#Staff Selection Process

[spectrumtalentmanagements]

Discover the leading Recruitment Process Outsourcing Companies offering efficient hiring solutions. Save time and resources with expert-driven talent acquisition strategies tailored to your business needs. Bookmark now for seamless recruitment services and industry insights.

[balu88r-blog]

SSC Recruitment 2025 : SSLC ಆದವರಿಗೆ ಸಿಹಿ ಸುದ್ದಿ! SSC ಯಿಂದ 2,423 ಹುದ್ದೆಗಳ ನೇಮಕಾತಿ, ಜೂನ್ 23 ಕೊನೆ ದಿನ…!

SSC Recruitment 2025 – ಎಸ್ಸೆಸ್ಸೆಲ್ಸಿ ಮತ್ತು ಪಿಯುಸಿ ಮುಗಿಸಿ ಒಂದು ಉತ್ತಮ ಉದ್ಯೋಗಕ್ಕಾಗಿ ಕಾಯುತ್ತಿರುವ ಅಭ್ಯರ್ಥಿಗಳಿಗೆ ಇಲ್ಲಿದೆ ಸಂತಸದ ಸುದ್ದಿ. ಕೇಂದ್ರ ಸರ್ಕಾರದ ಅಧೀನದಲ್ಲಿ ಬರುವ ಸ್ಟಾಫ್ ಸೆಲೆಕ್ಷನ್ ಕಮಿಷನ್ (SSC) 2025ನೇ ಸಾಲಿನ ನೇಮಕಾತಿಗಾಗಿ ಅಧಿಸೂಚನೆ ಹೊರಡಿಸಿದೆ (SSC Recruitment 2025). ಈ ನೇಮಕಾತಿಯು ಫೇಸ್-XIII (Phase-XIII) ರ ಅಡಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ನಡೆಯಲಿದ್ದು, ಒಟ್ಟು 2,423 ಹುದ್ದೆಗಳನ್ನು ಭರ್ತಿ ಮಾಡಲು ಅರ್ಜಿಗಳನ್ನು ಆಹ್ವಾನಿಸಲಾಗಿದೆ (Job Guide…

[townpostin]

Jharkhand Struggles With Slow Government Job Appointments

Only 11,074 Positions Filled In 4.5 Years Despite High Unemployment Lack of consistent appointment rules hampers efficient recruitment process. RANCHI – Jharkhand is still facing the challenge of high unemployment rates. Despite promises made during elections, the government is making slow progress in appointing people to government jobs. In the past 4.5 years, the Jharkhand Staff Selection…

[my-favouriteiot]

Hospertz: Your One-Stop Partner for Building a Successful Healthcare Facility

Hospertz: Your One-Stop Partner for Building a Successful Healthcare Facility

Streamlining the Journey: Hospertz India Pvt. Ltd. (HIPL) caters to the healthcare industry as a turnkey solutions provider. They offer comprehensive support, guiding medical professionals through every step of establishing a new medical facility.

From the Ground Up: Their services encompass the entire process, from selecting a suitable location and obtaining necessary licenses to securing funding and attracting investors. They even assist with hiring qualified personnel and developing a strategic marketing plan.

Addressing Modern Challenges: HIPL acknowledges the growing complexities within the healthcare landscape. Their expertise helps navigate the increasing bureaucratic hurdles associated with setting up a new medical establishment.

Experience You Can Trust: With their extensive experience, HIPL has a proven track record of assisting doctors, dentists, and other specialists in building multi-specialty healthcare facilities across India. Their meticulous approachensures every detail is addressed, from acquiring high-tech equipment at competitive prices to recruiting qualified staff.

Focus on What Matters: By partnering with Hospertz, medical professionals can concentrate on their core competency: delivering exceptional patient care. HIPL takes care of the rest, handling day-to-day operations, licensing procedures, streamlining processes, and staff protocols. Their objective is to establish a smooth-running, patient-centric, and profitable healthcare facility.

Realizing Your Vision: HIPL acts as a trusted advisor, providing end-to-end project consultancy and management services. Their comprehensive solutions encompass the entire project lifecycle, from initial concept to final commissioning.

A Guiding Light: Driven by the vision of fostering quality-conscious and profitable healthcare institutions, HIPL leverages its three core strengths:

Physician-Inspired Knowledge: They understand the specific needs and challenges faced by medical professionals.

Unrivaled Technology: They provide access to state-of-the-art equipment and resources.

Impeccable Services: They offer a comprehensive suite of services to ensure a seamless operation.

A Collaborative Approach: HIPL prioritizes client satisfaction. They maintain continuous communication throughout the project, addressing any potential roadblocks and ensuring a collaborative effort towards achieving the desired outcome. Their ultimate goal is to transform your vision for a successful healthcare facility into a reality.

Building Trust: HIPL emphasizes transparency and honesty in all their dealings with clients and investors. They recognize that your vision is paramount, and they strive to make it the cornerstone of their every action.

[yogenderthakur]

National Institute of Technical Teachers Training and Research Recruitment 2023 Apply online for Various Non-Teaching Staff Posts

National Institute of Technical Teachers Training and Research Recruitment 2023 Apply online for Various Non-Teaching Staff Posts National Institute of Technical Teachers Training and Research Recruitment 2023: The National Institute of Technical Teachers Training and Research (NITTTR) has released the latest notification and invited online applications from eligible candidates for the…

[labs]

Communities closed beta is here

Hello again! We’re back with an update on Communities, a big idea we had last year that we’ve been working on steadily since then. We’re abnormally jazzed to announce that we’re beginning a “closed beta” phase of this new feature, which means many of you will get to play with it soon!

We want to build this whole thing together, with as much input from all of you as possible. We’ve read and re-read the feedback from our previous post, and we’ve been surveying and interviewing people about this idea for a few months now. But it’s time to open this up even more for hands-on testing.

We’ve already begun reaching out to most of you who interacted with our previous post, as promised, with a survey asking whether you’d be interested in helping (check your email!). Over the next couple of weeks, we’ll be using the results of that survey to narrow down who we’d like to help test Communities in these initial batches.

The process is looking a bit like this:

If you received a Communities survey email to your registered Tumblr email address, fill it out! If you’re interested in helping us in this beta test period, that’s your way of potentially getting early access. If you did not receive an email with the Communities survey, don’t fret! Communities will be rolling out to more people as we expand our testing. 

We’ll go through the results and choose a diverse range of community ideas to gather a wide array of feedback.

Selected testers will receive a second survey with more detailed questions about their proposed community. Very practical stuff, like the name, title, and description, whether it should be public or private, the About page contents, its own community guidelines, and more.

We will create the new Tumblr community on your behalf using the information supplied. We’re building the tools that will let people create and edit communities themselves, so eventually you’ll be able to change them without needing our help. But for now, we’re creating and editing them for you, as needed.

After we’ve created the community, you’ll be made its first admin. Everything from here on out is up to you – Tumblr staff won’t be in your community (unless you invite us, of course). You’ll be able to invite anyone on Tumblr to your community. However, your community will have a population cap to start, limiting how many people can be in it and invited, as a way of keeping this beta test somewhat contained and manageable for us. We’ll be able to raise that population cap for communities that are growing and if we want to test further in that direction.

And throughout, we’ll be asking for feedback, both in some special communities for everyone in the closed beta, and via more surveys and the Support tickets we receive.

This closed beta version of Communities is far from finished, and that’s part of the reason we want to start opening it up to more of you for feedback. There are a lot of rough edges and known issues, but we think it’s far enough along that it’s usable enough for testing. We need feedback in order to feel like we’re building the right thing.

The very first public community is called “Communities Feedback” for this reason! We want everyone helping us test out communities to tell us about it, so people in this closed beta will be in there by default. We want to use that space to be more public and real-time about new pieces we’re building, bugs we’re fixing, things we know are broken, and answers to common questions. There is an additional, private community for community admins, to help shape how administrating and moderating these spaces will work. And if you don’t want to use those spaces, you can always use the “Feedback” category in our Support form.

Stay tuned for more, and keep an eye on that Communities Feedback space if you’d like to see how things are changing over time.

[crickettr]

Rajasthan Sanganak Recruitment 2023 : इस भर्ती का आयोजन 583 पदों पर किया जा रहा है

Rajasthan Sanganak Recruitment 2023 के अंतर्गत 583 पदों पर नोटिफिकेशन जारी कर दिया गया है जिसमें Rajasthan Sanganak Bharti 2023 के लिए ऑनलाइन आवेदन शुरू हो चुके और यह ऑनलाइन आवेदन 12 जुलाई 2023 से 10 अगस्त 2023 तक किए जाएंगे जल्दी से जल्दी योग्य अभ्यर्थी अपना आवेदन ऑनलाइन माध्यम से कर सकते हैं अगर आप नहीं जानते हैं कि इस प्रकार से किया जाता है और आपको पूर्ण जानकारी नहीं है तो नीचे हमन�� ऑफिशल…

[chanranghaeys]

🎼 complementary wavelengths

Wouldn’t falling in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the research study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

pairing: university professor!vernon x high school teacher!fem!reader word count: 2.8k+ genre: fluff for valentine’s day! rating: g tags: non-idol au, distant college friends to ???, first love :(, they both grew up!, we stan emotionally healthy MEN in here warnings: i claim no accuracy on the academic process because i am not a teacher and no accuracy on the mathematics and scientific concepts here because i am absolutely not a mathematician or a scientist

a/n: surprise lexi @heechwe, i’m your secret cupid! a huge thanks to jupiter @ddeonghwa-s for hosting this secret cupid valentine’s event! it took A WHILE for me to churn this out but we persist and bounce back to writing! a very very special thanks to kae @ylangelegy for beta reading! and to @svtreverie, @choitcherryanne, and k for being my forever hypegirls mwa mwa

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“So, Ms. Y/L/N, do you have a Valentine's date already?”

You roll your eyes for what must be the millionth time. “For the last time, this is grounds for unbecoming conduct, young lady.”

“I’m just saying!” Your student Sofia laughs. “You deserve to have a good Valentine’s Day this year.”

“Since when have you played matchmaker for me, Ms. Chwe?”

“Since we saw you crying in the school parking lot,” Sofia’s best friend Meena chimed in supportively. Come on, Ms. Y/L/N. You can’t expect us to sit around and do nothing.”

“Especially not for our favorite Maths teacher!”

You shake your head at these two high schoolers. You knew you couldn’t play favorites amongst your students, but these two and their stubbornly infectious energy sparked a little of your youth back in you. Plus, you really couldn’t blame them because they were right about that school parking lot incident.

It was after this brunch date went terribly wrong a few weeks ago. And while it was very unbecoming of a teacher for her students to find her squat and sobbing against her car, these two were like guardian angels that took you under their wings and brought you ice cream and were girl’s girls all the way—as if they weren’t almost a whole decade younger than you.

Since then, Sofia and Meena would secretly try to find you a potential Valentine’s date amongst teachers, guardians, single parents, older siblings, school staff, or anyone at this point. They were wholly invested—and not just because you were the best teacher they’ve ever had in their very subjective opinion.

From afar, you see a familiar figure leaning against his car, signature plain white tee with jeans underneath his selected outerwear of the day—this time, it was a black denim jacket with a matching Yankees cap.

You've noticed him for a while now, dropping by a few days a week. You've thought about approaching him several times as well, but you always stopped this impulse. However, today was different.

“Sofia, would you mind calling over your brother here for a second?”

“What is this about?” Sofia had her eyebrow raised. Despite her age, it was hard not to take her seriously given that you were both standing at the same height.

“You know what this is about. He told me that you gave him my email address.”

A look of understanding lit in Sofia’s eyes. “Ah, that thing. Yeah, gimme a second.”

Meena stayed behind to continue the line of questioning. “So what’s that thing?”

“It’s a post-grad thing of sorts. Don’t mind it, you have enough schoolwork on your head to be thinking about this.”

She just chuckled in return. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I remind you that Sofia’s brother is single, handsome, respectful, decent, and smart. You can see why I personally have a vested interest in this thing already.”

“Meena.”

She heard your tone shift and straightened herself. It was a subtle reminder that she was still your student and that you were still her teacher.

“I’m just stating facts,” she said with a shrug and a quieter tone.

Sofia’s distant voice calling out for her friend caught both of your attention. At the same time, you see the figure in black and white walking toward you in his confident and deliberate strides.

“I’ll go ahead Ms. Y/L/N. See you tomorrow! And good luck on the thing,” Meena said with a smile and a wave. When she passes the figure, she does a slight bow out of respect, which he reciprocates. This exchange quirks up the corner of your lips. You recall what Meena said earlier, and it prods at you with an irk of frustration.

It frustrates you that she’s right.

When he finally stood before you with a smile, a flood of memories came crashing back. Suddenly, you’re back on your college campus standing underneath your favorite tree, a girl in front of a boy.

“I got your email, Professor Chwe. It’s been a while.”

“It has been a while Ms. Y/L/N.”

You chuckle at your monikers. Who knew two scruffy college students would turn out to be respectful academicians? “Formalities aside, it’s so nice to hear from you again Vernon.”

“Likewise.”

“I see the teaching gig in university hasn’t changed your sense of casual style.”

Vernon looks you up and down in your sensible collared button-up and slacks ensemble. You completely ignore the growing flutters in your stomach. “I can see that this high school has changed yours.”

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. The kids actually like my sense of style, mind you.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed Sofia starting to wear blazers all of a sudden. I never thought that it’d be you I’d blame for that.”

You feel something in your chest, a sudden churn and an unexpected leap. As a teacher, you’ve mastered your emotions enough to mask your face into one that wouldn’t give everything away. But these primal emotions were almost too much to bear.

Is this what it really feels like to face your first love after so many years apart?

“Anyway,” you continue as a means to deflect before anything else gives away your true feelings. “You emailed me about your dissertation? You really didn’t give much away. And you know you could’ve just sent me a message.”

“Oh, yeah!” Vernon nods vigorously in emphasis of your statement. “I need someone good in applied mathematics.”

“And you need me for that because?”

He blinks at you. “Because you are good at applied mathematics. I want your help for my musicology dissertation.”

You let out a sigh of disbelief. “Vernon, I—”

“And don’t you dare say you’re not good,” he insists with his finger pointed at you. “I’ve read your research papers. I don’t even know why you stay teaching in high school. You could’ve been tenured by now. Or on a sabbatical like me.”

He’s read my research papers? So he’s been following my work? You shake your head to clear these unnecessary thoughts, which are immediately replaced by a sense of uncertainty. “I don’t know, I’m pretty busy these coming months…”

You really didn’t know why you were avoiding it. This was the perfect academic opportunity and you had no idea why you were avoiding it.

Okay, scratch that. You knew exactly why—because of him.

“No problem, we’ll be able to pace the progress. Besides,” he continued, “you’ve always been my study buddy. I know we’ll be really good partners for this one.”

With one sentence, he has almost reduced you to a blushing schoolgirl with a huge crush.

Oh wait, weren’t you one already?

But still, you couldn’t resist stoking the flame that had been sparked inside you. So you ask, “Why me? Were there no other worthy research partners in your esteemed university?”

“Nope. I choose you,” he answered with a lopsided smirk. “I think you’ll understand why when you hear what my dissertation is about.”

“What is it about?”

“Do you wanna go out for coffee?”

“What?”

“What?” Vernon said in more of a statement than a question.

“What does coffee have anything to do with this?”

“Unless you want to keep standing here with your students watching us, I think it’s better if we continue this discussion somewhere else.”

You peer over his shoulder to see Sofia and Meena watching the two of you from the car like hawks, ready to catch any significant interaction that might give away what you two were talking about. When you met their line of sight, they were ready to bring their phones up to feign their disinterest.

“There’s a cafe on the next street over. If you’d like to go there…”

“Nice,” he said cooly, his voice low and sure.

He lifted his phone to his ear. From your peripheral vision, you see his sister raise her own phone in response. It was almost comical how you could see their silent reactions from across the courtyard, with Meena vibrating with excitement and slapping the other girl’s arm as you hear Sofia’s voice trying to sound calm through the speaker of Vernon’s phone. You see them hurriedly lowering the car window and lifting their thumbs up toward your direction.

They seem to think they have finally succeeded. You wouldn’t give them that benefit yet.

When he hung up, Vernon addressed your confused look. “Sofia’s been annoying me about getting the car anyway, so they can have it. Let’s walk?”

It was silent at first. The early afternoon sun cooperated with the cool breeze, setting the atmosphere for a nice leisurely walk. Students and office workers were milling around the nearby commercial strip, with the sounds and conversations all mingling in the background.

It had been years since you last spent time together like this, in an environment not too different from this one. After your study sessions in the library, you two walked together to your shared classes, which by some stroke of luck always seemed to happen for at least one class every semester until you graduated.

You both hung in different circles. He hung around with his fellow music majors in band practices and the college’s musicians organization, while you spent the majority of your time with your mathematics batchmates in the library or the school quad, catching up on problem sets and homework before you needed to make it to your choir’s rehearsals at night.

But when you ended up as seatmates in your first semester, you made a comment on the Bach piece he was listening to, how Bach was actually a pretty mathematical composer. He asked you how you knew that.

You said, “I take mathematics. I needed a cool fun fact for introductions.”

From that moment on, Vernon took it upon himself to make you appreciate how mathematical Bach’s pieces were. Music became your common language amongst everything else in the background, and the rest was history.

“Okay,” you began, “You know that we haven’t really spoken to each other since graduation. So…why choose me? Not that I’m complaining, though! I’m just…shocked, I guess. And confused. Because if you’ve read my research, you’d know that it’s been years since I published anything.”

Throughout your rambling, Vernon simply looked at you. When you finally stop, you notice the clear brown of them looking straight into you. It had been years, but they were the same eyes that looked at you, that listened intently when you were explaining a complex math concept.

It had been years, but that almost unblinking gaze of his still made your heart do unexplainable leaps in your chest.

You broke away from the intensity of his gaze. He took this as a cue to answer your question. “I was looking for research papers to help me form my framework. Then I stumbled on your computations of metered wavelengths and frequencies, and their relation to different kinds of sound.”

That paper. “Oh.”

His lips turned up in the corners when he continued. “I suddenly remembered how we randomly theorized this during one of our study sessions. I couldn’t believe you actually turned it into your master's thesis.”

“You still remember that?”

“Of course. I never thought I’d find someone so in tune with me and my random theories.”

“If you’ve read the paper, you’ll know that it wasn’t a random theory at all. You might just have discovered the makings of a postulate as a college sophomore.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without your mind making sense of it. You really are the brightest of your batch.”

You scoff at the remark. “We’re not in college anymore, Vernon. There are a lot of other bright minds out there.”

“None quite like yours, I’m sure.”

You reach the cafe and order in—a decaf iced americano for you, and a hot chocolate for him. As soon as you two get seated, he finally launches into an animated discussion of his dissertation topic about discovering the medical applications of using the various sound wavelengths from certain types and compositions of music to aid in both the operation and healing process of a person, with the goal of identifying a singular formula to determine the right wavelength for each medical situation. He had his medical experts, all he needed was his mathematician.

It was a lot to digest, to say the least.

But by the end of it all, you were in awe of both Vernon and his mind. He is smart. He’d always been smart, but it felt like the confines of university and immaturity bounded his full potential. Now that he’s seen and explored the world of academia, he was able to finally showcase how bright of a mind he really is.

“Can I tell you something?” You set down your coffee and leaned forward.

As if second nature, he mirrored your action to the tee. “Shoot.”

“I’m proud of you. Really. You used to be this mysteriously awkward guy in college who just played around with guitars and 808s. But I always knew you’d put that big brain of yours to good use.”

He opens his mouth as if in reply, but stops midway and just smiles and scrunches his nose. After a beat, he nods with a look of quiet decision. “Can I tell you something, then?” He asks, worrying his thumb with his other hand as he looks at you. You nod in response.

“It was you that inspired me to be this version of myself. Because you can’t only be smart, you also have to work hard. None of my friends back then had that mindset, then came you.”

“What are study buddies for, yeah?” You raise your fist in front of you. He looks at it and smiles his trademark gummy smile. In return, he bumps his own fist into yours, reminiscent of how you two would check in on each other during extended hours in the library finishing a project or a paper. A fist bump to make the heads bump, you two used to say.

Instead of lowering his fist after, he holds it there flush against yours. “Would it be weird for me to say that it’s honestly more than that?”

“What do you mean?”

He took in a deep breath and let out an exhale just as deep. “When I read your papers, I remembered everything we went through in uni and I just…kinda fell in love with your brain again, I guess. Even until now, you—and your work—inspired me to just do it. Then you started popping up everywhere in my life again and…I remembered how I did kinda fall in love with everything else about you. I was just too young and chicken to see it before.”

It took you a whole minute to find your voice again because how could he be this nonchalant? “You’re really just here dropping all these truth bombs without any warning, huh?”

“Like you said, we’re not in college anymore. I’d rather say it now than never.” Vernon’s smile is a shy one, hidden behind his hot chocolate cup. You can’t believe it took a dissertation paper for anyone’s feelings to be revealed—much less his.

As your mind reels with Vernon’s revelation, you scramble your brains to come up with a lighthearted retort. “So are you still kinda in love with me? Just so I know what and how we’re working on this project.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you’re doing any better. Don’t think I don’t see you staring whenever I fetch Sofia from school.”

You gape at his reply. “How do you even know where to look for me?”

“You’re her last teacher of the day and you both leave the school at the same time. I told you. You just came barging into my life again unannounced, and it wasn’t even your fault. You just sort of…fell in there.”

A smug look took over your features, one you really couldn’t help after hearing all that he had to say. “Vernon Chwe, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were so down bad for me.”

“For that whip-smart brain and that adorable smile, maybe—theoretically—astronomically and catastrophically down bad even.”

You fight the heat rising to your cheeks—and fail. After a cough to hide your growing embarrassment, you say, “I think we’re done for the day.”

“Sure. So. Same time tomorrow?”

You were about to answer when you suddenly realized, “Vernon, it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Don’t you have any other plans?”

He shakes his head and looks you straight in the eye as he says, “Just you. If you say yes.”

Wouldn’t falling further in love with your research partner compromise the integrity of the study? You had no idea. But if that were the case, then you were in for some major trouble.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Friend zone? End zone.

Author’s note: Anon requested🧡

July

Packing everything up and moving to France with no idea where you'd live or how you were going to make money, to study under some of the most well known pastry giants in the world was...crazy. But somehow, opening up your own bake shop in Cincinnati felt even more like you were losing the last hold on your sanity. You didn't know anyone here, no friends or family nearby, but Velvet Clementine was your dream. And today, the dream smelled like vanilla, caramelized sugar, and the bright zest of fresh clementines, located in the middle of the Queen City. You had your own staff, granted it was four people but still, you were the owner, the boss, of your very own place.

Cincinnati had been your home for six weeks when the bell chimed, and two men—tall enough to make your display case look like a dollhouse—ducked into the shop. They moved with effortless confidence, their voices a low rumble of laughter as they scanned the display case with the focus of someone choosing their last meal. You watched them pile on various pastries, looking through the rows of mini pain au chocolat, almond croissants and pastel de nata. The mini fruit tarts featuring clementines and red velvet cakes were the items that made you fall in love with baking, hence the name of the place. The shorter man reached for a tart, its glossy colorful slices glistening under the bakery lights, nestled in a bed of creamy white chocolate mousse. You watched as the other one picked up a croissant, giving it a slight squeeze—a soft crackle of delicate layers breaking beneath his fingers. They seemed satisfied with their various selections, happily walking over to the register, the tall one flashing his almost sinfully perfect smile as he paid for everything. You thanked them for coming in and sent them on their way.

"You can't be serious, how did you not say anything?" Your sous chef Quinn let out a breath she had probably been holding since the two guys walked through the door.

"What are you talking about?"

She scoffed, remembering the fact that you’d lived in Europe the last few years so their presence didn’t hold much weight. She tossed a dish towel over her shoulder as she turned to face you, “they’re Bengals, babe. Like, literal football gods. Also, it helps that they’re stupidly attractive."

