#edit: this has been in my drafts for about a year now and i find it too funny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrs-delaney · 3 months ago

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Behind The Lens | Part Four

Reader Request: Reader has been working for the bengals since Joe got drafted. She can be a social media admin, public relations liaison or even a physical therapist. She’s been in love with him but it is unrequited while he was with Olivia and when they break up she thought that she had a chance but he starts seeing the influencer but please make it a happy ending. Angst as fuck but happy ending. I want to see this girl yearning for fucking years before she gets him and I want him to realize that she is the love of his life.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 20k

Warnings: Quiet unraveling after a season’s end, the weight of everything left unsaid, tension that turns into something else entirely, unspoken history turning physical, the kind of intimacy that doesn’t ask for permission, care folded into every touch, a shift you can’t walk back from, and the softest possible version of certainty.

Taglist: @honeydippedfiction @harryweeniee @mruizsworld

A Few Quick Notes:

📌 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing.

📌 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me!

📌 Requests: Open for now, but it may take a minute to get to them, I’ve got several in the inbox.

November 2025 - Days After the Kiss

The morning light filtered through Y/N's blinds, casting golden strips across her bedroom floor. Three days had passed since the kiss in the edit bay, and she hadn't slept properly since.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the weight of Joe's hands on her face, the urgency in his touch, the way years of restraint had broken between them like a dam finally giving way.

She rolled over, checking her phone for what must have been the tenth time that hour. No new messages from Joe since last night, a simple text asking if she was okay, to which she'd responded with a politeness that felt painfully inadequate after what they'd shared. She wasn't avoiding him, not exactly.

They'd exchanged necessary communications about content schedules, nodded at each other across conference rooms, even managed brief conversations when others were present. But she hadn't allowed herself to be alone with him, hadn't created space for the conversation they both knew needed to happen. Her phone buzzed, and her heart jumped before she saw Sam's name on the screen.

Sam: You can't hide out forever. Lunch?

Y/N sighed, typing back a quick affirmative before dragging herself from bed. The Giants decision loomed, their emails increasingly persistent as the deadline approached. She needed to focus on that, on the career opportunity, the New York skyline, the VP title. Not on how Joe Burrow kissed like a man coming up for air after being underwater too long. At the facility, Y/N moved through the corridors with purpose, files clutched to her chest like armor. She'd nearly made it to her office without incident when she spotted him, leaning against the wall near the media suite, scrolling through his phone. The sight of him sent a physical jolt through her body, like muscle memory responding to a stimulus she couldn't control. Joe looked up as if he'd sensed her, his eyes finding hers with an intensity that stopped her in her tracks.

"Morning," he said, straightforward as ever. No pretense, no small talk.

"Morning," Y/N replied, hating how her voice sounded, too high, too breathless.

He pushed off the wall, taking a single step toward her. "Do you have a minute?"

She glanced at her watch, a pointless gesture since time had become meaningless the moment she'd seen him. "I have a meeting with Kayla at nine."

"This won't take long," Joe said, nodding toward an empty conference room nearby.

Something in his tone , all little demanding, made refusal impossible. Y/N followed him into the room, watching as he closed the door behind them with deliberate care. The click of the latch seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet space. Joe turned to face her, hands in the pockets of his team-issued sweatpants, shoulders slightly hunched forward. It was the posture he took when he was thinking carefully about what to say next, Y/N recognized it from countless post-game interviews, from difficult rehabilitation sessions, from moments of honesty that were rare and precious.

"You've been avoiding me," he said simply. Not an accusation, just a statement of fact.

Y/N set her files on the table, buying time. "I've been busy. The Giants deadline—"

"I know about the deadline," Joe interrupted, though his voice remained calm. "Friday, right?"

She nodded, surprised he'd kept track.

"Three days," he continued, taking a step closer. "That's what you have left to decide."

"Yes."

Joe studied her face, those observant eyes taking in details most people missed. "Have you made up your mind?"

Y/N shook her head, suddenly unable to look at him directly. "I'm still weighing options."

"Including what happened between us?"

Her eyes snapped back to his. "That's not a factor in a career decision."

"Isn't it?" Joe asked, his mouth curving into that subtle, barely-there smile. The one that appeared at the corners first, almost reluctantly. "Because it seems like you've been avoiding me specifically to keep it from being a factor."

Y/N exhaled slowly, refusing to be drawn in by the perceptiveness that had always been Joe's most disarming quality. "I can't make a life-changing decision based on one kiss."

"It wasn't just one kiss," Joe countered, his voice dropping slightly. "And you know it."

The air between them shifted, charged with something that had nothing to do with their professional relationship. Y/N felt the weight of five years, of every glance, every private joke, every moment of trust between them, pressing on her chest.

"What do you want from me, Joe?" she asked, finally saying what she'd been holding back.

He didn't hesitate. "I want you to be honest. With me, and with yourself."

"About what?"

“About whether you’re running to New York or away from Cincinnati.” He took another step closer, close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, the sharp focus in his eyes, could smell the faint trace of his aftershave. “Away from whatever this is between us.”

Y/N's pulse quickened, her body betraying her attempt at composure. "That's not fair."

"None of this is fair," Joe agreed, surprising her. "The timing, especially. But I've spent too long not saying things I should have said. Not acknowledging what's been happening."

"Which is what, exactly?" Y/N pressed, needing to hear it directly.

Joe's eyes locked with hers, his expression more open than she'd ever seen it. "That there's always been something between us. Something I didn't understand at first. Something I couldn't act on for a long time. But something real." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I loved Olivia. What we had was real and important. But even then, there was always... this connection with you that I couldn't explain. I told myself it was just respect, or friendship, or that you just got me in a way other people didn't." His jaw tightened slightly. "After Olivia, when I started seeing Ellie, I think I was still trying to figure things out. To move forward. But the whole time, you were there, and that connection never went away." Y/N felt tears threatening and blinked them back, unwilling to give in so easily to the words she'd waited years to hear. "Why now, Joe? Why when I'm finally being offered everything I've worked for?"

"Because I'm finally clear about what I want," he said simply. "And because the thought of you leaving made me realize I can't keep pretending I don't feel what I feel." He stepped closer again, close enough to touch her but not making any move to do so. "But I'm not asking you to stay for me. That wouldn't be fair to either of us."

"Then what are you asking?"

"I'm asking you to consider that maybe what you've built here isn't finished yet. That maybe your story in Cincinnati isn't over." His voice softened. "And I'm asking you to believe that whatever you decide, I'll respect it. We'll figure it out." The door behind them opened suddenly, Kayla's voice breaking the moment. "Y/N, I was looking for—oh." She stopped, registering the tension in the room. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were in a meeting."

"We were just finishing," Y/N said quickly, gathering her files. "I'll be right there."

Kayla nodded, retreating with a knowing glance between them. Joe remained still, watching as Y/N collected herself.

"I have to go," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Joe nodded, giving her space. "That's okay. I said what I needed to say." He moved toward the door, then paused, looking back at her. "Just remember, I asked you to be honest with yourself. Not with me. Whatever you decide... make it about what you want, Y/N. Not what you think you should want."

He left her standing there, her heart racing, her carefully laid plans suddenly in disarray. The Giants offer still gleamed with promise, but for the first time since receiving it, Y/N allowed herself to consider what staying might mean. Not just professionally, but personally. That night, as she sat at her kitchen table surrounded by pros and cons lists, salary comparisons, and career projections, Y/N found herself staring out at the Cincinnati skyline. The city lights twinkled against the darkness, familiar and somehow new all at once. She traced the edge of a paper where she'd written "New York" at the top, the space beneath filled with logical reasons to go. Her phone buzzed with a text from her oldest brother, Matt.

Matt: Made up your mind yet, sis?

Y/N stared at the message for a long moment before typing her response.

Y/N: Not yet. But for the first time, I'm letting myself consider what I really want, not just what looks best on paper.

She set her phone down, her gaze returning to the city lights. Cincinnati had become home in ways she hadn't expected. And somewhere in that skyline was Joe Burrow, who'd finally acknowledged what had been growing between them for years. Three days to decide. Three days to choose between a career-defining opportunity and the possibility of something she'd wanted longer than she cared to admit. Three days to determine if she was running toward something or away from something else entirely. Whatever she decided, Y/N knew one thing with absolute certainty, she was done pretending that Joe Burrow didn't matter in her calculations. He mattered. He always had.

* * *

The Decision Process

Y/N stared at her phone Friday evening, the family group chat already buzzing with plans for the weekend.

Mom: Dinner's at 6. Your dad's making his chili

Matt: Finally ready to make this decision?

Lucas: About time. We've been waiting for you to ask for help instead of overthinking yourself into a panic

Aaron: Bringing the pros and cons lists you've been obsessing over?

Y/N smiled despite her stress. Of course they knew she'd been making lists. She'd been talking through every angle of the Giants offer with them for weeks, just like she'd been processing her complicated feelings about Joe for years. Her family knew her too well to miss the signs when she was spiraling. The drive south on I-71 was automatic after five years of regular trips home. Less than two hours door to door, close enough that she'd been home just two weeks ago for her nephew's birthday party, where her mom had asked pointed questions about whether she'd heard from Joe since his breakup with Ellie. Her parents' house in the Highlands was warm and welcoming as always, the smell of her dad's famous chili greeting her at the door. Matt, Lucas, and Aaron were already there with their families, the usual chaos of a Y/L/N family gathering in full swing.

"There's our VP," her dad said, pulling her into a hug. "Or should I say, our soon-to-be VP?"

"That's what we're here to figure out," Y/N replied, accepting the glass of wine her mom pressed into her hands.

"Honey, we've been figuring this out for weeks," her mom said with gentle exasperation. "You've called me every other day since that first Giants interview, going in circles about the same questions."

"Because I can't think straight," Y/N admitted, settling into her usual spot on the family room couch. "This is the biggest decision of my career."

"Which is why you need to stop overthinking it," Matt said, claiming his spot across from her. "You've analyzed this thing to death."

"The money's incredible," Lucas added. "VP title, creative control, New York market."

"But you don't sound excited when you talk about it," Aaron observed. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

Y/N took a sip of wine, looking around at the faces of people who'd heard every detail of her internal struggle. "I should be more excited, shouldn't I? This is everything I've worked toward."

"Should be doesn't matter," her mom said firmly. "What matters is how you actually feel."

"Confused," Y/N admitted. "Torn. Like there's no clearly right answer."

"Because you're not just choosing between jobs," her dad said, settling into his recliner. "You're choosing between different versions of your life."

Sarah appeared from the kitchen, having settled the kids with a movie upstairs. "Are we talking about the Giants thing or the Joe thing?"

"They're connected," Y/N said, acknowledging what everyone already knew. "That's part of the problem."

"How so?" her mom asked, though Y/N suspected she already knew the answer.

Y/N set down her wine glass, suddenly needing both hands free. "Because for the first time in five years, there's actually a possibility with Joe. He's single, he's made it clear he has feelings for me, and now I'm being offered this incredible opportunity three states away."

"Terrible timing," Lucas agreed.

"The worst," Y/N confirmed. "And I can't tell if I want to stay because it's the right career move or because I don't want to leave when things with Joe might finally work out."

Her mom leaned forward, the expression on her face shifting to the serious one Y/N had seen countless times growing up, the look that meant important wisdom was coming.

"Sweetheart, you've been talking to us about Joe Burrow for five years. Five years of 'he said this' and 'we worked on that together' and 'you should have seen how he handled this situation.' Do you really think your feelings for him are clouding your judgment about your career?"

"Maybe?" Y/N said uncertainly.

"Or maybe," her dad interjected, "your feelings for him are part of what's made Cincinnati feel like home. Part of what's made you put down roots there."

Aaron nodded. "You've built a life there, Y/N. Not just a career. A life. Friends, routines, relationships."

"Exactly," Matt agreed. "When you talk about the Giants offer, you sound impressed. When you talk about your work in Cincinnati, you sound passionate."

Y/N felt tears prick at her eyes. "But what if I'm just scared to take the leap? What if I'm using Joe as an excuse to stay comfortable?"

"Then let me ask you something," her mom said, reaching over to take her hand. "And I want you to really think about the answer, because we've been dancing around it for weeks."

Y/N nodded.

"If Joe wasn't a factor at all – if you'd never met him – would you take the Giants job?"

Y/N opened her mouth to answer, then stopped. Really considered it. Her family waited patiently while she worked through the question that had been at the heart of her struggle.

"No," she said finally, the answer surprising her with its certainty. "No, I don't think I would."

"Why not?" her mom pressed gently.

"Because what I really want is to build something that's mine. My vision, my strategy, my impact. In New York, I'd be implementing their existing framework, following their culture, adapting to their way of doing things." She paused, the realization crystallizing. "In Cincinnati, I could create something entirely new. I have the relationships, the understanding, the foundation to build whatever I can imagine."

The room went quiet, letting that truth settle.

"There it is," her dad said softly. "That's the first time you've sounded certain about anything in weeks."

"You're not scared of the leap," Sarah observed. "You're scared of making the wrong leap."

"And this doesn't feel like the wrong leap?" Lucas asked.

Y/N shook her head, feeling lighter than she had in months. "No. Staying feels like the right move. Building on what I've already created instead of starting over somewhere else."

"Good," her mom said, squeezing her hand. "Now, what about Joe?"

Y/N smiled, the knot in her chest finally loosening. "Joe gets to be the cherry on top instead of the whole decision. Important, but not the determining factor."

"That's my girl," her dad said proudly. "Making choices for yourself first."

They talked late into the evening, her family sharing the relief that came with her finally reaching clarity. Her mom made her promise to call the Giants first thing Monday morning, before she lost her nerve. Her brothers teased her about finally admitting what they'd all known for months – that her heart had been in Cincinnati all along.

"What are you going to tell Joe?" Aaron asked as they were saying their goodbyes Sunday evening.

"That I'm staying for me," Y/N replied. "And then we'll see what happens next."

The drive back to Cincinnati felt different than it had in weeks. Instead of anxiety, Y/N felt anticipation. Instead of confusion, she felt purpose. Her phone rang as she crossed into Ohio – Sam's name on the display.

"How was the family intervention?" Sam asked without preamble.

"Clarifying," Y/N replied, laughing. "Turns out I've been overthinking something my gut decided weeks ago."

"Which is?"

"I'm staying. Not because of Joe, but because this is where I can build something really special. Something that's actually mine."

"And Joe's just a bonus?"

"Joe's just a bonus," Y/N confirmed, the Cincinnati skyline coming into view. "A really, really good bonus."

For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt like she was moving toward something instead of running from something else. She had a decision to make official, a conversation to have with Joe, and a future to build. And for the first time, all of those things felt exactly right.

* * *

Making the Choice

Y/N arrived at the facility early Monday morning, her weekend in Louisville having provided the clarity she'd been seeking for weeks. She'd texted Kayla the night before, requesting a meeting first thing in the morning. The response had been immediate: 8 AM. My office. I'll have coffee ready. Now, sitting across from Kayla's desk with a steaming mug in her hands, Y/N felt more centered than she had in months. "So," Kayla said, settling back in her chair with her own coffee. "Louisville was helpful?"

"Very," Y/N replied. "I've made my decision."

Kayla's expression remained neutral, though Y/N caught the slight tightening around her eyes that suggested she was bracing for disappointment. "And?"

"I want to stay," Y/N said simply. "But we need to discuss terms."

The relief that washed over Kayla's face was immediate and genuine. "I was hoping you'd say that. What are you thinking?"

Y/N set down her coffee mug, leaning forward slightly. "The Giants offered me Vice President of Content Strategy and Fan Engagement, essentially overseeing their entire digital presence. You've offered Director of Content Strategy, which I appreciate, but if I'm staying to build something truly transformative, I need the title and authority to match that vision."

Kayla nodded slowly, as if she'd been expecting this conversation. "What are you proposing?"

"Vice President of Digital Media and Brand Strategy," Y/N said, the title she'd been thinking about since her conversation with her family. "Broader scope than just content, overseeing how this organization tells its story across every digital platform, how we engage with fans, how we build the brand that drives everything else."

"That's a significant expansion from what we discussed," Kayla noted, though her tone was more thoughtful than resistant.

"Because what I want to build here is bigger than what either of us initially imagined," Y/N replied. "The Giants saw that scope in me. I need to know the Bengals see it too."

Kayla leaned back in her chair, considering. Y/N could practically see her running calculations, weighing budgets and organizational structure against the value of keeping Y/N in Cincinnati.

"VP of Digital Media and Brand Strategy," Kayla said finally. "I can make that work. I'll need to run it by ownership, but given what they were prepared to offer to keep you, I don't see any pushback."

"What about compensation?" Y/N asked directly. "You mentioned getting closer to their offer, but I need specifics."

Kayla opened a folder that had been sitting beside her coffee mug. "I spent most of yesterday putting this together, anticipating this conversation." She slid a detailed breakdown across the desk. "I won't lie to you, we can't match their exact salary figure. But I've structured something that could be even better."

Y/N studied the numbers, feeling her eyebrows rise. The base salary was substantial, nearly matching what the Giants had offered, with only about a fifteen thousand dollar difference.

"But the real opportunity is here," Kayla continued, pointing to a second page. "Performance-based bonuses that could put you well above their offer within the first year."

Y/N read through the structure, impressed by the thought that had gone into it. "Quarterly bonuses based on engagement metrics?"

"If our digital engagement outperforms league averages, if content goes viral, if we see measurable increases in fan satisfaction surveys, all of that translates to additional compensation." Kayla smiled. "Plus team performance bonuses. Playoffs, division titles, conference championships, your success is tied directly to the organization's success."

"And long-term incentives?"

"Stock options that vest over five years, retention bonuses at years three and five, and full authority to expand your team as needed."

Y/N felt excitement building as she processed the structure. This wasn't just about matching the Giants' offer, it was about creating a compensation package that reflected the true scope of what she wanted to build.

"When would this take effect?"

"Immediately. We'll announce the promotion this week, and the new compensation structure starts with your next paycheck." Kayla leaned forward. "Y/N, I want you to know that this offer represents the organization's full commitment to your vision. We're not just trying to keep you, we're investing in what you can build here."

Y/N looked at the paperwork again, then back at Kayla. "I'll need two additional full-time positions and budget for freelancers during peak content seasons."

"Already accounted for," Kayla confirmed. "Plus you'll have input on any sponsor content deals and partnership opportunities that involve digital strategy."

For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt genuine excitement about a career decision. This wasn't just about staying in Cincinnati, it was about growing into something bigger than she'd originally imagined.

"Let's do this," she said, extending her hand across the desk.

Kayla shook her hand firmly, her smile broad and genuine. "Welcome to the executive team, VP Y/L/N."

After finalizing the paperwork and discussing implementation timelines, Y/N walked through the facility with a completely new perspective. This wasn't just her workplace anymore, it was the foundation for something she would build from the ground up. Her vision, her strategy, her legacy. She was reviewing notes from the meeting when she heard the familiar sounds of practice echoing from the field. Without really deciding to, she found herself walking toward the windows that overlooked the outdoor practice area. The team was running drills, the November air sharp enough to see their breath as they moved through formations. Y/N spotted Joe immediately, he had that particular way of moving that she'd catalogued over five years, economical and precise, even in simple passing drills. She stood there for a moment, watching him work, thinking about how different this felt now that she'd made her choice. She wasn't watching him with the complicated mix of longing and resignation that had defined so much of their relationship. She was watching him as someone who'd chosen to stay, who'd chosen to see what might develop between them. As if sensing her attention, Joe glanced toward the building. Their eyes met through the glass, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade, the other players, the coaches calling plays, the general noise of practice. Y/N gave him a small nod. Subtle, but deliberate. A communication that said: I'm staying. Joe's expression shifted, surprise giving way to something that looked like relief, then something warmer. He nodded back, the corner of his mouth lifting in that barely-there smile she knew so well. Neither of them moved to break the moment. It felt significant, this quiet acknowledgment across the distance. She was staying. He knew she was staying. What that meant for them remained unspoken, unresolved, but suddenly full of possibility. A coach's whistle broke the spell, Joe's attention returning to practice as players reorganized for the next drill. Y/N remained at the window for another moment, watching him slip back into quarterback mode with the same focused intensity she'd always admired.

Her phone buzzed with a text from the Giants' front office, probably wondering about her timeline for a decision. Y/N looked at the message, then at the bonus structure paperwork in her hands, then deleted the text without reading it fully. She had a call to make, a job offer to decline, and a future to build. Right here in Cincinnati, where she'd always belonged. Walking back toward her new office, Y/N felt lighter than she had in months. The choice was made. The next chapter was beginning. And for the first time in five years, Joe Burrow knew she wasn't going anywhere. The rest, they'd figure out together.

***

Y/N was still processing the paperwork from her meeting with Kayla when her phone buzzed with a text from Joe.

Joe: Can we talk? No pressure, just clarity.

She stared at the message for a long moment. After their silent exchange through the practice window, she'd known this conversation was inevitable.

Y/N: When?

Joe: Tonight? I know a place. Quiet. Private.

Y/N: Where?

Joe: Ever been to Hermitage Brewing? They have a back room. Owner's a friend. We can talk without interruption.

Y/N had heard of the small craft brewery tucked away in a converted warehouse in Camp Washington. The kind of place that catered to locals rather than tourists, with dim lighting and high-backed booths that offered privacy. It made sense that Joe would have found a spot where he could have personal conversations without cameras or curious fans.

Y/N: 8 PM?

Joe: I'll be there. Thank you.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of transition planning and phone calls. Y/N officially declined the Giants' offer with a professional grace that masked her relief, then spent an hour on the phone with Brian Reynolds, who was disappointed but understanding.

"If you ever change your mind," he'd said, "the door's always open here."

By 7:45, Y/N was driving through the narrow streets of Camp Washington, her nerves humming with anticipation. She'd changed clothes twice, finally settling on dark jeans and a sweater that felt professional but not overly formal. This wasn't a date, she reminded herself. This was a conversation between colleagues who needed to clear the air. Hermitage Brewing occupied the ground floor of an old brick building, its windows glowing warm against the November cold. Y/N parked on the street and made her way inside, immediately understanding why Joe had chosen this place. The main bar area was busy but not packed, filled with the kind of neighborhood regulars who minded their own business. Craft beer taps lined the wall behind a weathered wooden bar, and the lighting was dim enough to create natural privacy. Joe appeared at her elbow almost immediately, as if he'd been watching for her arrival.

"This way," he said quietly, guiding her toward a hallway she hadn't noticed. "Danny set us up in the back room."

The back room turned out to be a small, private space with exposed brick walls, a single table, and a door that Joe closed behind them. Two beers already waited on the table, he'd remembered her preference for IPAs.

"This is perfect," Y/N said, settling into one of the chairs. "How did you find this place?"

"Danny and I went to high school together," Joe explained, taking the seat across from her. "He opened this place a couple years ago. Sometimes I need somewhere to decompress without ending up on social media."

Y/N nodded, understanding the unique challenges of his visibility. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both seeming to gather their thoughts.

"So," Joe said finally, "you're staying."

"I'm staying," Y/N confirmed, meeting his gaze directly. "I got promoted to VP of Digital Media and Brand Strategy. It's everything I've been working toward."

Something flickered in Joe's expression, pride, maybe, or satisfaction. "That's incredible, Y/N. You've earned it."

"Thank you." She took a sip of her beer, then decided to address the elephant in the room. "I need you to understand something, though. I stayed for my career. For the opportunity to build something that's truly mine. What happens between us has to be separate from that decision."

Joe nodded slowly, as if he'd been expecting this clarification. "I respect that. I'm glad you made the choice that was right for you professionally."

"Are you?" Y/N asked, studying his face. "Because the timing of your... revelation... was pretty coincidental."

Joe's jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained steady. "I know how it looked. Believe me, I've thought about the timing constantly since our conversation in your office."

"And?"

Joe leaned forward, his hands wrapped around his beer bottle. "I've had feelings for you for years, Y/N. Not just attraction, not just respect for how you work. Real feelings that I didn't know how to handle."

Y/N felt her heart skip, but she kept her expression neutral. "Then why Ellie?"

"Because I was trying to prove to myself that what I felt for you wasn't real," Joe admitted, his voice dropping. "You work for the team. We see each other every day. I told myself it was just proximity, or gratitude for how you handled my rehab, or..." He shook his head. "I was making excuses because acknowledging the truth felt complicated."

"And Olivia?" Y/N asked, needing to understand the full picture.

Joe's expression grew more serious. "I loved Olivia. What we had was real and important. But even then, there was always this... awareness of you. This connection I couldn't explain. I thought it was just friendship, or professional respect. It took me a long time to realize it was more than that."

Y/N absorbed this, turning it over in her mind. "So breaking up with Ellie—"

"Breaking up with Ellie wasn't about you," Joe interrupted. "It was about finally being honest with myself. About admitting that I was trying to force something that wasn't working because I was afraid to face what I actually wanted."

The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, but Y/N had spent years protecting herself from hope. "And what do you actually want?"

Joe met her gaze directly, no hesitation in his voice. "You. I want to see what this could be without all the barriers we've built around it. Without me being with someone else, without you planning to leave, without all the professional complications we've used as excuses."

Y/N felt tears threatening and blinked them back. These were the words she'd wanted to hear for years, but now that she had them, she found herself more cautious than elated.

"I need to know this is real, Joe," she said, her voice steady despite the emotion underneath. "That it's not just because I was leaving or because I was suddenly unavailable. I can't be someone you want just because you thought you might lose me."

"It's not that," Joe insisted, leaning forward. "Y/N, I—"

"Let me finish," she interrupted gently. "I've spent five years watching you build relationships with other people. Five years learning to be okay with just being your colleague, your friend. I won't be your rebound from Ellie, and I won't be the consolation prize you settle for because your other options didn't work out."

Joe's expression shifted, understanding dawning in his eyes. "What do you need from me?"

Y/N considered this, knowing her answer would set the tone for whatever came next. "I need you to show me who you are beyond the facility, beyond football. I need to know Joe."

"How do I do that?" Joe asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

Y/N felt a small smile tug at her lips. "Figure it out. You've got time now."

Joe's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's not exactly a roadmap."

"It's not supposed to be," Y/N replied. "If this is real, if you really know me the way you claim to, then you should be able to figure out how to show me who you are when you're not performing."

They sat in silence for a moment, Joe processing her challenge, Y/N waiting to see how he'd respond.

"Okay," he said finally. "I can do that."

"Can you?" Y/N asked. "Because it means being vulnerable in ways you might not be comfortable with. It means letting me see the parts of yourself that don't make the highlight reels."

Joe's mouth curved into that subtle smile she knew so well. "I think you've already seen some of those parts. During rehab, during late-night content sessions, in moments when I forgot to be careful."

"Maybe," Y/N acknowledged. "But now I need to see them intentionally. Not by accident."

"What about work?" Joe asked. "How do we handle that?"

Y/N felt her expression grow more serious. "Nothing changes at work. We're still professional colleagues, and I mean that completely."

"Should we tell HR? I don't want there to be any issues down the line."

Y/N's stomach tightened at the suggestion. "I just got this promotion, Joe. I literally signed the paperwork this morning. I can't have people thinking I got the VP title because of personal relationships."

Joe's expression immediately shifted to understanding. "You're right. I didn't think about the timing."

"The optics would be terrible," Y/N continued, feeling the weight of her new position. "New VP suddenly dating the franchise quarterback? People would assume the promotion was connected."

"What do you want to do?"

Y/N considered this carefully. "We keep this private for now. Figure out what we are before we deal with what other people think we are. I need my promotion to feel established, to prove that I earned it, before anyone can question my motives."

"How long are we talking?"

"I don't know," Y/N admitted. "Long enough that when people find out, if they find out, no one can say I got where I am because of who I'm dating."

Joe nodded slowly. "I can respect that. Though it might be challenging to pretend I don't notice when you're in the room."

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks. "You've been noticing me in rooms for years."

"Yeah," Joe admitted, his voice dropping. "But now I don't have to pretend I'm not."

"Well, for a little while longer, you do," Y/N said, though her tone was gentle rather than harsh. "At least at work."

"And outside of work?" Joe asked.

Y/N felt that small smile return. "Outside of work, you get to show me who you really are. If you can figure out how."

Joe leaned back in his chair, something like determination settling in his expression. "Challenge accepted."

As they finished their beers and prepared to leave, Y/N felt a cautious optimism she hadn't experienced in years. Not the desperate hope that had characterized her feelings for Joe before, but something more mature and grounded.

"One more thing," she said as they stood to leave. "I'm not making any promises about where this leads. I'm willing to see what happens, but I won't pretend this is a sure thing."

"I'm not asking for guarantees," Joe replied. "Just a real chance."

"Then you've got one," Y/N said. "Don't waste it."

As Y/N drove home through the quiet Cincinnati streets, she reflected on how much had changed in a single day. She had a new job title, a new salary structure, and for the first time in five years, the possibility of something real with Joe Burrow.

The future felt uncertain but full of potential. And for the first time, Y/N was ready to see where it might lead, as long as Joe was willing to meet her challenge and show her who he really was when the cameras weren't rolling.

* * *

Late November 2025 - First Steps

Y/N's phone buzzed at 6:47 AM as she was getting ready for work, the early hour making her heart skip before she recognized it wasn't an emergency alert.

Joe: Coffee before work? Not facility coffee. Real coffee.

She stared at the message, toothbrush still in her mouth. Direct, no preamble, exactly what she'd expect from Joe. Not "would you like to" or "if you're free" - just a statement of what he wanted.

Y/N: Where?

Joe: You know that bookstore cafe you mentioned? East side? Thought I'd see what the fuss was about.

Y/N nearly dropped her phone. He'd remembered her throwaway comment from months ago about her refuge spot - the little cafe tucked into the back of a used bookstore where nobody cared about sports. No sentiment about it, just practical recall of information that might be useful.

Y/N: Collective Grounds. 7:30?

Joe: See you there.

No "if that works for you" or "hope that's not too early." Just confirmation. Y/N found herself smiling as she finished getting ready. This was more like the Joe she knew - efficient, direct, confident in his decisions.

She arrived first, claiming her usual corner table near the poetry section, surrounded by the familiar smell of old books and fresh espresso. The morning crowd was predictably eclectic - graduate students, local artists, the occasional professor grading papers. No one who would recognize a Bengals quarterback on sight.

Joe appeared in the doorway at exactly 7:30, scanning the space with the same methodical assessment he brought to reading defenses. He spotted her immediately, navigating the narrow aisles between bookshelves with purposeful efficiency. He looked completely at ease - not trying to hide, but not drawing attention either. Just present.

"This place makes sense for you," he said, sliding into the chair across from her. No greeting, no small talk. He'd already gotten coffee - black, no surprise there.

"How so?"

"Quiet. No distractions. Good for thinking." He glanced around, taking in the mismatched furniture and floor-to-ceiling books. "Also no one here cares about football."

"That obvious?"

"I haven't been recognized once since walking in." His mouth curved slightly. "Novelty experience."

Y/N smiled despite herself. "Poor you, having to be just another customer."

"It's not terrible," Joe replied, deadpan. Then, more seriously: "You come here often?"

"When I need to think. Or when I want to read something that has nothing to do with sports."

Joe nodded, seeming to file away this information. "What kind of books?"

The question was casual but felt intentional. Like he was gathering data, building a more complete picture of who she was outside of work.

"Fiction, mostly. Some poetry. Whatever catches my attention." Y/N studied his face. "What about you? Do you read?"

"Physics, mostly. Some astronomy. I've been working through this book on string theory." He gestured toward the science section. "Probably sounds boring."

"Not boring. Surprising, maybe."

Joe's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Why surprising?"

"Most people don't read string theory for fun."

"It's interesting how everything connects. The way small forces can create massive changes." His expression grew more engaged, the careful composure slipping slightly. "Plus it helps with pattern recognition."

"Pattern recognition?"

"Everything has patterns. Physics, football, people." He paused. "I like understanding how things work."

It was such a Joe answer - analytical, strategic, revealing more about his mindset than most people probably realized. Y/N felt a flutter of genuine fascination with how his mind worked.

"And you think relationships follow patterns too?" she asked.

Joe's eyes met hers directly. "Most of them. People playing roles, following expected behaviors, responding to predictable stimuli." He paused. "But not all of them."

The implication hung between them, subtle but clear. Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks despite the casual delivery.

"What makes the difference?"

"When both people stop performing," Joe said simply. "When what they want from each other is just... truth."

The word landed with quiet weight. Y/N found herself studying Joe's face, noting the absence of his usual careful composure. Not nervous or uncertain - just present, direct, real.

"Is that what this is?" she asked. "Truth?"

