#don't you remember your boy... don't you love him...

[yan-randomfandom]

I've been reading the fanart. You have a natural talent for creating a more distinctive personality for the Saja Boys from the bits and pieces they gave us in the movie!

Ever since that fanart where the Saja sneaked into the reader's room, I couldn't stop imagining what they would be like sleeping alone with her, as if every day of the week except the weekends they will take turns sleeping with the reader or something like that.

And again, I love your writing. I hope you like the idea. Have a nice day!!!

Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; anon thank you so much heheh!!! this one isn't too accurate to your idea, but i love it and i hope it's still okay!

summary; physical touch with the boys and why they wanna go to your bedroom :))) (touch starved. written separately but they all live in the same housing)

warnings; stalking (watching you sleep), body curious, touching w no permission, nothing sexual tho!

— 🍃 [Monday]

Here's the thing, guys. The boys don't actually need sleep. They're demons. Sleep isn't something their bodies need—instead it's something they want. They are still aware and can feel through touch, which is exactly why they'd prefer to sleep with you.

You're warm, so alive, and they don't know it yet.

Surprisingly enough, Jinu is the first one to knock on your door.

"Jinu?" you drawl, voice laced with sleep. He stands awkwardly by the doorway, patiently waiting for you to process what's happening. Glancing idly at your sleepwear and dimlit room.

You yawn, widening the door. "What's up? Need something?" You pause, raising a lazy accusing finger. "Wait. You're not here to suck my blood, are you—?!"

"What? No!" Jinu gasps, almost offended. You sigh out of relief anyway.

"...We're not interested in physical bodies. Anyway, uh, sorry for waking you up. I just need to see how our socials are going," he explains as he steps into your room. "You can power your computer and go back to sleep."

As soon as you heard the word 'social', you were already turning it on. "'kay, buddy. You sure you don't need help, though? I know I taught you a bit but I understand it can get confusing—"

"No, no," Jinu huffs, denial flooding his form. "I can do it."

"You remember how to turn it off?"

"Yes. Don't worry."

Then you fall asleep next to him, your body slightly pressing against his. His eyes slowly drift away from the glow of the computer screen to your sleeping form. He stares for a moment.

Soft, warm. It reminds him of the past on how he couldn't sleep with his own fam—

Jinu pulls the computer plug off and teleports away.

—💐 [Tuesday]

Baby made you piggyback him. A lot. It was sort of your fault.

You saw the Saja Boys taking turns carrying him—it was a pretty funny ordeal. Then you jokingly offered to piggyback him to see what the hype was about.

He accepted it all too eagerly. As soon as his full weight falls on you, you're genuinely surprised at how light he is. It's probably equivalent to a box full of volleyballs.

"You're lighter than I thought," you say, adjusting your arms behind his legs.

Baby suddenly lets his head rest on yours. "Why are you so..." Warm. He buries himself into your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

"Why am I so what?" you ask, turning your head, only achieving to tickle him more.

He doesn't let you go for the rest of the day.

And by extension, night.

You tried to complain at first. "Didn't we agree to—"

"Just this once, please?"

You folded.

He snuggles all comfortable within your arms, acting as the little spoon, greedily content in your warmth and breathing.

But then you wake up with his mouth on your skin. He wasn't biting, sucking, or anything. It was just.... there.

Still, though, you assumed the worst.

"I thought you said demons don't suck blood, Jinu!?!"

"We don't!!?!"

—🪷 [Wednesday]

Abby wanted you to touch his abs for some mysterious reason. Yapping about how "no one else will have this chance," or "you might not live long enough to feel it!" and "I actually haven't let anyone touch my artificial abs yet" — it was really weird, but you shrugged it off and agreed anyway.

Like hell yeah. Sure, why not?

So he unbuttons his shirt, all giddy, and watches as you reach for his skin.

You make contact with his abs. Caressing it gently, it feels normal in texture — but you suppose it's a little too cold. The fact didn't totally sound weird at the time.

Looking up, you flinch at Abby's expression. You thought he'd be smiling, like he was the whole time, but he looks so serious that it's actually concerning. He's not looking at you; his eyes were down and fixated on your hand.

You notice, pulling your hand away from him, and snapping your fingers. "You okay?"

He blinks. "Uh."

Later that night, Abby welcomes himself into your room.

He stares at you from the corner. From the center. From the edge of your bedframe. On your bed.

Sometimes, he'd gently let his hands roam over your exposed skin. Mostly your warm hands. And your warm face.

You wake up to find his face in front of you.

Screaming, you unintentionally kick him in the abs.

"Ow, my perfectly crafted abs!"

— 🪻 [Thursday]

Mystery almost lost it when you pat his head.

You did it voluntarily. It's a nice, comforting feeling as you pat his shoulder, his arm, and his cheek. He utterly melts under your casual touches without a single word.

He loves it. You leave him demanding for more. So, Mystery decides to linger around you like a guard dog. Who hopes to be spoiled, who wishes to be held.

But, then, night comes.

"You're not exactly allowed in my room," you say, only to pause when he straight up whimpers.

... You folded. With a sigh, you step away from the door and give him space to walk in.

He happily skips into your room, flopping face-first on your bed. You stare at him for a moment, thinking about how despite them not being human — they really love to rest.

You lie down, feeling Mystery move around under your blanket, closing your eyes when he finds himself comfortable against your chest.

Your chest rising and falling with every breath—Mystery simply can't help but feel envious.

— 🌺 [Friday]

Romance is confused.

There's a buzz between his band members — apparently, they visited your bedroom? Didn't they agree to avoid that specific place in this house?

He doesn't realize he's been staring blankly at nowhere. Reality hits him hard when something gentle touches his hair.

"Might wanna style your hair again, Rome," you chuckle, brushing his hair with your fingers. He shivers when your skin grazes his forehead. "You got the bed head. Though I guess you just snap your fingers and it'd be all okay."

You leave right after that, but Romance keeps staring at the last place he saw your figure, his fingers fidgeting with the hair you just touched.

Okay. He gets it now.

Next day, you woke up with him hovering over your head.

You suddenly grab his shoulders, push him back against your bed, breathing heavy from the shock. The bed sinks under both your weight.

Romance stares immensely up at you.

"You guys," you breath, "will be the death of me."

He smirks. "I can only imagine."

— krazy

[chaes-tea]

── // living the nightmare .

// kpop demon hunters fic. // jinu x reader. // a/n: i looped the ost an unhealthy amount of times. i also haven't written anything in a few years LOL. so things might make little sense. or not make sense at all. enjoy! (pls don't flame me too hard i had a vision idk if it visioned) ⚠��!! WARNING: kpop demon hunters spoilers !! + angst

"Jinu!"

He clutches his head and winces, the familiar voice never leaving his head.

The memories– these damn memories that haunt him every second that passes, every step he takes, every breath he breathes. He painfully recalls his sister's sobs, along with his mother's trembling voice as she attempted to comfort her. But he remembers your cries the most.

You. The love of his life. His heart's desire. His soulmate.

He looks at the glowing patterns on his hands. He did it not just for his mother and sister, but for his future, for you. He wanted to give you the world, even if it ended up sounding like a sappy rags to riches story. You deserved so much more than what he could offer.

When he heard Gwi-Ma's voice in his head that day, he thought that this was his chance. A chance for his family to finally be relieved of suffering. The four of you would enter the palace and spend the rest of your lives there. But things took a turn when only he was allowed entry into the palace. He remembers the pain he felt in his heart when the palace doors shut behind him. Even so, he still pressed forward. He would do well in his time in the palace, make money, and send it home.

But Gwi-Ma kept him from doing so. His voice spat excuses after excuses that made him make selfish decisions. Decisions that prevented him from supporting his family. Decisions that kept a sturdy roof over his head, gave him delicious meals every day, and silk sheets every night, all while his family struggled in poverty. The thought of that ate away at him during his time in the palace. The patterns on his skin slowly grew like vines, until it consumed him whole, completely turning him into a demon under the demon king's rule.

The voice in his mind, and the patterns on his body, were constant reminders of his regret, shame, and guilt. They were evidence of his selfish choices– choices that led him to lose his family. This fact has never left him for the past 400 years.

Every few decades, when he would wander the streets of the human realm in search of souls, he would stumble upon a familiar face. The face reminded him of when he first walked through the palace gates alone. He solemnly smiles to himself each time as he observes you. It was nice to see that your iterations always held your kind smile and strong personality, no matter the era or hardships.

He wonders if fate would have allowed him to meet you in every reincarnation, had he stayed human.

He hates how he always thinks about that. He hates his memories of his time as a human, how they always remind him of his betrayal to his loved ones. If hate could defeat Gwi-Ma, the demon king would have been gone long ago.

Now, he sees his service to him as a means to an end. He would get in his good graces, and in exchange for his great deeds to him, he would request for the memories of his past to be erased. A request that would end this 400-year-long nightmare for good.

The Honmoon will be complete soon. Surely, his plan to destroy it will work. That's all Gwi-Ma wants, after all.

He and the other Saja Boys assume human forms and head through the alleyways to the stage they will be performing on. He aimlessly follows the four, rerunning the plan in his head before the performance. A familiar voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

"What's exactly is in this 'voice juice' anyways?"

He looks up and sees four people: the first in a black baseball cap, a shorter one with a yellow bucket hat, one holding a box, and–

Oh.

It's you again.

What a cruel thing fate is.

[bluewxrld07]

Pins and Needles

Lando X Bff!Fewtrell!Reader

Summary: Y/N doesn't know where she and Lando stand anymore. Their once-tight friendship soon started to tear at the seams.

Warning(s): just pure angst, Lando being toxic (sorry y'all), making out, Charles Leclerc incoming, depression, lack of self-worth

A/N : I can't help myself y'all ok 🥲 This one is gonna hurt, I'm sorry but also not sorry. Enjoy 🙂 (Written and inspired by Nessa Barrett's song Pins and Needles)

Hand on the stove, I barely feel it

And when I let go, I'm already healing

This was not how it was supposed to go.

How it was supposed to wind up.

Y/N didn't even know how she got herself into this situation.

Deep down, she knew exactly how she got herself into this situation, she just didn't want to admit to it.

It started when one drunk night at the club in Monaco led to her becoming tangled up in her best friend's sheets, whispering sweet nothings to one another. The sly touches as the sun crept through the blackout curtains the next morning.

That was when their situation bloomed. Things had become messier between Lando and Y/N.

Little did Y/N realize just how deep she had fallen for the man she had known almost her entire life. He was comfortable. Familiar. Trustworthy.

At the start.

Things at the beginning were smooth. Nothing but absolute lust, addiction, and hunger. It rose and rose, some moments almot becoming reckless.

They couldn't keep their hands off one another. From sneaking around the paddock, to the club bathrooms, to the bedroom next door to Max's. It became reckless. Animals in heat. The craving was insatiable.

The pair didn't know if the sneaking around made them this way, or the fact that it was supposed to be a forbidden relationship. Max would've had Lando's head. He'd have six feet under the ground.

She didn't mean to fall more in love with the boy. She thought it would be harmless. Her feelings would subside. Not do the complete opposite and skyrocket. The way he had begun to treat their little situationship as if they were together is what got her the most.

He made her feel like she was the only one.

Till he slowly became more sloppy. Bailing out on plans more often, leaving her high and dry while saying something came up. The distance became clearer. It was the late-night visits that were only making a daily appearance. No talking, just becoming tangled in the bedsheets.

Their friendship had begun to fade out, only turning into meaningless sex. At least that's what she believed.

She never understood why. What had she done for him to pull away slowly? What was she missing?

Y/N couldn't tell anyone, as she didn't have anyone she told about it. Not trusting a single soul to keep it quiet if things got tricky. Especially not when Max had no idea of what was happening behind closed doors.

When he began to ask why her mood had become more glum, as if she had almost faded. She just used the excuse of lack of sleep, or was just having one of those days.

He didn't question it, only gave her a lingering look, then didn't push further. He knew better.

It wasn't long till she found out why. Why Lando pulled away from her, let their friendship fade out, as well as their late night hookups.

They say your name, I don't even hear it

You dug your own grave, and nobody's grieving

The articles all read and show him with a new girl, a blonde model and actress. She was pretty. His type, too. He looked happy, a genuine smile on his lips as he looked at her.

That's when she noticed the way her chest tightened, crashed in on itself.

He had been seeing this girl, Magui, she thinks her name was, without saying a thing to her. She thought they were close enough that he would've been honest. He has never lied to her. In all the years she had known him, it wasn't something he did.

She remembered when she found out, she sat there trying to figure out what to say to him. Her first message sounded angry. Hurt, betrayed, lost, and confused.

Instead, she clicked the power button off, thinking it was best to not say a word. Instead, she let it fade away. Let him fade away.

There had been a day Y/N was at her brother's, sitting on the barstool while he cooked food with Pietra.

"Is she nice?" she asks, hinting at Lando's new girl. Max looked at her with an unsure gaze, shrugging his shoulders.

"From what I can tell, yeah," he answers. "Still a bit skeptical about her, though. About her past, mainly. Everything is still unclear about what happened between her and Luisna. Lando won't really talk about it."

She nods, deciding not to push any further, picking at the food on her plate.

"Have you heard from him lately?" Pietra asks this time. "I haven't seen you two around one another lately. Usually it's hard to pull you both away from the other," she tries to joke. Max looked back at his sister with just as curious of a look.

"You two haven't been talking?" he asks, Y/N just shrugs.

"Not really," she admits. "Always says something's come up. It's fine, I'm not gonna push it. He's happy."

Max looks at her with a little bit of shock on his face. "You two have been close for years. Closer than him and me, why would he just push you away?"

Y/N knew the real answer to it, but she couldn't give that away. As she knew Max would lose his shit if he knew. Lando would be lucky to leave the brawl with a head on his shoulders if Max found out.

So instead, the girl just shrugs. "Don't know. Just assumed maybe he doesn't want to make things look weird with his new girl. Probably doesn't want her to think anything else."

Max scoffs playfully at that, pouring his eggs onto his own plate. "Trust me, if there was more, I would've known. She wouldn't have had anything to worry about. He'd have a lot more to deal with if that were the case."

She just stays silent, Pietra sensing the awkwardness in the room, deciding to change the subject.

Shot my heart with Novacane

Ice-cold, cut off my blood flow

It had turned into hearing from Lando every other week, and maybe seeing him when he came to help with collabs for Quadrant. When the pair would be streaming with the other streamers, he wouldn't so much as acknowledge her in the chat.

It would be short answers if anything.

Her chest burned every time she made eye contact with him, the gazes between the pair always having something between them. Something she couldn't quite explain.

It wasn't until she had been dragged out to a race day with Max and P, that she could feel the need to hide away in a corner for the rest of her life.

She kept her distance whenever Lando would come around, the boy not missing the way she would excuse herself when he came by.

He should've known.

He caused the tension between them. He pulled back when he only wanted to get closer to her.

He found another girl while in denial of how deeply in love he was with his homeboy's sister, and his best friend. Magui was his way out. His escape from his reality. Even if it wasn't the right way.

He had to let Y/N go, even if it meant he couldn't be in her life anymore.

At least that's what he told himself.

You think you're important,, boy, I've got bad news

You're mean and you're boring, they'll all forget you

Y/N had been standing over by the motorhomes, sipping on the coffee in her hand, when she felt someone bump into her back. The sip had turned into a mess, dripping down onto her white tube top she wore on the hot day.

She turned around to meet the eyes of a familiar Monégasque man, who looked at her in horror. "Shit, Y/N I am so sorry," he nervously chuckles, his eyes seeing the new stain on her top. "I should've been more careful. I was so caught up in the conversation I-"

"Charles," she giggles, making him look at her. "It's okay. At least it wasn't a hot coffee, yeah?"

He snorts while rubbing the back of his neck. "Now that I definitely would've never heard the end of."

She chuckles. "You still won't hear the end of this one," she jokes, making him give her a genuine smile before chuckling back at her. He motions to her shirt.

"At least lemme help get you a new top? I can't bear the thought of you having to be stuck with explaining how the stain came about."

"Ahhh I see you want to protect your perfect image, I suppose?" she tuts playfully, making him widen his eyes.

"What? No I meant like it would probably be annoying having to say the story a thousand times, or you could get weird looks from people, or-"

"Oh my goodness, Charles! I'm joking," she laughs while putting her hands on his shoulders. She watches him visibly relax at her touch and her words, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Sorry, I just," he chuckles breathlessly. "You make me nervous, is all."

She raises her brows, a small smirk on her lips. "Oh, I do now?"

He rolls his eyes with a groan. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this."

She hums. "I didn't know I made the famous Ferrari driver nervous," she jokes while crossing her arms and giving him a knowing look.

His eyes flicker down from her eyes to her lips for a split second, then he smiles at her. "A little."

"A little?"

He purses his lips. "Okay a bit more than a little."

She laughs at his little confession, Charles pinching her waist as he pulls her with him. "You can give me shit later," he laughs. "But right now let's go get you changed into something that doesn't have a stain on it."

She lets him drag her along to the Ferrari paddock, in search of Rebecca and Carlos, knowing the WAG always had a backup set of clothing on her when need be.

Once Charles had found them, he explained the situation, watching as Rebecca lit up and happily said she'd lend a helpful hand.

Y/N followed the girl, keeping up the small talk as they made their way to the Ferrari motorhome, where Rebecca had a cute top waiting for Y/N.

She knew she wouldn't hear the end of it, the color of the top being a bright Ferrari red. It was a one-shoulder cropped tank top, the color sitting beautifully on her skin. Rebecca gave her a low whistle, causing Y/N to chuckle and roll her eyes.

"Red looks so good on you," she says, making Y/N shrug. Rebecca gives her a knowing look, but says nothing as the pair made their way back to the paddock.

Charles did a double take when she returned, his eyes taking in the red top that adorned her skin.

He smiled as he walked up to her. "Red is your color I think," he says, making her roll her eyes.

"Rebecca said the same thing," she answers, watching him nod. "She's never wrong."

Y/N thanks Rebecca one more time, alongside a hug. "Think about it," Rebecca whispers into the girl's ear before pulling away with a wink.

Charles then walks Y/N back over to the McLaren paddock where her brother and P sat. Max frowned at his sister. "I've been looking for you. Where did you run off to?" his eyes then dart to the new top she was wearing, then back to Charles. He gave Max a look.

"I bumped into her and thought I could help her get a new top," he explains. "I felt bad. So blame me for stealing her. Sorry, mate."

Max chuckles while nodding. "Of course it's a red top too," he jokes, Charles ears turning bright red, he puts his hands up in defense.

"Blame Rebecca for that one," he sputters, Max doing a once-over with a smug smirk while nodding slowly. "Uh-huh," Max trails off. "Well, thank you for helping her out," he says, a smug smirk only getting wider.

Charles nods curtly, before facing Y/N with a small smile, and squeezes her side. "Good seeing you, cherie," he mutters to her, kissing her cheek before he leaves her. Y/N realizing her side feeling slightly colder than it did when his hand was there.

She turns to watch him leave and head down the stairs, biting her lip without realizing it. Her head turns back to face her brother and Pietra.

The pair is staring at her with smug and knowing smiles. Max leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and clearing his throat.

Y/N squints her eyes at them. "What?" Watching her brother nod at her.

"Someone has a crush."

She scoffs at her brother. "You're reading into things," she chuckles while shaking her head.

Pietra laughs. "Oh, honey, no. You two were staring at each other like you want to-"

"Don't even say what you're going to say," Max whines, covering his face. "I don't need to hear that."

Y/N just laughs, pointing at Pietra. "You're wrong on top of that."

Pietra rolls her eyes with a smirk, and before she can argue further, Lando is seen walking up to the group, making Y/N want to fade away.

Lando sees her, only doing a double-take when he sees the color of her shirt, also realizing that this was indeed not the color she was wearing earlier. He slowly points at her shirt, Max chuckles.

"Dear old Ferrari man has a crush on my sister," Max admits, then points at her. "She's crushing on him as well."

"Maxwell!" Y/N hisses, watching him crack up. She doesn't miss the way Lando's facial expression drops, something unreadable in his expression.

"What d'you mean?" he asks slowly. Y/N groans while hiding her face.

"What he means," Pietra starts. "Charles spilled coffee on her and helped her get a new shirt. And apparently that was his chance to get her in red."

Lando's eyes snapped down to Pietra, Max just sitting there in a fit of giggles as his sister kicks his shin.

"He was just being helpful," Y/N grumbles. "Besides, Rebecca was the one who gave it to me. Not Charles."

Max looks back at her. "Sure, we know that," he says between laughs. "But the eye fucking you two were doing before he left said more than that. Especially that little kiss move-"

"He kissed you?" Lando cuts in, his tone sharp and stern. Max and Pietra look at him with certain looks. His head and eyes only focused on Y/N in that moment, who was now shifting on her feet with her arms crossed.

"It was just on the cheek," she rolls her eyes before glaring at Max. "Stop making it sound like he laid me out on the table or something," she hisses, making Lando choke on his spit while Max gagged.

"That's vile, do not ever say that again," he points at his sister with a disgusted look. "Second, I'm only saying it because I think you two would be good together."

That makes her eyes widen in shock, watching him put his hands up in defense.

"Say what now? I thought you said no racers."

He hums with a nod before pointing out to Lando. "Yeah, I said that mainly for that one," he says, missing how his mate clenched his jaw. "Charles, on the other hand? I hope it does happen. He's one of the good ones."

Y/N coughs awkwardly, not missing the way Lando scoffed at his best friend's words, mumbling something under his breath as he crossed his arms.

