#<-only just started playing so doesn't know anything

[ovaryacted]

I love the concept of Girl Dad!Pope. I feel like he would take play time really seriously. Fully invested in the tea party, or bringing stuffed animals to his daughter’s “vet clinic.” He buys her so many toys, books, etc. and probably stays up late after she’s gone to bed to organize them 😂

─ Girl Dad! Pope Cody x fem! reader || WC: 1.4k

CW: FLUFF. Pope is a good dad! Daughter at different ages (months old to 4 years old). Daughter is unnamed. Daughter has Pope's hair, freckles, & eyes (carbon copy). Reader & Pope are in an established relationship.

Thank you for sending this in for a blurb idea, anon! This initially started as something silly and playful and it got real emotional towards the end, my eyes got watery reading it through lol. I hope you all like this little piece on Girl Dad! Pope cause talking about him means a lot to me. <3

It started with the whale plushie he got his daughter when she was just a couple of months old, spotting it in the toy section on a shopping trip, grabbing it along the way. As she got older over her first year of life, Pope carefully watches over her for things she might be interested in, to try to figure out what are the things that bring her joy, not including her own parents.

She was fond of sea animals, he soon figures out, and whether intentionally or unintentionally, Pope ransacks an entire toy store with all of the sea creature toys he could find. He doesn't overdo it of course, he leaves some things behind for customers for the next day, that's as considerate as he was going to get anyway. But when you walk into your daughter's bedroom and spot the wide selection of sharks, turtles, and jellyfish laying around the floor, you only squint at Pope.

"Andrew...where on Earth did these come from?"

"That toy store along the strip." He says it so calmly with a shrug, currently categorizing the plushies in order of importance based on how much his daughter smiled after he showed them to her one by one.

"Andy, she's not even a year old yet, you know?"

As if she knew she was the topic of conversation, your daughter's head pops up from her crib, her hands keeping her steady on the railing, staring between the two of you in curiosity.

"At least now we're prepared. Nothing wrong with that." He hides his smile, not an ounce of remorse or guilt on his face, not that he had anything to feel guilty about.

You don't argue with him, there's nothing to argue about. You simply plant a kiss on his cheek and reach to hold your baby girl for a little while, who was more than excited about all of the new joyful faces in her bedroom.

As she gets older, Pope's spending habits don't really stop. Well, he doesn't really "spend" money necessarily, you just end up finding new things around the house that you knew are because of him.

A new doll house. A kitchen playset. A mini doctor's set. A mini pink electric lamborghini.

You never got angry about him doing this, about spoiling your little girl because you know it's more than him just getting her things. Whatever she wants, it's a yes from him, when most of his life he was so used to being told no. No, you're not enough. No, you're not wanted. He's remedying his troubled past through his daughter, so you let him fill your house with toys that your child is more than happy to use on a daily basis.

Andrew becomes even more dedicated to his daughter's playtime once she knights him as an active participant.

You've caught him a handful of times sitting at her too-small tea table, thick fingers holding a plastic cup as delicately as he could. His broad figure looked utterly squished in the small chair he managed to fit the rest of his body into, and you'd laugh if you didn't know how much this meant to him. He wasn't the only one sitting at the table, several of your daughter's plushies that she's collected over the years make up her party of elite guests. Leaning against the doorway, you simply watch the two of them interact, how your daughter refills all of her patron's cups, and hands her father a plastic muffin for him to munch on.

"Having fun without me?" You question out loud, mirroring your daughter's smile when she stands up to run towards you.

"Mommy! Me and daddy are playing!" She says to the best of her ability, her fourth birthday just creeping around the corner. You run a hand through her auburn curls, straightening the tiara on her head and the superhero cape trailing behind her.

"I can see that, baby. Is daddy being a nice guest?"

"Yes. He's eating the muffin. Look!" She turns her head to point at Andrew, and you bite your inner cheek to suppress your chuckle.

He pays you no mind, fake-munching his muffin and humming in satisfaction at the taste. His face was as serious as ever, wearing the same signature scowl he fell in love with, but you could tell from the way his shoulders slouched he was calm, relaxed, safe.

"Do you want tea too, Mommy?" You hear your daughter ask, holding one of your hands and pulling you further into her mess of a room. You knew Andrew will have a fun time cleaning all of this up.

"The tea's good." Pope says in the light monotone voice you were familiar with, drinking in his hazel eyes as he fondly stares at you. "You should join us for the party." He holds out his big hand for you to take, and you gladly did, giving him an upwards quirk of your lips.

"Alright, alright. I'll stay for some tea. Where do I sit?"

Your favorite things to witness must be Pope being so devoted to your baby girl’s bedtime routine. It always started with a bath, one he was a part of since his daughter was young enough to be near running water. He made sure to use the bubble bath mixture that instantly calmed his daughter down, a mix of lavender and oatmeal filling the tiled room. He ignores the ache in his knees digging into the tile below him as he splashes water over his daughter’s head, wiping the water away from her hazel eyes, dryly chuckling when she dunks her rubber duck under the bubbles that surround her.

Drying her down, moisturizing her skin, and dressing her in some light green pajamas, he brings her to her toddler bed, setting her down and drawing back the sheets to let her get comfortable before tucking her in. Pope grabs one of the books in her expansive bookshelf, picking up Goodnight Moon, her personal favorite, and he sits on the opposite end of her small bed, mindful of the weight he puts against the frame.

His daughter stares at him as he repeats the words on the page, one open palm holding the book open while the other rubs her feet, squeezing here and there so she feels his presence. Pope’s calm words swirl in the four walls of her bedroom, keeping an even cadence after every passage.

Goodnight stars. Goodnight air. Goodnight noises everywhere.

It doesn’t take long for his daughter to fall fast asleep, her breaths slow as she falls deep into slumber. Pope takes a second longer to just look at her, to take in the way freckles were already appearing over her round cheeks and the bridge of her nose, the dark red curls he had as a child now coiling over her head in wild patterns.

She was so much like him, and yet different in every sense of the word. A part of him, a part of you; all of the intricacies that made you as humans mixed together in one final act of love to breathe new life to the world, birthing a new reality he never thought he could have.

Andrew stands up with a shaky breath, bending down to quickly plant a kiss on his daughter’s forehead, turning off the lights after double checking the baby monitor and nightlight were still on. He closes the door to her bedroom with a soft click, striding into your bedroom where you were waiting for him dressed in one of his baggy t-shirts and sleep shorts.

“She’s asleep?” You ask him, to which he nods. You don’t jerk away when he comes towards you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, resting his head along the side of your neck and simply breathing you in.

Your hands rub over his shoulders, kissing his temple and breathing with him, whispering those three words over and over again for as long as he needed to hear them. He’ll never fully declare the amount of gratitude he has towards you for loving him this way, for giving him a family that wants him, for saving him.

But you knew Andrew, as much as you knew Pope; you knew him. He didn’t need to tell you how much he loved you, you see it every day with how he worships you, and how he pours so much of himself in the child you created like that was all he knew, what he was born to do. You wouldn’t trade him or this life for anything, and holding him like this as he listens to your pulse flutter underneath him is all the declaration of love you needed.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[mrs-delaney]

Letters You Never Sent | Part One

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader | 17.2k-ish words

request: college sweethearts since ohio state 🫶 but by 2023, fame starts to change joe. he acts single, barely mentions his girlfriend, and reader starts feeling invisible—like she doesn’t even exist in his world anymore. so she starts writing letters. not to give to him—just to survive it. just to say the things she doesn’t feel safe saying out loud. they break up in january 2024. she moves out in a rush and forgets the letters. months later, joe’s in a new (casual) relationship. and the girl finds the letters. she gives them to him. he reads them. and it wrecks him. realizing how badly he hurt someone who loved him with everything she had. and maybe… just maybe… there’s still a happy ending. 🥺❤️

📝 Author’s Note:

this one is heavy, guys. sincerely, thank you to the anon who requested it. i literally cried writing this.

i hope you feel it.

honestly i’m a little nervous because i’ve never written anything this heavy before. these requests have been such a fun challenge—some of y’all are asking for things i never would’ve thought to write, and it’s pushing me in the best way.

i feel like this goes without saying but creative liberties were taken here.

this one’s for anyone who’s ever felt left behind. Part Two is coming Friday.

alexa play if i were a boy by beyoncé 💔

✨ my masterlist ✨

💌 want to be tagged in future fics? join my taglist here 💫

🌙 ask box is open — come keep me company, i’m around tonight 💌

The photo falls out of your copy of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo like a ghost from another life.

You're sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor of your new apartment, surrounded by boxes labeled in your neat handwriting—Books - Living Room, Kitchen - Essentials Only—building this new life piece by piece, methodically, like everything else you've learned to do alone. December afternoon light filters through windows that overlook a city that doesn't know your history, doesn't whisper his name on every street corner.

The photo is from October 2018. Ohio State tailgate. Both of you wearing Buckeye gear, his arm draped over your shoulders, caught mid-laugh at something off-camera. You remember exactly what made you both crack up—his terrible impression of Coach Meyer that had you snorting so hard you nearly choked on your beer.

You're looking up at him in the photo like he hung the moon. He's grinning down at you like you're the only person in a crowd of thousands.

God, you were so young. So sure you were different. So sure you were forever.

Your thumb traces over his face in the photo, and for a moment you can almost feel the scratch of his stubble, smell his cologne mixed with autumn air and possibility. Before the fame changed him. Before success became more important than the girl who believed in him first.

Before loving him nearly killed you.

You slip the photo back between the pages, closing the book gently. Not throwing it away - you're not that angry anymore, not that hurt. But not keeping it out either. Just... acknowledging it existed, acknowledging it mattered, before putting it back where it came from.

It wasn't always like this, you think, looking at those two kids who had no idea what was coming. It used to be perfect. It used to be the kind of love that made other people jealous, the kind that felt like finding your missing piece.

It used to be everything.

* * *

August 2017 Ohio State University

The first time you see Joe Burrow, he's late to freshman orientation and clearly doesn't want to be there.

You're sitting in what you quickly realize is the wrong breakout session—Student-Athletes: Balancing Academics and Competition—but the session has already started and you don't want to cause a disruption by leaving. You're a transfer student, sophomore standing but new to OSU, and you're already feeling like you stick out in all the wrong ways.

The door opens at 2:58 PM, and he slips in just under the wire. Still in workout gear—navy Nike shorts, gray Ohio State Athletics t-shirt, hair damp from a quick shower—backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. He scans the room for an empty seat and his eyes land on the one next to you.

"Sorry," he murmurs, settling into the chair. "Long practice."

You glance at him sideways. He's got this boy-next-door thing going on that probably makes professors want to adopt him, but there's something in his posture that screams frustration. Like he's carrying weight that doesn't belong to him.

"No worries," you whisper back. "I'm not even supposed to be in this group anyway."

That gets a small smile. "Yeah? What group should you be in?"

"Literally any other one. I'm not an athlete."

"Lucky you," he says under his breath, and there's something bitter in it that makes you look at him more carefully.

The orientation leader—a perky senior with a clipboard and an Ohio State cheerleading background—claps her hands together. "Alright, everyone! Time for our icebreaker. Partner up with someone you don't know and share your biggest fear about college!"

You turn to look at the boy next to you. Up close, you can see he's got these blue-green eyes that look tired despite his age, and there's something in his expression that gives him just enough edge to be interesting.

"Well," you say, "looks like we're partners."

"Joe," he offers, extending his hand.

"Y/N." His handshake is firm, confident in that way that comes from being an athlete, but his palm is slightly damp with nerves.

"So," you continue, settling back in your chair, "biggest fear about college. You go first."

Joe runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in directions that should look ridiculous but somehow just look endearing. "That I'm gonna wash out. Like, everyone here is so sure of themselves and I'm just hoping I don't completely embarrass myself."

The honesty catches you off guard. Most guys, especially athlete guys, would never admit that to a stranger. There's something refreshing about it, something real.

"Your turn," he says.

"That I'll always be the transfer kid who doesn't really belong anywhere. This is my second school already."

"Second? What happened to the first one?"

You shrug. "It was small, didn't have the program I wanted. I'm in nursing school."

His eyebrows raise. "Nursing? That's hardcore."

"Says the guy who probably gets hit by linebackers for fun."

"Quarterback, actually. Well, third-string quarterback. Behind J.T. and Haskins." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Living the dream."

Something in his tone makes you study his face more carefully. "How long have you been here?"

"This is my third year. Redshirted as a freshman, barely saw the field last year." He shrugs like it doesn't bother him, but you can see that it does. "Coach Meyer likes to remind me that I'd be better suited for Division III ball."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. But hey, everyone starts somewhere, right?"

"Hey," you say, surprising yourself with how much you want to make that bitter edge disappear from his voice, "some of the best players had to wait their turn."

"Easy for you to say. You're not getting called 'John Burrow' by your own teammates."

"John?"

"J.T.'s real name is Joe too. So I'm John now. Very creative." He rolls his eyes, but there's hurt underneath the sarcasm.

"That's stupid."

"Welcome to my life."

The orientation leader calls for everyone's attention, but Joe's eyes stay on yours for a beat longer than necessary.

"Well, John," you say, and his face falls slightly before you continue, "I think Joe suits you better."

His smile, when it comes, is genuine and a little surprised. Like no one's bothered to stick up for him in a while.

"Thanks," he says quietly.

After the session ends, you both stand in that awkward way people do when they're not sure if the conversation is over. The other students are filing out, heading to their next activities, but neither of you seems in a hurry to leave.

"So," Joe says, shouldering his backpack, "what's your next thing?"

"Campus tour, I think. You?"

"Same." He pauses, then: "Want to get lost together? I mean, figure out where we're going together?"

You can't help but smile. "Want some company?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"It's very okay."

You walk out of the building together, into the late afternoon Ohio sun, and something about the way he holds the door for you, the way he asks about your major like he actually cares about the answer, makes you think this might be the start of something good.

You have no idea, walking across campus with this frustrated quarterback who makes you laugh, that you're falling in love with someone who will break your heart so completely you'll forget how to breathe.

You have no idea that six years from now, you'll be sitting alone in a new apartment, holding a photo from when you thought you'd made it—when he was yours and you were his and the future felt as bright as those Ohio autumn afternoons—wondering how love that felt so right could go so wrong.

All you know is that Joe Burrow has kind eyes and a crooked smile, and when he asks about nursing school, you get the feeling he's the kind of person who actually listens to the answer.

So you tell him. And he listens. And somewhere between the academic buildings and the student union, between his stories about small-town Ohio and your dreams of helping people heal, something begins that feels like coming home.

* * *

Three weeks later - September 2017

You're reorganizing your notes for the third time when Joe slides into the chair across from you at the library, twenty minutes late and looking frazzled.

"Sorry," he says, dropping his backpack with a thud that earns him dirty looks from nearby students. "Coach kept us running extra drills because apparently we 'throw like we're afraid of the ball.'"

You look up from your perfectly color-coded anatomy flashcards and can't help but smile at his air quotes. "Yikes. Sounds like a fun afternoon."

Oh, the best," he deadpans, pulling out a crumpled syllabus and what appears to be three different notebooks. "Thanks for agreeing to this, by the way. Writing papers isn't exactly my strong suit."

It's become a routine over the past few weeks—these "study sessions" that Joe desperately needs for his Communications class and that you agreed to help with because, well, you like him. More than you probably should for someone you've known less than a month.

"What's the assignment this week?" you ask, even though you already know. You may have looked up his class schedule. Not in a creepy way. In a helpful way.

Joe squints at his syllabus. "Something about... 'analyzing the impact of digital media on interpersonal relationships in the modern age.'" He looks up at you with those blue-green eyes that have been showing up in your dreams lately. "I get the concept, I just hate writing papers."

You lean back in your chair, studying him. He's wearing a gray Ohio State hoodie that's probably two sizes too big, his hair is still damp from the shower, and he's got that slightly frustrated expression he gets when he has to translate his thoughts into academic essay format.

"You know what you want to say, right? You're just stuck on how to say it?"

"Exactly." Joe pulls out his notebook, and you can see he's already outlined his main points. His handwriting is messy, but his ideas are solid. "I've got all these thoughts about how social media makes people perform fake versions of themselves, but every time I try to write it down, it sounds like garbage."

You scan his notes. They're actually insightful—observations about authenticity, external validation, the psychology behind curated online personas. "These are really good points, Joe. You're just overthinking the academic voice."

For the next hour, you help him organize his thoughts into essay format. Joe doesn't need help understanding the concepts—he grasps them intuitively, makes connections you hadn't even considered. He just needs someone to help him translate his natural intelligence into the formal structure professors expect.

"You know," you say, reading over his revised introduction, "you should consider taking more psychology classes. You have good instincts about human behavior."

Joe shakes his head with a small laugh. "Nah. I mean, it's interesting, but I'm pretty single-minded about what I want to do with my life."

"Which is?"

"Make it as a quarterback. That's it. That's the plan."

There's something in his voice—not doubt, but determination so fierce it's almost startling. This isn't some childhood dream he's holding onto. This is his life's purpose, and he knows it.

"Must be nice," you say, "being that sure about what you want."

"What about you? You seem pretty sure about nursing."

"I am. I want to help people, you know? There's something about being there when someone's at their most vulnerable, being the person who helps them heal..." You trail off, realizing you've probably said too much.

But Joe's nodding like he gets it. "That's exactly how I feel about football. Like, I know it sounds dramatic, but when I'm on the field, everything makes sense. Even when I'm riding the bench, just being part of it feels right."

"Do you ever feel like you're trying to live up to someone else's expectations?" you ask.

Joe considers this, absently tapping his pen. "Not really. I mean, my dad played football, so people assume I'm trying to follow in his footsteps, but this has always been my choice. I was actually really good at basketball - could've probably played in college - but football just felt right, you know? Dad never pushed it on me. If anything, he tried to make sure I wanted it for the right reasons."

"And do you?"

"Want it for the right reasons?" Joe's smile is small but certain. "Yeah. I love everything about it. The strategy, the pressure, the way a perfect pass feels coming off your hand. Even the parts that suck, like sitting behind three other guys on the depth chart."

There's no bitterness in his voice when he mentions the depth chart, just the  confidence of someone who knows his time will come. It's attractive in a way that has nothing to do with his looks and everything to do with his certainty about who he is and what he wants.

The library is starting to empty out around you, the late afternoon crowd heading to dinner or evening activities. You should probably pack up, get back to your own studying, but neither of you seems in a hurry to leave.

"Can I ask you something?" Joe says, leaning forward in his chair.

"Shoot."

"Why are you helping me? Most people would just go through the motions."

The question catches you off guard with its directness. You set down your pen and consider how to answer honestly without revealing that you've developed feelings for the frustrated quarterback who brings you Red Bull during these sessions and remembers the chocolate covered espresso beans you like.

"Because I like how your mind works," you say finally. "You see things differently than other people. And because..." You pause, feeling heat creep up your neck. "Because I like you. As a person."

Joe's smile is soft and genuine, the kind that transforms his whole face. "I like you too. As a person."

"Good," you say, fighting your own smile. "Now, do you want to actually work on this paper, or should we keep having this very important philosophical discussion about why we like each other?"

"Can we do both?"

"We can do both."

You do work on the paper, eventually. But you also talk about everything else—his frustration with being redshirted, your adjustment to OSU, his family back home, your plans for nursing school. The conversation flows easily, naturally, like you've known each other for years instead of weeks.

"Do you ever worry you won't make it?" you ask.

Joe's quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. "Not really. I mean, I know it's going to be hard, and I know there are no guarantees, but..." He shrugs. "I can't imagine doing anything else. This is what I'm supposed to do."

That certainty, the way he talks about football like it's not just a career but a calling—it's one of the things that draws you to him. Joe Burrow knows exactly who he is and what he wants, even at nineteen.

"See? You're not the only one with good ideas."

The library lights start dimming—the universal signal that it's time to leave. You both pack up slowly, neither wanting to break the bubble you've created in this corner table surrounded by anatomy textbooks and his chicken-scratch notes.

"Same time next week?" Joe asks as you walk toward the exit together.

"Of course. But Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going to nail this paper. You've got good instincts."

His smile is the last thing you see before you part ways in the parking lot, and you drive home with a dangerous fluttering in your chest and the absolute certainty that you're in trouble.

The good kind of trouble. The kind that makes you want to write his name in the margins of your notebooks and find excuses to bring up Ohio State quarterbacks in casual conversation.

You have no idea yet that you're falling in love. But somewhere between helping him find the words for his thoughts and watching him light up when he understands a concept, something has shifted.

* * *

Two weeks later - October 15th, 2017

You're sitting cross-legged on your narrow dorm bed at 11:47 PM, staring at a blank piece of notebook paper, trying to figure out why you can't get tonight out of your head.

Your roommate Allison is already asleep, her gentle snoring mixing with the sounds of the dorm settling around you. You should be sleeping too—you have Clinical Skills at eight AM and Anatomy & Physiology right after—but your mind won't stop replaying the last four hours.

Joe had texted around seven: Library still open? Could use help with that comm paper

What was supposed to be an hour of editing had turned into... something else entirely. You'd finished his revisions in forty-five minutes—his writing was getting better, more confident—but then he'd just stayed. Stayed and talked about everything and nothing until the library staff started pointedly stacking chairs around you.

"You know what's weird?" he'd said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms overhead. "I've been here two months and you're the first person who's asked me what I actually think about stuff. Not football stuff. Just... stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone either wants to talk about football or they act like I'm too dumb to have opinions about anything else." He'd run his hand through his hair, making it stick up in six different directions. "You asked me about that social media thing like you actually wanted to know what I thought."

"I did want to know what you thought."

"Why?"

The question had caught you off guard. "Because you're smart. Because you see things differently than other people do."

The way his face had changed when you said that—like no one had ever called him smart before, like it was the best compliment he'd ever received—had done something dangerous to your chest.

Then he'd told you about watching Tom Brady win his first Super Bowl when he was eight years old. About the exact moment he'd decided he wanted to be a quarterback, sitting in his family's living room in Ames, pointing at the TV and announcing to his parents that someday that would be him.

