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heesdreamer · 1 day ago

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Wishful Thinking

PAIRING ➩ jungkook x reader

WC ➩ 20k

SUMMARY ➩ Born and raised in the busy city, you are in for a major life shift when you’re sent to the country side. You imagine the farmers son won’t be much help. (nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter)

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Marking this as my official leave from retirement. This is the first work since Skin on Skin I feel a genuine connection too and I can proudly say I love it a lot. I hope you like it as much as me! Please check out the playlist and listen as you read if you'd like

Growing up in the city had influenced a few factors of your core development and the way you went about life. You took a second to open up to strangers, had faster reflexes than most people you’d met from other places and could ignore the sound of a horn two feet from your ear.

What it hadn’t done is making you a spoiled and sheltered brat, although you imagined your father would place some strong disagreement on that statement.

It absolutely had not made you the type of person that was so ‘out of control’ you needed to be sent to the middle of absolute nowhere to learn a thing or two about respect and taking care of things other than yourself.

This was not an issue you had and you could not fathom the fact you had been in the car for six hours now heading towards your new summer hell. You were in your early twenties and you should have slammed the door in your fathers face when you opened it to his scowl but sadly, his name was on the lease and he probably would have had the door removed.

Instead you had packed two bags, said bye to your precious cats and dragged your feet all the way to the car.

You imagined your fathers vehicle had never seen so much dirt in its life and even he seemed a bit bothered by the gravel roads that left a cloud of dust all over his doors and windows. Your father had been raised almost exactly the same as you so it felt a bit ironic and hypocritical.

It was not your fault he was a wealthy businessman, stationing his small family in the bustling streets of the city instead of a nice sized home somewhere. Your idea of dinner around the table was grabbing a bite to eat at the local pizza place, your fridge covered in project plans and work reminders instead of toddler art and positive report cards.

Your dad had raised you in a cold apartment suited for a bachelor, leaving you to get your fatherly advice from doormen and paying cleaning ladies extra to change your diapers. He was somehow still surprised to see you standing with a glare on your face as you exited the car and stared at the farm house.

“Atleast try to be pleasant.” He mumbled under his breath, the familiar expression he had whenever he felt embarrassed by you creeping up on his face. You had seen it your entire life, when you stood too slouched in front of a client or stuttered giving a speech at a company dinner.

You sent him a stronger dirty look that easily slid off your face when the door opened.

Despite what he may think, you actually were not a terrible person and you had no intentions of disrespecting the home owners even though you would rather eat the horses hay than have to stay here.

It was actually a beautiful home, grand in size with a large wraparound porch and land full of crops and various sized barns and pens.

There had been a faint memory of coming here a handful of times when you were younger, listening to your father take a gentle and relaxed tone you had only heard a few times and playing with the farmers boy that was around your age.

That had been a lifetime ago and while the landscape was relatively nostalgic and familiar, you had changed so drastically that you couldn’t feel more out of place if you tried.

You watched as the large bearded man approached your father, pulling him into a tight hug unlike his friends back home who would greet him with a firm handshake. This man clearly did not care about your fathers hesitance to embrace him, the rim of his cowboy hat knocking your fathers thin framed glasses slightly askew.

You had a hard time holding in a laugh at his dishevelled appearance after the bear hug and the man's sights set on you right as a smile crept up on your face.

“There she is.” He greeted you like he was an uncle you saw frequently and your eyes widened at the realization he was coming to give you a similarly tight hug, knocking the breath out of you as he nearly lifted you from the ground.

“Sorry honey, we are huggers around here.” You hadn’t even noticed the small woman behind his staggering frame and you caught her gentle eyes in your gaze right before she pulled you in for a much softer hug. “Except for my son sadly. He didn’t quite inherit that trait I suppose.”

The boy hadn’t left the porch, a few feet behind his parents as he stared at you and your father with an expression that was much colder than his warm parents held. You could tell he had already built some bias around your visit and you didn’t mind considering you had done the same, defenses building at his sour look.

“I’m sorry but I..” You trailed off awkwardly as you glanced between the bubbly couple, hoping they could understand so you didn’t have to tell them vocally that you had no idea who they were. The woman's face dropped just slightly but the farmer gave you a soft smile as he cupped your arm.

“That’s alright honey.” His gentle tone almost made you want to turn around and jump head first into the car, creeping its way under your skin and making you feel like that little girl that used to sneak branches in her room to use as a christmas tree. “It’s been lifetimes since we got to see you.”

His gaze fell over your shoulder towards your father with that statement and you almost thought it sounded hostile, or however hostile somebody so warm could manage. Your fathers throat clearing behind you confirmed your belief and you looked down at your feet as you were ushered inside.

You learned from listening in on the conversation silently that he was in fact a bit upset with your father. The man, Minchul apparently as you heard his wife softly calling him, had made a handful of comments about missing out on your life that he was attempting to disguise as jokes.

You had watched enough tense conversations with businessmen to be pretty good at picking up on what people actually wanted to say. Your father responded each time with a different excuse about being busy but you knew he wished he could tell the farmer that he simply outgrew him and whatever this dynamic was.

The woman had told you softly that her name was Nari and you watched as she barely sat down, bouncing between the table and the kitchen whenever she noticed somebody was running low on their drink or the finger foods she had prepared.

Her tending to you all didn’t feel like the panicked way your fathers cooks would try to keep him pleased and calm but rather like she enjoyed taking care of the people around her, eyes bright whenever you thanked her or took a bite of something she had made.

“Jungkook will be helping her with her chores and duties.” Minchul’s low voice was bringing you back to the conversation, interest spiked as you realized they were discussing your stay there.

You had very little information about how long you would be here or what exactly you were meant to accomplish but your eyes shifted over to the son at the mention of his name, sitting across from you and also not having spoken a word.

He was staring at his father as he spoke, gaze unwavering and still as cold as it had been outside. You had realized outside that he was the same boy you had played with when you were a kid but he had clearly changed as much as you had because he no longer had an ounce of welcoming energy to him.

“If she gives you any trouble son, feel free to call me.” Your father was speaking directly to him like you weren’t even there and Jungkook’s jaw shifted at the use of the word ‘son’.

A smile almost crept back up at the interesting reaction but it faded as soon as he looked at you, curious like he expected you to say something snobbish in return to your fathers jab. You didn’t have any plans to, used to him warning people about you like you were a walking disaster.

“I’m sure we can manage.” His voice was flat and lacking any real care but you hadn’t figured he would reply at all, let alone with something borderlining disrespectful.

The rest of the table seemed to agree because the room fell silent at his comment and your dad seemed taken back by the fact Jungkook hadn’t immediately agreed with his implication. You barely moved, not wanting to put yourself on the wrong side of things while he was still here.

“Apologize.” Minchul was speaking the word hushed and you looked at him with widened eyes, not even realizing it had been him speaking considering how cold it came out. It was completely different to the tone he used with the rest of you but Jungkook didn’t seem affected at all.

“I’m sorry sir.” He said it easily, practiced and lacking any real apology. It seemed the phrase alone was all his father wanted to hear because his shoulders lost tension and he awkwardly patted the table as he changed the subject to something about your dads car.

You removed yourself mentally from the conversation again but you caught the way Jungkook’s mom rubbed his shoulder soothingly as she passed him on her back to the kitchen.

----

“You are really just leaving me?” Your voice was icy as you watched your father toss your bags out of his car, squinting his eyes at the dirt it brought into the air and glaring at you like it was your fault. “I don’t even know these people.”

“I do.” He said simply as he closed the trunk and watched you with disappointment swirling in his gaze. You could tell there was a lot he wanted to say to you but as always, he left it plain and gave you a firm nod that you knew put an end to this conversation.

You did nothing but watch as he got into the driver seat and pulled off down the dirt road, headlights disappearing behind the trees and fields of corn. You sighed softly and sunk down on the rocky path way, not really caring if they were watching from the window and judging you.

You didn’t know these people and it was hard to even process that this was really happening to you right now. The sun had fully set when you stopped thinking yourself away and you realized you had been outside for a lot longer than you had meant to be.

Nobody had come out to get you or even check if you were alright but you figured they were just giving you the space to throw your internal tantrum before inevitably accepting your fate and figuring out what to do from there.

Your sigh turned into a dragged out and low groan as you buried your face in your dusty hands, cringing away when you felt the sting of the debris entering your eyes and realizing you felt like you were going to cry regardless of the pain.

“You sleeping out here?”

You jumped at the sudden voice coming from your right, looking sideways at a pair of dirty and ripped boots before trailing up the tall frame and landing on Jungkook and a raised eyebrow. He had been the last person from the family you expected to come outside to collect you and you groaned again.

“I just need a minute okay?” Your voice came out cold but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about his feelings right now. He was unwillingly participating in your banishment but it was still participation in your eyes and for that alone, you disliked him.

“City girls and their minutes.” It was mumbled under his breath but loud enough for you to hear. You didn’t even warrant it with a reaction, staring numbly at the gravel and willing a loose horse to run him over with your mind.

He didn’t leave the entire time you sat there and you could feel him staring at your back as you practically curled into a ball. Eventually you stood up calmly, dusted yourself off and headed inside the house.

----

Jungkook had silently left your bags at the foot of your door and disappeared down the hall into what you assumed was his own, soft music coming from behind the peeling wood. You left your door open, feeling awkward in the unfamiliar room like you had somehow broken into this nice family's home and crawled into a random bed.

You barely slept at all the first night and the sound of the roosters screeching only two hours after your eyes actually closed was enough to make you consider hitch hiking back to the city.

The entire family was downstairs in the kitchen to your dismay and you couldn’t fix your face in time, seeing the concern radiating from Nari as she took in your exhausted eyes and closed off demeanor. You mumbled a morning greeting and shifted onto the seat furthest from them all.

“Did you sleep okay?” She asked softly as she placed a glass of orange juice in front of you and you nodded at her, both of you knowing you were being nice rather than honest. She pursed her lips and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder for a second as reassurance that she understood.

“Good because you have a long day today.” Minchul sounded as cheerful as yesterday but there was an underlying tone to his voice that made you not want to disobey him. He made pleasant conversation with his wife as you and Jungkook ate silently on the other side of the table.

Jungkook hadn’t even waited for you to finish eating, cleaning off his place and kissing his mom on the side of the head before pushing through the front door. You watched in disbelief as he left you behind, scarfing down the rest of your eggs and rushing after him, nearly tripping down the stairs as you followed him to the largest barn.

The smell was assaulting but you didn’t visually react, not wanting to give him the satisfaction considering he was leaning against a slate of wood and watching you for any signs that you were going to complain.

When you gave him a firm and determined stare he was tossing a silver bucket in your direction, both of you tracking it as it hit the barn floor and bounced a few times.

“Seriously?” You remarked, your first real word of the day being forced out due to disbelief. He didn’t answer and instead entered one of the stalls holding a large cow. “Couldn’t just hand it to me?”

There was no reply again and you sighed as you followed him, scowling when you saw the black and white animal staring at you with a bored expression. Jungkook slid a small stool over to you before leaning back again on the wall of the stall. The cow took a step towards him and you flinched back as its large belly almost pushed you over.

“Am I supposed to do something with him?” You gestured at the stool and cow in confusion and Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a girl.” He said simply and you gave him an incredulous look, feeling like you were going insane from attempting to communicate with him. “You’re supposed to milk her.”

You stared at him silently for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he was joking or not before glancing at the bucket and realizing he was apparently very serious. You took a breath so deep that it moved your entire body as you tried to calm yourself, ignoring the slightly amused look he grew at the action.

You hadn’t even sat fully on the stool before he was speaking again.

“Wrong.”

You glared at him and adjusted your position, leaning forward hesitantly to reach out to the cow.

“Wrong again.”

Another attempt, a different section of the utters that looked as foreign as the rest of the large creature. She shifted like she felt as awkward as you did for touching her and you sighed at his lack of interjection.

“Touch her there and she’ll probably kick you in the face.”

You let out a loud and bitter laugh that made the cow grunt softly, standing from the stool and shoving it in his direction. He watched you quietly as the rage built up inside you, even more so at the indifference on his face.

“If you aren’t even going to attempt to help me, then you go ahead and do it.” You spat as you pointed between him, the bucket, and the cow. He didn’t say anything again and the silence was somehow more annoying than him making small comments towards you.

He wordlessly moved the stool and you sat down with a huff, at first just picking at your fingers and then deciding to actually watch as he milked the cow. It was slightly interesting, especially considering your current options for entertainment.

His hands were gentle with the animal and she seemed a lot more relaxed now that he was the one near her undercarriage and not some strange girl with tense shoulders and shoes that definitely weren’t made for a barn floor. It was intriguing to you to watch the cows body language change so outwardly.

Jungkook finished up after some time and you followed him to his next set of chores. This time and the next, he didn’t bother trying to get you to do anything. Instead he did them all easily and allowed you to simply watch as he herded the sheep into their pens, poured disgusting sludge into the trough for the pigs and dragged the stubborn horses back into the gated area.

By the end of the day, you were exhausted without having done much at all.

He didn’t even seem phased by the fact he had spent the entire day in the sun doing hard physical labor and you sighed as he walked ahead of you back to the house.

You felt like an invisible shadow following him around all day with little to no conversation between you and it pained you to watch the sun set knowing you had wasted your time and learned nothing but the fact Jungkook was a stubborn asshole.

His dad was waiting on the porch as you approached and you watched as Jungkook’s back hardened at the sight of the kind man. He was smiling largely but it was past his son and towards you, clapping his hands in delight as he took in the dirt on your pants and your sweat dried hair.

“How was your first day?” He asked warmly as you ascended the steps. Jungkook had slowed down to let you pass and he lingered at the patch of grass near the bottom. “Was he a good teacher?”

The shift in his tone made you glance backwards towards the teacher in question and his flat face showed no sense of what he wanted you to say. You felt like you were hesitating too long and you turned back to Minchul with a soft smile.

“The best. I learned a lot actually.” You said gently and he smiled proudly, a large hand between your shoulder blades as he led you inside for dinner.

Jungkook was as silent as always but he didn’t look as unimpressed with you when you caught his eyes across the table. There was a beat of nothing before he gave you a small nod, enough for you to understand he appreciated you lying to his dad for him.

Dinner was calm and quiet as you zoned out from exhaustion and you barely flinched when his parents asked you to work together to get the dishes washed and dried quickly. You moved on autopilot to the sink and responded with a light mumble as they wished you both a goodnight.

Jungkook stood wordlessly next to you, taking each wet dish you handed him as he dried them precisely with a towel. It was quiet through the first half of the sink and then he was clearing his throat with a hint of awkwardness.

“You didn’t have to do that.” He said in a near whisper. You didn’t even glance at him, handing over another dish casually.

“I didn’t do anything but spare myself the awkwardness of watching you get lectured.” Your tone was flat like it genuinely meant nothing to you but you figured you both knew the reason you had done it. He seemed tense at your answer so you sighed softly. “I know what it’s like to have a dickhead for a father.”

He paused his movements when you said that and you wondered if it was the wrong thing to speak into the quiet kitchen before you heard him laugh softly under his breath.

It didn’t take a psychologist to realize Jungkook had a different relationship with Minchul than most other people would. His cold and harsh tone towards his son seemed to come out of thin air the second he laid his eyes on the younger man and you felt yourself becoming more nosy than you should be.

Their dirty laundry was none of your business and you hurriedly finished dishes.

----

The next day's chore list actually seemed a bit more lax and you quickly understood that he must do all of the extremely difficult things at the end of the week.

Monday was more about maintenance and you felt a little guilty for doing nothing yesterday so you were glad that you could actually help with some smaller stuff, both going stir crazy from doing so little with yourself and also feeling useless the more he sweated and moved around.

You helped sweep loose hay from the stables, collected eggs from under the squawking hens and even assisted him in filling up the water barrels with fresh and clean gallons. You were actually feeling a little satisfied with yourself when the day started to come to a finish and you glanced at him to see what you had to do next.

He surprised you when he pulled two small items out of his jean pockets, fidgeting with them until the lighter was producing a flame that he used to light the rolled up paper. You eyed him curiously as he inhaled around the joint before stretching his hand out towards you without so much of a glance or a word.

“Wow.” You breathed out a mocking laugh as you took it from him, studying it before putting it between your lips and speaking around it. “I am genuinely shocked right now.”

He laughed flatly at your tone and looked at you from the corner of his eye. You were sitting on a small hay bale while he leaned against the large wheel of an old tractor, behind one of the barns a bit further away from the house.

“It’s rude to make assumptions about people.” He said flatly as he took the joint back but you knew he wasn’t serious, lightheartedly replying to you and only furthering your bewilderment.

“What would your dad say if he knew you were getting me stoned right now?” You were only teasing and you hoped he could tell by the tone in your voice, it seemed like he did because he shrugged his shoulders casually.

“Less what he would say and more what he would do.”

The statement was heavier than he intended it to be and you both fell silent at the darker implication to his words. He passed it back to you and you watched him for a long moment before hitting it, seeing the way he almost winced at himself for saying something so awkward.

You let it hang in the air for a few minutes as you listened to the sounds of his inhales paired with the animals in the distance as they got ready for bed. EVentually you were sighing and his eyes went to you, almost in anticipation.

“Good thing I don’t tend to make a habit of reporting back to fathers.” You lifted your shoulders like it was a simple thing to say and his face flashed with something heavier again.

You’d smoked weed before a few times but Jungkook either had some especially strong country grown shit or your tolerance had significantly diminished because you somehow ended up in one of the sheep fields, both flat on your backs as you looked up at the stars.

For once you appreciated the fact he didn’t talk much because you felt a bit ridiculously emotional at the sight of them all. A childhood of light polluted skies had robbed you of star gazing and pointing out made up planets so it was overwhelming to see so many of them above you.

Jungkook seemed to be thinking similarly despite growing up under this sky, his mouth parted a bit in awe every time you glanced over at his side profile a few feet away from you.

“I get why you guys like it out here now I think.” You said wistfully, voice a little breathier than you realized it was when it was escaping you. He laughed a little at the sudden declaration and it didn’t seem as mocking as it had a few hours ago.

“Thought it would take longer to whip you into shape.” He joked back, voice a little higher than normal and you figured it was the high having settled in that was making him more comfortable to engage in conversation with you. “Some sweeping and a view was all you needed to appreciate the simple life?”

He was clearly messing with you and almost mocking your fathers reasoning for sending you here but you felt a light sting deep in your chest.

Jungkook was not the reason for it but he was the accidental messenger of the rhetoric your father had been spewing at you since nearly middle school. He couldn’t fathom a world where you cared about things or paid attention to people other than yourself.

It felt impossibly suffocating to argue with somebody who had a different reality in their head, left wondering how would you begin to correct a version of yourself that didn’t exist?

There were no number of saved movie tickets and sentimental souvenirs, no hours spent making your friends a sloppy birthday cake instead of buying them something store prepared, and no amount of love and empathy in your heart that could convince him you were a thoughtful person.

“There's nothing simple about this.” You ignored your heavier feelings as you raised a limp hand to gesture to the endless sky.

“I’m sure the city has its own views.” He retorted and you turned your head to the side when you noticed a hint of longing in his voice. He stiffened like he could feel you staring but didn’t look at you, eyes a bit more shifty.

“Breathtaking ones. I never get used to it.” You said back softly, wondering if that was something he wanted to hear or if it would fuel the fire to his apparent inner conflict. You were left wondering because he didn’t reply to you.

The silence didn’t last as long as usual, the intoxication in your lungs making you both a little less awkward and a little more lax when it came to unraveling useless information. He told you about the town's small population and how everyone he passed had probably changed his diapers at some point and you ranted about your cats back home and how guilty you felt for leaving them alone.

“Why didn’t you bring them here?” He said like it was an obvious option, maybe too high to remember that you weren’t exactly on a purposeful vacation. Your silence seemed to remind him of this fact and he kissed his teeth in realization. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“Your parents?” You said in confusion, rolling over onto your side in the grass so you could face him and groaning softly at the tightness in your back. He glanced at you and nodded, still laying flat and staring at the sky in between looks. “I don’t have anyone who would bring them here for me.”

Your voice barely held any bitterness, it was just the truth. It was a pretty big favor to ask even to somebody you would consider a friend and you didn’t even really have any of those anyways.

“Assuming you don’t know how to drive a stick.” He said thoughtfully and you shook your head with a light eye roll at his subtle jab. “I can take you.”

“What?” You sat up and he did the same, although avoiding looking at you head on. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal he just offered to drive you twelve hours round trip just to bring your two cats all the way back here. He glanced back towards the house, the warm glow of the porch lights small considering how far out you were, and then back up towards the never ending sky full of stars.

“Gives me a break from chores.” He said noncommittally like he was offering to do a load of laundry for you.

You woke up the next morning with a soft knock on the guest bedroom door, opening it to see Jungkook leaning against the side of it with truck keys dangling around his finger. He gave them a little spin when he saw your eyes widen in surprise that he parents had actually agreed to the request he had made this morning after your conversation in the field.

You nod your head in understanding and close the door so you can hurriedly get ready, feeling a bit amused at the fact you’d been arguing only a few hours ago. Jungkook is silent when you find him in the living room and as he shows you to the truck, excitedly climbing into the passenger seat and waving goodbye to Nari who stands on the porch with a concerned look as she clutches a dish towel to her chest.

It felt beyond ridiculous that you were making this trip with somebody you barely knew and even worse, barely got along with.

He was silent for almost the entire first half of the drive, playing music from a rotating stack of CD’s and cursing under his breath whenever the truck made a particularly loud noise. It was comforting to feel the rumble underneath you as he shifted gears and passed miles and miles of barren farmland.

You had only been there for a couple days and you were already craving new scenery, eyes widening with excitement when you could vaguely make out the city skyline in the distance. You were still probably an hour out but it was undeniable the way your blood felt warmer.

“Do you see it?” You asked him excitedly, breaking the bubble of silence. You looked at him as you sat up but you didn’t need to hear his answer out loud, seeing it on his face as soon as you saw his expression.

His eyes were bright with awe and interest as you approached the tall skyscrapers and dizzying highways, traffic seemingly coming from every direction as he went from leaning forward to try and see the tops of buildings past the windshield and focusing on not missing the exits you rushed out with poor directional skills.

“It’s bigger than I thought.” He eventually said and it came out in one singular breath that made you smile, understanding the feeling all too well.

You let him take it all in so he didn’t get too distracted trying to navigate the busy and tight streets with hsi truck that stood out clearly compared to most of the more compact and practical vehicles around you.

You eventually managed to make your way to your apartment and he looked slightly surprised as he exited the driver seat and looked up at the building. He had heard stories of your dads lavish lifestyle so he clearly hadn’t been expecting the exposed brick and dirty windows of your building.

It was hard not to laugh at his expression, shaking your head and walking past him. You felt giddy knowing you would get to be home even if it was temporary and you could hear your cats meowing behind the door before you even pushed it open.

You greeted them enthusiastically as Jungkook closed the door behind you, eyes scanning around your small and homey apartment.

“Not exactly the penthouse suite.” He muttered and you glared at him from where you were crouching by your cats on the floor.

“Must to his dismay.” You didn’t need to say you were talking about your father for him to understand what you meant. “He won’t even step foot in this place.”

It felt especially ridiculous considering how nice and welcoming your apartment was. The walls were full of pictures of your friends and cats, postcards from random beachy cities covering your fridge door and mismatched furniture.

You had decided as soon as you moved in that you would make your place the polar opposite of the studio apartment you were raised in, trading in cold tile and sterile feeling lights for warm toned lamps and fuzzy rugs to comfort your feet.

“Do you need anything?” Your voice was softer than he had heard it before and Jungkook shook his head as he kicked his shoes off. You watched him quizzically before he gestured towards your clock on the wall.

“Might as well stay here tonight.” He said simply and your heart lurched at the idea of getting to sleep in your own bed. “I’m fine now but reckon I’d be exhausted halfway through the drive back.”

You weren’t even slightly planning to argue with that or question what his parents reaction would be, quickly standing to your feet to prepare something for him to wear other than his jeans and flannel. He stood there silently as you made him a comfortable bed on the couch, eventually wandering over to stare out your large living room window.

“Breathtaking right?” You spoke from behind him and he jumped a bit before nodding and glancing back at you.

“Yeah it’s beautiful.” He watched you for a few seconds before turning back to study the city and its seemingly never ending skyline.

Jungkook must have been more tired than he let on because he was asleep almost as soon as he laid down on your couch and you took a few hours to enjoy your space for the last time in a while, preparing your cats and their things both for travel and for extended stay.

It warmed your heart to picture them with so much space to run around, basking in the sun and chasing field mice while you did your chores. Jungkook was clearly being generous with his offer to take you but he really had no idea just how much it meant to you to have them with you in such an unfamiliar place.

He was just as quiet the next morning and as you brought your cat carriers and extra bags down to the truck but the ride back was a lot warmer and you felt ages less sour as you approached the town this time around. The hushed conversations between you felt smoother as you lost some of the awkwardness.

His father was sitting on the porch when you pulled back up and he enthusiastically greeted your cats in their carriers, Nari rushing out at the sound of your voices to help bring them inside.

You watched from the doorway as he gave Jungkook a firm nod and placed a hand stiffly on his shoulder. Jungkook pursed his lips at the action of approval and returned the nod with one of his own.

“Was that good?” You whispered to him as he passed you in the doorway and he let out a large breath that you imagined he had been holding since he left the truck.

“Yeah, I think it was.” He said back and you smiled at him, glad he had not gotten in trouble for trying to help you out.

The following week felt a lot easier now that you had a large piece of home with you, bed a little warmer with your cats curling up next to you. The chores were brutal and you were miserable half the time the sun was out but you were getting used to the ache of your body and the burn covering your skin.

Jungkook was still silent most of the day but he was doing things slower and more exaggerated so you could actually learn the few times he noticed you showing interest and paying attention. There were tasks you could do fully on your own now and you found yourself looking forward to when the sun would set and he'd knock on your door softly, an expectant look on his face as he flashed another joint between his fingers.

It was a nice routine for the two of you to wander out to the field near the sheep barn, smoking until the tightness of your bones faded enough for you to giggle into the grass and tell eachother random tidbits about your life.

“I heard your dad tell mine that you ran away.” Jungkook said gently one night when your conversation started to borderline on serious and you said nothing for a while.

“At 22 I thought it would just be considered taking a vacation.” Your voice was half humorous and half bitter, the latter side much more apparent in your tone. You sighed so deeply you felt like you were going to melt down into the dirt. “I’ve been further away for much longer, he only noticed this time because one of his clients saw me while traveling.”

“You went alone?” His questions rarely held so much interest and you glanced at him, finding him staring at the stars with his eyebrows furrowed like he hadn't considered that possible.

“I’m always alone.” You shrugged to yourself. “Aren't you?”

You weren’t trying to make a harsh assumption but you’d been there two weeks and not once did Jungkook leave the farm land other than your trip to the city. His parents went off to town a few times a week or to a friend's house for supper but Jungkook stayed throughout it all, never once hearing mention of a friend of his or seeing a photo somewhere in the house.

He shrugged but it was one of those times where you both already knew what his answer would be. His eyes shifted over to you and you watched curiously.

“Not so much anymore.” He said plainly but you smiled a bit at the implication, knowing it was probably a change for him to have you following behind his trail all day long. Maybe even a welcomed change now that you were getting along finally. ly.

You and Jungkook spent the next week with the exact same routine and now that you were used to most of it, you felt yourself going stir crazy. Little things were always changing, animals needing more help than usual or storms making it so you had to help around the house instead but for the most part everything stayed exactly the same.

It was a welcomed assignment when Nari softly asked you to take horses into town and pick up a few things. You didn’t ask why you couldn’t just take the truck even though you were beginning to wish you had as you stared at the large creature.

“You know I can’t ride that, right?” You said simply as you shook your head firmly. Jungkook laughed a little at your fearful tone before gesturing at the single saddle he had pulled off of the wall.

You were confused for a few seconds before realizing he was insinuating you both get on the horse together, your gaze shifting over to him to see him standing by the horse and clearly waiting for you to reach the same conclusion.

“You’re joking aren’t you?” Your voice shook a little as you squeaked out the question.

Clearly he wasn’t because Jungkook had easily lifted you up onto the large horse before swinging his leg over and situating himself naturally. You were left sitting behind him, feeling like you were about to throw up and having no choice but to wrap your arms tightly around his middle.

He was laughing at you when you squeezed your grip anytime you took a turn or the horse sped up to cross a road. It felt a bit ridiculous as some cars passed you but you saw more and more horseback people as you got closer to town and almost all of them enthusiastically greeted Jungkook.

The stories he had told you about knowing everybody here were clearly true because he couldn’t be more liked if he tried.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the market and Jungkook reached a hand up to you so you could slide off the horse, his hands sturdy above your hip so you didn’t land the wrong way. You eyed him as he tied the large animal to a post outside, petting its nose softly and whispering something you didn’t hear.

A whistle behind you made his hands freeze and both of you turned to see an older man sitting outside the market, a bucket full of loose change infront of him and a brown paper bag around a glass bottle sat on his lap.

“Pretty little thing.” His accent was even heavier due to the slur in his speech and your eyes narrowed as he scanned down your frame. Jungkook’s mother had left some pretty farm dresses and cowgirl boots outside your door a few nights ago and you had been excited to wear them until his eyes were on your bare legs. “Ain’t from around here.”

It was a statement and not a question and you scoffed at him.

“What gave it away?” You said coldly. You knew you still didn’t carry yourself like somebody from the country even when you wore their clothes and did their labor, the lack of a drawl in your voice really not helping you towards fitting in.

You could feel the presence of Jungkook approaching behind you now that he had gotten the horse situated and you glanced over your shoulder. His face was cold again and he was a lot closer to you than he typically would be, nearly touching your back to his chest.

“Johnny.” He said simply, addressing the man and making himself known.

“Oh you’re Jeon’s boy aint you?” He said with an amused smile, looking like he was suddenly reminiscing. Jungkook must have nodded or given him a confirming look because the man was suddenly laughing so hard he was swaying to the side. “Them Jeon’s… are good men.” He pointed at Jungkook as he paused, then laughed loudly again.

You felt yourself reaching back and wrapping your hands around Jungkook’s elbow before you could think about it, going to pull him towards the entrance so you both could leave this conversation and not hear whatever it was he was laughing so hard about.

The man's eyes flashed with interest when he saw you touching his arm, hugging it to your side in a way that could come across as intimate rather than instinctual.

“Oh, is this your missus?” He called and you saw an older couple's head turn with annoyance at his loud tone and the outdated phrasing, shaking their heads in disapproval.

Jungkook’s cheek shifted as he addressed you like that and you sighed at the realization this was going to take you too far off track for you to bother with. You tugged him softly and ignored the obnoxious laughter coming from behind you as you entered the market.

“Just ignore it.” You said softly, not letting go of his arm even when you were deeper into the store. He glanced at you like he was upset you hadn’t let him handle it and that furthered your reasoning for keeping a hold on him.

“He was disrespectful.” He said plainly, eyes still heated even when you stopped walking and turned to face him. The tips of your boots touched his as you reached into his shirt pocket to pull out the list his mother had given him, catching him stuffing it in there before you mounted the horse. “How can he talk to a woman like that?”

“He was a drunk idiot.” You stated, catching his eye for a second as you stood there before realizing how close you were and taking a step away.

Jungkook still seemed irritated as you shopped, filling a basket full of the ingredients his mom had written in neat handwriting. He took the basket from you when it was more than half full and starting to get a little heavy and you gave him a thankful look.

It was hard for him to stay annoyed considering the countless older women that stopped to coo at him and ask him how his parents were, remarking on the last time they’d seen him and how tall and handsome he had grown up to be.

This was something you had also noticed, much to your dismay.

You figured you had been too distracted your first two weeks but your general dislike for your situation and Jungkook himself to realize the devastating fact that he was actually the most attractive person you had been around.

He was now constantly distracting you without even meaning to, tan skin and big eyes so effortlessly lifting things two times your size and controlling stubborn animals. It was a bit ridiculous that somebody with forearms that veiny and strong also looked that good in a stupid cowboy hat.

Even now, leaning against a fridge as he watched you scan over the list in his washed denim jeans and giant belt buckle. It was something straight out of a cowboy fantasy and you felt like a fool for falling victim to it.

It didn’t help your new found dilemma that he was also the sweetest person you had ever met now that he was done giving you the silent treatment and glaring everytime you messed something up.

Whether it was natural southern hospitality or his mothers teachings, Jungkook was a well mannered boy down to his core and did not consider opening the door for you or carrying bags for the older women in the store anything other than the bare minimum.

You weren’t surprised that he was so aggravated by the drunk man for eyeing you or calling you his missus, like you were a piece of property because that was just the type of guy Jungkook was.

“Reckon we are almost done?”

And then there was that.

Your eyes shifted over to him as his voice broke you from your thoughts and you almost outwardly sighed in annoyance with yourself. Never once in your entire life had you considered that a southern accent might bring your heart into your throat but apparently that was just something that happened to you now.

You imagined Jungkook didn’t even think he had an accent let alone realized how heavy it was but the low drawl and phrases he used made you feel like a preteen girl who had just discovered british boy bands for the first time.

“Yeah pretty much, just…” You trailed off as your eyes landed on a small booth tucked in the back corner of the vendor section.

Jungkook squinted at you before turning around and scoffing a little when he realized what had caught your attention so easily.

You felt like your feet were magnetically drawn to the rows of pretty farm dresses, lace bandanas and cowgirl hats. Your eyes were wide as you took them all in, already feeling your bank account emptying. The clothes Nari had been bringing you weren’t hideous but they certainly weren’t the most flattering things you had ever worn.

He stood there holding the baskets of groceries while you pointed out everything you wanted to the woman at the booth, smiling happily as you left the store with your arms full.

“You’re ridiculous.” He said flatly as he shook his head and situated the grocery bags in the saddle bags on each side of the horse. His words lacked any heat and you rolled your eyes as you watched him.

“What I am, is sick of sharing a closet with your mother.” He shot you a look. “No offense.”

A laugh escaped him as he finished, turning to you expectantly. It felt more natural now to step closer to the massive animal and he stared at you as you stood in front of him, making sure you were ready and nodding when you gave him an expectant look.

His hands were back on your hips, confirming to yourself that you were inching into delusional territory when your stomach lit up. He was easily lifting you almost above his head so you could swing your leg over the saddle, further forward than you had been.

You almost scooted back to your place but he was mounting before you could and you quickly realized he had placed you there purposefully, now sat behind you with his thighs on the outside of yours.

“Oh so I’m steering now?” You glanced back at him and he looked amused, taking off his hat and adjusting it before placing it on your head. You squinted at him and his mischievous expression before quickly facing forward when he was kicking his foot and whistling lowly to get the horse to start to move.

“Lucky is good to learn on.” He said simply and you suddenly considered steering you both into a lake when you heard his low voice now behind you and near your ear. “He’s gentle.”

“He’s huge.” You remarked plainly and this time when he breathed out a short laugh you could feel it on the back of your neck.

You rode in pleasant silence and the sun was far less brutal now that it was starting to set, the little bit of shine kept out of your eyes by his hat sitting comfortably on your head. You tried to ignore that flutter in your chest at the fact you were wearing his hat and riding his horse, back pressed to chest even if it was just for safety.

“Does it ever get annoying living in such a small town?” You mused in a calm voice after another group of people waved to Jungkook. “Running into ex girlfriends all the time I bet.”

He didn’t respond right away and you swore you thought you felt him tensing behind you. You glanced over your shoulder at him, hoping to find him wearing an amused expression and instead he was just staring at you blankly.

Your eyebrows furrowed for a long second before you were turning back forward with a mouth parted in understanding.

Suddenly it was awkward and you mentally punched yourself for being the one to bring the uncomfortable air to the conversation. Neither of you said anything and you somehow decided that was worse than whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

“Sorry. There’s nothing wrong with that, you know?”

“Just stop talking.” He grunted behind you, sounding more pained and embarrassed than angry with you. “It makes it way worse when you say stuff like that.”

You weren’t sure how anything could make it better but you genuinely didn’t think any less of Jungkook for not having a girlfriend before, if anything it felt a bit ridiculous considering what he looked like but you definitely could not say that to him.

Instead you just fell into a silence that you hoped wasn’t marking the return of your feud. You gave him another apologetic look in the barn after he helped you down and he sighed softly when he saw it, giving you his habitual nod and taking his hat off of your head gently so he could wear it again.

You found yourself unusually bored without the company of Jungkook who had disappeared into his room almost as soon as you got back.

You ended up sitting on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, your more affectionate cat napping in your lap while the other brushed against the wood arches. You were attempting to write in your journal but your mind was blanking or rather full of other things.

There was genuine guilt inside of you for accidentally making Jungkook feel embarrassed but you weren’t really sure what to do about it, finding him hard to read when it came to certain things.