"Can we just change the subject, please? I'm not crushing on Charles, and I'm not going to date him."

Max gives her a knowing look before turning his gaze towards Lando. He frowns. "You good, mate?" he asks, watching as Lando snaps his gaze at Max. He nods curtly.

"Just don't care to hear about her sex life, you muppet. Charles is a player and only wants what he can't have," he admits, not missing the way Y/N glared straight to the side of his face. "Anyways, we're getting ready to start. I was gonna walk you lots to the club level."

Max nods before taking Pietra's hand to guide her. Lando kept his pace next to Y/N's, the girl not missing how his hand would brush against hers every so often.

She could see the gears turning in his head, clenching his jaw every so often, as if he was preventing himself from saying or doing something he might regret. Max and Pietra were further ahead of them, happily making their way to the balcony in the club level of the paddock, overlooking the racetrack.

"He can't give you what I can," the brit says next to her, causing her to snap her gaze at him with a frown. She scoffs.

"That's awfully daft, coming from you," she shoots back. "You ghosted me, remember? You don't have a say in my actions."

"Oh, so you are seeing Leclerc huh?"

She scoffs. "Go check on your girlfriend, Norris. The one you dropped me for."

He glares at her. "Y/N-"

"End of discussion, Lando."

She walks away, a part of her wanting him to grab her and pull her back. Show her she was his. Even if it was behind closed doors. The other part of her was happy he didn't. She wanted him to see that he couldn't have her. He missed the opportunity.

Don't call me your ex, 'cause I never met you

She kept close to her brother and P the entire race, zoning out the entire time the race went on.

Her mind didn't know what to think.

She missed Lando. She really did.

The other part of her though, was also pulling towards Charles.

Y/N couldn't tell if it was just because of how Lando reacted, or because of how she felt a new feeling whenever Charles was near her.

Or how she caught her stare lingering longer on Charles as he took P2. Or how his eyes found hers in the crowd, staring back at her, his smile becoming wider when he saw she was staring first.

It's all pins and needles, babe

I feel nothing for you, nothing for you

Now, here she stood, in the VIP section of the Monaco club after Lando placed P1 at his home race.

She had a drink in her hand, pretty sure the glass could break under her grip. Her eyes did not leave the way his hands and body moved with the blonde on the dancefloor.

At this point she couldn't tell if she was jealous, or pissed off. Or both.

She watched as his hands moved along her body, how his lips never left her body as they danced. He looked like a wet dream.

"You hold onto that glass any tighter, it's gonna shatter and cut up that pretty hand," a familiar French accent says next to her. Her eyes snap out of the daze, turning to see Charles taking the spot next to her.

He nods at her slowly. "You alright, cherie?" he asks her, making her laugh to herself before spinning a finger around the rim of her glass.

"Honestly, I don't know," she admits, looking back at his confused frown. "Can I be honest?"

"Always."

She sighs. "I had been seeing this guy. We weren't anything exclusive, but at the same time, it felt like it. Then out of nowhere, he just stops. No explanation, no excuses, nothing. Just drops me like I'm nothing," she explains, letting a bitter chuckle leave her lips.

"Then I found out it's because he had another girl. I don't even know how long. It was just out of the blue, and I guess I shouldn't have been as upset as I was about it. But I can't help it."

Charles takes in every word she's saying, nodding and humming at the appropriate times.

"It burns my chest seeing them, seeing him, act like I never even mattered," she admits. "But then, I began to realize something else. There's this other guy. I didn't even realize I felt good around him. Like I could relax around his presence. Forget about why I was so hurt about the other guy," she explains, not even realizing how easy it had become to open up to Charles.

The way his expression showed no judgment. No sense of uneasiness as she spoke. Just a genuine expression that showed he was listening to her.

"And part of me wanted this guy I was seeing," she says more to herself. "But a bigger part of me really wants this guy that makes me feel seen. Heard."

Charles nods at her, taking a sip of his drink. "You alright if I give you my advice?" he asks cautiously.

She nods. "Always," she copies his words, making him grin at her.

He points at Lando. "He's an idiot for letting you go," he admits, watching her face contort to confusion, and then to shock before shaking her head.

"I didn't- How did-"

He laughs at her, stepping closer. "It's not hard to see. You two weren't as slick as you thought," he admits, Y/N feeling her face begin to heat up.

"I'm sorry," she admits with a sigh, looking down at her now-empty glass. "I didn't mean to sound like that. I just- I didn't have anyone I trusted to talk to."

"And I'm just easier to talk to? Someone you trust?" he asks her, leaning his elbow on the bar behind them, a knowing smirk on his lips. She snaps her head to him.

As she was about to say something, he stood up straight, walked to stand in front of her, and took the glass from her fingers. She doesn't miss the way his fingers brush hers, goosebumps rising on her skin. He places the glass on the mahogany behind them, his eyes lowering to her own. She gulps as she watches his smirk widen just slightly, while he places both hands on the bar behind her, caging her in. His face was dangerously close to hers, the Monégasque not missing the way her breaths came out shaky.

"As for this other guy," he starts, his tone lower. Darker. "I think he's very worth your time. He wouldn't make you feel like Lando did. He'd take care of you. Treat you right. Show you how a woman like you should be worshipped."

Y/N feels her pulse quicken. "Besides," he mutters, bringing his lips closer to her own. "If you're choosing between two people, choose the second. Because if you really did like the first option, you wouldn't have fallen for the second."

That got Y/N's insides churning, knowing deep down Charles was right. He was so right.

He chuckled darkly as he watched his chest rising and falling quicker after he said that, placing his lips closer to her ear as he placed a light kiss against the lobe. "The second guy also just really wants to be selfish," he admits.

Y/N smiles slowly at his words, letting herself indulge slowly with Charles. She lets out a gasp as she feels his lips planting feather-light kisses from her jawline, down to her neck and her collarbone.

She finally trails her hands up his button-up, slipping underneath the half-open shirt, slithering to rest on the bare skin of his back just before it meets the crook of his neck. His head leaves her neck, bringing his head closer to her own.

"So this other guy," she says breathlessly. "You think he'd worship me, huh? Show me how worth it I am?"

He hums with a nod, kissing the corner of her lips. Y/N found herself craving more, her body aching for his own against hers. Skin to skin.

"He'd do more than just that," he chuckles against her jaw. "He'd take his time with you. Show you exactly how a woman like you should be appreciated. Till you're shaking."

Y/N lets out a breathless moan at that, one of her hands finding his hair. "Spoil you to death. Treat you like the absolute Queen you are."

Charles brings his head back up to really look at her. Y/N staring back into his own eyes, flicking down to his lips for a split second. "Charles," she says softly, earning a hum from him. "Kiss me please."

That's all it took for Charles to take her jaw in his hands, placing a passionate and messy kiss on her lips. Their teeth clashed, tongues messily battling against one another as she kissed him with such need. Such obsession.

The more they kissed, the more they craved one another. Charles let his hands fall from her jaw to her hips, pulling her lower body into his.

Lando was long forgotten in Y/N's mind. He was the last thing she was thinking of; she could forget his name if Charles kept up the way he touched and kissed her.

Little did she realize, Lando was now frozen in his spot on the floor. His eyes darkened. He glared as he watched the girl his heart yearned for, and the guy who was going to be six feet under if looks could kill.

He could tell it wasn't just for show either. She really wanted Charles. Charles wanted her.

He only knew that because of how she was kissing Charles, it was the way she used to kiss him. His heart hurt, chest tightened. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene across the club.

Magui was long forgotten in that moment, Lando realizing he lost the girl he wanted most.

He should've known.

Y/N whines at the loss of Charles' lips when he pulls back, the man looking down at her blown-out state. Her lips swollen as her eyes look up at him with a knowing look.

"What do you say, cherie?" he says slowly, watching her slowly smile.

"I think I'm open to giving this other guy a chance," she jokes, watching him bite his lip to hide the big ear to ear smile that was forming.

He leaned down to kiss her once more, before breaking away and lacing a hand with hers.

Charles began to lead her away from the bar, his gaze locking with Lando's as they passed by.

He didn't miss the way Lando slightly mouthed a 'what the fuck' at his friend, a glare in his direction. Charles held his head up high, smirking at Lando, giving him a sly little wink before he turned his attention to Y/N.

Lando saw the way her eyes looked up at Charles, like she finally felt happy. At ease in his presence. Like she had forgotten Lando existed in that moment. She probably did, and that hit him like a truck.

He watched as Charles placed his other hand on her lower back to help keep her next to him as they pushed through the crowd, making sure not to lose her as they headed out.

Lando didn't even excuse himself from Magui, earning a shocked squeak from her as she watched him rush away from the dancefloor.

Lando scurried past everyone and towards the front entry, pushing past the people who were trying to congratulate him as he passed by.

He didn't give a single fuck about any of them, his mind only thinking about her.

Please. Don't go home with him

His mind begged, wishing she could read minds. Read his.

The way he knew he was already way too late. Months too late.

Once he had gotten outside, he had seen Charles shutting her door before turning to thank the valet workers. His eyes flicked twice over to Lando's state. Trying his best to hide the winning smirk as he saw the disheveled state of the British man.

Charles looked back at his car towards her window, before looking back at Lando. He walked up to him, Lando's gaze hardening as he got closer.

"Don't," Lando warns him.

Warning him to not cross this line. To not take the girl that Charles knew he was so in love with, not take her home. He didn't like this feeling. He hated it.

That's when he realized what it was.

Lando Norris was jealous. He was jealous beyond words.

He never gets jealous.

Not until now.

Charles chuckles at him, patting his shoulder. "Lando," he chuckles. "You ruined your chances. Give her the chance to finally be happy, hm?"

He shook his head. "You can't give her what I can give her."

Charles bites his lower lip before speaking. "That's the point," he begins. "I wouldn't treat her like shit, like you did. I'll give her everything she deserves, and more. Not give her nothing, like you gave her."

That made Lando feel like he had been shot in the chest.

“I won’t ever let her feel or think she’s only good for one thing,” Charles adds, giving Lando a knowing look. Lando’s face drops slightly, then frowns. “I’m going to show her she’s worth more than she could ever imagine. Because she is.” Charles admits, a genuine look in his eyes.

Lando doesn’t know what to say in that moment. He felt defeated.

Because part of him knew (all of him knew) that Charles was good for her. He wouldn’t treat her anything lower than the Goddess she was.

Lando just hated that it wasn’t him.

Charles pats him on the shoulder. "Goodnight, mate," he says before walking away and getting into the car. Lando watched as the pair drove off into the night. Something was burning inside Lando's chest. Burned in his eyes.

Tears.

Jealousy.

Need.

Y/N smiled to herself as Charles and she drove along the roads, his hand gently on her thigh while hers rested on top of his.

Her phone buzzed, not once, not twice, but three times. This caused her to pick it up and look down at it. She thought she would feel something, anything, as she read the messages.

Please, don't go with him. I'm so in love with you

Come back to me, I'll be better. It hurts to see you not with me. Hurts to see you happy with him. I'll prove myself. I'll do better, for you

It's always been you

Y/N takes a deep breath as she begins to type with her free hand.

Your time ran out. A long time ago, Lando. It's time I let myself be happy.

Goodbye Lando

With that, she turned her phone off and looked over at Charles. His eyes gazed back at her, nothing but admiration as he stared at her.

"You okay?" he asks softly. She takes a moment before nodding.

"Yeah," she hums. "I am now."

[midniqhtt]

comfort fic reads II 4k celebration

₊˚⊹⋆ main masterlist ꨄ︎ part two list ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: list got too long and had me maxed out. so i shifted some fandoms to part two instead.

hi loves! i never do anything for celebrating but i thought i could make a big list of all my favorite fics i’ve read over the past few months/years and continue rereading. i can never get enough of showing my appreciation for writers and all their hard work, and i want them to know i think of these fics/series at least once a day ♡︎ i say ‘comfort’ but theres more angst lol

key- A: angst II F: fluff II S: smut II SB: slow burn II C: comfort

.𖥔 MARVEL .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑺

ꨄ︎ loving you is easy two II @blank-potato II A + F

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

ꨄ︎ fooled around and fell in love II @flowersforbucky II S + A + F

you've never been one for commitment, and your teammates know it. when you and bob start seeing each other, it takes them by surprise and makes them worry about how he'll react to the heartbreak that they expect to follow. what they don't understand - you've never felt like this about anyone.

ꨄ︎ soft currents next to you II @nghtwngs II S + A + F

there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

ꨄ︎ home is where the heart is II @ilovemilestellersmoustache II A + F

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

ꨄ︎ soulmate II @geminiwritten II A + C

you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé

ꨄ︎ we can’t be friends part two II @tfatwsbarnes II A

bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

ꨄ︎ cowboy like me II @goldenlikedayl1ght II A + F

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

ꨄ︎ xerox two three II @ichori II A + SB + C

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

𝑩𝑼𝑪𝑲𝒀 𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑺

ꨄ︎ bad boys don’t buy flowers II @espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

ꨄ︎ come back to you II @buckyalpine II F

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

ꨄ︎ curiosity killed the cat II @queers-gambit II A + C

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

ꨄ︎ you’re my desire part two II @marvelouslizzie and @notafunkiller II S + F

Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

ꨄ︎ graveyard part two II @wkemeup II A + C

As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. 

ꨄ︎ dreamscape II @/wkemeup II A + C

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

ꨄ︎ blurred lines part two II @ellemj II S + A + F

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

ꨄ︎ love language II @/flowersforbucky II S + F

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

ꨄ︎ flashing lights part two II @pellucid-constellations II A + C

Bucky’s worst fears come true when he’s called to a scene. If he’s the one with the dangerous job, then why is it your life that’s hanging in the balance?

ꨄ︎ stay still part two II @buckysknifecollection II A + C

What if your soulmate was the one person you had hurt the most?

ꨄ︎ saturn II @shurisneakers II A

you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.

ꨄ︎ bleeding heart II mournthebird II A + C

You're his assigned nurse.

ꨄ︎ 40s!bucky II @helaintoloki II A + F

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ under my skin II @/flowersforbucky II F

what first begins as a series of bad luck shows you a different side of the man who normally drives you crazy.

ꨄ︎ moral of the story II @starktonyx II A

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑹𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ without you part 2 II @foli-vora II A

You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

ꨄ︎ for science II @projectionistwrites II S + A + C

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

ꨄ︎ red flags II @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss II S + A + F

Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way. 

ꨄ︎ the jake problem pt2 II @bensolosbluesaber II S + A + C

Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ sunset lovers II @duskholland II F

you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

ꨄ︎ one more to see you II @waitimcomingtoo II A

in an effort to see Peter again, you Dream Walk and learn it’s consequences

𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑿𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑭𝑭

ꨄ︎ silent treatment II @floral-and-fine II A + C

where the words their soulmate speaks first are tattooed on their arm.

𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑽𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑺

ꨄ︎ watchful eyes II @/espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

ꨄ︎ out of time pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 II @after-avenging-hours II S + A + F

When Steve is poisoned on a mission, his only hope is a pure Super Soldier Serum. You travel to 1943 to find it—but without the infinity stones, your actions could change the future. Can you save him before time runs out?

.𖥔 TOP GUN .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝒀𝑫

ꨄ︎ the plan II @/geminiwritten II A + F

the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

ꨄ︎ the kind of girl i could love II @roosterforme II F

Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑳𝑬𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑾

ꨄ︎ love to lie pt2 pt3 pt4 II @/ddejavvu II A + F

Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

ꨄ︎ things unseen and heard II @bloatedandalone04 II S + A + F

the one where you overhear bradley talk about you to jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

ꨄ︎ playing games II @/geminiwritten II A + F

you've been best friends with rooster for years and you're both obviously in love with each other, but he refuses to cross that line... until you accept some help from hangman and he takes the game just a little too far

ꨄ︎ wrong number II @roosterforme II F

Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

ꨄ︎ between friends II @sometimesanalice II S + F

Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

ꨄ︎ trouble in paradise II @/sunlightmurdock II S + A

After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

ꨄ︎ i’ll show you good, restore your faith II @/se7entyrell II A + F

Your relationship with Bradley is new. Really new. Like, 'haven't let him smell your morning breath yet' new. But when he gets a call telling him that his mom is dying, you find yourself driving him to San Diego in the middle of the night, preparing to meet his entire extended family during the worst period of their lives.

ꨄ︎ terms of endearment II @ohtobeleah II A + C (heavy themes)

They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵

ꨄ︎ domestic fantasy II @/geminiwritten II F

your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

ꨄ︎ dirty laundry part two II @/geminiwritten II S + A + F

after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

ꨄ︎ medical emergency II @marvelwitchergilmore II F

When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

ꨄ︎ sign of the times pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @se7entyrell II S + A

You're destined to die in Jake Seresin's arms. In every life, in every iteration, it's inescapable. Whether you loathe, or love each other, each ending stays the same. But what if it doesn't have to?

ꨄ︎ spring fling pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @ddejavvu II F (in progress)

You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

.𖥔 MISCELLANEOUS .𖥔

𝑹𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑻 𝑨𝑩𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑻

ꨄ︎ odds are stacked II @sunlightmurdock II S

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

𝑻𝒀𝑳𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑺

ꨄ︎ all yours II @/geminiwritten II A + F

after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

ꨄ︎ orange juice II @ahsokaismyqueen II S + F

When it's time to interview a group of storm chasers for your new book, you get sent back to your hometown. You never would have guessed one of the people you'd be interviewing would be your ex boyfriend. And you might still be a little in love with him.

ꨄ︎ no hesitation II @briefinquiries II S + F

Tyler would be the type of guy that if a girl came up to him and said ‘this guy is creepy, pls pretend to be my bf’ he would be like ‘hell yay’ and scare the guy away

𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ all the stars are closer II @kashimos-hajime II A + F

mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻

ꨄ︎ all american boy II @scribes-of-valar II A + C

Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

ꨄ︎ no.1 party anthem II @sunsburns II F

what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

𝑴𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳 𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯

ꨄ︎ an itch you can’t scratch pt2 II @theonewiththefanfics II S + A + F

After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

[lyricwritesprose]

It's not just "show the baby nice things," although that's part of it! It's also:

Find the baby nice things to look at without overstimulating the baby

Don't try to control how long or in what way the baby interacts with the nice thing. Let the baby control the experience

Pay attention to the baby's cues. When the baby is bored of the thing, you will know it, they are not subtle

Your baby is learning as they do this. Remember they are very new and very small and have experienced practically nothing, so "ball remains round even if you turn it over" is a whole new bit of information to them, and your job is to step back and let the baby process these important new bits of information themself, rather than flooding them with data they don't know what to do with.

And the second one includes those ideas, and also:

Make sure your baby knows that you are a loving and friendly presence that they can rely on to be there, it is not just the loving thing to do, it is also healthy for child development

This is, in fact, not half bad when it comes to child development theory. Given the amount of child-rearing advice that boils down to, "Speak roughly to your little boy/And beat him when he sneezes!/He only does it to annoy/Because he knows it teases!" this is quite progressive and a welcome relief. (Okay, so that poem is a parody, however I feel that the sentiment it was mocking was and unfortunately is not rare.)

sorry i was researching the author of a victorian book about raising children and now i'm fascinated by her. clear my schedule we're talking about lydia maria child.

[pearlfull]

party on u ( part of u knew )

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: 〝 You know that I've been waiting for you. 〞 Batboys x Reader. ⋆˚࿔ A/N: Heavily inspired by Charli XCX and the devastating edits to this song lol. Dick's is the most literal interpretation of the song. Jason's weird. I love Tim Drake. Yearning bro. I'm taking requests + commissions! More details on that soon. Help a college girl save for car repairs<3

ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.

IT WAS SOMETHING UNSPOKEN YET PRESENT. You weren’t just friends. But you didn't call it love either.

It started with shared takeout food.

Shaky laughter while pinning you on the ground during training. Late night text messages. Sleepless nights spent on the same couch. Dick's hand laced yours in the dark, and he tried to match your breath's rhythm as you fell asleep on his chest, fingers curling into your sleep shirt.

Eventually, there were white tulips he brought after work and Bruce was asking about you.

He was always careful with you.

Because he'd done the song and routine before. Been left with the kind of bruises in places you couldn't see.

There were nights when he'd leave before you woke. He'd left you coffee on your nightstand like it was a consolation prize. And you let him. Let him stay his welcome way too long, and then let him disappear for a couple days. Maybe it was stupid, but it was better than nothing.

wonderboy i didn’t want to miss you tonight i already do when you’re still in the room

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not out of anger, not resentment. Still. It was on purpose. On both ends.

You'd stop asking if he wanted you to pick up candy for him at the grocery store and he had stopped asking when he could see you again. Maybe he had thought if he pulled away it would go away.

The invitation felt like a test. An unspoken, come if you still care. Or come so I know you haven't stopped.

It's his birthday, and silver balloons litter the hallway, and Donna laughter is already ringing through as you step in, and Roy's throwing gummy bears into Wally's glass.

You're wearing something that made you feel braver than you were, black fabric clinging to your hips--looking through the crowd with a tight chest.

His grin was the center of the room. His bright blue eyes found yours, and he didn't come over. His pupils were blown.

Kept staring, almost comically. Wondering if whether he still had the right to do that, even though he'd invited you. And you came. And he had worn that cologne you'd mentioned you'd loved, and even had tried to make his hair fall nicely. He kind of felt like a thirteen year old boy getting ready for his first Sadie Hawkins dance. It was wracking to feel like that again.

But maybe he was remembering just how much he'd hurt you by staying so close and never choosing.

You crossed the room slowly. Talked to Donna, and let Roy grab you a drink.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Dick's balcony's always been cold. Maybe he'd overstepped by draping his jacket over your pretty shoulders.