"That's what I'm hoping for," Joe replied. "From both of us."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the background hum of the cafe creating natural privacy. Y/N felt something shifting between them - not dramatic or emotional, just a subtle recalibration from colleagues testing boundaries to two people acknowledging mutual interest.

"So what happens now?" she asked.

Joe leaned back slightly, that measured confidence settling over him like armor. "Now we figure out what we want from each other. Without all the professional complications and timing issues and excuses we've been using."

"Just like that?"

"Why make it complicated?" Joe asked, though his eyes held hers with an intensity that suggested he understood exactly how complicated it actually was. "We're both adults. We're both interested. We're both capable of handling whatever challenges come up."

The matter-of-fact delivery was so perfectly Joe that Y/N almost laughed. No dramatics, no uncertainty - just practical assessment of the situation and confidence in their ability to manage it.

"You make it sound simple."

"The feelings part is simple," Joe said. "I know what I want. I think you do too. Everything else is just logistics."

"Logistics like my brand-new promotion and workplace dynamics and the fact that we see each other every day?"

"Logistics," Joe confirmed, unruffled. "Things to be managed, not barriers to be overcome."

Y/N shook her head, both amused and impressed by his clinical approach. "You've really thought this through."

"I think everything through," Joe replied. "It's what I do."

"And what conclusion did you reach?"

Joe's expression grew more serious, though his voice remained steady. "That I want to see what this could be. That you're worth whatever complications might arise. And that I'm done pretending otherwise."

The simple directness affected Y/N more than any elaborate declaration could have. This was Joe at his most authentic - no performance, no charm, just honest assessment and clear intention.

"What about work?" she asked.

"What about it? We're both professionals. We know how to separate personal and business." He paused, considering. "Though we should probably be discrete until your promotion feels established. For your sake, not mine."

The practical consideration, delivered without her having to ask for it, made Y/N's chest tighten with something like relief. He'd already thought through the potential complications and developed a strategy to protect her interests.

"How discrete?"

"As discrete as you need," Joe said. "I'm not looking to broadcast anything. I just want the option to see you outside of work without having to pretend it's about content strategy."

Y/N found herself smiling at his phrasing. "The option?"

"The standing invitation," Joe clarified, that hint of humor flickering in his eyes. "To coffee that isn't about work. Dinner that isn't about team business. Conversations that don't involve quarterback mechanics or social media metrics."

"That sounds..." Y/N paused, searching for the right word.

"Normal?" Joe suggested.

"Revolutionary," Y/N corrected, making him laugh - a real laugh, not the measured chuckle he deployed in interviews.

"I'll take revolutionary," he said, checking his watch. "But right now I'll settle for not being late to morning meetings."

They gathered their things in comfortable efficiency, Joe waiting while Y/N collected her bag and notes. Walking to their separate cars, Y/N felt a cautious excitement she hadn't experienced in years.

"Same time tomorrow?" Joe asked as they reached the parking area.

The challenge was subtle but unmistakable. Y/N felt her competitive instincts respond despite herself.

"Tomorrow might work," she said, deliberately casual.

"Good," Joe said, getting into his truck. "I'll bring better coffee recommendations. This place is adequate, but I know better."

As he drove away, Y/N stood in the parking lot processing what had just happened. No grand gestures or emotional speeches - just Joe Burrow being exactly who he was. Confident, direct, strategically minded, but honest about what he wanted.

For the first time in five years, Y/N felt like she was seeing the real Joe. And for the first time, that felt like enough.

* * *

December 2025 - Getting to Know You

Y/N: Target run. This is what my Saturday has become.

Joe: Which Target?

Y/N: Springdale. Getting boring stuff - shampoo, paper towels, etc.

Joe: Let me come pick you up when you're done. We can grab food.

Y/N: You want to rescue me from Target?

Joe: I want to get dinner and you're already out.

An hour later, Joe picked her up from the Target parking lot, Y/N loaded her bags into her car while Joe waited with the engine running.

"Drive-through okay?" he asked as she buckled her seatbelt. "I'm not really feeling like sitting in a restaurant."

"Fine with me."

They ended up at a Culver's drive-through, eating burgers in Joe's car in an empty parking lot, talking about nothing important while music played quietly from the radio.

"This is nice," Y/N said, stealing one of his fries.

"Better than eating alone."

"Is that what you usually do? Eat alone?"

"Usually. Or with teammates, but that's just different."

"How so?"

Joe considered this, unwrapping his second burger. "With teammates, you're still kind of performing. Even when you're relaxed, you're still the quarterback. This is just... normal."

***

A Week Later

Y/N: Car's at the shop. Apparently I need new brakes and God knows what else.

Joe: How long?

Y/N: All day apparently. I'm about to call an Uber.

Joe: I'll come get you.

Y/N: You don't have to do that.

Joe: I'm not doing anything anyway. Text me the address.

Joe picked her up from the service center, and they spent the afternoon driving around Cincinnati with no particular destination. Y/N navigating from her phone, Joe following her random directions as they explored neighborhoods neither had seen before.

"Left here," Y/N said as they approached a residential area. "I want to see what's down this street."

"You're just picking random turns."

"That's the point. When do you ever get to just drive around without a destination?"

Joe glanced at her, something shifting in his expression. "Never."

"Exactly. So today we're going nowhere in particular."

They ended up parked at a scenic overlook, Cincinnati spread out below them, talking about their respective childhoods and the differences between small-town Ohio and Louisville. Easy conversation that felt more personal than anything they'd shared before.

"Thanks for rescuing me from car service hell," Y/N said as they headed back toward the city.

"Thanks for showing me how to drive without a plan."

Week Seven

The first real moment of physical contact came during a Sunday afternoon at Joe's house. Y/N had come over to watch a game, settling onto his couch with the casual familiarity that had developed over weeks of hanging out.

"Come here," Joe said during halftime, gesturing to the spot beside him. "You're too far away."

Y/N moved closer, close enough that their shoulders touched when Joe leaned forward to explain a play. Close enough that she could smell his cologne, feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"See how the linebacker's dropping back?" Joe said, his voice quieter now that she was right beside him.

"Mmhmm," Y/N replied, though she was more focused on the way his hand had come to rest on her knee, casual and warm, like it belonged there.

The game resumed, but the awareness between them had shifted. Joe's thumb traced absent patterns on her leg, and Y/N found herself leaning into his side, her hand resting on his forearm.

"This is nice," Joe said during a commercial break, his voice low.

"What is?"

"You being here. Like this."

Y/N tilted her head to look at him, suddenly aware of how close they were. "Joe..."

"I know we're supposed to be taking this slow," he said, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "But I really want to kiss you right now."

Y/N felt her breath catch. "Then kiss me."

Joe's hand cupped her face, thumb brushing across her cheek before his mouth found hers. Soft at first, tentative, then deeper when Y/N's hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him closer.

When they broke apart, Joe rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing harder than they should have been from just a kiss.

"We should probably talk about this," Y/N said softly.

"Probably," Joe agreed, though his hands hadn't moved from her face. "But not right now."

"Not right now," Y/N confirmed, before kissing him again.

Week Eight:

The physical awareness between them became constant after that. Not dramatic or overwhelming, but present in every interaction. Joe's hand on her back when he passed behind her chair. Y/N's fingers briefly touching his when he handed her coffee. Small moments of contact that felt significant because they were chosen, deliberate.

Y/N: Dinner? I'm tired of my own cooking.

Joe: Come over. I'll order something.

Y/N arrived at Joe's house to find him already changed out of his work clothes, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that made him look younger, more relaxed.

"What did you order?" she asked, settling onto his couch.

"Thai. Should be here in twenty minutes."

"Good choice."

Joe sat beside her, closer than necessary, his arm stretched along the back of the couch. "How was your day?"

"Long. Meetings, content reviews, more meetings." Y/N leaned into his side, enjoying the solid warmth of him. "How was practice?"

"Fine. Nothing dramatic." Joe's fingers found her hair, playing with the strands in a way that made Y/N's eyes flutter closed. "This is better."

"What is?"

"Coming home to you being here."

The casual intimacy of the statement made Y/N's chest tighten. "Joe..."

"I know," he said quietly. "I know we're being careful. But I like this. I like you being here."

Y/N turned in his arms to face him properly. "I like being here too."

Joe's thumb traced along her jawline, his touch gentle but sure. "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes."

This kiss was different from their first, less tentative, more certain. Y/N's hands slid up his chest to curl around his neck, and Joe pulled her closer, one hand tangling in her hair.

When the doorbell rang with their food delivery, they broke apart reluctantly.

"Bad timing," Joe muttered against her lips.

"Very bad timing," Y/N agreed, though she made no move to get up.

Joe didn’t either. He just looked at her for another beat, like he was committing this exact image to memory. Then he leaned in and kissed her again. Deep. Slow. Nothing rushed, nothing hungry. Just full contact, like he wanted her to feel it in her spine. By the time they actually ate, they'd begun to establish a new normal casual touches, stolen kisses, the kind of easy physical intimacy that felt natural rather than rushed.

"This is working," Joe said as they cleaned up the takeout containers.

"What is?"

"This. Us. Whatever we're calling it."

Y/N smiled, standing on her toes to kiss him briefly. "It is working."

"Good," Joe said, pulling her closer. "Because I'm not ready to go back to pretending I don't want to touch you."

"Then don't," Y/N replied simply. "At least not when we're alone.

* * *

Late December 2025 - Playoff Push

The facility buzzed with playoff energy as the Bengals secured their wildcard spot. Y/N found herself working longer hours, coordinating playoff content strategies and managing increased media demands. Joe's schedule was equally intense - practice, film study, media obligations, team meetings.

Their stolen moments became more precious and more carefully orchestrated.

Monday - Content Planning Meeting

The monthly content planning meeting was one of the few times Joe was required to attend Y/N's meetings. As VP of Digital Media, she needed quarterback input on playoff messaging and fan engagement strategies.

"Playoff content timeline," Y/N said, pulling up her presentation for the small group - herself, Kayla, Tyler, and Joe. "We'll need quarterback availability for three key pieces."

Joe sat across the conference table, taking notes on his tablet, occasionally asking practical questions about filming schedules and time commitments. Professional, focused, giving no indication that twelve hours earlier he'd had her curled against his side on his couch, her head on his shoulder while they watched a movie.

"The fan message piece - when do you need that filmed?" Joe asked, his tone strictly business.

"This week, before playoff prep intensifies," Y/N replied, matching his professional tone despite the way his eyes lingered on her face for just a fraction too long.

"Wednesday afternoon work?"

"Perfect. Tyler will coordinate the details."

As the meeting wrapped up, Joe lingered while the others filed out, ostensibly reviewing something on his phone.

"Wednesday filming," he said once they were alone, moving closer to her chair. "What time?"

"Three o'clock. Should only take an hour."

Joe's hand found her lower back, hidden from view by the conference table. "And after?"

"After what?" Y/N asked, though her pulse quickened at his touch.

"After filming. You free?"

"Depends what you have in mind."

Joe leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. "Come to my place. I want to actually spend time with you without worrying about who might see us."

Before Y/N could respond, he straightened up and walked toward the door, leaving her sitting there with her heart racing and her skin warm from the brief contact.

Wednesday - After Filming

The playoff fan message filming went smoothly, Joe delivering exactly the kind of authentic, confident content that resonated with fans. Y/N watched from behind the camera, noting how naturally he connected with the lens, how his media training had evolved into genuine comfort with being filmed.

"That's a wrap," Tyler announced as they finished the final take. "Great stuff, Joe."

"Thanks," Joe replied, already looking toward Y/N. "Y/N, can I get your take on the messaging? Make sure it hits the right tone?"

"Of course," Y/N said, recognizing the manufactured reason for them to talk privately.

Tyler packed up equipment while Y/N and Joe moved to the side of the media room, ostensibly discussing content strategy.

"Tone was perfect," Y/N said quietly. "Confident but not arrogant. Focused but not tense."

"Good," Joe said, stepping closer. "Now, about tonight..."

"Tyler's still here," Y/N murmured, hyperaware of their colleague's presence across the room.

"He's not paying attention," Joe replied, his hand brushing against hers. "Eight o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

Joe's smile was subtle but unmistakable. "Good. I'll order dinner. Actually want to talk to you without interruptions for once. This week has been crazy."

Thursday Morning - Facility Hallway

Y/N was walking toward her office with coffee and the content satisfaction that came from a good evening at Joe's house - dinner, conversation, and comfortable time together without the constant awareness of being in public.

"Morning," Joe said, appearing beside her in the hallway with the timing that suggested he'd been waiting for her arrival.

"Morning," Y/N replied, fighting a smile at the memory of how relaxed he'd seemed the night before, more himself than she'd ever seen him.

"Sleep well?" he asked, matching her pace toward the office area.

"Very well," Y/N said, remembering how natural it had felt to curl up against him on his couch during the movie.

Joe's mouth curved slightly. "Good. You looked comfortable when you left."

"I was comfortable. Your couch is better than mine."

"It's not the couch," Joe said, his voice dropping. "It's the company."

The comment sent warmth through Y/N's chest, even as she glanced around to make sure they weren't being overheard.

"Joe..."

"I know," he said. "Wrong place for this conversation. But I like having you there. In my space."

They'd reached the area where their paths diverged, Joe toward the player facilities, Y/N toward the media offices. He paused, creating a natural stopping point.

"Dinner tonight?" he asked, his tone casual enough for any passerby.

"Can't. Early meeting tomorrow, need to prep."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow works."

Joe nodded, then surprised her by stepping closer, his hand briefly touching her elbow. To anyone watching, it would look like a casual gesture, but Y/N felt the intentional warmth of his palm.

"See you later," he said, already moving toward the player area.

Friday - Storage Room

Y/N was gathering equipment for a social media shoot when Joe appeared in the storage room doorway.

"Need help with anything?" he asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"Just grabbing camera gear," Y/N replied, though she stopped what she was doing when she saw the look in his eyes.

"How long until your shoot?"

"Twenty minutes. Why?"

Joe moved closer, his hands finding her waist. "Because I've barely seen you this week and I miss you."

"Joe, we can't keep doing this here," Y/N said, though her hands came up to rest on his chest.

"Doing what?" he asked, his thumb tracing a small circle on her hip.

"Meeting in storage rooms like we're in high school."

"Would you prefer your office?" Joe asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Because that seems riskier."

"I'd prefer not to get caught by my staff making out with the franchise quarterback."

"We're not making out," Joe pointed out, though he leaned down to kiss her neck softly. "We're just talking."

"This isn't talking," Y/N said, her eyes fluttering closed at the gentle contact.

"Fine," Joe said, pulling back to look at her. "Let's talk. How was your meeting with the sponsors?"

"Boring. How was film study?"

"Tedious." Joe's hands stayed at her waist, warm and steady. "Better topic, what are you doing this weekend?"

"Depends. What did you have in mind?"

"Time together. No meetings, no schedules, no one else around."

"That sounds perfect," Y/N admitted.

Joe smiled, leaning down to kiss her properly - soft, brief, but enough to make her pulse quicken. "Good. Because I have plans for us."

"What kind of plans?"

"The kind where I get to keep you on my couch for hours without anyone interrupting."

Weekend - At Joe's House

Saturday afternoon found them exactly where Joe had predicted - on his couch, Y/N curled against his side while he traced absent patterns on her arm. No agenda, no timeline, just comfortable proximity and the luxury of time together.

"This is nice," Y/N said, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Better than sneaking around storage rooms," Joe agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Much better."

Joe's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining naturally. "Y/N?"

"Mmm?"

"I like this. Whatever this is we're doing."

Y/N tilted her head to look at him. "Even with all the complications?"

"Especially with the complications," Joe said, his expression serious. "Makes it worth something."

"Yeah," Y/N said softly, reaching up to touch his face. "It is worth something."

Joe leaned into her touch, then kissed her palm gently. "Stay for dinner?"

"I was hoping you'd ask."

"Good," Joe said, pulling her closer. "Because I'm not ready for you to leave yet."

As they settled back into comfortable silence, Y/N reflected on how natural this felt - the easy intimacy, the unforced conversation, the way they fit together both literally and figuratively. Whatever they were building, it felt solid, real, worth the careful navigation required to protect it.

* * *

January 4, 2025 - Pittsburgh

The final whistle echoed through Acrisure Stadium like a death knell. Y/N watched from the sideline as Joe stood motionless in the pocket where the last play had died, his head tilted back toward the gray Pittsburgh sky. The scoreboard told the story: Steelers 28, Bengals 21. Season over.

Y/N kept her camera trained on the scene, capturing the raw aftermath professionally even as her chest tightened watching Joe's shoulders slump. She'd documented his victories, his comebacks, his moments of triumph. Now she was documenting the end of another season that had promised so much.

Players from both teams mingled at midfield, the Steelers celebrating while Bengals players moved through the motions of sportsmanship with hollow eyes. Joe shook hands mechanically, his face a mask of controlled disappointment that Y/N recognized from previous heartbreaks.

"Get the locker room reaction," Kayla's voice came through her earpiece. "But give them space. Keep it respectful."

Y/N nodded, following the team toward the tunnel. She caught Joe's eye briefly as he walked past - just a moment of recognition between them before he disappeared into the visiting locker room with the weight of another failed season on his shoulders.

The locker room was a study in quiet devastation. No dramatic outbursts or emotional speeches, just the hollow silence of a team that had believed they were destined for more. Y/N moved carefully through the space, capturing moments of disappointment without intruding on private grief.

Joe sat at his locker, still in full uniform, staring at the floor between his feet. Y/N didn't point her camera at him - some moments weren't meant for content, even when they told the truest stories.

Coach Taylor's brief comments to the media were professional, measured, focused on the future. Joe's were even shorter - credit to Pittsburgh, disappointment in the outcome, gratitude for the season. The same words every eliminated quarterback said, delivered with the same controlled composure.

Y/N packed her equipment as players began changing out of their uniforms for the last time this season. The bus ride to the airport was quiet, twenty-plus grown men processing the reality that their championship window had closed for another year.

On the Plane - 11:47 PM

The team plane was subdued, most players sleeping or staring out windows at the darkness below. Y/N sat toward the front with the other staff members, reviewing footage on her laptop with headphones on, giving the players space to process their disappointment.

Her phone buzzed against her leg.

Joe: When we land, will you come to my house and stay?

Y/N looked up from her laptop, finding Joe several rows behind her. He wasn't looking at his phone or at her, just staring out the window, but she could see the tension in his shoulders even from a distance.

Y/N: Of course.

Joe: Don't want to be alone tonight.

The simple honesty in the message made Y/N's chest tighten. In all the time she'd known Joe, through injuries and losses and disappointments, he'd never asked for anything like this. Never admitted to needing someone.

Y/N: I'll follow you home from the facility.

Joe: Thank you.

Y/N closed her laptop, no longer able to focus on work. She understood the weight of what Joe was carrying - not just tonight's loss, but the accumulation of seasons that had ended short of their ultimate goal. The pressure of being the franchise quarterback, of carrying a city's hopes, of being responsible for so many other people's dreams.

And for the first time, he was asking her to help him carry it.

Cincinnati - 1:23 AM

The facility parking lot was mostly empty when the team buses arrived, just a few scattered cars belonging to staff and family members who'd waited for the team's return. Y/N loaded her equipment into her car with mechanical efficiency, her mind already focused on Joe and whatever he needed from her tonight.

Joe emerged from the building twenty minutes later, dressed in sweats, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked exhausted in a way that went deeper than physical fatigue, the bone-deep weariness that came from pouring everything into something and watching it slip away.

Their eyes met across the parking lot, and Y/N felt the weight of the moment settle between them. This wasn't about stolen kisses or building sexual tension. This was about Joe trusting her with his vulnerability at his lowest moment.

He nodded toward his truck, and Y/N followed him through the empty Cincinnati streets toward his house, both of them driving in silence through a city that had gone to sleep disappointed.

Joe's House - 1:52 AM

Joe's house was dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the energy that usually surrounded him. Y/N followed him inside, noting how his movements seemed heavier, more deliberate, like he was moving through water.

"You want anything?" Joe asked, dropping his bag by the door. "Water, food, whatever?"

"I'm fine," Y/N said softly. "What do you need?"

Joe ran a hand through his hair, the first crack in his composed facade since the game ended. "I don't know. Just... not to be alone with this."

Y/N moved closer, her hands finding his forearms. "You don't have to be."

"We were so close. Again. And I just... I can't stop thinking about what I could have done differently."

"Joe..."

"The interception in the third quarter. The sack on second down. The audible that didn't work." His voice was quiet but strained. "I keep replaying every decision, every throw, every fucking play call."

Y/N stepped closer, her hands moving to frame his face. "Stop."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. For tonight, you can." Y/N's thumbs brushed across his cheekbones. "Tomorrow you can watch film and analyze every play. Tonight, you're just Joe. And Joe doesn't have to carry all of this alone."

Something in Joe's expression cracked at her words, the careful control he'd maintained all evening finally beginning to slip. "I wanted it so bad. For the team, for the city, for..."

"I know," Y/N said simply. "I know you did."

When Joe opened his eyes, something had shifted in his expression. The professional mask was gone, the careful composure stripped away by exhaustion and disappointment and the relief of finally having someone who saw him as more than just the quarterback who'd lost the game.

"Come here," he said quietly, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them.

Y/N went willingly, her arms sliding around his neck as his wrapped around her waist. They stood like that in his dark living room, holding each other while the weight of the season's end settled around them.

"Thank you," Joe murmured against her hair. "For being here. For seeing me."

"Always," Y/N replied, meaning it completely.

Joe pulled back to look at her, his hands still at her waist, and Y/N saw something new in his expression. Not just grief or disappointment, but something deeper. Recognition, maybe. Or the realization that in his worst moment, she was exactly where he wanted her to be.

Y/N could feel the tension radiating from him, not just disappointment, but something deeper. Frustration, anger, the weight of carrying everyone's expectations and falling short. She took his hand, leading him to the couch.

"Sit," she said gently.

Joe sank onto the cushions, and Y/N moved to straddle his lap, her hands resting on his shoulders. The position was intimate but not sexual - more like she was anchoring him, giving him something solid to hold onto.

"What do you need?" she asked, studying his face.

Joe's jaw clenched, his hands finding her hips. "I don't know. I'm just... I'm sad and I'm angry and I don't know what to do with any of it."

“I’m not asking for soft,” she said, quiet but clear, hands moving to his face. “And I’m not asking for slow. I’m asking you to stop holding it in. You don’t have to protect me from this.”

Joe's eyes searched hers, something vulnerable and desperate flickering there. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

"Let it go", she said. "I'm right here."

"If I don't hold it together—"

"Then don't," she said simply. "Let it break. Let me help you put it back together."

Joe's breathing grew uneven, his hands trembling slightly where they gripped her hips. "Y/N..."

"Stop," she said quietly, her hands moving to frame his face. "Stop trying to be okay for me."

Joe's breath hitched, his eyes searching hers. "Y/N..."

"Use me," she whispered, her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. "Work it out on me. Be angry. Be sad. Be real. I can take it. I want it."

Something shifted in Joe's eyes, the last of his control beginning to fracture. His hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer against him.

"You want me to stop being careful?" he asked, his voice rough with barely contained emotion.

"Yes," Y/N breathed. "Show me who you are when you're not trying to be perfect."

Joe stared at her for a long moment, his breathing heavier. She could see the exact moment his restraint snapped.

His mouth was on hers in the next second, rougher than he’d ever kissed her, like he’d been holding it back for years. Y/N met him with equal force, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, anchoring him to the moment.

He broke the kiss with a breathless curse, hands gripping her hips tight enough to bruise. “Off,” he said, tugging at the hem of her dress. “I need—fuck—I need to see you.”

She stripped in silence, eyes never leaving his, then dropped to her knees between his legs like she’d been holding that move inside her for years.

Joe leaned back slightly, his hands braced on his thighs, watching her like she was something holy and wreckable all at once.

“You want this?” he asked, voice low, raw.

Y/N met his gaze without hesitation. “Yes.”

His jaw clenched. “Then look at me.”

She held his eyes as she undid the drawstring of his sweats, pushed them down just enough. He was already hard, the tension in his body radiating off him like heat.

“Don’t tease,” he muttered, his hand cupping the back of her head. Not forcing. Just there. Steady. “Not tonight.”

Y/N wrapped one hand around him, slow and sure, then took him into her mouth in one smooth motion, no hesitation, no pretense.

Joe’s head dropped back for a beat, a hiss escaping his teeth. “Fuck—that’s it.”

He looked back down, his hand tightening slightly in her hair. “Deeper. You can take it.”

She did, adjusting her angle, letting him guide the pace.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Eyes on me. I want you to feel this. I want to feel you.”

Y/N moaned around him, and he felt it, low and vibrating and god, he was already too close. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when she looked at him like that. Not when her mouth felt like relief, like home.

“Don’t look away,” he said, voice breaking. “Don’t fucking look away.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when his voice sounded like that. Not when every rough breath and broken word told her he was finally, finally giving in.

Joe’s thighs tensed under her palms, every muscle in his body drawn tight like a live wire. His grip in her hair wasn’t punishing, but it was firm, guiding her, grounding him. She kept her rhythm steady, eyes never leaving his.

“You like that?” he rasped. “Fuck, you love it, don’t you?”

Y/N hummed around him, the sound deep and deliberate, and his whole body jerked like he couldn’t take another second. His hips lifted just slightly, control fraying at the edges.

“I’m not gonna last,” he breathed, voice cracked and unsteady. “Not like this.”

He looked down at her, eyes blazing. “Get up.”

Y/N pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, still breathless, still tasting him.

Joe stood and reached for her hand, gripping it tight, not gently, but not rough either. Just certain. Certain that she’d follow. Certain that he needed her right now.

“Come on,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on my couch.”

He pulled her to her feet in one smooth motion and led her down the hall, hand locked around hers like he didn’t trust himself to let go. His other hand pushed the bedroom door open, and he backed inside without missing a beat, tugging her in with him.

The moment the door clicked shut, he was on her again.

Joe backed her toward the bed with purpose, hands on her waist, mouth hot and relentless against her throat. She hit the edge of the mattress, and he nudged her down, eyes raking over her body like he didn’t know where to start and wanted all of it.

She reached for him, but he shook his head once, firm.

“Lie back.”

Y/N obeyed, breath shaky, legs already falling open for him.

When his fingers slipped between her legs, he stilled.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “You’re soaked.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, sharp, involuntary. She didn’t try to answer right away.

He looked up at her, eyes dark and locked in. “That was just from your mouth on me?”

Y/N’s breath stuttered. Her eyes didn’t leave his. “What do you think?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

“Good,” he muttered, and then he dropped his head and took.

No teasing. No warm-up. Just his mouth, hot, focused, hungry, covering her like he meant to undo her completely. His tongue moved with precision, not laziness or showmanship. He worked her like he’d been thinking about this for five fucking years and didn’t want to waste a second of it.

Y/N cried out, one hand flying to her mouth like it shocked her how good it was. “Oh my God—Joe.”

His hands came up to her hips, holding her still.

“Don’t run from it,” he said against her, voice wrecked. “Stay with me.”

“I’m trying,” she gasped, voice high and cracking. “Fuck—don’t stop.”

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down, groaning low when she gasped, licking deeper when her hips tilted, letting her ride every second of it. Like her pleasure was the point. Like it anchored him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured between strokes. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

“I—” she tried to speak, then broke instead, legs trembling, hands grasping for him like she needed something to hold. “I’m gonna—Joe—fuck—”

“Do it,” he said, lifting his head just enough to speak against her, breath hot. “Come on. Give it to me.”

Y/N shattered.

The sound she made wasn’t sweet or quiet, it was raw. A cry pulled from the center of her chest, like her body had been waiting to give this to him. Her thighs clenched around his shoulders as she came, and Joe held her through it, mouth never leaving her until she slumped back against the mattress, wrecked and shaking.

Only then did he rise, slow and deliberate, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on hers like he was making sure she knew exactly what came next.

Joe pulled back from between her legs, breath ragged, his mouth still wet with her.

He stood, slow and deliberate, towering over her at the edge of the bed. One hand slid down to grip the base of his cock, giving himself a single stroke, measured, controlled, like he was holding the last thread of patience.

His eyes never left hers.

“This what you want?” he asked, voice wrecked and low.

Y/N nodded, breath catching. “Yes.”

Joe tilted his head slightly, thumb brushing across his length. “You’ve wanted this for five years?”

She exhaled like the air was punched out of her. “Yes.”

His jaw clenched. “Say it.”

“I’ve wanted you,” she said, voice breaking on the edge of breath and desperation. “Please, Joe. I want you.”

Joe didn’t need anything else. He pressed forward in one smooth, devastating thrust—deep, deliberate, filling her all at once.

Y/N gasped, hands flying to the sheets as her back arched off the mattress. “Fuck—”

Joe groaned, his head dropping for half a second as he bottomed out inside her. “Jesus, Y/N…”

He didn’t move for a breath, just held there, inside her, around her, his hands firm on her hips like he needed to feel every inch of her before he gave in.

“You feel that?” he murmured, pulling back and driving in again, slow but hard. “That’s what you’ve been needing?”

“Yes,” she panted. “Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

He gave her more, deeper, harder, his pace tightening as her body met him in rhythm. One of her legs locked higher around his hip, like she couldn’t get close enough.

“This what you wanted?” he growled, the sound caught somewhere between a breath and a curse. “Me fucking you like this?”

“God, yes, harder,” she gasped, nails digging into the sheets. “Just like that—Joe, fuck—”

He bent slightly over her, hand bracing beside her head, his thrusts driving deeper with every word.

“You take me so fucking well,” he said, jaw clenched, voice shredded. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”

Y/N’s head tipped back, her moan sharp and open.

“I want to feel you come,” Joe said, pace stuttering just enough to push her further. “You gonna come for me again?”

She whimpered, nodding as her body tightened, every muscle straining toward him.

“I want to feel you lose it around me,” he ground out, low and firm. “Don’t hold back. I want all of it.

“Joe, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Look at me.”

Her eyes flew open, meeting his.

“Look at me when you do it.”

Y/N shattered.

Her whole body clenched, a cry tearing from her throat as she came hard, thighs shaking, muscles gripping him so tight he nearly lost it right there.

“Fuck—” Joe gasped, driving into her once, twice, then groaning deep and broken as he let go, spilling into her with a shudder that took his whole body.

He stayed exactly where he was, inside her, above her, forehead pressing against hers like he needed the contact to remember this was real.

Neither of them spoke right away.

* * *

Joe stayed inside, long enough for both of them to feel the weight of what they’d just done settle between their ribs, then pulled out carefully, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee before stepping back.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, voice low and rough but no longer wrecked.

Y/N blinked up at the ceiling, limbs heavy, heart still racing. She heard the water running in the ensuite, then his footsteps returning. When he came back, he was still naked, holding a warm, damp cloth in one hand.

He knelt between her legs again, eyes lifting to hers like a question, then cleaned her with soft, deliberate care, each stroke unhurried, like he didn’t want to rush this part either.

Every place the cloth passed, he followed with a kiss. Her inner thigh. The dip of her hipbone. The curve where her stomach rose and fell with uneven breath.

When he finished, he set the cloth aside and looked at her.

“You know this changes everything, right?”

Y/N didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away.

Joe ran a thumb over her knee, steady as ever. “I’m not going back from this. And I’m not going to pretend.”

She swallowed, heart still thrumming under her skin.

“I’ll handle it,” he said. “The higher-ups, the Bengals front office. I’ll talk to them myself. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

His eyes stayed locked on hers. “All you need to do is give Kayla a heads up. So she’s not blindsided. The rest? I’ve got.”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Joe’s hand skimmed up her thigh again—gentle now, grounding. “We’ll keep it professional at work,” he said. “I won’t make you look bad.”

Y/N met his eyes, no hesitation. “I know you won’t.”

He leaned forward, kissed her again, this time slow, lingering, his hand cupping the side of her face like she might slip away if he didn’t hold her there.

They climbed under the covers without saying much. Not because there was nothing to say, just because the silence felt like a continuation of what they’d already said with their bodies.

Y/N curled onto her side, and Joe reached for her automatically, pulling her in until her head rested against his chest and her leg hooked around his like they’d done this a hundred times. Like it hadn’t just happened for the first time an hour ago.

His hand traced slow, absentminded lines down her back. For a while, that was all.

Then, quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure he should speak at all, Joe said, “Thank you.”

Y/N stirred just slightly. “For what?”

He exhaled through his nose, like the weight of it lived in his chest.

“For being here tonight,” he said. “For giving yourself to me.”

She didn’t say anything right away. Her fingers brushed lightly over his ribs.

Joe’s voice was low, wrecked again but in a different way now. “I’m sorry it took me five years to get here.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, but she didn’t let it break her voice. “You’re here now.”

