

A few days later, you were chatting casually with your regular quartet of Ace, Deuce, Grim in the cafeteria. But, your comfortable conversation was abruptly interrupted by a scream.

"HUMAN!!!!!!" You jumped at the sound, immediately recognizing it to be only one person.

"Sebek? Is something the matter?"

"MY LORD HAS DECIDED TO PROPOSE TO YOU ONCE MORE!!!!" He exclaimed, his volume far too high even in the large room. "YOU MUST LOOK THE PART WHEN HE APPROACHES YOU!" Without a second beat, he started dusting you off, nitpicking your appearance down to the lint on your shoulder.

Being friend with Sebek long enough had let you into his mind. You knew he was happy for you, and just expressing it in his own unique way. He had long since come to terms with your relationship, and had even come to support it (again, in his own way).

"Hold on..."

"No way..."

"Huh?!"

All three of your friends in front of you had gaping mouths, utterly shocked. They all yelled at the same time, their tones fearful and confused.

"My henchman..."

"You, of all people..."

"Prefect is...."

"GETTING MARRIED?!"

Oh lord. This'll be fun to explain.

[goldfades]

who else decodes you? / who's gonna know you, if not me? / and who's gonna hold you like me? / no-fucking-body / so tell me, who else is gonna know me? | joe burrow⁹ (part one)

part two!!!!!

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

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had been inseparable since LSU, with him promising you everything—a dream home and a life together. everything felt perfect during your golden days, but as time passed, things shifted, and the cracks began to show in your once-perfect relationship

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst... just straight up angst. asshole-y joe, lots of fighting, reader being a trophy wife, just real sad things im sorry i wrote this yall. NO happy ending in this part, part 2 will have a happy ending dw guys!!!

You met Joe Burrow before the world did.

Before the Heisman, before the draft, before his name carried weight outside of Athens, Ohio. Before the sleek suits, the Cartier glasses, the endless debates about whether he was the next great quarterback of his generation. Before all of that, he was just Joe. Your Joe.

The one who texted you goodnight from his twin bed in his childhood home, the one who took you to McDonald’s after late-night practices because that’s all he could afford. The one who kissed you in the front seat of his beat-up truck, hands a little rough from lifting weights but gentle when they held your face.

You were there for it all.

Through the transfer to LSU, when he was just a backup with something to prove. Through the championship season, where he turned into a legend overnight. Through the draft, when you held his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, waiting for the moment his name would be called. Through the move to Cincinnati, where you learned the ins and outs of being an NFL girlfriend—then an NFL wife in everything but title.

You never needed the ring to prove your place beside him. Not at first.

Because when you love someone for that long, when you’ve been there since day one, you assume you’ll be there forever. You assume that one day, when the time is right, you’ll walk down the aisle and he’ll be standing at the end of it. That the same boy who once promised you the world in a whisper under Louisiana stars would eventually make good on it.

But love isn’t always enough.

And timing? Timing has a cruel way of making a fool out of you.

Before the waiting, before the uncertainty—there was LSU.

The golden days.

The kind of love people wrote songs about, the kind that burned so bright it felt untouchable, invincible. You and Joe had been through the trenches of college life together—cheap dates, sleepless nights, long drives in his old truck where he talked about the future like it was already written in the stars.

Joe had always been a planner. He didn’t just dream—he mapped things out, broke them down into plays, like a game he knew he would win. And in every version of the future he spoke about, you were in it.

“I’m gonna make it,” he told you one night, lying in the back of his truck, staring at the Baton Rouge sky like it held all his answers. The air was thick with humidity, cicadas singing in the distance, but neither of you cared. You were twenty, wildly in love, and the world hadn’t touched you yet. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how many people doubt me—I’m making it to the league.”

You smiled, running a hand through his hair. “I never doubted that.”

Joe turned then, propped himself up on an elbow, his sharp, determined eyes softening as he looked at you. “And when I do, I’m gonna give you everything.”

It wasn’t just a promise. It was a declaration.

Not just any ring—a rock. One that would catch the light from across the room, the kind that would make strangers do a double take. Not just any house—your dream home, the one you’d always wanted but never thought possible.

You had told him, once, in passing, the kind of house you loved. You were scrolling on your phone, lying with your feet in his lap, showing him a picture of a home that looked straight out of a magazine.

“That,” you had said, tapping the screen. “That’s the dream.”

White exterior, big windows—floor-to-ceiling in the living room, so the sunlight would pour in every morning. A wrap-around porch, because you always loved the idea of sitting outside with a glass of wine on summer nights. A kitchen with the biggest island imaginable, because you loved to cook, even if Joe barely trusted himself to make toast. A cozy sunroom, filled with mismatched chairs and overflowing bookshelves. A clawfoot bathtub in the master bath, where you could soak for hours after a long day.

Joe had barely glanced at the picture before he said, “Done.”

You laughed. “Joe, that house is like… five million dollars.”

“So?” He had smirked, cocky and confident in that way only he could pull off. “Give me a couple years.”

You shook your head, amused, but deep down, you believed him. You believed him because when Joe Burrow set his mind to something, it happened.

And when you asked, jokingly, what kind of dog he wanted, he just scoffed.

“Dogs? No. We’re gonna have like, eight cats.”

You snorted. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He stretched out, hands behind his head, already painting the picture in his mind. “They’ll have dumb names, too. Like, I don’t know… Fettuccine. Or Tuxedo. Or—oh—Larry.”

“Larry?”

“Yeah. Larry’s gonna be the ringleader.”