(But neither of you cared, and the lining was so nice!)

“I didn’t think you’d ask.” Your voice doesn't come out quiet, and you're surprised by its steadiness.

Dick looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if I deserved to.”

Your smile was glossy, close lipped. “You don’t get to disappear and then expect me to ask you to show up. It's mean.”

“I know.” A beat. “Uh, when I was halfway, I could pretend I wasn’t scared.”

“Were you?”

“Terrified.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know that seems like such a shitty cop out. The whole, commitment phobe thing. But I still wanted you to come tonight.” Dick stopped. Cracked his knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't believe in love that waits.”

Dick's brows are knit closely. “I know.”

“I'm not gonna be waiting.”

“I don’t want you to. I'll meet you where you are. Sorry I didn’t sooner.”

His breath clouds in the air. His voice cracks as he adds, “I get why you stopped asking.”

“Didn’t want to keep asking for something that wasn't fully ours.”

“That’s on me.”

“You were scared?”

“Still kinda am.”

He shifts beside you, steps closer. Adjusts his jacket, so the collar doesn't look rumpled. Dick's fingers brush the side of your throat.

Inside, he doesn't reach for your hand. Just walks close. As close as you'll let him. Close enough that it’s obvious.

You walk back to your car. Your phone lights up.

wonderboy thanks for coming beautiful you didn’t have to

you don’t thank me happy birthday 💙

ᯓ★ JASON TODD.

JASON IS ALWAYS AROUND. Your brother's second shadow. Not because they're attached at the hip. Roy is one of the few people that lets him stand beside him without flinching.

Initially, he barely acknowledges you.

He'll grunt a greeting when you grab a glass of juice, nods from across the kitchen. He always leaves his bike helmet on the counter tile like it's a centerpiece. It smells like gunpowder and iron, and you definitely think it says way more than he ever does with his mouth. Gun oil. Boots on the carpet. Pride and Prejudice folded in his back pocket.

You were studying journalism at university. Doing some stories. Freelance. An open notebook tucked under your arm. You asked questions too fast sometimes--half Harper nature--about everything, about nothing.

And Jason didn’t like it. Said so.

“Why do you talk to people like you’re digging for something?”

“Cause people lie.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

It was Roy’s fault! He left his phone out on the sofa. You didn’t care to look, but the cracked screen had some picture of you and Roy. Jason sent it.

jaybird when was this is she dating someone?

roy tf do you care lmao don’t be fucking weird

jaybird just asking.

roy that’s my sister.

jaybird shut up.

You noticed him staring more after that.

One time at breakfast, you spilled coffee on the edge of your sweater sleeve, cursing under your breath. You didn’t think he was even awake. Jason was slumped at the table over a bowl of cereal. His hoodie pulled up like he hadn’t slept at all. He passed you a paper towel before you even asked. Didn’t even look at you.

Later, your old press badge was pressed against the counter. It was lost for weeks. Bent but clean.

“You found this?” you turned to Roy, eyes glittering.

Roy rubbed his mouth. “Huh?”

Jason starts asking you things. Small things.

“Where’d that article of yours go? The vigilante case?”

“Sleep last night?”

He asked them like it didn't matter, like he didn't already know the answers. His fingers drummed while waiting for your replies, and he seems to drink in every single thing you say.

An interview that went south. A CEO with yellowed teeth called you doll. You bit your tongue till it stung.

Jason's in the garage, with a wrench.

“[Name], you okay?”

“I'm fine, Jay.”

“Don't lie.”

You set your leather bag on the hood of your car.

The wrench drops. “Wanna go hit something?”

You blinked. Slowly. "Sorry?”

“Gym. Pads. Gloves. I'll hold them for you.”

A smile stretches and he swears he feels like he's being lit from the inside. The way it's just for him. “Is that your version of like, a hug?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Roy didn’t pick up tonight. After a date that made your head ache, where the guy with a cheap haircut only spoke about himself, forgot his wallet, you stood outside alone. Cold.

Jason showed up instead.

His hoodie half-zipped, breath fogging in the air, from jogging, car parked across the street, his white streak a little matted. Green eyes scanned your face, and he grabbed the heels dangling from your fingers.

Your purse slipped off your shoulder, and Jason took it mid slide too.

He held both all the way home in his lap as he drove.

You let him walk you to your building, and the air had seemed to have hit you harder this time. Jason still had your bag and heels, and the space between you seemed to buzz.

The stairwell was bright, and the front light hummed over your head. Your throat was tight as you croaked out a "Thank you", softly and every word you wanted to say seemed to taunt you as you realize you rather liked his green eyes, and the golden rings inside them.

He seemed to notice your observation, and his eyes fell to the floor, the corners of his lips lifting so slightly. So, you let your hand fall between you, barely. So his could brush against it. Fingertips, then your pinky hooked his.

He turned his hand, observing the way they fit. Held it tighter, tighter than you expected.

ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.

YOU'VE ALWAYS LIKED QUIET. Which is a good thing, because you have little else but that in a gas station working a graveyard shift. It's mostly peaceful. As peaceful Gotham can get. Little customers. No noise. Just you, and the fluorescents and the freezer that groans when it turns on.

Sometimes, you leave the counter to stand under the overhang light.

You see him for the first time at 3:24 AM.

The red and black suit. The insignia. A cowl that didn't cover his lips. Red Robin.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lands on the roof like he belongs there. Kinda freakish.

He was gone before you could look again.

The second time he shows up, he taps on the bulletproof glass with a gloved knuckle and gestures to the vending machine near the left of the entrance.

"It ate my dollar," he says.

You blink. "For real?"

"Swear on the mask."

Pretty big swear. So, you open the door. He's taller than you thought he would be. And younger. Same age, or around from what you can make of him.

You slide an energy drink and a bag of chips across the counter. "Next time you save the city bird boy, ask for some change."

He laughs. And you hate how much you like the way his lips curve.

He comes back after that. Not every single night. Although, that'd be fun. But it wasn't enough for you to expect him.

He never buys anything from you. He leans against the counter and asks how your shift was, and you hand him a bottled water and piece of bubblegum. He asks about the books you read behind the register.

"Jane Eyre?" he'd asked with a raised brow. "Sort of a dramatic choice for a Tuesday."

"Says the guy in a bird costume."

He laughed again. Now you hated how familiar it sounded.

But you didn't think much of it. Not until the week Tim stops coming to class.

He was in your study group. Quiet. He had the most gorgeous smile you think you'd seen. All toothy and boyish, despite the dark circles shadowing underneath his eyes.

You liked him more than you meant to. Still do. You swore not to, because there was something about him that seemed like if you reached out, he'd disappear like smoke. And it was getting ridiculous. You'd worn a skirt to class and curled your hair and hoped he'd notice. Forming a crush on someone because he had asked you how your day was and always helped look for your pen underneath your seat during lecture. But he was always noticing things. Listening to you, and he said your name like it was a secret that you both shared.

When he misses study group, then class, then that dumb open mic night you invited him to, you tell yourself it's nothing.

But then Red Robin shows up that same night, again.

He's chipper. "Long night?"

You let the silence stretch, doodling on some scratch paper.

He tilts his head, rocking on his heels. "Have a bad shift?"

"No," you say slowly, "Just kinda missing someone."

The mask twitches. You don't notice.

He starts coming around regularly.

You talk. About stupid shit, important stuff. Your morals. His commentary on the mayor.

You mention how sometimes you wish had a different life. How you want to graduate university already.

He's quiet as he nods, locking eyes with you.

Then he says, “I think you’re doing way better than you think.”

That's not fair to you. Because that sounds like something Tim would tell you over text casually. It makes your stomach twist and you wonder if you're falling in love with a mask, a voice, because he reminds you of someone else.

And he doesn’t even know that.

Tim knows.

He talks to you at night with a different voice, he holds himself differently and pretends that he’s not the same guy who used to try to make jokes clumsily to make you laugh. He loves your laugh.

He watches you watch him and says nothing.

If he tells you, it’ll ruin the quiet connection you’ve built. The thing he keeps crawling back to when the city’s too heavy.

[npookie0]

HUEHHEE HELLO DEAR MOOTIEEEE I've come for the saja boys x chronically Ill reader!! Orrr a poc reader if ya want! (≡^∇^≡) lowkey self indulgent but your writing is so yummy 💔

Demonic Care

A lover boy has to take care of his chronically ill partner and cheer them up. Which Saja Boy will be the most helpful?

contains: reader with pots, very headcanony personalities for the saja boys, these are going to be drabbles </3

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Heads up, I'll say the short version of what kind of people are the saja boys to me

Romance - hopeless romantic, easily smitten with people, flirt, that man is a total fool when he's in love I fear </3

Abby - high ego, very (almost over) confident, kind of stupid but a lil sweet (and cocky) jock type of guy

Mystery - quiet, but expresses himself through body language and in music, closed off and very short social battery

Baby - cunning, cocky, chill unbothered king, childlish

Jinu - a leader by nature, silly dude (please that man made a choice when running and giggling like that...), you know that he means it when he's not doing something for his own benefit, understanding, but also a liar </3

Jinu

words [ 412 ]

The Saja Boys concert was close to wrapping up, the boys had to sing the fan favourite song, say their goodbye and leave. The atmosphere was warm, energetic. Fans were shouting, singing along, waving their light sticks and recording the stage.

You stood between the fans, in the first row, holding the railings with your hands. Your body grown tired over time, you stood for far too long, you were close to passing out. But you had to be there, had to see the concert from the stands.

You couldn't just sit on backstage and watch the boys perform in front of the whole crowd when you had the chance to watch Jinu's face in full view from where you stood now.

The concert came to an end and the Saja's manager came up to you to help you get backstage. You told them that you don't need a whole escort, but their response was "Jinu asked me to do it, I couldn't say no." You sighed and nodded in understanding.

"Hey aegiya!" Suddenly someone hugged you from behind once you were in the boys band's lounge area .

"Ugh, Jinu~! You started me." You replied and turned around, freeing yourself from your boyfriend's embrace.

"Haha sorry, sorry." He replied, scratching the back of his neck and laughing awkwardly. "Oh jeez, you look pale. You should sit down."

You couldn't protest, because soon your darling boyfriend sat you down on the sofa and told one of the other boys to go grab you some water.

"Jinu, I'm okay, I promise." You said, but he clearly wasn't buying it and maybe he was in the right this time. Your vision went black for a second and it take a bit to go back to normal.

He crossed his arms. "Mmm, no, I'm not buying that. I saw you in the crowd, you looked like you would faint in any moment." He exhaled and crouched in front of you. "Listen, I know that you want to be everything to support you, but please don't just throw yourself into a potentially dangerous situation for you."

You looked away. "Sorry Jinu, you''re right... I guess." You looked back at him. "I didn't mean to stress you more."

He chuckled and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "It's okay, just be careful, yeah?" He ruffled your hair and stood up. "Let's go home, Abby found some movie he wants to watch and you're invited too."

Romance

words [ 446 ]

The last thing you remember before fainting was Romance's panicked face when he caught you, then you lost consciousness. You didn't know how much time exactly passed between your collapsing and Romance getting you back to your apartament, but after regained consciousness saw Romance holding your hand to his forehead and murmuring to himself.

"Hey, no need to summon anything for me to wake up, stupid."

When you said these words Romance immediately looked up and practically crushed you with his body when he hugged you. "Jagiya! I'm glad that you're okay. You were out for so long." He said and before you could answer, he suddenly pulled away. "Do you need anything? Water, food, medicine?"

You looked at him a little stunned and then you started giggling, Romance titled his head, confused, but relieved that you felt well enough to laugh.

"What's so funny, jagiya?" He asked, leaning closer to you.

You took a while to answer, your laughter made it impossible. "You remind me of a puppy Romy." You giggled when you imagined him with dog ears.

"A puppy, huh? Well, maybe I'm a lovesick puppy for you, baby." He kissed you, but before you could kiss him back, he stood up, a smirk spread across his face when he saw your pout. "Ah, we can kiss later, now we need to take care of you. I was really scared when you waited so suddenly in the store."

"Boohoo, I want kisses now." You stood up from the bed very slowly, leaning on the wall in front of you when the black spots started showing in your vision.

Romance noticed it and was quick to your side, holding you by back and hand in case you fainted again. "Okay, let's go slowly. No need to rush." He said and slowly guided you to the kitchen.

You sat down on a chair in your kitchen and watch as Romance poured you water. "Drink up, you need it." He said, placing the glass in front of you.

You picked it up. "Thank you mr. specialist of human health." You said teasingly, looking at the patterns on his arm and drank the whole glass at once, you were really thirsty.

"Maybe I'm a demon, but I was a human before if you forgot." He huffed. "You're lucky I love you, you silly human."

"I think it's the other way around, but let it be your way." You stuck out your tongue at him.

"Oh, look who's feeling like a little tease after their fainted at my dance practice."

"Oh, shut up and give me more water."

He smirked proudly. "See? I told you that you'd need water."

Abby

words [ 552 ]

You were in the dance practice room, dancing to Soda Pop all alone. You knew that you shouldn't do it, not with the danger of fainting because you're straining your body. You should at least wait for Abby to wake up and watch over you. But you had to dance, this was one of your biggest passions in the past. It wasn't just a hobby, it was your career, your everything.

And now?

You could barely stand for longer than ten minutes without people fussing over you collapsing, you had to stand up slowly or you'll feel dizzy, your heart hurt from how fast it beat.

You hated this, hated this turn your life took. Hated how sad and colorless it became. But then, you heard that annoyingly catchy song one day and bumped into an extremely egoistical boys band member. You met your current boyfriend, Abby.

He was the most self confident person you've ever met, but you had to admit that in all his self love he was right. Fortunately, there was more to him than his muscles, voice and high ego. Abby proved himself to be most devoted, loving and a tiny bit stupid, boyfriend ever.

He didn't make a big fuss out of your pots, when you were feeling particularly weak he would give you piggy back rides and say "I'm jus' showing off my strength, it's not cause you feel bad or anything." And you were thankful for it.

Though he still wasn't so fond of you dancing. He tried his best not to show it so you wouldn't feel like even he sees you just for your illness.

That's why you were dancing in secret, trying to go back to normal in any way, maybe your career was over, but you could still try to do it as your hobby from time to time.

"Take a big bite, want another bite, yeah"

You froze when you heard Abby's singing right next to you. You turned you head to the side and there he was, wearing nothing but his pyjama sweatpants and slippers, he was dancing to the choreography.

"Why'd ya stop? It's not like we're doing anything bad." He said with a wink.

You paused the song and looked at him in confusion. "You won't stop me?"

"Nah, there's no point in stopping you now, aein. You've been sneaking out to dance for a while and you would do it again if I tried."

So he knew...

You felt embarrassed after being found out, you never wished for him to know that.

"Hey." He titled your head up and looked into your eyes. "It's okay if you want to dance, I would never stop you, not like you would let me anyway." He chuckled. "You're feisty, like a tiger. I love that about you, but please just tell me that you want to dance and I'd dance with you." He caressed your cheek with his thumb. "I may not be super great about this comfort thing or taking care of someone, but I know that you're ill and I don't want something to happen to you while I'm asleep." His serious expression was soon replaced by a cheerful beam.

"Now, let's continue. It's not every day that you have a one-on-one dance session with Abby Saja."

Mystery

words [ 495 ]

You were looking through the lipsticks that Olive Young had in its offer, you had to find cosmetics for the Saja Boys to use now that they had their rebrand from cute songs to more darker ones.

Ever since performing Your Idol after the Idol Awards, they decided that it was the vibe they want to go into and you, as their biggest supporter, stylist and almost a manager, said that it may be a good idea.

So now, you were on make up supplies duty, guarded by your boyfriend, Mystery, in case your illness was triggered and you would feel worse because of walking and standing for too long.

Though you mostly agreed on Myst going with you because you needed someone to carry your bags.

"Hmm, Myst~, come here." You quietly called out for him to get to your side.

"What is it?" He replied, but instead of giving him an answer you gently grabbed him by his chin with one hand and with the other you applied black lipstick to his lips.

"Hm. Yeah I guess this one will work." You murmured to yourself. "We'll grab five of these and then we'll look at the eyeshadows here." You announced, though it was still mostly a note to yourself. You put the five lipsticks to the basket and turned around to go to the alley with eyeshadows.

You didn't notice that your body grew weaker after a few hours of walking, not until you turned around way too fast and almost fell on a shelf because you started to feel dizzy, if it wasn't for mystery catching you it would be over for you.

"Nae sarang, be careful." He said, keeping you steady with his arm wrapped around your waist.

You looked up at him and blinked a few times until your vision was back to normal. "Ah, sorry Mysty, I think I overdid myself today haha." You leaned your forehead against his shoulder.

Your exhaustion gotten back to you, your legs felt unsteady and your mind was still dizzy from all that walking.

"Oh, come with me." Mystery said suddenly.

"Hm?"

He didn't answer, which wasn't that surprising, he had a tendency to speak only in short sentences or not speak at all unless he had to. That's why he got the name he has, you supposed.

"Here." He said and guided you to sit down on a fluffy seat in the corner of the store.

"But what about our shopping? I can't do it if I sit here." You said and tugged on the fabric of his blazer.

"You said that you wanted all of us to have dark purple eye shadow right?" He asked and you nodded in answer. "I will get you dark purple eye shadow, so just rest. Please."

You sighed. You couldn't fight him when his voice was so soft and calming. "Okay, just mind the prices." You replied after pondering on the idea for a second.

Baby

words [ 493 ]

"Baby I told you that I'm fine." You groaned when your beloved demonic boyfriend sat you down on the sofa.

You just came back from the aquarium and even with how fun it was, it involved a lot of walking and standing and with your condition it was a very challenging activity to go through.

So now, after returning home, your boyfriend who just a moment ago was chasing fish and begging you to let him feed one, now was forcing you to sit down.

"Nuh uh, we've been walking for two hours." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, well I won't always end up fainting."

"You felt dizzy, idiot." He poked your forehead and sat down on the sofa next to you. "And besides, you promised me that you'd watch a movie with me."

"Ugh, I did?"

"Yup, you said that you would if I did a solo cover os Soda Pop and upload it, I did." He said with a grimace of his face at the mention of singing Soda Pop alone.

You chuckled. "Ah right, that. Alright. Let me go grab something to snack on then and we can-" You couldn't even stand up because Baby pushed you back down onto the sofa.

"No, no, no. You sit, I grab snacks."

And like that he went to the kitchen, you rolled your eyes and only shouted to him to bring you your favourite snack and grabbed the remote.

While you were scrolling through the streaming service, Baby came back with a tray of snacks and drinks. Most of them were sweets.

"Will you at least be so gracious to share some with me?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, amused by the sight of Baby having to stop himself from eating everything at once.

He turned to look at you. "I guess I can share some, I heard that sugar is good for giving energy or something."

"It is and isn't, but thanks for the thought." You smiled and moved closer to him.

"So what are we watching?' You asked after a while of scrolling through the animation and cartoons category.

"Something about fish." He said and opened a pack of gummy bears.

You giggled. "Oh god, you really are obsessed with fish. Okay then, Finding Nemo it is." You picked the movie and clicked play.

You two watched the movie in silence, until you broke it.

"Hey, Baby?"

"Hm? What's up Yeobo?" He asked, his eyes not moving from the TV screen.

"Thanks for looking out for me. it means a lot, even if I'm not the best at showing it." You said, fidgeting with your soda can.

He turned away from the screen, looking at you with slightly parted lips. "Oh, um, yeah no problem. I'm just trying to stop ya from fainting, y'know." He mumbled and looked back at the TV, though you saw that blush on his cheeks even if he tried to hide it.

Second Kpop Demon Hunters work done!

