#Assembler Assignment Help

[fisheito]

@trainto1925 and now u got ME thinkin!!!

wondering when eiden would have gotten good enough at plushie making to create his entire harem in doll form. ...possibly around the time blade showed up. eiden got a lot of practice making thousands of Eiden Plushies as gifts 🤣

imagining how eiden starts to do a lot of impromptu "visualisation" exercises when blade joins the roster

BLADE: but why was lil yakumo embarrassed when i showed garugaru the box in front of-- EIDEN: (sighing goodnaturedly) ok, say..um *grabs the nearest two items* pretend this cup is garu, and this spoon is yakumo---

after some repetition, eiden wonders if blade will understand better if he just has dolls representing everyone thus begins the plushie brigade

[thetutorshelpiwewjew]

[bueckets]

The Hit List | Part 1

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Masterlist (TBA) | Part 2

Genre: romance (eventually), slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, smut (eventually), cat n mouse

Description: When an overworked engineering student's late-night CAD project gets interrupted by a very drunk, very lost basketball star stumbling into the wrong dorm room, she learns that some defensive plays work better in love than on the court.

What starts as a case of mistaken identity turns into an unexpected game of cat and mouse when UConn's golden girl, Paige Bueckers, can't seem to take a hint– or maybe just doesn't want to. Armed with nothing but sarcasm, an overprotective stuffed bear named Mr. Gummy, and a borrowed team jacket that definitely isn't helping the situation, our engineering hero finds herself drawing up plays to defend her heart against college basketball's most persistent point guard.

They say offense wins games, but defense wins championships. When you're trying not to fall for a girl who treats the court like her kingdom and your personal space like a suggestion, maybe it's time to admit some battles aren't meant to be won.

WC: 11.2k

Authors Notes: i had first written this for jkxreader on my other blog (whoretan) however plot deviates heavily after the first encounter, um, kinda fuck girly paige, but kind of just a love drunk idiot too

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Guest

Your eyes burned as you stared at the CAD model rotating on your screen, the internal combustion engine you'd been working on for the past—what was it now, eight hours?—still refusing to cooperate.

The familiar workspace of SOLIDWORKS had become both your best friend and worst enemy over the past three years at UConn, but tonight it felt particularly vindictive. You'd been trying to get the timing belt assembly to properly mate with the crankshaft for what felt like an eternity, and your deadline was creeping closer by the minute.

"Did you hear?" Riven's voice cut through your concentration as she burst through the door, her designer backpack hitting her bed with enough force to make your desk lamp wobble.

"Hear what?" You didn't bother turning around, instead zooming in on the problematic area of your model. The project was due in six hours, and you were nowhere near having it stress-tested. Sleep was starting to feel like a distant memory from another life.

Riven paused in her tracks—you could practically hear her jaw dropping in that dramatic way she'd perfected since freshman year. "Paige Bueckers was talking about how Q’s jump shot is worse than a middle schooler's."

The absurdity of the statement finally forced you to tear your eyes away from the screen. Your neck cracked in protest as you turned to face your roommate, who stood there with her perfectly manicured hands on her hips, waiting for your reaction. Three years of living together had taught you that Riven wouldn't let you focus until you properly acknowledged whatever piece of gossip she'd brought home.

“That’s literally ridiculous.”

Riven tilted her head, eyes rolling toward the ceiling in that characteristic way of hers. Six seconds of contemplation later (you’d learned to count), she shrugged and pulled out her iPhone, probably to text the women's basketball group chat about the latest drama.

Your roommate, much like all the other Huskies superfans, didn't care whose reputation a particular player tarnished. She'd much rather get on their good side, damaged reputations or not. It was a dance you'd watched play out countless times since freshman year, when you'd first been assigned as roommates.

Back then, you'd thought the random housing assignment would be a disaster—the sports-obsessed sorority girl and the robotics team president seemed like a recipe for mutual hatred. But somehow, your differences had created a strange balance. She dragged you out of your engineering cave occasionally, and you reminded her that there was more to college than chasing after basketball stars.