It was easy to tell when he was tired of a particularly repetitive chore, when he felt irritated by his dad more than usual, and when he was getting moody because he was hungry but how did you make him feel better about something like this without making him more humiliated when you brought it up again.

The boy in question was interrupting your string of thoughts and half composed apologies when he was bursting through the front door.

You sat up quickly, eyes wide from the way it slammed against the side of the house and cracked on its old hinges. You were just opening your mouth to ask him what had happened when Minchul was storming out right behind him, his belt in his hand and an expression that made your blood run cold.

“Do it again until it's right.” He was screaming down the porch at Jungkook’s tense back that didn’t stop moving.

He didn’t seem afraid necessarily but rather furious as he made his way to one of the barns, shoulders squared and barely giving you a glimpse of the glare on his face before he slammed the large door shut and disappeared inside.

“That damn boy is useless.” Minchul spat to himself and you stared at him with a shocked and fearful glance. He faltered when he noticed you sitting there and sighed softly, body relaxing just enough for you to narrow your gaze. “Sorry you had to see that honey. You think he would know better by now.”

You didn’t dare respond to him, not trusting yourself to hold back from saying something that would get you or Jungkook in any trouble, or any more in his case. Your eyes drifted to the belt in his tight grip and he sighed again before heading back inside.

Supper was painfully silent and you felt terrible for Nari considering she had spent hours preparing it.

You made sure to hum softly after every few bites, exaggerating the noise so she would know you found it delicious. She gave you a knowing look across the table and smiled at you, breaking the quiet with a soft question about how you liked the town.

It was unlike you to speak at the dinner table but the men were clearly abandoning that role for the night so you and her exchanged gentle small talk while you all ate, trying to make the room feel less suffocating.

You’d understood after the first few nights that it was expected of you and Jungkook to do the dishes so you hugged Nari goodnight and drifted over to the sink.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t ask him if he was okay in fear of making it even worse. His shoulders were still tense like they had been earlier and the look on his face was bugging you, not used to seeing it compared to his usual expressions.

“I’m sorry.” He surprised you by being the first to speak, a low mutter as he took a wet plate from you and dried it off. “He shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”

You wanted to retort that he shouldn't have done it at all but that felt stupid and obvious, something you both already knew and didn’t need to voice. You just shook your head at his apology, not needing to accept one from him.

“You’re a good man Jungkook.” You finally decided to say plainly, not emotion in your voice so he could take the words as simple and true as they were.

He faltered with his hand in mid air, only a brief second before he was taking another dish.

When you were done washing you leaned against the counter next to you, watching him and waiting for him to finish up. He wasn’t looking at you but you knew he felt you staring. He sighed when he dried the last one and finally turned towards you.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that princess?” He said with exhaustion lacing his words and although the name was mocking, it still sent a jolt through your body.

“You know you’re handsome right?” You weren’t trying to flirt with him, especially not with this awkward air from what you had seen. You were just genuinely wondering if he had even noticed, unable to tell by the way he carried himself.

Jungkook stared at you with an unchanging expression, like he was waiting for you to say something else or even laugh at him.

It wasn’t the first time you noticed the sheer size of him, not exactly the tallest man you’d met but certainly making up for it by the width of his shoulders and the broad muscle on his chest. His father was a naturally large man with a round belly and tall stature but you imagined Jungkook could take him quite easily in terms of strength.

“C’mere.” You baited softly, not moving from the counter and just watching him with an almost expressionless face. He took a few seconds but his feet were eventually moving and he was a few feet closer to you now.

Your hand was on his arm, gentle and tracing as you squeezed it lightly but kept your gaze locked on his face. His body was locked with tension as he looked at you, almost curiously.

“No girlfriends but..” You faded off when you saw the flash of annoyance pass over his face, not liking that you were bringing this back up again. “Have you ever hooked up with someone?”

The question lingered in the air adn you almost wondered if he was planning on rejecting you. He hadn’t done anything that made you think he was necessarily interested in you the way you were becoming interested in him but you knew you were relatively pretty and he clearly didn’t mind your company, showing it in his own stoic way.

“What’s it matter?” He mumbled back, shifting a step or two closer like he hadn’t realized he was.

His lack of an actual answer inside the response told you what you needed to know and he seemed to understand that considering the way he sighed.

“Do you think I’m judging you?”

Your head had cocked as you said it and he let out a humorless laugh at the earnest way you asked it.

“Aren’t you?” He retorted and it was a bit more heated than his voice had been before, defenses clearly up despite the way your hand was still smoothing over his arm as you had this conversation. “I’m not some loser.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the outburst, wondering when he had drawn that conclusion. It wasn’t that surprising that a southern boy would associate sexual experience with masculinity or social class but you shook your head.

“I already told you what I think of you Jungkook.” You answered back, stopping your hand from rubbing his skin and letting it just rest instead. “I think you’re a good man.” Your tone was gentle and smooth so he didn’t have any reason to think you were making fun of him. “And that you’re handsome.”

Your hand moved to sit on his firm chest and you could feel the way his heart raced underneath your palm, fast and pounding as you stared up at him. Jungkook might genuinely be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, sun kissed skin and scars littering his body from a lifetime of hard work.

His features were strong and manly but paired with gentle eyes that watched you quizzically and you were sighing softly without even meaning to. You hoped you weren’t overwhelming him with your sudden forwardness but there was only so much time you could spend watching him think lowly of himself before you longer to inform him of the way others viewed him.

You leaned up on your tippy toes while simultaneously bringing his face down so you could kiss him softly, thumb rubbing his jaw and cheek.

He only hesitated for a second before he was kissing you back, taking a few steps forward until your back was hitting the counter again but this time with his body pressing against yours. Your mouths moved together eagerly and you made a small noise when his hands were on your hips, yours moving to play with the hairs touching the back of his neck.

His height and size was making you feel crazy as he tugged you against him, his strong arms around you and the thought of how easily he had lifted your entire body earlier made you feel warm as you made out desperately.

The sound of someone clearing their throat was making you jump away from each other and your eyes were both wide with panic as you saw his mother standing at the bottom of the stairs in her nightgown. Your chest was rising and falling both from the intense make out session and embarrassment.

“I-“ You squeaked out in an attempt to explain but nothing followed and you almost thought his mom looked amused.

“Goodnight.” She said softly before turning back around like she hadn't seen anything. You’d expected to be sent up to your rooms for the night but clearly she was attempting to meddle by leaving you alone again.

The tension had popped and you awkwardly looked at Jungkook.

Jungkook let out a shaky breath as he watched his mom go back upstairs, his heart still beating like a drum in his chest. His cheeks were still flushed red with embarrassment, and he ran a hand sheepishly through his hair as he looked at you with an unreadable expression.

He took a deep breath and the sound made you feel way worse. You shifted on your feet, not really knowing what to do in this situation. It felt so ridiculous that you couldn’t help yourself from bursting out into soft laughter and he gave you a disbelieving look.

Your forehead fell against his chest as you laughed softly, eyes squeezed shut from embarrassment. You felt his body shaking slightly as he joined you in your giggle fit and you were glad he wasn’t taking this as seriously as you feared he might.

You could feel his hand in your hair as he brushed it out of your face and your laughter faded off into a warm smile as you looked up at him, rocking onto your tiptoe to press against him in another kiss. It was much sweeter this time, lacking any real heat.

Only until his hands were back on your hips and then you couldn’t stop yourself from parting your lips and pushing deeper, grateful he had understood what you wanted when he pushed you back against the counter and tilted his head with yours.

It was picking up in pace again and your tongue was moving against his bottom lip, whining softly when he licked against your own and bringing one of your hands back to rub his hard chest.

“You’re a good kisser.” You remarked against his mouth and you could quite literally feel him smirk, the realization making you feel like you were truly going crazy.

“You’re pretty.” He said back in that same monotone voice he always had and you smiled at the now familiar sound of it. His hands tensed against your hips and you quickly got what he wanted, kissing him again with more fever after his compliment towards you.

You weren’t sure how you went from arguing with him a few weeks ago to making out desperately in his kitchen but it was hard to dislike the change in things when it felt so good, barely able to pull yourself away from him when he was whispering into your mouth that you needed to get some sleep.

He was right and you knew that but he practically had to maneuver you both towards the bedroom hall, stopping to kiss you along the way and laughing when your hands were stubborn in their exploration of his strong arms.

You’d closed your door and immediately pressed your back against it as you sucked in a deep breath, waiting until you heard his own close down the hall before you were throwing yourself on the bed and screaming into the pillow.

----

The next morning left you feeling slightly anxious and embarrassed, nervous to face Jungkook with your new development and downright terrified to see his mother.

She was alone in the kitchen when you ventured down and you froze at the bottom of the staircase, considering turning around and booking it back up the stairs until her gentle gaze landed on you and it was too late.

“C'mon honey, I won’t bite.” She said with amusement lacing her words and your shoulders halfway relaxed. You blushed and walked fully into the room, avoiding the counter she had seen Jungkook pressing you against last night like it was infected.

“I’m so sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to disrespect you and your house.” You said quickly with a sigh as you sat on one of the stools, not even planning to address it but unable to stop yourself from feeling foolish.

She watched you with patient eyes as you spoke it in one breath and then smiled gently. “I haven’t seen my baby smile like that since he was a boy. I know he’s a grown up now and he does what grown ups do.” Your face flushed at the implication and you suddenly wondered if she had already figured this was happening. “I think you’d do him some good.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to her kind words and you stayed quiet and stiff on the stool.

The floorboard creaking made you turn back to the doorway and you froze even more when you saw Jungkook standing there, his expression alerting you to the fact he had been there longer than you had realized and most likely eavesdropping.

“Hi.” You instinctively breathed out when you noticed him, ridiculously handsome in the early morning.

He cleared his throat and entered the kitchen, giving his mother a soft kiss on the cheek as a greeting before placing his hands on the island and looking at you awkwardly. “Hey.”

Nari suddenly decided she had something to do that involved her going out to the chicken coop but you didn’t miss the instigating look she shot him over her shoulder as she left. You almost thought his cheeks were tinged pink as he quickly looked away from her and your lips curled upwards just enough for him to sigh.

“Listen I-”

“Do you want to do something with me today?” He had cut you off and then froze like he hadn’t even realized you were speaking.

Your eyes were a little wide as you stared at him, forgetting what you were even trying to tell him, most likely something that would give him the option to pretend the kiss had never happened but you liked his idea a lot better.

“Something like.. other than chores?” You half teased as you reminded him that you did something with him almost every single day if farm work counted. He was nodding his head swiftly and going between avoiding looking at you directly and staring into your eyes intensely. “Yes Jungkook, I would. That sounds very nice.”

He looked overly relieved that you had agreed and you began to really question his sanity if he actually thought you would reject him after what had happened.

Jungkook had instructed you that you would need a bathing suit and something comfortable to walk in, not leaving much to the imagination about what he wanted to do but leaving you excited regardless.

You almost asked him how he had gotten the two of you out of duties but you saw Nari carrying a small bag of hay as you stepped out onto the porch and realized quickly she must have agreed to help out today.

She was giving you a soft look and you returned it with a small smile and a wave goodbye, hearing the hinges creak behind you as he made his way out of the house and paused next to you to look at his mom as she disappeared back to the nearest barn.

“Ready?” He said softly and you nodded your head at him, glancing to the side and feeling glad to see him smiling subtly.

The new development between you did not change the fact Jungkook didn’t talk much but it did mean he let you be the one to shuffle through his CD collection until you found something you liked. He actually had a few things you managed to recognize and you put in the back of your mind to request a mixtape of his favorite tracks.

You preferred the windows down and wind blowing to the cold and sterile AC of your car back in the city, hair in your face and the now familiar scents that the warm air danced through the old truck being things you had grown used to faster than your usual that you had simply tolerated for two decades.

He was tapping the steering wheel to the music and your eyes scanned over him briefly now that he was distracted.

He had abandoned his button up flannels for the day in place of a loose shirt that was tucked into his jeans and belt in random places, showcasing his large belt buckle that you had started to think was his signature.

Clearly you were obvious enough that he caught on to the feeling of you staring because he was sending you a sideways glance that made you laugh. Most guys would probably smirk cockily if they noticed you checking them out like that but Jungkook was certainly not most guys, quickly facing forward again and swallowing hard.

You watched from the side mirror as dust kicked up nearly to your window, feeling him shift gears as he pulled off onto the side of the dirt road.

There was nothing special about the area he stopped at, a simple stretch of road with trees canopy over the top and giving you a nice break from the sun. You looked at him, curious why he was stopping.

“Cmon.” He said and his eyes flashed with something bright before he was getting out of the driver's side and gesturing for you to slide across the bench seat of the truck so you could come out his door.

His hand was reaching out to grab yours, helping you out smoothly and the act made it so you were standing almost as close as you were the night before. He took a few seconds to let his eyes dart over your face before he was stepping back and keeping his hand over yours.

“It’s through here.” He breathed and you nodded, letting him gently guide you through the trees and brush.

You could see a faint desired path, dirt in place of grass where people had been stepping and venturing off from the road like you were now.

Luckily it wasn’t a long walk considering you were not exactly accustomed enough to the outdoor life to enjoy branches in your face but you were glad you had heeded his warning about comfortable shoes.

You felt his hand squeezing yours as he slowed his pace, leaving you almost stumbling into his back from your lack of paying attention.

He glanced back at you as you came to a stop beside him, hands wrapping around his arm similarly to the way you had held him at the market. He stepped to the side more so you could see what he was bringing you towards and your mouth parted.

The quarry was only a little bigger than a pond, surrounded on all sides by trees and tall rock walls that glistened from the water splashed on them by the numerous small waterfalls in various places alongside it.

The water was a beautiful blue-green shade that looked especially inviting given the heat today and there was a small slope that led to a patch of sand, sporadic bushes of flowers and long hanging vines decorating the empty spaces.

“Wow.” You breathed out as you stepped out of the tree line, walking along the top of the quarry until you could shuffle your way down the slope towards the beach.

Jungkook stayed right behind you, silent and squeezing your hand every so often whenever the path got a bit steep. You were grateful considering how little focus you had now that you were presented with such a beautiful sight.

“Do you like it?” He was asking softly when you made it to the waterline, the area even more breathtaking from down below. Your eyes scanned over the quarry walls around you now and you almost felt emotional.

You’d never seen anything even remotely similar to this and it was overwhelming you a little bit. It was like an oasis hidden just off the dirty road, untouched by civilization and nurtured by the elements around you.

“It’s amazing.” You turned to face him and he looked pleased that you were excited, biting the inside of his cheek and nodding as he took off his hat and placed it on a nearby log.

Your eyebrows raised in question before he was shifting backwards and kicking off his boots, a laugh of disbelief leaving you in a single breath.

The girlish giggle was leaving you before you could stop it and you didn’t care enough to feel embarrassed about the sound, hurriedly removing your easiest layers before pulling your dress over your head and leaving you in your bathing suit.

When you emerged from the lacy fabric you were greeted by a shirtless Jungkook and you fully froze, eyes locking on his chest and the full expanse of his tattooed sleeve that you’d been catching glimpses of whenever he wore a shirt.

You already knew he was strong, easily detectable by his stamina and how much he could move and carry without breaking a sweat. Plus the telling veins lining his forearms that pulses whenever he shifted or gripped something.

None of these small tidbits could’ve prepared you for the sight of Jeon Jungkook shirtless and you couldn’t even bother to disguise how intensely you were staring at his toned chest and the happy trail wedged between hard ab muscles.

Jungkook seemed to not even notice the way you were looking at him but that probably had something to do with the fact he was staring at you the same exact way, hair messy from removing your dress that now sat at your feet.

You imagined at another time it could’ve been heated but instead it was bashful, almost shy as you both came to reality and looked away in sync. Your cheeks felt warm again and you squinted up at the burning sun like it was the cause and not the pull in your stomach.

It was easier to run towards the water than face him again and he seemed to agree considering you could hear the sound of him entering right behind you.

The two of you splashed and played for nearly an hour, throwing handfuls of water and filling the echoing quarry with your shrieks and laughter as you did so. Your stomach was aching from how hard you were laughing and your cheeks felt even worse, in the best way possible.

You’d even begun to wonder if you had ever actually smiled before this exact moment, the happiness rushing through you feeling so foreign. You were completely detached from yourself.

The wealth of your family name, the cold expressions you both faced daily and learned to force onto yourself and even the heaviness of the city air and its routine were all fading from your mind. Right now you were simply a girl having fun in a beautiful place with a boy that liked you enough to free his day and show it to you.

Jungkook was either thinking similarly or simply recognizing your melancholy because the play splashing faded into the two of you slowly inching closer and closer in the water until your arms were looped around his neck and his settled warmly on your waist.

Your eyes were scanning over the parts of his chest that were not under the hazy water, cold fingers lightly tracing over the scars and marks littering his tan skin.

He was simply watching you, eyes on your face and only shifting away briefly whenever you made eye contact.

“Where'd you get this one?” Your voice was a whisper and it felt like the first time you’d talked in a while, smoothing over a particularly large mark spanning across his left collarbone all the way to his shoulder.

“Got bucked off Lucky when I was fourteen.” He said in a low voice, referencing the large horse you’d taken into town together. “Landed wrong on the wired fence.”

You nodded softly as he recounted the story, feeling a deeper warmth when you thought about teenage Jungkook and his mishaps as he grew into the practiced country man he was now. His hands squeezed your waist as your hand crept up to his cheek and you shifted closer.

“This one?” Your tone was more hesitant when you saw the look on his face at the touch, already knowing he’d be explaining that especially deep mark next.

“I was seventeen.” He started off slowly and you watched him, hand moving to cup his cheek and obscure the scar from your vision. His face instinctively pushed against your palm and he sighed. “Accidentally tipped a barrel of feed we were transporting to the neighbors. My dad sent me flying into the wall and I guess there was an old nail or something.”

It was the first time he had outwardly voiced what you already assumed and although you knew, it didn’t make it any easier to hear him say it.

“Has he always done that?” You whispered and he shook his head.

“Just when I became a teenager.” He said simply, like it wasn't a big deal to him. It probably wasn’t anymore and you couldn't help but frown softly, feeling worse when his eyes flashed with concern. “Happens less now.”

Another thing you didn’t need to hear out loud to understand. Jungkook was bigger now, stronger and harder to push around even if he allowed it up to a certain point. You had a feeling that he'd never lay a hand on his father to test the theory but you had full confidence he could lay him out if needed and you imagined Minchul had realized something similar.

You felt the words leave you, not exactly sure if that was what he needed anyways. There was nothing you could say that would make it stop and you figured he had thought of any reassuring phrases you would’ve come up with anyways.

There was only one thing that made sense to you and you hoped it was the right choice when you kissed him softly.

It was so gentle he barely felt it and then you were pulling back and pressing your forehead against his. His gaze was softer now and you could feel the wet droplets from his hair on your skin, his large hand leaving your hip underwater to hold your face and bring you into him again.

This time there was some heat behind the action, mouths moving together as you wrapped your legs around his middle to be as close as possible.

Jungkook kissed you deeply, a low noise sounding from his chest when you were tugging softly at his lower lip. It felt like a habit to tangle your tongue with his and you sighed against his mouth, one hand on his jaw with the other resting on his chest as he held you weightlessly in the water.

“Have I mentioned you’re a good kisser?” You breathed against his mouth and he made a low noise, used to your antics and teasing comments by now. His hands were under your thighs to keep you supported around his waist and you sighed as you fell back into a kiss.

It felt utterly ridiculous, disbelief still clouding your mind when you felt the butterflies in your stomach and the way your skin felt tingly wherever his hands traced. You had barely felt anything before you got here and suddenly your days were full of satisfying muscle aches and electric glances across the room with a boy who was holding you like he actually managed to care about you.

You felt like a fool for putting so much weight behind kissing him, behind being somewhere he considered special and laughing like little kids together.

“I am so happy you are here.”

All of your concerns faded away when he whispered the words against your lips, unable to keep kissing him but loving the way he pecked your mouth a few times before realizing you weren’t responding anymore and looking at you heavily.

Maybe he could tell it was something you needed to hear because one of his hands left your leg in favor of pushing your wet hair behind your ear, thumb tracing over your swollen lips.

“You mean that?” You accidentally whispered it and that felt much more vulnerable than you had meant it to come across, not able to stop yourself from seeking confirmation. You’d spent your entire life feeling like you were taking up space, a ghost in crowded conference halls and an investment only worthy of funding.

Jungkook had nothing to take from you, you had nothing to offer him here in this new version of you that you had barely begun to understand yourself and yet his eyes were soft and genuine as he nodded.

“I was just going through the motions before you.” He responded right when you needed to hear it most and the rare show of vocalized honesty from him hit harder. You could tell it was difficult for him to say these things out loud without feeling insecure and you appreciated it even more.

You kissed him eagerly and barely processed the way he was standing out of the water and easily carrying you to the shore, only recognizing your new location when your back touched the warm sand and you gasped softly.

It was swallowed by his mouth as he placed himself over you, holding his weight up with his left arm so he wasn’t exactly pressing against you. He felt even better in this position and your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him down and keeping his mouth moving with yours like it was the only way you could function.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there like that, going between kissing heavily and whispering sweet words to each other that made your chest tighten so much it felt like it was going to explode.

The sun had started to set and you felt slightly chilled in your damp suit, flushing when he noticed your shiver and silently moved to help pull your dress back over your head. He stood from the sand, offering a hand to lift you up and steadying you before finding his discarded shirt.

It was silent on the way back to the farm but welcomed. You had abandoned the passenger seat in favor of sitting in the middle, laying your head on his shoulder and smiling every time his hand moved from the gear stick to rest on your bare knee.

He had his left arm out the window as he tapped the top of it occasionally along to the music but he quickly withdrew it when you pulled in the long driveway and saw the porch light still on. It was dark by now but not quite late enough to cause any suspicion, sky a dark blue as the sun fully set.

You were glad you had enough sense to scoot back into your seat because you passed the scattered trees and could now clearly see Minchul stood on the porch, not at all trying to pretend he wasn’t waiting for you.

Jungkook was tense and his face was dark in a way that pulled a pout onto your face, hoping you didn’t have a sour end to such a beautiful day.

He sighed as he parked the truck and you reached your hand over to grab his, his eyes darting to you quickly like he had forgotten you were sitting there with him. You watched as his shoulders dropped as they lost their tension and he gave you a soft smile and squeezed your hand in his.

You were both exiting the truck and you gave Minchul a small wave, only slightly surprised that he didn’t return it. He was still keeping up the charming and friendly persona with you but clearly it didn’t matter when his hard gaze was locked on his son.

“How were the Johnsons?” He said lowly and you knew better than to respond or showcase any confusion on your face even though you had no idea what he was talking about.

“The Johnsons?” Jungkook’s voice was casual as he walked, barely faltering at the question and not even glancing at his dad as he stepped onto the porch. You stayed on the yard and watched them, breath held as it almost seemed like they were sizing each other up. You weren’t used to seeing any defiance from Jungkook and it worried you. “We were at the Lee’s. Mary said hello.”

He went inside, sending you a glance as he did and you stood there silently.

Minchul scoffed and you saw his jaw clench in annoyance, clearly wanting to test Jungkook and catch him in a lie. Nari and him must have come up with a cover story beforehand about where you two were the entire day, something you stupidly hadn’t even considered.

His gaze fell on you and while it wasn’t as icy, it still didn’t look thrilled to see you. You were glad you had become so accustomed to having a flat expression because the last thing you wanted was to be the one who fucked it up and got the both of you in trouble.

“Thank you for letting us have some time off.” You said softly, tone as polite as you could manage and he stayed very still for a few more seconds before giving you a small smile and nodding. You stayed there as he turned to head inside, finally letting out the breath you were holding.

----

It was difficult to know Jungkook was so close yet also understanding spending unnecessary time with him could get you in trouble potentially. You knew you were both adults but it was his fathers house and clearly he didn’t have sound reasoning for his hatred towards Jungkook.

As much as you wanted to lounge in his room with him and listen to music, you settled for opening your door and letting it float down the hallway towards you as you journaled.

You were back to chores the next morning like normal and you couldn’t help the shy smile on your face when you saw him in the kitchen. He returned it and you felt his foot nudge against yours when you slid onto the stool beside him, side eyeing him playfully as Nari brought you both a plate of breakfast.

There was a welcomed silence as you ate rather quickly and then you were both slipping out of the house, soft giggles escaping you at the fast way he walked towards the barn. He glanced behind you towards the house and must've determined the coast was clear because he was scooping you off of your feet to get you there quicker.

“You’re insane.” You laughed and slapped against his shoulder as he bridal style carried you into the barn, rounding the corner and setting you down when you were out of sight.

“Is that a bad thing?” His eyebrow went up and you narrowed your eyes jokingly, a bright smile on your face as you stared up at him. “Maybe I just missed you.”

You still weren’t used to the quiet boy you had grown accustomed to being able to say the most devastating things like he didn’t even realize what they did to you. You sucked in a breath at the statement and it wasn’t long before he was kissing you again.

There seemed to be a mutual addiction to the action now that you’d done it a few times and you were glad you weren’t alone in that, not sure what you would do if he wasn’t so willing to kiss you all the time.

Kissing you didn’t seem to be the only thing on Jungkook’s mind because it wasn’t long before he had you laid back against a blanket over the hay, making you half wonder if he planned this or if it was just a spontaneous decision. Either way you appreciated the gesture, not sure you could enjoy the way he was kissing down your neck as much if you had scratchy grass poking you back.

“Jungkook.” You gasped his name out when his teeth brushed over your collarbone and his back hardened at the sound for a second before he was humming, low and sensual as he questioned the reason for your call. “More.”

He picked his head up long enough to look into your eyes, scanning over your face with a dark expression you hadn’t quite seen from him. It was similar to the way he looked when he was particularly focused on a hard task but there was something deeper there and you suddenly felt flustered.

“Tell me what you want.” It was a soft instruction that subtly reminded you he didn’t really know what he was doing.

“Anything, just…” Your hands were in his hair and you kissed him softly as you tried to collect yourself, distracted by the way he was looking at you and the weight of his body on top of yours. “Just you. I just want you.”

That seemed to be enough for him to forget his inexperienced based hesitance because his mouth was back on yours, sloppy and hot in a way that made a shiver go down your spine. His hands moved under your dress, pushing it up so it sat under your ribs and exposed your lower half.

He went back to kissing down your neck and this time he didn’t stop at your dress, skipping your covered section and shifting his body further down so he could have his mouth on your stomach. You sucked in a gasp at the sensation, keeping your hands in his hair to keep yourself grounded under the illusion of some control.

It was a world changing sight to see him down between your legs like that, eyes darting from your lace panties back up to your face to make sure you were feeling okay. You imagined he was being met with a very eager expression on your face, nearly pleading as you took in his messy hair and doe eyes.

The first press of his lips alongside your inner thigh was almost enough to ruin your life and you whined softly, shifting your knees further apart so he had no issue getting where he needed.

“Quiet down princess.” The already low drawl of his voice had taken an even deeper tone and you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut like you were pained at the idea of silence. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful baby.”

He had no idea the way he was wrecking you with the pet names, made even more clear by the way his mouth was on your core through the thin wet fabric of your underwear. Your hips bucked as you made a strangled sound and his hand was shooting up to hold you down, pressing against your stomach and kissing his teeth at you like you were an animal he was trying to settle.

The instinctive way he attempted to tame you made your head spin, not even realizing how sexy you would find that until he did it.

“Jungkook.” You were breathing again and shifting your hips upwards, heat surging through you when you realized you weren’t even able to move under his strong hold. He was easily pressing you against the blanket with one hand and one of yours moved from his hair to pull at the waistband of your panties.

He didn’t need you to explain that to him, hurriedly sitting up enough that he could pull them down your thighs and grunting a little when you kicked them away, settling back between your legs and taking a deep breath at the sight of you bare.

“Please.” You pleaded and he looked back up at you.

“You want it baby?” He said lowly, a whole new persona to him you hadn’t even begun to fantasize about and you nodded eagerly, eyes a little glassy. “Want me to taste you?”

You made another high pitched impatient sound and he laughed a little, breath hitting your wet folds making your body tighten for a second.

He was finally done teasing you and you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet like he requested as soon as his mouth was on you, hands moving to your knees to keep your legs from clamping around his head as he licked against you.

“Oh fuck.” You whined and he closed his eyes at the taste of you, tongue slow and testing as he explored what areas brought the biggest reaction out from your lips. He was clearly a good kisser in more than one way because you felt like you were going to pass out just from the way his mouth moved, getting more eager the more comfortable he got.

Your hips rocked forward against his face as much as his grip allowed, searching for friction and finding it when his nose brushed against your sensitive clit. His mouth quickly followed, tongue working your bud and bringing noises out of you that you didn’t even know you were capable of.

“Feels so good.” You mewled and he groaned against you, sending another wave of pleasure and longing through you.

“It’s good princess?” He was breathing heavier from the lack of oxygen considering he hadn’t taken his mouth off of you since he got down there and you almost laughed at the sound of it. You weren’t sure if he was dirty talking or genuinely looking for reassurance but you nodded eagerly regardless, hands tangling back in his hair and pressing his face back between your legs.

“Make me cum.” You said the order softly, more of a plea than anything and he took it easily, practically making out with your cunt in his desperation to give you what you wanted. Jungkook was clearly a pleaser and you found it even more stupid nobody had jumped his bones yet, although a possessive flare surging through you every time you remembered you were his first.

You did a terrible job keeping quiet as he ate you out and you figured the rough way he was squeezing your thighs was meant to be reminders but you ignored him in favor of rolling your hips along with his mouth, biting your lip to keep from outwardly screaming when you realized you were about to cum.

Your grip in his hair tightened almost painfully and your breathing picked up, chest rising and falling in heavy pants as you got closer. Luckily Jungkook knew enough to not stop, pressing his tongue against your hole with his nose nudging your clit and bringing you to release so suddenly you felt dizzy.

“What the fuck?” You felt almost startled by how fast and intensely he made you finish and he slowed down, eyeing you curiously and almost looking like he was smiling. He kissed your thighs a few more times softly before he was coming back up on top of you.

You moaned when he was kissing you out of nowhere, not even slightly disgusted at the idea of tasting yourself and instead eagerly licking into his mouth.

“Wait.” You gasped into it and he barely slowed, only pausing to kiss the corners of your lips and let you speak. “What about you?”

Your hand was inching between your bodies to feel his hard length but you faltered when you felt the wet patch on his pants instead. His body tensed on top of yours and your eyes went back to his face, taking in his embarrassed expression and feeling a million different types of warmth rushing through you suddenly.

“Fuck.” He said in one breath, eyes shutting tight for a second like he was willing himself to disappear.

“That might be the hottest thing that has ever happened to me.” You said far too loud for the quiet barn and he looked at you like you were crazy, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks turning pink when he processed the dazed out look returning to your face. “You came in your pants from eating me out? Are you even real?”

He was frozen for a long few seconds with that same expression before he was pushing out a singular disbelieving laugh and resting his head on your shoulder. You giggled as he groaned into your hot skin, hand coming back up to his hair to pet it gently this time.

You didn’t move for a bit, kissing softly until the heat was beginning to feel too intense now that you didn’t have a mind numbing distraction.

“We have to do our chores.” You whispered against his lips and he sighed softly, knowing you were right.

He was gentle as he helped you stand up, sitting you back on a wood slate so he could pull your underwear backup and adjust your dress. His hands were smoothing through your hair to help control it, picking loose pieces of grass and straw as you watched his face.

The barn was quiet as you reached up to cup his face, pulling him in for another kiss and sighing softly when you felt him smiling.

“What are you doing to me?” You almost groaned as he pulled away again, tugging you off of the wood so you were standing in front of him. You were close enough for your chest to press together and you craned your neck to look up at him.

“It’s mutual.” He responded easily and you felt like you were really going crazy.

Luckily he had more sense than you and was backing up a few feet to pop the tension filled bubble and help keep you focused. It was almost impossible to watch him do chores now that you knew what was hidden under his shirt, and became familiar with those grunts in a different context.

You worked through the day together and kept your shy smiles and loaded glances to as much of a minimum as you could manage.

Supper was much more pleasant today and you felt like things were starting to really flow nicely around here, your heart feeling content as you and Nari joked around over the meal and the men listened with fond smiles.

Your gaze went to Jungkook for the hundredth time today and you found him already watching you, eyes bright and a smile on his face that you usually didn’t see at dinner time. He must have felt similarly to you about how good the day was because he didn’t look away, holding your eyes affectionately.

When you finally blushed and looked away, your line of sight landed on Minchuk and you froze.

He was staring at you with an expression of understanding, like he had just figured something out. His jaw tensed as he looked towards Jungkook and you felt red hot fear in your chest.

Jungkook had started conversing calmly with his mother and didn’t seem to notice the expression on either of your faces.

It wasn’t until your time to do the dishes that you even dared to look at him again, breathing a sigh of relief when he sunk against you for a hug.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him, stretching on your tiptoes and burying your face in his neck as he circled his against your lower back. The fact it was overly sappy didn’t miss you but you couldn’t really care anymore, longing to be near him after any amount of time.

“I feel crazy.” His voice was slightly muffled by your hair and you smiled at the sound of it and the warm tone he only seemed to take when he spoke to you. “How did I miss you so bad when you are right here?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak without saying something even more ridiculous but he hopes he knows what you mean, what you want to shout into the quiet kitchen.

No, you aren't crazy. No you're not the only one feeling like this. No you don't understand it either.

You only see a glimpse of his eyes before you are kissing and you can’t even remember who started it, if you went on your tiptoes or if he bent down to your level to catch you in something so feverish it felt like you had gone a year apart. There was no way of knowing who backed your bodies up against the counter, whose hands explored the other's frame first and who decided completely abandoning the dishes was somehow a good idea.

The only thing you could pinpoint was the exact moment it ended and he was suddenly ripped from you in a way that was so jarring you felt your knees go weak like you were going to collapse without him.

It took you a few seconds to track his body, stumbled across the kitchen like he had gotten thrown. The icy expression on his face made you realize he had been, your eyes darting to Minchul standing only a few feet away with his chest puffed and his eyebrows pulled together in a way that made your mouth part in shock.

“What the hell do you think you are doing boy?” His voice was venomous and he made another move in Jungkook’s direction that had you covering your mouth, lips still wet from kissing him.

Jungkook didn’t move a muscle, not even slightly flinching or faltering his hardened expression. You wanted to shout at him that now was not the time to challenge his father, not after such a good day and certainly not over you. The look on his face told you that there was no point in trying to diffuse the situation, his shoulders squaring as he shifted his body defensively.

“Oh.” Minchul looked genuinely surprised under all the rage until a bitter laugh slipped out as he stared at Jungkook mockingly. “You’re tough ain't you. A real man now?”

“Minchul.” You said slowly, taking a step away from the counter and trying to put yourself in their peripheral vision. You had a light amount of hope that seeing you in the room might be enough to humble the angry man and also calm Jungkook down enough to at least hold this off. You had wondered if you should call out for Nari but you decided against it. “We.. we were just-”

“I know what you were doing.” He spat as he turned to look at you and the way he stared at you stole all of the hope from underneath you. It was the exact same way he looked at Jungkook and you knew that any effort he was putting into faking a charming persona was no longer applied to you.

“Watch it.” Jungkook was speaking for the first time and both of you snapped your gazes over to him.

His voice had never sounded like that and you felt a wave of fear run over you, not towards him necessarily but towards the outcome that would be caused by this level of anger coming from both of them. He clearly had no intention of pushing away his feelings and fauxing respect to get his dad off of his back, combative and aggressive now that you were being spoken down to.

“Y/N.” Minchul was speaking calm and slow but the way his glare never left Jungkook’s taut frame sent a shiver down your spine and your eyes widened. “Go outside honey.”

“I-” You went to object but he sent you another look that left no room for argument and you turned desperately to Jungkook. He was clenching his jaw and looking pained as he finally looked at you just long enough to give you a confirming nod. His face barely softened but it was noticeable to you, a silent act of reassurance that he would be okay.

You felt beneath yourself as you stumbled outside, not really sure what else to do with your body once you got out there. You got the strange urge to call your father even though he would never help you, even to call your mother who had been dead for most of your life.

Your brain was just searching desperately for solutions and even more so when you heard crashing from inside the house, tears springing to your eyes as you took a few more shaky steps away to try and put some distance between you and the grunts of anger and pain.

The sensible part of your brain noticed a light switching on upstairs as the volume increased, realizing Nari must have woken up and would most likely be rushing down to the kitchen and putting a stop to whatever was happening.

It was a power you clearly did not have and you felt so overwhelmingly useless.