"Everyone thinks I'm crazy for being so sure about it," he'd said. "Like, what if I'm wrong? What if I'm not good enough? But I can't explain it—when I'm throwing, when I'm reading a defense, when I'm in the pocket... it's like everything else goes quiet. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

The way his whole face had lit up when he talked about football, like he was describing falling in love—God, you'd never seen someone that passionate about anything. And when he'd looked at you after, like he was checking to see if you thought he was ridiculous, you'd felt something shift in your chest.

Something that felt a lot like falling.

Now you're sitting here at midnight, pen hovering over paper, trying to figure out how to capture what you're feeling. Because this isn't just a crush anymore. This is something bigger, something that scares you and thrills you at the same time.

You start writing before you can talk yourself out of it.

October 15, 2017

Dear Future Famous Football Player,

Okay, this is probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever done. I'm sitting here in my tiny dorm room at almost midnight, writing a letter to someone who will never read it, but I can't get tonight out of my head and I need to put this somewhere.

We stayed until the library closed again. We finished your paper revision in less than an hour (and it's really good, by the way—you have this way of cutting through academic BS that's actually kind of brilliant), but then we just... stayed. We talked about everything and nothing. About how Coach Meyer still calls you "the kid from Iowa" even though you've been here for years. About how you miss your mom's cooking but pretend the dining hall food is fine because complaining feels ungrateful. About how you've known exactly what you wanted to be since you were eight years old.

And then you told me about that Tom Brady Super Bowl. The way your whole face changed when you talked about that moment—when you decided you wanted to be a quarterback. God, Joe. I've never seen someone love something that much. It was like watching someone talk about religion.

Here's the thing though, and this is going to sound crazy: I've been sort of accidentally watching practice from my dorm window (yes, I'm a creeper, sue me), and I see how hard you work. I see you staying late, running routes with receivers who barely acknowledge you exist. I see you studying playbooks in the dining hall while other guys are talking about parties. I see the way you watch film on your laptop between classes.

So I'm starting this collection. Because someday—and I mean SOMEDAY soon—you're going to be exactly what you dreamed of being when you were eight years old. You're going to be the quarterback everyone talks about. You're going to make all those people who overlook you now remember your name.

And when that happens, I want to be able to show you this box full of letters and say "I told you so."

Maybe that makes me presumptuous. Maybe I'm just some nursing student who has no business believing in your future. But I do believe in it. I believe in YOU, even when you're frustrated on the bench, even when Coach Meyer looks right through you like you're not there, even when you doubt yourself.

You're going to be something special, Joe Burrow. I can feel it in my bones.

And honestly? I really hope I get to be there to see it happen.

Love (yes, I said it, fight me), Your biggest believer

P.S. - Your Communications paper is going to get an A. I'm calling it now.

You set the pen down and read over what you've written, heat creeping up your neck. It's sappy and presumptuous and completely insane, but it's also true. Every word of it.

You fold the letter carefully and slip it into the small wooden box your grandmother gave you before she died—the one that's supposed to hold "treasures." This feels like the start of something worth treasuring, even if Joe never knows it exists.

Especially because Joe will never know it exists.

You turn off your desk lamp and slip under your covers, but sleep doesn't come easily. Instead, you lie awake thinking about blue-green eyes and crooked smiles, about the way Joe's voice changes when he talks about football, about the impossible certainty that you're watching someone destined for greatness.

You don't know yet that you're falling in love. But somewhere between helping him find his voice and listening to him share his dreams, something has taken root in your chest.

Something that feels like forever.

Outside your window, the campus is quiet except for the distant sound of late-night traffic and someone's music playing softly down the hall. You drift off to sleep thinking about eight-year-old Joe Burrow pointing at a TV screen, declaring his future to the world.

You have no idea that six years from now, you'll remember this moment—the purity of believing in someone completely—as both the best and worst thing you ever did.

All you know is that you've never felt anything like this before. And you never want it to end.

* * *

December 16th, 2017

You're stress-eating pretzels in the library when Joe slides into the chair across from you, looking like he's been psyching himself up for something.

"Hey," he says, drumming his fingers on the table. "So, my birthday was last week."

"I know. You mentioned it like twelve times." You look up from your nursing textbook. "How was it? Very exciting twenty-first birthday celebrations?"

"Went to dinner with some of the guys. Nothing crazy." He's still drumming his fingers, which means he's nervous about something. "But, um, I was thinking. Since we don't have any more tutoring sessions before break..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to grab dinner? Like, not a study thing. Just dinner."

You set down your highlighter and really look at him. Joe's wearing his usual Ohio State hoodie and jeans, hair messy from practice, but there's something different about the way he's looking at you. Less casual. More intentional.

"Like a date?"

His ears turn red, which is honestly kind of endearing. "Maybe. Is that... would you want to do that?"

You've been waiting for this question for weeks, but now that it's happening, you feel oddly nervous. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Cool. Okay. Good." He grins, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "Friday work? There's this place off-campus that's supposed to be decent."

"Friday works."

"Awesome. I'll pick you up around seven?"

"Sounds good."

After he leaves, you sit there for a solid ten minutes staring at your textbook without reading a single word, trying to process the fact that you're going on an actual date with Joe Burrow.

* * *

Friday comes faster than you expected. You change your shirt twice before settling on something that looks nice but not like you tried too hard—dark jeans and a sweater that Allison insists "brings out your eyes," whatever that means.

Joe picks you up right on time, looking nervous and freshly showered. He's wearing a button-down shirt instead of his usual hoodie, and the effort doesn't go unnoticed.

"You look nice," he says as you walk to his car.

"Thanks. You too."

The restaurant he picked is a small Italian place near campus, the kind with mismatched chairs and good garlic bread. Busy enough that you don't feel like you're on display, quiet enough that you can actually talk.

"I've never been here before," you admit as you look over the menu.

"Neither have I, actually. My roommate recommended it. Said the pasta's good and it won't bankrupt me."

"Solid criteria."

At first you're both a little awkward - this is officially a date, after all - but once the food comes, you fall back into your usual rhythm. Joe complains about winter conditioning, you vent about your anatomy professor, and somehow you end up arguing about whether cereal is soup.

"It absolutely does not," you insist, laughing at his mock-serious expression.

"Milk is a liquid. Cereal pieces are solid ingredients floating in that liquid. That's soup."

"By that logic, ice cream with toppings is soup."

"Maybe it is."

"You're insane."

"You're the one dating someone insane, so what does that say about you?"

The word 'dating' hangs in the air between you for a second. It's the first time either of you has acknowledged what this is, and you feel your cheeks warm.

"I guess I have questionable judgment," you say finally.

"Clearly."

The drive back to your dorm is comfortable, filled with easy conversation and Joe's terrible taste in music. When he parks outside your building, neither of you seems in a hurry to end the night.

"This was fun," you say, turning to face him.

"Yeah, it was. Better than I expected, honestly."

"Wow, don't overwhelm me with enthusiasm."

Joe laughs. "You know what I mean. I was nervous I'd be weird about it. The whole date thing."

"Were you weird about it?"

"Was I?"

You consider this. "Maybe a little. But in a cute way."

"Ouch."

You're both smiling, and there's this moment where the air seems to shift between you. Joe's eyes drop to your mouth for just a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Y/N," he says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Your heart does something acrobatic in your chest. "Yeah. You can."

He leans across the center console, and you meet him halfway. The kiss is soft, tentative, nothing like the dramatic first kisses you've seen in movies. It's better because it's real—a little awkward because of the car's interior, but sweet and genuine and completely them.

When you break apart, you're both smiling.

"That was..." Joe starts.

"Yeah."

"I've been wanting to do that for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Since that first day when you made fun of my terrible introduction in orientation."

You laugh. "I did not make fun of you."

"You absolutely did. It was very attractive."

"Good thing, because I plan to keep making fun of you."

"I'm counting on it."

You kiss him again, just because you can, and this time it's less nervous, more sure. When you finally pull away, Joe's smiling at you like you've just made his entire week.

"I should go," you say reluctantly. "Allison's probably watching from the window like a creep."

"Probably?"

You glance up at your dorm room window and see the curtain drop quickly. "Definitely."

"Tell Allie I said hi."

"I'll tell her you're a good kisser. She'll want details."

Joe's ears turn red again. "Please don't."

"Too late. I'm telling her everything."

"Everything?"

"Well, not everything. But definitely the cereal soup debate. She'll think you're insane too."

"Great."

You lean over and kiss his cheek before getting out of the car. "Text me when you get back to your place?"

"Yeah. I will."

You watch him drive away before heading inside, where Allie is waiting with an expression that suggests she's been pressed against the window for the past twenty minutes.

"So?" she demands.

"So what?"

"Don't you dare. How was it?"

You collapse onto your bed, touching your lips where you can still feel the ghost of Joe's kiss. "It was really good, Allie."

"Good enough for a second date?"

"Definitely good enough for a second date."

Your phone buzzes: Made it back. Thanks for tonight. Sweet dreams.

You fall asleep thinking about the way Joe looked at you across the dinner table, like he was seeing you

* * *

April 14th, 2018

You're sitting in the stands with Joe's parents, wearing his number on a t-shirt you got specifically for today, and your stomach is in knots.

"He's been so nervous about this," Robin Burrow says, adjusting her Ohio State visor. "Barely slept last night."

"He'll be fine," Jimmy adds, but you can hear the tension in his voice too. "Joe's been working his ass off for this opportunity."

The spring game is supposed to be a glorified scrimmage, but everyone knows what it really is: Joe's last real chance to prove he belongs ahead of Haskins on the depth chart. Coach Meyer has been non-committal about the backup quarterback situation all spring, but the writing's been on the wall since Haskins' performance at Michigan last season.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Joe: See you after. Wish me luck.

You text back: You don't need luck. You've got this.

But watching him during warm-ups, you can see the pressure weighing on him. His jaw is set in that way it gets when he's trying not to let anyone see how much something matters to him. Three years of waiting, three years of getting told he's not good enough, all leading to this moment.

"There he is," Robin says, pointing as Joe trots onto the field with the second-string offense.

He looks good in the scarlet and gray, confident despite the nerves you know he's feeling. You watch him go through his pre-snap reads, the way he surveys the defense with the kind of calm intelligence that should be obvious to anyone paying attention.

The first quarter is mostly vanilla plays, nothing too exciting. Joe gets a few snaps, completes his passes, hands the ball off cleanly. Solid but unremarkable. You can see him settling in, finding his rhythm.

Then, in the second quarter, something clicks.

Joe drops back on a play-action fake, and the defense bites hard. He steps up in the pocket, eyes downfield, and launches a perfect spiral to K.J. Hill for a 35-yard touchdown. The crowd erupts, and you're on your feet screaming before you even realize it.

"That's my boy!" Jimmy yells, and Robin is clutching your arm so hard you'll probably have bruises.

Joe doesn't celebrate much—just a small fist pump before jogging to the sideline—but when he looks up at the stands, his eyes find yours immediately. He points right at you, that crooked smile breaking across his face, and your heart does something acrobatic in your chest.

"Did he just—" you start.

"He pointed at you," Robin finishes with a smile. "I've never seen him do that before."

The rest of the game is a blur of completions and smart decisions. Joe finishes 18 of 23 for 279 yards and two touchdowns, no interceptions. It's the kind of performance that should settle any debate about who the backup quarterback should be.

When the final whistle blows, you practically sprint down to the field level, Robin and Jimmy close behind. The crowd is filing out, but you're pushing against the current, desperate to find Joe in the chaos of players and families and media.

You spot him near midfield, still in his uniform, talking to a reporter. His hair is sweaty and sticking up in six different directions, and there's a grass stain on his jersey, but he's glowing. Actually glowing with the kind of satisfaction that comes from proving everyone wrong.

When he sees you approaching, his face breaks into that smile—the real one, not the media-trained version—and he excuses himself from the interview.

"Did you see that?" he says, jogging over to you, still breathless from the game. "Did you see that pass to Hill?"

"I saw everything," you say, and before you can think about it, you're in his arms and he's spinning you around right there on the 50-yard line. "You were incredible."

When he sets you down, his hands stay on your waist, and there's something different in his eyes. Something that makes your breath catch.

"I love you," he says, the words tumbling out like he can't hold them back another second.

Time seems to stop. The noise of the stadium fades into background static. It's just you and Joe and this moment that feels like everything you've been building toward since that first day in orientation.

"I love you too," you say, and his smile is so bright it could power the entire stadium.

He kisses you right there on the field, in front of his parents and the remaining fans and anyone else who happens to be watching. It's not perfect—his lips taste like Gatorade and sweat, and someone's taking pictures with their phone—but it's real and it's yours and it's everything.

"I've been wanting to say that for months," he admits when you break apart, his forehead resting against yours.

"Only months?" you tease. "I've been thinking it since December."

"Since our first date?"

"Since our first date."

Joe laughs, the sound mixing with the distant noise of the crowd still filing out. "God, I was so nervous that night. I thought I was going to mess it up somehow."

"You didn't mess anything up. You were perfect."

"Not perfect. But maybe perfect for you?"

"Definitely perfect for me."

You're both grinning like idiots, caught up in the euphoria of the moment—his performance, the "I love you," the feeling that everything is finally falling into place.

"Joe!" Jimmy calls out, approaching with Robin and a huge smile. "Hell of a game, son."

"Thanks, Dad." Joe's arm stays around your waist, like he can't bear to let you go. "Did you see that scramble in the third quarter?"

"Saw all of it. You looked like a quarterback out there."

"He looked like the quarterback," Robin adds, hugging both of you at once. "I'm so proud of you."

The next hour passes in a blur of congratulations and photos and people telling Joe how well he played. You stay close to his side, basking in his happiness, in the way he keeps glancing at you like he still can't believe you're there.

It's not until you're walking back to the parking lot, just the two of you, that reality starts to creep back in.

"Think this changes anything?" you ask, swinging your joined hands between you.

"It has to, right?" Joe says, but there's uncertainty underneath the confidence. "I mean, I couldn't have played much better than that."

"You were amazing."

"Coach Meyer actually smiled at me. Like, a real smile, not one of those scary ones."

You laugh. "High praise."

"The highest."

But even as you laugh and celebrate and replay every throw from the game, there's a part of you that's worried. Because you know how these things work. You know that one good game doesn't necessarily change everything, especially when the coaches have already made up their minds.

You don't say any of this to Joe, though. Not today. Today is for celebrating, for savoring this moment when everything feels possible.

"I love you," he says again as you reach his car, like he's testing out how the words sound.

"I love you too," you reply, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.

You drive back to campus with the windows down and the music loud, Joe's hand in yours, both of you high on love and possibility. The future feels bright and wide open, full of promise.

You have no idea that this will be one of the last purely happy moments you'll have for a long time. That the coaches have already made their decision about the depth chart, that Joe's transfer will be announced in just a few weeks, that loving someone with dreams as big as his means learning to love them through disappointment too.

All you know is that Joe Burrow just told you he loves you after the best game of his college career, and right now, that feels like everything.

Later that night, in your dorm room

April 14, 2018

My love,

You pointed at me. In front of 70,000 people, in front of all the coaches, in front of your teammates - after that beautiful touchdown pass, you found me in the stands and pointed right at me.

You pointed at me after that touchdown pass. In front of all those people, after the best play of the game, you found me in the stands first. I've never felt anything like that.

Coach Meyer actually smiled at you today. I saw it from the stands. And when you told that reporter after the game that your girlfriend was your inspiration? I thought I might spontaneously combust from pride.

But mostly, I can't stop thinking about what you said on the field. "I love you." Just like that, no hesitation, no fear. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I love you too, Joe Burrow. I love your terrible jokes and your competitive streak over everything and the way you actually listen when I complain about my anatomy professor. I love how hard you work and how much you care and the way you make me feel like I'm the most important person in your world.

You're not the backup anymore. After today, you can't be. You're the future.

And I get to love you through all of it.

Forever yours, Y/N

* * *

May 18th, 2019

You find Joe sitting on the couch in his apartment, staring at his laptop screen like it holds the answers to the universe. There are papers scattered across the coffee table—transfer portal documents, LSU recruiting materials, statistics sheets—and he looks like he hasn't slept in days.

"Hey," you say softly, setting down the coffee you brought him. "How are you feeling?"

He doesn't answer immediately, just keeps staring at the screen. You can see the LSU Tigers logo reflected in his eyes.

"Joe?"

"I'm scared," he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I'm making a huge mistake? What if I go down there and just prove everyone right—that I really am Division III material?"

You sit down next to him, close enough to see the stress lines around his eyes. It's been a month since spring practice ended, a month since it became clear that despite his spring game performance, Haskins was still ahead of him on the depth chart. A month of Joe weighing his options while you watched him slowly break apart.

"Tell me what you're thinking," you say.

Joe closes the laptop and runs both hands through his hair. "Coach O called again yesterday. Says they want me, says I can compete for the starting job immediately. But..."

"But?"

"But what if I can't? What if I transfer and sit on another bench for another year? What if I'm just not good enough, and I'm too stubborn to see it?"

You've never seen Joe like this—so uncertain, so vulnerable. The confident quarterback who pointed at you in the stands after throwing touchdown passes has been replaced by someone who's questioning everything he thought he knew about himself.

"What does your gut tell you?" you ask.

"That I need to go. That staying here means accepting being a backup forever." He looks at you then, and there's something desperate in his expression. "But it also means leaving you. Leaving us. And we just figured this out."

Your heart clenches. You've been dreading this conversation, knowing it was coming but hoping somehow you could avoid it.

"Joe," you say carefully, "what are you asking me?"

"I'm asking if you think this is crazy. If you think I should just accept my place here and stay."

The question hangs between you like a test. You know what the easy answer is, what the selfish answer is. Ask him to stay. Tell him you need him here. Make this choice about you instead of about his dreams.

But you also know Joe. You know that if he stays at Ohio State just for you, he'll spend the rest of his life wondering what could have been. And eventually, he'll resent you for it.

"I think," you say slowly, "that you've been preparing for this opportunity your whole life. And I think you'll never forgive yourself if you don't take it."

Joe's shoulders slump slightly. "What about us?"

"What about us?"

"Long distance is hard. Really hard. And if I go to LSU..." He trails off, but you can hear the unspoken concern. If he goes to LSU and succeeds, if he becomes the quarterback he's always believed he could be, will there still be room for a girl from Ohio?

"Joe," you say, taking his hands in yours, "do you love me?"

"Of course I love you. That's why this is so hard."

"And do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me when I say that if we're really meant to be together, we'll figure it out. Distance is just geography."

"It's not just geography. It's everything else. The pressure, the spotlight, the way everything changes when you're actually playing at that level."

You can hear the fear in his voice, and it breaks your heart. Not fear of failure—fear of success. Fear that becoming the quarterback he's always dreamed of being will cost him the life he's built with you.

"Hey," you say, moving closer to him on the couch. "Look at me."

He does, those blue-green eyes full of uncertainty.

"I fell in love with someone who dreams big. Who works harder than anyone I know. Who refuses to settle for less than what he's capable of." You brush a strand of hair off his forehead. "If you stay here just for me, you won't be that person anymore. And then what are we really holding onto?"

Joe is quiet for a long moment, processing what you've said. When he speaks again, his voice is steadier.

"What if everything changes? What if I go down there and become someone different?"

"Then I'll learn to love that person too. As long as he's still fundamentally you."

"And if the distance is too hard?"

"Then we'll deal with it when it happens. But Joe, you can't make decisions based on fear. You taught me that."

"When did I teach you that?"

You smile. "Every day. Every time you get back up after Coach Meyer tells you you're not good enough. Every time you choose to keep fighting instead of giving up. You've been teaching me how to be brave since the day I met you."

Something shifts in Joe's expression. The uncertainty is still there, but underneath it, you can see the determination that's always driven him starting to resurface.

"You really think I should go?"

"I think you should do what your heart tells you to do. And I think your heart has been telling you to go since the day Coach O first called."

Joe nods slowly, then reaches for his phone. "Okay. I'm going to call him back."

"Now?"

"Now. Before I lose my nerve."

You watch as Joe dials the number, your own heart racing. This is it. The moment that changes everything.

"Coach O? It's Joe Burrow... Yes, sir, I've made my decision."

You can't hear the other side of the conversation, but you can see Joe's posture straightening, his confidence returning with each word.

"I want to be a Tiger... Yes, sir, I'm ready to compete... Thank you, Coach. I won't let you down."

When he hangs up, Joe just sits there for a moment, staring at his phone like he can't believe what just happened.

"I did it," he says finally. "I'm really doing this."

"You're really doing this."

"Holy shit." He looks at you, and now there's excitement mixing with the fear. "I'm going to LSU."

"You're going to LSU."

He pulls you into his arms then, holding you tight against his chest. You can feel his heart racing, matching your own.

"I'm terrified," he whispers into your hair.

"That's how you know it's the right choice."

"What if I miss you too much?"

"Then you'll call me every day. And I'll visit as much as I can. And we'll make it work because we have to."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

That night, you lie awake long after Joe falls asleep beside you, staring at the ceiling and trying to process what just happened. Tomorrow, he'll start the transfer process. In a few months, he'll be in Louisiana, chasing the dream he's carried since he was eight years old.

And you'll be here, supporting him from 900 miles away, hoping that love is enough to bridge the distance.

You think about that first letter you wrote, about believing in someone's potential before anyone else could see it. You just never imagined that believing in someone could require letting them go.

But that's what love is, isn't it? Wanting someone to become the best version of themselves, even when it's hard for you. Even when it means sacrifice.

Joe stirs beside you, and you turn to watch him sleep. In the morning, everything will change. But right now, he's still yours, still the frustrated quarterback from Ohio who pointed at you in the stands and told you he loved you.

Tomorrow, you'll help him pack. You'll drive him to the airport when it's time to visit LSU. You'll smile and be supportive and pretend your heart isn't breaking a little bit.

Because that's what love looks like sometimes. It looks like letting go so the person you care about can fly.

May 19, 2019

My love,

You did it. You made the call. You chose the scary, uncertain path because it's the one that leads to your dreams.

I watched you dial Coach O's number last night, and I have never been more proud of anyone in my entire life. Not because you chose LSU, but because you chose yourself. You chose to bet on your own potential instead of accepting what other people think you're worth.

I know you're scared. I know this means leaving everything familiar behind. But Joe, this is what you've been working toward your entire life. This is your shot.

I also know you're worried about us. About what distance will do to what we've built. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared too. But I meant what I said—if we're really meant to be together, we'll figure it out.