Wahh these stupid guys excite me >w< but I would love some Huntr/x asks too ;)

See you soon my KDH readers I gotta feed my other readers too <3

(play Killer Chat!, gluttony gods or seraphim slum if you're interested in the other stories I post here <3)

Nathan

[narcjsistx]

bunnyiglesias!stranger that when he saw you talking to lavinho the first time, he would never have imagined that you were his daughter. he knew quite well how lavinho loved basking in women, so it was almost natural for him to think that you were just a passing flirt and not his teammate's mysterious daughter

spain wasn't very different from brazil, you certainly loved your homeland much more, but returning to the barcha campus didn't bother you. it had been a really long time since you last saw your father, and you just wanted to hug him after spending months apart: he in italy for a soccer meeting, you in brazil with your grandparents. it would have been nice to go back to normality, in your apartment in barcelona

arriving at the campus, you threw yourself into his arms: hugging him again was a pleasant feeling, but not lasting because of someone. before you can notice it a very tall boy approaches your father, and you notice the same emblem of the spanish team, sign of his belonging to the barcha

"lavi? where did you meet this señorita? in italy?" the boy asks, winking at your father. a slight annoyance appears on your face, but your father hugs you by the shoulders, bursting out laughing "this señorita is my daughter, iglesias!" he says in his usual loud tone, and instead of seeing embarrassment on the face of the boy who probably mistook you for a passing flirt, only an amused expression forms on his face "oooh! i didn't know you had one" he says amused, and you clear your throat putting a hand forward "nice to meet you. im y/n" you say with your gaze down, because even if you're annoyed by him you know that the manners of introducing yourself are everything, and he grabs your hand, shaking it a bit "bunny iglesias"

bunnyiglesias!acquaintance that from that day on he simply started to pay much more attention to your presence in the team campus. over time he remembered how many times he had already seen you in the past, thinking that you were the girlfriend of some other player

your father, since his return, had obviously returned to train daily at the barcha campus. in the past you had often accompanied him just to avoid spending time at home alone, but since he returned you had decided to start accompanying him more to simply spend more time with him, due to the months of distance. you didn't mind spending time there, the staff treated you with respect and you even joked with some of the team members. and yet, every time you turned around, that boy's face was never too far from you

"did you accompany your father today too?" he asks walking not far from you, just a few steps away. you huff, continuing to walk towards your destination, the canteen "apparently yes. don't you have to train?" you ask trying to sound polite, because telling him to leave you alone would perhaps be a little rude. you hear him chuckle "i don't need it! im already a genius at the sweet age of 19" he says, and this time you're the one surprised "19? we are the same age" you say turning around, making him stop a short distance away otherwise he would have risked falling on you. he tilts his head and smiles at you, towering a bit due to the height difference "at least between us someone is making their youth count" he says, and if before you thought you still had to be polite, now you know you can use your entire vocabulary of insults

"filho da puta..." you whisper nervously, striding back to the cafeteria, whispering more insults in portuguese. how can he say things like that to you if he doesn't even know you, but just stares at you from afar? who gave him all this confidence?

bunnyiglesias!kindafriend who for a LONG TIME thought he was your new friend when in reality you couldn't stand him at all. it suddenly became normal to bother you or just spend more time around you, even though you clearly showed that you wanted him dead

"come on, a simple 1vs1! i'll go easy!" he says bouncing the ball on his knee, changing his gaze between you and the object. you sigh exhausted, continuing to scribble in your notebook "i already told you no. if you want to humiliate someone go get one of those who just arrived" you say neutrally, even if with a hint of sarcasm. he laughs, throwing the ball in the air and making it end up in the net with a dry, calculated gesture

he comes closer, grabbing the water bottle at your side "you're just saying that because you're weak" he says taking a generous helping of water, and you glare at him "well sorry if my dad didn't teach me how to kick a ball when i was little" you say sarcastically, and he shrugs "i still have a hard time believing that you're the daughter of lavinho, that genius monster! and you... you're... simply you" he says, even though he's clearly making fun of you. you take your notebook, slapping it against his leg "cale a boca, você fala demais, seu bobo!" you say annoyed, and he takes his ball back while laughing "you talk like i can understand you" he says amusedly, unlike you that you just want to eliminate him from your life. you hate his cheekiness, his cocky grin, you hate even more the fact that your father adores him because of his skills

bunnyiglesias!friend who simply decided to spend all his free time with you, and you ended up liking him. your relationship is still based entirely on the fact that he annoys you, but now his existence annoys you less

"did you like how i shot the second time?" he asks taking the towel you have in your hand, drying his hair still damp from the shower. you roll your eyes, even as you nod "that was cool. maybe a little theatrical, very un-your style" you say, and your words get mixed up with the screams of the fans in the stadium, still all eager to talk to the barcha players

today there was a match, specifically in one of the biggest stadiums in the city: the camp nou. the match has been over for a while now, but of course you were here the whole time, sitting on the benches reserved for the players' relatives. the team members are now divided between those in the tunnel near the fans and those in the locker room, still cleaning up. you and bunny are in front of the tunnel, while you wait for your father, both of you are aware that journalists have already taken pictures of you. it's not something that bothers you particularly, you and him go out often and so some of your photos have already gone viral, but you are simply great friends. today will be no different, unfortunately, but okay

"what do you mean? that im a terrible player?" he asks jokingly, and you let out a laugh "more or less. maybe i should ask the team manager to move you to ReAl" you say crossing your arms, mentioning the barcha's arch enemy. bunny shakes his head, absolutely against it "i'd rather be slapped by lavi until the day i die" he says, and you burst out laughing. you take the towel in his hands, starting to walk towards the tunnel "first we should find him a reason to slap you" you say, disappearing from the eyes of the fans. bunny follows you, not before making a gesture to the fans "we can definitely find one"

"bunny inglesias disappears in the tunnel with his alleged girlfriend, the daughter of the champion lavinho?" shouts the commentator, but you are already in the tunnel to hear it

bunnyiglesias!bestfriend who simply didn't ask for this title, he just took it. bunny showed you how much he cared about you with small gestures, the ones that no friend had ever done for you. not seeing you together was almost strange, for lavinho and others players

"thank you!" you say taking your coffee, wrapped up in your winter coat. even with the temperature so low, outdoor training didn't stop for the players, especially the first team. your father had already done his shift, but since bunny still had to do his, you didn't mind staying in the cold and watching him

he pats your head taking off his coat, which you take with your free arm "don't worry. so after training dinner at the usual place?" he asks, and you nod with red cheeks, a bit caused by the cold and a bit by his concern "sure! but at least this time let me pay. i don't know why it's been months since you've let me pay a cent" you say disconsolately, but he shakes his head, amused "it's not in my vocabulary to let you pay. not because i want to be a gentleman, but because i would like to eat edible food and not something toxic" he says, then running towards the field. you reflect on his words for a few seconds "HEY! MY FATHER MAKES MORE MONEY THAN YOU, cabeça de vento!" you yell at him, but you are amused by his words. bunny runs towards the field, but turns to send you a flying kiss, to which you react by rolling your eyes even if smiling

clutching your coffee and his coat to your chest, you notice how his scent lingers on the fabric. you hold it a little tighter, trying to ignore the slightly raised heartbeat. you don't know what's happening to both of you lately, but all this attention and gestures have already crossed the line for a while now

bunnyiglesias!situationship who, since he understood that he can touch you without you wishing him the worst, has started to put his arm around your shoulders much more often. an arm became his hands on your waist, and his hands became kisses on cheeks

snuggled up to him under the covers, the january cold doesn't seem so annoying. your house has always been quiet, but since bunny comes more often, you feel much more relaxed. it has become the norm to be hugged under the covers, held tight as if you could escape, justifying the action as pure affection and nothing more. having him so close relaxes you, but at the same time the constant beating in your chest reminds you that you shouldn't be like this: technically, best friends don't do that. you have long thought that you have crossed that line, even if neither of you dares open the topic

"are you still cold?" he whispers, but you shake your head "no no. maybe im even feel to much warm, we've been hugging for too long" you say, but the only answer you feel and want to feel are his lips in your hair, while he gently kisses your head for some seconds "i don't care if you feel warm. im comfortable like this" he says, and you nod, although wondering how he can be comfortable with you pressed against him, like a sardine. his hand gently rubs your side, making you relax as you slowly close your eyes, nestled in the crook of his neck. you hate that you can't kiss him, so you crane your neck slightly, kissing his jaw. you hear him sigh, to chuckle more "the jaw now? next thing what is it, the nose?" he asks, and you shake your head, kissing his neck. he lets out another sigh, tightening his grip on your hips "the neck now, huh? i would have preferred another part" he says

it's moments like this that make you wonder why you haven't kissed yet. you want it, he wants it. why hasn't happened yet?

bunnyiglesias!boyfriend who hadn't planned on kissing you in front of your dad, but the opportunity was practically perfect. there was no point in ignoring each other's feelings anymore, not when gestures and looks spoke louder than words. it was the perfect moment

"follow me" he says taking your hand, and even though not convinced, you follow him "what do you want to do now?" you ask, but the only thing that appears before your eyes is your father. bunny stops for a moment perplexed, tilting his head "lavi? why are you here?" asks the boy, who unbeknownst to you had checked which of the fields were free at that time. lavinho shrugs, approaching with the ball in his hand "training. and you? what are you doing with my daughter here?" he asks smirking, because out of all of them he's the one who's most waiting for you two to admit that you love each other. bunny clears his throat, masking his anxiety with his usual little smile "oh... i had to do something... wait. you know what? i need you"

you remain confused, not knowing how to react "what do you have in mind?" you ask crossing your arms, extremely perplexed. lavinho imitates you, staying a few steps away while bunny takes a few steps back "senhor lavinho, acho que estou extremamente apaixonado pela sua filha" he says, his pronunciation is a bit bad, but his words immediately reach your heart loud and clear. you look at him covering your mouth, surprised "no way" you say excited, a bit from what he told you and especially for the fact that he said it in your native language. he takes your hand, kissing the back of it "posso ser teu namorado?" he says, his voice a little shaky

before he can even ask you or your father anything else, you close your arms around his neck so you can kiss him. bunny catches you, kissing you back while holding you up with his hands on your waist, eliminating the height difference issue. it's a sweet, messy kiss, but it feels like a release after that situationship limbo you've been living in for months. you smile satisfied as you kiss him, almost ignoring your father behind

"at least he had the decency to man up and ask you"

[kawaiigirly21]

Our Little Soda Pop: Chapter 1

“Why are we here?” Abby asked as he and the others followed Jinu into an apartment complex. “All Kpop groups have a manager right? Well Gwi-Ma recommended this person to be ours.” Jinu replied as he pressed the button for the penthouse. As the elevator carried them to the floor, the five were immediately overcome by the strong scent of a powerful demon. No wonder Gwi-Ma recommended this person. They're one of them.

As the doors to the elevator opened, they were greeted by a beautiful older woman who looked to be in her late 30’s typing away on her laptop while sitting on her pristine black and white couch. “Wait there. I'm still busy.” She mumbled, not bothering to look up at them. “And DON'T touch anything.” The penthouse shook at her words before the woman went back to typing on her laptop. “Um… excuse me but Gwi-Ma sent us. We should be your number one priority.” Jinu replied from his place in front of the elevator.

“I don't care if he sent you. I'm still busy. Wait. There.” The woman responded annoyed already with the young man in her apartment. “It's not everyday someone has the nerve to ignore direct orders from our king. Usually the threat of death keeps them in line. Surely you wouldn't want him to hear of this.. Right?” The woman then froze in her typing and the moment her eyes met Jinu’s, her true form started to slip through her human disguise.

“Let me tell you something little boy, I remember when his parents were still trying to have a baby. So don't you EVER threaten me with someone whose birth I witnessed. Now. Wait. There!!” Taking a step back, Jinu gave a silent nod before trying to avoid her gaze. “Is it weird I'm turned on?” Abby whispered to Romance who bit his lip staring at the woman's cleavage. “What's your name?” The woman spoke again. This time, her laptop was closed and her eyes were deadlocked on the group.

“Uh… who?” Jinu asked. “You ignorant one. What's your name?” Clearing his throat, Jinu found himself feeling small under her gaze. More so than when he was in the presence of Gwi-Ma. “Jinu.” He replied. The woman nodded and scribbled something down on a notepad before her gaze moved. “What's your name muscles almighty?” Abby smirked and winked at her. “Abs but I go by Abby. Yet, you could call me yours sweetie.~”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Please, I can still smell your mother’s breast milk on your breath. You're a child.” She then moved on to Mystery. “Tell me yours sentient mop.” Jinu stepped forward. “His name is-” “I don't recall asking you. He has a mouth. If he can sing, he can talk. Shut up.” Then she turned to Mystery. “Name.” “.... Mystery.” She moved to Baby. “Yours?” “Baby.” His deep voice leaving her slightly surprised. “Ironic but it makes sense.” Lastly she got to Romance. “Ok pretty boy, what's yours?” He smiled softly and winked at her. “Romance lovely lady.”

Nodding completely unbothered by the flirt, the woman stood from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. “I'm Natasha. From now on, I will be your manager. You will be living with me also. Try not to get killed by the hunters. I'm not responsible for anything they do to you. My job is simply to manage you. Sit on the couch. I'll be back.” Later that day, Natasha took the five shopping for more suitable clothing than the old rags they were dressed in.

“Put this on pretty boy. And this.” Romance nodded as the older woman shoved the clothing in his arms. “Muscles, here. This is better. Leather is not suitable for your image right now.” She shook her head as she tossed a button up shirt at the muscular demon idol. “It's bright.” Abby grumbled. “You can wear darker colors later. Try it on.” Natasha replied as she helped Mystery with his arm warmers.

“Baby both arms are supposed to go in the sweater.” She fought a chuckle as she watched the maknae struggle with the pink sweater. “Come here pup.” Natasha said as she approached him and helped him slide his other arm into the sleeve. “Better?” She asked to which he responded with a nod before Natasha placed a yellow hat on his head. “Yea, that's a good look. Go stand by Mystery and Jinu.” She replied before Romance tapped her on her shoulder and asked her to help him with his necklace.

“Yea. Lean down.” As she did this, she noticed Abby waiting for her approval on his outfit. “Good. Much better than what you originally picked out. Go stand with the others while I go pay for all this.” She spoke just as she finished putting the necklace on Romance and pulled out her wallet. After shopping, her next plan was for a photoshoot but with the boys complaining about food, she decided to take them to dinner first.

“Baby slow down. It's not going anywhere. Romance, get your hand off my thigh. Jinu, can you please get Mystery. He's still staring at the fish tank. The food is here. Abby, save some for the rest of the boys please. No, I don't want to suck on anything you have.” After dinner, Natasha was completely exhausted and in her haste, she rescheduled the photoshoot so she could get some well deserved rest.

However, once she prepared for bed and closed her eyes, she noticed a weight slowly slide onto her bed. In opening her eyes, she was met with those that belonged to Romance who gave her a seductive smile. “Get. Out.” She groaned, turning away from him only for her face to meet the muscular chest of Abby. “Not you too. Both of you leave. Now. I'm too tired for this.” The demoness grumbled. “Just met you but can't sleep without your scent.” A sleepy voice responded as the person it belonged to slid into the bed right under her arm.

“Grab a hoodie of mine or something then. You don't need to be right up under me Baby.” Natasha replied. “We don't want to.” Mystery yawned as he too managed to fit under the blanket with the others. Before Natasha could further protest, the boys had already drifted off to sleep. “Fine… just for tonight… Aren't you getting in too? Or are you too proud to sleep up under me, Jinu?”

Stepping out from behind the door, Jinu shook his head.“You don't like me. Why would you want me in bed too?” He mumbled. “I never said anything about not liking you. I just didn't like how you acted earlier, but that has nothing to do with me liking you or not. I like you as much as I like the others. And I know you want to get in here too. So climb on in bed. There's plenty of room. Surprisingly.”

Natasha smiled softly as the demon climbed into bed with her and the others. His hand finding its way to hers and grasping onto it like she would fade away. “Sleep now. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

Chapter 2

[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

[ambiguous-avery]

Cake by the Ocean

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You x Sam Winchester | WC: 971

Summary: You said it without thinking (or did you?), and they heard you loud and clear.

Tags/Warnings: Established polyship (no wincest), fluff, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Another one for my Summer Snapshot Challenge! I love a good misunderstanding. You know the boys would totally be into it! 💜 Title from the song “Cake by the Ocean” by DNCE. Summer Snapshot Challenge 2025 Masterlist

It was a rare moment for the three of you. No monsters. No ghosts. No licking wounds in a shitty motel room. For the first time in as long as you could remember since you started hunting alongside the Winchesters, the three of you were able to enjoy an honest-to-God vacation.

You, Sam, and Dean were sprawled out beneath a large, striped umbrella, beach towels spread out beneath you. Sam was working his way through a paperback mystery on one side of you, and Dean enjoyed an ice cold beer on the other, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. And you were tucked right in between the two shirtless boys, happily sipping away at something fruity with a paper umbrella while enjoying the view – of the waves and your men.

“Mmm,” you murmured, stretching your legs out and polishing off your drink. “I could really go for sex on the beach.”

Dean practically choked on his beer, and Sam’s attention was abruptly pulled away from his story. You blinked at them innocently. “What?”

Dean pushed his glasses up onto his head, squinting at you like you had just grown a second head – but, you know, a hot second head.

“You usually make those kinds of declarations before noon, or is this, like, a vacation thing?” Dean asked, his eyes flicking from your mouth to your thighs then back up to your face.

“Am I wrong? You can’t tell me it doesn’t sound like the perfect thing to cap off a day like this. Warm sand, ocean breeze, a little salt on the skin…” You grinned. Sam cleared his throat and lowered his book.

“You, uh, been thinking about this for a while?” 

“Are we talking like ‘sand in places it doesn’t belong’ kind of sex on the beach? Or an improvised blanket situation?” Dean turned to face you fully, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sounds like you’ve thought it through a bit already, Dean.”

“I’m just saying,” he said with a grin, “there are logistics involved.”

“You know that we do have a motel room like fifteen minutes away from here, right?” Sam’s tone was a mix of exasperation and matter-of-fact, but clad in only his swim trunks, there was no hiding the flush creeping down his neck.

“Oh my god you two are adorable.” You threw your head back with a laugh. Both Winchesters shared a look, confusion etching across their features. “I’m talking about the drink,” you clarified, shaking your empty glass so the ice clinked against the sides. “Vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry juice? Sound familiar?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Dean's mouth fell open slightly, and Sam's face went from flushed to absolutely crimson. You watched as the realization dawned on them both, and you couldn't help but dissolve into another fit of giggles. “Oh, you should see your faces right now,” you gasped between laughs, clutching your stomach. “Dean, you look like a fish. And Sam–” You turned to the younger Winchester, who you swore was trying to hide behind his paperback. “Are you trying to disappear into that book?”

Dean recovered first, as he always did, that cocky grin sliding back into place as he set his beer in the sand and rolled over top of you.

“Oh, you think you're real funny, don't you?” he drawled, caging you in with his arms as sand shifted beneath your towel. His green eyes sparkled with mischief and something darker. “You did that on purpose. Getting us all worked up over a cocktail.”

“I think I'm hilarious,” you shot back, not even trying to hide your grin as you looked up at him. The sun created a halo around his messy hair, and damn if he didn't look good enough to eat. “But I could go for the other kind, though. Blanket, not sand. Unless you two have strong opinions otherwise…” That stopped him short. Sam's book hit the sand with a soft thud.

“You're gonna be the death of us,” Dean muttered, but he was smiling as he said it, leaning down to press a kiss just above your collarbone.

“What a way to go though, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Dean replied, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that always sent shivers down your spine. “Beats getting ganked by a ghost any day.”

“Guys, we're on a public beach,” Sam reminded you both, though he made no move to pick up his fallen book. Instead, he shifted closer, his large hand sliding the hem of your sun dress up and coming to rest on your bare thigh.

“Never stopped us before,” you teased, enjoying the way Sam's eyes darkened at your words. Dean chuckled against your neck.

“Remember that case in Arizona? Behind the abandoned theater?” Dean hummed.

“Or the cave in Oregon,” Sam added unexpectedly, a rare smirk playing on his lips. You sat up slightly, pushing Dean back just enough to look between them.

“Well, well, well. Look who's suddenly on board with public indecency.”

“I never said I wasn't on board,” Sam said, his voice quieter but no less heated. “I just like to… assess the situation first.”

“Glad one of us is responsible,” Dean said, not taking his eyes off you. “Always thinking with his big brain.”

“I think I’d prefer if you two thought with something else right now,” you said, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. Sam looked like his brain had just blue-screened, and Dean was looking at you like you were a challenge and a reward wrapped up neatly in a sundress.

“Careful, sweetheart. You keep talking like that, and you’re getting more than a drink with dinner.” The ice cubes in your glass clinked against each other as it slipped from your grasp and onto the beach towel under you.

“Here’s hoping.”

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @tinysnacklefan @chevroletdean @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

Sam taglist: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @theamuz @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @myceliumsunshine @bananapocalyps3 @tinysnacklefan @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

[obscuremantisman]

GREAT!! so I was wondering if you could do the John Doe Rochas313 skin x reader....heh. because there is no rochas313 x reader and i love my boy💔💔 take ur time!!

SKIN!Rochas313 x Reader

CW: This shit all ooc because i created a whole ass lore, bro 💔💔. I spent most of my time drawing him instead of writing this ngl, also i have him as 21+ years old. YES, THIS FOLLOWS THE SAME READER IN THE OTHER FORSAKEN POSTS.

update: uhhh, hello! (((・・;) i've been occupied... with being a lazy ass, that's all.

Rochas thought things couldn't get worse. His world was corrupted. He was alone in it with this... this thing.

It all happened so quickly... He didn't know how to react. His body felt... numb? Not really, but it was reaching that point. He was scared... or at least he used to be? Everything feels so fuzzy, so underwhelming. Rochas313 couldn't bring himself to care...

He remembered a few things, his friends, or where they? He didn't know. Their faces are all... blurry. All he knows is that they left him behind once things got riskier, once he was like this... or did they? Weird, he couldn't remember.

Hmm...? When did he reach this place? He doesn't remember leaving his map. There is so much yeast, so much space to grow.

Who are they?

These people... They stared at him with wide eyes. The fear, the disgust, and pity in their eyes. It all had him.. flustered.

Please don't look at him... He knows he doesn't look good, knows he's a danger, knows he's nothing more than a host to a disgusting parasite, so stop looking, stop looking, stop looking, stop it, stop it now!

After his very first round, things got messy. Missing walls, misplaced decorations, glitched items, and roots everywhere. Yeah, you can bet the Specter didn't like that. Where's Rochas313 now? In the void, a place he can't mess with nobody.

The void is a map specifically designed for Rochas313. It seemingly has nothing in it except for a powerful, frequently updated anti-virus and a giant screen showing all that happens around the forsaken realm to keep him distracted from his own thoughts. The rounds, killer's lobby, and survivor's lobby are constantly watched by him. His favorite? survivor's lobby. They always put up a little show every round break, and they.. they remind him of someone.

Rochas is a biological cage. He successfully keeps the virus under check once left calm, but once aggravated enough... The parasite takes full advantage of his instability, which is why he's given access to watching others in the first place, but it's not like it could get out for long enough to cause any real damage. The specter learned its lesson once Rochas313 almost got a bite out of one of the survivors...