You hummed, processing everything she just threw at you. "Well, that part I did notice. And they’re freakishly...big. Good thing we made extras of everything, because I think they just wiped out half the front shelf."

Quinn laughed, stepping around you to check for herself. "I have a shelf they can—sorry."

"Okay easy tiger,” you let out a laugh, “they're gone. Are we still on for drinks tonight?"

"Oh absolutely, I definitely need a martini or three after seeing the best receiving duo in the game, in person. My boyfriend is actually going to lose his mind when I tell him."

You shake your head with a smile on your face, walking back to the kitchen to restock, the scent of butter and cocoa bean filling the air as you slip behind the counter to arrange the freshly baked tarts.

Much to your surprise, they were back three days later. The door sounded again, and the tall one walked up to you, his broad shoulders barely fitting in the doorway. "I'm Tee."

"Hi Tee," you smile, surprised. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon. Or your friend over there." Tee turns around to find Ja'Marr loading up on cheesecakes this time, not paying attention to anything else. The sight of him, mouth half-full of a pastry, causes you to chuckle.

"I didn't either but...damn. You the owner?"

You nod, hesitant but flattered.

"Excuse my language, but yo, this shit fire—like man. We had to come get some more. Everything’s made fresh, from... scratch?"

"Yeah, every morning I get here at like 5:30 and we bake everything. From scratch."

Ja'marr appears next to him, holding a mini crème brulee. "You are VERY good at your job. You'll be seeing a lot of us now that we're back for the season. Swear you weren't here when I left Cincy, how long you been here?"

"Stop, it's not that great.” You wave him off as he continues to nod profusely, holding up his latest find with wild eyes as you laugh again. “And I've been here a little over a month, just moved to Cincinnati actually."

"From?" Ja'Marr pipes up, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

"France, lived there for a few years to perfect my pastry skills and really focus on my craft."

"That's crazy, I just got back from Paris for Fashion Week. The food was amazing and looks like the classes worked cause you definitely know what you're doing."

"Thank you guys. And spread the word will you? I heard you two are kind of a big deal around here."

"Something like that, we appreciate you for these," Tee flashes a wide grin, holding up the bag as he thanks you one more time, "you'll see us back here soon."

The next day they returned the favor and since you'd been feeding them, they wanted to take you to a special spot downtown to really introduce you to the city. Of course you brought Quinn with you. Her boyfriend didn't believe this was actually happening until he Facetimed her and saw the guys for himself. It was nice to finally feel like you'd met people you got along with without having to try to be anyone but yourself. Over the next few weeks while exploring the Cincinnati food scene, you found out that Tee and Ja'marr were funny, sweet and kind, just two guys enjoying the last few weeks of the offseason before training camp ramped up. Both of them were in the midst of contract negotiations, having to explain to you the ins and outs of NFL life. They appreciated that you didn't care about their status and never asked unless they started the conversation and you loved having people around that made this city feel so much less like a foreign country.

Ja'Marr strolled in one morning with a grin, practically bouncing on his feet as he leaned across the counter. "Hey, so listen...you gotta make those mini cakes for my housewarming on Saturday. I mean, you have to be there, since we’re your best friends now and all. It’s only right."

Quinn, who had been wiping down the counter, stopped mid-motion and squinted at him. "Excuse me? So now I’m invisible? You’re just gonna act like I wasn’t the one keeping her entertained before you waltzed in with your designer sweatpants and phenomenal taste in bakeries? Some people." She shakes her head in mock disbelief.

Ja'Marr smirked, completely unbothered. "Anyway, Imma ignore that. Jealous isn't a good look on you Quinn." He quickly turns his attention back to you, "so...you'll be there Saturday right? I'll text you the address."

"Yes, I'll be there."

"And so will I, since we wanna exclude people from the conversation." Quinn adds in from behind you.

Ja'Marr, clearly pleased with his victory, flashed a grin as he turned to leave. "Speaking in third person? You know what I'll just see y'all Saturday." Before heading out, he shot you one more look over his shoulder. "Don’t forget, mini cakes."

As he walked out, Quinn glanced at you, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Looks like you’ve got some serious new friends now, huh?"

"We," you correct her, "we have some serious friends new friends now."

As a business owner, you prided yourself in being a professional. Even at your friend's party, you wanted to be more than on time and make the cakes look as pretty as possible. Quinn had joined you in the last-minute preparations, both of you arriving an hour before the gathering started to get things in order. The large living room was already buzzing—caterers setting up a lavish buffet, trays full of appetizers being placed on side tables. Some of Ja'Marr’s friends, who you assumed were visiting from Louisiana, lounged in the corner, their laughs echoing over the low hum of video game sound effects.

You and Quinn worked in tandem, setting the delicate mini cakes on a table near the center, the soft scent of the various flavors filled the room as you arranged the treats just so. You hadn’t even noticed Ja'Marr and Tee walking towards you until Ja'Marr's voice cut through the conversation.

"You brought my favorite ones, that’s so sweet. I am gonna tear. These. Up." His grin was wide as he took in the display of your pastries while wiggling his fingers.

"Be classy, please," you teased, glancing at him, "we don’t want your neighbors thinking a wild animal moved in next door."

"Nah, it’s cool," Ja'Marr shrugged nonchalantly, glancing down to check his phone. "I think one of the neighbors just got here."

The door clicked open, and in walked a tall figure. Your breath caught slightly in your chest as your gaze followed the man’s movement. His striking blue eyes swept across the room, a faraway intensity to his expression that made it seem like he was seeing more than just the people around him. There was a quiet confidence to his posture, the kind of calm authority that made him impossible to miss. His light brown hair, a little tousled in that effortless, perfect way, gave him the air of someone who had just stepped out of a high-end catalog.

"Burrow!" Ja'Marr exclaimed, his voice shifting into an easy familiarity. "Damn...I’m really surprised you here. Didn’t think you were leaving the house for a year after your little world tour."

"We went to the same country," Joe replied, his voice steady and slightly dry. "And it was just one." He gave Ja'Marr a side hug, but the moment was strange—a quick pinky shake that made you tilt your head, wondering what it meant. Something about it felt oddly intimate.

Ja’Marr turned his attention to you. "You remember that bakery we been tellin' you about? This is Y/N, the owner. We kinda best friends now so you need to get used to seeing her around. And that's Quinn, they're a package deal."

"Nice to meet you both." Joe’s voice was smooth, but there was a slight tension in the air as he extended his hand.

You reached for it, but Quinn—who had been standing beside you—was frozen. Her eyes were wide, staring at Joe like he was some kind of myth brought to life. The words she'd been about to say caught in her throat, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to process the moment. The seconds stretched on, but she didn't seem able to move, her usual confidence wiped away by her starstruck shock.

You nudged her lightly with your elbow, snapping her back to reality. She blinked, her expression changing in an instant. “Sorry,” she said quickly, her voice higher-pitched than usual as she shook Joe’s hand. “It’s just—um—I'm, like, a huge fan. My boyfriend, too. He’s gonna lose his shit when I tell him I met Joe Burrow.”

Joe’s eyebrow raised slightly, a small, amused smile pulling at his lips as he noticed her flustered reaction. He let out a soft chuckle. "Well, nice to meet you, Quinn."

You laughed softly, shaking your head at Quinn, trying to play it off while feeling your own pulse steadily increasing. Quinn, still flushed from her sudden nervousness, was no longer frozen but her eyes were still glued to Joe, unable to hide the awe on her face.

"Okay, now that we've got that out of the way," Ja'Marr said, clearly enjoying the shift in energy. "I know you don't play about your diet but when I tell you these cakes are the best thing I've ever put in my body? I'm being serious."

Before you can roll your eyes or downplay it, the homeowner stops you. "Don't even think about it, I don't wanna hear none of that. We just need to get him to try one."

Joe grabs one with a Biscoff cookie on top and takes a bite, completely unfazed by the fact that everyone is watching. "Wow, this is. This is incredible. I get why they won't shut up about your place. This is really good."

"Thank you," you laugh softly, trying to push down the weird sense of nervousness pooling in your chest. "And thanks for breaking your strict diet to try it, that means a lot."

He nods and more people start to show up so Ja'Marr leaves to greet them and Tee grabs a few tiny cakes for himself, Quinn asking him if he wants a plate. Everyone moved on from the previous conversation but as you made eye contact with Joe, something unexpected happened—a flicker of recognition, of something unspoken, passing between the two of you. His gaze held yours for just a heartbeat longer than usual, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room had melted away. Although you didn’t really want to, you ignored that feeling and focused on enjoying the night.

You and Quinn moved around the party, getting to know different groups of people, mingling with different players on the team, their significant others and she had to explain to you who all these people were. Of course you'd heard the names before, the buzz around the city the closer the players got to training camp and to the season actually starting. But if years in Europe had taught you anything, it was that sports fans are obsessively dedicated and somehow now you had also become an honorary Bengals fan because of Ja'Marr and Tee. And you couldn't wait to cheer them on. But right now? You couldn't wait to be home and in bed.

The exhaustion of the being up since 4:30 in the morning was continuously creeping up on you. The noise and the laughter mixing with the smells of rich food and the clinking of glasses was all becoming a bit too much after a long week of work. Your mind was constantly racing, your body tired and your spirit longed for some peace and quiet.

You slipped outside into the cool evening air, the chill of the night sky a welcome relief from the heat of the crowded room you'd successfully slipped out of. The city buzzed faintly in the distance, but it felt like a different world out here, away from the chatter and the constant movement.

You leaned against the porch railing, closing your eyes for a moment to just breathe.

The door clicked open behind you, and for some reason you knew exactly who it was. His presence was unmistakable.

“Didn’t expect you to be out here,” Joe’s voice was low, a little gruff but soft in the quiet of the night.

You didn’t answer right away, too focused on the quiet of the moment to form any words. You’d seen Joe around the party—he’d been laughing and chatting, looking perfectly at ease, but now he seemed... different. There was something in the way he stood, in the way he gazed at the horizon, that told you his social battery had run out just like yours had.

“You all good?” Joe asked after a beat, his voice a little more concerned than you expected.

You nodded, finally turning to face him. “Yeah. Just needed a minute. It’s...a lot, sometimes, you know? New city, new life, always on the go.”

Joe looked at you for a long moment, as though weighing something in his mind. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I’ve had days where I just need to...step away for a second. Guess we both needed some air, huh?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. Two people who seemed like they could handle anything, both seeking a quiet moment to themselves, at the same time. You glanced at him, noting the way his hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw slightly tense. He wasn’t trying to fill the silence with empty words or forced jokes, and for that, you appreciated it.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just standing there in the cool night air, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. For the first time, you felt the world slow down a little.

Joe shifted, and you glanced over, catching the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Tee and Ja’Marr won’t shut up about you. Guess it’s my turn to see what all the hype is about."

You smiled back, the moment stretching on, neither of you in a rush to move. "Hope I don’t disappoint."

Ja'Marr had you over a few nights later to go over some film with you to get you ready for "the most important season of your life." Tee walked into the living room holding an iPad full of notes, including the presumed depth chart for week 1. Joe sat on the opposite couch, a water bottle on the table in front of him. They gave you a rundown on what everybody's role is on the team starting with Joe.

"He's QB1, you know. Heart of the team, he's our leader." The more he talked, the more it sounded like he was reciting wedding vows to his quarterback, who looked like he was bored out of his mind. You glanced over at him, but he didn’t react, just sipped his water and let Ja’Marr ramble on. You had barely spoken to him all day—just small glances here and there without taking it any further.

The same thing happened the next day. And the day after that.

Finally, you spoke up. "You're not a man of many words, are you?"

Joe barely looked up as he responded, "Depends on who it is and what they're asking." His tone was casual, but there was a weight to it, like he didn’t give away words freely. Like almost every human interaction he had was a secret interview prying into his personal life.

"Okay, well, you've attended three sessions of my exclusive Bengals 101 class, and you've barely said a word," you pointed out, shifting on the couch to face him. "But yet, every day, you're here."

"I love football," he said simply, taking another sip of water. Then he set the bottle down, finally looking at you. "And I would hate for the newest football fan of the crew to be confused in the middle of the Jungle."

"Is that what they call it? The Jungle?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at the fact that he may have just cracked a joke.

Joe gave you a half-smirk and nodded. "It gets pretty wild, Y/N," he said, standing up and patting you lightly on the back as he walked past. "You better be ready."

He always kept interactions short, never going out of his way to talk to you in group settings, refusing to join the group chat that Tee had created with you, Ja'Marr, and Quinn. Instead of treating him like an onion who needed to be peeled, you just went with it and tried to lean in and embrace his dry sense of humor.

One night, you plopped down next to him on the couch. "Hey," you said casually, tilting your head to study him. "I was just wondering—do you ever smile? Like, unprompted? Or do you just reserve happy Joe for the comfort of your gigantic house when you're alone watching SpongeBob reruns?"

Joe turned his head slightly, his lips twitching into a smirk before he quickly looked away, trying to hide it.

Too bad for him—you caught every second of it.

A few hours later, as you cleaned up after another “film session”, you caught Joe watching you from across the room. Not in an obvious way—more like he was trying to figure something out, like you were a broken play he was seeing on his tablet.

He left without saying much, as always. You figured he preferred sticking to his usual routine—keeping his world small, guarded and unbelievably predictable.

So, when you saw him on the other side of Quinn's door after days of radio silence holding several bags of food, you almost dropped the bottle of wine in your hand.

"You know, you probably shouldn't have tipped that delivery guy. He just handed me these bags when I told him I was coming up here. I could've just been some horrible person stealing a perfectly good breakup recovery meal."

"I think because you're...you know—you? He probably would've handed you anything. I’m surprised he didn't ask for a selfie."

“Oh, he did,” Joe deadpanned, shifting the bags in his arms. “I signed the receipt instead. How's Quinn?"

"Honestly? She said she saw it coming, but it still sucks. You can come in."

Before long, everyone had found a spot, the coffee table now covered in takeout containers, the aroma of fried rice and lo-mein filling the air. The soft glow of the TV flickered across the dimly lit living room as Quinn sat curled up in the corner of the couch, picking at her food while Tee animatedly recounted his worst breakup story.

“At least your ex didn’t break up with you via emoji,” Tee said, waving his fork.

Ja’Marr nearly choked on his drink. “You lyin’.”

“Bro, she deadass sent me a salute emoji and just—gone.”

Quinn let out a weak laugh, shaking her head. “Okay, that’s tragic.”

“Exactly. So if I survived that, you’ll survive this.” Tee nudged her with his elbow.

The weight in the room had started to ease, the heaviness of Quinn’s breakup quickly turned into a lighter and softer energy. You sat on the couch sharing a blanket with her, almost having to force yourself into finishing your food because it was unfortunately your first real meal of the day. Joe sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his knee brushing against yours every time one of you shifted. You told yourself it was nothing.

Every once in a while, your eyes met—quick glances during a particularly funny scene, a knowing look when Ja’Marr started yelling at the TV. He was more relaxed tonight, his usual quiet guardedness giving way to something looser, something easy.

For the first time since moving to Cincinnati, you felt it. That feeling of belonging. Of finding your people.

Quinn let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning her head against your shoulder. “I guess I’ll survive.”

“You definitely will,” you reassured her, placing your hand on hers, giving it a squeeze.

Joe shifted beside you, his voice low. “You picked a hell of a crew to stick with.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze, something unreadable in his expression.

“Could be worse,” you teased, nudging his leg slightly.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. For a second, it seemed like he might say something else—but instead, he just reached for an egg roll.

After that night, things started to shift more toward football. The usual late-night hangs became less frequent, the group chat more active with reminders about packing lists and schedules. Training camp was looming, and you could feel the weight of it, even though you weren’t the one suiting up.

One night at Ja’Marr’s, Tee stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. "This is our last free weekend before camp. Y’all better soak it in.”

Quinn groaned. “Ugh. That means my social life is about to take a massive hit.”

Ja’Marr snorted. “Don’t act like we don’t have days off. We just gon be tired as hell.”

Joe wasn’t there that night—he’d taken off for a few days on his annual lake trip, something about needing to “reset.” Not that you were keeping tabs on his whereabouts or anything, but the house felt quieter without him.

Then, two nights before camp started, he walked into Ja’Marr’s house like nothing was different.

Except, everything was different.

Tee was mid-sentence when he noticed, his words dying in his throat as he squinted at Joe. “Boy, what the hell?”

Ja’Marr turned, eyes widening. "Nah. No way."

You blinked. “Did you—did you shave your head?”

Joe barely reacted, setting his keys down like this was any other day. “Yeah.”

“And bleach it?” Quinn added in, looking intrigued...and a little scared.

“Yep.”

Tee leaned forward, inspecting him like he was some rare species. “You look like a villain in a Fast & Furious movie.”

Joe smirked, rubbing a hand over his buzzed, bleach-blond head. “Perfect.”

Ja’Marr was still in shock. “Bro, what possessed you?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “Felt like it.”

You tried to stifle a laugh, shaking your head. Of course. The most dramatic change of the offseason, and he acted like it was nothing.

Quinn tilted her head, appraising him. “You know what? I don’t hate it.”

Ja’Marr ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Man, now we gotta deal with this version of Joe all season.”

Joe just grinned, casually grabbing a side salad off the counter like he hadn’t just broken everyone’s brains. Training camp hadn’t even started yet, and he was already causing chaos.

Quinn, Tee, and Ja’Marr burst out laughing, looking at each other with wide grins. "Hold up—do y'all realize what this means?" Tee pointed between them. "We all got buzzcuts now."

Ja’Marr gasped, nodding. "Oh, it’s a sign. We're about to be in sync this season. Chemistry off the charts."

Quinn snorted. "What, like you're the bald-headed Avengers?"

Tee clapped his hands. "Nah, we’re like…an Olympic relay team. Faster, stronger, better communication."

Joe shook his head, amused. "You guys are ridiculous."

"You say that now, but just wait," Ja’Marr said, stroking his chin like he was cooking up a master plan. "I'm over here manifesting greatness."

Joe just rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his food, but then he caught your expression. You were dying to say something. "Go ahead, tell me what you really think. I've heard a few. Cody Rhodes, Eminem..."

"I was gonna say a more attractive version of Jonah Hill in the 21 Jump Street flashback scenes."

Tee and Ja’Marr lost it. Ja’Marr literally had to grab the counter for support, and Tee was staggering away, gasping between wheezes. "Bro, I can see it!"

Joe stared at you, lips pressing together like he was physically restraining himself from laughing. "That’s just hurtful."

"You asked." You bit back a grin.

The chaos continued around you, but somehow, it ended up just the two of you standing there as the others got distracted by something else.

You hesitated. You shouldn’t ask. But you did.

"Why did you do it?" You tried to sound casual. "Your hair looked fine—I mean, more than fine—but… why?"

Joe leaned against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. His lips twitched like he was about to say something stupid. Then—

"I want frosted tips."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"And I’ve never seen anyone actually look good when they just go get them, so I’m doing it the natural way."

You just stared at him. "Joe. This is the most insane way to get blond highlights, and you know it."

"Sorry you feel that way," he said, totally unbothered. "But I don’t do things halfway. Go big or go home."

He said it so casually, but the way he was looking at you? That was dangerous. The kind of look that made the room feel a little too warm, made your stomach do an annoying little flip. His icy blue eyes held yours just a second too long—long enough for you to realize that you should run for your life.

Because if you stayed here any longer, you might have to admit that you were developing a teeny, tiny, completely inconvenient crush on Joe Burrow.

August

Having a crush as an adult kind of feels like you're having a heart attack. You could be completely fine one second and then suddenly your entire being was consumed with thoughts of him so vivid it made your chest hurt.

The first preseason game was finally here, giving you the perfect excuse to focus on literally anything else. Your first tailgate was an experience, that morning of the game was by far the busiest day you'd ever experienced. Pre-orders were being picked up left and right, mini pies and cheesecakes were snatched off the shelves before 11am and the only thing that remained by the time all of you left the shop at 2pm was a lone batch of cupcakes that you ended up giving away for free at the stadium. It was easy promo.

Paycor Stadium felt like magic. A chaotic, slightly unhinged kind of magic. Fans were everywhere—some already drunk, all of them decked out in orange, fully prepared to dedicate their mental health to a 53-man roster for the next several months. You just wanted to see your friends do what they loved—well, at least two of them, since Ja’Marr was in the middle of a holdout. Or, technically, a hold-in, since he was still around the building but not practicing. You were still trying to grasp the nuances of contract negotiations, and honestly, you needed a few more Bengals 101 cramming sessions to feel more confident in your abilities to explain the situation, if anyone were to ask.

Time slowed when Joe stepped onto the field. And the stadium erupted when he threw a touchdown to none other than Tee. You swore you saw a couple of fans crying, which was kind of heartwarming but also a little funny, considering they didn’t know him personally.

Joe hadn’t talked much about his wrist injury or the recovery process after surgery, and you never wanted to pry. You figured he’d open up when he was ready. But as you watched him out there, commanding the field like nothing had ever been wrong, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had been as easy as he made it look.

He commanded the field like he commanded every room he entered. You met up with him, Ja'Marr, Tee, Quinn and a bunch of his friends from Athens along with his family to gather at his house, not only because it was the beginning of the season, but it was also a new beginning for him post surgery. The celebration was on, laughter and quiet music filling every corner of the house. You couldn't really hear it, but it had to be from Joe's never ending playlist filled with Gunna and Kid Cudi songs. People drifted in and out of conversations, drinks in hand, taking in the importance of indulging in the calm before the storm of the regular season.

At some point, you found yourself in the kitchen, away from the noise, refilling your drink. You weren’t alone for long.

Joe lingered in the doorway for a second before stepping into the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside you. His presence was quiet but steady, like he was still deciding if he wanted to speak.

For a moment, the two of you stood next to each other silently. You were perfectly happy listening to the muffled sounds of the party happening in the next room. Then, finally, he exhaled, his voice low enough that it almost got lost in the noise.

“I um—I cried last night.”

You turned to him, startled by the sudden confession. His gaze stayed on the counter, fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood.

“There were nights when I thought I wouldn’t make it back here,” he admitted. “Like, really about thought it. More than I ever have before.” He swallowed hard, jaw tightening for a second before he let out a humorless laugh. “I’ve never been afraid of failure. Not really. But this time… it was different.”

You could only imagine what that felt like—to have the thing you built your whole life around suddenly feel uncertain. To sit in the unknown and not be able to do anything but wait.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, shifting so you were fully facing him. “I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like for you.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “But I do know I’m glad you’re here. That you made it through. And that I get to see you come out on the other side of it.”

Joe finally looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

Before you could stop yourself, you sighed, "I think about failure all the time."

His brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You glanced down, running your thumb over the rim of your glass. “Every single day at the bakery feels like a risk. Like one wrong move, one slow month, and it all comes crashing down. I try not to let it eat me alive, but it’s always there in the back of my mind.” You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Every day is either a risk or a victory. Some days, it’s both.”

Joe was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “I get that.”

And you knew he did. Probably more than anyone else. Maybe that was the thing about him—he understood the weight of expectations, the pressure of something you love being both the best and hardest thing in your life.

The party carried on around you, but the two of you stayed there, in the quiet.

Joe wasn’t sure when it started, but sometime after the day he met you, he’d found himself wanting to be near you. To talk to you. To hear what you had to say.

Now, standing here, watching the way your eyes softened when you spoke, he realized something that both excited and terrified him.

He liked you. He really liked you.

And when you smiled at him—soft, understanding, like you really saw him—something in his chest tightened. He was absolutely fucked. And he knew it.

The day after his ill-timed epiphany, he had to figure out a way to see you, without making it completely obvious that he wanted to see you. So he did the one thing he could think of.

"THE Joe Burrow, gracing my humble bakery with his presence?" You place a hand over your heart in mock surprise. "Did hell actually freeze over? Or did you finally crack under the pressure of living a sugar-free life?"