He nodded once, his hand settling at the base of her spine like he was anchoring them both to this exact second.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

* * *

January 12, 2025 - Joe's House, 7:47 AM

Y/N stood at Joe's bathroom sink, electric toothbrush humming as she worked through her morning routine. A week of nights at his place had created an easy domestic rhythm - her toiletries claiming space on his counter, her clothes mixed with his in the hamper, the comfortable intimacy of shared morning routines.

She was mentally running through her day - content review at nine, budget meeting at ten-thirty, lunch with Sam to finally tell her about the relationship - when Joe appeared in the doorway behind her, already dressed for the facility.

"I'm sitting down with the front office today," he said, leaning against the doorframe with his coffee. "To tell them about us."

Y/N's toothbrush stopped mid-stroke. She met his eyes in the mirror, toothpaste foam still in her mouth.

"Today?" she managed around the toothpaste, then quickly spit and rinsed. "What do you mean today? What time?"

"Eleven," Joe replied, taking a sip of coffee like he'd just mentioned the weather. "Meeting with ownership, Kayla will probably be there, maybe legal."

Y/N whirled around to face him, her heart rate spiking. "Joe! You can't just spring this on me! I haven't told Kayla yet!"

"I told you last week I was done hiding this," Joe said, his tone patient but firm. "I meant it."

"You said you were 'done pretending' - I didn't know you meant this week!" Y/N's voice rose slightly as the implications hit her. "Shit, what time did you say? Eleven?"

"Eleven."

Y/N glanced at her phone. 7:51 AM. "Fuck. Okay. I need to get to work and talk to Kayla before you talk to them. She needs to hear this from me, not find out in a meeting where she's blindsided."

She pushed past him toward the bedroom, her mind already racing through how to handle this conversation. Kayla valued loyalty and transparency above everything - being caught off-guard about her VP's relationship with the franchise quarterback would not go over well.

"Y/N," Joe called after her, following her into the bedroom where she was pulling clothes from his dresser - another sign of how settled they'd become. "It's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," Y/N said, pulling on her blouse with sharp, efficient movements. "This could mess up everything I've worked for. The timing, the optics, the fact that I just got promoted-"

"Hey." Joe caught her hand, stopping her frantic dressing. "Look at me."

Y/N met his eyes, seeing the calm certainty there that she both loved and found infuriating in moments like this.

"I've thought this through," he said quietly. "I know what I'm going to say, how I'm going to frame it. This isn't going to hurt your career."

"But you're telling them before I tell Kayla," Y/N pointed out, pulling her hand free to continue getting dressed. "That makes it look like I was keeping secrets from my boss while you were being transparent with yours."

Joe's expression shifted slightly, understanding dawning. "Shit. You're right."

"I know I'm right!" Y/N said, grabbing her phone to check the time again. "Which is why I need to get to the facility right now and have a very awkward conversation with Kayla before eleven o'clock."

She was already texting as she spoke, her fingers flying over the screen.

Y/N: Emergency meeting this morning? Something important I need to discuss before 11.

The response came back almost immediately.

Kayla: How emergency? Can it wait until after 9 AM content review?

Y/N: It really can't. 8:30?

Kayla: My office. Coffee will be ready.

Y/N grabbed her bag and keys, already mentally rehearsing how to explain that she'd been secretly dating the quarterback for a week and he was about to inform the ownership group in three hours.

"This is going to be a disaster," she muttered, checking her reflection quickly in Joe's mirror.

"It's not," Joe said, moving to block her path to the door. "Y/N, stop panicking."

"I'm not panicking, I'm being realistic about the professional implications of-"

Joe kissed her, cutting off her spiraling anxiety with the kind of certainty that had convinced her to trust him in the first place.

"Better?" he asked when they broke apart.

"Marginally," Y/N admitted, though her heart rate had slowed slightly. "But I still need to go handle damage control."

"There's no damage to control," Joe said firmly. "We're adults in a relationship. We're both good at our jobs. Everything else is just logistics."

Y/N stared at him, marveling at his ability to reduce the complexity of their situation to simple facts. "I wish I had your confidence about this."

"You don't need confidence," Joe replied, opening the front door for her. "You just need honesty. Tell Kayla the truth - that we've been seeing each other, that it's serious, and that it won't interfere with either of our professional responsibilities."

"And if she thinks the timing of my promotion looks suspicious?"

Joe's expression grew more serious. "Then you remind her that you earned that promotion through five years of excellent work, and anyone who suggests otherwise can take it up with me."

Despite her anxiety, Y/N felt a flutter of warmth at his immediate defensiveness on her behalf. "Okay. I'm going to go have the most awkward conversation of my professional life. Try not to torpedo my career while I'm gone."

"I'll be the picture of professionalism," Joe promised, kissing her forehead. "Text me after you talk to Kayla."

Y/N was already walking toward her car, her mind switching into crisis management mode. She had two hours and thirteen minutes to explain to her boss that she'd been secretly dating the franchise quarterback.

This was either going to go very well or very badly. And given her track record with timing, she wasn't optimistic about which way it would fall.

* * *

8:31 AM - Kayla's Office

Kayla was already at her desk with two steaming coffee mugs when Y/N knocked on the open door. Her expression was alert but curious - the look of someone who'd been mentally preparing for whatever crisis had required an emergency morning meeting.

"Close the door," Kayla said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk. "And tell me what's got you looking like you're about to throw up."

Y/N closed the door and sat down, accepting the coffee with hands that were steadier than she felt. "I need to tell you something, and I need you to hear it from me before you hear it from anyone else."

Kayla's expression sharpened. "This sounds serious."

"It is." Y/N took a breath, then decided to just rip the bandage off. "I'm in a relationship with Joe. It's new, it's serious, and he's telling the front office about it this morning at eleven."

Kayla's coffee mug stopped halfway to her lips. "Wait. The eleven o'clock meeting with ownership? That's what he's planning to discuss?"

"Yes."

Kayla set down her mug with a soft thud, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding to something like delight. "Well, that explains why he was so insistent about scheduling it but wouldn't tell anyone the topic."

"You knew about the meeting?"

"He requested it yesterday. Said it was important and needed ownership in the room, but wouldn't elaborate." Kayla's mouth curved into a smile. "Joe Burrow being mysterious about a meeting agenda. Now it all makes sense."

Y/N felt her anxiety spike. "You didn't know what it was about?"

"Not a clue. Which had everyone speculating - contract issues, endorsement conflicts, trade requests." Kayla's smile widened. "Instead, our franchise quarterback wants to tell ownership he's dating our VP of Digital Media."

"When you put it like that, it sounds-"

"It sounds exactly like something Joe would do," Kayla interrupted, her tone fond. "Direct, honest, no games. I should have guessed."

Y/N blinked. "You're... okay with this?"

"Y/N, I've watched you two dance around each other for years," Kayla said, leaning back in her chair. "The way you light up when you talk about his content, the way he specifically requests you for everything, the careful distance you've been maintaining since your promotion. I'm not surprised - I'm relieved you finally stopped overthinking it."

"I thought we were being professional."

"You were being professional. You were also clearly crazy about each other." Kayla's expression grew warmer. "I'm happy for you, Y/N. Really happy."

Y/N felt unexpected tears prick at her eyes. "Thank you. That means a lot."

"But now I understand why you looked like you were about to throw up," Kayla continued, her tone shifting slightly. "Joe's about to walk into a room full of executives and announce he's dating his media coordinator without any warning."

"VP of Digital Media," Y/N corrected automatically.

"Even better," Kayla said dryly. "That'll make the conversation even more interesting."

Y/N felt her stomach drop. "Should I be worried?"

"About Joe handling the conversation? No. He's the franchise quarterback - they're not going to give him grief about his personal life." Kayla paused. "About the timing and optics? We'll need to manage those carefully."

"What do you mean?"

"Your promotion was six weeks ago. Some people might wonder about the connection, even though I know it's not there."

Y/N nodded, feeling the familiar anxiety return. "So what do we do?"

"We establish clear protocols," Kayla said, pulling out a legal pad. "Tyler continues handling all direct quarterback content - which was smart thinking on your part. You oversee strategy and final approval, but we eliminate any situations where your personal relationship could be questioned."

As they discussed the practical implications, Y/N's phone buzzed.

Joe: How did it go?

Kayla noticed her checking the message. "Go ahead, tell him I figured out why he was being so secretive about his meeting agenda."

Y/N: She knew about your meeting but not the topic. Says it explains why you were being mysterious.

Joe: Figured it was better to tell them in person than put it in an email.

Y/N: Very Joe of you. She's happy for us.

Joe: Good. See you after.

"He's relieved you're happy for us," Y/N said, looking up from her phone.

"Tell him I said good luck explaining to ownership why their franchise quarterback felt the need to schedule a formal meeting to discuss his dating life," Kayla replied with amusement. "That should be an interesting conversation."

* * *

10:58 AM - Bengals Front Office Conference Room

Joe walked into the conference room with the same controlled confidence he brought to playoff games. He'd thought through this conversation the same way he analyzed defensive schemes - identify the key players, understand their motivations, execute the plan cleanly.

Ownership was already seated: Mike Brown, Katie Blackburn, and the executive team. Kayla had joined them, which Joe had expected after Y/N's emergency meeting this morning. Better to have her there - she understood both sides of this equation.

"Joe," Mike Brown nodded as he took his seat. "Appreciate you making time during the off-season. What's on your mind?"

Joe settled into his chair, hands relaxed on the table. No notes, no prepared remarks. Just the same directness that had served him well for five years.

"I wanted to inform you that I'm in a relationship with Y/N Y/L/N," he said simply. "It's serious, and I thought you should hear it from me directly."

The silence that followed lasted maybe three seconds, but Joe could read the room like he read coverage - surprise shifting to calculation, executives processing implications.

Katie Blackburn spoke first. "Y/N from our media team? The new VP?"

"That's right."

"How long has this been going on?" Mike Brown asked, his tone neutral but evaluating.

"We've been seeing each other for a few months. It became official last week." Joe's voice remained steady, matter-of-fact. "I want to be clear about something from the start - this relationship had nothing to do with her promotion. Y/N earned that position through five years of exceptional work."

He let that statement settle, making direct eye contact with each person at the table. Not defensive - just establishing facts.

"The timing of her promotion and your relationship becoming public could raise questions," one of the executives pointed out.

"It could," Joe agreed. "Which is why I'm addressing it directly. Y/N and I are both professionals. We understand the boundaries required to maintain our respective roles."

"Joe," Mike Brown said carefully, "you understand this is... sensitive. A franchise quarterback dating a member of the front office staff."

Joe nodded slowly, his expression remaining calm. "I do understand. And I appreciate that you need to handle this appropriately." He paused, his tone staying conversational. "I also think it's worth noting that I just finished a season where I threw for over 4,000 yards and led this team to the playoffs despite some significant roster challenges."

The subtle shift in the room was immediate. Joe continued, his voice still measured.

"The offensive line issues, the depth concerns at key positions - we all know what this team dealt with this season. But we made the playoffs anyway." His eyes moved around the table. "I mention that because I think my commitment to this organization has been pretty well established."

Katie Blackburn nodded slowly. "It has been, Joe."

"Good. So when I tell you that Y/N is the most talented media professional this organization has, and that she earned her promotion through merit, I hope that carries some weight." Joe's tone remained friendly, but there was steel underneath. "Because I'd hate for anyone to suggest otherwise."

The implication hung in the air - polite, but unmistakable.

"Joe, no one would suggest that," Mike Brown said.

"I'm sure they wouldn't," Joe replied smoothly. "But just so we're all clear - Y/N doesn't know I'm saying this, and she'd probably prefer I didn't - but her success reflects well on this organization. She's been documenting my career since my rookie year, and she's a big part of why our media presence has improved so dramatically."

He leaned back slightly, the picture of relaxed confidence. "I'd consider any suggestion that her promotion was connected to our relationship to be... inaccurate. And I think my track record gives me some credibility on personnel evaluations."

The room was quiet, but it wasn't tense - just thoughtful. Joe had made his point without raising his voice or changing his expression.

"Now," he continued, as if the previous exchange had been purely informational, "Kayla can walk you through the protocols Y/N has already implemented to ensure there are no conflicts of interest."

Kayla leaned forward, visibly relieved to move to practical matters. "Y/N's already transitioned Tyler to handle all direct quarterback content. She oversees strategy and final approval but doesn't work with Joe one-on-one."

"That sounds appropriate," Katie said.

"It is," Joe confirmed. "Y/N thinks three steps ahead. Always has."

"Alright," Mike Brown said, standing up. "We'll work with HR to make sure everything's documented properly. Joe, thank you for handling this the right way."

Joe stood as well, shaking hands around the table. "I appreciate your understanding. And just so you know - this won't affect my focus or performance. If anything, having someone who understands this business makes everything easier."

As he moved toward the door, Katie Blackburn spoke up. "For what it's worth, Joe, Y/N's promotion was unanimous. The executive team was impressed with her vision."

Joe smiled. "Good. Because she's exactly where she belongs."

Walking out of the conference room, Joe felt the controlled satisfaction of a perfectly executed play. He'd protected Y/N without appearing defensive, established his position without being confrontational, and made sure everyone understood exactly where things stood.

Y/N: How did it go?

Joe: Exactly like it should have. They're supportive. Kayla will handle the paperwork.

Y/N: That's it? No pushback?

Joe: Why would there be? I'm the franchise quarterback and you're the best at what you do. Pretty straightforward.

* * *

January 12, 2025 - 12:47 PM - Y/N's Office

Y/N had been staring at the same email for twenty minutes, her mind completely unable to focus on quarterly budget projections when Joe's meeting with ownership had ended almost an hour ago. She'd received his brief text saying it went well, but the lack of details was killing her.

A soft knock on her office door made her look up. Joe stood in the doorway, still in his team-issued quarter-zip, looking completely relaxed.

"Got a minute?" he asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Y/N practically launched herself out of her chair. "How did it go? Seriously, be honest."

Joe's mouth curved into that subtle smile she knew so well. "Exactly like I said it would."

"That's not details," Y/N said, moving closer to him. "I need actual details. What did they say? How did they react? Are we in trouble?"

"We're not in trouble," Joe said, reaching for her hands. "Y/N, breathe. It was fine. Better than fine."

"Define fine."

Joe pulled her closer, his hands settling at her waist. "Mike Brown said they appreciate me handling it the right way. Katie confirmed your promotion was unanimous and had nothing to do with us. Kayla will handle the HR paperwork. End of story."

Y/N searched his face, looking for any sign of concern or uncertainty. "That's really it? No pushback, no concerns about optics?"

"None that matter," Joe said simply.

"What does that mean?"

Joe was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "They needed to understand that questioning your qualifications or suggesting your promotion was connected to us would be... problematic."

Y/N's eyes widened. "Joe, what did you say?"

"Nothing dramatic," he replied, though there was something in his expression that suggested otherwise. "I just reminded them that I had a pretty good season despite some organizational challenges, and that my opinion on personnel carries some weight."

"You didn't..."

"I protected you," Joe said firmly. "Without being dramatic about it. Just made sure everyone understood where things stand."

Y/N felt something warm and overwhelming rise in her chest. "You really did handle it."

"I told you I would."

"But I was so nervous, and you were just... confident. Like you knew exactly how it would go."

Joe's hands moved to frame her face, his thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. "Because I did know. Y/N, We're both good at our jobs. We're both adults. There was never any real question about how this would go."

"Again you make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," Joe said, leaning down to kiss her softly. "Everything else was just noise."

When they broke apart, Y/N rested her forehead against his. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. Like, officially doing this."

"Finally," Joe said, his voice dropping lower. "No more hiding. No more pretending I don't want to touch you when you're in the same room."

"No more storage room meetings," Y/N added with a laugh.

"Definitely no more storage room meetings," Joe agreed. "Though I have to admit, there was something exciting about the secrecy."

Y/N pulled back to look at him. "You're not going to miss it?"

Joe's expression grew more serious. "I'm not going to miss watching you worry that someone might see us together. I'm not going to miss you editing yourself out of conversations because you're afraid of how it looks. I'm not going to miss pretending that what we have isn't important."

The honesty in his voice made Y/N's throat tighten. "It is important."

"It's the most important thing," Joe confirmed. "And now everyone important knows it."

Y/N's phone buzzed on her desk, breaking the moment. She glanced at it to see a text from Sam.

Sam: Emergency lunch. I need details about whatever has you glowing like a Christmas tree.

Y/N showed Joe the message, making him laugh.

"Looks like the news is spreading," he observed.

"Sam's been suspicious for weeks. She's going to lose her mind when I tell her."

"Good," Joe said, kissing her forehead. "I want people to know. I want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours and we're done pretending otherwise."

The possessiveness in his voice sent heat through Y/N's chest. "Yours, huh?"

"Completely," Joe said without hesitation. "Is that a problem?"

"Not even a little bit," Y/N replied, standing on her toes to kiss him properly.

When they broke apart, Joe's expression was soft but determined. "So what happens now?"

"Now we go back to work," Y/N said practically. "I have meetings, you probably have film study or workouts or whatever quarterbacks do in January."

"And tonight?"

"Tonight you come home to my place and we celebrate not having to sneak around anymore."

Joe's smile was slow and satisfied. "I like the sound of that."

"Good," Y/N said, straightening his quarter-zip unnecessarily. "Because I have about five years of not being able to touch you in public to make up for."

Joe kissed her once more, quick but thorough, then moved toward the door. "I'll see you tonight. And Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"No more worrying about this. It's handled. We're handled. I promise."

As he left her office, Y/N sat back down at her desk with a completely different energy than she'd had all morning. The email about budget projections was still open on her screen, but now she could actually focus on it.

For the first time in months, maybe years, she wasn't carrying the weight of hidden feelings and careful boundaries. She was just Y/N, VP of Digital Media, who happened to be dating the franchise quarterback.

And apparently, that was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Her phone buzzed again.

Sam: Lunch in 10 minutes. Don't even think about canceling.

Y/N smiled, already reaching for her purse. Sam was going to absolutely lose her mind, and Y/N was finally ready to tell her everything.

* * *

July 15, 2025 - Training Camp Begins

Y/N arrived at the facility early for the first day of training camp, coffee in hand and her usual equipment bag slung over her shoulder. The summer air was thick with humidity and the promise of another season ahead. It had been six months since Joe's meeting with ownership, six months of being openly together, and this was their first time back in the facility as an official couple.

The parking lot was packed - players' cars mixed with media vehicles and staff arriving for the official start of football season. Y/N spotted Joe's truck in its usual spot and smiled. No more careful timing of arrivals, no more pretending she didn't notice his schedule.

"Y/N!" Tyler jogged up behind her as she approached the main entrance. "Ready for another season with the happy couple?"

"Tyler," Y/N said with mock warning, though she was smiling.

"What? The whole building knows at this point. You two have been spotted around town enough."

It was true. Over the off-season, she and Joe had been careful but not hidden. Quiet dinners at upscale restaurants, private boxes at UC basketball games, the occasional charity event where Joe felt comfortable being seen. The local media had covered their relationship with respectful interest - positive coverage that focused on Joe's happiness rather than invasive details.

As they walked through the facility corridors, Y/N noticed the differences immediately. Staff members smiled at her with a warmth that felt more personal than professional. No more careful nods or polite distance - she was Joe's girlfriend now, not just the VP of Digital Media.

"Morning, Y/N!" called out one of the equipment managers. "Tell Joe I've got his lucky practice jersey ready."

"Will do," Y/N replied, feeling the easy familiarity of being part of the team family in a completely new way.

"Look who's back," Sam's voice came from the communications office doorway. "How does it feel to be Cincinnati's most private power couple?"

"Like we're doing it right," Y/N laughed. "Joe's not exactly built for the spotlight when it comes to personal stuff."

"No kidding. The man gives one-word answers about you in interviews and somehow still makes it clear he's completely gone."

"He's protective of what matters to him."

"Including you," Sam said with obvious affection. "It's actually really sweet how he handles it."

The media room was buzzing with activity as Y/N set up for the day's content shoots. Through the windows overlooking the practice fields, she could see players arriving for the first official practice of training camp.

"Y/N!" Ja'Marr Chase's voice came from the doorway. "How's it feel to be back?"

"Good to be back, Ja'Marr. You ready for another season?"

"More than ready. And can I just say, it's about damn time you two stopped pretending."

Y/N felt her cheeks warm. "We weren't pretending, we were being professional."

"Girl, you were torturing yourselves," Ja'Marr said with a laugh. "The whole team could see it. Joe's been different since y'all got together - more focused, less uptight. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

Before Y/N could respond, Kayla appeared beside Ja'Marr.

"Ja'Marr, don't you have a practice to get ready for?"

"Yes ma'am. Y/N, good to have you back where you belong."

As Ja'Marr headed toward the locker room, Kayla turned to Y/N. "How are you feeling about today? First time back as an official couple?"

"Good," Y/N said honestly. "Excited, actually. No more pretending, no more careful scheduling."

"Joe seems settled. You both do."

Before Y/N could respond, her phone buzzed with a text.

Joe: First day back. Feels right being here with you.

Y/N: Feels right not hiding.

Joe: Never hiding again. See you at lunch?

Y/N: If you're not too exhausted from practice.

Joe: Never too exhausted for you.

Around eleven, as she was reviewing content schedules, there was a soft knock on her office door. Joe appeared in the doorway, still in street clothes before practice started.

"Got a minute?" he asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"Always," Y/N replied, looking up from her computer. "Ready for the first practice?"

"More than ready. Excited." Joe moved closer, his hands finding her waist as she stood up from her chair. "I missed this place. Missed working here with you."

"We've been together all off-season," Y/N pointed out.

"Not here. Not where it all started." Joe's expression grew more serious. "Y/N, having you here, being able to be open about us - it makes everything better."

"Even with people watching?"

"Especially with people watching. I like that the team knows you're mine."

The kiss was brief but thorough, and Y/N marveled at how natural it felt to be affectionate with him here, in her office, without worrying about who might see.

"Go get ready for practice," she said when they broke apart. "Show them why you're worth all the fuss."

"What fuss?" Joe asked with that subtle smile.

"The fuss of dating the VP of Digital Media."

Joe's expression grew more serious. "Best decision I ever made."

As he reached the door, he paused and turned back.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you. See you at lunch."

"Love you too," she replied, her heart doing that familiar flutter it still did every time he said those words so casually, so certainly.

After he left, Y/N returned to her work with a sense of completeness she'd never felt before in this building. For five years, she'd been excellent at her job while carrying the weight of hidden feelings. Now she could be excellent at her job while being completely herself.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Sam.

Sam: Saw your boyfriend's pre-practice office visit. You two have mastered the art of being together without being dramatic about it.

Y/N: Joe doesn't do dramatic.

Sam: No, but he does do completely devoted. The whole building can see it.

Y/N smiled, looking out her window at the practice field where Joe was now warming up with the team. For the first time in five years, she could watch him work without having to hide how much she admired him, both as a player and as a person.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fluff #nfl fan fic #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #nfl x reader #nfl imagine #nfl series #joe burrow series

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hellsquills · 11 months ago

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Disclaimer: I know about the duffle bag Filbrick threw at him, but you can ignore that if you want

My thoughts below the cut! (this turned into a whole ass fic lmao)

Edit: timeline here!!

My personal headcanon is that Filbrick is as much of a coward as he is of an asshole. Therefore, he wouldn't have kicked Stan when he did in canon. Probably not for a while after that.

However, he does try to send him to military school. He keeps talking about how this kid needs to learn discipline and respect, and if he's not gonna bring money to the house, then he should at least bring some honor to his family.

Stan obviously does NOT want to go. Not only because it's a pointless war ("what've the vietnamese done to us anyways?") but because he remembers his mother's face when Shermie got drafted and he will NOT make her go through that hell again. Also, he doesn't wanna die!!!! Hello?????

He talks it out over the phone with Ford, who's obviously just as against it as he is. He tells Stan that, if he gets into a PhD program, he could skip military. Stan laughs in his face. It'd be easier to jump off the plane without a parachute.

And so, he comes up with a plan. When he goes to take his physical, he tries his best to botch it. If he is bad enough, if it looks like he can't do it, maybe he won't have to. Unfortunately, the recruiters are far too used to this by now, and they don't buy it. Stan goes home with a recruitment letter hidden in his jacket.

Everything goes downhill after that. He runs away from home, changes his name several times, does some crime here and there... The military is after him, and it doesn't take rejection kindly.

Stan stays out of contact with his family for a few years. He can't risk getting them involved in this mess. They don't deserve it. So he just leaves, without saying a word, in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no notes, nothing. Not even he knows where he's going. But if it just looks like he abandoned them, maybe they'll hate him. That will make them sound more believable with the police. They aren't covering for him, because they genuinely have no idea where he is. It's the best way to keep them safe.

In that time, Ford doesn't stop looking for him. He finds him every once in a while, but only his phone number, and he knows that could give away his brother's location and get the family in trouble. So, against his deepest instincts, he doesn't call.

One, three, five, seven years pass. Stan has been around almost all the country, and is genuinely considering leaving it. Maybe going to Mexico, or Colombia. Those sound nice. Maybe they'll be nicer to him.

He's passing his time and thinking about this in a small town restaurant in wherever he's in (somewhere he's not banned from, yet), when a family enters. He doesn't make eye contact, but he can't help but stare at them: a man and a woman, probably in their 50s, with 7 kids; one must be older than him, the second one around his age, the third one a little younger, the fourth one a teenager, and the last three between 10 and 15, no more. Except for the last three, they're all taller than him, even the mother, and they have various degrees of blond hair. Their clothes (overalls and plastic boots) suggest they must work in one of the farms he's seen around the state. They don't wear any accessories, except for the glasses that the father and four of the kids have. They're talking loudly and laughing. They look exhausted from a morning of hard work. They seem happy. They... look nothing like his family, and yet, he can't help but think about it.

He can't help the sob that comes to his throat. It's loud and messy from trying to suppress it, which obviously makes it worse. He covers his mouth immediately, and at that point he notices the tears that have run down his cheeks. "Great", he thinks, "that will make it easier to hide, for sure".

He doesn't move. He wants to escape, but that will draw even more attention to him, and he hasn't even paid for the food yet (normally he'd leave without paying, but the old waitress was kind enough to give him some extra food when she saw how little he ordered). He settles for not moving, lowering his head and covering his face, hoping that no one heard (unlikely) or cared (very likely).

"Ya'lright, son?"

The voice startles him. I wasn't very deep, but it was close enough to send his body into immediate danger mode. He looks up at the man towering over him, who's standing in front of him at a prudential distance.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, no worries."

He hates how broken his voice sounds. He's spent more than enough time sweet-talking his way out of trouble, he should be better at this by now. The man looks about as convinced by it as he is himself.

" 'lright then. Can I help ya?"

Damn villagers and their welcoming demeanor. If he wasn't a wanted man, he would appreciate it. But right now, it couldn't be worse timing.

"Come get ya food, kids!" The waitress' yell yanks him out of his thoughts.

"No", he blurts out, and he turns to the man. Least he can do is show him some respect and look him in the eyes. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man smiles lightly and nods. "Okay. Welcome to the town."

Stan watches as the man goes back to his table. He wishes he had been more polite, the guy was just worrying about him, but he can't afford it. They already know his face, he can't risk anyone else recognizing him-

"Sweet Mother of God almighty."

Stan turns to his right. One of the kids, the one about his age, is looking at him like he just grew a second head. He's frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates behind thick glasses. He doesn't say a word, and it's getting increasingly unnerving. Was the bruising on his face still visible? Maybe it's more apparent in broad daylight than in the shitty light that last motel had in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, I- Can I ask your name?"

The fuck?

"No", answers Stan. Considering how nice his dad was, this guy is pretty rude.

"Son, leave him alone." The mother seems to have manners too, good to know.

The guy does pretty much the opposite. He comes closer to him, until he's right in his path, blocking his exit. That can't be good. Stan feels trapped.

"Are you Stanley Pines?"

Well, that's about it.

Stan tries his best to stay still. This guy doesn't look like a cop, not even an undercover one. But he knows his real name, so maybe someone in his family or friends works in the police; or worse, in the military.

"Listen man, I don't know who you're talking about, but that isn't my name. See?" He reaches for his wallet. He pulls out an ID, with a very clear Jackson Cage on it. He makes a mental note to change it soon, just in case his hunch is right and this guy has connections. "Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to pay for my food and leave. Move."

Stan is already on his feet, but the guy hasn't moved. Stan looks him up and down, trying to appear threatening despite his face probably still being a little red from before. He also gauges how feasible it'd be to escape if things turned bad; the dude is taller than him, sure, but he's also as thin as a toothpick, and by the anxious look on his face, he doesn't seem eager for a fight. The real problem would be evading the restaurant's staff and the other costumers, which include eight carbon copies of the guy in front of him. Probably better to try to de-escalate the situation.

"I- I can't let you leave. Please. I know who you are."

This man is making it really difficult to believe he's not a cop.

"No, you don't. I'm new in town. Move."

"Listen, I-"

"Move out of my way."

"I know your brother."

The words are like a bullet between his eyebrows.

"You look just like him-"

Against his better judgement, he quickly grabs he guy and pins him to the wood in between the booth benches, arm to his throat. If he knows Ford, he knows too much. God he just wanted to have lunch.

The commotion is immediate. He doesn't break eye contact with the guy who's grabbing his arm, whose strength is frankly surprising. He can hear, however, the screams from the dad and the siblings, as well as a couple of gasps from the other costumers. This is not going to go well, but fuck that. He's escaped worse.

"Stop!", the guy shouts as he keeps Stan's forearm from blocking his airway. "Don't hurt him! Don't get closer!"

It takes Stan a second to process what he said. The first part, sure, who wouldn't shout 'stop' when you're being attacked? But the second half doesn't make sense. Is he protecting him? The attacker?

Whatever it is, it works. The family stops in their tracks, still very ready to attack if needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the three younger kids moving closer to their mother. For a split second, he feels a pang of remorse for the scene he just caused.

"Hang up the phone, Clarisse, it's okay. Please."

Stan looks in the direction the guy was talking to. Right behind him, the waitress reluctantly puts the phone down.

He looks back at the guy. He looks a little shaken up, probably from the impact his back (and his head?) made with the wooden plank, but he doesn't look scared. He almost looks... sympathetic? Stan is confused as hell.

"I know who you are", the guy whispers, low enough for Stan to hear alone. "You're Stanley Pines, and you have a brother named Stanford. I know him, okay? He's my friend. I met him a few years ago in a quantum physics congress and we've been talking ever since. He told me about his family in New Jersey, and about you. About how he hasn't seen you in years, and how he was trying to find you, to no avail."

Stan is gradually loosening his grip on the guy's neck, who takes a deep breath. He should know better, but- shit, hearing that Ford was looking for him was not what he expected. Even if he doesn't know yet if this guy is lying out of his ass, it's enough to make him doubt.

"I know you were called to Vietnam. He told me. I spent a week with him in his place when he found out, he was unconsollable. When you ran away, he called me. He knew what it meant for you and he thought he'd never see you again, whether you got caught or not. All because of that stupid war." Stan is now trembling a little, he knows it. This guy must know it too, with how close they are. If he stays here any longer he'll break down, but he can't move. Anything to hear his brother's name a little longer. "I know what it's like. Three of my cousins were drafted last year, and I know at least one of them won't be coming back home. Please... let me help you."

Stan meets his eyes. They're green and brown-ish, not unlike the immense fields he's seen in his last journey, the one that led him to this town. With the years, he's learned not to trust beautiful eyes, because they are better at hiding. These ones, however, seem serene and honest, just like his words, and he can't help but believing them. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, knows just about enough.

Stan lowers his right arm. The guy still has his hand on it, but this time is much less defensive and much more comforting. He doesn't complain.

"My name's Fiddleford McGucket, and I'm gonna help you find your brother."

______________________________

Essentially, after this Fidds calls Ford as if nothing happened (per Stan's request, since he's still paranoid about the police tracking his calls) and asks him to come to Tennessee. Ford argues that he's very busy and all, but Fidds convinces him in the end.

Obviously the twins have a dual breakdown and cry their heart out. In this AU they're much less emotionally constipated lol

Ford tells Stan that he's gonna build a house in a small town in Oregon as a part of his research, and asks him to move in with him once it's finished. Stan, of course, accepts.

In the meantime, Stan stays in the McGucket farm and helps them out as a way of laying low. He has a great relationship with his family, and they're very proud of him for what he did (i believe that the McGuckets are hippies at heart, and they're VERY anti-war, especially when it already took three of them)

I don't know how much of the canon storyline would this AU follow, but it's pretty much your average Mystery Trio AU with some different backstory

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loceiswhereyouleastexpectit · 1 month ago

Text

Soon enough - Chapter 2

Wc- 1.6k- Ik i said it would be longer but i lied :)

Chapter 2

a/n: Ik this is soon but i was really excited, the plot is gonna be in the past for a bit so hold on, but we will be getting back to draft night soon, Bare with me. Hope you enjoy. I love the girls.