You shook your head, laughing so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Joe just grinned, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You love me.”

And you did. God, you did.

You loved him through the highs—the Heisman win, the national championship, the night he got drafted when you held his face in your hands and told him this is it, baby. This is everything you worked for.

You loved him through the lows—when he tore his ACL his rookie year and sat in silence for hours, devastated, gripping your hand so tight it went numb. When the pressure of the league weighed heavy on him and he retreated inward, needing space, needing you to be his anchor without him ever having to say it.

You loved him because he was Joe.

Because he was the boy who once whispered about forever under Louisiana stars, who promised you a rock, a dream house, and eight cats named Larry and Fettuccine.

Because you believed, back then, that promises were made to be kept.

--

It started small.

A casual comment, barely even a question, when you were knee-deep in cardboard boxes in your new Cincinnati apartment. You’d been together for years by then, had already lived together in Baton Rouge, but this—this felt different. More permanent. He was the face of a franchise now, the golden boy of an entire city. And you? You were the woman who had been by his side through it all.

So when you held up a framed photo—one of the two of you from his LSU days, his arm wrapped around you, both of you grinning like you had the whole world ahead of you—you said it without thinking.

“Guess we’ll need some wedding pictures to put up soon, huh?”

It was light, teasing, the same way you’d joked about it a hundred times before. But this time, Joe didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

He just exhaled through his nose, set down the box he was carrying, and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m still adjusting to all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the apartment, the city, the new life he was stepping into. “Let’s just… settle in first.”

You told yourself it made sense.

Joe had always been slow to process change. He liked routine, predictability. He had just gone from college quarterback to the number-one draft pick, from playing in front of thousands to playing in front of millions. If he needed time, you’d give it to him.

And so you did.

You poured yourself into the role of supportive girlfriend, the unwavering presence behind the scenes. You went to every game, wore his jersey, kept your social media lowkey even when the WAGs of the league started reaching out. You made sure home felt like a safe haven for him—a place where he wasn’t Joe Burrow, NFL quarterback, but just Joe.

Months passed. Then a year. Then two.

And still, nothing.

You tried to be patient. You tried not to compare. But it was impossible not to notice when guys who had been in the league half as long as Joe were proposing to their girlfriends. When you went to team events and saw wives flashing diamond rings, their hands resting on their husbands’ arms like they belonged there. When your own friends started getting married, settling down, building the life you always thought you and Joe were working toward.

You weren’t the kind of girl who begged for a ring. That wasn’t you. That wasn’t why you loved him. But you also weren’t stupid.

So, one night, after a Bengals win, when it was just the two of you curled up on the couch—Joe half-asleep, his head resting on your thigh—you ran your fingers through his hair and asked,

“Do you ever think about it?”

His eyes cracked open slightly. “Think about what?”

“Marriage.”

The word hung in the air between you, heavy in a way that made your stomach tighten.

Joe didn’t sit up, didn’t tense. But he also didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the ceiling, his fingers drumming lightly against your leg.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I think about it.”

That was it. No elaboration. No follow-up.

And maybe it was the years of knowing him, of reading between the lines of what he didn’t say, but something about his tone sent a cold prickle down your spine.

You swallowed. “And?”

Joe sighed, shifting so he was looking up at you fully. His face was tired, drawn, the way it always was after a game.

“I love you,” he said first, because Joe always led with love, even when he was about to disappoint you. “I just don’t know if I’m… ready for all that.”

All that. Like marriage was some heavy, unbearable thing. Like it was a burden, instead of the only thing you’d ever wanted with him.

But you didn’t push. You never pushed.

You just nodded, kissed his forehead, and told yourself that he just needed more time.

You’d already given him years. What was a little longer?

For every golden memory, there was a night that ended with you crying into your pillow, your chest aching from the weight of words left unheard.

And Joe was never the type to yell.

That was the problem.

You could scream, slam cabinets, cry until your eyes were swollen, beg him to just say something—but Joe would sit there, jaw clenched, eyes locked on some invisible point in the distance. Silent. Stone-faced. Like he was waiting for a storm to pass rather than standing in the middle of it with you.

And when he was done listening, when he decided he had nothing to say, he’d just walk away.

No slammed doors. No cruel words. Just an exhale through his nose and the slow, deliberate sound of his footsteps leaving the room.

Then came the silence.

Hours, sometimes days, where he wouldn’t touch you, wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge the way you curled up on your side of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself because if he wouldn’t hold you, you had to do it yourself.

It always started the same way.

Joe had never been a selfish person—at least, not intentionally. He loved you, worshipped you in his own quiet way. But he was also a man who had spent his entire life being taken care of.

First by his parents. Then by his coaches. Then by you.

At first, it hadn’t bothered you. You wanted to take care of him, because loving Joe Burrow meant making sure he ate real meals instead of surviving off protein shakes and granola bars. It meant picking up after him when he left his clothes on the floor, washing his jerseys so they always smelled like fresh detergent instead of sweat, keeping your home together while he threw every ounce of himself into football.

But over time, something shifted.

The gestures that had once been acts of love started to feel expected. You would spend hours cooking his favorite meal, only for him to eat in front of the TV without so much as a thank you. You’d clean up after him like clockwork, while he’d scroll through his phone, oblivious to the way you were moving around him like a ghost. You handled the small things—the groceries, the laundry, the appointments—so he never had to think about them. And the worst part? He didn’t think about them.

He didn’t think about how exhausting it was to pour so much of yourself into another person and get nothing in return.

