#message in a bottle 💌

[toonheartz]

Poor quality picture but here, the moment he considers Mickey a brother

Thank you!! Discourse aside, this moment is so sweet??

It's hard for me to explain (words hard moment) but there's just..something between the canon story and what really happened irl that blends together. like maybe i'm reading too far into it. but with canon you've got child favorism and with irl you've got like, almost like kids separated with their parents. and with both you've got this sort of. estrangement. oswald's the forgotten child while mickey's oh so funny and loveable and gets all the attention. and i've thought of retellings where the script is flipped and oswald instead admires him but it just doesn't feel the same?

oswald's emotions, from his fury to his spite to his depression, compares to that of a kid who had all the attention pulled from them the moment their sibling proved to "have more potential". who was left to grow up directionless. who tried over and over to go "look, look what i've made!" but was ignored and left to turn bitter.

so he HATES his brother. because in his eyes mickey took everything from him. even during the paint path it takes awhile for oswald to warm up to him, beginning to see mickey's appeal in one breath while still considering taking his heart - all that love that could've been his - for himself. he knows this. he knows it's wrong. and he realizes that it's something mickey wouldn't do, unlike him.

"Now I really DO see why he liked you."

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

— CHILDE x FEM!READER

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.

STATUS: started on 08/25/24

GENRE: older brother’s best friend, smau, college au, fluff, angst, crack, strangers to lovers, slowburn

WARNINGS: excessive use of profanity , ooc!childe (probably)

NOTES: 💌 means it’s a written chapter

TAGLIST (OPEN!): feel free to comment or send an ask!

TRANSCRIPT!

— D1 YAPPERS | NO DADDIES, JUST ISSUES

1ST SEMESTER: break up, break free

01. Was it casual?

02. I’m not a pervert! 💌

03. Relax, she’s not my type

04. I’m so wet tonight 💌

05. Stalking? No, Investigating? Yes

06. Do you like your men sarcastic?

07. Take notes

08. Where? A bed?

09. Trust me, ok?

10. Always worth your time 💌

11. My man who’s not my man

12. Missing you hours

13. In shades of orange and blue 💌

14. “Sly fox, dumb bunny” 💌

2ND SEMESTER: break through, break down

15. Just this once

16. My boyfriend?

17. C*CKBLOCKER

18. It means, my dear sister 💌

19. Is she single?

20. New Year’s Resolution

21. Waves are worth chasing 💌

22. Always the cupid 💌

— Behind closed doors

FINALS SEASON: then break a smile

23. Not the confession I wanted

24. Don’t kiss the chef

25. Ocean blue eyes looking in mine

26. Lifeline or lifeline

27. tba

28. tba

Epilogue: Sport’s Journal’s Exclusive

EXTRAS: message in a bottle

— random text messages

— dressed in swan’s clothing

TAGLIST (CLOSED!): @thegalaxyisunfolding @stratusworld @tiramizuloz @miy-svz @trulyylee @batatinhafriita @scaradooche @yuminako @m1njizzie @mtndewbajablasted @fadedpinkpen @vavrin @kioffy @kokoomie @ashveil @tired-jaz @nia333 @riabriyn @kyon-cherri @kitsunetori @morgyyyyyyy @kazumiku @ichorstainedskin @hanilessa @s4ikooo1 @matolka @appy-slicez @monocerosei @mostlymoth @heathnyfangirl @meigalaxy @x-hihihi-x @lunaavity @ladyofpandemonium @coffeeisbehindyou @mentallyunpresent @wrangleanangel @littlesliceofcheese @ell1e2010 @vi0let-writes @strawbyan @blupi02 @eccendentesiast-sapphic @aixaingela @fo-love @mickey-d-luffy @nanfufu @cryoarchoness @li-x1nyu @crucnhice @jayzioxx @lumineskies @scalyalpaca @help-whatdoimakemyusername

If your name is bolded, for some reason I can’t tag you :(

FLOYLIA © 2024 | please don’t plagiarize, repost or translate any of my works

[chuuyrr]

i need more fanfictions where reader is in the ada and starts having feelings for chuuya (or, even better, chuuya, despite being a port mafia member, starts crushing on the reader).

imagine the tension??? the lingering touches, the stares, the insults and teasing, the fights, THE FORBIDDEN ROMANCE TROPE !! basically an enemies to lovers plus the impossible love with angst, fluff and tension. i am IN LOVE

- message in a bottle anon

forbidden love, enemies to lovers, and tension?? mhm. mhm. ✍️✍️

[dakusan]

Y O U T E X T “ I M I S S Y O U ” O U T O F N O W H E R E

stray kids ot8 x reader | quiet confessions, sleepy chaos, and hearts that ache before they answer

🌙 synopsis: You don’t mean to send it. Not dramatically. Not with tears in your eyes. Just…“i miss you.” Quiet. Honest. Unfiltered. And suddenly—They’re not okay. This isn’t just texting. This is emotional freefall in three words or less. This is “i miss you” turned into “i love you” without either of you saying it.

💌 a/n: this was supposed to be short. just a little “what if you texted ‘i miss you’” post. and then chan said “i wanna hold you while the track renders” and everything spiraled. i hope you feel held. i hope you feel insane. i hope you text someone “i miss you” and they drop everything to say “get here. your side’s cold.” thank you for reading this 8-piece set of emotional damage disguised as fluff. p.s. reblogs = forehead kisses p.p.s. if one of them ever actually said this to me i would simply dissolve into a memory and haunt their laundry.

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "All About You" — Taeyeon

Bang Chan // 방찬

It’s 1:13 AM when you send it. No emoji. No context. Just:

i miss you.

He sees it between takes — fingers hovering above his keyboard, cursor blinking on the same half-finished vocal comp he’s looped for 40 minutes. The studio is dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of his screen and the flickering ‘recording’ sign outside the booth. His hoodie sleeves are pushed to his elbows. There’s a half-drunk bottle of Pocari on the desk. Lo-fi is playing quietly in the background — something soft, without words.

He stops.

Just… sits there for a second, staring at your message like it reached into his chest and gently pressed there.

Because you never say it out of nowhere. You’re careful. Thoughtful. Always timing your affection like a gift. And now, when you’re apart and quiet and distant—You miss him.

He exhales, thumb brushing over the screen. Smiles, crooked and slow, like it snuck up on him.

Then he does what he always does with feelings too big to hold: he turns to the mic. Doesn’t even rerecord the verse. Just switches on the track, leans into the mic, and softly hums something new — something with warmth, with ache, with the kind of sound that curls like a blanket around everything he can’t say yet.

When it’s done, he sends it.

[1:24 AM] (1 audio message) “miss you too. enough to put it in a song. come over if you can. you don’t have to say anything. i just wanna hold you while the track renders.”

Lee Know // 리노

You send it at 10:56 PM. No warning. No dramatic lead-up. Just:

i miss you.

He’s in bed. Not asleep. Not even trying. Just lying there in the dark with his phone balanced on his chest, a drama paused mid-episode and a cat curled up by his legs.

He sees your name light up, reads the message twice — once with his heart, once with his overthinking.

Immediately: suspicious. Out of nowhere? From you? At this hour?

His first instinct is to roll his eyes. His second is to reread it. His third is to sit up, grab his pillow, and clutch it in his lap like it’ll stop the way his stomach just turned to something embarrassingly warm.

You don’t say it unless you mean it. You don’t say it unless you need something. And suddenly, he hates that he’s not there — that you miss him and he can’t fix it, can’t hold you, can’t act all unimpressed while secretly tucking you under his arm like you belong there.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a while. He types and deletes twice. The third time sticks.

[11:02 PM] ...what happened? [11:02 PM] did someone say something? are you lonely? do you want me to come over or do you just want attention? [11:03 PM] ...because if it’s attention, you have it. idiot.

He throws the pillow across the room right after. Then spends the next hour watching your typing bubble like it holds the moon.

Changbin // 창빈 💪

It’s 8:14 PM when you send it. You don’t say anything else. Just:

i miss you.

He sees it halfway through a workout — hoodie tied around his waist, arms flushed and pumped, headphones in, breath ragged from a set he absolutely overdid. His phone buzzes on the bench. He wipes a hand on his towel, glances at the screen—

—and freezes.

There are a few people still in the gym. He barely hears them. Because something about that message punches the air straight out of his lungs.

You’re not usually the one to say it first. Not without a reason. Not unless something’s aching a little too much. And now you miss him — and he’s here, lifting weights like that’s gonna hold you together.

He grabs his phone and walks off into the hallway, chest still rising and falling like he just sprinted. It’s not even just the message. It’s the way his heart reacted — instantly. Like it’s been waiting to hear that from you all day.

His thumbs move fast:

[8:16 PM] you do?? 😭 [8:16 PM] pls tell me you’re free tonight i’ll cancel everything [8:17 PM] srsly. i miss u so bad i almost tripped doing lunges bc i started picturing ur face like a loser.

He stops, stares at his own text, groans into his towel.

And then:

(1 voice note) “if you’re free, come over. if not… call me? i’ll sit in my room like a lovesick sitcom character until you do.”

He puts the phone in his hoodie pocket after that. Heart loud. Arms sore. Entire soul? Yours.

Hyunjin // 현진 🎭

It’s 12:01 AM when you send it. Simple. Soft. No punctuation, no drama. Just:

i miss you

He’s painting. Alone in his apartment. A candle flickers beside his easel, wax dripping slowly as strokes of deep indigo curve across canvas. There’s music in the background—something orchestral, echoing, probably a little sad. His sleeves are rolled. Fingers stained with muted color.

The message buzzes through his speaker. He pauses mid-stroke. His breath catches.

Because you say it without pretense. You say it like it’s just true. You say it like you couldn’t hold it in any longer, like your heart blurted it out without consulting your pride.

And it ruins him.

He sets the brush down. Gently. Like it might shatter. Wipes his hands on a cloth. Looks at your name glowing on his phone like it’s the first star of the night. His throat is tight.

His first text is typed and deleted. Too dramatic. He rewrites it. Softer.

[12:04 AM] i’ve been aching to hear that [12:04 AM] i miss you in every quiet moment between brushstrokes [12:05 AM] do you want to facetime or do you want me to come stand outside your window with a candle and recite pablo neruda

He stares at the send button like it might bite him. Then presses it anyway.

His heart is a cathedral when you reply.

Han // 한 🌀

It’s 2:06 AM when you send it. No buildup. No emojis. Just:

i miss you

He was literally just lying there. Hoodie on. Face half in his pillow. Watching some dumb video on mute. Laughing at something he won’t remember in 3 minutes. He’s got crumbs on his hoodie and like, four unread messages in his group chat. He’s vibing. Barely thinking. Just static.

Until he sees you on his screen.

And suddenly — he’s wide awake.

He sits up like a corpse in a horror movie, staring at your message with the kind of intensity people reserve for bomb countdowns. His heart does a full Olympic gymnastics routine. His brain? Gone. Offline. In heaven. On fire.

He starts typing and deleting. So fast.

First message: too clingy. Second: too cool. Third: accidentally a marriage proposal.

He hits send before he can regret it:

[2:07 AM] What do you mean 😭😭😭 do you miss me like... miss me or like miss my memes [2:08 AM] bc if u miss ME i am currently free and emotionally compromised [2:08 AM] if u call me rn i’ll answer like it’s a drama and say ‘you finally called…’ i’m not kidding

Then, because he hates himself but also needs you to KNOW:

(1 voice note) “hi. i miss you too. like. so bad. like ‘watching our old tiktoks and tearing up’ bad. ok i’m gonna go cry into my cereal now bye 😭”

And then he rolls over, buries his face in his pillow, and kicks his feet like a 16-year-old girl in a coming-of-age movie.

Felix // 필릭스 🌻

It’s 9:36 PM when you send it. Soft. Unassuming. Just:

i miss you

He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, gaming headset half-on, controller resting in his lap. His monitor’s still glowing with the lobby screen, but he hasn’t clicked “ready” in three minutes.

Because your name popped up. And those three little words didn’t just land — they sank.

He re-reads it, smiling like he can’t help it. Like your message reached through the screen and gently cupped his face.

He’s not the type to question it. Not the type to pretend it doesn’t matter. You miss him — and he misses you too. More than he’s said. More than he knows how to say sometimes.

So he picks up his phone, pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and texts back with all the warmth he has:

[9:38 PM] angel :( i was just thinking about u too [9:39 PM] i miss u in like. the way stars miss the sky [9:40 PM] wanna call? or i can come over w snacks n cuddles n a playlist titled ‘us time’ 🫂💛

And because that’s not enough — not nearly enough — he sends a voice note too. His voice low, soft, wrapped in honey:

(voice note, 0:08) “i miss you so much it kinda makes my chest tight... but like in a good way. please come over. i’ll make hot chocolate. with the cinnamon u like.”

Seungmin // 승민

It’s 11:22 PM when you send it. No flourish. No drama. Just:

i miss you

He’s brushing his teeth. Pajamas on. Sleep playlist already playing low from his Bluetooth speaker. The apartment is still. Lights soft. Everything quiet — except his brain, which goes static the second your message appears.

He pauses, toothbrush halfway out of his mouth. Stares at the notification like it personally insulted him. His heartbeat? Loud. Chest? Tight. Eyes? Suddenly way too focused on the “i” in “i miss you.”

And of course—he has to respond the only way he knows how: with sarcasm and a mild breakdown. He rinses, spits, towels off his face, and flops onto bed, one arm dramatically over his eyes. Then, thumb to phone:

[11:24 PM] wow. desperate much? [11:25 PM] should i feel special or r u just lonely n scrolling ur contacts [11:26 PM] jk. unless.

He stares at those texts. Chews his lip. Rolls over. Sighs. Then types again — slower this time.

[11:28 PM] ...i was literally just about to text you [11:28 PM] this is annoying [11:28 PM] i miss you too

And because he knows you’re probably pouting, he sends one final message:

(photo attachment: his pillow with space beside it) get here. your side’s cold.

I.n // 아이엔

It’s 10:01 PM when you send it. Simple. Sweet. Just:

i miss you

He sees it while leaning against the balcony railing, earbuds in, hoodie unzipped, cool night air brushing against his skin. The city glows beneath him — golden windows, blinking lights, soft hum of life continuing below.

He reads your message and smiles — not wide. Just a slow, knowing curve that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You texted first. You cracked first. And he loves that.

But what he doesn’t say — not yet — is that he’d been about to text you the same thing. He’d been replaying that last voice note you left him. He’d been standing out here thinking about the way your hand feels when it’s tucked inside his hoodie pocket. He’s not cocky about it. Just… calm. Quietly wrecked.

He replies:

[10:02 PM] you miss me already? [10:02 PM] i thought u were tougher than this 🤭 [10:03 PM] ...good. i was starting to think i’m the only one losing sleep over you

Then he sends a photo: His shadow on the balcony, city lights in the distance, and the caption:

“you’d look better standing here next to me.”

And just like that — you're done for. Because so is he.

[joaeriz]

8 LETTERS (Paige Bueckers x Fem!Reader)

📎 inspired by “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We 📖 fluff | slow burn | soft romance | college AU 💌 word count: ~2.8k

summary: When Y/N is assigned to write a feature on UConn’s star player Paige Bueckers, the last thing she expects is late-night FaceTimes, secret hangouts, and catching real feelings. As the line between friendship and something more starts to blur, both girls are left wondering if they’re brave enough to say the eight letters that could change everything.

authors note: (Okay, so before you jump in—I just wanna say I had so much fun writing this. It’s honestly a mix of two of my favorite things ever: Paige Bueckers (who I adore) and “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We (which lives rent-free in my head, always). The idea hit me out of nowhere—like, what if that kind of soft, slow, “I love you but I’m scared to say it” kind of story played out between Y/N and Paige? And it just spiraled from there in the best way. I got way too emotionally invested in these two (not sorry), and writing all the cute moments, the late-night FaceTimes, and the feelings they’re both too scared to admit? Ugh. I loved every second.So if you’re into a little angst, a lot of softness, and some seriously sweet vibes, I hope this gives you butterflies the way it gave me butterflies writing it. Thanks for reading—it means so much. — Jo)

P.s: this is my first fic i have posted on here!! Im not new at writing, but let me know if you guys want more :)

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your story subject.

That was rule number one of journalism school. No dating your interviewees, no crushes on profile pieces, no getting involved. But rules felt irrelevant the first time Paige Bueckers smiled at you like you were more than another face with a notepad.

Your assignment was simple—write a semester-long feature on the UConn women’s basketball team for the student paper. Paige, naturally, was the center of the piece. A star on and off the court. Already a national name. Every sports journalist dreamed of covering her.

You were supposed to remain objective.

Instead, you were falling for her.

Hard.

—

It started with a dead recorder.

Your first real conversation wasn’t planned—unless you count fate as a planner. You’d been huddled near the sideline at practice, trying to record a quote from one of the assistant coaches when your recorder sputtered out and died mid-sentence. You swore under your breath and slapped it, like that ever helped.

Paige had been walking by, sipping on a water bottle, and stopped. “Need backup?”

You looked up, startled. “Only if you’ve got a time machine.”

She smiled. “Nope. But I’ve got the Voice Memos app.”

She handed over her phone like it was no big deal—like she hadn’t just offered you her lifeline. You blinked. “You trust a random reporter with your phone?”

“You don’t seem like the type to scroll through texts.” She leaned in with a smirk. “Besides, you’ve got an honest face. And a tragic relationship with electronics.”

You laughed, cheeks heating. She stayed next to you for a few minutes, watching as you wrapped up your interview with her phone in hand. When it was over, she texted you the audio file with the message:

“Try not to let your technology trauma ruin your career.”

You responded with a lame thank-you and a joke about threatening your recorder with a hammer. You didn’t expect her to reply.

But she did.

“Violence is rarely the answer, but I’ll allow it.”

From there, it snowballed. Texts turned into full-blown threads. Threads into daily check-ins. She started sending random memes between practices—some sports-related, some completely unhinged—and you’d match her energy with cursed TikToks and sarcastic commentary.

Then came the first FaceTime.

You were editing audio at 11:47 p.m. when her name lit up your screen. Paige Bueckers is FaceTiming you.

You stared at it for a second. Then answered.

She was wrapped in a hoodie with damp hair and tired eyes, lying in bed. “Hey,” she said softly. “Didn’t wanna be alone tonight.”

That first call lasted three hours.

You talked about everything: your major, her injuries, your complicated relationship with your hometown, her fear of letting people down. She confessed that sometimes, the pressure made her want to run away to a place where no one knew her name.

You said you understood.

After that, it became routine. Late-night FaceTimes. Morning Snapchats. Study breaks where she'd call and say, “Tell me something random,” and you’d ramble about your day while she half-listened, half-dozed.

—

The first time you hung out outside of school was under the guise of an interview follow-up.

She invited you to a local coffee shop—some cozy little place with plants in every window and tables just slightly too small. You showed up with your laptop and pages of notes. Paige showed up in a hoodie and beanie, no makeup, looking infuriatingly good.

You talked for two hours.

Only twenty minutes was about basketball.

She paid for your drink when you weren’t looking.

“I’ll Venmo you,” you said, pretending to dig for your phone.

She just shrugged. “Nah. Call it a reporter’s hazard fee.”

After that came more not-quite-dates. Study sessions in the campus library where she never actually studied. Walks through the trail behind the dorms where she'd kick pebbles and talk about life like it was something she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

One night, she invited you to “movie night” with the team.

You showed up with snacks and nerves, expecting a whole crowd.

But it was just her.

Two mugs of hot chocolate already on the table. A blanket tossed casually over the couch. She tried to play it off. “The others bailed,” she claimed with a sheepish shrug.

She was a terrible liar.

You stayed anyway.

She fell asleep halfway through the second movie with her head on your shoulder, and you didn’t dare move.

After that night, everything shifted.

—

There were moments. God, there were moments.

The way her hand would brush yours when she passed you something and linger—just a second too long. The way she’d light up when you walked into a room, like you were the only one she’d been waiting for. How she’d say things like:

“Sometimes I forget how to breathe around you.”

And then immediately pretend it was a joke.

You wanted to say it.

You almost did—on Valentine’s Day, when she left a note in your dorm mailbox with a chocolate bar and the words “you’re my favorite notification.”

But you chickened out.

Because if she didn’t feel the same way, you’d lose her. And that possibility was more terrifying than staying quiet.

But then came the silence.

She started pulling away. Fewer texts. Missed calls. Short replies like:

“Practice ran late.” “Sorry, just tired.” “Talk soon?”

And soon became never.

Until the day it broke.

—

It was cold. Rainy. The kind of day that made everything feel heavier. You were walking past the practice facility, hood up, heart aching, when you saw her.

Paige. Alone. Leaning against the wall like she was waiting for something—or someone.

You slowed. She looked up.

“I think we should stop,” she said.

Your stomach dropped. “Stop…?”

“This. Us. I don’t know what this is to you, and I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with not knowing.”

You blinked, throat closing.

“I’m not asking you to guess,” you managed to say.

“Well, then tell me,” she whispered. “Because I think about you all the time, and I don’t know how to make it stop. And it hurts, Y/N. It hurts not knowing if I’m just another story to you.”

And finally—finally—you said the words.

“You asked what love looks like to me.”

She held her breath.

“It looks like you. Like FaceTime calls at midnight and cold coffee on a Sunday morning. It’s how you fight through everything and still smile like you’re not carrying the weight of the world. I didn’t say it before because I was scared, but I’m more scared of losing you.”

Her eyes glossed. She stepped closer.

“You love me?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“I do.”

And when she kissed you, it was soft and shaky and real. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

—

That night, your article sat unfinished.

She lay beside you on your tiny dorm bed, her hand brushing yours under the covers, the silence between you humming with peace.

“Say it again,” she murmured.

You smiled.

“I love you.”

Eight letters.

—

It had been twenty-six days since you told Paige you loved her.

Twenty-six days since she kissed you in the rain like her world had just started spinning again.

Twenty-six days since things finally became real.

And every single one of those days had felt like waking up in the softest dream.

Being with Paige wasn’t loud or flashy—not most of the time. It was slow mornings in bed, tangled limbs and quiet whispers. It was FaceTiming just to sit in silence while you both worked. It was warm hoodies borrowed without asking, and her stealing your socks because “they’re the soft ones.”

It was peace.

One Sunday morning, you found her asleep on your couch, wearing your crewneck and hugging your stuffed animal. She’d crashed the night before after watching movies in your room, the two of you curled together on your tiny dorm bed until she got too warm and rolled onto the floor, dramatically sighing, “This is why we need a queen-sized mattress and a lease.”

You’d laughed, thinking she was joking.

Then she blinked up at you and said, totally serious, “Like… a place. You and me. Off campus. Someday.”

Your heart soared, and you tucked the idea away like a wish on a star.

Later, she sleepily mumbled, “I want you in my mornings and my nights.”

And you knew she meant it.

—

Dating Paige came with little adventures.

Like the time she surprised you with a picnic—on a Tuesday.

You’d been having the worst week: deadlines, papers, zero sleep. Paige texted you in the middle of class: “Be ready at 6. Trust me.”

You met her behind the student union, expecting takeout and a movie.

Instead, she’d laid out a blanket under a canopy of fairy lights she somehow got from the volleyball team’s gear closet. There was music playing from a Bluetooth speaker, a thermos of your favorite hot cocoa, and a little box of cupcakes from the bakery you once mentioned you liked.

“I know you’re overwhelmed,” she said, pulling you into a hug. “So I’m forcing you to pause. Just for tonight.”

You nearly cried.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

She kissed your forehead and grinned. “Nah. We deserve each other.”

—

Her love came in a thousand small ways.

When your period hit hard, she showed up with snacks, heating pads, and the world’s ugliest cartoon pajamas she said were “scientifically proven to improve moods.” (They did.)

When she won a game, she didn’t go out with the team—she came to your place and danced with you barefoot in the kitchen to 2000s R&B.

When you got a bad grade on a paper and spiraled about being “not good enough,” she held your face in her hands and said, “You’re brilliant. One grade doesn’t get to rewrite the story.”

She never let you forget your worth—even when you did.

—

Your favorite tradition was Sunday mornings.

You’d wake up slow—her arm slung lazily around your waist, her cheek against your shoulder. She always looked soft in the mornings, voice scratchy, hair messy, face unfiltered.

“Don’t look at me,” she’d mumble, burying her face in the pillow.

You always did anyway.

You’d take turns making breakfast—read: burning toast and debating whether Pop-Tarts counted as a real meal. You’d play records on your vintage player, dance around the room in socks, kiss in the doorway like it was a scene from a movie.

She called you “home” once.

You didn’t say anything in return.

You just pulled her into your chest and held her tighter than words could manage.

—

There were no more secrets now.

People knew. Slowly, sure. But Paige had started holding your hand in public. At first on quieter streets, where no one looked. Then at campus parties. Then at a game.

After a home win, she ran over to the bleachers—where you were waiting—and kissed you in front of a thousand fans and a dozen cameras.

“I love you,” she said breathlessly. “Needed you to know before anything else.”

The video went viral. The team teased her endlessly.

She didn’t care.

Neither did you.

—

One night, lying in bed with your laptop open on your stomach and Paige half-asleep beside you, you said, “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

She looked up. “Because of me?”

You smiled. “Because of us.”

She kissed your shoulder and whispered, “Let’s stay like this forever.”

And maybe the future held more challenges—graduation, jobs, long-distance talks if things got complicated.

But for now, you had everything you needed.

Her heartbeat beside yours. Her laughter echoing in your chest. And the words you once feared to say now lived freely between you.

“I love you.” Eight letters. Forever on repeat.

[cinnaleaf]

「 In Your DMs | One Shot 」

summary: you read jude’s DM on insta but never responded, thinking that was the end of it—until he spots you at the club & decides he’s not letting it slide

warnings: club setting, alcohol use, sexual tension, light themes of public attention/fame, language wc: ~4.9k 💌: i forgot who requested this but it’s here song inspo: BADGIRLERA x iBXRHM ft JAHKOY

The music in the club hit you first, followed by the strobe lights slicing through the dark, smell of spilled liquor, and bodies pressed together, pulsing against the beat. Your friend, Bri, pulled you through the mixed haze of vape clouds and smoke from a fog machine with a manic grin, way too eager for the night ahead.

“Our table is this way. Hurry up!”

You followed her lead, clacking your heels against the floor while your other friend, Tasha, trailed behind complaining about how she wasn’t standing all night in heels. The bouncers barely glanced at your crew when all of you strutted into the VIP section.

“Ooo okay, this is nice” Tasha slid into the booth, looking around to scope out the scene. Little did you know, Jude was also there, eyeing you from the minute you stepped in.

Bottles of tequila and vodka were already lined up on the table, untouched. You barely had time to sit down before a guy dripping in loud designer saw your table from across the section and started his approach. You clocked him too: probably mid 30s, big shiny watch, sleazy, and probably more interested in showing off his Amex Black Card than any real conversation.

“Your new sponsor is on his way” you whispered to Bri, smirking when she immediately started flipping her hair out of muscle memory. “Let’s hope he’s worth the pitch.”

“Ladies” he eyed the bottles on your table, smelling too strongly of oud cologne. “Looks like you could use a little more” You leaned back, tuning out while scrolling through your phone as he started the same routine you heard from so many other men: ‘I know the owner’, ‘Let me take care of that for you,’ yada yada. You let Bri and Tasha handle him – it wasn’t your vibe, and frankly, it wasn’t your problem. This wasn’t your first rodeo and guys like him always thought a heavy tab would buy them permanent attention. Not that you minded it; if burning through his card meant you didn’t have to touch your own, then so be it.