"Caitlin bought Kate those new custom Nikes." Riven thrust her phone in your face, revealing a photo of Clark's teammate happily posing with pristine white sneakers. The caption read, 'Thanks for the gift bb, @CaitlinClark22'.

You squinted at the screen, trying not to think about how those shoes probably cost more than your entire semester's textbooks. The basketball elite weren't just known for their court skills—their NIL deals were equally legendary. Every starter came from successful programs, the kind that built training facilities and had courts named after their alumni.

"What a lucky bitch," Riven sighed, flopping onto her bed.

Apparently, your roommate wasn't the only one who didn't care for her reputation. Last week, she'd blown up your phone with about thirty—maybe sixty—texts about how her sorority sister had seen Caitlin making out with someone else at The Tavern. Looks like those custom Nikes must've been an apology.

You looked up at your starstruck roommate with pursed lips. Riven caught your expression and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, she's being messy. So what? Those shoes are like two thousand dollars with the custom work, that's my fucking meal plan right there."

"Remind me again how you're a neurology student?"

Riven clutched her chest with an open hand, gasping dramatically. "Wow. I see how it is." She threw herself backward onto her bed with the theatrical flair of a soap opera star.

You couldn't help but grin, even as your eyes darted back to your computer screen. The smile quickly died on your lips.

Oh fuck.

The CAD model still sat there, mocking you with its incomplete state. You'd managed to complete maybe forty percent of the assembly, and the entire thing needed to be fully rigged and stress-analyzed by nine AM.

This was the cost of your procrastination, another dinner sacrificed to the gods of engineering deadlines. At least you had a good excuse this time: you'd spent the weekend helping the robotics team prepare for their upcoming competition. Being vice president meant putting in the extra hours, even if it meant cramming your actual coursework into impossible timeframes.

"I have to finish this tonight. Do not bother me with any more basketball drama." You spun your chair back to face your screen, not bothering to check if Riven was sticking her tongue out at you. You could picture it anyway, she had the maturity of a twelve-year-old sometimes.

Five and a half hours later, you finally pressed the glorious 'Submit' button on Blackboard. You turned off your PC with such violence that the desktop nearly toppled over.

"Never doing that again," you groaned, slumping into your chair and letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your neck felt like it had been replaced with concrete somewhere around hour six.

"You literally say that every time," Riven quipped from her side of the room.

If you had any energy left, you would've gotten up and punched her in the ass. Luckily for her, your eyes had started doing that thing where they drooped shut every few seconds without your permission. You'd decided about thirty minutes ago that your chair was an acceptable substitute for a bed. The walk to your actual mattress seemed about as feasible as climbing Mount Everest right now.

"How do I look? Good enough for the party?"

Fucking hell. 

You summoned what little remained of your core strength and groaned as you forced your chair to swivel around. The sight that greeted you was, admittedly, impressive, even through your exhaustion-blurred vision.

Riven wore a black dress that hit just above her knees, with strategic cutouts along her ribs. The laced-up black heels she'd spent twenty minutes struggling with (while whining very fucking loudly) completed the look perfectly. She'd devoted the last hour of your project completion marathon to preparing for KK’s birthday celebration.

“Which party?” you croaked. “The one where everyone’s fighting or the one where they’re pretending nothing happened?”

Her nose wrinkled in that way it did when she was trying not to laugh. "You're so annoying."

Yeeeaaah, definitely the messy one.

You watched as Riven stumbled toward her drawer, rummaging through three compartments before pulling out a neon orange tiny bag. And when you say tiny, you mean tiny, it couldn't have been more than two inches across.

"Can you even fit anything in there?"

A wicked smile spread across her face as she opened the toy purse, pulling out her student ID and a tube of lipstick. Of-fucking-course. “Minimalist chic, baby. Besides, I don’t need much. Just the essentials. I'm serious. Tonight's gonna be fucking legendary."

“Legendary,” you deadpanned, swiveling your chair back to your desk. “Try not to end up on Barstool again.”

You swore she lunged forward, ready to attack you with her miniature weapon. But her phone rang, which happened to be a far more pressing matter. The assault could wait. Riven pressed the phone to her ear with a smile that would have made the Cheshire Cat proud.