One night, after a long day where you’d cooked, cleaned, and ran errands while Joe came home from practice, showered, and immediately planted himself on the couch, something in you snapped.

You had been standing in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes, while Joe sat in the living room, watching game film, oblivious to the way your hands were trembling from frustration.

“Joe,” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

He hummed, eyes still on the screen.

You turned off the faucet, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Do you even see me anymore?”

That got his attention. His head lifted slightly, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Do you see me?” you repeated, voice shaking now. “Or am I just here? Like some… unpaid assistant who cooks your meals and cleans your shit and waits around for you to remember I exist?”

Joe blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just exhaustion. Frustration. A bubbling anger that had been simmering for months. “I do everything for you. And I never ask for anything in return. But you don’t even appreciate it, Joe. You don’t see it. You don’t see me.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, babe. I—look, I didn’t ask you to do all that.”

Your heart sank.

There it was. The knife, twisted so deep you almost doubled over from the pain of it.

You swallowed, eyes stinging. “You shouldn’t have to ask for basic effort.”

Joe exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from the couch. “I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

And then, just like always, he walked away.

The silence stretched for days.

No matter how loud you got, how many tears you shed, it never mattered.

Because Joe didn’t scream.

Joe shut down.

--

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place where the wine was poured before you even asked and the waiters moved so seamlessly you barely noticed them. It was a Bengals event—one of those exclusive, high-end dinners meant to bring players and their partners together, a little PR, a little networking, all wrapped in the illusion of luxury. Normally, you didn’t mind them.

But tonight? Tonight, Joe was off.

He had been for weeks. Ever since the injury, ever since he had to watch his team play without him, it was like the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders and refused to budge. You had tried, God, you had tried—to comfort him, to give him space, to be exactly what he needed. But no matter what you did, it felt wrong.

He barely talked. Barely looked at you. And when he did, there was something in his eyes you couldn’t place.

Resentment?

Disappointment?

You didn’t know.

So you sat at the table, plastering on a smile, sipping your wine, pretending everything was fine as the conversation buzzed around you. Ja’Marr and his girlfriend, a few of the other guys, their partners. The usual crowd.

The joke started innocent enough.

“You’re literally the dream NFL WAG,” Ja’Marr’s girlfriend said, laughing as she leaned over toward you. “Like, you do everything for him. Cook, clean, go to every game. You’re basically the gold standard.”

The table chuckled.

You laughed, too, but there was something hollow about it. It wasn’t that the statement was wrong. It was just that… for the past few months, being Joe’s girlfriend hadn’t felt like a dream. It had felt like an uphill battle, like loving him was a test you were always on the verge of failing.

But before you could say anything, Joe scoffed.

Loudly.

The kind of sound that cut through the easy, playful atmosphere and made everyone shift in their seats.

You turned to him, confused, but Joe wasn’t looking at you. His jaw was clenched, his grip tight around the base of his glass.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, sharp, edged with something you couldn’t name.

The table went quiet.

Your stomach sank.

“Joe,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm, but he pulled away, shaking his head.

“I need air.”

And just like that, he was on his feet, pushing back his chair, striding toward the exit without another word.

You barely hesitated before following.

The moment you stepped outside, the cold air hit you like a slap. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few blacked-out SUVs and a couple of lingering staff members. Joe was already a few steps ahead, his hands on his hips, breathing hard like he was trying to keep himself together.

You didn’t care. You weren’t going to let this go.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, heels clicking against the pavement as you caught up to him.

Joe exhaled sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky. “I don’t wanna do this right now.”

“No. No.” You grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at you. “You don’t get to humiliate me in front of everyone and then walk away like nothing happened.”

Joe turned then, eyes flashing with something you had never seen before. Rage.

“You think I don’t know?” His voice was louder now, cutting through the night air, his face twisted in frustration. “You think I don’t fucking see the way you take care of everything? How perfect you are? How much you do for me?”

Your breath hitched. This wasn’t the first time you’d fought, not even close. But this was different.

This was Joe shouting.

He never shouted.

“You think I don’t know how much you’ve sacrificed? How much you’ve had to deal with while I sit on the fucking sidelines, watching my team play without me?” His hands were in his hair now, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “You think I don’t feel like a goddamn failure every second of every day? That I don’t fucking hate myself for it?”

Your chest tightened. “Joe—”

“I get it, okay?” His voice was hoarse, his breathing heavy. “I get it. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve any of this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Then, finally, you swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I never said that.”

Joe looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you saw it.

The exhaustion. The fear. The guilt.

And underneath it all, something else. Something raw and painful and impossible to ignore.

“I can’t do this,” he said suddenly, shaking his head, stepping back. “Not tonight.”

Your stomach dropped. “Joe.”

But he was already turning away.

Already leaving.

And for the first time, you didn’t go after him.

Time, though, has a funny way of making fools out of people.

Because a little longer turned into another year. And another.

And soon, you weren’t just the girlfriend who had been with Joe since before the fame. You were the girlfriend who was still waiting. The one people whispered about at games, in comment sections, in DMs you tried not to read.

Why hasn’t he proposed yet? If he wanted to marry her, he would’ve by now. She’s been with him forever. That’s kinda embarrassing.

You weren’t stupid. You heard the whispers. You ignored them, brushed them off, laughed about them with Joe like they didn’t sting.

But deep down, they did.

And then, one night, you cracked.

It wasn’t planned. You weren’t trying to pick a fight. You were just lying in bed beside Joe, scrolling mindlessly on your phone, when an engagement post popped up on your feed. Another NFL couple. Another ring. Another reminder.