The quarterback looks around and shrugs, "told my parents about this place and I wanted to grab them something before they head out. What should I get? What's good here?" He laughs and you glare at him.

"Everything," Quinn interrupts before disappearing in the kitchen to go over their fall menu, "you know this."

"Well…surprise me." Joe says, when it's just you again. "You're the professional here. And I trust your opinion."

You pick out a few things, putting them in a box and handing them over to him after he tapped his phone on the tap to pay. His fingers brushed against yours on the box, just for a second. Just long enough for his slightly calloused touch to settle into your skin. He didn’t pull away immediately. Neither did you. And then, just like that, the moment passed.

Joe thanked you, turning on his heel and walking out without another glance. He told himself not to think about it. About the way your hand felt against his. About how his skin still felt warm where you’d touched him.

He spent a considerably long time staring at his palm in the car before shaking his head, gripping the wheel, and driving himself home.

September

The month came with the promise of real football. Instead, it delivered losses. Three straight. By the end of the month, they were 1-4, and the frustration was suffocating.

Losing wasn’t new to Joe—football was a game of highs and lows. But this? This felt different. This felt like clawing for air and only inhaling more water. He’d been playing pretty well but that hadn’t translated to team success so needless to say, he was frustrated.

And when Joe was frustrated, when the weight of the season pressed down on him, he did what he always did: he shut people out.

His routine became even more rigid. Early mornings. Earlier nights. Film. Practice. Ice baths. Rehab. Study. Sleep. Repeat. No distractions. No detours. Just football.

No one took it personally. Not really. This was how he was wired. How he dealt with things. But that didn’t mean you didn’t notice the way his texts became shorter, the way he started disappearing from the group chat, the way even Ja’Marr and Tee could barely get more than a few words out of him after a loss.

You weren’t even sure if stopping by was the right move. Still, you showed up at his house the day after their first win, peanut butter oat cups in hand and a ton of nerves in your stomach. You just…wanted—no needed to see him. To lay eyes on him and know he was okay.

Joe opened the door a few moments later, looking like a guy carrying a losing record on his shoulders. His hoodie was slightly wrinkled, his hair, which had already grown out tremendously, was still damp from a shower, and there was something unshakably tired about the way he stood.

But when he saw you, his posture relaxed just a little.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Hey.” You offered a small smile, holding out the box. “Figured you’d be on lockdown mode, so I won’t keep you. Just wanted to drop these off.”

His lips twitched like he was debating whether or not to smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But I did.”

Joe exhaled, running a hand over his face before glancing down at the box in his hand with a small smile. You were definitely going to consider this a win.

You let the silence settle between you for a moment before finally saying, “I know this is my first season actually paying attention to all this, but…I do know one thing.”

He looked at you then, a softer expression on his face as he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“This season isn’t over,” you said firmly. “Not even close. I know you well enough to know you won't just give up without a fight.”

Joe swallowed hard, slowly nodding his head. He didn’t respond right away, but you didn’t need him to. Instead, you reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder—just for a second, just to ground him.

“I’ll let you do your thing,” you murmured. “I just needed to see you for myself.”

Something flickered in his expression, something almost vulnerable, but before you could place it, he sighed, releasing a significant amount of tension in his muscles.

“Come on,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’ll walk you out.”

The morning air was cool as the two of you walked in quiet steps toward your car. When you reached the door, you turned to say goodbye, but before you could, Joe pulled you into a hug.

It caught you off guard at first, the warmth of him, the way he held onto you like he needed this moment more than he was willing to say.

And then you felt it.

The steady, rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

You weren’t sure what it meant. If he even realized how much he was giving away just by standing here, holding you like this. And as much as you wanted to say something—to push—you got in your car holding back a smile.

October

The guys were riding on a high after beating the Giants, allowing themselves to celebrate for a total of...four hours.

By the time Joe made his way to Ja’Marr’s place, the energy in the house was still buzzing. Most of the guests had gone home and it was just the core four cleaning up in the kitchen, while others made their way in and out of the house. For once, nobody was sulking over film breakdowns or injury reports. It was rare for Joe to show up to things like this—especially in-season—but a win after weeks of frustration made it easier to step outside his routine, even if only for a little while.

He kept to himself for the most part, sitting back and listening while his receivers talked over each other about plays, what went right and what they could’ve done better. But the conversation took a sharp turn when Quinn, comfortably stretched out on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, looked up and announced, “Oh, by the way, I got her on dating apps.”

Silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

“Wait, what?” Tee sat up so fast he almost knocked over his drink. “Are you serious?”

“Like, for real?” Ja’Marr leaned forward, grinning. “Ain’t no way.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Quinn smirked, pulling out her phone. “Took some convincing, but she finally caved. And now I get to be the supportive best friend who helps her swipe.”

Ja’Marr rubbed his hands together. “Hand it over. We gotta see this. Make sure ain’t no weirdos on there. Last thing I need is for you to end up on some true crime Netflix special.”

Joe stayed quiet, gripping the neck of his water bottle a little too tightly as you handed them Quinn your phone and she pulled up the profile. Tee and Ja’Marr crowded around, making dramatic noises every time they scrolled past a new guy.

“Absolutely not,” Tee muttered, swiping left.

“Oh, hell no.” Ja’Marr swiped even faster. “Why he posing like that?”

“This one’s kinda decent, though,” Quinn argued, nudging the phone toward them. “Look at him.”

Joe didn’t look. He didn’t join in on the commentary, didn’t make a joke, didn’t do anything except sit there, staring at the condensation rolling down his water bottle, wondering why there was a weird feeling sitting heavy in his chest.

It wasn’t like he had a right to feel any type of way about this. And he knew what it meant.

But that didn’t stop him from feeling it anyway no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

Between the temperature fluctuations and the sudden boom in business, your head was spinning. The bakery had never been more popular. What had started as a hidden gem over the summer had officially become one of Cincinnati’s go-to spots. Lines stretched out the door on weekends, with customers raving about the new fall menu: cinnamon swirl snickerdoodle blondies, apple cider donuts, maple pecan scones. You barely had time to catch your breath between managing the chaos and perfecting each batch, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Meanwhile, the Bengals’ season remained a rollercoaster. A solid win against the Browns gave everyone a glimmer of hope, but that optimism came crashing down when the Eagles steamrolled them by twenty. After that game, no one heard from Joe. His silent rage wasn’t unusual after a loss, but it was nevertheless, felt from miles away.

The next week, they bounced back in a big way, blowing out the Raiders at home. The scoreboard said it was a dominant win, but Joe was still visibly pissed, seen on the sidelines venting to Zac Taylor about missed offensive opportunities and a shit ton of penalties that should've been avoided. The moment went viral—clips of his animated rant flooded social media, with analysts debating whether his frustration was a sign of his competitive fire or a deeper issue brewing in Cincinnati.

That night, everyone met at Jeff Ruby’s for dinner, but Joe didn’t show. To the surprise of absolutely...nobody.

Toward the end of the night, the restaurant manager approached your table with a takeout bag in hand. “This is Joe’s order,” he explained. “He called it in, but something came up. He asked me to give it to you, is that okay?"

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I got it.”

It wasn’t long before you were standing outside his house, takeout bag in hand, knocking on his door. When he opened it, he looked exhausted. Not physically—no visible bruises or signs of injury—but mentally. His eyes were dull, his usual composed demeanor carrying an edge of frustration.

You gave him the bag. “Figured you should still eat.”

Joe took it with a small nod. “Thanks.”

For a second, you considered just leaving, letting him sit with whatever was weighing on him. But instead, you crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You wanna talk about it?”

He let out a slow breath, rubbing his jaw before stepping back to let you in. You followed him to the kitchen, watching as he set the bag down on the counter but didn’t open it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, finally breaking the silence. “I just—” He sighed. “I’m playing well, but I don’t know if we as a collective have what it takes to close out games when it actually matters. We can beat shit teams, but the moment we go up against a real contender, it’s like everything falls apart. And I hate feeling like we’re right there but just not good enough.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. Joe wasn’t the type to be satisfied with mediocrity. He needed to win, and not just in ways that looked good on paper. At this point, to get back on track they needed to look dominant— unstoppable. Not like kids throwing together a project at the last minute because they forgot the due date.

“I get it,” you said softly. “This is your job, your career. You don’t half-ass anything, and you don’t want to settle for middle of the pack.”

Joe’s lips pressed together, his gaze flickering to yours. “Exactly.”

He ran a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “I’m sorry for missing dinner. Just…had a lot on my mind.”

You tilted your head, a flash of curiosity taking over. “Anything besides football?”

For a second, he was quiet, debating whether or not to answer. You could see the internal battle written all over his face, his jaw tensing and flexing as he pondered the risks of honesty.

Then, he muttered, “Fuck it.”

Your brows lifted, but before you could ask, he looked at you—really looked at you—and said, “I’ve been...thinking about you.” His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the weight behind it. “More than I want to. More than I should.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

You should’ve said something, but for once, you had no idea what to say. Instead, you took a step forward. Joe’s eyes tracked your movement, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance. His hand brushed against your waist, his gaze flickering to your lips, leaning in ever so slightly—

“Yo, have you seen my phone charger?”

Ja’Marr’s voice shattered the moment like glass.

Joe immediately stepped back, cursing again under his breath as Ja’Marr walked into the kitchen, completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted.

Your entire face was on fire and you were sure your heart was seconds away from bursting out of your chest.

Joe looked like he wanted to murder his best friend.

November

Neither of you brought up what almost happened. Maybe because neither of you were sure it should have happened. Or maybe, deep down, you were both afraid of what it would mean if you admitted that it did.

So, instead, things carried on like normal—except they weren’t normal at all.

Joe still came by the bakery, though now he had a habit of showing up under the guise of casual excuses. Like when he walked in one morning, a familiar water bottle in hand, and placed it on the counter in front of you.

“You left this at my house,” he said, completely straight-faced. “Wanted to make sure you’re staying hydrated.”

You blinked at him, then down at the bottle—one of many you’d undoubtedly left behind at places far more inconvenient. “You drove all the way here for…this?”

Joe shrugged. “Seemed important.”

Quinn made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. You didn’t have to turn to know she was giving Joe a look—one that said she saw right through him.

Still, nothing was said.

The two of you danced around the elephant in the room for 17 days. Then came the bye week, and as fate would have it, or your own personal hell, you ended up at Joe’s house, standing side by side in his kitchen as you baked a pumpkin pie together. The whole thing came randomly, he mentioned in passing that it was his favorite and he was spending his entire bye week on the couch so naturally you came up with a solution. Nobody else was free so it just ended up being you and him. Of course.

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg, and warm sugar, the scent pulling you into your natural element. This was your Paycor Stadium, your stage. R&B played in the background, filling the comfortable silence as Joe rolled out the pie dough with slow, concentrated movements. The counter was dusted with flour, the remnants of your work scattered across the surface.

"You’re pressing too hard," you murmured, stepping in behind him. You placed your hands gently over his, guiding his movements. "You want it even, but not overworked."

Joe huffed out a breath, the warmth of his chuckle brushing against your cheek. "So what you’re saying is, I’d be terrible on a baking show?"

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as you both worked the dough. "I’m saying, there's some room for improvement for sure."

Joe turned his head slightly, just enough for his blue eyes to catch yours, his expression hard to read but there was a certain glimmer in his gaze. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. This was how it had been for months now—a quiet understanding, an unspoken closeness that had slowly built between you. It was in the way he showed up to your bakery with your favorite coffee, the way you memorized his weekly schedule, the way he looked for you after every home game, his gaze scanning the crowd in the player guest section postgame until he found you.

The pie crust was ready now, but neither of you were ready to move to finish it.

Joe’s hands lingered under yours, his thumbs lightly grazing your knuckles. "I like this," he admitted after a moment, his voice low. "Us. Doing this."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Me too."

It wasn’t just about the pie, and you both knew it.

You helped him move the dough into the pan, your fingers brushing again, sending little shivers up your spine. The pumpkin filling sat ready in a glass bowl, waiting to be poured, but Joe seemed far more interested in you. His eyes traced over your features, cataloging every detail as if he was afraid he’d forget them.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

Joe shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

He exhaled slowly, rolling his lips together as if debating what to say. Then, instead of answering, he reached out to touch you, his fingers trailing down to your jawline, resting there a smidge too long. His movements were gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t. You couldn't.

The space between you evaporated, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so delicate, so achingly tender, that it stole the breath from your lungs. It was slow, unhurried, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you against him. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself sink into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with vanilla extract—it was intoxicating.

Joe deepened the kiss, a quiet desperation laced within it, months of lingering glances and fleeting touches culminating in this moment. You felt his hesitation fade, replaced by something raw and real, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

But then he pulled away.

And you saw it—regret, creeping into his expression before he even said the words.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “This was a mistake.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Are you serious?”

Joe exhaled, looking anywhere but at you. He was still standing somewhat close but his hands weren’t on you anymore, making the temperature in the room instantly feel like it had dropped 20 degrees. Even the expression on his face was a little colder than before. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Your heart was pounding, anger curling hot in your chest. It was the only thing fueling you and keeping you warm. “I think it's a little too late for that. Joe, things have already changed. These past few weeks—hell, these past few months—we’ve been dancing around this. We’re not in fucking high school. Just tell me the truth.”

You took a step closer, forcing him to face you. To look at you. “Do you honestly have no feelings for me?”

Silence.

Then, finally—too quiet— “I don’t.”

You flinched like he’d slapped you.

Joe must have seen it because he let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just—overwhelmed. The team is losing, and I’m playing the best football of my life, and I just—I can’t add another thing to my plate right now.”

You studied him for a long moment, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. Then, finally, you nodded.

You stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to say something—but he didn’t. He just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes locked on the floor like he was hoping if he didn’t look at you, this would all just go away.

“You’re such a coward.”

Joe’s head snapped up, but you were already shaking your head, anger and frustration crashing into you all at once.

“You are so stuck in your own head,” you continued, voice sharp, unrelenting. “You keep everyone at arm’s length so you don’t get hurt. So you don’t have to admit that you actually feel things like a normal human being. You’re not some heartless football machine, Joe. You don’t have to live, breathe, and die this sport 24/7 to be fulfilled.”

You took a step forward, forcing him to face you, forcing him to hear you. “And you can stand there and act like this isn’t real, like there’s nothing between us, but I know there is. And you do too. Maybe it’s new, maybe it’s always been there, but I’m not stupid. At least I didn’t think I was.”

Joe’s jaw tightened, but he still said nothing.

And that? That pissed you off even more.

You scoffed, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you turned on your heel, grabbing your things off the counter. “If you want to pretend none of this is real, then fine. I won’t fight you on it.”

Joe didn’t move. He didn’t stop you.

You lingered for half a second, hoping—praying—that he’d snap out of it. That he’d reach for you, say your name, give you anything.

But all he did was stand there, motionless, watching you go.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head one last time before you reached for the door.

“Don’t burn my pie,” you muttered, then stepped outside, slamming the door shut behind you.

December

Joe told himself, over and over, that he’d made the right decision.

That pulling away had been necessary. That it was better this way.

But as the weeks passed, the reality of it settled in like a dull, persistent ache in his chest. The group dynamic wasn’t the same anymore. Quinn was firmly on your side, and Tee and Ja’Marr were caught in the middle, trying their best to act like everything was normal when it clearly wasn’t.

You only hung out with them if Joe wasn’t going to be there, and eventually, he stopped showing up altogether. Left the group chat, too, because what was the point?

So, yeah. He told himself this was what he wanted. That it was for the best.

Then one day, the night before his birthday while the Bengals were in Dallas, his house was broken into.

It was everywhere. The footage of the smashed window. The grainy security cam stills of showing the inside of his house. The headlines dissecting every detail—what was stolen, how much damage was done.

For a second—just a fleeting, stupid second—he thought maybe you’d reach out.

But you didn’t.

And why would you? It wasn’t your place anymore.

You were moving on. Meeting new people.

Like Cory.

Sweet, mature, honest-about-his-feelings Cory.

More than Joe could say for himself.

Joe wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

At all, really.

But when he overheard Tee and Ja’Marr talking about you, about how you’d been going on several dates with some guy named Cory, he couldn’t help but listen.

“Seems like a good dude,” Tee said, scrolling through his phone. “Takes her out, treats her right.”

“She actually looks happy, too,” Ja’Marr added. “Not whatever the fuck that was with Joe.”

Joe rolled his eyes, slamming his locker shut. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ja’Marr turned to him, unimpressed. “It means you fumbled, bro.”

Tee nodded. “Big time.”

Joe exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t in the mood for this. But they weren’t letting it go, so he told them. Everything. The kiss, the fight, the way he let you walk away because he was too caught up in his own head to admit how he really felt.

By the time he finished, Tee and Ja’Marr were looking at him like he was the dumbest man alive.

“You fumbled twice,” Tee corrected.

“She’s moving on,” Ja’Marr added. “And from the sound of it, dude’s actually putting in effort. You had your chance.”

Joe didn’t respond, just sat there, feeling more irritated by the second. He told himself he didn’t care.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft hum of jazz playing in the background as you swirled the last bit of your wine in the glass. Across from you, Cory was smiling, eyes warm and excited in a way that made you feel a little guilty. He was sweet, thoughtful, and easy to be around. The kind of man that you bring home to your parents and settle down with. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was easy. There was no tension, no unsaid words, no history thick enough to make the world stand completely still for a minute.

You were on your fifth date now, and even though you liked him, you knew deep down you weren’t feeling it the way you were supposed to.

“I, uh—I actually got something for you,” Cory said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Well, it’s more of a surprise, really.”

You set your glass down, watching as he pulled out a sleek envelope and slid it across the table toward you. “Go on, open it.”

You hesitated before peeling it open, your heart practically stopping when you saw what was inside. Two tickets to the game—Bengals vs. Broncos. A must-win. And VIP passes for the postgame meet-and-greet.

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“I wasn't snooping in your house or anything but I did see a Bengals cup in your cabinet the other day. But you never really said anything about being a fan?” Cory said, clearly proud of himself. “i don't know, I figured you might like it. And hey, you can finally meet some of the players.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. You swallowed down the instinct to refuse, to make up an excuse, to say absolutely the fuck not. But what reason did you have? To Cory, there was nothing complicated about this—just a thoughtful gift for someone he was getting to know.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Wow, Cory. This is...really sweet of you.”

“So, you’ll come?” he asked, his grin widening.

You nodded, the weight of your own decision pressing against your chest. “Yeah,” you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I’ll go.”

And just like that, you sealed your fate.

Admittedly, it was their best game of the season. A win in OT, a Tee touchdown to keep their playoff hopes alive, and all the players riding on a high of a multiple game win streak. A month ago, you would've been celebrating right along with them. But tonight you really needed to get through this meet and greet without throwing up. And without blowing your cover. If nothing else, this was Cory's opportunity to have a once in a lifetime experience and the last thing you wanted to do is ruin that.

And then you saw him.

And Joe saw you with...him.

He saw how the guy next to you couldn’t wait to shake his hand—Joe thought it was a joke. Thought maybe this was some kind of sick cosmic punishment for all the terrible decisions he’d made in the last few months.

You looked good, unfairly good in your jacket and Bengals beanie, one that Tee had given you and Joe felt his irritation morph into something else entirely.

You weren’t even looking at him.

Cory, meanwhile, was beaming. “Man, it’s so cool to meet you. You played great tonight.”

Joe barely managed a nod, jaw tight.

Cory didn’t seem to notice the tension thickening the air, but you did.

And when your eyes finally met Joe’s, there was something there—something that made his pulse jump—before you quickly looked away.

Yeah. Joe was pissed.

The moment Cory got distracted meeting some of the other players, shaking hands and taking pictures, Joe saw his chance. He stepped toward you, lowering his voice.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “Attending a football game, in the city I live in. Apparently that's a crime now.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then be more specific," you bite out.

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “Him? This?” He gestured vaguely in Cory’s direction. “Really?”

Your expression hardened. “Yes, really. He’s kind, honest, actually says what he feels instead of hiding behind excuses and—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “You know what? No. I don’t owe you an explanation. I don't owe you shit.”

Joe clenched his jaw. “So that’s it? You’re just—what? Moving on like none of it mattered?”

“Oh, now you want to talk about it?” You whisper yell. “You didn't have anything for me when I asked you, remember? All you could do was look at the floor like a freaking idiot. It was crickets and now you have the nerve to ask me what this is? You don’t get to do this, Joe. You don’t get to push me away, call me a mistake, then act like you suddenly care when you see me with someone else.”

He stepped closer, voice low and tense. “You know damn well I care.”

You swallowed, blinking up at him, and for a second—just a second—Joe thought you might let your guard down. That you might admit there was still something there.

But then you shook your head. “If you actually cared, we wouldn’t be having this conversation here. We actually wouldn't be having this conversation at all. I would've been here, with you. Not looking for pieces of you in another guy, a perfectly nice guy who just wanted to meet the freaking Bengals today. So if you don't mind, I'm gonna go meet Tee Higgins and Ja’Marr Chase...for the first time.”

Joe didn’t know what to say to that.

So you left him standing there, walking back toward Cory with a smile, pulling him in for a hug like Joe wasn’t just barely holding himself together.

January

Exactly seven days later, while Cory was over watching the game with you, Joe took a hit and stayed down. This time you were hanging on by a thread, on the inside. On the outside, you shoved some popcorn in your mouth and sipped on ginger ale, hoping the bubbles would bring your heart back to its rightful place instead of where it currently resided...in your stomach. You didn't know if he had a concussion but he definitely looked out of it, missing throws he usually made and the Bengals escaped Pittsburg by the skin of their teeth, securing a two point win on the road, their destiny up to chance. Ja'Marr called you in the locker room after the game to tell you he needed you at the watch party for good luck in praying on the Dolphins and the Broncos downfall. You told him you'd think about it, part of you didn't mind being in the same room as Joe, especially after you caved and watched his postgame press conference to make sure he wasn't lying about being concussed. Maybe the two of you could be cordial with each other and leave the past behind.

You woke up on the couch with NFL Network still on tv. Something about it felt embarrassing, because it felt right. Months ago you were watching an introduction to football PowerPoint and now you'd regularly catch yourself having football withdrawals. Just as you were ready to call it a night, turning off the tv and mentally preparing yourself to head to your room, you heard a knock at the door. Who could possibly be coming over at 2 in the morning?

You stood frozen in the doorway, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Your stomach dropped—hard and fast—like missing a step in the dark. Joe was standing there, still in the clothes you had seen him wearing during in his postgame press conference. His hair was a mess, the shadows under his eyes deeper than usual. He looked exhausted. But that wasn’t what made your breath hitch. It was him. Here. Now. After all this time.

“Joe.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

He exhaled heavily, a far away look in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms, trying to steel yourself, ignoring the way your pulse was racing. “You don’t know? What do you mean you don't know? You just drove around after you landed and magically ended up here?”

“I don't know, I just—I couldn’t go home. Not without seeing you.” He swallowed hard, eyes flickering over your face like he was searching for something, anything that might give him an answer. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but when I got on the plane, all I could think about was you.”

Your heart clenched painfully. Damn him.

“You scared the hell out of me tonight,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “Watching you go down like that—” You shook your head, gripping the fabric of your hoodie. “I hated it.”

His eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. “I know. Can we just—can I come in?”

You stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing in around you.

“Joe.” You sighed, your resolve crumbling at the sight of him standing there like that, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him in.

“Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a minute.”

And against your better judgment, you stepped aside.

Joe ran a hand over his face and took a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking on that play, the pocket collapsed so fast I didn't even have time to throw the ball away. And when I hit the ground, all I could think about was you.” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Not football, not the game, not the playoffs. You. And how I’d fucked everything up so badly that you wouldn’t even reach out. That I wouldn’t get a chance to apologize.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable.