FLASHBACK- slightly

Azzi POV

Azzi remembers the first time she met Paige, she was this cocky girl that had this explosive way of playing ball. Azzi honestly thought that thats why she would just stare at her for hours admiring her from close and afar. She was far too talented to not be stared at.

When she was fourteen she met her and immediately wanted her to be in her life forever, she was annoying and wouldn’t shut up if she won at anything but Azzi knew that with all her “flaws” she was pretty much the best person to be around. She made Azzi laugh and made her more unserious than anyone had ever.

The first time she came home she told her mom all about the lil white girl and Katie and Tim Fudd already knew that this bond would be unbreakable. And till this day it was.

However, the pieces of this so called friendship started to break a little.

Azzi remembers a few months ago the team decided to go to there first party since the season had started.

“Paige are you ready everyone is ready to g-”, and thats when the first palpitations happened for the brown eyed girl. She almost felt like she was having a heart attack.

In the middle of the room was Paige, half way taking off her shirt. She was ripped,(ofc she was, she’s a D1 athlete azzi) and her biceps were at the perfect angle that really showed all the progress Paige was making in the gym.

Azzi always knew Paige was attractive, I mean all the thirst edits she got on her fyp was kinda insane, she would always keep scrolling, knowing there was more to come. But she never really took time to truly look at the physique of her best friend. However in that moment, she got it. She understood why millions of girls would go crazy for a glance at her best friend.

“Azzi, shit sorry, Im trying to pick out a shirt, this is impossible”.

Azzi slowly swallowed and walked towards the blonde, trying to figure out what her mind was doing to her.

“I can help P, who you trying to impress” Azzi said with a hit of jealously, why would u say that. She decided to roam through Paige’s closet trying to find the perfect shirt. She could wear a cardboard box and still look good…

“Azzi please I literally haven’t talk to any girl seriously since you got to UConn”, a slight pause came from Paige followed by “I mean not that this is about you, i’m just saying I've def been off my game”.

“Right sorry, I didn’t mean anything by what I said, just jokes… Here I like this one on you, brings out your eyes”, She handed Paige the perfect shirt, a blue button down, perfectly fit on her arms, big enough so no one saw her abs. Azzi Stop.

Paige stared at the shirt with a huge smile knowing that that was the first one she picked out. She knew her best friend knew her the best. Paige walked towards her best friend “Thanks”. And now there were only inches apart, Paige and Azzi, just like it always has been, however now all Azzi could do was stare at Paige’s arms and jaw and neck and abs, JESUS what the hell was in the water today.

“Ofc P, once your ready well go, ill wait outside”.

“Ok…”

Paige POV

The thing is, Azzi and Paige had never once in there 9 years of knowing one another ever felt uncomfortable about changing in front of one another. They did it basically everyday after practice.

Paige knew that her stare probably scared off Azzi, she walked in looking truly like a goddess, hair out, perfectly curled with hoop earrings. Her blue crop top hugging her body in all the right and wrong places, making her more desirable for everyone to look at. And to Azzi, this was her chill outfit, grey sweats and some airforces, but to Paige she truly stole the spotlight everywhere she went.

Paige had been freaking out about what to wear. This was the year she would confess, her last year, she had to make it count. So today, she wanted to look her best for her best friend, hoping to get her attention so that no one else steals her away for the night, something that has been happening way to recently.

“PAIGE LETS FUCKING GO DUDE” Nika yelled bursting into her door. “Dude ur not dressing for a nike commercial, its a lame frat party, please LETS GOO”.

“Nika omg bro let me live, I need to look good tonight”.

“Well u look the same as every other night. Happy?”

“Nikaaaaa dont say that, Azzi picked out the shirt, I think it looks nice”.

“Paige, Azzi could say anything and u would believe her”

“Yea ur right”

“Pussy whipped”

“NIKA WHAt shush” Nika had clocked Paiges crush the first moment she mentioned Azzi, Paige was telling a story about the best point guard she ever met and Nika simply said “How long y’all been dating”. It through Paige for a loop but ever since that day Nika already knew that Paige was forever in love with the younger girl. Nothing would change that.

“Listen,” Paige started “Im gonna make a move tonight, I swear,”

Nika was looking at Paige with the same bored look as always, she had been saying this for three whole months. And every time she chickened out saying its “better to be friends”.

“Paige, please, do something before u drive yourself insane or don’t do anything at all dude. Ur gonna drive yourself crazy and will end up with no girl, friend or not”.

Paige sighed, she knew that her twin was right. Nika always told her to shoot her shot, but every time she built up the courage, some guy or girl would come up to Azzi and steal her away, deflating all the confidence Paige built up. For three years she felt like the girl would never see her as anything other than her friend, however Nika kept telling her Azzi never looked at anyone the way she did at Paige.

This year she chose to believe the Croatian. And so she swore on her life she would do something tonight that would finally give there friendship a little push into the right direction.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Everyone was pilled into Paige’s car, Azzi in the front, my passenger princess. Ice, Nika, KK and Carol in the back. Everyone else would meet them at the party.

Paige couldn’t stop turning her head to Azzi, she looked beautiful but most importantly, she always was there to rely on, she always had Tylenol if Paige had a headache and chapstick if she ever needed any and she never ever left without saying goodbye knowing it made Paige uneasy, she loved her more tha-

“PAIGE” KK yelled.

“What”???

“U just ran that red light”!!!!!!

“Omg sorry guys”.

“Dude where is your head at, u almost killed up, are u already drunk”.

“No KK relax, just lost my head there for a second”.

“Yea staring at Azzi” Nika said softly. Everyone in the back chuckled slightly.

Suddenly there was a soft hand on her’s. “Hey are you ok”?Azzi asked

Paige gulped, knowing she was certainly NOT ok, but she lied, what’s one more life to her best friend. “Yep, just a long day”. Usually Azzi would have removed her hand by now, usually not a PDA type of person, but she left her hand where is was for the rest of the car ride.

Thats new, Paige thought.

Azzi and Paige had always been touchy, but mostly on there own time, maybe a gentle brush on hands as they were walking or a slight hand on the back, but never anything else, only cuddling in there dorms, surrounded by friends or family.

But now, she felt that this touch was different, not so heavy as the other times, gentler, almost scared.

This was the sign Paige needed, she was ready, she needed Azzi, and she was determined to have her. And maybe, just maybe Azzi felt the same.

As soon as Paige pulled up to the party, Azzi quickly jumped out, disconnecting there hands. Her and Caroline already were walking inside. Paige hadn’t even turned off her car.

Shit, maybe she felt bad, now she feels weird, omg what if she hated it and now things are werid and she doesn’t want to be around me.

Nika shook her out of her spiral. “Paige, hellooooo, what’s up”. KK and Ice were standing right behind her, all three were looking at Paige with with worried looks.

“Guys she didn’t move her hand, and now she basically ran off, I made it weird, omg she’s not gonna wanna be my best friend anymore. She doesn’t like me, She doesn’t even like WOMEN. Lord help me”.

KK and Ice started laughing “Paige please, that girl is the most lesbian/bisexual girl I have ever met” Ice said.

“Yea P boogers she’s literally gay” KK said. “Relax, two minutes of hand holding isn’t gonna change ur whole friendship of a billion years”

“Paige lets get you drunk my girl, you need to relax” Nika said.

“Okay fine, but please dont let me drink tequila, its my truth serum and I can’t afford that tonight”

“OKayyyyyyy” All girls said.

#paige x azzi #pazzi fics #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #azzi35

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writingwithcolor · 2 years ago

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Author with cultural disconnect: How do I write without making it seem as if I hate my own heritage?

Anonymous asked:

I’m a white-passing Asian author, and I’ve never felt all that connected with my heritage. My current story centers on a fairy (re: fantasy-world POC) child and ends with her realizing that her parents are toxic af and her human best friend’s family takes her in. This is the perfect opportunity to sort through my own issues with my heritage and finally convince my monkey-brain that it’s okay to not know how to cook Vietnamese food or celebrate tet or speak Vietnamese… But I also realize that if I’m not careful, this could easily slip into “Hey, I hate my heritage and so should you!” So how can I stop that from happening?

Writing for yourself first, not an audience

I ask you a simple question: why put pressure on yourself to have any sort of non-offensive messaging for a story that hasn’t been drafted yet and is to convince your monkey brain it’s okay to exist as yourself?

That seems like the fastest way to stop the story from being actually cathartic and instead a performance art piece when you already feel hung up on performing as “properly” part of your culture.

As I said in Working Through Identity Issues and Other Pitfalls of Representation, not all stories you write need to be for public consumption. Especially stories you’re using for your own self-processing and therapy, because you’re trying to get a cathartic moment that is rewriting your own story.

At what point does the public need to be involved in that?

I do understand the compulsion to want to post—I have definitely posted some Questionable™ material in my drive to get validation for feeling the way I do, wanting people to witness me and say “same.” It’s a powerful urge. Sometimes it’s worked, but most of the time it’s just made me feel horrifically exposed.

But you really do not have to post in public to get any sort of validation. Set up a groupchat with friends if you want the cheerleading and witnessing—people who will know your story and give you good-faith interpretations and won’t accuse you of anything. Honestly I’d suggest setting up this groupchat anyway; as someone who just got one again after quite a few years without it, my productivity has skyrocketed from being around supportive people.

Let the monkey brain have its monkey brain moment and shut off the concept the story is for the public. Shut off the concept of performing for an unknown audience. It’s for you. Be authentic, no matter how bad it would look to outsiders. They’re not reading it. Part of getting catharsis, sometimes, is being the worst version of yourself, somewhere nobody else can see it.

Deciding to publish the work

If, after you do write it, you find that you actually do want to polish it up and put it somewhere… edit it. Rewrite it entirely if that’s what it takes. Take the story through the same drafting process every story needs to go through, ripping out the unfortunate implications as you go.

Editing can be its own form of healing, as you try to figure out what this character would need to not be hateful. As you realize, once this longform journal entry is out of your head, what was bothering you now that you can see it pinned down on a page. But you absolutely do not need to write with the intention of editing in that healing. When I’ve tried, it’s fallen flat.

The healing will come from being yourself, no public involved, and writing about your feelings in their rawest form. Anything else is extra.

There’s no point in trying to put guard rails on the drafting process, not for a deeply personal piece. And by the time that drafting process is done, you’ll likely have specific scenarios and contexts that you can ask about, and you might even have ideas on how to fix it yourself once the story has a shape to it.

This is 100% a situation where there’s no real sense in idea workshopping something in the plotting stage. You’re doing something for you. Decide if it’s for public consumption later (while acknowledging “no” is a perfectly valid answer), and only figure out how to make the story not overtly harmful if you decide to put it out into the public.

~ Leigh

#culture #cultural disconnect #creator responsibility #writing #authors of color #asks

995 notes · View notes

magic-shop-stories · 4 months ago

Note

reader has to win the trust of bts back after losing it ?

💌 Reply:

hey, there🥺✨ first off, so sorry this took forever... I had so much to do and wanted to make sure each member’s HC's felt true to their heart but I wasn't sure how to write it - so I added a lot "reader parts" too - not sure if I said this right💔 But your request is now posted! THX for trusting me with it - I hope it's what you wanted... xo - c -

BTS (OT7) HEADCANONS - READER HAS TO WIN BACK TRUST

↳ BTS × READER

NAMJOON

WHAT HAPPENED

you’d been Namjoon’s confidant for years

you're the one he trusted to handle sensitive details about BTS’s collaborations

last-minute conflict arose with a producer

= missed deadline that risked delaying the album

you chose to bury it

believing you could fix it quietly

you didn’t want to add to his stress

producer called him directly, frustration sharp in their tone

Namjoon stood frozen in the hallway

phone clutched too tightly

realizing he’d been blindsided by someone he’d entrusted with his art

HIS REACTION

Immediate Response

doesn’t raise his voice

doesn’t need to

when he finds you, his posture is rigid

shoulders squared like he’s bracing for a storm

“We need to talk"

voice low and steady

knuckles white around the edge of his notebook

leads you to his studio

air smells like stale coffee and ink

Internal Monologue

Why?

= loops in his mind like a broken track

replays every conversation you’ve had about transparency

he’d once said: “No secrets, even the ugly ones.”

is trust isn’t just emotional

it’s strategic

questions his own judgment

"Did I make you feel you couldn’t come to me? Or did you just… stop believing in us?"

Actions & Subtle Cues

Avoidance

stops lingering after meeting

When you speak, he nods

but types aggressively on his phone, thumb jabbing the screen

Hyperfocus

reorganizes his bookshelf at 3 a.m.

categorizing by genre and color

as if control over something might steady him

Lyrical Clues:

you find a crumpled draft in the trash:

“A bridge half-built trust in the mortar but the rain came first.”

Dialogue

try to explain

“I thought I could handle it...”

cuts you off, tone glacial

“This isn’t about your capability. It’s about you deciding my limits for me.”

glasses slide down his nose

doesn’t push them back up

“Do you know how it feels? To stand there, unprepared, because someone you trusted… edited your reality?”

WHAT TO DO

Apology Letter

write it three times

first draft is tear-smudged and defensive

second is too clinical

third is raw

“I treated your trust like a shortcut instead of a compass. I’ll never do that again. Every day, I’ll prove I’m someone who deserves to walk beside you, not behind you.”

slip it into his copy of his favorite book

Silent Presence

show up to his late-night walks along the Han River

trailing 10 steps behind

he doesn’t turn around

but you catch him slowing his pace so you can keep up

compile a dossier of backup producers

annotated with strengths and risks

leave it on his desk

doesn’t thank you, but the next day, his coffee cup rests on top of it

ring-stain circling your notes like a stamp

Fallout

when the team argues about the delay = speak before he can

“It’s my fault. I’ll handle the rescheduling.”

watches you over the rim of his glasses

jaw tight, but doesn’t correct you

HIS RESPONSE

First Crack

two weeks later

he “accidentally” leaves his studio door open

hover in the doorway

he mutters

“If you’re coming in, at least fix the coffee. Two sugars, not one.”

his tone is gruff

nudges his mug toward you

= a peace offering in ceramic

Conversation

waits until you’re both knee-deep in lyric revisions

doesn't look at you

“You know what’s worse than a mistake? Silence.”

pen taps the paper

“I need your voice, not your silence. Even if it’s messy.”

Actions Speak Louder

starts texting you screenshots of vague, stressful emails with no context

= a test (Will you ask? Will you push?)

bring him a new plant to replace one he overwatered

names it “Phoenix”

places it where you both can see it

AFTERMATH

Rebuilding

trust returns in increments

lets you preview a solo track titled “Dichotomy"

= song about fractured trust and stubborn hope

during a VLIVE, he mentions “someone” who taught him forgiveness is a choice, not a feeling

doesn’t say your name

his dimple flickers

New Normal

still double-checks your work

now he leaves Post-its with questions instead of corrections

“What do you think?” “Is this fair to us?”

realize it’s his way of saying: “I need you here. Stay.”

Final

months later, at 2 a.m., he calls you

“Can’t sleep. Let’s walk.”

you're at the river

hands you a poem he’s written

lines crossed out and rewritten

one phrase remains untouched:

“You are my flawed, necessary mirror... breakable, but brighter for the cracks.”

you glance at him

he’s staring at the water

his pinky finger brushes yours

JIN

WHAT HAPPENED

Jin had spent weeks planning a special dinner for the group

= a way to celebrate Yoongi’s birthday and lift morale after a draining promo cycle

he’d confided in you

voice uncharacteristically soft

“I want it to feel like home. No managers, no cameras. Just us.”

you promised to handle the setup

= decorating the dorm, hiding gifts, and most importantly, distracting Yoongi until the surprise was ready

but you got swept up in a last-minute fan event

lost track of time, arrived two hours late

dinner was ruined

Yoongi walked into a half-decorated room

Jin scrambling with cold tteokbokki and deflated balloons

HIS REACTION

Immediate Response

laughs, loudly

claps his hands like it’s all a hilarious joke

“Wow, this is a twist! Who needs surprises when you can have… uh… spontaneity?”

his ears burn red

won’t meet your eyes

Yoongi quietly says: “Hyung, it’s okay.”

Jin’s smile cracks

disappears into the kitchen

sound of aggressive dishwashing fills the dorm

Internal Monologue

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

replays the hours he spent marinating the meat

or the way he’d practiced Yoongi’s favorite childhood dish three times to get it right

even wor his “Worldwide Handsome” apron unironically

he feels foolish

not just let down, but exposed

his vulnerability is a raw nerve

Do they think I’m just the clown? That my efforts don’t matter?

Actions & Subtle Cues

Deflection

next day, he jokes to Jungkook

“Guess I’ll stick to gaming! At least my teammates show up.”

his voice lacks its usual lilt

Avoidance

stops initiating movie nights

you bring up his new cooking video = he shrugs

“Eh, it’s just content. Doesn’t need to be perfect.”

Overcompensation

gifts Yoongi an absurdly expensive bottle of alcohol “just because”

refusing to acknowledge the birthday disaster

Dialogue

catch him alone

chopping vegetables with unnecessary force

“I’m so sorry...”

he interrupts, waving the knife like a prop

“Relax! It’s not a big deal. Yoongi prefers takeout anyway.”

his hand trembles slightly

nicks his finger

sucks the blood away, muttering

“See? I’m fine. Always fine.”

WHAT TO DO

Apology

he’d never accept a tearful plea

drag him to a private karaoke room

order his favorite snacks

with zero shamebelt “Epiphany” off-key

he cringes, laughing

“You’re not just ‘the funny one.’ You’re our glue. And I treated your heart like a punchline. I won’t do it again.”

Feed His Love (Literally)

learn his mother’s kimchi recipe through trial and error

first batch is inedible

you leave it at his door with a note

“Round 1: deserves better. I’ll keep trying.”

every Friday, you bring him homemade broth

rolls his eyes but starts leaving empty Tupperware outside your room

Public Acknowledgment

next group dinner, raise your glass

“Jin planned this whole night. He’s the reason we’re family.”

kicks you under the table, cheeks pink

later texts: “That was… not terrible.”

HIS RESPONSE

First Thaw

“accidentally” buys two tickets to a comedy show

“Ugh, someone bailed. You wanna go? Don’t make it weird.”

during the show, he snorts so hard he spills popcorn

for a moment, his shoulder brushes yours

Late-Night Confession

find him on the balcony at 1 a.m.

he's staring at the city lights

“You know why I cook? It’s the one thing I can control. The one way I know… I’m needed.”

flicks your forehead

“But you? You’re not allowed to need me until you prove you’ll stay.”

Actions Speak Louder

starts texting you ridiculous memes at 3 a.m.,

gift him a custom apron embroidered with “World’s Okayest Chef”

wears it for a live stream

“A fan sent it!”

lies, winking at the camera

AFTERMATH

Rebuilding

trust returns in layers

lets you assist with his next cooking video

you burn the rice

he laughs genuinely, eyes crinkling

“Wow, you’re worse than Namjoon!”

confides his anxiety about enlisting

“Don’t let them eat junk every day.”

pretending it’s a joke

= it’s a plea: Take care of them. Take care of me

New Normal

still teases you mercilessly

but there’s a softness now

saves you the last piece of steak, grumbling

“You look too skinny.”

when you’re late again (traffic, this time), he meets you at the door with a smirk

“I started without you. But… I saved the best part.”

Final

you recreate his failed dinner, perfectly

walks in, sees the table set with his fancy dishes, and groans

“Yah, you’re so extra!”

his voice cracks

later, pulls you aside

“You did good."

flicking your ear

“But never outshine me again, okay?”

YOONGI

WHAT HAPPENED

Yoongi had been working on a deeply personal mixtape

one he’d described as “pulling bones out of my ribs to make something alive”

you were his sounding board

= the only person he played raw tracks for

= the one he trusted to guard his unfinished art

during a late-night studio session (frustrated by his perfectionism) you vented to a mutual friend

“He’s never gonna release it. It’s just… self-sabotage.”

friend, trying to “help,” leaked a snippet online to “motivate” him

the clip went viral

dissected by fans and critics before Yoongi even knew it existed online

HIS REACTION

Immediate Response

finds out via Twitter

stares at his phone for minutes

jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitches in his cheek

he stands, walks to the studio bathroom, and slams the door

emerges, his face is damp

sleeves rolled up to hide trembling hands

doesn’t look at you

Internal Monologue

Idiot. You trusted an idiot

betrayal isn’t just emotional = it’s artistic

track was a confession

= a scream he hadn’t finished shaping

now it’s reduced to a meme (and a TikTok trend)

wonders if you meant to undermine him

Did you think I was weak? That I needed saving from myself?

Actions & Subtle Cues

Locked Doors

studio is off-limits

changes the passcode

when you knock, he blasts Agust D’s “The Last” until you leave

Professional Detachment

in group meetings, he refers to you as “the team” instead of your name

signs emails with a curt - Min Yoongi

Self-Isolation

sleeps in the studio

surviving on iced Americanos and protein bars

only hint of anger = a dent in the wall where he kicked it

hidden behind a poster of Nujabes

Dialogue

catch him at dawn

shadows under his eyes

“Yoongi, I'm...”

cuts you off

voice gravelly from sleeplessness

“Save it. You don’t get to apologize for my work.”

steps closer

for the first time, you see raw hurt beneath the ice

“That track was mine. Mine. And you turned it into content.”

WHAT TO DO

Radical Accountability

no excuses

write a public statement taking full blame

refuse to name the friend

post it without consulting him

he’ll see it

he sees everything

don’t tag him

don’t beg for absolution

Unseen Support

handle the fallout silently

compile legal docs for copyright claims

scrub leaked snippets from forums until your eyes burn

send the files to his manager, not him

leave a USB drive outside his door with two playlists

Track 1: “Anger” (Hip-hop beats, distorted guitars, lyrics about betrayal)

Track 2: “Regret” (Piano covers of First Love, rain sounds, a 10-second voice note: “I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger”)

Earned Silence

stop talking about the incident

show up instea

bring his favorite iced tea every morning, placing it by the studio door

he finally emerges

gaunt and disheveled

wordlessly hand him a clean hoodie

HIS RESPONSE

First Thaw

a week later

leaves the studio door cracked

inside, the USB drive is plugged into his laptop

“Regret” playlist on loop

doesn’t acknowledge you

but when you set down his coffee, he grunts

“Sugar. Two packets.”

Test

assigns you a mind-numbing task

= transcribing 12 hours of old voice memos

“If you’re so loyal, prove it.”

find notes buried in the file

“2017. Bad day. [Your name] brought tteokbokki"

= realize it’s a twisted olive branch.

Breaking Point

at 3 a.m.

finds you asleep at your desk

headphones still on

hesitates, then drapes his jacket over your shoulders

next day, he slides a scrap of paper toward you

“Fix the second verse. It’s shit.”

lyrics?

“A thief in the temple but the god left the door open.”

AFTERMATH

Rebuilding:

trust is a slow remix

lets you back into the studio

you sit against the wall, not beside him

first time you critique a track

he pauses

“Louder. I can’t hear you over the bass.”

releases the mixtape with a new title = “Daechwita (Reborn).”

leaked snippet is now a distorted intro

fans call it genius

only you know it’s a middle finger to the past

New Normal

never says “I forgive you.”

but throws his empty coffee cups at you (affectionately)

you flinch at a loud noise

“Relax. I don’t waste kicks on idiots anymore.”

Final

months later

tosses you a flash drive

“New track. Don’t fuck it up.”

file is titled “Interlude: Bones Mend.”

lyrics include a line from your voice note

autotuned and woven into the chorus

he’s smirking at his screen

“What? It’s just a sample.”

J-HOPE

WHAT HAPPENED

you’d been Hobi’s dance partner for a high-stakes solo performance at an awards show

= a routine he’d spent months choreographing

blending his signature energy with intricate & emotionally charged moves

during rehearsals, you hid a sprained ankle

downing painkillers and laughing off his concerned glances

“I’m fine, Hobi! Let’s go again!”

you didn’t want to disappoint him

during the final rehearsal, your ankle gave out mid-jump

sending both of you crashing to the floor

the silence that followed was worse than the pain

HIS REACTION

Immediate Response

doesn’t yell

doesn’t even look at you

he stands slowly

dusts off his pants

walks to the corner of the studio

hands shake as he rewinds the music

when he finally speaks, his voice is eerily calm

“We’re done for today.”

Internal Monologue

Why didn’t you tell me?

he’s furious

not at the mistake, but at the lie

prides himself on reading people = on being the someone who notices everything

now, he wonders

Did I push too hard? Or did you never trust me to care?

he blames himself

This is my fault. I should’ve seen it

Actions & Subtle Cues

Professional Mode Activated

switches to honorifics

“Please ensure [Reader]-ssi consults a physiotherapist.”

no more “Hey, superstar!"

no playful shoulder bumps.

Overcompensation

rehearses alone for hours

blasting music loud enough to drown out his thoughts

studio mirror fogs with swea

his reflection blurry and furious

Avoiding Eye Contact

during group dinners, he sits diagonally from you

laughing too loudly at Jin’s joke

when you speak, he stares at his rice like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world

Dialogue

catch him after practice

voice trembling

“Hobi, I’m so sorry...”

cuts you off with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes

“No, I’m sorry! Clearly, I didn’t create a safe space for you to be honest. My bad!”

bows slightly

= parody of politeness

he's walking away

WHAT TO DO

Public Accountability

next team meeting, stand up before he can speak

“I lied to Hoseok. I put our performance at risk because I was scared to admit I was struggling.”

your voice cracks, but you push through

“I’ll earn back his trust, even if it takes years.”

Hobi stares at his sneakers

jaw clenched

he doesn’t interrupt

Match His Effort

Choreo Notebook

transcribe every step of the routine by hand

add notes on breath control and emotional intent

leave it on his desk with a single Post-it

“You deserved this.”

Sunrise Vigils

send him a photo every dawn

= your ankle taped, you mid-stretc

captions like “Day 7: Ready to follow your lead.”

he never replies

after two weeks, he “accidentally” leaves his favorite coffee brand on your desk

Silent Support

attend every practice

even when sidelined

he stumbles during a spin

=you’re the first to clap

“Again, Hobi! You’ve got this!”

he freezes

then repeats the move perfectly

refusing to look at you

HIS RESPONSE

Breaking Point

find him slumped against the studio mirror, head in hands

music’s off, but his foot taps an anxious rhythm

he whispers

“Why’d you do it? I thought we were a team.”

sit beside him

not touching

“I wanted to be someone you could rely on… but I messed up.”

he laughs wetly

“You idiot. I rely on you because you’re human. Not in spite of it.”

Actions Speak Louder

Playlist

sends you a Spotify link titled “HYBE’s Newest Torture Methods”

= a mix of aggressive hip-hop and ballads

Duo Practices

reinstates your sessions but starts with trust falls

“You fall, I catch. Always.”

hands linger on your shoulders a beat too long

AFTERMATH

Rebuilding

trust returns in shared sweat and shaky laughter

assigns you the killing part in a new choreo

watches your ankles like a hawk

when you nail it, he whoops

“That’s my partner!"

blushes and pretends to check his phone

during a VLIVE, a fan asks about teamwork

“It’s like… dancing in the rain. You gotta hold hands so no one slips.”

doesn’t look at you

his sneaker nudges yours under the table

New Normal

he’s softer but vigilant

when you yawn, he throws a protein bar at your head

“Eat. Now.”

when you grimace during stretches, he’s there before you can speak

“Ankle? Wrist? Talk.”

Final

at the rescheduled performance, he grabs your hand backstage

“Ready?”

palm is sweaty, but his grin is real

mid-routine, he improvises a move

a leap toward you, arms wide

you catch him on beat

“Thanks for staying”

JIMIN

WHAT HAPPENED

Jimin spent weeks preparing for his first solo stage performance in years

including contemporary dance piece about vulnerability

he confided in you about how terrified he was

you promised you’d be there front-row to watch

on the day of the show, you missed it

work emergency/ miscommunication? = 8t didn’t matter

there was crushing silence when he scanned the audience for your face

later saw your texts: “Something came up, I’m so sorry”

he crumpled his bouquet backstage

HIS REACTION

Immediate Response

doesn’t yell

Jimin never yells

tho wraps himself in a practiced calm

= like a silk scarf pulled too tight

you finally meet a day later

his smile is flawless

his voice is hollow

“It’s okay. These things happen.”

calls you “y/n-ssi” instead of your usual nickname

the distance sharp as a blade

Internal Monologue

Why wasn’t I enough?

replays every time he’s felt abandoned

= his trainee days, the times he’d practiced until his feet bled

wonders if you see him the same way as people before he became famous

blames himself for expecting too much (for letting you matter that deeply)

Actions & Subtle Cues

Polite Avoidance

stops initiating late-night calls

at group dinners, he sits diagonally from you

always laughing a beat too loud at others’ jokes

Overcompensation

volunteers for extra rehearsals

dances until his ankles swell

posts cryptic Instagram stories: “Alone but not lonely 🌙”

Fragile Deflection

bring up the performance?

he shrugs

“It was just a dance. You didn’t miss much.”

his hands tremble as he stirs his tea

Dialogue

catch him after practice

sweat dripping down his neck

“Jimin, please... let me explain.”

he freezes, back still turned

“What’s there to explain? You chose something else. I get it.”

voice cracks on the last word

“Just… don’t make promises you can’t keep, okay? It’s exhausting.”

WHAT TO DO

Radical Honesty

write him a letter

not with excuses

with ugly truths leave it in his dance bag

Unseen Support

film his rehearsals from the back of the studio when he thinks no one’s watching

edit the clips into a montage of his progress

set them to his favorite piano piece

send it anonymously

buy every vitamin drink he likes and stock the fridge with them

he raises an eyebrow?

“The staff did it.”

knows you’re lying but drinks them anyway

Patient Presence

start arriving early to his schedules

sit in the parking lot with his preferred iced americano

he gives them to staff at first

then, one day takes a sip

“Too much ice.”

next morning, the coffee has half the ice

HIS RESPONSE

Breaking Point

two weeks in

corners you in an empty hallway

his eyes are red-rimmed, fists clenched

“Why now? Why bother?”

voice trembling

“Do you know how long I stood there after the show? I waited like an idiot, thinking… maybe you’d run in, maybe you’d...”

cuts himself off

throat bobbing

Reconciliation

don’t reach for him

just tell him: “I’ll wait as long as you did. Longer.”

he will crumble then

forehead pressed to your shoulder

tears soaking your shirt

“You hurt me,”

he chokes it out

“You promised.”

hold him as he shakes

"I know. I’m here. However long it takes.”

Actions Speak Louder

starts leaving his studio door cracked open

you hear him humming your favorite song

= a test but you knock

“forgets” his sweater at your place

you return it?

he says, “Keep it. It looks better on you.”

AFTERMATH

Rebuilding

trust returns in fragile, beautiful steps

invites you to a private rehearsal

new choreography= raw, angry, then tender

= a story of betrayal and hesitant hope

you’re the only audience

texts you at 3 a.m.

“Can’t sleep. Tell me something real.”

reply with a voice note of your insecurities

ge sends back a 10-second clip of his heartbeat

= recorded against his chest

New Normal

he’s clingier now

it’s tinged with fear

he’ll grip your hand too tight before going onstage

“You’ll stay?”

answer by pressing his VIP pass into your palm until it leaves a mark

Final

months later, he books the same theater for a new piece

this time, you’re backstage

holding his hands as they tremble

“Look at me, if I fall… don’t let go.”

you don’t

when he bows, flushed and breathless, he mouths: “You’re here”

TAEHYUNG

WHAT HAPPENED

he had been working on a photography series for months

capturing fleeting moments of human connection

=a project he called "Eternal Ephemera."

invited you to his private exhibition

= a deeply personal showcase he’d only shared with a few

you canceled last minute, citing a work emergency

the truth?

you forgot, prioritizing a casual hangout with friends

he texted you a photo of his empty guest seat

caption: “Guess some moments aren’t eternal”

you brushed it off, joking

“Next time, Tae! You know I’m your biggest fan.”

days later, you stumbled on his Instagram story

= a close-up of a wilting rose

quote: “The loneliest feeling is sharing your soul with someone who chooses not to see it.”