You tapped on the Instagram icon, scrolling through your profile, which was a mixture of travel pics, reels, highlights, and photo dumps until your thumb paused over a post from three weeks ago at a yacht party in Miami. Your skin glistened under the sun in a figure hugging bikini while you posed on the deck. Jude’s like stood out like a sore thumb. He liked plenty of your pictures before, but this one seemed to spur him on enough to like it within the first 5 minutes of you posting – with a DM following shortly after:

Been waiting for you to post again so I could slide in 👀 You’re beautiful. Let me know if you’re ever free?

Boo. Lame. Corny. Predictable. You rolled your eyes so hard when you saw the message, not even bothering to respond. You knew how this story went. A follow here with a few likes, a DM there, and before you knew it, you’d be getting ‘owwkayed’ on a gossip page that had way too much time on their hands. The thought of it made you want to gag, so you left the message unread but not unseen.

Tasha nudged your arm, pulling you out of your Insta scroll. “Oh my god, is that Jude Bellingham?” Her voice pitched higher in a tone that meant she was about to embarrass you.

“Huh?” you muttered, not bothering to look up just yet.

“That’s Jude Bellingham” she hissed, jabbing her acrylic nails into your ribs. “Near the DJ booth!” You were surprised you didn’t notice him before. He was tall and hard to miss, one hand holding a drink while the other tapped to the beat against his thigh. “He just winked at someone,” Bri added, craning her neck. “Or at least, I think that was that a wink??”

Tasha shook her head in disbelief. “How is it possible for him to look even better in person?” You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes while staring at the untouched alcohol and assorted mixers in front of you. Jude wasn’t a stranger to you outside of your likes. You clocked his comments on your mutuals’ posts, and even been to a party or two where you were pretty sure he was lurking around. Then there was the DM you left in your inbox like the corny attempt it was.

“You’re embarrassing yourselves” you muttered, ignoring the way Bri kept looking at him from across the room.

“Embarrassed?? Girl, that’s a man worth embarrassing myself over.” Bri leaned forward, slowly sipping her drink while gawking at Jude, who was now eyeing your table. “I wouldn’t even be mad if I ended up on a gossip site for that one. What are they going to do?? Cry about it???” You froze for a minute to give her the side eye. That’s the exact reason you were trying to avoid types like him, no matter how good he looked in person. It was too much attention, too many assumptions, and definitely too much drama. You sipped your drink instead, the alcohol burning your throat enough to distract you from Bri’s yapping. 

Across the way, Jude was leaned back against the DJ booth with his eyes locked on your table. You were perched on the edge of your seat, phone in hand, while your friends kept stealing glances at him, giggling behind their drinks. Jude smirked, taking another sip. You hadn’t looked up a single time or even flinched in his direction. It didn’t surprise him – you hadn’t looked twice at his DM either. Even though he was one of the biggest names in football, you paid him no mind – unlike the girls always trying to latch onto him.

“Jude, babe, do you want another drink?” A voice rang out from a girl hovering way too close. He didn’t even know her name, nor did he care to learn it. She latched onto him earlier, trying to touch his arm every chance she got so she could throw herself into his space. He stepped aside, nodding politely while trying to keep his focus on you. 

“No. I’m good, thanks.” he spoke in a tone that discouraged any follow ups, which led to the girl pouting and standing next to him dumbfounded before finally taking the hint and walking off. When Jude’s attention went back to the VIP section, he caught sight of the guy hovering over your table. Jude thought he looked like a try hard who didn’t know how to cover a tab properly. His jaw tightened when he watched you tilt your phone a little while the guy gestured at your friends. He flagged down a passing bottle girl, making her stop in her tracks when she realized who he was.

“Hi!” she said, smiling flirtatiously. “What can I get for you?”

He leaned down slightly to meet her height, nodding toward your table. “See that table over there?”

“The table with the guy doing the most?”

“Yeah that one,” Jude smirked. “Can you send over some bottles to them? Dom, 1942, and whatever else is good. Add their tab to mine.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what do you want the bottle service sign to say?”

Jude shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “One of the girls over there never responded to my DM so make it clear I’m still interested. She knows who she is.”

The bottle girl laughed, eyeing the table again. “Got it. I can do that!”

You weren’t paying much attention to the guy loitering at the table now that Bri and Tasha had him preoccupied. The drinks were finally kicking in, so you stood up to stretch, swaying to the bass of the music playing over the sound system, but then the bottle girls rolled up with sparklers crackling in the dim lighting – illuminating a path while carrying over a bucket filled with bottles.

“Oh shiiiit” Tasha shouted while standing up. Bri took out her phone to record the whole thing, doing an over the top “Wait..who sent this?!” act in the camera like she hadn’t seen this done a dozen times before on your nights out. You weren’t questioning it either. Someone paid, so who were you to interrupt the flow of endless drinks? You grabbed a sparkler from one of the bottle girls, waving it in the air while your other hand cradled a bottle of 1942.

“Real fine bitch, she ain’t gotta edit out the Getty!” Bri screamed the lyrics of the song currently playing, turning her phone around to record you dancing with the bottle in your hand. You tipped your head back, drinking straight from the bottle while the music bumped around you. Just as you were handing the bottle to Tasha, her jaw dropped and she grabbed your arm. “Wait, look!” she yelled, pointing over at the bottle girls holding up the sign. You turned with the sparkler still fizzing in your hand, squinting at the light up board they were waving in the air. At first it didn’t make sense, but then the words clicked clear as day:

HE’S HIM! RESPOND TO HIS DM!

You froze while your friends jumped around excitedly, trying to piece together what was going on.

“So who is it?” Bri smacked your shoulder. “That’s for you, Y/N. I know that’s for you!”

Tasha grabbed your wrist. “Wait. Is it him? Is it– oh my god it’s him, isn’t it??”

You couldn’t even process what was happening, let alone have time to come up with a lie. The bottle girl pointed toward the DJ booth and your stomach dropped. Jude’s legs were stretched out lazily in the VIP dance section with his head tilted enough to let you know he was watching the whole thing. He gave you a confident, cocky smirk and raised his glass toward you like he already won you over, but you weren’t about to play along that easily.

“Y/N!” Bri shrieked, grabbing your other arm. “What the fuck, why didn’t you tell us he’s in your DMs?!”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your body felt hot and the tequila wasn’t helping. Instead, you grabbed the bottle of 1942 and took another long swig to drown out whatever was about to unfold tonight. “He’s nobody special. He’s just some footballer. I’m not impressed.”

“Liar.” Bri crossed her arms, grinning. “You’re lying, and it’s all over your face.”

You ignored her, but they were both going into full meltdown mode, squealing and swatting each other while pointing at Jude, who hadn’t stopped watching you. Eventually he got up, taking his time as he walked toward the VIP tables. “Stop looking” you hissed, grabbing Tasha’s phone before she could take a video. Neither one of them were listening as Jude walked closer.

“Not to freak you out” Tasha whispered, “but he’s coming over.”

You kept your head down, pretending to scroll through your phone to try and play it cool.  Jude stopped near your table, just long enough to make sure you noticed him out of the corner of your eye, even if you were pretending to pay him no mind. 

“Y/N” Bri whispered urgently. “He’s looking at you.”

You refused to look up and instead sipped your drink while he hung around in your peripheral vision. He laughed in a mocking way and eventually sat at a table nearby, perfectly angled so he could keep you in his line of sight the entire night no matter where you were in the club. You tapped your nails against your glass, irritated he was slowly getting under your skin. You weren’t about to sit there being ogled like a trophy when you could be on the dancefloor, having a good time while ignoring him.

“Can we dance?” you stood up abruptly, pulling your dress down with one quick motion.

Tasha groaned instantly and threw her head back against the booth ready to complain. “Ugh..Y/N my feet are already killing me. Can’t we just sit here and do a cute little club bounce to the beat instead?”

“No. I came here to dance, so let’s go!” you urged, swaying to the beat to tempt her onto the dancefloor. Meanwhile, Bri was still stuck on the DM you failed to mention. “Y/N! He’s been after you and you just ignored him??” She shot up from her seat, scandalized, pointing her finger between Jude’s table and you. “I saw his likes but he slid in your DMs and you said NOTHING?”

You gave her an annoyed look, rolling your eyes. “Can we stop talking about Jude? Would you want to deal with being associated with him? I don’t want to be a part of that circus.”

Bri checked Jude out over her shoulder, watching him laugh and talk with friends at his table. “Girl, yes! I would happily look like a clown for that. He could take me to his circus and I’d be front and center juggling his balls if it meant I could–”

“Okay, we’re done!” you cut her off, waving your hands around. “Are we dancing or not?”

“I already said no,” Tasha whined, sliding further in the booth. “I’m too cute to move and my ankles hurt. Go dance for both of us.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed Bri’s arm to walk over to the VIP section of the dancefloor behind the DJ booth. Bri was already swaying to the beat before you made it to the dancefloor, then she glanced back and turned toward you. “Y/N.. you know he’s still watching you, right?”

“Bri, please shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just saying! He’s been looking since we sat down. If you don’t want him..I’ll–”

“No, you absolutely will not” you cut her off, not allowing her to finish the sentence. When you reached the edge of the VIP dance area, you felt the heavy bass moving through your bones while lights strobed enough to make it hard to see beyond a few feet. You thought it would drown out Jude’s stares, but Bri made it her mission to give you play by play updates. Just as you were getting into the music and melting your hips into the beat, Bri spoke up for another update. She really couldn’t help it. “He’s still watching,” she sang in your ear.

“I don’t care” you continued dancing, not bothering to turn around to see what she was talking about. You didn’t need to confirm that Jude was extremely attracted to you. It was blatantly obvious the moment he positioned himself in a spot that gave him a front row seat to whatever you were doing. You could feel his eyes tracking the moves you made, but the longer you danced, the easier it was to forget about him – until the crowd shifted and suddenly he was there right next to you. Jude didn’t touch you, nor did he speak. He just stood there, drinking his drink like he wasn’t wreaking havoc on your girl’s night out.

“Are you lost?” you finally spoke up, tilting your head toward him without stopping your movements.

Jude grinned, nodding his head to the beat as he started inching closer to you. “Nah. Just enjoying the view.”

You glanced at him from above, brushing your hips lightly against him. “There are plenty of views here. Pick another one.”

“Why would I do that when I have the perfect one in front of me?”

“Corny” you quipped, still doing your best to not give him much at all. Jude stepped closer and dropped his voice enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. “You didn’t reply to my DM. Why?” You turned your face to him fully, laughing about him being so bothered by an unanswered instagram message of all things in the world. “You’re still on that, huh?”

“Hard not to be when you ignore me on purpose.”

You smiled and took a step back, but he answered your step back with a step forward of his own. “You’re really persistent Jude. I’ll give you that.”

“When I see something I want, yeah.” His gaze dropped and raked over your body. “And I want you.” You hated how much you reacted to that. You felt dizzy from the warmth of the alcohol swirling around in your stomach, combining with your butterflies. But you held your ground.

“Hmm..well..good luck with that” you turned around, pressing back into the crowd but Jude moved around to block your path.

“You’re not going to make this easy are you?”

“Jude, I’m not a jersey chaser. I’m sure you’re used to ‘easy’, but easy isn’t really my thing” you bantered back, which made him laugh in an irritatingly attractive way.

“I never said you were a jersey chaser. I do like a challenge though.”

The two of you were drawing more attention now. Clubgoers were looking and nudging each other while chatting, probably trying to figure out why Jude Bellingham was chasing some random girl around the VIP section. You should’ve cared but the drinks were doing their job. All you could focus on was the way his eyes stayed on yours and how he moved closer every time you stepped back, locked in a game that neither of you wanted to end.

“I hope you know you’re not as smooth as you think you are” you tilted your head, crossing your arms.

Jude smirked while stepping into your space, not caring who was watching. “And you’re not as carefree as you’re pretending to be.” 

He really did look even better up close and in motion. The way his lips curved into a smile made you want to run away to collect your resolve immediately, but you persevered and turned your back to him instead, swaying your body in tune with the music. The shift gave him an unintentional view of your dress creeping up as you moved, so he took the opportunity to step closer, brushing his hand against your waist as he leaned into your ear. To anyone else catching glimpses under the strobe lights, it looked more like he was kissing your neck – Tasha clearly thought so. She was slack jawed back at the table, frozen in drunken shock. Meanwhile, Bri was too busy sweet talking the DJ into switching the music into an amapiano mix to notice what was happening in front of her.

“You smell good” Jude voiced low against your ear with his lips so close, the words tickled your skin. “What is that? Coconut?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know” you answered, still not missing a beat but you were a lot less steady on your feet the more he spoke in your ear.

“Yeah” he replied simply, weighing his words with enough insinuation to let you know he was going to be a problem for you all night. You turned to face him with your back against the railing and Jude’s hands fell from your waist and onto the rails to cage you in without touching you. All you could see was his sly, smug grin in front of you while bodies moved to the beat in the outskirts of your vision.

“Why are you wasting your time?” you asked him, dropping your gaze to his lips. They weren’t something you would’ve been focused on any other time, but the liquor was coursing through you by this point and clouding your decision making skills. Jude’s eyes dropped to drag over the neckline of your dress, giving him a full top view of your cleavage before he snapped his eyes back up to look you in the eye. He leaned in closer, crowding your space just enough to make you part your lips in a silent gasp.

“Wasting my time?” he repeated the question rhetorically. “I have your attention, so is it really any time wasted?”

You tilted your head up to meet his cocky tone with some cockiness of your own. “I’m only here because you’re standing in my way.”

“If I moved, you’ll just keep ignoring me, yeah?”

“Yeah” you drawled, mocking his insinuated answer from earlier. Jude’s gaze was almost too much but you refused to back down. “You’re not irresistible in the way you think you are. I’m not going to hook up with you just because you’re Jude Bellingham. I really don’t give a fuck.” 

He gave you a wolfish grin, moving in even closer. You could feel his breath against your cheek when he spoke again. “Then why are you still here talking to me? Ask me to move around.” 

You scoffed, crossing your arms while looking past his tall stature to look at literally anything else other than him. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

“Yeah? Is that right?” Jude’s voice dipped into a teasing, amused tone. He tightened his hands on the railing, brushing his knuckles against your sides while tilting his head closer toward your neck so he could hear you better. “If I left you alone right now..what would you do? Go back to scrolling on your phone so you can pretend you don’t notice me?”

He was getting under your skin now, mostly because he was right, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m just trying to have a good time with the girls. Don’t make it weird Jude.”

“I’m weird for wanting to talk to you in person? You never responded, remember?”

“I did you a favor” you retorted. “I saved you the embarrassment of me rejecting you. I know that can hurt an ego like yours.”

Jude laughed against your neck, making you shift your body posture in the small space. “I don’t think you would’ve rejected me.”

“No, I definitely would’ve. I have standards.” you countered. That was true for the most part, but Jude going back and forth with you for this long had you intrigued. He really wanted you and he was pulling out all the stops to make it happen, which was kind of hot.

Jude tilted his head back toward your ear. “Why are you dancing with me then?” That was a good question. Why were you still there, dancing to the beat with him, letting him stand close, talk this much, get so far? You didn’t know – so you stayed quiet and rolled your hips to the bassline that had just dropped, moving closer to him with every beat. He could tell you were starting to crack, so he wrapped his arms around you, just enough to pull you close, but loose enough to let you decide how much closer you wanted to be. “Nothing to say now, huh? That’s what I thought. What’s your move after the club?”

“Good question..” You pretended to look around for your friends to give yourself time to come up with an excuse about how you had plenty of after club plans, but when you looked down to see the way his big hands flexed against your hips, you answered honestly instead. “I don’t have any.”

Jude’s grin grew wide, making him flash his teeth under the strobe lights. He had you right where he wanted you and he knew it. “You could…” he started, leaving the rest hanging in the air just to see how far you’d let things go. You rolled your tongue against your teeth, taking in the way his smile climbed higher into his cheeks when his eyes locked on yours. The smile threw you for a loop and you caught yourself staring at his lips longer than you needed to once it turned into more of a smirk, which he noticed immediately. 

“...I could what?” you asked, feeling your resolve slowly start to slip.

“You could come with me” Jude tightened his hands across your hips and you stumbled a little, instinctively reaching your arm over his shoulder to catch yourself.

“And why would I do that?” you asked.

“...Why wouldn’t you?” Jude already knew your answer. You wouldn’t be still standing there if you weren’t interested in the slightest. He was so close to you that you could see his lips quirk upward into another smirk, growing even wider when he caught you stealing another glance at his lips. Instead of calling you out, he let his eyes drop to your lips in return.

“I don’t trust you” you finally answered, yelling over the music. It didn’t hit him nearly as hard as you wanted it to. You could feel Jude’s curls brush up against your temple when he leaned in to make sure he heard you correctly. “Trust me with what?”

You giggled drunkenly, trying to shake off the effect he had on you. “Trust you to not be like every other guy in my DMs.”

Jude pulled back enough to look you in the eye, shaking his head at your refusal to just give in. “I’m not like every guy in your DMs,” he answered confidently like he was so sure there wasn’t anybody better than him trying to entertain you. “You’d know that by now if you answered..” Jude trailed his hand down to caress your lower back. He was right. There wasn’t anyone keeping you as interested as you were right now. But who would you be if you gave in that easily?

You tilted your head to the side, letting the silence stretch into knowing glances. His eyes darted to your lips again and you leaned into it, contemplating letting him kiss you, but just as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours, you cocked your head back with a sly smirk on your lips. Jude had a surprised look on his face and loosened his grip, laughing to conceal the fact that you beat him at his own game. You pulled out your phone, entering your code and tapping at your screen until you opened the Instagram app. Jude’s jaw flexed in the dimly illuminated light while he watched. Once he realized what you were doing, a smirk of his own appeared on his face. You opened your DMs and scrolled until you reached the one he sent weeks ago, typed your reply and hit send. You gripped his bicep to make him lean down within ear shot, letting your lips brush against the edge of his jaw purposely while you spoke. “Check your messages” you teased before stepping back and removing yourself from the loose hold he had on you. He stood there frozen, but then turned his head to watch you saunter off back to your section, swaying your hips more than necessary to give him a show. When you met up with Bri and Tasha back in your section, they dragged you down to the table to badger you with questions.

“So what happened? What did you do?” Bri asked.

You smiled and reached for your drink. “Nothing serious,” you answered flatly, which made them want to question you even more. Tasha squinted at Jude from across the club then turned her head back to you. Just as you were about to take another sip of your drink, she grabbed it from you. “No sipping, more spilling please. Why is he smiling at his phone like that?”

You snatched your drink back, shrugging. “I just told him to check his DMs.” They had no idea you had Jude wrapped around your finger at the moment, so you tried to play it cool. Bri’s mouth dropped open and Tasha gasped dramatically, smacking the table for extra dramatics.

“Check his DMs?” Bri repeated loudly. “You responded?!”

“Maybe.” You swirled your drink and slowly sipped while meeting his eyes across the club. You could see Jude smirk when he put his phone in his pocket and slowly made his way back to his own table. He sat there, talking to his friends while laughing it up until he caught you looking at him from your seat. He could see you twirling the straw around your drink with your tongue, caught in the act. He angled his head, smirking at you and mouthed something to you while pointing his thumb toward the exit. You couldn’t make out what he was saying through the darkness, so he stood up and started dapping his boys up before slowly making his way over to your table. You tried to ignore him at first, pretending you were doing something on your phone even though there was no reason for you to still be playing hard to get, seeing as you just virtually agreed to spend the rest of your night with him.

“Sorry to interrupt...” Jude flashed a cheeky grin at Tasha and Bri that had them crumbling on the spot. “I’m taking Y/N off your hands for the night. I hope that’s alright?”

Tasha and Bri squealed in unison. “Please! Take her. She’s all yours.” They both shoved you out of your seat in a hurry. “Go. GO!” You cut your eyes at them but Jude gave you no time to argue and stretched his hand out.

“You ready?” he asked, eyeing your frame from head to toe. 

You nodded, slipping your hand into his without any other words. Jude led you through the club towards the exit, and you took one last glance over your shoulder to wave at Bri and Tasha who were losing their minds. You giggled, turning back just as Jude leaned into your ear when you reached the exit.

“Let’s see if I can live up to your standards.”

[rosarykisses]

How to send a letter to your

desired reality s / o

yourself and / or your friends!

───

OKAY SO!!! I’m not an experienced shifter or anything like that— I’m still pretty new to all of this. So take this method with a grain of salt! But!!! This is something that genuinely helped me feel closer to my DR, and I wanted to share in case it helps you too.

You can write your letter however you’d like—on actual paper (which is what I did!), in a notes app, or even a Word doc. The medium doesn’t matter—your intention does.

───

STEP ONE : WRITE FROM THE HEART WITH FULL INTENT . . .

Say whatever you feel. I wrote how I was sorry I hadn’t made it there yet and how hard I was trying. You can talk about anything—how much you care for them, what you’re excited about, or what you wish they knew.

STEP TWO : TREAT THEM

LIKE THEY ARE REAL

BECAUSE THEY ARE!

Write as if you’re speaking directly to them. Be sweet, kind, respectful, loving—whatever fits the relationship. Whether they’re a slow-burn love interest, a close friend, a family member, or even your DR self, keep your connection in mind as you write.

STEP THREE :

INTENT IS EVERYTHING

Intent is the most important part of this process. If you don’t mean what you’re saying and believe it will reach them, it probably won’t. Your energy needs to be aligned with the idea that they’ll receive it. Affirm that this message is going exactly where it’s meant to.

STEP FOUR :

SCRIPT THAT THEY FIND IT !!!

Seriously — if you don’t script that they find the note or letter in your DR, they likely won’t. Be specific about how or where they find it if you want.

STEP FIVE :

ASK FOR A SIGN ( OPTIONAL )

At the end of your letter, you can write something like:

“If you receive this letter, could you give me a sign? Nothing huge, just something small like [ insert something specific but unusual you’d notice ].” Make it random enough that you’ll know it’s from them when it happens.

STEP SIX :

SEAL WITH AFFIRMATIONS

Once you’ve written your letter, say your affirmations out loud or in your mind — something like:

“This message will reach them. They will find it. They know I’m coming.”

───

WHAT TO DO WITH THE LETTER

If you typed your letter:

Say your affirmations, then delete it and try to forget about it. Obsessing over it or rereading it over and over may block results.

If you handwrote your letter:

You can burn it, rip it and release it into the wind, send it in a bottle, bury it, or even ( this sounds silly but it worked for me ) flush it down the toilet. Whatever helps you let it go with belief that it’s on its way.

───

JUST REMEMBER . . .

your belief, focus, and intent matter more than anything else. You’re not “just pretending” — you’re creating a connection that already exists in some version of reality.

Good luck, and trust the process 💌 Let me know if it works for you!

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Joe's POV | Part Two

gif by @burrowstyles5

📸 behind the lens ✨ the full story — before joe’s side of things 👀 click here to catch up

📝 want more stories? check out my masterlist to see everything I’ve written ✨

📬 want to be the first to know when i post? join my taglist here 💌

🏈 joe burrow x reader word count: 21.6k

📩 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.

Author’s Note: I’m nervous about this one, y’all. The original was so long and it was difficult to work side by side with Y/N’s POV to get everything totally right and accurate. I really hope the work reflects how much time this took—making sure Joe’s internal thoughts matched up with what Y/N was experiencing, keeping timelines straight, and capturing his voice authentically while showing a different perspective on the same events. Thank you for your patience while I figured out how to make this work! Please send me messages, comments, talk to me—I’m in 😭

Taglist:@honeydippedfiction @harryweeniee @mruizsworld @cixrosie

December 2024 - Joe's Home

Joe stared at his phone, Y/N's last text still unanswered from three days ago. It had been about the upcoming playoff content strategy—completely professional, the kind of message that used to lead to longer conversations but now just sat there, marked as read.

The house felt different with Ellie visiting for the week. She'd been understanding about his game preparation, setting up her work station in the guest room to film content while he focused on film study. Her schedule was flexible enough that she could work from anywhere, which made these longer visits possible.

"How's the playoff prep going?" Ellie asked, appearing in the doorway of his media room with a bottle of water. She was dressed for one of her morning routine videos—athleisure that looked effortless but Joe knew was carefully chosen.

"Good," Joe said, pausing the defensive film he'd been studying. "Ravens are going to be tough, but we're ready."

Ellie nodded, though Joe could tell she was already mentally moving on to her next task. She supported his career without needing to understand the specifics, which was actually refreshing after years of people wanting detailed breakdowns of every play call.

"I'm going to film some content about supporting someone during playoff season," she said, settling her coffee on his desk. "Nothing with you in it, obviously. Just my perspective on the intensity of this time of year."

Joe appreciated that she understood his boundaries about appearing in her content. Their relationship was public now, but he kept his participation in her social media to a minimum. She got great engagement from her football girlfriend content without needing him to perform for her camera.

"That'll be good," Joe said. "Your followers seem to like the behind-the-scenes stuff."

"They do," Ellie agreed, already moving toward the door. "I'll be quiet while you finish up."

After she left, Joe returned to his film study, but found his attention drifting. The house was peaceful—Ellie working in her space, him working in his. It was comfortable, uncomplicated.

So why did he keep thinking about Y/N's unanswered text?

He pulled up his phone again, looking at the text thread with Y/N. His message about playoff content strategy from three days ago was still there, marked as read but unanswered. A simple work question that would have gotten an immediate response a year ago. Now, radio silence.

Joe set his phone aside, telling himself he was reading too much into it. Y/N was busy, playoffs were intense, everyone was focused. The slight distance he'd been sensing was probably just professional efficiency under pressure.

But something nagged at him as he tried to refocus on film. Y/N had been different since Thanksgiving, since news of his relationship with Ellie had become public. Not unprofessional—never that. But contained in a way that felt deliberate.

Ellie was upstairs in the guest room, probably filming content about playoff season or her morning routine. She was good at what she did, professional in her content creation, understanding about the demands of his schedule.

It was exactly what he needed right now—someone who supported his career without adding complications or demanding emotional energy he didn't have to spare.

Joe returned to his film study, pushing aside the nagging feeling that something had shifted in his world without him noticing when or why.

* * *

December 2024 - Three Days Later

Joe's phone buzzed with a team notification as he finished his morning workout. Group message from Y/N about updated practice schedules for the week. Professional, efficient, sent to the entire offensive unit.

He'd noticed she'd been handling most communications through group messages lately rather than direct texts. Made sense from an organizational standpoint, but it felt impersonal compared to their usual dynamic.

Ellie was in the kitchen when he came upstairs, phone propped on the counter as she filmed herself making what she called her "playoff week smoothie"—something green and instagram-worthy that she'd promote for one of her wellness sponsors.

"Morning, babe," she said, glancing up from her filming setup. "How was the workout?"

"Good," Joe said, grabbing water from the fridge. "Feeling ready for practice today."

"That's great," Ellie replied, returning her attention to the camera. "As I was saying, maintaining routine during high-stress periods is so important for mental health..."

Joe listened with half attention as Ellie wrapped up her content, marveling at how naturally she could shift between conversation with him and her professional presenter voice. She'd built an impressive following by being authentic about her life while still maintaining the polish that brands wanted to work with.

After she finished filming, Ellie settled beside him at the counter. "I'm thinking of flying back to LA tomorrow instead of Thursday. Give you more space to focus before the game."

Joe felt a flash of something—relief? guilt?—at the suggestion. "You don't have to do that. This is your routine too now."

"I know," Ellie said, bumping his shoulder gently. "But I can tell when you need full game mode. I've got meetings I could move up anyway."

The considerate gesture was typical Ellie—understanding his needs without making him feel guilty for having them. She'd adapted to the rhythms of his career without trying to change them or demanding more attention than he could give during intense periods.

"If you're sure," Joe said. "I appreciate how flexible you are with all this."