“I’m so, so sorry. I was a coward,” Joe admitted, his voice breaking. “I am a coward. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be in control—of my game, my career, my emotions. It's kind of my thing. And you…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You fuck all of that up for me. The way I feel about you scares the living shit out of me.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

“I’m not some heartless football robot,” he continued, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m a man who’s been terrified to feel anything real because it means I can’t control it. And when I’m with you, it’s real. It’s been real for months, and you were right. About everything. I was too much of a fucking idiot to admit it.”

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow. You wanted to believe him—God, you did—but you couldn’t just let him walk back into your life like he hadn’t wrecked you before.

“I need you to give me a chance to fix this,” Joe pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Please.”

You swallowed hard. “Joe…”

“I swear to you,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his hands almost reaching for you before he forced himself to stop. “I promise, I will prove to you that I’m not that coward anymore. Just… just say you’ll let me try.”

You studied him carefully, searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only raw, unfiltered desperation and a kind of vulnerability you had never seen from him before.

Your walls were still up, but something inside you cracked. Just a little.

“You have to earn me this time,” you whispered.

Joe nodded instantly. “I will.”

After a hard conversation with Cory in the morning, you decided to attend the watch party the next day to test the waters. And to see your friends all in one place again. The atmosphere in Joe's house had shifted from tense to comfortable, a soft kind of warmth that had been missing for a while. The room was still, save for the quiet hum of the television, which was showing the Broncos slowly dismantling the Chiefs, much to the frustration of everyone else in the room. Joe had been quiet for the most part, lost in his thoughts, but you could tell he had already come to terms with the inevitable.

You weren’t sure if you should be relieved or sad about the Bengals missing the playoffs, but you did know one thing: it didn’t feel like the end for you and Joe. Not anymore.

The room had cleared out, the others heading to their respective homes after the game, leaving you and Joe alone. The snow outside had started to fall heavier now, creating a peaceful stillness that you couldn’t help but love. Joe seemed to notice the shift in the air as well, his eyes softening as he glanced over at you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His concern was still there like that first night he found you outside the housewarming party, that need to take care of you even now.

You nodded, even though there was a part of you that was more uncertain than you wanted to admit. “Yeah. Just…just thinking.”

He leaned back against the couch, eyes flicking to the window as the snowflakes danced in the cold air. “You want me to drive you home? It’s getting pretty bad out there. Or, you could stay? Only if you want to."

You hesitated for a second, a small part of you wanting to avoid the drive, to stay with him just a little longer. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he was sure this time. Like there was no more running. “I think…I think I want to stay,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Joe didn’t need any more convincing. He pulled you in close to him on the couch, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he let out a slow sigh. “I’m really gonna miss football," he murmured. “But I’ve got a lot of work to do with you, so I guess I’ve got some time now. I messed up before. I’m not messing this up again.”

You smiled, the weight of the past few weeks lifting off your shoulders just by being close to him. “I can’t wait to put you to work, 6am at the bakery tomorrow morning. And the next few mornings. For a while.” you teased, your voice barely audible.

Joe’s eyes darkened for a moment, a quiet promise in his gaze. He cupped your face gently, leaning in with a tenderness that took you by surprise. When his lips met yours, it was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment. A kiss full of unspoken apologies, solidifying what was to come, and the quiet declaration that he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right between the two of you. Even if some of that ended up with him getting covered in flour for the foreseeable future.

You didn’t pull away. In fact, you melted into the kiss, your heart swelling in your chest as his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place like you were exactly where you belonged.

He pressed one more slow kiss to your lips before his eyes flicked to yours, searching. “So… does this mean our friendship over?” His voice was low, careful, but there was something else there—hope, maybe.

You didn’t even have to think about it. You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head and running your fingers through his hair. “Absolutely. It’s dead and gone.”

Joe exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head before reaching for you, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “Good,” he murmured, tugging you closer. “Because I really didn’t want to be your friend anyway. Got much bigger plans in mind.”

[charliemwrites]

Woof, grrr, woof

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Your trip to the vet turns up nothing. No microchips, and none of the staff recognize the wolf-dog. They’re the only vet in town too, and he looks too pristine to have come from another…

“You’re a weird little guy, huh?” you muse on the car ride to the pet store.

The vet office was kind enough to make a file for him, standing name “Buddy”. If you get to keep him, you’re definitely changing it. They also gave you a spare leash so that you wouldn’t have to leave him in the car while you shop.

It’s a pitifully flimsy thing, but the dog seems leashed trained and does tug. Could probably let him off it and he’d stay glued to your side.

The shopping is even weirder. He doesn’t seem very distracted by treats or food, only snaps at other dogs when they get into his personal space. Otherwise, he just stays right next to you, tongue occasionally lapping at your hanging fingers.

“Beautiful dog,” a man says to you. An older guy, rugged, looking at toys.

You shift. “Thank you.”

“Should really be feeding a beast like that a raw diet.”

“Raw diet?”

“What they get in the wild. All that processed shite ain’t good for ‘em.”

You thank him for the advice over the dog’s grumbling. A quick internet search on your phone reveals it’s not a bad idea, actually. Not too expensive either.

“Raw it is,” you muse.

He tilts his head, make a low “woof”. You scratch absently at his ears as you continue shopping. Let him pick toys - his favorite a squeaky grenade of all things that he refuses to put down. You get a big matching set of food and water bowls, a cushy dog bed, a parasite repellent. Even some dog pads in case he’s not house trained.

You stall in the leash aisle, a bit overwhelmed by the choices of leashes and collars and harnesses.

“How do you feel about pink…?”

Snort.

“Yeah didn’t think so. I didn’t like the rhinestones anyway. You’d probably end up eating one and shitting glitter.”

A long whine.

“Oh, sorry, is that embarrassing? Poor love.”

The gentlest scrape of big teeth at your knuckles. You chuckle and tap two fingers on his sandpaper tongue. His head jerks back, tongue flicking in offense.

“S’what you get, dummy.”

Shaking your head, turn back to the selection. The pup huffs, shakes his head, and noses at something lower. It’s a deep green - army, you think the shade is called - collar with a silver buckle instead of a snap clip.

“Not bad,” you muse. “Matches the whole woodsy vibe we’ve got going.”

You find the matching leash and harness set, dropping it in your cart. You receive several more compliments on your big gorgeous dog, though he refuses to let anyone pet him. You awkwardly make excuses that he’s a recent rescue and try to avoid further conversation.

The last stop is at the kiosk for a tag. You can’t just let him go without one, but you despise officially naming him “Buddy.”

You end up just putting your name, number, and address on there. A matte black heart engraved with silver.

“What do you think?” you ask, offering it for a sniff.

The dog doesn’t even pretend to be interested, just takes the opportunity to drag his tongue over your wrist again. You huff and wipe off on your pants.

“Gonna have to take another bath at this rate.”

You ignore his grumble - it’s uncanny at this point, how quick he is to respond - and guide him out to the car. He hops into the passenger seat, flops over into your lap first chance he gets. You have to nudge his snout away from your crotch again, but he seems satisfied with a hand smoothing over his head.

Home is warm when you arrive. You set up your new dog’s things, buckle him into his new collar, tag and all.

“There,” you coo, dropping smooches all over his head. “Look at how handsome you are, sweet boy! Can I have a kiss?”

You yelp as he barrels you over onto your back, well over 100 pounds of wolf-dog stretching over you. You turn your face away as he licks at your mouth, trying to get inside. You remember reading somewhere that that’s a wolf thing; just another tick in the “hybrid” box.

“Gross, gross! Nooooo,” you laugh, covering his snout. You squeal as his tongue flickers between two fingers. “Nasty boy! You’re so rude!!”

He finally lets you up with much coaxing, looking far too pleased with himself.

You make yourself dinner, providing your dog with scraps of chicken and unseasoned veggies based on your online reading. He seems happy with the offering, eats it all up with gusto.

As the evening comes, you stretch out on the couch. Finally feel brave enough to put on a scary movie now that you’ve got a big-ass deterrent.

Your dog even climbs up to cuddle, head on your chest while you hug him through scary parts. The really interesting part comes at the end, during the climax.

“Heeeeeere’s Johnny!”

Your new companion perks up, eyes on the screen.

“Oh? Is… is that your name? Is your name Johnny?”

His head snaps around to you, ears straight up and eyes bright.

“Johnny…” you croon, trying it out.

He makes a little “boof” noise and wriggles closer.

“Johnny baby,” you continue, grinning. “Johnny boy. John John the bon bon.”

It’s utter nonsense, but it makes his tail thump against the cushions, leaving slobbery kisses of excitement all over your neck and jaw.

“Alright alright!” you laugh, dropping a kiss on the top of his nose. “Johnny it is. Thank fuck I don’t have to come up with a name. Was thinking of calling you Philip or Simon or something.”

You yelp as he starts to make gagging sounds, nearly kicking him off the couch before it seems to subside.

“Good lord, bud,” you breathe as he grumbles and settles his head on your thigh, puffing out a big breath through his nose. “You’re gonna be a handful.”

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Masterlist

[kissbyoon]

𖼥ৎ⠀“RECIPE OF LOVE.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯ INWHICH kim mingyu—the nation's favourite chef, is willing to lose against you.

₍ ... ₎ EXPLORE? ✦ chef!mingyu & chef/f!rea ⋆◞ 𝒈. romantic, crack, angst & fluff by the end · 𝒄𝒘. reader wears (long) skirt, mentions of scissors & food, kissing⎯⎯ ꒱

리자: part of valentine's special event—RUSH FOR LOVE! stop stop! Highly recommended to listen to 'I wish' during the last angsty scene and 'to you' during the kiss (also at the last) <3

"Kim Mingyu—the rich, famous and insanely good-looking chef of the country that worked in the same multi-million company as you. Expect, you just joined the company. And what you thought was rivalry between you two, turns out to be something much more sweeter."

“He is so handsome!” “How can he be so perfect?”

Just like any other new staff, your first impression on Kim Mingyu was just that.

But as time passed by, you started to despise the fact that he always overshadowed others.

By others, I mean you.

And the way everyone was always over him—’Kim Mingyu this, Kim Mingyu that’—it made your blood boil in anger and jealousy.

You swore that you could beat his cooking skills.

One problem, though; Mingyu wasn't just an ordinary professional chef. He was famous, rich, invited in every cooking show you've ever watched as a judge.

But when the company acknowledged you as one of the capable people to do the work for their biggest product projects─it didn't take long for Kim Mingyu to be your opponent.

Mingyu would work on his recipe, and you would on yours. And the best one gets selected.

How hard could it be? Right?

Not when your opponent is already starting his work, and you are still processing how to get things done.

It was exhausting and draining. But you kept trying to come up with something until there was only two weeks left. There was no way you could get this done now.

But when you arrived to work the next day, you found two large sticky notes by your office desk. It was a dish recipe.

You were used to writing down your recipes and pasting them around your house. So, thinking that it was yours, you decided to give it a try and head to your department's kitchen.

Entering the kitchen, the first person you see is Kim Mingyu—stirring something in a bowl. You try to ignore his presence, and reach out to grab an apron from the hanger.

"Good morning," Mingyu wished, making sure his presence wasn't ignored. You turned to look at him, and he wore that same stupid grin on his face.

Faintly smiling, you nod your head in acknowledgement and get back to your work. Mingyu didn't find it interesting to pester you further, so he focused in his work as you did on yours.

After a few minutes of silence, you were startled by Mingyu's voice suddenly calling out, "That's not how you do it," he said, and he looked genuinely offended at how you handled the recipe.

"Oh? Then teach me, Mr. Perfect Kim." You taunted. But the man simply grinned and stepped forward to grab the pan handle from your hands.

"Watch, and learn." He slyly smiled, wearing a mischievous glint in his eyes that made your lips curve into a small smile.

"Okay, Mr. Kim. I'm watching."

"Stop being too formal." He complained.

He then poured the batter from the bowl on the pan, and effortlessly began to toss it in the air. The sweet and tangy smell of the sauce filled your nose as he slowly spread it evenly on the fritter.

Your eyes glittered with awe at the sight of his cooking. And what also didn't go unnoticed by you, was the way he showed off his biceps while flipping the pan—causing you to giggle at his antics.

After the fritter was done, he grabbed a plate from a nearby cabinet and served the fritter ready.

It was perfect. It smelled perfect, looked perfect and would definitely taste perfect.

And maybe, you underestimated his potential.

Turning around with the plate in his hands, Mingyu grinned from ear-to-ear, waiting for you to say something.

"That's how it's done." He said, stretching out his arms to hand you the plate. "Take a bite, and tell me it's perfect!"

Holding in a smile, you take the plate from his hands. "Fork," you gestured towards the countertop, where a bunch of utensils lied. Mingyu followed your command and quickly grabbed a fork before handing it to you.

You break the fitter in half, scooping up a small bite in your mouth—while the man in front of you waited eagerly for your comment like a kid.

"Hm," you hummed, furrowing your eyebrows. And Mingyu's smile immediately dropped at that.

"What," his lips jutted out in a pout. "Is it not good?" He asked, playing with the ring on his finger.

It would be a disappointment if you didn't like it. Because the recipe itself was made for you. By him.

"It's..." You sighed, gulping. "Amazing." You breathe out, widening your eyes to prove your point.

"I knew it!" Mingyu grinned adorably, clapping his hands together. "You're such a tease."

"Look who's talking."

"Hey, I'm your senior, have some respect!"

"You were the one who just told me to stop being so formal?"

"...right."

From that day onwards, you realised that Kim Mingyu... wasn't so bad as you thought. There was a reason everyone was so down bad for him, and now you start to see that too.

During work hours, Mingyu would often offer to help you out with the kitchen work—even staying behind during night shifts.

He was a kind, handsome, respectful, funny and a loveable guy. You don't know why you couldn't see that before.

As the day of selection neared, you started to notice how giddy Mingyu would get when you mentioned the recipe you were making.

And on the day of selection, you surprisingly won against him. Were you happy? Yes, of course. But did you like to watch Mingyu lose like you wished? Strangely, no.

And you tried your best to ignore it for seven whole months, until one day.

You were scanning through your desk when you found your scissors missing. So, when Mingyu was passing by your office, you asked him to let you borrow his scissors for sometime.

He agreed, but was busy with work, so he suggested you to get it yourself from his desk.

As you started to search for it, your eyes landed on a small notepad—likely of his recipes. Interested and meaning no harm, you flip the page and read through. Completely neglecting the fact that you were here for the scissors.

But, your eyes caught a specific page.

04.06.24 — RECIPE FOR Y/N ♡

(do not let her know about this...)

"What the fuck," you muttered under your breath, reading each and every step of the recipe. It was exactly the same as yours—the one which you thought was written by you.

Did you really just find out the real reason behind your selection after seven months?

"Did you find it?" Mingyu stepped into his office, closing the door behind him. But before he could look at the notepad, you slide it under your pocket and glance around his desk.

Mingyu makes his way to his desk, searching for the scissors. As your eyes caught the scissors lying over a stack of books, you quickly grab it and nod your head.

"It's here, idiot." you gently smack his head, earning a laugh from him. He straightened himself, and reached out to rub the part where you hit—dramatically scowling with a pout.

"That wasn't very nice, y'know," he complained, waiting for you to fall for his cute actions and maybe earn an apology.

You giggled, waving the scissors in your hands. "I'll return this later," you say. "I'm off to work now!" Completely ignoring the man in front of you, you make your way towards the door and Mingyu just stands there, watching you walk away.

"There's something called being considerate!"

"What's that?" You turn around for the last time, making him frown with your words. "Hey—" "Also, meet me at the corner shop tomorrow at six. I'll be waiting." Cutting him short, you then walk away to your office.

And the subtle shift in your tone by the end didn't go unnoticed by Mingyu.

The next day was the 14th of February, or you could just say Friday.

Which meant that you had gotten off work earlier than usual—around 3PM. While Mingyu gets off at around 4. So it's fair for both of you to arrive at the corner shop at 6.

As soon as the clock hit 6, Mingyu was off to the corner shop and he reached there sooner than he had expected to. But you were nowhere to be seen. So, he went inside and bought two ice creams for himself.

"Alright, thanks," Mingyu thanked the young cashier, making his way out of the shop with two ice creams in his hand.

Just as he began to savour the first bite, he felt the ice cream on his other hand getting snatched away—making him turn around in the speed of light.

"Wha—"

"I see how it is, chef." You teased with the nickname, taking a bite of the ice cream in your hands. "You were going to eat these alone?"

"No, I—" Mingyu gulped down, blinking with a pout on his face. "You shouldn't eat ice cream in this cold weather," he mumbled, reaching out to take the ice cream from your hands.

You sway his hand away, watching his expression drop. "Double standards?"

Mingyu clicked his tongue and turned away with a disappointed look. "It wasn't bought for you anyways!"

Letting out a sigh, you stretch your arm in his direction, offering him the ice cream back. "Okay, big baby, you can have it."

The man turns around to face you with a look of disbelief. "I was just joking! Do you see me as a kid who cries over ice creams?" He rants with a small offended pout. "And plus, isn't it obvious that I bought it for you?"

"Honestly?"

"No, leave it."

You laugh at his defeated expression as Mingyu sighs with a faint smile. His hand reaches out to hold yours. "Let's go take a seat."

You let him take you to a nearby park, that was rather empty. He guides you towards the swings, helping you to sit down on one and takes a seat himself.

"So, is there something you want to..." Mingyu trailed off, turning to look at you. You nod, taking another bite of your ice cream before handing it to him and pulling out a notepad from your long skirt's pocket.

"This," you say, reaching your hand out to show him the notepad that was turned at a specific page—RECIPE FOR Y/N.

You thought he'd panic, or he'd become nervous at the sight of it—but he just smiled, and shifted his gaze on you. "What about it?"

"I—" you pause, blinking. "I wasn't supposed to find it!"

"But you did," he simply said, taking the last bite of his ice cream. "And it was perfect. I don't see a problem with that."

You wanted to protest, but instead, you just sigh and lean back, staring at the page. "Why would you even do all this?"

"For you," Mingyu's voice softened, making you glance at him. "I did it for you."

"I didn't want it!" Your tone was slightly harsh, but when your eyes met his gentle ones, it softened immediately. "I never said I wanted it..." Your lips unknowingly formed a pout. And your eyes became glossy at the sight of Mingyu.

"Yes, I did want to win against you. I did want to prove to everyone that I'm also a good chef," you ranted, tears welling up gradually. "I also wanted to show everyone that you weren't as good as all of them thought you were!" Your voice cracked by the end, as you reached out to wipe the tears rolling down your cheeks.

Mingyu immediately stood up, rushing to your side as he kneeled down. "Hey, hey—"

"But you made it hard for me to compete against you!" You cried out, hiding your face in your hands. Mingyu's hand instinctively reached out to brush your hair away from your face, gently removing your hands and held it in his.

"Why do you have to be so kind?" As he pulls you into a hug, you mumble against the thick fabric of his jacket, his hands patting your back in a gentle motion.

"You want to know why?" His voice was barely a whisper, gentle and warm. You nod, waiting for him to continue.

"But," he slowly pulled away from the hug, hands reaching to cup your cheeks. "I thought I was obvious enough?" Mingyu tilted his head, furrowing his eyebrows in a cute manner.

You stare up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Come on," he sighed. "Does that mean my hints didn't even reach you this whole time?" A chuckle escaped his mouth at the sight of your genuinely dumbfounded expression.

"Could you be, like, a little more specific? Please?" You held back the urge to pick up a fight with him, because how could he laugh in this situation?

He leaned down, subtly closing the distance between you two, making your breath hitch. "It's because I care about you," he smiled, tucking a hair strand behind your ear. "And it's not friendly shit. Not at all. I hope you get what I mean."

Your eyes lit up and you made no effort in trying to move away from him. It gave you warmth and comfort, to be this close to him.

When you took a little too long to respond, Mingyu could swear his breath got caught up in his throat and he tried his best to act normal. "I might need a response from you to move on," he tried to laugh it off, leaning away to step back.

But you immediately stood up, gently but tightly grabbing his collar and pulling him in for a sweet, beautiful kiss that you both knew you two craved. Your lips fell quiet against his, waiting for him to respond back. And he did, kissing you softly with a smile forming on his lips.

A few seconds into it, he slowly pulled back, staring into your eyes like the whole universe hid behind them.

"You scared me," Mingyu chuckled, pressing a light kiss on your lips.

"Don't be a coward and initiate the kiss, Mr. Kim." You giggled, cupping his cheeks in your hands as he nodded with a determined expression, and pulled you by the waist to kiss you again.

He pulled back, face red from blushing and grinning. "Like this?"

Maybe this is what you call a recipe of love.

[reasonsforhope]

Article

"The Democratic Party largely coalesced around Vice President Harris as its likely new presidential nominee on Monday [July 22, 2024], as she kicked off her campaign by promising to prosecute a forceful case against Republican nominee Donald Trump and defend the legacy of President Biden.

Hours after she delivered remarks laying out some of the themes of her campaign, Harris secured pledges of support from a majority of Democratic National Convention delegates, a forceful show of unity behind her presidential campaign that signals she is likely to officially become the party’s nominee next month.

“Over the next 106 days, we are going to take our case to the American people, and we are going to win,” Harris said during a visit to campaign headquarters in Wilmington, Del., where she was greeted by a group of energized staffers for Biden’s now-abandoned candidacy. Harris accused Trump of wanting to “take our country backwards to a time before many of our fellow Americans had full freedoms and rights.” She added, “we believe in a brighter future that makes room for all Americans.”

Biden dialed into the impromptu meeting, using his first public remarks after dropping out of the presidential race Sunday to thank his staff and ask them to support Harris with “every bit of your heart and soul.”

“The name has changed at the top of the ticket, but the mission hasn’t changed at all,” said Biden, who joined remotely from Rehoboth Beach, where he has been recovering from a case of covid. “We still need to save this democracy. Trump is still a danger to the community. He’s a danger to the nation.”

The high-energy, highly unified setting reflected the broader sentiment across the Democratic Party, in which Harris’s swift ascendancy has upended an already tumultuous and unpredictable presidential race. After being exhausted by weeks of turmoil and infighting over Biden’s prospects, relieved and newly energized Democrats across the country rushed to embrace Harris’s candidacy and unite around the goal of defeating Trump.

Less than 36 hours after Biden abruptly exited the race and endorsed Harris as his successor, hundreds of state delegates, the majority of Democratic lawmakers and governors, a group of state party chairs, and several influential interest groups threw their support behind Harris, as other potential candidates said they would not challenge her. Top congressional leaders followed suit, with Senate Majority Leader Charles E. Schumer (D-N.Y.), House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries (D-N.Y.) and former House speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) expressing support for Harris on Monday.

While a small number of Democrats have advocated an open, competitive process, Harris appeared to have an inside track Monday to quickly securing the nomination ahead of the party’s convention next month...

After celebrating the extended infighting and discord that plagued Democrats in the aftermath of Biden’s halting performance at the June 27 debate, Trump’s allies watched Monday as Democratic leaders quickly fell in line behind Harris.

“I’m excited to fully endorse Vice President Harris for the next president of the United States,” Kentucky Gov. Andy Beshear (D) said Monday on MSNBC’s “Morning Joe” program. “The vice president is smart and strong, which will make her a good president, but she’s also kind and has empathy, which can make her a great president.” ...

Democratic Govs. Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan, J.B. Pritzker of Illinois and Wes Moore of Maryland also endorsed Harris on Monday, joining a growing list of potential rivals for the nomination that instead opted to endorse her candidacy. Govs. Gavin Newsom of California and Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania, each considered potential candidates, both endorsed Harris on Sunday.

Democratic leaders on Monday unveiled a new virtual process for selecting a nominee to replace Biden that would conclude by Aug. 7, ahead of the nominating convention in Chicago next month. The dates for the virtual process will be announced on Wednesday.

The private doubts about Harris’s vulnerabilities and less-than-impressive polling numbers largely remained unspoken Monday as Democrats appeared eager to consolidate around a candidate and head off a messy competition for the nomination 106 days before the Nov. 5 election. During her visit to campaign headquarters in Wilmington, Harris was greeted by more than 100 staff members who gave her a standing ovation. The room was covered in newly printed signs that read “Harris for President,” though at least one lingering “Biden-Harris” sign stood as a testament to how rapidly the presidential race had shifted.