You felt like you were outside for hours alone like that even though it was only a few breathless minutes before Jungkook was coming outside. He was walking fast and storming right past you, similarly to the way he had been the other week when Minchul brought out the belt on the porch.

“Jungkook.” You called out to him and your hands reached for his arm, heart clenching when you made brief contact before they were slipping off as he refused to stop. You started to chase after him without really thinking about it, needing to speak to him before you exploded. “Wait please.”

He whipped around at the crack in your voice and you faltered when you saw the blood on his lip and redness surrounding his eye and cheek. You were sure there were more marks you’d be able to pinpoint tomorrow and you were suddenly grateful for the moon lighting him up.

Your hands were coming up to cup his face instinctively as a wounded noise left you and he winced at the feeling of your hands on his injuries. Your mouth was opening and closing as you searched for the words to say, head shaking as you felt like you were about to cry or throw up or both.

“Did you know?” His voice was hoarse and your eyebrows automatically furrowed in confusion. It was asked softly but he scoffed at your expression and repeated it in a much harsher tone.

“Know what?” You almost begged, wanting so badly to understand him and be able to help in some way. You took a step closer and he looked pained by the action, your stomach turning at the way he avoided looking directly at you. “Did I know what Jungkook? What happened?”

He was quiet for a long time and you felt like the dirt underneath you was slipping away and finally waking you up from this dream you’d been living in. You half wanted to sink with it and wake up in your warm bed worlds away from here with vague visions of a beautiful cowboy and the other half was clawing at the collapsing ground and pleading for the dirt under your nails to stay until morning.

“Your dad owns the farm.” He said it so simply like it didn’t take the air out of your lungs and you shook your head, both in denial and confusion on what he was saying. His eyes were cold as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if you were the enemy or not anymore. “He owns everything. You own everything.”

He emphasized the pronoun like he was trying to make it really clear to you that you played some type of role in this situation and you shifted away from him.

It suddenly made so much more sense to you, the way Minchul and your father interacted like they were forced to and the memories of coming here as a child feeling so foreign and locked away. How kind the Jeon’s had been to you and the pure fury towards you and Jungkook for getting involved, it was all a result of your father placing his polished shoe on another aspect of your life.

This time it wasn’t an apartment back in the city or your daily schedule, not even your name on the important document that locked you into the family business for life if anything tragic happened to him. Your father had managed to put his greedy hands on something you had deemed untouchable.

Jungkook had created a world for you that didn’t allow the bad stuff to exist, that blocked out every memory you had that was grey and cold. He had brought the sun to you and now you were learning your father had already staked his flag on its surface.

“What are you talking about?” You didn’t know what else to say and you could feel hot tears on your flamed cheeks now. You had never felt adrenaline like that, pure emotion and panic as your chest started to rise and fall quickly.

Jungkook was quiet as he watched you like he was conflicted about what to do. Once a particularly rough breath ran through your body he was softening his shoulders and gaze simultaneously, pulling you against his frame as you wracked with a heavy sob.

You hadn’t had a panic attack in years, since you were a teenager who could barely stand the sight of a crowded crosswalk or a presentation. There was no doubt in your mind that you would not be able to get out of the strong grip of it easily on your own and you sunk against him.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed and you pushed your face into his chest, muffling the strangled noise that left you. “Of course you didn’t know. I know you didn’t know.”

“I want to go home.” Is what you eventually breathed out even though you realized as soon as you said it that you weren’t sure what you were referring to. The thought of your apartment was only comforting until you remembered he didn’t even exist there and you sunk lower against him.

“We can go there.” He said back hurriedly like he had already considered that as an option. You felt terrible for not being in the state to talk to him properly, to ask him if he was okay and if he could face his father again. “I’ll take you, we can go home.”

You weren’t sure he knew what that meant to you but he was gently lowering you on the stairs and going back inside before you could tell him. His back was tense and you had half a mind to yell out for him to come back, to not go in and to stay with you where you could pretend you could keep him safe.

Instead of sitting there and feeling useless, you stood to your feet and chased after him.

He was already on his way back out and you bumped into each other, a startled sound leaving him as his hands reached out to grab your arms and steady you. You were still breathing heavily and now confused by how quickly he had returned, eyes going over his wide shoulders.

Nari was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a dim look on her face, stealing her of her usual warmth and soft glow. Minchul was nowhere to be seen but you could tell by the damage to the room that it had been a full blown scuffle between the two of them.

You felt devastated for her, knowing how much love and pride she held for her kitchen and the things she created. There were shattered plates and disarrayed decorations, a large hole in the wall that you had a bad feeling was created by Jungkook’s back. She met your eyes over his frame and you felt relief when she softened slightly at the sight of your swollen eyes and remorseful stare.

“Go on, honey.” She said in a voice so gentle it broke your heart, Jungkook’s hands tightening on your arms at the sound of it. “I’ll be alright here.”

He was shifting and you could hear the sound of the keys in his fingers now, only just feeling the cold metal pressing against your skin. You nodded swiftly at her and gave her one more heavy look that you hoped she would understand despite your lack of words, her smile in return making you believe she had.

Jungkook and you were quick to leave the house and you felt another sob go through you when he spared one last look towards the barn where Lucky and the other horses were most likely asleep for the night, knowing there was no certain timeline he would be able to see them again any time soon.

He was opening the passenger door for you and making a soft noise with his teeth to get your attention through your devastation, closing it softly once you were sitting on the bench seat.

You waited until he was sat and finished taking a few deep breaths, until you were squealing out of the driveway and pretending the light wasn't still on upstairs. Only after you were on the dirt road and heading towards uncertainty did you scoot over into the middle seat.

This time around you weren’t damp from the quarry water and your cheeks were not sore from smiling so hard you felt euphoric. There were no shy glances and no toeing the line between unlikely friends and something more. But there was the feeling of his hand wrapped around your knee like he was scared to forget you were there and the soft kisses you were laying on his bruised face as he drove.

Going back the same way you came but with your heart full of adoration and something much more real that you were too afraid to name just yet. You felt like your fantasy world was finally mixing into reality and the colors mixing with your cold gray was a lot less jarring knowing he was the one braving it all with you.

Jungkook released a soft breath when your head landed on his shoulder and you felt the weight of it all go with it.

#bts smut #bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts army #bts jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts fanfiction #cowboy #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook angst #heesdreamer

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ducky-women · 3 days ago

Text

The Diagnosis

Alexia Putellas x Child!R, Olga Rios x Child!R

Summary: In which Alexia finds out what is wrong with her daughter

Masterlist

Author's note: This is sad, but at the same time it's helping me heal something about my private life, if you don't like this just don't read it

Tw: Talks about cancer in children and health decline, angs and no comfort

....

Alexia’s gaze was firmly locked on you in the corner playing with the soft plush toys with Alba, she didn’t let her eyes wander away as tough you would disappear if she even tears them away for even a second, that was until one hand on her arm brought her back towards the woman sitting in front of her

“I’m sorry” she whispered while her hand moved to hold Olga’s hand firmly on hers, she feels her girlfriend squeeze back just as much as she’s squeezing

“No worries” The kind woman answered while smiling sadly at the couple in front of her, she perceived the same dissociation in all the parents she has had to talk to so it’s normal for her, especially in these circumstances

“You were saying” Alexia said while holding her breath for what was about to leave the woman’s mouth

“I’m really sorry” she started while holding a compassionate look “but your daughter seems to have acute lymphoblastic leukemia” Alexia felt as if she was just punched in the gut, all the air leaving her lungs, beside her Olga squeezes her hand as hard as she can while trying to keep the tears forming in her eyes from escaping them but failing miserably

“How could this happen?” Olga asked, desperate for answers, while Alexia seems so far away from the present, not even hearing the oncologist anymore and turning away to look at you in her sister’s lap, unaware of what your future holds, you looked so tiny in Alba’s lap but you looked so happy at the same time while showing her all the plushies that she suddenly wants to scream and cry and beg that maybe the doctor made a mistake, she wants to beg to God to not take you from her, not you, but deep down she has known that this was the only possible outcome

It has started weeks maybe even months ago when you had sudden nosebleeds out of nowhere and started to bruise easily so much that one of the care takers in your daycare was about to call social services, you had no sudden energy to do anything while before you would spend all day running around with the rest of her teammates, you had a fever most days that they couldn’t seem to brush off and no matter how many hours they left you out in the sun you looked as pale as a ghost and on top of that you had also lost a lot of weight because your appetite was suddenly gone even Ice cream wouldn’t do the trick

They had taken you to the doctor many times for the past two months but they were always brushed off as common illness in children like colds or stomach bugs, but you never seemed to get better no matter what medicine they gave you, no matter how many IV’s they put in you, you just didn’t get better

Until one day Irene suggests them to go to a pediatric oncologist, Alexia had almost lunged herself at her friend for even suggesting if it wasn’t for Marta and Caro who had to hold her down, but deep down she had already made the decision to take you, until that decision was taken out of her hands a couple of days ago

Five days ago Alexia had stormed into the ER when out of nowhere you couldn’t breath and when she touched you to lift you up you cried out in pain when she touched a certain spot in your abdomen and when she lifted your shirt a specific spot was bloated so she tried to lift you up gently but firmly so she and Olga could take you to the hospital

There it was test after test in trying to figure put what was wrong with you, until finally two days after your initial visit to the hospital the oncology department agreed to take a biopsy just in case, but it seemed like it wasn’t just in case, you had cancer, her baby had cancer

“….the best option for her would be a series of chemotherapy sessions in hopes that it reduces both the risk of the cancer spreading elsewhere and to well kill the cancerous cells and hopefully be in remission by the end of it” Alexia came back down to Earth once her brain registered what the doctor was telling them, you had hope and she would cling to that hope as much as she could

“What would the side-effects be like?” She surprised herself once she spoke but she needed to know every possible little outcome for you and it was better to be prepared than to be taken by surprise by something else

“Well chemotherapy is designed to kill with various chemicals the cancerous cells by doing it before they can reproduce themselves and reach some important areas like the brain, because they do so, quickly and a lot, but there are other cells in our bodies that also grow and divide quickly, the most common ones are in our hair, our digestive system which includes the mouth and our bone marrow”

“You’re not saying the side-effects” Olga interrupts the doctor quickly and by her tone Alexia can see that her girlfriend is irritated and anxious about everything the doctor is saying

“I was getting there miss Rios” the doctor says calmly and doesn’t seem to be surprised to have been interrupted, she must get that a lot “children with ALL and that are going to go trough chemo are likely to present fatigue due to the anemia because of the low red cells in their body, loss of appetite and a very significant wight loss caused by the nausea and vomiting, easy bruising or bleeding caused by the low platelet counts during treatment, hair loss which can be because either the destruction of the hair cells or because some medications in their treatment cause it”

“This sounds like it’s going to kill her quicker than the cancer” Olga snapped and suddenly the whole office went so quiet you could hear a hair pin drop

“Miss Rios we all want the same thing here” the doctor said gently “and that is to get your daughter healthy and cancer free before it’s too late” Olga looked as if someone had slapped her with the last thing the doctor said

“How much time do we have until we decided to schedule treatment?” Alexia asked trying to get the discussion back into focus

“A week maybe” the doctor answered honestly “why the question though?” she asked curiously

“Because no offense but we would like to hear other opinions” Alexia said directly, she didn’t like to dance around things, much less things that involved her child

“Yes of course” the doctor didn’t even seem offended by what Alexia had said “I get that a lot” she shrugged her shoulders as if it was normal and maybe it was, parents needed to be sure 100% of everything about their child and Alexia and Olga would be like no other parent in the planet

“Thank you so much for your time” Alexia got up since there was really not anything more left to say “we’ll stay in touch” Alexia and the doctor shaked hands and then the doctor brought Alexia in for a hug

“It’s okay to not be okay” the doctor whispers in Alexia’s ear and then releases her, but how could Alexia let herself break?

How could she when that same night she was holding her girlfriend who was sobbing on her chest while silent tears were streaming down her face trying to stay strong for the three of them

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #angst

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celestiaras · 1 day ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ backstage bliss ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. mira x f! reader — kpop demon hunters

╰₊✧ mira wants to thank you for all of your hard work and make up for the stress she’s caused you before the show ┊1.2k words

contains: smut!! dom mira & sub reader┊backstage sex, receiving oral, established secret relationship

➤ author's note: she’s so hot omfg i love stone top femmes

“come on, bobby! they’re going to show up soon, they always do, even if it’s last minute— stop stressing out so much, you’re going to start balding at this rate!”

despite your attempt at assuring him, you were starting to fear for your own hair at this rate. the fans were calling out for their idols, waving around their lightsticks, and becoming increasingly impatient by the second as the trio were late by a whopping four minutes. you would hate to disappoint them by sending them home without the wonderful experience of a huntrix concert, and you would hate even more to do all of the tedious work to ensure that everyone in the venue got their money back as well as a small piece of merch to make up for their troubles. your superior was calling them frantically to ask where the hell they were, and you were just mentally preparing yourself to step out and break the bad news to them.

just then, as if they were angels answering your prayers, they all fell from the skies like shooting stars and crashed onto the stage in an elegant manner, jumping straight into the performance seamlessly and saving the day. you would say you didn’t doubt them for a moment because you certainly did, but you felt like you were going to faint from relief.

of course, you couldn’t just yet because you wanted to see your lovely girlfriend moving along to the music being blasted out of the speakers, dancing like it’s what she was born to do and all she ever wanted to do. you couldn’t let yourself show too much of your admiration and attract attention to your clear romantic adoration for her though, trying your best to hide the dopey smile that would overcome you whenever you stared for too long, but god, you couldn’t believe that she was all yours just as you were entirely hers.

“i’m so sorry for worrying you, babe,” mira yelled out once the two of you were alone, running up behind you and almost knocking you over in an embrace. “i still can’t believe we fell for that, it’s like the demons are getting smarter or something…”

“you need to be more careful!” you scolded. “i don’t want anything bad to happen to you!” you remember when you used to be concerned for her when you first learned about her demon hunting secret, and while you had full faith in her skills now, the last part of her statement was starting to make you feel stressed out for her safety again.

“oh, don’t get your panties in a twist, we kicked their asses in less than five minutes,” she teased. “you really need to relax.”

“well, it’s difficult to relax when i have an idol girlfriend who’s constantly late to all of her events because she’s busy fighting creatures from the underworld!”

“hm… you’re right about that, i should probably make it up to you and help you destress…”

you felt your face get hot at the mischievous tone lacing her voice as her fingers fiddled with the hem of your skirt, “here? what if we get caught?”

“there’s no one here! come on now, i can tell you really need to blow off some steam. it’ll be fine, i promise.”

“okay… but you have to promise to be careful!”

“oh please, i’m nothing if not careful,” she snickered, pushing you to sit down on top of one of the speakers, and parting your thighs with your hands before hooking her fingers into your underwear and pulling it down to expose your lovely pussy to her awaiting brown eyes.

mira brought her face closer to your heat and wasted no time in dipping her tongue in, licking long, broad strokes against your folds and humming in delight at the taste of your sweetness. she watches you through her half-lidded lashes, drinking in your gorgeous facial expressions contorting in pleasure as she flicks the tip of her sharp tongue against your clit. “you’re so fucking pretty when you’re getting eaten out,” she cooed. she swears that the sight of you with your head thrown back and your mouth open in that adorable ‘o’ shape alone is enough to add five years to her lifespan each time, and she wants to see every single day for the rest of your lives together.

“fuckkkk, miraa,” you whined as your fingers found their way tangled with her pink locks, subconsciously pushing her closer to your heat, something you didn’t even think was possible.

she pressed her thumb against your weeping hole, tracing the outline and admiring how it twitched in need to be filled by her, “god, you’re so needy…”

“you were the one who wanted to do this,” you huffed, “i think that makes you the—”she cut you off by diving back in, eagerly lapping up your arousal seeping through, and turning your words into moans before you could finish.

she loses her mind when she’s on her knees for you like this, slurping up that little piece of heaven between your thighs and worshipping like a devoted follower at an altar, sucking on your pearly little clit like it’s candy, and using her hands to keep your legs apart instead of squeezing at her head.

you felt so self-conscious, not just because of her intense passion, but also because of the location that was so recognizable yet was anything but at the same time. you felt like someone would walk in at any moment because they forgot something or someone cleaning up after hours would come across what the two of you were doing, eyes darting around nervously to keep a lookout until you felt mira’s teeth against your core in a threatening manner.

“hey, eyes on me, baby,” she muttered, clearly displeased about your being distracted.

“‘m sorry, i can’t help it…”

“don’t think about any of that,” she told you, although you were more focused on the sight of the trail of spit connecting her lips to your cunt, “just close your eyes and focus on me, okay?”

you nodded and did as she ordered, obedient as ever, shutting off all of your senses aside from touch, feeling her tongue thrust in and out of you before lapping at your most sensitive area in a constant motion. the push and pull made you feel that familiar knot in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter with every passing second.

mira could feel it too, the way your nails started to dig into her scalp and your fingers tugging on her locks a little harder. she sped up her pace a little bit more as if she was possessed by raw desire, closing her lips around you and sucking hard, determined to make you finish and create a mess all over her lower face. even when you did finally orgasm, calling out her name with an arch of your back, she continued to leave little kitten licks all over as if she was trying to clean you up.

resting the side of her head against your inner thigh, she looked up at you with the most detestably loveable look, smirking at you, “see? i told you it would be fine.”

“god, you’re so insufferable!” you pouted, “we really could have been caught!”

“yeah, but we didn’t,” she shrugged. her voice lowered to a whisper, “besides, we both know that it would have turned you on even more if someone did.” the look on your face made her burst out in laughter before getting back up, “come on, let's get you cleaned up, the others are probably wondering where we are.”

request:

M-Mira eating out assistant manager reader before a show, perhaps 🥹👉👈

#📜. her works #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters smut #mira kpop demon hunters #mira kpop demon hunters x reader #mira kpop demon hunters smut #huntrix #huntrix x reader #huntrix smut #mira #mira x reader #mira smut

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saoney · 3 days ago

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Ocean's Fire

𖠋 Incubus! Rafayel ♡ Fem! Reader 𖠋

After two weeks apart, you return home to find your boyfriend missing and unresponsive. When you track him down, you discover he's been transformed by an experimental aphrodisiac—complete with horns, glowing red eyes, and an insatiable supernatural hunger that only you can satisfy.

⚠️ Please read responsibly - This story contains themes of dubious consent and penetrative sex, m → f that may be triggering for some readers.

🐚 Author’s Note: My smut debut!!! I’m so happy that I finally get to experience writing a proper smut with my beloved Sea God 🥹🎉 props to all of the smut writers because I almost went bald writing this fic (ﾉ´ｰ`)ﾉ

🫧 Comment and reblog are deeply appreciated ‹𝟹

The past two weeks had been torture disguised as duty.

Your field training assignment had you stationed in the wilderness, grinding through Wanderer combat simulations from dawn to dusk. Every muscle ached, every nerve was frayed, but the moment you collapsed into your cot each night, there was Rafayel—bathed in the warm glow from the studio lights, violet eyes heavy with longing as he asked about your day in that honeyed voice that made your chest tight with missing him.

"Did my sweet darling miss me today?" he'd purr into the camera, artistic fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "Tell me what you're wearing. Better yet, show me."

Those late-night video calls were your lifeline. Even with his own hectic schedule—flying across the country with Thomas for his upcoming exhibition, managing interviews and gallery visits—Rafayel always made time for you. He'd prop his phone against his easel during breaks, painting with one hand while the other traced suggestive patterns in the air, describing in exquisite detail what he planned to do to you when you returned.

"I've been sketching you from memory," he'd whisper during one particularly heated call, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave that made your thighs clench. "Want to see how I imagine you spread out on my silk sheets? How I remember the way you arch when I—"

"Rafayel," you'd breathe, already reaching for yourself.

"That's my good girl. Let me watch you come undone for me."

But on day ten, the calls stopped.

Your phone sat silent. Messages went unread. The absence of his teasing voice, his ridiculous pet names, his constant digital affection—it carved a hollow ache in your chest that grew deeper with each passing hour.

By day twelve, worry had transformed into hurt. By day fourteen, hurt had crystallized into anger.

Your transport touched down in Linkon City under gray skies, and finally—finally—your phone buzzed.

[Rafayel 📱: Welcome home, cutie.]

[Rafayel 📱: Still away for work. Don't wait up.]

The message was ice-cold. Clinical. Nothing like the man who usually greeted your returns with paragraphs of purple prose about how the city had been colorless without you.

Your fingers moved to Find My before you could stop them.

His location pulsed steadily: Mo Art Studio.

Home.

The betrayal hit like a physical blow. He was lying to you. After two weeks of radio silence, he was lying to your face.

Twenty minutes later, you stood before his door, keycard trembling in your grip. The evening air should have been cool, but heat seemed to radiate from behind the entrance like a furnace.

You knocked. Waited. Knocked harder.

Nothing.

Your keycard beeped softly as the lock disengaged.

The moment you stepped inside, the heat hit you like a wall. Suffocating, humid, wrong. Rafayel's home was always perfectly climate-controlled—he claimed his Lemurian blood made him sensitive to temperature fluctuations, though you suspected he just liked giving you excuses to warm him up.

"Rafayel!" Your voice echoed in the dim space. Curtains drawn, lights off, the air thick enough to taste. "I know you're here!"

Silence.

You climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, following the oppressive heat to its source. His bedroom door stood ajar, and through the gap, you could see a figure curled on the bed.

The room was an oven. Dark as a cave. And there he was—shirtless, trembling, breath coming in sharp gasps like he was drowning on dry land.

"Rafayel." All your anger dissolved into concern. "Why haven't you answered me? Why did you lie about being away?"

He didn't respond. Didn't even acknowledge your presence.

You reached for his shoulder, and the moment your fingers made contact, you jerked back with a gasp. His skin was burning—not fever-hot, but scalding, like touching a heated stone.

"Jesus, you're sick—we need to get you to a hospital—"

"Don't." His voice was barely a rasp. "Please, cutie. Don't touch me. You need to leave."

He tried to roll away from you, but the movement was weak, uncoordinated. When he finally turned to face you, your heart stopped.

His eyes—those beautiful amethyst eyes that sparkled with mischief and adoration—were nearly crimson. Glowing like embers in the darkness.

"What happened to you?" You knelt beside the bed, hands hovering over him, afraid to cause more pain. "Rafayel, talk to me. Please."

He squeezed his eyes shut, whole body shuddering. "Thomas's colleague. New bar opening in the arts district. They served us some experimental cocktail—said it was a prototype aphrodisiac for Valentine's Day. I thought it was just marketing nonsense."

Understanding crashed over you like cold water. "How long?"

"Three days." His laugh was bitter, broken. "Three days of hell. I can't eat, can't sleep, can't think about anything but you. Every nerve in my body is on fire, and the only thing that helps is—" He cut himself off with a groan.

You reached for his hand instinctively, and his fingers latched onto yours with desperate strength.

The contact seemed to send electricity through him. His breathing hitched, back arching off the bed.

"You have to go," he gasped, but his grip on your hand tightened. "I'm barely holding on. If you stay, I don't know if I can control myself. I don't want to hurt you, don't want to scare you—"

His words dissolved into a tortured moan, his whole body convulsing as if he were fighting a war within himself—and losing. "No, no, no," he gasped, clawing at his own chest as the transformation began to consume him. Dark markings erupted across his skin like living shadows, spreading from his heart outward in intricate, pulsing patterns that seemed to writhe and breathe with malevolent life. The black ink-like designs carved themselves deeper into his flesh, glowing faintly with each ragged breath he took.

His canines stretched into razor-sharp fangs with an audible crack, and you watched in horrified fascination as two elegant horns tore through the skin of his temples, curving back through his disheveled hair like a dark crown. Blood trickled down his face from where they emerged.

Then he laughed—a low, dangerous sound that was nothing like his usual warm chuckle. It was predatory, unhinged, utterly inhuman. When his eyes snapped open, they blazed with primal hunger, all traces of your gentle artist boyfriend buried beneath the creature that now possessed him.

His grip on your hand, which had been weak and trembling moments before, suddenly tightened like a vice, fingers digging into your skin with supernatural strength.

"Too late to run now, cutie," he whispered, voice layered with dark promise.

Then he yanked you down onto the bed with him, his strength making it effortless as he dragged you against his burning body. His lips crashed against yours with desperate hunger, hands tangling in your hair as he kissed you like a man drowning. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, scalding even through your clothes, his body trembling with barely restrained need. Despite the transformation, his touch was still reverent, still unmistakably him beneath the hunger that consumed him.

When he finally pulled back, you were gasping, vision blurred, completely at his mercy on the rumpled sheets beneath him.

"I'm sorry," he purred against your lips, voice dripping with dark amusement. "I'm not gonna stop until this fire burns itself out, and you're gonna take everything I give you right, cutie? Don't worry—I'll be gentle… mostly. Now why don't you be a good little hunter for me, yeah?"

His mouth found your throat, pressing hot kisses to your pulse point while his hands worked at your clothes with precision. Each piece of fabric that fell away earned you praise whispered against your skin.

"Perfect," he murmured, mouth trailing down to worship your exposed chest. "I've been dreaming of this. Sketching these curves from memory until my fingers cramped."

He took his time despite the urgency thrumming through him—lavishing attention on every inch of skin, building you up with touches and kisses until you were arching beneath him, completely pliant.

His hands smoothly unclasped your bra, fingers reverent as they traced your curves. Without wasting a moment, his mouth was on your breasts, tongue swirling around your nipples before he sucked them into his mouth, drawing desperate whimpers from your lips.

"Rafayel," you gasped, back arching as he lavished attention on your chest. "Please—"

"Shh, cutie," he murmured against your skin, mouth trailing hot kisses down your belly. "Let me worship you properly."

His hands urgently undid your pants, sliding them down your legs with agonizing slowness. When he finally settled between your thighs, he inhaled deeply, eyes rolling back in bliss.

"I can smell your arousal," he growled, voice rough with need. "So sweet, so perfect. I've been through hell trying to control myself. Do you know how many times I've imagined this? How many sketches I've ruined thinking about eating you?"

"Rafayel, please," you whimpered, hips bucking toward his face. "I need—"

"I know exactly what you need," he whispered, voice dropping to a dangerous octave as those burning red eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His expression was beautifully terrifying—tender love warring with predatory hunger. "Now I'm going to worship this beautiful cunt until you forget everything but my name."

He dove in with feral hunger, tongue dragging broad, possessive strokes up your slit before attacking your clit with relentless precision. His mouth devoured you—lapping, sucking, biting gently at your most sensitive flesh with desperate, animalistic need. Every sound he made was pure worship, muffled moans of satisfaction vibrating against you.

"Oh god, oh god," you cried, hands fisting in his hair as he pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with wet, sinful strokes. "Don't stop, please don't stop—"

He moaned against your core like a starving man at a feast, the vibrations resonating through your bones and setting every nerve ending ablaze. Each desperate movement of his tongue was calculated to feed the supernatural hunger clawing at his insides while simultaneously destroying every defense you had left.

"Christ, you taste like heaven," he groaned between ravenous licks, pulling back just enough to watch your face contort with pleasure. "You're so addicting. I could spend eternity right here, drinking every drop you give me."

Your first orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, spine bowing impossibly as you screamed his name with raw, broken desperation. But he was merciless—couldn't be anything else—his mouth never leaving you as he lapped up every tremor, every aftershock, prolonging your climax until you were sobbing from the intensity.

"Too much," you gasped, trying to push his head away, but he caught your wrists.

"No such thing," he purred, and dove back in, making you cum again on his tongue until you were sobbing with oversensitivity.

When he finally pulled away, face glistening with your arousal, he cupped your tear-stained cheeks lovingly. "Look at you, already crying for me. We're far from finished, Y/N."

Rafayel rose to his knees, hands moving to unzip his pants with desperate urgency. When he finally freed his cock, it was flushed and angry, precum beading at the tip from hours of torment and anticipation. His burning red eyes locked onto you—taking in the sight of you panting and sprawled beneath him, eyes half-lidded and completely wrecked from his mouth. The vision alone made his cock twitch violently, demanding immediate relief.

"So beautiful," he breathed, voice thick with reverence and lust. "So ready for me."

He wrapped his hand around his lenght, stroking slowly edging himself while his gaze devoured every inch of your trembling form. The sight of you, so perfectly wrecked and waiting, had him practically salivating with anticipation.

With deliberate, torturous slowness, he dragged the head of his cock from your entrance up to your clit, collecting your arousal along the way. The teasing made you mewl desperately beneath him, hips bucking for more contact.

"Please," you whimpered, but he just smirked, slapping his cock against your sensitive cunt with wet, obscene sounds.

The heat radiating from your core, the slick wetness coating him, the way you clenched around nothing—it all made him hiss in pure pleasure.

"So wet for me," he groaned, continuing his torturous teasing.

"Think you can take me, cutie?" His voice was low and teasing as you felt him playing at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your opening. The stretch was burning and delicious—until he pulled out completely, leaving you feeling empty and desperate.

"I don't think so," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin.

You almost felt like crying from his relentless teasing. Without a second thought, you abandoned all pride and begged for his mercy. "Please, Rafayel... I want it. I want you so badly."

"Yeah?" He was still teasing, pressing soft kisses to your tear-dampened eyes with surprising tenderness.

"Yeah," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

For a moment he held your gaze, studying your face as you gave him the most pleading look you could muster, hoping your puppy eyes would finally make him cave. Something shifted in his expression—desire winning over his need to torment you.

Finally, he positioned himself at your entrance again, the head of his cock nudging against your opening. Both of you moaned in unison as he began to slide into you slowly, savoring every inch as he filled you completely. The stretch was overwhelming after your orgasms, making you whimper and claw at his shoulders.

"That's it, take all of me," he breathed, bottoming out with a groan. "You're gripping me so tight. Like your body doesn't want to let me go."

"I don't," you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Never want you to leave me again."

He began to move, thrusts deep and reverent, hands mapping every curve of your body like he was committing you to memory for his next masterpiece. His own moans and whimpers filled the air, the desperate sounds making you even wetter.

"You're taking me so perfectly," he praised, voice breaking with emotion. "Like you were made for this cock. Gods, I missed how warm you are inside, how you flutter around me when you're close."

"Rafayel," you moaned, already feeling another orgasm building. "You feel so good, so deep—"

"That's my girl," he groaned, angling his hips to hit that spot that made you see stars. "Let me hear how good I make you feel."

You were cock-drunk fast, lost in the rhythm of his hips and the filthy praise spilling from his lips. When you came again, clenching around him, he nearly lost control.

"More," you gasped against his lips. "Need more of you."

Something primal flashed in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your hands and knees, the sudden change making you cry out.

"You want more?" he growled, hands gripping your hips as he drove into you from behind. "I-ah-can't refuse you."

This angle was devastating—each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you while his hands roamed your body possessively. You could feel yourself getting wetter soaking the bed sheet underneath you, the obscene sounds of your coupling filling the room.

"Listen to how wet you are," he panted, one hand sliding up to cup your breast. "So fucking beautiful like this, taking my cock so well. You're mine, aren't you? Tell me you're mine."

"Yours," you sobbed, face pressed into the pillows. "Always yours, Raf— Rafayel!"

"That's right," he groaned, thrusts becoming more demanding. "My petite artiste, so messy and desperate for me."

But he needed more. Needed to see you fall apart in every way possible.

"On your back," he commanded, and when you complied on shaking legs, he pulled your legs up into a mating press, folding you nearly in half. The new angle made you scream, overwhelmed by how deep he could go.

"Look at me," he demanded, his glowing eyes boring into yours. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you cum for me again. Want to watch you fall apart."

The intensity was too much—the way he watched every expression cross your face, the desperate love and lust warring in his gaze. Your eyes rolled back as he hit that perfect spot over and over, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure.

"There you are," he whispered, voice filled with dark satisfaction. "Look at you, so beautiful when you're completely gone for me."

When your orgasm crashed over you, it was earth-shattering. You came with a broken scream, body convulsing around him as he moaned your name like a prayer. The intensity of watching you fall apart, of feeling you clench around him so perfectly, made blood drip from his nose onto your chest, the incubus potion overwhelming even his supernatural constitution.

"I can't cum anymore," you sobbed, thighs shaking from overstimulation, mascara running down your cheeks. "Please, Rafayel, I can't—"

But your pleas only seemed to spur him on. The sadistic part of the incubus potion loved seeing you so wrecked, so desperate, so perfectly ruined.

"Of course you can, cutie," he purred, pulling out only to maneuver you into his lap. "Look at this tear-stained face—so pitiful, so drunk on my cock. Makes me wanna fuck you even more."

"Please," you whimpered, but whether you were begging him to stop or continue, neither of you knew.

"One more," he coaxed, guiding you down onto his cock. "You have no idea what you do to me"

Face to face now, you could see every expression cross his beautiful, dangerous features. His hands roamed your body possessively while you rocked against him, completely lost in sensation.

"That's my good girl," he whispered against your ear, then bit down gently on your earlobe. "Taking everything I give you, even when you're crying from how good it feels. You're so perfect, so intoxicating when you're falling apart for me."

"Rafayel," you gasped, eyes rolling back again as he hit that spot that made you see white. "I'm going to—"

"I know, baby. Let go for me one last time."

Your final orgasm was devastating, your vision going white as your body convulsed around him. You came with a silent scream, completely overwhelmed by sensation, and watching you reach that peak of pleasure pushed him over the edge.

He came with a broken moan, holding you tight against him as he spilled inside you, nose bleeding more heavily now from the sheer intensity of the moment.

The last thing you remembered was his face above you, handsome and ethereal with his horns and glowing eyes, completely drunk on pleasure as he buried himself deep inside you, whispering your name like a benediction and the satisfaction of finally being able to touch you after days of torment. Your own face was a mess of tears and smeared makeup, eyes glassy and unfocused from being thoroughly claimed by your temporarily-incubus lover.

When consciousness returned, golden morning light was streaming through the curtains, and the softest lips were pressing tender kisses along your cheek like butterfly touches.

"Morning, my sweet darling," Rafayel murmured, his voice back to its familiar warm velvet. The horns had vanished, his eyes returned to that beloved amethyst shade, though delicate traces of the dark markings still lingered like watercolor stains across his skin. "Sleep well?"

You groaned softly, every muscle in your body singing a chorus of pleasant aches as you tried to stretch. "You're absolutely impossible."

He grinned with zero remorse, looking devastatingly handsome in the morning light. "And you love me anyway. Want to take a warm bath? I'll wash your hair and tell you about all the masterpieces I'm going to paint inspired by last night."

Despite your mock indignation, you couldn't suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "You're buying me breakfast first. The fancy kind. And coffee—really good coffee."

"Anything for you," he agreed easily, then leaned down to nuzzle into the curve of your neck, his voice dropping to that achingly familiar teasing whisper. "But first... want to hear about this incredible dream I had about you in my bathtub?"

You were glad Rafayel was back to normal, but if you were being honest with yourself, Incubus Rafayel was kind of hot… You wondered if he'd be willing to be one for Halloween this year.

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 2 days ago

Text

Moondir - 03

Pairing | moondir!OT7 x human!Reader

Word Count | 6,3K

Warnings | +18, coercion, power dynamics, blood, torture, noncon touching, talks about future sex, hatred, one of the characters suffers from selective post-traumatic mutism, Yoongi and MC clearly have unresolved issues 💀, Jimin is a 100% asshole, discomfort and discussions about smell, Namjoon enjoys humiliating MC, Taehyung is in heat (not kidding) this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! ❤️

I apologize for the delay, it's been a really terrible few days and a member of my family has been very sick, anxiety and stress didn't allow me to finish the chapter sooner 🥺😭 Now things are going well and I've found some peace of mind, I really hope you enjoy the chapter and I apologize if you find any mistakes! ❤️ Let me know what you think! I love reading your comments! Thank you so much for your patience and support, I love you 🥰

Taglist is open: @katherine-kookie - @btsuga-d - @pantara - @angelicsmilesworld - @lennieharper - @takemeaway5402 - @jiminismine4ever - @m00njinnie - @ke1k029 - @velvet-stardust2002 - @darkuni63 - @douknowbts - @aiiselle90210 - @fewercascade - @mageprincess7 - @get-that-brain-working - @whipwhoops - @dragons-flare - @seokjins-luigi - @pjmsneverland - @jimincrystal - @ajkwww - @ungodlyjoon - @hecateslittlewitchling - @namjoonsbuspass - @xicanacorpse - @btssimplove - @antisocial-mochi267 - @reallygenerouskoala - @dabishou - @themwordsblog - @deluluisme - @justanarchiveforfics - @blackberrywonie - @the-holy-hobi - @justlikecrazy - @herareila - @furioustrashlover - @mar-lo-pap - @dachshunddame - @pantaral81 - @withmuchluv-tannie - @calmyourtitts7 - @plushjeno - @rafesbunniebby - @rms-expensive-girl - @polnaraffsrack - @rg2108 - @paramedicnerd004 - @jungshaking - @ane102 - @moonstarw - @teardoong - @butterymin

Main List - 01 - 02 - 03

“Hoseok told me something interesting, little flower,” Taehyung whispers in your ear, his voice low and rough. The wolf scents of cinnamon and burnt wood, an aroma that confuses you, knocking you out between your broken breaths. “Seokjin seems to have been far too kind to you during your examination” he adds in an insinuating tone, clutching you with one arm as he moves slowly, possessively, between your thighs with his free hand, “What does that mean?”