You set your phone down. Turned toward Joe, who was staring at the ceiling like he always did when he couldn’t sleep.

“Joe,” you said softly.

He hummed in response, eyes still fixed upward.

“Are you ever going to marry me?”

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t bitter. Just quiet. Tired.

Joe closed his eyes. Let out a slow breath. And in that moment, you already knew the answer.

Not yet. Not now. I need more time.

The same thing he’d been saying for years.

But this time, you weren’t sure you could keep waiting.

--

It didn’t happen in one moment. It wasn’t a clean break, a single conversation where you both sat down, acknowledged the inevitable, and walked away like two people who had outgrown each other.

No, it was ugly. It was heartbreaking. It was loud.

It started in the living room, the place that had once been your sanctuary. The place where you curled up on the couch together after long days, where you laid your head on his lap while he absentmindedly played with your hair, where he kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

But tonight, it was a battleground.

You stood near the coffee table, arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to keep from falling apart, while Joe paced in front of the fireplace, his hands tangled in his hair. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his entire body radiating frustration. But under it—under the anger, the exhaustion—was something else.

Defeat.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Joe muttered, voice low but strained, like it physically hurt him to say it out loud.

Your stomach twisted. “Doing what?”

“This!” He gestured between the two of you, his voice louder now, raw with emotion. “The fighting, the tension, the constant feeling that no matter what I do, I’m letting you down.”

You flinched, because that wasn’t fair.

He wasn’t letting you down—he was shutting you out. Pushing you away, piece by piece, until you barely recognized the man standing in front of you.

And yet, despite it all, you still wanted to fight.

You needed to fight.

“Joe, you haven’t even tried—”

His laugh was hollow, sharp. “Tried? Are you kidding me?” He shook his head, running a frustrated hand down his face. “I have been trying for months. Trying to be what you need, trying to hold this shit together while I feel like I’m losing everything.”

Your throat tightened. “I never asked you to hold it together alone.”

He looked at you then, and the pain in his eyes nearly brought you to your knees.

“I know.” His voice cracked. “And that’s the worst fucking part.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Because suddenly, you saw it—the breaking point. The moment where all the fights, all the silences, all the nights spent lying in the same bed but feeling miles apart had led to.

This was it.

You swallowed, hard. “Joe… don’t do this.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know how to be what you need anymore.”

“I don’t need you to be anything—I just need you to try,” you choked out, hot tears spilling over your cheeks.

“I am trying!” His voice cracked, his hands gripping his hair like he was barely holding himself together. “But I’m not enough for you! And I don’t think I ever will be!”

The words hit like a physical blow.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, everything blurred—your vision, your thoughts, reality itself. Because how could he say that? How could he look at you, after everything, and think he wasn’t enough?

He had always been enough.

He had been everything.

Your chest heaved, your heart splintering, but you forced yourself to take a step forward, reaching for him like you had so many times before.

But this time, Joe stepped back.

Like touching you would break him completely.

Like it already had.

A sob ripped through your throat. “Joe, please—”

His eyes were glassy now, his own tears threatening to fall. But his face was set, his hands shaking at his sides.

“This isn’t working anymore.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through you like a blade.

And just like that, the world tilted.

You had imagined a lot of worst-case scenarios over the past few months—imagined nights where he would sleep on the couch, imagined him needing time apart, even imagined him telling you he wasn’t ready for marriage yet.

But this?

This was never supposed to happen.

He was supposed to fight.

He was supposed to love you enough to stay.

But instead, Joe exhaled shakily, like this was killing him too, and took another step back.

Like he had already made his decision.

Like he was already gone.

And then, through the unbearable tightness in your throat, through the tears blurring your vision, you said the only thing you could.

“What about everything you promised me?”

His face broke. Just for a second.

And then, softer than you’d ever heard him, he whispered, “I meant every word.”

And still, he turned away. Still, he walked to the door, grabbed his keys, and hesitated for only a second before pulling it open.

And you stood there, frozen in time, watching as the love of your life—the boy who once promised you forever under Louisiana stars—walked out of your life like he had never meant to stay.

The door clicked shut.

The silence that followed was deafening.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Your legs gave out before you even realized you were falling. You collapsed onto the couch, hands clutching your chest as if that would somehow stop the pain, as if pressing hard enough could keep your heart from shattering.

But it did.

Piece by piece. And Joe?

Joe was gone.

--

Joe wasn’t sure when it started.

The feeling had been creeping up on him for months—slow at first, like a whisper in the back of his mind, something he could ignore if he kept moving, if he kept winning.

But then he got hurt.

And suddenly, there was nowhere to run.

No game to prepare for, no film to study, no Sunday nights under the lights where he could lose himself in the only thing that had ever made him feel like enough.

He had always known you were out of his league. Everyone did.

You were a force—bright and untouchable, the kind of woman who could walk into a room and have everyone wrapped around your finger without even trying. You were loved in ways Joe had never been. Not because of what you did, not because of your talent or your career, but just because of who you were.

And Joe?

Joe was… Joe.

He had worked for everything. Clawed his way to the top, gritted his teeth through every setback, played with a chip on his shoulder so sharp it could cut. He had spent his entire life proving people wrong, showing them he was worth it, and still, sometimes it felt like it wasn’t enough.

But not with you. At least, not at first.

At first, you had looked at him like he was someone special—not because of football, not because he was Joe Burrow, but because he was yours. And for a while, that had been enough.