Campaign aides said more than 28,000 new volunteers had signed up to lend support, more than 100 times the typical number. Harris, who has been traveling around the country, planned to continue her campaign travel this week.

Trump had built an advantage in polls of key swing states and has at times appeared frustrated with Biden’s exit from the race, lamenting Sunday that he had to “start all over again” after long focusing on Biden...

Harris’s operation raised a record $81 million in the first 24 hours after Biden dropped out and endorsed his vice president, aides said. A group of tens of thousands of Black women gathered on a virtual call Sunday evening to showcase their support for Harris’s bid to become the first woman of color to be president...

Harris has already begun leaning into her background as a prosecutor and state attorney general as she began to cast the race against Trump in a new light.

“In those roles I took on perpetrators of all kinds,” she said. “Predators who abused women, fraudsters who ripped off consumers, cheaters who broke the rules for their own gain. So hear me when I say I know Donald Trump’s type.”"

-via The Washington Post, July 22, 2024

[magnagaruzenmon]

Another Life: Aristocrat

So as you know I have two writing partners The expressive and fast talking Star Vader Dio, and the steadfast, hotheaded EmperorDinozenmon, both despite themselves love Twice however I don’t agree with their choices of biases.

For Dio despite all of his over the top flare and larger than life presentation he’s actually really quiet and selective about who he allows in his life and sees him. He swears by his love of Jihyo and if Burlesque is anything to go buy it’s very sincere but she doesn’t fit him at all. His homebody tendencies and unrelenting writing process leans way more towards Mina and her love of legos, violent media and zombies. So for his alternate story I’m doing an alternate version of Burlesque.

If there are two things Dio loves it combat, and thic thighs So I did both in my story for him.

Mina adored the brutal matches held at the Iron Chapel, especially when her favorite fighter took the stage. She only lamented one thing: the unfortunate timing of most of his fights.

Dio Castillo made quick work of his opponents during the day matches—a scheduling choice that would have been inconsequential, if not for one critical detail: Mina was a vampire. Sunlight was her mortal enemy. Yet, undeterred, she attended every one of his fights, a black parasol forever in hand, shielding herself as best she could. Thankfully, Dio’s bouts were often scheduled early in the morning, before the sun reached its cruel peak. Whether by design or accident, it was perfect for her—though Dio had no idea.

Today, Mina perched in the shadowed stands, her parasol angled just so, watching Dio square off against a flower mage named Tiberius. The mage was talented—nimble, strategic—but Dio had him outclassed. He was a tempest of blood and aura magic, utterly relentless.

With a fierce elegance, Dio unleashed torrents of combat magic, flooding the arena in waves of teal and crimson. He moved with a dancer’s grace, every strike fluid yet lethal, each step radiating a beautiful, poisonous aggression that made Mina’s cold heart flutter. She leaned forward, anticipation crackling through her veins.

“Yes, darling!” she cheered, unable to contain herself, as Dio crushed yet another challenger.

As the match ended, Dio expertly recalled the blood he had expended, pulling it back to himself like a conductor commanding a symphony. Mina’s hunger spiked, primal and feral. She watched, entranced, as Dio exited the arena, the crowd’s roar fading behind him. Something within her, long restrained, snapped.

She had to have him.

⸻

Dio was peeling off his gloves in the Iron Chapel’s modest locker room when the door creaked open. He turned, expecting a fellow fighter or a staff member. Instead, she stood there: a vision of quiet elegance, a storm of lustful hunger simmering just beneath her polished exterior.

“Um… can I help you?” Dio asked, caught off guard.

Mina, struggling to maintain composure, stammered at first before finding her voice. “You are incredible,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice was velvet over steel. “I’ve been watching fights at the Iron Chapel for some time now, and you… you’re by far the finest fighter they’ve ever produced. You entertain. You fight with grace. And you’re utterly relentless.”

Dio blinked, nodding slowly. “I appreciate that,” he said carefully. There was no fear in him exactly—he’d fought worse than an overeager fan—but it was rare to see a woman, especially one so aristocratic and self-possessed, so enraptured by the brutal spectacle of the Iron Chapel.

Before he could say more, Mina closed the distance between them, the air between them charged with something electric.

“Would you like to go out with me?” she asked, her voice low, almost predatory.

Dio blinked three times, stunned into silence. And then, almost without thinking—before he could tally the risks, before he could even consider the strangeness of it all—he said:

“Yes.”

Two days later, Dio found himself standing outside a Lego café, still trying to process the fact that this was where Mina had chosen for their date. It was… surprising. He had come to expect something far more formal, far more grand from someone as regal as her.

Mina, as always, looked breathtaking. She wore an elegant white blouse tucked into a flowing violet skirt, her black boots stretching all the way to her thighs. The outfit, despite its modesty, sent violent, electric currents of lust racing up and down Dio’s nervous system. When Mina caught the flash of hunger and desperation barely restrained behind his polite smile, her lips curled into a victorious, knowing smirk. She knew she had him.

They were quickly ushered inside and given a table tucked far away from the windows, deep in the darkest corner of the café. As they walked through the brightly colored maze of Lego sculptures and chattering patrons, Mina leaned in just slightly and murmured, her voice a velvet caress:

“You know, you don’t have to hide that you desire me.”

Dio nearly tripped over himself trying to respond, stammering something unintelligible. Mina only laughed, a gracious, musical sound, before they slid into their booth. She set her ornate parasol neatly beside her and settled across from him, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

A cheerful waiter appeared almost instantly, grinning as he greeted them.

“Will it be your usual today, Mrs. Myoui, or would you like to try something new?”

Mina pretended to ponder the menu for a moment, though she had already sampled every item at least twice. Eventually, she ordered the Blood Moon Coffee and a Raisin Cinnamon Roll.

Dio, after a moment’s indecision, ordered a hot chocolate and a breakfast platter. He turned to Mina with a sheepish grin.

“We can probably share,” he offered.

Mina’s crimson eyes gleamed as she regarded him, the hunger in them layered now with something softer, more amused.

“How considerate,” she purred.

A comfortable silence fell between them as their orders were prepared. They both pulled out the Lego sets they had brought along. Dio revealed two spaceship kits, setting them down with a boyish excitement, while Mina carefully opened a boxed Sakura Tree set she had been meaning to build for months.

She laughed softly as she watched Dio instantly lose himself in his project, brows furrowed in adorable concentration.

Dio looked up, catching her laughter.

“Something funny?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Mina smiled warmly, resting her chin lightly on her hand.

“I just never expected you to be so… innocent outside the ring. I mean, you’re the Crimson King. The Dragon Emperor of Blood and Terror. And here you are, methodically reading Lego instructions like a kid on Christmas morning.”

Dio flushed slightly but smiled brightly.

“Well,” he teased, “you did invite me here.”

Mina laughed again, seeing beyond the blood and violence now. She saw the man—a layered, fascinating man—beneath the reputation.

“I see that,” she said, her voice softening. “So tell me, Dio… how does someone as talented as you end up a magus fighter in a brutal place like the Iron Chapel?”

For a moment, Dio hesitated, the pieces in his hands forgotten. Then, with a shrug, he spoke, as if finally letting go of a burden he’d carried too long.

“By happenstance,” he said simply. “My family are… religious anti-magic fundamentalists. When I started manifesting powers, they pushed me to suppress them. But the more I fought it, the stronger my magic became. It burrowed into me, made itself a part of who I am. Eventually, I couldn’t suppress it anymore… so I turned to fighting others instead.”

Mina’s smile faded slightly, sadness flickering in her crimson eyes. No wonder Dio fought like a man possessed. His magic wasn’t just power—it was survival.

“Your parents are fools,” she said, voice low but firm. “They should have fostered your gifts, not tried to destroy them with their antique fears.”

Dio chuckled darkly.

“The funny thing is… they’re all mages too,” he said. “They just can’t see their magic for what it is. They call it faith.”

Mina stared at him for a heartbeat, shocked. Then she laughed—a rich, delighted sound that warmed the space between them.

“You’re quite perceptive, Dio,” Mina said, a glimmer of admiration shining through her usually poised amusement.

Dio smiled at her, humble and bright. “Thank you.”

Just then, their drinks arrived—rich aromas curling into the air between them. Mina’s Blood Moon Coffee steamed gently in its obsidian cup, and Dio’s hot chocolate was topped with a perfect swirl of cream. As the clink of bricks resumed, models began to take shape on the table, and quick, stolen glances passed like flickers of candlelight between them.

Though they sat nestled in the darkest corner of the café, the warmth they shared seemed to light the space on its own.

At first, Mina had approached this outing as a playful indulgence—another chance to tease, seduce, and maintain the upper hand. But now, sitting across from Dio in this silly, serene little corner of the world, something unexpected crept in.

He radiated calm. Despite his violent profession, there was something soothing about Dio—like the stillness after a storm. Around him, Mina didn’t feel the need to posture, to control. She felt… safe.

Her gaze drifted to him again—his brow furrowed, tongue pressed slightly to the inside of his cheek in childlike concentration as he clicked pieces into place.

Something stirred in her chest. Foreign. Frightening. Wonderful.

And then, without warning, she giggled—a small, sweet sound that burst out of her like a secret, surprising even herself.

Dio looked up, startled but clearly pleased.

“You’re really amused by this, aren’t you?”

Startled by her slip, Mina straightened, her aristocratic instincts snapping into place.

“I merely find it… endearing,” she said coolly, her voice wrapped in velvet and frost.

But even she could hear the lie in it. Her own mask wavered.

Dio grinned knowingly, his tone gentle but teasing.

“You don’t have to act so fancy around me, you know.”

Mina froze. Her first instinct was to preserve her image—to brace and withdraw. But something inside her, something tender and aching, wanted to be seen.

So, with slow deliberation, she set down the delicate sakura branch she’d been building. Her elbows rested on the table. Her chin settled in her hands.

“I suppose I don’t,” she murmured.

Her lips curved into a smile—wide, warm, even gummy—and utterly breathtaking in its vulnerability.

Dio laughed softly, and Mina laughed with him—really laughed. Her voice sparkled, musical and unrestrained. The elegant mask she wore in every ballroom, every shadowed alley, fell away entirely. Her cheeks flushed a faint, rose-petal pink—a color she hadn’t worn in centuries.

“You’re… adorable,” Dio said, like the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Mina blinked, stunned for a moment. Then her head tilted like a curious cat’s.

“You think I’m adorable?”

Dio nodded with zero hesitation.

“When I first met you, you were this terrifying goddess. But right now? You’re just… a really pretty girl building a Lego tree.”

Mina covered her mouth as she laughed again, shoulders shaking with delight.

“I suppose that’s not the worst thing to be,” she said, voice gentler now, no longer sharpened by expectation or pride.

The next hour passed in an easy rhythm. They traded banter and bites of cinnamon roll, Lego bricks and small confessions. Mina teased Dio about his ships. Dio teased her when her sakura tree lost a few petals mid-build. The sweetness of it all chipped away at the centuries of solitude she’d wrapped around herself like a shroud.

At one point, Mina leaned over the table to point out a flaw in Dio’s build—only to suddenly realize how close they were. Their faces hovered inches apart. Breath mingled. Eyes locked.

For a moment, the clamor of the café faded. The world shrank to a heartbeat between them.

Mina recovered first, pulling back with an exaggerated grace. Her fingers delicately readjusted her collar, though the tips of her ears flushed bright pink.

“Careful, Dio,” she said with mock warning, her voice dipped in mischief. “Get too close, and I might not be able to control myself.”

Dio chuckled, warm and inviting.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind.”

Her heart fluttered—an ancient organ responding to something that felt maddeningly new.

Their food arrived shortly after, and Dio, ever observant, carefully began to organize his plate. With surprising finesse, he selected cuts of meat and vegetables and arranged them onto a smaller plate—precise, intentional, and gently slid it toward Mina.

She blinked, confused.

“How did you know what I wanted?”

Dio shrugged, but his smile was sheepish. “Just a feeling.”

Mina stared at him, more astonished than ever. Somewhere between the battles, the bricks, and the banter, she had made up her mind.

“You’ve made me feel more alive in the last two hours,” she said quietly, “than I have in the last three hundred years.”

Her eyes gleamed, not with hunger, but clarity.

“Dio… will you be my lover? My one true paramour?”

Dio looked at her—truly looked—and without hesitation, replied:

“I’d love to.”

Mina’s eyes widened briefly, then softened. She leaned over the table, cradled his cheek, and kissed him.

The kiss was gentle at first—warm, exploratory, sincere. But almost instantly, something ignited inside her. The warmth bloomed into a heat she wasn’t ready for. Her instincts surged—predatory, ravenous, ancient. Her breath hitched. She broke the kiss before it could turn feral.

Dio, ever composed, blinked slowly and gave her a lopsided smile.

“You’re a really good kisser,” he said, cheeks slightly flushed.

Mina sat back, flustered and wide-eyed, fingers brushing her lips.

“You’re… dangerous,” she whispered with a breathless laugh.

Dio smirked. “Right back at you.”

As the two fell into a natural rhythm with each other dates became more frequent and costly. While Mina had paid for everything Dio felt like he should be doing more for her but couldn’t because he didn’t have 4,000 years of funds to work with until Dio suggested an idea.

It started with one quiet afternoon at Mina’s estate—a “low-effort” date, as Dio called it. No grand illusions, no ballgowns or combat gear. Just takeout, pajamas, and whatever movies Mina had stacked on the console she almost never used.

She hadn’t even owned proper pajamas until Dio asked what kind she liked.

Now, draped in soft lilac satin trimmed with lace, Mina sat curled into the corner of her velvet settee, her bare feet tucked beneath her as she watched Dio bumble around her kitchen like he’d lived there all his life. He wore a faded T-shirt with a cartoon dragon and loose flannel pants, and he looked devastatingly comfortable.

More than that—he looked happy.

“You make a disturbingly good cup of tea,” she murmured as he handed her a mug. “Are you sure you’re not some retired butler?”

Dio chuckled, settling beside her. “I was raised in a house where tea was one of the few peaceful things we were allowed to do.”

Mina hummed softly, cradling the mug in her pale hands. Her mind catalogued the way he tucked his legs under himself, the way his weight made the couch dip just enough for their sides to touch.

She expected the buzz of desire, the easy tension of proximity. What she didn’t expect was this—this quiet hum beneath her ribs. This ache. This… safety.

Dio hit play on the remote, and the screen filled with an aggressively silly romantic comedy about a mermaid barista and a cursed prince who could only speak in coffee metaphors. Mina scoffed at the premise, but twenty minutes later, she was gripping Dio’s arm and stifling giggles into his sleeve.

“This is terrible,” she whispered, eyes wide.

Dio grinned. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

The next time he came over, he brought matching pajamas—his and hers onesies, soft as clouds and covered in constellations. Mina had scoffed. Then blushed. Then wore hers without hesitation.

Each date was like a gentle spiral inward. Movies became marathons. Dinner became cooking together. Their conversations stretched late into the morning, Mina curled against Dio on the floor in a tangle of limbs and blankets, her hair loose and wild from sleep.

She caught herself, more than once, watching him with a feeling that felt too big for her chest.

And that was the problem.

He’d fall asleep beside her on the couch, one arm slung lazily around her waist, and she’d look down at him and feel her fangs ache—not with hunger, but with longing.

She wanted to keep this. She wanted the softness of it, the small domestic rituals. The quiet laughter in moonlight. The late-night confessionals. The sound of someone breathing beside her who wasn’t a dream or a ghost.

Worse—she wanted more.

She wanted children. A family. A little one with Dio’s curls and her sharp eyes, someone to tuck in and read to and protect. A nest, not just a home.

The realization struck her like a blade through silk. She was a vampire. That sort of future had always been off the table—or so she told herself.

Now she lay awake in the stillness after a midnight movie marathon, Dio fast asleep against her chest, and all she could do was stare at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.

The ache inside her was no longer hunger. It was hope.

And that was so much more dangerous.

Weeks passed as Mina’s emotions reignited, her cold distant facade gave way to a real warmth that continued to surprise her but Dio always took in stride. Until today as she was fretting over him after one of his most brutal matches.

Mina paced the length of her sitting room for the fifth time, arms crossed, lips drawn into a tight, unrelenting line.

Dio lay on her chaise, legs outstretched, wrapped in a fuzzy burgundy throw blanket. His knuckles were bruised, a faint sheen of healing scars still blooming over his collarbone and ribs. The fight had been one of the worst she’d seen—vicious, prolonged, and feral. A ferromancer who bent steel like thread and had turned the arena into a death trap. And Dio had won, of course. He always won.

But when she’d seen him stagger for just a moment—just a moment—her dead heart had clenched in a way that made her want to rip the world apart.

“Sit down, Mina,” Dio said gently, watching her with tired amusement. “I’m fine.”

“You were not fine five hours ago,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “You were bleeding and half-conscious and laughing like a lunatic in a crater of your own making.”

“I mean… that’s not inaccurate,” Dio said, smirking.

Mina rounded on him, suddenly at his side, kneeling beside the chaise like a thunderstorm wearing silk. “Do not joke. You could have died.”

Dio blinked. Something in her tone caught him off guard—raw, shaking, terrified.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that,” she whispered. “Not in three hundred years have I… feared like that.”

Dio reached out and took her hand, gently pulling it into his lap, thumb stroking the back of it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She exhaled, still tense. “You didn’t just scare me, Dio. You unmade me.”

A long beat passed between them.

“You think I’m fragile,” he said softly. Not accusatory. Just… observing.

“I know what a human body can and cannot withstand. And yours—Dio, your ribs cracked. I heard it.”

Dio’s fingers laced through hers, calm and steady. “Mina… I’m not just any human. My blood, my bones—they’re hexed.”

Her brow furrowed. “Hexed?”

He nodded, the ghost of a grin on his lips. “The magic went into my blood remember especially with it being old magic that tends to have unintended effects. My blood and bones are Bound with a triple-folded longevity spell, runes etched into the marrow. I regenerate fast, age slower than most vampires, and unless someone decapitates me and sets the remains on fire during a blood moon, I’m not going anywhere.”

Mina stared at him.

“You’re functionally immortal,” she repeated slowly.

Dio shrugged, bashful. “Yeah. Kind of.”

Her shoulders sagged all at once. The relief hit her like a wave. But so did something else—something heavier, quieter, and altogether more terrifying.

She looked at him—really looked—and felt something coil in her stomach, soft and ancient.

“I didn’t know I could be this afraid for someone else,” she said. “I’ve always kept myself above it. Even when I loved before, it was from a distance. But with you…”

She trailed off, voice wavering.

Dio brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, letting his hand linger. “With me?”

“With you, I feel real. Human, almost. Messy. Soft.” Her voice dipped. “And that’s… hard.”

Dio smiled. “You are soft, Mina. You just spent ten minutes arguing with my tea because you thought the leaves didn’t steep long enough to help me recover.”

“I was being correct.”

He laughed. And then he leaned forward, gently kissing her knuckles. “It’s okay to love me like that. You don’t have to apologize for caring.”

Mina’s eyes shimmered, like crimson glass. “You’re not afraid of how… possessive I might become?”

“No,” he said simply. “Because I’ll love you just as fiercely back.”

She swallowed, something old and fragile in her cracking wide open.

They stayed curled together on the couch after that, watching bad television. Mina’s head rested against Dio’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. And for the first time in centuries, she didn’t feel like a creature pretending to be human.

She felt like a woman with something to lose—and someone worth fighting for.

Later that night It was supposed to be a quiet evening—tea, books, maybe another movie with Dio. But then Mina got the text.

Chaeyoung says you’re finally dating?? Bring him. We’re bored.

—Jihyo

Now, Mina sat stiffly on the velvet couch in the parlor of a candlelit bar that didn’t technically exist on any mortal registry. The air was thick with glamour and centuries-old inside jokes. Dio was beside her, surprisingly relaxed for a man surrounded by four immortal women with fangs and questionable boundaries.

“Wow,” said Nayeon, eyeing Mina’s modest blouse and perfectly coiffed bun. “Look at our Little Duchess, all grown up and pretending she’s not secretly a mess.”

“I am not a mess,” Mina said sharply.

Jeongyeon snorted. “You were literally crying over a spilled cup of pig’s blood last time we saw you.”

“It stained a first-edition Lovecraft.”

“You didn’t even like Lovecraft,” Sana chimed in. “You just wanted to sound spooky and well-read.”

“She used to do that all the time,” Jihyo said, settling across from Mina and Dio with a grin. “Remember the poetry phase?”

“Oh gods,” groaned Jeongyeon. “‘Do not go gentle into that good night’ — except she did go gentle. Right into a satin-lined coffin with lavender sachets.”

Dio tried valiantly not to laugh. Mina elbowed him, cheeks flushed the faintest pink. “You’re all insufferable.”

“And you love us,” said Nayeon sweetly, ruffling Mina’s hair before Mina could dodge it. “How’s the mortal, by the way?”

Dio held up a hand in greeting. “Still here. Not dead. Big fan of lavender sachets, actually.”

The other vampires cackled.

“I like him,” said Sana, sipping dark red liquid from a crystal glass. “He’s got good teeth.”

“I’ve been told,” Mina muttered, sliding her hand into Dio’s under the table.

“So,” Jihyo said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Is this serious, Mina? You getting domestic on us?”

Mina hesitated—but only for a second. “Yes,” she said softly, squeezing Dio’s hand. “It is.”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“Awwwwwwww,” they all groaned in perfect unison.

Mina buried her face in her free hand. “I regret everything.”

Dio leaned toward her, whispering, “They’re like… vampire sorority sisters.”

“They’re my sorority sisters,” Mina said through gritted teeth.

“You were the pledge,” Nayeon teased. “Always trying to out-elegant us with your tea parties and tiny books.”

“And now you’re dating a fighter who drinks chocolate milk,” Jeongyeon added.

“I like chocolate milk,” Dio said, offended.

Jihyo lifted her glass. “To Mina. Our eternal little sister. May she always try and fail to be the most sophisticated one at the table.”

“Cheers!”

Mina groaned. Dio grinned. And somewhere beneath all the chaos and teasing, she felt… home. After several rounds of teasing and a suspiciously spicy blood cocktail courtesy of Sana, the conversation took a turn—as it inevitably did when vampires had too much time and too little shame.

“So,” Jihyo said, eyes glittering with mischief, “have you two… consummated the brooding blood-soaked romance yet?”

Mina choked on her drink.

“Oh my god,” she hissed, dabbing her lips with a napkin as if she could wipe the horror off her face. “Jihyo.”

“What?” Jeongyeon said with a wolfish grin. “You’ve got that freshly-bitten glow.”

“I do not—”

“Definitely glowing,” Nayeon said, nodding. “And soft. Our Little Duchess is getting cuddled, huh?”

“You’re like… radiating ‘I get tucked in at night’ energy,” Sana said, then reached across the table and poked Mina in the cheek. “It’s terrifying.”

“I hate you all,” Mina muttered, clutching Dio’s hand for dear life.

Dio looked between them all, clearly amused. “This is amazing. You’re all like weird, immortal aunties.”

“Excuse you,” Jihyo said, “we are weird, immortal big sisters. There’s a difference.”

“Big sisters who apparently want to know the status of our sex life,” Mina muttered under her breath.

Sana raised an eyebrow. “Well, Mina’s dating a mortal. We have to check! You know how fragile they are. One good bite, and poof.”

Dio chuckled, leaning back comfortably. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Four pairs of vampire eyes turned to him at once.

“Oh?” Jihyo said, intrigued.

“Please don’t,” Mina whispered, burying her face in her hands.

But Dio grinned and said casually, “I’m functionally immortal.”

A beat.