"It's part of dating you," Ellie replied matter-of-factly. "I knew what I was signing up for."

Later, as Joe drove to the facility, he found himself thinking about Ellie's easy acceptance of his career demands. She never pushed for more time or attention than he could give, never made him feel guilty for being unavailable during crucial weeks.

It was exactly what he should want—a partner who understood professional obligations and didn't create additional stress during already intense periods.

But arriving at the facility, Joe felt that familiar anticipation about seeing Y/N that he'd been trying to ignore. Not for any specific reason—just the comfortable rhythm of their collaboration, the way she understood the nuances of game preparation in ways that made his media obligations feel manageable rather than burdensome.

Walking through the halls, Joe realized he was looking forward to their usual pre-practice check-in about content needs, about his comfort level with different interview approaches, about the small collaborative details that made working with her effortless.

He just hoped whatever distance he'd been sensing lately was temporary, a function of playoff stress rather than something more permanent.

The thought that Y/N might be pulling back deliberately—Joe didn’t like that thought.

* * *

Three weeks after Y/N's return from Louisville

Joe had been watching Y/N for weeks now, cataloging the subtle changes in her behavior like he studied defensive formations. The way she'd started taking different routes through the facility. How she'd position herself in meetings to avoid direct eye contact. The careful timing of her arrivals and departures to minimize their overlap.

It wasn't random. It was strategic. And Joe was tired of pretending he didn't notice.

He found her outside the edit room, tablet in hand, completely absorbed in reviewing footage. For a moment, Joe just watched her work—the focused intensity that had always characterized her approach to everything, the way she'd unconsciously tuck her hair behind her ear when concentrating.

"Coffee this week?" The question came out more loaded than he'd intended, but Joe was past caring about subtlety. "We haven't really caught up since you got back from Louisville."

Y/N didn't look up from her tablet, her attention seemingly fixed on whatever footage she was reviewing. "Crazy schedule right now. Maybe next time."

The deflection came easily. Joe realized this wasn’t the first time she’d used that exact response.

"That's what you said last week," he said, letting frustration color his voice. "And the week before."

"End of season push," Y/N replied without missing a beat. "You know how it is."

Joe studied her face, noting the careful way she kept her eyes on the screen, the slight tension in her shoulders that suggested she was working to maintain composure. This wasn't busy—this was avoidance.

"Y/N." He let her name hang in the air, dropping his voice to get her attention. "I know something's going on. This isn't just about workload."

For a split second, Y/N's mask slipped. Joe caught the flicker of something—vulnerability, maybe, or recognition that he'd seen through her careful performance. But it was gone quickly, replaced by that same professional neutrality.

"Nothing's going on," she said, finally looking up with a smile that belonged in a press conference. "Just managing workflow. Speaking of which, I need to get these edits to the team."

The polite dismissal stung worse than anger would have. This was how Y/N dealt with difficult players, with media members she didn’t trust. Professional courtesy wrapped around steel boundaries.

Joe decided to abandon subtlety entirely.

"You've been avoiding me since Louisville," he said, not letting her step away. "Since the Ellie thing hit the news."

Y/N went very still, and Joe felt a grim satisfaction that he'd finally cut through her careful deflections. Her heart rate had picked up—he could see it in the slight acceleration of her breathing.

"I'm not avoiding anyone," she replied, but her voice had lost some of its steadiness. "I'm re-prioritizing assignments based on team needs."

Joe’s eyes narrowed. That was bullshit and they both knew it.

"If you say so," he said, stepping aside to let her pass. But he wasn't done. "We'll talk again soon."

Joe watched her walk away. She was trying to look unaffected, but he could tell his words had hit home.

He knew Y/N well enough to see through the professional act. She was protecting herself from something.

From what? From him?

Joe knew what was wrong. Deep down, he knew why Y/N's behavior had shifted right after news of his relationship with Ellie broke. The timing wasn't coincidental.

He'd been telling himself it was about professionalism, about Y/N maintaining appropriate boundaries. But that was bullshit. Joe thought about their easy conversations over the years, the way Y/N had been present for his most vulnerable moments during recovery, the connection that had been building between them before he'd gotten scared and chosen Ellie instead.

Because that's what he'd done, wasn't it? Chosen the safe option when what he felt for Y/N had started to feel too real, too complicated. He'd seen the way she looked at him sometimes, felt the charge in the air between them, and instead of dealing with it, he'd found someone else.

Y/N wasn't just maintaining professional distance. She was protecting herself from the guy who'd basically told her she wasn't worth the risk. The guy who'd picked someone else when things started to feel real.

He'd known this was coming. Had maybe even known it when he'd started dating Ellie in the first place.

* * *

Staff Meeting

Joe sat through the first half of the playoff media strategy meeting barely paying attention, watching Y/N instead. She'd positioned herself at the opposite end of the conference table, as far from him as possible. She ran through coverage plans and platform strategies like she always did, completely professional, completely competent.

But when she started assigning responsibilities, Joe's attention sharpened.

"Tyler will continue handling quarterback coverage," Y/N said, her tone suggesting this was a foregone conclusion. "We want consistency through the playoff run."

Joe's jaw tightened. Four years of working together, and she was just going to reassign him like it was nothing? Like he didn't get a say?

"I want Y/N for the post-game segment," he said, interrupting whatever conversation was happening around him. "We have a system."

The words came out sharper than he'd meant them to, but he didn't care anymore. She was cutting him out completely, and he wasn't going to just sit there and take it.

Y/N looked right at him. "Tyler's been doing your segments for weeks. We need to keep things consistent for playoffs."

She was missing the point entirely. This wasn't about Tyler. This was about her avoiding him.

"Y/N knows my cues better," Joe pressed, maintaining eye contact despite her obvious discomfort. "It makes more sense."

He watched her face, looking for something—anything—that showed this was hard for her too. Nothing.

"Tyler's done an excellent job," she replied smoothly. "And I'll be overseeing all content production. The current assignments stand."

The way she shut him down, in front of everyone—it stung. The finality in her voice, how she wouldn't even consider what he wanted, felt like she was dismissing everything they'd built together over four years. Joe noticed the room had gone quiet, people looking between them like they could sense something was off.

After the meeting broke up, Joe hung back, hoping to catch Y/N alone. But she was already packing up her stuff, moving with that practiced efficiency that meant she'd planned her escape before the meeting even started.

So this was how it was going to be. Y/N's distance wasn't about workload or being busy with playoffs. It was personal. She was actively tearing down everything they'd worked to build together, systematically dismantling four years of collaboration like it had never mattered at all.

As Joe watched Y/N leave the conference room without a backward glance, he felt the pieces finally click into place. This wasn't just about professional boundaries or protecting their working relationship.

Y/N had feelings for him. Had probably had them for longer than he'd realized.

And his relationship with Ellie had forced her to choose between her job and her heart. She'd chosen her job, built walls to keep herself safe, and now she was systematically dismantling everything they'd shared to protect what was left.

The recognition hit him like a punch to the gut. He'd been so focused on his own fear of complications that he'd completely missed what was happening right in front of him.

Joe thought about their friendship, about the easy conversations and mutual trust that had developed over years of working together. He thought about Y/N's presence during his recovery, her understanding during his most vulnerable moments, the way she'd made him feel seen and supported when everything else felt uncertain.

All those moments during his recovery, the easy conversations, the way she'd look at him sometimes—it hadn't been just professional support.

* * *

Later that day

Joe was reviewing game film when Sam's voice in the hallway caught his attention. Y/N's name made him pause the video.

"...different since she got back from Louisville," he heard someone say. Probably one of the other media staff.

Joe muted his laptop, focusing on the conversation outside his door.

"Right after the Ellie news broke," Sam's voice confirmed. "I'm worried about her."

There it was. Confirmation of what he'd already known but hadn't wanted to face. Y/N's behavior wasn't about workload or professionalism. It was about him and Ellie.

Joe sat back in his chair. Y/N had been dealing with this for weeks, keeping everything together at work while handling whatever she felt about his relationship. And he'd just gone about his business, completely clueless.

He thought about Ellie—easy, uncomplicated, safe. No messy history, no complicated feelings. Exactly what he'd thought he wanted.

But now, thinking about Y/N's careful distance and what it actually meant, Joe wondered if he'd chosen the wrong thing entirely. Chosen comfort over connection.

* * *

January 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe had been looking for this chance for weeks. Playoffs were chaotic enough that Y/N couldn't avoid him as easily, and he'd been watching her patterns, waiting for the right moment.

He spotted her in the main corridor with her clipboard, directing her team like she always did. Even from here, he could see how she'd positioned herself near the exits. Probably already planning her escape if she saw him coming.

Joe hung back in the weight room doorway, tablet in hand so he'd look like he had a reason to be there. When Y/N's team scattered and she headed for the edit bay—exactly where he'd figured she'd go—he stepped out.

"Y/N."

He watched her stop dead, saw her shoulders go rigid before she turned around. That split second told him everything—being around him was work for her now.

"Joe," she replied, her tone hitting that perfect note of polite professionalism that had become her default with him. "Something you need?"

Joe stepped closer, noting how Y/N's grip tightened slightly on her clipboard. "Just wanted to confirm the gameday shoot schedule. Tyler sent it over, but there's a conflict with the offensive meeting."

It was a legitimate concern, but Joe's real motivation was simpler: he wanted to see if Y/N would handle this personally or continue delegating everything through Tyler.

"I can have him adjust it," Y/N replied, already reaching for her phone. "We're flexible."

The immediate deflection was exactly what he'd expected. Thirty seconds of conversation, and she was already looking for Tyler to handle it instead.

"You could adjust it," Joe pressed, keeping his voice casual despite his growing frustration. "You've been handling the playoff schedule for four seasons."

He watched her face. Nothing. She gave him absolutely nothing.

"Tyler's got it covered," she said simply.

Joe's jaw tightened. Four years, and now she wanted to manage him through Tyler like he was some difficult rookie.

"Sure," he said, not bothering to hide his frustration. "If that's how you want to play it."

Silence. Y/N wouldn't even look at him directly, her shoulders tense like she was bracing for something.

Up close, he could see how tired she looked. Not playoff tired. Something else entirely.

"How was Louisville?" The question slipped out before Joe could stop it, his genuine concern overriding his strategic approach to this conversation.

Something flickered across Y/N's expression—surprise, maybe, that he'd asked something personal.

"Good," she answered, then seemed to catch herself being too brief. "Nice to be home for the holidays."

Joe nodded, filing away her admission that Louisville still felt like home after years in Cincinnati. "Your brothers seemed happy to have you back. Saw Matt's post."

He'd been following her family on social media since their second year working together, though he'd never mentioned it directly. Matt's Instagram story from Christmas had shown Y/N laughing with her nieces, looking more relaxed than Joe had seen her in months.

"Family time is always good," Y/N said, glancing at her watch with the kind of deliberate gesture that meant she was planning her exit.

Joe didn't move aside, using his physical presence to keep her engaged despite her obvious desire to escape. "You know," he said, dropping his voice slightly, "this whole distance thing doesn't actually work if everyone notices it."

For just a second, her guard dropped—he saw the alarm in her eyes before she caught herself.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she said, but Joe caught the slight acceleration in her breathing.

Time to abandon subtlety entirely.

"Ja'maar asked me yesterday what happened between us," Joe continued, maintaining eye contact despite Y/N's obvious discomfort. "Says the whole team has noticed you don't work with me directly anymore."

It was true, and he wanted her to know that people had noticed.

"I work with the entire team," Y/N countered, but Joe heard the slight defensiveness beneath her smooth response. "Staff adjustments happen all the time."

"Not like this," Joe said quietly, letting his voice carry the weight of four years of collaboration. "Not after four years."

He saw Y/N's composure start to crack under his direct challenge, watched her mask begin to slip as she realized he wasn't going to accept her deflections.

"Is there a point to this conversation, Joe?" she asked, her voice taking on an edge he rarely heard from her. "Because I really do have a deadline."

The slight desperation in her question told Joe he was finally getting through her defenses. She was feeling cornered, which meant she was feeling something beyond professional indifference.

"The point is," Joe said, letting his own frustration show, "whatever's going on with you, people are noticing. And they're asking me about it, as if I have answers." He paused, studying her face. "Which I don't, because someone won't actually talk to me."

The accusation hung between them, more direct than any conversation they'd had in months. Joe watched Y/N process his words, saw her square her shoulders as she prepared to deflect again.

"There's nothing to talk about," she insisted, but her voice had lost some of its steadiness. "And frankly, if players are gossiping instead of focusing on playoff prep, that's concerning."

Joe almost smiled at her attempt to turn the conversation back to work. Even cornered, Y/N's instinct was to protect team focus and professional boundaries.

"Always deflecting," he said, finally stepping aside to let her pass. But he wasn't done. "Good luck with the edit, Y/N."

As she started to walk away, Joe felt a moment of desperation. Y/N was slipping away from him in ways he was only beginning to understand, and his window for addressing it was closing.

"For what it's worth," he called after her, the admission coming out more vulnerable than he'd intended, "I miss working with you."

Y/N didn't turn around, but her steps hitched for just a second before she kept walking. He'd gotten to her.

Standing alone in the hallway, Joe finally let himself admit what he'd been avoiding. Y/N had feelings for him. Real feelings. The kind that made normal conversation feel dangerous, that required her to build walls just to get through the day.

He thought about Ellie—easy, uncomplicated, safe. Then he thought about Y/N's careful composure, the way she'd looked when he said he missed working with her.

Maybe he'd been choosing the wrong thing all along. Choosing easy over what actually mattered.

The thought scared the hell out of him. Because if Y/N felt something for him, and if he was finally being honest about what he felt for her, then his nice, controlled life was about to get a lot more complicated.

* * *

Late January 2025 - Bengals Facility

The locker room felt empty, drained of all the energy that had carried them through the playoffs. Joe went through his post-season routine on autopilot—packing gear, saying goodbye to teammates, trying to process that their season was over.

Y/N was there with her camera, documenting everything like she always did. For months, she'd managed to avoid him, but in the cramped locker room, she couldn't stay completely out of his way. Joe found himself watching her work, seeing how she moved to get her shots while still keeping her distance from him.

"That's it for me," Ja'maar said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "See you in a few months, man."

Joe nodded, clasping his teammate's hand. "Get some rest. We'll be back."

As players headed out, Joe realized this might be his last shot to talk to Y/N before the offseason. They'd be on different coasts for months, and ending things with nothing but work talk felt wrong after everything they'd been through.

She was by the exit with her camera bag, ready to leave. Sam was with her, and Joe could hear Tyler mentioning Y/N's name from across the room, though he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Tyler handled Burrow's exit interview," Tyler was saying to someone. "Went pretty well, got some good content."

Joe felt that familiar frustration. Even today, on the last day of the season, she'd had Tyler handle his exit interview. No final conversation, no acknowledgment of what they'd been through together this year.

He walked over as they finished packing up. Y/N went rigid the second she saw him coming.

"Exit interviews done?" he asked, addressing both women but looking at Y/N.

"Just wrapping up," Sam replied when Y/N didn't immediately respond. "Tyler said yours went well."

Joe nodded, then decided to abandon subtlety. "Tyler's good," he said, meeting Y/N's eyes. "Different perspective."

The emphasis was intentional. Tyler was fine, but it wasn't the same, and they both knew it.

"Heading out already?" Y/N asked, her tone carefully neutral as she finally acknowledged him directly.

"Flight to California tonight," Joe confirmed, watching her face for any reaction to the mention of where Ellie was based. "Offseason training starts next week."

Something crossed her face when he mentioned California. Like she'd been expecting it.

"Have a good offseason," Y/N said, and the polite dismissal hit him hard. After four years of everything they'd been through together, she was talking to him like he was just another player heading out the door.

Joe looked at her face, hoping for something—anything. But she gave him nothing. Complete professional courtesy, like they were strangers.

"You too, Y/N," he said finally, accepting defeat. He glanced at Sam. "Both of you."

As he walked away, Joe felt everything they weren't saying hanging in the air. No mention of their history, nothing about what they'd built together over four years. Like their partnership had been just another work assignment.

Y/N was letting him leave without a fight, without even trying to make it personal. The message was clear: whatever they'd had was done. Finished with the season.

* * *

That Evening - Airport

Joe sat in the airport departure lounge, flight delayed, staring at Y/N's contact on his phone. His finger hovered over the keyboard but he couldn't figure out what to say.

The whole day felt off, and it wasn't about losing in the playoffs. Seasons ended. That was football. But the way things had gone with Y/N felt wrong somehow.

He kept thinking about Tyler's exit interview. Fine, but basic. Y/N would have asked better questions, dug deeper into what he was thinking, what he'd learned. Tyler had just hit the obvious stuff—stats, team performance, surface-level bullshit.

Joe started typing before he could talk himself out of it:

Wish you'd done my exit interview. Tyler didn't ask the right questions.

He hit send before he could reconsider, then immediately regretted it. Now he sounded desperate, reaching out when she was clearly trying to get away from him. Which he was, but she didn't need to know that.

The response came faster than he'd expected:

Safe travels. Good luck with offseason training.

Joe stared at the message. Even over text, she was keeping him at arm's length.

Still shutting me out. At least you're consistent.

The words came out harsher than he'd intended, but Joe was tired of this shit, tired of being treated like a stranger after everything they'd shared.

Not shutting you out. Just refocusing priorities.

The response felt like a door slamming shut.

Whatever you need to tell yourself.

Joe typed the words quickly, letting his frustration show. If Y/N wanted to pretend they'd never been more than player and media staff, fine. But he wasn't going to play along.

Have a good offseason, Joe.

Joe stared at the text thread. This might be it for months. By the time he got back for OTAs, she'd have had half a year to build those walls even higher.

He was losing her. Not just as a colleague, but as someone who actually mattered to him. It felt like losing something he couldn't replace.

Sitting in that terminal, waiting for a flight to California and a girlfriend who felt more like a comfortable routine than anything real, Joe realized he'd been fucking up for months.

Y/N had been protecting herself from feelings he'd been too scared to deal with. Ellie was safe, easy, but also empty in ways he couldn't ignore anymore.

His phone buzzed. Ellie, asking about his flight, talking about dinner plans and some content opportunity. Joe typed back the right responses, said the right things about being excited to see her.

But his head was still stuck on Y/N's final message, on the distance she'd kept all season, on how he'd chosen easy over everything that actually mattered.

Maybe it was too late to fix this. Maybe some mistakes couldn't be undone.

As they called his flight, Joe grabbed his stuff and headed toward months in California that felt more like punishment than vacation.

* * *

February 2025 - Los Angeles

Joe stepped off the plane at LAX into Southern California warmth, completely different from the Cincinnati winter he'd left behind. Ellie was waiting at baggage claim, looking perfect despite the early hour, all bright smiles and energy.

"There's my playoff warrior," she said, pulling him in for a kiss that felt like it was meant for the people watching. Who the hell talked like that?

"Good to see you," Joe replied, meaning it even as he noted the small audience that had gathered to watch their reunion.

The drive to Ellie's Venice Beach apartment was filled with her updates about modeling gigs, brand partnerships, and the projects she had lined up. Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Joe found himself only half-listening, his mind still processing the abrupt end to the season and the unresolved tension he'd left behind in Cincinnati.

"I thought we could do that couples workout class tomorrow," Ellie was saying as they pulled into her building's parking garage. "Well, I'd film some content there. You could just work out normally while I get my shots."

Joe nodded, appreciating that she understood his boundaries about appearing in her content. "Sounds good. I need to get back into a routine anyway."

Ellie's apartment was exactly what Joe had expected—bright, airy, filled with ring lights and camera equipment strategically placed but not overwhelming. They'd always stayed at hotels when he visited LA, or she'd come to Cincinnati, so this was his first time seeing her actual space. Her refrigerator was stocked with sponsored products, her bathroom counter arranged with skincare items that would appear in her content.

"I know it looks like a lot," Ellie said, noticing his survey of the space. "But I try to keep the work stuff contained. Most of my filming happens when you're training anyway."

"I get it," Joe said, and he did. He understood the business of personal branding, appreciated that Ellie respected his privacy while building her own career.

* * *

March 2025 - Malibu Training Facility

Six weeks in, Joe had his routine down. Morning workouts in Malibu, afternoons with his QB coach working on mechanics, evenings where Ellie edited content while he recovered or watched film.

The training was solid—some of the best he'd ever had access to. But he felt like he was just going through the motions, checking boxes without any real drive behind it.

"You seem distracted today," Liam, his QB coach, observed as they wrapped up a throwing session. "Mechanics are solid, but your head's somewhere else."

Joe toweled off, considering how to respond. "Just thinking about team stuff. Wonder how the new rookies will integrate."

It wasn't entirely true. Joe was thinking about the team, but specifically about whether Y/N was at the combine in Indianapolis, whether she was interviewing prospects, whether she was still maintaining the distance that had defined their final months of the season.

That evening, Joe sat in Ellie's living room while she filmed her post-workout routine in the kitchen, ring light positioned to catch the golden hour coming through her windows. He could hear her talking to her phone about nutrition and recovery, her voice taking on the polished cadence she used for content.

When she finished, she settled beside him on the couch, immediately shifting back to her natural speaking voice.

"Good session today?" she asked, curling up against his side.

"Yeah, making progress," Joe replied, though he wasn't sure what progress actually meant when he felt so disconnected from his usual drive.

"I got some great shots at the gym this morning," Ellie said, scrolling through her phone. "The lighting was perfect. My followers love the behind-the-scenes training stuff, even without you in it."

Joe appreciated that she never pushed him to be in her content. But watching her review footage from their morning—her perfectly curated version of what they'd done—made him think about Y/N. How Y/N captured real moments instead of manufacturing them.

Joe remembered their first real conversation, at a charity event in LA during his second year. Ellie had been working the event, but during a break, she'd sat beside him and asked, "Do you ever get tired of being 'Joe Burrow' all the time?"

The question had surprised him. Most people wanted more of the public version, not less. But Ellie had seemed genuinely curious about the person behind the image.

"Sometimes," he'd admitted. "It's a lot of pressure to be that composed all the time."

"I get it," she'd said simply. "Different industry, same thing. Sometimes I just want to eat pizza and watch Netflix without thinking about how it affects my brand."

That conversation had led to late-night texting, to private dinners, to the relief of being with someone who understood the weight of public expectations. Ellie had offered him something he desperately needed then—acceptance without demands for deeper emotional access.

But now, watching her create content about their relationship while he struggled to feel anything genuine, Joe realized that what had once felt like relief now felt like avoidance. Ellie deserved someone who wanted to know all of her, not just the parts that felt safe.

* * *

April 2025 - Venice Beach

Two months in, things with Ellie had become comfortable but empty. They looked good together, supported each other's work, but it all felt like going through the motions.

"I'm thinking about staying until June," Joe said one night while Ellie edited content on her laptop. "Push back going home."

Ellie looked up, pleased. "That would be great. I have that campaign shooting in May that would be perfect timing."

Joe nodded, though he wasn't really sure why he wanted to stay. The training was incredible—better than anything he could get back home. But that wasn't really the reason.

Maybe he was just avoiding whatever was waiting for him in Ohio. Y/N, the mess he'd made of things, the fact that all his choices were finally catching up with him.

"You seem different lately," Ellie observed, closing her laptop and giving him her full attention. "More... distant, I guess. Everything okay?"

Joe looked at her—beautiful, successful, uncomplicated Ellie who asked direct questions without demanding complicated answers.

"Just thinking about the season ahead," he said. "Whether the team's going to gel, whether we can make another run."

It was partly true, but not the whole story. Joe was thinking about the team, but specifically about Y/N and whether the distance she'd created would continue into the new season.

"You miss it," Ellie said, and it wasn't a question. "The competition, the guys, the whole Cincinnati thing."

She was right, but not completely. Joe did miss football, but more than that, he missed feeling like someone actually got him.

Ellie was perfect for what she was—supportive, successful, understanding. But perfect wasn't the same as real.

As they settled into another night of working side by side—her editing content, him watching film—Joe realized he was counting down days to go back to Cincinnati. Not because he was excited about it, but because he was tired of hiding out here.

He'd picked the safe choice, but safe was starting to feel like settling. And with OTAs coming up, he'd have to face everything he'd been avoiding—including the fact that this wasn't really his life. It was just the life he thought he was supposed to want.

* * *

Mid-April 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe pushed through his third set of bench presses, sweat building despite the early morning hour. The Bengals weight room felt different after months in California—smaller, more familiar, charged with the specific energy that came from shared purpose rather than individual training.

He'd returned to Cincinnati a week earlier than planned, unable to manufacture more reasons to delay his return. The conversation with his QB coach about getting back into team rhythm had been the final excuse he needed to leave LA, though privately Joe knew he was running toward something as much as away from it.

"Looking strong, man," the strength coach said as Joe racked the weight. "California training paid off."

"Thanks," Joe replied, toweling off. The physical improvements were real—he felt sharp, powerful, ready for the demands of another season. But the mental side remained complicated in ways that had nothing to do with football preparation.

As he gathered his water bottle and prepared to head to the next station, Joe heard familiar voices in the hallway. His pulse quickened automatically, though he tried to convince himself it was just general facility energy.

But when the weight room door swung open and he stepped into the corridor, still talking to the strength coach about next week's program, Joe's attention immediately locked onto Y/N walking down the hall.

She looked different. Not just the shorter hair, though that was striking too. Something else—more confident, maybe. More self-contained. Like the time apart had changed her in ways he couldn't put his finger on.

Their eyes met before either of them could look away. Joe felt that familiar jolt, then remembered how they'd left things—polite, distant, unfinished.

"Y/N," he said, keeping his voice neutral despite the way his heart rate had picked up.

"Joe," she replied, maintaining her stride. "Welcome back."

The greeting was perfectly appropriate and told him absolutely nothing.

"Thanks," Joe said, then found himself pushing against her careful boundaries. "Heard you've been busy while I was gone."

He'd heard things, picked up information through various channels. Y/N dating, taking vacations, apparently thriving in his absence. He hated knowing that, and he knew exactly why.

"Just the usual pre-draft chaos," Y/N replied with practiced ease. "How was California?"

The question was polite, professional, revealing nothing about whether she cared about his answer. Joe felt a flash of frustration at her careful neutrality.

"Productive," he said, though even as he said it, Joe realized how hollow the months in LA felt in retrospect. "Good to be back though."

The admission surprised him with its honesty. He was glad to be back, not just for football but for reasons he wasn't ready to examine.

An awkward silence stretched between them. Joe became aware of the strength coach hovering nearby, clearly sensing tension he didn't understand. The man muttered something about paperwork and disappeared, leaving Joe and Y/N alone in the hallway.

"I should get to my meeting," Y/N said, the efficiency in her voice suggesting she was looking for an exit from this conversation.

"Right," Joe agreed, but instead of letting her go, he found himself studying her face with new attention.

The haircut wasn't just different—it was intentional. Sharper, more sophisticated. Like she'd decided to become someone new while he was gone.

"You cut your hair," he said, the observation slipping out before he could stop it.

Y/N looked genuinely surprised by the personal comment. "Yes. Before my trip."

"It looks good," Joe said, meaning it. The cut suited her, highlighted features he'd somehow never noticed before despite working closely with her for years.

"Thanks," Y/N replied, and Joe caught something uncertain in her expression, like she wasn't sure how to respond to personal observation from him.

Joe felt an urge to say more, to push past the polite surface conversation and address the months of distance between them. But standing in the hallway with Y/N clearly wanting to escape, he realized this wasn't the time or place.

"Good luck with your meeting," he said finally, stepping aside.

"Thanks," Y/N said, then added with what felt like genuine warmth, "Good to have you back."

As she walked away, Joe stood there processing what had just happened. Y/N had been polite, professional—everything she should be. But it felt managed, like she was handling him instead of just talking to him.