“Stay away from me, please,” you sob, chasing that hand away; you've already been kissed in a vile way, you can't stand even such a thing.

Hoseok nonchalantly sits in an armchair, following the scene with eyes glittering with interest. Taehyung touches your cheek with his tongue, it's slow and warm, picking up a tear you didn't even know you shed. You stiffen, your lips stretched into a hard line.

“You're so good, I'm almost sorry I scared you so much,” he smiles with a wry tinge in his amber eyes. His lips brush the angle of yours, leaving you with a kiss that tastes more like dirty promises than an apology.

You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore his towering figure holding you captive against him. “You're definitely better than that,” you hiss through clenched teeth. "I'm not going to rebel... I know the only alternative would be to die. But please ... not like this."

It is a gamble to try to reason with him, Taehyung is a beast at its peak, and now that you can think more clearly, you realize that the wolf's body is also shaking, but less noticeably than yours.

He is excited, perhaps from the hunt from which he has just returned. Perhaps because he has not yet had a chance to get rid of the adrenaline burning under his skin. And now... he's trying to dump it on you.

“Why do you persist so much, little flower?” whispers Hoseok in a caressing voice, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “It's going to happen anyway... why fight anymore?”

Why?

Because you are not ready. Because you are human. Because you have dignity. Because you don't want to break completely.

“Come closer, girl,” he orders, patting his thigh, leaving you speechless.

As if he received the order from his superior, Taehyung lets you go. And maybe it really is an order. Of hierarchy.

“Don't make me say it again,” he warns you, and instinctively you take steps in his direction, "Like this. Good."

You drop onto his legs; he grips your waist with a possessive arm, his touch firm yet charged with a warmth that makes you lose your breath.

“Now, tell me why we shouldn't touch you like this-” his long, light fingers caress your waist in small circles, slowly rising to the round lines of your breasts. You want to scream, but his touch confuses you, destabilizes you.

And you don't know how to respond.

“You...” Hoseok's thumb grazes your lower lip, the words stuck in your throat.

"Tell me. Taehyung and I are listening," at his words you turn to the other wolf, he clutches the back of the sofa tightly, his jaw is contracted and his pupils dilated. What the hell...?

Broken, high-pitched, howl-like moans and stench of dry, ferrous blood.

Seokjin wipes his hands before putting on gloves. The room is almost completely dark, to unnerv the prisoner, but he can comfortably see the workings of his teammates.

Namjoon is finishing wiping on his own jacket the long sharp blade he used to chop off one by one the fingers of the man, who is trembling in shock from his torture. He is bound hand and foot to a chair, his dark, wispy eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, trying to figure out who will be next to make him discover new ways to learn about hell alive.

Namjoon's eyes, blue as a night sky, seem dull and apathetic, but only an hour earlier they looked dreamy as he carved his own initials into the man's forehead, letting a cascade of blood blind him.

“So you're not helping us, Jackie,” complained another - Yoongi - lowering himself to the prisoner's height, "Why are you willing to suffer like this? Hand over the rest of your comrades and I promise to give you a quick death, I might even secure a proper burial for you," he tries to persuade him in a mock sorry tone, but the man categorically shakes his head, before spitting a stream of saliva and blood onto the ground, not far from Yoongi's shiny boots.

The wolf's eyes twinkle with amusement as he observes the result of the gesture, "Hmm. A few days ago another person also spit on me... but she was prettier than you,” he chuckles, then without changing his expression, Yoongi sinks a fist into the man's stomach, who doubles over panting, saliva dripping from his lips, “There, that's how you should salivate."

Seokjin wrinkles his nose slightly, finding that human's swollen face disgusting; he wouldn't even want to touch him to tell the truth.

“He won't talk, Yoongi,” announces a more fluty voice, "At least not for today, let Seokjin nurse him a bit and leave him with his final thoughts. I'm sure Jackie is just as tired as we are."

Jimin keeps his hands in his pockets, in a completely relaxed pose, but his stiff shoulders say more than that. He's just trying to maintain control; he doesn't want to kill another vile human being before he's even obtained valuable information. He has already killed far too many — and he did it mercifully

“I have... begged... the h-high officials to kill you... all,” spits the man with difficulty, “You a-are unclean beasts,” he hisses with blood between his now broken teeth, “From. me. you. will. know. nothing,” he concludes with hatred.

Yoongi watches the man with a distant, bored look, “So... we have nothing more to say to each other, I guess.”

“Yoongi, wait-” interjects Seokjin, irritated. It would be insane to kill the man after hours spent questioning him. Just the idea of having wasted that time sends him out of his mind, but he doesn't have time to say anything else.

A figure moves in the shadows, silent as the night, yet clearly visible.

Then a bubbling sound breaks the air.

The prisoner's throat opens in a sharp, clean cut, as if it were butter.

Jungkook's lilac eyes shine in the half-light. He does not speak. Anger pulses in his tendons, in his hand clenched around the still bloodstained dagger. The prisoner stares at him in shock, but his hands are tied and he cannot see his own end.

Some splashes have stained Yoongi's jacket. He does nothing to clean himself.

"Too late, Jin. Jungkook got tired, too."

“Why do you always have to get in the way, 'Kook?” asks Namjoon with an arched eyebrow. The younger boy replies with a shrug.

“Forget it, he wasn't going to talk anyway” Yoongi stands up, putting his leather gloves back on, Seokjin can swear he sees one of the guards posted at the entrance lift his eyes to the sky, before returning to stare blankly, waiting for more orders.

With a grin he shakes his head, Yoongi is far too permissive with Jungkook and this causes jealousies among the ranks.

“Let's go back to our base,” then Jimin turns to those guards, “Get rid of the body, you can do what you want with it... although I advise against eating it, it may have been poisoned before we found it.”

“If so, then he did a bad job with the doses, considering he's been alive far too long as well,” snorts Namjoon, loading a shotgun on his back that he never part with.

Seokjin begins to retrieve his medical equipment, irritated with his teammates.

"Medicines, bandages... for what? Nothing ever changes," he snorts. "You already know they won't talk anyway. And you already know you will kill them. It's just a waste of time. And of patience. We could almost make it a standard protocol," he concludes sarcastically, making Namjoon chuckle.

“I thought you were happy to practice what you've learned over the years,” he taunts him, causing him to irritate.

"I just wish you could keep your nerve for once, being led by hatred will not help us find all these rats hiding. And Jungkook, I'm talking to you too," he blurts out to the younger man, who rolls his eyes without making a sound, which sends a painful twinge to his chest.

Jungkook is the result of what each of them has experienced in a hundred years.

“Enough discussion, we have more to think about now,” sneers Namjoon, “Or have you all forgotten?”

Yoongi, who up to that moment had been smiling wryly, suddenly loses all expression. A stony silence falls over those present.

Seokjin takes a good look at them, biting his lower lip, “Shit.”

They are unpresentable.

They look like they've just stepped out of a horror movie, amid splashes of blood on their faces and uniforms soaked with sweat and dirt. The chase was particularly bloody; Jackie was simply the last name on an endless list. That's why Seokjin feels so irritated and tired.

“We should clean up and change uniforms, I'm going to-”

“No bullshit,” Yoongi interrupts him, cutting him off. “We'll clean up at home, I have nothing to hide.” He nods to the guards: it's time to move toward the vans.

“I'm tired, I don't feel like making myself look good for a cheap whore,” Jimin blurts out, pulling back a strand of tousled hair before leaving the torture room first, in the building that used to belong to the mayor.

They take different vans, Jimin catches up with Namjoon and Jungkook, who pretend to look out the windows, but their ears are strained, on the other hand, Seokjin is fuming with anger.

He reaches Yoongi in the back seat of the other military van and crosses his legs, crossing his arms like a parent disapproving of a child's choices, "Jimin has to move on. And so do you."

"Are you my psychologist? I'm done with that shit, and Jimin is just fine. You've seen how he works, right? At least those human bastards didn’t turn him into a wimp with all those drugs they were pumping into him," he growls at him.

"I understand you, Yoongi. I know what you've been through, because I've been there myself, but that girl is our only chance for a better future."

“Why her?” he growls, “Why did you choose her?”

Seokjin looks at him in amazement, "Do you think I did that? Yoongi, I have no decision-making power, it's blood that determines matches. Your blood chose her,” he retorts curtly, “You always told me about her father and brother, but never about her... so why do you dislike her so much? She doesn't seem like a bad person."

Yoongi begins to chuckle in response, adjusting his jacket on his chest, “Have you fallen into the trap yet, man?” he teases him, “Don't give her too much rope, that's a poisonous viper.”

“Stop it!” you explode, trying to regain control, "I'm not going to do anything until the doctor gets here! Dr. Oliver said everything will have to be checked before you can do whatever you like."

You finally find an opening to free yourself: you get up from Hoseok almost tripping over your own feet.

Meanwhile, Taehyung has slowly slipped off his jacket, revealing his dirt-stained uniform and... more. Something you refuse to give a name to.

He drops onto the sofa like a dead weight, closing his eyes with a contracted expression.

“Damn... this stuff is stronger than I thought,” he groans against his bent arm, his voice muffled, labored.

Hoseok clenches his jaw, “Then I suggest you go to sleep, joking is one thing, losing control is something else entirely,” he rebukes him, leaving you confused.

Had it all been a game to them so far?

Pieces of shit.

But you don't dare say those words out loud.

The atmosphere is strange, you still have in mind the intense look Taehyung gave you a few moments earlier, it seemed quite animalistic.

“She has no idea what’s going on, does she?” he murmurs, looking sicker.

“Of course not, you've seen for yourself how incapable she is of satisfying a man, she's not that kind,” Hoseok replies in an insinuating tone.

Taehyung lets his gaze slide over you, slow and intrusive.

“She's almost cute, though,” he smiles and your heart does a strange thing, like a somersault that embarrasses you and makes you blush.

“Say that when you find her whimpering on the bed” Hoseok rolls his eyes, at which you flare up.

“You certainly seem to know me,” you reply, almost blowing. Your wry reply draws Taehyung's attention.

“Now who made her angry?”

“I'm not angry” you nip Hoseok's rebuke in the bud, staring him straight in the eye without fear, "I won't cry, I know I'm lucky. Because I can still breathe and talk, don't treat me like a spoiled child, I'm not!"

"You say you're not, but you don't seem to have changed much. You really are a spoiled child."

At the exact instant those words cut through the air, time freezes. Even Hoseok and Taehyung appear surprised.

Suddenly the living room seems to shrink around you. No. It is not possible, he cannot be here.

“I can smell her fear, Celestial Goddess, Yoongi--what did you do to her to make her like this,” laughs another voice, deeper.

It is with fear blocking your throat that you turn your gaze in his direction.

Yoongi is staring at you with a glassy gaze, he might start cutting you down little by little, and he won't lose that composed, relaxed air of his, despite his creased and dirty clothes, perhaps even more than Taehyung's clothes.

Yoongi also returned from a hunt, but his seems to have ended in a more satisfying way. Still, he is not necessarily finished.

Behind him a group of men seem to be just waiting for his order so they can play with you; you recognize two of them. Jimin and Seokjin.

You are not amazed at the man with amber eyes filled with contempt, you realize he is actively working alongside his captain, but Seokjin?

Is he the doctor who is in charge of keeping the prisoners alive so he can calmly interrogate them? Will he also participate in their repopulation project, using you?

He immediately turns his blue eyes away from yours when he notices the wounded light you direct at him.

You don't even know why you are so disappointed in him, you two talked only once and he touched you against your will, but you thought maybe he was different. A little better than his fellow members of... what? Pack?

Next to him you also study the other two wolves, you have never seen them in your life, they are simply terrifyingly beautiful.

The guy with the dark blue eyes is the size of a closet. His black hair - still damp - falls back, uncovering his forehead, and that leaves you with a chance to clearly read the hungry look he is giving you. He scrutinizes you from head to toe and his full lips are bent in a ravenous, smug smile. He looks at you as if you were the hottest thing to ever appear in a room -- but with the same respect that you reserve for a fancy whore. And no, it's not pleasant.

The other has a wilder, almost unkempt look. His brown hair falls over his eyes, a barely concealed lilac glow catches you off guard. Are those really lilac eyes? You stare at him dumbly, and it seems to agitate him in a negative way; he bares his teeth and growls at you, a sound that gets under your skin and causes you to take an instinctive step back. Once again it is Hoseok who holds you still, communicating with his gaze to stay where you are. Then you remember Seokjin's warning: Don't run.

“You have a strange memory of me, captain,” you force yourself to respond somehow, hating the quiver in your voice.

Yoongi's grin deepens, interested.

"Is that what you call me now? You flatter me, Y/N” he tosses his coat to the floor, revealing blood soiling the sleeves of his uniform, and his gloves go the same way, "You used to just call me ‘boy’ " he follows Hoseok's example and pours liquor into a crystal glass, Jimin and Namjoon do the same, and soon the living room is filled with deep voices and the pungent smell of cigars.

Seokjin stows his jacket on a coat rack, turning his nose up at the villanous attitude of his companions, then nods at you, silently asking you to sit in the unoccupied chair. That simple gesture brings you back down to earth, but the tension gripping your throat does not ease.

You move with concern, noticing the two strangers approaching Taehyung, who seems to have taken on a rather bright pink complexion. He seems to be fighting something.

“Maybe you really should go to bed,” offers Hoseok once again, “You look like you're about to give in,” more like a disguised order than advice.

You see Taehyung shake his head firmly, “I want to be there when you decide what to do” his voice is hoarse, fiery. “She is also mine, remember?”

You almost shudder as you moan, but as you sit down on the padded material, Seokjin kneels at your side, taking your wrist between his long fingers. He wants to measure your pulse probably, afraid you will faint at any moment?

"She is no one's. She is only a means to the cause,” Jimin blurts out, his voice as sharp as a blade, “When she finishes what she was chosen for, we won't need her anymore."

His eyes nail you, rabid, as if every word were a verdict already written.

“I wouldn't mind keeping her,” the dark blue-eyed wolf speaks for the first time, revealing an extraordinary deep tone of voice, “It would be a waste to limit yourself to two or three children.”

Jimin looks like he could strike him down in an instant. "Are you really the one saying that? You, who should understand me better than anyone, Namjoon?"

Namjoon. That's what his name is. Now you have a face, a name, and one more enemy.

“Don't get me wrong, Jimin...” he retorts, his tone more serious but far from regretful, "I haven't forgotten who we are. Nor what they have done to us and what we have irretrievably lost. I'm just saying that to throw it away too soon... that would be a waste. They kept us in chains for a whole century. The least would be to return the favor... to the last drop of their lives."

Your stomach contracts.

Your heart sinks into the abyss.

You are at the mercy of seven men who, looking at you, see only the years of imprisonment they have spent.

The only one who has not yet exposed himself with a disgusting and cruel speech is the lilac-eyed wolf; he stands apathetically by Yoongi's side. He doesn't smoke, he doesn't drink, he doesn't talk. He has also lost the spark of anger that you had aroused in him a few moments ago; he looks every bit like a soulless rag doll.

“Would you be so kind as to report all this directly to me?” Seokjin jerks his head up toward you, surprised and startled by your courage.

“How?” asks Hoseok, stinging.

"You heard me. I think I have the right to be considered at least a little by you. It's my body, my womb," something in your words makes Namjoon chuckle in response.

"Haven't you figured that out yet? You no longer have any rights, we are in charge now."

You cast a glance at Seokjin, who reciprocates with an impassive face. He doesn't say it, but he clearly agrees with Namjoon. In this new world, even those who show you some kindness will always think of you as less than nothing. You found this out with Dr. Oliver and now with Seokjin as well.

“So don't go around it anymore, what will happen from now on?” you ask without second thoughts. If you have to comply with their every request in order to survive, so be it.

“Don't you want to fight?” the annoyed tone of Yoongi surprises you a little, does he want you to fight?

Of course. To punish you.

“Would it do any good?” you retort with a sad smile. The captain, in response, casually goes back to drinking, deciding that ignoring you is probably best for everyone. He dismisses you with a look as if you were an annoying detail.

It's going to be a long night.

“You're in your most fertile period, your scent is very strong and affects us, Taehyung is the clearest proof,” Seokjin interrupts the staring contest you and the cold captain put on. An animalistic grunt makes you wince.

"I'm fine. It's bearable," Taehyung swallows,

“Don't bullshit, the room pretty much just smells like her.”

That sentence does not please you at all, "Do you have to be so explicit? It's disgusting," you retort, feeling ashamed just imagining what kind of smell you give off, to be so strong to their noses.

Jimin clicks his teeth in your direction, “It's our nature, show respect.”

"I say we start with the ‘meeting’ so everyone can go to bed and rest. We are all tired here," Hoseok announces, sensing the tension in the air and wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant and far from pleasant smell inside the room. It is animalistic and asphyxiating, acrid like sweat, something forcibly restrained, unlike your own which is simply sublime and is driving him crazy.

You smell of a moonlit night, of breeze brushing the wildflowers and carrying their sweet scent, you smell of freedom and this is undeniable, even to Jimin himself who is forcibly restraining himself from jumping on you.

Hoseok's green eyes shift to Yoongi, his captain appears icy and impassive, but he too is pawing beneath the surface. They haven't been with a woman for a long time, and certainly not by their own choice. To them you're a fucking feast.

Seokjin leaves your side to take a seat next to Taehyung, seeming to want to make sure the other doesn't suddenly go crazy, the empty feeling you feel is uncomfortable, making you uneasy. You feel somehow abandoned.

"Tonight you will just rest, but starting tomorrow our procreation program will begin. To make sure you get pregnant as soon as possible, you will sleep every night with at least one of us. Every morning I will check your health status and your vitals, it will only take me a moment to figure out whether or not you have become pregnant," he explains with his gaze over your shoulder, he is simply pretending to look at you. Something prevents him from meeting your eyes, perhaps something called “pity.”

“So we have to decide our turns, hyung,” nods Namjoon with crossed arms, receiving a nod of assent from the other.

“That's right, but we have to do it according to her needs for the time being,” Seokjin points to you, causing Yoongi to arch an eyebrow.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asks almost annoyed, “It's our needs that you should put first.”

“And that would be so, in a normal situation,” the doctor takes him back in a harsh voice, “But the human is a virgin and I'm not going to force her to have her first sexual intercourse with someone who terrifies the hell out of her, that would be cruel and counterproductive.”

Embarrassment stains you red from head to toe, you didn't expect Seokjin to shout to the four winds what he found out during the first exam, but this seems to ignite the newcomers with interest.

“What a surprise,” Yoongi sneers wryly, “I thought you finally succumbed to the baker's advances.”

His words wound you. They are a blade that lacerates your heart with impressive ease. That comment comes out of his lips too harsh, too accusatory, and you want to cry, because he knows what really happened and should never have thought of such a thing.

“You yourself know that I have too much pride to give in to the wishes of a man like Evan, but you've probably forgotten,” you reply bitterly, hinting to others that you and Yoongi in the past had more than a master-servant relationship. And you did. There was much more respect between you two than he wants to admit now.

The captain grits his teeth menacingly.

“Be careful how you talk, you insolent little one,” he hisses with a calmness that reeks of malice, “It wouldn't take you long to end up on your knees, polishing my boots with your tongue while one of my brothers takes what he wants from that insulting body of yours.”

“You don't scare me Min Yoongi,” you smile joylessly, “I've seen my family die, nothing impresses me anymore.”

You are clearly lying, but he does not need to know that. It is rather pleasant to see that always mocking face turn granite.

“So that's it, I don't scare you,” he nods apologetically, “Then you won't mind bending over whenever I need to get my dick a little wet,” you stiffen, humiliated and shocked by the ease with which he utters those words, and it is Seokjin who puts a stop to it.

“We're not here to have as much fun as we like, captain,” he announces coldly, “The human will be treated well for easier and faster conception.”

Namjoon snorts in response, “Yeah, yeah... you and your bullshit about a peaceful and healthy environment that will benefit her fertility and other such bullshit.”

“It’s a headache,” moans Taehyung, panting slightly, running a hand through his hair, awkwardly mussing it. Drops of sweat bead his forehead, making him ominously attractive. Like a wolf panting hungrily before his next meal. Averting his eyes before he can meet yours, you wrap your arms around your body and curl up in the chair.

“Each of us will have to spend at least one day a week with her, based also on our schedules clearly,” the doctor continues, “And also based on character aspects to be kept under control,” you see the wolf cast a brief glance at the lilac-eyed boy, who merely grunts, leaving you quite confused. He doesn't seem the least bit interested in you. You hope this is a sign; perhaps you will avoid spending time with that particular wolf, saving you at least some of the misery of sharing your body with strangers.

Finally, Seokjin addresses you directly, "I know how upsetting it all still may seem to you, but you have no other options. I advise you to choose who will be first.”

“It will be an honor,” you reply with a hint of venom and irony in your voice, and you are not surprised to see Jimin instantly stiffen.

"If the idea disgusts you so much, why don't you get yourself disemboweled? Let's get it over with here and now," he growls, not even trying to restrain himself.

For some reason, his outburst pulls a crooked smile from you.

“Or maybe you're the one who's disgusted by me,” you retort calmly, staring at him.

And that's when an idea flashes through your mind. A crazy, twisted and probably self-destructive decision.

You had thought about choosing Seokjin: he was the kindest, the most cautious. But for that very reason... he would be precise, meticulous. He would complete his task and you would probably remember him forever.

No. Better someone who hates you.

A wolf who won't even be able to touch you without vomiting his soul. If he feels disgust enough to back off, he'll be perfect. And even if he manages to go through with it in the end, it will still be such a harrowing experience to forget.

He will be your nightmare, but you will be his.

Sure, you want to survive, but enjoy the touch of a Moondirian?

No. That would be so humiliating that you would wish for death. They may get your body, but not your mind, much less your heart.

“Y/N?” the voice of Seokjin interrupts your silence, you can catch a veil of concern in his tone.

“I’ve decided,” you say, letting your gaze rest on Jimin’s amber eyes. “You’ll be the first.”

Your decision seems to shock everyone present, Taehyung's eyes are so wide that he finally bursts into laughter — a sound closer to a howl — while Seokjin shakes his head slightly, as if to disapprove of what you have just said.

But it is Yoongi's somber expression that makes you tremble slightly; the captain leaves his seat silently, passes his glass to the lilac-eyed boy, and leaves the room without a word, while Jimin almost seems to be foaming with anger.

“Bitch” is all he manages to snarl, before he strides past you with heavy footsteps, leaving a trail of light scent behind him, orange blossom and amber.

“Are you sure?” the voice of Hoseok sounds hoarse, as if moved by a subtle anger that he refuses to show.

“It's a duty, not a pleasure,” you reply harshly, not at all regretting that you just scored your first time.

“The fact that he hates you won't stop Jimin, he'll take what he has to take and he'll do it regardless,” Namjoon warns you with a strange seriousness. After all, he was the one who called you an object in the first place, “He is going through a delicate moment and his wolf isn't well.”

His wolf?

“I'll survive,” you smile without happiness, “That's all that matters to me.”

The room to which Seokjin took you immediately afterwards is dark and cold. It lacks an abat-jour and even a candle to be able to light the bare room, but you certainly cannot complain after the corpses you saw scattered throughout the houses in the neighborhood where you lived. Humans had used fairy magic to keep some of their settlements hidden, but all it took was for one person to know the location on the map to render all efforts in vain. You don't even know why Yoongi didn't raze everything right away; perhaps he had simply taken his time to make you and your family tremble with fear.

Yoongi.

That look before he left the living room still gives you chills when you think back on it. You didn't really mean to incur his wrath, but you felt like a cockroach in front of him and reacted by provoking him as a defense and using Jimin as a resource, probably one of the fiercest wolves in the house.

One who would not think twice about opening your throat from side to side.

You've ruined yourself with your own hands, even Seokjin and Hoseok seemed irritated by your stupid decision, but there's no turning back now.

You tighten the blankets on yourself, moaning a little at the cold, your eyes now accustomed to the absence of light scanning the room shrouded in silence, unable to rest. A grip of anxiety squeezes your chest, stirring your poor, already battered heart, a bad feeling rages against your body, trying to rebel against the new plan that is now your life.

You could escape now.

The window isn’t sealed, and with all the blankets and sheets in the room, you could make a rope long enough to climb down.

You grit your teeth, shaking your head. Even if you made it over that first hurdle, it wouldn't take long for the wolves of Moondir to track you down and - in all probability - punish you. You let go a deep breath filled with frustration.

“What are you thinking so hard about, baby doll?”

Before you can scream, a hand presses against your lips contracted in surprise, as a wave of cinnamon and burnt wood hits you, leaving you breathless. A hot body in the prime of its masculinity trembles on you, the man sighs against your ear, and you finally recognize him. Taehyung.

His heated skin dampens the sweater you found inside the closet and decided to use for sleeping, but he has lost the sour smell of sweat and blood. Suddenly you no longer feel cold with your back resting against his bare chest, but agitation makes your temples throb.

“Promise not to scream, and I'll leave you free to talk,” he whispers, brushing the line of your neck with the tip of his nose. You squint, a slight moisture wetting your eyelashes as you nod.

When the weight of his hand lifts you exhale, flustered.

“You can't be here,” you warn him, aiming your wide-open eyes at the closed door. When and how did he enter? Seokjin locked that door to keep you from leaving... and maybe even to keep them from entering.

“I can't stay away from you,” he moans against your neck, his arms tightened around your legs, holding you tighter to his incandescent body. It makes you feel tiny, helpless, “It's all fucking fire, and your scent only makes it worse,” he confesses with his lips now pressed against your shoulder, a strange sensation pooling in the center of your chest.

“Have you tried... a cool shower?” you stammer, panic-stricken.

Shit. What the fuck are you thinking of telling him!

His low, rough laugh immobilizes you.

“I've done three, baby doll,” he forces you to turn away, holding your chin between forefinger and thumb. “But it only gets better when I can touch you,” he hisses, his half-closed amber eyes shining brightly in the dark with an almost frightening intensity.

“You have a fever,” you murmur as you slowly lift a hand, your fingers brushing his sweat-soaked forehead. His hair drips to his temples, and even without a crisp light, you know his face is flushed. But this is no ordinary fever: he is delirious.

“I've had it ever since the wolf smelled you in the house,” he laughs softly, brushing your neck with his nose, almost obsessed with that spot.

“The... wolf?” you ask, trying to keep your wits about you as he comes dangerously close. You need to distract him, and talking seems the only way.

“Mh-mh,” he murmurs, hugging you tightly, sinking his face between your breasts. He vibrates as if purring, making you blush to your ears. “He likes you, baby doll -- and I like you, too.”

You swallow, gritting your teeth.

"You should have Seokjin examine you. He would know how to help you," you suggest, trying to shake him gently, without provoking him. But your suggestion makes him stiffen.

“I don't want to,” he hisses hoarsely, lifting his gaze to you again, “I don't want those fucking suppressors,” and something tells you he wants you.

You squint, you have to play your cards right if you want to survive. Getting fucked by a wolf in heat and probably out of control doesn't seem to be a good thing, but he certainly won't leave without getting something first.

“You're in heat, am I right?” you ask him bluntly, causing him to grunt in assent, “Humans like me don't go into heat, I don't even know how it works for you” you explain calmly, “So I can't really help you that way.”

"Especially since you chose to give yourself to Jimin, am I right?” he snaps venomously into your ear, “I hope you know what you’re doing” his fingers slide down your back as if trying to find a spot to let go, but they stop halfway, hesitating. The way he's trying to hold back is really admirable.

“I'd still like to help you,” you reply, deciding to ignore his last insinuations, “Just tell me how.”

“You don't understand... it's a need to bite and brand while-”

A quiver shakes his heated body as a stifled yelp escapes his lips, now pressed against your chest in a desperate attempt at self-control. His body heat is pleasant and wrong; you should not rejoice in it.

“Give me your wrist,” he growls, his voice low and strained like a rope about to snap, “And don't move for any reason, if you do I won't be limited to just that anymore,” the warning in his tone petrifies you, but you do as he says.

He presses his thumb against the thin skin of your wrist, listens as if hypnotized to every reverberation of your frantic pulse, and leaves a kiss on it. It is slow and hot, and against your will a pleasant tingle builds up in your lower abdomen, you try to chase that feeling away, but the sensation of his teeth sinking into your skin just enough to leave a mark makes you moan slightly, undecided whether to find it pleasurable or annoying.

Taehyung moves against your body, licking away a few drops of your blood. He concentrates with the tip of his tongue on the tiny little holes his fangs have left, before reaching out toward you with a new hunger etched into his savage features. The charcoal that circles his eyes darkens his already dangerous gaze, leaving you breathless.

“I can't wait to catch you, baby doll,” he sighs on your lips, the fever does not seem to have gone away but there is a new awareness that seems to have calmed his wolf, “You have been very good to me, I promise I will be generous,” he whispers, kissing the angle of your mouth softly, before retreating.

“Good night,” he wishes you, leaving you shocked.

What the hell just happened? Now that the cold has returned to the room, you finally realize that you have been at the mercy of a wolf for indefinite moments.

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kissandtellus · 7 hours ago

Text

Unexplained Fever: Zayne LADS Omegaverse

Synopsis: Our favorite Dr. Zayne is facing his rut all alone! That is, until you come along and make him all better!

Warnings: Omegaverse, AlphaxOmega, Breeding, Breeding, Knotting, Overstimulation, etc.

Authors Note: Surprise! This is Zayne’s full length version of ‘Into the Slick of It’! Comments are very encouraged! Tell me who you want to see next!

‘Zayne can you answer me pls?’

You stare down at the last message you had sent to your Mate. Your head thunked against the headboard of the hotel room. Zayne was a loving, caring Alpha. He strictly removed you from your shared den despite your desperate pleas that you would care for him during his rut.

You chew your lower lip. He had taken a week off from the Hospital to deal with his Rut. But that left him alone, fighting his hormones.

The drive to your home was short, almost as short as the dress you wore. It barely covered the bottom of your ass, something you knew would drive Zayne mad.

When you entered, the normally pristine state of his house was destroyed. Your dirty clothes were thrown everywhere, there were scratch marks on corners of the wall as if something-or someone-had to basically drag themselves to the bedroom.

The gruff sounds from the bedroom were easily distinguished as an Alpha in the throes of Rut.

When you finally gained the courage to investigate the feral sounds from the bedroom, your knees went weak.

Zayne had his tie stuffed in his mouth, his button up shirt had been torn open and the shreds hung around his bulging biceps.

The poor toy-oh god, it was molded after your insides, was completely destroyed. The gooey silicone was barely holding together. His thick cock has literally torn the toy into nothing but mush.

His sharp hazel eyes snapped to you, your scent was enveloping his senses. He took a deep whiff, the lashes fluttering. His hand didn’t lessen on the sad remains of the pocket pussy.

“Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me?” He growled through the black tie, his eyes never tearing away from you as the toy disintegrated in his hand.

The tie is soaked in his saliva, mostly drool by now from his feral attempts of silencing himself. His usually blunt fangs were now elongated and tearing through the fabric.

You approached him like you were afraid of frightening a cornered animal. His eyes locked onto the scent patches that were ever present on your glands. His pupils dilated, and he dropped the gooey mess of a toy on the ground, along with his tongue pushing the tie free from his mouth.

“What have I told you about those patches? Are you disobeying me?” His soothing voice xe was tinged with a growl. He stalked towards you with his lip pulled back in a snarl. His cold fingers tore off the patch and within seconds his nose was right against your throbbing gland.

“Z-Zayne I-“

“Silence.” He nipped at the flesh as a warning. Be quiet, and still. Or risk his teeth puncturing your sensitive skin. “These pathetic excuses for suppressants are nothing more than a facade. I could smell you down the street. This sweet cunt-“ he cups your dripping sexy under your short dress “-could have attracted any Alpha within a 5 mile radius.”

Your thighs shiver when his fingers push your sopping panties aside. A long digit probes your folds, pushing through the thin layer of slick. Zayne brings his fingers to his mouth and laps at the essence.

He was a huge lover of sweets. But nothing was sweeter than your slick.

“Is that what you want, Little Dove?” He purrs against the shell of your ear, pinching at your puffy folds until you are dripping over his palm. “Do you want just any Alpha to claim you?”

Your voice tries to stay steady, but a pathetic whimper is all that escapes you.

“N-no…” you bite your quivering lower lip. Zayne is panting, the corner of his mouth still dripping with drool. “I wanna help you.”

Zayne’s chuckle is dripping with false hope. False hope that you will escape this unscathed. “Is that you talking? Or her?” He gives an open palmed slap right on your aching pussy and your legs clench.

“Tell me, Little Dove. Do you truly think you can take this in your current state?” He walks closer, picking you up in a swift motion so your legs are wrapped around his waist. There, he presses his aching cock against your abdomen.

He’s fucking huge.

The head of his cock is nearly purple with need, leaking what you could only assume was pointless orgasms into the ruined toy at your feet. The cum pooled right above your belly button under the dress, creating a crevice of his seed. You audibly gasped at the pure size that seemed to nearly double that of his usual girth.

“See? It would go against all of my medical expertise if I put this all inside of you.” He carrys you over to the bed, which he has decorated with torn remains of your underwear, and lays you on the fabric like an offering before him. “I can smell you from here. I told you to stay away.”

He falls to his knees like the cavern between your legs is an altar. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries like removing your underwear. He tears through your panties with his fangs, barely nipping your inner thigh as he tosses them aside

“Thank you for this meal~.” That’s the last thing you remember before he digs in.

Zayne has always been a very generous lover. But the way he has your toes curling should be illegal.

“Haaa-Zayne! I can’t-I can’t-I can’t-“ is all you can mumble after your fourth orgasm. His gleaming hazel eyes shoot up and he pulls back to catch his breath. Your juices are all but dripping down his chin, painting the prettiest picture you wish you could burn into your brain.

“One more, Angel. You can do it.” His third finger joins the first two and you fear you might lose control completely. Zayne isn’t any better. He’s halfway off the bed, rutting his hips against the edge for any sort of friction. You feel bad for your poor and desperate Alpha.

But he doesn’t have the same mercy for you.

His mouth is wrapped tightly against your throbbing clit, fingers thrumming against that perfect spot inside of you. Your hips are bucking back and forth-to get away or to ride his mouth.

“Please! I can’t Zayne-need you inside!” The tears in the corner of your eyes are spilling now. You try and wipe them away with the back of your hands. Zayne gives pity, removing his mouth from your nub before lapping up the slick dripping down the crevice of your ass.

“Shh Angel, it’s okay. I got you.” He shoves your face into his throat, allowing you to inhale his pheromones like a drug. He chuckles while you nearly burrow yourself in his flesh. “My, my, did I trigger someone’s Heat?”

“Shut up-“ you hiccup with need, closing your thighs to try and stop the waft of Heat from reaching his nose. But Zayne didn’t undergo years of medical school to let his nose be fooled. His hands grasped the back of your thighs, pulling you towards him until your back hit the mattress flat. He bent your thighs until your knees met your chest.

“Hold those up f’me Little Dove.” You obeyed and gripped behind your knees like your life depended on it. He tapped his heavy cock on your weeping cunt, relishing in the soft gasp that left you. “Remember what I taught you. Deep breath, and-“ the first sting was always the worst. Despite his Rut ridden state, he would never push you beyond your limits. “I know Angel, I know.”

The burn from your inner walls is stinging. You look up at the Alpha with watery eyes. But he’s so guiding, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “H-hurts…”

“You’re behaving so well for me now. I’m so proud of you.” He praises. His hands ensnare your hips as he presses inch after inch. Your hands shoot up to push against his chest and- “Down. Do not push me away.” He punishes you with a sharp thrust that has you grasping at his forearms.

When every single inch besides his knot is fit snug inside, you let out a gasp you weren’t aware you were holding. “F-feels like I’m gonna split in half.” You were being dead serious, but Zayne’s cock only throbs. He presses two fingers to the pulse point under your jaw.

“Your heart rate is stable. Can I move?” His body is quaking with need. Who are you to deny an Alpha so desperate to knot you?

“Please-please…” you plead. Zayne eagerly pulls out just a bit, before thrusting back inside. He gives a snarl at your small gasp. “A-ah!”