You're going to LSU to play in big games, to compete for championships, to become the quarterback you've always known you could be. I'm so excited to watch you do it.

And when you're standing on that field in Death Valley, throwing touchdown passes and proving everyone wrong, just remember that there's a girl in Ohio who believed in you first.

I love you. Go be great.

Forever yours, Your biggest believer

* * *

Chapter 7

December 14th, 2019 - New York City

You're sitting in the Heisman Trophy ceremony audience, wearing a navy blue dress you bought specifically for this moment and trying not to cry before Joe even wins.

To your left, Robin Burrow is clutching a tissue and whispering prayers under her breath. To your right, Jimmy keeps checking his watch like he can speed up time through sheer willpower. The whole family section is buzzing with nervous energy, but you feel strangely calm.

Joe's going to win. You've known it for weeks, maybe months. The stats don't lie—78% completion percentage, 48 touchdowns, 6 interceptions, leading LSU to an undefeated season. He's not just the best player in college football this year; he's having one of the greatest seasons in the history of the sport.

But sitting here, watching them announce the finalists, you're not thinking about statistics. You're thinking about that scared boy in his apartment seven months ago, terrified he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

"The 2019 Heisman Trophy winner," the presenter says, and your heart stops beating for a moment, "quarterback Joe Burrow, Louisiana State University."

The room goes quiet for a beat, then fills with soft sounds of joy. Robin's eyes fill with tears that she wipes away quickly. Jimmy nods once, proud but not surprised. And you—you just sit there for a second, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

Joe Burrow. Heisman Trophy winner.

The boy who was told he belonged at Division III Mount Union just won the most prestigious individual award in college football.

When you finally manage to focus on the stage, Joe is walking up to accept the trophy, and he looks... composed. Confident. Like he belongs there, like this is exactly where his journey was always meant to lead.

But you know him well enough to see the emotion underneath the composure. The slight tremor in his hands as he accepts the trophy. The way his voice catches just barely when he starts his speech.

"First, I'd like to thank God," he begins, and you feel yourself leaning forward like you can somehow get closer to this moment. "My family, who's always been there for me through everything..."

He thanks his coaches, his teammates, the LSU community. You're filming it on your phone like every other proud girlfriend in the audience, but you're not really watching the screen. You're watching Joe—really watching him—and marveling at how far he's come.

"And to all the kids in Athens and Athens County that go home to not a lot of food on the table, hungry after school—you guys can be up here too," Joe says, his voice steady but emotional.

You're crying now, not because he mentioned you—he didn't, and that's okay—but because this is who he is. Someone who uses his biggest moment to think about hungry kids back home.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. Photos with the trophy, interviews with reporters, a receiving line of congratulations that seems to last forever. You hang back with his family, not wanting to intrude on his moment, but Joe keeps looking for you in the crowd.

When he finally breaks away from the media obligations, he comes straight to you.

"Did you hear that?" he asks, still slightly breathless from everything. The trophy is in his hands, heavier and more beautiful than you imagined.

"I heard every word," you say, reaching up to straighten his tie that got crooked during all the photos. "That speech was incredible. Southeast Ohio, LSU, everything."

"I meant what I said about those kids back home. About them being able to make it up here too."

"I know you did. That's why I love you."

Joe's expression softens. "I should have mentioned you specifically. I had so many people to thank, and I ran out of time, but—"

"Joe, stop." You place your hand on his chest. "That speech was perfect. You thanked the people who got you here, who believed in you. You don't need to mention me for the whole world to know how I feel about you."

"But I want them to know. I want everyone to know that you're the reason I'm standing here."

"No," you say firmly. "You're standing here because you worked harder than anyone. Because you took a chance on yourself. Because you refused to give up when everyone told you that you weren't good enough."

Joe sets the trophy down carefully on a nearby table and pulls you into his arms. Right there in the middle of the Heisman ceremony reception, with his family and reporters and important people everywhere, he holds you like you're the most precious thing in the room.

"I love you," he says into your hair. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"I love you too."

"After the championship game, after all this craziness dies down, we need to talk about the future. About what comes next."

"The NFL?"

"All of it. The draft, where we'll live, how we want to build our life together." His voice drops lower. "I want to marry you, Y/N. Not now, not tomorrow, but someday. I want you to know that's where my head is."

Your heart does something acrobatic in your chest. It's not a proposal, but it's a promise. A commitment to a future that includes both of you.

"I want that too," you whisper.

"Good," he says, pulling back to look at you. "Because I'm pretty sure I can't do any of this without you."

Later that night, back in your hotel room, you finally have a moment to process everything that happened. Joe is in the shower, and you're sitting on the bed with your laptop, looking at the photos that are already popping up online.

There's one of Joe holding the trophy, beaming with pure joy. Another of him hugging his parents. And then there's one of him during his speech, talking about the kids back home in Athens County.

The caption reads: "LSU QB Joe Burrow wins Heisman, dedicates moment to hungry kids."

You're not mentioned in the articles, and that's okay. His speech wasn't about personal thanks—it was about using his platform for something bigger. That's who Joe is, even in his biggest moment.

You've loved him since he was a frustrated third-string quarterback that nobody believed in. You supported him through the scariest decision of his college career. You've been there for every step of this incredible journey.

And now he's the best player in college football, and you get to be proud of both his talent and his character. It feels like the beginning of everything.

December 14, 2019

My Heisman winner,

I'm sitting in our hotel room writing this while you're in the shower, and I can hear you humming. Actually humming. Like you're so happy you can't contain it.

When they called your name tonight, I felt like my heart might literally explode. Not just because you won, but because you looked for me in the crowd first. Before the cameras, before the handshakes, before the trophy—you found my eyes.

You didn't mention me in your speech, and that's okay. You talked about the kids back home, about Athens County, about giving hope to people who don't have much. That's who you are - even in your biggest moment, you were thinking about others. I was so proud watching you up there, using your platform for something bigger than yourself.

Do you remember orientation day? When we were both convinced we didn't belong anywhere? Look at us now. You're holding the Heisman Trophy and talking about our future together like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I'm adding tonight's program to this collection, right next to that first letter I wrote when you were worried about embarrassing yourself. The boy who was afraid he wasn't good enough just won the most prestigious award in college football.

I told you so, didn't I? I told you from the very beginning.

You're everything I always knew you were. And somehow, impossibly, you're mine.

Forever yours, The girl who knew first

P.S. - Your speech made me cry. Happy tears. The best kind.

* * *

April 23rd, 2020

The Burrow family living room has been transformed into draft day headquarters. There are laptops everywhere, multiple TV screens showing different networks, and enough snacks to feed a small army. You're sitting on the couch next to Joe, your legs curled underneath you, trying to pretend like your heart isn't beating out of your chest.

Everyone knows Joe's going first overall to Cincinnati. It's been a foregone conclusion for months. But sitting here, waiting for it to become official, the nerves are real.

"Stop bouncing your leg," you whisper to Joe, placing your hand on his thigh.

"I'm not bouncing my leg."

"You're absolutely bouncing your leg."

Joe looks down and realizes you're right. He stills his leg but immediately starts drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch instead.

"Joe," Robin says from across the room, "you're going to wear a hole in that fabric."

"Sorry." He stops drumming his fingers and instead reaches for your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. "I know it's Cincinnati. I know it's basically guaranteed. But until I hear my name called..."

"Hey," you say softly, squeezing his hand. "Breathe. This is your moment. Enjoy it."

The living room is full of both your families - his parents, your parents who drove down from Ohio, his brothers, and a few close family friends. It should feel overwhelming, but instead it feels perfect. Like everyone who matters is here to witness this moment.

When Roger Goodell appears on screen in his home office (because of course the 2020 draft is virtual), the room goes quiet.

"With the first pick in the 2020 NFL Draft, the Cincinnati Bengals select... Joe Burrow, quarterback, LSU."

The room explodes in celebration. Everyone's on their feet at once - hugging, cheering, shouting congratulations over each other. Someone's taking pictures, someone else is already on the phone spreading the news. It's chaos, but the good kind.

And Joe? Joe just sits there for a second, staring at the TV like he can't quite believe it's real.

"You did it," you whisper, and that seems to snap him out of it.

He turns to you with the biggest smile you've ever seen and pulls you into his arms, spinning you around right there in the living room while everyone cheers.

"I did it," he says into your ear. "Holy shit, I actually did it."

"Language, Joseph," Robin calls out, but she's laughing through her tears.

"Sorry, Mom. Holy crap, I actually did it."

The next few hours are a blur of phone calls and interviews and congratulations. You mostly stay in the background, letting Joe have his moment, but he keeps pulling you back to his side. When ESPN calls for a quick interview, his first words are about the journey, about LSU, about all the people who believed in him.

Later that night, after everyone has gone home and it's just you and Joe sitting on his back porch, you finally have a moment to process what happened.

"Number one overall," you say, still somewhat in disbelief.

"Number one overall," he repeats. "To Cincinnati, of all places."

"You excited about that?"

Joe considers this. "Yeah, actually. I am. It's close to home, close to you. And they need a quarterback badly enough that I'll probably get to play right away."

"No more sitting on the bench."

"No more sitting on the bench."

You're quiet for a moment, both of you looking out at the backyard where you've spent so many evenings over the past year whenever you visited from Ohio.

"So," you say finally. "Cincinnati."

"Cincinnati," Joe agrees. "You know, if you wanted to... I mean, if you're interested..."

"You're asking me to move with you?"

He turns to look at you, and there's something vulnerable in his expression. "Yeah. I am. I know it's a big ask, and I know you have your life in here, but—"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll move to Cincinnati with you. Of course I will."

Joe's smile is so bright it could power the entire neighborhood. "Really?"

"Really. Though I'll need to find a job, and we'll need to figure out living arrangements, and—"

Joe cuts you off by kissing you, soft and sweet and full of promise.

"We'll figure it out," he says when you break apart. "All of it. Together."

* * *

July 25th, 2020

Moving day is chaos.

You're standing in what will be your new apartment in Cincinnati, surrounded by boxes and furniture and the general disaster that comes with combining two people's lives into one space. Joe is attempting to assemble what the instructions claim is a coffee table but looks more like abstract art.

"I think you're missing a screw," you say, looking over his shoulder.

"I'm not missing a screw. The instructions are wrong."

"The instructions are not wrong, Joe. You probably have it upside down."

"I do not have it— Oh." He flips the piece he's been struggling with, and suddenly everything makes sense. "Okay, maybe I had it upside down."

You laugh and kiss the top of his head. "Good thing you're pretty."

"Hey!"

The apartment is perfect for you both—modern but not cold, spacious but not overwhelming, close to the facility but still in a neighborhood that feels like home. You found it together, both of your names on the lease, both of your input on the furniture. It feels like a real partnership.

"I still can't believe we did this," you say, looking around at boxes labeled with both your handwriting.

"What, moved in together?"

"All of it. You getting drafted, me finding a job at Cincinnati Children's, us actually doing this crazy thing."

Joe stands up from his coffee table project and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

"Not crazy," he says. "Right. This feels right."

You lean back into his chest, fitting perfectly against him like you always have. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, you can see the Cincinnati skyline in the distance, but it's the reflection of you two together that catches your attention—Joe's chin resting on your shoulder, your hands covering his where they're clasped around your waist.

"It does feel right," you agree. "Scary, but right."

"What's scary about it?"

You turn in his arms to face him. "Everything's changing so fast. Six months ago you were in college, I was finishing my degree in Ohio, and now we're here. You're about to be an NFL quarterback, I'm starting at the hospital next week..." You gesture around at the boxes. "We're adults. Like, with a lease and everything."

"We've been adults, babe."

"Have we? Because I still feel like I'm playing house sometimes."

Joe's expression grows more serious. "Hey, look at me." When you do, his blue-green eyes are steady, certain. "This isn't playing house. This is us building something real. Something that's ours."

Before you can respond, there's a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a string of colorful language.

"Everything okay in there?" Joe calls out.

"Define okay," comes Jimmy's voice. "I may have just christened your new kitchen floor with a box of your fancy plates."

You and Joe exchange a look and burst out laughing.

"I'll get the broom," you say.

"I'll survey the damage," Joe says.

In the kitchen, Jimmy is standing amid a sea of ceramic shards and packing paper, looking like a kid who just broke his mom's favorite vase.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. "I was trying to put the box on the counter and it just slipped and—"

"Dad, it's fine," Joe says, already grabbing the dustpan from where you'd unpacked it an hour ago. "They were just plates."

"They were the good plates," you point out, crouching down to pick up the larger pieces. "The ones we spent forty-five minutes debating at Pottery Barn."

"We can get new good plates," Joe says. "Better good plates."

"I'll replace them," Jimmy insists. "I'll buy you the best plates money can buy."

Robin appears in the doorway, takes one look at the situation, and shakes her head. "Jimmy Burrow, what did you do?"

"It was an accident!"

"It's always an accident with you."

You watch Joe's parents bicker good-naturedly while you both clean up the mess, and something warm settles in your chest. This is what you'd imagined when you decided to move in together—not just the two of you, but the life that comes with being together. Family helping you move, broken plates on the first day, the comfortable chaos of people who love each other.

"You know," you say quietly to Joe as you dump ceramic shards into the trash, "maybe the broken plates are good luck. Like, we got the disaster out of the way early."

"Is that a thing?"

"I'm making it a thing."

Joe grins. "I like it. New tradition: break something expensive on moving day for good luck."

"Let's not make it a tradition. These plates were thirty dollars each."

"Thirty dollars each?" Jimmy's voice rises an octave. "For plates?"

"They were really nice plates, Dad."

"They were highway robbery is what they were."

An hour later, the kitchen is cleaned up and Jimmy has been banned from touching anything fragile. You've moved on to unpacking books in what will be Joe's office—though you've already claimed half the shelves for your nursing textbooks and novels.

"We need a system," you say, holding up a copy of his quarterback camp playbook. "Your football stuff, my medical stuff, shared stuff?"

"Or," Joe says, unpacking his LSU championship trophy and setting it carefully on the bookshelf, "we could just mix it all together. Show the world that a football playbook and Gray's Anatomy can coexist peacefully."

You laugh. "That's very philosophical of you."

"I have my moments."

You're about to respond when Robin appears in the doorway holding your jewelry box—the small wooden one your grandmother left you.

"Sweetie, where do you want this?" she asks. "I wasn't sure if it should go in the bedroom or..."

"The bedroom's fine," you say, taking it from her. "Thank you."

Joe glances at the box. "What's in there?"

"Just some personal stuff from college," you say, taking it from Robin. "I'll put it away."

He nods and goes back to unpacking, not thinking much of it. You make a mental note to find a good hiding spot for your collection of letters he'll never read.

Joe doesn't press, just goes back to unpacking his books, and you clutch the jewelry box a little tighter. Later, when you're alone, you'll find a good hiding spot for it. Somewhere safe where you can keep adding to your collection of letters he'll never read.

By evening, the apartment is starting to look like a home. The furniture is assembled (correctly, after Joe swallowed his pride and actually read the instructions), the kitchen is functional, and you've managed to find places for most of your belongings.

Joe's parents left an hour ago after Robin made you promise to call if you need anything and Jimmy apologized one more time about the plates. Now it's just you and Joe, sitting on your new couch, takeout containers scattered on the coffee table he finally assembled properly, looking around at what you've built together.

"We did good," Joe says, his arm around your shoulders.

"We did," you agree. "Though I think your dad's banned from helping us move ever again."

"Definitely banned."

You curl closer to him, your head on his shoulder. "Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of us. For taking this leap."

"Even if it's scary?"

"Especially because it's scary."

Joe presses a kiss to the top of your head. "You know what I love about this place?"

"What?"

"It's ours. Not my apartment that you stay at sometimes, not your place that I visit. Ours. Both our names on the lease, both our books on the shelves, both our terrible cooking in the kitchen."

"Hey, my cooking isn't terrible."

"Remember the smoke alarm incident last week?"

"That was an accident!"

You laugh and burrow deeper into his side. "Fine, but you're not much better."

"Which is why we're going to learn together. Just like everything else."

Outside, Cincinnati is settling into evening—traffic sounds, distant music, the urban symphony you're both still getting used to after years of college towns. But inside your apartment, everything is quiet and warm and exactly right.

"I love you," you say into the comfortable silence.

"I love you too," Joe replies, pulling you closer. "This feels right, doesn't it? Being here together."

"It does," you agree, settling against his side. "Even with your dad breaking our plates on day one."

"Hey, that's a family tradition now. Good luck plates."

You're both laughing when Joe's phone buzzes with a text. He glances at it and his expression shifts slightly.

"What is it?"

"Coach Taylor. Team meeting tomorrow morning. Looks like the real work starts now."

There's something in his voice—excitement mixed with nerves, anticipation tempered by the weight of what's coming. Tomorrow, he stops being Joe Burrow the draft pick and becomes Joe Burrow the Cincinnati Bengals starting quarterback. Tomorrow, everything changes again.

"You ready?" you ask.

Joe considers this, looking around at the apartment you've built together, at the life you're starting to create. When he looks back at you, his smile is confident and sure.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm ready."

And sitting there on your new couch in your shared apartment, surrounded by boxes and the promise of everything ahead, you believe him completely.

You have no idea that this moment—this perfect, ordinary evening of takeout and broken plates and dreams coming true—will become a memory you'll cling to years later when everything falls apart.

All you know is that you love Joe Burrow, and he loves you, and you're building something beautiful together.

It feels like forever.

Later that night, after Joe falls asleep

July 25, 2020

My love,

We moved in together today. Officially, permanently, with both our names on a lease and everything. Your dad broke our good plates (the ones we spent forever picking out at Pottery Barn), and you spent two hours assembling a coffee table upside down, and it was perfect.

Perfect because it was real. Because we're not playing house or pretending anymore—we're actually doing this. Building a life together. Making a home.

I keep looking around this apartment and thinking about how it's ours. Our books mixed together on the shelves, our pictures on the walls, our terrible cooking experiments in the kitchen. Everything we've worked toward, everything we've dreamed about, starting right here.

You asked about my letters earlier, and I almost told you. Almost handed you this entire box and said "here, read about how much I love you." But these are mine. My way of loving you, my way of documenting this incredible journey we're on.

Someday, maybe I'll show them to you. When we're old and gray and you want to remember how we got here. But for now, they're my secret way of telling you everything I feel.

Tomorrow you start training camp. Tomorrow you become an NFL quarterback for real. But tonight, you're just my Joe, sleeping next to me in our bed in our apartment, and everything is exactly as it should be.

I love our life, Joe Burrow. I love the life we're building.

Forever yours, Y/N

* * *

April 15th, 2022 - Cincinnati Children's Hospital

You're adjusting the IV drip for seven-year-old Dylan when you hear the commotion in the hallway. Excited voices, the sound of sneakers squeaking on linoleum, someone saying "Oh my God, is that really him?"

Dylan looks up at you with wide eyes. "Miss Y/N, what's all that noise?"

You smile, checking his chart one more time. "I think some very special visitors just arrived."

"Special visitors?"

Before you can answer, Joe appears in the doorway wearing his Bengals polo and that easy smile that makes patients feel instantly comfortable. Behind him are Ja'Marr, Tyler Boyd, and a few other teammates, but Dylan only has eyes for Joe.

"No way," Dylan breathes. "No freaking way."

"Dylan Rodriguez," you say in your best stern nurse voice, "what did we say about language?"

"Sorry, Miss Y/N. But that's Joe Burrow!"

Joe steps into the room, and you feel that familiar flutter in your chest watching him with kids. He's a natural—crouching down to Dylan's eye level, asking about his favorite plays, listening to Dylan explain his treatment like Joe's genuinely interested in the medical details.

"So Dylan," Joe says, pulling up a chair beside the bed, "Miss Y/N here tells me you're the bravest kid on this whole floor."

Dylan beams. "She takes really good care of me. She's the best nurse ever."

Joe glances at you, and there's something in his expression that makes your heart skip. Pride, love, admiration—like he's seeing you through Dylan's eyes and falling for you all over again.

"She really is," Joe agrees. "I'm pretty lucky she takes care of me too."

"She takes care of you?" Dylan asks, confused.

"Well," Joe says, winking at you, "she's my girlfriend. So when I get hurt playing football, she patches me up just like she patches you up."

Dylan's eyes go wide. "Miss Y/N is your girlfriend? That's so cool!"

"I think so too," Joe says, and the way he's looking at you makes you forget there are other people in the room.

The next two hours pass in a blur of room visits, autographs, and photos. You work alongside Joe and his teammates, but it doesn't feel like work. It feels like showing off your two favorite worlds—Joe getting to see you in your element, your patients getting to meet their hero.

In eight-year-old Sophie's room, you're checking her post-surgical dressings when she whispers conspiratorially to Joe, "Miss Y/N sang to me when I was scared before my operation."

"She did?" Joe looks over at you. "What did she sing?"

"Taylor Swift," Sophie giggles. "She knows all the words."

"She's very talented," Joe says seriously. "Though I have to warn you, her singing voice is... questionable."

"Hey!" you protest, laughing. "Sophie, don't listen to him. He thinks he can sing better than me."

"Can you?" Sophie asks Joe.

"Absolutely not. But don't tell her I said that."

In the NICU, you're explaining ventilator settings to Tyler Boyd's wife Kierra when Joe comes up behind you, his hand settling naturally on your lower back.

"You're really good at this," he murmurs in your ear.

"It's my job."

"No, I mean... you're really good with them. The kids, the families. They all love you."

You turn to look at him. "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised. Just... proud. Really fucking proud."

"Language, Burrow," you tease, glancing around at the tiny patients. "There are babies present."

"Sorry," he grins. "Really freaking proud."

The local news crew arrives halfway through the visit, and you try to fade into the background like you usually do during Joe's media obligations. But this time, Joe won't let you.

"Actually," he says to the reporter, his arm sliding around your waist, "I want to make sure you get the real story here. This is Y/N, my girlfriend, and she's a nurse here at Children's. These kids aren't just patients to her—they're her kids. She takes care of them every single day, not just when the cameras are here."

The reporter's eyes light up. "Oh, that's a wonderful angle. How long have you been working here, Y/N?"

You glance at Joe, suddenly nervous to be on camera, but he squeezes your hand encouragingly.

"Almost two years now," you say. "Since Joe and I moved to Cincinnati."