"Are you here? Yeah, I'm ready. You have the Pink Whitney? Okay. Bye."

She turned back to you with that same manic grin. "I'll get you back for that later. Bye!"

And just like that, Riven leaped out of the room, her neon orange bag and its singular tube of lipstick disappearing with her into whatever chaos awaited at the UConn house.

The sudden silence in her wake felt almost oppressive. You sat there for a moment, contemplating your life choices. The clean lines and precise measurements of your engineering models never gave you this much drama. Maybe that's why you preferred spending your nights with SOLIDWORKS instead of at parties—machines were predictable, logical, and they never started drama about anyone's jump shot.

After nearly crawling your way across the room for what felt like thirty minutes (but was probably closer to five), you finally made it to your bed. Or rather, to the base of your bed. The problem now was getting on top of it. UConn, in its infinite wisdom, had given everyone the tallest fucking beds in existence.

Tall enough that all of your belongings fit underneath it so they could make the rooms ten times smaller by doing so. You sat on your ass, glaring at what felt like a sixteen-foot space between you and the mattress. You could, theoretically, just fucking get up and with one last surge of energy jump onto it. But the soft cotton of your fuzzy rug was suddenly hugging your back, tucking you in, cradling you like a loving parent.

Fuck it, the floor isn't even that bad. You've slept on much worse—like that one time freshman year when you passed out in the robotics lab after a forty-eight-hour building session. At least your rug didn't smell like motor oil and desperation.

Your head lay flat on the floor, the hardwood never felt softer. Riven had left hours ago, and you'd managed to successfully knock out on your chair for a bit. That was until you jolted awake, sweating out of every crevice of your body, and made eye contact with your actual bed. You'd said goodbye to the chair and began the voyage to your proper sleeping place. Clearly, that wasn't going as planned.

It was too late now to dwell on what could've been. Tomorrow, you'd start anew. Just like every time she partied, Riven wouldn't be back for two or three days. You'd have a full day to sleep on your actual bed without the mention of UConn and internal combustion engines.

You turned to your side, the fuzz tickling your chin as you nuzzled into it. Sleep was just starting to creep in when—

"Taylor! Tay baby, please open the door!"

The hairs on your arms rose and a fart you hadn't realized you'd been holding in released into the air. Some drunk player had the wrong door.

“Wrong room,” you called, hoping they’d get the hint. With a shaky breath, you nuzzled deeper into the carpet.

Not a second later, a bang erupted through your room. "Tay, please. I'm so sorry. I fucked up."

Your heart thrashed in your chest. Could you not have one night of peace? One night of tranquility to enjoy your own company? One night to enjoy sleeping on the hard floor?

"Taylor, for fuckssake." The asshole nearly knocked the fucking door off the hinges.

First, you're going to knock her the hell out. Then, you'll find out where Taylor lives and knock her out, too. Maybe you could work it into your next robotics project—a robot specifically designed to punch drunk athletes who can't read room numbers.

"Tay, please—"

You jolted upward and ran to the door so fast you probably broke several laws of physics. Swinging the wooden panel open like a madwoman, you yelled, "Listen asshole, I don't know who Taylor is and I don't give a damn. It's late as hell and some of us actually enjoy sleeping!"

Said asshole leaned against the door frame of your room, a Nike-covered foot tapping against the floor as she pressed a finger to your lips. "Shhhhh, baby, I said I'm sorry."

Your throat locked and you nearly laughed at the audacity. Did this fucker really not notice you weren't Taylor? Through your sleep-deprived haze, you managed to register a few details about the intruder: tall, athletic build that made your mouth go dry, honey-blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders, and wearing what looked like exclusive UConn team gear. Great. A drunk basketball star. 

Said basketball star happened to also push herself off the door frame and trudge past you, right into your room as if she'd been there a million times.

Much like you wanted to before your carpet trapped you, the stranger leaped onto your bed, stomach flopping onto the cushion of your mattress. She muttered something you couldn't hear as she grabbed your favorite pillow and brought it close to her chest. She was snuggling your Mr. Gummy.