“Let me hear you. Let me hear how good my cock makes you feel.” And you sing for him. Your legs are shaky as they struggle to wrap around his hips. But Zayne doesn’t seem to mind, if the debt in the bed was any consolation to his feelings.

He’s now feeding you every inch over and over. Foaming white rings form around the base of his cock with each thrust. “Do you regret coming here now? Now you are trapped by a beast.” He growls next to your ear. Both of his hands are lifting your hips to meet his thrust.

“Wanna be with you! Wanna be full of your knot!” You mewl. Your heat would not fully set in for a few days, but that did not stop your fertile scent from filling Zayne’s every sense.

When his first orgasm peaks, he’s pleading onto your swollen scent gland. “My knot-need to fill you-may I? I’ll give you everything. All of my clothing for your nest, the best care for you and our pups. I need to-“

“A-Alpha!”

His fangs sink into your neck over a healed mark, and he’s done for. His knot stretches you far beyond what you thought was possible. “C-Can’t-“

Zayne pulls away from his new mark, licking his bloodied fangs with a growl. “Your womb is full of my seed. You can take it.”

Zayne promised himself he’d patch you up as soon as his Rut passed, as soon as he finished pummeling your ruined pussy over the back of his couch.

He had defiled every corner of his home with his cum and your slick. It started on the bed, then he moved you to the fucking floor. With promises of-‘don’t you dare cry, you wanted this Angel.’ Then to the kitchen where he tried to feed you water while still buried inside of you because he ‘didn’t want you fainting on his cock’.

And finally on his plush couch. You lost count after 5 orgasms on his cock. Your inner thighs were soaked with slick and leftover cum.

You had tried to crawl away from the mean ‘ole doctor twice now, but each time he just pounced, keeping you pinned beneath his body weight, chasing you like a mutt who couldn’t get his fill.

“Are you refusing your Doctor? Are you refusing the best medicine I can give you, my seed?”

Your vision danced with black spots. He was insatiable. You never quite realized how massive he was, how easily he manipulated you with both his words and his strong grip. He finally gave a warning growl, pinning your hands to the small of your back.

“You wanted to play Doctor so bad, wanted to heal me of my woes. So take it.”

Your body was being used as a vessel for his seed now. You didn’t have the strength to try and escape his hold. The bed was long forgotten, probably broken at this point. His sharpened claws anchored down your hips to the once pristine couch and drilled you up and down his length.

“A-Alphaaa! Gonna-I can’t-a-ahhhh!” You sob into his home, head thrown back as you gush a final time over his cock. Zayne coos his praise into the side of your head.

“There we go. My good girl-just-“ he groans as his knot locks in place for the final time. His cum gushes out even around the taunt flesh, signaling how truly overfilled you were. His weight pins you to the couch and you squirm. “No…settle down Little One…” he coos into your hair.

An hour passes and Zayne is lapping up your dried tears with his tongue, murmuring apologies for being so rough.

But deep down, he could feel his cock swelling again. He’d call and cancel the rest of your hotel stay after he finished breeding you full again.

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indecisive-capricorn · 2 days ago

Text

Tranquility in Marriage — Gojo Satoru x Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI, heavy implications and talks of sexism, gender inequality because its in a more traditional setting, fluff, arranged marriage, quiet love, slowburn, distrust at first, elders acting like shit

SUMMARY: Getting into an arranged marriage with you was the only order Gojo Satoru had ever obeyed from the Elders and it was certainly not one he regretted.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is heavily inspired on a slow love song I found and it's like a part one of the background of a mini-series for the arranged marriage au.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.

You looked in front of the mirror with cold, empty eyes that practically screamed for you to get out of there. The beautiful white gown fit your body perfectly, the painted lips left not a single smudge around it, the curled hair flowed down elegantly—every detail in place, every inch seen and carefully given attention to, an evident of your family's perfectionism. But it felt nothing like you, almost as if you were in someone else's skin or more precisely, a nightmare that could been ended with a single pinch.

However, no matter how many times you tried to dig your sharp nails into the flesh of your elbow, desperately attempting to wake yourself, you were instead met with a sting from the pinch and the bitter realization that this was indeed real. All of it was your reality now and you didn't have a say in it anymore.

Growing up in a traditional and strict clan meant that you had been taught lessons that you would never have learnt if you had been born in a normal family, your childhood no longer becoming your own as the adults around you took control.

While other little girls learnt how to tie their shoelaces and sing the alphabets during their childhood, your mother and the ladies of the clan homeschooled you and taught you the ways of how marriage works early on in your childhood. They tried to drill the idea of being a perfect wife in your head, becoming obsessed over time to turn you into a bargaining doll- a perfect bride to be sold of to another clan for power and fame.

In your childhood, you became lonely and isolated, cut off from the rest of the world the high walls your clan built around you. The women of your clan would frequently tell you horror stories, meant to keep you afraid, obedient and most importantly, loyal. They told you all about the cruel men who would sell you for money, how shame and ruin will only follow you beyond the clan's protection, and how staying within tradition is important to preserve your dignity.

"None of us would become anything without tradition," Your father lamented during supper, while your mother poured more tea into his cup, "Each of us have duties to be fulfilled with the roles given to us. You must do the same."

"But I do not know him, Father," you spoke up, voice steady as ever, causing several figures around you to stiffen, including your mother whose hand froze around the teapot handle. "How can I marry someone I do not know? I don't even know what he looks like. I've only heard from the whispers of others. "

Even with the suffocating pressure of tradition, you had always clung to your freedom. Long before you ever learned about the outside world, before you secretly discovered what life was like beyond the clan walls, you had already felt the longing of freedom in your heart. You wanted to live without fear and discover the world for yourself. You wanted to become more than what you were destined for.

And once you did learn and saw how different things could be for women outside of the clan's high walls, you couldn't erase it from your thoughts.

You began to question it. At first, your rebellion came in sharp bursts during your teenage years, which consisted of loud arguments, slammed doors, sleepless nights. But over time, you learned to wield your defiance more carefully. Quietly. Strategically.

You learned how to maintain your peace while still discovering pieces of yourself that they will never reach. You found freedom in stolen books, brief conversations with outsiders, and long moments spent in your gardens where no one could hear you think.

But no amount of rebellion could stop the letter that arrived from the Gojo clan.

And now, sitting at the table during supper, you could feel that old, familiar burn in your chest. The ache of a future chosen for you, wrapped in duty and a name far more powerful than your own.

Your mother's face slowly turned red with fury, lips tightening, ready to yell at you, "You ungrateful brat—"

"You will know him soon enough, flower," your father interjected gently but firmly, shooting a warning glare to your mother. She fell silent with a click of her tongue.

Your father turned back to you, eyes softening with understanding and sorrow. "And you will do your duty," he said, not as a command but rather as a reminder. "As I have. As your mother has. As every soul at this table has for generations, and many more to come."

There was no malice in your father's words. There never had been.

You were his only child. His only daughter.

Out of everyone in the clan, he had dreaded this day the most. He had postponed your marriage as long as he could, always making excuses to the elders that there wasn't a suitable match for you yet, allowing you to have more time with your freedom. He had ensured you had everything your heart desired growing up, whether it'd be bookshelves filled with books to private gardens for you to wander alone, away from the suffocating clan members.

He had given you everything he could and he was the one to raise you as you are now, but even he was bound. "I would keep you forever here if I could," your father had said quietly to you in private when the announcement was first made. "However, I am unable to postpone this. The Gojo clan had been asking for your hand for quite some time now."

And just like that, your heart broke into pieces.

The Gojo clan, the most powerful and ancient family within the Jujutsu Society, had proposed a marriage between you and their only heir, Gojo Satoru. A name that's known in every household as he was known to hold the most powerful gift ever known, appearing only once in a hundred of years.

The Strongest, the Chosen One and now, your soon-to-be husband.

That was why your clan paid no mind to expenses. The wedding preparations was meant to become a spectacle to guests to dazzle. They wanted the whole world to know that their bloodline would be bound to the most exclusive and the most powerful clan in all the Jujutsu Society. And one day, their bloodline would be the one to have heirs of the Six Eyes and Limitless.

They paraded you around like a crowned jewel. A daughter. A symbol. A transaction for power.

Your father tried his best to comfort you throughout the whole process and even told you of how kind and polite the young Gojo was, but you still felt dread crawling up your chest every time you were reminded of the wedding.

Eventually, your father arranged a formal supper, hosting an official meeting between the two clans. A chance for you and your betrothed to meet face to face.

The Gojo clan would be arriving that evening.

You had never seen him before. Not even a glimpse. But the rumors painted him vividly. The piercing, otherworldly blue eyes that marked him as the wielder of the Six Eyes. Eyes said to see through everything and everyone. Eyes that couldn’t be lied to. Eyes that made people tremble at the mere sight of them.

You didn't know him. Not really. And that made him unpredictable.

And in your perspective, unpredictability was dangerous.

It didn't help that during the rare times you were allowed to leave the estate—escorted by maids who watches you closely—you still managed to hear the whispers and gossips from others. And when you snuck out on your own, hidden beneath a dark cloak as you always are, the whispers grew louder.

Some said he was mad. That he laughed too easily, smiled too widely. That he was far too powerful to be stable. Others whispered that he was dangerous—that behind that charming mask was a storm waiting to unravel. Some pitied you.

"Poor girl," they said. "She’ll be the one to face his gift when he loses control."

You couldn’t help but wonder who was right or perhaps, if all of them were and it depends on who he was with.

And still, you would have to sit beside him. Smile. Bow. Be the bride everyone expected you to be. Even if your hands trembled beneath the silk sleeves of your gown from fear and anxiety.

In the middle of the dining room, the air was thick with tension as servants rushed back and forth, arms full of trays and porcelain. Your aunts barked orders, your uncles corrected the seating arrangements for the fifth time, and your mother hovered over the flower arrangements like the wrong color petal might ruin the whole evening. You breath caught in your throat again. It had been happening all day. It was like a ticking time bomb and the explosion was getting closer with each breath you took.

And yet, no matter how many times they spoke of your betrothed, he remained nothing more than a blur in your mind. Unpredictable. Possibly destructive.

So, you did what you always did when the walls began to close in. You ran.

You slipped past your family members, past the servants busy with arrangements, past the elder who tried to stop you with a half-hearted call of your name. Your slippers barely made a sound on the wooden floors. You knew every corner, spending your whole life memorizing it to escape from everyone without getting noticed. You pushed a hidden door open to your garden.

The only place that ever felt like yours.

The only place you could freely be yourself with no eyes around.

No one was allowed here. Not the elders. Not the servants. Not even your mother dared to enter without invitation, which she can never get. Your father had made sure of that. It was your sanctuary and on days like this, it was the only thing that kept you breathing.

"It's just a stupid man," you tried to assure yourself, breathing deeply. You should consider yourself fortunate for not having Naoya Zenin as your betrothed. He was close to becoming your betrothed but your father refused to after sensing something terrible within the Zenin, which caused your mother to frequently complain to her sisters about since besides the Gojo clan, the Zenin clan is quite powerful as well. However, you heard that he was terrible behind doors towards his own staff and that your father had indeed saved you from a cruel destiny with him.

Perhaps Gojo Satoru isn't as bad as they say? You heard that he was a teacher as well to a school in Tokyo and becoming a teacher certainly teaches one patience and understanding.

Your whole body became alert when you felt someone open the door.

"Didn't think you'd be the type to bolt," came a voice from the doorway.

You froze.

The voice was low and teasing but calm as if he'd been waiting.

Your head snapped toward the sound, eyes locking onto a tall figure. His white hair caught the silver of the moonlight, and a pair of dark-tinted glasses covered his eyes. He didn’t look dressed for a formal dinner, though he wore the same colors as your clan's celebration garb, only looser, more relaxed, as if tradition didn't sit tightly on his skin the way it did on yours.

Gojo Satoru.

You didn’t need to ask.

You just knew.

"I had a feeling you might be here. Your garden looks lovely," he remarked with a smile, stepping casually onto the stone path but he made sure to keep a distance between you to keep you comfortable. "Though I have to admit, I expected you to climb the back wall and disappear completely. Not take a detour through your rose bushes."

You stared at him in disbelief, both at how relaxed he was and how annoying he was. "How do you know this is my garden?"

He tapped his ear. "I listen. Your maids gossip a lot."

You narrowed your eyes. "And how did you get here if you only listened? Did you follow me here?"

"I wandered," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "And stumbled into your sanctuary entirely by accident."

He looked at you. "Lucky me. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have seen such beauty."

You weren't sure if he meant the garden or you.

Silence stretched between the two of you.

He didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t look insane. If anything, he looked as if he was trying to figure out what to do or even say to you in the situation you are in. You two are meant to be married soon after all. His posture was relaxed, his voice soft and unassuming. The famous Gojo Satoru, who wielded the Six Eyes and Limitless, who could obliterate entire clans with a flick of his hand, stood there looking more like a polite yet awkward houseguest than the strongest sorcerer alive.

And then, just as your heart started to calm, he reached into his sleeve and pulled something out. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sugar bun he brought out, neatly wrapped in a pale paper.

He held it out to you, completely deadpan. "Peace offering."

Your brows furrowed. "…For what?"

He shrugged one shoulder, a lazy motion that somehow still managed to carry elegance. "For crashing your very exclusive garden party. And, you know, the whole arranged marriage thing."

You blinked, taken aback by the casualness in his tone.

He tilted his head and added, "I’m aware I don't exactly have a peaceful reputation, but I heard you liked sweets and I thought you would find flowers boring."

You stared at the sugar bun. Then back at him. Then back at the sugar bun. You did like sugar buns and you did favor snacks over flowers any day, but how could he have known that?

"…You’ve been spying on me?"

"Research," he said, one hand dramatically placed on his chest. "Basic recon. You’d be amazed what I can find out from your maids in just a few minutes."

"But even so, how did you manage to get the sugar bun on time? Your family couldn't have been here for that long," you pointed out, suspicion creeping into your voice.

Gojo grinned, the kind of grin that belonged to someone far too pleased with himself.

"Teleportation," he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked. "Teleportation," you repeated in disbelief.

"Yep. Technically, it’s a manipulation of space, but that’s boring talk." He gave the sugar bun a slight wave in front of your face. "What matters is that one moment I’m sweet-talking your maids, next moment I’m popping into my favorite bakery with the most delicious sugar bun that I know of in Tokyo, and then boom, I’m back here with the gift in hand."

"I didn’t want to show up empty-handed," he said with a casual shrug. "First impressions matter, and I didn’t think you'd be impressed by the usual fancy clan offerings. The elders suggested gold, pearls, cursed weapons-- they're all quite a bore."

You almost smiled.

The absurdity of it. The sincerity behind that sugar bun.

"And besides," he added, stepping a little closer and holding out the sugar bun again, "I wanted to give you something you would actually like and enjoy."

That made you pause.

It was true that you expected gifts from him not because you wanted it but rather that it was obligatory for the bride and groom to gift something in their first meeting. It had always been mandatory.

But this? A sugar bun from Tokyo, delivered through a manipulation of time and space, because he thought you would like it?

You took it from his hand, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second.

"Thank you," you murmured with a sincere smile.

He smiled so gently that it made you wondered for a moment--just for a moment--why you had been so guarded before.

"Anytime," he said.

—

"Where have you been?" Your mother whispered harshly the moment you stepped into the living room where the two families waited. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe with thinly hidden irritation.

You had told Gojo not to follow you, knowing very well that his presence beside you would raise several eyebrows, especially with the more traditional members like the elders at present. He understood though. He always seemed to understand, even when you didn't mind his company. It was something that needed to be done.

Before you could explain yourself, her eyes dropped to the sugar bun still in your hand. Her face turned furious and without missing a beat, she snatched the bun from your hand and shoved it to a nearby servant who got startled by the sudden presence of the snack in her hand.

"You are already spoiled enough," she hissed under her breath, as though your existence was a stain on a fine porcelain, disgust evident in her eyes. "But hiding away from your own engagement to eat sweets? Have you no shame?"

She aggressively smoothed out the front of your attire.

"Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself," she muttered, deeply annoyed. "If anyone knows better, they would have thought you passed through a storm to get here."

Aunts materialized around you like a daily routine, fixing your hair and adjusting stray threads from your attire with careful fingers and disapproving silence. They were less vocal about it, thinking that your mother's constant criticism would be enough for you to learn a lesson. You barely had the time to breathe through your mother's little makeover before you were presented—more like, pushed—to the heads of the Gojo clan.

Gojo Naoyuki and Gojo Sayaka.

Your future-in-laws.

Maintaining a steady posture, you bowed to them with grace as a formal greeting that was ingrained since childhood and one that. You had wondered what they might be like because unlike Satoru, there were barely any conversations surrounding them. One might even thought Satoru didn't any at all, given how rarely they were mentioned. Gojo Naoyuki held a great resemblance to his son—sharp jawline, striking white hair, the same proud nose—but he had none of Satoru's charms or even the twinkle in Satoru's eyes. Instead, his gaze was heavy and rather restricted, a large contrast with Satoru's own personality.

In some ways, he reminded you of your father—bounded by tradition, but he seemed to have experienced it far greater than your father had, tradition carved deeper into the lines of his every expression.

Gojo Sayaka, by contrast, was as beautiful as the whispers did claim, ever so graceful and composed, features refined like porcelain. There was an effortless elegance to her, the kind not taught but inherited. And yet, she had said very little since the moment you entered. Her silence was not absent though, it was calculation. Her poised eyes had followed your every movement the moment you stepped into the room, unlike her husband, whose focus had remained locked in conversation with your father.

Her gaze wasn't cruel, nor was it warm. It was observant. Formal. Dutiful. The way a queen might pay attention to her court; nothing personal and only done with a purpose.

While Satoru’s presence made you feel seen, Sayaka’s made you feel studied, like a judge almost.

However, you were used to judging eyes as well. You had been your whole life with the way the women in your clan, especially your mother, have berated you all these years and insulted you as well for every little thing you do. Yet, here you are, having to marry a family that's far better than the one your mother had married into. If it wasn't an arranged marriage, you would have been prideful of it sooner but after knowing your future husband, you were more at peace and only made your formalities. At the very least you will make sure to not tarnish the Gojo name.

Your father stepped forward first, bowing with practiced grace. “Gojo-dono. It is our honor to welcome you into our home.”

Naoyuki inclined his head. “The honor is mutual.” His voice was deep and calm, but carried the weight of a man who measured every word. “We have long observed your clan’s reputation for discipline. We are pleased to see it was not exaggerated.”

Your father offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We strive to uphold what was passed down.”

Naoyuki gave a single approving nod before his eyes shifted toward you. They swept over you—not in scrutiny, not even judgment—but in the way one might inspect a weapon, a seal, an heirloom. “You carry yourself well," he remarked smoothly but lacked in warmth. "As expected of your clan. Daughters are often the reflection of a clan's discipline."

You bowed again. “Thank you, Gojo-dono.”

“It is not praise," he said evenly, “It is the standard.”

Silence hung for a moment too long and your aunts braced themselves for the bite that you usually do, but instead you just smiled politely. "Of course, I was raised well by my family and I will continue to honour the Gojo family with everything I was taught."

The room remained still for a heartbeat longer. Your mother’s eyes twitched ever so slightly, unsure whether to feel pride or suspicion. Your aunts exchanged brief glances, perhaps uncertain if your response was a surrender or a warning wrapped around in silk.

Naoyuki studied you, and while his expression didn’t change, there was a shift in the air, the slightest pause before he nodded once. Accepting. For now.

"Very well." He said. "You'll come to understand that more intimately once you take your place in the Gojo clan."

Murmurs of agreement followed afterwards, mostly from your aunts and other members of the Gojo clan. As for Sayaka, she only blinked slowly. A small tilt of her head. Nothing more, but you could see that it was a sign of approval from her.

You dipped your head politely, not submitting, but choosing not to engage with the provocation. You’d been raised to survive this kind of game. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Satoru relax slightly at your composure, his shoulders loosening as if to say, You did well.

Naoyuki gave a small nod of approval. Not of warmth—that was never his style—but of recognition. You had not faltered.

But you knew this wouldn’t be the last time you'd be expected to endure someone else’s standards. You watched as your father continued to converse with Naoyuki, but you could still feel a gentle gaze on you.

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pitchsidestories · 8 hours ago

Text

Three weddings and one new love II Patri Guijarro x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2169

summary: Patri and Reader cross paths at three weddings. Each meeting brings them closer, but is it enough for something real to begin?

author's note: hi, like everyone else, we absolutely loved all the woso weddings and inspiration struck. We hope you enjoy the fanfic that came from it. <3

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

Lola and Cristina’s wedding was in full swing.

“Patri, do you remember her?” Leila’s question was innocent enough, but when the midfielder caught sight of you, she nearly choked on the champagne she’d been sipping.

Of course, Patri remembered. How could she not? But somehow, you were even more beautiful than she’d allowed herself to recall.

Noticing the brunette’s stunned expression, you laughed, light and effervescent, like the bubbles rising in your glass: “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”, Patri said, recovering quickly. The midfielder felt the warmth rising to her cheeks. Normally, she was cooler, more composed. She blamed the heat. And the drinks.

“It’s nice to see you too.”, you replied, a soft smile on your lips.

“Are you enjoying the party so far?”, the Barcelona player asked, her voice casual, but her eyes lingering just a little too long.

“I do. What about you? I really like your dress.”, you said.

The sleeveless black dress hugged her figure effortlessly, the ink of her tattoos accentuating her sun-warmed skin.

Patri tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous smile playing on her lips: “Oh, thank you.” She paused, gesturing vaguely. “And yeah, Lola and Cristina know how to throw a party.”

You took a moment to absorb the atmosphere. Laughter drifted through the garden, and even usually composed Alexia was dancing in her pink dress, barefoot and carefree, with the bride.

“I’m not usually a fan of weddings, but this one’s something special.”, you confessed.

Patri grinned: “That’s a big compliment, then. Can I get you another drink?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”, you responded, returning her smile.

Like a true gentlewoman, she returned with fresh drinks for you both, gently clinking her glass against yours. “Cheers.” “Cheers.”

“It’s really beautiful.”, Patri murmured, her eyes scanning the joyful chaos unfolding around you.

You followed her gaze. The couple radiated happiness, surrounded by friends, laughter and the soft golden light of early evening.

Knowing them as well as you did, especially Lola, the goalkeeper who’d stood by you when everything in your career was falling apart, you felt a quiet swell of emotion. “I agree.”, you said, your voice low.

Patri turned to you, a playful tilt to her head:” Would you like to dance?”

Her brown eyes caught yours, deep and steady, and something warm unfurled in your chest. You hesitated, nerves fluttering at the edges.

“Oh, um… sure,” you nodded, speaking almost to yourself.

As you stepped onto the dance floor, the DJ smoothly shifted from a fast rhythm to a slow, melodic song. You both paused, smiling, a little shy, a little amused, before stepping closer.

Her hand found yours, and the space between you disappeared. The movement was easy, natural, like you’d rehearsed it without knowing. There was no need to speak, your bodies seemed to anticipate each other, flowing in quiet synchrony.

The moment, soft and perfect, was suddenly broken by the arrival of Irene, her expression tight with concern.

You watched as Patri’s eyebrows knotted together, looking over to her teammate.

“Patri? Can you help me find Mateo?”, Irene asked, the slightest hint of panic in her voice.

“I…”, Patri hesitated, looking back and forth between you and Irene until she nodded firmly: “Yeah, sure.”

She offered you an apologetic smile: “Sorry.”

You waved her off casually: “It’s fine. I need to check on Andrea, anyway, looks like she had enough to drink.”

With a final wry smile, Patri disappeared into the crowd. She eventually found Mateo several minutes later, sitting calmly beneath a table, hidden by the tablecloth and happily playing with his toy cars. The relief on Irenes face when she saw her son was immeasurable.

Happy to have been of help, Patri returned to where she left you earlier but you were gone.

“Ale? Do you have y/n’s number?”, she asked Alexia who was seated on a table nearby, sipping white wine.

She raised her eyebrows as she took another sip: “I don’t. Why?”

“I…”, Patri started. But what was she supposed to say? That she couldn’t find you after circling the parameter of the big yard three times already. That she felt something between you two and didn’t understand why you had just left?

Before she could find the right words, Leila chimed in, her eyes lighting up with excitement: “You want to see her again?!”

“Yeah?”, Patri answered carefully.

This caused Alexia shoot her a knowing, slightly pitying look. Patri wished she hadn’t even asked at all.

Summer break meant wedding season in the womens football world, so the next ceremony was only a couple days later. It felt like the celebrations were never-ending. But you weren’t complaining, not when it gave you another excuse to wear something fancy.

You were stuck in some small-talk with two men you didn’t know, and it quickly became clear that they were more interested in each other’s opinions than anything you had to say. You stood there politely, twirling the stem of your champagne flute between your fingers and pretending to listen. At least until a bright red jumpsuit caught your attention.

It was Patri, smiling carefully as she walked towards you.

You smiled back at her, grateful to have an excuse to leave the one-sided conversation: “You again. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”

“Hi, I didn’t know you knew the brides.”, Patri greeted you and as she took in your uncovered arms added: “… or that you had any tattoos.”

You smirked at her, catching the way her gaze lingered on your body: “Wow, you underestimate me, Guijarro.”

“I did. I thought…”, she started, her cheeks turning pink.

“You thought I was just the girl next door? I feel like I should be offended.”, you teased, leaning in with a grin.

Clearing her throat, the midfielder defended herself: “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.”, you said quickly, hoping to ease her visible nervousness.

Biting her lip, Patri murmured an apology.

“Yours are really pretty.”, you admitted, lightly tracing the inked lines on her upper arm with your finger. Was this still just friendly chatter between guests, or had it already tipped into flirting? You suspected the latter. You couldn’t help it, the banter between you was too good to resist.

Under your attention, she muttered: “Oh, thanks.”

“Although the tiger might be a bit cheesy.”, you added with a wink.

Pretending to be offended, the brunette shot back: “What? No, it’s cool.”

You chuckled: “Uh-huh.”

Then the mood shifted. A memory surfaced, the last wedding where you’d seen her, and how abruptly it had ended. Your voice softened: “Sorry for vanishing like some kind of Cinderella the last time we saw each other.”

“Is that a thing you do?”, Patri asked, her tone cautious. She didn’t want to be hurt again. The feeling of being left behind was still raw, it hadn’t been a few days ago.

You shook your head.: “Vanishing and leaving a pretty girl behind? No, usually not. At least, not on purpose.”

“So, I don’t have to be scared you’ll disappear again?” she questioned, watching you hopefully.

“No, I won’t do that.” You smiled, heart open. “You want me to stay?”

“I do.”, Patri confirmed, her voice barely a whisper. “I even asked the others for your number.”

“You did?”

Here was the thing, you had all played for the national team together. But after you left for England and refused any further call-ups, not much in the Spanish federation had truly changed. Just fragments. Bits and pieces. And there was still so much left to be desired. Which meant, of course, that none of her football friends would have your contact details.

“I can give you mine now,” you offered, pulling a pen from your small bag and scribbling your number on her arm.

“Thanks,” she responded softly.

“You’re welcome. I’m rarely in Spain these days, but I’m here most summers.”, you explained.

Nervously, she glanced at you, her voice quiet as she hinted at the dance you never got to finish last time: “That’s... fine. I just still owe you a dance.”

“You should do that now,” you replied with a smirk, nodding towards the dance floor. “One of my favourite songs is playing.”

Patri shrugged as if this opportunity was as good as any: “Okay, then.”

You took her hand in yours and led her onto the dance floor.

The music surrounded you both as you started to sway. Patri’s hands settled naturally on your waist, guiding your movements with the rhythm of her own body. She moved smoothly, like water. Almost like the way she played football, you thought.

“You’re surprisingly good at this.”, you smirked.

Patri smiled, lifting an eyebrow: “Surprisingly, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean you’re maestro on the field but the dance floor is very far from a pitch.”, you teased, biting your lip.

She tilted her head, considering for a moment and then said with a slightly challenging tone: “Can’t I be both?”

Her face was so close to yours now, the sunlight catching in her deep brown eyes.

“You can be even more than that.”, you murmured, your gaze locked on her.

You knew she stared at your lips. You waited for her to lean in. Maybe she was waiting for you too. The kiss never came.

And then the moment was gone. You had to leave right after this dance, but you had no idea how much chaos your exit would leave behind.

Later that night, with the music still playing and drinks still flowing, a fine sprinkle of rain began to fall over the wedding and Alexia came running towards her friend group, her high heels dangling from her fingers: “Olga! Leila! Patri is crying… and she won’t tell me why!”

They found her outside, sitting on the venue steps, quietly sobbing and mascara smudging underneath her eyes.

Leila crouched down beside her: “What happened?”

“I had her number but it vanished… just like her.”, Patri sniffed, pointing towards the fading writing on her arm that was almost completely washed away by a mix of sweat and rain.

“Aw, cariño…”, Olga sighed, brushing strands of hair out of Patris face.

“It’s okay. I’m sure we can get her number somehow.”, Leila said softly.

“Promise.”, Olga added, squeezing her shoulder.

Patri wiped her eyes and looked up to them. The crying had finally stopped.

The third wedding was Laia’s. Just as beautiful as the last two ceremonies and with a lot of familiar faces on the guest list.

When you walked in, you noticed one table right away.

“Patri. Get up and stop pouting.”, Ona ordered, elbowing her in the ribs.

Patri was seated next to her, frowning into her champagne glass.

“She’s here!”

“Stop messing with me.”, the midfielder muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Unmoved by her teammate’s theatrics, Ona gave a half-smile: “I’m not. She and Laia go way back to their Atlético days. So come on now.”

Patri’s head shot up: “Wait, are you serious?”

With a sigh, Ona grabbed her arm and gently tugged her to her feet. She turned her toward the other side of the courtyard, where you stood talking to the bride, laughing in the golden dusk.

“I am.”, Ona said simply.

Laia’s voice rang out beside you, warm and sure. She rested her arm on your shoulder: “I hope you’ll come visit me in Barcelona soon.”

You smiled, hugging her close: “Of course I will.” The promise was meant for her, but when your eyes flicked past her shoulder and found the one woman you'd seen at the last two weddings, your heart quietly wondered if the promise might stretch to her too.

Beaming, Laia announced: “I’ll go find my husband.”

“Okay.”

Their happiness was contagious, easy, natural. It was beautiful to see someone you’d known so long marry the man who had cried the moment she stepped into view at the ceremony.

You and Laia shared one last hug. Then, as you turned, you almost stumbled straight into Patri.

“Oh, hi.”, you mumbled, nerves fluttering in your chest.

“Hey.”, she replied, calm on the outside, though her heart was pounding. Three weddings. Third time’s the charm, maybe this was the moment, like in all the films and books.

You gestured toward the happy couple: “Laia and I were just talking, I’ve got to visit her in Barcelona soon.”

“Yeah,” Patri said. “It’s great to have her back.”

You nodded. “You lot are lucky.”

“We are.”

You hesitated, searching her face: “What if I want to see you too, not just Laia?”

Her expression lit up, hope blooming across her pretty face: “You want to visit me?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I really do.”

“I’d like that.”, Patri answered, and stepped a little closer. She kissed your cheek soft, deliberate, her lips brushing just a little too close to yours.

Three weddings and maybe, this was the first chapter of your own little love story.

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jbbuckybarnes · 1 day ago

Text

Soulmate Subscription [LN4]

✨ Lando Norris x Reader (Y/N)

Author's note: Listen, the state of the world has become so ass that now after almost two years of not writing fanfic this 26yo is back at writing a bit to reduce stress. Don't expect me to be back fully because this unfortunately doesn't pay the bills (oh to be a nepo partner that can just do this on the side...i digress).

Warnings: Bro, I have never been to a GP, especially not as a VIP, so I have no clue how this shit works logistically. Reader is Lan's age because I said so, have fun being 25/26 y'all. Also zero proofreading and written past midnight. Formatting is bad because I posted from my phone...we run on vibes here the way Ferrari engineers do.

Prompt Used: Soulmate AU where you receive a monthly box containing clues to find your soulmate. (by @soulmate-au-bargain-bin) & "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you"

Since the day you turned 18 in 2017 you had gotten small things sent to you in the mail that hinted at your soulmate. Some people took the clues and figured out their soulmates pretty fast, others took well into their 50s because their soulmate had such an average and difficult to guess life. The problem with your boxes was that you could tell this soulmate had a very uncommon hobby, motorsports, but you couldn't pinpoint it much further.

You had gotten sketches of helmets, a rag with motor oil on it, a map of the Silverstone circuit in the UK, an F1 pass, a nameless boarding ticket for a flight to Las Vegas, a small container of hair gel and a black shirt. All of those things didn't narrow it down. You could tell the person was into racing, but if it was as a fan or a hobby driver themselves didn't quite get across. Anyone could go to a race somewhere and anyone could be into tuning their own car or driving karts every now and then. The small clues weren't of any help so far and at age 26 you wondered if your life was interesting enough to even get your soulmate any closer to your identity. You liked taking the occasional dance class and walks in nearby nature. A concert every couple months and writing personal essays also weren't very identifying.

This months package arrived at the expected time, but it was bigger this time. You took it to your bed and grabbed the way too oversized cutter knife. Inside the box was a blue and orange piece of cloth with a number four on it. It seems to have been cut out of something actually wearable but the material was thicker than a usual shirt or jacket. You looked at the striped orange design of the number and grabbed your phone to look up the couple racing series you were familiar with by now, Formula E, NASCAR, Indycar, WEC, MotoGP, F4, F3, F2, F1. Who has a number four? F1 – "Number 4, Lando Norris, driving for McLaren" you mumbled to yourself. So your soulmate must be a fan of him maybe. He looked cute, a little fuckboy-ish if you were honest.

You looked at the cut out of the cloth more closely and noticed something stuck to the back of it. A piece of paper with something bunched up behind it.

"One of these days it'll have to work. No clue if I can will into existence what the universe sends you, but I'll keep trying to get you to a race. Watch this arrive after the race..." you quietly read the semi-fucked up handwriting and grabbed what is stuck between the cloth and the note. A pass reading "All-Access VIP – Belgian GP in Spa-Francorchamps – Hosted by: McLaren F1 Team"

Your eyes went wide, "Holy..." You didn't know a lot about racing other than the basics but you knew these were probably worth thousands.

"Guess I'll have to figure out how to get to Belgium."

—

You were standing in the humid heat of the European summer. The denim jacket that you had sewn the #4 cloth to on the back was already tied around your hips because the heat was unbearable. How were people doing this three days in a row?

You finally entered the circuit, not a clue of where to go next, but you were sure you'd figure it out. After all, VIP means there aren't many places you couldn't go. And somehow asking someone in a VIP area for help felt less odd to you, there must be rich people here all the time that don't usually do this.

Orange and McLaren is all you knew to look out for. Not that you would mind accidentally ending up in Ferrari heaven, but at this point you had caught up a bit on the sport and knew they weren't doing as well this year as expected. You walked down a mini road full of people between the paddock and mini houses that the teams brought with them everywhere.

A stressed-looking man in blue and white team gear walked by you with a bit of an entourage. You knew that one from the algorithm playing out a video of his to you. Carlos something with S.

In the distance you could spot shiny orange on one side and a bustling entry to the garage on the other side. Like orange little worker bees. You knew the shiny home is most likely where you'd find some water aka what you were sweating out in buckets at that moment.

You dodged your way through media representatives and people making a thousand times what you make a day and finally made your way in and beelined for a worker next to a barebones bar setup.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

"Just cold water, it's like walking through soup today."

"July races will do that to you." The person answered politely.

"At least there's some cooling in here." You took the cup with a small thanks.

"Almost too cold." You looked at the worker noticing them wearing a long sleeve. And they were right, five more minutes in there and you'd probably feel like you're in Antarctica. That electricity bill must be insane.

You drank the water and put your jacket back on.

"I don't know how people do this almost every week. I'd go insane from all the sensory inputs."

"You get used to it." They shrugged with a smile.

You heard the entrance to the motorhome become louder and a man entered with his racing overall half down. You knew that one, he was leading the championship right now. You weren't very keen on asking for pictures here, it's not like you were a big motorsports fan. He also just looked like he wanted his peace, so you focused back on staring holes into the walls of the McLaren home. You didn't notice the little lookover he gave you once he had walked past you.

Free Practice wasn't interesting you that much if you were honest. You'd watch the second one today but cars going fast were just cars going fast at the end of the day, you had two more days to see that. Plus finding your way to a place where you could watch was another mission.

"What do you mean it worked?" "Look." You heard two voices going back and forth behind you.

"I think I might throw up." "God, you're so dramatic." You looked towards the entrance but not behind you. You were nosy but not THAT nosy.