"And what's it like having your boyfriend surprise your patients?"

"It's pretty special," you admit. "These kids fight so hard every day. Seeing them light up like this... it's everything."

Joe's thumb traces circles on your hip, and when you look at him, he's watching you with an expression so soft it takes your breath away.

"She's amazing," he tells the camera, but his eyes never leave yours. "These families are lucky to have her."

Later, after the team has left and you're finishing your shift, you find a note tucked into your locker:

Thank you for letting us see what you do. Watching you with those kids today... I've never been more proud to be with someone. You're incredible at this, babe. Really incredible. - J

P.S. - Dylan asked me if I was going to marry you. I told him that was the plan. Hope that's okay.

You read the note three times, your heart doing acrobatic flips in your chest. The plan. Like it's not a question of if, but when.

That night, curled up next to Joe on the couch, you're both scrolling through the news coverage on your phones.

"Look at this," Joe says, showing you his screen. "Channel 12 posted a whole segment about you. 'Bengals QB's girlfriend is local children's nurse.'"

You peer at his phone. The photo they used is from today—you and Joe with Dylan, all three of you laughing at something off-camera. You look happy. More than happy. You look like you belong.

"They called me 'local children's nurse,'" you point out. "Not just 'Bengals QB's girlfriend.'"

"Good. That's what you are. That's who you are."

You curl closer to him, your head on his shoulder. "Thank you for today. For including me, for making it about the kids."

"Thank you for being amazing. Seriously, watching you work today..." He trails off, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I love seeing you in your element. You're so good at what you do."

"I love what I do."

"I know. It shows."

You're quiet for a moment, both of you scrolling through comments on the hospital's Facebook post about the visit. Most of them are about Joe, but there are plenty about you too:

"Y/N is the sweetest nurse! She took such good care of my daughter last year."

"Love that Joe's girlfriend actually works at the hospital. She's not just there for the cameras."

"You can tell she really cares about those kids. What a sweet couple."

"See?" Joe says, reading over your shoulder. "They love you."

"They love us," you correct.

"They love us," he agrees.

Later that night, after Joe falls asleep, you slip out of bed and retrieve your wooden box from its hiding place in the closet. You've been writing letters less frequently lately—life has been so good, so stable, that the urgent need to document everything has faded into simple contentment.

But today deserves to be remembered.

April 15, 2022

My love,

Today you came to my hospital. MY hospital, with MY kids, and you were so perfect I could hardly breathe.

Watching you with Dylan, listening to you tease me about my "questionable" singing voice when Sophie brought up your Taylor Swift performances, seeing you crouch down to every child's eye level like they're the most important people in the world... God, Joe. My heart was so full I thought it might burst.

But the best part wasn't watching you with the kids. It was watching you watch me. The way you looked at me when Dylan called me the best nurse ever. The way you insisted the reporter interview me too, like you were proud to claim me. The way you told that little girl at the end that you were planning to marry me someday.

THE PLAN, you wrote in your note. Like it's not even a question anymore.

I've never felt more seen, more valued, more loved than I did today. You didn't just bring the team to visit kids. You brought them to see what I do, who I am when I'm not just "Joe Burrow's girlfriend." You made sure everyone knew I matter.

This is us at our best, Joe. This is the team we make, the life we're building. You supporting my dreams while I support yours. You being proud of me while I'm proud of you.

I love our life. I love the way we fit together. I love that your dreams and my dreams somehow make perfect sense side by side.

Forever yours, Your very proud girlfriend 

P.S. - I do NOT have a questionable singing voice. Sophie clearly has excellent taste.

* * *

January 30, 2022 - Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City

The silence in the family section is deafening.

You're sitting between Robin and Jimmy, all three of you staring at the field in stunned disbelief. Overtime. They lost in overtime. Three points away from the Super Bowl, and it's over.

Your hands are shaking as you watch Joe on the field, still in his uniform, helmet off, talking to Patrick Mahomes at midfield. Even from here, you can see the devastation in his posture—shoulders slumped, head down, the weight of this loss written in every line of his body.

"He played his heart out," Robin whispers, tears streaming down her face. "He gave everything he had."

"It wasn't enough," Jimmy says quietly, and the defeat in his voice breaks your heart almost as much as watching Joe does.

You want to run onto the field, want to wrap Joe in your arms and tell him it's okay, that there will be other chances, other seasons. But you know better. You know how much this meant to him, how hard he worked to get here, how close they came to something extraordinary.

The family section starts to empty slowly, other wives and girlfriends gathering their things, preparing for the long, quiet flights home. But you don't move. You can't move. You just keep watching Joe, waiting.

"Come on, honey," Robin says gently, touching your arm. "We should head down."

You nod but don't get up immediately. You're memorizing this moment—not because you want to, but because you know it's important. This is Joe at his lowest point, and you're about to find out if you're still the person he turns to when his world falls apart.

The walk down to the field level feels endless. Security guards guide the families through corridors that smell like concrete and disappointment. You can hear muffled crying, quiet conversations, the sound of dreams being packed away for another year.

When you finally make it to the designated family area outside the locker room, most of the other players have already come and gone. You wait with Joe's parents, all of you checking your phones obsessively, none of you sure what to say.

Then you see him.

Joe emerges from the tunnel still in his uniform, his face a mask of controlled devastation. His eyes scan the small crowd of remaining family members, and when they land on you, something in his expression cracks.

He doesn't say anything, just walks straight to you and pulls you into his arms so tightly you can barely breathe. You feel his body shaking against yours, feel the way he buries his face in your neck like he's trying to disappear.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice broken. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"No," you say fiercely, pulling back to look at him. "Don't you dare apologize. Do you hear me? Don't you dare."

Joe's eyes are red-rimmed, whether from tears or exhaustion or pure emotion, you can't tell. "We were so close. We were right there."

"I know, baby. I know."

"I let everyone down. The team, the city, you—"

"Stop." You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "You didn't let anyone down. You were incredible. You ARE incredible."

Joe shakes his head, but you don't let him argue.

"Joe Burrow, you took this team to the AFC Championship in your second season. You came back from a knee injury that could have ended your career and you made it to one game away from the Super Bowl. That's not failure. That's extraordinary."

"It doesn't feel extraordinary."

"I know it doesn't. Not right now. But baby, this is just the beginning. This isn't the end of your story—it's the chapter that makes the next one even better."

Joe pulls you close again, and you feel some of the tension leave his body. Around you, his parents are talking quietly to Ja'Marr's family, giving you both space to process this moment.

"I love you," Joe says into your hair. "I need you to know that. I couldn't have gotten here without you."

"I love you too. And I'm so proud of you I can barely stand it."

"Even after that interception in overtime?"

"Especially after that interception in overtime. Because you got back up. You always get back up."

Joe pulls back to look at you again, and there's something in his eyes—gratitude, love, but also a kind of desperation. Like he needs you to anchor him to something real when everything else feels like it's falling apart.

"Come on," he says, his arm around your waist. "Let's get out of here."

The flight back to Cincinnati is quiet. Joe stares out the window for most of it, your hand in his, occasionally squeezing your fingers like he's making sure you're still there. You don't try to fill the silence with empty platitudes. You just stay close, let him know through your presence that he doesn't have to carry this alone.

Back in your apartment, Joe goes straight to the shower while you order food from his favorite Sushi place. When he emerges twenty minutes later, hair damp and wearing sweatpants and an old Ohio State t-shirt, he looks younger. Less like an NFL quarterback and more like the boy you fell in love with in college.

"Not hungry," he says when he sees the takeout containers.

"I know. But you should eat something anyway."

"Y/N—"

"Please. For me."

Joe sighs but sits down next to you on the couch, mechanically eating pad thai while you curl up against his side. The TV is on, but neither of you is really watching. There will be analysis tomorrow, articles about what went wrong, speculation about next season. Tonight is just for grieving.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask after a while.

"Not really."

"Okay."

"Maybe later. Just... not tonight."

You press a kiss to his shoulder. "Whatever you need."

Joe sets down his barely touched food and turns to face you. "I need this. Just you. And me."

"You have me. You'll always have me."

"Promise?"

There's something vulnerable in the way he asks it, like he's not just talking about tonight or this loss, but about everything that's coming. The pressure, the expectations, the spotlight that's only going to get brighter.

"I promise," you say, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.

Joe kisses you then, soft and desperate and full of everything he can't say out loud. When you break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"I love you," he says again, like he needs to keep saying it to make sure it's real.

"I love you too. Win or lose, good games or bad games, I love you."

That night, Joe falls asleep with his head on your chest, your fingers running through his hair. You stay awake for a long time, listening to his breathing even out, feeling the weight of his trust in the way he sleeps so completely in your arms.

You think about what you said on the field—that this is just the beginning of his story. You believe that with everything in you. Joe Burrow will get back to this moment, and next time, he'll be ready.

What you don't know is that when he gets there, when he reaches the heights you're both dreaming of, you won't be standing next to him anymore.

All you know is that tonight, in this moment, you're exactly where you belong. You're the person he turns to when the world falls apart, the one who picks up the pieces and helps him remember who he is.

You're his home. His safe place. His forever.

At least, that's what you think.

Later that night, while Joe sleeps

January 30, 2022

My heartbroken love,

I'm writing this after you finally fell asleep. It took hours for your breathing to even out, for your body to stop carrying all that tension from tonight. You're curled up next to me now, finally peaceful after the worst night of your football career so far.

Watching you walk off that field tonight was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Seeing you so close to your dreams and watching them slip away... God, Joe. My heart broke for you.

But then you found me. In all that chaos, all that devastation, you found me first. Not the media, not your teammates, not the coaches. Me. You walked straight to me like I was the only thing that could make any of this bearable.

That's when I knew. Not that I love you—I've known that for years—but that I'm the person you trust with your broken pieces. I'm who you turn to when everything falls apart.

You apologized tonight. You actually apologized to ME, like losing that game was something you did to me personally. Baby, you could never disappoint me. You could lose every game for the rest of your career and I would still be proud to love you.

But you won't lose every game. You won't even lose most games. Tonight was heartbreaking, but it wasn't an ending. It was education. It was motivation. It was the foundation for everything that's coming next.

You're going to get back there, Joe. And when you do, when you're holding that Lombardi Trophy, I want you to remember this night. Remember how it felt to fall short, so you never take success for granted.

I'll be there for all of it. The comeback, the victories, the championship we both know is coming. Just like I was there tonight.

Forever yours, Y/N

P.S. - You said you couldn't have gotten here without me. The truth is, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

* * *

March 15th, 2023

You're having lunch with your friend Emma at a trendy spot downtown, catching up on everything you've missed since she moved to Cincinnati for her marketing job. It feels good to have your college friend nearby again, someone who knew you before you became "Joe Burrow's girlfriend."

"So," Emma says, stabbing her salad with more force than necessary, "how are things with Mr. Quarterback? I barely see you guys together on social media anymore."

"We're good," you say automatically, the response you've perfected over the past few months. "Just busy. His schedule is crazy during the season, and now with all the off-season training..."

Emma nods, but there's something in her expression that makes you pause.

"Actually," she says, setting down her fork, "that's kind of why I wanted to talk to you. I saw something last night and I wasn't sure if I should mention it..."

Your stomach drops. "What kind of something?"

Emma pulls out her phone, and you watch her scroll through Instagram with the kind of purposeful navigation that means she's looking for something specific.

"Because," she says, turning her phone toward you, "when I was scrolling last night, I noticed Joe's been... active."

The screen shows Joe's Instagram activity. Your heart starts beating faster as you see a long list of likes on photos from accounts you don't recognize. @KelseyAnderson @DanielleFitness. @MiaMartinii.

"Sarah, what—"

"Keep scrolling," she says gently.

You scroll down with trembling fingers. Photo after photo of beautiful women—models, influencers, actresses. All liked by @Joeyb_9 All within the last few weeks.

Your mouth goes dry. "This... this doesn't mean anything. It's just social media."

But even as you say it, you're thinking about the photos. Bikini shots. Workout videos. Professional modeling photos where the women are wearing next to nothing.

"Honey," Sarah says softly, "there are like fifty of them. Just in the past month."

You hand her phone back, your hands shaking slightly. "He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. You know how guys are with social media. They just scroll and like without thinking."

"Maybe," Emma says, but she doesn't sound convinced. "But Y/N, some of these are really... explicit. And it's not just random scrolling. Look."

She shows you her phone again, this time on @KelseyAnderson's profile. "He's been liking her photos for weeks. Consistently. And she's been liking his back."

The room feels like it's spinning. You stare at the phone, at the evidence of Joe's digital attention being given to women who look nothing like you. Women with perfect bodies and professional photographers and hundreds of thousands of followers.

"I probably shouldn't have shown you," Emma says, watching your face carefully. "I just... if it were my boyfriend, I'd want to know."

"No," you say quickly, "you did the right thing. I just... I need a minute to process this."

The rest of lunch passes in a blur. You go through the motions of eating, of responding to Emma's conversation, but your mind is spinning. Every interaction you've had with Joe over the past few weeks is suddenly cast in a different light.

The way he's been more distant lately. How he's always on his phone but angles it away from you. The fact that he hasn't posted a photo of you together since... when? You can't even remember.

"I should probably go," you say, checking the time even though you have nowhere urgent to be.

"Y/N," Emma says gently, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... a lot to think about."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet. But thank you for telling me. Really."

Emma nods, but she looks worried as you both stand to leave. "Call me later? Promise?"

"Promise."

But you don't go home. Instead, you drive aimlessly around Cincinnati, Emma's words echoing in your head. Fifty of them. Just in the past month.

When you finally make it back to your apartment, Joe is in the kitchen making a protein shake, still in his workout clothes from training.

"Hey babe," he says without looking up from his blender. "How was lunch with Emma?"

"Good," you say, trying to keep your voice normal. "How was training?"

"Brutal. Coach has us doing these new conditioning drills that are basically torture."

You watch him pour his shake into a tumbler, notice how he immediately reaches for his phone. The same phone he's been using to like photos of other women.

"Joe," you say before you can lose your nerve.

"Yeah?" He's scrolling already, not really looking at you.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure, what's up?" But he's still looking at his phone, and something inside you snaps.

"Can you put that down? Please?"

Joe looks up, surprised by your tone. "Everything okay?"

"That's what I want to ask you."

He sets his phone face-down on the counter and gives you his attention. "What's going on?"

You take a breath, trying to figure out how to bring this up without sounding like a crazy, jealous girlfriend. "Emma showed me your Instagram likes today."

Joe's expression doesn't change, but you catch the tiny flicker in his eyes. "My Instagram likes?"

"The photos you've been liking. Of other women."

"Y/N—"

"Models, influencers. A lot of them, Joe. Like, a really concerning amount of them."

Joe runs his hand through his hair, a tell you recognize from years of watching him when he's uncomfortable. "It's just social media. It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't. I scroll through my feed, I see photos, I like them. It's literally meaningless."

"But these aren't just random photos, Joe. These are specific accounts. Some of them you've been consistently liking for weeks."

"I don't monitor my likes, Y/N. I just double-tap and keep scrolling."

There's something in his tone—dismissive, almost annoyed—that makes your chest tighten. This isn't the Joe who used to listen to your concerns, who used to care when something upset you.

"So you're saying it means nothing? The fact that you're giving attention to dozens of half-naked women online?"

"Jesus, when you put it like that, you make it sound like I'm cheating or something."

"Aren't you? Kind of?"

Joe stares at you like you've lost your mind. "No, I'm not cheating. Not even kind of. I'm double-tapping photos on an app. That's it."

"It doesn't feel like 'that's it' to me."

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?"

The words hit you like a slap. Your problem. Like your feelings about this are irrational, unreasonable, something for you to deal with alone.

"My problem?"

Joe seems to realize how that sounded and softens slightly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant... this isn't as big a deal as you're making it."

"How would you feel if I was constantly liking photos of shirtless male models?"

"I wouldn't care."

"You wouldn't?"

"No, because I'd know it didn't mean anything."

But there's something in the way he says it, too quick, too defensive, that makes you wonder if he's lying. To you or to himself.

"When was the last time you posted a photo of us together?" you ask.

The question catches him off guard. "What?"

"When was the last time you posted a photo of us? Together?"

Joe is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. "I don't know. Recently?"

"Try again."

"Y/N, I don't keep track of that stuff."

"Well, I do. It's been four months, Joe. Four months since you posted anything that shows we're together."

"So?"

"So people are starting to wonder if we're still dating."

"People need to mind their own business."

"These people include my friends. And your teammates' wives. People who actually know us."

Joe picks up his phone again, a clear signal that he's done with this conversation. "I'm not going to change how I use social media because of gossip."

"I'm not asking you to change how you use social media. I'm asking you to understand why this hurts me."

"It hurts you that I like photos on Instagram?"

"It hurts me that you're giving other women attention that you don't give me. It hurts me that strangers have to ask if we're still together because I've disappeared from your online presence. It hurts me that when I try to talk to you about it, you dismiss my feelings like they don't matter."

Joe is quiet for a long moment, staring at his phone screen. When he looks up, his expression is tired.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Y/N."

"I want you to say that you understand why this bothers me. I want you to say that you'll be more mindful about it."

"Fine. I'll be more mindful."

But he says it like he's humoring you, like he's agreeing just to end the conversation. There's no understanding in his voice, no recognition that your feelings are valid.

"Joe—"

"I said I'll be more mindful. What else do you want?"

What you want is for him to apologize. What you want is for him to seem like he cares that he hurt you. What you want is for him to put his arms around you and promise that you're the only woman who matters to him.

What you get is dismissal and irritation and the growing certainty that something fundamental has shifted in your relationship.

"Nothing," you say quietly. "Forget I said anything."

"Good," Joe says, already looking back at his phone. "Because I have a conference call with my agent in ten minutes."

You watch him walk away, disappearing into his office and closing the door behind him. You're left standing in the kitchen, holding the pieces of a conversation that solved nothing and somehow made everything worse.

That night, you lie awake staring at the ceiling while Joe sleeps peacefully beside you. You think about Emma's concerned face across the lunch table. You think about the photos you scrolled through—beautiful women getting attention from your boyfriend that you haven't received in months.

But mostly, you think about Joe's reaction. The dismissiveness. The casual way he made your feelings seem unreasonable. The Joe you fell in love with would never have done that.

For the first time since you've been together, you wonder if you're fighting for something that's already over.

March 15, 2023

Joe,

Today Emma showed me your Instagram activity. Fifty likes on other women's photos in just the past month. Models, influencers, women who look nothing like me.

When I tried to talk to you about it, you called it "my problem." You acted like my feelings were irrational, like caring about this made me crazy and jealous.

Maybe it does make me crazy. Maybe I am being unreasonable. But I don't think I am.

I think I'm watching the man I love slowly erase me from his life, one Instagram like at a time. I think I'm watching you explore options while keeping me as a safety net.

The worst part wasn't discovering the photos. The worst part was your reaction when I brought it up. You didn't apologize. You didn't seem to care that it hurt me. You just wanted me to stop talking about it.

When did I become so unimportant to you that my feelings don't even register?

When did you stop loving me enough to care when you hurt me?

I keep telling myself this is just a rough patch, that we'll get through it like we've gotten through everything else. But I'm starting to wonder if you want to get through it, or if you're hoping I'll just stop fighting and let you slip away.

I love you. But I'm starting to think that's not enough anymore.

Y/N

[authorhjk1]

Hey author, would you be interested in giving a quicikie about, Seoyeon and Nien invite you to their haus room?

You knew it was a bad idea to accept Nien's offer. Your girlfriend promised you that she'd be quiet. She promised you that her roommate wouldn't wake up. But to your defense you are tipsy right now. The both of you are.

That's why it takes you a while to realize the gravity of the current situation. A pair of eyes is fixated on the two of you from across the dark room. While you're lying on Nien's bed. With your girlfriend riding your cock.

This was a really bad idea.

It started off really good. Nien riding your cock is one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen. The way her tight abs seem to move underneath her flawless skin. The way her hips circle around which makes her waist look even smaller. The way it feels when you press your hands flat against her abs, or hold her waist. And her pussy... You have to bite your lip to not groan her name without a break. Her already cute face looks even cuter when it's distorted in pleasure and you only hesitantly silenced her adorable moans with her panties.

The sight of her alone could make you cum. And you couldn't look away from here even for a second. Until you heard a rustling sound from across the room. Nien hasn't noticed yet. Her head is rolled back while she mindless rides your cock, muffled moans still escaping her panties.

You and Seoyeon stare into each other's eyes. You're not sure what her reaction will be. Is she going to yell at you and break the two of you up? Is she just gonna tell you to keep quiet? Or just ignore her friend riding her boyfriend and turn around and continue to sleep?

Your breath catches in your throat when you see her moving. She throws the covers off her body and gets off her bed. You hold onto Nien's waist, trying to signal her to stop. But your girlfriend is too far down the path of pleasure to care about anything else than your cock.

To your surprise Seoyeon doesn't look angry at all as she walks up to Nien's bed. Instead, she actually looks turned on. When she looks down at you, you're met with a look you didn't expect.

"Happy birthday, big boy."

And then Seoyeon leans down and captures your lips with hers. Your hands glide off Nien's waist as you try to comprehend what's going on. Seoyeon's tongue invades your mouth while your girlfriend continues to ride you. You don't know if Nien knows what's going on or not. The room is dark and she has her eyes closed it seems. Seoyeon didn't speak very loudly either.

Then she pulls back, a mischievous smile playing around her lips. She places her finger on your mouth to shush you and leans closer.

"I'll be your girlfriend tonight as well."

You're not sure how to respond. And thinking is hard if you have Nien using your cock like a toy.

"She doesn't have to know."

Seoyeon's last words makes a shiver run down your spine.

Now you really can't concentrate anymore. Nien is picking up the pace and Seoyeon is making you kiss her once more. Her soft lips feel amazing. You can tell that Nien is closing in on her orgasm at the same time.

You don't want to cheat on your girlfriend. Especially not on your birthday. But couldn't this be labeled as a threesome? So it wouldn't be cheating right?

"Oh my god!"

Nien cries out when her climax finally hits her body with its full force. Seoyeon is taking your vision with her face, but you know how Nien looks like when she cums. And you can feel it too. How her pussy claims your cock for itself. How it contracts around you. How it drenches your dick in her juices. How her abs twitch underneath your hands.