“What?” said Jeongyeon, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Dio continued, like he wasn’t casually throwing the entire room off its axis. “Hexed blood and bones. Magic in the marrow. Not aging, regenerates fast, can’t die unless you do some extremely complicated magical nonsense under a blood moon.”

The silence that followed was stunned.

Then: “Oh my god,” Nayeon breathed. “Mina, you bagged one of us.”

Mina groaned, sinking lower in her seat.

“That explains the stamina,” Jihyo muttered.

“JIHYO!” Mina shrieked.

The table dissolved into absolute chaos. Dio just laughed, tugging Mina gently into his side.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she mumbled, cheeks flushed red.

“I think they like me,” he said smugly.

“They like you too much,” she growled.

“I’m immortal,” he whispered into her ear. “You’re stuck with me.”

And despite the embarrassment, the teasing, and the fact that Sana had just offered to make them a “bite-friendly bedroom set,” Mina smiled.

Because it was true. He was hers—and maybe, just maybe, forever wouldn’t be so bad. The teasing finally mellowed into laughter and warm candlelight, the group settling into the kind of comfort only ancient creatures and their obliviously charming mortal-plus-one could achieve.

Dio sipped from his chocolate milk—his third, courtesy of Sana insisting he “hydrate like a good boy”—before glancing at the glass in Nayeon’s hand, still tinged deep red.

“Not to break the vibe,” he said, eyes flicking curiously to the drink, “but… this is actually the first time I’ve seen a vampire drink blood.”

The table fell quiet for half a second.

Then:

“Oh my god,” Nayeon gasped, clutching her chest. “Mina, you’re dating a baby.”

“He’s not a baby,” Mina said with a huff. “He’s just… not used to our dietary habits.”

Sana leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. “Relax, Dio. We don’t need to drink blood like in the old days. Only youngbloods—or ferals—need it that badly. Most of us? We’re white mages.”

“White mages?” Dio echoed, brow furrowed.

Jihyo nodded. “We feed on life energy. Think vibes, warmth, ambient magic. We get what we need through food, touch, music, atmosphere.”

Jeongyeon shrugged. “Basically, anything humans can enjoy? We can too. Life force lingers in it. Blood’s just… concentrated.”

“It’s like espresso,” Nayeon added. “Fun in small doses. A lot if you’re hungover or being dramatic.”

“I drink it because I like the taste,” Sana said unapologetically. “It’s vintage.”

Dio blinked. “So you’re telling me you could all survive just eating, like… pancakes?”

“Pancakes, eggs, spicy noodles, emotional chaos,” Jihyo counted off on her fingers. “All very nourishing.”

“Loud karaoke,” said Jeongyeon.

“Sex,” added Sana casually, making Mina immediately choke again.

“I swear,” Mina said, slamming her hand on the table, “I’m going to bury all of you.”

“With what strength?” Nayeon teased. “You’ve gone soft. He’s feeding you grilled cheese and domesticity.”

Dio leaned in toward Mina with a sly smile. “You have been eating a lot of grilled cheese lately.”

Mina hissed like a feral cat.

The girls howled with laughter. After yet another round of teasing (this one involving a dramatized reenactment by Sana of Mina’s “mortal corruption arc”), Mina abruptly stood up from the table, elegant and cool.

“We’re leaving,” she said, taking Dio’s hand with imperial finality.

“Oh no, are you going to go feed on his life force again?” Jeongyeon called after them, waggling her eyebrows.

Mina didn’t answer. But she didn’t let go of Dio’s hand either.

Outside the bar, the air was crisp and cool, the moon cutting silver paths across the empty sidewalk. Mina walked with quiet grace, her parasol closed now and tucked under her arm. Dio followed at her pace, letting her lead until she stopped under a flickering streetlamp.

She didn’t say anything at first, just looked up at the sky like it had answers she couldn’t reach.

Then: “They’re awful.”

“They’re amazing,” Dio said, smiling. “But yes. Awful.”

Mina finally looked at him. Her expression had softened. No more fangs or fury. Just something rawer, more open. “You make it bearable.”

Dio tilted his head. “The teasing?”

“No,” she said. “The… everything. You make me feel seen. Not as some centuries-old duchess or a walking bloodline, but just… as a person. A woman.”

Dio stepped closer, brushing her knuckles with his thumb. “You do the same for me.”

She blinked, clearly surprised.

“I mean it,” he said. “You know when I’m touch-starved before I even realize it. You always pick the right food after a fight—like, uncannily right. You notice when I go quiet and don’t make me explain it right away. You hold me like…” He stopped, voice catching for a moment. “Like someone who knows what it’s like to carry loneliness in your bones.”

Mina’s lips parted, but no words came. Only feeling.

“I love you in all those little ways,” Dio continued. “In the way you tuck your feet under me when we watch movies. The way you always offer your blood but never pressure me. The way you look at me like I’m more than just… power or spectacle.”

Mina made a small sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Her hands reached for him, trembling slightly as they cupped his cheeks.

“You’re going to destroy me,” she whispered.

Dio’s voice was barely audible. “Only if you let me love you too much.”

Mina kissed him then—slow, desperate, full of centuries of longing and the terrifying brightness of now. When she pulled back, her eyes were gleaming, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like she might never let go.

“I want… I need something I’m not supposed to want,” she confessed softly, her forehead resting against his.

“Tell me,” Dio said.

“I want a family,” she breathed. “I want yours. I want to wake up to little feet running down the hall and you making bad pancakes and me trying to act annoyed about it when I’m not.”

Dio’s breath caught in his chest.

“I don’t care that I’m a vampire,” she said. “I just… I want to build a life with you. All the cozy, stupid, mortal things.”

Dio smiled like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever heard.

“Then we’ll build it,” he said. “Brick by brick. Just like Lego.”

Mina let out a wet laugh and pulled him in again, this time not for a kiss, but just to hold him. Tightly. Fiercely. As if she’d found something holy in the mundane—and refused to ever let it go. The two of them reentered the bar hand-in-hand, Mina’s usual poise noticeably wobbled—her lips still a little swollen from kissing, her eyes still glassy from confession, and her hand tangled in Dio’s like it belonged there permanently.

Naturally, the moment they crossed the threshold, the teasing resumed like it had been waiting with bated breath.

“Well, well, well,” Jeongyeon purred, draping herself across the back of a booth like a cat who’d scented blood. “Look who’s back from their midnight snuggle session.”

“Oh no,” Nayeon groaned dramatically. “Is he feeding you again, Mina? You’ve got that soft and cared-for glow.”

“I bet it was grilled cheese again,” Jihyo added with a smug grin. “She’s been talking about those sandwiches like they’re ambrosia.”

Mina let out a truly aristocratic huff, nose tilted high—but her fingers still clung tightly to Dio’s shirt like she hadn’t decided whether she’d kiss him or hide behind him.

“For your information,” she said imperiously, “none of you have had grilled cheese until you’ve had Dio’s grilled cheese—with his tomato soup. It’s transcendent.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“…Did you just say ‘transcendent?’” Jeongyeon asked.

“She did,” Sana gasped. “Mina just praised mortal food like it’s gourmet bloodwine.”

“Okay, but hold on,” Nayeon said, leaning forward. “Is it like, crunchy? Or gooey? Or both?”

“It’s everything,” Mina said dreamily, forgetting to sound cool for a moment. “He’s gotten really good. He even browns the butter just right and uses rosemary, and—wait, why am I explaining this to you peasants?”

“Because you’re in love and weak and he makes you lunch,” Jihyo said cheerfully.

Dio, standing beside her, couldn’t help but grin as Mina’s composure slipped further by the second. She gave him a withering glare, but it was entirely undermined by the flush on her cheeks.

“See, I knew you were going soft,” Nayeon teased. “She probably lets you spoon her during movie nights too.”

Dio looked around innocently. “She actually insists on being the big spoon—”

“Dio!” Mina squeaked, smacking his shoulder in horror as the vampires howled.

Sana doubled over in laughter. “Oh my god. Our terrifying baby duchess is a sandwich-making mortal’s little spoon.”

“Big spoon,” Mina corrected automatically—then winced when she realized she’d walked right into it.

Dio beamed. “She really is. And she hogs the blankets.”

“You’re just mad because you like it,” Mina mumbled, folding her arms as if it might protect her from the glee of the undead.

“I do,” Dio said softly, and the sincerity in his voice was so disarming that for a moment, even the teasing died down.

Mina looked at him, the corners of her mouth twitching toward a smile she didn’t try to hide this time. She laced her fingers with his again and let the warmth of his presence settle against the centuries-old chill in her chest.

“I hate how much I like you,” she whispered, almost like it was a secret between them.

“Good,” Dio whispered back. “Because I’m going to keep making you sandwiches until you admit you love me more than bloodwine.”

“I already do,” Mina muttered, barely audible. “But if you tell them that, I’ll turn you into a bat.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

Dio excused himself with a kiss to Mina’s temple and a sleepy smile, making his way toward the restroom. The moment he disappeared around the corner, Mina sighed and leaned forward over the table. Her elegant facade dropped like a curtain at the end of a play.

“Okay,” she muttered, eyes flicking between her sisters-in-darkness. “Can you all stop teasing me for five seconds?”

Nayeon raised an eyebrow, Jeongyeon leaned in like she smelled drama, and Sana clutched her drink with theatrical reverence.

Jihyo blinked. “Why?”

Mina hesitated, then took a breath, voice barely above a whisper. “Is there… is there a way for a vampire to have children?”

The teasing died instantly. The group exchanged quick, surprised glances—except for Momo, who had gone quiet long before Dio left.

It was Momo who answered, her voice gentle but solemn. “There is.”

Mina looked at her, startled. “There is?”

Momo nodded and, without another word, pulled out her phone. She tapped it a few times, then turned the screen toward Mina.

On it was a picture of a little girl with warm, caramel-brown skin, bright eyes, and the most mischievous smile imaginable. Her name—“Suki”—was scribbled in pink on the photo’s border.

“She’s mine,” Momo said softly. “My daughter. Born from my body. Half-vampire. All chaos.”

Mina’s breath caught. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is,” Momo said, her eyes fond but tired. “And worth every moment. But it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

The others fell quiet. Even the usual chaos that followed them dimmed under the weight of Momo’s tone.

“I had to suppress my vampirism completely,” she explained. “Nine months. My body relied entirely on white magic. I couldn’t feed—at least, not like we normally do. I was hungrier than I’ve ever been. Like a newborn again. But it had to be that way… or she wouldn’t have survived.”

Mina swallowed hard. “And the life magic?”

“You have to learn it well,” Momo said. “Not just to survive, but to keep the baby stable. You’ll need food—real food—every day. You’ll be ravenous and delicate at the same time.”

“And Dio?”

Momo’s expression softened, but her voice dropped lower. “It’ll change things between you. You’ll be more aggressive, more territorial. More… needy. And lustful. You’ll fight more. Want more. Demand more. And I know—” her eyes flicked toward the hallway Dio had vanished into, “—you haven’t even been intimate yet. He’s still got that glow.”

Mina flushed, looking away. “We’re waiting.”

“That’s fine,” Momo said. “But you should know… if you go through with this, you’re going to want him in every way. Constantly. Not just to love you—but to anchor you.”

Mina stared at the photo of Suki, her heart torn between longing and fear.

“Is it worth it?” she asked.

Momo didn’t hesitate. “Yes. But only if you’re ready. You’ll need him more than ever. And he’ll have to stop fighting.”

Mina blinked. “What?”

“You’re already scared when he gets hurt, right?” Momo asked gently. “Imagine how you’ll feel when you’re carrying his child. Every fight he takes will feel like a knife. Every bruise, a betrayal. He won’t be able to be what he is now. He’ll need to find a new path. I’d suggest mage school—study under a master, maybe become one himself. He’s strong. Smart. Loyal. He can do it.”

The words hit Mina harder than she expected. Her hands trembled faintly on her drink.

“And once the baby comes?” she whispered.

“You’ll never be the same,” Momo said simply. “But you’ll be more. So much more.”

Mina stared at the photo of Suki a moment longer, then locked her phone screen and leaned back, heart pounding.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Momo just nodded—and a second later, Dio returned with a warm smile and a gentle brush of his fingers against hers, completely unaware of the quiet, seismic decision his lover might be considering.

Eventually Mina and Dio left for real and went home to sleep and recharge for the next day. Dio had a big fight scheduled and needed to be sharp. The soft hum of the city beyond the curtains was a distant echo—muted, forgettable. Inside the apartment, everything was still. The clock on the wall ticked quietly past 4 a.m.

Mina sat on the edge of their bed, curled into Dio’s oversized hoodie, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair was a dark river down her back, and her hands cradled a mug of untouched tea. The warmth wasn’t what she needed. What she needed… she couldn’t name.

Behind her, Dio lay sleeping, one arm stretched out across the bed, fingers twitching faintly with the dreams he never seemed to remember. He looked peaceful, unburdened—and that made the knot in her chest twist tighter.

She didn’t mean to wake him. But her sigh must have carried too much weight, because she heard the sheets shift and his groggy voice follow.

“Mina?”

She turned, blinking fast. He was sitting up now, eyes half-lidded but alert, already reaching for her.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Nightmare?”

Mina hesitated, then shook her head. “No… just thinking.”

He scooted closer behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “At four in the morning?”

Mina smiled faintly, leaning into the warmth of his touch. “I’ve been up for a while.”

Dio was quiet for a beat, then kissed her neck gently. “Talk to me.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Just invitation. She held the silence for a moment longer before finally speaking.

“I talked to Momo,” she said softly. “About… about the possibility of having a child.”

That woke Dio up instantly. He didn’t pull away, but he stilled.

Mina pressed on, her voice quiet but steady. “She told me there’s a way. It’s hard. Dangerous, even. I’d have to suppress my vampirism for the entire pregnancy. Use life magic to survive. I’d be starving every day, like a new blood. Aggressive. Possessive. And—”

She paused, swallowing thickly.

“—and it might strain us. A lot.”

Dio let out a slow breath. “That’s… a lot to carry alone.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you yet,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to scare you. You’ve already seen so many versions of me, Dio. The flirt. The warrior. The bratty aristocrat. But this… this version of me? The one that wants something so soft, so human? I didn’t know she still existed.”

He didn’t speak, but his hand found hers, fingers lacing tightly.

“I watch you sleep,” she whispered, “and I think about what it would be like to see you holding our child. I think about them looking like you, or having your laugh. And then I hate myself for wanting it. Because what if it ruins everything?”

Dio finally spoke, his voice a low, careful murmur. “Mina…”

She looked at him, eyes shining. “I’m terrified. But I’m also… starting to think I want it more than anything.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Do you?” he asked gently. “Do you really want this?”

Mina didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Her voice trembled, but it was true.

“Yes. I do.”

The silence that followed was heavy—but not with dread. It was weighty with possibility, with meaning.

Dio leaned forward and kissed her forehead, holding her close. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “Together.”

Mina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. And for the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe again.

Mina had never imagined herself preparing for a child. Yet now, her home with Dio was slowly being transformed—soft blankets for nesting, a new alchemy stove for more nutrition-heavy meals, and bookshelves stacked with grimoires about white magic, life suppression rituals, and prenatal arcane warding.

Dio, ever the homebody beneath his warrior bravado, took to the preparations with a quiet seriousness that made Mina’s chest ache with affection. He cooked for her daily, slipping extra garlic, iron, and life-rich ingredients into every meal. He’d bring home herbal teas he thought she might like, and even researched lullabies from three different languages for “just in case.”

But as the days passed, Mina’s body began to shift. It started subtly—her scent became more intoxicating to Dio, her voice carried a musical hum that made his knees weak. Her thighs filled out, plush and warm, her skin gained a healthy blush, and the silk of her hair shimmered unnaturally in candlelight. By the second week, she was radiating mating pheromones strong enough that even passing dhampirs turned to look at her.

It was getting harder to ignore the need clawing at her. Her possessiveness sharpened. Her appetite—both blood and otherwise—grew harder to restrain. And still… Dio remained careful. Respectful. Patient.

Which drove her insane.

The tension reached its peak after Dio’s last and one of his bloodiest fights. Mina fussed over him so much that Mina arrived at the coven meeting late, dressed immaculately in a midnight silk dress that barely clung to her now wider hips. She was radiant—goddess-like, iridescent, and absolutely livid.

Dio had taken a brutal blow to the ribs that had cracked against the arena floor, and though his hexed bones were already healing, the scent of burnt blood still lingered on him. Mina sat beside him, one leg draped possessively over his knee, fingers idly stroking his jaw—but her smile was tight, her voice clipped, and her crimson eyes glowed with leashed fury.

And then Haewon, a junior vampire freshly ascended and woefully naive, leaned across the table with a too-friendly smile and said, “That was an incredible final blow, Dio. I’ve never seen blood magic used like that. Do you train with anyone?”

Mina didn’t move at first. But her aura pulsed, dark and seething.

Haewon blinked. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You’re new,” Mina said flatly, her voice quiet and ice-edged. “So I’ll excuse your ignorance. But speak to my mate like that again and I will teach you what kind of wounds don’t heal with magic.”

The room fell silent. The other vampires all exchanged knowing looks, several glancing at Momo who subtly nodded: Mina was entering the possessive phase.

Dio reached out, brushing Mina’s hand. “Hey. I’m okay.”

She didn’t look at him. Her jaw clenched tighter. “You could’ve died. I smelled your lungs bleeding.”

“I know. But I didn’t.”

“You’re too careful,” she snapped under her breath, barely audible, “Too respectful. I’m ready. You know I’m ready. But you keep waiting and being sweet and calm and—and I’m burning, Dio.”

Haewon wisely slipped to the far end of the table.

Later that night, when they were alone in Mina’s chambers, Dio gently pressed her back into the cushions and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not waiting because I’m scared of you,” he whispered. “I’m waiting because I want to give you everything—comfort, safety, peace. I love you in ways that don’t always burn.”

Mina trembled under his touch, her breath catching. “I don’t want peace tonight,” she whispered, voice husky. “I want you.”

His hands found hers and laced their fingers together. “Then you have me. Body and soul. And when it’s time, we’ll do this right—because you and I? We’re not just making a child. We’re making a legacy.”

A few days later, The moon hung low, fat and golden, casting soft light through the sheer curtains of Mina’s bedroom. The whole house was quiet—too quiet for someone whose every nerve was on fire.

Mina lay sprawled across the velvet settee in one of Dio’s oversized t-shirts, her thighs twitching, her fangs out, her eyes burning crimson. Her body pulsed with heat and hunger, a low, primal ache thrumming through every inch of her skin. She’d scented Dio the moment he stepped through the front door, and it had nearly broken her.

He was freshly showered, warm, smelling faintly of soap and blood and him. The pheromones in her body screamed at her to pounce. Claim. Breed. Now.

Dio, poor sweet Dio, sat beside her calmly, rubbing soothing circles on her back, his voice low and patient. “It’s almost time,” he murmured. “Just one more night. You’ve got this.”

Mina groaned and buried her face in his chest. “I don’t got this. I’m two seconds away from riding you into the astral plane. I want you so bad it hurts. I want you everywhere. I want you full of me. I want you broken and wrecked and clinging to me like I’m the only air you’ve got.”

Dio chuckled softly. “Well, that’s an image.”

She swatted his shoulder, growling. “Stop being nice. I don’t need nice. I need primal. I need chaos. I need to be ruined.”

“You’re talking in italics again, baby,” Dio teased, kissing her temple.

Mina whimpered. “I swear I can smell your spine.”

Dio shifted, clearly restraining himself. “I’m here. We’re going to do this right, remember? Not just out of instinct. Out of love. With intention.”

“I want to intentionally suck your soul out through your d—”

Knock knock knock.

Mina froze, eyes darting to the door.

Dio blinked. “Did you—?”

Before she could answer, the door opened, and in sauntered Sana with a duffel bag and a grin, followed by Momo, who was already taking off her coat and kicking off her boots.

“Evening, lovebirds,” Sana chirped. “We brought blood pudding and a projector. Girls’ night.”

Mina stared at them, expression murderous.

“No,” she growled. “No, absolutely not. You’re not interrupting—”

Momo breezed by and plopped onto the couch, tossing a stress ball into Mina’s lap. “You’re about to imprint on Dio’s thigh like a duckling. You need a buffer zone.”

Sana flopped dramatically next to her. “You’re too hormonally feral right now. You’ll snap him in half before he even gets his pants off. We’re here to distract you with snacks, trash TV, and physical restraint if necessary.”

“I hate you both,” Mina hissed.

“We know,” Momo said sweetly. “Now eat this pudding and watch this ridiculous dating show where everyone’s secretly a ghost.”

Dio kissed Mina’s forehead as he got up to give them space. “You’ll be okay. I promise. I love you.”

Mina looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. “I love you too. But if they weren’t here I’d have eaten you whole.”

He winked. “I know. That’s why they’re here.”

As Dio left the room, Mina sighed and flopped onto the floor, defeated and feral and glowing like the core of a dying star.

Sana handed her a spoon. “Here. Distract your mouth before it finds something else to do.”

Mina grabbed it with a growl.

“Tomorrow,” she muttered. “He’s mine tomorrow.”

Momo raised her blood pouch in a toast. “To tomorrow—and surviving tonight.” Mina sat on the floor now, hair slightly frazzled, Dio’s t-shirt stretched across her chest like a battle-worn flag of surrender. Her thighs were pressed together so tightly it looked like she was trying to hold in a hurricane. A half-finished bowl of blood pudding sat next to her, mostly ignored.

Sana was lying sideways on the couch with her feet dangling off the armrest, tossing popcorn into Momo’s mouth like it was a sport.

“And then,” Momo said between bites, “Mina looked at that junior archivist like she was a snack and Dio was her lunch.”

“She was touching his arm for too long,” Mina snarled, her fangs still out. “I could smell her arousal. I was doing her a favor.”

Sana nearly choked on laughter. “You almost tore her throat out in front of the blood scribe! You’re lucky I dragged you out when I did.”

Mina groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “I’m not used to this. I feel like my body’s staging a coup.”

“You’re nesting,” Momo said gently. “Your instincts are trying to prep you for the bond and the baby. That includes being crazy possessive and horny enough to climb a building just to scent mark him.”

“I did think about peeing on his shoes,” Mina muttered.

Sana dropped the popcorn. “Oh my god. Please don’t.”

At that moment, Dio—sweet, doomed Dio—entered the room holding a tray of grilled cheese triangles and a steaming bowl of tomato soup.

“I brought snacks,” he said, smiling.

Mina’s eyes snapped to him like a hawk spotting prey. She half-rose before both Sana and Momo lunged to hold her down, pinning her by the shoulders and arms.

“Nope,” Sana said firmly. “Down, girl.”

Momo grinned. “You’re not breaking the mattress tonight, remember?”

Mina whined low in her throat, “But his forearms are out.”

“He’s literally just holding a tray,” Momo said, laughing.

“That’s worse!”

Dio blinked. “Should I… go?”

Sana took the tray from him. “You should stay exactly where you are. But maybe… three feet back.”

Mina let out a pitiful whimper, burying her face into Momo’s shoulder. “This is the worst. My body’s like, ‘Impregnate me now or I will combust in a shower of love and plasma.’”

“You’re so dramatic,” Momo said, patting her head.

Sana shoved a grilled cheese into Mina’s hands. “Eat this. Food before frenzy.”

Mina bit into it angrily, but her eyes closed in bliss. “He used smoked gouda. He knows.”

“She’s gonna cry,” Momo whispered to Sana. “Look at her. She’s feral and emotional.”

“I’m not crying,” Mina said, definitely crying.

Dio carefully sat on the armrest of a chair across the room, sipping his soup. “You know, this is kind of fun.”

Mina looked up at him, eyes still glassy. “I’m in love with you so bad it hurts. And I want your babies. But also I want to punch you for smelling so good.”

“Thank you?” Dio said, completely overwhelmed but smiling anyway.

Sana snorted. “He’s too pure for this world.”

Momo raised her blood pouch again. “To Dio: survivor of Mina’s pheromonal rage.”