HIS REACTION

Immediate Response

doesn’t confront you

he becomes a ghost in your shared space

his laughter, usually loud and boxy, is replaced by silence

when you try to apologize, he tilts his head

eyes unreadable behind his round glasses

“Hmm? Oh, that. It’s fine."

voice airy

his smile doesn’t reach his cheeks

Internal Monologue

Why didn’t you care?

replays your promises

“I’ll always be there for your art, Tae”

wonders if he romanticized your bond

camera becomes his confidant

= takes photos of empty chairs, shattered mirrors, lone footsteps in snow

Actions & Subtle Cues

Artistic Retreat

disappears into his studio for hours

blasting Chet Baker

the door, usually open, stays shut

Fashion Armor

wears oversized coats and berets pulled low

hiding his face

you compliment his outfit?

he mutters

“Clothes don’t lie."

walks away

Cryptic Posts

Instagram fills with abstract edits

=a blurred figure walking away, a burning photo frame

captions are poetry fragments:

“Seeds planted in concrete / you watered the wrong roots.”

Dialogue

catch him feeding Yeontan outside

“Tae, let’s talk...”

interrupts you

voice soft but sharp

“What’s there to say? You saw my heart and called it… what? A hobby?”

adjusts Yeontan’s sweater

avoiding your gaze

“Not everyone understands art. I get it.

WHAT TO DO

Unspoken Apology

create a photo series

titled “What I Failed to See.”

each photo captures a detail Taehyung loves

leave a USB drive in his mailbox with no note

Patient Curiosity

attend a jazz bar he loves

sitting alone at the bar

he notices you, you don’t speak

slide a Polaroid across the table

= a shot of his favorite street musician

captioned “He plays your song better when you’re here.”

learn film photography

burning through rolls of failed shots

he finds your discarded negatives

he sees dozens of attempts to capture light the way he does

Space to Speak

at a group dinner, someone jokes about “artsy types being too sensitive.”

you shut it down

“Art’s how some people breathe. Mock that, and you suffocate them.”

Taehyung’s chopsticks pause mid-air, then drop

HIS RESPONSE

First Thaw

leaves a single photo on your desk

=a shot of your USB drive sitting beside his keyboard

back reads: “Exposure time: 7 days. Still processing.”

Conversation

finds you crying in the darkroom

surrounded by botched prints

“You’re wasting film.”

his voice is gentle

guides your hands to adjust the enlarger

“Light isn’t something you force. It’s something you… wait for.”

Actions Speak Louder

texts you a location pin at 4 a.m.

= an abandoned train yard

you arrive - he’s silhouetted against sunrise, camera in hand

“You frame the shot”

he's pressing the camera into your palms

“Show me what you see now.”

gifts you a scratched vinyl record

“Kind of Blue” by Miles Davis

scrawled on the sleeve: “Some harmonies take time to tune.”

AFTERMATH

Rebuilding

trust returns in stolen moments

lets you name his new photography series

“F/1.8 (Fragile Hearts, Infinite Depth).”

during a V LIVE, he plays your jazz Polaroid on screen

he smiles, tilting his head

“A reminder that even broken lenses can focus… if you let them.”

New Normal

he tests you subtly

leaves half-developed film in your bag

“Finish this story.”

asks for your opinion on his outfits

but only in metaphors

“Does this color sound like regret or rebirth?”

Final Scene

invites you to a gallery months later

= his “Eternal Ephemera” reprise

final photo is you

standing in the rain outside the jazz bar, holding his forgotten umbrella

caption: “Ephemeral? Maybe. But the developing process… that’s forever.”

you turn to him

he’s already looking, eyes glinting

“You stayed in the darkroom long enough to see the image. That’s all I needed.”

JUNGKOOK

WHAT HAPPENED

you’d been Jungkook’s closest friend since pre-debut

= the one he trusted with memories he’d never shared with anyone else

= like the panic attacks he’d hidden during trainee days, or the crumpled letter he wrote his parents apologizing for “chasing a dream instead of being a good son”

on the anniversary of his trainee contract, he’d asked you to meet him at Namsan Tower at sunrise

a tradition you’d kept since 2013

but you canceled last-minute for a work emergency

dismissing it as “just another sunrise”

when he confided his fears about enlisting, you accidentally leaked the conversation to a mutual friend

rumor spread, and he heard it from a staff member first

HIS REACTION

Immediate Response

doesn’t confront you

he stops showing up

his texts go from sporadic to silent

you finally corner him after practice

he’s drenched in sweat

punching a bag with violent precision

“Not now”

voice flat

his yes are red-rimmed

he blames it on exhaustion

Internal Monologue

You promised.

those words loop in his head like a curse

replays every moment he’d leaned on you

= the night he cried over a vocal mistake, the time he gave you his childhood bracelet “for safekeeping.”

wonders if you ever took him seriously

or if you saw him as just the “golden maknae"

=too naive to need real loyalty

Maybe I trusted too much

he's biting his lip until it bleeds

Actions & Subtle Cues

Isolation

starts arriving early to the gym

leaves late

when you wave, he pretends to adjust his AirPods

Overcompensation

posts Instagram stories of solo hikes at sunrise

captioned “Self-reliance mode 🔒.”

Artistic Outlet

sketches a charcoal drawing of a broken chain

tags it “#growth.”

Dialogue

catch him after a concert

desperate

“JK, please, let me explain.”

he freezes, back still turned

“You know what sucks? I still want to believe you.”

his voice cracks

“But I can’t even look at you without feeling… stupid.”

WHAT TO DO

Relentless Consistency

text him every morning

“6:15 a.m. — at the trailhead if you want company.”

he never replies

on Day 12, he’s there

hoodie pulled low

walks three paces ahead

but doesn’t tell you to leave

learn the choreography for his solo song

practice until your knees bruise

he walks in on you panting

“Teach me?”

rolls his eyes but adjusts your stance

hands lingering a second too long

Tangible Penance

track down his childhood bracelet (lost years ago) and restore it

add a new charm

= a tiny shield engraved with the date you met

leave it in his locker with a note

“I’ll earn the right to hold this again.”

his enlistment rumors flare up?

you publicly take the blame on Weverse

“I broke his trust. Redirect your anger to me.”

he deletes the post within minutes but doesn’t text you

Rebuild Nostalgia

recreate your first hangout

= arcade games and strawberry/banana milk

scoffs when you beat his racing score

“Beginner’s luck.”

he pockets the prize ticket you win for him

send him voice notes of old inside jokes

like the way he mispronounced “sarcasm”

he listens on repeat but never reacts

HIS RESPONSE

Breaking Point

one rainy night

you find him sitting alone in the practice room

he's replaying a clip of your first dance cover together

he’s shivering in a damp shirt

“Why’d you come back?”

you kneel beside him

“Because you’re my home.”

he laughs bitterly

“Homes don’t lie.”

he doesn’t pull away when you drape your jacket over his shoulders

Turning Tide

two days later, he texts

“Trailhead. 6:15.”

when you arrive, he tosses you a protein bar

= your favorite flavor

“Don’t faint. I’m not carrying you.”

halfway up the trail, he mutters: “I kept the bracelet.”

Actions Speak Loudest

starts leaving his AirPods case in your ba

= silent invitation to join his walks

during a live stream, a fan asks about trust

he hesitates

then says: “It’s like… doing a trust fall every day. Even when you’re scared.”

his eyes flick offscreen to where you’re standing

AFTERMATH

Rebuilding

he tests you

asks you to hold his phone during a night out

watches to see if you glance at his notifications

you don’t

lets you back into his studio

but only if you sit cross-legged in the corner

“Don’t touch anything.”

weeks later, he slides you a lyric sheet

“Forgiveness is a tattoo... hurts like hell, but you wear it anyway.”

New Normal

he’s clingy in private

possessive in public

links arms with you too tightly at events

like he’s afraid you’ll vanish

he also shares secrets again

shows you demos he calls “too raw for anyone else.”

Final

next anniversary, he wakes you at 4 a.m.

“Namsan. Now.”

at the summit, he clips the restored bracelet onto your wrist

“If you lose it again...”

he warns, but his thumbs brush your pulse point

as the sun rises, he whispers: “You’re still my star. Even when you’re an idiot.”

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celestie0 · 9 months ago

Text

hi my friends! hope you're all doing well. just wanted to come on here and share a little updates w you guys (if you're still here lol)

i guess it's been like a month n a half since i formally went on hiatus, and it's been nice! i got kinda sick for a little bit lmfaooo which was tough to manage w school, but i'm better now

although i took time away from my blog, i still delved in writing here n there. i haven't written anything for kickoff since tbh i'm in such a slump w it. but i still have big plans for stuff that happens after ch13, so hopefully i can just push through this next chapter and get to a better place. thanks so much to anyone that is still interested in the story, it means a lot to me. i know i'm so slow w updates and the story has been going on for almost a year now, but the continued support is so sweet! even though i didn't work on writing it these past one n a half months, i still really love it and plan to finish it.

i'm not sure if many people remember that i had this sort of "apocalypse" gojo x reader au about an asteroid being set to hit the earth in three days, and reader n gojo are ex lovers n the impending end of the world makes them break no-contact...yeah i finished writing the first chapter for it and i really love it so far! it's like set in new york which is really fun haha i love stories where new york is kind of its own "character" if that makes sense...it will definitely be a limited series w only 4 chapters or so, but i kinda wanna finish all 4 chapters before i start posting it bc i don't want it to be a drawn out series in terms of posting since i think it'd be best enjoyed in frequent succession if that makes sense

as for ihm, i think i wrote the most for ihm during my hiatus. i finished three chapters for it, but they are shorter chapters (around 3-4k words). i kinda realized one of my biggest reasons for burnout w my fics were the reaaaaallly long chapters...like didn't i have a 22k chapter for kickoff or sumn lol. idk i can't remember. but anyways, yeah the mindset behind the longer chapters was bc i liked each chapter to kinda have its own conflict, build up, tension then resolution in a sense. but it was exhausting to write that way tbh lol. so i think moving forward, for ihm, i will have shorter chapters. i just don't wanna think to much about things anymore, and write from my heart, bc i have a lot of things planned for ihm, and among the criticism i've received for my writing choices vs my own vision for the story, i've realized during my hiatus that the only way i can finish ihm, or any of my storeis for that matter, is if i just.........stop giving a fuck about it. lol idk if that sounds strange to say, but like, i don't want to over-edit anything. i don't want to think too much about redundancy. i don't want to flower things up or cut stuff out. i'm at the point where imma just write a first draft, check for grammarly errors, and then post it. i guess the reason i'm sharing this is because idk if this means that people may enjoy my writing less since i will admittedly be spending much less time on it than i did before, but tbh i realized i find the most joy while i'm writing, and not while i'm editing. so i want to spend as little time on the latter as possible, and if that changes the quality of my work, then so be it.

anyways, hmm as for hiatus. i guess i'm off hiatus now? i really enjoyed being off of tumblr tbh this app has a lot of questionable content at times (esp in jjk community) and it also did wonders for my studying bc i wasn't spending time doomscrolling or shit posting anymore lmfaooo. but as for writing in particular, i think i will start to post ihm again exclusively. i can't say anything about kickoff or my other projects, but i feel comfortable to start posting ihm again.

sorry, i know that i have kept my replies and ask box off for a long time. but i will open them again once i start posting chapters because i really miss interacting with you guys.

anywho, these are my updates lol i'm like not sure how many of my readers are still here or which ones have moved on but that's ok, i'm grateful to anyone n everyone. hope to see you all soon again!

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sxcret-garden · 1 year ago

Text

Haechan ღ Painted with You [M]

ღ NCT Dream Haechan x fem!reader ღ feat.: short mentions of Renjun & Jeno ღ words: ~15k ღ genre: college AU, fwb to lovers, exes to lovers, fluff, slice of life, slow burn, pining, reader is a little dense, angst, humor, smut (switch!Haechan (but sub-leaning), oral (both receiving), hair pulling (idol receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, some begging, fingering, handjob, edging, orgasm denial (idol receiving), dry humping) ღ warnings: alcohol consumption, depiction of anxiety and reader feeling burnt out, mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms

Desc.: You and Donghyuck were a couple back in high school, each having your own reasons for dating the other, but ultimately what you seeked out in each other was a distraction. Now that you meet again five years later, you both come to realize that the connection between you is still there, and eventually it’s crystal clear that the people you’ve become won’t be as easily separated as back then.

Author's note: aaaa I've had this in my drafts for sooo long avoiding to proofread it cause I wasn't happy with this at all... so now I finally came back to it to edit a bit and I think in the end it turned out quite okay^^ I hope you guys like it 🫶

There’s a hint of victory in the smile he gives you when you sit down next to him. Like he knew it would come to this - that you’d get bored of exchanging mundanities with the others and eventually find yourself drawn to him as your only escape. And it’s not like you didn’t know it too, it was clear from the moment you greeted each other with a hug that lasted shorter than it should have, and at the same time felt more familiar than you wanted it to. Yet his stance is inviting as he turns his whole body towards you in his seat, and the curiousity in his eyes is apparent.

“Long time no see,” he says, and it comes out softer than you would’ve expected it to. And he probably had the same thought, because he’s clearing his throat now, talking more firmly as he continues, “What have you been up to?” The last time you’ve seen each other was at your high school graduation ceremony, and since then it’s been almost five years. Which, as your former class president Renjun had decided, was about enough time to gather for a reunion.

“Well, you know. This and that,” you try to avoid an answer, but of course he wouldn’t let you off the hook so easily. He knows you too well for that.

“Come on,” he snorts. “You can tell me. My time wasn’t spent in a purely productive manner either.”

“You probably spent about 3 years total on just playing video games…” you say with a grin playing on your lips, and you make him huff in disbelief, before his expression as well returns to a somewhat mischievous smile.

“Now that was just tactless,” he says, straightening his back now. “I quit uni to go to work, and then started again with a different major. So now I’m a freshman!” He gives you a peace sign with his hand, sounding a lot prouder about the fact than he should’ve been.

“Feeling like 19 again?” you joke.

“Yes! Everyone automatically assumes I’m their age,” he explains. “But then I tell them I’m older, so I can make them work for me!” An exaggeratedly mischievous laugh follows, and you can only shake your head at his shenanigans.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, turning away and facing the bartender working just a few seats away. Originally you were all going out for dinner and nothing more, but when some girls suggested paying a nearby bar a visit, nobody could refuse in the face of getting some booze into their veins. Maybe you aren’t the only one who’s getting fucked over by life.

“One margarita,” you raise your hand and order, then you add, directed at Donghyuck, “Anything for you?”

“Just soju.” And so after placing both your orders, he adds, “Still can’t drink the adult drinks?”

“Excuse you, it has alcohol in it, so it is an adult drink. But if you’re asking if I still hate bitter stuff - yes I do.”

“I see… anyway, I’m not letting you get away without properly answering my question.”

“Too bad,” you respond. “Well…” And then you hesitate. You remember what it was like between the two of you in high school. When you were dating, each for your own reasons and certainly not because you had feelings for each other. But he still felt like a friend you could entrust your deepest feelings with - you knew each other like the back of your own hand. And yet, you find yourself hesitating in the face of five years passed by without a word from the other. It wasn’t like you had a fight or broke up on bad terms. It’s just that you both agreed it would be better not to see each other again, for reasons that seemed smart at the time. But now that you’re looking at the person he’s become and how much he seems to have grown up, you’re not sure anymore what those reasons even were.

“That bad?” Donghyuck interrupts your train of thought as he raises an eyebrow at you, and when you shake your head a short laugh escapes him.

“No, just… I’m also still in university,” you say. “I had to take a year off, so I’m trying to finish everything now. It’s not going great though.”

“Oh…” he looks away, directing his gaze at his hands that he’s hiding in the sleeves of his knitted sweater. “Are you managing though?” And that’s when you suddenly feel the past and the present connect - the way he immediately becomes serious when the situation calls for it, just like he has always done, makes you feel safe to keep speaking, and to keep your heart open, just for a bit.

“It’s… difficult,” you admit. The bartender sets down your ordered drinks, causing another pause, and you acknowledge it with a nod. “I’m trying not to do too much, but you know what’s it like living here.”

“Yeah,” he says. “That fucked you over before, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” You fall silent after that, but not for long. Your conversation partner is Donghyuck after all, he wouldn’t let an awkward silence get too long.

“I have changed… by the way.” You raise your eyebrows at him as he speaks those words, letting the sip of your cocktail slowly trickle down your throat.

“Have you?” you ask. “Well, I mean… you’ve grown up.”

“Oh?” Suddenly seeing him straightening his back as he’s overjoyed, you can’t but giggle at the way his face is graced with a beaming smile now, but he glosses it over with a cough and a sip of his soju.

“But you sure are still the same guy,” you add, a nostalgic smile on your lips.

“I guess,” he agrees, his features softening. Another pause falls upon you as you give your cocktail another taste, and this time it’s you who breaks the silence. Continuously chatting, you’re starting to feel a little tipsy from the sweet beverage after a while.

“I heard you got a girlfriend?” Donghyuck huffs, a wide smile meant to hide a bitter feeling appearing on his face.

“Yeah…”

“What about her?” you pry, sensing something off.

“Dumped me,” he simply says, then pointing across the room and at Jeno, one of your former classmates. “For that guy.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s whatever,” he shrugs it off, pouring himself another glass and offering the shot to you instead. “You sure you don’t want any?”

“I’d rather have my own drink, thanks.”

“Alright. Then cheers.” He downs the shot, grimacing at the taste, and when he sets the glass back down, he adds, “I don’t get why she went for him anyway. I bet it’s cause of all that muscle he got.” You can’t help but chuckle at his words, and you hit his upper arm playfully.

“You should hit the gym too and then see if you can get her back.”

“Very funny,” he replies dryly. “I’d rather die.”

“Understandable…” you reply, taking another sip of your drink as well. “So… you’re probably glad I finally came to you.” Donghyuck shoots you a questioning look and you explain yourself. “For a distraction. Like in the old days, you know?”

“Ahh…” He merely lets out a sound, before staring at his empty shot glass.

“You’re not doing that anymore?” you assume.

“I guess.”

“Yeah… me too,” you say. “Or like… I stopped using people for it.”

You were dating back then, that’s true, but you wouldn’t go as far as to call yourselves high school sweethearts. You were both going through some stuff - for him it was a breakup with his first love, for you it was just life itself. When you were both at your lowest you started talking properly, and it soon became clear that you both wanted nothing more than to escape. And so you formed an alliance - as you used to call it, to everyone else you simply said that you were a couple now. You did behave like a couple, but just for the rush. The first time you held his hand you felt nothing, but when you made out secretly in the backyard of your school instead of attending class, that’s when you were overwhelmed with excitement. It was a stupid idea, you know that now too, and it only worked for so long. You spent the summer of your junior year together, meeting up almost every day and talking, and eventually distracting yourselves by making out secretly in your or his room. And then your final year came, and as you started seeing yourselves forced to take life a bit more seriously, you gradually met up less, until you both agreed that breaking up would be the best decision, so that you could focus on your studies and try to get into a good university. At least for your part, you still have mixed feelings when you remember that day. Because you know you made the adult decision, but at the same time you always end up thinking back to what fooling around with him felt like when you have a bad day now, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss it at least a bit. But you found other distractions - obsessing over tv series, finding just the perfect kind of music to drown out your feelings, and sometimes, whenever you could find a good excuse to drink with friends, alcohol. Though you’re being careful with the latter, just as you are now. One drink is usually enough to help you relax a bit and not pay all the things stressing you out so much thought.

“So when are we gonna start writing your redemption arc?” you ask nonchalantly, and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Your ex.”

“Stop that, for real,” he says, and the way he remains serious tells you your joke wasn’t well received.

“Sorry,” you utter.

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” He’s playing with the glass in his hands, thumb rubbing along its edge as he keeps staring at it, and you take the last few sips of your drink, before you too start spinning the cocktail glass around between your fingers.

“Actually…” Donghyuck speaks up, now throwing you an entirely different look. “How about we get out of here. Maybe we could both use a distraction after all.”

“But-”

“Just for today.” You stare at him blankly, blinking once, twice, then a third time. This sounds like a bad idea, but at the same time you know you’re probably not gonna see each other for the next five years, just like it was for the past five. So what would be so bad about taking his offer now?

“Alright,” you say eventually, having made up your mind. “My place? It’s nearby.” His lips are parted slightly as he watches you jump out of your seat and put on your jacket. As the air around you changes, so does the look in his eyes, and a moment later he gets up too, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist while he holds the door open for you as he walks you out of the place.

“You really have changed,” you comment as you’re sneaking out, so none of the others would notice, and you giggle at your unnecessary secrecy once you’re past the entrance to the building.

“I can be a gentleman too!” he insists. “Of course a high school boy wouldn’t think of that.” You catch the pout that forms on his lips as he adds the last part, and you inevitably laugh, pointing at his face.

“But you’re also really still the same.”

You decide on going to your place, as it’s nearby, and you take a taxi there. Though you know this is only going to be a one time thing, neither of you seems to be in a rush. You take the elevator to the sixth floor, grinning at each other in silence the entire ride - maybe because this reminds the both of you a bit too much of the way you used to sneak off together all the time back in school. But once you arrive at your apartment, the atmosphere between you somehow changes, and as you’re walking over to your little kitchen to offer him a drink, he stops you, wrapping his arm around your waist. His touch is firm now, and he comes to a halt when he’s standing right in front of you, closer than a friend would, but leaving more distance between you than a lover would, and keeping his voice lowered, he asks,

“So… are we going to go right to the distraction part? Or do we need to pretend that we still need to warm up to each other first?” You find him staring at your lips, then returning his gaze to your eyes as he waits patiently for your response. And you don’t manage to come up with anything smart to say to him, so you simply take a step forward, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, and you kiss him. His lips feel soft, just like you remember them, melting against yours perfectly. Yet there’s a firmness to his kiss that feels new to you. He used to always kiss you with eagerness, too much of it at times, impatient to feel more of you and for you to take control. It was no secret between you two that he actually quite enjoyed being put into his place by you, and now that there’s no such intentions apparent behind the way he moves his lips against yours, you find yourself having your breath taken away by the time you part.

“You really did grow up well…” you mutter, barely an inch apart. “Did your ex teach you to kiss like that?”

“Watch your mouth, Y/N,” he mutters darkly, another side of him that’s not exactly new to you, but one that you haven’t seen a lot in the past. And then he simply brushes his lips against yours again, softly and with care, quite in contrast to his sharp words. “I don’t wanna ruin this with thoughts about people I don’t know anymore.”

“Right…” you whisper, and before you can add a mumbled apology, he presses his lips to yours again. In between short kisses that inevitably leave you longing for more, he steers you closer to the wall behind you, until he has you trapped against it. Your shoulders meet the cold surface gently, and as you’re slowly getting to know this different side of him, you feel yourself being swept off your feet like he never knew how to.

One of his hands resting on your waist, his fingertips creep towards your hip as you’re sharing an open mouthed kiss. A moan escapes you when he presses you up against the wall closer, and as he slowly parts from you, you can see the playful grin showing on his face now.

“You changed too,” he comments, and again he closes the distance between you without giving you a chance to question his words. Your hands finding their way up into his short hair, your fingers get tangled with the strands and you carefully tug at them as he deepens this kiss as well. He’s kissing you slowly as you let him have the lead naturally, and as you keep making out like this, you eventually find yourself burning up whole under his touch. He moves from your mouth to your neck eventually, and you lean your head back with a deep sigh as he begins scattering hot kisses all over the area. His hand that’s been propped up against the wall now finds the back of your nape to support you, and when he comes back up, he whispers a question,

“Do we keep going like we used to? Or do you wanna go all the way this time?” Drunk on his kisses, you pull him in for another one on the mouth, and as you part you mutter,

“We’re not kids anymore. Let’s go all the way.” You step aside and he lets you, and you reach for his hands to walk him over to your couch. Giving him a push, he lets himself fall back onto the sofa, leaning against the backrest as his curious gaze never leaves you. “Don’t need this anymore…” you mumble as you pull off your shirt and throw it somewhere onto the ground, and then you crawl into his lap to straddle him. His hands find purchase on your hips immediately as he looks up at you with warm eyes. You cup his face in your hands and you lean in, capturing his lips in a teasing kiss. Sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, you lure a breathy moan out of him, and wanting to hear more, you keep kissing him like that. Feathery touches that would for sure make him want more eventually become overshadowed by you rolling his hips on top of him, and with each time he lets you hear his voice you become more eager. It’s almost as if you’ve become the one who can’t wait, and he’s the one acting with patience.

“Never knew you could turn me on this much,” he mutters as you pull back, moving your hips at a leisurely pace. You can undoubtedly feel the bulge in his pants, and it’s certainly not leaving you unaffected.

“I grew up too, Hyuck,” you say, and then you bury your face in his neck. You kiss a trail up to the spot right below his ear as he leans back, and his hands wander up your sides and to your back when you start nibbling on his skin.

“Mhm… you did, hm?” he answers. He finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, and as the piece of clothing slides down your arms, you sit back so he can take it off you and fling it to the ground as well, somewhere in the general direction of where your shirt should be. He holds onto your sides as he takes in the sight in front of him, and as he draws closer to connect his lips to the skin on your chest, you can hear him saying,

“I know I never told you this as a boy but you look beautiful. I really regret not saying that to you.” He kisses his way up from the valley of your breasts to your throat and then back to your mouth, and just before he can connect his lips to yours, you whisper,

“It’s fine. I might’ve actually fallen for you if you had done that.” You laugh, and he does too, but his grin has a different meaning to it than yours.

“Don’t say that. We don’t want anything unfortunate to happen.” Connecting his lips to yours, he runs his tongue across them to ask for permission to enter, and without protest you let him deepen the kiss.

“Now you’re the one who said it,” you mumble a response in between kisses. “That’s a stupid thought anyway.”

“Right.” His fingertips dance south along your spine, and he eventually tugs at your pants as a sign that he wants those off as well. And so you peel yourself out of his hold, and while you’re discarding your jeans, he slips out of his shirt, and both clothing items land somewhere on the floor, soon to be forgotten. He makes you lie down flat on the couch as he crawls on top of you, and when he leaves a trail of small kisses up your torso, one of his hands finds its way to your hips, thumb hooking under the fabric of your panties.

“These too,” he says. “I want these off too.” You give him the okay to take them off as you comb your fingers through his hair once, and as soon as he’s gotten rid of the last piece of clothing on your body, he lowers himself to let his lips draw a map of your figure. Feeling his warm hands against your sides, you let out a sigh as you lean your head back and you close your eyes for a bit, just enjoying the way his kisses feel against your skin. Your hands fly to his hair again, and you find yourself massaging his scalp as he’s slowly going down on you. You let him lift your legs up onto his shoulders eventually, and when he buries his face between your legs, you can’t but let out a small moan. Tongue lapping at your folds, he hums at your taste, and then he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it gently.

“That feel good?” he asks, slurring his words a bit, and you nod, tugging at the strands of hair between your fingers.

“Yeah. Keep going…” And so he does, alternating between teasing you with his lips and the tip of his tongue, and when he retrieves one hand to slide his fingers inside you, he comments,

“So wet for me, hm?”

“Y-yeah…” You can unmistakably feel the knot in your stomach being tied tighter with every single touch of his, and when he pumps his fingers in and out of you at a frustratingly slow pace, you find yourself begging for more. “Faster… p-please…” Donghyuck simply hums at your plea, before he obliges, curling his fingers inside you just a little faster. Gradually picking up on speed, the way he flicks his tongue against your clit along with the waves of pleasure that run through your body with each time he hits that sweet spot inside you make you slowly lose your mind, and you let him know just how good he’s making you feel by moaning in tune with his movements.

“Don’t stop… please don’t stop…” you mewl as you look down on yourself to find him already gazing back up at you, observing all of your reactions closely through half-lidded eyes. Just a few more repetitions and he’s throwing you over the edge, making you clench around his fingers as you throw your head back with a moan. “Fuck…” you mutter after he pulls out of you carefully, and he crawls back up to kiss you on the lips. You can taste yourself on his tongue as you share a lazy kiss, and once you part, you place your palms on his chest to push him off you.

“Your turn,” you simply state as you sit up and you make some space so you can comfortably kneel in front of the sofa. Getting the message, he hurriedly rids himself of his pants and boxers, and when he sits down in front of you, you don’t waste another second to wrap your fingers around his length. Giving him a few strokes, he’s fully hard in no time, and he watches as he leans back, enjoying the attention.

“You really have no patience anymore, huh,” he mutters, and you lick your lips before returning his gaze.

“Want me to torture you a bit? Make you beg for it? I can do that too.”

“I can beg if you want me to,” he retorts, the confident expression not being wiped off his face so easily, and you decide to keep that piece of information in mind. Just in case. But for now you’re not planning on making him wait - he’s right, you’ve become impatient, and you’re dying to know what kind of sounds you might lure out of him with his dick in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his tip a few times, watching him part his lips slightly as he lets you hear a deep sigh and a praise directed at you. “That’s right…” he mutters, and when you take his tip into your mouth fully, he lets you hear a moan so sweet, you swear you could cum just from the sound of it. Slowly bobbing your head up and down and having your hand that’s wrapped around his base follow those same movements, you enjoy the way he keeps moaning at your ministrations, until eventually you hum in approval and he whines from the pleasure.

“Fuck…” A curse escapes him when his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag a little, and you find yourself amused at how easy it is to make a guy whine as soon as you have him in a position like this. You go painfully slow, but he takes all of your teasing, and just when you start feeling bad for him because of how desperate his moans are, you speed up, making sure to take him in as far as you can.

“Shit, Y/N…” he calls out to you. “Wait-”

“Hm?” You come up at his words, letting him slip out of your mouth.

“Wanna cum in your pussy…” The request makes you grin.

“So demanding…” you mutter, shooting him a challenging look.

“Please…” he tries to convince you, his pupils shaking as he’s awaiting your answer. But you’ve already made up your mind on how you’re going to proceed, and so you merely throw him a grin, before taking him back into your mouth. He throws his head back at you sucking him off at a faster pace now, probably in a mixture of frustration and pleasure, and as more curses fall from his lips along with your name, you know he’s close. You hum at his desperation and at the way he’s twitching in your hand while he’s bucking his hips up into your touch, and the next time you’re sinking all the way down on him, he cums with a moan. You try to swallow everything as he releases into your mouth, and when you let go of him you lick your lips to get the rest of it too, all while he watches with a hazy mind. And then you crawl into his lap, leaving a trail of kisses down the side of his throat, and eventually you say,

“Why not both?” You grab his face in one hand, gaze falling to his lips, and before he can say anything you kiss him to cut off his train of thought. “We have so much time tonight…” you mutter against his lips in between kisses, and he merely lets out small moans at your words. “We can do all the things we want. But let’s move somewhere more comfortable first.” And so you hurriedly walk over to your bedroom, Donghyuck pushing you against the mattress as soon as you’re there, and he doesn’t waste a single second to kiss you again. His lips nipping at your collarbones, you throw your arms around him, until finally you switch positions again, and you end up sitting on top of him, sinking down on his hard cock and biting your lower lip from how good it feels to be filled up like this.

“Fuck…” Now it’s you who’s cursing, fingers intertwined with his as you’re pinning his hands down to keep yourself stable. You know he’s drinking up the sight in front of him as you start slowly riding him, and the way he looks at you only turns you on more.

“Shit, you look so pretty like this…” he mumbles, completely taken aback, and he sits up, freeing his hands to hold onto your sides instead. “Can I kiss you?”

“You’re asking that now?” you chuckle as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he lets out a short laugh as he too realizes how ridiculous his question was.

“You’re right,” he mutters, leaning in. “Then I’ll just kiss you whenever I want.” A rush of heat courses through your body as he presses his lips against yours, and you roll your hips on top of him just a little faster.

“Please do,” you whisper, barely audible, before Donghyuck closes the distance between you again. You take your time making out, until both of you feel that you’re coming close again, and with one hand between your bodies, he starts rubbing your clit for you as you keep your pace.

“I’ll help you,” he whispers, unable to take his eyes off your face as you’re both completely drunk on the other’s touches.

“Mhm…” you moan, chasing your own high on top of him. You’re the first one who comes undone, digging your nails into his shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck as your high shakes you.

“Don’t stop, Y/N…” His words sound desperate, and you do your best to keep moving despite feeling the overstimulation building up. He has both his hands on your back now, and you let out a moan when you feel him dragging his nails down to your hips. “Shit…!” Spitting out a curse, he releases inside you, and finally you come to a halt. You stay in your positions for a while, waiting until your heartbeats have returned to a normal pace in each other’s arms, before you both lie down side by side, out of breath and grinning at the other.

“Didn’t think you’d get that good without me…” he mutters a comment.

“Hey!” you shout playfully. “What was I supposed to do if you just disappear on me like that?”

“You didn’t contact me either,” he tries to defend himself, but you both know it was him who stopped replying to your messages, even though your conversations were already scarce after graduating. For now you decide to say nothing - your mind filled with bliss from what your night out ended up turning into, you wouldn’t want to ruin the mood. Instead, he’s the one to break the silence.