This wasn't the same person he'd left behind in January. She'd changed while he was gone, found her footing without him. And honestly? She seemed better for it.

He'd spent months in California thinking about her, missing what they'd had, wondering if she was struggling too. Apparently not. She'd moved on while he'd been stuck in the same place, still thinking about what they'd lost.

The professional distance didn't feel like protection anymore. It felt like she genuinely didn't care.

That should have been freeing. If Y/N was over whatever had been between them, they could go back to working together without all the complications.

But walking back through the facility, Joe realized he didn't want that freedom. Not if it meant losing something he'd never properly valued in the first place.

* * *

Late April 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe had been waiting for this chance since he got back to Cincinnati. Y/N was working with him directly again instead of sending Tyler, which he'd hoped meant she was finally loosening up. But today had felt like working with a stranger—technically perfect but completely cold.

As Y/N packed up her equipment, Joe didn't want the session to end. This was the most time they'd spent together since January, and he wasn't ready to go back to avoiding each other in the hallways.

"New workflow seems to be working well," he said, watching her organize cables with practiced movements. "Though Tyler's approach is different from yours."

It was a casual observation, but Joe was fishing for something—any sign that Y/N missed their old collaborative dynamic.

"Everyone has their own style," Y/N replied without looking up. "He's been doing great work with the quarterback content."

"He has," Joe agreed, then decided to push slightly. "But it's good to have you back in the mix too."

Y/N finally met his gaze, her expression perfectly controlled. "Just filling in today since he's covering the offensive line segments."

Joe felt his stomach drop. "Right. Just filling in."

"I heard you've been dating," he said suddenly, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Y/N's hands fumbled slightly with her lens cap—the first crack in her composure he'd seen all day. "Cincinnati's a small town."

Joe felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest at her casual confirmation. "Tee mentioned something. Said you were... exploring options."

The idea of Y/N with other men, building connections with people who didn't carry the complicated history between them, bothered the fuck out of Joe.

"Just getting out there," Y/N replied, her tone carefully neutral. "Nothing serious."

"Good," Joe said, though the word felt like swallowing glass. "That's... good."

Y/N snapped her camera bag closed with more force than necessary, clearly done with this conversation.

"Well, I should get this footage to editing," she said, standing with the kind of brisk efficiency that meant she was planning her escape. "Draft content won't produce itself."

Joe felt desperation rise in his chest. Y/N was about to walk away, and he had no idea when he'd get another opportunity for honest conversation.

"Y/N," he said, his voice stopping her before she could reach the door. "Are we okay?"

The question was more direct than anything he'd asked her in months, born from Joe's growing recognition that their professional relationship had become a careful performance rather than genuine collaboration.

"We're fine," Y/N said automatically. "Why wouldn't we be?"

The deflection was so practiced it felt insulting. Joe decided to abandon diplomatic phrasing entirely.

"Because this is the first real conversation we've had in months that wasn't strictly about work," he said, meeting her eyes directly. "Because you've been actively avoiding me since November. You created that buffer system, delegated all my media to Tyler, and now you're back from vacation with a new haircut and a new approach, and I feel like I'm constantly a step behind whatever's happening."

Joe watched Y/N's control slip for just a second. For the first time in months, he was getting to her.

"I needed some perspective," Y/N said after a moment, her words chosen with obvious care. "The buffer system was about creating professional clarity. And yes, the vacation helped me realize some things needed to change. But that's not about you, Joe. It's about me figuring out who I am beyond this job."

The explanation made sense but felt like bullshit. Y/N was holding something back, and they both knew it.

"And dating random guys is part of that?" The question escaped before Joe could stop it, revealing more of his reaction than he'd intended.

Y/N's expression shifted, something sharp entering her eyes. "Who I date isn't really your concern, is it? Just like your relationship with Ellie isn't mine."

The mention of Ellie hit Joe like a physical blow. He'd been so focused on understanding Y/N's distance that he'd temporarily forgotten the context that had created it—his relationship with someone else, his choice to pursue safety instead of the complicated feelings that existed between them.

"That's not—" Joe started, then stopped, recognizing he had no right to question Y/N's dating life when he was with Ellie. "It's different."

"Is it?" Y/N challenged, reaching for the door handle. "Look, Joe, we work together. We've always worked well together professionally. I'd like to keep it that way. Anything beyond that just... complicates things unnecessarily."

The dismissal stung worse than anger would have. Y/N was reducing four years of collaboration, trust, and growing connection to simple professional obligation.

"So that's it?" Joe asked, feeling something desperate rise in his chest. "We go back to player and media staff? Pretend the last four years never happened?"

"Not pretend they never happened," Y/N said, her voice gentler but no less final. "Just acknowledge that professional boundaries exist for a reason. And I'm finally respecting them."

Before Joe could respond, Y/N was gone, leaving him alone with everything they hadn't said.

Joe slumped in his chair. Y/N hadn't just kept her distance—she'd chosen it. Whatever had been between them, she was done with it.

And honestly? Good for her. She was protecting herself, building a life that didn't depend on some guy who'd picked someone else. She was dating, moving forward, doing what she should do.

But sitting in that empty room, Joe realized he'd been hoping she was as stuck as he was. That their connection mattered to her the way it had started to matter to him.

Instead, she'd figured out how to be happy without him. Had become someone who didn't need whatever complicated mess they'd had.

He thought about Ellie back in California, building content around a relationship that felt more fake every day. About choosing safe over real, easy over everything that actually mattered.

Maybe Y/N was right to cut him out. Maybe he'd lost the right to complicate her life the moment he'd decided she wasn't worth the risk.

* * *

May 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe sat through the weekly planning meeting barely listening to talk about rookie features and season ticket promotions. His attention was on Y/N at the far end of the table, as far from him as she could get while still doing her job.

Their interactions over the past few weeks had become workable but hollow. Y/N was everything she should be—professional, competent, polite. But whatever they'd had before felt like ancient history now.

"We need quarterback content for the season ticket promo," Kayla announced, and Joe felt his attention sharpen. "Y/N, can you handle that shoot, or do you want Tyler to take it?"

Joe watched Y/N's face, hoping for some sign that she might prefer to work with him directly rather than continue the delegation system she'd established.

"Tyler's already scheduled for rookie breakout features that day," Y/N said, her eyes on her notes rather than on him. "I can handle the quarterback segment."

The clinical phrasing hit Joe wrong. "Quarterback segment." Not "Joe's shoot" or even "the promo content"—just a generic position description that could apply to anyone.

"Perfect," Kayla said, making a note. "Joe, that work for your schedule?"

"Whatever works for the team," Joe replied, though privately he wondered if Y/N understood how her linguistic distance affected him.

As the meeting dispersed, Joe lingered, organizing his materials slowly while waiting for the room to clear. He needed to address this pattern before it became completely entrenched.

"You don't have to keep doing that, you know," he said once they were alone.

Y/N looked up with carefully neutral curiosity. "Doing what?"

Joe studied her face, noting the slight tension around her eyes that suggested she knew exactly what he meant. "Referring to me like I'm just a position on the team. 'Quarterback segment.' 'Quarterback content.' Like you can't even say my name."

Y/N's composure flickered for just a moment before reasserting itself. "It's not intentional. Just professional shorthand."

"It's distance," Joe corrected, keeping his voice low but letting his frustration show. "And I get why you needed it before. But I thought after your vacation, after you said you wanted normal professional interactions, that maybe we'd at least be back to... I don't know, acknowledging we know each other?"

Joe watched Y/N process his words, saw something shift in her expression. For the first time in months, she looked genuinely affected by his perspective rather than simply managing it.

"You're right," she said quietly, and Joe felt a spark of hope at the admission. "I'm sorry."

The apology was simple but felt significant. Joe's expression softened, encouraged by this crack in Y/N's professional armor.

"I miss how we used to talk," he said, the words coming out more vulnerable than he'd intended. "Not about content. Just... you and me."

The admission hung between them, loaded with memories of easier times when their connection had felt natural rather than carefully managed. Joe watched Y/N's face, looking for any sign that she missed it too.

"I've been drawing a line," Y/N said after a moment, her voice carrying something that sounded like regret. "Maybe I've drawn it too sharply."

Joe felt his heart rate pick up at her acknowledgment. This was the most honest she'd been with him since his return from California. Maybe they could find their way back to something resembling their old dynamic.

His phone buzzed against the conference table, interrupting the moment. Joe glanced at it automatically, seeing Ellie's name and a message about her travel schedule.

The reminder of his girlfriend hit like cold water, immediately recontextualizing everything about his conversation with Y/N. Here he was, pushing for more personal connection with another woman while in a relationship, crossing lines he had no right to cross.

"Ellie's back from New York tomorrow," he said, the words feeling heavy as he spoke them.

Joe watched Y/N's expression shift, saw her carefully rebuilt walls snap back into place. The moment of softness disappeared, replaced by the professional distance he'd been trying to bridge.

"That's nice," Y/N replied, her tone perfectly neutral. "I'm sure you've missed her."

The polite response felt like a door closing. Y/N was reminding them both of the reality that made their connection inappropriate, however significant it might feel.

Joe nodded, though the truth was more complicated than missing Ellie. He'd been counting days until his return to Cincinnati, thinking about Y/N more than his girlfriend, questioning choices he'd made months ago.

"See you at the promo shoot," he said, accepting the boundary Y/N was reestablishing.

As Joe left the conference room, he felt torn between what was right and what he wanted. Y/N was smart to keep her distance—he was with someone else, had no business pushing for more.

But walking through the facility, thinking about how she'd softened for just a second before catching herself, Joe knew his feelings for her had only gotten stronger.

That should have been good news. Finally knowing what he wanted. But it also meant facing how badly he'd screwed everything up.

Ellie would be back tomorrow, expecting things to be the same between them. But Joe wasn't the same person who'd chosen easy over real, who'd been too scared to risk anything that mattered.

* * *

That Evening - Joe's Home

Joe sat in his living room staring at Ellie's texts about dinner plans. The house felt too big, too quiet, nothing like the spaces that actually felt like home.

He kept thinking about Y/N admitting she'd been drawing lines too sharply, about that moment when something real had passed between them before his phone had ruined it.

California had been comfortable with Ellie—training while she made content, evenings working side by side without really connecting. Exactly what he'd thought he wanted. Uncomplicated, safe, empty.

But now, thinking about Y/N and how she'd looked when he said he missed their conversations, Joe knew he'd been choosing wrong all along.

He was with someone who fit his life perfectly but didn't make him feel anything real. While the person who actually mattered was building walls to protect herself from him.

Joe typed back to Ellie about dinner, all the right words about being excited to see her. But his mind was stuck on Y/N, on whether her distance was protection or genuine indifference.

Maybe it was time to stop living the life he thought he was supposed to want and start going after what he actually needed.

* * *

June 2025 - Team Charity Event

Joe adjusted his bow tie one final time as the car pulled up to the hotel ballroom. These charity events were part of his professional obligations—smile for donors, represent the organization well, raise money for causes that mattered. But tonight felt different, weighted with the knowledge that Y/N would be working the event.

Ellie looked stunning beside him in her red gown, every inch the perfect partner for a public appearance. She'd flown in from New York specifically for this event, understanding how important team functions were for his image.

"You look amazing," Joe said, meaning it as they walked toward the entrance.

"Thank you," Ellie smiled, automatically adjusting her posture as cameras began flashing. "This is such a beautiful venue. Perfect for content, but I know tonight isn't about that."

Joe appreciated her awareness of boundaries. Ellie understood when to be his girlfriend and when to be his professional partner, never pushing for attention that might detract from the team's mission.

But as they entered the ballroom, Joe found himself scanning the room not for donors or teammates, but for Y/N. He spotted her moving efficiently around the perimeter, camera in hand, documenting the event with the professional competence that had defined her work for years.

She looked different tonight—elegant in a way he'd never seen at work. Black dress, hair sleek and styled back. She moved through the crowd with that quiet confidence, doing her job while most people didn't even notice her.

"Joe Burrow!" A major sponsor approached with enthusiastic energy. "Great to see you. How's the off-season preparation going?"

Joe shifted into public mode, engaging with practiced charm while part of his attention tracked Y/N's movement through the room. She was working methodically, capturing moments that would become the official story of the evening.

For an hour, Joe did what he was supposed to do—photos with donors, small talk about the team, all the standard stuff. But he kept tracking Y/N around the room, watching her work while staying out of his way.

When they finally sat down for dinner, Joe realized she'd have to come to their table for photos. The thought made his pulse pick up.

"Joe Burrow's table is next," he heard someone say, presumably through Y/N's earpiece.

Y/N approached their table with camera ready, her expression professionally pleasant. "Evening, everyone. Time for the official table photo."

Their eyes met immediately, and Joe felt that familiar jolt of connection before he carefully arranged his features into an appropriate smile. This was exactly the kind of interaction they'd been navigating for months—professional necessity complicated by unresolved personal tension.

"Y/N," Joe acknowledged. "Didn't realize you'd be shooting tonight."

"Last-minute call," she replied smoothly. "We needed a few extra hands."

Before Joe could extend the conversation, Ellie turned toward Y/N with genuine warmth.

"You must be Y/N," she said, extending her hand. "Joe's told me so much about you. I've seen your work—it's amazing."

Joe watched this with mixed feelings. Ellie's enthusiasm was real—she'd actually brought up Y/N before, had complimented her work. But seeing them together just highlighted how weird his situation had become.

"Thanks," Y/N replied, shaking Ellie's hand with professional composure. "I appreciate that."

Joe caught Y/N's surprise at the compliment, saw her trying to figure out Ellie's friendliness. Part of him wanted to explain why he'd talked about Y/N at all, but surrounded by all these people, with Ellie's hand on his arm, there was no way to say what he really meant.

But surrounded by sponsors and teammates, with Ellie's hand resting on his arm, those explanations felt impossible.

"Actually, I'm capturing candids tonight," Y/N said, raising her camera. "So everyone just continue your conversations naturally. Pretend I'm not even here."

As Y/N worked around their table, Joe tried to catch her eye, tried to say something without words. But she treated him like everyone else, completely professional.

"Perfect, thank you everyone," Y/N said after capturing several shots. "Enjoy your evening."

As she prepared to move to the next table, Ellie touched her arm lightly. "I hope we get to talk more later. Joe says you have the best stories about the team."

Joe watched Y/N's reaction—polite but careful, managing Ellie's friendliness while maintaining appropriate boundaries.

"Maybe next time," Y/N replied. "I've got quite a few tables left to photograph."

The whole thing left Joe feeling off-balance. Ellie's interest in Y/N just made it clearer how split his life had become—the girlfriend who knew his public face, and the woman who actually knew him.

* * *

Later - Hotel Terrace

Joe stepped onto the terrace, needing air and space to process the evening's unexpected tensions. He'd excused himself from the table conversation, ostensibly to take a business call, but really to escape the careful performance that public events required.

He found Y/N at the railing, looking out at the city lights, her camera hanging idle at her side.

"Taking a break?" he asked, moving to stand beside her.

Y/N turned, and Joe caught something unguarded in her expression before her professional mask reasserted itself. "Just a quick breather. Lots of photos still to get."

Joe studied her profile in the dim lighting, noting the tension in her shoulders that suggested she was working to maintain composure. Being around him still affected her, despite months of careful distance.

"Your buffer system has evolved, I see," he said, unable to resist pushing against her boundaries.

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, confusion flickering across her features.

"You're actually speaking to me at public events now," Joe replied, letting some of his frustration show. "That's progress from January."

Y/N's response was careful, measured. "I'm trying to be more normal about everything. Like I said when I got back from vacation—appropriate professional boundaries, not complete avoidance."

"That why you practically sprinted away from our table?"

"I have other tables to shoot."

Joe turned to face her directly, tired of the careful dance they'd been performing for months. "Come on. We haven't had a real conversation in months. And I'm supposed to pretend that's normal?"

He watched Y/N's composure start to crack, saw something raw flash across her features before she responded.

"Maybe you're not supposed to pretend. Maybe you're supposed to notice."

The challenge in her voice caught Joe off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Y/N turned to face him fully, and Joe saw years of suppressed emotion finally breaking through her professional control.

"It means one day we're grabbing lunch and spending time together outside of work, and the next I find out you have a girlfriend because someone broke into your house."

The words knocked the wind out of him. He'd known Y/N had been hurt by how she'd learned about Ellie, but he'd never really understood what that had cost her.

"That's not how I meant for you to find out—" he started.

"But that's how I did," Y/N cut him off, her voice rising with months of contained pain. "And then I had to walk into a boardroom full of execs and help manage the media fallout. I had to craft a strategy, prep your talking points, anticipate questions—all while pretending like I wasn't finding out in real time that you'd been lying by omission for half a year."

Joe felt sick as Y/N spelled out what he'd put her through. She'd done her job, protected him, kept everything together while he'd basically lied to her face for months.

"It wasn't lying—" he began weakly.

"It was hiding," Y/N snapped, and Joe saw tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "You hid her. Not just from the world, but from me."

Joe's jaw clenched as the truth of her accusation settled. He had hidden Ellie from Y/N specifically, had known instinctively that their connection was something he needed to protect his relationship from.

"You didn't owe me the details," Y/N continued, her voice shaking slightly. "But you knew what we were. What it felt like. You showed up in my life every day. You let it mean something. And when it stopped meaning something to you, you didn't have the decency to say a word."

Each sentence felt like an indictment Joe couldn't defend against. Y/N was right—he'd been a coward, choosing the easy path of avoidance rather than the difficult conversation that honesty would have required.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Joe said quietly, the inadequacy of the words obvious even to him.

"But you did," Y/N replied, and Joe heard four years of suppressed pain in her voice. "Not by being with her. By making me feel like I never mattered in the first place."

The accusation cut deeper than anything else she'd said. Joe stepped forward, something desperate rising in his chest.

"You mattered," he said, his voice low but intense. "You still matter."

"Not enough," Y/N replied, and Joe saw the hurt that had been driving her distance for months. "Not enough to be honest with."

Before Joe could find words to respond, before he could explain that his dishonesty had been about protecting himself rather than dismissing her, Ellie's voice cut through the tension.

"There you are!"

Joe's heart sank as Ellie appeared on the terrace, beautiful and smiling and completely unaware of what she'd just interrupted.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, babe," she continued cheerfully. "They're about to do the team recognition on stage, and the owner specifically asked for you to join them."

Joe felt trapped between his public obligations and this moment of raw honesty with Y/N. His expression must have revealed his conflict, because he caught Y/N watching him with something like resignation.

"I'll be right there," he managed, his voice carefully controlled.

Ellie looked between them, clearly sensing tension but misreading its cause. "I'm not interrupting work talk, am I? I can tell them you'll be a minute."

"No interruption," Y/N said quickly, and Joe watched her professional mask snap back into place. "I was just about to head back in myself. I still have the owner's table to photograph."

Joe watched this transformation with something like grief. Y/N was protecting them both, maintaining the careful boundaries that kept their professional relationship functional.

Ellie smiled at Y/N with genuine warmth. "Your photos have been amazing tonight. I peeked at some on the photographer's display earlier—you have a gift for capturing genuine moments."

"Thank you," Y/N managed, and Joe caught the complicated emotions crossing her face at Ellie's sincere compliment. "That's very kind."

Joe couldn't let the conversation end like this, with everything still unresolved between them.

"Ellie, can you give us just a minute?" he asked. "We weren't quite finished."

Ellie looked surprised but nodded. "Sure. I'll tell them you're on your way."

But before Joe could say anything more, Y/N raised her camera between them like a shield.

"I think we are," she said firmly. "You should go. They're waiting for you."

As Joe walked away with Ellie, her hand slipping naturally into his, he felt the weight of everything left unsaid. Y/N had finally told him how much his choices had hurt her, had laid bare the emotional cost of his cowardice.

But she'd also made it clear that understanding her pain didn't change their reality. Joe was with Ellie, publicly and proudly, and whatever feelings existed between him and Y/N would remain unspoken and unacknowledged.

Walking back into the ballroom, Joe felt like he was returning to a performance of his own life. Smiling for cameras, accepting congratulations, playing the role of successful quarterback with perfect girlfriend.

But his mind stayed fixed on Y/N's words, on the hurt in her voice when she'd said he'd made her feel like she never mattered.

* * *

June 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe sat through the morning film session barely paying attention, still thinking about the charity gala two weeks ago. Y/N's words kept playing in his head—how she'd said he made her feel like she never mattered, how she'd looked when Ellie showed up.

Since then, things had gotten even more formal between them. Not avoidance exactly, but something colder. Like she genuinely didn't care anymore.

"Burrow, you need those Raiders breakdowns from last season," the offensive coordinator said as they wrapped up. "Study how they disguised their coverage on third downs."

Joe nodded, already dreading the process. What used to be a quick conversation with Y/N was now a formal request through Tyler.

He found Tyler in the hallway. "Can you get me the Raiders breakdowns? Third-down packages specifically."

"Sure thing," Tyler replied. "Y/N will know where those are. I'll have her pull them."

Another reminder that he and Y/N couldn't even handle simple work requests directly anymore.

* * *

Cafeteria - Same Day

Joe grabbed lunch with Ja'maar and Tee, settling into their usual table while they debated the upcoming rookie development program. But his attention was immediately drawn to Y/N sitting across the cafeteria with Sam, their conversation looking relaxed and genuine in ways Joe's interactions with Y/N no longer were.

"You listening, man?" Ja'Maar asked, following Joe's gaze. "Oh. The Y/N situation."

Joe's attention snapped back to his teammates. "What?"

"Whatever's going on with you two," Higgins said, keeping his voice low. "It's been weird for months. You know that, right?"

Joe felt heat rise in his neck. "Nothing's going on. We work together."

"Used to work together," Ja'Maar corrected. "Now you work around each other. There's a difference. And everyone's noticed, by the way."

Joe wanted to deny it, but his teammates weren't wrong. The easy collaboration that had once defined his relationship with Y/N had been replaced by careful professional choreography that everyone seemed to notice.

"It's fine," Joe said, returning his attention to his food. "Just different workflow now."

But even as he said it, Joe found his gaze drifting back to Y/N's table. She was laughing at something Sam had said, looking genuinely happy in a way that made Joe's chest tighten with something he didn't want to examine.

As lunch wound down, Joe watched Y/N and Sam gather their things, noting how Y/N's posture shifted slightly as they approached his table. Not nervous, exactly, but more controlled, like she was managing her reactions.

"Y/N," Joe called out as they walked by. "Tyler said you'd pull those Raiders breakdowns for me?"

Y/N turned with a professional smile that revealed nothing. "He did. I've got staff pulling them. Should be in your inbox by this afternoon."

"Appreciate it," Joe said, recognizing the finality in her tone.

Something flickered in Y/N's eyes, like she realized how weird this had all become. But she just nodded and kept walking.

Ja'maar and Tee exchanged looks.

"Definitely nothing going on," Higgins muttered.

Joe didn't respond. There wasn't much to say.

* * *

That Evening - Joe's Home

Joe's phone buzzed with a text from Ellie as he reviewed the Raiders footage. She wanted to visit next week, maybe do some couples workout content.

Miss you. Can't wait to see you next week. Think we could do that couples workout content I mentioned?

Joe stared at the message. A perfectly reasonable request from his girlfriend. But all he could think about was how Y/N had handled his footage request—efficient, professional, completely detached.

He typed back something appropriate about looking forward to seeing Ellie, but the words felt empty.

The Raiders footage was perfectly organized, exactly what he'd asked for. Y/N's team had delivered as always. No personal touch, no acknowledgment of their history, just competent work.

Maybe that's all they'd ever really had.

* * *

July 2025 - Training Camp Preparation

Joe had agreed to give Ellie a tour of the facility before training camp officially began, though he'd underestimated how complicated it would feel to have her in his professional space. She was enthusiastic about everything—the weight room, the meeting rooms, the state-of-the-art equipment—asking questions that showed genuine interest in his world.

"This is incredible," Ellie said as they walked through the hallways. "I had no idea it was this extensive."

"It's pretty comprehensive," Joe agreed, though part of his attention was tracking familiar sounds and movements, unconsciously mapping Y/N's potential location in the building.

When they reached the cafeteria, Joe spotted Y/N immediately. She sat with Sam near the windows, laughing at something with the kind of natural ease he rarely saw from her anymore. The sight of her genuinely relaxed hit him harder than expected—a reminder of what their interactions used to look like before everything became careful and measured.

"Oh, there's Y/N!" Ellie said, following his gaze. "I should say hello."

Before Joe could suggest otherwise, Ellie was already calling out across the room. "Y/N! How are you?"

Joe watched Y/N's face transform in real-time—from natural laughter to polite professionalism in seconds. The shift was so smooth it was almost invisible, but Joe had been studying Y/N's expressions for five years. He knew the difference.

"I'm good, thanks," Y/N replied, standing as they approached. "Nice to see you again."

"You too," Ellie smiled warmly. "Joe's been showing me around before everyone arrives for camp. This place is amazing."

"It is," Y/N agreed, her tone perfectly light and professional. "Enjoy the tour."

Joe felt the need to fill the silence, to justify Y/N's presence in the conversation somehow. "Y/N's been here since my rookie year," he said to Ellie. "She's documented pretty much every major moment of my NFL career."

The words came out more pointed than he'd intended, carrying weight that felt almost territorial. Y/N's response was swift and deflating.

"The whole media team has," she corrected gently. "It's been a collaborative effort."

She was minimizing their connection, reducing five years of shared moments to generic teamwork. The dismissal stung more than it should have, and Joe found himself pushing back before he could stop himself.

"Not the rehab," he said, his gaze direct. "That was all you."

The moment the words left his mouth, Joe knew he'd crossed a line. Those rehabilitation sessions had been intimate—not romantically, but in the way that pain and vulnerability create connection. Hours of documenting his lowest moments, his frustrations, his small victories. Bringing that up in front of Ellie was claiming ownership of something that wasn't his to claim anymore.

Y/N's composure flickered for just a second before she recovered. "Well, that's what made it such compelling content. Your journey back."

Ellie looked between them, clearly sensing undercurrents she didn't understand. "Joe mentioned how much those documentary pieces meant to fans. Your work really connected people to his recovery."

"That was the goal," Y/N replied. "Glad it resonated." She glanced at her watch with practiced efficiency. "I should get back. Content review meeting in fifteen. Nice seeing you both."

As Y/N walked away with Sam, Joe felt Ellie's curious gaze on him.

"She seems really professional," Ellie observed. "You two work well together."

"Yeah," Joe said, though the word felt hollow. "She's good at what she does."

They continued the tour, but Joe's mind remained fixed on the cafeteria interaction. Why had he mentioned the rehab work? Why had he felt the need to establish that connection in front of Ellie? And why did Y/N's careful deflection feel like a rejection of their entire history?

His phone buzzed as they finished touring the weight room. A text from Ellie to someone—he could see her typing on her phone.

"Just reaching out to Y/N about those charity photos," she explained. "You mentioned she might have some good shots for my portfolio."

Joe's stomach tightened. He had mentioned that, casually, during their drive to the facility. But now it felt like another complication, another way his two worlds were intersecting in ways he hadn't anticipated.

"You don't need to go through her specifically," Joe said. "Any of the media staff can handle that."

"Too late," Ellie smiled, showing him her phone. "Already sent. She seems sweet—I'm sure she won't mind."

Joe stared at the text thread, recognizing the gulf between what Ellie thought she was seeing and what was actually happening. Y/N would agree to help because it was professional courtesy, not because she was "sweet" or happy to do anything involving Ellie.

But explaining that would require explaining why the situation was complicated, which would mean acknowledging feelings he'd spent over a year trying to suppress.