You were going to go to jail for assaulting a Division I athlete. Yeah. This was the end of your girl boss engineering career. Goodbye feminist STEM icon. Hello convict. All those years of suffering to get into UConn just for you to catch a case over the Greek Goddess, Nike, herself. At least you'd submitted your project first, might as well get credit for that before you went to prison.

"Babe, I don't remember your bed smelling this good." She'd gone into a fetal position, kicking off her—yep, definitely team-exclusive Nikes. Maybe, just maybe, you'd knock her out and then sell her shoes on StockX. The proceeds could cover your legal defense.

You rubbed your forehead with the back of your palm, wiping away the stress sweat that had accumulated. You swung your head out of your door, looking left and right, then repeat. Empty. Fuck. Fuck, and fuck.

You paced back and forth a few times, biting on the edge of your hand. You can't pick this goddess off your bed. One, she's drunk as hell. Two, she's... You gazed back at the stranger, somewhere on her journey to your bed she'd tossed her UConn warmup jacket to your floor. Leaving her in a fitted tank top that left nothing to the imagination.

Who needs that many shoulder muscles? The definition in the arm that hugged Mr. Gummy was sculpted by years of perfect jump shots. Each shift of her body revealed new curves, like a living Nike ad designed specifically to torment sleep-deprived engineering students.

Holy hell. Get a fucking grip.

Okay, so you can't drag the basketball star off your bed.

Plan B it is.

You trudged into your room, taking one last look at the hallway. Should you close the door?

If someone did hypothetically walk past would they think you drugged her? She was slurring her words and hugging your favorite bear while you paced back and forth like you happened to "accidentally" slip something into her Gatorade.

You closed the door.

You needed to call Riven. You could care less that she was at the beginning of her three-day rager, you weren't going to wait till the next morning when Nike would wake up and start accusing you of kidnapping UConn's star point guard.

You slowly walked toward your desk, making sure to avoid the panels on the floor that creaked every time someone stepped on them. Empty. You pushed your chair back to see if it happened to fall earlier. Empty.

The air stilled, and you shook your head. No. No. She was laying on it.

You'd chucked your phone onto your bed after deciding to finally start your project. You had to call Riven. There was no other choice but to tell someone. And given the fact that your contact list included your parents and Riven, she was looking like the most optimal candidate.

As silently as you could, you tip-toed toward your bed and did a quick examination. Near her head? Nope. Mr. Gummy? Nope. Legs? Nope. Hip?

Yeah.

Maybe you would go to jail after all, for assault.

You better get an A on that fucking project.

You took a step forward, awkwardly climbing the edge of your bed to get closer to your phone. Which was nicely tucked right under the curve of her ass, your camera barely peeking out as if it was taunting you.

Shit. How are you going to pull it out?

Your face contorted as you inched closer to the basketball player, thumb and middle finger clutching the edges of your phone and lightly tugging backward. She huffed out a soft groan. Dear god.

It's not budging.

In and out. Breathe.

You tugged again.

Something thudded against the floor.

Your eyes left the phone and gazed to the floor where your Mr. Gummy lay sacrificed to the floor demons. Uh oh.

You turned back to retrieve your bear when your eyes locked with hers. Her very open eyes.

She was smiling.

"Baby I didn't know you were so handsy."

You stared. That's all you could manage to do—stare at the face of the beautiful drunk idiot in front of you. And holy shit was she beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made you question if UConn's recruitment standards included a mandatory photogenic quota for certain players.

The idiot had a playful smile playing across her stupidly perfect face. Taylor must be a lucky girl. Not lucky enough, though, considering her girlfriend was currently in a stranger's bed. How drunk did someone have to be to not recognize they had the wrong person?

"C'mere," she grabbed your arm, pulling you to your side as if you weighed nothing. A strong arm locked around your waist and began rubbing circles on your stomach. The motion sent shivers down your spine that you desperately tried to ignore.

"Missed you, n' I'm sorry baby," she slurred into your ear. Her voice was much softer now, a warm whisper that made your whole body tingle.

Taylor, I'm so sorry.