“Wanna keep going?” he asks, scooting over closer to you and making you lie flat on your back, kissing a trail down your jawline and placing a hand on top of your stomach. “I wanna keep going,” he adds, more silently, as his fingers are already wandering south.

“Alright,” you mutter, your hand up in his hair again as he drags his fingers down your folds, dipping inside once and then coming back up to your clit to draw circles onto it. “If I walk weird tomorrow it’s your fault,” you add, laughing.

“You just made me wanna see that,” he jokes back, before pressing a kiss to the side of your throat and letting his fingers take care of you.

You keep in touch after that, texting each other throughout the day - even on those days where you barely find the time or energy to be social, you’ll at least send some memes back and forth - and meeting up whenever you both have some free time. It really feels like you’re continuing right where you had left off five years ago whenever you find yourselves unable to stop laughing because of your own bickering, or when you’re sitting side by side, having a more serious conversation and simply offering an open ear to the other. And at the same time something about the way you treat each other has undoubtedly changed. Of course you both grew up and you’re more mature than you were as high school students, but it seems there’s something else lingering in the air during every interaction you have, you just can’t really put your finger on what that is.

You also keep meeting up to have sex.

“So? What does that make us?” you ask a question into the dimly lit room, staring up at the ceiling. You’re both lying side by side on his bed, the sheets beneath you messed up as evidence of what you’ve been doing, and the chilly air in the room hitting your skin lets you cool down a bit.

“What? This?” Donghyuck asks, turning his head so he could look at you.

“Yeah,” you respond. “We’re not just friends if we’re constantly hooking up, are we?” Your words are accompanied by a chuckle, meant to tell him that you’re not being as serious as you sound. Or maybe you are, but mostly because your other friends keep asking where you’re sneaking off so frequently these days, and why you don’t seem to have the time to meet up with them anymore. And everytime you tell them you’re seeing a different friend, a part of you feels like you’re lying. Maybe that’s because they’ve stopped believing you too, and they keep urging you on to finally admit that you’re dating someone. But you’re not dating Donghyuck, right?

“Fuckbuddies?” He rolls onto his side, head supported by his hand, and he gives you a mischievous look.

“I guess,” you say, and after some consideration you add, “My friends keep asking who I’m meeting all the time. They think I have a boyfriend.”

“Well, what does it feel like when you kiss me?” You’re too stunned to speak for a moment, not expecting him to pose such a serious question.

“I mean… you’re a good kisser?” You grin at him, rolling onto your side as well so you could face him, and as you’re drawing near, he’s already reaching out to capture your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“That’s all?”

“I think so.” He lets his lips brush against yours, puffy and reddened from making out earlier, and you feel warmth wrap around you. You also feel safe with him, but that’s not exclusively related to him kissing you, so you don’t feel the need to mention it.

“Then I can’t be your boyfriend,” he mutters when you part.

“So friends… with benefits then?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, great,” you say, letting yourself fall onto your back, sinking into the mattress. “I can’t go around telling my friends that I’m seeing a fuckbuddy.” Your friend giggles beside you.

“I mean you don’t have to,” he says. “If it’s easier to explain, you can just pretend you’re seeing a boyfriend. I don’t mind.”

“I wonder…” you mumble, more to yourself than to him. “Then they’ll want to meet you, so… anyway.” You sit up, letting your feet dangle off the side of the bed. “I’m kinda hungry. You wanna order something?”

“I’ll make us some ramen. But we should shower first.” He sits up as well, and when you throw him a look over your shoulder, he cocks his head to the side, giving you another grin. “Together?” You laugh at his suggestion.

“You just want another round in there, don’t you? We’re never gonna get food in that case. I’m going alone.”

“Awww…” he whines in defeat and it makes you smile. You crawl closer to him, placing a peck onto his pouting lips.

“We kiss an awful lot for fuckbuddies, though,” you remark, and then you get up.

“I don’t think we’re kissing nearly enough…” he mumbles an answer. Amused by his words, you shoot him another glance, and then you trot off to the bathroom.

“You free Friday night?” You glance at your phone screen when it lights up to quickly read Donghyuck’s message that you just received, and as you let out a sigh, you return your focus to the notebook in front of you. Skimming through your handwritten notes from the lecture you visited every wednesday afternoon a year ago still gives you anxiety - you’re not sure what more you’re supposed to study than this and the materials displayed on your laptop screen, and yet you don’t feel nearly prepared enough. You’re in your last semester - or at least you’re planning for this to be the last one - and you finally forced yourself to register for the exam you keep postponing because you horribly failed it the first time. The worst part is that it’s an oral exam, so no turning back once you’ve answered (or not answered) a question, even if a better response comes to you later on during the exam. And you hate that, because you know your brain tends to black out in stressful situations, and panicking while you’re supposed to recite your knowledge on a complicated topic doesn’t exactly help with that. You tear your eyes away from the materials eventually, taking another sip of your coffee and then picking up your phone off the small round dinner table in your flat.

“Sorry, I don’t have time then ㅠㅠ” You press send, and it doesn’t take long for your friend to reply.

“On the weekend? I’m busy Saturday but Sunday is fine!!”

“I don’t think I can make time until Tuesday. Sorry. Difficult exam coming up…”

“Then you should take a break!! I’m sure you’ve been studying all day” He’s not wrong with his assumption, but still you can’t bring yourself to set aside a few hours to fool around with him. You wouldn’t be able to relax and truly get the exam off your mind anyway, so you refuse again, even if it hurts you.

It’s been like this for a while now. The last time you’ve seen Donghyuck’s face was almost three weeks ago - after that university and sending job applications have taken up all your free time, and the few hours you had in between to rest you simply spent alone in the comfort of your own apartment, feeling too exhausted to even consider making plans with someone else. You know it might do you good to get out more for other things than going to uni, but at the same time you know you simply don’t have the energy right now - or you would’ve already scheduled a meetup with friends. It sucks, and you’re hoping for some space to breathe in between your schedules sometime soon, but at the same time you know you will be busy with uni until your graduation, and from then on you’ll be busy getting accustomed to work and proving yourself there. And the more you think about it, the more it starts to dawn on you that things will likely not change in the near future, and that somehow the life of a freshman and that of a senior don’t really match well at all.

But you brush those thoughts off for now. The last thing you need right now is a distraction, and so you get back to revising the contents for the exam.

And then comes Sunday afternoon, and you can feel the panic coursing through your veins as if you were about to suffocate from it any second now. You’ve always had some kind of exam anxiety, but it’s never been this bad, and you have absolutely no idea what to do with it except endure and hope that tomorrow will pass quickly. That’s when your phone buzzes to let you know you’ve gotten a message, and what you see when you open the chat room tips you over the edge.

“This would’ve been more fun if we had watched it together~” - along with a picture of a laptop screen showing the credits of a movie, the interior of Donghyuck’s flat showing in the background. Your hands are shaking as you read his message, your head spinning because suddenly the stress and a feeling of helplessness overwhelms you. You end up doing the first thing that comes to mind - you call him. He picks up after the first ring.

“Jealous?” he teases you, and you stay quiet, your words suddenly stuck in your throat. Hearing only your ragged breathing, he sounds serious when he continues talking after a few moments of silence. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“What’s up? Wanna talk about it?”

“...the exam…”

“Ahh… you’re freaking out because of it?”

“Y-yeah…” Tears well up in your eyes, but you fight hard to keep them from falling. You know if you start crying now, chances are you won’t be able to talk properly in order to explain yourself to him. “I studied everything but I don’t feel like it’s enough… I have no idea how I’m supposed to pass tomorrow…” A sob escapes you at the end of it, and Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to answer,

“I’ll come over. Just wait for me and hold tight, I’ll be there in 30.”

And so that’s what he does. He doesn’t even give you the time to refuse when he hangs up, and sure enough roughly 30 minutes later he’s at your doorstep. Putting down his bags and taking off his shoes, the first thing he does is pull you into a tight hug.

“Come here,” whispered against the side of your head as he’s already holding you close, he hugs you until he can feel some of the tension leaving your body. When he finally lets you go, he picks up a paper bag he brought with him, holding it out to you and you take it from him. “I bought them on the way. I thought you could use some comfort food.” A glance inside the bag reveals a box decorated with the logo of your favourite bakery.

“Oh my god… thank you!” you exclaim, and you give him another hug as he lets out a bit of an awkward laugh.

“Ah, it’s fine, it’s nothing. Let’s have these while we go over your materials together, okay?”

“Huh?” You take a step back and raise your eyebrows at him.

“I came to help you study. So you can kick ass tomorrow!” Throwing a fist in the air in a victorious gesture, you cringe a bit at his childlike enthusiasm, but at the same time you feel thankful. Like you had been in free fall for the past days and finally someone came to catch you.

“Okay,” you accept his offer to help, and then you walk over to the small table in your living room where your laptop and your notes are scattered all over. Briefly organizing them, you skim through them together, and when you’ve reached the end of it, Donghyuck starts asking you random questions related to the topic that he can come up with. And with every question that you manage to answer, you feel just a little calmer, until you’ve gone through everything several times and it’s long dark outside.

“You’re gonna do well tomorrow,” the guy sitting next to you tells you, throwing his hand up in the air to do some stretching and you do the same, your body aching for a bit of movement after sitting down for hours.

“You think so?”

“Of course!” He seems almost offended at you doubting yourself now. “Look at all these things you memorized perfectly! You’re gonna be just fine.”

“You’re right…” you mutter. “I do feel more confident now.” Yet, you let your head hang.

“But…?” he asks.

“But… I know by the time the exam starts tomorrow I’ll be so nervous, I might forget everything…” He reaches for your hands, taking them into his and giving both of them a gentle squeeze as he looks intently at your face.

“Then you think about how well you just did and how long we just spent repeating everything you studied. With this much preparation, there’s no way you would fail.” You know that realistically speaking, that’s not necessarily true, but you decide to believe him for now. Putting trust into his words puts you at ease, so that’s what you’re going to do.

“Alright,” you say. “It’ll be fine.”

“Of course it will,” he says, laughing as if he had not a single doubt about it.

“But…”

“Another but?”

“It’s almost 2am,” you say.

“Oh.”

“Wanna stay over? It takes you ages to get home if you have to take the night buses, right?”

“It’s fine, I’ll just take a taxi,” he replies, adding, “I don’t wanna stress you out more by staying over.”

“No, I-” All the times you felt yourself forced to turn down his invitations to meet up during the past few weeks are suddenly fresh in your memory, and eventually you manage to say, “I’d actually be thankful if you could stay over… you know… keep the bad thoughts away…”

“Sure…” he responds, and growing very quiet suddenly, he gets up to wrap you into another hug. “I’ll stay.”

You each take a shower and get ready for bed, him throwing on some of his clothes you had lying around at your place anyway, and when you get under the sheets together, it feels different than usually when you sleep in the same bed. Neither of you has any thoughts about having sex for a change, and instead he simply pulls you close to let you rest your head on top of his chest. You wrap an arm around his waist as you listen to his heartbeat, already feeling sleepiness overcome you as you snuggle up to him and you can feel him drawing mindless patterns onto your skin. You feel a sense of peace and safety washing over you when your eyelids simply fall shut, and as you fall asleep you almost don’t register the way he presses a soft kiss onto your forehead.

When you open the email telling you that you got a C on your exam, the first thing you can think of doing is letting Donghyuck know.

“I passed!!!” You send him a message, and he surely doesn’t let you wait too long for an answer, along with a little sticker of a bear wearing a gold medal and giving a thumbs up.

“I told you so!!”

“It’s all thanks to you,” you write. “We need to go celebrate! Drinks on me.”

“Sounds good~”

With a broad smile on your face you put your phone into the pocket of your padded jacket. It has become cold outside, and there’s a thin layer of snow on the streets from last night. It’s the beginning of December, and before Christmas and new years you’re still going to be very busy. You have two job interviews coming up, have to prepare for your final exams and in between you should find some time to work on your dissertation. Still somehow you’re confident that you would easily be able to find a date where you can go out for your little celebration with your friend, but when you run into him on campus a week later, reality hits you right in the face.

“Y/N!” Donghyuck calls out to you as he spots you among a bunch of other students, and you fall behind to briefly talk to him.

“Oh, hi,” you say, not having seen him at all.

“You still didn’t reply to my messages,” he remarks and you immediately pull out your phone, indeed finding that you’ve left him on read two days ago.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you apologize as you remember that you clearly had the intent to respond to him, but then very obviously failed to do so. “Ah, if we can meet… today?”

“Yesterday,” he corrects you. “But I guess that didn’t happen…” You can unmistakably see the disappointment in his expression, even though he’s doing his utmost to hide it, and you furrow your brows at the sight in front of you.

“I’m sorry… I must’ve forgotten to reply while studying or something,” you say, unable to look him in the face. “You know, finals coming up.”

“Yeah… I’m studying a lot too these days,” he says, quickly adding, “But I guess as a senior it’s only natural that you’re even busier than I am.” His words sting for some reason, but it’s not like he’s wrong. Truth be told, you’ve been studying every free minute for the past few days, and in between you had a job interview that you don’t have the best of gut feelings about. You were so busy that you barely manage to have three meals a day, and yet you feel guilty about not being able to make time for him.

“I’m really sorry, Hyuck…” you say and he mutters an “it’s okay” as an answer. “But it’s not, is it?” To that he merely glances to the side, showing a sorry smile. And right then you have an idea. “You know what?” As you reach out to take his hand into yours, he raises his eyebrows at you, taken by surprise by your sudden action. “Let’s set a date right now. Then we don’t have to worry about me forgetting to reply or something.”

“But… that won’t change the fact that you’re super busy…” he reasons, but you cut him off.

“It’s fine, I should be able to spare at least a few hours,” you say, opening your calendar app on your phone and scrolling through the days until exam week starts. “How about next Friday? Friday night sounds like a good time for a little study break and having a celebration instead.”

“S-sure.” You barely notice how he’s atypically dumbfounded at your enthusiasm, only focusing on the fact that you finally found a date to see each other again.

“Great! My place or yours?” you ask, already typing it into your phone.

“Mine… you wanna bring the drinks? Then I’ll take care of the food,” he offers, now taking his phone out as well, probably to put the meet up into his calendar as well.

“Sounds good,” you say in a rush. “Then I’ll see you Friday! Sorry, but… I really have to go now. I was gonna study some more at the library - you coming too?”

“Ah, no, I… have class in half an hour,” he explains briefly, and as you wave your goodbyes and you’re already running off, you fail to notice how his shoulders are suddenly slouched over and there’s a hint of disappointment in the way he looks at you as you’re walking away.

You sigh as you stare at the email you just received, and you immediately regret even checking your mailbox in the middle of studying in the first place. You got rejected for the last job you applied to - but at least you should be thankful that they let you know about it in the first place, right? After all, the last two companies didn’t even do that much after your interview with them. You gulp, trying to swallow all the disappointment bubbling up inside and attempting to shove it back down to where it came from, and then eventually you cross your arms on the table, resting your head on top and you close your eyes for a while. Another sigh escapes you, and you feel the weight of your responsibilities lay heavily on your shoulders. You’re trying not to beat yourself up over not having found a job for after your graduation yet - you know that everyone’s struggling with finding employment these days. But you really don’t want to take on a job you’re overqualified for, or one that’s not in your field of studies at all. You’ve already made too many compromises because of this, like being willing to move to another city for your job, or expanding on what type of positions you’re applying to. And still, nothing. It’s starting to get to you, even though you hate that it is, and even though you had told yourself to focus on your exams and your dissertation first and foremost. But all of these things stacked on top of each other have led you to lose your spark a bit, and there’s no denying you’re starting to feel burnt out.

You tell yourself it’s fine, it will pass and eventually your life will get less stressful again. But for now you can feel that you’re at your limit, and you could really use some comfort.

“Right,” you mutter to yourself, lifting your head and looking at the date displayed in the bottom corner of your laptop screen. “Only a few hours to go. Then I can see him.” It’s Friday afternoon, and so you take a deep breath and bring yourself to study some more, before you can finally go to Donghyuck’s place, spending a full evening not having to think about any of this. Burying your head in your books and your lecture notes, you end up not realizing how fast the time is passing, and next time you check the clock, it’s already past 7.

“Oh god…” you quickly pick up your phone, seeing that your friend already sent you a message asking where you are. You were scheduled to be at his place at 7, but somehow you completely lost track of time.

“I’m so sory I didn’t realize hwo late is is. Ill hurry!!” You type up that message as quickly as possible, ignoring the typos as you send it, and then you jump out of your seat to get ready.

It’s almost 8pm when he opens the door for you and you apologize first thing as you hand him the tote bag with the alcohol you had promised to bring.

“Ah, but you thought of the important stuff,” he says with a forced smile, trying to brighten the mood a bit before he invites you in and you kick off your shoes and take off your coat to follow him inside.

“I’m really really sorry,” you say once again when you’ve made yourself comfortable on his couch. “I was studying and suddenly it was already this late…”

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck says as he carries over two glasses from the kitchen, handing you one of them. “We’re both busy, it’s not like I don’t understand.”

“But you’re upset.”

“A little,” he admits without looking you in the eyes, and when he continues talking, he does his best to sound cheerful. “But let’s not let that ruin the entire evening. We were both looking forward to today, right?”

“Yeah,” you say. “You won’t believe how glad I am to finally be here,” you add, and you feel the way your body relaxes just by being near him. You earn yourself a bright smile for that comment, before he lifts up the glass in his hand.

“I found the recipe for this a few days ago and wanted to try it,” he says. “I thought it’s your style.” You find a few ice cubes swimming in the beverage he handed you, along with a slice of lemon. The color is a dark shade of yellow at the bottom, and completely transparent at the top, and you nod at the presentation.

“It looks good,” you say. “I’ll try it. Cheers!” Each taking a sip, you agree that you like the taste, and the guy sitting next to you on his sofa explains,

“The recipe says you should put a bit of mint in as well, but… I didn’t have any.”

“I think it’s good the way it is… but, I’m starving. Let’s order food?”

“Me too,” he answers, getting out his phone.

You order takeout, and while you eat and drink, you watch a movie that you’ve both been wanting to see for some time. You end up chatting here and there during less interesting scenes, and even though you enjoy the movie overall, you enjoy talking to him more. Eventually, as your eyelids begin to feel heavy, you rest your head on his shoulder and he lets you, and you don’t think anything of the peaceful smile he gives you upon feeling you so close to him. He puts one of his hands on top of your thigh, mindlessly rubbing his palm up and down, and by the end of the movie you can’t deny anymore that his actions are affecting you. Credits still rolling, you turn your head to face him, and wordlessly you kiss him, his lips melting against yours. You part for a mere second in which you put your hand behind his neck, and as you let yourself fall against the backrest of his sofa, he hovers above you, distance closing again.

“Hyuck…” you breathe his name when you part the next time. “Need you…”

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” he mutters into a sweet kiss, and then he gets up, taking you by your hands to pull you up along with him. As soon as you step into the bedroom you pull him in for another kiss, and you stumble backwards as he steers you towards his bed. He barely lets you lie down when he’s already on top of you, kissing you more deeply. Tongue running across your lip to ask for permission to enter, you allow it without hesitation, and you moan at the way he kisses you slowly but passionately.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says after parting, “just lean back, okay?”

“Okay…” you answer and he lets his fingertips wander down your clothed body. Undoing the button of your jeans, he unhurriedly slips his hand inside them, and he watches you intently as his fingertips brush against your soaked panties, his voice sultry as he teases you, “So wet already… I didn’t know you were that desperate for me…” Before letting you answer, he leans in to place a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, starting to rub up and down between your folds slowly.

“I thought I’d go crazy without this…” you confess, arms wrapped around him and one hand up in his hair. You play with his locks as he teases you, and you whine, “More, please… don’t make me wait even longer…”

“What do you want, baby?” he asks, and then he buries his face in your neck, leaving kisses there as you throw your head back.

“Anything… even if it’s just your fingers, please just get me off…” you beg, only now realizing just how desperate you really are. Donghyuck gulps at your words, and he kisses his way up to your jaw and along it, until his lips are hovering right above yours.

“Tell me how badly you need me…” he mutters, pushing the fabric of your underwear aside so he could touch you directly. “I wanna hear everything.” As he starts rubbing small circles on your clit his lips go back to tending to your neck, kissing and nipping on the sensitive skin and making it that much more difficult for you to form coherent sentences. Still you can’t but do as told.

“So bad… need you so bad,” you mewl. “I tried to get off so many times, but nothing feels as good as when you touch me…” He hums at your words, granting you a finger dipping inside your pussy for just a moment in return and gasping at just how wet you are.

“I’ll make up for it,” he says. “I’ll make you cum so good.” You whimper, and then you instinctively buck your hips as his finger ghosts above your entrance. You hear him curse through gritted teeth at how needy you’re becoming, and blood rushes to your head from the thought alone that your state could turn him on so much as well.

“Please… just give me your fingers…” you whine, and to your surprise Donghyuck doesn’t drag out his teasing for longer. And so you cry out when he pushes inside, pumping in and out of you while watching your every reaction to his touch. “Fuck…” you hiss, already seeing your high approaching from far away. “I’m not gonna last long…”

“It’s okay,” he coos over you. “Wanna feel you cum around my fingers… can you take another one?”

“Y-yes… yes please…” you say mindlessly, only being able to think about how you want to feel him more. The stretch is bearable when he pushes into you with three fingers, and when he presses his thumb against your bundle of nerves, fingering you skillfully, you think you’re about to lose your mind. “Fuck… yes… don’t stop, please…” you mewl as he slowly picks up speed until he can see the bliss on your facial features. At this point all you can do is moan his name and dig your nails into his shoulder blades as you cling to him, bucking your hips in chase of your orgasm.

“Shit, you’re so pretty…” you hear him mutter under his breath as he marvels at the sight in front of him, and next thing you know your whole body is shaken by the force of your high. You whine as he fucks you through it, right until your last aftershocks, and then you simply close your eyes as you lay back on his bed, feeling the exhaustion from the past weeks taking over you. Licking his fingers clean after pulling out of you, he then captures your chin between his thumb and index finger to make you look at him.

“What do you want me to do next?” he asks, his words sounding maybe even sweeter than usual to your ears, and you blame it on the way your mind is still in a haze from your orgasm. You think about it for a short while, and in the end you simply snuggle up to him closely.

“Let’s just… stay like this for a while,” you answer. “If that’s okay with you… I think I just need to be close to you.”

“Sure…” Donghyuck mutters, a bit taken aback by your response that must’ve come very unexpectedly to him. However, he doesn’t hesitate to put an arm around your frame, making you feel safe in a warm embrace. “That good?” he asks, and when you nod he presses his lips against your forehead, lingering there for a while.

You don’t move, not knowing how much time is passing while you’re merely listening to the other’s breathing and enjoying each other’s warmth. At that moment, you wish you could stay like this forever, but as you close your eyes and begin to relax, all your thoughts from the past weeks about your situation with him catch up to you one by one. Deep inside you know it can’t stay like this. And the longer you’re dragging this out, the more clearly you can see just how unfair this is on him. And so eventually, you don’t see any other plausible course of action to take next than to start talking.

“Thank you… for being by my side,” you mutter. Your hand having found its way into his, you’re playing with his fingers, eyes focused on that. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you lately… really.”

“Of course!” he responds, moving back a bit to get a proper look at your face. “You know I’d do anything for you.” You chuckle at his exaggerated words, letting go of his hand and ruffling his hair instead.

“I’m glad to have met you again,” you continue. “But… I’ve been thinking, you know? And I don’t think we can go on like this.”

“What…?”

“Just… I’m only gonna get busier, you know…?” The exact moment that he sits up, his comforting touch being torn away from you as he stares at you with disbelief on his face, you inevitably begin to feel like you fucked up. But you started this now, and there’s no way you could dig yourself back out of this mess, so you decide it’d be for the best to just see it through and be honest with him. “You know that I could never pay you back all that you’ve done for me… Hyuck.” You call out his name, but he barely even reacts with nothing but a blank expression in his eyes. You could’ve sworn you’ve never seen him this pale. “I’m gonna graduate, Hyuck. You’ll still be a student when I start working. Hell, I might have to move somewhere completely different if I don’t find a job in this city soon. And once I do find employment, I’m gonna have to work my ass off to prove my worth. I won’t have time to fool around like this anymore…”

“Fool… around…?” he repeats, speaking slowly, as his expression suddenly reflects a hundred complicated feelings. “Fool around… was all this is to you?”

“I mean… we’re friends too, obviously-”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off, and the way he says your name stabs you like a knife. “I have feelings too, you know. You can’t just…” A bitter laugh escapes him. “You’re going to tell me that it’s better if we didn’t see each other anymore, aren’t you?”

“No!” you immediately refute. “I mean-... look, we can stay friends, but I don’t know how much we’ll actually be able to see each other-”

“Friends?” he repeats in utter disbelief. “You don’t realize it, do you?”

“Realize what-”

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I love you.”

“What…?” That is all you manage to reply to his confession. You really did never notice it, and so this comes as a shock to you. You realize that maybe him saying he’d do anything for you wasn’t an exaggeration at all, but you didn’t think he’d keep this fuckbuddy thing up if he had feelings for you all along. As if he had read your mind, he says,

“I’m sorry… I-... I didn’t want to tell you like this…” he speaks, his head hanging low now. “Not when I know you have a thousand other things to worry about, but… I just couldn’t… you said all these hurtful things. I don’t think you know how much hearing all that just now hurts.”

“I-,” you begin, but you don’t know what to say. You stare at him in utter disbelief for a moment, and then all of a sudden, from one second to the other, you feel like you’re going to suffocate if you don’t get out of here as fast as possible. “I… I can’t do this right now.” You get up off the bed and zip up your jeans. Your head is in chaos and your emotions are all jumbled up, but the one thing you can clearly feel is the anger burning in your veins. You truly are upset that he dropped such a bomb on you just before exams start and you need a clear head more than anything. “I’m going home… sorry,” you mutter under your breath, and without another look back at the guy who can’t do anything but watch as you’re slipping out of his grasp once again, you walk out of the door.

“Good luck for your exams” You let out a sigh as you finally delete the notification of the message Donghyuck sent you four days ago as you’re on your way to uni for your last exam. It’s Friday noon and you can’t wait for all of this to be over, the beginning of winter break feeling like you’re finally about to reach the safe shore after you’ve been almost drowning for weeks.

You didn’t talk to Donghyuck for the entirety of the week - of course, or you would’ve long answered his message that he sent you on Monday. But you couldn’t bring yourself to, you didn’t even dare open the chatroom. Instead, you had focused on the necessities to get you through this week: sleep, eat, revise everything you studied, be on time for your exams, rinse and repeat. And now that it’s already the last day of this nightmare, you can’t wait to simply crash into bed once you arrive home tonight.

It’s true that you’ve been feeling the relief after every single exam you finished, like some of the weight was taken off your shoulder with each time you walk out of a lecture hall. And yet you still feel the tiredness in your bones, but there’s something else tugging at your limbs and trying to make you stop running from one task to the other. However, you don’t let it. Too big is the fear of what you might find if you do stop and have a look, so you force all thoughts out of your mind that have nothing to do with your exams. And today as well your mind is empty when you take your seat and you’re handed the paper you’re supposed to fill out during the next one and a half hours, trusting your memory and your ability to recall the correct answers you have studied to each question.

As you’re leaving the lecture hall, finally done with the last one of your exams, somebody calls out to you. You turn your head to find one of your friends catching up with you, greeting you with a lively expression on her face.

“We’re finally done,” she says. “Now we only need to wait for our final paper to be graded and then we’re free!”

“Yeah,” you respond, trying to sound cheerful but inevitably failing. You’re just tired at this point, and no matter how relieved you are that exams are over, you can’t bring yourself to be happy.

“What’s with you?” your friend asks, concern in her voice. “Do you have to redo one of your exams?”

“No, no, it’s nothing,” you assure her, but she doesn’t buy it.

“There’s something up with you. Did studying take that much out of you?”

“I guess,” you reply as you walk down the hallway with her, but then you hesitate. “Actually… nevermind.”

“Hm? Y/N, what is it? You’re being really weird.” She steps in front of you, making you halt on the spot, but eventually she keeps walking. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t pressure you to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“...it’s about a friend,” you admit finally.

“A friend?” she repeats. “Did something happen to them?”

“No, just… we just haven’t seen each other much lately, and… yeah.” You lower your head and she steps closer.

“That must be a very good friend if you miss them so much,” she states, matter of factly, and that’s when you feel a stab right to your heart, putting you in physical pain.

“Right…” you mutter. Without you realizing, Donghyuck’s presence has painted your ordinary days in a color of hope, wrapping you in a feeling of safety whenever you’re with him and making you become way too comfortable around him. And now that it’s come this far, you don’t know how you’re supposed to scratch off all that paint anymore. The thought alone makes you feel sick to the stomach - you shouldn’t have been such an idiot. You knew where this would lead, and that you wouldn’t have the time to fool around with him anymore once you’ve graduated. A feeling of deep regret overcomes you.

You shouldn’t have said yes when he suggested leaving your class reunion together.

When you get home that day, you finally let yourself feel the full consequences of the past weeks filled with stress and you crash into your bed immediately. You haven’t planned to go to sleep this early, but at some point you simply find yourself drifting off, and the next time you open your eyes it’s Saturday morning.

Your body aches as you force yourself to get out of bed, and when you open the curtains and the sunlight blinds your eyes, you curse existence itself. You trod over to the bathroom, wash your face, and after finding yourself unable to look at your reflection in the mirror, you return to your little kitchen to get yourself a simple breakfast. Finishing it while scrolling through social media on your phone, you then get yourself back to your bed, plummeting down on it and grabbing one of the books stacked atop your bedside table that you never found the time to finish while uni has kept you occupied. You open it on the page you had left off weeks ago, and after fighting your way through roughly two and a half paragraphs, you give up and you put the book back to where it’s been resting untouched until now. Your mind just won’t let you focus on this now, so you pick your heavy body up off the comfortable sheets and decide to take a shower first of all.

Things continue like this for the next few days. Even though exams are finally over, you just can’t find it in you to rest properly. Neither going out to have fun nor staying at home and having some quality alone time sound appealing to you, and soon enough you figure out why. No matter what you do or where you are, there’s this constant pain in your chest dragging you down, because time and time again you find yourself impulsively wanting to tell Donghyuck about your day, or even just sending him a funny meme you found on instagram. But you can’t. In a way this reminds you of five years ago, when you started spending less and less time together in high school and then eventually broke up with each other. You recall finding yourself in situations like this back when you started college as well, wanting to tell him about something fun or exciting that happened but feeling unable to, because it’s already been months since you had last talked. However, there’s one significant difference between then and now.

Then, you merely found it a shame that you couldn’t freely text him or talk to him anymore. But you had moved on, finding new friends to talk to about those same things. Now, it’s like someone had torn a chunk of yourself out of your chest, and you’re slowly bleeding out as your nervous system prevents you from doing anything at all, signaling you that there must be a more urgent matter to take care of first. And only once you come to understand that this matter has to do with nothing other than Donghyuck himself, that’s when something finally connects in your mind. Your days have been painted with his colors, but maybe you’re not supposed to get rid of all that paint. Maybe you’re simply supposed to embrace it, because after all those years he’s become someone who’s just right for you. And maybe he’s become someone you can even come to love.

No, he’s already someone you love, you just never realized it.

Without thinking, you open your chatroom with Donghyuck, his last message still unanswered, and you start typing.

“I need to see you.”

“Now.”

You stand on his doorstep, taking a deep breath. Donghyuck had texted you back eventually, offering to meet at his place, so that’s where you are now, nervous to ring the doorbell. It was you who suddenly decided to come see him, so why are you so hesitant?

Another deep breath, exhaled shakily, and you reach out to press the bell button. Maybe 10 seconds later, the door opens, and when Donghyuck mutters a greeting with a distant expression in his eyes, it’s like a slap to your face.

“Come in, I guess,” he says as he’s already turning around, and you do as told. Taking your shoes off, you follow him a few steps inside, and shooting you a cold look, he asks, “What do you need to talk about?”

You’ve never seen him like this. Even when you broke up at the end of high school there wasn’t such a dark expression on his face. At that moment you have no idea how to shake off the guilt anymore, and so all you can do is let the words burst out of you.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for doing this to you.” He watches you with a look over his shoulder and you let your head hang, hoping he isn’t aware of the way tears are welling up in your eyes. “I can’t imagine how much I must’ve hurt you.” You add those words through gritted teeth, afraid of a sob suddenly making its way past your lips if you’re not careful.

“Then why are you the one crying?” he asks, staying surprisingly calm.

“B-because…” You gulp, and figuring that it’s too late anyway, you lift your chin to look at him and you use the sleeves of your shirt to wipe the tears from your eyes. “Because I’m an idiot. And I don’t want to see the person I love suffer.”