"Oh my god, how would I even introduce myself?" "Like you usually do?" "Os, this isn't fucking usual, not everyone magically went to school with their forever person the way you did." "If you don't talk to her, I will." "Oh hell nah, mate." "Well, I tried. Good look, Lan."

It got quiet around you, the two bickering voices had stopped, many people were already heading out to go watch FP2 in a bit, the worker had struck up a conversation with a rich-looking older lady.

A male figure appeared next to, "Nice jacket. I mean, hi. I mean...ugh, I won't even attempt to save that first impression." You giggled and looked up. Oh, the cute fuckboy-ish guy looking thrown off was kinda adorable, you had to admit.

"Hi. Lando, right?" He gave a small nod.

"Can I ask where'd you get it from,..." "Y/N" "Y/N" He said it very carefully as if he would need to remember it.

"I don't know, just kind of arrived one day." "Like a certain box that arrives every month?" "Maybe..."

He eyed you more intently, "That's from a race suite in my first season of F1. I figured I'd try to attach something to it and lose it on purpose."

You blinked at him trying to process, "HUH?"

"I'll need a little more input than that." He gave a boyish little grin but looked unsure.

"I just thought my soulmate would be a big fan of yours or working for you or something." He shrugged innocently.

"Oh boy." You exhaled, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting me to process that immediately surrounded by that much sensory input?" He chuckled and shook his head, "My bad, I should've expected absolute confusion."

There was a short silence, "I assume you're not much of a motorsports fan?"

"Eh...it's not my first choice, but some of the faces are hard to dodge in advertising." He gave a wide grin to you.

He looked down at his watch, "10 more minutes of being allowed to dodge my responsibilities. You wanna talk...uh, elsewhere." You nodded.

You weren't really expecting to be dragged into a tiny room while Oscar gave you a look that read as "He's always this idiotic."

"Well, uh, this is cozy..." You stood there, a bit too close to him.

"Yeah, they don't really make big drivers rooms." His hand went through his curly hair.

"At least it's more quiet." You exhaled at the relaxation level your nervous system reached.

"You need ear plugs for the weekend?" He grabbed a round little plastic casing and handed it to you.

"Uh, thanks." "If you needed it I'd literally give you what I'm wearing right now if I wasn't legally required to wear it." He chuckled.

You blinked at him again, processing.

"Sorry, that was a bit over the top. But I meant it as in 'I'd give my soulmate anything', you know?"

You nodded, still processing.

"Am I making this awkward or are you just overwhelmed?" He asked half concerned, half to lighten up the tension.

You exhaled, "Both."

"I'm not the best with first impressions I've heard." He admitted.

"No no, I think it's cute." Now both of you were flustered.

"I always expected there to be this ideal way I'd meet my soulmate. You know that moment some people talk about." "Oh, like the, we don't need to know each other, we'll kiss first and talk second kinda stories." You both giggled.

"I mean..." He looked at you clearly jokingly flirty.

"You excude too much fuckboy energy for that to ever have been a possibility." You laughed.

He feigned offense but instantly stopped and said, "Yeah no, I can see it, my PR people were working hard on that one."

"Oh, I have not seen any PR surrounding you, that's literally just your energy." "Okay NOW I'm offended, wow!"

You both broke into laughter.

"If I win this Sunday, will you change your mind?" He looked like he liked to play with fire.

"Things only a fuckboy would ask." "Well, would you?" "Are we still talking about a kiss or me not calling out your fuckboy energy?"

He caged you in a little, not in an overbearing way, you could easily leave.

"Bit of both." A short silence, "Blushing, are we?"

"Shut up." You mumbled looking away and he chuckled.

"I'll just assume that's a yes?" You met his gaze, "Yeah."

He looked at his wrist next to your head, "Well, gorgeous, wanna watch FP2 from the coolest place of all?"

"You're assuming that wouldn't be my couch for me." He laughed at that.

"I mean I guess that's nicer than in the garage with my headset on." He eyed you, "But that wouldn't be very future wife of you."

You hid your face behind your hands, "Stop it!"

"I'll think about it, darling." He grabbed one of your hands and opened the door of the drivers room again.

His hand switched to the small of your back, guiding you through way too many people to the garage and all the shebang in there.

"Lando!" Someone in the garage called out. "Gimme one second!" His face was focused putting his headphones on you, then he gave you a self-satisfied smile, "See you in a bit, Y/N."

You had to admit, a man in a race suit wasn't the worst person you could've gotten as a soulmate. You definitely didn't mind looking at him. Or his driving.

Or the way he still looked good while sweaty after the helmet came back off after the hour of free practice.

"Is it legal to still look good when sweaty?" You joked as he walked towards you.

"I don't know, you tell me." He brushed over your forehead with the towel he was holding.

"Didn't even give me the opportunity to be offended." He grinned self-satisfied at that.

"I should probably get you some team gear so you won't die out here tomorrow." He said more to himself than your while taking the headphones from you again.

"Ew, orange." "You could also wear my shirts." He shrugged and smirked as he watched you processing yet again.

You were dragged back to the driver's room, "I like the way your brain just short circuits when I flirt with you."

"You just wait until I feel comfortable enough to throw that back at you." You pretended to be offended as the door shut behind you.

"Looking forward to it." He winked at you before taking off his fireproofs. Act normal, act normal, act normal.

He put on a shirt before his hands went to the rest of his overalls...you turned around, this man was insane, unhinged, crazy.

"You can look again." He looked at you a bit sorry when you turned around again, but only a bit.

"You're unhinged." He giggled because you were right.

"You like it." "...unfortunately."

He caged you in again, "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you right now."

"Dunno, it's giving kiss first, talk second soulmate stories." You teased, but put your arms around his neck.

"I still can't believe that deliberately losing something worked." You could feel his breath on you lips.

"Still can't believe my soulmate is a dumbass driving 300kph." You both giggled before closing the distance.

You didn't expect him to be so...soft and featherlight.

"I have a feeling I'll be in trouble if I don't win this week." You gave him a challenging smirk in response.

"I'd date you either way, but I'd say it's a bonus." "I feel like your existence in my life now is already a bonus."

"You're so corny." You laughed at him.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry?" He held his hands up.

"Don't be. I like it." Soft smiles were interchanged.

"Wanna sneak off and order food?" "As long as an AC is involved." He laughed and grabbed you, expertly sneaking you out of the circuit, into his hotel and spent all evening explaining his life to you between slices of pizza.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #lando norris fanfic #f1 fanfic #soulmate au #papaya boys #mine

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harringtons-cupid · 1 day ago

Text

After Dark

Pairing: Coworker! Steve Harrington x fem!reader:

Warnings: Smut, p in v, unprotected sex, nicknames, praising, semi-public sex, mentions of smoking, getting high. Swearing, touching. Cum eating, fingering, pussy eating. Making out. Minors do not!!!

W.C: [4k]

Summary: Your shift at the Family Video store with Steve Harrington, results in more than just a passing glance when your boss introduces a 24-hour trial.

Author's note: This is just horny posting, alot of smut or intentions of smut is mentioned in this! I want to thank @stevesxyellowxsweater for helping me write this.

Please reblog to support me! TYSM🤍

There has always been flirting between you and Steve, maybe a cheeky attempt at a pass. But you always got interrupted, whether it be in the break room or as you were opening up.

You and Steve had never really hung out after work, wanting to keep it a strictly work related relationship.

This proved to be difficult when it was clear that you both wanted each other.

It resulted in ass pinches as you served customers, his fingers grazing your clit in the stockroom. You always found each other in the hidden parts of the store, just on the blind spot of particular cameras. And the cameras weren’t programmed to load up until 8:50am. Giving you just enough time for a sneaky kiss or touch.

Your favourite thing that he had done, was begin to eat you out before you were rudely interrupted by a customer banging on the glass doors. You were both hidden behind large display cases of videos, Steve popped his head up with an annoyed look. Not able to continue for the next few days.

The summer holidays were the worst, you and Steve had worked together for 3 days and it was always the period where you spent less time together.

There was less physical interaction, more hand grazing and his semi erect cock pushing against your ass as he leant to help you with a customer.

The heat didn’t help either of you, it meant that you were always in a range of different skirts with your family video uniform on the top. The shortest ones were simply to tease Steve, you knew that he jerked off to the thought of you bending over the counter.

You always wore the smallest of underwear, your favourite dress was blue with thin white stockings and a white thong.

When you had a movement alone, you’d be pushed up against the wall with his hand around your throat. Until the sound of movement appeared outside, he’d transform into a fake smiley Steve.

Not one with a fat throbbing cock.

This summer it was different, it was the middle of June 1986 in Hawkins and you found yourself lusting over someone from outside of work.

Of course, Steve hated this.

“What about us? He hissed behind you as you added a new video onto the shelves.

“Steve, it’s not like I’m with him?” You rolled your eyes, turning to look at him.

“But, babe. We said there was no one else” he followed you like a lost puppy.

You shook your head, hiding your smile behind more videos. He was getting annoyed now, twisting your body around so your back was pushed against the display cage. All the video tapes in your hands dropped to the floor.

He was towering over you now, his hand pressed firmly above your head. The tension was heavy as he stared into your eyes, his lips wet and plump.

You had never slept with him, it was always just playful touches and many almosts. Everyone used to talk about how good in bed Steve was but you enjoyed the chase and the tease.

This jealous version of Steve was turning you on, you wanted him to take you there and then but unfortunately, your boss was in today.

The jingle of the bell startled you both, quickly bending down to pick up the videos. Steve traced his finger across your neck before walking to meet the boss.

You heard them chatting from a distance as you continued your job, your clit was throbbing between your legs.

He drove you crazy and he knew it, so lying about having someone else made him want you more.

You moved onto a different shelf when you looked up from the videos, watching as your boss walked into the back offices. Your eyes flicked onto Steve who shot you a wink before turning his attention onto the customer at the counter.

Shying, you ached to be near him so you attempted to finish your task as quickly as you could. Your boss never stayed long so you knew that you and Steve would have some alone time at least today.

Robin usually closed Family Video but she wasn’t on the schedule which you thought was odd. After finishing the tedious task of replacing videos on the shelves, you wander over to Steve.

“So, what was he talking about?” You said, referring to the boss.

“He is trialing the shop to be open 24 hours, starting tonight” Steve spoke with slight annoyance.

All the blood in your drained, this was something both you and Steve dreaded. Neither of you really enjoyed the shifts at this place, they were long and tedious. You only turned up because of Steve.

“So, what we gonna do?” You asked, pouting at him slightly.

“He’s going to come out with a bit more information later” he shrugged, turning to face the entrance.

Steve was really close to you, his hand was by your side. Brushing your skin as he smiled and spoke in an animated way.

Everything about this day felt off, all you wanted to be back with the usual day to day routine with Steve.

You both worked until 12pm before your boss dismissed you both for a few hours, “a break” he called it.

Both of you felt a bit lost, he invited you to sit in his car. It was awkward at first, neither of you knew what to say. You had never sat in his car before, you examined the interior as he rolled.

“I didn’t know you smoked?” You asked breaking the deafening silence.

“Oh baby, there is a lot about me you don’t know” he grinned, his eyes twinkling in the light .

Tonight would be the night that you were to find that out.

It was only small, you watched as he stuffed tobacco into the paper before rolling it up.

“So, is it just me and you all night?” You asked nervously.

You watched as a few customer entered and left the shop, it was getting later as you passed it between you two.

“Is there a different question under there?” He whispered seductively.

“No, I’m just stressed about this new shift idea.” You said firmly, looking at him sternly.

“It’s alright babe, I’ll get the boss to lay it all out for us” he grinned at you, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head.

You forced a smile on your face and exited the car behind him, you weren’t particularly nervous about doing a longer shift with him. You both often worked long into the evening but Steve had never seen you with your guard down and least of all, without makeup.

Steve seeing you naked made you nervous, you could easily put on a mask when you were at work but this was different.

You always ended a bit giggly and soft at night, the relationship you had both built was the opposite of that.

The boss stood in front of you both, overly perfumed from your “break”. You listened to his talk about his intentions, your nerves were overflowing as Steve’s hand found yours behind your back.

A few hours later, you and Steve were sat on the floor behind the counter. Playing strip poker hiding from the cameras, there had been no business for over an hour.

You were both bored, sneaking out for smoke breaks every 30 minutes. You were both giggling as you slipped your uniform off your shoulders.

The top of the shirt pressed against your breasts constricting it even more, Steve struggled to focus on his next playing hand.

You bit your lip, pretending to look down at your cards but in the corner of your eye. You noticed his cock moving between the fabric of his tight black trousers and his thin boxers.

The game continued until you were both as naked as you could be for on shift antics, cheeks flushed red as your winning cards were splayed face up.

You grinned, your fingers pressing on the small buttons of your chest. You were very close to exposing yourself to Steve before his sudden movements changed that.

He had pinned you into the floor, your heads pressed up to the wall as his body heavy against yours. His throbbing cock was hard on your pussy.

Time went slow as he lowered himself down to your lips, you were both glad that the camera just about missed you. The heat that was rising from your pressed bodies was insufferable.

Steve’s eyes darted from you towards the noise from outside, your eyes widened as you both jumped up to changed as quickly and inconspicuously.

Hiding your laughter through amused smiles and looks, your fingers slipped on the buttons from the adrenaline.

The customers were louder than most, which meant that you could follow their voices. Allowing you more time to tidy yourselves up, so that when they walked towards the counter.

Steve’s face drained at the sight of them, he knew them.

“Eyyy, the King himself!” One of them jeered, it was obvious they had been drinking.

You slipped away from the counter, pretending to busy yourself as his awkward interactions filled the space.

After a few painful back and forth comments, they disappeared into the dark of the night and you felt Steve relax.

Strip poker wasn’t continued after that interruption, he kept his distance. Collecting the loose videos and replacing the spaces, as you stood at the counter.

You were unsure what created the distance but it felt like you had been ripped apart. This was different than any other relationship, you were so in your head because you both had to hide the touches and steal the glances.

This trial had meant that you and Steve spend more time together than you did during a shift. Both of you were acting differently than usual, instead of soft touches. It was rough and daring interactions.

Needing a few moments of fresh air, you disappeared out the back. There was a cool breeze as you rested your back onto the brick, the stars twinkling in the sky when the door opened behind you.

His shoulders touched yours, his fingers pinched and twirled an old roll hidden in his pocket. The amber glow of him lighting the smoke, his head tipped and eyes tight shut.

You examined him in the glow, he was stupidly beautiful. The imperfections in his cheeks were nonexistent, as you pulled his face closer to yours.

Kissing him aggressively, the amber glow flickered as his hand dropped away his face. He let it go out between his fingers, drunk on your kiss.

His body sliding closer to yours as your hand cupped his face, practically eating him but you didn’t care. It was dark and you were both alone for the first time ever.

No customers, no condescending bosses, no cameras and no teasing coworkers.

It was another slow hour, meaning that you and Steve could slip into the storeroom to properly kiss until the sound of a customer broke you apart.

You were slightly enjoying it, stealing smoke breaks before he pushed against the wall and his hand slipped your the inside of your thigh.

“Let’s go to our spot” he breathed against your lips.

“In the store?” You pulled away alarmingly.

He shrugged with a wide grin on his face,

“I’ll put a sign up” he said, making out that he was compromising.

But you weren’t sure if you wanted to have sex in the middle of the store, you walked with him though.

There were two television broadcasting the latest films into the store, a new way of promoting films. It wasn’t as annoying as you thought, you picked the next film.

Steve rolled his eyes, a romantic film. Though secretly he loved it.

You were leaning against him as the film played, the store was empty for next couple of hours. Steve had placed a blanket underneath for you both to lie on, his body was on yours as you kissed.

His hand resumed its position from earlier, teasing your thigh but never edging further.

For some reason, he didn’t want to do anything more than kissing.

“Do you want to go further?” You asked panting against his lips.

Without saying a word, he lifted you up with the blanket and led you into the breakroom. You were only there together when your shift was starting or ending.

So when he led you onto the sofa that neither of you sat at, you felt more at ease. Relaxing into the leather as his hands pinched at your skin, it was desperate.

Within seconds, he was kissing down your body. Tugging at your skirt, shuddering as his lips kissed your inner thighs.

This was the most he had ever done, you were always distracted by your jobs.

But tonight, there was no one.

So he continued, pulling down your skirt and underwear. There was a deep lust in his kiss.

“Fuck, your pussy is so pretty baby” he breathing, simply staring at it.

Giving your clit one spank as he continued to look, his eyes clouded with mischief. His fingers began to play with your clit, teasing it.

Watching as you became worked up underneath him, his lips reached your nipples and sucked them hard.

“I have wanted you for so long Steve” you panted as his fingers rubbed your clit more aggressively.

“You have, haven’t you?” He cooed at you, his eyes boring into you as his nail grazed your clit.

You moaned loudly, your head fallen onto the cushion behind you. Your legs spreading, giving him more room to fit.

This is what you had wanted for so long, just his fingers and energy were making you so wet.

It was pooling in your lower stomach as his finger slipped inside you, hitting your soft spot. Making you dig into his skin at the pressure he was hitting.

Rocking your hips back and forth, practically begging him for more than one finger. So he slipped more than 2 inside you, completely stretching you out.

You loved it. Fucking yourself on his fingers as his tongue came into contact with your throbbing clit.

The sensation overwhelming, his moans vibrating against your pussy. The quiet sounds of the videos playing distantly in the background, just as you were on the cusp of cumming.

Steve pulled his fingers and mouth away from you, making you whine and buck your hips in desperation.

''Shush now baby, you'll get the attention back'' he cooed, you tried to reach for him but he pushed you back.

Watching helplessly as his cock fell out of his boxers, your jaw practically gaping open at the sight of it. You had heard the whispers from girls in the shop but you didn't believe it.

His fingers were tight around his shaft as he slowly warmed himself up, not that he needed it. You could see the precum glistening in the dim light, feeling mischeivious you began to touch yourself at the sight of him.

''Oh you really are in for it.'' he said huskily, the groan was caught in his throat as he lined his tip up with your entrance.

He didn't stop you from playing with yourself, rather encouraging it as he slid his cock deeper inside you. Filling up around your walls, the sound he made was heavenly.

Starting by bending his body forward, his pelivs against yours lifting your legs up in front of him and thrusting. It made you quiver as you grew wetter and wetter by the second.

He continued fucking you until you were a shaking mess underneath him, getting you to the same point before he stopped. Suddenly feeling worried about that, you opened your mouth to speak but he took his hand away from your legs to shut you up.

His muscles flexed as he held onto both of your ankles with one hand, as the other was firmly on your lips.

''That's it baby, you are taking it so well'' he groaned, quickening his pace as he slowly removed his hand.

Placing both hands on your ankles as he spread them, shuddering as your pelvic muscles strained at the sudden movement change.

He was struggling to talk to you as his eyes fluttered, mumbling the words 'fuck, fuck, fuck' under his breath as you began to fuck yourself on his cock.

''Please, Steve. I really need it'' you whined, choking on your own words now.

You loved that he had taken control, lying there like his toy to fuck. The desire for him pulsated through you as the familar bubble began to stir in your stomach.

Unable to say anything because of the sheer overstimulation, you rested your head further into the pillow and looked at him. Your eyes began to roll back as your body released your orgasm.

''That's it. Let it all out babygirl'' he groaned, his fingertips were pressing hard into your skin.

He fucked you in the same position as you came hard, feeling your cum drip down his cock. He waited a second before moving your legs onto his shoulders.

Thrusting his cock deeper into your pussy, you were shaking at this point. On the same sofa in your work breakroom, your hands were scratching at his back as the sensation was increased.

He was close, you could sense that with how his body and cock had begun twitching.

''Cum for me Steve. Be a good boy.'' you whispered, taunting him as you rocked back and forth.

Your words sent him over the edge, pushing your legs from around his body. His cock was forced out of you as his cum spurted out of you onto your stomach.

Wanting to tease him further, you stroked his shaft and tip. Making him groan and shudder at the touch of you. Finally deciding not to overstimulate him even more, he stopped. He reached for a piece of useless paper to his side and began trying to wipe the cum off.

Rolling your eyes in amusement, you pulled him forward onto your chest. Feeling the squelch of the cum between you both.

“I think, we only have five minutes left before Robin comes in” you said, grinning at him.

He kisses you, sweat beads cling to his hair as your fingers flow through it. You let him kiss you for a moment longer, wanting saviour it until you would both have to leave.

You quietly changed in the hot break room, his eyes constantly switching between you and the door.

It was as empty as you left it, combing your fingers through your hair as you walked towards the counter.

You hoped that it wasn’t the end of your relationship now he had fucked you. As he pulled two of the stools up to the counter, the closest television was facing you both.

His hands were resting on your thighs, squeezing them as you tried focus on the screen.

The bell tinkled above the door and a group of teenagers entered, they were talking amongst themselves when Steve leant closer,

“You know that we aren’t over right?” His breath was hot against your cheek.

Your eyes following the voices of the group, cheeks flushed red. Relief filled your body as telepathically he was thinking the same thing.

The group appeared in front of you both at the counter, Steve let go of your thigh to input the sale into the till and saying thank you.

“Coffee?” he said, kissing your cheek firmly.

You hmm’d in response and watched him disappear into the back of the store, listening for his movement. The faint sound of the coffee machine as he was obviously tidying the breakroom for Robins imminent shift start.

A few moments later, he came back out with two steaming hot mugs of coffee. Yours was filled with milk, just how you liked it.

This was how it was during those long winter months when you didn’t wear sundresses, the tease and chase was still there but it wasn’t as hot.

As he placed the mugs down on the counter, he scanned the store for any sign of life before pushing your lips onto his and kissing you.

You felt on fire as his mouth deepened onto yours, your cheeks flushed red at the boldness of his decision.

Pulling away from him, you looked at him. He was looking at you with a dazed expression, your heart was racing. You took a sip of your coffee to try and ground yourself but burning your tongue in the process.

“Jesus, Steve. Don’t do it in the middle of the store” you snapped at him after taking a scolding sip.

His eyes changed, suddenly appearing at your outburst. Taking a seat away next to you, he turned his attention to the tv. Ignoring you completely, realisation crept in and you tried to place a hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry—“ you leant forward with a smile—“I just like all the sneaking, it makes me so wet” you whispered in his ear.

A smirk appeared on his face, his hand slipped down to your skirt. Teasing you with his fingers on your underwear, as you both drank your coffees.

The heat was rising as his fingers reached your clit with your backs to the camera and the counter covering your lower bodies.

With very little view of each of you, he could very easily get you off and you could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter by the second.

Hiding your moans and any movement as his thumb moved quicker and quicker on your throbbing clit. As you rested your head on his shoulder, a soft gasp escaped your mouth.

A noise was heard from the staff entrance but he didn’t stop until you stifled a moan into his shoulder. Catching your breath as you came in your pants, the slick sound of his thumb was heard at the same time as footsteps.

Steve didn’t remove his hand from your underwear until the creak from the break room moved away from the side door. Scooping parts of your cum between his finger, putting one finger into his own mouth before placing it in yours.

Forcing you to taste yourself on his fingers, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your shoulders before he slowly moved away from you.

“You both out there?” Robin’s voice echoed in the left of the store.

Your eyes studied Steve, finishing your coffee as you pretended to focus on the remainder of the film playing.

Robin finally entered the store, wearing her store uniform. Studying you both before walking closer,

“So, had a good shift?” She eyed you, appearing suspicious about something.

She got closer to you both, standing between you. Looking from you to Steve, you smiled at her before she stood back.

“It’s stinks of weed” she whispered with a grin on her face.

You relaxed, Steve met your eye as she turned her back for a second. He winked at you before turning to face Robin and finally speaking.

“Wanna share one before your shift?” He asked, leaning closer to you.

She nodded, walking ahead and leaving you both alone again.

His fingers twirled on your nipples, sending a shock through your body.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be forgotten about” he said with a smirk.

You watched him disappear out the back with a small pre rolled joint in his back pocket. Hiding your smile as you walked over to replace the tape in the television, not hearing Steve rush back in.

He had forgotten his lighter but like he always did, he didn’t want to leave you without a touch or a glance.

His hand found your ass and pinched it hard, making you jump before Steve pulled you closer.

“Careful baby, the camera might see” he smirked as you leant over to swap the tape.

At that moment, a few customers walked in through the door. You looked at Steve with his pleased expression and slipped from under.

“I’m going to serve the customers, see you later. Babe” you winked at him.

Knowing that he was watching you walk back to the counter, leaning over as the film began to play. Your eyes followed him as he left and you were excited for the next few hours.

Hiding from Robin was a different story, but you both enjoyed the rush. If anything, sleeping with Steve has made him want you more.

#steve harrington x fem!reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x jonathan byers #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington writing

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venusbyline · 2 days ago

Text

Out of Love (1/4)

— summary: Everyone talks about how Aegon the Conqueror married one sister out of duty and the other one out of desire. Unlike his ancestor, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon wants to marry both his aunt and his cousin out of love.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!reader x Baela Targaryen

— type: smut

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, Targcest (nephew/aunt & cousin/cousin), threesome FFM (female/female/male), throuple, corruption kink, vaginal sex, doggy style position, oral sex (female receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, scissoring/tribadism, creampie, overstimulation, secret relationship, cuddling & snuggling, aftercare, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, dom!Baela, reader is Alicent's second daughter, mild hurt/comfort, kinda fluff too, canon divergence (No The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: I'm not a Jacela shipper, but I had the idea for this shortfic yesterday. So... I'm writing for them hahaah btw, don't worry cuz this story wouldn't be a love triangle, the characters are a throuple, the three of them love each other equally, they just have different dynamics between them.

— author's notes²: Out of Love is a mini series involving Targcest, throuple and forbidden love.

— author's notes³: Each chapter will contain its own trigger warnings.

— author's notes⁴: If you want to be tagged for the next chapters, tell me!!! <3 <3

❥ Jacaerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

You were on Jacaerys' bed for the third time that week, enjoying the carnal pleasures that he and his betrothed were willing to teach you.

Ever since Rhaenyra succeeded to the Iron Throne and the entire family was forced to get closer, you had become almost inseparable from your nephews and cousins — which had deeply irritated your mother and your brother Aemond, although you did not mind so much, because at least you could have some true friends.

Surprisingly, both the crown prince and Baela showed an intense interest in you, something that was wrong — at least in the eyes of the Seven —. You tried to resist at first, denying their advances and saying that you were saving yourself for a future marriage.

All that resistance fell apart when you caught them having sex during a random afternoon. The sight of Baela riding on Jacaerys' cock, her breasts bouncing right in front of his face as he grabbed her hips to help her move even faster... It was too much for you, and you did not even try to hide your accidental presence there.

After that day, the couple dedicated themselves to showing you a lot of sexual things that could be pleasurable for you and would not take your maidenhead — since you were afraid that you would not get a propitious betrothal if you were not a virgin anymore.

On that night in question, Baela was eating you out and Jacaerys was fucking her from behind at the same time.

"Mmm, that feels so good..." Baela moaned when Jacaerys fucked hard inside her, hitting that most sensitive spot.

"So fucking good..." Jacaerys grabbed her hips for more intense thrusts, growling when she shook her ass to tease him. His attention turned to you as he saw you squeezing your own breasts and enjoying Baela's full lips sucking on your clit. "Is Baela making you feel good, sweetheart?"

You opened the eyes and stared at Jacaerys behind his betrothed, who was between your spread legs. "Yeah, baby... It feels so good." The sweet, trembling praise made Baela chuckle, sending a tingle through your bundle of nerves.

Speeding up his movements, Jacaerys slapped Baela's ass once, tilting his body down so he could grab her curly, white hair and push her a little further against your cunt.

Baela gasped in pleasure, because of the rough thrusts and the sweet taste of your juices soaking her face. Sensing that Jacaerys was close to the high, she wiggled her ass again against his groin and increased the stimulation on his cock.

"B-Baela... Shit, love, I am going to cum," Jacaerys' moan sounded like a whimper and he almost felt ashamed of himself. However, despite his desire to cum on your breasts or your face, he remembered about the same fetish shared by the three of you. Then he grabbed both of Baela's buttocks one last time before spilling his seed inside her tight cunt.

The princess hummed at the delightful feeling of Jacaerys' cock throbbing and filling her insides with dense, warm spurts.

The poor boy barely had time to recover, pulling himself out and lying on the other side of the bed, his head aching a little bit from the pleasure. He looked at his seed dripping from Baela's entrance, giving a weak smile and taking a deep breath at the sight of her purplish inner lips.

Lying there, Jacaerys rested while Baela sat up, only to fit her legs over yours right away. A whine escaped your lips at the sticky sensation of Baela's cunt on you, Jacaerys' cum making everything slippery.

She held one of your legs to keep them wide open, lips parted and brow furrowed, a clear demonstration of how aroused you were making her feel. One of your hands went up to her breast, the soft weight in your palm sending shivers down both of yours.

"Baela..."

"I am close too, darling..." She whispered, biting the lower lip as she heard your needy whimper. Rolling her hips back and forth, Baela arched her head back, moaning loudly when your two clits rubbed against each other.

The chambers filled with the wet sounds of your cunts and the ones of pleasure as you both reached the climax. The pace of Baela's hips stuttered, but she kept moving them so she could prolong her high, stopping only when she heard your whimper and realized that you were already too overstimulated.

"She will have to go back to her private chambers in a few hours..." Baela whispered, stroking your silver hair while you slept snuggled against Jacaerys' sweaty chest.

The crown prince clenched his jaw, looking at your sleepy form. You seemed so serene like that, together with them, resting after experiencing one more hint of the pleasure they were capable of giving you. It was not fair that you had to sneak out of there and leave them so soon.

It was not fair that you had to leave them.

Noticing the silence of her cousin, Baela gossiped with a tense tone: "Rumors are running through King's Landing. You know... They are about the fact Alicent is probably considering a betrothal between her and Daeron."

There was no surprise on Jacaerys's face, but rather anger. He knew about the rumors and he also knew that you had plenty of suitors from other Houses, all of them interested in a political alliance. You were beautiful, young, fertile and with your maidenhead intact, besides being a Targaryen princess. Any single lord in his right mind would try to have a chance.

That did not make the situation any easier to overcome. "I do not want this to happen. And I know very well that you do not want that either."

Baela remained quiet for a few moments, her heart warming seeing you and Jacaerys cuddling in his bed, the after-sex smell making her aroused for the second time in that night — though she was not going to say anything about it, considering everyone was exhausted and Jacaerys were quite tense, just like herself.

The last thing Baela and Jacaerys wanted was to have to end whatever was going on between the three of you someday. The idea of you marrying someone, really falling in love with your future husband, or at least being forced to be faithful to him panicked them...

They wanted you. They needed you. They loved you too much to let you move on any time soon.

“I could try to convince my mother and then marry both of you,” Baela raised an eyebrow at Jacaerys’ words, clearly not shocked by the prince’s impulsive decision. He seemed to realize that too, because he immediately frowned, all frustrated. "Do not give me that look, love. I would not be the first Targaryen man to do something like that. Aegon the Conqueror married both of his sisters. Maegor the Cruel had six wives."

"Well, that is the problem. One of them was a conqueror and the other one was a tyrant. It's not like the people of Westeros would accept something like that these days," She did not add the fact that he being considered a bastard by the Realm was already enough of an obstacle that his legitimacy as heir might be challenged at some point. He understood what she thought without her even having to say it, though he did not want to admit that she was right. "Being the next king and queen does not give us the freedom to have our every wish granted, Jace."

Jacaerys sighed, too tense for his own good, closing his eyes and trying hard to keep the mind free of melancholy or angry thoughts. Just as he was about to fall asleep, Baela drew his attention back. "However, we can at least try."

182 notes · View notes

mrs-delaney · 1 day ago

Text

Letters You Never Sent | Part One

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader | 17.2k-ish words

request: college sweethearts since ohio state 🫶 but by 2023, fame starts to change joe. he acts single, barely mentions his girlfriend, and reader starts feeling invisible—like she doesn’t even exist in his world anymore. so she starts writing letters. not to give to him—just to survive it. just to say the things she doesn’t feel safe saying out loud. they break up in january 2024. she moves out in a rush and forgets the letters. months later, joe’s in a new (casual) relationship. and the girl finds the letters. she gives them to him. he reads them. and it wrecks him. realizing how badly he hurt someone who loved him with everything she had. and maybe… just maybe… there’s still a happy ending. 🥺❤️

📝 Author’s Note:

this one is heavy, guys. sincerely, thank you to the anon who requested it. i literally cried writing this.

i hope you feel it.

honestly i’m a little nervous because i’ve never written anything this heavy before. these requests have been such a fun challenge—some of y’all are asking for things i never would’ve thought to write, and it’s pushing me in the best way.

i feel like this goes without saying but creative liberties were taken here.

this one’s for anyone who’s ever felt left behind. Part Two is coming Friday.

alexa play if i were a boy by beyoncé 💔

✨ my masterlist ✨

💌 want to be tagged in future fics? join my taglist here 💫

🌙 ask box is open — come keep me company, i’m around tonight 💌

The photo falls out of your copy of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo like a ghost from another life.

You're sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor of your new apartment, surrounded by boxes labeled in your neat handwriting—Books - Living Room, Kitchen - Essentials Only—building this new life piece by piece, methodically, like everything else you've learned to do alone. December afternoon light filters through windows that overlook a city that doesn't know your history, doesn't whisper his name on every street corner.

The photo is from October 2018. Ohio State tailgate. Both of you wearing Buckeye gear, his arm draped over your shoulders, caught mid-laugh at something off-camera. You remember exactly what made you both crack up—his terrible impression of Coach Meyer that had you snorting so hard you nearly choked on your beer.

You're looking up at him in the photo like he hung the moon. He's grinning down at you like you're the only person in a crowd of thousands.

God, you were so young. So sure you were different. So sure you were forever.

Your thumb traces over his face in the photo, and for a moment you can almost feel the scratch of his stubble, smell his cologne mixed with autumn air and possibility. Before the fame changed him. Before success became more important than the girl who believed in him first.

Before loving him nearly killed you.

You slip the photo back between the pages, closing the book gently. Not throwing it away - you're not that angry anymore, not that hurt. But not keeping it out either. Just... acknowledging it existed, acknowledging it mattered, before putting it back where it came from.

It wasn't always like this, you think, looking at those two kids who had no idea what was coming. It used to be perfect. It used to be the kind of love that made other people jealous, the kind that felt like finding your missing piece.

It used to be everything.

* * *

August 2017 Ohio State University

The first time you see Joe Burrow, he's late to freshman orientation and clearly doesn't want to be there.

You're sitting in what you quickly realize is the wrong breakout session—Student-Athletes: Balancing Academics and Competition—but the session has already started and you don't want to cause a disruption by leaving. You're a transfer student, sophomore standing but new to OSU, and you're already feeling like you stick out in all the wrong ways.

The door opens at 2:58 PM, and he slips in just under the wire. Still in workout gear—navy Nike shorts, gray Ohio State Athletics t-shirt, hair damp from a quick shower—backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. He scans the room for an empty seat and his eyes land on the one next to you.

"Sorry," he murmurs, settling into the chair. "Long practice."

You glance at him sideways. He's got this boy-next-door thing going on that probably makes professors want to adopt him, but there's something in his posture that screams frustration. Like he's carrying weight that doesn't belong to him.

"No worries," you whisper back. "I'm not even supposed to be in this group anyway."

That gets a small smile. "Yeah? What group should you be in?"

"Literally any other one. I'm not an athlete."

"Lucky you," he says under his breath, and there's something bitter in it that makes you look at him more carefully.

The orientation leader—a perky senior with a clipboard and an Ohio State cheerleading background—claps her hands together. "Alright, everyone! Time for our icebreaker. Partner up with someone you don't know and share your biggest fear about college!"

You turn to look at the boy next to you. Up close, you can see he's got these blue-green eyes that look tired despite his age, and there's something in his expression that gives him just enough edge to be interesting.

"Well," you say, "looks like we're partners."

"Joe," he offers, extending his hand.

"Y/N." His handshake is firm, confident in that way that comes from being an athlete, but his palm is slightly damp with nerves.

"So," you continue, settling back in your chair, "biggest fear about college. You go first."

Joe runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in directions that should look ridiculous but somehow just look endearing. "That I'm gonna wash out. Like, everyone here is so sure of themselves and I'm just hoping I don't completely embarrass myself."

The honesty catches you off guard. Most guys, especially athlete guys, would never admit that to a stranger. There's something refreshing about it, something real.

"Your turn," he says.

"That I'll always be the transfer kid who doesn't really belong anywhere. This is my second school already."

"Second? What happened to the first one?"

You shrug. "It was small, didn't have the program I wanted. I'm in nursing school."

His eyebrows raise. "Nursing? That's hardcore."

"Says the guy who probably gets hit by linebackers for fun."

"Quarterback, actually. Well, third-string quarterback. Behind J.T. and Haskins." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Living the dream."