But then the marriage thing came up.

Then the quiet expectation that he was supposed to take the next step, that he was supposed to be ready.

And fuck, he wanted to be.

He wanted to put a ring on your finger, wanted to build a life with you, wanted to buy you the house you dreamed about and fill it with all the stupid cats he promised you back at LSU.

But the more you pushed, the more it felt like he was already failing.

You deserved the world, and he—he wasn’t sure he knew how to give it to you. You had grown up with love. Joe had grown up with pressure.

Your family adored you, your friends would kill for you, strangers on the internet called you an angel, and the worst part? They were right.

You were perfect. You were kind, and patient, and you gave so much of yourself without ever asking for anything in return—until, eventually, you did.

Until you started looking at him like you needed something more.

And maybe that’s when it started.

The resentment. The guilt.

The way he began shutting down because every time he looked at you, he saw someone who had given him everything, and all he could do was hold it in his hands and wonder when he was going to drop it.

So he pulled away.

And then he got injured. And then it got worse.

Because for the first time in his life, Joe had nothing to offer.

Football was gone. He was stuck on the sidelines, watching his teammates play without him, watching the world move forward while he stood still. And every time he came home, there you were—beautiful and untouchable and looking at him with so much love, and God, it made him want to rip his fucking hair out.

Because you weren’t supposed to love him like that.

Not when he was like this. Not when he felt like nothing.

And so, he made himself nothing to you.

He let the silence stretch between you, let the fights spiral into something he couldn’t control, let the guilt eat him alive until the only option left was to let you go.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he didn’t love you.

But because he loved you too much to keep being a disappointment.

Because you were everything. And he was just him.

--

Joe barely remembered the drive to Ja’Marr’s house.

The roads were dark and wet from rain, the city quiet in the way it only got after midnight, and yet everything inside him was loud. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles were white, and his breath came in short, uneven bursts, like his body was still trying to catch up to what had just happened.

He had left.

He had actually left.

The second Ja’Marr opened the door, his easygoing expression dropped. “Shit.”

Joe must have looked as bad as he felt.

Ja’Marr didn’t ask questions, didn’t crack a joke or act like this was nothing. He just stepped aside, letting Joe in without a word.

Joe walked past him, straight to the couch, sinking down like his body couldn’t hold him up anymore. His hands were still shaking. He stared at them, trying to steady his breath, but the more he tried to push it down, the worse it got.

He felt like he was imploding.

Ja’Marr sat across from him, elbows on his knees. “You good?”

Joe huffed out something that was supposed to be a laugh but came out broken.

“No,” he admitted.

And then, just like that, the weight of it all came crashing down.

He broke.

For the first time in years, maybe ever, Joe let himself feel it.

His shoulders caved, his head fell into his hands, and before he could stop himself, a sob tore through his chest. It wasn’t quiet, wasn’t controlled—it was raw, guttural, the kind of grief that sat heavy in his ribcage and made him feel like he was drowning.

Ja’Marr swore under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn, man.”

Joe couldn’t respond. He could barely breathe.

Because he had spent so long trying to convince himself this was the right thing—that letting you go was necessary, that it was better for you, that one day you’d understand—but now, sitting on his best friend’s couch, in a house that wasn’t his, without you, it hit him.

You weren’t in the next room.

You weren’t waiting for him to come back.

You weren’t his anymore.

And for the first time since he met you, since you were just a girl in his corner, since he was just a college quarterback with a dream—he was alone.

—

The house was silent.

The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful, but hollow.

You stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, staring at the front door as if it would swing open at any second, as if Joe would walk back in, apologize, say he didn’t mean it.

But the house stayed empty.

You should’ve done something—gone to bed, taken a shower, moved—but you couldn’t.

Your body felt detached, like you were floating just outside of yourself, watching as the reality of what had happened settled into your bones.

He was gone.

You sucked in a shaky breath, your eyes darting around the room, landing on all the pieces of him he had left behind. His hoodie draped over the back of the couch. His sneakers kicked off near the door. The blanket you always fought over, still crumpled where he had last used it.

Your throat tightened.

It felt wrong.

How was it possible that someone could just leave, and yet everything still looked the same? How was it possible that the world hadn’t just stopped?

Your body moved before your mind could catch up.

You grabbed his hoodie, pulling it into your chest, clutching it so tightly your fingers ached. It still smelled like him—like his cologne, like home, like everything you were supposed to have forever.

A sharp, broken sob tore through you.

Your legs gave out.

You sank onto the floor, your body curling in on itself, gasping for air between sobs that didn’t seem to end.

You had imagined a million worst-case scenarios for your relationship, but you had never imagined this.

A fight, maybe. A bad one.

A few nights apart, maybe even a week.

But not this.

Not a house that suddenly felt too big, too cold, too wrong without him in it.

Not a silence that felt like it would swallow you whole.

Not an ending that you weren’t ready for.

Not Joe—your Joe—leaving, and not coming back.

Joe didn’t tell his parents right away.

He had gone weeks pretending it wasn’t real, pushing it down, acting like if he ignored it long enough, it wouldn’t hurt. Like the breakup was just another fight, another rough patch, and any second now, you’d come home.

But then spring rolled around, and he found himself back in Athens for a few days, sitting at his parents’ kitchen table, pushing food around his plate while his mom chatted about some wedding she had gone to.

He barely heard her—until she said your name.

“I just know she’ll look so beautiful at her own wedding one day,” Robin said, smiling like the thought made her happy. “Did she ever decide on a dress style? I remember she showed me a few options the last time we talked.”