“Y/N…” he breathes your name before turning around fully to face you. He steps closer, but still keeps a good distance between you two. “You rejected me only a few days ago…”

“I know.” Your words are merely a whisper now. “Because I was scared… the future seems so overwhelming that I kept thinking I don’t have space for something like this. But… that doesn’t mean… that I didn’t still fall in love with you.” Silence follows, the only sound disrupting it being the soft sigh Donghyuck lets out before he finally closes the distance between you.

“Can I… hold you?” You nod at his question and you let him come closer, until you find yourself safely wrapped into his embrace, his warm breath tickling your neck as he buries his face there.

“I’m so sorry for how I acted… you must really hate me now…” you mutter, and you’re almost startled when your friend lets out a laugh as he’s holding you.

“Yes, because I always go around hugging my enemies like this,” he says with a tired yet cheeky grin on his lips, and seeing that expression on his face suddenly washes all your worries away.

“Right…”

“It’s okay, Y/N… I know you had a rough time. I shouldn’t have confessed to you so suddenly either,” he apologizes, but you immediately shake your head, vigorously.

“No, don’t say sorry! I… I kind of get it… that it had to get out,” you say. “Especially after I said all those hurtful things to you.” He brings one hand up to your cheek, brushing his knuckles against the skin there and as his eyes scan your facial features you can unmistakably see how much he adores you. It makes your heart soar, and you part your lips as your gaze falls to his mouth.

“Y/N,” he calls out to you. “Does that mean… I can ask you to be my girlfriend now?”

“Sure…” you mumble, the urge to feel his lips on yours clouding your mind. “And when I’m your girlfriend… can you kiss me then?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, and he takes a tiny step away from you so he could take your hands into his, intertwining your fingers. “Y/N, would you be my girlfriend?” You can’t suppress the smile that creeps onto your face as you listen to his question, and you nod.

“Yes, please,” you answer. “Let me be your girlfriend.” And then he kisses you, slowly and carefully, and this time you aren’t confused on what those feelings he’s pouring into this kiss are. This time you know that it’s all the love he has for you, and you let it wrap you into a veil of warmth and comfort, feeling safe with him.

“I love you,” you mutter in between kisses, and eventually your hands find their way up into his hair. You kiss him back as you comb through it, and when you hear him whisper those same words back at you in between kisses, you once again can’t control the smile on your lips. You part to look at each other, finding an unmistakable desire for more behind his gaze, and so you begin moving as you connect your lips to his again.

"I'm sorry..." you mutter in between kisses, as you're steering him towards the bedroom, and he lets out a sigh against your lips in response. "I want to make it up to you."

"You don't have to," Donghyuck mutters with his hands on your waist, and you reach the bed, positioning yourselves so you could have him sit with one swift push against his chest. Crawling on top of him as he merely looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted while he awaits your next kiss, he's already completely drunk on you.

"Then see it as me taking care of you?" you whisper, reconnecting your lips to his. Your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and him having his hands securely placed on your sides for stability, you merely keep kissing like that. Unhurriedly, because now you both know there's nothing rushing you anymore, nothing that would tear you apart.

"I love you." He mutters those words as you part, and when you open your eyes you can see him already nervously peeking up at you. You can't help but smile endearingly, cupping his cheek with one hand before you lean in for another sweet kiss to his reddened lips.

"I love you too, Hyuck," you say just when you pull back, and you let your fingertips wander down his upper body. Watching his face closely for his reactions, you pull his shirt off him, tossing it to the floor, and then you add, "Lie down for me, baby. I'll make you feel good." It comes as a surprise even to you to see him obey so quickly, and you let your palm glide down the bare skin on his chest and abdomen as he lies back. And then, when you reach for his wrists to pin them against the bed right next to his head, you can see a slight but still apparent blush creeping onto his cheeks, and he lets out a sound that's somewhere between a groan and a quiet whine.

"Fuck, you make me go crazy," you mutter as you press another kiss to his puffy lips, and when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip he moans into your mouth, the act alone sending heatwaves through your body. You instinctively roll your hips on top of his, earning yourself another small mewl from him, and then you trail kisses from the corner of his mouth to his throat. He leans his head back to give you better access, brows furrowed as he sighs in contentment. Forming his hands into fists, he digs his nails into his palms and whines some more as you continue grinding down on him, and the way you feel him grow underneath you turns you on as well. And then eventually you let go of his wrists to work your way down, peppering kisses all over his chest as he immediately throws his arms around your body, holding onto you tightly.

"Hyuck..." you call out his name as you sit up briefly, and then you continue trailing nips and kisses down his body. "Let me hear you." He curses as your hand ghosts above his core, watching you with an expectant gaze in his eyes. You pull down the sweatpants he's wearing, and then his underwear, both just enough so his hard length is exposed. You wrap your fingers around him, and you kneel above him now, one of his thighs positioned between your legs, so you could get a good look at his face as you start to slowly jerk him off.

"Look at me," you demand, and he does, the blush returning to his cheeks.

"Faster..." he mutters, barely audible, and you teasingly ask him to repeat himself. "Faster, please..." he begs through gritted teeth, and when you tighten your grip on his shaft just a little bit, he responds with a moan. "Can't take it..."

"Are you gonna let me hear more of those pretty moans?" you question, lips quivering in anticipation.

"Y-yes..." You don't know if your mind is tricking you or if his blush is growing just a bit darker as he answers, but either way you begin to move your hand faster, having him whining underneath you as he throws his head back. You watch with your lips slightly parted, and it's not like you've never seen him like this before, but there's just something about the way he gives himself up to pleasure when you have him in this kind of position that always gets you going. You move your hips in tune with the speed at which you get him off, grinding your clothed core down on his thigh, and he pushes his leg up just a bit to give you more friction.

"Shit..." you hiss, pleasure clouding your mind, and Donghyuck reaches down to wrap his fingers around your hand, guiding you into a faster pace. You collect the precum leaking his tip and use it as lube to glide down his length more smoothly, and as you can see on his face that he's about to lose himself to the sensation, you mutter a warning, "Don't cum yet."

"But-" he whines, and you take your hand away just before he can reach his high. "Y/N..." he desperately whines your name and you lean in to press a soothing kiss somewhere onto his chest, and then another one against his cheek.

"I wanna have you cumming inside me," you whisper, and when you sit back up you quickly rid yourself of all your clothes, in the end helping him out of his pants as well. You crawl on top of him, your hands placed on his shoulders for support, and you let out a curse as you roll your hips against him, his tip rubbing against your folds. And once again he whines, pressing his eyes tightly shut and digging his nails into your hips.

"Just fuck me already..." he breathes, but you have other plans.

"Be good and I will, baby," you coo as you repeat your motion without letting him slip inside you. He begins to squirm underneath you, visibly fighting to suppress his orgasm, and you swear you could cum from the sight alone. "Fuck... you're so fucking hot like that, Hyuck..." you mutter through gritted teeth, his repeated whines sounding like music to your ears.

"C-can't... hold back..." And once again you stop the stimulation just as he's about to cum, and with a frustrated groan he throws his head back into the mattress, dragging his nails down your skin. You reach for his hands, and as you intertwine your fingers you pin them above his head, and you can't but coo over the desperate look he gives you, and the way his cheeks are reddening again.

"You gonna cum right when I take you in, aren't you?" you ask, smirking at him after pressing a kiss to his forehead. "So desperate for my pussy..." And he can't do anything but whine at your words, because you both know you're right, and him denying it would just make him look stupid. "Then cum for me, baby," you mutter against his lips as you seal them with yours, running your tongue along his mouth to deepen the kiss. You sink down on him, taking in his size with ease, and the second you start rolling your hips he releases inside you as he moans into your mouth. Heat rushes through your veins when you part and you sit up, letting go of his wrists and combing the fingers of one hand through his disheveled hair instead.

"Didn't think you really would cum the instant you're inside me," you mock him, earning yourself another whine from him. "And I bet you're also gonna be hard again in no time if I keep this up," you mumble, rolling your hips on top of him slowly. "Such a sucker for when I'm in control, huh?"

"Yeah..." he breathes out, and you unexpectedly feel your heart swell at his answer. Usually he'd be fighting back by now, trying to battle you for dominance or at least being bratty, but today you really just have him at your mercy unconditionally.

"Is it because I finally said that I love you?" you conclude, as if he had heard your thought process.

"Huh?" You run your fingers through his hair again, and then you lean in for another deep kiss.

"Do you like it that much when I play with you like this, or are you being good because you're scared I'll leave if you're not perfect for me?" Donghyuck stares at you for a while as you sit back up, the blush on his cheeks fading, and when he finally reaches out to you to press your body against his for a tight embrace, he answers,

"No, I trust you. And I kinda like it when you sometimes use me." A storm of emotions washing over you, you bring some distance between you and him slowly, and after mustering his genuine expression for a while, you reach for his hands once again.

"Don't touch me," you order as you put them back into their place above his head. "And don't cum until I tell you to. If you wanna be my little toy you gotta be good, alright?"

"Alright." He gulps, taking you in as you're sitting on top of him, starting to ride him with one hand sliding down your body, fingertips reaching your core to give yourself some extra stimulation. Eyes dripping with honey, he keeps his hands in place, and the more you can feel him growing inside you, the more you can also see him struggling to keep his composure.

"Fuck, you're so sexy," he mutters eventually, and you hum a praise to signal him to keep going. "Feels so good... wanna be good for you..."

"That's right..." you mutter, your eyelids fluttering shut as you bounce on top of him, rubbing circles onto your clit. You position yourself so that everytime you sink down on him his tip would graze that perfect spot inside you, and along with listening to his words and the way his voice starts shaking from the pleasure has you seeing stars soon enough.

"U-use me, please... wanna feel you cum on my cock..." he sputters, and you moan at his pleas.

"Doing so well for me, baby... shit, nobody could ever make me feel as good as you..." He whines desperately as you keep your pace slow, in hopes of bringing him as close as possible to the edge as you're racing towards your own high. "Hyuck..." you mutter his name, your voice trembling. "Cum with me." Another moan falling from his lips and you feel yourself shaken by your orgasm, clenching around him as he spills inside you a second time.

"Shit..." With a curse you collapse on top of him, finding him wrapping his arms around you in a comforting motion, and you add, "You were amazing." He nuzzles his face into the side of your head, lips brushing against your temple, and once you've caught your breath a bit you give him a proper kiss. "I'm sorry... for trying to push you away like th-" Donghyuck puts his index finger across your lips, shutting you up in the process, and with a soft smile he shakes his head.

"Stop apologizing," he says. "It's okay now. Let's focus on the future, and how we can build it together." His hand cupping your face and his thumb brushing against your cheek make your heart skip a beat, and you simply nod.

"You're right," you respond, and you lie back down on top of him, nestling into his chest. "If we just have each other, we can make it through anything."

727 notes · View notes

scoringeffects · 10 months ago

Note

do you have/know of any kind of natejo primer post? i am starting to be very very intrigued by them…

there is this very delightful primer that covers natejo during their halifax mooseheads era (juniors, age 16-18 [2011-13]) and their team north america era (made up team for the 2016 world cup of hockey) i would so so super recommend clicking on every link there, and as for the 2023-24 season:

nate reached out to jo about playing with him in colorado during the summer because he knew his contract with montreal was coming to an end and jo signed for league mininum to play with him

jo talking about nate in his 'get to know me' interview

jo knows where nate is knows what he likes can almost feel him on the ice. normal things to say about your center.

they walk their dogs together!

bench yappers. ignore that nate probably doesnt have a great deal of concepts about personal space.

both nate and jo achieved career highs in points playing on the same line. nate by 29 freaking points. jo also had a career high in time on ice per game !

nate has the most assists on jo's goals, and jo loves to pass to nate.

one of jo's very best games as an av where he scored the OT winner and partially helped nate extend his second to gretzky home point streak. not inherently natejo but the nhl put the full game up on youtube and its a fun background watch because the announcers r so very nice about jo yayayyyyy. okay hold on it definately used to be up on youtube as a 'fan favourite' voted in game and now its either unlisted, restricted, or entirely gone. fascinating. what a wonderful league. anway.

here's nate saying that jo is his favourite teammate ever. since 2010 nate has played with at least 280 people. he said this during his hart (league mvp as voted by the writers' association) and ted lindsay (league mvp as voted by the players' association) award interview. also couldnt find it for the life of me but im certain there's an interview where jo says he wants to play with nate for ten more years. EDIT: here is the article, found by the lovely @mi-kko-ran-tanen it is also a bit of a natejo primer very very good would encourage a read

24-25 season:

jo resigned for another year ! turned down money again for 'loyalty and happiness'

they actually might have seperation anxiety

jo is going to be point per game this season i believe it with my whole heart.

r-ing into the rpf:

nate's start in the league was . well. the avs were very very bad for quite sometime, bottomed out nearly historically after the 2016-17 season (season directly after team north america and the world cup of hockey) and i think this is around the time nate locked in so to speak. this spittin chiclets interview from 2019 is pretty good (dont let the spittin chiclets part put u off 🙏), he talks about worrying about being a bust, about his expectations and also just the way he talks back then and what he's achieved in the five years since oh nate u have no idea whats in store for u ☹️

jo's time in the nhl has been tumultuous to say the least.

mid way into the 2022-23 season he held the record for most points without a goal by a forward in a single season. (he ended the season 2-27-29, scoring a goal in his 46th game) teammate and close friend josh anderson was quite sweet about it all

there's a lot of talk about jo being a draft bust, there's also a lot of talk about his development being screwed from the get go (sent back down to juniors for the 2013-14 season despite having won the calder cup the uear prior because if a player is juniors eligable they cant play in the minors or smth like that), he was also injured a lot, the habs under bergevin not being great at player development, and in tampa and montreal there was an expectation on him to be an offensive powerhouse that he just wasnt unfortunately due to injuries and mental health issues. they also tried to develop him at center.

it is absolutely not the best metric to measure 'draft bustness', but sorting the 2013 draft by games played and total points, jo is top 20 for games played and top 15 for total points

an espn redraft from march of 2023 has him still in the first round but much lower

absolutely crushing thank u greg

jo was actually injured so much holy shit bro has never played a full season. the closest he got was 81 games in 18-19

apparently there was some buzz about a drouin-iginla trade in 2015 between tampa and colorado??? what couldve been damn

ALL THIS TO SAY nate believed in him and jo believed in nate and it paid off so freaking hard last season and jo has his love for hockey back and nate had his career best personal season next to him and they are it if u think about it

f-ing into the rpf:

i know you didnt ask but i would be remiss if i didnt share these, they're currently what i would say is quintessential natejo reading

I don't believe in soulmates (but nobody saw me like you) by shade_of_blue (@shade-of-drou) (M, 6k) soulmates au where jo realises dewey has soulbond sickness

those who favor fire by bruinss (@droumack) (M, 14k) absoloutely crushing magical realism fic where jo's heart freezes the more he falls in love. it is actually unfathomable how much nate loves him, and how much nate loves jo

got my finger on her trigger by creamsicle_melt (@creamsiclemelt) (E, 6k) lesbian natejo nate fucks jo within an inch of her life absolutely fantastic peice of literature.

you'd have to stop the world by bladeless_knife (@mi-kko-ran-tanen) (M, 12k) nate is stuck in a timeloop watching jo get hurt no matter what he does. genuinely incredible theyre so so very much natejo here and also very nate and very jo

Gather by plethoriall (@plethoriall) (E, 4k) once again, another fic where theyre so very natejo. like that interview linked in the very first bullet point? those guys ("yeah we're dumb and dumber") def did this. a delightful study in what if our codependant homoerotic teenage friendship turned into a regular healthy adult friendship except every time you touch me i remember how we used to jerk eachother off which (thankfully for everyone inolved) turned into Yay sex and also i love you. instead of turning toxic.

all very very very good writers i would highly highly suggest checking out their other works as well + commenting and kudoing

#asks #[redacted] tumblr user #natejo #nathan mackinnon #jonathan drouin #colorado avalanche #natejo primer #sorry for yapping theyre just . like theres so freaking much there #i am certain i am missing things. alas. please feel free to add !

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verus-veritas · 18 days ago

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End of Summer Announcement

Hey everyone! Verus here! 👋

Hope y’all been enjoying the surge of stories (edited with AI) from me this summer! However, I unfortunately won’t be posting as frequently anymore, as I’ve finally decided to go back to school (Nursing Assistant) starting this month. I’ll still be around though, but my focus right now will be on my studies! So for those that have been sending me messages about my way of writing lately, rejoice as you won’t be seeing AI stories by me for a while!

I'm not sure how much time I’ll actually have with writing and editing, but I will be trying to work on some of my longer, more elaborate AI stories whenever I have free time. Perhaps I’ll try posting one every month or so. These are the story drafts I've been working on:

1: When the fairy godfather emerged, a gay son made a wish for his stern and stubborn father to truly understand him. The next morning, the wish had undoubtedly changed the father… but not in the ways they had originally intended…

2: A handsome and powerful metahuman agent with mind manipulation powers has the tables turned on him. Even worse, his target seems excited to use the agent’s power in ways the agent never could have imagined…

3: Discovering a portable black hole, two students are up to no good until they eventually get caught by the big burly teacher. An accident happens though, and one of the students has the bright idea to climb inside their teacher…

4: The kingdom’s most handsome knight is on a quest to unearth a mysterious stone’s power. Unfortunately for him, the lewd antiquarian who holds the answer has his eyes set on the knight’s immaculate body…

5: After years of hard work, a young man finally got the promotion he always dreamed of and enough to move out from his evil stepfather's house. However, the younger jock stepbrother seems intent on stealing all his hard work, by making sure he inherits the stepbro's horny, dumb, and musky side…

6: A new ghostly villain emerges, and Danny Fenton finds himself fighting to save the day once again. But this villain seems intent on taking the ghost boy down for good, and plans on using the father Jack Fenton to make it happen. Surely, nothing can go wrong as long as Danny has his ghostly powers to save the day…

#announcement #poll

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lilactwilights · 3 months ago

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a heathen clung to piety (a priest!gojo x reader fic)

series masterlist

summary: everything about satoru gojo is pristine. from his charming looks, to his unblemished family name and his exemplary priesthood. because of that, attraction is nothing more than fuel for what you assume is a one-sided fantasy, a carefully kept secret you are content to keep deep within. but when you end up in his bed, the vows he broke end up cracking the surface of his immaculate facade and bringing forward the painful memories and the cruel truth of a tragedy all too familiar.

or, you find out the angel named Satoru Gojo may have fallen a long time ago, and that you might end up falling with him too.

chapter summary: with satoru’s return, a new arrival at the city and winter prevailing, you are forced to confront all you have been trying to run away from.

word count: 10k

Hello there! ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼Thank you for your interest in reading! This was in my drafts for some time and in my mind for considerably longer. I have thought about Gojo a lot. And Priest Satoru Gojo spawned after playing with his canon counterpart like a Barbie, witnessing the talent of fandom creators and exploring a bit of my catholic memories. Let it be known that, funny enough, I have never experienced attraction towards a real-life priest and I don't think that day will come. Nonetheless, there's something about Gojo that has made his lil priest self my favorite plaything and that´s why I promised myself that, if I ever posted a fic again, I wanted him to do the honors. Excited to say that the day has finally come.I won't say much more here other than be mindful of the tags here, I will be updating them accordingly and letting you know if there is any specific thing you should keep an eye out for in the upcoming chapters.English is not my first language and I'm more than a bit rusty so it's a bit nerve-wrecking to put this out there /ᐠ ╥ ˕ ╥マ. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it ♡ (Might edit this chapter a bit in the near future)I'm new to tumblr so I apologize if the formatting looks a bit wonky, I´m still working on it, this is a reupload so if you have seen this before, yeah it was me :p

You don’t like winter.

It brings cold and sickness and painful memories with it. For you, the best part of it are the droplets of melting ice announcing its imminent departure and the first sightings of green peeking through the remnants of snow. Trees are still skinny and mostly naked, branches trembling at the wind, bending under the weight of the last snowfall but, between the leisure movement of a heavy cloud and the other, the sun has started to reach out with its lukewarm rays.

As you stand on the platform, you claim the only spot touched by the sun, though it does little to alleviate the stubborn reminder of a winter you would chase away if you could. The wind remains almost freezing cold, it makes you shiver and shut your eyes tight every time it slaps you in the face, every hit of air chafing your skin.

You mourn the scarf you left hanging at the rack back home. You were already two streets away when you realized you had forgotten it and you were quick to dismiss it in favor of catching the train on time.

Now you are here, with no scarf, a freezing frame and a train running late, because, of course, only Satoru Gojo would manage to be late even by train.

In fact, if a person could be blamed for making a train run late, it would probably be Gojo, somehow. Last time you took a train together, a few months back, you almost missed it because of him. He doesn’t have anyone to nag at him this time, so you can only hope he boarded on time, like he always seems to barely do.

This town needs an actual train station, you think, as you nuzzle further into your winter coat. There’s a little lobby next to the platform that is “closed for remodeling” because the administration had to choose the worst time of the year to modernize the cozy little lounge. The platform you are currently shivering on was renewed by the Gojo Family almost two years ago, upon the arrival of their heir. The outline and build of the little ticket booth attached to the side of the station is reminiscent of the village props you saw at The Nutcracker the winter before. It’s too fancy for such a little spot outside of a small town like yours, too opulent for a place that’s not used as much anymore, but it’s a nice view you appreciate. However, all the cutesy and intricate carving does next to nothing to shield you from the cold. You heard the Mayor refused the Gojos’ offer to donate a proper train station and you can’t help but resent him too. After all, his pride is costing you your body temperature.

You nuzzle further into your clothes, pressing yourself against the column at another hit of wind. When you first arrived, the nice lady at the booth had offered you a place inside while you waited, but the space was already cramped enough with just one person in it, so you had to politely decline. It might have been a good decision considering she is currently nursing a cigar and likely emitting more fumes than the train you are waiting for. Right now, you can barely see her silhouette through the window with all the smoke condensed into the little booth. You have the itch to tap on the glass to see if she hasn’t passed out. Maybe if she is still conscious you can walk back your decision and ask for a little place in there with only your nice perfume and healthy lungs to pay the price.

As you take a hesitant step towards the impromptu smokehouse, your attention is caught by a distant whistle, the telltale sound of a locomotive approaching. You perk up, waddling further into the platform to take a look as the sound of the machine gets louder. Indeed, the outline of the wine red train greets you between smog and frosty wind and you sigh, retreating once more to your waiting place.

“About time,” you huff.

Satoru left two weeks ago for a series of meetings with some higher ups from the Church. He called you every other day, mostly to nag or entertain himself.

You don’t ask too much about what goes in there nor does he go into detail, he only ever talks about them to complain. Sometimes you think he has caught on to how much you truly dislike most of them and you are the only person he can sincerely unload his grievances with.

As expected, only Satoru is getting off in this station. Your eyes meet through the window as he stands in the door waiting for it to open. His eyes widen for a second but crinkle immediately after as he smiles, all perfect teeth, mouthing something you can’t quite understand. You wave at him with a smile, cheeks feeling suddenly warm despite the cold.

You point at your wrist while you lift a brow but it’s hard to keep the stern expression when the uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach makes you nauseous.

You step back as the doors open and stand there, changing your weight from one foot to the other as he gets off, sturdy suitcase in hand. He doesn’t even take two steps into the platform before he leaves his luggage on the floor, gaze fixed on you. Someone that appears to be a young train worker, judging by the uniform, is trailing behind him with a bunch of boxes that Satoru ends up maneuvering in one hand after he places the suitcase on the floor.

Before the young boy can say something else, Satoru shoves one of the little boxes in his hands with a loud thank you. The boy blinks and bows his head awkwardly, a low expression of confused gratefulness escaping his lips as he retreats. You lift a brow at the display, your own confusion tampering with your smile but Satoru, as always, just returns it wholeheartedly, balancing the boxes on top of his luggage.

“I asked if you missed me,” he says in lieu of a greeting as he straightens up, bright blue eyes regarding you from above.

The color in his gaze somewhat softens thanks to all the white and the gray around. That’s probably how the blue of the seas in the frozen lands far away look like. He is all pale colors, a striking contrast to his black jacket and dark blue scarf and his pink lips. He rarely flushes, but there’s a pleasant blush in his chiseled cheeks from the warmth that hasn’t died down under the harsh wind. He speaks again. And you see the way his lips curl. They look soft and plump as they dance and mold to the words that your cottoned ears can’t quite catch: “…missed”

“I asked if you missed me”

“Huh?” is your elaborate reply.

Satoru’s grin evolves into a chuckle. It’s a pleasant sound that you indeed have missed . Other days, when he directs that sound towards you, you find the sound irritating enough to pretend it doesn’t cave a pit in your stomach. Not today.

Today he extends his arms, his wide form taking up the space with his broad back and his long limbs. You don’t think twice before sinking into him. You have missed him too much for your own good, you resolve, as he squeezes you so tight it steals a breathless huff of a laugh from you.

“Get off…”

Satoru chuckles too, a rumbling sound vibrating against your smothered cheek. His hands don’t go lower than your back, but the feeling of his fingers pressed against you through your clothes projects all over your body.

“Not before you answer,” he adds, against your temple.

“What?”

“If you miss me”

You gulp. It’s only the two of you between the cold and the fog on the platform. “I didn’t hear you say that at all.”

“But I did,” he retorts, leaning back just enough so your eyes meet, “And you still haven’t answered.”

He smells like warmth and caramel. He probably ate sweets onboard and the smell of it swirls along his fresh cologne. Not unpleasant, but sure overwhelming when it’s paired with those intense eyes looking at you.

“So?”

“I didn’t,” you answer. Way too quickly, way before your heart and your brain realize you are lying and make you stutter as punishment.

Satoru smiles lazily, letting you go with a languid movement that has his fingertips sliding off your waist. He tugs at one of the strands of hair hanging at the side of your face instead.

“That’s a shame,” he laments, sighing, puncturing each word with a twirl of his fingers, the start of a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Because I did”

“It’s been two weeks,” you huff, gently pushing his hand away in a lighthearted gesture. You don’t mind his touch at all. Or, you didn't mind it. You are now bothered by the appalling urges born in your core and traveling to your every limp.

“And? That’s more than enough to me,” he switches the grip of his hand to grasp at yours and give it a squeeze. “Believe it or not, I prefer your pretty face over the nagging of our dear church authorities”

“I’m touched,” you deadpan, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself.

Satoru hums. “I am too, considering I wasn’t expecting a welcome back committee”

Your lips part, brows furrowing. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to come!?”

“That was before I realized our lovely weather could turn you into an icicle,” he says, eyes scanning you intently. He takes a few steps forward and places both his hands in your cheeks. You feel yourself stiff. “Although the flush of your face is rather pleasant to look at, there’s no reason for you to stand here and freeze for little ole’ me”

Your frozen hands try to peel away his wrists on instinct. Satoru is touchy, probably more touchy than a priest should be, but he is also more nonchalant than the average gentleman is so you can’t say you aren’t used to it.

It’s the mortifying somersault your stomach does and the warmth that bleeds from your chest to your lower belly like molten what you are not used to. He is not even touching you directly, the fabric of his gloves is less soft than his hands, but it’s warm and kind in comparison to the wind. Nonetheless, the sole implication of him touching you so casually is enough to make you short of breath.

For a few seconds that stretch incredibly long, Satoru rubs your cheeks intently, as if trying to coax the warmth of your blood to bleed into your skin. There’s something in his eyes as a slow, cheeky curve takes place on his lips. You forget the flustered feeling for a moment, but your body stays locked on it, a prickling sensation climbing up your neck as you frown up at him, tugging at his wrists.

“Father?”

Satoru’s well trained to react the exact opposite way to your flustered, hurried flurry. As you jump, he waltzes back in calculated steps, casually sliding his hands down to your shoulders, squeezing them only slightly before taking his hands off you for good. By the time his hands are by his sides, yours are still fidgeting about, tugging at your winter coat.

You turn your face towards the familiar voice and force down the lingering feeling of self-consciousness, sketching a smile that lacks the blinding brightness of the dishonest one Satoru offers to the clueless newcomer.

“Ah, Ijichi, you are finally here!” he announces, eyes crinkling. The cherry on top is, of course, the thunderous clap that accompanies his words. “I started to think you had forgotten about me”

You have known him for almost two years, so you can catch it. The way his smile curves and hardens before it stretches all the way. He seems slightly bothered about something you can only theorize about.

“N-not at all!” Kyotaka bows his head, face a bit flushed because of the cold or because his eyes are also trained in Satoru’s micro-expressions. “Welcome back, Father”

You think you have imagined it, though, because Satoru’s expression is back to his relaxed, jovial façade. Or maybe it never really changed. You try not to stare too long or think about his face too hard lately.

“C’mon Ijichi!” he protests, “I’m not wearing the habit right now! We can be a bit flexible”

Ijichi is not deterred, sharing a look with you as a resigned, little smile grazes his lips. He is one of the very few people that has fallen victim to Satoru’s overly familiarity and, just like most, he is not playing along. That always makes you consider if you should also be more mindful of the difference in your positions, but Satoru’s arm casually slinging around your shoulders chases any further reflection away.

Ijichi is abruptly intercepted by one of Satoru’s arms as well when he steps closer to retrieve some of the boxes laying over Gojo’s luggage and you can see the way his shoulders fall in a reluctant acceptance. His glasses are crooked now by the unexpected motion but he makes no effort in shrugging Gojo as the latter pats his back energetically. You share a look once more.

“I-ji-chi! Guess who was freezing on this platform, waiting for me?” Satoru asks, squeezing his hold on you as he rhythmically pats Ijichi’s frame. “Certainly not you!”

At that, Ijichi’s resigned face tenses back to his default expression, a mix of mortification and surprise in his widened eyes.

“I a-apologize, I wasn’t aware you were coming here as well! I would have offered you a lift!”

“Oh, see? You are so formal with me but you call her by her name!”

You both ignore Satoru as you shrug his arm off your shoulders, offering Ijichi an appeasing smile, lifting a hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Don’t worry about it, I didn’t know you were picking him up either,” you reply earnestly, brushing your hair out of your face as you start to walk, “I think it’s his fault”

As Kyotaka takes the boxes Satoru brought with him, he regards you with a look that seems suspiciously close to a silent agreement. Once again, both of you ignore Gojo’s whines, moving along the platform until he desists on his protests and easily falls into step with you, suitcase in tow.

“I’m glad Ijichi and you have found friendship, but I don’t appreciate you bonding over disregarding me” is what he says, with a suffering sigh that evolves into a little smile when you eye him up.

“I’m sure making everything about you is a sin” you comment lightheartedly and Satoru rolls his eyes. “For your information, Kyotaka and I have been friends for a while and agreeing on your obnoxiousness is not the reason our friendship begun”

“But your blatant animosity is what makes it thrive,” Satoru points out, with an accusing finger. “It’s the same thing with Sister Uta–”

“Is your nagging my reward for picking you up at the train station?” you inquire. “I should have stayed warm and cozy at home”

“You waited for me. If we want to get technical, my dear sister, Ijichi is the one picking me up.”

He watches the beginning of an indignant protest in your face, to which he walks back his teasing statement and raises a calming hand. “Both of which I deeply appreciate,” he adds, and there’s a softness in his honest smile that mellows you down enough, until he pokes at you once more. “A good Christian doesn’t expect anything in return for a good deed, anyway” he chirps. “God shall provide”

“Good thing I’m not a Christian then,” you retort and Satoru huffs a laugh, shutting it too quickly in favor of shaking his head in disapproval. “So you shall provide”

“I’m not but God’s humble messenger,” Satoru bows his head, eyes glinting as he regards you “So consider the souvenir I brought God’s way of acknowledging your selfless act”

He is serious, but there’s an amused tilt to his gentle smile that warms and softens you up enough to forget about the banter and grin earnestly.

After a silent look that lingers enough for the prickling feeling in your face to make a comeback, you simply turn your face to the front. By your peripheral vision, you notice Satoru’s gaze linger just a few seconds more before he follows your lead. You both keep walking side by side, arms brushing at every swing. Your throat closes up and you focus on ahead.

Ijichi is a fast-walker by nature, you have learned, and you saw him hurry his step as Satoru reached your side with long strides a few moments ago. If Satoru wanted, he could outpace you and Ijichi with ease, but he has decided to linger beside you and you soon realize there’s a reason beyond any friendly banter or the announcement of any souvenir.

You step over a branch peeking through the melting snow on the ground and that’s when he speaks.