Something in his tone makes you study his face more carefully. "How long have you been here?"

"This is my third year. Redshirted as a freshman, barely saw the field last year." He shrugs like it doesn't bother him, but you can see that it does. "Coach Meyer likes to remind me that I'd be better suited for Division III ball."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. But hey, everyone starts somewhere, right?"

"Hey," you say, surprising yourself with how much you want to make that bitter edge disappear from his voice, "some of the best players had to wait their turn."

"Easy for you to say. You're not getting called 'John Burrow' by your own teammates."

"John?"

"J.T.'s real name is Joe too. So I'm John now. Very creative." He rolls his eyes, but there's hurt underneath the sarcasm.

"That's stupid."

"Welcome to my life."

The orientation leader calls for everyone's attention, but Joe's eyes stay on yours for a beat longer than necessary.

"Well, John," you say, and his face falls slightly before you continue, "I think Joe suits you better."

His smile, when it comes, is genuine and a little surprised. Like no one's bothered to stick up for him in a while.

"Thanks," he says quietly.

After the session ends, you both stand in that awkward way people do when they're not sure if the conversation is over. The other students are filing out, heading to their next activities, but neither of you seems in a hurry to leave.

"So," Joe says, shouldering his backpack, "what's your next thing?"

"Campus tour, I think. You?"

"Same." He pauses, then: "Want to get lost together? I mean, figure out where we're going together?"

You can't help but smile. "Want some company?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"It's very okay."

You walk out of the building together, into the late afternoon Ohio sun, and something about the way he holds the door for you, the way he asks about your major like he actually cares about the answer, makes you think this might be the start of something good.

You have no idea, walking across campus with this frustrated quarterback who makes you laugh, that you're falling in love with someone who will break your heart so completely you'll forget how to breathe.

You have no idea that six years from now, you'll be sitting alone in a new apartment, holding a photo from when you thought you'd made it—when he was yours and you were his and the future felt as bright as those Ohio autumn afternoons—wondering how love that felt so right could go so wrong.

All you know is that Joe Burrow has kind eyes and a crooked smile, and when he asks about nursing school, you get the feeling he's the kind of person who actually listens to the answer.

So you tell him. And he listens. And somewhere between the academic buildings and the student union, between his stories about small-town Ohio and your dreams of helping people heal, something begins that feels like coming home.

* * *

Three weeks later - September 2017

You're reorganizing your notes for the third time when Joe slides into the chair across from you at the library, twenty minutes late and looking frazzled.

"Sorry," he says, dropping his backpack with a thud that earns him dirty looks from nearby students. "Coach kept us running extra drills because apparently we 'throw like we're afraid of the ball.'"

You look up from your perfectly color-coded anatomy flashcards and can't help but smile at his air quotes. "Yikes. Sounds like a fun afternoon."

Oh, the best," he deadpans, pulling out a crumpled syllabus and what appears to be three different notebooks. "Thanks for agreeing to this, by the way. Writing papers isn't exactly my strong suit."

It's become a routine over the past few weeks—these "study sessions" that Joe desperately needs for his Communications class and that you agreed to help with because, well, you like him. More than you probably should for someone you've known less than a month.

"What's the assignment this week?" you ask, even though you already know. You may have looked up his class schedule. Not in a creepy way. In a helpful way.

Joe squints at his syllabus. "Something about... 'analyzing the impact of digital media on interpersonal relationships in the modern age.'" He looks up at you with those blue-green eyes that have been showing up in your dreams lately. "I get the concept, I just hate writing papers."

You lean back in your chair, studying him. He's wearing a gray Ohio State hoodie that's probably two sizes too big, his hair is still damp from the shower, and he's got that slightly frustrated expression he gets when he has to translate his thoughts into academic essay format.

"You know what you want to say, right? You're just stuck on how to say it?"

"Exactly." Joe pulls out his notebook, and you can see he's already outlined his main points. His handwriting is messy, but his ideas are solid. "I've got all these thoughts about how social media makes people perform fake versions of themselves, but every time I try to write it down, it sounds like garbage."

You scan his notes. They're actually insightful—observations about authenticity, external validation, the psychology behind curated online personas. "These are really good points, Joe. You're just overthinking the academic voice."

For the next hour, you help him organize his thoughts into essay format. Joe doesn't need help understanding the concepts—he grasps them intuitively, makes connections you hadn't even considered. He just needs someone to help him translate his natural intelligence into the formal structure professors expect.

"You know," you say, reading over his revised introduction, "you should consider taking more psychology classes. You have good instincts about human behavior."

Joe shakes his head with a small laugh. "Nah. I mean, it's interesting, but I'm pretty single-minded about what I want to do with my life."

"Which is?"

"Make it as a quarterback. That's it. That's the plan."

There's something in his voice—not doubt, but determination so fierce it's almost startling. This isn't some childhood dream he's holding onto. This is his life's purpose, and he knows it.

"Must be nice," you say, "being that sure about what you want."

"What about you? You seem pretty sure about nursing."

"I am. I want to help people, you know? There's something about being there when someone's at their most vulnerable, being the person who helps them heal..." You trail off, realizing you've probably said too much.

But Joe's nodding like he gets it. "That's exactly how I feel about football. Like, I know it sounds dramatic, but when I'm on the field, everything makes sense. Even when I'm riding the bench, just being part of it feels right."

"Do you ever feel like you're trying to live up to someone else's expectations?" you ask.

Joe considers this, absently tapping his pen. "Not really. I mean, my dad played football, so people assume I'm trying to follow in his footsteps, but this has always been my choice. I was actually really good at basketball - could've probably played in college - but football just felt right, you know? Dad never pushed it on me. If anything, he tried to make sure I wanted it for the right reasons."

"And do you?"

"Want it for the right reasons?" Joe's smile is small but certain. "Yeah. I love everything about it. The strategy, the pressure, the way a perfect pass feels coming off your hand. Even the parts that suck, like sitting behind three other guys on the depth chart."

There's no bitterness in his voice when he mentions the depth chart, just the confidence of someone who knows his time will come. It's attractive in a way that has nothing to do with his looks and everything to do with his certainty about who he is and what he wants.

The library is starting to empty out around you, the late afternoon crowd heading to dinner or evening activities. You should probably pack up, get back to your own studying, but neither of you seems in a hurry to leave.

"Can I ask you something?" Joe says, leaning forward in his chair.

"Shoot."

"Why are you helping me? Most people would just go through the motions."

The question catches you off guard with its directness. You set down your pen and consider how to answer honestly without revealing that you've developed feelings for the frustrated quarterback who brings you Red Bull during these sessions and remembers the chocolate covered espresso beans you like.

"Because I like how your mind works," you say finally. "You see things differently than other people. And because..." You pause, feeling heat creep up your neck. "Because I like you. As a person."

Joe's smile is soft and genuine, the kind that transforms his whole face. "I like you too. As a person."

"Good," you say, fighting your own smile. "Now, do you want to actually work on this paper, or should we keep having this very important philosophical discussion about why we like each other?"

"Can we do both?"

"We can do both."

You do work on the paper, eventually. But you also talk about everything else—his frustration with being redshirted, your adjustment to OSU, his family back home, your plans for nursing school. The conversation flows easily, naturally, like you've known each other for years instead of weeks.

"Do you ever worry you won't make it?" you ask.

Joe's quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. "Not really. I mean, I know it's going to be hard, and I know there are no guarantees, but..." He shrugs. "I can't imagine doing anything else. This is what I'm supposed to do."

That certainty, the way he talks about football like it's not just a career but a calling—it's one of the things that draws you to him. Joe Burrow knows exactly who he is and what he wants, even at nineteen.

"See? You're not the only one with good ideas."

The library lights start dimming—the universal signal that it's time to leave. You both pack up slowly, neither wanting to break the bubble you've created in this corner table surrounded by anatomy textbooks and his chicken-scratch notes.

"Same time next week?" Joe asks as you walk toward the exit together.

"Of course. But Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going to nail this paper. You've got good instincts."

His smile is the last thing you see before you part ways in the parking lot, and you drive home with a dangerous fluttering in your chest and the absolute certainty that you're in trouble.

The good kind of trouble. The kind that makes you want to write his name in the margins of your notebooks and find excuses to bring up Ohio State quarterbacks in casual conversation.

You have no idea yet that you're falling in love. But somewhere between helping him find the words for his thoughts and watching him light up when he understands a concept, something has shifted.

* * *

Two weeks later - October 15th, 2017

You're sitting cross-legged on your narrow dorm bed at 11:47 PM, staring at a blank piece of notebook paper, trying to figure out why you can't get tonight out of your head.

Your roommate Allison is already asleep, her gentle snoring mixing with the sounds of the dorm settling around you. You should be sleeping too—you have Clinical Skills at eight AM and Anatomy & Physiology right after—but your mind won't stop replaying the last four hours.

Joe had texted around seven: Library still open? Could use help with that comm paper

What was supposed to be an hour of editing had turned into... something else entirely. You'd finished his revisions in forty-five minutes—his writing was getting better, more confident—but then he'd just stayed. Stayed and talked about everything and nothing until the library staff started pointedly stacking chairs around you.

"You know what's weird?" he'd said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms overhead. "I've been here two months and you're the first person who's asked me what I actually think about stuff. Not football stuff. Just... stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone either wants to talk about football or they act like I'm too dumb to have opinions about anything else." He'd run his hand through his hair, making it stick up in six different directions. "You asked me about that social media thing like you actually wanted to know what I thought."

"I did want to know what you thought."

"Why?"

The question had caught you off guard. "Because you're smart. Because you see things differently than other people do."

The way his face had changed when you said that—like no one had ever called him smart before, like it was the best compliment he'd ever received—had done something dangerous to your chest.

Then he'd told you about watching Tom Brady win his first Super Bowl when he was eight years old. About the exact moment he'd decided he wanted to be a quarterback, sitting in his family's living room in Ames, pointing at the TV and announcing to his parents that someday that would be him.

"Everyone thinks I'm crazy for being so sure about it," he'd said. "Like, what if I'm wrong? What if I'm not good enough? But I can't explain it—when I'm throwing, when I'm reading a defense, when I'm in the pocket... it's like everything else goes quiet. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

The way his whole face had lit up when he talked about football, like he was describing falling in love—God, you'd never seen someone that passionate about anything. And when he'd looked at you after, like he was checking to see if you thought he was ridiculous, you'd felt something shift in your chest.

Something that felt a lot like falling.

Now you're sitting here at midnight, pen hovering over paper, trying to figure out how to capture what you're feeling. Because this isn't just a crush anymore. This is something bigger, something that scares you and thrills you at the same time.

You start writing before you can talk yourself out of it.

October 15, 2017

Dear Future Famous Football Player,

Okay, this is probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever done. I'm sitting here in my tiny dorm room at almost midnight, writing a letter to someone who will never read it, but I can't get tonight out of my head and I need to put this somewhere.

We stayed until the library closed again. We finished your paper revision in less than an hour (and it's really good, by the way—you have this way of cutting through academic BS that's actually kind of brilliant), but then we just... stayed. We talked about everything and nothing. About how Coach Meyer still calls you "the kid from Iowa" even though you've been here for years. About how you miss your mom's cooking but pretend the dining hall food is fine because complaining feels ungrateful. About how you've known exactly what you wanted to be since you were eight years old.

And then you told me about that Tom Brady Super Bowl. The way your whole face changed when you talked about that moment—when you decided you wanted to be a quarterback. God, Joe. I've never seen someone love something that much. It was like watching someone talk about religion.

Here's the thing though, and this is going to sound crazy: I've been sort of accidentally watching practice from my dorm window (yes, I'm a creeper, sue me), and I see how hard you work. I see you staying late, running routes with receivers who barely acknowledge you exist. I see you studying playbooks in the dining hall while other guys are talking about parties. I see the way you watch film on your laptop between classes.

So I'm starting this collection. Because someday—and I mean SOMEDAY soon—you're going to be exactly what you dreamed of being when you were eight years old. You're going to be the quarterback everyone talks about. You're going to make all those people who overlook you now remember your name.

And when that happens, I want to be able to show you this box full of letters and say "I told you so."

Maybe that makes me presumptuous. Maybe I'm just some nursing student who has no business believing in your future. But I do believe in it. I believe in YOU, even when you're frustrated on the bench, even when Coach Meyer looks right through you like you're not there, even when you doubt yourself.

You're going to be something special, Joe Burrow. I can feel it in my bones.

And honestly? I really hope I get to be there to see it happen.

Love (yes, I said it, fight me), Your biggest believer

P.S. - Your Communications paper is going to get an A. I'm calling it now.

You set the pen down and read over what you've written, heat creeping up your neck. It's sappy and presumptuous and completely insane, but it's also true. Every word of it.

You fold the letter carefully and slip it into the small wooden box your grandmother gave you before she died—the one that's supposed to hold "treasures." This feels like the start of something worth treasuring, even if Joe never knows it exists.

Especially because Joe will never know it exists.

You turn off your desk lamp and slip under your covers, but sleep doesn't come easily. Instead, you lie awake thinking about blue-green eyes and crooked smiles, about the way Joe's voice changes when he talks about football, about the impossible certainty that you're watching someone destined for greatness.

You don't know yet that you're falling in love. But somewhere between helping him find his voice and listening to him share his dreams, something has taken root in your chest.

Something that feels like forever.

Outside your window, the campus is quiet except for the distant sound of late-night traffic and someone's music playing softly down the hall. You drift off to sleep thinking about eight-year-old Joe Burrow pointing at a TV screen, declaring his future to the world.

You have no idea that six years from now, you'll remember this moment—the purity of believing in someone completely—as both the best and worst thing you ever did.

All you know is that you've never felt anything like this before. And you never want it to end.

* * *

December 16th, 2017

You're stress-eating pretzels in the library when Joe slides into the chair across from you, looking like he's been psyching himself up for something.

"Hey," he says, drumming his fingers on the table. "So, my birthday was last week."

"I know. You mentioned it like twelve times." You look up from your nursing textbook. "How was it? Very exciting twenty-first birthday celebrations?"

"Went to dinner with some of the guys. Nothing crazy." He's still drumming his fingers, which means he's nervous about something. "But, um, I was thinking. Since we don't have any more tutoring sessions before break..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to grab dinner? Like, not a study thing. Just dinner."

You set down your highlighter and really look at him. Joe's wearing his usual Ohio State hoodie and jeans, hair messy from practice, but there's something different about the way he's looking at you. Less casual. More intentional.

"Like a date?"

His ears turn red, which is honestly kind of endearing. "Maybe. Is that... would you want to do that?"

You've been waiting for this question for weeks, but now that it's happening, you feel oddly nervous. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Cool. Okay. Good." He grins, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "Friday work? There's this place off-campus that's supposed to be decent."

"Friday works."

"Awesome. I'll pick you up around seven?"

"Sounds good."

After he leaves, you sit there for a solid ten minutes staring at your textbook without reading a single word, trying to process the fact that you're going on an actual date with Joe Burrow.

* * *

Friday comes faster than you expected. You change your shirt twice before settling on something that looks nice but not like you tried too hard—dark jeans and a sweater that Allison insists "brings out your eyes," whatever that means.

Joe picks you up right on time, looking nervous and freshly showered. He's wearing a button-down shirt instead of his usual hoodie, and the effort doesn't go unnoticed.

"You look nice," he says as you walk to his car.

"Thanks. You too."

The restaurant he picked is a small Italian place near campus, the kind with mismatched chairs and good garlic bread. Busy enough that you don't feel like you're on display, quiet enough that you can actually talk.

"I've never been here before," you admit as you look over the menu.

"Neither have I, actually. My roommate recommended it. Said the pasta's good and it won't bankrupt me."

"Solid criteria."

At first you're both a little awkward - this is officially a date, after all - but once the food comes, you fall back into your usual rhythm. Joe complains about winter conditioning, you vent about your anatomy professor, and somehow you end up arguing about whether cereal is soup.

"It absolutely does not," you insist, laughing at his mock-serious expression.

"Milk is a liquid. Cereal pieces are solid ingredients floating in that liquid. That's soup."

"By that logic, ice cream with toppings is soup."

"Maybe it is."

"You're insane."

"You're the one dating someone insane, so what does that say about you?"

The word 'dating' hangs in the air between you for a second. It's the first time either of you has acknowledged what this is, and you feel your cheeks warm.

"I guess I have questionable judgment," you say finally.

"Clearly."

The drive back to your dorm is comfortable, filled with easy conversation and Joe's terrible taste in music. When he parks outside your building, neither of you seems in a hurry to end the night.

"This was fun," you say, turning to face him.

"Yeah, it was. Better than I expected, honestly."

"Wow, don't overwhelm me with enthusiasm."

Joe laughs. "You know what I mean. I was nervous I'd be weird about it. The whole date thing."

"Were you weird about it?"

"Was I?"

You consider this. "Maybe a little. But in a cute way."

"Ouch."

You're both smiling, and there's this moment where the air seems to shift between you. Joe's eyes drop to your mouth for just a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Y/N," he says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Your heart does something acrobatic in your chest. "Yeah. You can."

He leans across the center console, and you meet him halfway. The kiss is soft, tentative, nothing like the dramatic first kisses you've seen in movies. It's better because it's real—a little awkward because of the car's interior, but sweet and genuine and completely them.

When you break apart, you're both smiling.

"That was..." Joe starts.

"Yeah."

"I've been wanting to do that for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Since that first day when you made fun of my terrible introduction in orientation."

You laugh. "I did not make fun of you."

"You absolutely did. It was very attractive."

"Good thing, because I plan to keep making fun of you."

"I'm counting on it."

You kiss him again, just because you can, and this time it's less nervous, more sure. When you finally pull away, Joe's smiling at you like you've just made his entire week.

"I should go," you say reluctantly. "Allison's probably watching from the window like a creep."

"Probably?"

You glance up at your dorm room window and see the curtain drop quickly. "Definitely."

"Tell Allie I said hi."

"I'll tell her you're a good kisser. She'll want details."

Joe's ears turn red again. "Please don't."

"Too late. I'm telling her everything."

"Everything?"

"Well, not everything. But definitely the cereal soup debate. She'll think you're insane too."

"Great."

You lean over and kiss his cheek before getting out of the car. "Text me when you get back to your place?"

"Yeah. I will."

You watch him drive away before heading inside, where Allie is waiting with an expression that suggests she's been pressed against the window for the past twenty minutes.

"So?" she demands.

"So what?"

"Don't you dare. How was it?"

You collapse onto your bed, touching your lips where you can still feel the ghost of Joe's kiss. "It was really good, Allie."

"Good enough for a second date?"

"Definitely good enough for a second date."

Your phone buzzes: Made it back. Thanks for tonight. Sweet dreams.

You fall asleep thinking about the way Joe looked at you across the dinner table, like he was seeing you

* * *

April 14th, 2018

You're sitting in the stands with Joe's parents, wearing his number on a t-shirt you got specifically for today, and your stomach is in knots.

"He's been so nervous about this," Robin Burrow says, adjusting her Ohio State visor. "Barely slept last night."

"He'll be fine," Jimmy adds, but you can hear the tension in his voice too. "Joe's been working his ass off for this opportunity."

The spring game is supposed to be a glorified scrimmage, but everyone knows what it really is: Joe's last real chance to prove he belongs ahead of Haskins on the depth chart. Coach Meyer has been non-committal about the backup quarterback situation all spring, but the writing's been on the wall since Haskins' performance at Michigan last season.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Joe: See you after. Wish me luck.

You text back: You don't need luck. You've got this.

But watching him during warm-ups, you can see the pressure weighing on him. His jaw is set in that way it gets when he's trying not to let anyone see how much something matters to him. Three years of waiting, three years of getting told he's not good enough, all leading to this moment.

"There he is," Robin says, pointing as Joe trots onto the field with the second-string offense.

He looks good in the scarlet and gray, confident despite the nerves you know he's feeling. You watch him go through his pre-snap reads, the way he surveys the defense with the kind of calm intelligence that should be obvious to anyone paying attention.

The first quarter is mostly vanilla plays, nothing too exciting. Joe gets a few snaps, completes his passes, hands the ball off cleanly. Solid but unremarkable. You can see him settling in, finding his rhythm.

Then, in the second quarter, something clicks.

Joe drops back on a play-action fake, and the defense bites hard. He steps up in the pocket, eyes downfield, and launches a perfect spiral to K.J. Hill for a 35-yard touchdown. The crowd erupts, and you're on your feet screaming before you even realize it.

"That's my boy!" Jimmy yells, and Robin is clutching your arm so hard you'll probably have bruises.

Joe doesn't celebrate much—just a small fist pump before jogging to the sideline—but when he looks up at the stands, his eyes find yours immediately. He points right at you, that crooked smile breaking across his face, and your heart does something acrobatic in your chest.

"Did he just—" you start.

"He pointed at you," Robin finishes with a smile. "I've never seen him do that before."

The rest of the game is a blur of completions and smart decisions. Joe finishes 18 of 23 for 279 yards and two touchdowns, no interceptions. It's the kind of performance that should settle any debate about who the backup quarterback should be.

When the final whistle blows, you practically sprint down to the field level, Robin and Jimmy close behind. The crowd is filing out, but you're pushing against the current, desperate to find Joe in the chaos of players and families and media.

You spot him near midfield, still in his uniform, talking to a reporter. His hair is sweaty and sticking up in six different directions, and there's a grass stain on his jersey, but he's glowing. Actually glowing with the kind of satisfaction that comes from proving everyone wrong.

When he sees you approaching, his face breaks into that smile—the real one, not the media-trained version—and he excuses himself from the interview.

"Did you see that?" he says, jogging over to you, still breathless from the game. "Did you see that pass to Hill?"

"I saw everything," you say, and before you can think about it, you're in his arms and he's spinning you around right there on the 50-yard line. "You were incredible."

When he sets you down, his hands stay on your waist, and there's something different in his eyes. Something that makes your breath catch.

"I love you," he says, the words tumbling out like he can't hold them back another second.

Time seems to stop. The noise of the stadium fades into background static. It's just you and Joe and this moment that feels like everything you've been building toward since that first day in orientation.

"I love you too," you say, and his smile is so bright it could power the entire stadium.

He kisses you right there on the field, in front of his parents and the remaining fans and anyone else who happens to be watching. It's not perfect—his lips taste like Gatorade and sweat, and someone's taking pictures with their phone—but it's real and it's yours and it's everything.

"I've been wanting to say that for months," he admits when you break apart, his forehead resting against yours.

"Only months?" you tease. "I've been thinking it since December."

"Since our first date?"

"Since our first date."

Joe laughs, the sound mixing with the distant noise of the crowd still filing out. "God, I was so nervous that night. I thought I was going to mess it up somehow."

"You didn't mess anything up. You were perfect."

"Not perfect. But maybe perfect for you?"

"Definitely perfect for me."

You're both grinning like idiots, caught up in the euphoria of the moment—his performance, the "I love you," the feeling that everything is finally falling into place.

"Joe!" Jimmy calls out, approaching with Robin and a huge smile. "Hell of a game, son."

"Thanks, Dad." Joe's arm stays around your waist, like he can't bear to let you go. "Did you see that scramble in the third quarter?"

"Saw all of it. You looked like a quarterback out there."

"He looked like the quarterback," Robin adds, hugging both of you at once. "I'm so proud of you."

The next hour passes in a blur of congratulations and photos and people telling Joe how well he played. You stay close to his side, basking in his happiness, in the way he keeps glancing at you like he still can't believe you're there.

It's not until you're walking back to the parking lot, just the two of you, that reality starts to creep back in.

"Think this changes anything?" you ask, swinging your joined hands between you.

"It has to, right?" Joe says, but there's uncertainty underneath the confidence. "I mean, I couldn't have played much better than that."

"You were amazing."

"Coach Meyer actually smiled at me. Like, a real smile, not one of those scary ones."

You laugh. "High praise."

"The highest."

But even as you laugh and celebrate and replay every throw from the game, there's a part of you that's worried. Because you know how these things work. You know that one good game doesn't necessarily change everything, especially when the coaches have already made up their minds.

You don't say any of this to Joe, though. Not today. Today is for celebrating, for savoring this moment when everything feels possible.

"I love you," he says again as you reach his car, like he's testing out how the words sound.

"I love you too," you reply, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.

You drive back to campus with the windows down and the music loud, Joe's hand in yours, both of you high on love and possibility. The future feels bright and wide open, full of promise.

You have no idea that this will be one of the last purely happy moments you'll have for a long time. That the coaches have already made their decision about the depth chart, that Joe's transfer will be announced in just a few weeks, that loving someone with dreams as big as his means learning to love them through disappointment too.

All you know is that Joe Burrow just told you he loves you after the best game of his college career, and right now, that feels like everything.

Later that night, in your dorm room

April 14, 2018

My love,

You pointed at me. In front of 70,000 people, in front of all the coaches, in front of your teammates - after that beautiful touchdown pass, you found me in the stands and pointed right at me.

You pointed at me after that touchdown pass. In front of all those people, after the best play of the game, you found me in the stands first. I've never felt anything like that.

Coach Meyer actually smiled at you today. I saw it from the stands. And when you told that reporter after the game that your girlfriend was your inspiration? I thought I might spontaneously combust from pride.

But mostly, I can't stop thinking about what you said on the field. "I love you." Just like that, no hesitation, no fear. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I love you too, Joe Burrow. I love your terrible jokes and your competitive streak over everything and the way you actually listen when I complain about my anatomy professor. I love how hard you work and how much you care and the way you make me feel like I'm the most important person in your world.

You're not the backup anymore. After today, you can't be. You're the future.

And I get to love you through all of it.

Forever yours, Y/N

* * *

May 18th, 2019

You find Joe sitting on the couch in his apartment, staring at his laptop screen like it holds the answers to the universe. There are papers scattered across the coffee table—transfer portal documents, LSU recruiting materials, statistics sheets—and he looks like he hasn't slept in days.

"Hey," you say softly, setting down the coffee you brought him. "How are you feeling?"

He doesn't answer immediately, just keeps staring at the screen. You can see the LSU Tigers logo reflected in his eyes.

"Joe?"

"I'm scared," he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I'm making a huge mistake? What if I go down there and just prove everyone right—that I really am Division III material?"

You sit down next to him, close enough to see the stress lines around his eyes. It's been a month since spring practice ended, a month since it became clear that despite his spring game performance, Haskins was still ahead of him on the depth chart. A month of Joe weighing his options while you watched him slowly break apart.

"Tell me what you're thinking," you say.

Joe closes the laptop and runs both hands through his hair. "Coach O called again yesterday. Says they want me, says I can compete for the starting job immediately. But..."

"But?"

"But what if I can't? What if I transfer and sit on another bench for another year? What if I'm just not good enough, and I'm too stubborn to see it?"

You've never seen Joe like this—so uncertain, so vulnerable. The confident quarterback who pointed at you in the stands after throwing touchdown passes has been replaced by someone who's questioning everything he thought he knew about himself.

"What does your gut tell you?" you ask.

"That I need to go. That staying here means accepting being a backup forever." He looks at you then, and there's something desperate in his expression. "But it also means leaving you. Leaving us. And we just figured this out."

Your heart clenches. You've been dreading this conversation, knowing it was coming but hoping somehow you could avoid it.

"Joe," you say carefully, "what are you asking me?"

"I'm asking if you think this is crazy. If you think I should just accept my place here and stay."

The question hangs between you like a test. You know what the easy answer is, what the selfish answer is. Ask him to stay. Tell him you need him here. Make this choice about you instead of about his dreams.

But you also know Joe. You know that if he stays at Ohio State just for you, he'll spend the rest of his life wondering what could have been. And eventually, he'll resent you for it.

"I think," you say slowly, "that you've been preparing for this opportunity your whole life. And I think you'll never forgive yourself if you don't take it."

Joe's shoulders slump slightly. "What about us?"

"What about us?"

"Long distance is hard. Really hard. And if I go to LSU..." He trails off, but you can hear the unspoken concern. If he goes to LSU and succeeds, if he becomes the quarterback he's always believed he could be, will there still be room for a girl from Ohio?

"Joe," you say, taking his hands in yours, "do you love me?"

"Of course I love you. That's why this is so hard."

"And do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me when I say that if we're really meant to be together, we'll figure it out. Distance is just geography."

"It's not just geography. It's everything else. The pressure, the spotlight, the way everything changes when you're actually playing at that level."

You can hear the fear in his voice, and it breaks your heart. Not fear of failure—fear of success. Fear that becoming the quarterback he's always dreamed of being will cost him the life he's built with you.

"Hey," you say, moving closer to him on the couch. "Look at me."

He does, those blue-green eyes full of uncertainty.

"I fell in love with someone who dreams big. Who works harder than anyone I know. Who refuses to settle for less than what he's capable of." You brush a strand of hair off his forehead. "If you stay here just for me, you won't be that person anymore. And then what are we really holding onto?"

Joe is quiet for a long moment, processing what you've said. When he speaks again, his voice is steadier.

"What if everything changes? What if I go down there and become someone different?"

"Then I'll learn to love that person too. As long as he's still fundamentally you."

"And if the distance is too hard?"

"Then we'll deal with it when it happens. But Joe, you can't make decisions based on fear. You taught me that."

"When did I teach you that?"

You smile. "Every day. Every time you get back up after Coach Meyer tells you you're not good enough. Every time you choose to keep fighting instead of giving up. You've been teaching me how to be brave since the day I met you."

Something shifts in Joe's expression. The uncertainty is still there, but underneath it, you can see the determination that's always driven him starting to resurface.

"You really think I should go?"

"I think you should do what your heart tells you to do. And I think your heart has been telling you to go since the day Coach O first called."

Joe nods slowly, then reaches for his phone. "Okay. I'm going to call him back."

"Now?"

"Now. Before I lose my nerve."

You watch as Joe dials the number, your own heart racing. This is it. The moment that changes everything.

"Coach O? It's Joe Burrow... Yes, sir, I've made my decision."

You can't hear the other side of the conversation, but you can see Joe's posture straightening, his confidence returning with each word.

"I want to be a Tiger... Yes, sir, I'm ready to compete... Thank you, Coach. I won't let you down."

When he hangs up, Joe just sits there for a moment, staring at his phone like he can't believe what just happened.

"I did it," he says finally. "I'm really doing this."

"You're really doing this."

"Holy shit." He looks at you, and now there's excitement mixing with the fear. "I'm going to LSU."

"You're going to LSU."

He pulls you into his arms then, holding you tight against his chest. You can feel his heart racing, matching your own.

"I'm terrified," he whispers into your hair.

"That's how you know it's the right choice."

"What if I miss you too much?"

"Then you'll call me every day. And I'll visit as much as I can. And we'll make it work because we have to."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

That night, you lie awake long after Joe falls asleep beside you, staring at the ceiling and trying to process what just happened. Tomorrow, he'll start the transfer process. In a few months, he'll be in Louisiana, chasing the dream he's carried since he was eight years old.

And you'll be here, supporting him from 900 miles away, hoping that love is enough to bridge the distance.

You think about that first letter you wrote, about believing in someone's potential before anyone else could see it. You just never imagined that believing in someone could require letting them go.

But that's what love is, isn't it? Wanting someone to become the best version of themselves, even when it's hard for you. Even when it means sacrifice.

Joe stirs beside you, and you turn to watch him sleep. In the morning, everything will change. But right now, he's still yours, still the frustrated quarterback from Ohio who pointed at you in the stands and told you he loved you.

Tomorrow, you'll help him pack. You'll drive him to the airport when it's time to visit LSU. You'll smile and be supportive and pretend your heart isn't breaking a little bit.

Because that's what love looks like sometimes. It looks like letting go so the person you care about can fly.

May 19, 2019

My love,

You did it. You made the call. You chose the scary, uncertain path because it's the one that leads to your dreams.

I watched you dial Coach O's number last night, and I have never been more proud of anyone in my entire life. Not because you chose LSU, but because you chose yourself. You chose to bet on your own potential instead of accepting what other people think you're worth.

I know you're scared. I know this means leaving everything familiar behind. But Joe, this is what you've been working toward your entire life. This is your shot.

I also know you're worried about us. About what distance will do to what we've built. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared too. But I meant what I said—if we're really meant to be together, we'll figure it out.

You're going to LSU to play in big games, to compete for championships, to become the quarterback you've always known you could be. I'm so excited to watch you do it.

And when you're standing on that field in Death Valley, throwing touchdown passes and proving everyone wrong, just remember that there's a girl in Ohio who believed in you first.

I love you. Go be great.

Forever yours, Your biggest believer

* * *

Chapter 7

December 14th, 2019 - New York City

You're sitting in the Heisman Trophy ceremony audience, wearing a navy blue dress you bought specifically for this moment and trying not to cry before Joe even wins.

To your left, Robin Burrow is clutching a tissue and whispering prayers under her breath. To your right, Jimmy keeps checking his watch like he can speed up time through sheer willpower. The whole family section is buzzing with nervous energy, but you feel strangely calm.

Joe's going to win. You've known it for weeks, maybe months. The stats don't lie—78% completion percentage, 48 touchdowns, 6 interceptions, leading LSU to an undefeated season. He's not just the best player in college football this year; he's having one of the greatest seasons in the history of the sport.

But sitting here, watching them announce the finalists, you're not thinking about statistics. You're thinking about that scared boy in his apartment seven months ago, terrified he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

"The 2019 Heisman Trophy winner," the presenter says, and your heart stops beating for a moment, "quarterback Joe Burrow, Louisiana State University."

The room goes quiet for a beat, then fills with soft sounds of joy. Robin's eyes fill with tears that she wipes away quickly. Jimmy nods once, proud but not surprised. And you—you just sit there for a second, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

Joe Burrow. Heisman Trophy winner.

The boy who was told he belonged at Division III Mount Union just won the most prestigious individual award in college football.

When you finally manage to focus on the stage, Joe is walking up to accept the trophy, and he looks... composed. Confident. Like he belongs there, like this is exactly where his journey was always meant to lead.

But you know him well enough to see the emotion underneath the composure. The slight tremor in his hands as he accepts the trophy. The way his voice catches just barely when he starts his speech.

"First, I'd like to thank God," he begins, and you feel yourself leaning forward like you can somehow get closer to this moment. "My family, who's always been there for me through everything..."

He thanks his coaches, his teammates, the LSU community. You're filming it on your phone like every other proud girlfriend in the audience, but you're not really watching the screen. You're watching Joe—really watching him—and marveling at how far he's come.

"And to all the kids in Athens and Athens County that go home to not a lot of food on the table, hungry after school—you guys can be up here too," Joe says, his voice steady but emotional.

You're crying now, not because he mentioned you—he didn't, and that's okay—but because this is who he is. Someone who uses his biggest moment to think about hungry kids back home.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. Photos with the trophy, interviews with reporters, a receiving line of congratulations that seems to last forever. You hang back with his family, not wanting to intrude on his moment, but Joe keeps looking for you in the crowd.

When he finally breaks away from the media obligations, he comes straight to you.

"Did you hear that?" he asks, still slightly breathless from everything. The trophy is in his hands, heavier and more beautiful than you imagined.

"I heard every word," you say, reaching up to straighten his tie that got crooked during all the photos. "That speech was incredible. Southeast Ohio, LSU, everything."

"I meant what I said about those kids back home. About them being able to make it up here too."

"I know you did. That's why I love you."

Joe's expression softens. "I should have mentioned you specifically. I had so many people to thank, and I ran out of time, but—"

"Joe, stop." You place your hand on his chest. "That speech was perfect. You thanked the people who got you here, who believed in you. You don't need to mention me for the whole world to know how I feel about you."

"But I want them to know. I want everyone to know that you're the reason I'm standing here."

"No," you say firmly. "You're standing here because you worked harder than anyone. Because you took a chance on yourself. Because you refused to give up when everyone told you that you weren't good enough."

Joe sets the trophy down carefully on a nearby table and pulls you into his arms. Right there in the middle of the Heisman ceremony reception, with his family and reporters and important people everywhere, he holds you like you're the most precious thing in the room.

"I love you," he says into your hair. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"I love you too."

"After the championship game, after all this craziness dies down, we need to talk about the future. About what comes next."

"The NFL?"

"All of it. The draft, where we'll live, how we want to build our life together." His voice drops lower. "I want to marry you, Y/N. Not now, not tomorrow, but someday. I want you to know that's where my head is."

Your heart does something acrobatic in your chest. It's not a proposal, but it's a promise. A commitment to a future that includes both of you.

"I want that too," you whisper.

"Good," he says, pulling back to look at you. "Because I'm pretty sure I can't do any of this without you."

Later that night, back in your hotel room, you finally have a moment to process everything that happened. Joe is in the shower, and you're sitting on the bed with your laptop, looking at the photos that are already popping up online.