The Specter isn't interested in getting rid of his existence because if he dies, the parasite will find a way to remain, and it's constantly hungry for obvious reasons. The forsaken realm is full of nutrients, and that little virus is very much interested and sneaky, so yeahhhhhhh Rochas313 has to stay.

You met him by pure coincidence.

He had been particularly bored that day and, by accident, saw a glimpse of one of the survivors getting brutally cut in half. Yeah that messed him up and fucked his day up, enough to give the virus control for a few seconds and teleport him inside said round.

He just popped up behind Taph, said guy too distracted with trying to take back an explosive you were holding far up in the air just for fun.

It was definitely a surprise to the botb of you when the whole map shook and started glitching. A few of the walls even fell, and you swear some trees disappeared.

But alas, you, a curious freak, threw the explosive in your hands right away to another direction and approached Rochas313 to have a better look while Taph didn't waste another second to run off desperately once he peeked behind himself.

You only ever saw a few pictures and videos of him back in the days when you were just a normal human having an average life, and the fact he was here while there was already another killer for the round? You were rightfully curious. You didn't even realize that he was able to see you until he attempted to slash your body, wood claws phasing through your body, earning a confused incoherent grumble.

That had you even more surprised. A killer that was able to see you? You had to torment this guy affectionately.

As if analyzing you, his soulless eye stared onto yours while you poked him around, his body growing bigger as the virus was actively consumed assets until the sky turned red and suddenly... the both of you disappeared. The specter had once again sent him back to his prison.

Rochas313 doesn't usually speak. There's roots growing in his throat.

After meeting you, though.. he put an effort in cutting off these little branches so he could communicate better. He doesn't know sign language, and making gurgling noises was very much embarrassing. It hurts, but the only way to cut the roots off is to reach them with his hands, so he always makes sure to do it properly so his voice can stay for a week. It rarely doesn't leaves him bleeding but you don't need to know that.

He loves your company! If it was up to him, he would've been following you around just to talk.

Being around someone that doesn't stare at him with fear and that is nice to him even with the way he looks has definitely skyrocketed his mood and overall mental health.

Unfortunately, he barely gets to meet with you , nor see you around. The giant screen in his void can't catch your form properly, like a ghost caught on camera. That is why you proposed a simple way to have contact... a hunt.

Every new round, you, along with a few useless objects in the round, build simple things around. A 'hello' made from rocks, a chair with the drawing of a cat made out of grass on top of it, some plates piled up with a plant on top. Simple things to keep him happy, to show you cared.

One time you sticked your hand inside his empty eye socket. If you weren't able to go through solid things, you're sure your hand would've been stuck and possibly eaten.

Surprisingly, but not so much, Rochas couldn't feel a thing! That's why you made it a little hobby to stick flowers in it when you had the chance, even if they all eventually disappeared. That dumbass virus eats it every damn time. No romantic action that involves such things as gifts is allowed in its sight or it'll fucking find a way of chugging it down.

But how do you guys even meet? And how do you even leave the void??

Rochas hasn't been completely honest about the ways he gets out of the void. Sure, the virus takes over if he's unstable, that you knew, but what if... what if he's been letting, more than once, the virus take control just to get the chance of meeting you, hmmmm? Would you be nad at him? Eh, definitely not, but he's quite embarrassed to tell you he does that. He doesn't want to seem clingy.

And as to how you get out of the void... You discovered how to do so by accident. You were just chatting with Rochas after what seemed like maybe a few days after you both got stuck together in his void, and while you were pacing around, you touched the screen which Rochas uses to watch things around and sluuuurrp. Guess who got sucked out of the void.

Overall, Rochas is just a chill, kindhearted guy who just happens to be the host of a highly powerful virus. He cherishes every moment together with you and appreciates your gifts and attention with all his heart, even if sometimes all the affection overwhelms him.

Give him a little kiss on the cheek and his flesh side with be as red as C00lk1d's skin, while the wooden side will be sprouting flowers. He melts faster than butter on the pan.

The virus actually feeds off a great chunk of his emotions, so it was a surprise when he was all timid and a stuttering mess. Apparently his little parasite preferred negative emotions, which is why Rochas appears numb and tired most of the time.

But with that aside.. now you know a way to get a big reaction out of him.

there it is, sorry i took so long,,,,

[justmeinadaze]

Easy To Love/Hate (Steddie & Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: Im not sure what triggered this but Y/N is very much a manifestation of alot of my fears and trauma. But yeah, she's also very inspired by Kate Winslet in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

New record of longest story I've written and they definitely have more of a story to tell.

Enjoy!

Warnings: Steddie & Plus Size Fem Y/N, SMUT, dirty talk, semi public (lover's lake, no one is around), stoned sex (but its consensual), oral (m and f receiving), fingering (m and f receiving), p in v, frotting, unprotected p-in-v, slight overstimulation if you squint, aftercare always.

ANGST! Eddie and Steve have an intimate encounter when they were younger but not aren't friendly which is expanded in as the story progresses, Reader is mentioned as being inquisitive and asks alot of questions but she does make it clear that they don't have to say anything they don't want to, mentions of King Steve and all his insecurities with being popular and his dad, Eddie briefly mentions his relationship with his dad and how people hate him in the town, Reader is new to Hawkins and is slightly spicy :) (talks back to teachers and jocks), Has a run in with jocks and kicks their ass, has a run in with Mr. Harrington who, well IS Mr. Harrington (talks down to her about being poor), Reader pokes fun at her own weight but not a whole lot and no one in the town talks to her about it negatively, mentions of a feeling abandoned by parent, argument between her and the boys... I think that's it.

Word Count: 13, 887

Steddie Masterlist/Donate to Me

"She's easy to love, oh, and easy to hate She tastes like a drug, and she feels just the same Bitter to the tongue, but a thrill for your brain A little bit crazy, but it's worth all the pain.

Her mind is a beautiful thing You never quite know what she thinks But if you're lucky, she just might let you see What hides behind nightmares and dreams."

“I’ve, um, I’ve never done that before.”, Steve murmurs from his spot on the edge of the bed while the buzz cut boy in front of him finished buckling his pants. 

“The making out part or the blow job part?”, Eddie asked with a crassness that had the other boy flinching. 

“All of it, I guess. I’ve made out with girls but never—”

“A handsome lad like myself?” When he cut him off, Steve flinched again causing the other boy to softly sigh before taking a seat beside him and placing his palm on his shoulder. “I get it. The first time I kissed a dude, my dad walked in at the same time and…let’s just say it didn’t go well…”

Steve’s honey irises scanned over Eddie’s face as his own eyes fell to the floor in front of them. 

“You did good…I mean like…it felt really good…having your lips…fuck, why can’t I talk?” He smirked when he heard the boy beside him chuckle. “Did you like it? I mean…how did it feel for you?”

“I like kissing you. Your lips taste good.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods. 

“I also like the sounds you make. You, like, whimper when my head bobs—”

“I do not!”, Eddie shouts defensively, pushing his shoulder playfully. 

The other boy doesn’t miss a beat, grabbing his wrist just in time and yanking his mouth to his own. 

“What happens on Monday, Munson?”, he whispered as his forehead leaned against his.

“You tell me, Harrington. Do you still want to hang out with a freak like me?”

Steve cups Eddie’s cheeks and kisses him again, not wanting to let the boy go. 

“If you’re a freak, then so am I.”

###################

3 Years Later

Steve hated history class with a burning passion. 

He always struggled to remember dates and certain aspects of the material never made sense to him. Add in the fact that Mrs. Hill droned on and on with no inflection in her tone; everything just seemed to run together. 

He did his best though, taking notes and doing what he could to at least maintain a good average so he could keep playing basketball. 

Sports was his only outlet for all his stress.

Every time he focused on dunking the ball, he didn’t have to remember that his father kept reciting about his future and what he planned to do with it. With every finished lap in the pool, he would focus on bettering his time and not the fact that he was already bored of the last girl he took out on a date. 

Every cheer from the crowd in the stands made him forget that Tommy and Carol had bullied another kid from the debate team or that stupid fucking Hellfire Club.

With every win and applaud whether it be from the crowd at a game or keg stand at a party, he felt more like the king they claimed him to be and he could ignore the fact that he was incredibly bored with it all and how awful it genuinely made him feel. 

“Mr. Harrington?”

“Huh?”

“Care to answer my question?”

“What was the question?” 

The kids around him snicker, they think he’s joking so he smirks to cover the truth. 

“I see we still aren’t paying attention today, are we, Mr. Harrington?”

“She was asking if the introduction of music television like MTV was a positive or negative like MTV and violence in our society are mutually exclusive.” All eyes turned your way as you continued to absently doodle in your notebook. “If it did have any effect, at most it would chill people the fuck out.”

A couple of people gasped while Steve’s eyes widened. 

He had never seen you before let alone was aware you were even in the class. How could he not have when you were in his row 2 seats away?

“Miss…”, the teacher pauses as she looks at her clipboard. “Y/L/N. I know you’re new to the school so you may not entirely know the rules but I would assume most schools wouldn’t allow for language like that.”

“Oh, I apologize, Mrs. Hill. It’s probably the influence of all that MTV.”

At your sarcastic reply, you turn towards Steve and throw him a playful wink that actually has the king of Hawkins blushing. 

The bell rings and even as everyone throws their belongs in their bags to escape out the door, you slowly maneuver your books into your backpack before slinging it over one shoulder. 

“Hey, um, thanks for what you did in there.”

“Did I do something?”, you tease, heading into the hall with him in tow. 

“I’m not very good at history—”

“I noticed.”, you giggle, finally turning to give him your attention. Your eyes gradually take him in, from his expensive tennis shoes up over his tight jeans to the polo that hugged his waist. “I’m Y/N.”, you relay as you extend your hand out to him. 

Encapsulating it with his own, he sizes you up just as equally totally into the jeans torn at the knee and your converse with drawings all along the toes. 

“Steve. Steve Harrington.”

“Oh…the illustrious king.”, you sing with a smile and he swoons. “I’ve heard all about you.”

“All good I hope.”

“Let me just say, the whispers about your hair don’t do it justice.” The man laughs at your joke and you grin at the sound. “It’s nice meeting you, sire.”

***

Eddie exhaled smoke from his lips as he sat on the edge of his van in the back waiting for the school to clear out so he could meet the guys for their Hellfire meeting. 

He absolutely hated the student body who couldn’t manage to keep their destain hidden for even one second while they giggled and pointed his way as they passed. 

Even some of the men at the factory taunted Wayne for taking him in because he was such a “fuck up” and “bound to end up like his father”. His uncle hid the critiques but the employee’s children made sure to relay the information. 

“Fuck me!” 

Eddie’s eyes darted in the direction where the consistent swears were pouring out of your mouth as you kicked the front end of your car before lifting the hood. 

“Please…please, baby girl, don’t do this to me.”, you sigh as you scan the area, beautiful irises locking with his. “Hey, do you know anything about cars?”

When he theatrically looked around and pointed at himself you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Yes, you, Hellfire. Do you know anything about cars?”, you asked again and this time he rose to his feet, slinking your way. 

“Um, I know a little bit. I can take a look.”

“Well, I do declare. Thank you, sir.”, you reply with an exaggerated accent that has him smirking your way as he takes off his jacket and tosses it aside. “I’m Y/N btw.”

“Eddie Munson.”

“Oh? Any relation to Wayne Munson?” The metalhead’s body straightened and you immediately sensed his defensive energy. “It’s just, I went to visit my dad to see how his first day of work was going and he was having lunch with his foreman leader with that name. He was very nice; shook my hand and called me ‘sweetheart’.”

Eddie grins softly as he focuses under your hood once more. 

“Yeah, that’s my uncle. He’s a good man like that. It looks like this thing here just needs a patch. I can fix it enough to get you home but it’s going to need a mechanic.”

“Great.”, you whine, watching as he heads back towards his van and digs around for a bit before returning with some tools. “So…what’s Hellfire? A theater troop or?”

“Ah, no, we’re a club filled with freaks who play D & D.”

“That’s cool. I can’t play that game to save my life but it’s fun to watch.”

“Pfft, you don’t have to pander to me, sweetheart, ok?”, he sasses, grunting as he begins working under your hood. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, you ask as you fold your arms across your chest. 

“It means most women don’t know what D&D is let alone badass girls in Metallica t-shirts so I know you’re just being nice because I’m helping you. You don’t have to. I’m used to people treating me like weird.”

Your fingers suddenly wrap around his bicep as you force him to face you. 

“First off, you are incredibly defensive. I’m new in town and I AM trying to be nice especially since you’re doing something nice for me when you don’t have to. Secondly, I don’t think it’s weird or freaky to like Dungeons and Dragons. It’s a complex game with cool missions and shit that I can’t fucking understand but you seem to which makes you cool to me. And third…thank you for the compliment.”

As you grin wide at your last sentence, Eddie can’t help but be totally dumbfounded by you. You had to be a figment of his imagination, right? There’s no way a girl like you existed.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for saying I’m cool.”

“You’re welcome.” As soon as he’s done, you turn your key and the engine roars to life. “Oh my God, thank you, Eddie Munson. You are my hero. Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? My way of saying thank you properly.”

“Um, yeah, sure. I don’t eat in the cafeteria alot though. There’s a bench out in the forest by the campus.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous.”, you joke, shouting thank you again before speeding away. 

####################

Steve couldn’t get you out of his mind for the rest of the night. 

He kept thinking about your ripped jeans and heavy metal shirt, your attitude and the way you effortlessly contradicted his teacher without any fear of consequence. Your smile and the way you laughed echoed through his ears, piercing his heart. He watched you during class that following day as you sketched in your notebook occasionally looking at the board as if you were paying attention.

Today, you had on black cargo pants with chains all along the pockets that clinked every time you moved with the same converse that seemed to have new doodles along the side. The matching black polo you were wearing hugged your curves and more than anything he realized he wanted to do the same. 

“Steven!”, Carol shouted as she waved her hand in front of his face. “Tommy’s been talking to you, man.”

“Oh, um, sorry.”, he mumbled as he glanced down at his uneaten lunch tray. “I’m just thinking about something.”

“About that new girl? I heard they moved here because she killed someone in her hometown.”

Steve rolled his eyes at his friend’s gossip. “Be careful with that one. Wouldn’t want you to end up on the news.”

Of course, as if on cue, your chains jingled as you walked by and out the side door. He didn’t even think twice as the jock casually rose to his feet, leaving his food and friends behind to catch up with you. 

“Hey, Y/N!”

“Hey there, Steve Harrington.”, you beam even as you continue to walk. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting a friend for lunch. Would you like to join?”

“Oh, um, yeah, sure. So, how do you like it here so far?”, Steve asked, cringing at his earnest energy. 

“It’s…alright. A lot of people here are pretty conservative and kind of assholes.”

“They definitely can be.”

“I saw you talking to a couple of ‘em. Tommy Hagan and Carol…something. I don’t know her last name. I just know she strongly believes it will one day be Hagan to.”, you laugh. “I heard them gossiping about one of the teachers.”

“Yeah they do that.”, Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Why do you hang out with them then?”

Your question wasn’t mocking nor did it carry an accusation. To him you sounded genuinely curious which is something he found incredibly fascinating.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I guess because it’s better to be popular and appreciated than alone and hated.”

“You really think they appreciate you, sire?”, you ask sarcastically. “I assure you, they’d probably sell you out in a heartbeat. Alright, he said bench in the woods…”

“Who’s your friend?”, Steve inquired, head quirking at the word he.

“He helped me fix my car yesterday. He said his name was Eddie something. Eddie…”

“Munson.”, the popular boy finished for you just as the metalhead stepped from the path to come into view and their eyes locked. 

“Yeah, that’s it!”

***

“What the fuck are you doing here, Harrington? Get lost on your way to a party?”

“For your information, I was invited, burnout. What the fuck are you doing out here?”

“Um, do ya’ll know each other?”, you ask a bit more playfully than you meant it to sound.

“Oh, of course. Who doesn’t know our illustrious king of Hawkins High?”, Eddie replies sarcastically as he bows towards the other boy. “Thank you, sire, for gracing me and the lady with your presence.” 

Your eyes narrow in amusement as you watch them interact, placing yourself on the table and leaning back on your palms. 

“I’m sorry, I thought this was a free country and I could go wherever I please. Are any of the other freaks here? Wouldn’t want to embarrass them.”

“Wouldn’t want to be seen with them is more like it. Seriously, what the fuck are doing here? She invited me to lunch.”

“Well, she invited me to so…”

Both sets of annoyed eyes flash your way and you sit up to face them. 

“To be fair, I’m new here so I wasn’t aware that you two knew each other let alone had this intense rivalry—��

“I’d have to care for it to be a rivalry.”, Steve mumbled as he folded his arms across his chest. 

Eddie blinked before doing the same but you noticed the emotion flicker across his face. 

“Why did that bother you?”

“Huh?”

“He said he’d have to care and you made a face for a moment like that bothered you. I’m curious as to why.”, you explain, glancing towards the popular boy whose own features seem to reflect confusion before turning away in a huff. “Ooooh wait a second. Did you two date?”

Both men’s arms fall as they immediately get defensive especially Steve. 

“No! Pfft, I’m not into guys and if I was I wouldn’t date a freak like him!”

“Feelings mutual, Steven! If I wanted a pompous asshole in my life I’d of kept my dad around!”

“HEY! I’m nothing like your criminal father, Munson!”

“You may as well be with how much you fucking hurt me!” Steve flinched as he took one step back and Eddie did the same as he reached into his pocket to find his cigarettes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not hungry at the moment.”

With that the metalhead turned and stomped away leaving the popular boy to stare after him. 

“Sooooo you didn’t date but you definitely fucked, right?”

“This is all your fault!”, he shouted, turning on you so fast you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re like a fucking plague!”

“Oh, so you two didn’t have this tension before I came along?”

“NO! We never even fucking saw each other and that was ok!”

“But you never stopped thinking about him, huh?”, you smirk as you lay down flat on the table. “He definitely hasn’t stopped thinking about you.”

“Ugh, fuck you!”, he blurted angerly, stomping away in the opposite direction. 

##########################

Eddie had pretty much been chain smoking cigarettes since yesterday afternoon choosing to skip school as he wondered the town. It wasn’t the first time he had thought about that night with Steve Harrington but it was the first time in a long time he actually felt the sting of it. 

Every time Steve went on a date with some girl or he caught him making out behind the bleachers, Eddie remembered. Any time Steve laughed at a stupid joke and scrunched his nose, showing off all of his teeth, Eddie remembered. When Garth would tell him about how Steve Harrington stood there and watched while Tommy Hagan pushed him into a locker, Eddie remembered. 

But he blocked out the pain with weed and partners of his own, till he was left semi-satisfied and numb. 

A part of him wished he could erase the entire memory of Steve Harrington but another part liked having that bit of feeling locked away in his pessimistic heart. 

“I said fuck off or I swear to God—”

“You swear to God what?”, a boy threatened just as the metalhead passed the alleyway next to the arcade. 

You were backed against the brick wall with some of the other jocks circling you. Your face glared up at them with defiance and Eddie swooned at your confidence. 

“I’ll break your fucking arm.”

“Oooo.”, he mocked but you didn’t falter. 

“Problem, boys?”, the long-haired man asked as he made his presence known. 

“This doesn’t concern you, Munson.”

“It does when you’re threatening one of my friends.”

At the declaration, he noticed a small smile twitch across your lips before they went back to being a thin line of anger. The jock in front of you gestured with his head towards Eddie. 

“This freak really someone you want to be associated with?”

“Rather a freak than a dick who doesn’t understand the word no.”

“People don’t say no to me.”

“Get used to disappointment.”

“Listen, baby, I can show you a thing or two—” Right as his arm lifted and his fingers just barely touched your hair, you took hold of the limb and bent it to the side causing the man to howl in pain before you ducked under him to quickly take hold of Eddie’s bicep. “You fucking bitch! You broke my arm!”

“I warned you. Come on, babe.”

Intertwining your fingers with his, you both bolted away from the jocks screams towards the trailer park. 

***

“Whew. Hang on a moment, I…I need to catch my breath…”, you pant as you lean your palms on your knees. 

“Do you want some water? Our trailer is right there.”, Eddie offered as he gestured towards his home and you nodded allowing him to lead. “My castle.”

“I like it.”, you grin as you take a look around. “You live here with your parents?”

“My uncle.”, he replied flatly, coming around the counter to hand you a glass that you sip as you watch him walk away. 

“Oh. When you said Wayne was your uncle, I didn’t realize you lived with him to.”

“Yup.” Eddie put emphasis on the P, popping his lips as he nods. 

“Where are your—”

“Jesus, you ask a ton of questions.”, he snaps, stomping towards what you assume is his bedroom and you hastily follow. 

“Forgive me for wanting to get to know my friend. Why are you so defensive!?”

“Look, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, people in this town fucking hate me so I’m always on edge when someone asks questions trying to ‘get to know me’. No one wants to know me.”

“Wayne doesn’t hate you. I don’t hate you. Those kids in your little Hellfire thing don’t hate you. Steve doesn’t hate you.” The metalhead snorts out a laugh as he glares towards his wall and sits on his bed. “He doesn’t. He’s mad at you about something but I can tell…he doesn’t hate you.”

“What the fuck would he have to be mad at me for?! I didn’t do fucking anything to him!”

“I’m just telling you what I see.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

Your eyes take him in before you sit beside him and cross your legs on his mattress. 

“I’m sorry for asking so many questions. I’m aware that I’m inquisitive. I think it has something to do with my parents always hiding things and my mom being shady. That’s why we moved here. My dad wanted him and I to have a fresh start.” 