Joe’s fork clattered against the plate.

His parents looked up.

The room suddenly felt too small. The walls too close. The weight in his chest unbearable.

“She’s not picking a dress,” he said flatly.

His mom’s smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

Joe exhaled sharply, staring at the table. His throat felt tight, his hands fisting in his lap. “We broke up.”

Silence.

Not the kind he was used to. Not the easy kind.

His dad was the first to speak. “When?”

“A while ago.” His voice was hoarse, his jaw tight.

Robin looked like he had just slapped her across the face. “Joe… what?”

She sounded hurt.

Like he had broken her heart, too.

“You didn’t tell us?”

Joe swallowed. “I didn’t know how.”

His mom was still frozen in shock. “But—why? What happened?”

Joe should have had an answer. He should have been able to give them some logical, concrete reason why the only real love he had ever known had just… ended.

But there wasn’t one. Not really.

So he just shook his head. “I wasn’t enough for her.”

His dad exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Joe—”

Robin’s eyes filled with tears, and that—that was what finally did it. That was the moment it hit him, the moment the denial shattered and left nothing but cold, brutal truth in its place.

You were gone.

Not just for a few days.

Not just waiting for him to fix it.

You were gone.

Joe scraped his chair back so suddenly it screeched against the floor.

“I gotta go,” he muttered, standing up, hands shaking.

“Joe—”

“I just—I gotta go.”

And then he was out the door, out of the house, into his car, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

His vision blurred. His chest caved in.

He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hold it together.

It didn’t work.

That was the moment Joe decided he needed a distraction.

A new game plan. A new something—because if he let himself sit in this pain, if he let himself really feel it, it might consume him completely.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He threw himself into excess.

He spent money like it was nothing, like it was oxygen, like keeping the spending going would somehow fill the empty space inside of him. New cars, new watches, expensive nights out where the bill was triple what it needed to be. If someone wanted a round of shots? Joe was covering it. If his guys wanted to go to Miami for the weekend? No problem.

And the women.

That was the easiest distraction of all.

They were everywhere—at the clubs, at the restaurants, at the parties where he never used to go but suddenly needed to be. They touched him like they wanted him, smiled at him like he was the most important man in the room. And for a few hours at a time, he let them.

He let them run their hands over his chest, let them whisper in his ear, let them follow him back to hotel rooms or his new penthouse in the city.

He let them treat him like he was whole.

But then morning would come, and the illusion would shatter.

Every single time, he’d wake up next to someone who wasn’t you.

Someone whose perfume didn’t smell like yours. Someone whose touch didn’t feel like home. Someone who would roll over, press lazy kisses to his skin, and call him baby in a way that made his stomach twist.

Because you used to call him that.

And now you never would again.

It was supposed to feel good. It was supposed to be freeing, making up for lost time, for all the years he had spent as the devoted boyfriend, the one-woman man, the guy who turned down numbers and shut down flirting because he only wanted you.

But none of it worked.

None of it made him feel better.

Because at the end of the day, he was still Joe.

And you were still gone.

It took one of his teammates pulling him aside one night to finally say what he couldn’t.

“Bro,” Sam said, hand on Joe’s shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Joe blinked, pulling his attention away from whatever girl had been whispering in his ear at the bar. “What?”

Sam gave him a look. “You’re not this guy.”

Joe let out a sharp laugh. “I’m fine.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Joe didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

Not even close.

But he wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

So he just exhaled, forced a smirk, and lifted his drink. “Don’t worry about me, man.”

But Sam was worried.

And deep down, Joe knew why.

Because no matter how many nights he spent surrounded by people, no matter how much money he threw at the problem, no matter how many women climbed into his bed—

The only thing he ever felt anymore was hollow.

--

The day you packed your bags and left Cincinnati, you didn’t cry.

You had done enough of that.

Your best friend had offered—begged, really—for you to come stay with her in Columbus, and after weeks of waking up in a house that no longer felt like a home, you finally said yes.

It wasn’t running away.

It was survival.

Joe had been your world for so long that, without him, you weren’t sure where to stand. Your entire adult life had revolved around him—his schedule, his dreams, his highs, his lows. You had built a life inside of his. And now, that life was gone.

So, for the first time in years, you weren’t trying to be somebody’s something. You weren’t trying to be the perfect girlfriend, the supportive WAG, the woman who held it all together.

You were just trying to be you.

Whoever that was.

—

Columbus was different.

It wasn’t Cincinnati, where every street corner reminded you of Joe. Where the grocery store held memories of early-morning runs before his games. Where your favorite restaurant was the place he took you after he signed his first big contract. Where you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing a billboard with his face plastered on it, a cruel reminder that he was still Joe Burrow, still untouchable, still larger than life—just not yours anymore.

Columbus was quiet. A fresh start.

Your best friend had a cozy apartment near downtown, and the first night you arrived, she didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push. She just ordered takeout, opened a bottle of wine, and let you sit in silence.

That first week, you didn’t do much.

You slept too much, or not at all. Some nights, you laid awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if Joe was doing the same. Other nights, exhaustion won, and you crashed so hard you barely dreamed.

The dreams were the worst.

Because in them, he was still yours.

You still woke up to the sound of him moving around in the kitchen, still felt the weight of his arm draped over your waist, still heard his voice murmuring morning, baby in that slow, sleep-rough tone he always had.

But then morning would come, and none of it was real.

So, you started over.

You got a cat.