There's one of Joe holding the trophy, beaming with pure joy. Another of him hugging his parents. And then there's one of him during his speech, talking about the kids back home in Athens County.

The caption reads: "LSU QB Joe Burrow wins Heisman, dedicates moment to hungry kids."

You're not mentioned in the articles, and that's okay. His speech wasn't about personal thanks—it was about using his platform for something bigger. That's who Joe is, even in his biggest moment.

You've loved him since he was a frustrated third-string quarterback that nobody believed in. You supported him through the scariest decision of his college career. You've been there for every step of this incredible journey.

And now he's the best player in college football, and you get to be proud of both his talent and his character. It feels like the beginning of everything.

December 14, 2019

My Heisman winner,

I'm sitting in our hotel room writing this while you're in the shower, and I can hear you humming. Actually humming. Like you're so happy you can't contain it.

When they called your name tonight, I felt like my heart might literally explode. Not just because you won, but because you looked for me in the crowd first. Before the cameras, before the handshakes, before the trophy—you found my eyes.

You didn't mention me in your speech, and that's okay. You talked about the kids back home, about Athens County, about giving hope to people who don't have much. That's who you are - even in your biggest moment, you were thinking about others. I was so proud watching you up there, using your platform for something bigger than yourself.

Do you remember orientation day? When we were both convinced we didn't belong anywhere? Look at us now. You're holding the Heisman Trophy and talking about our future together like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I'm adding tonight's program to this collection, right next to that first letter I wrote when you were worried about embarrassing yourself. The boy who was afraid he wasn't good enough just won the most prestigious award in college football.

I told you so, didn't I? I told you from the very beginning.

You're everything I always knew you were. And somehow, impossibly, you're mine.

Forever yours, The girl who knew first

P.S. - Your speech made me cry. Happy tears. The best kind.

* * *

April 23rd, 2020

The Burrow family living room has been transformed into draft day headquarters. There are laptops everywhere, multiple TV screens showing different networks, and enough snacks to feed a small army. You're sitting on the couch next to Joe, your legs curled underneath you, trying to pretend like your heart isn't beating out of your chest.

Everyone knows Joe's going first overall to Cincinnati. It's been a foregone conclusion for months. But sitting here, waiting for it to become official, the nerves are real.

"Stop bouncing your leg," you whisper to Joe, placing your hand on his thigh.

"I'm not bouncing my leg."

"You're absolutely bouncing your leg."

Joe looks down and realizes you're right. He stills his leg but immediately starts drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch instead.

"Joe," Robin says from across the room, "you're going to wear a hole in that fabric."

"Sorry." He stops drumming his fingers and instead reaches for your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. "I know it's Cincinnati. I know it's basically guaranteed. But until I hear my name called..."

"Hey," you say softly, squeezing his hand. "Breathe. This is your moment. Enjoy it."

The living room is full of both your families - his parents, your parents who drove down from Ohio, his brothers, and a few close family friends. It should feel overwhelming, but instead it feels perfect. Like everyone who matters is here to witness this moment.

When Roger Goodell appears on screen in his home office (because of course the 2020 draft is virtual), the room goes quiet.

"With the first pick in the 2020 NFL Draft, the Cincinnati Bengals select... Joe Burrow, quarterback, LSU."

The room explodes in celebration. Everyone's on their feet at once - hugging, cheering, shouting congratulations over each other. Someone's taking pictures, someone else is already on the phone spreading the news. It's chaos, but the good kind.

And Joe? Joe just sits there for a second, staring at the TV like he can't quite believe it's real.

"You did it," you whisper, and that seems to snap him out of it.

He turns to you with the biggest smile you've ever seen and pulls you into his arms, spinning you around right there in the living room while everyone cheers.

"I did it," he says into your ear. "Holy shit, I actually did it."

"Language, Joseph," Robin calls out, but she's laughing through her tears.

"Sorry, Mom. Holy crap, I actually did it."

The next few hours are a blur of phone calls and interviews and congratulations. You mostly stay in the background, letting Joe have his moment, but he keeps pulling you back to his side. When ESPN calls for a quick interview, his first words are about the journey, about LSU, about all the people who believed in him.

Later that night, after everyone has gone home and it's just you and Joe sitting on his back porch, you finally have a moment to process what happened.

"Number one overall," you say, still somewhat in disbelief.

"Number one overall," he repeats. "To Cincinnati, of all places."

"You excited about that?"

Joe considers this. "Yeah, actually. I am. It's close to home, close to you. And they need a quarterback badly enough that I'll probably get to play right away."

"No more sitting on the bench."

You're quiet for a moment, both of you looking out at the backyard where you've spent so many evenings over the past year whenever you visited from Ohio.

"So," you say finally. "Cincinnati."

"Cincinnati," Joe agrees. "You know, if you wanted to... I mean, if you're interested..."

"You're asking me to move with you?"

He turns to look at you, and there's something vulnerable in his expression. "Yeah. I am. I know it's a big ask, and I know you have your life in here, but—"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll move to Cincinnati with you. Of course I will."

Joe's smile is so bright it could power the entire neighborhood. "Really?"

"Really. Though I'll need to find a job, and we'll need to figure out living arrangements, and—"

Joe cuts you off by kissing you, soft and sweet and full of promise.

"We'll figure it out," he says when you break apart. "All of it. Together."

* * *

July 25th, 2020

Moving day is chaos.

You're standing in what will be your new apartment in Cincinnati, surrounded by boxes and furniture and the general disaster that comes with combining two people's lives into one space. Joe is attempting to assemble what the instructions claim is a coffee table but looks more like abstract art.

"I think you're missing a screw," you say, looking over his shoulder.

"I'm not missing a screw. The instructions are wrong."

"The instructions are not wrong, Joe. You probably have it upside down."

"I do not have it— Oh." He flips the piece he's been struggling with, and suddenly everything makes sense. "Okay, maybe I had it upside down."

You laugh and kiss the top of his head. "Good thing you're pretty."

"Hey!"

The apartment is perfect for you both—modern but not cold, spacious but not overwhelming, close to the facility but still in a neighborhood that feels like home. You found it together, both of your names on the lease, both of your input on the furniture. It feels like a real partnership.

"I still can't believe we did this," you say, looking around at boxes labeled with both your handwriting.

"What, moved in together?"

"All of it. You getting drafted, me finding a job at Cincinnati Children's, us actually doing this crazy thing."

Joe stands up from his coffee table project and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

"Not crazy," he says. "Right. This feels right."

You lean back into his chest, fitting perfectly against him like you always have. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, you can see the Cincinnati skyline in the distance, but it's the reflection of you two together that catches your attention—Joe's chin resting on your shoulder, your hands covering his where they're clasped around your waist.

"It does feel right," you agree. "Scary, but right."

"What's scary about it?"

You turn in his arms to face him. "Everything's changing so fast. Six months ago you were in college, I was finishing my degree in Ohio, and now we're here. You're about to be an NFL quarterback, I'm starting at the hospital next week..." You gesture around at the boxes. "We're adults. Like, with a lease and everything."

"We've been adults, babe."

"Have we? Because I still feel like I'm playing house sometimes."

Joe's expression grows more serious. "Hey, look at me." When you do, his blue-green eyes are steady, certain. "This isn't playing house. This is us building something real. Something that's ours."

Before you can respond, there's a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a string of colorful language.

"Everything okay in there?" Joe calls out.

"Define okay," comes Jimmy's voice. "I may have just christened your new kitchen floor with a box of your fancy plates."

You and Joe exchange a look and burst out laughing.

"I'll get the broom," you say.

"I'll survey the damage," Joe says.

In the kitchen, Jimmy is standing amid a sea of ceramic shards and packing paper, looking like a kid who just broke his mom's favorite vase.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. "I was trying to put the box on the counter and it just slipped and—"

"Dad, it's fine," Joe says, already grabbing the dustpan from where you'd unpacked it an hour ago. "They were just plates."

"They were the good plates," you point out, crouching down to pick up the larger pieces. "The ones we spent forty-five minutes debating at Pottery Barn."

"We can get new good plates," Joe says. "Better good plates."

"I'll replace them," Jimmy insists. "I'll buy you the best plates money can buy."

Robin appears in the doorway, takes one look at the situation, and shakes her head. "Jimmy Burrow, what did you do?"

"It was an accident!"

"It's always an accident with you."

You watch Joe's parents bicker good-naturedly while you both clean up the mess, and something warm settles in your chest. This is what you'd imagined when you decided to move in together—not just the two of you, but the life that comes with being together. Family helping you move, broken plates on the first day, the comfortable chaos of people who love each other.

"You know," you say quietly to Joe as you dump ceramic shards into the trash, "maybe the broken plates are good luck. Like, we got the disaster out of the way early."

"Is that a thing?"

"I'm making it a thing."

Joe grins. "I like it. New tradition: break something expensive on moving day for good luck."

"Let's not make it a tradition. These plates were thirty dollars each."

"Thirty dollars each?" Jimmy's voice rises an octave. "For plates?"

"They were really nice plates, Dad."

"They were highway robbery is what they were."

An hour later, the kitchen is cleaned up and Jimmy has been banned from touching anything fragile. You've moved on to unpacking books in what will be Joe's office—though you've already claimed half the shelves for your nursing textbooks and novels.

"We need a system," you say, holding up a copy of his quarterback camp playbook. "Your football stuff, my medical stuff, shared stuff?"

"Or," Joe says, unpacking his LSU championship trophy and setting it carefully on the bookshelf, "we could just mix it all together. Show the world that a football playbook and Gray's Anatomy can coexist peacefully."

You laugh. "That's very philosophical of you."

"I have my moments."

You're about to respond when Robin appears in the doorway holding your jewelry box—the small wooden one your grandmother left you.

"Sweetie, where do you want this?" she asks. "I wasn't sure if it should go in the bedroom or..."

"The bedroom's fine," you say, taking it from her. "Thank you."

Joe glances at the box. "What's in there?"

"Just some personal stuff from college," you say, taking it from Robin. "I'll put it away."

He nods and goes back to unpacking, not thinking much of it. You make a mental note to find a good hiding spot for your collection of letters he'll never read.

Joe doesn't press, just goes back to unpacking his books, and you clutch the jewelry box a little tighter. Later, when you're alone, you'll find a good hiding spot for it. Somewhere safe where you can keep adding to your collection of letters he'll never read.

By evening, the apartment is starting to look like a home. The furniture is assembled (correctly, after Joe swallowed his pride and actually read the instructions), the kitchen is functional, and you've managed to find places for most of your belongings.

Joe's parents left an hour ago after Robin made you promise to call if you need anything and Jimmy apologized one more time about the plates. Now it's just you and Joe, sitting on your new couch, takeout containers scattered on the coffee table he finally assembled properly, looking around at what you've built together.

"We did good," Joe says, his arm around your shoulders.

"We did," you agree. "Though I think your dad's banned from helping us move ever again."

"Definitely banned."

You curl closer to him, your head on his shoulder. "Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of us. For taking this leap."

"Even if it's scary?"

"Especially because it's scary."

Joe presses a kiss to the top of your head. "You know what I love about this place?"

"What?"

"It's ours. Not my apartment that you stay at sometimes, not your place that I visit. Ours. Both our names on the lease, both our books on the shelves, both our terrible cooking in the kitchen."

"Hey, my cooking isn't terrible."

"Remember the smoke alarm incident last week?"

"That was an accident!"

You laugh and burrow deeper into his side. "Fine, but you're not much better."

"Which is why we're going to learn together. Just like everything else."

Outside, Cincinnati is settling into evening—traffic sounds, distant music, the urban symphony you're both still getting used to after years of college towns. But inside your apartment, everything is quiet and warm and exactly right.

"I love you," you say into the comfortable silence.

"I love you too," Joe replies, pulling you closer. "This feels right, doesn't it? Being here together."

"It does," you agree, settling against his side. "Even with your dad breaking our plates on day one."

"Hey, that's a family tradition now. Good luck plates."

You're both laughing when Joe's phone buzzes with a text. He glances at it and his expression shifts slightly.

"What is it?"

"Coach Taylor. Team meeting tomorrow morning. Looks like the real work starts now."

There's something in his voice—excitement mixed with nerves, anticipation tempered by the weight of what's coming. Tomorrow, he stops being Joe Burrow the draft pick and becomes Joe Burrow the Cincinnati Bengals starting quarterback. Tomorrow, everything changes again.

"You ready?" you ask.

Joe considers this, looking around at the apartment you've built together, at the life you're starting to create. When he looks back at you, his smile is confident and sure.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm ready."

And sitting there on your new couch in your shared apartment, surrounded by boxes and the promise of everything ahead, you believe him completely.

You have no idea that this moment—this perfect, ordinary evening of takeout and broken plates and dreams coming true—will become a memory you'll cling to years later when everything falls apart.

All you know is that you love Joe Burrow, and he loves you, and you're building something beautiful together.

It feels like forever.

Later that night, after Joe falls asleep

July 25, 2020

My love,

We moved in together today. Officially, permanently, with both our names on a lease and everything. Your dad broke our good plates (the ones we spent forever picking out at Pottery Barn), and you spent two hours assembling a coffee table upside down, and it was perfect.

Perfect because it was real. Because we're not playing house or pretending anymore—we're actually doing this. Building a life together. Making a home.

I keep looking around this apartment and thinking about how it's ours. Our books mixed together on the shelves, our pictures on the walls, our terrible cooking experiments in the kitchen. Everything we've worked toward, everything we've dreamed about, starting right here.

You asked about my letters earlier, and I almost told you. Almost handed you this entire box and said "here, read about how much I love you." But these are mine. My way of loving you, my way of documenting this incredible journey we're on.

Someday, maybe I'll show them to you. When we're old and gray and you want to remember how we got here. But for now, they're my secret way of telling you everything I feel.

Tomorrow you start training camp. Tomorrow you become an NFL quarterback for real. But tonight, you're just my Joe, sleeping next to me in our bed in our apartment, and everything is exactly as it should be.

I love our life, Joe Burrow. I love the life we're building.

Forever yours, Y/N

* * *

April 15th, 2022 - Cincinnati Children's Hospital

You're adjusting the IV drip for seven-year-old Dylan when you hear the commotion in the hallway. Excited voices, the sound of sneakers squeaking on linoleum, someone saying "Oh my God, is that really him?"

Dylan looks up at you with wide eyes. "Miss Y/N, what's all that noise?"

You smile, checking his chart one more time. "I think some very special visitors just arrived."

"Special visitors?"

Before you can answer, Joe appears in the doorway wearing his Bengals polo and that easy smile that makes patients feel instantly comfortable. Behind him are Ja'Marr, Tyler Boyd, and a few other teammates, but Dylan only has eyes for Joe.

"No way," Dylan breathes. "No freaking way."

"Dylan Rodriguez," you say in your best stern nurse voice, "what did we say about language?"

"Sorry, Miss Y/N. But that's Joe Burrow!"

Joe steps into the room, and you feel that familiar flutter in your chest watching him with kids. He's a natural—crouching down to Dylan's eye level, asking about his favorite plays, listening to Dylan explain his treatment like Joe's genuinely interested in the medical details.

"So Dylan," Joe says, pulling up a chair beside the bed, "Miss Y/N here tells me you're the bravest kid on this whole floor."

Dylan beams. "She takes really good care of me. She's the best nurse ever."

Joe glances at you, and there's something in his expression that makes your heart skip. Pride, love, admiration—like he's seeing you through Dylan's eyes and falling for you all over again.

"She really is," Joe agrees. "I'm pretty lucky she takes care of me too."

"She takes care of you?" Dylan asks, confused.

"Well," Joe says, winking at you, "she's my girlfriend. So when I get hurt playing football, she patches me up just like she patches you up."

Dylan's eyes go wide. "Miss Y/N is your girlfriend? That's so cool!"

"I think so too," Joe says, and the way he's looking at you makes you forget there are other people in the room.

The next two hours pass in a blur of room visits, autographs, and photos. You work alongside Joe and his teammates, but it doesn't feel like work. It feels like showing off your two favorite worlds—Joe getting to see you in your element, your patients getting to meet their hero.

In eight-year-old Sophie's room, you're checking her post-surgical dressings when she whispers conspiratorially to Joe, "Miss Y/N sang to me when I was scared before my operation."

"She did?" Joe looks over at you. "What did she sing?"

"Taylor Swift," Sophie giggles. "She knows all the words."

"She's very talented," Joe says seriously. "Though I have to warn you, her singing voice is... questionable."

"Hey!" you protest, laughing. "Sophie, don't listen to him. He thinks he can sing better than me."

"Can you?" Sophie asks Joe.

"Absolutely not. But don't tell her I said that."

In the NICU, you're explaining ventilator settings to Tyler Boyd's wife Kierra when Joe comes up behind you, his hand settling naturally on your lower back.

"You're really good at this," he murmurs in your ear.

"It's my job."

"No, I mean... you're really good with them. The kids, the families. They all love you."

You turn to look at him. "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised. Just... proud. Really fucking proud."

"Language, Burrow," you tease, glancing around at the tiny patients. "There are babies present."

"Sorry," he grins. "Really freaking proud."

The local news crew arrives halfway through the visit, and you try to fade into the background like you usually do during Joe's media obligations. But this time, Joe won't let you.

"Actually," he says to the reporter, his arm sliding around your waist, "I want to make sure you get the real story here. This is Y/N, my girlfriend, and she's a nurse here at Children's. These kids aren't just patients to her—they're her kids. She takes care of them every single day, not just when the cameras are here."

The reporter's eyes light up. "Oh, that's a wonderful angle. How long have you been working here, Y/N?"

You glance at Joe, suddenly nervous to be on camera, but he squeezes your hand encouragingly.

"Almost two years now," you say. "Since Joe and I moved to Cincinnati."

"And what's it like having your boyfriend surprise your patients?"

"It's pretty special," you admit. "These kids fight so hard every day. Seeing them light up like this... it's everything."

Joe's thumb traces circles on your hip, and when you look at him, he's watching you with an expression so soft it takes your breath away.

"She's amazing," he tells the camera, but his eyes never leave yours. "These families are lucky to have her."

Later, after the team has left and you're finishing your shift, you find a note tucked into your locker:

Thank you for letting us see what you do. Watching you with those kids today... I've never been more proud to be with someone. You're incredible at this, babe. Really incredible. - J

P.S. - Dylan asked me if I was going to marry you. I told him that was the plan. Hope that's okay.

You read the note three times, your heart doing acrobatic flips in your chest. The plan. Like it's not a question of if, but when.

That night, curled up next to Joe on the couch, you're both scrolling through the news coverage on your phones.

"Look at this," Joe says, showing you his screen. "Channel 12 posted a whole segment about you. 'Bengals QB's girlfriend is local children's nurse.'"

You peer at his phone. The photo they used is from today—you and Joe with Dylan, all three of you laughing at something off-camera. You look happy. More than happy. You look like you belong.

"They called me 'local children's nurse,'" you point out. "Not just 'Bengals QB's girlfriend.'"

"Good. That's what you are. That's who you are."

You curl closer to him, your head on his shoulder. "Thank you for today. For including me, for making it about the kids."

"Thank you for being amazing. Seriously, watching you work today..." He trails off, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I love seeing you in your element. You're so good at what you do."

"I love what I do."

"I know. It shows."

You're quiet for a moment, both of you scrolling through comments on the hospital's Facebook post about the visit. Most of them are about Joe, but there are plenty about you too:

"Y/N is the sweetest nurse! She took such good care of my daughter last year."

"Love that Joe's girlfriend actually works at the hospital. She's not just there for the cameras."

"You can tell she really cares about those kids. What a sweet couple."

"See?" Joe says, reading over your shoulder. "They love you."

"They love us," you correct.

"They love us," he agrees.

Later that night, after Joe falls asleep, you slip out of bed and retrieve your wooden box from its hiding place in the closet. You've been writing letters less frequently lately—life has been so good, so stable, that the urgent need to document everything has faded into simple contentment.

But today deserves to be remembered.

April 15, 2022

My love,

Today you came to my hospital. MY hospital, with MY kids, and you were so perfect I could hardly breathe.

Watching you with Dylan, listening to you tease me about my "questionable" singing voice when Sophie brought up your Taylor Swift performances, seeing you crouch down to every child's eye level like they're the most important people in the world... God, Joe. My heart was so full I thought it might burst.

But the best part wasn't watching you with the kids. It was watching you watch me. The way you looked at me when Dylan called me the best nurse ever. The way you insisted the reporter interview me too, like you were proud to claim me. The way you told that little girl at the end that you were planning to marry me someday.

THE PLAN, you wrote in your note. Like it's not even a question anymore.

I've never felt more seen, more valued, more loved than I did today. You didn't just bring the team to visit kids. You brought them to see what I do, who I am when I'm not just "Joe Burrow's girlfriend." You made sure everyone knew I matter.

This is us at our best, Joe. This is the team we make, the life we're building. You supporting my dreams while I support yours. You being proud of me while I'm proud of you.

I love our life. I love the way we fit together. I love that your dreams and my dreams somehow make perfect sense side by side.

Forever yours, Your very proud girlfriend

P.S. - I do NOT have a questionable singing voice. Sophie clearly has excellent taste.

* * *

January 30, 2022 - Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City

The silence in the family section is deafening.

You're sitting between Robin and Jimmy, all three of you staring at the field in stunned disbelief. Overtime. They lost in overtime. Three points away from the Super Bowl, and it's over.

Your hands are shaking as you watch Joe on the field, still in his uniform, helmet off, talking to Patrick Mahomes at midfield. Even from here, you can see the devastation in his posture—shoulders slumped, head down, the weight of this loss written in every line of his body.

"He played his heart out," Robin whispers, tears streaming down her face. "He gave everything he had."

"It wasn't enough," Jimmy says quietly, and the defeat in his voice breaks your heart almost as much as watching Joe does.

You want to run onto the field, want to wrap Joe in your arms and tell him it's okay, that there will be other chances, other seasons. But you know better. You know how much this meant to him, how hard he worked to get here, how close they came to something extraordinary.

The family section starts to empty slowly, other wives and girlfriends gathering their things, preparing for the long, quiet flights home. But you don't move. You can't move. You just keep watching Joe, waiting.

"Come on, honey," Robin says gently, touching your arm. "We should head down."

You nod but don't get up immediately. You're memorizing this moment—not because you want to, but because you know it's important. This is Joe at his lowest point, and you're about to find out if you're still the person he turns to when his world falls apart.

The walk down to the field level feels endless. Security guards guide the families through corridors that smell like concrete and disappointment. You can hear muffled crying, quiet conversations, the sound of dreams being packed away for another year.

When you finally make it to the designated family area outside the locker room, most of the other players have already come and gone. You wait with Joe's parents, all of you checking your phones obsessively, none of you sure what to say.

Then you see him.

Joe emerges from the tunnel still in his uniform, his face a mask of controlled devastation. His eyes scan the small crowd of remaining family members, and when they land on you, something in his expression cracks.

He doesn't say anything, just walks straight to you and pulls you into his arms so tightly you can barely breathe. You feel his body shaking against yours, feel the way he buries his face in your neck like he's trying to disappear.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice broken. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"No," you say fiercely, pulling back to look at him. "Don't you dare apologize. Do you hear me? Don't you dare."

Joe's eyes are red-rimmed, whether from tears or exhaustion or pure emotion, you can't tell. "We were so close. We were right there."

"I know, baby. I know."

"I let everyone down. The team, the city, you—"

"Stop." You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "You didn't let anyone down. You were incredible. You ARE incredible."

Joe shakes his head, but you don't let him argue.

"Joe Burrow, you took this team to the AFC Championship in your second season. You came back from a knee injury that could have ended your career and you made it to one game away from the Super Bowl. That's not failure. That's extraordinary."

"It doesn't feel extraordinary."

"I know it doesn't. Not right now. But baby, this is just the beginning. This isn't the end of your story—it's the chapter that makes the next one even better."

Joe pulls you close again, and you feel some of the tension leave his body. Around you, his parents are talking quietly to Ja'Marr's family, giving you both space to process this moment.

"I love you," Joe says into your hair. "I need you to know that. I couldn't have gotten here without you."

"I love you too. And I'm so proud of you I can barely stand it."

"Even after that interception in overtime?"

"Especially after that interception in overtime. Because you got back up. You always get back up."

Joe pulls back to look at you again, and there's something in his eyes—gratitude, love, but also a kind of desperation. Like he needs you to anchor him to something real when everything else feels like it's falling apart.

"Come on," he says, his arm around your waist. "Let's get out of here."

The flight back to Cincinnati is quiet. Joe stares out the window for most of it, your hand in his, occasionally squeezing your fingers like he's making sure you're still there. You don't try to fill the silence with empty platitudes. You just stay close, let him know through your presence that he doesn't have to carry this alone.

Back in your apartment, Joe goes straight to the shower while you order food from his favorite Sushi place. When he emerges twenty minutes later, hair damp and wearing sweatpants and an old Ohio State t-shirt, he looks younger. Less like an NFL quarterback and more like the boy you fell in love with in college.

"Not hungry," he says when he sees the takeout containers.

"I know. But you should eat something anyway."

"Y/N—"

"Please. For me."

Joe sighs but sits down next to you on the couch, mechanically eating pad thai while you curl up against his side. The TV is on, but neither of you is really watching. There will be analysis tomorrow, articles about what went wrong, speculation about next season. Tonight is just for grieving.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask after a while.

"Not really."

"Okay."

"Maybe later. Just... not tonight."

You press a kiss to his shoulder. "Whatever you need."

Joe sets down his barely touched food and turns to face you. "I need this. Just you. And me."

"You have me. You'll always have me."

"Promise?"

There's something vulnerable in the way he asks it, like he's not just talking about tonight or this loss, but about everything that's coming. The pressure, the expectations, the spotlight that's only going to get brighter.

"I promise," you say, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.

Joe kisses you then, soft and desperate and full of everything he can't say out loud. When you break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"I love you," he says again, like he needs to keep saying it to make sure it's real.

"I love you too. Win or lose, good games or bad games, I love you."

That night, Joe falls asleep with his head on your chest, your fingers running through his hair. You stay awake for a long time, listening to his breathing even out, feeling the weight of his trust in the way he sleeps so completely in your arms.

You think about what you said on the field—that this is just the beginning of his story. You believe that with everything in you. Joe Burrow will get back to this moment, and next time, he'll be ready.

What you don't know is that when he gets there, when he reaches the heights you're both dreaming of, you won't be standing next to him anymore.

All you know is that tonight, in this moment, you're exactly where you belong. You're the person he turns to when the world falls apart, the one who picks up the pieces and helps him remember who he is.

You're his home. His safe place. His forever.

At least, that's what you think.

Later that night, while Joe sleeps

January 30, 2022

My heartbroken love,

I'm writing this after you finally fell asleep. It took hours for your breathing to even out, for your body to stop carrying all that tension from tonight. You're curled up next to me now, finally peaceful after the worst night of your football career so far.

Watching you walk off that field tonight was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Seeing you so close to your dreams and watching them slip away... God, Joe. My heart broke for you.

But then you found me. In all that chaos, all that devastation, you found me first. Not the media, not your teammates, not the coaches. Me. You walked straight to me like I was the only thing that could make any of this bearable.

That's when I knew. Not that I love you—I've known that for years—but that I'm the person you trust with your broken pieces. I'm who you turn to when everything falls apart.

You apologized tonight. You actually apologized to ME, like losing that game was something you did to me personally. Baby, you could never disappoint me. You could lose every game for the rest of your career and I would still be proud to love you.

But you won't lose every game. You won't even lose most games. Tonight was heartbreaking, but it wasn't an ending. It was education. It was motivation. It was the foundation for everything that's coming next.

You're going to get back there, Joe. And when you do, when you're holding that Lombardi Trophy, I want you to remember this night. Remember how it felt to fall short, so you never take success for granted.

I'll be there for all of it. The comeback, the victories, the championship we both know is coming. Just like I was there tonight.

Forever yours, Y/N

P.S. - You said you couldn't have gotten here without me. The truth is, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

* * *

March 15th, 2023

You're having lunch with your friend Emma at a trendy spot downtown, catching up on everything you've missed since she moved to Cincinnati for her marketing job. It feels good to have your college friend nearby again, someone who knew you before you became "Joe Burrow's girlfriend."

"So," Emma says, stabbing her salad with more force than necessary, "how are things with Mr. Quarterback? I barely see you guys together on social media anymore."

"We're good," you say automatically, the response you've perfected over the past few months. "Just busy. His schedule is crazy during the season, and now with all the off-season training..."

Emma nods, but there's something in her expression that makes you pause.

"Actually," she says, setting down her fork, "that's kind of why I wanted to talk to you. I saw something last night and I wasn't sure if I should mention it..."

Your stomach drops. "What kind of something?"

Emma pulls out her phone, and you watch her scroll through Instagram with the kind of purposeful navigation that means she's looking for something specific.

"Because," she says, turning her phone toward you, "when I was scrolling last night, I noticed Joe's been... active."

The screen shows Joe's Instagram activity. Your heart starts beating faster as you see a long list of likes on photos from accounts you don't recognize. @KelseyAnderson @DanielleFitness. @MiaMartinii.

"Sarah, what—"

"Keep scrolling," she says gently.

You scroll down with trembling fingers. Photo after photo of beautiful women—models, influencers, actresses. All liked by @Joeyb_9 All within the last few weeks.

Your mouth goes dry. "This... this doesn't mean anything. It's just social media."

But even as you say it, you're thinking about the photos. Bikini shots. Workout videos. Professional modeling photos where the women are wearing next to nothing.

"Honey," Sarah says softly, "there are like fifty of them. Just in the past month."

You hand her phone back, your hands shaking slightly. "He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. You know how guys are with social media. They just scroll and like without thinking."

"Maybe," Emma says, but she doesn't sound convinced. "But Y/N, some of these are really... explicit. And it's not just random scrolling. Look."

She shows you her phone again, this time on @KelseyAnderson's profile. "He's been liking her photos for weeks. Consistently. And she's been liking his back."

The room feels like it's spinning. You stare at the phone, at the evidence of Joe's digital attention being given to women who look nothing like you. Women with perfect bodies and professional photographers and hundreds of thousands of followers.

"I probably shouldn't have shown you," Emma says, watching your face carefully. "I just... if it were my boyfriend, I'd want to know."

"No," you say quickly, "you did the right thing. I just... I need a minute to process this."

The rest of lunch passes in a blur. You go through the motions of eating, of responding to Emma's conversation, but your mind is spinning. Every interaction you've had with Joe over the past few weeks is suddenly cast in a different light.

The way he's been more distant lately. How he's always on his phone but angles it away from you. The fact that he hasn't posted a photo of you together since... when? You can't even remember.

"I should probably go," you say, checking the time even though you have nowhere urgent to be.

"Y/N," Emma says gently, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... a lot to think about."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet. But thank you for telling me. Really."

Emma nods, but she looks worried as you both stand to leave. "Call me later? Promise?"

"Promise."

But you don't go home. Instead, you drive aimlessly around Cincinnati, Emma's words echoing in your head. Fifty of them. Just in the past month.

When you finally make it back to your apartment, Joe is in the kitchen making a protein shake, still in his workout clothes from training.

"Hey babe," he says without looking up from his blender. "How was lunch with Emma?"

"Good," you say, trying to keep your voice normal. "How was training?"

"Brutal. Coach has us doing these new conditioning drills that are basically torture."

You watch him pour his shake into a tumbler, notice how he immediately reaches for his phone. The same phone he's been using to like photos of other women.

"Joe," you say before you can lose your nerve.

"Yeah?" He's scrolling already, not really looking at you.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure, what's up?" But he's still looking at his phone, and something inside you snaps.

"Can you put that down? Please?"

Joe looks up, surprised by your tone. "Everything okay?"

"That's what I want to ask you."

He sets his phone face-down on the counter and gives you his attention. "What's going on?"

You take a breath, trying to figure out how to bring this up without sounding like a crazy, jealous girlfriend. "Emma showed me your Instagram likes today."

Joe's expression doesn't change, but you catch the tiny flicker in his eyes. "My Instagram likes?"

"The photos you've been liking. Of other women."

"Y/N—"

"Models, influencers. A lot of them, Joe. Like, a really concerning amount of them."

Joe runs his hand through his hair, a tell you recognize from years of watching him when he's uncomfortable. "It's just social media. It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't. I scroll through my feed, I see photos, I like them. It's literally meaningless."

"But these aren't just random photos, Joe. These are specific accounts. Some of them you've been consistently liking for weeks."

"I don't monitor my likes, Y/N. I just double-tap and keep scrolling."

There's something in his tone—dismissive, almost annoyed—that makes your chest tighten. This isn't the Joe who used to listen to your concerns, who used to care when something upset you.

"So you're saying it means nothing? The fact that you're giving attention to dozens of half-naked women online?"

"Jesus, when you put it like that, you make it sound like I'm cheating or something."

"Aren't you? Kind of?"

Joe stares at you like you've lost your mind. "No, I'm not cheating. Not even kind of. I'm double-tapping photos on an app. That's it."

"It doesn't feel like 'that's it' to me."

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?"

The words hit you like a slap. Your problem. Like your feelings about this are irrational, unreasonable, something for you to deal with alone.

"My problem?"

Joe seems to realize how that sounded and softens slightly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant... this isn't as big a deal as you're making it."

"How would you feel if I was constantly liking photos of shirtless male models?"

"I wouldn't care."

"You wouldn't?"

"No, because I'd know it didn't mean anything."

But there's something in the way he says it, too quick, too defensive, that makes you wonder if he's lying. To you or to himself.

"When was the last time you posted a photo of us together?" you ask.

The question catches him off guard. "What?"

"When was the last time you posted a photo of us? Together?"

Joe is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. "I don't know. Recently?"

"Try again."

"Y/N, I don't keep track of that stuff."

"Well, I do. It's been four months, Joe. Four months since you posted anything that shows we're together."

"So?"

"So people are starting to wonder if we're still dating."

"People need to mind their own business."

"These people include my friends. And your teammates' wives. People who actually know us."

Joe picks up his phone again, a clear signal that he's done with this conversation. "I'm not going to change how I use social media because of gossip."

"I'm not asking you to change how you use social media. I'm asking you to understand why this hurts me."

"It hurts you that I like photos on Instagram?"

"It hurts me that you're giving other women attention that you don't give me. It hurts me that strangers have to ask if we're still together because I've disappeared from your online presence. It hurts me that when I try to talk to you about it, you dismiss my feelings like they don't matter."

Joe is quiet for a long moment, staring at his phone screen. When he looks up, his expression is tired.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Y/N."

"I want you to say that you understand why this bothers me. I want you to say that you'll be more mindful about it."

"Fine. I'll be more mindful."

But he says it like he's humoring you, like he's agreeing just to end the conversation. There's no understanding in his voice, no recognition that your feelings are valid.

"Joe—"

"I said I'll be more mindful. What else do you want?"

What you want is for him to apologize. What you want is for him to seem like he cares that he hurt you. What you want is for him to put his arms around you and promise that you're the only woman who matters to him.

What you get is dismissal and irritation and the growing certainty that something fundamental has shifted in your relationship.

"Nothing," you say quietly. "Forget I said anything."

"Good," Joe says, already looking back at his phone. "Because I have a conference call with my agent in ten minutes."

You watch him walk away, disappearing into his office and closing the door behind him. You're left standing in the kitchen, holding the pieces of a conversation that solved nothing and somehow made everything worse.

That night, you lie awake staring at the ceiling while Joe sleeps peacefully beside you. You think about Emma's concerned face across the lunch table. You think about the photos you scrolled through—beautiful women getting attention from your boyfriend that you haven't received in months.

But mostly, you think about Joe's reaction. The dismissiveness. The casual way he made your feelings seem unreasonable. The Joe you fell in love with would never have done that.

For the first time since you've been together, you wonder if you're fighting for something that's already over.

March 15, 2023

Joe,

Today Emma showed me your Instagram activity. Fifty likes on other women's photos in just the past month. Models, influencers, women who look nothing like me.

When I tried to talk to you about it, you called it "my problem." You acted like my feelings were irrational, like caring about this made me crazy and jealous.

Maybe it does make me crazy. Maybe I am being unreasonable. But I don't think I am.

I think I'm watching the man I love slowly erase me from his life, one Instagram like at a time. I think I'm watching you explore options while keeping me as a safety net.

The worst part wasn't discovering the photos. The worst part was your reaction when I brought it up. You didn't apologize. You didn't seem to care that it hurt me. You just wanted me to stop talking about it.

When did I become so unimportant to you that my feelings don't even register?

When did you stop loving me enough to care when you hurt me?

I keep telling myself this is just a rough patch, that we'll get through it like we've gotten through everything else. But I'm starting to wonder if you want to get through it, or if you're hoping I'll just stop fighting and let you slip away.

I love you. But I'm starting to think that's not enough anymore.

Y/N

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