Eddie’s irises meet yours with a softness you appreciate. 

“I’m sorry for snapping. I am very defensive. People in this town have been calling me a freak since I was a kid, even after my mother died.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs at your kindness and a heavy sigh leaves his lips.

“Hey, um, do you want to get high?”

***

“I didn’t break his arm!”, you cackle as Eddie snickers through his teeth before taking another hit. “At most I sprained it. I’m not the fucking Bionic Woman.”

“Dude, the fact that you could even do that is amazing. Be prepared though with basketball season, some people in this town will be pissed.”

“Look, I warned him. I don’t pander to people.”

“No, you don’t.”, he murmurs softly, passing you the joint with a smile that you match. 

“I like this side of you, Munson. Calm…happy…”

“I like hanging out with you, Y/L/N. It’s been a while since I smoked with someone I liked talking to.”

“Not even your friends?”, you ask as you pass the weed back to him. 

“I like my friends I just don’t really open up to them, you know? To be fair, no one in my life asks as many questions as you do.”, he chuckles, smile growing when you laugh. 

“It’s a blessing and a curse. I notice everything.”, you jest as your eyes widen in playful horror. “Kind of like how I noticed that chemistry yesterday between you and Mr. Harrington.”

“Ooooh…”, Eddie groans, scrunching his nose in slight disgust as he tries to roll away before you grab his shoulder to keep him still. “Do we have to talk about that shit?”

“No, my love, we don’t have to.”

At the term, his eyebrow quirks your way and he exhales, placing the joint in the ashtray on his shelf. 

“We were never together…Never really even got a chance to be…”, the metalhead began as you both stared at the ceiling while the acoustic guitar emitting from his stereo continued to play softly. “It was near the end of our freshman year at some party one of the upper classmen were throwing. I was trying to hide but found him on a bed alone in a room. I remember he looked so heartbroken. 

He said something about how he didn’t want to be there because his dad had yelled at him before he came. I don’t know what you’ve heard about Bill Harrington but he’s a fucking asshole.”

“I haven’t heard anything.”, you answer, feeling him nod in affirmation beside you. 

“He looked so heartbroken.”, Eddie repeated causing you to shift your gaze to look his way. “I don’t know where the confidence came from but we just talked and I told him everything would be ok while I played with his hair.”

“That soft, fluffy thing he’s got going on.”

“Yeah.”, he chuckles, feeling your body move until your head was laying on his chest. 

“I bet he felt safe with you.” Your words were muffled by his shirt, his eyes closing when your arm laid across his belly to hug him tighter. 

“Yeah. I, uh, he wanted to make it up to me…for me listening and being there…I told him he didn’t have to…b-but he insisted.”

At his strained breathing, you lifted your head onto your chin so you could see his face. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Eddie nodded as your hand cupped his cheek, lowering your lips to his gently, feeling his body come to life. “Do you want to touch me?”, you whisper, smiling when he nods dragging the tip of his nose along yours. 

Lifting his palm to your mouth, you tenderly kissed the pads of his index and middle finger causing a little groan to emit from his throat as he pushed up onto his elbow to bring his lips to yours again. A moan of your own filled his ears and he realized then you had placed his hand on your breast. 

Leaving him to play, you released him from your grip, laying your palm on the bulge in his jeans and feeling his warm breath heat your cheek as his lips trailed down your neck. 

“Do you want to touch my pussy, Eddie? Tell me.”, you command when he nods. 

“I wanna—fuck—I want to touch your pussy, sweetheart, please.”

Slowly, you unbutton your jeans and push them down your chunky limbs, tossing them on his floor and throwing one of your legs over his hip that he promptly clings to so he can bring it high up his form allowing you to be as close to him as possible. 

“What about you?”, you tease.

“Oh, shit. Yeah, I mean…”, he stutters out as he fumbles with his belt buckle and sloppily pushes down his own pants to his ankles. “Sorry. I’m a lot smoother than this.”

“Of course you are.”

Lifting one of his eyebrows in amusement, he obnoxiously runs his thick tongue along the entirety of his palm and reaches between your legs to rub his fingers through your folds. 

“God, you’re so wet.”

Biting your bottom lip, you place your hand in front of his mouth and he smirks before licking it. You scoot your body closer to his till your chests are just barely touching and his jaw goes slack when you take hold of his cock, pumping him at a gradual pace. 

“So are you.”, you joke when your run your thumb over his tip and feel the precum that had already begun to stain his sheets. “Fuck, Eddie, your dick is so big.”

“Yeah, baby, it is but you can take it, right?” As he asked his question, the metalhead guided two of his fingers inside of your entrance and his cock twitched at the feeling of your breath as you panted at the feeling against his lips. “Yeah, sweetheart, you can take it. Fuck, you’re tight.”

Your rhythm began to hasten and he matched your energy, moaning along with you as you built each other up. 

“Do you want to fuck me, Eddie?”

“Yes, pretty girl, I want to fuck you.”

“How do you wanna fuck me, Eddie?”

“Jesus.”

Your nose grazed his as you smiled and whispered. “Tell me, baby. Will it be hard?”

“So fucking hard. I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for weeks.”

“Atta boy. Do you—mmm—do want me to ride your cock or do you want me on my back? How about on my hands and—”

Eddie’s mouth cut you off as they crashed to yours and he pushed you onto your back while slotting himself between your legs. You didn’t hesitate when you wrapped them around his waist and after lining up his tip with your cunt, began guiding himself inside you. 

“Oh my God.”, you whimper, your nails dragging deliciously down his back. 

“Your pussy is just…pulling me in…fuck…”, he grunts, his head falling beside yours. “I don’t know how long I’m going to last.”

“Fuck me, Eddie, like you told me. Fuck me—ah—fuck me hard, baby.”

Pushing up a bit, he allows his forehead to rest on yours as he takes hold of your wrists and presses them above you while honoring your request. 

“Yes, Eddie, please. You feel so good.”

Your eyes roll shut as his cock stretches you open and consistently hits that sensitive spot inside you. A whimper escaped you when you suddenly felt pressure on your clit, realizing then he was trying desperately to feel you cum. 

You moaned his name repeatedly till the ball in your belly dropped and you screamed so loud the metalhead was sure his uncle would get complaints tomorrow morning but he didn’t care. 

“Where…where can I…”

“Inside…inside…”

With your permission along with your pussy milking him as your high slowly descended, Eddie grunted followed by a couple more choppy thrusts before you felt him painting your walls. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

You exhaustedly smile as he collapses on top of you, his lips lazily leaving tender kisses along your jawline.

“I’ll say.”, you tease lightly, shakily lowering your arms to circle around him. 

“Do…do you need…anything? Water? S-Shower?”, he asked in a groggy tone that had you craning your neck to notice his eyes were closed as he began falling asleep. 

“No, Eddie, I’m alright.” His lips continued to move making your smile grow as you caressed some of his messy hair away from his sweaty forehead. “I can’t hear you, babe.”

“I said…don’t…please…don’t…ignore me after tonight…”, the metalhead rushed out as he sighed before fully falling asleep in your arms. 

################

Throughout the next couple of days, Steve continued to watch you from afar. 

During your lunch, you came into the cafeteria late and for your remaining period, sat with Eddie and his friends without getting any food. He was curious if you just didn’t have the funds to eat which seemed to not only bother him but the long-haired boy as well when he noticed as soon as you sat down, he appeared to ask you something before handing you a bag of whatever was in his lunchpail. 

During your classes, you always seemed a bit reserved but you engaged during conversations and debates which he found amusing. In your chemistry class, you excitedly mixed chemicals that began to smoke up the room causing you and your partner to laugh while the teacher scurried around opening windows. 

When you interacted with people, you visually appeared closed off but he would listen to you ask questions telling him you were indeed listening. Some of the jocks would pass by and say something snarky and you would reply equally so with little to no hesitation. 

One day, he followed you home in your beat-up car that wasn’t too far from the school as you turned into one of the lower income neighborhoods. 

Your eyes seemed to change when you walked up to your front door and to him you almost seemed sad. Someone he wasn’t able to see greeted you when you entered but he had to convince himself to cut his snooping off here because climbing up to a stranger’s window crossed a line ignoring the fact that he already followed you in his car like some creepy stalker. 

The next day after school, he was able to focus on basketball practice and was thankful for the distraction. What he wasn’t prepared for was you sitting in the bleachers with a smile and a small wave. 

“What are you doing here?”, he asked after running towards you. 

“It’s nice to see you to, Steve Harrington. I hope you’re well.”, you sass, rolling your eyes when all he does is stand there. “I, um, I wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable the other day. I seriously didn’t know you two knew each other and it’s been brought to my attention I’m a bit too inquisitive—”

“You are.”, Steve interrupts and you sigh in jest.

“I’m sorry, alright? You were the first person to really talk to me here and you’re one of the few jock assholes in this town who ISN’T an asshole so…”

“Harrington! Let’s go, kid!”, the coach yells and the boy flashes him an ok symbol with his palm before tossing a smirk your way. 

“I forgive you. I’m sorry for getting defensive and all that.”

“I forgive you.”, you beam, shooing him playfully with your hands as he runs back onto the court. 

While you watch him practice, you can’t help but bite your bottom lip to stifle the grin from widening on your face when you notice him showing off for what you assume is you. 

Everything changed however when the gym door opened and a man in an expensive looking business suit clacked his equally expensive looking shoes across the court before stopping as his piercing irises take in the boys in front of him. 

Steve’s gaze shifted towards him giving him pause and one of the other men on the court effortlessly swiped the ball from his hand to make the basket causing the well-dressed man to shake his head and chuckle. 

“Hey, dad, what, uh, what are you doing here? Everything ok?”, the pretty boy asked after jogging towards him. 

“Yes, of course. Jesus.”, he continues a bit callously. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d come watch my son practice.”

“Um, okay, but I don’t think you’re allowed—”

“Nonsense! Is it alright if I watch for a bit, coach?”

“Sure, Bill, no problem.”

“Ah, that’s Mr. Harrington, actually.”

As his father laughs, Steve cringes as he glances towards you in embarrassment, his face turning a darker shade when he sees you looking them both over with those inquisitive eyes. 

Taking his place back on the court, everything changes as he makes mistake after mistake, cursing under his breath with each failed shot or swiped ball. His final straw was when he tried to block another player and was pushed so hard he fell backwards. 

“Wow are you alright?”, you ask, extending your hand that he doesn’t take, clutching his elbow instead. “Steve? Are you ok?”

“Well, son, I must say, I’ve seen you play better.”, Mr. Harrington sighs, not even glancing his way as his eyes focus on his pager. “Alright, I have to head back to the office but—”

“Are you seriously not going to ask how he is?”, you interrupt. “He just got knocked over and hit the ground pretty hard.”

His dad freezes before turning to run his eyes down your frame, snickering at the blue jeans with drawings on the thigh and your Hellfire shirt Eddie had given you that you had cut into making it your own. The symbol was left untouched but you snipped the sleeves turning it into a tank top allowing your flabby arms their time in the sun while showing off your “Do or do not there is no try” tattoo.

“I’m sorry and you are?”

“A decent human being.”, you snap back, placing your hands on your hips. “And you are?”

The players around you gasp as they whisper to each other and Steve hastily rises to his feet, raising a hand to assure you he’s fine when you try to help. 

“This is Bill Harrington…my father…”

“Interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone introduce their parents that way.”

“Steven, who is this girl—”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N and I can speak for myself unlike you.”

“Miss Y/L/N—”

“No, no, coach, it’s alright.”, his father assures, raising his hand towards the man just as Steve had. “I’ve heard of your family, Miss Y/L/N. Well, you and your father. This town is small enough you hear all the gossip especially when someone new moves in the slums of Hawkins.”

“If that’s the slums, I’d hate to see the over exaggerated, God-y side of town you live on.”

“I live in comfort with my wife and son. I don’t have to work at the factory for 12hrs a day to not even make ends meet.”

“Not really something I’d brag about, Mr. Harrington; the fact that other people struggle while you live above them in your undeserved, selfish luxury.”

He laughs again as he takes steps towards you and you feel Steve’s fingers twitch beside.

“Dad…”

“Shut up, Steven.”, he growls before pointing his finger in your face. “I know girls like you, Miss Y/L/N. You grow up with that sarcastic attitude that screams confidence but the truth is, little girl, you’re just as scared as the rest of them if not more so. You’ll graduate and tell yourself you’ll achieve something great but you won’t. You’ll be stuck here with a husband who hates you and kids that won’t stop screaming, working a job you hate till you’re old and gray.”

Steve feels the anger vibrate through you as everything in his body tells him to back away. He half expected you to ignite and come back with a snarky quip that would leave his father emotionally wounded for weeks to come. 

Suffice it to say, he definitely wasn’t prepared when your palm grabbed the jock’s sweaty collar and brought his lips to yours. Again, he heard the gasps of the people around him and felt the wind of his father backing away but all of that was overshadowed by the delicious taste of your mouth on his. 

Just as he lifted his palm to cup your cheek, you pushed him back and smiled towards his dad. 

“At least I’ll be stuck here with your family growing old and gray in luxury.”

***

Practice ended after your display and Steve didn’t acknowledge his dad’s angry shouts after him as he ran to follow you as you hastily exited out the back door. 

As an apology, he bought you a burger that you two shared on the other side of lover’s lake sitting on the trunk of his BMW. 

“Are you sure it’s ok that I sit up here? Wouldn’t want daddy to yell at you if he finds a dent because of my fat ass.”

“You don’t have a fat ass and yes, it’s fine.”, he sighs with a smile, sliding onto his feet and reaching down to grab some grass so his hands had something to fiddle with. “I’m really sorry for him. He had no right to belittle you like that.”

“It’s ok. I’m kind of used to it with my smart mouth.”, you chuckle, grumbling the wrapper that had once housed your food. “When Eddie mentioned your father was an asshole, I didn’t expect that though.”

“He talked to you about me?”

Your eyebrows quirked upward with a smirk. 

“I said he mentioned your dad.”

“What, uh, what did he say?”

“That your dad was an asshole.”, you laugh and he does the same. “He said you two had spent time together at a party and you didn’t want to be there cause of your dad. Something he said…”

“Hm. Is that all he told you?”, Steve asked with a bitterness you picked up on. 

“He just said ya’ll spent the evening together and then you hurt him. I put two and two together.”

“I didn’t--!”, he cut himself off as he fumed and faced away from you. “…hurt him. He’s the one…” When he turned back to look at you, he saw a softness that reminded him of that night and that terrified him. “It doesn’t matter.”

The BMW thunks loudly back into place as your body slides down and your hands grasp his, pulling him towards the water. 

“Come on.”

“Come on, what? Go swimming? We don’t have any—”

“Yes swimming and I refuse to believe King Steve has never skinny dipped before.” You see the apprehension in his eyes and grin tenderly as you take a couple of steps closer to him, still clinging to his palms. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to or tell me anything you don’t want to. I’d be happy to place a new dent on the hood and we can talk about…I don’t know…basketball.”

He chuckles at your joke, nodding his head towards the lake as he releases you to take off his shirt, doing his best to keep his eyes focused ahead as you do the same thing. He takes a note that you keep your matching bra and panties on as you squeal in delight before jumping in so he keeps his underwear on as well before following after. 

“Fuck this water is cold!”

“Yeah, that’s normal.”

You playfully push his shoulder as you both laugh while you swim a little further out but when he hears you hiss, he quickly swims to your side. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just stepped on a rock, I think. Ow.”

“Well, um, here. I know this lake pretty well…” Your eyes narrow as he takes your arms and legs to circle around him before he realizes what he just insinuated. “No! I meant…shit…the swim team and I practice out here sometimes and—”

“Steve! It’s ok. I’m not judging you.” 

Nodding, you feel his eyes studying your face as you look around the area and up towards the stars that had begun to paint the night sky.

“That night at the party three years ago? My dad had given me a lecture about being a man.” At the sound of his voice, you focused on him once more as his irises seemed to be focusing on the memory within a void. “His examples were basically everything I’m not and I couldn’t stop thinking about it when my mom dropped me off. I tried but… I wanted to be alone so I hid but then Eddie came in.”

Steve hadn’t moved since he took you in his arms and the two of you waded in the water as he continued. 

“It all just fell out of my mouth like I couldn’t hold it in anymore and he listened to every word without interrupting or critiquing me.”

“While he played with your hair?”

His eyes finally met yours and when he didn’t see any mocking, he nodded his head. 

“I felt so safe and comfortable and when I was done venting I felt so much better. I wanted him to feel good to… I don’t know why…I had never done anything like that before.”

“What did you do?”

Steve whispered it so low that you knew the only reason you heard it was because you were currently clinging to him with your ear near his lips. 

“I sucked his cock.”

As he closed his eyes, you cupped his cheeks and gently kissed his forehead. 

“I loved everything about it, honey. The way he held my hand and my hair, the moans he made when my throat gagged around him, and—fuck—the way Eddie whimpered my name.”

Your fingers twirled into the hair near the base of his neck as your lips trailed down his nose and hovered just above his mouth. 

“What happened after? Why are you both so angry?”

Steve shakes his head as he abruptly cups your cheek to roughly kiss your lips, groaning at the taste of you once more with his tongue passionately searching for yours. 

You smiled as his grip tightened to an almost bruising degree. 

“Do you wanna fuck me, Steve Harrington?”

He doesn’t verbally respond but you feel his free hand that’s clinging to your waist reach between you to move your panties to the side. 

“Answer me, Stevie.”

“Yes, I want to fuck you. Please, baby.”, he begs, his hold on you returning when he feels you reach down to effortlessly glide your palm into his boxers and free his cock eliciting a soft moan. 

“Of course, the king has a big dick.”, you tease making him bite his lip to try and conceal his pride filled grin. Your gaze shifts to the void but you feel him watching you as you guide his length into entrance. “Oh, wow.”

“Fuck.”

Licking your lips, you utilize his shoulders and neck for leverage as you roll your hips, allowing your pussy to take him in inch by inch. 

“Jesus…you and Eddie are going to ruin me…”

At your whispered words, his fingers on your waist twitched.

“You fucked Eddie?” You nod. “What did it feel like?”

Your eyes open as you assess his features but when he hugs you tighter to him allowing his cock to fully rest inside you, you realize then that he’s not jealous but genuinely curious. 

“So good, Steve. He—fuck—held my wrists above my head w-while he fucked me so hard.”

Water had gradually begun to swish around you both as you steadily rode him wishing you had more to stabilize you. The jock sees your wish and swims with you still in his grasp towards the bank, climbing out and lightly tapping your ass to signal for you to let him go. 

With his hand in yours, he brings you to the hood of the BMW, spinning you around, and lightly pushing your front half against the cool metal.

“Oh f-fuck.”, you mewled as he slides effortlessly back into your core and thrust his hips allowing the smacks of skin against skin to fill the quiet area. 

Chest hair tickles your back as he leans over you and his palm firmly grips your throat while his other arm circles around to your tummy.

“Tell me more…please…”

“H-He—”

“Who?”, he asked gruffly making you smile. 

“Eddie’s thick cock stretched m-me open. He was—oh my—making a mess before we even got started…his cum leaking w-while I stroked him with my hand...”

At your last couple of words, Steve watched as you dragged your tongue along the pads of your fingers before reaching between your legs to match his pace as you rubbed your clit. 

“Cum inside me, Steve, just like he did.”

The man grunted at your request, pushing up to his full height as he pounded his length so deep inside you that you swore you could feel him in your stomach. Your cunt clenched tightly around him and his mouth fell open at the feeling as you came panting his name. 

Fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled you upright to kiss your lips as he chased his own high. It didn’t take long, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and chest to hold you to him as his rhythm faltered releasing his seed inside you. 

“Fuck.”, he exhaled as his forehead rested on your shoulder.

“Don’t die on me, Harrington.”, you joked, smirking when he huskily laughed. 

Neither of you moved while he continued to cling to you as if you’d disappear the moment he let you go. 

“Steve?”

“Hm.”

“I’m cold.”

“Shit! Fuck, honey, I’m…” After carefully pulling out, you watched him scurry to his trunk, digging through it, and slamming it shut before running back around to wrap a towel around your shoulders. “I’m sorry. Let me grab…grab your clothes…”

You gently smile as your eyes follow him as his confidence vanishes and he fumbles over grass to hunt for both sets of outfits the two of you had discarded so recklessly. He seemed different like this…less uptight…less like a boy playing pretend and more of who you imagined he genuinely was. 

“Here, um, let me…” You allow him to dress you which seems to make him happier as his own smirk grows, his palms occasionally caressing your skin before leaving a kiss. 

When he finishes, you see a glimmer of a question start to form as his lips part before they immediately shut and form into a thin line. 

You don’t know what it is but Steve does and to be honest no matter what your answer is he knows it doesn’t matter because of what happened the last time he asked. 

“So what happens on Monday?”

###################

To their surprises, not much changed after they were intimate with you beside the fact that you spent a fair amount of time with them, separately of course. 

You watched Eddie play his most recent gig at The Hideout and banged your head while all the other patrons ignored them like usual. You went to his trailer often discussing movies and music you both liked while smoking and relaxing. 

One Saturday, you showed up at an away game and cheered Steve on as he ran up and down the court leading Hawkins High in victory. He took you to the “cute little theater” as you called it to watch the new Indiana Jones movie where you clung to his arm to cover your eyes as some guy’s heart got ripped out of their chest. 

Over the next month, you took the time to get to know them better but both men felt like you were keeping them at a distance when it came to personal things involving you. When you were in their bed your pillow talk was minimal to say the least and the only time they got a glimpse into your life was when you casually dropped things into conversation, breezing past it as if it meant nothing. 