Twenty minutes later, as they wrapped up the tour, Joe's discomfort had crystallized into something that demanded action. He'd been inappropriate in the cafeteria, had put Y/N in an uncomfortable position, had claimed a connection that wasn't his to claim anymore.

"I need to handle something quick," he told Ellie as they reached the parking lot. "Work stuff. Five minutes?"

"Of course," Ellie said easily. "I'll wait in the car."

Joe found himself walking toward Y/N's office before he'd fully decided to go there. The cafeteria encounter had left him unsettled—his inappropriate reference to their private sessions, Y/N's polite but distant responses, the careful way she'd maintained professional boundaries even when he'd essentially ambushed her with personal history.

He paused outside her door, watching her work. She looked focused, unbothered by what had just happened. That steady composure that used to comfort him now felt like a wall he couldn't cross.

"Got a minute?" he asked, stepping into the doorframe.

Y/N looked up, her expression shifting to professional attention. "Of course."

Joe entered but didn't sit, staying near the door. Too much distance felt wrong, but getting too close felt presumptuous. "I wanted to apologize if that was awkward. Ellie wanting to see the facility was... unexpected."

"It's fine," Y/N said smoothly, and Joe heard the practiced ease in her voice. "She's always welcome here. She is your girlfriend."

The matter-of-fact way she said girlfriend hit harder than he'd expected. No emotion, no hesitation—just acknowledgment of reality. It should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like a door closing.

"She mentioned asking about photos," Joe continued, feeling like he was navigating terrain he no longer understood. "You don't need to handle that personally. Any of the staff can pull those."

"I already told her I would," Y/N replied. "It's not a problem."

Of course you did. Y/N would never go back on a professional commitment, even if it meant spending time on something that might be uncomfortable. Joe studied her face, looking for any sign of the person who used to share inside jokes with him during long filming sessions.

"You've changed since your vacation," he said, the observation slipping out before he could stop it.

Y/N's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Have I?"

"Yes," Joe said, committing to the honesty. "More confident. More... definitive about boundaries."

Something shifted in her expression—not surprise, but perhaps appreciation that he'd noticed. "I gained some perspective. About what I need professionally."

Professionally. The word felt loaded with subtext. Joe felt himself standing at the edge of a conversation they'd never had directly, one that could either clarify everything or destroy what remained of their working relationship.

"Just professionally?" The question escaped before his rational mind could intervene.

Y/N met his gaze steadily, and Joe saw the exact moment she chose not to give him the opening he was fishing for. "That's what matters here. We work together. Everything else is secondary."

The gentle but firm redirection felt like a hand pushing him back from a line he shouldn't have approached. Joe nodded slowly, recognizing both the wisdom and the finality in her response.

"If that's what you need."

"It is."

Joe turned to leave, then felt the weight of something unsaid for too long. He paused, looking back at her.

"For what it's worth, I should have told you about Ellie directly. Before it became public like that. You deserved that much."

The words hung in the air between them. It wasn't everything he owed her, but it was the one concrete failing he could acknowledge without opening emotional territory that would complicate both their lives.

"Thank you for saying that," Y/N replied, and Joe heard genuine appreciation in her voice.

Walking back toward the parking lot, Joe felt the strange sensation of having both gained and lost something in the same conversation. Y/N had accepted his apology with grace, had shown him exactly where the new boundaries lay, had demonstrated the kind of professional maturity that made her invaluable to the organization.

She'd also made it clear that whatever personal connection they'd once shared was permanently in the past. No anger, no drama—just a careful, definitive reset that protected them both.

Joe should have felt relieved. Instead, he felt the hollow recognition that he'd just had what might be their last genuinely honest conversation. From here forward, everything between them would be filtered through professional necessity and careful emotional distance.

Back in the car, Ellie was scrolling through her phone, smiling at something on the screen.

"Y/N already responded about the photos," she said as Joe settled into the driver's seat. "She's so professional. You're lucky to have someone that organized on your team."

"Yeah," Joe replied, starting the engine. "She's good at what she does."

But driving away from the facility, Joe couldn't shake the feeling that he'd lost something irreplaceable through his own emotional cowardice. Y/N had offered him friendship when he was too afraid to pursue something deeper. When he'd chosen safety with Ellie instead, Y/N had adapted with characteristic grace, maintaining their professional relationship while protecting herself from further hurt.

Now she was moving forward while Joe remained stuck in the recognition of what he'd given up. Ellie was beautiful, uncomplicated, and genuinely caring. She should have been everything he wanted.

But thinking about Y/N's composed professionalism and the easy laughter he'd witnessed from across the cafeteria, Joe knew that should wasn't the same as was.

He'd made his choice months ago, had prioritized emotional safety over authentic connection. Y/N had accepted that choice and moved on with her life and career.

The problem was that Joe was starting to realize his choice had been wrong. And by the time he'd gained that clarity, it was already too late to change course without devastating multiple lives in the process.

* * *

September 2025 - Regular Season Begins

The season opener against Pittsburgh had everything Joe loved about football—intensity, precision, the satisfaction of executing under pressure. The 40-yard touchdown to Higgins in the third quarter had been particularly clean, the kind of throw that reminded him why he'd chosen this profession.

But even in the middle of game action, Joe found himself tracking Y/N's movements along the sideline. She worked with the same professional efficiency she'd always shown, directing her team while capturing content herself. When he'd thrown the touchdown, his first instinct had been to find her reaction among the crowd of cameras and staff.

She'd been there, doing her job, but the easy shared celebration they might have had a year ago was gone. Instead, their eyes had met briefly during his jog toward the tunnel at halftime—a moment of mutual recognition, professional acknowledgment, nothing more.

It should have been enough. It had to be enough.

After the 24-17 win, Joe handled his postgame interviews with the usual measured responses, discussed the offensive line's protection and the receivers' route-running. But part of his attention remained on the media activity around him, aware of Y/N coordinating coverage without directly involving herself in his interviews.

The buffer system she'd implemented was working exactly as intended. Joe respected the professionalism of it, even as he missed the collaborative relationship they'd once shared.

His phone buzzed as he changed out of his uniform. Ja'Maar asking about team celebration drinks.

Heading home, Joe replied. Good win though.

You sure? Team's in a good mood. Y/N's crew killed it with the content today.

Joe stared at the text, the casual mention of Y/N hitting harder than it should have. Rain check. See you at practice.

Joe was leaving through the players' entrance when he spotted Y/N in the hallway, walking toward the exit with her equipment bag. The facility was mostly empty now, the post-game energy settling into quiet.

"Heading out?" he asked, falling into step beside her.

"Yeah," Y/N replied. "Just finished content wrap-up."

"Good game coverage," Joe said, meaning it. "Saw the touchdown sequence. Perfect timing on the sideline reaction."

"Thanks," Y/N said, and Joe caught something in her voice—surprise that he'd noticed her work specifically. "Clean game from the offense. Especially that third quarter drive."

Joe nodded, wanting to continue the conversation but unsure how to navigate the careful boundaries they'd established. "Team celebrating?"

"Meeting them now," Y/N confirmed. "Sundry and Vice, I think."

"Tell everyone good work," Joe said, then found himself adding, "Your boundary system's working well."

The observation was too direct, too honest about how much he'd been thinking about the walls she'd built between them. But it had been months of careful professional distance, and something about the successful game, the natural flow of their brief conversation, made him want to acknowledge what had developed.

"It seems to be," Y/N agreed carefully.

Joe felt himself standing at the edge of honesty again, the same place he'd been in her office months ago. This time, he stepped closer to the line.

"I don't like it," he said quietly, "but I respect it."

The admission hung between them—his first direct acknowledgment that the professional distance cost him something personal. Y/N's expression shifted slightly, surprise and maybe something else flickering across her face.

Before she could respond, his phone rang. Joe glanced at it—Ellie's name on the screen. The timing felt like the universe intervening, reminding him why Y/N's boundaries existed in the first place.

He looked back at Y/N, seeing understanding in her eyes. She knew who was calling without him saying anything.

"Should take this," he said. "Have a good night, Y/N."

"You too, Joe."

Walking to his car, Joe answered Ellie's call.

"Congratulations on the win!" Ellie's voice was warm and genuinely excited. "I watched the highlights online. That touchdown throw was incredible."

"Thanks," Joe said, settling into his car while watching Y/N walk to hers in his peripheral vision. "How was your day in LA?"

"Amazing," Ellie launched into a detailed account of her photo shoot, the creative direction, the other influencers she'd worked with. Joe listened with divided attention, making appropriate responses while his mind remained fixed on his conversation with Y/N.

"I was thinking," Ellie continued, "maybe I could come to Cincinnati for the next home game? Actually watch you play instead of just seeing highlights?"

"That would be great," Joe replied, though something in him resisted the idea. Having Ellie at the stadium would make their relationship more visible, would require navigation of her inevitable interactions with Y/N.

"Perfect," Ellie said. "I'll check my schedule and book something. Oh, and thank you again for connecting me with Y/N. She sent those charity event photos and they're gorgeous. She really does have an amazing eye."

Joe felt his chest tighten at the mention of Y/N. "She's good at what she does."

"She seems really sweet," Ellie continued. "I was thinking maybe the three of us could grab dinner when I visit? I'd love to get to know your colleagues better."

The suggestion made Joe's hands grip the steering wheel tighter. The idea of a casual dinner with Y/N and Ellie felt like emotional torture disguised as normal socializing.

"We'll see," Joe said carefully. "Y/N keeps pretty busy during the season."

"Of course," Ellie agreed easily. "Just a thought. I know how close you are with your team."

After hanging up, Joe sat in the facility parking lot as it emptied around him. The conversation with Ellie had been pleasant, supportive, exactly what he should have wanted from his girlfriend after a successful game.

Instead, he found himself thinking about Y/N's measured professionalism, the brief moment of honesty they'd shared in the hallway, the way she'd handled his admission about not liking but respecting her boundaries.

He'd told her the truth, and she'd accepted it with the same grace she brought to everything else. No drama, no demand for explanation, just acknowledgment of reality.

But as Joe finally drove home through downtown Cincinnati, past the bars where his teammates were celebrating, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight. Not dramatically, but subtly—like a door that had been cracked open just enough to let in light.

He didn't know what Y/N had been thinking during their hallway conversation, whether his honesty had surprised her or simply confirmed what she already knew about his feelings. But for the first time in months, they'd spoken to each other as more than just colleagues managing professional boundaries.

* * *

Late September 2025 - Exploring Options

Joe learned about Y/N's Giants opportunity the way he learned about most facility rumors—through Jake's casual mention during a quarterback meeting, delivered with the kind of off-hand certainty that suggested everyone already knew.

"Weird about Y/N maybe leaving for New York," Jake had said, reviewing route concepts on his tablet. "Gonna be strange if she goes. She's been here since your rookie year, right?"

Joe's pen had stopped moving across his playbook. "What about New York?"

Jake looked up, surprised. "The Giants thing? VP position or something. Thought you'd know—aren't you two always coordinating on media stuff?"

"We work together," Joe replied carefully, though his mind was already racing. "Haven't heard anything about New York."

"Huh. Maybe it's just rumors then. You know how this place gets."

But Joe knew it wasn't just rumors. Jake didn't spread bullshit, and he'd been too specific about the VP thing. Y/N was actually thinking about leaving. Leaving Cincinnati.

Leaving him.

The thought knocked him sideways, cutting through the careful routine he'd been living with. Over the past few months, Joe had grown comfortable with their new dynamic—respectful, functional, emotionally safe. He'd told himself that the boundaries Y/N had established were healthy, that their working relationship was better for being clearly defined.

But the possibility of Y/N leaving entirely forced him to confront how much he'd been taking her continued presence for granted.

That evening, Joe sat in his house, trying to focus on game film but finding his mind wandering to what Jake had said. He pulled out his phone, thinking about texting Y/N directly, asking about the rumors. But what right did he have to that information? They weren't friends who shared personal updates anymore. They were colleagues who maintained professional boundaries.

His phone buzzed with a text from Ellie, something about her flight plans for the upcoming home game. Joe read it without really processing the words, his attention still fixed on the possibility that Y/N might be planning to leave Cincinnati.

The realization hit him with uncomfortable clarity: he was more invested in Y/N's career decisions than in his girlfriend's travel plans. More concerned about Y/N potentially leaving Cincinnati than about Ellie coming to visit.

That recognition forced Joe to confront something he'd been avoiding for months. His relationship with Ellie, while pleasant and uncomplicated, had become more obligation than choice. He cared about her genuinely, appreciated her kindness and support, but he didn't feel excited about her presence the way he felt anxious about Y/N's potential absence.

Joe spent the evening researching the Giants' organizational structure and recent content initiatives. He told himself it was professional curiosity, wanting to understand what opportunity Y/N might be considering.

But really, he was trying to gauge whether New York represented something he couldn't compete with. Not that he was competing—he'd made his choice months ago. But the thought of Y/N building a new life in a different city, working with different players, creating content that didn't include him at all, felt like losing something essential.

The next morning, Joe arrived at the facility early, hoping to catch Y/N before her day filled with meetings. He found her in one of the editing bays, reviewing game footage with that focused intensity that had always impressed him.

"Morning," he said, stepping into the doorway.

Y/N looked up, professional smile in place. "Hey. You're here early."

"Wanted to get ahead of the week," Joe replied, then decided to be direct. "Jake mentioned something about a New York opportunity yesterday. Giants?"

Something flickered across Y/N's expression—surprise, maybe annoyance that rumors were spreading. "Nothing's decided," she said carefully.

"But it's real? The opportunity?"

Y/N set down her stylus, turning to face him fully. "It's something I'm considering. VP of Content Strategy position."

Joe felt something close to panic, though he tried to keep it from showing. "Big move."

"It would be," Y/N agreed. "Major market, significant creative control."

"Is this about the buffer system? About creating distance?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, revealing more of his concerns than he'd intended.

Y/N's expression sharpened. "My professional decisions aren't about you, Joe."

The response was firm, definitive, and both relieving and devastating. Relieving because it meant his complicated feelings weren't driving her away. Devastating because it confirmed that he wasn't a factor in her decision-making at all.

"Right," Joe said, trying to recover. "Of course not. It's just... you've built so much here. Five years of work."

"And there's opportunity to build something new," Y/N replied. "That's how careers work. Growth, advancement, new challenges."

Joe nodded, recognizing the wisdom in her approach even as it felt like a personal rejection. "And there's nothing keeping you here? Nothing worth staying for?"

The question was as close as Joe could come to acknowledging what he couldn't say directly. That he needed her presence in ways that went beyond professional collaboration. That the thought of her leaving felt like losing an essential part of his support system.

Y/N studied his face for a moment. "I've built a life here," she said carefully. "That matters. But so does professional growth."

The answer was appropriately professional, but Joe caught something in her expression—a flicker of recognition that suggested she understood the subtext of his question even if she couldn't acknowledge it directly.

"Well," Joe said, backing toward the door. "I hope whatever you decide works out."

"Thanks," Y/N replied, already turning back to her work. "I'm sure it will."

Walking away from that conversation, Joe realized he was facing a crisis he'd created through his own emotional avoidance. He'd chosen safety with Ellie over the risk of pursuing something real with Y/N. Now Y/N was moving forward with her life and career while Joe remained trapped in a relationship that felt increasingly hollow.

But what could he do? Breaking up with Ellie to chase Y/N as she was planning to leave for New York would be both cruel and pointless. Y/N had already demonstrated that she could build a life that didn't revolve around him. She deserved better than to be someone's backup plan or consolation prize.

That evening, Joe sat in his house, Ellie's latest text about visiting for the Ravens game still unanswered on his phone. He thought about their last conversation, her enthusiasm about meeting his colleagues, her suggestion of dinner with Y/N.

The image of that dinner—Ellie chatting brightly while Y/N maintained professional politeness, Joe caught between his girlfriend and the woman he'd been too afraid to pursue—felt like a special kind of torture. Especially now, knowing Y/N might leave Cincinnati entirely.

Joe finally responded to Ellie's text with vague agreement about her visit, though his heart wasn't in the planning. His attention remained fixed on the recognition that he was about to lose something irreplaceable through his own emotional cowardice.

Y/N would visit New York, would probably be impressed by their facilities and vision, would make a decision based on what was best for her career. And Joe would remain in Cincinnati, playing football at the highest level while feeling increasingly disconnected from everything that made success meaningful.

He'd had his chance to be honest about his feelings, to take the risk that might have led to something real. Instead, he'd chosen comfort and safety, and now that choice was leading to exactly the kind of loss he'd been trying to avoid.

Some regrets, Joe was learning, couldn't be fixed by better decision-making in the future. They could only be carried, carefully contained, while watching what might have been disappear into someone else's new beginning.

* * *

Early October 2025 - Before the Visit

The week before Y/N's trip to New York dragged by. Joe went through his usual routine—film study, practice, media obligations—but he couldn't focus, too aware of Y/N moving around the facility.

During Tuesday's media availability, Joe watched Y/N coordinate with her team from across the room. She looked confident, in control, like someone who belonged in a VP role for a major market team.

The thought made him feel sick.

"Earth to Joe," Ja"Maar said, snapping his fingers in front of Joe's face as they walked to the parking garage after practice. "You've been spacing out all week. What's going on?"

Joe refocused on his teammate. "Just thinking through game plan stuff."

"Bullshit," Ja'Maar replied bluntly. "This is about Y/N leaving, isn't it?"

The directness caught Joe off guard. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you've been tracking her movements all week like you're afraid she's going to disappear," Ja'Maar observed. "And because everyone knows you two have some kind of complicated history, even if nobody talks about it directly."

Joe felt heat rise in his neck. "We work together. Have for five years. It'll be an adjustment if she leaves."

"Uh-huh," Ja'Maar said, clearly unconvinced. "Look, I don't know what the deal is between you two, and it's none of my business. But if you've got something to say to her before she potentially moves across the country, maybe now's the time."

"It's not that simple," Joe replied, though even as he said it, he wondered if it was actually simpler than he was making it.

"It never is," he agreed. "But sometimes complicated is better than regret."

That evening, Joe found himself at the facility later than necessary, ostensibly reviewing additional film but really hoping to cross paths with Y/N. He'd heard through the staff grapevine that she was working late, finalizing content plans before her New York trip.

He found her in her office, surrounded by multiple monitors and notebooks, laptop open to what looked like presentation slides. She glanced up when he knocked on her door frame.

"Working late," Joe observed, stepping into the office when she gestured him in.

"Trying to get ahead before I'm out of town," Y/N replied, saving her work. "Don't want to leave the team scrambling while I'm gone."

Joe noted the careful way she'd phrased it—"while I'm gone," not "if I don't come back." Either diplomatic language or a decision already made that she wasn't ready to announce.

"Mind if I ask what you're expecting from the visit?" he said, settling into the chair across from her desk.

Y/N leaned back, considering her response. "Honestly? I'm trying to approach it with an open mind. The opportunity is substantial, but I want to understand the culture, the vision, what I'd actually be walking into."

"And if it's everything they're promising?"

"Then I'll have a difficult decision to make," she said simply.

Joe studied her expression, looking for any sign of what she was thinking beyond the careful professionalism. "What would make it difficult? I mean, from the outside, it seems like a clear career advancement."

Y/N was quiet for a moment, her fingers absently straightening papers on her desk. "Five years is a long time to build something. To develop relationships, understand a culture, create work that feels meaningful. Starting over somewhere else, even with better title and compensation, means giving up what I've built here."

"But?"

"But maybe that's what growth requires sometimes," she finished. "Maybe staying in your comfort zone, even when it's working, prevents you from discovering what else is possible."

The words hit Joe harder than she probably intended. He heard in them a philosophy he'd been too afraid to apply to his own life—the recognition that comfort could be its own trap, that fear of losing what you had could prevent you from gaining what you actually needed.

"That's a mature way to look at it," he said, meaning it even as it made his own choices feel increasingly cowardly.

"I'm trying to be," Y/N replied. "This industry doesn't give you many chances at opportunities like this. It would be foolish not to explore it seriously."

Joe nodded, recognizing the wisdom in her approach while hating what it might mean for his own life. "Well, for what it's worth, I hope they roll out the red carpet for you. You deserve to see what you're worth in a major market."

Something shifted in Y/N's expression at his words—surprise, maybe, or appreciation for his support despite his personal investment in her staying.

"Thank you," she said, and Joe caught a warmth in her voice that had been absent from their interactions for months. "That means more than you probably realize."

The moment stretched between them, loaded with recognition of their shared history and mutual respect despite the complications that had driven them apart. Joe felt the urge to say more, to acknowledge what her leaving would mean to him personally, to finally be honest about feelings he'd been suppressing for over a year.

But before he could find the words, Y/N's phone buzzed with what looked like a work emergency. The moment passed, replaced by the familiar rhythm of professional obligations and careful boundaries.

"I should let you get back to it," Joe said, standing. "Good luck in New York. I hope you get everything you're looking for."

"Thanks, Joe. I appreciate that."

As he walked back to his car, Joe replayed their conversation, noting how easily they'd fallen into genuine dialogue when the stakes felt clear. Y/N was preparing for a major career decision, and Joe was supporting her choice even though it might mean losing her presence in his professional life.

It felt both mature and devastating—the kind of selfless support you offered someone you cared about deeply, even when their success might mean your own loss.

Joe thought about Ja'Maar's earlier observation about regret versus complication. Maybe his teammate was right. Maybe the complicated conversation was better than watching Y/N leave without ever being honest about what she meant to him.

But sitting in his car in the empty parking lot, thinking about Ellie's upcoming visit and Y/N's pending trip to New York, Joe couldn't find the courage to risk everything for a conversation that might change nothing.

Some opportunities, once missed, couldn't be recovered. Joe was starting to understand that he might be living through one of those moments—watching something essential slip away because he'd been too afraid to reach for it when it was still possible.

The recognition felt like a weight settling in his chest, heavy and permanent. By the time Y/N returned from New York, Joe suspected his chance for honesty would have passed entirely, leaving him with nothing but the careful professional relationship they'd built and the knowledge of what he'd been too afraid to pursue.

* * *

Late October 2025 - The Breaking Point

Joe stood frozen in Y/N's empty office after she walked out, her words echoing in the sudden silence. The conversation had gone worse than he'd imagined possible, and he'd imagined it going pretty badly.

You don't get to jerk me around like this again.

The accusation cut deep, forcing him to confront the truth he'd been avoiding. From Y/N's perspective, his timing wasn't just bad—it was selfish. Cruel, even. Coming to her now, after years of emotional distance, just as she was ready to leave for something better.

Joe slumped into the chair Y/N had vacated, running his hands through his hair. He'd thought breaking up with Ellie would clear the air, would show Y/N that he was finally ready to be honest. Instead, it had backfired completely.

Y/N wasn't waiting for him anymore. And showing up now, claiming feelings he'd been too scared to acknowledge when it mattered, probably looked like manipulation rather than honesty.

His phone buzzed with a text from Ellie: Hope you're doing okay. Thank you for being honest with me. I knew something was off.

The message made Joe feel sick with guilt. Breaking up with Ellie had been the right thing to do—she deserved someone who could love her completely—but the conversation had been brutal. She'd handled it with more grace than he'd deserved, acknowledging that she'd sensed his emotional distance even if she hadn't understood its cause.

I'm sorry, he'd told her during their difficult conversation the night before. You deserve so much better than someone who can't be fully present.

It's Y/N, isn't it? Ellie had asked, her voice sad but not surprised. I could tell when we were at the facility. The way you looked at her.

Joe had confirmed it, hating himself for the hurt in Ellie's eyes even as he knew honesty was overdue. She'd cried, asked questions he'd answered as gently as possible, then packed her things with dignity that made him feel even worse about what he'd put her through.

Now, sitting in Y/N's office, Joe realized he'd hurt two people he cared about and probably gained nothing in the process. Y/N was more resolved than ever to leave for New York, and Ellie was nursing heartbreak she'd done nothing to deserve.

Joe's phone rang. Ja'Maar's name on the screen.

"How'd it go?" his teammate asked without preamble.

"Badly," Joe replied, staring at Y/N's empty desk. "Really fucking badly."

"What happened?"

Joe gave him the abbreviated version—the breakup with Ellie, the confrontation with Y/N, her accusation that his timing was manipulative rather than romantic.

"Shit, man," Ja'Maar said when Joe finished. "She's not wrong, though. About the timing."

"I know," Joe admitted. "But what was I supposed to do? Let her leave without saying anything?"

"Maybe," Ja'Maar said bluntly. "Maybe that would have been kinder than dropping this on her when she's trying to make the biggest career decision of her life."

The words stung because they were true. Joe had convinced himself that honesty was the right choice, but honesty motivated by self-interest rather than Y/N's wellbeing wasn't necessarily noble.

"So what now?" Joe asked.

"Now you live with the consequences," Ja'Maar replied. "You made your choices for years, and Y/N made hers. She doesn't owe you anything just because you finally figured out what you want."

After hanging up, Joe remained in Y/N's office, surrounded by evidence of her competence and dedication. Awards on the walls, thank-you notes from players, carefully organized files that spoke to five years of building something meaningful with the Bengals.

He thought about their first meeting during his rookie photoshoot, how Y/N had caught that fumbled football with ease and thrown it back to him with perfect spiral. She'd been impressive from day one, but Joe had been too focused on his own career to really see her potential.

Over the years, he'd watched her grow from a junior media coordinator to someone essential to the organization's identity. She'd documented his lowest moments during injury recovery, had been present for his biggest triumphs, had somehow become woven into every significant moment of his NFL career.

But Joe realized with painful clarity that Y/N had also built her own story during those five years. She'd earned promotions, developed innovative content strategies, gained recognition throughout the league. Her career wasn't just about documenting his journey—it was about creating her own.

The Giants opportunity wasn't Y/N running away from complicated feelings. It was her running toward something she'd earned through years of exceptional work. Joe's feelings were just unfortunate timing, not a reason for her to stay.

That recognition was both humbling and devastating. Joe had spent so long thinking about what Y/N meant to his career, his recovery, his daily life that he'd failed to consider what she needed for her own growth and happiness.

Maybe the most loving thing he could do now was support her decision, whatever it was, without adding more pressure or guilt. Let her choose New York if that's what would make her happy, even if it meant losing her presence from his life entirely.

Joe's phone buzzed with another text, this one from Y/N: I need you to know that conversation doesn't change my timeline. I'm still considering all factors. Please respect whatever I decide.

The message was characteristically professional, but Joe caught the underlying plea for space. Y/N was asking him not to complicate her decision-making process any further.

I will, he replied. And Y/N? You were right about my timing. I'm sorry.

He waited, hoping for a response that would suggest forgiveness or understanding. But none came.

Walking back to his car, Joe felt the weight of recognition settling over him. He'd spent months choosing emotional safety over authentic risk, then panicked when the consequences of those choices became clear. Y/N had every right to prioritize her career over his suddenly declared feelings.

But that didn't make losing her hurt any less.

Joe thought about the upcoming weeks—Y/N's final meetings with the Giants, her decision about New York, the possibility that their last real conversation had been an argument in her office. The idea that she might leave Cincinnati with anger or disappointment as her final impression of him felt unbearable.

Yet maybe that was the price of his years of emotional avoidance. Some opportunities, once missed, couldn't be recovered. Some honesty, when it came too late, caused more harm than continued silence would have.

Joe had finally found the courage to tell Y/N how he felt. Unfortunately, he'd found it at exactly the moment when she'd moved beyond needing to hear it.

* * *

Joe had walked into the leadership meeting with his usual focus, prepared to discuss winter content strategy and playoff scenarios. It was routine, the kind of organizational planning that happened every October. He'd expected updates on draft preparation, maybe some discussion about facility improvements during the offseason.

He hadn't expected to learn about Y/N's potential departure like this.