"Your cock is my favorite thing in the world, baby."

Nien's slurred words are a different kind of confession and you can feel yourself twitch inside of her.

"Can't wait to test that out myself."

Seoyeon whispers into your ear and you almost let out a groan. You feel Nien moving on top of you, but it's not like she's riding you anymore. More like... More like she's about to pass out. You feel her weight against your right hand as she leans into that direction. Slowly but surely, you let her sink onto the mattress. Your cock leaves her pussy in the process. Her familiar warmth is now missing.

But just a couple of seconds after Nien has completely fallen asleep, you feel Seoyeon's lips brush against your tip.

"Oh god."

You can't hold your groan back this time. The blonde's lips part as she lowers her head. Seoyeon takes your slick cock into her mouth. You can't believe she's cleaning your girlfriend's juices off of you.

"Seoyeon."

You sigh her name and instinctively place a hand on her head. She continues to lick and suck your length, careful to not make it too loud.

"I never expected to know how Nien really tastes like."

She whispers, a mischievous grin on her face.

You can't believe your girlfriend is sleeping right next to you, her head resting on your chest, while her friend, her roommate, is giving you head.

Eventually, Seoyeon stands up again and begins to strip. You watch her take off her pajamas. Then her panties and finally you see her pussy for the first time. It looks similar to Nien's, but maybe just a little tighter? You let out an excited breath when she climbs on top of you.

"I bet it feels as good as it tastes."

Seoyeon whispers as she holds your cock with her hand, making your tip brush her folds again and again. Then, she slowly lowers herself onto you.

"Oh my god."

She gasps and stops halfway down your length.

"How does she take all of you?"

Seoyeon's words make you twitch inside of her. She definitely is tighter than Nien. Her warm walls squeeze your length when she moves. You reach out to grab her slim waist.

Nien's digital alarm clock on her desk shows exactly midnight when you finally climax. It feels like Seoyeon has been riding you for hours, but that might have been the booze in your system.

You raise your hips off the bed as explode, impaling Seoyeon on your cock as you fill her up.

"Oh fuck!"

She cries out when she feels your warmth fill her insides.

Your birthday ends with glazing the womb of your girlfriend's roommate with your cum.

[gothicfied]

hi!! i LOVE your writing! i was wondering if you could write something about dae ho meeting reader in the game, maybe she doesnt speak korean? like theres a whole language barrier thing and he sort of becomes her unofficial translator? something cute like that <3 thank you!!!

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 with a foreign reader

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x foreign!reader (SEASON 2)

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mentions of gunshots, killing, death (Typical Squid Game stuff), this is set in Season 2, Reader doesn't have a specific ethnicity/race and is just said to be foreign to South Korea, other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (English isn't my first language... how ironic)

A/N: Alright, so this request is literally like 6 months old AND I AM SO SORRY TO THE ANON WHO ASKED THIS😭 this has been sitting here in my drafts, unfinished until now. Season 3 came out today and I obviously had to binge watch the entire thing. I won't spoil anything, but I'd rather take S2!Dae-ho over S3!Dae-ho and I can definitely write more about the former. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoy my writing and I hope this doesn't suck lololol

This place was so bizarre. You didn't speak Korean, or at least not well enough to understand what was really going on. When you came to South Korea to study, you didn't think the living experience would be so expensive and exhausting. Coming here, being put into these uniformly tracksuits and only being talked to by your number gave you an eerie feeling.

If it wasn't already hard understanding what was going on — Because you certainly didn't expect this when the guy in the suit gave you an opportunity to win money — it's definitely going to be hard now: When other people started looking at you funny. Because you're not from there, they recognized it straight away. With your broken Korean, you understood whispers like "Look, a foreigner.." and "What's someone like that doing here?" It made you feel even more left out.

From context clues and certain English words the other players used while talking, you kind of picked up on what this thing is. You play games, if you win you get to go to the next round, if you lose... you're out. And you single handedly got to experience what it meant to 'be out'.

No one told you anything. No pink guards, no other players, no one had the decency to let you in on things. While nervously standing in this big arena, walls painted to look like grass with a baby blue sky and a big doll-like statue standing roughly 20 meters on the other side, you suddenly felt a tap on your shoulder.

You quickly snapped your head back to see a guy with the number 388 printed on his jacket. "It's Red Light, Green Light." He told you, his English sounding better than you had expected. You felt so relieved when finally hearing a familiar language and you expression immediately softened while looking at him. "What?" The man pointed at the statue on the other side. "You know.. the game? You go when it's Green Light, you stop when it's Red Light."

Your eyes followed the direction his finger pointed at and nodded like you understood him. "Thank you." The man smiled at you and patted on your back, saying something back in Korean you could hardly make out.

The language barrier made you miss the whole frenzy monologue the guy with the number 456 had before the game started. When looking around, all you could see is shocked faces, people in distress or the complete opposite: People not taking him seriously. You didn't know what was going on, but as soon as the statue of the girl turned to the tree behind her and a jingle started to play, everyone made a move in her direction. You did too, what else could you do?

Then suddenly— Pang. A gunshot, really loud, echoed through the arena and killed a girl. Frozen in shock, you watched as the other players around her started to freak out and move, getting shot one by one, orchestrating an absolute massacre.

It's a miracle you made it out.

On the way back to the sleeping area, or whatever this was, you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder behind you. "Hey," It's Player 388. "You made it!"

"Yes. Thank you again.. I just. I don't understand, they literally killed these people. I don't understand anything, what is going on here—?" Dae-ho saw the discomfort and fear in your eyes and decided to tell you what Gi-hun had previously yelled at all the participants. The things that went down at the Game were gruesome, but man, he couldn't even imagine trying to survive while not even understanding the language.

"So.. wait, you're telling me that when you get eliminated during one of those Games you get killed? Like they fucking shoot you?" You asked Dae-ho, who had now also introduced himself to you, and he just nodded. "He said that." He pointed in the vague direction of where Gi-hun had retreated once in the sleeping area again. "Dude, no this is so fucked up.. I gotta go! We can't die in here, they can't do this?"

You started to hyperventilate. Die? In this shithole? Oh my god, why did you even say yes to this stupid thing? It should've been suspicious enough that a guy in a suit would play a traditional Korean childhood game and slap you if you lost. But.. you needed the money. Carefully, Dae-ho placed a hand on your shoulder and looked around to see if anyone was listening in on your conversation.

"I will help you." He said with the most calm expression ever. Sure, he was scared himself, scared shitless even. But, seeing a young woman — A foreigner — in such distress.. it reminded him of his sisters. And he always swore up and down that he'd protect them, too.

"They don't," Player 388 pointed around the area, "Speak English well. I will help you, okay? I can tell you things." His Korean accent was quite cute whenever he spoke, which made you calm down a bit more and smile. You, again, expressed your gratitude to him and sniffled a bit. "Is there no way out of this?"

Dae-ho shook his head. Well, he didn't know, but he just assumed there wasn't. He went on to ask you more about yourself in general, why you were here, where you came from. It was nice having a conversation in English after trying to learn and speak Korean for months on end.

"I'm so sorry. Korea made a bad impression on you." You chuckled a bit and shook your head. You knew how to appreciate the country, it's culture and it's people. But this was definitely weird and definitely illegal. Dae-ho was here for you, though. He made you that promise now.

"I will protect you and help you, okay?"

Slowly, you raised your hand and held out your pinky for him to interlink with his. "Pinky promise?" The man looked at your hand and then back up to you with a confused look on his face. "Pinky... promise?" You smiled when you understood that he doesn't quite get what you mean. Or maybe he just hasn't ever heard of the expression before. "Like.. pinky promise, you do this," With your other hand you took his to make the same motion and interlinked your pinkies, "And now you're not allowed to break the promise."

Dae-ho grinned. "Okay, pinky promise."

[meadowfics]

nsfw alphabet

namgyu x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI! smut. vulgar dialogue. switch!namgyu, powerbottom!namgyu.

there is only one season three spoiler

aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

honestly, namgyu didn't even know 'aftercare' was a thing until he started dating you.

"fuck do you mean, 'aftercare'.. isn't sex caring itself?"

however, this mf is a simp and became the king of aftercare after a year into the relationship.

it was a new learning experience.

he mainly gives back and feet massages.

a blunt and a bottle of water from him helps too.

body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

namgyu's favorite body part, on himself, is his hands.

those fingers are so long.

he knows how to use those fingers as well.

namgyu's favorite body part of yours is your boobs.

he is a boob guy 100%

whenever you're laying down together, one of his hands are inside of your shirt.

he appreciates you walking around your home with only a lace bra on as well.

"my eyes are up here, namgyu."

"well your boobs are down there, y/n."

whenever you're riding his dick, he goes crazy when your boobs are bouncing in his face.

its a game to him whenever he chases your nipples with his tongue.

cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he is a cum eaterrrr

sorry.

namgyu is obsessed with the sweet taste of your pussy.

in the morning, he will drive out three orgasms from you on his tongue.

"well that was my breakfast"

namgyu will tease.

dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

during the fourth game, the maze game, namgyu wanted to bend you over and fuck you right in one of those rooms.

the mix of homicide and drugs put him in the most horny mood possible.

"just the tip, I promise, please y/n?"

he moans into your ear, fondling your boobs through your red vest as he attempts to pull your pants down.

"what if somebody walks in--"

"then they'll know that you're getting your insides rearranged by me, and will stay away from you."

experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

namgyu is experienced with kissing and giving head.

when it came to actual 'p in v' sex, he never did it much before you since it was only hookups.

he had 3 bodies (max.) before he met you.

he knows your body more than you know yourself.

namgyu makes it a priority to know what you enjoy.

favorite position (this goes without saying)

if he is the dominant one, he puts you on all fours.

this gives him the control that he craves so much.

however, when he is in a submissive mood, he loves when you ride him.

goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

when he is on drugs, he is the goofiest mf alive.

he will not stop laughing while groaning, talking about how good you're doing for him while assuming everything is a game.

for example, he will count how many times you bounce on his cock from the time he enters you until you cum.

the last time, you only bounced on his cock 18 times before cumming.

hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

there are moments where namgyu doesn't give a fuck about grooming.

he goes at least a month without trimming at times.

the carpet color matches to drapes.

intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

namgyu is so romantic when it comes to 'make-up' sex.

he always begs for your forgiveness, giving you the sweetest compliments as he slowly fucks into the sweet spots over and over again.

he is the king of compliments.

however, don't expect rose petals on the bed and stuff like that.

jack off (masturbation headcanon)

namgyu hasn't jacked off much since he met you.

why jack off when he has your good and wet pussy for him to have?

kink (one or more of their kinks)

temperature play. come on, he would LOVE using an ice cube to overstimulate you.

imagine he's eating your pussy while using the ice cube in his mouth to heighten the nerves in your body.

exhibitionism.

namgyu loves the idea of fucking you while being seen.

he wants everyone to know that he is the only person who knows your body.

orgasm control and edging.

he loves when you edge him, not giving him what he wants until he earns it.

namgyu loves delaying your orgasms too, punishing you if you cum without his permission.

location (favorite places to do the do)

namgyu loves the hallway outside of your apartment.

it is so close to privacy, yet so far.

one time, he bent you over the door outside of your apartment since the both of you were so impatient.

motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you being fully naked.

mf can't even shower with you without wanting to have sex with you.

he has control, don't worry.

however, that rock-hard penis through his pants tells another tale.

no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

no food and sex together

like none of that whip cream & fruit roll up on his dick type of stuff.

he just doesn't see the hype about it.

namgyu's closest definition of 'food' he will bring into the bedroom is an ice cube.

oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

60% giving, 40% receiving

he prefers when you ride his face.

namgyu loves pushing orgasms out of you with his tongue.

pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

slow, and rough.

he needs you to memorize all of him down to the vein.

quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

namgyu loves them.

he doesn't have much of an opinion on them.

the only thing he hates about quickies is the lack of foreplay.

risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

off the drugs, absolutely not.

on drugs, he can't see the consequences in risks.

stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

namgyu's stamina is peak when he is on drugs.

five rounds at the most.

off the drugs, he will go to three rounds before tapping out.

toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

namgyu loves that 'rose thing' you use on yourself.

(a rose toy lol)

he begged to let him use it on you when you first bought it.

it was the first time you might have squirted with him... maybe... if you wanted that to happen of course!

unfair (how much they like to tease)

namgyu is king at being unfair.

until it happens to him.

volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

namgyu WHIMPERS

nobody can't convince me otherwise.

he makes all the noises possible.

moans, groan, whimpers, whines.

once he cried when you were playing with his balls.

it felt that good to him.

wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

you and namgyu love hooking up somewhere where you shouldn't be.

for example, club pentagon.

it is a struggle to stay quiet even though loud music is blasting.

especially when people are so close by.

the thrill of getting caught gets namgyu so excited, he bites back his whimpers.

x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

skinny boys got them long (according to science.)

six inches on hard.

he is a grower.

namgyu's body is slim, but he is stronger than he looks.

the bathroom fight scene in season two is proof.

yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

too high

especially on drugs.

sometimes he expects you to call off work just to have sex with him all day.

you did, but nobody's judging you!

zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

that mf is knocked out.

pussy put his ass to sleep!

masterlist

lol

[27spoons]

what do you think it would be like if bratty pillow princess!reader was with mean dom!post crash nat 🙈

- 🐈‍⬛️

so. like. okay. I know this says post-crash, BUT post-rescue fits the narrative in my brain better HEAR ME OUT—

mean dom!post-rescue nat thoughts (hcs? idk bro same difference) under da cut. lowkey way longer than i thought it was gonna be the creative juices r flowing

nsfw obviously

nat who gets rescued and craves some form of control, so she finds that in being a dom.

whether you were out there with her or not, it doesn't matter. she just wants to feel something real. even if it's only a brief sexual encounter.

so she keeps a TIGHT grip on EVERYTHING in the bedroom. did someone say control kink?

(it was me i said it)

think power play and orgasm denial... yeah..... yeah....... she likes to give you pleasure more than she likes to receive it. if she's topping, in my mind, she'll push you until you break, and you have no choice but to give her control. probably coaxing you into a subspace without even realising it until ur GONE.

low tolerance for brattiness. let's you push ONCE, then she's done fucking around.

you tease. maybe you say something like "make me" (typical brat line), "why should i?", or "i don't wanna". nat just scoffs in response. you forget she played soccer, sometimes. but she is still FAST. you're pinned to whatever surface is closest, and you both know damn well this is exactly what you both wanted.

drops degrading names (but not cruel—never cruel) names like it's second nature.

i.e.: "you're just fucking needy thing tonight, huh?", "yeah, nothin' more than a hole tonight, aren't you?" "fucking annoying brat." "mm. my useless pillow princess. just built to take what i give you."

ohhhhhhhhhh nat with a thing for restraints. belts, handcuffs, pinning your wrists, spreaders... whatever she can get her hands on, she's using on you.

thinking about a nat who doesn't want you touching her unless she says so, but you just won't listen. maybe she's fully clothed and you're naked (we'll come back to this later), so she takes her belt off, ties your wrists together behind your back, (with a little bit of struggle from you, of course) (double cuff, too. you have no idea how she got so good at doing it so fast, but you aren't complaining), and forces you to behave.

she isn't into praise.* *unless she's the one giving it.

the first time you praise her, it's something casual. maybe she's eating you out or fucking you with her fingers. you whisper "god, you're so good," without thinking anything of it. i mean... she's fucking you good, so it just felt right to say, yk? WRONG. nat freezes for half a second. you think you've done something wrong. she pulls back, and you really think you've done something wrong. you didn't. not really. not when she is returning with a vengeance—fucking you into the mattress. she gives it. she doesn't think she deserves to hear it back.

will ABSOLUTELY 100% make you beg. she needs to hear it. needs to hear that power dynamic stated out loud.

mean!dom, yeah? yeah. so she's not breaking. whining? she's heard it before. silent treatment? she expected it, try something new. this woman has an unbreakable will. she will not fold. so, when you finally crack? when you finally give in and start begging? this fucker smirks like she expected it. like she knew this was always gonna be the outcome. "yeah? took you long enough. was wondering when you'd finally fuckin' beg. all you had to do was give in, princess. we could have done this hours ago."

that being said, she will punish you for teasing.

it varies, but odds are it's gonna be her returning that teasing tenfold. fingering you with no rhythm... switching it up the second you seem like you're getting somewhere... "tch. i don't think you deserve to feel that good right now." overstim... telling you "oh, bullshit. we both know you can fucking take it, princess. stop actin' like you can't." when you start whining and squirming away from her........... thinking about her eating you out... but she's not properly eating you out. kitten licks, tongue barely touching you, ghosting her breath across your aching cunt instead of putting her mouth where you want it..........

buries her own softness under cruelty. deflecting with harsh words, changing the topic immediately... you name it, she's done it.

lbr. we know nat is a softie at heart. but. it's easier to be mean than admit she has that side of her. any time things get even vaguely emotionally intimate while you guys are fucking, she brushes it off without even thinking about it—even, and especially if she was the one to let her guard down. nat scoffs, as if she wasn't the one who was just thinking about being soft with you. her grip tightens on your waist, her thrusts get sharper, and you already know you'll be able to feel her for days, even if you don't know why she all of a sudden started fucking into you like you had personally wronged her.

she gets meaner the closer you get to coming. in every way.

physically? she starts snapping her hips into you, like she's trying to force you over the edge before she says you can. hell, even if she isn't inside of you (strap or if she's packing heat, we don't discriminate here!!), her movements get harsher and more erratic. think her fingers hitting your gspot every time and sending sharp waves of pleasure through your already sensitive body, lips attached to your clit like it's something she needs to breathe, free hand gripping your thigh tight enough to bruise.... yeah.... verbally, she mutters stuff like: "you don't get to come until i fucking say you can." "i don't think you've earned that right, yet." "aww. that close to breaking already? we've barely started."

doesn't do aftercare unless you've earned it. she thinks it's a privilege, not a right.

let's say you were particularly bratty this one time. constantly pushing back... refusing to give in until you're basically forced to... constant bratty comments... the works, you know. she still has some niceness in her body, so she doesn't push you into subspace and leave. she's not that mean. but. you still get fucked mindless. not useless mindless, but mindless enough you really can't think about anything that isn't her. but she just leaves you there once she's done. leaves you panting and boneless on the bed, naked and slick with sweat, and wipes her hands on a discarded shirt and tosses it to you. "what? you thought i was gonna dote on you after all that shit you pulled? (scoff) clean yourself up, princess. maybe it'll knock some sense into you. teach you how to behave. (it doesn't. you do it again.)

𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓽𝔂 bonus:

she cracks when you're asleep. or, well, when she thinks you're asleep. tender touches. whispered words that she would never repeat in the light of day.

"god, you were so good tonight," nat whispers against your temple, fingers idly running through your hair. "you have no idea, baby. so good." she kisses your temple softly, eyes fluttering shut as she let's the calm wash over her. "you didn't deserve that," she mumbles, the sound barely audible. "i didn't mean for it to go that far. sometimes i just... don't know what to do sometimes." a deep exhale leaves her nose, and she seems to tighten her hold on you, like she's trying to keep you here. like you would leave.

[brokenbough]

Absolutely incredible job on the first thing you posted on here! That sounds like I think I’m qualified to appraise the quality of writing and I’m not, sorry if it came off weird. I just loved it, I guess is more accurate to say.

Grumpy Simon is the very best, and you nailed him. He wants her to cuddle into him so bad he’s such an idiot. This concept was so wonderful and again you executed it beautifully :)

Not a request, just a musing, but I think this would be the PERFECT situation for jealousy playing a role in forcing Simon to admit his blossoming feelings for reader. He thinks he hates it when she lays on him, even though he’s starting to realize he craves it, he still resents her for it because he hates feeling feelings and she’s making him do that he just doesn’t realize that’s his problem with the situation.

But imagine how incredibly bothered and angry and jealous he’d be if reader curled into Johnny or Gaz or god forbid his CAPTAIN or even Graves or Los Vaqueros oh god instead of him. I think regardless or whether it happens on accident (maybe she settles with the rest of the group because Simon is on watch and when she gets sleepy she slumps onto whichever comfy shoulder is nearest) or on purpose (maybe he was being an asshole or had pushed her away so she tried her best to find a new pillow that wouldn’t upset her Lieutenant) I think he’d be so jealous and his feelings would come to the forefront and he’d have to confront them.

I also think it could be a cute idea for Simon to like prohibit her from sleeping on his shoulder and so on the mission she literally can’t sleep at all. She struggles and tries, just lays quietly while they sleep so as not to bother them, but she can’t get comfortable, needs the warmth and something softer than the ground to curl up into and lay her head on. This unexpected consequence takes a toll on Simon, as he sees how exhausted and frustrated she is - he’s pissed off that he cares about this beyond the possible impact on the mission. He’s also impressed but also saddened by how she’s trying to push through the mission even though she’s so much less experienced and is getting less rest than any of them.

Maybe these could be combined and that’s why she ended up falling asleep on someone else? Like she’s so tired her body draws her to the nearest willing shoulder.

Anyway just some fun ideas! I hope you’re well 🩷

One, so sad you don't write yourself. You 100% should, I love your brain. I hope you're well too

Two, I hope this is up to yalls standards. Sorry its so long. I watched two movies making this, i got distracted 😋😋 :>>>

Not proofread 🤕

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

After two years of being with the team, it almost became ritual for presents for either you or Ghost to be a collection of the two of you together, one sleep or both.

You thought it was a cute tradition. It was something you almost looked forward to, more than clothes or jewelry or trinkets. It was your favorite gift and you wouldn't trade not one photo for anything else.

But cute was not something Ghost was akin to. It was kind of the... opposite of Ghost. He was a hardened, seasoned soldier, not some fluffy pillow you could kick back on.

Yes, maybe he let you lay on his lap sometimes, and maybe you've gone to him for comfort on more than one occasion, hugging him tightly, blubbering sorrys and other apologies.

He never cooed at you, reassured you, or even hugged you back... but he let you mush your tiny face into his chest whenever life got too much for you.

Maybe it was after a mission, maybe days after and the memories came back. He'd been through it himself, he knew the feeling. Only he didn't have anyone to lean on, so maybe you leaning on him gave him some sort of closure. He doesn't know, he doesn't really think about it. He can't, not with his life on the line almost everyday and yours. It was a distraction, wasted time he simply didn't have.