The words shot straight between your legs. You hadn't been touched in almost two years. Sue me. A gorgeous basketball star was rubbing your lower stomach while she told you—her girlfriend—she missed her. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. You spend three years avoiding athlete drama, and now the universe deposits one directly into your bed?

You needed your phone. Pronto.

"Listen— I—" You raised a clammy hand to lift her, attempting to wrap your fingers around her wrist to lift it. Your engineering brain was trying to calculate the exact force required to remove her arm without waking her up further, but all mathematical ability seemed to have short-circuited.

"You're so squirmy tonight," she intertwined your fingers.

What the fuck are you supposed to do? You inched your body further away in an attempt to shrug her off. A move that, in retrospect, was about as well-thought-out as trying to integrate calculus while drunk.

Nike thought otherwise. She pulled you closer until her front was pressed firmly against your back, her breath warm against your neck. You could feel the defined muscles of her stomach through her tank top, her body radiating heat that made your head spin.

FUCK.

You'll wake up with a gay panic and a warrant.

"I'm really tired," you squirmed against the death grip around your waist. For someone supposedly blackout drunk, she had the grip strength of someone who'd spent their life fighting through double teams.

Just pretend it's not there. You do not feel anything. Just toned arms and her—

"G'to bed baby. I'll make it up— make it up to you n' the morning." Nike lifted herself to place one last sleepy kiss against your cheek.

Two minutes later, Nike’s light snores vibrated against the back of your neck, warm breath caressing your skin. You wouldn't be able to move her off you. You had no clue where your phone was. Her hip could very well have fully consumed it at this point, creating some kind of phone-eating black hole that physics hadn't yet discovered.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, pretended there wasn't a Division I basketball star sleeping in your bed, and prayed that you wouldn't end up in some viral TikTok before noon. At least if you did become internet famous, you'd already submitted that goddamn CAD project.

Your last thought before drifting off was that Mr. Gummy better not tell anyone about this.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL!"

Are you being robbed? Is someone being murdered? You jolted upwards to see Riven staring at you with an open mouth, her perfectly applied makeup from last night now resembling a raccoon's Halloween costume.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of sleep. What's her problem?

She pointed to your bed and you turned your body to the side. Oh.

Oh.

Nike was rapidly blinking, those unfairly long eyelashes fluttering as she was most likely realizing you were not Taylor. The morning light streaming through your window illuminated her features in a way that should be illegal before coffee.

You laughed nervously, hands flailing in front of you like a malfunctioning windmill. "It's not what it looks like."

"Why is Paige Bueckers in your bed?"

Paige Bueckers? The same UConn Basketball Star Paige Bueckers? No fucking way.

This Paige had cuddled Mr. Gummy half of the night before opting to trap you in the bed with her. There was no chance that this was the same Paige Bueckers that had NIL deals with Nike and Gatorade and had laid waste to half the NCAA. 

Paige—definitely Paige—groaned beside you, hands rubbing her face. "Taylor's going to kill me," she mumbled underneath her breath.

"No, we— we didn't. We." You pointed between yourself and Paige, your brain short-circuiting like a poorly wired circuit board.

"Listen, sweetie, I'm sure it was the time of your life, but this was a one-time thing." Her voice had that practiced smoothness of someone who'd given this speech before, probably more times than the number of equations in your thermodynamics textbook.

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets. Was she serious? Did she think you two—? And she was okay with it? Now, this fits the description perfectly of the cocky superstar Paige Bueckers was known to be. 

Your face burned hotter than an overclocked processor. "We did not have sex. You came in here drunk off your ass screaming about your girlfriend."

By the time the word girlfriend left your mouth, Paige Bueckers had already jumped off your bed with the agility of someone who definitely wasn't as hungover as she should be. She snatched up her UConn warmup jacket from your floor and was halfway down the hallway before you could blink.

What an arrogant little asshole. Your muscles quivered with the urge to strangle her. That is if you ever saw her again. Which, given your luck and UConn’s campus, was probably inevitable.

"How long have you and Paige been seeing each other?" The empty spot beside you filled with Riven's weight. "Is that why you never wanted to come to the games with me?"

"Riven, you have five seconds to get off of my bed before I strangle you."