"As some of you may have heard, Y/N is considering an opportunity with another organization," Kayla said casually, as if she wasn't announcing the end of Joe's world. "We're in discussions about retention, but we also need contingency planning in case she accepts this new role."

The room went quiet, and Joe felt his chest tighten. Everyone was looking at Y/N, who maintained her perfect professional composure despite what had to be an uncomfortable moment. But Joe was looking at the bigger picture—Y/N might leave, and he was finding out about it in a fucking leadership meeting like some random staff member.

"Nothing's been decided yet," Y/N said calmly, and Joe heard the measured control in her voice. "I'm weighing options carefully, and regardless of my decision, I'm committed to ensuring a smooth transition if that becomes necessary."

Smooth transition. Like five years of building something together—professionally, personally, emotionally—could be smoothly transitioned to someone else. Like she was replaceable.

Joe tried to focus on the rest of the meeting, but his mind was spinning. When had she decided to explore other opportunities? How long had she been interviewing? Why hadn't she mentioned it during their coffee conversation or their brief exchange before her New York trip?

Then the answer hit him with sickening clarity: because it wasn't his business anymore. They weren't friends who shared personal updates. They were colleagues who maintained professional boundaries, boundaries he'd helped create through his emotional cowardice.

As the meeting wrapped up, Joe watched Y/N gathering her materials efficiently, preparing to leave as if she hadn't just casually mentioned potentially abandoning everything they'd built together. The unfairness of it—that she could consider leaving while he was supposed to just accept it professionally—made his composure start to crack.

She was almost to the door when something inside him snapped.

"So that's it?" The words came out louder than he'd intended, but he was past caring about discretion. "Everyone just finds out in a meeting that you might be gone next month?"

Y/N turned slowly, and Joe could see her calculating the optics of this public confrontation. "This isn't the place, Joe."

But when was the place? When had she planned to have this conversation with him specifically? When she was already packed and heading to New York?

"When is the place?" Joe pressed, aware that people were watching but unable to stop himself. "After you've already accepted? After you're already gone?"

"I haven't made any decisions yet," Y/N replied with that maddening professional calm. "And this is a professional matter I'm handling appropriately."

Appropriately. The word hit him wrong, the implication that his reaction was inappropriate while her potential departure was just good career management.

"Is it?" Joe challenged, taking a step closer. "Because it feels like you're making a major decision that affects a lot of people here without any real conversation."

"I've had those conversations with the appropriate leadership," Y/N countered, and Joe caught the slight edge in her voice. "With Kayla, with the content team. My career decisions don't require facility-wide consultation."

The dismissal stung. He wasn't asking for facility-wide consultation—he was asking why someone he'd worked closely with for five years, someone he'd shared countless conversations and moments with, someone he'd fallen in love with, was planning to leave without a word to him personally.

"So we just lose the person who's built our entire content strategy for five years, and that's supposed to be fine?" Joe heard the challenge in his own voice, recognized he was crossing lines but unable to care.

Y/N's professional mask slipped slightly, her frustration finally showing. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, the question more pointed than anything she'd said to him in months. "Why does this matter to you specifically?"

The question hung between them, loaded with everything they'd never said directly. Joe was acutely aware of their audience, of Kayla and Sam and other staff members watching this exchange with barely concealed interest. He was also aware that his answer could change everything—could destroy the careful professional relationship they'd maintained, could complicate her decision, could expose feelings he'd kept hidden for over a year.

But looking at Y/N, at the possibility of her walking away forever, Joe found he was past caring about complications.

"Because some things should matter more than titles and market size," he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. "Some connections are worth more than whatever the Giants are offering."

The word hung in the air—connections—and Joe saw Y/N's eyes widen slightly at the implication. He'd just publicly acknowledged that this was about more than professional courtesy, more than workflow continuity.

Before either of them could say anything else, Kayla stepped forward with diplomatic intervention. "Let's table this discussion. Y/N hasn't made her decision yet, and we'll have appropriate transition conversations when and if that becomes necessary."

Joe held Y/N's gaze for a moment longer, seeing surprise and something else—uncertainty?—in her expression. Then he turned and walked out, his control finally completely shattered.

In the hallway, Joe leaned against the wall, trying to process what had just happened. He'd publicly confronted Y/N about a personal matter, had essentially announced to the leadership team that her potential departure affected him more than professionally appropriate.

His phone was in his hand before he'd consciously decided to text her:

Joe: I'm sorry. That was out of line. Can we talk? For real this time.

He sent it immediately, then waited, staring at the screen. When her response came, it felt like a door closing:

Y/N: Not a good time. Need to focus on work.

Joe typed quickly:

Joe: I understand. But we need to talk before you decide. Please.

Then he waited again, but no response came.

Walking toward the parking lot, Joe felt the weight of what he'd just done. He'd destroyed months of careful professional distance in about five minutes of emotional honesty. He'd made Y/N's career decision about his feelings, had put her in an impossible position by making their complications public.

But he couldn't bring himself to regret it entirely. Because Y/N was considering leaving, and she hadn't told him personally, and the thought of her disappearing from his life without one honest conversation felt unbearable.

His phone buzzed with a text from Ellie about dinner plans, and Joe stared at it with the growing certainty that his entire life was built on lies he was tired of living.

Joe's phone buzzed again. Ja'Maar: Heard about the meeting today. You good?

Been better, Joe replied.

Want to talk about it?

Joe considered the offer. Ja'Maar was discreet, trustworthy, and had already figured out that Joe's interest in Y/N went beyond professional courtesy. Maybe external perspective would help.

Yeah. Your place?

An hour later, Joe sat on Ja'Maar's couch with a beer he wasn't really drinking, trying to explain a situation that felt impossible to articulate.

"So let me get this straight," Ja'Maar said after listening to Joe's halting explanation. "You've been in love with Y/N for over a year, but you're dating Ellie because it felt safer. Now Y/N's about to leave for New York, and you publicly freaked out about it in a leadership meeting."

"That's the summary, yeah," Joe confirmed, feeling even worse hearing it laid out so simply.

"And what exactly is your plan here?" Ja'Maar asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're about to lose both of them."

Joe set his beer down, running his hands through his hair. "I don't have a plan. That's the problem."

"Okay, let's think through this," Ja'Maar said, settling into problem-solving mode. "First question: what do you actually want?"

The answer came without hesitation. "Y/N. I want Y/N."

"And what about Ellie?"

Joe felt guilt wash over him. "Ellie's great. She's kind, supportive, uncomplicated. Everything I should want. But I don't love her. Not the way I love Y/N." The admission felt both relieving and terrible.

Ja'Maar nodded thoughtfully. "So you're staying with someone you don't love to avoid pursuing someone you do love. Because?"

"Because Y/N deserves better than being someone's consolation prize," Joe said. "Because breaking up with Ellie to chase Y/N as she's leaving for New York would be cruel to everyone involved. Because I had my chance and I chose safety instead."

"Maybe," Ja'Maar agreed. "But you're assuming Y/N's feelings haven't changed, that she's moved on completely. What if she hasn't?"

Joe thought about their coffee shop conversation, the carefully maintained professional distance, Y/N's composed reaction to his emotional outburst today. "She's handled everything with complete professionalism. If she had feelings, she's clearly over them."

"Or she's protecting herself from exactly this situation," Ja'Maar suggested. "From wanting something she thinks she can't have."

The possibility hadn't occurred to Joe. He'd assumed Y/N's professional boundaries meant emotional distance, but maybe they meant the opposite—maybe she was working harder to maintain control precisely because the feelings were still there.

"Even if that's true," Joe said, "the timing is terrible. She's got a major career opportunity waiting for her. She shouldn't base that decision on some guy who's been too afraid to be honest about his feelings."

"So be honest now," Ja'Maar said simply. "Before she decides. Give her all the information, let her make the choice with everything on the table."

"And Ellie?"

Ja'Maar's expression grew serious. "Joe, you can't keep stringing along someone who deserves better while pining for someone else. It's not fair to anyone."

Joe knew his teammate was right. His relationship with Ellie had become fundamentally dishonest, sustained by emotional cowardice rather than genuine commitment.

"Y/N's not answering my calls," Joe said. "After today's disaster, she's probably done with complicated conversations."

"Then you'll have to find another way," Ja'Maar replied. "Because in two weeks, she might be gone. And if you let her leave without being honest, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened."

Driving home, Joe thought about Ja'Maar's advice. Being honest with Y/N meant risking everything—his professional relationship with her, his comfortable routine with Ellie, the carefully constructed life he'd built around emotional safety.

But not being honest meant accepting that he'd let fear dictate the most important choice of his life. That he'd let Y/N leave without ever giving her the chance to choose him, really choose him, with full knowledge of what he felt.

* * *

Three Days Later

The facility felt different without Y/N's regular presence. She'd been working remotely more often, only appearing for essential meetings, clearly maintaining distance after their confrontation. Joe found himself hyperaware of her absence, noting the times when she would normally be reviewing content or coordinating with her team.

He'd kept his promise not to pressure her, hadn't sent additional texts or attempted further conversations. But the waiting was killing him. In less than a week, Y/N would need to give the Giants her final answer, and Joe had no idea which way she was leaning.

"You look like shit," Ja'Maar observed as they wrapped up Wednesday practice.

"Thanks," Joe replied dryly. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"I'm serious, man. When's the last time you fuckin' slept?"

Joe couldn't remember. Since his conversation with Y/N, he'd been existing on caffeine and restless energy, his mind cycling through scenarios and regrets whenever he tried to rest.

"She's probably going to take it," Joe said, voicing the fear that had been growing stronger each day. "The Giants offer. Why wouldn't she? It's everything she's worked for professionally."

"Maybe," Ja'Maar agreed. "Or maybe she values what she's built here more than you think."

"Even after I fucked everything up with my timing?"

Ja'Maar considered this. "You know what your problem is? You think this is all about you. Y/N's decision, her feelings, her career—you keep making it about how it affects Joe Burrow."

The observation stung because it was accurate. "So what should I do?"

"Nothing," Ja'Maar said firmly. "Let her make her choice without your emotional baggage influencing it. If she stays, great. If she goes, you deal with it and learn from how you handled this."

Joe nodded, recognizing the wisdom even as every instinct urged him to do something, anything, to influence Y/N's decision in his favor.

That evening, Joe sat in his house scrolling through social media, where speculation about Y/N's potential departure had somehow leaked despite the organization's attempts at discretion. Fans were posting about losing "the best content coordinator in the NFL," sharing favorite videos and posts from her tenure with the team.

One comment thread particularly caught his attention: She made Burrow seem like a real person, not just a celebrity. Hope she stays.

The observation hit home. Y/N had protected his humanity while managing his public image, had found ways to show his personality without exploiting his vulnerability. She'd been more than just a media coordinator—she'd been a guardian of his authentic self in a world that constantly pressured him to perform.

Joe thought about all the moments Y/N had captured over five years, the injury recovery sessions that could have been exploitative but instead showed genuine determination, the community events that revealed his care for Cincinnati, the team interactions that demonstrated his leadership without making it seem forced.

She'd helped him become the person he wanted to be publicly while never making him feel managed or packaged. And now she was considering leaving to build something new, something that didn't depend on understanding Joe Burrow's complexities.

His phone rang. His mother's name on the screen.

"How are you holding up?" she asked without preamble.

Joe shouldn't have been surprised that his parents had heard about Y/N's potential departure. News traveled fast in NFL circles, especially when it involved key personnel.

"Been better," Joe admitted. "How much do you know?"

"Enough to know you're probably beating yourself up over timing and choices," his mother replied with characteristic directness. "Want to talk about it?"

Joe found himself explaining the situation—his relationship with Ellie, his feelings for Y/N, the disastrous conversation in her office. His mother listened without judgment, asking clarifying questions but not offering immediate advice.

"You know," she said when he finished, "sometimes the most loving thing you can do is want someone's happiness more than you want them in your life."

The words hit Joe like a revelation. He'd been so focused on his own loss, his own regret, that he hadn't fully considered what would actually make Y/N happiest in the long run.

"The Giants opportunity is exactly what she's earned," he said slowly. "Even if it means losing her."

"And if supporting her decision is the last gift you can give her," his mother continued gently, "then maybe that's how you show her what she's meant to you all these years."

* * *

Early November 2025 - The Offer

Joe tried to keep his normal routine after Y/N got back from New York, but he couldn't focus. His mind kept wandering to what the Giants had offered her, whether she'd already decided.

Around the facility, she kept things strictly professional—polite nods, brief work exchanges, nothing that acknowledged what had happened between them.

Ja'Marr noticed his distraction during Wednesday's practice.

"You missed that read completely," his teammate said as they reviewed route concepts. "Thompson was wide open on the comeback."

"I saw it," Joe replied, though they both knew he hadn't.

"Where's your head at, man?"

Joe glanced toward the facility windows. "Probably where it shouldn't be."

That evening, Joe sat in his house, staring at his phone. His mother had texted: How are you holding up? Any word on her decision?

Still waiting, Joe replied. Not well.

Remember what we talked about. Sometimes loving someone means wanting their happiness more than their presence.

Joe read the message twice. If Y/N's happiness was in New York, then supporting that choice was how he could prove his feelings were genuine rather than selfish.

But the thought of losing her forever—not just romantically, but from his daily life entirely—felt like losing something he couldn't replace.

* * *

Mid-November 2025

By the middle of November, Joe felt like he was going crazy. Y/N's deadline was coming up, and he had no idea what she was thinking. She gave him nothing—no hints, no clues, nothing.

After another sleepless night, Joe got to the facility early, hoping to see Y/N before his day started. But her office was empty, computer off.

"She's in the edit bay," Sam mentioned, appearing beside him in the hallway. "Been there since early this morning. Finalizing content transitions in case she needs to hand things over."

"That sounds... definitive," Joe managed.

Sam studied his expression. "Maybe. Or maybe just responsible. Y/N always has contingency plans."

Joe spent the day distracted, going through the motions of practice and meetings while his mind remained fixed on Y/N's absence. By evening, he couldn't stand it anymore. He needed to see her, to try once more to have an honest conversation before she made her final decision.

The edit bay was one of the few rooms still lit when Joe arrived back at the facility that night. Through the window, he could see Y/N working alone, surrounded by monitors and notebooks, completely focused on her screen.

Joe stood outside for several minutes, gathering courage for what might be their last private conversation. Everything he'd been too afraid to say for five years needed to be said now, before it was too late.

When he finally knocked and entered, Y/N's immediate tension was obvious. But Joe was beyond caring about professional boundaries or appropriate timing. This was his last chance.

Their conversation escalated quickly, five years of suppressed emotion finally breaking free. When Y/N accused him of not seeing her for years, of only noticing her now that she was leaving, Joe felt something crack inside his chest.

"It's mattered to me for five years!" she'd shouted, and Joe realized with devastating clarity how much pain he'd caused through his emotional cowardice.

But when she admitted that what existed between them had always mattered, something shifted. Hope and desperation combined into action before Joe could think it through.

He kissed her.

Not gentle or tentative—urgent, desperate, like he was trying to communicate everything he'd been too afraid to say. Years of restraint broke open all at once, and when Y/N kissed him back with equal intensity, Joe felt like he was finally home.

Her hands gripping his shirt, her body pressed against his, the soft sounds she made when he kissed her neck—it was everything Joe had imagined and more. The connection that had existed between them for years finally had physical expression, and it was overwhelming in its intensity.

When Kayla's call interrupted them, Joe felt the real world crashing back with brutal clarity. As Y/N answered professionally, her voice steady despite their disheveled appearance, Joe marveled at her composure while struggling to regain his own.

"That was real," he'd told her afterward, needing her to understand that his feelings weren't just about fear of losing her. "Everything I've said, everything I feel for you—it's real."

The vulnerability of that admission, spoken in the aftermath of their first kiss, felt like jumping off a cliff. But Y/N needed to know that his declaration wasn't just desperation or poor timing—it was the truth he'd been carrying for years.

When she said she needed time to think clearly, Joe forced himself to step back despite every instinct urging him to hold her, to kiss her again, to try to convince her through touch rather than words.

"Take all the time you need," he'd said, meaning it even as it felt like agreeing to his own torture.

Walking away from Y/N in that edit bay, her lips still swollen from his kisses, was one of the hardest things Joe had ever done. But his mother's words echoed in his mind: sometimes loving someone meant wanting their happiness more than their presence.

If Y/N needed space to make the right decision for her life, Joe would give it to her. Even if that decision broke his heart.

But as he drove home through the dark Cincinnati streets, Joe allowed himself to hope that their kiss had changed something fundamental. That Y/N now understood his feelings weren't just about timing or fear of loss, but about love he'd been too afraid to acknowledge.

One week remained. Seven days for Y/N to decide between New York and Cincinnati, between career advancement and whatever they might build together.

Joe had finally been completely honest. Now all he could do was wait, and hope that honesty hadn't come too late to matter.

The recognition that he might lose both Y/N's presence and her respect—that she might leave thinking poorly of his character and timing—was almost unbearable. But at least she would leave knowing the truth about how he felt.

* * *

The Day After

Joe woke up the next morning with the taste of Y/N still on his lips and the memory of her hands in his hair. But in daylight, doubt crept in. Had kissing her been right, or just more shitty timing?

He'd promised to give her space, but he was dying to know where they stood. Had their kiss changed anything for her, or just made everything worse?

At the facility, Joe went through his routine on autopilot, trying not to look toward Y/N's office. When Sam mentioned Y/N was working remotely again, Joe felt relief and disappointment—glad he didn't have to see her today, but also desperate to gauge her reaction to what had happened.

His phone buzzed with a text from Ja'Marr: You look like you either got hit by a truck or got laid. Which is it?

Joe almost laughed despite his anxiety. Neither. Something in between.

That sounds ominous. We good?

Ask me in a week.

Honestly, Joe had no idea if they were good. He'd finally taken Ja'Marr's advice, been completely honest about his feelings. But Y/N's response was still a mystery, her decision about New York still hanging over everything.

For the first time in years, Joe had no control over something that mattered this much. All he could do was wait and hope Y/N would make whatever choice would make her happy.

Even if it killed him.

[lovverletters]

Clingy Yandere??🙏🙏

Clingy! Yandere

A/N : not my greatest work but thanks for requesting!💟

T/W : Established relationship, stalking, Obsessive behaviour, excessive clinginess, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationship.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

💌 Clingy! Yandere who were head over heels in love with you. The moment they laid their eyes upon your figure they knew that you two are meant to be! Lucky for them you love them back too <3

💌 Clingy! Yandere who cling onto you 24/7. It doesn't matter where you guys are at, they'll be hanging onto you no matter what. At the supermarket? They'll have an arm around your waist as you two browsed the isle. Walking down the street? They'll hold your hand even if it meant a few people have to be pushed aside for them to do so.

💌 Clingy! Yandere who hates it when you're not around them. They practically begged for you to not go anywhere without them. It feels like they were dying with every waking moment apart from you. Which is why they'll follow you wherever you go without your knowledge. It just hurts to not be around you!

💌 Clingy! Yandere who would spam your phone with text messages asking about your current whereabouts (as if they weren't there) and what are you doing (also as if they didn't know) and who you're with (also also as if they didn't know). They will text you plenty of 'I miss you' and 'I love you' throughout the day. They don't really care if you won't responds to it, they just wanted you to know how much they misses you by their side and how they would kill to have you with them right now.

💌 Clingy! Yandere who stalks your social media whenever they are craving for your presence. Every pictures of you never fails to remind them of how beautiful you are and how a beauty like you are all theirs and only theirs. Those people who liked your pictures could only dream of having you and it made their heart swell so much that it feel like it would burst!

💌 Clingy! Yandere who would get jealous of the people around you. It's not that they don't trust you! It's those disgusting pests that hovers around you that they don't trust. Nobody deserves you── not even them! But they're very selfish and wanted to keep you all to themselves

💌 "You're like a lightning in a bottle, baby. Once I have you, I will never ever let you go"

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[wrldhoon]

I LIKE ME BETTER𑁤 y.jw

┆ ⤿ 💌 ⌗ LOVE SONGS — JUNGWON’S ENTRY

PAIRING. jungwon ༝ reader

WORD COUNT. 4.5k

GENRE. college au ⋆ fluff ⋆ crack

WARNINGS. mentions of alcohol, reader gets wasted, tiny innuendo but nothing crazy

note: not super sure if i like this or not, but it's too cute not to share. first part of my mini series is complete!! i hope you guys enjoy ♡ they're so cute in this i want to die.

TAGS. @ilyunjina

college parties were never really your thing, but a consequence of being best friends with yunjin, the jennifer huh, was that she was going to drag you to one every. single. weekend.

every night, somehow always at exactly eight o’clock, she would barge into your room with that mischievous grin on her face. she would tear your drawers apart, looking for an outfit she deemed fit. occasionally, she would throw out a complaint about how lackluster your closet was. as her best friend, you knew telling her ‘no’ was useless. every attempt you made to convince her to let you rot away alone at home was of no use.

“you look so hot,” she squealed, watching from your bed as you applied the finishing touches of your makeup. she was already dolled up from head to toe, sporting a plain white tube top and ripped blue jeans, her leather jacket laid out beside her. an item she always brought in case it got too cold.

you wore a similar outfit—a black cropped tank and cargo pants, pairing it with a knitted white bolero and sneakers. it was simple, but comfortable. you sprayed an ungodly amount of setting spray onto your face, ensuring that you will not fall victim to frat house makeup tonight.

your desk was full of soju bottles, courtesy of your lovely roommate, and you watched as she reached for a half opened one. “this is gonna be so much fun! heeseung and jay are hosting tonight, which means unlimited booze and the place is gonna be full of eye candy. maybe you’ll get lucky tonight,” yunjin teased, taking another (comedically large) sip of her drink.

you rolled your eyes, but she didn’t miss the quiet chuckle you let out. you reached for a bottle, “definitely not on my bucket list tonight, but i fully support you if that’s what you’re after.” the sweet peach flavor went down easy, filling your chest with a warmth that was reserved for nights out on the weekend.

yunjin responded with a shrug, downing the rest of it in one go. your phone dinged, lighting up with a message notification.

jake (australian)

im here 😋 lets GOOOOOOOO

with a snicker, you quickly typed a response before shoving your phone in your back pocket. “jake’s here,” at your words, yunjin cheered happily before running out of your room to put on her shoes. you quickly fixed your hair before grabbing your bag, filling it up with whatever you might need for the night. lipstick, hand sanitizer, deodorant, power bank, and a pack of tissues.

perfect.

you followed yunjin out of the apartment, meaningless conversation filling the elevator as you headed for the lobby. once you made it outside, you immediately spotted jake’s car. he was filthy rich, and his car alone could probably pay off all of your current bills and grad school tuition.

you slid into the passenger side, the smell of clean leather and cologne filling your senses. you reached over the middle console to give him a hug, his hair brushing against your cheek.

you and jake have been close friends since you started university. you met in your freshman year physics class, bonding over math formulas that didn’t make any sense to you (it still doesn’t), but always seemed to make sense to him. he became your tutor for the remainder of that semester, answering your 3:00am facetime calls just to see you crashing out over another assignment without complaining. since then, you were inseparable.

“whaddup,” yunjin said cooly, dapping up the boy from the back seat. “are you guys ready to drink?” jake sang, his engine roaring to life as he put his car in drive. you let out a soft huff, hand placed over your stomach.

“she fed me enough soju to kill a bull,” the drink provided a slight buzz, and you silently thanked whatever holy being above decided to bless you with a high tolerance to alcohol. your comment earned a hearty laugh from jake while yunjin simply smiled at you, her elbows up against the console as she peered between the two of you. “it isn’t a successful pregame unless you leave juuust a little bit drunk. it’s a pregame for a reason. preparing for the game that is the DAE frat house.”

the rest of the drive was quiet, aside from the sensual rnb playing softly from his car speakers. you watched as the university campus came into view, a short ten minute drive from your shared apartment with yunjin.

there were other students roaming the streets—some returning from their friday night classes and others laughing a little too loud, clearly drunk, and headed to another party. jake parked along the street, turning on his emergency brake and turning off the car with a twist of his key. he stepped out, jogging over to your side to open the door for you, ever the gentleman.

you thanked him with a soft smile, yunjin immediately grabbing your hand and dragging you to the front door. the three of you walked in, loud party music booming through the house and lights turned to a deep purple color. it was warm and smelled like sweat and spilled vodka.

lovely.

you squeezed through the crowd with yunjin pulling you along and jake trailing from behind. you stopped once you reached the kitchen, a loud squeal catching your attention. “you’re here!!” a short brunette came running up, throwing her arms around yunjin’s neck. “chaewon! oh god, you reek of alc.”

the girl giggled, swatting aimlessly at yunjin’s arm. her eyes landed on you, widening in pure glee before she took hold of your arms, pulling you into her own. you let out a shocked ‘oh’, your hands hovering awkwardly over her back. “you must be y/nnie. you’re so pretty.. and you smell good. like.. flowers and happiness,” she slurred, nose buried in your hair.

yunjin cupped her mouth to suppress a laugh while jake watched in amusement. “thank.. you?” you gently pried her off of you, hands on her shoulders to stabilize her. “alright, let’s get you some water.” yunjin chimed in before whisking the girl away, mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ to you as she searched for a clean cup.

“well, she seems cool,” jake chirped, eyes darting from her wobbly figure to your own. “drinks?” you gave him a curt nod, turning towards the counter to scan the endless amount of options before you. vodka, soju, beer, whiskey—you could throw up just looking at it.

you settled on a quick shot of cheap vodka, while jake made himself a mixed drink. he was driving tonight, so he couldn’t allow himself to get wasted.

a few of your friends began flooding the kitchen, greeting one another with cheery ‘hellos’ and offers to take more shots. jay and heeseung soon joined in, dapping up jake with red solo cups in hand. “y/n, you made it!” jay cheered, raising his voice to be heard over ‘beauty and a beat’ by justin bieber that vibrated the walls. he gave you a quick side hug before shaking his cup gently in your direction, a subtle invitation for another drink. you nodded at him, turning your head just in time to lock eyes with heeseung.

“hi pretty,” he wore his signature smile, arms wrapping around your shoulders. you could smell the lingering traces of alcohol in his breath, arm splayed over his waist as you returned the hug. “thanks for hosting tonight.” you pulled away, taking the shot glass from between jay’s fingers and downing it in one go. the boy whooped from beside you before taking one himself.

“you can thank us by drinking~” heeseung sang, filling up his cup for the nth time tonight.

free alcohol is free alcohol, right?

thirty minutes later, you were seven shots deep and leaning drunkenly against the kitchen counter, elbows propped up behind you. jake stood beside you, talking animatedly with heeseung about fifa.

“dude, ni-ki, you’re like… ridiculously tall. you look like a giraffe,” the younger boy raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips. “thanks, dude. i think?”

“you’re so welcome, dude.”

your head throbbed and the room looked like it was spinning. you reached for the cup behind you, grabbing the luke warm brita off the counter and filling it up. you pressed it to your lips, chugging it like your life depended on it. placing it down, your head turned out of instinct as you heard another round of cheers from your friends.

a boy had walked in, greeting everyone with a bright and pretty smile. he had soft blonde hair that caught underneath the dim lighting of the kitchen, pretty cat-like eyes, and a devastatingly adorable dimple on his left cheek.

you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol—no, it definitely wasn’t—he was just gorgeous.

and totally out of your league.

that didn’t stop you though.

“holy shit, you’re so hot.” it came out before you could help it, all of your friends’ heads snapping in your direction in shock. the blonde gawked at you in disbelief before his expression turned into one of amusement, “oh! thank you.. and you definitely aren’t wasted, right?” his tone was teasing, his cheek sinking in slightly as he chewed on it.

you let out a drunken giggle, your head moving side to side. “i don’t even like alcohol..” your hand swatted at the air, elbow slipping off of the counter. jake grabbed your arm, holding you up to prevent you from falling straight onto the kitchen floor.