It wasn’t planned—you had just gone to the shelter one afternoon, thinking you’d look, thinking maybe it would distract you for a few minutes. But then you saw her.

Small. A little scrappy. White with a black spot over her eye, looking at you like she had already decided you belonged to her.

The name came easily.

“Larry,” you told the adoption worker, lips twitching into something like a smile. “Her name is Larry.”

Joe would’ve laughed at that.

Joe would’ve—

No.

This wasn’t about Joe.

Larry was yours.

So you took her home, bought her the stupidest, most ridiculous toys you could find, and let her curl up on your chest at night, purring so loudly it drowned out the silence.

You learned how to French braid.

You had never bothered before—your hair had always been something he liked, something he ran his fingers through when he was half-asleep on the couch. But now? Now, you spent hours watching tutorials, standing in front of the mirror, fingers twisting and looping until, finally, you got it right.

It was small, stupid even. But it was something just for you.

You started reading.

At first, it was just a way to pass the time—something to do instead of scrolling through Instagram, instead of wondering what he was doing. But then you fell into it, deep. You found yourself curled up on the couch for hours, lost in stories, letting yourself escape into other people’s lives.

Romance novels were hard at first. Because love still felt like a wound, like something sharp and raw and too close to home.

But one day, months after the breakup, you found yourself reading a love story and not feeling like your chest was caving in.

That was progress.

You cooked for yourself.

You had always cooked for Joe—his favorites, his comfort foods, the meals he requested after long practices. But now, you cooked what you wanted. You tried new recipes, bought ingredients you had never used before, made dishes with no one else’s preferences in mind.

It was weird, at first.

But then, one night, you sat at the table, eating something just for you, and it didn’t feel lonely.

It felt… peaceful.

You went on long walks, alone, with no one to check in with. You bought flowers for yourself. You started journaling, writing down things you had never let yourself think too hard about.

You let yourself exist.

And one day—on a random, unremarkable afternoon—you realized something. It had been weeks since you last thought of him.

Not that he was gone.

Not that it didn’t still hurt, sometimes, in quiet moments when you weren’t expecting it.

But for the first time, in a long, long time—

You felt like you. Without him.

[oynonrings]

me: this fic is gonna be pretty short, just a quick silly smutshot!

also me, who hasnt even gotten to the real smut yet:

working on the winning fic from this poll, heres a snippet<3 (context/premise: daniil gives artemy some herbs without realizing that hes essentially propositioning him in the kin tradition, culture shock ensues)

[herjuhodivine]

ㅤ          ㅤ          ㅤ   ˇ ✿ ՚՚ love is my curse ՚՚  ഒ

part 2 of worthless talking

thank you sm! i honestly didn’t think that worthless talking would be THAT good to most people and angsty(?) cause i was never good at writing angst. but thank you so much everyone !! and im almost at 200 followers! thank you very much and thank you arcane for being the glow up of my account ( now i just have to worry about what to write after arcane officially dies ) so if i end up doing the mini series considering it a 200 followers special ( ? maybe )

making up with arcane characters after arguing

S1! jinx , S2! vi , S2! caitlyn , and ekko x fem! reader

reconciliation , hurt/comfort , mentions of abandonment issues ( jinx ) , friends → lovers ( vi ) , mentions of marriage ( caitlyn ) , lover boy! ekko , cursing , mild suggestive ( vi )

masterlist ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა navigation

not proofread or requested

JINX

the past few days have been quiet. too fucking quiet. especially for jinx. by now, she would have a talking to her hallucinations or blowing something—anything up but she being held down by something, this agonizing feeling in her chest by she hasn’t had a clue of what is it. she going on her daily routine to see what’s so off. when she wakes up, she wakes up next to you; she always talks to you; when she’s collecting parts, it’s always with you; when she’s making another invention it’s with—you. that’s the issue. jinx cursed at herself for her realization that she pushed you when she promised herself that she wouldn’t. no wonder she’s been so “unstable” according to sevika and silco.

she immediately dropped everything, forgetting about the fishbones project and left the lair. and immediately went to your place. she took out her spare key and immediately searched up and down, every corner for you but your house is empty. she was starting to panic, why aren’t you home? did you just get up and leave? she didn’t think her actions would hurt you that bad, she just wants to apologize for what she done, she didn’t mean it. “Jinx?” a soft voice creeps up behind her, “what are you doing?” jinx snaps her head around, tears resting on the edge of her eyes. “baby…” jinx breathes out.

You placed your bags next to the front door and closes the door behind you. suddenly jinx tackles you into a tight hug, sobbing into your shoulder, wrapping her arms around your waist. you pull her in close, letting her have her moment. “what’s wrong J?” you asked her softly, as she starts to cool off, small sniffles and tears drying up on her face. “i…i thought you left me after that argument we had.” her grip tighten around you. “please don’t leave me…i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to call you annoying o-or you were nagging me i promise and i—” you smash your lips into hers, causing her to softly melt into the kiss and share the warmth of the tight embrace. you slip out of the grasp of her lips and stare at her flushed face with a smile. “im not going to abandon you my love, im always going to be here.” jinx held your hand tightly, “i’m sorry.” you reciprocate her action, “i love you.” “i love you too.”