"You can't avoid this conversation forever!" she called out as you stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you tried to process the reality that you'd just spent the night cuddled up with Paige fucking Bueckers. The same player whose name had been carved into the unofficial NCAA hierarchy since before orientation. 

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the memory of how her arms had felt around you, how her breath had tickled your neck, how her—

No. Absolutely not. You were not going to join the ranks of college students who'd lost their minds over a basketball star. You had bigger things to worry about. Like whether your CAD project had uploaded properly. Or if you could ever look at Mr. Gummy the same way again.

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, labs, and actively avoiding any location where you might run into Paige. You'd even skipped Tuesday's Engineering Club meeting, sending your vice president a detailed email about needing to catch up on work. It wasn't entirely a lie—you did have work to catch up on, considering you'd spent half your study time calculating alternate routes to class that avoided the usual athlete hangouts.

But by Thursday afternoon, your luck ran out. The library was supposed to be safe—the one place on campus where the basketball players rarely ventured. They had their own private study rooms in the athletic center, after all. Which is why you'd let your guard down, settling into your favorite spot near the engineering section to catch up on your reading.

The peaceful atmosphere was shattered by two girls settling at the table across from you, their whispered conversation carrying clearly in the quiet space.

"So yeah, I like totally made out with Paige in the team room. We almost knocked over Coach's whiteboard, isn't that hilarious?" The prettier of the two said as she placed her MacBook on the wooden table, her voice carrying that forced casualness of someone trying very hard to seem unbothered.

Her friend laughed and took a sip of her Starbucks, a lemonade, probably sugar-free, because of course it was. "So how was it?"

Paige's latest conquest giggled and opened her laptop, trying to seem as uninterested in the conversation as possible. You'd seen this play before, the carefully crafted nonchalance that masked the inevitable disappointment when Paige moved on to her next target. You'd bet your entire scholarship that she'd gone home crying after being ghosted, only to watch Paige pretend she didn't exist the next day.

By this point, you'd given up all pretense of studying chemical processes and electron movement. You'd reread the same paragraph in your textbook sixteen times, your brain more interested in this glimpse into the life of your unexpected bedmate. So what if you're being nosy? Everyone is nosy, and besides, you'd mentally checked out the moment these two sat down.

"She's such a good kisser.” Her friend's mouth dropped open as she placed her half-empty cup onto the table, grabbing her friend's shoulder with one hand. The former nodded, still giggling, "Sarah, I know. She like totally picked me up against the whiteboard."

Are they not aware that people can hear them? That they're in a public space? You glanced around the library, which was half-empty as usual. So maybe you were the only one eavesdropping. Still, you wouldn't go around a library of all places announcing your hookups to the world.

"Hey buttercup," an eerily familiar voice purred in your ear.

You jolted, arms flailing like a malfunctioning robot, inevitably colliding with your pencil case and sending its contents scattering across the floor. Various writing implements rolled under nearby tables like they were making a break for freedom.

You turned to lock eyes with a very, very familiar pair of hazel eyes. Shit.

"Do I know you?" You asked through gritted teeth, trying to ignore how good she looked in her fitted Nike training gear. The amount of exclusive team merchandise on her body probably equaled your entire semester's expenses.

Why would Paige, of all people, be looking for you? If you remembered correctly, she was the one to so diligently inform you that whatever happened was a one-time thing—even though nothing had actually happened.

Paige's eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips tugged upward into that infamous smirk. She leaned forward, resting one hand on the edge of the table, the other on the back of your chair, effectively caging you in. "Don't play dumb."

She was in your bubble. Way too close for comfort, especially since you'd been planning on never having to interact with her again. You groaned and leaned backward, roughly pushing your chair back to give yourself space to lean over and pick up your scattered pens. The move was partly practical and partly designed to annoy her.

"Listen, if it was up to me, I wouldn't be here either." Paige grabbed the chair to your left and pushed it closer to you, dropping into it with that natural athlete's grace. "I've been to your room every day since Sunday and you haven't been there once."

Welp. Why the hell would she be looking for you?