“I love this record. Roberta Flack’s voice is gorgeous.”

“Yeah it is. My mom loved soft music like this.”, Eddie beamed as he leaned back on his palms. “What kind of music did your parents introduce you to?”

“Well, my father liked The Police, the band not the conformist bunch of pigs.”, you clarify making the metalhead laugh as he reached for a pack of cigarettes nearby. “My mom always listened to The Rolling Stones which makes senses seeing as how she never seemed to be satisfied.”

The metalhead paused just before lighting the stick between his teeth at the sad drop in your tone right as you smiled and started to sing, “Telling my whole life…with his words…killing me softly…”

“What are you reading?”, Steve asks, having been staring at you with a little smile from his desk where you commanded he finish his homework for history. 

“Don’t get distracted, Harrington.”

“I’m not. I’m just curious.” You flash him the cover as he reads it out loud. ‘Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant.’ Hm, sounds interesting. What’s it about?”

“Uh, it’s about kids who have to learn how to deal with life after their dad abandoned their family.”

Something about the way you say that breaks his heart as his head tilts. 

“Thankfully, you have your dad, right?”

“Yeah…thankfully.” You pause as your eyes shift into the void before glancing towards his sympathy filled irises.  “Hey! Stop getting distracted! Focus, Harrington!”, you giggle, tossing your shoe lightly towards him. 

Neither man had to interact with the other but occasionally their eyes would meet as one of them would nod or turn their head in the opposite direction and you had stopped asking questions about their moment 3 years ago which they each found amusing that you no longer wanted pry. 

You three fell into an odd routine that felt seamless but you were different, they knew that. 

There was only so long monotony could be tolerated in a small town like Hawkins. Something always happened to shake up any routine and with you not being from around there, they imagined it would hit you sooner rather than later. 

After a month and a half of knowing you, it finally did.

################

Steve wasn’t immediately concerned when he showed up for class and you weren’t there making a mental note to look for you throughout the day and if he didn’t see you, to call you when he got home. 

It wasn’t until he got to lunch and noticed Eddie’s intense eyes scanning the room that he became concerned. When they found his own, relief painted the metalhead’s face but quickly disappeared when he realized you weren’t with him. 

After murmuring something to the table, he threw on his leather jacket and hastily flew out the side door, smoke leaving his mouth at his sigh in the cold air when he heard shoes crunching against the leaves that had begun to fall from behind him. 

“Fuck off, Harrington.”

“You don’t know where she is either, do you?”, he inquired, buttoning his letterman while he powerwalked to keep up with the other man’s long stride. “Should we be worried?”

“We? No, Steven, WE aren’t anything.”

“Hey!”, Steve scolds, grabbing and pulling at Eddie’s arm to make him stop. “Look, I know we aren’t fucking friends and you fucking hate me but I care about her to, ok? Let’s just find her, make sure she’s alright, and then we can go back to ignoring each other.”

“Yeah, whatever.”, the other boy grumbles, silently allow him to follow to the table to find it empty. “Shit.”

“I mean…it’s just one day right? We can call her and—”

“Do you know where she lives?”, Eddie asked a bit abruptly causing the jock to blink in surprise. 

“Um, yeah. I, um, passed by her house once—”

“You followed her home.”, he declared as he began to march back towards his van. 

“Um…”

“You think I didn’t notice you follow me home at the start of sophomore year? I live out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by people who drive their houses. A BMW stands out.”

Steve blushes in embarrassment, completely ignoring the fact that he was currently climbing into the passenger seat of Eddie Munson’s van. 

“Don’t worry. The windows are tinted so Tommy and Carol won’t see you with the freak.”

Ignoring his comment, the man folds his arms as the long-haired boy begins to drive with Steve giving him directions. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? About me following you?”

“When would I have done that? When you were ignoring me with your asshole friends or when I was consoling MY friend after Hagan punched him in the stomach with you laughing right next him?”, Eddie spat, shaking his head. “It didn’t fucking matter. What I didn’t understand was why you even bothered.”

“I…I wanted to…whatever. You’re right it doesn’t matter.”

The metalhead’s eyes leave the road to glance towards the pretty boy who exhaled as he glared out the window. 

***

“Hey, may I help you?”, your father asked sweetly as he opened the door to their knock dressed in a manner that reminded Eddie of his uncle. 

“We, uh, we were wondering if Y/N was here?”

“Um, she is but she’s not really…she’s been in her room all day and…she doesn’t really seem to want any company.”

“We’re her friends, sir. I’m Steve Harrington and this is Eddie Munson—”

“Munson? Wayne’s nephew?” His entire demeanor brightens when the boy nods. “I’ve heard so much about you. Come in, come in.”, he ushers with his hand. “I’m actually about to see him. I’m…pulling some overtime tonight so… I’m sorry, son, but I don’t think I’ve meet your parents.”, he sighs after shaking his hand and turning to do the same with Steve.

“Oh no worries, sir. My father isn’t the friendly type. My mom comes and goes. They work for the Harrington Company that owns a few of the business within Indiana.”

“What are you two doing here?”

All three men turn towards the hallway at the sound of your voice and the smell hits Eddie immediately as the odor of cigarettes and weed linger on your shirt that seemed two sizes too big even on your chunky frame. 

If your father noticed, he didn’t make any indication as he beamed widely.

“Hey, baby. How are you feeling? Your friends are here to see you.”

“They aren’t my friends.”, you hiss with a monotone that has them tilting their heads. 

“What’s with the attitude, Y/N?”

“I’m tired, dad.”, you growl as he presses his fingers into his eyes. 

“Look, I don’t have time for this. I have to get to work. There’s food in the fridge and I should be home around 6am.”

“Fine. Take them with you.”

“No.”, he scolds as he pushes his hat onto his head. “You want to be rude to your guests that’s fine but I won’t. Have a good night.”

With that, he flashes them a grim smile before stomping out his front door. 

Silence fills the living room, your annoyance at their presence filling the tension to an almost suffocating degree. 

Eddie knows this game…He’s played it with his uncle a few times especially after he first moved in. 

Whoever speaks first loses. 

You hadn’t moved from your spot since you came into the room but when the metalhead took a step forward, Steve noticed your body flinch. It was subtle as if you don’t want to let on that it had happened. You didn’t appear frightened but more so prepared like someone who was at the starting point of a marathon. 

Your eyes followed him as he fully entered your living room that was currently being illuminated by the hanging light in the kitchen both men passed. Your house wasn’t big so it was perfect to show off the modest set up of the bulky television in front of an even bulkier couch. 

Pictures lined the wall that had Eddie smirking assuming the girl within was a smaller version of you. Steve detoured towards your kitchen noticing that the cupboards were relatively empty except for a few things here and there. Within the fridge was the food your father had mentioned along with a few cans of Coke, bottles of water, and a couple of packs of beer. 

Rolling your eyes, you turn to head back down the hallway and they exchange a glance before following. 

Throwing yourself on the bed, you collect the pipe near the edge and light the bowl, taking a deep inhale and blow smoke in their direction. 

“I’m surprised you two are here together with how much you hate each other.”

“Yeah well, you’re ours and we were worried since you didn’t show up for school.”

A snarky laugh leaves your lips as you theatrically throw your head back. 

“Oh wow. I was gone for one day and you both came-a-runnin’ with the person you hate. That’s so fucking funny.” 

“It really is. It’s so fucking funny especially since  apparently we aren’t friends.”, Eddie replies casually, taking off his jacket and tossing it aside. 

“Don’t take that off, you won’t be here long.”

“Jesus.”, Steve sighs as he chuckles and leans back against your dresser. “So much venom in her words today.”

“Fuck off, Steven. Jesus.”, you mime, rolling your eyes. “You small town boys fuck one city girl and you think she belongs to you.”

“Are you a city girl, Y/N? We wouldn’t know. You don’t talk about yourself.”

“Like you fucking care.”, you spit. “You’re going to leave anyway.”

At your mumbled words, Eddie stalks towards you and yanks the pipe from your hand. You don’t argue, allowing your palms to fall into your lap. 

“Why do you think that? What happened, Y/N? Did he say something to make you think we would?”

“Oh, fuck you, Munson. How do I know you didn’t?!”

“Because you’ve done it before!! Let’s not pretend you’re the good guy here! You’re a popular douchebag who bullies my friends and fucks anything with legs!”

Steve pushes off your dresser and stalks his way, placing himself chest to chest with the other boy. 

“Don’t act like you fucking know me, Eddie. You have no idea what I’ve been through these past three years. You think…” The jock cuts himself short as he shifts his gaze your way and realized your sad eyes were watching everything unfold. He recognized something within them, pain. The unraveling of a relationship that seemed so perfect but ultimately failed. “You heard from your mom didn’t you?”, he whispers.

The long-haired boy hears you sniffle as you wipe your eyes and defiantly raise your chin. 

“No. I never hear from her…My dad and I weren’t worth her time…That’s why she ran off with some twenty something preppy fucker without so much as a fucking goodbye. That’s why my dad became so depressed he lost his job because he couldn’t get out of bed. That’s why I’m stuck here in this stupid fucking town with stupid fucking men who can’t admit that they fucking care about each other.”

You rose to your feet and grabbed a crumpled piece of paper from your desk, smacking it into Eddie’s chest. 

“That’s why she sends letters to only my father saying she doesn’t have enough money to send him for me but she can go to the fucking Bahamas with her boyfriend.” Shaking your head, you climb back onto the mattress and cross your legs. “Relationships are stupid. That’s why it’s just best to be alone. You two know that better than anyone.”

Steve’s eyes flutter closed as he places his hands on his hips. 

“I wrote you a letter.” No one in the room moves or breathes… “You, Edward Munson, I wrote you a letter. That Monday morning, I slipped it into your locker and waited for you to show up. When you didn’t I went looking for you and found you with your friends…fucking laughing…I assumed at me…like ‘Can you believe Steve Harrington actually sucked me off and thought it meant anything.’”

When the jock found the courage to open them again they met the other boy’s wide confused eyes. 

“Steve, I didn’t get a letter.”

“Don’t fucking—”

“I’m not lying.”, Eddie cut him off aggressively as if the implication hurt him. “I rarely went to my locker but when I did for lunch to grab my D&D campaign my locker was empty. Fucking Principal said we had to clean them out before…shit…”, he sighed, rubbing his palms over his face at a sudden realization. “It was that mandatory six week clean out especially for certain kids like me who kept bullshit in the locker. Higgins always insisted the school had to look “presentable” and hated that papers would stick out at the bottom.”

“Fuck me. It didn’t even occur to me…I never used my locker so I was never on that list…”

Your irises bounced between them as they avoid each other’s.

“What did it say? The letter?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“No, it does. I hadn’t heard from you all day so on Tuesday I went looking for you and I heard you making fun of me with Tommy outside on the patio. I thought that’s why… that you decided to stick with your image…”

“No, Eddie, God, no. I…fuck…I was so upset with you and hurt. I had no one to talk to…”

“So, talk to me. Tell me what it said.”

Steve let out a breath as he shook his head, glancing your way to see that you were paying attention appearing almost…hopeful. 

“It was so long ago. I think it was something like…’Eddie, thank you for being there for me when I needed someone. Most of my life I’ve felt like I don’t really belong anywhere and I’m never enough but you showed me that isn’t true. I don’t have to be a ‘king’ or popular. I don’t have to be some asshole like my dad. I can just be Steve. 

A freak.’”

Both men laugh before his eyes fully lock with the metalhead across from him and he moves his body till his nose is inches from his own. 

“I don’t care what anyone thinks and I want to see where this relationship can take us. Hopefully far away from Hawkins where we can be happy. If you feel the same meet me in the bathroom by the gym during lunch so we can talk and I can kiss your lips. 

Steve.”

Eddie’s palms cupped his cheeks as he surged towards him crashing his mouth to his own. One of the jock’s hands clung to his face just below his ear while his other arm wrapped around his waist. 

For three years, they both thought of this moment. They craved it desperately under the anger and pain leaving the other to dream about their encounter at night. 

To Steve, Eddie still tasted the same but his kisses were bolder, driven now by experience. 

To Eddie, Steve’s tongue was better than he remembered and he lightly moaned at the feeling of being pressed against him as their cocks grazed through their jeans. 

When they finally pulled away, they didn’t go far as the pretty boy chased the metalhead’s lips before choosing to rest his forehead on Eddie’s as they tried to catch their breath. 

“I missed you…so much…That’s why I drove to the trailer park, baby. I just wanted…to see you.”

The long-haired boy exhales as he absorbs his words, words he had always desperately wanted to hear and thought he never would. 

The sound of squeaking fills their ears and the turn in time to see you curling up into a ball on your side facing your wall on the bed. 

You were so happy for them but your internal dialogue was whispering about how they wouldn’t have to be alone. They could ignore you now and focus on each other. You waited for the inevitable sounds of them walking out of your room hand in hand as you cried yourself to sleep. 

Your frame didn’t stir when you felt your comforter being pulled up over your hip and the sound of your bedroom lights being turned off. Something sounding like plastic hitting plastic had you trying to identify the noise until a soft voice followed by acoustic playing made you realize it was cassettes being moved around. 

You heard more movement, like a jacket being removed and shoes hitting the floor before your mattress dipped on both sides and you were suddenly encased in warmth. 

Eddie’s soft eyes met yours as his arm slid under your pillow below your head and he slung the other across your waist above Steve’s whose palm rested on your upper belly pulling you back towards his chest while his steady breath warmed your shoulder.

You blinked away the tears and placed your own arm on the metalhead’s hip, pushing against his lower back to urge him closer to you which he acknowledged by scooting towards you till the tip of his nose grazed yours. 

Your hand caressed the skin under his shirt as your fingers intertwined with the ones on your stomach as your eyes began to close and sleep took over. 

***

Eddie’s eyes groggily opened as the rumble of low thunder subtly shook the wall of your room. 

Now that everything was calm, he was able to take in his surroundings all be it through the minimal light illuminating from Christmas tree lights you had hung along the ceiling. 

You had so many posters of different bands and movies including one of his many Corroded Coffin banners hovering just above your desk in the corner. Along your dresser were hair products and some jewelry with a few books from school. 

Clothes lined the floor including theirs near your window next to the stereo that continued to softly play. Your sheets of course smelled like you and he couldn’t help but inhale your pillow before stretching a bit to notice a few polaroids hanging against the wall above his head. 

Pressing up onto his elbow, he took in each photo with a little smirk. One had to be one of your friends from where you moved from. You had a hug grin stretched across your face as she hugged you from behind with an equally large smile. The one beside it was your dad holding your palms when you were a child as you stood on his toes with your tiny feet. 

The next few were ones he didn’t anticipate. 

In the middle was a photo, you had taken while lying in Eddie’s bedroom at home while you both were smoking. He had been lazily strumming the guitar when you blinded him with the flash laughing so hard afterward at his reaction.

The next was you and Steve after one of his games he assumed since the boy was covered in sweat wearing his jersey. You were sitting on his lap with the camera high in the air as you barred your teeth in a growl and he stuck out his tongue behind you. 

The last photo was another image he assumed was you as a baby with a woman holding you in her arms. She was looking down at you with a wide smile that pierced the metalhead’s heart. 

“That was the last time I feel like she was happy.”, you whisper and Eddie shuffles back down to lay in front of you. “My parents fought a lot. It’s my first memory of them together…but it wasn’t always like that…some days there was a stillness…I miss that…”

The thunder that had gradually gotten louder boomed overhead causing Steve to sigh in his sleep as he instinctively pulled you tighter to him. 

“I’m sorry I was so mean. I’m not perfect, I know that and relationships scare the hell out of me but—” Eddie’s calloused palm covered your mouth to silence you, letting it linger before moving it to caress your cheek. 

Just as the rain began to tap against your window, he craned his head to give you a gentle kiss that lingered as he pulled away. 

“The first time Steve and I were together, he told me about how much he enjoyed sucking your cock; the way you tasted, your whimpers, the way you grabbed him. Maybe you should return the favor.”

Eddie blinked as his eyes flicked behind you and hovered, telling you silently that the other boy was awake and listening especially when his lips tenderly began kissing the skin along your shoulder. 

As his massive palm slid under your shirt to grab your breast, your lips connected with his while you listened to what sounded like the metalhead removing his. Rolling to face Steve, he helped pull your garment over your head before locking his mouth around your nipple eliciting a low mewl to fall while your gaze shifted to observe Eddie unbuckling the jock’s belt and pulling down his jeans with his boxers. Keeping his hand on your back, Steve moaned when he felt the other boy spit on his tip and stroke it along his hard shaft. 

The long-haired man allowed his tongue to flick along his slit and the pretty boy’s eyes rolled at the feeling as he turned his head to do the same with your nipple. Your fingers tangled in his hair as the vibration of his groans rippled through you and your hips rolled seeking friction. 

“Fuck, baby, that it.”, Steve strained as his palm settled on the back of Eddie’s head as he began to fully take him. 

“How does it feel?”, you whisper, his jaw going slack as his tip hit the back of his throat. 

“S-So fucking good. Shit. C-Come here, honey.”, he commanded, guiding you to straddle his face and his fingers move your panties aside to allow the organ between his teeth entry. 

“Steve.”, you whined, his tongue maneuvering like a mad man as it stroked up and down through you folds. 

“Aw fuck!”

At his exclamation, you turned to see Eddie still bobbing his head but you vaguely noticed his arm moving making you grin. 

“I told you his fingers feel good, Stevie. S-Stretch you out so good.”

The man underneath you lost his mind as his hands clung to your hips to a bruising degree and he pushed his face further into you making your eyes close as you grabbed hold of his hair. Grinding your waist, you covered your mouth as he sucked and slurped at your clit, smothering your scream as the ball in your belly dropped. 

Lazily lifting your leg, you collapsed on your side next to him as he continued to make little whimpers at the pleasurable feeling.

Eddie came off him with a sweet pop but continued to stroke him as he tilted towards you to kiss your lips. 

“I’m not ready.”, he murmurs giving you two pause. “I can’t…I’ve never…I’m not ready.”

The metalhead knew what he meant; Steve had his cock in a few ladies throughout his time as the King of Hawkins High but he had never experienced someone inside him nor had he tried it with another man before either. 

“I’m sorry…”

“No, hey, no reason to be sorry.”, Eddie coos as he caresses his cheek hoping to calm his worry. “Do you want me to stop? We can focus on our beautiful girl.”, he praises, beaming your way. 

“I don’t want you stop. Not yet.”

Steve watches with glassy eyes as you lean over to whisper something in the other boy’s ear eliciting a nod before positioning himself on top of him. 

“If you decide you do just tell me ok, sweetheart?”

The boy nods and Eddie grins as he pushes down his pants with his boxers that you help push to the floor. The jocks mouth waters as he takes in the metalhead’s physique, his dick twitching at every tattoo and defined muscle his honey irises passed over. 

His gorgeous, ring laced hand reached for Steve’s cock, holding it against his own loosely as he tested the waters by rolling his hips.

“Jesus.” The friction was more than delicious and he desperately needed him to do it again. “More.”

“Yeah? You like that, baby?”

The pretty boy licked his lips as he nodded and lifted his arm to wrap around you so he could pull you to his side and kiss your lips. Hearing Eddie’s soft grunts of pleasure, you pushed up onto your elbow to give him a passionate kiss that had him pressing his waist harder against Steve’s. 

“Shit.”, the metalhead breathed, releasing his grip to kiss up the other boy’s chest before his head fell beside his. “I got you, Steve.”

Both men panted heavily as Eddie found a steady pace, your nails running gently down his back giving him more motivation while Steve’s fingers petted and occasionally pulled your hair. 

“F-Faster, Eddie, baby, please.”

The long-haired boy pushed up onto his palms to honor the request and the jock took the opportunity to move some of it behind his ear while cupping his face. Steve spent years thinking about this moment. Eddie on top of him with his face scrunched in pleasure, his beautiful lips open as a grunt filled breath escaped him. 

What he didn’t realize was Eddie had dreamt of this to but more so with Steve riding him as his head fell back and he moaned with every bounce. 

Since they met you, you effortlessly slid into the equation like the final puzzle piece of the perfect landscape. Every time your palms or mouth caressed their skin, they felt almost feral and were struggling to keep it together. 

“I’m gonna…”

Eddie nodded as his lips reconnected to his and he reached back down to pump their dicks with his hand. Steve whimpered as he pushed your face into his neck, clinging to you like a child does a teddy bear as his body trembled and his seed shot out, hitting his stomach. At the sight, the other boy followed mewling loudly as his rhythm faltered and his release painted the man’s stomach beneath him. 

“Goddamn it. Fuck, Steve… you did so good, sweetheart. So fucking good.”, he murmured gently, eyes glancing around till he found a rag to clean the mess they had made. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah…yeah…need—need a minute, please.”

Eddie smiled as he placed his lips on the man’s forehead and you watched as his eyes closed at the tender action. 

“I like hearing you use manners like that.”, he teased causing Steve to lightly chuckle. Chocolate irises flicked to you as his palm reached out to smooth your hair. “How are you feeling?”

You lopsidedly grin as you scoot out of Steve hold and roll on your tummy, pushing up on your knees with your ass in the air. A wicked grin spread on his features as he maneuvered off the other man to position himself behind you and playfully spanking your behind. 

“You can take a minute if you need to.”

“Thank you for the approval, babe.”, he sasses even as he hisses while lining himself up with your entrance. “Fuck, I’ve never been this sensitive before.”

“Maybe we should do it at the same time…”, Steve suggested making you and Eddie giggle as the metalhead leaned over you, pressing his chest to your back. 