“jungwon, y/n—y/n, jungwon. not sure if you’ll remember tomorrow though,” jay said, earning chuckles from the other guys. jungwon simply shook his head, smile still evident on his face. he quickly joined in on the drinks, grabbing a cup and mixing up his own concoction.

conversations blurred together, shot glasses clinking, bottles steadily draining.

you didn’t even realize yunjin had disappeared until jake leaned in and asked if you’d seen her. somewhere in the background, you caught sunghoon mentioning her name—something about chaewon, but it was fuzzy. the alcohol was definitely hitting you now, warmth spreading through your body, cheeks flushed, and eyes heavy-lidded.

eventually, you slipped away to get some air. the heat was unbearable, and the packed crowd and blaring music only made it worse—you needed space.

you found an empty pool chair in the backyard and dropped into it with a heavy sigh, letting yourself sink back. a shadow cast over you, and as your eyes adjusted, there he was—the familiar hot blonde from earlier, “you alright?”

“just sleepy. and hot. really hot,” you whined, hands tugging at your bolero to pull it off. jungwon chuckled, crouching down beside you. “do you wanna go home?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

so fucking cute.

yeah, it wasn’t the alcohol.

“not with you, pervert.”

jungwon swore his ears were on fire. his eyes widened so big they might as well pop out of their sockets. he cleared his throat, eyes unable to look at your sleepy figure any longer without feeling bashful, “n-not like that! i meant do you want me to drive you home? like, to your own house. and i leave you there. inside. alone. and i will go to my respective home.”

“oh! yes please,” you dragged on the last syllable, hands pressed against the cool fabric of the chair to push yourself into an upright position. “where’s jakey? he drove me. will he be mad?” your lower lip jutted outwards, a small pout on your face.

“i don’t think he’ll be mad. let me go ask him, okay? don’t go anywhere,” jungwon patted your shoulder before standing, stepping back inside to find your best friend.

a few minutes later, the two boys came back outside to find you fast asleep. they exchanged knowing glances before jake spoke up, “are you cool with taking her back to her apartment? i’m helping sunoo try to wrestle heeseung out of his smelly party clothes and into his pajamas. plus, i still have no fucking clue where yunjin is,” the last part came out a bit strained, annoyance at his missing friend bubbling to the surface.

jungwon let out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to slap jake’s back. “yeah, i’ll take her. just send me her address,” with that he approached you, dozed off and snoring just a little bit, and scooped you up in his arms. they walked out to his car, jake popping the passenger door open and helping him carefully ease you inside.

once you were secure, they closed the door and bid each other goodbye. jungwon hopped into the driver’s seat, turning on the car and setting the heater on low. once he got your address from jake, he clicked on the link and began the venture to your apartment. occasionally, he would glance over to check if you had woken up.

nothing.

your lips were slightly parted, head pressed up against the window as you slept peacefully. a grin made its way to his face, knowing you’d definitely face a nasty hangover tomorrow.

he pulled up to your apartment complex, parking his car before getting out to help you inside. when he reached to unbuckle you, you let out a sleepy whine. “c’mon, y/n, i need to get you home.” his words were soft, arms moving underneath your knees and back to pull you out. your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the brighter lights of the street lamps.

“oh my god, hot guy. am i still dreaming?” your voice was barely above a whisper, eyes opening and closing at the slowest pace known to man. jungwon grinned, eyes trained on the path in front of him as he walked with you into your building. “nope, definitely not dreaming. hot guy is carrying you home.”

“i knew it. pervert..”

“not like that!”

a few weeks after your first meeting, you two quickly became good friends. he began hanging out with the group more often, simply to see you.

he knew he could’ve just asked you to hang out alone, without prying eyes and teasing comments, but he was scared. it was obvious you were at the least attracted to him, hence the ‘hot guy’ nickname your friends still haven’t let go of. when he finally mustered up the courage (courtesy of jay who threatened to ask you out if jungwon didn’t grow the balls to do so himself) to pop the question, you happily agreed.

score—you managed to bag hot guy.

three months later, you and jungwon had made your relationship official. not a single person in your friend group was surprised at the new relationship.

it just made sense. you were two halves of one whole.

you couldn’t really pinpoint the exact moment it happened—when the way you felt about him started shifting into something deeper, something a little heavier.

something more like love.

of course, you liked him. he wouldn’t be your boyfriend otherwise, but your liking started to twist painfully in your chest, ready to explode at any given moment.

it wasn’t sudden, more like a slow unraveling—but there were signs.

the first time was when the two of you decided to spend the night in at his apartment. the sun had already set, the faint glow of city lights shining through the large windows. you were sat on his couch, scrolling away on your phone as he stood in the kitchen. he stared at the inside of his fridge—milk, a carton of eggs, a few sauce bottles, and a pack of soju.

“babe, i think we should order in,” you looked up from your phone, catching a glimpse of his defeated expression before searching for the delivery app on your phone. “we really should go to the store. we have… like, nothing.”

jungwon sat down on the couch beside you, his side pressed up against your own as he watched you browse through dinner options, “are you craving anything?” you questioned, your free hand landing on his leg to fidget with the extra pockets decorating his pants.

jungwon bit his lip, thinking quietly. “maybe pizza? ooo, or chinese. we can get those noodles you like—oh! or we can get wings? i heard about this crazy deal the other day from jake…” you watched silently as he rambled on, eyes sparkly and hands moving in an animated manner that made your heart squeeze painfully in adoration. he did that a lot.

jungwon, realizing you hadn’t spoken, turned to face you. he blinked, his eyebrows furrowing cutely as you continued to watch him with a stupid little smile on your face, “what?” he quipped, starting to wonder if the hunger was starting to make you crazy. “is there something on my face?”

you shook your head, “nothing. you’re just cute.”

jungwon sat, stunned at your sudden compliment before he grinned, wide enough to make your own cheeks hurt just from looking at it. he threw his arms around you, peppering kisses on your face as you shouted in protest.

it was clear he thought the same thing about you, too.

the second time was when you went out to shop for groceries. yunjin had complained about the lack of snacks in the house, so you took the opportunity to drag jungwon along with you. he was very helpful, aside from when he would get distracted by every little thing that caught his attention.

“babe, look,” you heard from behind you, turning your head to see what your boyfriend was preoccupied with this time. “turtle chips. do you think they taste like turtle?”

you raised an eyebrow at his sudden question, staring in amusement (and a little something that resembled reconsideration of your whole relationship) as he smelled the bag.

the outside of the bag.

strange guy.

“i think it’s just ‘cause of the mascot, won.”

“you never know these days..”

you laughed as he tilted his head, lips pursed and brows lifted slightly before putting the bag down. he gently nudged to you the side with a bump of his hip, pushing the cart as you marched ahead.

he watched as you read off the grocery list, placing things into the cart. he sported a little smile, studying you with gentle eyes. being here with you, shopping for more snacks than real groceries, felt so domestic.

so natural.

it tugged a little at his heartstrings, warmth blooming in his chest.

it was in these quiet, everyday moments that he took the time to really admire you, picking apart the minor details that just made you so… you.

the way you chewed your lip when making decisions, the crease between your brows forming when you couldn’t find whatever you were searching for, the way you blew your hair out of your face when a strand of it fell in front of your eyes.

his mind and his heart were so full of you, and he hoped that would never change.

“jungwon, are you even listening?” your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, shaking his head a little as if forgetting where he was. “um, yeah! definitely.”

you gave him a blank stare, one that he returned with a sheepish smile, “no… sorry?”

you let out a groan before turning around and sauntering off, stomping away like an angry child. he chased after you, the shopping cart bumping into one of the aisles with a loud crash that made you cringe.

”w-wait! babe, i’m listening! for real now!”

the third time was when you were all hanging out at sunoo and riki’s apartment. everyone sat in a circle in the living room, an array of random snacks and drinks littered across the coffee table and floor. sunoo was in the middle of a very dramatic rendition of how he embarrassed himself in front of the group of freshmen he was in charge of during orientation week. laughter flooded the apartment, a feeling of peace settling into your body as you followed along with whatever he was talking about.

“i didn’t even see him coming!” jake bursted into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, doubling over and collapsing into jungwon’s lap who was sat next to him, clapping his hands loudly. you swore you could see tears prick at the corner of his eyes from how hard he was cracking up.

you excused yourself to the bathroom, earning a little nod from your friends before they continued their extremely hilarious conversation. you took the time to clean yourself up, wiping away at the smudged mascara that appeared as a result of your evening with your friends.

a few minutes passed before you stepped out, turning off the lights with a soft click of the switch. as you made your way back, you paused in the hallway when you heard your name come out of your boyfriend’s mouth. you stood around the corner, listening in on their conversation.

“oh my god, it was so funny. y/n came out of her room with this HUGE blue wig on her head. i think i peed myself a little,” jungwon said, his hands moving in that animated manner as if to show just how big your wig was.

“hate to break it to you, but that was my idea. i told her a homer and marge couple costume would be cute. i wasn’t wrong.” yunjin chimed in, failing to hold in the laugh that came spilling out. jungwon stood up suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at his friend, “SO IT WAS YOUR FAULT I HAD TO WEAR A BALD CAP!”

at this point everyone had laid across the floor, rolling over and slapping the person next to them in amusement. “at least y/n looked good! couldn’t fit through the door though. head was too big,” you pressed your fingers to your lips at heeseung’s joke, trying your best not to reveal yourself from where you were hiding.

you remember the moment like it was yesterday. it was a fond one, a story you shared often with your friends.

jungwon rolled his eyes. he sat down with a loud sigh, turning his head with his eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest, “she’s always pretty. but next time, she’s getting the bald cap,” you smiled at his comment, leaning against the wall as you watched him fondly. when he opened his eyes, they locked with yours. they widened in surprise before he returned the smile, the dimple on his cheek that you loved kissing appearing with it.

you walked back over to your seat, squeezing yourself in between jungwon and riki, “i am never wearing a bald cap, thank you very much. that’s all you. for the rest of your life. until you actually start going bald too. then, you won’t need one!”

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

you stared at the photobook in your hands, fingers tracing the edges of each polaroid that sat snugly between the pages. you made it a tradition to snap a photo every time you hung out, a way to preserve your memories forever in colored ink.

one from the party you first met at, another from the pool party you and yunjin hosted last summer, one from your camping trip, and others—all of them serving as a reminder of the joy you experienced with jungwon and your friends from the past year.

you closed the book gently, the soft smile never leaving your face. the gentle hum of music played out of the speaker tucked into the corner of jungwon’s living room.

you heard it—the first song he ever sent to you through text, a little ‘this made me think of you’ message following shortly after. the apartment smelled like warm sugar and the lingering traces of his cologne, a scent you began to consider home.

jungwon was in the kitchen, probably making breakfast like he always did. he knew how you took your coffee by heart, never failing to wake you up with it each morning with a sleepy grin on his face. you placed the book next to your phone, lighting up with a notification from yunjin declaring yet another group hang out you simply could not afford to miss.

you stood up from the couch, your fluffy house slippers padding against the floor as you walked over to jungwon.

leaning against the kitchen island, you stared at his messy morning hair and broad back, clad in the loose t-shirt he woke up in. he turned around with a smile on his face, one that never failed to appear every time he saw you, “hi, angel. what were you up to?”

you returned the gesture, happily taking your favorite mug out of his hands, “i was just looking through our photos. we should buy more film soon, by the way.” jungwon hummed in response, hands moving to plate your food.

“we can over the weekend,” he replied, sliding it in front of you before pressing a long kiss to your forehead. the smell of sweet, buttery pancakes and bacon filled your senses. you noticed the strawberries that were cut up into little hearts that sat neatly off to the side.

just how you liked them.

“i’m gonna go change. yunjin will actually skin me alive if we’re late again,” he grumbled before disappearing into his bedroom.

you watched him walk away, his golden locks bouncing with each step. you let out a quiet laugh, picking up your fork and digging in.

it wasn’t difficult to understand, then.

somewhere along the way, ‘i’ started turning into ‘we’.

his hand started to fit in yours like it was always meant to be there. your mornings were often spent together rather than separately—much to yunjin’s dismay, who swore he had completely stolen you away from her.

your chest ached, but not in a painful way. it was the kind of ache that comes with realizing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be—right here with him by your side.

because he never said “i love you” like it was something he owned. rather, he meant it like something you had built—together.

jungwon didn’t just love you.

he included you.

in his life, in every word he spoke, every story he shared, and every moment he lived.

you realized you liked yourself more when you were apart of something—something soft, but heavy with meaning and purpose.

something, or someone, like yang jungwon.

jungwon who turned ‘we’ into something more than just a simple word.

jungwon who loved you delicately, but still passionate in his own way, who assured you from the very beginning that he was all in.

he introduced you to a type of love that was soft and easy, but it was one that meant everything.

to put it simply, you liked yourself better when you were with him.

you always had, and you always will.

“y/n, have you seen my sweater? if riki took it again, i swear i’m about to go full jackie chan on that kid,” his voice called from down the hall, sharp and exasperated.

a sudden thud made you flinch, followed by a muffled yelp and the clatter of hangers shifting in his closet.

then, a beat later—slightly winded, definitely bruised ego.

“i’m fine! totally fine... ow.”

yeah, always.

fin.

© wrldhoon 2025

[toonheartz]

Idk how to tell you this but Mick is a derogatory name for Irish people ..

i mean it was a reference to oswald's nickname for him but like

mickey/mick is used as a slur because it's a stereotypical irish name

mick is just...a nickname for mickey/michael. it's also a surname

...what am i supposed to call him if mickey is also considered a slur

tl;dr i'm using a name in the context of it being a name, not in the tone of an insult

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

20. New Year’s Resolution

NOTES:

situationship final boss:

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back

CHILDE x FEM!READER

masterlist | previous | next

TAGLIST (OPEN): @thegalaxyisunfolding @stratusworld @tiramizuloz @miy-svz @trulyylee @batatinhafriita @scaradooche @yuminako @m1njizzie @mtndewbajablasted @fadedpinkpen @vavrin @kioffy @kokoomie @ashveil @tired-jaz @nia333 @riabriyn @kyon-cherri @kitsunetori @morgyyyyyyy @kazumiku @ichorstainedskin @hanilessa @s4ikooo1 @matolka @appy-slicez @monocerosei @mostlymoth @heathnyfangirl @meigalaxy @x-hihihi-x @lunaavity @ladyofpandemonium @coffeeisbehindyou @mentallyunpresent @wrangleanangel @littlesliceofcheese @ell1e2010 @vi0let-writes @strawbyan @blupi02 @eccendentesiast-sapphic @aixaingela @fo-love @mickey-d-luffy @nanfufu @cryoarchoness @li-x1nyu @crucnhice @jayzioxx @lumineskies @scalyalpaca @help-whatdoimakemyusername

[chuuyrr]

chuuya is so bbg

i love him with all my heart, i'm not even joking 😭 us chuuya stans are another species but we have amazing taste. his only flaw is that he's not real

- message in a bottle anon

ikr !! i so so want to experience reputation and lover era with my bbg chuuya nonnie. like, what is this unfairness !! ૮꒰ つᯅ⊂ ꒱ა ՞ˎˊ˗

[dakusan]

H O W S K Z T E X T W H E N … T H E Y ’ R E D R U N K

stray kids ot8 x reader | drunk texting, emotional whiplash, chaotic flirtation, love at 2AM

🌙 synopsis: They said they wouldn’t get that drunk. They got that drunk. Somewhere between the third shot and their thumb hovering over your name, they forgot how to act normal. They text like it’s a confession booth. They voice memo like it’s their last voicemail. Some of them send “u up?” with a smile. Some send “i miss u” with a death grip on denial. And some…? Just wanna draw you asleep and call it art. This isn’t just drunk texting. It’s SKZ being hopelessly, tipsily, embarrassingly into you. Soft boys. Unfiltered feelings. Typos that say too much. Welcome to the inbox you dream about getting.

💌 a/n: hi. yes. it’s me. Sunday softdrops baby. i blacked out and woke up in a google doc full of emotionally unstable drunk men with fluffy hair and no texting filter. did i write han’s entire section from personal experience? maybe. did jeongin flirt with me through my own writing? also maybe. am i okay? no. but it’s fine. 🫠 thank u for reading my little brainrot. u deserve a drunk text from your bias tonight. or at least a meme and a forehead selfie. p.s. reblogs = aftercare 🥺 p.p.s. if you read this and didn’t feel something, check your pulse babe. p.p.p.s. omg it took me longer to make that fucking banner than it did to write this entire post i’m losing my mind 💀 pls validate me it’s cute right

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "Love Scenario" — IKON

Bang Chan // 방찬 ✨ The “Accidental Soulmate Confessor” Emotional | Heartfelt | Always just one beer away from writing you a wedding vow | Thinks he’s texting normally — he’s absolutely not.

[2:04AM] u kno ur the best thing that ever happened to me right [2:05AM] like not just in a 😚❤️ way but in a 🌎☁️🌟💍 way [2:07AM] am i spelling good? is this good spelling? [2:08AM] imma write u a song rn brb need to find my mic. love u. (You later receive a 32-second voice memo of him singing about your eyelashes before snoring kicks in.)

📱 Text style: Long heartfelt paragraphs cut into chaotic line breaks. One (1) existential crisis per text chain.

🥂 Drunk vibe: A soft ball of love. Tears up mid-sentence. Thinks about forever while holding his water bottle like it’s a mic.

💿 Aesthetic: Hoodie sleeves over his hands, star projector spinning, acoustic lo-fi playing, and the word “love” typed and retyped 12 times.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Two whiskey highballs and half a glass of wine he didn’t mean to drink that fast.

Lee Know // 리노 😤 The “Angry-That-He-Misses-You” Drunk Tsundere | Bluntly Flirty | Lowkey Clingy | Mad that you make his heart soft

[1:47AM] don t get used to this i m n ot cute i jst miss ur dumb face [1:48AM] ur the only person i wldnt throw a slipper at. tha means smthing [1:49AM] “come over so i can insult u in person 🐱🖤 (Follows with a blurry selfie in your hoodie: “it doesn t smell like u anymore fix it”)

📱 Text style: Aggressively incorrect spelling + love disguised as threats.

🥂 Drunk vibe: Angry at feelings. Loudly defensive. Will call you annoying then stare at your contact photo for 10 minutes.

💿 Aesthetic: One earbud in, black hoodie pulled tight, cat curled on his lap, 2 unread messages from you he pretends not to obsess over.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Soju bombs and a shot he claimed he didn’t like but still asked for another.

Changbin // 창빈 💪 The “Buff Romantic” Loudly Affectionate | Jealous in a Healthy Way™ | Protective Softie | Wants to fight your sadness and win

[12:33AM] LISTEN i don’t say it enough but UR 🔥 and funny and i wanna squish ur cheeks [12:35AM] also i think i saw a guy look at u once and i didn’t like it i think i’m jealous?? [12:37AM] but like in a healthy communicative way😤💕 (Sends 12 progressively zoomed selfies of his forehead.)

📱 Text style: Caps lock + muscle emojis + randomly tender confessions

🥂 Drunk vibe: 50% flirt, 50% hype man. Will body slam your insecurities if given the chance.

💿 Aesthetic: Heavy chain necklace, Spotify on sad R&B, heart-shaped Post-its on his gym mirror, three selfies in your messages before you even respond.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Tequila shots and one suspicious pink drink the bartender dared him to finish.

Hyunjin // 현진 🎭 The “Poetic and Probably Crying” Drunk Hopeless Romantic | Art Boy Delusions | Will write you a sonnet and cry while doing it | Thinks your hand is a masterpiece

[1:11AM] i saw a moon tonight and thought it was u [1:12AM] no wait it was a streetlamp but i still meant it [1:13AM] ur hands r my fav shape [1:15AM] can i draw u asleep? not in a creepy way. ok maybe in a little way. (Sends a blurry sketchbook page that just says “pretty” written over and over.)

📱 Text style: All lowercase. No punctuation. A poem in disguise.

🥂 Drunk vibe: Gazes out the window with a single tear. Dramatically clutches his chest while texting you you’re “divine.”

💿 Aesthetic: Scented candles, sketchbook covered in flowers, red wine stains on notebook paper, whispered voice notes that make your heart ache.

🍷 What he got drunk on: One bottle of red wine, a playlist titled “tragically yours,” and exactly one bite of cheese.

Han // 한 🌀 The “Unhinged Meme Lord with Accidental Feelings” Chaotic Neutral | Otter Memes + Unplanned Confessions | Panic Texts | Actually Madly in Love

[2:55AM] i just rememebred u like otters. here’s an otter. also me when u smile 🦦🫠🫶 [2:58AM] how do i send a pizza to ur house without knowing ur address?? wait nvm i do know it. im smart. genius. [3:00AM] ok but like... i love u. oh no i pressed send wait nO (Follows up with: “jk unless??? 😳”)

📱 Text style: Meme. Confession. Apology. Repeat.

🥂 Drunk vibe: Flirting through chaos. Will quote SpongeBob and then cry because “you’re the only one who gets him.”

💿 Aesthetic: Hoodie up, random snacks around his desk, YouTube playing a conspiracy video in the background, one hand hovering over the delete button.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Soju + cider mix, three jello shots, and something called “angry peach tornado” from a sketchy bar.

Felix // 필릭스 🌻 The “Sunshine Becomes Liquid Gold” Drunk Emotionally Soft | Hug Dispenser™ | Cries Because He Loves You Too Much | Wants to tuck you in spiritually

[11:45PM] hiii 💛 just want u 2 kno ur like my fav person ever like ever ever ever [11:46PM] u ever seen a star and been like wow that’s them?? bc that’s me rn with u [11:48PM] sending hugs via telepathy did u get it?? 🫂☁️💫 (Includes a 3-second voice note: “hiiiiiii... ur cute. ok bye.” followed by a giggle.)

📱 Text style: Stream of consciousness kindness + giggles in voice memos

🥂 Drunk vibe: Becomes 100x more affectionate. Holds your hand tighter. Cries over how lucky he is to know you.

💿 Aesthetic: Lavender candle burning, soft knit sweater, arms wrapped around a pillow, 7 open tabs of photos he wants to send but thinks “are too much.”

🍷 What he got drunk on: Sparkling rosé and one (1) baby bottle of peach soju. He got tipsy halfway through dessert.

Seungmin // 승민 😐 The “Denial But Obsessed” Drunk Pretends He’s Sober | Insults You Lovingly | Texts Like He’s Not in Love (But He Is) | Regrets Everything the Next Day

[12:12AM] i’m not even drunk lol u just looked really nice in that one outfit from last week [12:13AM] don’t let it go to ur head. average. 6/10. ok fine 11/10. whatever. [12:15AM] if i die tonight tell my dog i loved u more (Next day: “that wasn’t me. i was hacked.”)

📱 Text style: Passive-aggressive flirts + “idc but here’s my heart” energy

🥂 Drunk vibe: Thinks he’s subtle. Is actually fully feral. Will send “you up?” but claim it was a typo.

💿 Aesthetic: Glass of wine untouched, sarcasm layered over panic, piano keys he’ll pretend he doesn’t play when thinking of you.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Expensive red wine he “hates” but keeps sipping like it’s vengeance. Also maybe a whisky cola he didn’t finish.

I.n // 아이엔 🍓 The “Too-Sober-to-Be-This-Flirty” Drunk Composed | Mischievous | Knows EXACTLY What He’s Doing | Flirts with a smirk you can feel through the screen

[10:44PM] not drunk just thinkin. bout u. in that outfit from last week lol [10:46PM] r u free rn or should i keep pretending i don’t wanna kiss u [10:49PM] missed my stop btw. not bc of u. but also yes. entirely bc of u. (Sends a photo of his shoes and says: “u could be in front of these rn just say the word”)

📱 Text style: Quiet confidence + emotional landmines disguised as jokes

🥂 Drunk vibe: Barely tipsy. Still 100% in control. Uses texting as a weapon and you never see it coming.

💿 Aesthetic: Glossy lips, streetlight reflecting on his rings, late train ride, voice memo he replayed twice before hitting send.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Soju + soda with ice and a lemon wedge. He’s classy. He’s dangerous. He drank it slow just to mess with you.

[mattslolita]

happy one year, CHRIS'S MAIN HOES. 💌

HAPPY ONE YEAR MY LOVERS! never did i ever think that i would find a group of girls who understand me like no other. not only did i find my wives, i found my sisters. i cannot even begin to express my love that i have for you guys ( no seriously i'm in tears just writing this ... )

💌. @luverboymatt : i'm so glad i forced you on this app!😏 technically we've almost known each other TWO years, and i can count on both hands and more on how many great memories we've shared. you're so beautiful and funny, and i'm so grateful to have you on this ride with me. i love the way you immediately know how to cheer me up, and i love your windex bottle laugh with my entire heart. remember my crush on you? LMFAO JUST REMEMBERING IT MAKES ME LAUGH SO HARD😭☠️- anyways thank you so much denny for hitting me up on my wattpad message board back in december 2022, i've been the happiest ever since.

💌. @muwapsturniolo : MY PEACH😭🍑 goodness where do i even start...my big sister quite literally. your confidence and bold nature has inspired me to adapt to your mindset, and i can't thank you enough for it. you put out nothing but such positive energy and good vibes, and even though not everyone may see you for the beautiful soul you are, i will ALWAYS see it. thank you for sticking up for me when i couldn't, thank you for giving me a reality check when i need it. you are the big sister i never had ( well i have one and just don't know her☠️ ) but you've filled that spot more than she ever has and i'm gonna cry just thinking about it. i love the sound of your voice and your wheeze, it cheers me up and makes me laugh so badly. you're such a sexy badass, and i can't believe i bagged you as one of my best friends.

💌. @thenickgirl my twin flame quite LITERALLY like down to our birthday okay...the nick to my chris in every lifetime. it doesn't matter what you say, i just KNOW im going to end up laughing cuz of the way you always know how to cheer me up. i love the way you ride for everybody, and how you aren't afraid to speak your mind. i love hearing your accent cuz it makes everything you say hilarious. i'm glad we forced you to start writing because i absolutely love it. you're so beautiful, so funny, so understanding... it's crazy how much of the same person we are cuz wdym we're birthday twins who listen to t swift and melanie martinez😭💓? thank you for having such a kind soul and being a light in my life. you are genuinely one of my favorite people on earth.

💌. @guccifrog2 zay my bitch! i miss you so freaking bad, you're one of the funniest people i've EVER met. you are so unapologetically you and it's such a fun thing to witness. whenever you randomly pop into the chat, i just can't help myself from smiling. you're so gorgeous, i can't wait for us to save up enough money to fly you out👅. it's always such a fun time with you girl, i adore your voice and just about everything about you. the 🦭 to my 🐢 FOR REAL.

i'm telling y'all we're all gonna meetup and have a fivesome😭. i love these girls forever more than life. all the laughs, and the cries, all the crashouts, im forever grateful that i've got to experience them with you guys. thank you for constantly putting up with my random BS and voice notes. my ride or dies in every lifetime. i wouldn't trade you for a ten piece combo at wingstop half bbq half parmesan with rootbeer on the side...i love you girls. forever and always. 💌

okay brb im sobbing now👅👅👅👅👅

[ghoulsbounty]

The Unexpected pt 1

DBF! Wade Felton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), car sex, cowgirl, semi-public sex, heavy flirting, p in v, bad dates, mutual pining, angst, age gap (reader is early 30's, Wade is 48)

Word Count: 6.3K

A/N: Anon! ALL the love for Wade Felton! There isn't enough for him and I've loved writing this. Yes this gif did inspire the first half. Here is the first part, I hope you enjoy! I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

The anticipation had been building all day, excitement bubbling up within you like a shaken soda bottle ready to burst. You'd meticulously chosen your outfit, practiced your smile in the mirror, and rehearsed witty conversation starters in your head. After weeks of chatting online, you were finally meeting him in person—the man who seemed to check all the boxes, the one who promised to sweep you off your feet and make your heart race.