So, like any sane person with having good literally put in front of them, he pushed you away. He kept his distance, kept you off his shoulder, because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was growing... fond of you. Not attached. Merely... tolerant of you-- your behavior-- and that in of itself was dangerous. Fondness, trust, softness, got you killed in the field.

You didn't even notice at first, too caught up with each grueling mission. You were sputtering, running on the last fumes of your gas. Sleep didn't come easy when you were being shot at, yelled at, and pulled onto yet another plane.

But here... it's cold. And cold makes you unnaturally sleepy. It was something you've known about yourself since childhood. When it got cold, you got sleepy. That's just how it's always been. And now, in the Candian cold, in the less than warm safe house, you were getting tired.

You had last watch with Johnny, Kyle and Price first, Ghost and Price after.

Lounging on the cushy couch the safe house provided, curled up in one of the few blankets, you leaned to the side, Ghost's shoulder the comfortable pillow you remember. You yawn, nuzzling a little closer before your eyes open again.

His finger on the side of your head, pushed you away, moving you closer to Johnny before removing himself from the couch entirely.

He didn't even bother looking at you.

You frowned, watching him walk further and further away. He walked until he was completely out of your eyesight, making your frown droop even more.

You were pulled out of the sad fog by Soap. He shook you slightly, wrapping his arm around your smaller body.

"'S okay bonnie. He's usually a prick." Johnny assures with a small smile, pulling you closer as you surrendered to the fate that was Soap's shoulder.

It was warm, soft, nice. But not Ghost warm, soft, nice. Simon wasn't just warm, he was a fucking furnace, constantly burning, a crackling fire that lulled you to sleep. And he wasn't soft, he was fluff you melt into, like that one pillow you got and can only find cheap replacements for because others are too firm. And godforbid someone call his shoulder just nice. His presence, scent, the way his breath was its own type of calming was just... perfect. Soap was just... just mediocre. But it would have to do because it didn't seem like Ghost was gonna return anytime soon and you needed sleep.

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

When Ghost had left he wasn't prepared for the anger, the fury that bubbled in his chest seeing you asleep on someone else, let alone cuddled up to fucking Johnny on the small couch. Laying on top of him like he was the softest bed you've made contact with.

He squinted his eyes at the sight, his balled up fists itching for a throwing knife. He couldn't see your bunched up face, contorted in agony because Soap, as big as he was, just wasn't thick enough to sink into. It was more uncomfortable than you would've liked to admit. Bless Soap's poor, sad face if he ever found out he wasn't comfortable enough for his favorite lass.

Ghost stormed out again, standing in the cold silently as his entire body heated up with annoyance, and anger, and every other synonym of the two.

He was on watch now, even though his mind was clouded with images of you and someone else.

You, you, you.

You and someone else.

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

A soft shake jolted you awake, a knife in your hand before you registered the soft, amused smile and eyes of your captain.

"Easy there." He said, helping you up, watching as you stretched and groaned, cracking your neck, Johnny still out cold.

"Sorry. Force of habit." You say with a sheepish smile, looking around the ever quiet room. You caught Ghost's eyes before quickly looking away, the look in his eyes nothing short of barely controlled rage.

You didn't know how you'd made him mad, but he looked angry. Angrier than when he chewed you out for sleeping on him your very first mission.

"No need to apologize." He continues before shaking Johnny awake too.

When Johnny finally sat up-- having to be promptly smacked awake-- Price informed the two of you that you were now on watch.

You went to the window, looking out at the quiet snow that fell in unique snowflakes, catching up with its brothers and sisters, quietly laying next to its family before watching another fall.

The house was quiet, aside from Price's unbridled snores and Gaz soft muses in his sleep. You don't know where Ghost went off too, probably the very back room to lie down.

You couldn't take the silence anymore as you finally looked at Soap, beckoning him over to talk.

Your whispers surely too quiet to wake anyone else in the house. It was only the drop of something heavy that finally pulled your head up from snickering with Soap, shattering the bubble of silence that seemed to envelope the house.

You turned, watching Ghost angrily arrange fire in the small hearth. He didn't look at you again, glaring at an oblivious Soap as the both of you made your way over, watching the lieutenant work.

"What're ya doin' Lt.?" Soap asks, looking into the fireplace.

You looked too, focusing more on the hands that worked than the actual work.

"Fuck does it look like Johnny?" Ghost said, snappier than usual.

"Why're you fillin' up the fireplace?" You ask, looking to an offended Soap and back to the pile of neatly arranged logs.

"Can't have you fallin' asleep on watch." He answers gruffly, throwing a match into the fire. His 'you' sounding like sin. Reprimand.

Soap was too enamored with the fire to question Ghost's words. Not cryptic, but unusual.

"I wouldn't fall asleep on watch-" you say in an offended tone before he cuts in.

"But you fall asleep in the cold." He says, clipped and clearly aggravated. Accusatory, like he shouldn't know that.

You stare up a him blankly, watching his eyes. Watching him watch you with the same blank look.

"How-" you start to question before he checks your shoulder, knocking you into Johnny, pulling the Scottish man back to reality. Soap pulls a rattled you back to the window, looking out at the soft, untouched snow, mindlessly continuing the conversation from before.

But him-- his words rattled around in your brain as the other man talked, his words going in one ear and out the other as Ghost's words floated around the empty space between your ears. Just him, his words, the fire that crackled behind him.

Him, him, him.

Him and his words.

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

You were finally relieved from duty as the sun started to come up, making the snow sparkle. The sun itself tinting the sky pink and orange and red, painting the sky picturesque.

You looked away from its beauty solemnly as everyone else started to wake. You turned away, stretching again before watching the others work, looking like little ants. The thought made you smile, giggling to yourself and putting you in good spirits, something unusual from the usual bite you had in the mornings. They weren't your thing.

The rest of the task force looks at you before you just wave them off, helping with breakfast.

Price talks as the rest eat.

"Evac comes at noon, be packed up and ready by then. We have new leads to follow, so wake up." He says, a pointed look at the ever groggy Johnny. You'd say he slept as much as you, if not more on leave.

You snicker, elbowing softly. The deathly glare he gives you makes you laugh more.

Gaz starts to laugh too, seemingly more amused by how tickled you looked with Johnny than Johnny himself.

Ghost is quiet, not bothering to join in with the happy that seemed to surround you indefinitely. The sunlight crept in through the windows, shining on you softly as you literally glowed in his eyes. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes sit before opening them again. But there you sat, smile on your mouth, cheeks tinted red from laughing, your eyes crinkled in amusement, and you-- glowing.

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

The ride back was boisterous. Well, for four out of the six people aboard it. Price and Gaz laughing, Soap-- in a better mood-- making even the pilot laugh.

But you sat alone on the other side, right in front of Ghost. You tried to sit next to him, catch up on some sleep before being deployed again, but he had sat his pack in the chair next to him, not even sparing you a glance. His jaw was clenched shut, eyes burning a hole in the side of plane.

You said nothing, walking past him and past the rest before settling on the other side. Right in front of Ghost. The silence around you deafening, the tension in between tense enough to be cut with your nails.

No one said anything, no one even looked at you two, too caught up in their own jokes and theatrics.

Luckily for you, it was a short ride back to Washington.

You'd been up on more missions than usual, which meant you'd been up for longer than usual. The sleep you got with Soap had been the most you'd gotten over a week. You'd only slept 4 hours.

The promise of a proper bed and food that wasn't MREs was the only thing fueling your near empty tank. Probably everyone else's too.

When you finally landed at base, debriefed, and ate, you were finally permitted to sleep. You couldn't even make it to your room before you crashed on the couch in the secluded area that was reserved for the 141. Soap and Gaz were already there, playing a card game.

A head peaked over one of the couches. Ghost. You took the seat next to Price, watching him read a little before scooting closer and laying on his shoulder.

You settle next to him, getting a small smile in return.

"Tired?" Price asks, looking you over before turning the page.

"Mhm." You mumble, noncommittal.

You look around for a moment, taking in the happy that enveloped the two men before switching over to Ghost who looked at you. Finally, you think.

You aren't sure why you wanted him to look at you, but he had been avoiding you since.. well yesterday. You were too tired to notice it, but now that you think about it, he hasn't talked to you in mayb a week, besides barking orders and that time by the fire.

You huff softly, shifting closer to the captain. He leaned back, wrapping an arm around you. He smelled like cigar smoke and... well, warm. Maybe Old Spice.

You drifted off to sleep, the last thing you saw being Ghost's skull balaclava. It was seared into the back of your eyelids as you closed them, trying to find solace in your dreams.

It never came.

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

You awoke by yourself, passed out on the couch. You rubbed your eyes, lifting up and rubbing at the crick in your neck.

You found a mass of black in front of you. You were startled to say the least, pinching yourself to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't.

You looked up, catching Ghost again.

Looking away, you yawned, fighting the tiredness again. You couldn't get proper sleep anywhere.

A voice cut through your thoughts. Gruff, demanding, definite.

"Enjoying yourself?" It asked.

You looked back to Ghost, watching his mask move slightly.

"What?" You say, still a bit dazed from the short nap. You took a glance around the room. Cards discarded on a table some way off, Price's book discarded on the table in-between the two sofas.

"Sleeping around, I mean." He says, voice deeper than usual. He was ticked off.

Why?

"Sleeping-- what?" You ask again, offended, angry, annoyed. What the fuck was this man's game? Why was he bothering playing games with you in the fist place?

"First Soap, then Price. Who's next? Gaz?" He asks, glaring at you.

"What are you talking about?" You demand now, sitting up properly.

"I'm talking about you sleeping with everyone."

Your brain takes a moment to catch up before glaring at him.

"You mean on them? Because I'm tired? Because I've been up for 84 fucking hours, I think I deserve sleep." You spit out.

"On them, with them, same difference." He comments nonchalantly.

"Uhm, no. Not the same thing." You argue, eyeing him like he's grown a third head.

"They are to me."

".... Are- Ghost, are you jealous?" You ask, not expecting an answer.

He scoffs like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, but his eyes tell-- scream a different story to you.

"You are." You laugh.

"I'm not. You're.. you're ridiculous." He says, scoffing again.

"No. I'm right. You are jealous."

"Uhm, no. I'm not." He reiterates.

"Yeah, you are." You say, full on smiling now.

He doesn't answer you a third time, opting to just look at you blankly, hoping his jealousy couldn't be seen through his mask.

It wasn't, but it was easily spotted through his eyes.

He huffed again, leaning back into the couch, crossing his arms.

"Fine. I'll only... sleep with you, if you apologize." You finally say after a moment of too long silence.

"Apologize?" He says, clearly annoyed at the prospect. "For what?"

"Do you really want me to go down the list?"

F"Go on." He taunts.

"One, for ignoring me for no reason. Two, for being jealous for no reason and making me lose out on sleep. Three, making me lose out on sleep when I could've used it. Four--"

"Okay. I get it. Jesus." He huffs again, his arms crossing tighter.

"Apologize." You say again.

He gives you a look, eyeing you like you've just spoken blasphemy.

You give him a look like you're not playing.

"...." He tsks audibly, opening his legs slightly for comfortability.

You raise an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him.

He clears his throat, his leg bouncing for a second. "And.. me..." He clears his throat again. "You only sleep with me. Okay?" He says, his authoritive voice back on.

"Mhm. I'll only sleep with you. Simon." You taunt.

"Me, and my shoulder." He continues, eyeing you seriously.

"Mhm."

"Good." He huffs out one last time before leaving.

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

"He said that? Him and his shoulder?"

"Mhm. Cause he knows what's good for him." You nod, eating a bit more.

"Okay girl. Okay." Gaz concedes, picking off your plate before recoiling when you smack his hand.

"What're you two on?" Ghost asks, eyeing Gaz.

"She's all yours man." Gaz says, raising his hands in surrender.

Ghost's eyes narrow, eyeing you after.

You only shrug, leaning on his shoulder. Pre-deployment nap after eating? Hell yeah.

[peasack]

Soo earlier I got a request from @weirdacelesbian and I had only chosen one thing of theirs to write (the mental health hcs), but I also loved this so much so I just had to write it!

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦ Thunderbolts x Teen!Reader Coming Out Headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ Ava Starr

Immediate respect. She's probably one of the least surprised—she’s always had a read on you. Just gives you a soft, “Okay. I get it.”

Defensive and fierce. If anyone says anything about you, she’ll vaporize them. Ava does not play when it comes to you.

Validates your boundaries. Whether you want to tell the team or not, she respects your pace and keeps it between you two if you ask.

Soft moments. She’s not great with words, but she’ll do things like bring you your favorite snacks or sit on the roof with you in silence, just letting you know she’s here.

✦ Alexei Shostakov

Instant acceptance, zero hesitation. He probably interrupts you halfway through because he thinks he already knows what you’re trying to say and immediately says, "I love you! I support you! You are perfect!"

He gets overexcited. Tries to show support in the loudest, most Russian dad way possible. Starts bragging about you to everyone, even when it’s not relevant: “Did you know my kid is also [insert identity]? Very special. Very brave.”

Absolutely butchers terminology. He tries, but he’s a mess with labels. You correct him and he goes, “Ah yes, I knew that. I was testing you!” (He was not.)

Protective to the extreme. If anyone gives you trouble? They're on his hit list. He’ll be like, “Who? Where? I will crush them like ant.”

✦ Yelena Belova

Chill but soft reaction. Yelena’s like, “Okay? Cool. Let’s get ice cream,” like it's the most natural thing in the world. She doesn't make it a big deal, which honestly feels super comforting.

Overtime support. She lowkey reads and learns more about your identity behind the scenes just so she’s sure she can defend you if someone says something wrong.

Subtle affirmations. Starts using your preferred name/pronouns immediately if that’s part of it. Throws in little comments like, "You look good today. I like this version of you."

Would fight anyone. If you come home upset, she’s instantly like, “Give me their name. I just want to talk,” but you both know she’s not just going to talk.

✦ Bucky Barnes

Calm but emotional reaction. He listens fully before saying anything, then quietly goes, "Thanks for trusting me with this," with that soft little nod like he means it.

Found family warmth. Starts looking out for you even more. Will sit next to you in silence just to make sure you feel safe in the space you're in.

Lowkey protective dad mode. If someone misgenders you or makes a rude comment, he’s not going to make a scene, he’s just going to make them really uncomfortable until they leave.

Grumpy but supportive. He’s bad at big speeches but he’ll mutter things like, “I don’t care what you are or who you like you’re mine, kid. That’s all that matters.”

✦ John Walker

Confused at first. Not because he’s against it, but because he doesn’t know all the terms right away. He’s like, “Okay, wait, explain it to me one more time.”

Wants to get it right. He will ask questions (maybe too many) because he genuinely wants to understand and respect you properly.

Awkward but sincere. You catch him Googling stuff late at night and then the next day he casually uses the right terms like it’s no big deal. He really is trying.

Loyal to the bone. Says stuff like, "You're my kid. I got your back. Always." Might even get into fights with people who say anything disrespectful. Not subtle about it.

✦ Bob Reynolds

Quiet but emotional. He listens to every word, so gently it almost makes you cry. He just says softly, “Okay. Thank you for telling me. I’m so proud of you.”

Worries for you. Starts being extra careful around you, constantly checking in, making sure you feel safe, validating you in little ways without making you feel like a burden.

You can’t lie to him about being fine. He can literally sense when you’re not okay and will pull you aside like, "Hey, talk to me. I can feel it."

Gentle affirmations. He will straight up say, "You deserve to be loved for exactly who you are," and you know he means it.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

I hope you guys enjoyed!! Requests are always open<333

[strwberri-milk]

Hiya! So I just read the post about the arranged marriage trope qith Sylus and Zayne x reader (non-mc), would it be possible to request the same but for Caleb, Rafayel and Xavier? If Three is too much then just Caleb and Rafayel? 👀🥺

Thank you!! I love your writing 🧡

Caleb could be manipulated into it if something else is at stake. If he weighs the value of his happiness as less than the happiness or benefit of the outcome, then he'll agree. You would be able to tell in the way he acts though. He's not very interested in getting to know you but he isn't outright cruel. Thankfully, he's willing to take care of you, putting aside money for you to use to buy groceries, a bit of spending money, just little things like that.

You wish you could see him more often than just in passing. He didn't seem ever interested in talking to you, going to his private room all the time. He barely knows anything about you outside of your name, not making any efforts to figure it out. He might notice things in shared spaces that you like or things getting used up that need to be replaced.

There's a very slight chance you could begin a tentative friendship with him. You'd have to be manipulated the same way he is or not one of the people directly responsible for the predicament he's in. If you both come from a similar position, he's more amenable to hearing you out. Other than that though, you'd live basically with a roommate who takes care of you a little more affectionately than a perfect stranger should.

Xavier expects it (based off the bit I know from his myth). He isn't happy about it, but he'll do it for the greater good, similar to Caleb. He tries to be a good husband, wanting to be kind and attentive but he turns out to be a bit more friendly. He doesn't really try to cover up by becoming sickly sweet and adoring and his habitual silence can be seen as offensive? You'd think he hates you and he doesn't really, he's just not happy with the situation.

He can be convinced to spend time with you at least, the two of you sitting in awkward silence as you try to learn things about him. He just never actively tries but at least he answers questions if you start pushing for them. He wouldn't really be interested in falling in love but it could happen as you two spend time together. At the very least he could become a close friend and confidant, someone you feel comfortable speaking to at least.

Rafayel is vehemently against it from the beginning. This will be the cause of outwardly hostile and cold treatment from him. He doesn't really talk to you and makes it a point to avoid you, not caring about your role - or lack thereof - that you play in this whole situation of his. He isn't at all interested in getting to know you and he opposes it all the way down the metaphorical aisle.

If somehow, the marriage ends up going through he just buys you a different home to live in and sticks you there. He sends money out of obligation/whatever you need but really, you just feel like a bird in a gilded cage. He rarely sees you and only makes appearances when he's practically being threatened to look like a happy husband. He'll tolerate it for that time and then that's about it.

If he's already in love with someone else there's really no hope. He doesn't look at you like a person even, more focused on what he's missing. He would have ran away quite early on to be with his lover, practically dead to the world in favour of them. If he isn't, he just sees you as his jailer, keeping his distance and refusing to give you the chance to get close to him. He doesn't do well with people telling him what to do and to him, this is ultimately the worst thing you could do to him.

[mattslilies]

15 Minutes - C.S.

"only gonna take two to make you finish." or... the one inspired by the song '15 Minutes' by Sabrina Carpenter! you bet chris that you can get him off in two minutes or less, and he wants you to prove it. warnings: smut, kinda subby!chris, cocky!reader, oral (m receiving), early ejaculation, hair pulling word count: 685 a/n: i was listening to this song in the car on the way home from getting it serviced today and the idea popped into my head! i thought it would be something short and sweet to post today <3

you hummed along to the music in your bathroom, Sabrina Carpenter's most recent album blaring out of the speakers of your phone.

nothing made you feel more confident than a few good songs while you were getting ready. something you could dance along to, sing in front of the mirror, really set your mood to happy for the day.

chris walked into the bathroom as the chorus of '15 Minutes' was playing, you singing the lyrics, a wide smile on your face as you slid your rings onto your fingers.

"i can do a lot in fifteen minutes..."

he walked up behind you, hands around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

"only gonna take two to make you finish..."

as he processed the words, he looked at you, slightly surprised.

"what are you listening to?"

you giggled a bit at his shock.

"sabrina carpenter, why?"

he shook his head, helping you put on your necklace.

"nothing, i just didn't expect her to be so... vulgar."

you laughed, a little louder than you expected.

"oh, please. you listen to worse, baby."

"probably true."

you smirked at him.

"besides, you should relate to that line a little bit."

he stared at you, jaw having fallen open.

"what?"

you poked his side, turning back to do your mascara.

"it doesn't take too long to make you cum, honey."

he blushed furiously. your statement wasn't exactly untrue, but still.

"well, y-yeah, but it doesn't take two minutes!"

you grinned, turning back around.

"wanna bet?"

"baby, we have to leave in like fifteen minutes or so."

you smiled.

"no worries. i only need two minutes, remember?"

he was completely red, but nodded, a little unsurely but mostly confident.

less than thirty seconds later, you had pushed chris back, having him seated on the edge of the bathtub, pants pulled off of his legs. you were in between his knees, a hand around his cock, quickly stroking him to full hardness.

"start a timer for me, baby."

as soon as his finger pressed start, your lips were around his tip, creating a powerful suction that tinged just on the edge of too much. his hand laced into your hair immediately, a loud whine leaving his lips as your tongue dipped into his slit before tracing over it.

hollowing your cheeks, you took in more of him, tightening your hand around what you couldn't take in your mouth, stroking it. the dual stimulation caused his hand to pull on your hair, short moans leaving his lips.

"baby, fuck-"

you hummed around him, his hips immediately bucking into your mouth. you exhaled out through your nose, taking it without gagging. his thighs were twitching underneath the hand you had braced on him, a dead giveaway that he was more worked up than he wanted you to know.

you continued to work him, causing him to begin to whimper above you. you knew he was about to cum, and you braced yourself for it. he let out a broken whine, shoving your head down.

"s-shit, please- god!"

he came down your throat, his legs shaking around you as the high ran through his entire lower body. you sucked him through it, pulling off with a soft pop once he released your hair.

"stop that timer, sweetheart."

1:59.

you smiled, pride on your face. you didn't need to say anything else. chris knew you had won.

you stood up, grabbing a washcloth to wipe any residue off of chris before helping him pull his clothes back on. you moved back to the bathroom counter, brushing your teeth and finishing your makeup before kissing him, grabbing your phone.

"i think we should go, yeah?"

he nodded, still clearly shaken up.

"mhm. how late are we?"

you checked the time on your phone before replying.

"we're right on time."

he stuttered, surprise clear on his face.

"what? h-how? you did half of your makeup and everything. how are we on time?"

you laughed, leading him out of the bathrom.

"so what you're saying is, i can do a lot in fifteen minutes."

[noazhere]

This is not a one time thing, it has happened multiple times and not only since he's been an adult, but since he's been a teenager too.

Media has good opinion about him. Everyone knows he's kind; when they search him for any interview or opinion about anything that is trending or that it involves his family, he doesn't act self-important or better than them as most people would think for the ward son of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's prince. He's charismatic, charming, polite and always gets some laughs indistinctly of who's he with.