“Have you done that before? Do you feel comfortable?”

“It’s been a few months but yeah I’m comfortable. I have some lube in the…” When you gesture towards your drawer, the jock rolls over to dig through it, promptly finding what he needs while the other boy flops to his side, bringing you with him. 

After taking the bottle, you can’t help but laugh again when you hear the obnoxious squirt causing Steve to erupt in his own fit of giggles as he turns to face you. Gentle amber irises scan your features, his palm reaching out to touch your skin when your eyes flutter at the feeling of Eddie’s fingers between your cheeks.

“Fuck me, you’re so tight. I’ll go slow ok? I’m going to have to anyway or else I may fucking bust before we get going.”

As he places a steading hand on your hip, you tilt towards Steve to kiss his lips, your moans turning into subtle whimpers as you curse under your breath. 

“Everything’s ok, honey. You’re doing so good.”

Glancing behind you, you listen to Eddie’s soft mumbles of restraint as he keeps slowly thrusting his cock into you. His arm hooks under your knee, lifting your leg into the air and Steve utilizes the opportunity, licking the pads of his fingers to bring them to your clit. 

“Oh Goooood…”

“I know, baby, I know.”, he coos waiting for the metalhead to give him a signal that he’s ready which he does when their eyes meet. “Ok, are you ready for me?”

“I’ve never had two people at once.”

“Do you want to stop?”, he whispers.

“No. J-Just go slow.” 

This was completely new for them, seeing you so vulnerable. When it came to fight or flight, the latter wasn’t an option. Even when you were enjoying yourself out in the world, you had this strength that they admired. 

Since you had curled up into your bed, your vulnerability leaked through and they wanted to show you that they were there and that they cared. 

You were safe with them. 

“Of course. We got you, Y/N. We’re here for you, pretty girl.”

You nodded as Steve lined himself up with your entrance and gradually pressed into your cunt. 

A heavy breath fanned your face as he whined at the overwhelming feeling of you clinging to his overly stimulated cock. 

“Goddamn.”

Eddie had continued doing little pumps behind you, allowing you to get used to the feeling of him but as the other began to fill you, your body tensed slightly gripping him like a vice.

“F-Fuck…baby…it’s ok. T-Try—oh my God—try to relax your body.”

“Feel…feel so full…”

“I know, sweet girl. Trust me, I can feel him… we’re so fucking deep…”

While the metalhead spoke, Steve tried his best to use the distraction to his advantage pushing steadily into you till his hips connect to yours. You were sandwiched perfectly between them with Eddie’s breath warming the nape of your neck and Steve’s chest hair slightly tickling your chest. 

A few seconds pass before they both pull back and thrust into you at the same time.

“OHMAGO—!”

The metalhead’s palm firmly covers your shout and muffles the pleasure filled groan that follows. 

“Are you ok?”, he asks a bit rushed, sighing in small relief when you confirm. “You have to be quiet or else your neighbors will tell your dad.”

“I-I don’t care. Fuck…do that again…”

Placing his hand over your mouth once more, they repeat their movements and your eyes roll to the back of your skull as you loudly whimper.

Both boys find a steady rhythm, sweat and humid breaths sticking to you as you do anything you can to pull them closer. 

“Harder, Steve, PLEASE!”

As you press your face into the pillow beneath you, you hear smacking above you but you don’t need to look to know that they were kissing. 

“Give her what she needs, Stevie. Fuck her harder. O-Our girl deserves to feel good.”

“Will—fuck—will you cum with me?”

“You wanna fill her up at the same time?”

Steve nods emphatically but it’s interrupted when your pussy clenches tighter around him at their filthy words. A ringed hand moves your hair away from your face and you feel their eyes on you as Eddie murmurs praises. 

“Atta girl. Come on now. Let go for us and cum. You can do it, baby.” You scream into the pillow as you tumble over the ledge and their pace slows to give you a moment to breathe. “That’s our good girl. Shit, sweetheart, you always look so beautiful when you cum.”

One of your arms lifts to circle around Eddie’s neck behind you as you sloppily kiss him while Steve places open mouth kisses along your neck and chest. Their hips smack loudly into yours as they chase their highs before grunting against your skin as they thrust their releases inside you. 

Both men whisper soft apologies when you wince as they carefully pull out. 

“I know, Y/N. It’s alright.”, the metalhead soothes as he climbs out of your bed and you whine as he grasped your hands to bring you with him. “You have to take a shower.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because you smell.”, Steve teases as he rounds the corner into your bathroom after you both, flashing you that signature Harrington smirk. 

“Noooo…”, Eddie clarifies, his voice echoing as he sticks his head into your shower and turns it on. “It’s because you had a very long day yesterday and now you just put your body through a lot of exertion. You need a warm shower to just…decompress.”

“A lot of exertion, huh?”

“Mhmm.”, he grins as he circles his arms around your waist and lifts you into the tub. Eddie enters right behind but realizes in that moment that the jock is lingering by the sink. “You to, Steven, get in here.”

“Oh, um, are you su—ok.” 

When he climbs in you feel squished between them once more but in a soft almost protective way. You feel Steve behind you reaching for something but you don’t know what it is until the cool shampoo touches your head and he firmly massages it in with his fingers. Glancing down, you watch as Eddie takes your bar of soap and runs it along your body, his palms trying to be as gentle as possible especially between your legs. 

When they finish cleaning you, you startle the metalhead slightly by switching places allowing him to be in the middle. Steve doesn’t say a word as he tilts his head back and allows the water to fall along his hair as he sighs. 

Taking your soap again, he runs it along the jocks stomach cleaning any remnants of his skin. 

Steve’s hand fell on the side of Eddie’s neck, his thumb caressing his jawline silently begging for him to his eyeline which he grants.

Their lips softly connect, the most tender kiss they’ve exchanged tonight. 

His grip glides slightly upward just under his ear, holding him close as Steve’s eyebrows dip before releasing his hold but is replaced with yours as you hug Eddie from behind and rest your head on his back. 

“So what happens on Monday, Munson?”

“That’s up to you, Harrington. Do you want to hang out with a freak like me?”

#######################

@debkk16 @myherometalhead @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @micheledawn1975 @twirls827

[patchw0rks]

Ok, reread of scum villain vol. 2 has been accomplished. Here are my thoughts and just things I wanted to note down (disclaimer: make sure to read these knowing the important context that liushen is my favorite ship lol)

I can't get over the Shen-Mu-Liu trio. Those are SQQ's BOYS and watching them interact is very fun. I also love that Mu Qingfang is medicine-pilled in the way that Shen Qingqiu is monster-pilled. Little did we know LQG is actually the most normal of the three

Shen "im just here to cause problems" Qingqiu saying "I know to get my way all i have to do is bat my pretty eyelashes at YQY and he will fold like a house of cards"

SQQ basically telling LQG that he's so strong so he must row the boat, and LQG is just absolutely FUMING because of how attracted he is to SQQ

SQQ referring to LQG as gege ah my heart

More of SQQ causing problems by trying stick Yang Yixuan onto LQG, which I love because you KNOW that in his grief post-Hua Yue City LQG went "fucking WATCH me"

Ngl I've read enough fanfic to realize that people don't really capture LQG's full personality. The usually make him so shy and tsundere that he's barely able to get a word in (Lan Zhan gets similar treatment) but no, he's just as catty as the rest of them

I need to figure out the timeline of how long Shen Yuan had been reading PIDW, it's endlessly important to me

LQG and MQF being like "our beloved little shixiong, please don't fret your pretty little head, just sit there and relax"

There really is some excellent physical comedy in SVSSS, like when SQQ is confronted by LBH and just defenestrates himself. You know that one scene in Angel Beats? Yeah it's exactly that

Qi Qingqi's eyebrows have now been brought up for a second time and it screams gender envy to me. Why are you as a "cis man" admiring a women's eyebrows so thoughtfully? So much to where it's the first thing you bring up about her appearance?

"Why?! Why were two grown men neurotically discussing a pice of clothing while surrounded by staring eyes?" never change Shen Yuan

I'm actually such a simp for Liu Qingge, i'm literally highlighting every mention of him and every word he speaks. I did not appreciate the Liuber my first time reading. He's also so incredibly tsundere "huff puff i can't believe you can't even ride your sword...get on"

Ugh I actually cried while reading the big confrontation. This did not happen my first read, but man it just got me. Also the very subtle POV switch that happens so we don't get any insight into SQQ's thoughts as he prepares to self-detonate

Mushroom Shen Qingqiu!!!! My Beloved!!!!!!! Def one of my favorite parts of the whole series. I think there are so many ways to play around with this character (hence my AU) but also there's this degree of freedom about it where even his internal dialogue is much more loose and less concerned with acting the part

Oh my...he referenced the succubus adventure...

Im sorry how did I completely black out the scene of LQG and SQQ playing hot potato with his corpse?!!?! Remember what I said about physical comedy!!

"Even a few hours ago, he genuinely wouldn't have cared where others (especially those of the same sex) touched him. They could touch wherever they liked, please go ahead" -- Things only said by straight who are 100% comfortable in their sexuality. Yeah. Totally

There are still good moments of seeing SQQ's dissociating himself from the events of the series and just treating everything and everyone as if it weren't "real," and how these thought patterns shift. Once again I think this would be a very fun thing to play around with and explore more

LIU QINGGE!!!! STOP MAKING ME SAD!!!!!!!! HE YEARNS SO MUCH

[sanotymanjiro]

𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆

𝙞𝙯𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙠𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙖𝙬𝙖

𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩

fluff, soft, set in whatever timeline the reader wants, high school izana, longing, orphanage, some swearing, yuzuha + senju + emma are not related to other tr character in this fic and are simply just y/n's friends

❄️ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

izana: wanna watch the first snow together?

the pinky promise you made that day was just that, a childish hope, a dream. izana left the orphanage not too long after and when the first snow did come, you watched it alone. now, five years later, christmas was approaching and so your new mum had sent you out on an errand as usual to buy some ingredients she was missing. you were a good daughter and she always told you that ever since she first adopted you, but as the adopted, you never really received the same kind of attention their biological daughter did and more was expected than you than it was from her.

buzz.

you sigh, already flinging your finger along the screen of your phone to check the message and as expected they were from your friends, yet again.

senju: y/n there's this guy that wants to meet you!

y/n: girls c’mon now. i told you im not interesteddddd

yuzuha: uh uh no thank u girl, no more of this ‘single every christmas’ streak of yours get a grip! you’re pretty af so find a man!

y/n: not funny. i don't need a man tho, senju can have him

emma: y/n!! he's top of his class, taekwondo star and a total hottie. you cant say no this time he even dyed his hair white, thats the type you like right?

your fingers hovered over the keyboard. they really did you dirty with that one. you had gotten drunk one time when you went out with them and ended up rambling on about your longing for izana despite it being 4 years already, you were still a mess. you couldn’t help it with the way that boy treated you, as if you were his soulmate. after tripping and cutting your knee the orphanage doctor had told you that it was no big deal and refused to give you a plaster but you had bawled your eyes out in the dorms later and izana was the only one who knew the real reason — you just wanted the hello kitty patterned plaster. to your shock and utter joy he had stolen it that same day and snuck into your dorm at night, gentle chubby fingers holding onto yours as he led you to sit on the edge of your bed, kneeling down on one knee and applying the plaster to your leg with care, before patting you on the head and giving you that toothy grin.

izana: don’t forget to wear your trousers tomorrow, we wouldn’t want the staff to find out, its our secret, ‘kay?

you remember the small nod you gave after kurokawa had absolutely stolen your heart that day and continued to do so afterward, sliding some extra strawberries into your plate at dessert, reserving your favourite toy away from the other kids if he got to the playground first, sending kakucho whenever he wouldn’t be able to be there to help you out and last but not least, the small matching pokemon keyrings he had bought for you on his outings with shinichiro. your heart shattered the day izana left, especially since he had made a promise, a promise to watch the first snow with you, but then left without a word. 

you lock your phone and slide it back into your pocket deciding to argue with your friends later, it was too cold to be texting anyway. slipping on your gloves you trudged the rest of the way to the supermarket. you let out a small sigh as the warmth of the shop envelopes you and spend half an hour or so shopping for the things your mum wanted, before walking back home.

you loved the park that you would walk through on the way home so taking it now was not unusual for you despite the freezing wind sabotaging your face, you had come here through worse weather honestly. plastic bag swinging between your two fingers as you strolled puffing out warm breaths colliding with the cold air producing clouds of white. you remember when izana and kakucho would prank you saying that they had smoked before and that how they can do it while you couldn't but after trying for hours on end they finally took pity on you and admitted to their lies. two gloved, warm hands had cupped your pink cheeks, shielding them from the biting cold and majestic lilac eyes peered into your own, filled with warmth and tinged with that slight crazed look izana always had, the look you loved.

at first it was just a gut feeling, then the feeling of a pair of eyes bouncing along with your figure, lilac eyes. the first snow. petals of frozen white fluttering toward the ground, coating every surface in their way, spiralling with the slight breeze hoarding them into different streams. at first all you could do was stare and izana did the same before finally rising from the mahogany bench, light footsteps closing the distance between you, then a soft, soothing voice, his voice invaded your ears triggering that warm bubbly feeling of nostalgia.

izana: i kept my promise, mahal

y/n: ...what does that even mean?

a soft chuckle escapes him before he can stop it then those same warm gloved hands which were once so small rest against your cheekbones once more.

izana: means you're freezing.

that gentle smile, slow but not quite lazy strokes of his eyelids and the lilac orbs illuminated by something much softer than either of you could place, hair as white as the snow itself, it all reminded you of your days at the orphanage and suddenly you were 10 years old again and rosy in the face over him, the ice king. tears bubbled along the rim of your eye and a strange longing tinged with something else flooded your chest.

y/n: you...better have a good excuse for being this late.

izana, after mock thinking for a moment: i do, but right now you're crying.

y/n: it's the wind. now what's the grand excuse?

izana's finger drifted toward the trail of salty water left behind on your cheek as if it was second nature, that gentle smile never wavering.

izana: i told you, i'd see you on the first snow.

y/n: five years later?

izana, ignoring your retort: do you know what it means?

y/n: what what means..?

izana: it means love, you watch the first snow with someone you love.

you hadn't realised it till now but ever since you locked eyes with him it feels as though you haven't been breathing at all, izana kurokawa had returned to steal your heart once more and this time, your breath too.

izana, voice soft as silk now, genuine, fingers tracing patterns into your jaw: sorry y/n, for being so late. i bought it now, the thing i needed, now that i have it we can watch the first snow together.

the bench was coated in snow but for some reason as izana guided you to sit, threading a small silver ring with a heart in the centre through your finger before intertwining his with your own and settling beside you, it didn't feel the least bit cold, not with izana's arms cocooning you in their warm embrace, not with his gaze fixated on your features, as if staring at you long enough will make up for five years apart but he could never know until he tried.

y/n: i remember now, what i used to call you back then.

izana: whats that?

y/n: ice king.

soft laughter rippled from his chest as he leaned his chin to rest on your head.

izana: you really were cute, mahal

2025 @sanotymanjiro

tags (for everyone who enjoyed bubble baths and my other fics): @dolledupformanjiro | @tetsuyuuuuuuu | @artsjiwoo | @mikeysgf1 | @natsumis-stuff | @katsukisat0 | @dancingnewcat | @whyme287 | @destinyfleur | @banana-revenge | @bebacebe | @mikeys-therapy | @peensas | @afterunigoths | @skr1mps | @beetusbritt | @dollrndo | @yourbabydolllll | @cherry-blossom5 | @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe and anyone else!

lemme know in the comments if you wanna be on the taglist for these types of fics!

[kaizzz]

Author’s Note

What started as a slow-burn Snotlout x Reader romance has quietly grown into something more layered — something a little messier, a little more human.

This story was always about fire: the fire of memory, the fire of identity, and the fire that sparks between people when they least expect it. While Snotlout remains the heart of the romantic thread, don’t be surprised if the story tugs at more than one bond — because love isn’t always clear, and neither is the heart when it’s trying to heal.

So is this just a Snotlout x Reader romance?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But one thing’s for sure — no one’s walking out of this storm unchanged.

Thanks for reading, and keep flying with me.

— Kai

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

———-

Title: Edge of Memory

Chapter 1: Washed Ashore

The first sensation you registered was cold—deep and clinging, down to the marrow of your bones.

Then pain. Dull, throbbing, pulsing in time with the rise and fall of the ocean crashing behind you.

You opened your eyes slowly. Blinding white light.

The sun.

Sky, wide and clear.

And then—sand. Everywhere. Stuck to your face, caught in your hair, shoved down the back of your shirt.

Your body ached as if you'd been tossed from a dragon mid-flight. Every limb protested as you slowly rolled onto your side, coughing saltwater from your lungs. You didn't remember what happened—just vague sensations: cold water, a storm maybe, shouting... or was that just the sea?

You sat up shakily, head spinning. The beach stretched out around you like some foreign land, and when you looked behind you, all you saw was open water.

No memory. No name. Just instinct.

You pressed a hand to your chest. Still breathing. Good enough for now.

⸻

"Guys! Over here!"

Voices. Footsteps pounding on wooden planks and sand. You squinted at the figures approaching—young, armed, riding dragons.

Definitely not just beachgoers.

The first one to reach you was a tall, wiry boy with tousled brown hair and concerned green eyes. A black dragon landed behind him, sleek and alert, tail swaying protectively.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked, crouching down beside you. "You're—um—you're on Dragon's Edge. I'm Hiccup. We're the Dragon Riders. Do you remember anything? Your name? Where you came from?"

You blinked slowly. Hiccup. The name didn't ring a bell—but something about his face felt trustworthy.

"No," you rasped. "I... I don't remember anything. Just the beach. The water. That's it."

Hiccup nodded, not pushing. "Alright. That's okay. You're safe now."

Behind him, a chorus of voices burst into life:

"Do you think she's a spy?"

"She doesn't look like one."

"She totally looks like one—look at her boots!"

"She's literally barely standing, Tuffnut—how is she a spy?!"

You winced as the noise closed in. Hiccup raised his hand to calm the others. "Let's get her inside first. She's exhausted. We can ask questions later."

And for now, you were too tired to do anything but let them help you.

⸻

A Few Days Later

They didn't lock you up, which was a surprise. You half expected suspicion or cold stares, but instead you got hot soup, warm blankets, and a place to sleep near the fire.

Dragon's Edge was a strange place—half village, half fortress, perched on a rocky island constantly buffeted by sea winds. Dragons flew freely above the cliffs. It was chaotic, loud, and far too full of energy for your taste.

But it was safe. And for now, that was enough.

You stayed quiet, mostly. You watched. You listened. Hiccup seemed to be the leader. Astrid—the blonde with the sharp eyes and even sharper axe—was clearly second-in-command. The twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were... chaos incarnate. Fishlegs was kind, if a bit eager to info-dump. And then—

"Hey there, mystery girl,"

—there was him.

Snotlout Jorgenson.

Arrogant, dramatic, and about as subtle as a flaming zippleback, he made it a personal mission to flirt with you daily, each attempt more ridiculous than the last.

He strolled up to you now, dragon-hook axe casually swung over one shoulder. His dragon, Hookfang, loomed nearby, lazily stretching his wings in the sun.

"You know," he said, flashing a grin like it was a weapon, "for someone who washed up like driftwood, you clean up pretty well."

You didn't look up from the basket you were weaving. "Is that your way of saying I look good, or that I still smell like seaweed?"

He blinked. "Uh—both?"

You raised a brow. "Wow. What a charmer."

Snotlout tilted his head. "Okay, see, I like this. The whole mysterious, wounded-warrior vibe you've got going? With just a little bit of sass? It's kind of hot."

You finally looked at him then, expression flat. "I'd rather wrestle a changewing."

"Ouch." He clutched his heart dramatically, staggering a step back. "Feisty and heartless. Be still, my beating chest muscles."

You turned away to hide the smirk tugging at your lips. You didn't talk much—but whenever Snotlout was near, you found your words easier to locate. Especially if they were the kind that made him squirm.

Behind you, Astrid snorted. "Don't encourage him. He's been insufferable since the day he learned what flirting was."

"I invented flirting," Snotlout shot back.

You raised a hand without turning. "I sincerely apologize to the world on your behalf."

That earned a whoop of laughter from Ruffnut somewhere up on the watchtower.

⸻

That Night

The dragons settled in first. Hookfang curled near the edge of the cliff, wings tight against his body. Toothless perched beside Hiccup, head resting against the boy's shoulder. The air smelled like woodsmoke and sea salt, and the wind carried the distant roar of waves crashing against rocks.

You sat by the fire, legs drawn close to your chest, fingers tracing the stitching on the blanket Astrid had given you. No one was asking questions tonight. They'd learned quickly that forcing memories didn't work—and that you preferred silence over sympathy.

Still, you could feel eyes on you sometimes. Curious, cautious, kind. No one accused you of lying. No one assumed the worst.

Which was almost worse, in a strange way. You didn't deserve this level of trust.

You didn't even know your name.

Snotlout dropped down beside you suddenly, a bit closer than necessary, but not uncomfortably so.

"Hey," he said, unusually quiet for once. "I, uh, brought you this."

He held out a small chunk of fried fish wrapped in cloth. You took it with a nod.

"Thanks."

Silence stretched for a moment. Then—

"I bet you were a warrior," he said. "Before all this."

You looked at him, unsure how to respond.

"You've got that look," he added. "Like someone who's seen stuff. Fought stuff. Probably punched someone in the throat once."

You let out a small huff. "Just once?"

Snotlout grinned wide. "See? I knew I liked you"

———