But as you sat at the cozy table near the window of the trendy restaurant, watching the world outside blur by in a flurry of raindrops, you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach. Time ticked by slowly, each passing minute punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and the murmured conversations of other diners. You checked your phone for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping for a message, a sign that he was on his way. Yet, there was nothing.

When he finally walked in, you tried to mask your disillusionment with a forced smile. He shrugged off his navy sports jacket with casual indifference, his eyes darting around the room as he muttered excuses for his lateness—a familiar refrain of traffic jams and inclement weather that did little to appease your growing unease.

As he settled into his seat opposite you, his gaze flickering over the menu without so much as a glance in your direction, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. This wasn't how you had imagined your first meeting—a whirlwind of laughter and chemistry, a spark igniting between you from the moment your eyes met. Instead, there was only awkwardness, an intense strain in the atmosphere between you.

You tried to make conversation, to salvage what little remained of the evening, but his responses were curt, his attention already drifting elsewhere. The giddiness you had felt in suspense of this date had long since dissipated, replaced by a sense of defeat and heavy regret. As he snapped his fingers to get the waiter's attention, you realized with a sinking feeling that this was not the beginning of a grand romance, but rather the end of a fleeting fantasy.

Your mom had been relentless in her encouragement to dip your toes into the dating pool. "You need to get out more," she'd insist, her voice a blend of exasperation and eagerness. "Don't spend every weekend holed up with your old folks." Though her intentions were good, her words often felt like a gentle push tinged with a mother's anxious plea.

At first, the idea had appealed to you—a chance to break free from the familiar routine, to explore new possibilities, to embrace the thrill of romance. The thought of being wined and dined, engaging in lively conversations with potential romantic interests, had sparked a sense of excitement within you. It all seemed infinitely better than the quiet evenings spent at home.

However, what you hadn't bargained for were the rollercoaster rides that awaited you in the tumultuous world of online dating. Each date often began with high hopes and slight apprehension but ended with you feeling more disheartened than before. The profiles rarely matched the personalities, the conversations fell flat, and the chemistry was frequently non-existent. The thrill of romance quickly turned into a series of awkward encounters, leaving you longing for the predictability of Scrabble nights with your parents.

Throughout your twenties, your focus had been singular: advancing your career. You'd packed your bags and moved across the country, chasing opportunities that promised to elevate your prospects. Along the way, there were relationships, some fleeting, some more substantial, and your fair share of dates. But whether it was the adjustment to life back in your hometown, or the distinct pool of available men in Raleigh, dating since your return had been anything but smooth sailing.

As you swept your gaze across the bustling restaurant, a familiar figure caught your eye. There, perched on a stool at the bar with an air of casual confidence, sat your dad's best friend. His presence seemed to command attention, and when his eyes met yours, there was a knowing glint that passed between you. With a hesitant lift of his fingers, he offered a greeting, and you responded with a subtle flick of your hand before discreetly returning it to your lap. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you acknowledged him, a wave of nostalgia mingling with a hint of embarrassment.

Memories flooded back—summer barbecues filled with laughter, late-night advice sessions during tough times, and the unspoken bond that had grown over the years. It had been a while since you'd seen him, since you'd returned to your hometown. Despite the warmth of these memories, you'd kept your distance, declining invitations to join your parents at his recent back-yard cook-outs. A sense of failure and shame had held you back, the weight of unmet expectations and dreams unfulfilled lingering in your mind like a stubborn shadow.

Wade Felton sat at the bar, his casual confidence an anchor in the sea of strangers that surrounded you. His eyes, a mix of concern and curiosity, held a spark of recognition that sent a ripple of reassurance through you. It felt oddly comforting, the familiarity of his face amidst the unfamiliarity of the restaurant.

As you glanced his way, Wade raised his glass of bourbon in your direction, a subtle quirk of his eyebrow accompanying the gesture. It was a small but significant moment. Was it an invitation to join him in a drink, or perhaps a silent acknowledgment of the less-than-ideal situation unfolding at your table? You couldn't be sure, but the gesture warmed you nonetheless.

The evening had not gone as planned. Your date, Tom, was self-absorbed, endlessly droning on about his workout routines and expansive vinyl collection, without so much as a pause to engage you in conversation. You felt trapped, a prisoner of your own politeness, listening to him with feigned interest while your thoughts drifted to the man at the bar.

But now, with Wade's gaze fixed on you, you felt a spark of defiance. You'd had enough of enduring dismal dates out of sheer courtesy. His mere presence ignited a desire to reclaim your evening.

Summoning your courage, you interrupted Tom mid-monologue. "Can I stop you?" you said politely but firmly. "This isn't going well, I think you'd agree."

Tom looked taken aback, his expression shifting from confusion to resignation. He nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the table. He reached for his wallet, extracted a few notes, and placed them on the table. "You're right," he admitted bluntly, "you were much more interesting when we talked on the app."

You seethed inwardly but maintained your composure, offering a tight-lipped nod as you retrieved your share of the bill from your purse and placed it on top of his contribution.

"I'm taking this," Tom declared, grabbing the bottle of wine as he rose from his seat. Snatching his jacket, he glanced back at you. "Good luck," he added curtly before exiting the restaurant, leaving you alone at the table.

With a heavy sigh, you gathered your purse and the plate of food you had ordered. Determination fuelled your steps as you navigated the crowded restaurant, heading towards the bar where Wade sat, his sturdy frame dominating the space. As you approached, the soft glow of the overhead lights cast a warm halo around him, illuminating him like a beacon in the dimness of the bar.

Setting the plate down on the polished counter, you pushed it towards Wade with a gentle yet purposeful motion. With practiced ease, you hoisted yourself onto the stool beside him, the worn leather creaking softly beneath you. Leaning in, you met his amused gaze with a playful twinkle in your eyes.

"Did you order the Korean tacos with a side of a woman who is apparently more fun on a dating app than in real life, Mr. Felton?" you quipped, your words laced with a touch of self-deprecation. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as Wade's laughter filled the air, his easy-going demeanour a welcome contrast to the tension of your failed date. With a casual grace, he turned to face you, one arm resting on the bar as he met your gaze with genuine warmth.

His laughter was like a balm, soothing the sting of the evening's earlier disappointments. "I don't like to pry, but it didn't seem like you were getting a word in edgewise," he remarked, shaking his head in amusement. He signalled to the bartender and ordered you a glass of white wine. "White, right? If I remember, red gives you headaches," he added with a knowing smile.

You nodded appreciatively, a wide smile spreading across your face at his thoughtfulness. The way he remembered such a trivial detail about you struck a chord, touching you in a way you hadn't expected. It wasn't just the wine; it was the recognition, the familiarity in the gesture that made you feel seen.

As you brought the glass of wine to your lips and took a sip, a sense of calm washed over you. The crisp, cool liquid steadied your nerves, the taste familiar and soothing. The ambient noise of the restaurant faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this unexpectedly intimate bubble. The warmth of the moment wrapped around you, making this unfamiliar yet oddly comforting situation feel like a safe haven amidst the chaos of your evening.

This felt like a decisively grown-up situation, and while you knew you were perfectly capable of handling it, there was still a sense of novelty to the experience. Normally, around your dad's friends—people you had essentially grown up with—you couldn't help but feel like a child, forever relegated to the role of the kid tagging along. But here, sitting at the bar with Wade, it felt different. Two adults, sharing a drink and engaging in conversation as equals. You couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same way, or if perhaps this was just a figment of your imagination, a fleeting moment of perceived maturity.

"Are you waiting for someone?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you tried to manoeuvre yourself gracefully through the conversation with the older man. 

Wade's gaze drifted for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly to his phone before returning to meet yours. "I was," he admitted with a sigh, the faintest hint of disappointment colouring his tone. He lifted his phone from the bar to check a message. "But not anymore. Seems like I got stood up."

You noticed a flicker of frustration in his eyes, a brief moment where his façade faltered before he shrugged it off with a nonchalant gesture. The soft glow of the bar lights bathed his face in a warm, amber hue, accentuating the contours of his features and the subtle lines that spoke of a life rich with experiences.

"That's rough," you sympathized, your voice soft as you raised the glass of wine to your lips, offering a brief reprieve from the tension in the air. You savoured the taste, allowing it to linger on your palate as you considered the shared sense of defeat you felt with him. "Seems like we're both having a night of disappointments," you remarked, the words carrying a weight of understanding between you. 

Wade chuckled, a deep, reassuring sound that made you feel at ease. His eyes crinkled at the corners, reflecting the light. "Yeah, it looks like it. But hey, at least we can keep each other company now."

You couldn't help but silently thank the woman who hadn't shown. Since you were old enough to appreciate the opposite sex, you'd harboured a secret admiration for the older man. In your awkward late teens, you likely made it painfully obvious, your infatuation spilling over in clumsy gestures and stammered words, until your first experiences with boys taught you the nuances of approaching them with an air of sensuality.

But even as you matured, your admiration for Wade remained steadfast, a silent longing that lingered beneath the surface. You'd often caught yourself stealing glances at him during family gatherings, marvelling at the way his laughter seemed to fill the room and the easy confidence with which he carried himself.

Now, as you sat beside him at the bar, you couldn't shake the thought that fate had intervened in the form of a missed date. The anticipation of what could unfold between you hummed in the air, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Despite the unlikelihood of him ever seeing you as anything more than his best friend's daughter, you couldn't resist the urge to inch closer on your stool until your knee brushed his, a subtle yet deliberate gesture that spoke volumes of your unspoken desires.

"So, what were you looking forward to more, the company or the food?" you asked, your tone light and playful.

He leaned back slightly, the leather of the bar stool creaking under his weight as he considered your question. "A bit of both, I suppose," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed a hint of vulnerability beneath his usually composed exterior. "But if I'm honest," he continued, his gaze softening as it met yours, "good company always trumps good food."

There was a sincerity in his words that made your heart flutter, a comforting heat enveloping you you at the genuine sentiment behind them. With a thoughtful expression, you pursed your lips, considering his response. "I agree," you finally replied, a playful glint in your eyes, "but you haven't tried these tacos yet."

With a mischievous smile, you slid the plate over to him, the aroma of the savoury dish filling the space between you. Wade chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that reverberated through the air, his laughter infectious as it mingled with the ambient noise of the busy bar.

"You're right," Wade agreed, his tone light as he picked up a taco and broke it in half with a satisfying crunch. He held out a piece to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he willed you to accept it with a smile. "I can't be too quick to judge, can I?" he added, his expression teasing.

You accepted the taco from Wade, feeling a rush of excitement as his fingertips brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes remained locked on yours, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as he brought the food to his lips and took a bite, a soft hum of appreciation escaping him.

Following his lead, you savoured the explosion of flavours from the taco, each bite a delightful symphony of spices and textures that danced on your tongue. "Damn, that's a good taco," Wade remarked, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he turned his attention back to you. His eyes held a warmth that matched his smile, and there was a subtle yet unmistakable longing in his gaze. "Still prefer the company, though," he added, his words laced with sincerity and a hint of something more, leaving you with a fluttering sensation in your chest.

The moment felt unexpectedly intimate, the simple act of sharing food creating a connection that seemed to transcend the confines of the respective roles you held in each others lives. With each bite, the initial awkwardness of the evening melted away, replaced by a growing sense of ease that you hadn't felt in a man's company in a long time. 

When Wade finished with a lick of his fingers, a jolt of electricity shot through you, igniting a flurry of thoughts and emotions. You inwardly scolded yourself, urging restraint and reminding yourself of the countless reasons why anything beyond what you had with Wade was impossible. After all, there were too many factors to consider: your dad, the significant age difference, the intricate web of familial and social dynamics that bound you both.

"So, tell me," Wade continued, pulling you from your thoughts as he leaned back slightly against the bar, his expression relaxed yet curious. "What have you been up to since coming back to town? Besides enduring disastrous dates, of course."

"Well," you began, fingers idly tracing patterns on the stem of your wine glass as you mulled over your response, "besides dodging the pitfalls of modern romance, I've been navigating the murky waters of post-grad life and a floundering career." You paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle before continuing. "Moving back home has been... an adjustment, to say the least. But I'm slowly finding my footing again."

Wade nodded, his gaze gentle and attentive as he listened to your words. "I can imagine," he replied, a hint of empathy in his voice. "Transitioning back to small-town life after being away for so long must be quite the challenge. But it sounds like you're handling it with grace."

You couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at your lips, appreciating his understanding and the fact that he always knew what to say. "Thanks," you murmured, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks. "And what about you? What's been keeping you busy these days?"

"Work, mostly," he chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement as he reflected on his daily endeavours. "And trying to keep up with my girls. I was not prepared for teenagers," he confessed, shaking his head with a wry grin, "but your dad's been a real help, keeps me on my toes."

"I bet he does," you replied, the mental image of your dad as the lively and enthusiastic accomplice in Wade's parenting adventure brought a smile to your lips. "He's always been good at that."

Wade nodded, then with a playful wave of his hand, he dismissed the topic. "Enough about him," he added with a laugh, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful to steer the conversation away from your father. It felt odd, almost wrong, to talk about him while your leg was pressed against Wade's under the bar, a contact he made no effort to break.

"So, what are your plans now that you're back?" he asked, his eyes searching yours with genuine interest. "Any grand ambitions?"

Resting your chin on your palm, you observed the dance of light on the surface of your glass, captivated by the intricate patterns it wove. "Honestly," you began, your voice soft yet tinged with a hint of vulnerability, "I'm still figuring it out." You glanced up, meeting Wade's gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and resolve. "I had these grand plans for my thirties, you know? But I guess the universe had different ideas."

The weight of your words hung in the air, yet, despite it all, a small, determined smile graced your lips. "But hey," you continued, a flicker of energy lighting up your eyes, "if I'm a grown adult now, living under my parents' roof, I might as well make the most of it, right?" You chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of conviction. "So, I'm getting out and trying to have a little fun, seeing what else the universe has in store for me. I guess I'm just taking it one step at a time."

Wade's eyes gleamed with a sense of prideful understanding as he listened intently, nodding along in affirmation. "That's a good approach," he remarked, his voice carrying a comforting resonance. Each word seemed to wrap around you like a reassuring embrace. "Sometimes, taking it one step at a time is the best thing you can do. And hey," he added, a smirk tugging at his lips, "there's nothing wrong with a little fun along the way." 

The seemingly innocuous exchange between you in the intimate ambiance of the bar carried implications that sent shivers of excitement down your spine. With his gaze locked onto yours, brimming with sincerity, you felt a newfound boldness surge within you. "Sometimes, the best things can happen when you least expect them, right?" you posed, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness, yet underscored by a genuine curiosity, eager to explore the depths of this burgeoning connection.

He chuckled softly. Glancing down at his drink, he lifted the glass and met your gaze once more. "To the unexpected," he said, his voice low and inviting.

You brought your glass to his, the crystal clinking together in a toast that felt like a promise. "To the unexpected," you echoed, a smile spreading across your face as the moment hung between you.

As you both took a sip, the background noise of the restaurant seemed to fade even further, leaving just the two of you in your shared bubble. The possibilities of the evening ahead had your heart pounding against your chest, your mind reeling with the idea that perhaps your fantasies were about to come true. You glanced at Wade, noticing the way his eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

The buzz from the wine spread through you, mingling with the excitement of the moment. You set your glass down, your fingers grazing his on the bar top, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Can I take you home?"

The drive was silent except for the blues that crooned lowly on the radio, the tension between you palpable. Each glance, each accidental touch, only heightened the anticipation. When he finally pulled into his driveway, the reality of what was about to happen hit you with full force.

Wade turned off the engine, and for a moment, the only sound was the rain tapping softly against the roof, creating a cocoon of intimacy around you. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty. "I think I should walk you to your door," he conceded, his voice laced with sincerity.

A wave of disappointment washed over you at his words, the excitement you previously felt now ebbing away as you contemplated the end of the evening. Your gaze shifted to your house, standing in quiet solidarity beside his under the silvery glow of the moon. Every window remained veiled in darkness, the roar of the engine hadn't woken your family or his.

You hesitated, reluctant to let the evening come to such an abrupt end. With a fleeting glance back at Wade, you searched his eyes, hoping to uncover any clue about his true desires. The unspoken tension between you seemed to thicken, casting a heavy, almost suffocating atmosphere around you. Summoning your courage, you finally voiced your question. "Is that what you want?"

Wade sighed deeply, his hands sliding over his jean-clad thighs in a gesture of frustration. He looked up at the ceiling, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "No, it's not," he admitted, his voice a hushed murmur. "I want you, but I can't have you."

Your heart soared at his confession, a thrill coursing through your veins. Your fingers tingled as you unbuckled your seatbelt, turning inwards to face him. "Says who?" you challenged, your voice soft but steady.

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. The rain outside intensified, drumming a steady rhythm on the truck roof, making the interior feel even more intimate. The raw intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. The dim light from the streetlamp cast a soft glow over his rugged face, highlighting the conflict warring within him.

"Says everyone," he finally replied, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "Your dad, our families... It would be wrong."

"Does it feel wrong?" Your question hung in the air, charged with uncertainty. With a tentative touch, your fingertips traced a path along Wade's thigh, the fabric of his jeans rough against your skin. His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of surprise dancing in his eyes, mirrored by the vulnerability in your own. In the dim light of the truck cabin, every detail seemed magnified—the furrow of his brow, the intensity of his gaze, the subtle quiver of his lips. "Does it feel wrong?" you repeated, your voice steady, yet laced with a newfound determination. "I know what I want, and I think you do too."

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and hesitation as reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his palm, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savouring the warmth of his touch.

When you opened your eyes again, the uncertainty in his had given way to resolve. He leaned in slowly, his breath hot against your lips, filling the small space with an intoxicating air. "If we're doing this," he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion, "we're doing it right."

You weren't sure what  he was alluding to but nodded regardless, your heart pounding as his lips finally met yours. The kiss started tentative, sweet and gentle as if testing the waters, but quickly deepened into something more urgent and demanding. His other hand released him from his belt before finding its way to your waist, pulling you closer. The rain outside continued to pour, but all you could feel was the heat of his embrace and the electrifying connection that surged between you.

His lips were soft but insistent, exploring yours with a hunger that mirrored your own. The taste of bourbon lingered on his tongue, mingling with the sweetness of yours. You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, losing yourself in the moment. You slid the hand still on his thigh higher until your palm laid flat over the growing bulge in his jeans. You gave him a firm squeeze, and he tore his lips from yours as he eyed you warily. 

"We can't, not here," he said, glancing behind you, his eyes flitting between your house and his.

You followed his gaze over your shoulder, taking in the proximity of both houses, each window still dark and quiet. Turning back to him, you asked softly, "Are the girls home?"

"Yes," he sighed in defeat, his body still tense under your touch. "I can get us a room."

You shook your head. "I don't want to wait any longer," you told him, voice laced with persuasion as you leant in to plant a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. "I've needed you long before tonight," you told him.

"Gotdamn," he breathed, hand leaving your waist momentarily to adjust his seat, sliding himself back to make more space between him and the wheel. "Hop on, baby," he commanded, his voice rough with need as he pulled at you towards him. You climbed over the console, your dress hitching up as you straddled him, knees pressing into the worn leather seat on either side of his thighs.

His hands settled on your hips again, fingers digging in slightly as he looked up at you, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The raw hunger in his gaze sent a thrill through you, his need for you evident from the hardness pressed between your thighs. You leaned in, your lips finding his once more, the kiss deep and consuming as your tongues battled for dominance. 

The sensation of his hands roaming over your back, holding you tight to his firm chest, was exhilarating. His touch was both demanding and gentle, a mix of urgency and care that made your pulse race and nerves fray as he explored your body.

He kissed down your neck, his lips trailing hot and wet against your skin, leaving a path of shivers in their wake. His tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive spots that drove you wild. When he reached the dome of your breasts, you hooked a finger around the fabric of your dress and the bra underneath, pulling them down to expose yourself to him. The sudden rush of cool air made your nipples harden instantly, standing erect in anticipation. Wade's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight before him, and a soft growl escaped his lips.

He took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it with expert precision, each flick sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The delicious graze of his teeth added an edge to the sensation, making you gasp and arch your back, pressing yourself even closer to him.

His hands roamed over your back and sides, exploring every curve and contour, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The combination of his mouth on your breast and the possessive grip of his hands on your body was overwhelming your senses with a heady mix of pleasure and lust.

As he switched to your other nipple, giving it the same exquisite attention, you tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close. The cabin of the truck seemed to shrink around you, the rain outside a distant, rhythmic backdrop to the heat building between you. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you in this moment of raw, unfiltered passion.

Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against the roughness of his jeans, seeking more friction, more contact. Every nerve in your body felt alive, tuned to the frequency of his touch and the sensations he was eliciting from you. The tension that had been building all evening was finally coming to a head, and you hoped that this was only the beginning.

His hardness was unyielding against your thigh, the heat of it sending a thrill through to your core. You smiled, the excitement electrifying as you slid a hand between your bodies, fingers deftly working to unbuckle his belt. The metallic clink echoed in the confined space of the truck, adding to the charged atmosphere. You released him from the constraints of his jeans and underwear, feeling the weight of his cock in your hand, heavy and pulsing under your touch.

Wade's breath hitched, his teeth grazing down on your swollen nipple with just enough pressure to make you gasp. The flat of his tongue followed, soothing the bite with a heavenly lick that prickled your skin with goosebumps. He kissed up your jaw, his lips soft and warm as he grinned against your neck, mumbling a promise not to leave any visible marks on you this time. 

Before you had a chance to contemplate the significance of his words, you shifted, aligning yourself over him and using the leaking tip of his cock to slide your panties aside. The feel of his smooth head against your wet folds made you both moan softly. Wade's hips pushed upwards instinctively, seeking more of you, but you held back, teasing him by running his sensitive tip through your slickness.

His eyes were dark with lust, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. "Please," he murmured against your skin, his voice raw with need. The sound of it made you ache for him and you felt your wetness seeping down your thigh as you dragged him back and forth.

You couldn't resist any longer. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, the head of his cock parting your folds and sliding into you with delicious resistance. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that felt both familiar and new. Wade groaned, a deep, primal sound that resonated through his chest and into yours, his hands gripping your hips as if to anchor himself.

You started to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that allowed you to feel every inch of him. Each thrust, each slide, sent waves of pleasure through your body. Wade's hands roamed over you, caressing and squeezing, his fingers digging into your flesh with every rise and fall as he guided you expertly on top of him, your own fingers gripping at the meat of his shoulders.

"W-Wade," you mewled, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he hit that sweet spot inside of you over and over.

The car was filled with the lurid sounds of your fucking —the soft moans, the wet squelches of your cunt taking him as began to bounce you on his cock, the occasional squeak of the leather seats. It was raw, it was real, and it was everything you'd secretly desired.

"You feel so good, baby," he murmured, pausing to tenderly nip at your chin. "So unbelievably good, wrapped around me like this." His words, laced with admiration, echoed in the intimate space between you.

Wade's lips found yours again, capturing them in a searing kiss that conveyed everything words couldn't. His tongue danced with yours, the kiss deepening as your pace quickened, the need to reach that ultimate crescendo becoming overwhelming. You rode him harder, faster, the friction building, the tension coiling tight within you.

When his hand slid down to where your bodies were joined, his finger pressed against the tight bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars. You tore your lips from his, seeking solace in the crook of his neck. Inhaling his bewitching scent—pine mingled with a faint hint of tobacco—your mind numbed, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations as you gave yourself to him completely.

Your body tensed, every muscle locking as waves of ecstasy washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling under his touch. He muffled the cry of his name from your mouth with a fiery kiss, continued to use his grip on your waist to bounce you on top of him as he fucked you through your orgasm and chased his own. When he followed, he groaned into your mouth as he pumped his load inside of you, bit your bottom lip as your greedy pussy took all of him.

You broke the kiss and collapsed against his chest, feeling his strong arms envelop you as his chin rested gently on your head. He traced soothing patterns on your back, and for a moment, you stayed like that, intertwined, with the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you. Slowly, you ran a trail of soft kisses along his jaw before resting your forehead against his, both of you struggling to catch your breath. His large palm caressed the exposed skin of your ass, sliding back and forth between your behind and your thighs in a tender attempt to soothe and comfort you.

"Well," you breathed, your eyes gleaming with a teasing light, though a hint of vulnerability still shone through. "Did it feel wrong?"

He chuckled, leaning back against the seat as he considered you. "No, darlin', it did not," he said, his smile matching yours.

You rose on shaky legs, took him from you and tucked him back into his jeans before reluctantly moving away from him. The ache for more of him already tugged at you, but you knew your time together was limited tonight. As you shifted back to return to your seat, you misjudged the space and accidentally pressed against the horn of the truck. The sudden blare shattered the night's silence.

You jumped in surprise, and Wade's hands immediately grasped your hips, steadying you both. His gaze quickly scanned over your shoulder, looking for any sign that his daughters had been awakened by the noise. You mirrored his concern, your eyes darting to your parents' home. The windows had fogged with the tell-tale signs of your act, but you managed to peek through a clear spot to see. After a few tense moments, you sighed in relief when everything remained still.

Looking at each other in disbelief, you both laughed as you sat back in your seat, adjusted your dress to cover your breasts and thighs as you smoothed the down the fabric. A wave of nerves washed over you, unsure of your next move until Wade turned to you with an endearing smile. "I'm gonna walk you to your door now, before you wake the whole neighbourhood."

He left the comforting warmth of the truck, and for a brief moment, you felt adrift, alone and lost. But then your door opened, and there he stood, extending a hand toward you. You smiled, placing your hand in his as he gently helped you down from the truck.

As he walked ahead, he kept your hand clasped behind him, positioning it between you both as if to shield you from any prying eyes that might intrude on your moment. The gesture touched you deeply, a silent reassurance that he was still connected to you even after leaving the intimate cocoon of the truck.

You followed him up the steps to your porch, the familiar creak of the wooden boards beneath your feet grounding you in the present. When you reached the door, he reluctantly let go of your hand, allowing you to rummage through your purse for your keys. The rain had stopped and the night air was cool against your skin, filled with the subtle fragrance of blooming flowers and the distant hum of nocturnal creatures.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his gaze brimming with worry as he peered down at you. "You'd tell me if you weren't, wouldn't you?"

Your lips curved into a smile, moved by his genuine concern for your well-being. You held you keys in your hand, the metallic clank loud in the silence of the night. "I'm perfectly fine," you reassured him, warmth infusing your words. "Actually, more than fine. Thank you for turning a disastrous evening around, Mr. Felton," you quipped, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Grinning, he casually leaned against the porch banister, hands snugly tucked into the pockets of his jeans. A mischievous glint in his eyes, he winked, reigniting a spark of need within you. "Hope to catch you at the next cookout," he teased, before pushing off the banister and descending the stairs with easy confidence.

You nibbled on your bottom lip, silently watching as he made his way to his own porch. Pausing at his door, he cast a lingering glance your way, offering a final wave before disappearing inside.

Entering your home, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your purse, leaning back against the door with a contented sigh. Your heart overflowed with joy, and your mind stubbornly refused to dwell on anything but the exciting possibilities awaiting you with Wade. You weren't quite sure what this was between you yet, but one thing emerged crystal clear: your dad was to never find out.