But they had long since discovered that he doesn't like some specific kind of questions. At first it was noticeable that the teenager wasn't expecting them, or was even a bit uncomfortable by them, but he would end up playing along while laughing them off. As time went on and years passed though, his reactions started to change to unbothered and straightforward answers. "Is that news? I'm handsome, we know it, anything else?" And so more similar.

This make that any time a reporter or an interviewer that tells him about what other people think about him, or what they said about him, he makes it obvious that he couldn't care less. Thus, news but overall social media, tend to criticize him every time he responds like that, they call him "arrogant", "presumptuous", "conceited" and more. Which, honestly? The first time it made him roll his eyes because just last week he was being called friendly and warm; how Gotham missed him and how he should come 'home' more often. Bunch of hypocrites, but what could he expect from Gotham, he guesses.

I like to think that as more time passes, he's less friendly and loses his patience towards those kind of questions. Doing things as just ignoring them and walk them off as if they had never even talked to him, because that's better than taking out his frustration on someone. Because he's done a lot of things for these cities, and in general, even ignoring that he's Nightwing, he's done a shit tone in his life. He hears interviewers talking to his brothers and they get such an interesting questions, would it be about WE, asks and shows of interest about their lives (not only love-lives), opinions on whatever is going on in the world at the moment and just normal talks that involve their rational thinking instead of gossips, what other people said about you, your body or your face.

And he knows it's stupid to get upset about it, even more considering how these days those questions aren't as common as they used to be, but he is sometimes still upset. And he knows he's not "guilty" or something, but sometimes, just sometimes, he finds himself thinking that maybe if he didn't went along with it when he was a kid, maybe people would have left it there. Maybe people wouldn't comment so often about his smile, his muscles, his dimples or his ass. Maybe. Maybe that's why he gets worked up when he hears interviewers talking to his brothers about their physique. Maybe that's why he takes control over their talk and centrates it on himself, even if he would prefer burying himself alive rather than continuing with the conversation he's having with a big faux smile. Maybe.

do u think dick knows he's like pretty but he stopped caring because mostly civilians and some heroes that don't know nightwing just focus on the fact he's attractive specially in his teens like that one audio "you're beautiful. thank you and what else? what else? it is beauty all that matters to you?"

I can see Dick getting desensitized to being called pretty or attractive.

Maybe he's being interviewed and someone asks him about how so many people have called him attractive or put him on a list of some sort of the hottest celebrities, etc. and Dick just stares at them and asks, "Is that news? Typical Tuesday for me. Anything else?" But he doesn't let them even ask another question before he turns and walks away to the next reporter.

[xomintybreezexo]

Damian and Jon's Favorite Christmas

(quick question before we get into it, is there a ship name for Dami and Ellie and Ellie and Jon? Cause I know Dami and Jon's ship name is supersons, but what would all three of them be?)

Danny hates Christmas, there's a whole episode in canon about it, but if we're talking about Danny viewing Ellie as his daughter and Ellie viewing Danny as her father, then I feel like not enough people are acknowledging that he would do anything to make her love Christmas, or at least not hate it like he does.

Ellie, for a while, didn't know why Danny hated Christmas so much; she has no knowledge of his life and life experiences unless she's told about them, so this makes sense. After finding out that Danny hated Christmas, by watching his behavior on the days leading up to it, she, like any child, started to imitate his attitude towards it, complaining about the lights and music even when she didn't know why she hated it so much.

Danny recognized this pattern instantly, and he's horrified. He, very quickly, becomes bound and determined to make sure she has great Christmas experiences, even if that means keeping her away from his parents on the day of.

After learning that he was the ghost boy Phantom, his parents, being accepting of him, thank goodness, have become more focused on observing and actually researching ghosts than trying to capture and experiment on them. Telling them about Ellie and how she came to be was nerve-wracking.

(What if they didn't believe that Vlad cloned their kid to try to make the perfect son, and probably most likely take over the world? What if they were convinced she was evil and tricking him, and playing the long con? What would he do then?)

Thankfully, they were fully accepting of her and fully horrified by Vlad, so they started putting massive distance between themselves and him.

Danny doesn't like dredging up the specifics of why he hates the Christmas holiday, but it doesn't matter because this is going to be the best first Christmas of Ellie's not-quite-living life! He, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were going to make sure of it. But that plan started and ended out of Amity. As much as he loves his parents and knows they're trying to do better, they couldn't even wait until Christmas Eve to start the arguments and fights about all Christmas-related matters, so Sam bought the four of them, the trio and Ellie, a hotel stay for winter break, 2 full weeks off school that they can spend in Gotham City, New Jersey! He's so going to kill it at this parenting thing! Even Jazz agrees that, for his circumstances (whatever that means), he's doing amazing!

Damian was only mildly appeased because Jon was here. Father and Kent decided it would be good to get out of the house and go out together as a family, which somehow translated to them being at a mall right after opening, when there were the fewest people around, and Batman and the rest of the bats and birds weren't active and mostly unneeded. And, look, it's not that he hates the holidays; he just doesn't understand them beyond familial connection.

(which he still doesn't fully understand, no matter how many ways Father and Pennyworth attempt to explain it to him)

He's long since begun to ignore his family and the Kents, instead pouring his attention into Jon and their surroundings for potential hostiles. A Wayne can never be too careful, especially not in broad daylight.

Instead, all he finds is a cheerful girl his age, maybe a year or two younger (Damian and Jon are thirteen in this, Ellie is twelve like in the show) with three older teens, one of whom must be her older brother; they look strikingly similar. His observing(he is not staring creepily, thank you very much) catches Jon's attention, and the other boy leans over his shoulder to see who it is.

"Whoa...She looks really pretty..." Jon is whispering, probably trying to circumvent his father's less-than-convenient, in this moment at least, super hearing. And Damian does have to agree. She could be considered conventionally attractive. Long, matte black hair in a low ponytail, strikingly bright purple eyes that almost seem to glow, pale skin with rosy cheeks and a wide grin, letting her sharp teeth and elongated canines show, moving her hair to one side and revealing longer, pointed ears. Such things are not typically found in nature, and his first assumption, and the most likely to be correct, is that she's a meta-human, like Duke.

But he doesn't get a chance to ponder that further before she opens her mouth, takes a deep breath, and begins to sing along to the music the mall is playing.

"Santa, tell me if you're really there~ don't make me fall in love again if he won't be next year~"

If he were paying any mind to those she's with, he would have noticed the dark skinned boy with locs falling into his face from under his red beret and the goth girl with black lipstick and purple highlights walking away at the same time. The boy headed to the food court with the girl's card and a reminder to 'not go crazy,' and the girl, giving the other boy he's taken to calling adoption bait(A.B. for short) in his head, a quick peck on the cheek, to a store that famously uses vegan leather.

"Santa, tell me if he really cares~ 'Cause I can't give it all away if he won't be here next year~"

A.B. smiles softly and a little sadly at his younger sister before leaning against the wall behind him, waiting for the other two to return, no doubt. Jon grabs his arm and begins to pull him their direction, somehow without either of their families taking notice.

"Let's go talk to her!" What. Damian Wayne doesn't do talking. What are they even supposed to say?! 'Hey there, random stranger, the two of us who have only been officially dating for about 3 months at this point really like your style, wanna be our third?' She'd think they're crazy!

...Then again, her older brother could be dating those other two teenagers they were with.

Jon doesn't hesitate to join in on the song, either. The girl seems to know the lyrics by heart, so he had to guess it's a favorite of hers.

Good to know.

"Feeling Christmas all around and I'm trying to play it cool~ But it's hard to focus when I see him-" Jon nudges his arm with that stupid, pretty grin on his stupid pretty face, "-Walkin' 'cross the room~"

She turns to them and grins brightly, singing louder now that they are joining in, swaying to the music.

"'Let it Snow' is blasting out, but I won't get in the mood~ I'm avoiding every mistletoe until I know it's true love that he thinks of~" She moves closer to them and is standing on Damian's right, with Jon on his left. They both nudge him, probably wanting him to join the song. He sighs heavily, like it's an annoyance for him, but decides that he will, to impress this girl and ease her into their relationship, hopefully.

Birds sing to attract mates, after all. He doesn't see how this is any different.

"So next Christmas I'm not all alone, boy~" Jon grabs his hand, and the girl leans in closer, her eyes shining with curiosity. Yes, he would sing if it meant she would stay by their sides for even a moment longer. "Santa, tell me if you're really there~ Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year~" Damian hears gasps from behind them, no doubt his siblings and the Kents marvelling at his singing voice. He's only ever sung himself to sleep before, with lullabies he remembers Mother singing to him on worse nights. His voice is soft and melodious, and he's well aware.

"Santa, tell me if he really cares~ 'Cause I can't give it all away if he won't be here next year~" Is this why the film industry is so obsessed with 'Christmas romances'? Jon taught him what love, romantic and platonic love, felt like, but this felt different somehow. Was it because he was here with two people he loved romantically and platonically? He felt like his world had narrowed down to Jon and this new potential partner of theirs, not taking notice of anything else but their bright smiles that made a small one of his own crack on his face.

Even if the girl(he should really ask her name) didn't want to join their relationship, surely they could remain friends, yes?

"I've been down this road before, fell in love on Christmas night~ (ooh, babe)~ But on New Year's Day, I woke up and he wasn't by my side~" Love was a truly strange and wonderous thing, he didn't think it would ever be something he'd experience, believing it to be another weakness to overcome. He never believed what different media and even his own family said about it being one of the most empowering forces to experience, at least, not until he met Jon, and now, after meeting her.

"Now I need someone to hold-" The girl grabbed his arm gently and leaned her head on his shoulder. Another round of gasps broke out when she wasn't immediately shoved away. A sly grin cut her cheeks, and the warmth on his face increased from the sight of it. Jon was still holding his hand, he realized after flexing his fingers. "-Be my fire in the cold~ (yeah, yeah)~"

He finally looked away from the two of them and over at their families. Most of them had their phones out, recording, most likely. He made sure to put on his nastiest scowl, but it was broken when the girl followed his gaze and gave them that same toothy smile. Brown literally squealed with delight, and Grayson looked like he was vibrating in place. West, whom he hadn't realized was here, actually was vibrating in place, with Kori'ander looking immensely pleased. He didn't want to even look at Father or Kent, or Lane for that matter.

"But it's hard to tell if this is just a fling or if it's true love that he thinks of~ (of)~" Even though a part of him wishes to stop singing, mostly to spite Drake and Todd, who look smug and amused, he was having a nice moment and refused to allow them to ruin it. "So next Christmas I'm not all alone, babe~"

This was shaping up to be a good day, if he ignored his meddling family.

"Santa, tell me if you're really there~" He looked to where he hoped the girl's brother still was and found him watching, still leaning against the wall, with a fond smile on his face. They locked eyes for a moment, and his smile grew slightly as he nodded in acknowledgement. "Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year~"

He wondered if he could convince the girl to follow them along on their shopping trip...And if he could find a mistletoe to stand under with her.

"Santa, tell me if he really cares~" Maybe he should write poetry for her? Like he did with Jon? Or create art for her? Like he did with Jon? "'Cause I can't give it all away if he won't be here next year~" But would she like any of that? Maybe he should take to learning an instrument?

She pulled away from them, and he tried to squash his upset, Jon very clearly feeling the same way, if the small frown was indicative. She, instead of leaving, stood in front of them with her hands on her hips and a determined smile.

"Hi! I'm Ellie! I wanted to ask you guys your names, cause I can't keep calling you 'scowley' and 'smiley' in my head." She said it like it was the most relatable thing ever, and maybe it was, how would Damian know one way or the other?

"Damian." He was curt but polite, bowing his head slightly. He left the last name out on purpose. She didn't seem to recognize him, as far as he could tell, and he didn't want to jeopardize their most definitely budding relationship with his status. Status he, typically, flashed in people's faces, specifically so they would leave him alone. "And this is Jon." "Hi, Ellie!" Jon was as excitable as always. Another rare, non sadistic smile from Damian as he watched his girl interact with their potential girlfriend.

"I'm glad you finally told us your name! I also wanted to ask cause I couldn't keep calling you 'pretty girl' in my head!" Ah, apparently it was relatable. Damian, 0, everyone else, 1. Somehow, he's not too upset with that. Not everyone can be Robin, after all.

"Hi there!" Ugh.

Grayson didn't hesitate to lean over him with his signature dumb grin plastered all over his face. Ellie looked up at him curiously. "Damian's big brother here! It's so nice to meet you, Ellie! Where are your parents?" Grayson asked, looking around for anyone who looked like they could fit the bill.

"Right here." Adoption bait said with a polite smile. Ellie grinned up at him, and Damian felt the world stop, figuratively, of course. What is that supposed to mean? How can he be her father when he looks 15? He looks barely three years older than the person he's claiming to be his daughter, and isn't that some concerning imagery?

"You're her father?" That was Drake. He didn't need to see it to know that everyone was looking concerned.

"He's my momma, actually!" Ellie said it with a bright smile, like it wasn't even more concerning. Suddenly, the deep eye bags and almost anemic-looking skin made more sense if he was raising a kid.

"Hi. I'm Danny." He gave a bright smile and a slight wave.

"You're her mother...?" Todd, and he didn't need to see it to know his eyes were turning green. Honestly, he could understand; he was also feeling a little murderous at the thought of a child being forced to take care of another child.

Danny shrugged, like it was no big deal. "I mean, technically." He locked eyes with Ellie as he said it. She nodded sagely. "Cloning can be weird sometimes." He felt the world restart again.

"You're a clone?" Jon asked it, tilting his head like a puppy. Ellie nodded, a bit uncomfortable. Jon grinned widely, gesturing to Conner. "So, is my older brother!" She grinned back.

Ellie, Jon, and Him got to talking all about their interests while her mom/brother/template was being subletely interrogated by Lois Lane and Father. He was happy to learn about Ellie's love of space, travel, and animals.

He thought she was perfect for them, and he was certain Jon agreed. He looked awestruck. She talked about her love of glazed donuts and toasted bagels with strawberry cream cheese. She even mentioned how much she loved her grandma's, her template's mother's, homemade fudge. She went on about how she was learning from her 'Auntie Sam' how to do makeup, even outside of the other girl's traditional goth style. How she was learning to code from her 'Uncle Tucker' and how cool it was to learn to hack into people's stuff. She was simply radiant. And she literally glowed when Damian told her that.

I don't know if i'll add anything else to this, maybe like Sam and Tucker's reactions to Ellie and Danny somehow getting to know the Wayne and Kent families in the 30ish minutes to 1 hour they were gone lol but maybe also how they keep in touch are how they react to Phantom and Phasma and maybe Nightsahde(Sam) and Pharaoh(Tucker) I would love to see what you guys add tho

[travelling-on-the-octopath]

i feel like . perhaps i have an uncommon attitude towards maruki. thoughts are going under the cut and they are negative, people!

i'm going to start right off the bat by saying I think Maruki is easily the most morally bankrupt antagonist of the game. HOWEVER!!!! BEFORE you scroll away in a huff (or scroll away anyway, I'm not your warden) I think he works as well as he does because the sympathy you feel for him outdoes every other target by leaps and bounds. You're literally forced to learn his backstory, and understand why he's made all these choices.

And they're all reprehensible choices.

Backtracking a little: having found a 100% completion playthrough to make up for my game-ruining bug (i literally replayed the entire game just so i could properly do this fight . . . and then i win . . . and then game says FUCK YOU!!!!!), I watched the game starting from finding Maruki's weakness to mid-March when the game ends proper with Ren on the train. With this completed picture in mind I've started looking back on the game as a whole, and while it really is near and dear to my heart, I'm left scratching my head just a little.

As with a lot of popular media, I feel like P5 doesn't commit to the moral greyness it wants to portray. Literally right out the gate you're presented with a monster of a human who is, like, almost comically evil. To the point where I don't understand the Thieves' "are we doing the right thing . . . ?" hand-wringing because, well! See: abuse, rape, assault, general dickery to any students who don't kiss the ground he walks on. But playing the philosophy game so early on really doesn't land.

I think what people forget is word-of-god when it comes to situations like these, and by word of god I mean authorial intent. We are not the general public of this game; we are presented with the objective truth about how stealing hearts works, or at the very least are never presented with something that directly contradicts that truth. Palaces are born from cognitive dissonance. It is the long-term, damaging justification of criminality and moral depravity that ends up distorting your worldview so totally as to create in your subconscious a place where all the things your doing are completely okay, actually. In other words, destroying a Palace is destroying that dissonance; you are taking away their cognitive pattern of saying "this bad thing I'm doing is okay because xyz" and leaving them ONLY with their actions and the respective consequences. Once you take away the justification, all you have left is what you did, who it hurt, and the same that comes from both. That is the pattern every time.

There are two exceptions to this: One girl whose view of herself is so completely distorted that she knows she has to reach out for help to right her worldview, and a woman whose possession of a Palace is irrelevant because of what Ren is able to convince her of outside of her own subconscious. Everybody else? Objective pieces of shit and I'm not hearing anything about it. I don't think the game wants to hear about it either, because neglecting to take down any of these targets is game-ending, but something tells me that the writers either couldn't or didn't want to commit to a story truly rooted in themes of deviation, because every time you add a member to the team they become a vehicle for doubting the Phantom Thieves' methodology. However, I don't mind that too much, because it's understandable that dealing with something as delicate and new as "taking hearts" instills in these children a healthy dose of trepidation, I think.

NOW. Maruki is both status quo and something entirely different. I think his actions are easily the most stomach-turning in the game, but so too are his reasons the most sympathetic. Honestly, he's the perfect escalation from the Yaldabaoth. What's more terrifying than a god who keeps you complacent? A man stumbling into godhood in the distorted, wacked-out desire to make sure no one has to endure what he thinks is undue suffering.

Here is my problem: The minute we saw what Maruki's powers did to Rumi, he EFFECTIVELY became a murderer to me. It's semantics, and no he didn't take a physical life, but he took the memories and the pain and the joy that make up a life. I literally sat there watching this fuck-ass VHS tape thinking, "He literally just killed his girlfriend. The woman he knew is dead." And TO BE HONEST! I find that so incredibly compelling! Because then, at that point, what do you as Maruki do? Do you accept that you've terminated any chances at the real Rumi coming back, of her healing, no matter how long that takes? Or do you convince yourself that this is for the best, so long as she's free of pain? Even if you took her memories of her parents, and altered her entire recollection of her life, and walked away when she clearly tried to reach out to you? She's not suffering, so any price paid is the right one.

He THEN proceeds to fire off this outlook at the rest of the world. (Or, if you did what I really REALLY wanted to do and avoided seeing this fuck-ass counselor, brainwashes a grief-ridden teenager.) And what I don't understand is that Akechi seems to be the only one who treats that with the sort of severity its due given how violating that attitude is--because it's not just the worldview of "I could make everyone happy if only they just Trusted Me"; it's the presumption of authority and the sentiment that "They don't need to know what I'm doing, what I've given them is better than anything they could choose for themselves, they're Free of Suffering now and I can sleep easier knowing that :)"

I say all of this because I cannot in good conscience nod along to people comparing the Phantom Thieves' actions to what Maruki did, because if that's what P5 was going for they missed this mark, that mark, every mark. Like I said before: They give you objectively awful people from which to steal hearts--a pedophilic, violent rapist; a man who allowed a woman to die right in front of him to more easily steal her legacy; a mob boss who blackmails children and uses them as drug mules and moneybags; the literal embodiment of capitalism who has NO issue running people's lives and health into the ground and selling off his daughter like a bargaining chip to bring his goals closer; and democracy-fucking nationalist who smears the name of everyone who opposes them, and those who aren't deterred by THAT method, he kills by using the boy he EXPLICITLY SUSPECTS TO BE HIS SON to do hits.

For the two characters who are NOT pieces of shit (the only women on this list, but that's a discussion for another day), the circumstances are different: One reached out for help, the other changed of her own volition. This is because, frankly, their crimes are either nonexistent (Futaba's amounts of self-flagellation, the smearing of her mother's memory that she recognizes as unfair even if she can't remember why) or inflict minimal in damage (Sae's promotion-oriented ruthlessness in her practice of law, where justice matters less than securing her monetary future for both her and Makoto). Now, as for the latter, Sae's view of the law is disturbing, but her first mention of going outside the law to get a verdict she knows will get her that bag, as it were, is when it comes to the Phantom Thieves. I can't recall any mention of her ruining a life with a false conviction, though if I'm wrong on that front I'm as always open to correction. I suppose my point is that rather than actively, consciously, shamelessly inflicting harm upon those for whom she's responsible, her Palace comes across more as the deeply internalized results-based system of law she entered for the right reasons, but in which she is treading water for the wrong reasons. She's playing the game as it's been taught to her (a game that is one-sided, and corrupt, but the game she learned nonetheless) rather than finding the set of rules she believes in most. This, she does towards the end, through talking things out with Ren and without ever having her treasure stolen.

Despite my not understanding just how MUCH waffling these characters do given the severity of their target's crimes, I think it all plays out fairly well.

And then we get to Maruki, and it seems like all hell breaks loose as to what we're willing to call out as crimes.

Looking back on his behaviours now, his therapy seems to me an extension of his self-righteousness--and that is what this is. However sympathetic, however I can understand the pain of what he went through, his entire shtick is rooted in a god complex bigger than my goddamn ego. I can save you from the pain, just trust me, don't worry about it. He asks people what they want, because he believes in a world where one day he'll be able to give it to them. The GAME EVEN MAKES THIS CONNECTION! When they discover the changes Maruki made, there are flashbacks to the therapy sessions! He stopped being interested in helping people work through their pain and instead let his Persona awakening distort his approach to the entire practice and profession. Again, sympathetic, but morally bankrupt. He was put in charge of these kids' mental health! And while I understand his conviction that he's doing the utmost for them, the fact is that he is not. Emphatically, he is putting them right back where he started because he himself has an unhealthy relationship with pain.

I really think the cruelty of what he does flies under the radar. He reopens everyone's wounds! He gives them a taste of what could have happened, maybe, in a different world. But S, I hear you say, they weren't supposed to know any better. That was supposed to be their new world. If your "help" for a person is predicated on their not knowing how you're meddling in their life, it is not help. In this specific instance, at least. This is a matter of autonomy. He looked at these teenagers and decided he knew better what to do with their lives than they did, and damn the consequences.