Mina groaned and flopped backward again. “You’re all awful. I love you.”

Sana threw a blanket over her. “Love you too, baby vamp. Now watch this dating show with us before you eat your mate alive.”

On cue Dio left back to the living room where he’d sleep on the couch for one last night. The next morning Dio somehow ended up in bed next to Mina. She held him tight although he didn’t mind at first until he remembered he had an interview with Lady Libertas of the veritas Magic Academy

The sky over the city was painted in the soft lavender of early dawn as Dio adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower, and a faint bruise still lingered on his jaw from the last fight—a fading memory of violence that felt miles away from the atmosphere of Mina’s coven apartment the night before.

Mina was still asleep, curled up in their bed like a queen and a kitten all at once, but Dio had to leave early. Today was important.

Dio rode his motorcycle to he School of Liberation arrived just as the sun broke fully over the skyline. A silver-gilded crest—an open hand releasing a burst of light—was etched into the door. The driver bowed slightly before letting Dio in.

The School of Liberation sat like a floating island in the middle of the city, arcane energy drifting through its crystalline halls. The air shimmered with a kind of magic that hummed freedom, but also discipline. At its heart, in a circular chamber of mirrors and flowing light, sat Lady Libertas.

She was ageless, dressed in layered robes that flickered between white and bronze, her long hair falling like poured sunlight over her shoulders. She studied Dio the moment he stepped into the circle—her eyes glowing with a magic that saw through people.

“You’re late,” she said mildly, though her voice rang like a bell.

“I brought soup for the guards,” Dio offered, holding up a small thermos with a grin.

One of the guards awkwardly sniffed it. “It smells amazing, actually.”

Libertas raised an eyebrow. “You joke under pressure. That’s either foolish or admirable. Let’s find out which.”

She gestured, and the chamber bloomed to life with flowing magical currents and concentric rings of spellwork. “You’ll channel spirit energy through this focus. I want to see how well you resonate with it.”

Dio nodded and stepped into the ring. As the sigils glowed, he reached inward—not toward his blood magic, not to his aura—but toward something else. Something deeper. His self.

The chamber trembled. Wind swept through the room, light flaring so bright one of the mirrors cracked. Lady Libertas stood, visibly surprised.

“…That’s not blood magic,” she murmured. “That’s pure, unfiltered soulcraft. But you channel through aura and blood?”

Dio stepped out of the ring, slightly winded. “Yeah. I guess. I didn’t grow up with tutors. My family was anti-magic. I had to teach myself. Aura came naturally in fights. Blood came when I needed to survive. Spirit magic felt… too out of reach.”

Libertas studied him with new eyes. “You’re uncut stone. But your core—your resonance—is stronger than any I’ve tested in decades. Spirit magic should sing through you like a second language.”

Dio scratched his neck. “I guess I never had the chance to learn the words.”

There was a pause. Then Libertas smiled, a real one, rare and reverent.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

He blinked. “Wait, personally?”

She nodded. “I won’t waste potential like yours. You’re strong, but more than that—resilient. And that’s what spirit magic needs. A heart that won’t break, even when the soul is tested.”

Dio grinned, cheeks flushed. “Thanks. I’m kind of a fast learner.”

“I can tell.” She looked him over once more and said, “Also, tell your vampire girlfriend to stop trying to bribe the interview board with food.”

Dio laughed. “She means well. But yeah… I’ll talk to her.”

As he walked out of the chamber, the wind trailing behind him still carried echoes of something powerful and ancient—his spirit, finally beginning to singing but he was quickly reminded he had someone else to attend to.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when Mina’s eyes snapped open.

She reached across the bed instinctively, expecting warmth. Expecting him. But the sheets were cold.

“Dio?” Her voice cracked with sleep and confusion. Then again, louder—more panicked. “Dio?”

He wasn’t in the apartment.

She sat up too fast. The silk sheets tangled at her waist, her hair spilling over bare shoulders. Her body ached—not with pain, but with the overwhelming need that had been building for days. Now it wasn’t just aching, it was roaring. Her fangs itched. Her thighs pressed together like they could quell the fire between them, but it only made things worse.

Mina’s pupils dilated until her crimson irises were almost swallowed whole. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, skin flushed, nipples hard, thighs trembling. Where was he?

The apartment was empty, and the air smelled like Dio—but old. Faded. Not enough.

Her heart raced in a way that was unfamiliar, terrifying. It wasn’t just desire. It was biology. Her body was screaming at her: He needs to be here. He needs to be inside. Now.

She staggered to the living room, wrapped in one of his shirts, barely able to form coherent thoughts. Everything felt slow and fast at once, like her blood was singing and sobbing at the same time.

She clutched the back of the couch, panting. “I—I can’t take this—I’ll find him—I’ll drag him back and I’ll—”

The door opened.

Mina froze.

And there he was.

Dio, looking slightly wind-blown from the morning commute, coffee in one hand, papers in the other, blinking at her with his usual disarming calm.

“Hey, sleepyhead—”

Mina moved before he could finish.

She tackled him. Coffee spilled. Paperwork scattered. The door slammed behind them as she shoved him against it, her mouth crashing into his with a desperate, growling kiss that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

“Mina—” he managed to gasp between kisses, “—are you okay?”

“No,” she hissed. Her voice was wrecked and shaky and burning. “I’m not okay. I’ve been a mess all morning—and you left me.” She kissed him again, deeper, harder, her hands roaming. “I can’t think straight. I need you. I need you so bad it hurts.”

Dio, wide-eyed and breathless, dropped everything in his hands and steadied her by the waist.

“You’re—oh gods, Mina—your scent is everywhere.”

“Because I’m ready,” she groaned. “My body’s begging for you. I can’t keep pretending I’m in control.”

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

She nodded frantically, biting her lip. “I want everything. I want you. All of you.”

Dio kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, grounding her. “Then let me take care of you, Mina.”

The door clicked shut.

She didn’t say a word as Dio scooped her up to the bedroom

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered hoarsely, voice cracking like dried velvet. “You weren’t here, and my mind—it wouldn’t stop—I need you, Dio. I need you.”

He dropped his satchel without looking. Hands rose gently to her cheeks, thumbs brushing the burning skin beneath her eyes.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lip trembled.

Mina had always been poised, divine in the way statues are divine—distant, unyielding, immortal. But now? She was messy. Breathless. Needy. And there was something holy in her breaking.

Dio kissed her, slow at first, like easing a fever with ice. She moaned into him, her entire body curling inward, desperate to be filled, calmed, seen. The kiss deepened, frantic, lips dragging, hands roaming, like both of them were searching for something they’d only ever found in each other.

Clothes came off piece by piece—her blouse fell away like silk rain, his shirt was peeled from sweat-damp skin, and Mina gasped when she felt his chest against hers. The heat of him, the solid, warm thrum of his heartbeat under her palm.

“I want to give you everything,” she murmured. “I want to make something new with you. Something only we can create.”

Dio swallowed hard, eyes glistening with something just shy of tears. He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “Then take all of me.”

And she did.

She led him to the bed not like a queen claiming a throne, but like a woman surrendering to something bigger than magic, than blood, than eternity. Her body moved with aching slowness against his, and Dio met her with reverence, their rhythm building not with urgency, but with certainty.

It wasn’t about lust anymore. It was about fulfillment. About the hush between breaths and the trust in soft hands. About the fire that didn’t burn, but warmed. Mina spread her legs waiting for Dio to fill her and when he did she lost it.

Mina cried out—soft and wild—when she felt the ache inside her finally met. Her back arched as she held Dio to her, desperate to keep him inside, as if he could quiet the storm with the press of his heart against hers.

He whispered her name like a promise.

She called his like a prayer. His thrust were gentle at first but Mina needed more. She had been desperate for so long she needed Dio to be ravenous. So she whispered in his ear

And when they both came undone, it wasn’t a climax—it was a becoming.

Later, tangled in the warmth of each other’s bodies, Mina traced her fingers over Dio’s chest, dazed and glowing, the itch in her womb finally calmed, the hollow in her heart finally full.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she murmured.

Dio smiled and kissed her temple. “Neither did I.”

She fell asleep curled against him, a satisfied sigh in her throat, the scent of salt and clove lingering in the air. And for the first time in centuries, she dreamt of the future.

Not of blood or power.

But of cribs, laughter… and a child with golden eyes.

Despite Momo’s many warnings, Mina’s pregnancy had passed far more smoothly than anyone expected—though not without one major complication. She and Dio hadn’t just had a child. They’d had twins.

Hiro and Suzume Castillo were as different as night and day. Hiro, the elder by three minutes, was fully human but had inherited Mina’s piercing crimson eyes—a mystery even Libertas found fascinating. Suzume, on the other hand, was half-vampire, with silver-white hair and tiny canines that peeked out whenever she smiled. While Hiro radiated quiet curiosity, Suzume was all fire and chaos—a miniature aristocrat with a mischief streak a mile wide.

As for Dio, he had flourished under Lady Libertas’s tutelage. Though not a prodigy in the traditional sense—he’d been self-taught and working with blood and aura magic for years—he completed her six-year curriculum in just three. What he lacked in formal structure, he made up for with relentless drive and a soul resonance so powerful it left even seasoned mages in awe.

Which brings us to today.

The morning began in chaos—gentle, giggling chaos.

A high-pitched shriek echoed down the hallway, followed by the slap-slap-slap of bare feet on hardwood. Another shriek, slightly lower and tinged with laughter, followed in hot pursuit.

Dio cracked open one eye just in time to see two blurs—a streak of silver and a puff of black curls—barrel through the bedroom door.

“Papa! Mama! Wake up!” Suzume yelled gleefully, launching herself onto the bed like a tiny missile.

“Time for pancakes!” Hiro added with quiet urgency, climbing up after her.

Mina groaned from beneath the covers. “It’s not even seven…”

“Wrong,” Suzume chirped, her fangs glinting in the early light. “It’s pancake o’clock!”

Dio chuckled, sitting up and catching Hiro before he could tackle Mina’s side of the bed. “Alright, alright—pancakes it is. But you’ve gotta let Mama get dressed first.”

Mina peeked out from under the duvet, her crimson eyes bleary, her hair an elegant disaster. “They’re too powerful,” she mumbled. “We created tiny warlords.”

“They get it from you,” Dio said, kissing her temple before gently scooping both children off the bed.

“But they get that early bird energy from you giving them reasonable bedtimes,” Mina grumbled as she flopped dramatically onto her pillow.

“I’m sorry I go to bed like a normal person, Mrs. Night Owl. Not all of us can live like nocturnal nobility,” Dio shot back with a smirk.

Mina rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

Ten minutes later, Mina was brushing out her hair in the kitchen, still in her pajama top and silk shorts, while Suzume sat on the counter and Hiro perched at the table. They were drawing runes into their pancakes with syrup—Suzume’s glowing faintly from over-enthusiastic enchantments.

Dio stood at the stove in an apron covered in glitter, courtesy of the twins’ latest “experiment.” He flipped the last of the pancakes onto a plate just as his phone buzzed.

Lady Libertas.

He answered on speaker while setting the syrup down. “Morning, Archmagus.”

Libertas’s voice came through crisp and direct. “Good. You're awake. I’m canceling my lecture today.”

Mina raised a curious brow, combing through Suzume’s hair with a silver brush.

“I need you to step in for my soulcraft class,” Libertas continued. “They’re covering resonance fields—and frankly, you’re better at it than I am.”

Dio blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. You’ve refined the process in a way diagrams can’t convey. Just—don’t scare them too badly with the aura projections. And do not, under any circumstances, demonstrate Ultima.”

Dio chuckled, already organizing a lesson plan in his head. “Got it. I’ll be there by ten.”

“Good. You’re officially on the faculty roster now, Professor Castillo.”

Mina snorted into her tea.

As the call ended, Dio turned toward the twins—who were now attempting to levitate their pancakes. One floated, wobbled, then splatted back down with a gooey slap.

He glanced at Mina, who sipped her tea with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Professor Castillo, huh?” she teased. “Should I call you that in bed?”

Dio turned a little pink, grinning. “Only if you want a lecture on how much I love you.”

Mina rolled her eyes but leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Cheesy.”

“Made with the finest soul curd,” he replied, just as Hiro groaned from the table.

“Dad jokes already?” Hiro asked, deadpan.

Suzume nodded solemnly. “He’s evolving. We have to stop him.”

Their laughter echoed through the house, blending with the smell of syrup and the crackle of magic in the air. It was loud, messy, and theirs—a life full of wonder, crafted by love, effort, and a little chaos.

Just the way they liked it.

Because of time constraints—and the undeniable chaos two magically-inclined toddlers could cause during a soulcraft lecture—Mina had decided to drop the twins off at their Aunt Momo’s for the morning while Dio taught his first class.

The drive over was blissfully uneventful, which was rare. The twins, strapped in their car seats, spent most of the ride chattering excitedly about all the fun they were going to have with their cousin Suki.

“I hope she still has the slime bucket,” Suzume said, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“She said she got glitter slime now,” Hiro added with reverence, like it was the eighth wonder of the world.

Dio parked the car in front of a cozy, ivy-draped townhouse with a wraparound porch and flower boxes under every window. He adjusted his satchel across his shoulder, casting a glance at the tiny tornadoes trailing after him like determined ducklings.

“You’ve got your charm anchors?” he asked as they approached the front walk.

Both kids held up their wrists with solemn pride—homemade bracelets woven with protection runes, blessed with white magic and glitter stickers.

“Papa, we’re not babies,” Hiro said with maximum three-year-old indignation, puffing his chest like he was about to duel a dragon.

“You’re three,” Mina deadpanned, gliding up beside them in a sleek navy coat and oversized sunglasses. Despite the morning sun, she radiated cool elegance with a designer diaper bag slung effortlessly over one arm like a purse of power.

They rounded the corner, and waiting on the porch like a one-woman welcome committee was Momo, waving cheerfully. Her five-year-old daughter, Suki, bolted down the steps with a squeal of joy.

“Cousins!” she shrieked, throwing herself into the twins with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for fireworks and candy. The three of them immediately collapsed into a giggling, squirmy hug pile on the front lawn.

“They’re not technically cousins,” Dio muttered under his breath.

“Don’t ruin it,” Mina whispered back, elbowing him gently.

As the kids rolled on the grass debating which slime to summon first, Mina started toward the porch to help settle them in—until Momo crossed her arms and blocked her path with a knowing smile.

“Wait, aren’t you going to watch your husband’s first lecture as a real professor?” Momo asked, her voice lilting with mock innocence.

Mina blinked. “I thought I was watching the kids?”

Momo stepped aside and gestured broadly toward the house. “I’ve got it covered—snacks, Legos, a slime crafting zone in the backyard, and ten gallons of patience. They’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Mina asked, her voice softening just a little with maternal caution.

Momo lifted an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna stand there and tell me you’d rather change slime-covered shirts than sit front row and watch Professor Dio Castillo explain soul resonance—in a fitted linen shirt that hugs his biceps just enough to cause scandal?”

Mina stared at her. “...That’s a strong argument.”

“I thought so.”

A heartbeat later, the twins were safely inside—already neck-deep in finger paint—and Mina was sliding her arm through Dio’s as he turned to leave, tugging him a little closer with a familiar gleam in her crimson eyes.

“You better impress me, Professor,” she purred, lips brushing against his cheek as they walked back to the car.

Dio arched a brow. “No pressure, huh?”

“Oh, there’s so much pressure,” she whispered, her voice like silk wrapped around a dagger. “You’re not just giving your first lecture. You’re doing it with me sitting front row… staring at you like I want to devour every inch of you.”

Dio swallowed hard, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. “You realize I’m going to have to give this lecture while actively pretending I’m not turned on?”

Mina smirked, smug and satisfied. “Sounds like a you problem, Professor Castillo.”

He groaned softly, shaking his head as they reached the car. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”

“I know,” Mina said sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat like a queen settling onto a throne. “Now drive. I want a good seat before the freshmen take the back rows and start whispering about how hot you are.”

Dio muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer and started the engine.

The city rolled by in a blur of spring sunlight and enchanted taxis, cherry blossoms drifting through the air like confetti from some benevolent goddess of chaos. Dio kept both hands planted firmly on the wheel, jaw clenched in quiet focus. He was trying—trying—to think about his lecture, to mentally review his notes, to stay calm.

But Mina had no intention of making it easy.

She lounged in the passenger seat like temptation incarnate, one leg crossed over the other, her coat undone just enough to reveal a flash of deep wine-red lace at the neckline. Sunlight danced on her sunglasses, but her mouth was the real danger—a slow, feline smile creeping across her lips like she was already halfway through undressing him with her eyes.

“I must say,” she murmured as they cruised down the glimmering main road, “it’s strange not having someone in the backseat asking if jellybeans count as breakfast.”

Dio glanced at her warily. “Let’s not jinx it. We’ve got maybe two hours of peace. Don’t summon the jellybean gods.”

Mina chuckled, her fingers casually brushing his arm before sliding down to rest lightly on his thigh. “Mmm. Two hours. A blissful eternity in parent time.”

Dio’s grip on the wheel tightened just enough to make his knuckles pale. “Mina.”

She ignored the warning in his voice, or maybe savored it. “Do you realize what this means?” she purred, eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “The twins are in the care of their wonderful Auntie Momo. That leaves you and me… alone. The house, empty. Our bed, untouched. My sanity, fraying.”

She punctuated each phrase with a gentle squeeze of his thigh, sending a shiver up his spine.

“I’ve been so patient, Dio,” she went on, her voice turning syrupy and rich. “Three years of middle-of-the-night feedings, growth spurts, emotional meltdowns—your emotional meltdowns during teething—and those little charm mishaps that turn furniture into sentient furniture.”

He gave her a helpless look. ��Charm mishaps?”

She didn’t skip a beat. “Your son turned my silk sheets into crawling ivy last month. They tried to strangle me.”

Dio stifled a laugh. “He’s talented.”

“He’s lucky he’s cute,” Mina said, grinning before leaning closer, her lips a whisper from his ear. “But now… now there’s no one home. No distractions. No slime jars. No talisman glue on the countertops. Just me… and the unholy number of things I plan to do to you once you’re done playing professor.”

Dio made a sound somewhere between a cough and a moan.

“I swear to every god who ever breathed magic into a leyline,” he muttered, “if you keep talking like that, I’m going to drive this car into a dimensional rift.”

Mina leaned in again, one fingertip trailing lazily up the inside of his arm. Goosebumps bloomed in her wake. “That’s why I’ll be waiting in the front row, husband mine. Wearing my shortest skirt. With very, very bad intentions.”

“Mina,” he choked out.

“Yes?”

“I need to drive.”

“I am helping. You’ll be highly motivated to finish that lecture. Think of the reward structure.”

He shot her a look, flushed and exasperated, but his mouth betrayed him with a crooked smile.

“You’re the worst.”

“And you love me for it,” she said sweetly, kissing his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

He shook his head, trying to focus as the academy gates came into view.

“You realize if I crash, they’ll list ‘vampire wife' as the cause of death.”

“They’d be right,” Mina whispered smugly, fingers brushing the top button of his shirt before retreating just in time.

Dio parked the car with the precision of a man clinging to the last threads of self-control. He sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, breathing deep.

Mina reclined in her seat like a cat in the sun, perfectly pleased.

“Now go impress me,” she said with a wink. “And remember—I’ll be in the front row, imagining you without that shirt the entire time.”

Dio groaned.

“I’m doomed.”

“You’re married,” Mina said, sliding out of the car with an elegant swish of coat and legs. “There’s a difference.”

The morning air was crisp as they pulled into the academy, sunlight catching on the spires of the crystalline towers like golden fire. The Academy of Etheric Arts shimmered against the dawn, still quiet, cloaked in the hush of early spells and distant bells. Only a few robed figures drifted across the stone paths—students and staff beginning their day with discipline and incantations.

Dio maneuvered the car into the private lot reserved for senior faculty, per Lady Libertas’s personal recommendation, and parked neatly beneath a tree charmed to bloom year-round. The moment the engine sighed into silence, Mina unbuckled her seatbelt with a slow click that somehow sounded sinful.

She stretched—languid and deliberate—arching her back like a waking predator, the silk of her blouse pulling taut across her chest. Her dark skirt rode just a fraction higher on her thighs, and Dio, valiant soul that he was, immediately focused very hard on the dashboard.

“Mina,” he murmured, already feeling the heat crawl up his neck.

She smiled like the sun was her co-conspirator. “Yes, darling?”

With parasol in one hand and sin in her stride, she stepped out of the car. Her heels clicked with hypnotic rhythm against the mana-smoothed stone as she fell into step beside him. That tight, wicked skirt hugged every curve like a spell tailored to undo him. Her blouse, sheer in the right light, teased the barest shimmer of lace beneath. Her hair was swept up just enough to bare the elegant line of her throat—a throat Dio had kissed many, many times, and now could barely look at without getting ideas.

“You know I have to teach,” he said, voice already strained.

“I do know,” Mina replied sweetly. “That’s exactly why I wore something distracting. I thought of you when I put it on.”

He groaned under his breath.

As they crossed the courtyard, a few students glanced their way—quick, respectful glances. No one dared stare too long. Mina’s aura didn’t just command attention; it warned against it. There was a gleam in her eye and a promise in her posture. He’s mine. Try it and I’ll feed on your ego first.

At the grand lecture hall, still locked and humming faintly with wards, Mina turned and leaned back against the stone archway, one heel lifted behind her like she was posing for a painting. She glanced at the time crystal glowing above the doorway.

“Twenty minutes,” she purred, grabbing him gently by his tie and pulling him close. “That’s so much time.”

“Mina,” he warned, but it came out breathy. She knew that tone. She was winning.

She kissed him then—not rushed, not shy. She kissed him like they weren’t in public, like the past three years of parenting had only sharpened her hunger. She sucked his bottom lip gently before letting her tongue graze it, and one hand brushed the curve of his ear in a featherlight stroke that made Dio inhale sharply.

“You’re evil,” he whispered.

“I’m needy,” she corrected, nuzzling against his jaw. “And considerate. You need to be relaxed for your lecture, right? I could sit on your lap and purr a bit. Maybe nibble your neck. That always helps you focus.”

Dio cursed softly in a language older than sunlight.

“You’re seriously trying to ruin me before my first day subbing for Lady Libertas?”

She didn’t blink. “I want you flustered. I want every soulcrafter in that room to wonder why the air around you smells like ozone and me. I want you to walk into that classroom like you’ve been worshipped all morning. Because you should be.”

Dio’s hands found her waist without thinking, his fingers flexing against her curves in quiet desperation. His lips hovered near hers, his resistance starting to fray.

“I swear, if you keep this up…”

“You’ll what?” Mina teased, eyes gleaming.

He leaned in, his voice a low growl. “I’ll make you pay for it. Later.”

Her grin broke wide, all fangs and wicked delight. “Promise?” she asked, voice lilting with mock innocence. “Because I’ve been such a bad girl, and you haven’t corrected me in so long…”

He nearly lost it right there.

“I mean, really,” she added playfully, “I haven’t paid for anything since before the twins were born. Isn’t that terrible? I’m overdue.”

Just then, with a chiming click, the magical lock disengaged. The heavy doors glowed softly, then swung open to admit the first few early students.

Mina stepped back, instantly composed, smoothing her skirt and fixing her blouse like she hadn’t just shattered his composure and stirred up half a semester’s worth of tension in five minutes flat.

She kissed his cheek with featherlight grace.

“Break a leg, Professor Castillo,” she whispered, sultry and smug. “I’ll be right there in the front row… cheering you on.”

Dio exhaled like he’d just survived a battlefield.

“You’re going to kill me one day.”

Mina laughed softly as she turned to walk inside. “And you’ll die smiling.”

The lecture hall was a sleek amphitheater of glowing crystal and etched runes, every surface humming with stored intent. About thirty students sat in gentle rows of floating seats, notebooks and spellstones ready, eyes forward.