VI

another day, another lost at the pit fight. no amount of training until she sore, drinking her sorrows away, destroying her life is making the pain go away. no matter what she does, she always recalls the scared look you gave her, it sends a shiver down her spine each time. the horror of herself that you had to experience firsthand. the side that she didn't want you to see; caitlyn, whatever; but you. she deeply regrets that she lost her cool with you, off all people it just had to be you. she didn't bother drinking or training today, she can't. she can't even sleep without your face flashes in her thoughts. strolling around the undercity doesn't help much besides giving her some fresh air of the city she was raised in. she doesn't know how but she ended up at the brothel.

walking down the hallway, rooms filled with variety of sexual activities, workers and customers; she didn't care, she just ended one person right now. she walked past the other offices, she knows you mostly handle the money and service of the other workers for the customers. looking through the office window, she sees you looking over some paper works and envelopes filled with money. she twisted the door knob and closes the door behind her as she enters your office. you glance up at now black haired girl, her pink hair seeping through the tips and ends of it. "how can i help you, violet?" she tenses up and her breath hitches as you use her full name. "it's vi for you."

"who?" vi walks around your desk, you watch her cautiously, she hooks her arm around yours, pulling you up and off your desk chair. making you sit on the desk and pinning you down with both of her arms you trapping in between, "viol-" "vi. say my name correctly." she hovers above you, she slips herself in between your legs. your heart pounding in your chest, "fine fine, vi, what do you need?" vi chuckled dryly, " i want you, sweet." you scoff, "me? or that piltover girl?" vi grabbed your waist, "listen, i realized i was wrong; i care for you, and i love you, not caitlyn." her hands move to hips, pulling you in closer to her, "you were always there for me, even when you had nothing to do with me and caitlyn's mission you were there as always. and i'm sorry for taking that for granted and im sorry for calling you a prostitute." her thumbs absentmindly rubbing circles into your skin, she leans in closer and presses her lips against yours, pulling you into a soft passionate kiss; filled with love and affection. you pull away slowly, "I forgive you."

CAITLYN

you lay restless in your bed at home, away form caitlyn, you don't want to believe she's actually cheating, but the way she act together, maddie is always close to caitlyn, always touching, acting shy around your fiancee. you would always try to find time to bring it up but with the things going on with jinx and ambessa, your time with her lessen to almost nothing, even at night, she's always exhausted and out of breath. you're so lost in your thoughts you didn't even notice you were crying until a maid rushed to you side.

caitlyn could barely focused on the work in front of her, when she's training with ambessa, she seemed so distracted and distant from everything, according to the ambessa, "you do not come back until you're back on your feet, commander." the silence hung in the air. "we need not distractions for justice." that the last thing caitlyn heard before she left and went home to her office. maddie returned, he usual soft and comforting aura, it didn't feel like anything in the first place, but that's how maddie tries to come off. "commander, are you alright? you've been staring at the paperwork for 15 minutes now." maddie nervously chuckled. "I'm fine...just.."she rubs her temple in a pain and annoyance. "excuse me, i have to go see someone." she gets up and grabs her coat and leaves without hearing anything from maddie.

she knocked on the front door of your home, waiting patiently for you, she hears small shuffles and movements behind the door, she hears a faint metal sound; you're looking through the peephole. "what do you want caitlyn?" you open the door in a slight crack, enough for her to see and hear you. "hello...dear, you don't look well." caitlyn's face filled with worry and regret, voice low. "I'm fine." swiftly caitlyn, pushes the door open and pulls you into a tight hug. the cold air from outside slips into your home, causing you to shiver. "I'm sorry..." caitlyn started, "i never noticed how maddie was acting until recently, i assure...no...i promise you that I'm not cheating on you; maddie doesn't compare to you. never has and never will." you broke out into small sobs and sniffles, "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry.." caitlyn caresses your head gently, soothing you as you cried in her chest.

EKKO

since you recovered from that night, you kept your distance from your boyfriend, even on patrols with you, you stayed nearby but kept a small distance between you two, and of course he noticed, i mean he had to with the whole firelight community scolded him for lashing his anger out onto you.

another night again with patrolling with him, and you sat down at the top of the tunnel, where you got stabbed at but this same time, you're with your boyfriend; who seems extra tensed knowing this is where you go hurt. where he failed to protect you, when you didn't listen to him. you notice that he is shaking, violently. you hesitated but reached out and touched his knee, he stares at you in shock.

"calm down, ekko, if you're aren't fit for patrol then we could call-" "no!" he blurted out, "no...that won't be necessary, i'm fine." he continued on. the night sky and cool breeze surround the both of you. "I'm sorry-" you both said at the same time, you stared at each other. "it's okay-" it happened again. you chuckled, the blush rising on your face and also his. "i love you, fire." he kisses your forehead and cheek. "i love you too.." you pulled him into a soft kiss, officially calling this a good night.

tags : @sseleniaa @woldangnight

©︎ J U H Ō . all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

guys say thank you to my mother who allowed me to finish this on her laptop or else you wouldn’t have seen this at all this week nonetheless this early .

[awrkive]

[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you. 

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, APRIL xx | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started? 

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton. 

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are. 

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair. 

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread. 

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar. 

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes. 

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?” 

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice. 

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab. 

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.” 

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee. 

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent. 

Most especially when it comes to annoying you. 

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you. 

“Did you know that—” 

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god— 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—” 

“—we’re like parallel lines?” 

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay. 

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head. 

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.” 

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it. 

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive. 

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again. 

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing. 

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.” 

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.” 

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings. 

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute. 

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself. 

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks. 

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am. 

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle. 

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can’t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips. 

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back. 

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger. 

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar. 

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction. 

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile. 

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle. 

His day is already off to a good start.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2025. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and/or translating any of my works are not allowed.