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I was supposed to be waiting in my room for you." You shoved the pens back into your pencil case, gripping the zipper and tugging it closed with perhaps more force than necessary. Looks like the library was no longer a safe haven.

"I lost my phone and you're the only person I remember being with that night," Paige groaned, turning her head.

Does she truly remember that night? Remember that you two didn't actually hook up but instead cuddled? You wanted to convulse at the memory of how safe and warm you'd felt in her arms. How right it had—no. Absolutely not.

"Oh fuck," she mumbled, her expression shifting from annoyed to something closer to panic.

Your eyes followed her gaze to see what had caused this reaction.

Ha. Ha. Ha. In your face, superstar. You couldn't help but grin as you realized the two girls were still very much present. Not only present but staring at you and Paige with expressions that suggested their jaws might actually detach and hit the table.

Paige leaned back in her chair, sending them a small wave and a—was that a wink? Your eyes nearly rolled directly out of their sockets. How much more predictable could she get?

You didn't bother to look back at the two girls to see their reaction. You could guess it anyway—probably swooning in their chairs, maybe even planning their own strategic "accidental" encounters with her. You wouldn't be surprised if they were already planning to show up at her next practice session.

"Anyways," Paige turned back to you, her voice dropping to that low register that definitely didn't do things to your insides, "Have you seen it?"

You shook your head, closing your textbook. Time to get the hell out of here. "No, I haven't. Sorry."

"Are you mad about what I said? Is that why you're holding my precious phone hostage?" Paige's hand shot out to land on top of your textbook, preventing you from shoving it in your bag—or directly at her stupid, perfect face.

"Mad about what exactly?" You grabbed her hand and tried to shove it off the textbook. She didn't budge. Of course she didn't, you'd seen her arms during all those ESPN highlights Riven forced you to watch. "I do not have your phone."

Within seconds, Paige's hand slid off the textbook only to trap your hand against it instead. She moved to the edge of her chair and leaned forward until her lips were at the shell of your ear. Her warm breath hit your skin and you had to resist the urge to squirm. "About what I said in front of your roommate, sweetie."

Your blood ran cold. Does she think you give two shits about what she said in front of Riven? That she made your roommate think you two were secretly hooking up and that she would undoubtedly eventually let it slip to her sorority sisters? Who will tell the rest of campus? No. Not. At. All.

Asshole. She's a no-good little asshole with too many NIL deals and too little accountability.

You turned your head to face her, ignoring the fact that you were now inches apart. If you weren't so pissed you might've paused to appreciate how her eyes looked up close, how they seemed to hold more mischief than all the troublemakers in Cambridge combined. But now wasn't the time for character studies.

You held her gaze, noting the slight knit in her brow that suggested she wasn't as confident as she was pretending to be. "Listen here Bueckers, whether or not you want to keep pretending like we hooked up or not is none of my business. I do not have your fucking phone, and if I did I would've thrown that shit into the Charles River by now."

You yanked your hand away from her grasp and turned back to your desk. You managed to successfully toss your textbook into your bag and rise from your chair without another word from her.

Before making your very dramatic exit, you turned to face her one last time. Might as well make it grand.

Paige hadn't moved an inch since you'd stood up. She stared at you with a raised brow and that infuriating smirk tugging at her lips. She found this amusing? Found humiliating you in the library a good pastime?

You bent over your chair, placing one hand on her shoulder and leaning in until you were at the shell of her ear. She stiffened under your touch, and you felt a small thrill of satisfaction. What the fuck are you doing?

You leaned in further, so close that your chest pressed flat against your arm and her body. So close that your lips actually grazed her ear as you whispered, with all the venom you could muster, “This might work on your little groupies, but, I’m not interested.” 

The last thing you saw as you straightened up and walked away was the shocked expression on her face, like she couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Good. Let her be confused for once.

You managed to make it all the way to the library exit before your hands started shaking. What the hell had gotten into you? You'd just essentially declared war on one of the most prominent athletes at UConn. The star player who could probably get you banned from every sports event without blinking.

But as you pushed through the heavy doors into the crisp fall air, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Maybe it was time someone stood up to the mighty Paige Bueckers. Someone who didn't want anything from her except for her to leave them alone.