Dio stood at the front in his long sleeve shirt and slacks, his sleeves rolled up as he conjured an intricate soul-web diagram into the air. Strands of light bent and flickered as he spoke, his voice confident and clear.

“So,” he said, gesturing toward a glyph spinning slowly above his hand, “when you push a soul-thread too tightly against a corrupted anchor, what happens?”

A few hands shot up. He nodded toward a serious-looking elf girl with rose-gold eyes.

“It frays,” she answered. “Like overstretched silk. You risk soul-burn.”

“Exactly.” Dio smiled, pleased. “Which is why we always make sure not to do that” he said voice faltering sligtly

Mina had crossed her legs in the front row. Slowly.

She sat with an almost absurd air of grace—legs draped one over the other in a way that drew the eye, skirt riding just high enough to be scandalous. Her blouse had somehow shifted looser, baring one shoulder, and her hair had fallen over one eye in a tousled, deliberate mess of temptation.

She was sipping iced tea like it was bloodwine, licking her lips between sips.

Dio swallowed hard.

“and why is Soul burn bad,” he recovered, turning back to the board as his ears flushed pink.

Mina smirked. She didn’t even need to say anything. Just being there—lounging in his direct line of sight like a painting designed to unmake his concentration—was enough.

He paced, pointing to a new set of sigils. “Now, when you synchronize soul-temperament with your anchor—”

Mina tilted her head. She let one heel fall off her foot, dangling it on her toes.

Dio scowled at his wife but remained focused.

Some of the students exchanged amused glances. They all knew who she was. The vampire consort of the soulcraft prodigy. One of the scariest women on the continent. And right now, she was toying with him like a bored cat.

Mina leaned forward a little. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough that her cleavage became a distraction even to herself. She batted her lashes innocently when Dio looked at her.

He looked away immediately, trying to continue the lecture like his entire brain hadn’t short-circuited.

“..that brings us to the Weaver’s Trine. A method used to realign broken spirit channels through new threads,”

Click.

Mina was popping a hard candy into her mouth.

Click. Pop. Swirl.

Dio’s hand clenched the edge of the lectern.

She gave him a knowing look. The you’re doing great, sweetie—but I’m going to ruin you later kind of look.

By the time the class ended, Dio’s magic had shorted out twice, and he’d accidentally called soul-resonance “spirit-writhing,” which he would never live down.

When the final rune flickered off and the students began to pack up, Mina approached the podium, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“You survived,” she whispered, sliding next to him. “Barely.”

Dio glared at her, flushed and disheveled. “You planned that.”

“I did,” Mina said brightly. “You looked so composed this morning. I had to fix it.”

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “When we get home…”

“Promise?” she murmured, pupils dilated, scent laced with barely restrained hunger.

They left the lecture hall to the sound of two dozen students whispering, “They’re so married.”

The lecture hall was a sleek amphitheater of glowing crystal and etched runes, every surface humming with stored intent. About thirty students sat in gentle rows of floating seats, notebooks and spellstones ready, eyes forward.

Dio stood at the front in tailored robes, his sleeves rolled up as he conjured an intricate soul-web diagram into the air. Strands of light bent and flickered as he spoke, his voice confident and clear.

“So,” he said, gesturing toward a glyph spinning slowly above his hand, “when you push a soul-thread too tightly against a corrupted anchor, what happens?”

A few hands shot up. He nodded toward a serious-looking elf girl with rose-gold eyes.

“It frays,” she answered. “Like overstretched silk. You risk soul-burn.”

“Exactly.” Dio smiled, pleased. “Which is why we—”

His voice faltered.

Mina had crossed her legs in the front row. Slowly.

She sat with an almost absurd air of grace—legs draped one over the other in a way that drew the eye, skirt riding just high enough to be scandalous. Her blouse had somehow shifted looser, baring one shoulder, and her hair had fallen over one eye in a tousled, deliberate mess of temptation.

She was sipping iced tea like it was bloodwine, licking her lips between sips.

Dio swallowed hard.

“We… uh… right—soul-burn,” he recovered, turning back to the board as his ears flushed pink.

Mina smirked. She didn’t even need to say anything. Just being there—lounging in his direct line of sight like a painting designed to unmake his concentration—was enough.

He paced, pointing to a new set of sigils. “Now, when you synchronize soul-temperament with your anchor—”

Mina tilted her head. She let one heel fall off her foot, dangling it on her toes.

Dio stammered mid-sentence.

Some of the students exchanged amused glances. They all knew who she was. The vampire consort of the soulcraft prodigy. One of the scariest women on the continent. And right now, she was toying with him like a bored cat.

Mina leaned forward a little. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough that her cleavage became a distraction even to herself. She batted her lashes innocently when Dio looked at her.

He looked away immediately, trying to continue the lecture like his entire brain hadn’t short-circuited.

“...uh, that brings us to the Weaver’s Trine. A method used to realign broken spirit channels through—”

Click.

Mina was popping a hard candy into her mouth.

Click. Pop. Swirl.

Dio’s hand clenched the edge of the lectern.

She gave him a knowing look. The you’re doing great, sweetie—but I’m going to ruin you later kind of look.

By the time the class ended, Dio’s magic had shorted out twice, and he’d accidentally called soul-resonance “spirit-writhing,” which he would never live down.

When the final rune flickered off and the students began to pack up, Mina approached the podium, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“You survived,” she whispered, sliding next to him. “Barely.”

Dio glared at her, flushed and disheveled. “You planned that.”

“I did,” Mina said brightly. “You looked so composed this morning. I had to fix it.”

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “When we get home…”

“Promise?” she murmured, pupils dilated, scent laced with barely restrained hunger.

They left the lecture hall to the sound of two dozen students whispering, “They’re so married.”

The drive home was quiet—on the surface.

But in the tight space of the car, the air pulsed with tension. Lustful, electric, and barely leashed. Mina sat with her legs crossed, her parasol resting against her shoulder, eyes forward but smirking. She could feel it—the way Dio’s knuckles gripped the wheel a little too tight, the way his jaw flexed with every memory of her lips on his, her fingers on his chest, her scent clinging to his skin like a spell he couldn’t shake.

She felt it in her bones, and it made her press her thighs together beneath her skirt, the collar of her blouse suddenly too warm.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the yard. Dio barely let the engine finish its sigh before he was out of his seat. He circled the car like a predator and—without a word—scooped Mina into his arms, parasol and all.

She yelped, laughter escaping her lips before being swallowed by a sharp inhale as he gripped her firmly, one hand sliding beneath her thighs, the other cupping the curve of her ass like he owned it. Which, in fairness, he kind of did.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind them, Mina was pinned.

Her back hit the wood with a gentle thud, Dio’s arms caging her in, his body a wall of heat pressed flush to hers. His eyes were molten—furious, focused, and hungry in a way that stole the air from her lungs. It was that same look he used to wear in the ring, back when he was feared for his fists and his fire. Back when she first started falling for him.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he murmured, voice velvet-dipped flame.

Mina gave him a slow, sultry smile, her lashes fluttering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Professor.”

He didn’t return the smile.

Instead, he leaned in, his breath a slow exhale against her lips. “You almost made me incinerate a soul-web in front of three grad students.”

Her finger traced the line of buttons down his shirt. “And yet, you held it together so well. So composed. So…” she let the word drip like honey, “disciplined.”

Dio’s eyes darkened.

“You remember what I said earlier?” he asked, voice low.

“That when we got home, I was yours?” she whispered, her breath hitching.

“Exactly.”

Without warning, he scooped her into his arms again, this time with purpose—predatory and deliberate. She gasped, arms flinging around his neck as he carried her through the house without breaking stride. Past the tidy kitchen, the dim-lit hallway, the toy basket tucked discreetly in the corner of the living room. The home they’d built together.

He kicked the bedroom door open and stepped inside.

Only then did he set her down, shrugging off his coat in a single sharp motion, fingers already at the buttons of his shirt.

Mina didn’t move.

Her legs felt like melted wax, her mouth dry, heart hammering against her ribs.

Then he said it—calm, quiet, and absolute:

“Strip.”

She swallowed.

There was no edge of cruelty to the command. Just the raw authority of a man who knew her. Who saw her. Who wanted her completely. And she obeyed—not out of submission, but out of trust. Of desire. Of the deep, aching hunger to be his.

She unwrapped herself slowly, peeling away silk and lace, giving him a show as much as a surrender. And Dio watched, unmoving, eyes fixed like she was a constellation unfolding before him.

By the time she stood bare in front of him, his shirt was undone, hanging off his shoulders. The tension in him was visible—jaw tight, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths.

He circled her like a man walking the perimeter of a sacred altar. His fingers ghosted along her skin—the dip of her spine, the swell of her hip, the delicate column of her throat.

“You drove me mad today,” he said, voice hoarse. “You designed your entire morning to mess with me.”

“And what if I did?” she asked, chin lifted in soft defiance.

“Then it’s only fair,” he growled, catching her waist and lifting her effortlessly, “that I return the favor.”

He tossed her onto the bed with a strength that made her breath catch—and then he was on her. Not rough, not rushed, but consuming. He worshiped her with kisses that branded and hands that remembered every inch of her body. He whispered her name like a vow and made her feel wanted in every way a woman could be.

He devoured her.

He claimed her.

He left her trembling, overflowing, her body slick with the echoes of pleasure and the unbearable sweetness of being known.

So much so, she half-laughed, half-moaned into his shoulder, “Dio… if you keep going, I’m going to end up pregnant again.”

He didn’t stop.

Every kiss said: Let them come. Let there be more of you.

By the time the stars spun behind her eyes and her voice cracked from saying his name like a prayer, she curled against him, her chest rising and falling with soft, sated breaths. Her hair was a halo of wild silk, her skin kissed red where he’d adored her most.

Dio held her close, strong arms wrapped around her trembling frame, his lips brushing her temple with reverent care.

“You,” she whispered, voice hoarse and full of wonder, “are dangerous.”

He chuckled, low and smug. “So are you. You’re the real menace.”

Mina laughed softly, sleepy and glowing, her fingers tracing lazy shapes on his chest.

“I love you, Dio.”

“I know,” he said, brushing her hair back. “And I love you more than ever. Every day.”

They fell asleep wrapped around each other, the moon casting silver light through the curtains. Somewhere down the hall, their twins slept soundly, unaware that their parents had just reminded each other why love—true love—was a force of nature.

[wileys-russo]

part of the pollito universe the claw II m.león

"oye that is cheating cabrón!" you accused, mapi having moved closer over the line and rather than using her gun to shoot the lined up ducks she tipped them over by hitting them with the barrel, flipping you off and continuing anyway, besting your score as the game chimed and beeped her victory.

"victoria!" mapi hollered, tapping her card against the points machine as you watched on with a sour look and narrowed eyes. "oh pollito do not be sad. you lost to the best!" mapi cooed, pinching your cheeks as you huffed and shoved her off.

"did you bring me here just to cheat?" you asked with a raised eyebrow as the older girl snickered. "it is not cheating...if you do not get caught. venga!" her arm slid around your shoulders, guiding you across the arcade.

"i wanted to play that one! mapi!" you whined as you tried to stop at a game you'd had your eye on for awhile awaiting it to be free, only to be roughly tugged away by the back of your shirt nearly falling over in the process.

"no. i will teach you something now nena, watch." the defender instructed, having pulled you over to the ball drop machine as you sighed heavily to convey your annoyance mumbling how bossy she was which only earned you a sharp pinch to the arm in response.

"i hate when you do that. it is going to bruise now, i have sensitive skin maría!" you complained with a scowl, tenderly touching the bright red bump as the older girl rolled her eyes.

"then do not decir cosas estúpidas. and if you tell ingrid about that or about anything i show you here, i will tell alexia that you slept over at your girlfriends on friday without her tía home." mapi smirked as your face fell and your mouth formed an o.

"how did you even-" "that is for me to know, and you to not find out. we have a deal pollito?" the dirty blonde booped your nose as you sighed deeply again but nodded, not really having much choice in the matter and admittedly a little curious about what the older girl could show you here.

"perfecto. ahora mira!" mapi gestured for you to come closer as she tapped her game card to play and the machine roared to life. "now. you press the button, hope the balls bounce right and land in the hole, sí?" she explained as you nodded, not sure where this was going.

"well. this is an older game pequeña, which means-" you watched on curiously as she repeatedly smacked her fist against the button before holding it down, and your jaw dropped again as all the balls dropped perfectly and fell right into the hole without a bounce.

"perfect score." mapi winked, tapping her card again to collect her ticket points as your head whipped around to make sure no one was watching you. "how did you-" you began to ask as the girl grinned, arm again settling over your shoulder.

"oh hermana, stick with me. you will never lose a game again!" her hand smacked gently against your cheek as she pulled you over to a different more modern game, where you cranked a handle and a giant roller would spin over and over until it landed on an amount of points.

"this one, we make sure nobody is around. you keep a lookout nena!" mapi instructed, tapping her card as you grew nervous, the arcade was hardly busy in the middle of a wednesday, but there was several staff members lingering around which had you on edge.

"so, you play-" mapi used all her strength to crank the handle down sending the roller spinning frantically. "-you wait-" the blonde nodded as it began to slow.

"-you line it up-" mapi pointed out the bright orange section which represented a thousand points. "-you open, and you stop." mapis hands slowly pushed up the glass casing which was around the roller as your eyes widened, watching in shock and horror as she grabbed the roller as it was almost about to stop, gingerly spinning it a little more until the selection dial landed on the 1000 points.

"you win! victoria." the defender gloated, quickly sliding the glass cage back down as your head again whipped around and mapi barely had a chance to tap her card to collect the points before your hand wrapped around her bicep and yanked her away.

"tonta! we could get arrested because of this." you hissed with wide eyes, your apparent fear only amusing the older girl in front of you who chuckled and patted your head like a small child.

"oh pollito. we will not be arrested! look around chiqui-" hands on your shoulders spun you about. "look at them. do they look like they care? like they will lose anything if we get a few extra tickets? no!" mapi scoffed, tattooed fingers pointing out the bored looking group of employees most of whom really weren't much older than you were.

"alégrate idiota! venga." again your hand was in hers and you were dragged across the arcade once more, smiling apologetically to a mother and son who mapi nearly bowled over in her haste as you both arrived in front of an old looking machine.

"qué es esto?" you frowned, not recognizing whatever the game was as mapi slowly turned to you, features plastered with a mixture of disgust and shock.

"you do not know...space invaders?" the defender gasped, hand on her heart dramatically as you rolled your eyes, dodging the pinch which she aimed your way for the action.

"some of us are not dinosaurs, abuela." you pouted mockingly, petting her head condescendingly as she had just done to you, this time not able to dodge the punch which connected with your forearm and had you hissing.

"don't rub it like a baby! take it like a woman." mapi warned as you huffed, ignoring her and rubbing the fast forming bruise, grumbling again about your sensitive skin which fell on deaf ears.

"de todos modos. you see this machine takes coins, sí?" the girl pointed, the game in question a vintage one which only accepted tokens. "but we do not have any-" you frowned with confusion as she waved you off, rummaging around in her pocket.

"hold this, and this, and this, it is here somewhere-" mapi shoved an assortment of random things into your hands as she dug through her pockets, pulling out sunglasses, keys, a rubber band, a toothpick, a bolt, a bookmark-

"ah! perfecta." you wasted no time handing her back all of the crap she for some reason insisted on having on her person, looking suspiciously at the bread tag in her hands.

"mi papi taught me this pollito. watch!" mapi grinned wolfishly, bending down and twisting the bread tag a certain way before jamming it into the coin slot, wiggling it around for a moment and sharply pulling it back out.

"no way!" you gasped in awe as the game roared to life, sure enough giving her the standard four lives as your jaw practically hit the floor, the zaragozan only smirked, wasting no time clicking play.

"puta you said it was my turn!" you groaned a half an hour later, throwing your head back as mapi died and once again did her little breadtag trick, shoving you out of the way for the third time and grabbing the controls.

"watch your mouth." mapi warned, eyes never leaving the screen in front of her as you huffed, eyes dropping down to where the key card she'd splurged on sat in her pocket, your own having run out of money a little while ago.

"how do you win again?" you asked innocently, sure enough stealing the older girls focus enough for your light fingers to ever so gingerly slip it out of her pocket and into your hand.

"-and then once you kill the first line of aliens you-" she was still passionately explaining, eyes so trained on the screen she didn't even notice you weren't listening, too busy slinking off to find a new game to play.

your eyes lit up at a huge claw machine in the corner, both you and vicky having just gone to go see the new inside out movie you were thrilled at the assortment of plush characters from the film up for grabs.

however your excitement dulled a little seeing the claw had no rubber caps over the ends, which meant that the likelihood of it actually picking something up and holding it long enough to drop down the chute, was slim.

you mulled over your options, deciding to just give it a go anyway, even more so considering it was on mapi.

you mumbled determinedly under your breath, laser focused as you darted from either side of the machine to make sure your drops were as perfectly lined up as they could be.

however that was to no use as time and time again the claw would pick something up just long enough for your happiness to peak and then it would promptly fall right back into the pile causing you to curse and kick at the machine in frustration.

a vigorous shake of it also proved no more useful, and you stopped that idea as soon as you noticed the bright red alarm sticker plastered on the side.

with it looking like you were going to leave empty handed, your brain shifted and a new set of thoughts were unleashed, coming from the corner of your mind that everyone had always told you to ignore.

but the youngest of five and raised that there was always a solution to a problem, bar be it a creative one, you were more inclined to let your imagination run wild.

so a few minutes later that's how you found yourself half wedged into the drop chute, your hand mere centimeters away from grabbing onto embarrassment, an old shoulder injury as a kid meaning your arm easily popped in and out like it was supposed to do that.

so close, if you just stretched a little more to the left and- "pollito! sal de ahí!"

you cursed as you were caught off guard and suddenly careered forwards, smacking your forehead against the corner of the chute and slipping out, landing in an awkward heap of limbs right at mapi's feet.

you groaned in pain, clutching at your forehead and feeling something wet and sticky drip down your face. did someone spill a drink on you?

"oh mierda!" mapi's eyes widened seeing the decent split in your eyebrow and the blood trickling down your face, quickly smacking away your hand which tried to touch it and hauling you up to your feet.

"cabrón! did you pour something on me?" you accused, suddenly feeling a little woozy as the slightly taller girl helped steady you, her own face paling a little at the split which would definitely need to be glued or worse case, stitched back together.

mapi assured a few employees who quickly appeared that she would sort you out, declining their offer to call an ambulance and that she would take you to the hospital yourself, and you seemed to tune back in at that.

"hospital!?" you yelled, mapi smacking a hand over your mouth and smiling awkwardly at the older woman who was carefully placing a plaster over the cut to cover it up until you sought medical attention.

you asked why you were going but it was muffled against mapi's hand which still firmly covered your mouth, but then you noticed the drops of red which fell as the woman clumsily missed half the cut with the plaster and reached for another one.

"is that blood? my blood?" your words were again muffled against mapis hand which you yanked off and glared up at her as she winced and rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly.

"muchas gracias." mapi quickly thanked the woman, holding back her comment about how terribly she'd bandaged up your head, and ignoring all of your questions as she guided you toward the stairs.

you tried to push her off insistent you could walk but the moment the safety of her arms left you wobbled a little and she was right back to holding you firmly as you blinked and grunted in pain, hand smacked away as again you tried to touch the cut.

"this is all your fault!" you scowled as mapi helped you into the passenger seat of her car, doing the seatbelt up for you as you huffed and puffed you weren't a child.

but all it took was the five seconds of her closing your door and making her way around to her own for you to angle the rearview mirror and get a good look at your head, pulling off the plaster with a wince.

"pollito! pon eso de nuevo. if you get blood on my car seats i will kill you!" the defender growled in warning, slipping into her seat and pushing you down into yours, fixing the bandage as you glared daggers at her.

"this is your fault maría!" "this is not my fault idiota." "you left me unsupervised!" "que? you were in the machine tonta!" "sí and i almost had the toy until you scared me!"

you glared out the window with arms crossed, suddenly feeling your heart beat in your forehead as a thick silence settled between the pair of you, mapi maybe speeding just a little as she booked it toward the hospital and silently prepped herself for the calls she would need to make once you all arrived.

"oye look on the bright side pollito." "que? my eyebrow just grew back!" you growled, groaning both in annoyance and pain as your eyes closed.

"um, well ehhh...at least you will have a cool scar?"

[na0koz]

being a princess while abby is one of the knights in your kingdom…specifically one who patrols the grounds of your family’s castle.

she tends to take the night shift, she prefers it that way since it’s much quieter. no one else to run into except the one other knight patrolling parallel to her. in all honesty, abby doesn’t really know many of her comrades names. just a select few who she’s known as long as she can remember - manny and owen were of note, but no one else really takes up any of her thoughts.

one night, after a particularly heavy gala with many, many suitors to see to that your mother had so graciously organised for you to choose from, you decided to take to the grounds to get a quick breath of the almost biting wind of the spring night.

you’d changed into a much more relaxed fitting dress and tossed your other, more extravagant one from earlier, to one of the far corners of your plush bedroom and grabbed for a candle to light your way as you wandered around the flowerbeds. flowerbeds that you honestly didn’t spend enough time admiring, given how long the gardener spends tending to them.

looping around the garden once before opting to go down the wide marble steps to get closer to the ornate fountain, you slowly amble over the garden your mother takes such pride in. though, you’re not sure how much of that pride is valid if she didn’t do any of the work.

after taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you go over the events of the night; all the frankly embarrassing things all the bachelors said to you in their attempts to win you over. you wondered how not one of them - it felt like it had been hundreds by now - had managed to take your fancy.

you shook off the thought when you hear the sound of gravel crunching under foot behind you, seemingly getting closer. praying it’s not the particularly stern maid coming to escort you back to your quarters, you turn to peer over your shoulder to find out who else was out at this time of night.

to your dismay, you’re none the wiser as you’re faced with a suit of armor, one tinted a shade of copper from the glint of your candle. glancing up and down the expanse of the glittering metal, you wait for whoever’s inside to say something like ‘what are you doing out here alone, ma’am?’ and usher you back to the grand doors into the warm.

but they simply cock their head at you, armor clunking as it shifts over itself. raising an eyebrow, you do the same back.

a beat of silence.

“who are you?” you murmur. you think they must be a new recruit given how strangely they’re acting.

you hear the knight inhale to speak before pausing. they even have to think about their name, and you briefly question your father’s employment skills.

“abby,” the knight eventually croaks out, voice sounding unused as it echoes out of the silver helmet.

abby is a girl’s name. you’ve never met a female knight before and without registering it, you can’t help but take another look up and down abby and marvel at how tall she is. also, you’re not sure if it’s just the armor, but she seems really buff. much more so than any of the poor excuses for husbands that your mother presented you with earlier.

all you can manage is an ‘oh’ before mumbling something about taking yourself back inside and how she can get back to her duties. though you wouldn’t mind if she escorted all the way to your room and tucked you into bed. shaking your head to rid yourself of the sudden uncalled for thought about the knight who you merely knew the name of, you scurry back to your castle, the heightened breeze blowing your candle out in the process.

abby turned mechanically - it was all she could do in that stiff suit - and watched you leave. that was the first time she’d ever seen you, despite working for your father for upwards of two years.

it was a similar situation for you. you had never interacted with one of the knights, let alone the majority of the plethora of staff working inside your home around the clock. you had always been taught that they weren’t of importance to you, that they were just there to protect you and make your lives easier.

however… you weren’t really sure if you could ignore them any longer. especially abby. you started taking night time walks in hope you’d run into her again, secretly wondering to yourself how it would go if abby was your suitor instead of all those ugly princes from neighbouring kingdoms. you think you’d let her court you, and you’d actually like it for once.

abby on the other hand, has to remind herself that she isn’t supposed to interact with the princess, let alone think about her the way abby does. she rubs her face with her calloused hands before setting down her helmet for the night and settling into her cot. she must not talk to you again.

that won’t last long though. obviously.