“The snow is finally melting” he whispers, “I’m relieved”

There’s a sympathetic inflexion on his voice that’s not lost to you. The same off-handed tone present on his words these last two weeks through calls and letters. You lean against him almost on instinct, shoulder surprisingly at ease as it bumps against his arm. “Me too”

On a personal level, being friends with Satoru means a lot of things and has plenty of implications you don’t want to get at most of the time. You were both relieved and saddened by his absence during the last snow storms of this winter which tells you enough about the dichotomy that persists in your relationship. It’s easier to dwell on it during this season, which is why you occupy yourself like a maniac during it, which is why you cling to any semblance of sun or warmth amidst the cold.

The car ride is silent enough, the soft sound of the wheels scraping against the road lulling you as you lean against the window, eyes chasing any rays peeking through the clouds, even if you have to narrow your eyes at the unexpected force of a sun recovering its strength.

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice is soft, a callback to the time and space you are in right now, tugging you away from cruel memories.

He offers you his hand, without a glove. Long and pretty and pale. Warm as you press your hand over it. “The other one too”

That’s when you notice he took both his gloves off and, as he envelops your hands with his, your thoughts linger on how warm and soft and soothing his skin is.

When he rubs his palms over your cold, trembling fingers, he triggers a scorching heat in your hands and your arms and your whole being. “Your hands are freezing,” he says, none the wiser to your melting insides. “I noticed earlier, you weren’t wearing gloves, or a scarf”

There’s more than a hint of disapproval in his tone. For real this time. Not like the one he uses to half-heartedly scold your thinly-veiled anti-church sentiments.

“I-I forgot”

Does he know your mouth feels dry and cottoned? Can he notice the way your breath catches in his throat at his proximity, or the way your heart skips at every motion of his thumbs over the back of your hands?

“You shouldn’t have walked there with this weather” Satoru whispers, and there’s something in his eyes that goes beyond the earnest care you have grown acquainted with. “You are not even properly clothed for it,” he hums, there’s a bit of the teasing back that gets lost on the deep look in his eyes.

You don’t even know what to make of it.

It’s like that one time, over a year ago.

Just like his voice grabbed you away from the claws of the cruel, painful past, his eyes push you back into that void, except in a kinder, warmer part of it.

The train ride to the next city and the memory of the gorgeous display on stage.

It’s a nice memory.

Nevermind the mortifying discoveries about yourself that trip uncovered.

Absolutely not. Because it is the beautiful memory of your first ever trip to a professional ballet production, a long-time dream, the one guilty of the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

Not the memory of the seating booth in the train back home feeling strangely suffocating, or his hands over your skin, trying to cool away a fever you couldn’t get rid of. A fever and itch that has been chasing you ever since you sat way too close in the same room, the same bed.

That’s not it.

It’s the pretty parts, the softer parts you should focus on because it is a nice memory, one that is not tainted by the origins of the crude ruminations that keep you awake at night to this day. Not at all.

“I wanted to,” you say with a shrug. “To go there, I mean.”

To wait for you. To see you again.

Satoru hums, blowing hot air into your fingertips. Your whole being rattles.

“You should have waited for me at the church, then” he whispers. His lips are inches away from your hands, you almost want to stretch your fingers, just to try–

“I don’t like to go there when it’s empty,” you respond, voice steadier than your beating heart.

“It’s never empty,” he replies, thumbs massaging up to your fingertips, squeezing them for barely a second. “It’s the house of God, he is always there”

He isn’t. And you aren’t either. What’s the point? But you don’t say that, you don’t say anything more. You almost feel like you don’t need to, because Satoru smiles at you then, and it’s almost sad.

You feel you might be privy to what most people in town are not. Your friendship with Satoru didn’t blossom out of shared faith or thrived because of your trust in him as a recipient of God. Quite the contrary. It was born despite your reservations and your disagreements. As such, you are allowed to see beyond the charming, quick-witted, perfect priest image he projects for all believers to see. For you, he is equally if not more charming and wiser when he is “just Satoru” but you won’t ever tell him that out loud.

Instead, you let your shared secrets and time together speak for you. He knows a lot about you. You know a lot about him. Or so you think.

Satoru has always given you the impression of false openness. He makes people, you included, feel as if he is sharing a lot, but most of the time, it’s just superficial lore or inconsequential sentiments.

You don't usually pressure him to share anything beyond what he usually does, but there’s a trust that has been nurtured during your time together that has given you both a space to share what you both know is no common knowledge. He doesn’t need to tell you “I have never told this to anyone” but you have learned to recognize when it’s the case. You know when it’s something he wouldn’t share with the world.

It is often, though, that you get the impression that these secret things have been shared before with someone else out there. There’s something about his speech, the careful distant expression on his face that betrays a sense of dejavu or melancholy that disappears as soon as it appears, between a blink and another. He has travelled the world and he has confessed his sins often. It could be any person out there, a priest or God himself.

Who knows? You don’t push. You never do. After all, there is a whole story you haven’t shared with him. And you don’t think you will soon. He has the right to have his secrets too, and despite the big chunk of your life that remains hidden close to your chest, you bet he has way more secrets than you do.

You wear your heart in your sleeve, he doesn’t. You could be fooled by his easy smile and his running mouth, though, like everyone else.

And you are.

It seems rather meaningless, but in retrospect, this little thing that Satoru willingly withholds from you unravels the whole mess and tells you more about all the things he doesn’t tell you.

At some point, it becomes public knowledge that a newly ordained priest will come to your little town. The people are concerned their angel darling of a Father is being moved away. But it doesn’t seem to be the case, as one particular Sunday, Satoru addresses the whispers and concerns from the altar with good humor.

That’s how you find out, like everyone else.

Kento Nanami, a priest from the same college as Satoru, will become part of the little community.

When you question Satoru about it later, ignoring his who-know-what attempt at explaining checkers to you, he sighs, shoulders falling. It is so different from the usual flair he would answer you with, he seems almost defeated for a second, the flames of the chimney of his office flickering all over his face, raising his high cheekbones further.

“We used to be together in the seminary,” he finally says.

Satoru doesn’t talk much about the seminary. It’s one of the things he pretends he enjoys being open about except all he has ever told you has to do with the multiple headaches he induced on everyone around him.

“But,” you say, leaning forward in your seat. You try to ignore the way Satoru’s foot brushes against yours as he shifts and stretches his legs under the table. “The people say he is newly ordained”

“Ah, our lovely town is as adept in gossiping as it is in their daily praying,” Satoru comments, propping his chin over his hand with a lazy tilt of the head, a shaper one on his lips . “He is.”

You don’t need to do the math for that one. It doesn’t add up.

“But if he was with you–”

“He left,” Gojo cuts you off with a bit of a bored, resigned expression. “Then he came back.”

He is not even hiding his unwillingness to share any details. The tense smile is the same he uses when he wants to cut a conversation short. It’s the first time he has used it with you.

And it’s the first time you decide to press, as well.

“Why did he leave?”

Satoru takes a few seconds to respond, eyes focusing on the dancing flames in the chimney, gaze concerningly distant. For a moment, you think he might tell you it’s none of your business. Strictly speaking, he would be right.

“Some people aren’t made for it,” he whispers, in the most monotone voice you have ever heard from him. It brings a chill down your spine, suddenly feeling an infinite wall rise between you. You feel you might reach out to touch him and you won’t be able to snatch him away from whatever place he is sinking into now.

But, as it always happens, the wall crumbles as soon as it builds. And Satoru, seemingly sensing your unease, seems to snap out of whatever haze the flames have induced on him.

He smiles, again, eyes flickering towards you.

“But don’t worry,” he says, even if you are less worried about priest Nanami’s abilities than you are about the all-seeing eyes that look right through you. “Nanamin is. That’s why he came back.”

Kento Nanami sure seems like the kind of guy made to be a priest. He is sober, proper, humble. Kind and polite at the welcoming party your good-spirited town throws for him. He seems genuinely taken aback by the warm reception, but earnest in his shy appreciation. You study every interaction from afar, just like you did back when Satoru first came to town.

Satoru had been charming, talkative, and full of initiative in every interaction. He had had the hard task of living up to the expectation the priest before him, a beloved local, had risen in forty years of service. Satoru was young. Maybe a bit too young, people had first observed with wariness. But it was that, along with his good-natured humor, his refreshing speech and his impeccable looks, that ended up making him the darling of the town in no time.

Nanami’s regal presence is impeccable as well, in a different way. There’s nothing out of place, not a hair, not a button, not even a blink, as if everything is carefully crafted with little to no effort. And while he doesn’t seem to have the social energy Satoru has delighted everyone with these past years, he appeals to the community all the same with that mix of youth and firmness reminiscent of a soldier. He looks older than Satoru. There’s something in their interactions that suggests something you can’t quite put your finger on. Satoru is cheery, as always. Friendly and familiar with his arm thrown over the other priest’s shoulders, with his animated voice raising over the bustle of the party but something in Nanami’s shoulders remains tense in a way they weren’t in any other interaction.

It’s so weird once you see it.

It could be simple shyness at Satoru’s familiarity, but he doesn’t seem shy or flustered. You don’t even know if, judging by his stern expression, he is even capable of it.

It’s seems there’s a world they are part of you are not privy to. That’s probably the case. Priesthood and seminary life it’s not something you ever can or want to fully comprehend.

But, despite whatever weird energy surrounding them, they make for a nice picture, standing side by side, overlooking the party and the towners from the first landing of the stairs leading up to the church. The single photographer from the local paper thinks the exact same, snapping a shot with little warning. It captures Satoru leaning towards Nanami, a smile frozen midway as the flash explodes in their faces.

Nanami is tall, but looking at them like this, you can truly put into perspective how tall Satoru truly is, his shoulder some inches above the other man’s.

No matter, you have to lean your head back to look at the two of them properly.

Kento or “Nanamin” is polite enough to stay quiet through Satoru’s enthusiastic introduction but it’s soon clear to you that he is barely tolerating the other’s incessant, loud chatter right into his ear. He still smiles, bows his head at you, as he introduces himself as if Satoru hadn’t done it for him over three times already. There’s a distant echo in your head that bothers you and there’s a weird feeling in your chest as you catch Nanami’s eyes looking at you as if he is trying to decipher a puzzle himself.

“Sorry if I overstep but, have we met?” he finally asks.

Satoru finally pauses beside you, only then paying attention to the fact that Nanami is not listening to his vibrant spiel, but he doesn’t seem baffled, face dropping to a rather curious, questioning glance more for Nanami than for yourself. Your smile doesn’t waver, tensing just the slightest bit as the echo in your head raises its volume.

“I don’t think so, no” you say.

Just like you did almost two years ago, when Satoru first came to the church, you leave the party early and find yourself pulled towards the limit of the woods at the outskirts. Once you step onto the only proper road leading to the next town, your eyes focus on the giant oak tree that stands at the top of the one little hill overseeing your step. The path is painful yet soothing in its familiarity, your heels digging in the dirt and light layer of snow enveloping the steep as you balance your weight and propel forward.

As you make your way to the top, the big, old oak greets you with a rustle of leaves. The leaves persevere during winter, for a reason you would like to think you know.

You feel your face warm with the effort and you can see your breath escape in little puffs of hot air that evaporate into the frosted wind as you walk towards the wide, rough trunk, and press your cheek against it.

You lean on the trunk and focus on the sounds coming from within, the endless shifting of it akin to breathing. Even if you wanted to hug it, you wouldn’t be able to. The immensity of it makes it impossible. It’s ironically cruel. You can’t hug him again and you can’t hug the one breathing thing that reminds you of him either.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited,” you say, closing your eyes. You can almost pulsing with life against your face. One of your hands curls over the trunk. “I missed you today.”

At this time of the year, you are forced to confront plenty of things. You thought you had survived this winter without having to think, but there’s a sweet and painful song of melancholy in the air that follows you through these events.

It makes you think again about how you would have forgiven him, if he came to town like Satoru did. Like Nanami did. You would have forgiven him. Even if he was clad in priest robes and stood over the altar with the pride of a soldier of God. You would have forgiven him even with the sting of all the broken childish promises.

“It would have been okay, at the end,” it's the only other thing you say out loud.

It’s a sad and embarrassing thought, that you don’t have to say much. Wherever he is now, he knows what he didn’t know before. And everyone knows too. Everyone that loves you and loves him knows. That the pain has subsided and dulled but lingers like a chronic nightmare that sharpens every so often.

That you spent years mad at him and now you can only be mad at yourself. You have matured and you see things in a different light now, left to wonder if you , rather than him, could have done anything in another way.

It’s sad and embarrassing when Satoru meets you at the entrance road to the main street, concern or pity barely veiled as he heaves, cheeks rosy, his rebellious white hair slightly dancing at the tune of the frosty wind, all that betraying the hurried steps he took upon realizing your absence.

You offer him a little smile, finally having cried what you had to cry these past days, your head doesn’t feel as heavy with dark thoughts anymore. You can leave your penances with the oak tree.

“Did my mother ask you to come look for me?” you ask, not thinking twice before hooking your arm with the one he is offering you.

Satoru stares at you intently, head tilted as you both turn back towards the main square in a dance you don’t have to rehearse anymore. It feels natural, walking with him like this.

“More like I offered,” he replies, eyes finally focusing ahead. “Watching her pace around pale with worry, I had to ask what was her cause of concern”

You feel a pinch of guilt.

“She—”

Satoru spares you from having to offer an excuse or apology.

“She knew where you were, but she was worried you would stay there until dark so I told her it would be better for me to bring you back.”

You sigh, head leaning against his arm, gaze focused on the thin mantle of snowflakes in the ground.

“I didn’t need to stay for long.”

“That’s a good thing.” You don’t know if you imagine it, but you can feel Satoru speak against the crown of your head. “It’s still pretty cold out here.”

You answer with a hum, hiding your face into his arm, even his jacket is impregnated with his cologne. Moments like this are met with such intense yearning everything else you feel along with it melts into a pool of sweet resignation.

“You know you can talk to me,” he says, stopping on his tracks. You inhale a bit more of his perfume and the winter air before looking up at him.

You know he can probably see the red trails and rims that expose your silent, lonely tears from earlier but you don’t mind. He looks into your eyes, brows furrowing just a bit, before he shifts his body to face you as well. The snow crunches slightly under his boots.

“What?” you ask.

He raises his hand and reaches for your face. Your eyes flutter in anticipation of his touch and that’s when you feel the phantom pressure of his fingertips against your heavy eyelashes. There’s a sole huff of air that resembles a laugh escaping from his lips, in tandem with the sigh that escapes yours and his soft smile and sad gaze is all you see as you open your eyes.

“There’s frost in your eyelashes,” he whispers, his thumb barely grazing the apple of your cheek, probably following the abandoned path a tear left behind.

Your breath hitches and a surge of adrenaline makes you turn your face to the side, just in time for Satoru to caress your cupid bow and the curve of your upper lip. Your eyes flutter close. It’s only for half a millisecond and his hand retreats as if you were burning him, curling on itself in the air, hovering over your face. Not a sound comes from him.

“I know,” you breathe out.

“Hm?”

“I know I can talk to you,” you clarify, blinking up at him with a soft tilt of your head and in your lips.

He doesn’t escape your gaze, and you can see yourself reflected on his darkened, tempestuous blue eyes.

“But you won’t,” he says.

“Not about this,” you reply honestly.

“But we are–”

You cut him off, before you can hope, protest or rejoice on whatever epithet escapes his lips.

“I know,” you unhook your arm from his, pressing a hand over his forearm. “But you don’t tell me every single thing about you either,” you squeeze slightly and you can feel his muscles clench under the pressure. “Do you?”

After seconds that feel like minutes stretching, he presses his hand over yours and squeezes in a thousand unspoken words.

“No.”

“And that’s okay.”

After all, there are things you don’t want him to know about, even if a part of you thinks he does already.

A part of you wants to believe he understands.

But how could he?

Someone like him can’t never lose, not anything nor anyone.

Your mother forgives your brief disappearance and requires you to run a few errands to pay back any concern you may have caused, mostly to soothe any lingering guilt from your part. It’s always like this between you both, the silent agreements and the subtle conversations.

You can talk about pain freely but you are candid enough about it for her not to worry about you letting it eat away at you in silence.

“Did the visit help?” she asks, hands busy and eyes fixed on you, as you wait patiently, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Hm,” you nod, a faint smile. “It had been a while, I think that’s what I needed”

“I know you usually like to go up there alone,” she starts, “but please try not to linger too close to sunset, the air gets colder and the path is too dark for my peace of mind”

“You know I don’t like to walk in the snow at night.”

Your mother’s eyes trail away from you. “Right.”

“I’m okay,” you say, voice not wavering.

“I know you are,” she replies, looking back at you with love and concern mingling in her pupils. Your throat would close up at the sight on worse days.

Today, though, you smile at her with veiled gratitude and a hint of apology as she hands you a knitted bag, heavy with homemade goods.

“You know,” you point out, weighing it in your hands with a pensive pout in your lips. “I think you spoil that man way too much.”

“Those are for Father Nanami as well,” your mother protests, lifting her brow at you, affronted. “And ‘that man’ is our priest”

“It’s just Satoru,” you said. A slip up that you paid mind to a little too late.

“Precisely because it’s Father Satoru,” your mother replies, casual, as swift as her hands rearranging the last few envelopes. Her brief yet disapproving sideways glance is the only other indication that she has taken note of your disrespectful nonchalance. “He is a friend.”

“It doesn’t matter,” was the answer that made its way to your tongue. It didn’t come out of your lips though, it was too much of a lie.

“He should be thankful we prepared him anything at all.”

The piercing glare your mother throws your way is enough to seal your lips shut and make you swallow your complaint. You smile innocently, fluttering your eyelashes.

“Last time that look worked on me was when you were nine years old”

You don’t receive yet another earful regarding your lack of respect towards the so-called angel of the town, though, so you are thankful. Your mother is aware of the particular familiarity between Satoru and you and while you both have talked about the level of casualness you are okay with, she insists you follow the proper etiquette with a man of God.

“Smile when you deliver this,” she reminds you, planting an obnoxious kiss on your cheek. “We made such an effort putting this together,” your mother comments, eyes much softer than her admonishing voice. The ghost of a smile in her lips suggests a tease that you decide to ignore pointedly, your cheeks flaring. “Presentation is everything.”

You roll your eyes, making your way to the door, “Right...” you drawl.

“Don’t forget your scarf”

You hum in response, stopping at the foyer and grabbing it from the rack next to the door. As you tie it around your neck, a thought makes you pause.

“Mom?”

She peeks into the foyer. “Yes?”

You grab the door handle, eyeing her just briefly before twisting the knob.

“Did you tell Satoru?”

As you open the door, the cold wind blows into the warmth of the house. Your hair waves with it.

“About the tree?”

It’s always like this between you both, the silent connection and the subtle communication.

“About why I go there,” you say.

Your mother is quick to answer both with words and with a firm shake of her head.

You almost regret asking when you see the sorrowful lines that map her face.

“Of course not, it’s not my place to tell.”

You nod, smiling a bit. “Okay.”

As you step out, her voice reaches your ears. “But–“

You look over your shoulder. She looks sheepish, hands dancing on her lap. “Don’t you think it would help? Talking about it with him ? He is your friend and he is closer to God.”

You let out a soft laugh, not unkind. “I think it would be the most awkward conversation to have.”

Whenever you walk towards the parish, you think of Satoru. At the beginning, it was out of curiosity and wariness, as you imagined and played around with the endless possibilities of the mystery of his personality. Now, it is unbearable. The sense of anticipation that used to precede your meetings has mixed in with a yearning, an itch that you can barely scratch and which nature makes your stomach twist.

You are aware there’s an inherent wickedness permeating your feelings now, that most of your thoughts linger close to the line of impropriety and don’t reciprocate Satoru’s unconditional respect for you.

Because, even if he is unconventional in more ways than one, especially in comparison to the strict mold a catholic priest is expected to fit in, there’s nothing about him that suggests a questionable morality. Even with the way he is always getting close, shimming in your head and personal space, talking your ear off about everything and nothing and making jokes that walk and tether the line of strict propriety. And even with your proximity and the familiarity that allows him to touch you freely, there’s a delicate balance and respectful boundaries in your relationship.

His hands never wander or linger beyond the socially acceptable, invisible limits society has mapped a woman’s body with. The looks he gives you, while filled with open interest and regard, are void of a dark, twisted intention you have seen other men possess.

You are the one that avoids looking at him too much or staring at his eyes for too long, fearing the kind of expression you will see reflected on his all-seeing eyes. You are the one terrified about the possibility of him reading the hidden thoughts swirling in the depths of your brain.

The innocence of your friendship has mixed in with a dark pull that makes you crave Satoru’s proximity in a way you shouldn’t dare to entertain. It’s a cruel irony. Even beyond all the key reasons why your fascination should remain concealed behind platonic affections.

It’s wrong.

For the first time in the entire winter, you feel grateful when a whip of harsh, cold air hits your body. It’s heaven’s warning. A way to tell you to focus on the goosebumps instead of whatever black holes your mind is spiraling into.

You walk up the last steps leading to the entrance of the parish feeling nauseous, fighting and locking away the last thoughts. You inhale deeply before walking through the open doors, your nose filled instantly with the sweet smell of incense as the muscle memory takes over and you sign the cross over your upper body. It’s true when they say the church is truly never empty, and not because of the hypothetical presence of a higher being, but because it’s always open. During the day hours, there are always a few believers praying or waiting for a confession, head down, silently holding a conversation with either God or themselves.

Your eyes scan the few people scattered in the pews and you are not surprised to realize you are familiar with the back of the heads of half your neighbors. You walk to one side, moving along the rows of pews and nodding politely to those that are alerted by the movement in their peripheral. Nonetheless, as you get closer to the partly hidden hallway that leads to Satoru’s office and the sacristy, a smaller frame catches your attention. He is sitting right at the edge of the pew closest to the hallway leading to the offices. You walk closer and look over the scrawny shoulder, making sure he is not praying.

“Yuuji?” you whisper.

The boy raises his head, turning his gaze away from the missal on his lap. You smile down at the way his slightly bewildered expression morphs into a wide grin.

“Miss—!” he whispers back.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, ruffling his hair.

He gestures for you to get closer. When you do, he leans forward.

“I’m here to tell Father Gojo something”

You raise a brow, leaning back just enough to admire the anticipation in his expression.

“Father Gojo said I could be an altar boy next Sunday if Grandpa agreed,” he chirps.

You resist the urge to raise both eyebrows. You would think Yuuji is too young to be an altar boy, and you know Satoru does too, having denied his multiple, enthusiastic and incessant requests. Nonetheless, you also know Wasuke is spending more time at the hospital lately and that might be enough reason for him and Satoru to reconsider. Yuuji seems excited enough though. He thinks Satoru is the coolest guy around and has been trailing after him like a baby duck for a while.

“Let me guess,” you lean down with a conspiratorial whisper. “He said yes”

“Yes!”

Yuuji’s outburst bounces off the old rock walls but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You notice some people looking in your direction, raising their heads from their silent prayer with varying degrees of bewilderment. You shrug at them, an apologetic grimace, before turning back to Yuuji.

“Oh my” you huff out a laugh, keeping your voice at whisper-level. “Congrats on the promotion!”

Yuuji almost bounces off the pew but his voice is lower this time. “Thank you.”

“What’s your salary?”

“I-I don’t think I have one,” he perks up, intrigued.

“You should ask for one”

“Oh,” the boy doesn’t even question you, but furrows his brows a bit after a moment. “It shouldn’t be money, though”

You nod, mimicking his serious expression. “Of course.”

Yuuji’s legs swing over the edge of the pew as he looks at the bright colored windows.

“Movies” he suggests, doe eyes looking for your approval.

You bite back a smile but click your tongue and reign in your expression for the sake of the serious aura around him.

“He already lends them to you,” you tap your chin before your expression brightens. “I will help you negotiate weekly cinema tickets and all-you-can-eat ice cream”

Yuuji’s eyes are bright and wide as a gasp escapes his lips. “You would?”

“Uh-huh,” you wink, straightening back to your height. “I’m sure Father Satoru will honor this deal”

Yuuji beams up at you, body almost bouncing off the pew. You giggle, ruffling his hair before fishing some baked goods from your knitted bag.

“For you and Gramps”

“Thank you!” He promptly opens the envelope with enthusiasm and eyes at them. He sniffs unapologetically, “They smell so good! Did you make them?”

“My mom and I did,” you confirm, gently pressing your hand over his so he closes the paper. “They are better hot, so don’t open until you eat them”

“I will go eat them now!” he declares, clutching into them as if you would change your mind and snatch them away. “Outside,” he adds.

You laugh, propping a hand over your hip. “Wait, don’t you want to come to see Father Satoru?"

Yuuji is already sliding off the bench. “He told me to wait a few minutes, he is busy having a grown up talk with Father Nanamin!”

“Nana—“ you trail off. “Isn’t it Nanami?”

The young boy shrugs, already munching on a cookie despite his earlier promise. “Father Gojo calls him Nanamin and Father Nanamin says it was okay if I called him that. He doesn’t seem to like when Father Gojo does, though”

“I see.”

“You are a grown-up, so you can talk to them now,” Yuuji instructs sagely, pointing towards the hallway.

You salute, “Understood, boss”

Yuuji waves at you before skipping out the church. You observe his bouncing frame until it disappears beyond the entrance and you shake your head fondly, before turning around. As you pass the side of the altar, your gaze lingers in the Virgin Mary figure, the flickering flames of the candles at her feet dancing along her body. The candle you lit up many years ago should be right there.

With that last thought, you look forward and slide into the hallway.

At this point, you are familiar with every single corner of this place. Satoru gave you a personalized tour last year, almost scandalized at the thought of you not being familiar with the parish you had grown up in. So, w ith time, you found yourself feeling comfortable enough to explore around on your own, mostly to pass the time while Satoru is attending his priestly duties.

You have grown familiar with every nook and cranny of Satoru’s office as well and you know you can waltz right into it when the door is left ajar. Which is always.

Well, almost.

Strangely enough, you are greeted with the side of a closed door. You frown a bit, eyes fixed on the engraved name at the door. Satoru Gojo. You raise your hand to knock, fearing to walk into a serious conversation you shouldn’t overheard. Something makes you hesitate, though. Probably the hushed whispers traveling through the door.

You stand there, even if you know you shouldn’t.

“…it’s been almost seven years.”

“Didn’t know there’s a rule that says I should stop caring after–”

It takes you a few seconds to realize but what you assumed was a casual conversation sounds way more heated than that. You can’t always quite tell what’s being said, but there are moments the whispers evolve into louder

“….I’m just saying, a long time has passed, maybe you should let it go.”

“You want me to forget it!?”

“I’m not saying you should forget it, but God knows moving on is the best thing we can do. I did–”

“Jesus Christ,” Satoru huffs, “don’t you dare lecture me about moving on, you are here .”

You are so baffled by the fact that Satoru’s voice has the capacity to reach that level of defensive hostility that you don’t quite register how long the silence stretches after his last retort.

“I thought you had matured,” Nanami finally says and the casual coldness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “But you are the same impulsive, hot-headed, imprudent kid from all those years ago. Be mindful of your role.”

“Yeah, well, what the hell do you think I have been doing?” Satoru’s voice raises further, a sardonic tone permeating every word. “I’m so close to–”

“You have plenty of people depending on you,” Nanami cuts you off. “If you care about them, you will move cautiously.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence after that. You shift the weight from one foot to another, raising your hand to knock.

“And [Name]–“ Nanami starts.

And you startle.

Nonetheless, Satoru clicks his tongue. You can hear him pacing around in the room. Or it might be Nanami.

“Don’t even bring her up,” the former hisses, in a fiery protest. “Don’t even start. We are friends”

“It’s not that, Satoru, she’s—”

“I’m done with—”

You can barely register the sudden movement, a surge of warmth and a woody, earthy aroma hitting you right in the face. Your eyes focus on the wall of Satoru’s office. Opposite of you, there’s an ample bookshelf of the same expensive yet old wood of the desk. There are no windows and the lights are out which makes the flames cast shadows and dancing figures all over the room and on Nanami’s surprised face as he leans against the desk. “—this.”

You take a stumbling step back when your eyes meet as if the force of it was enough to make you lose balance. Only then, when your eyes run away from his, you find yourself face to face with Satoru Gojo, still with his hand on the knob, the most baffled expression you have ever seen on him. “You—”

“I–” your mouth feels dry, your heartbeats ringing in your ears. “I was just…”

“Not now.”

Whatever fluster, shame or guilt you might have begun to feel instantly evaporates into a cloud of pure befuddlement. Satoru’s face is not a display of perplexity anymore but rather an inexpressive, almost dismissive mask. It’s so foreign it makes you take a step back.

“H–huh?” you let out. “I was just—”

“[Name], I apologize,” he mutters in a tone that doesn’t suggest a hint of regret, “but the confessional opens at ten, so not now.”

“I just wanted—”

“[Name]…” there’s a hint of a plea this time, as he tilts his head to the side and avoids your gaze, as if he is trying to repel you.

Nanami frowns, stepping closer. “Gojo—”

The cloud of bafflement dissipates to expose a mix of indignation and humiliation. It’s the fact that he has never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not until today. You feel yourself ruffle and warm up under his gaze, a glare settling on your eyes.

He opens his mouth again and you clutch the strap of your knitted bag, feeling defensive.

“Gojo,” Nanami speaks, pressing a hand over his shoulder.

Satoru bites his inner cheek but doesn’t say anything else. He shrugs Nanami off after a few seconds, though. You can only observe, trying to wrap your head around what you are seeing and hearing and what you thought you would see and hear and how you imagined your day would go.

You retrace every step in your head as you physically walk back, affronted. Before you can even say anything, though. Before you can defend yourself or protest, something catches your eye.

You wish you had never seen it.

Nanami is wearing a black cassock, just like Satoru is. The clerical collar is pristine and there’s a cross hanging off his neck. It catches the light of the flames in the chimney.

At the left, an ornate badge is proudly fixed against his chest. It’s a beautiful one, the fanciest kind of needlework. And a very familiar one. You have spent hours staring at the embroidery, the design, at the way the crimson and the plum and the gold thread harmonize in an intricate embrace.

All of a sudden, you feel bile rise up your throat.

“[Name]–”

You don’t care if Satoru's tone is kinder this time. The sight surely isn’t.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

The words ring in your ears, the voice all too clear after all these years, hands without a body handing you a box too light.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

Your hand tugs at the fine chain around your neck, your hand molding around the little case in an anxious grip. Your hand is sweaty and your thumb traces over the curves and lines of the initials engraved on the locket in a silent callback.

“H–hey…”

You turn around without looking back. Your steps are swift, desperate. The hallway seems to stretch on and on and the rest of the church closes in on you as you focus on the light of the outside world ahead. Your hurried steps echo off the walls, the beginning of a sob held back by your tight-sealed lips. You might have heard your name but you don’t mind, you want to keep running until you can finally breathe. Until the light outside erases every memory of the cold winter.

In reality, you run until you physically tire out. Until you are heaving, leaning on your knees, droplets falling from your face and into the snow. They could be tears or sweat, you don’t know.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

You might want to retch out of the sickening voice replaying in your head over and over again or because you have moved forward like a mad-woman. Either way, you inhale and exhale as frantically as you have run until the need for oxygen subsides and you don’t have a choice but to kneel down. Your hands and knees are partly buried in the snow.

You hate winter.

It brings cold and sickness and painful memories with it. For you, the worst part of it is the phantom hold that clings and suffocates you like a constricting vine. Trees are still skinny and mostly naked, branches trembling at the wind, bending under the weight of the last snowfall.

All but one.

Your head rises. It’s easy to see it from the bottom of the hill.

Between the leisure movement of a heavy cloud and the other, the sun has started to reach out with its lukewarm rays and, right at the top, the giant oak tree stands proud and imposing. Its monstrous shadow seems to stretch impossibly long, all the way down the hill where it reaches you and envelopes you like a mantle.

“You have finally come back to haunt me”

hi again ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ i want to thank you for reading all the way to here. You absolutely rock and I'm profoundly flattered. this post is crazy to me because despite my long time in fandom trenches, this is the first time I post a self insert / OC fic aaaaand a fic on tumblr. Kudos to Satoru Gojo and my catholic upbringing for mingling in my brain! Anyway, you probably have more questions than answers and for that I apologize. I feel this introduction is a bit more confusing than anything but that's exactly what I wanted to go after. Hopefully it gives you an idea of the messy state of things. There’s a whole menu of mildly fucked up stuff here and I'm so excited for you to browse it in the upcoming chapters.Anyways! Any doubts you have feel free to drop in the comments or in an ask, I will be more than happy to answer if it's nothing to spoilery :v If you don’t have any questions yet, don’t worry i'm looking forward to read your thoughts and comments or constructive criticism about the chapter as well! Thank you so much for taking the time to give this lil work a chance! Til next time my beloveds ♡ Have a good day/night!

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