Also his palace was horrifying? Cultish? The fucking brainwashing helmets, the allusion to the Garden of Eden? I don't understand how people don't treat this Palace like any other, given that the narrative has you steal the Treasure of a man who is doing active harm. The core of his distortion is what happened to Rumi. His distortion! His utter lack of understanding of the world and how he's meant to weave through it!

But hey. Fine. Only one person is as hard on Maruki as I think he deserves. (Seriously, PEOPLE, in your group is living proof that Maruki's pain relief is ignorance. This girl was brainwashed to believe she was her sister so that she didn't have to suffer the loss of her, because her self-worth was so low that she couldn't imagine a world that would want her instead of her now-dead sister. She is a testament to how FUCKED UP this is, to how this salvation is manipulation in disguise, and yet--milquetoast responses. And don't even get me started on how FUTABA SITES MARUKI AS SOMEONE FOR WHOM SHE WANTS TO STUDY COGNITIVE PSIENCE????? DID THESE TWO EVER SPEAK!?OHGJG>RS WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HIM LIKE HE'S A LONG-LOST FRIEND. ARE WE SERIOUS?) Akechi, we had a bumpy road together, but hey, we are joined in the spirit of Maruki-hating.

H o w e v e r .

You are going to sit there. And look me in the eye. And make this FUCK! ASS! COUNSELLOR! MY CAB DRIVER!?RLKGJSR And talk about new beginnings!? No you deranged motherfucker, we're going to circle back for a few seconds and remind us ALL that you knew about the Phantom Thieves from the word "go"! At the tail end of the Kamoshida business, he suspected Ren's involvement with the Metaverse/cognitive psience, and I feel no shame in saying absolutely abused his relationship with Ren to further his own research. Too harsh a word? It's not. Maruki knew something that Ren wished to keep a secret, and continued to use their counselling sessions as a means of cracking the code to the Metaverse. Ren is supposed to trust this man. If he continues to respond to Maruki's request for help, he obviously does. (I'm using very agency-heavy language for a player insert, but you get what I mean. If you, the player, send Ren continuously to Maruki's office, he trusts Maruki; if not, obviously Ren can't be fucked with the new therapist. A Ren who does not go to these sessions is a very smart Ren.) Maruki was put in a position of power over this boy, and like every other condemned adult in this story, abuses that power!

So I'm going to verbalize my gut feeling: Maruki is not given NEARLY the lashings he deserves by the narrative. Fine, you can't arrest him for crimes against human autonomy and a gross oversimplification of the human condition. I understand that. But giving him a cheeky send-off, having these characters mourn a man who is first and foremost interested in his own ideal world rather than actually trying to help those put in his care via MANDATORY COUNSELLING for some characters--I hate it I hate it I hate it.

TL;DR: Maruki's moral bankruptcy is as proportional to his sympathy as every other antagonist, in that though the other Palace-havers were by and large far less sympathetic, their crimes did not involve his violation of the mind and life--this strange ""killing"" of people in the elimination of their memories--and I do not like how much the story wants me to feel bad for him when he is just as distorted, misguided, and pathetic to me as every other antagonist whose Treasures you have to steal. He's a great antagonist. His motives makes sense, and he disgusts me profoundly. I do not feel bad for him, though I may pity him, and I do not want to watch his victims feel bad for him. Good night.

[aihoshiino]

That Ai and Miyako post made me remember how back when chp 154 drop, some people were claiming that hikaai devalued Ai’s bond with her kids. Like????? Insane line of thinking.

I'm actually sort of in two minds. I defo don't agree that Ai's relationship with Hikaru devalues the one she has with the twins because. well, they're very different relationships above and beyond anything else. But I do think that this sounds like maybe a poor articulation of a critique that I do otherwise agree with - that the specific way Ai talks about her feelings for Kamiki in 154 is inconsistent with the Ai of volume 1 and, if taken at face value, does weaken what is otherwise an extremely efficient self-contained arc in relation to her feelings about the twins and how that guides her to her cathartic confession of love with her final words.

Akasaka falls into this bad habit in the latter half of OnK of like… I guess the most concise way to sum it up would be flanderization but of a relationship dynamic as opposed to a single character (tho I guess you could argue it's flanderization of both characters in relation to their dynamic, but that's picking nits). I've talked about this before in relation to Gorou and Sarina but tbh you can kind of see it all over late stage OnK when you know to start looking for it - where Aka tries to sell the emotional depth of a relationship by massively roiding up the intensity of it to near soap opera levels and rather than making it more interesting, it just ends up flattening out what already WAS interesting because the nuance gets lost in all the noise. GRSR are the worst victims of this mostly because the series relies SO heavily on getting you invested in that relationship that a lot of its beats flop all the harder if you aren't but HikaAi get some of it too.

Some of this comes down to the fact that we just don't really know a ton about how the HikaAi relationship really played out. I've talked about this in more detail before but the long and the short of it is that the 154 DVD is basically the one and only time we get Ai's actual perspective on the relationship and a lot of the stuff she says here is just, like… weirdly overly effusive in ways that don't one hundred percent line up with how she expresses herself in volume 1. And to an extent I give Akasaka a pass on that because he obvs didn't have the exact details of the HikaAi dynamic in mind when writing volume 1. But this does really feel like him falling into that trap of roiding up an emotional beat to the point where the nuance is lost. The DVDs are already such an awkward plot point bc they're so transparently utilitarian and there's never really a good in-story justification for Ai choosing to make them, but it especially doesn't help that the way she talks on the DVD is so obviously written to be the most hurtful and impactful thing possible to Hikaru.

And I think for the most part it does broadly work - the main issue is that depending on how you read some of what she says, it sort of retroactively centers Hikaru in her decisionmaking regarding the twins in a way that I think does kind of cheapen her immediate connection to the twins and her decision to selfishly pursue her own happiness if you take it at face value. It's not necessarily impossible to thread the emotional logic if you make the attempt but I dislike that I have to in the first place and I wish we'd gotten more insight into what caused the shift in her mindset between when the DVDs were made and when she called Hikaru.

The actual real problem is like. Literally this one part:

It would be one thing if this was being voiced as a genuine question that Ai was struggling with but her big happy smile and the way she immediately undermines it a moment later makes it clear this is a rhetorical question and that she is essentially saying without directly saying that she did love Kamiki and she knows it.

And like... that makes no sense, right??

Ai being able to so confidently and assuredly say that her "I can't love you" to Hikaru was a lie speaks to a level of understanding and security in her feelings that does not at all line up with the Ai of volume 1. The whole point of her conflict there - hell, of Ai's arc is general - is that Ai has been so starved of genuine human connection that she doesn't even recognise feelings of love in herself even as she experiences them. Her emotional palette has been so forcibly muted that she's effectively gone colourblind.

That's why she so scared of expressing her love to Aqua and Ruby - she literally has no idea what it feels like because she has no frame of reference. She assumes that it would be a lie if she said it specifically because she's never been able to speak a truthful "I love you" before.

So it's not that Ai having loved Hikaru undermines her love for the twins or anything - it's that Ai being so certain and at ease with the fact that she did, at this point in time. I do think that ultimately undermines vol1's conclusion for her purely because it's inconsistent and there's no attempt in the story to sew these inconsistencies up. Like I said, it feels like a symptom of Akasaka wanting to produce the maximally emotionally effective beat and either not realising or not caring that it didn't make sense for the arc he was writing.

To be clear, I do still love 154! It's still one of my favourite chapters in the series and I think it's overall very effective and definitely a better conclusion to the revenge & Hikaru as the antagonist than wtfever Aka decided to do with 160 onwards. It just has its issues like basically everything else in this manga past a point.

[propheticclown]

CLASSPECTING DELTARUNE CHARACTERS GRAHHHHHHH

WARNING: OBVIOUS SPOILERS FOR DELTARUNE AHEAD!!! Note: This post will only cover the Main Trio and some Lightners. Let me know if you want this to be a multipart series for Darkners as well!

Susie: While it is a BIT controversial to say she's anything but a Rage Player, I don't think that she is. A lot of people Classpect her as a Knight of Rage but forget a fundamental part of Knight as a Class, which is that they act like they don't care about their Aspect. Dave as a Knight of Time seems like a cool, mellow dude who just wants to be chill and pass the time with relaxing, when in reality, he's the most organized, punctual Beta Kid who is constantly worried about how he spends his time. Karkat as a Knight of Blood acts like he doesn't care about his friends and just wants to be a big bad scary leader when in reality, he cries over literally minor inconvenience about his friends. A Knight becomes fully realized once they embrace that side of them that they seem to not care about. Susie is very open about her anger and shame, which is not what a Knight of Rage would do. Y'know what she is hesitant about? Being a hero. Being anything OTHER than a angry teen. Her development in Chapter 4 where she finally starts to embrace the prophecy and the ideals it lays before her are when we see her at her healthiest (before it comes crashing down because of the final piece of the prophecy but we can ignore that). For that reason, I truly believe that she WOULD be a knight. But a KNIGHT OF HOPE! Not a Knight of Rage. Ralsei: I feel like this is pretty obvious. Everyone agrees that he's a Void player of some kind. Prince of Darkness. Makes sense. Obviously he is not a Prince of Void though. In my opinion, I think he's a SYLPH OF VOID, just for basic kinda reasons. Sylph is a healer class that blabs about their aspect, Ralsei is a healer who constantly blabs about the roles Darkners are supposed to play. Void is all about obscuring information and hierarchies, Ralsei constantly obscures information from Kris and Susie while deeming himself to be lower than them because he's a Darkner. Pretty cut and dry for me, although I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. THE PLAYER (NORMAL ROUTE): To me, the player seems like a SEER OF BLOOD simply because they can see all possible options laid before them whilst also actively benefiting the relationships of people Kris is close to. Also being connected to Kris and well, Blood is all about connections. And because everyone on tumblr has played Deltarune and name me ONE person on this website who doesn't do the "holier than thou" shit that Kankri does.

THE PLAYER (WEIRD ROUTE): Now, on the other hand, the player on the weird route is actively destroying all of Kris' relationships for the sake of cultivating their relationship with Noelle in a sick and fucked up way. As such, weird route player is a PRINCE OF BLOOD instead, not to mention that Prince of Blood not only destroys connections but destroys WITH connections and I mean, we did force Noelle to destroy Berdly.

(Not me though because I've never played the Weird Route so haha) Noelle Holiday: Speaking of Noelle, I wanted to talk about her development as a character as her whole character arc revolves around her cowardice and being able to become brave enough to stand up to people, whether that be in the Normal or Weird route, so her classpect doesn't change like the player's. This is gonna sound a bit odd but I think Noelle would be an HEIR OF RAGE. Heir's start off not having their aspect and then gaining it through means of progression of the story. Noelle is a character who is constantly oppressed by the people around her, never being able to speak her own mind. It's only at the end of Chapter 2 that Noelle is finally able to stand up for herself and challenge the ideals of Queen, which is something a Rage Player would do. Not to mention that her during the Weird Route is all about giving up her control, which is what an unrealized Rage Player would do in the first place. On top of that, her and another Rage Player, REALLY love strangling.

Erm... Burghley???: Jokes aside, Berdly is probably the easiest character in Deltarune to Classpect. He's a pompous jackass who uses his intelligence to garner validation and relevance. That man is the most LIGHTEST of LIGHT players. But what class would he be? Hmm? Oh so difficult, I imagine you saying to yourself. Easy. He's a Mage. Mages are described as someone who benefits themselves with knowledge pertaining to their aspect. And oh boy does that bird love to use his knowledge of ...knowledge to benefit himself. Not to mention that Mages also only half have their aspect and aren't able to fully acquire it in the beginning of their arc (Ex. Sollux continually "half-dying" never actually meeting his DOOM, Meulin constantly using escapism and entering a toxic relationship with Horuss to avoid accepting what her HEART actually wants), which would not only explain his lack of friends (aka relevancy and attention) in the normal route, as well as him being cast aside entirely in the weird route. Also it ties into his arc in Chapter 2 about embracing ignorance, which would technically make him go Grimdark within the Homestuck world. So yeah, Berdly is a MAGE OF LIGHT! Kris Dreemurr: Now, I know what you are all expecting me to say. "They're a Prince of Heart, bye bye have a great time". Hot take incoming: I don't think Kris is a Prince of Heart at all. Not because they don't have care about their self expression and identity, not at all. That's a very prominent part of Kris' character, but because... a Prince of Heart's whole thing is destroying Heart or destroying through Heart. Kris' actively helps people gain their motivation to do what they're destined to do, whilst also destroying the motivation of enemies to fight in the first place through non-violent methods. Hmm, so we're looking for a Classpect that harbors an overabundance of shame and isolation from society, internally angry but doesn't express it unless it REALLY annoys them, builds up the motivation of their allies whilst also destroying the motivation of others through ACTing/making them giving up on their motivation through FIGHTing, ON TOP OF KEEPING SECRETS FROM THE WATCHER AND WORKING WITH THE MAIN ANTAGONIST!!!. Man, if only there was a Classpect like that. Oh wait there is- THEY'RE A PRINCE OF RAGE! Kris is a PRINCE OF RAGE! I know. I know. Extremely odd take but look at them! I just stated all things that make a Prince of Rage and Kris fits every box as opposed to Prince of Heart, which I'm only convinced people classpect them as because they dislike us as the player controlling their body and we just so happen to be in the shape of a heart. But even then, severing connections is not a Prince of Heart thing. That's a Prince of Blood thing, and considering that Kris actively is attempting to keep their friends incredibly close to them and is attempting to reunite their entire family to be like how it was in the past, I don't think Prince of Blood fits the bill. But hey, you know what an extremely unhealthy attachment to the people they love, which they cultivate by either doing extremely life threatening things or manipulation of the people they love DOES fit the bill for? That's RIGHT! Prince of Rage! Because that is EXACTLY what Kurloz does with Meulin. IN FACT! A LOT OF PARALLELS EXIST WITH KRIS AND KURLOZ!!! ESPECIALLY WITH THE RELEASES OF CHAPTER 3 AND 4, which makes sense when you consider that Toby Fox helped with the creation of the Alpha Trolls, INCLUDING KURLOZ! This is a hill I am 110% willing to die on and I will be the most pretentious, conceited asshat about it because I KNOW THAT I'M RIGHT! AND BEFORE ANYONE SAYS IT! PRINCES DO NOT LACK THEIR ASPECT! THAT IS BARD! PRINCES SUFFER FROM AN OVERABUNDANCE OF THEIR ASPECT!!!

So anyway, thank you so much for reading. Let me know if you'd like to see another post like this with other characters, as well as asking me about other characters you want me to classpect just in general. I hope you all have an absolutely wonderful day! :o)

[tagged-by-trauma]

Hey so loved your previous fics, they were cute and some funny but also adorable 🥹❤️😅

Could you write where Pedro is dating, reader/single mum of 2 kids ( you can use either 2 boys or 2 girls or either 1 boy and 1 girl. I'll let you choose. You can choose their age also). Anyways, can it be where he meets them for the first time, but both pedro and their mum doesn't know they are a fans of him. They ask him questions after questions, and by the end their mum thinks pedro won't want to see them again until one day on his break from set, he shows up and he invites them to set ( you can choose from one of his projects ), he introduces them to everyone. After they all head home and have a movie night ( one of pedro's movies or tv series to watch ) with snacks. And maybe end it with pedro having a sleepover, and both pedro and reader/mum have talks until they fall asleep.

You can choose how you want to play this out, I love a surprise 🤭

I hope that made sense. I just think it's cute for reading fics like that 🫶🏼❤️😇 thank you so much 😘 I really appreciate it

The first impressions

The first impression with your two kids go quite well, but you are still left with doubts. It all vanishes when Pedro shows up and takes you all to the set of Fantastic Four, and after the kids fall asleep on your couch, leaving you and Pedro with your thoughts. Pairing: Pedro Pascal x mom!reader Warnings: established relationship, first impressions, quiet doubts, slight insecurity, Pedro being a sweetheart, basically just pure fluff Word count: 1.3k A/N: This is definitely not my best work, and I'm not proud of it, but I hope you'll like it anyway!

You have been dating Pedro for months now. After your ex-husband left you years ago with your three-year-old son and your daughter on the way, and chose one of his co-workers instead, you felt like you could never trust any man again. That was until Pedro held the library door open for you, and you fell into a deep conversation.

He was the perfect man inside and out. He was a real sweetheart with the most beautiful smile in the world, and he was also intelligent. When you asked anything, he almost answered to every one of them, impressing you every time.

You started truthfully; you didn’t want to lie to him. You told him about your nine-year-old son and you six-year-old daughter, and he received it with quiet interest. He started asking about them, what they were like, what was their hobby, and you couldn’t be more amazed by his reaction.

So, now, months later you agreed on the first meeting with them. You called him to your house, not wanting your kids to feel uncomfortable through this whole moment. The only thing they knew was that his name was Pedro and you had been dating him. Nothing more, nothing less.

The doorbell rang in the afternoon, and you rushed to the door while the kids were helping you placing out snacks in the living room. You opened the door, and your eyes immediately fell on Pedro. He was dressed in light jeans and an olive-green button-up. He looked just as handsome as ever.

“Hey,” he greeted you, and stepped forward to give you a sweet kiss. He was holding two wrapped gifts, and you looked at him questioningly. He just shrugged, but the smile on his face was talking instead of his mouth.

“Hey, you are a bit overdressed, no?” you asked, standing in the doorway in a worn t-shirt and your favourite shorts.

“I wanted to make sure they like me.”

“Ah, you’re so sweet,” you pulled him inside. You looked at him with a look that made sure that he was ready for this, and when he nodded, you called out, your voice carrying across the house. The two kids appeared in the doorway in the speed of a rocket, but when their eyes fell on Pedro they stopped in their tracks.

“Oh my God,” Liam blurted out, and your daughter followed just behind him. Your nervous smile fell a little, just as Pedro’s and you looked at each other scared. But there was nothing to be scared about, and you knew it the moment they stepped forward, and started firing questions at Pedro.

“Did you really meet Grogu?”

“Is Oscar Isaac really your friend?”

“Were you scared doing stunts?”

“Were you afraid of those clickers?”

Pedro was standing beside you, unmoving, his eyes darting back and forth at every question, he was overwhelmed, and you realized it pretty quickly, putting an end to the questions with a soft warning.

“Hey, little ones, let’s not bomb him with so many questions at once, alright? One at a time,” Pedro’s expression became more relaxed, and he looked at you gratefully, tilting his head forward.

“I guess I don’t have to introduce myself then,” the kids shook their head excitedly, and Pedro let out a soft chuckle. He crouched down to the level of them, and with the softest voice of his he started answering them one by one.

By the end of the night both kids were out of questions, and you walked Pedro out of the house and to his car. You were afraid that maybe tonight was too much for him, that maybe he thought it through and realized that he didn’t want this. He was standing in front of you now.

“I’m sorry if that was a bit overwhelming. I know they can be a bit too much sometimes but… They are usually not like this,” your voice was a bit strained, but Pedro just stepped forward and gave you the softest goodbye kiss.

“We’ll talk soon.”

Those were his last words before he drove away.

You didn’t talk with him for days now. You were always trying to reach out, but you were too afraid of his reaction, so you backed out every time. That was until a knock came on your door on a normal Tuesday morning. You took out the whole day, wanting to rest a little, so when you opened the door, and saw Pedro standing there, you felt like your brain just short circuited.

“Pedro,” your voice was low, shocked.

“Hey, hermosa. Uhm… Are the kids at home?”

“Yes?”

“Amazing,” his face lighted up like a Christmas tree, and you stepped to the side to let him in. The two kids appeared beside you, excited to see who was behind the door, and when they saw Pedro, they nearly knocked him over.

After the tight hug, he stepped back and held out three set visitor passes. You looked at him, completely oblivious of his intentions, but the kids beside you were already bouncing on their feet.

“So, are you ready to meet the Fantastic Four?” the scream that ripped through the house was a new sound, your son hugging Pedro tightly. You were surprised how safe your kids felt around Pedro after just one meet, but you felt your heart flying in the clouds by the little fact.

And that was how your whole day went.

You arrived on set, met Vanessa, Joseph and Ebon after a quick talk. Liam got to try a stunt harness and Sophie was running around greeting everyone that was on the same room with her. You watched as Pedro acted in full costume, and your kids were staring in awe like he was God himself, and you were just thinking about how lucky you are.

The kids were full of energy when you got home with them and Pedro, so they were demanding to watch one of his movies. You were preparing the snacks and drinks, and you heard your kids talking with him in the living room. Bringing in the popcorn and the orange juices, and placing them on the coffee table, you looked at Liam and Sophie.

“So, what should we watch?”

“Let’s watch that one movie of his that you didn’t allow us to see,” Liam immediately answered, and Pedro looked at you with his eyebrows raised and a boyish smirk playing on his face.

“Which movie, hermosa?” you already parted your mouth to answer, but your daughter cut you off.

“That one which is…” she was hesitating but continued anyway. “What’s it called? Something starting with Strange,” Pedro’s eyes widened, and he looked at you.

“Yeah, you… Uhm…” he cleared his throat, clearly a bit uncomfortable in his seat. “You’re a bit young for that,” the kids let out a protesting sound, but you and Pedro stopped them.

In the end, you were laying on the couch with the Mandalorian playing on the TV. Sophie was curled into Pedro’s side, her head resting on his chest, and Liam was resting his head against his shoulder. They were dozing off, and you weren’t really watching as Din Djarin was flying with Grogu on the screen because you were more invested in the scene in front of you.

Pedro’s eyes found yours, and a slow smile crept on his face. He looked back down to the kids, and you were in complete awe by the way he was so caring with them.

“You know,” you lifted your head as he started. “I never really wanted to be a dad, never really longed for having children but now? I think I would do anything for these two troublemakers,” your eyes were clouded by the unshed tears, and if you had any doubt about him not wanting this, it all vanished with his words. “Can I bring them to the cinema with me tomorrow?”

“You are definitely going to spoil them,” he was grinning sheepishly, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“I think that’s why I’m here.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Yes, but you love them. And you love me.”

And these were the facts that you couldn’t argue with even if you tried.