Your muscles were still tense from your library encounter as you trudged up the stairs to your dorm room. The familiar hallway felt longer than usual, probably because every step reminded you of how spectacularly you'd just antagonized UConn's star player. At least you'd managed to get through your thermodynamics lab without dwelling too much on the way Paige's face had dropped when you'd—

No. Stop fucking thinking about it.

You fumbled with your key card, missing the reader twice before finally getting the door open. The first thing you noticed was an envelope on the floor, likely slipped under your door while you were in class. You bent down to pick it up, ready to toss it in the recycling with all the other campus spam, when Riven's voice cut through the room.

"What's that?"

You jumped, nearly dropping the envelope. Your roommate was sprawled across her bed, still in her scrubs from her hospital rotation. She must have gotten back early.

"Nothing," you muttered, but it was too late. Riven had already launched herself off her bed with surprising agility for someone who'd just finished a twelve-hour shift.

"Oh my god," she squealed, snatching the envelope from your hands before you could protest. "These are courtside tickets to Saturday's game!"

Your stomach dropped. Sure enough, two tickets peeked out of the torn envelope in Riven's hands. But what caught your eye was the note attached.

Found my phone in the team room. Who would’ve thought, right? Peace? - PB

"We're going," Riven declared, already pulling out her phone. "I'm texting the group chat right now. Do you know how impossible these tickets are to get?"

You reached for the tickets, but Riven danced away, holding them above her head like a prized trophy. "We are not going."

"Oh yes we are," she grinned, typing furiously with one hand while keeping the tickets out of your reach with the other. "Everyone's going to be so jealous. How did you even get these?"

"I didn't—" you started, then stopped. How exactly do you explain to your basketball-obsessed roommate that these tickets were some kind of weird peace offering from Paige Bueckers? A peace offering that felt more like a challenge, especially given that note.

"Earth to engineering nerd," Riven waved her hand in front of your face. "You're coming to this game. No excuses. I've already told everyone you're finally embracing the Husky spirit."

You groaned, falling face-first onto your bed. Mr. Gummy stared at you judgmentally from his spot against your pillow. Even he seemed to be saying you should have thrown those tickets away the moment you saw them.

"I have to study," you mumbled into your comforter.

"You always have to study," Riven countered. "But how often do you get courtside tickets from Paige Bueckers?"

Your head shot up. "How did you—"

"PB?" Riven held up the note, smirking. "Please. I may be pre-med, but I'm not stupid. Also, her signature is literally on every piece of UConn merch in the campus store."

Great. Just great. Now you had no choice but to go to the game. If you didn't, Riven would never let you hear the end of it. She'd probably drag you there anyway, study plans be damned.

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer some escape route from this situation. Instead, all you could think about was how you'd have to sit courtside—courtside—and watch Paige play. Watch her make those impossible passes, sink those perfect three-pointers, command the court like she was born to do it.

And she'd know you were there. That was the worst part. This wasn't just a peace offering—it was a power play. She was making sure you couldn't ignore her anymore.

"Fine," you sighed, already regretting the word as it left your mouth. "But I'm bringing my thermodynamics textbook."

Riven's squeal of delight was probably heard all the way in the engineering building.

You grabbed Mr. Gummy and hugged him to your chest, wondering how exactly you'd gone from successfully telling Paige Bueckers to fuck off to having courtside seats to watch her play. The bear offered no answers, but you could have sworn he looked a little smug about the whole situation.

The next two days were a special kind of torture. Riven had taken it upon herself to become your personal "game day preparation coordinator," which apparently meant forcing you to sit through endless highlight reels of UConn's recent victories. By Friday afternoon, you could probably recite Paige's stat line from memory—not that you'd ever admit that to anyone.

"You can't wear that," Riven declared as you pulled out your standard comfort outfit: UConn Engineering hoodie and black leggings.

You glanced down at your clothes, then back at your roommate. "Why not?"

"Because we're sitting courtside," she emphasized the word like you were a particularly slow child. "People are going to see us. The cameras might even pan to us during timeouts!"

The mere thought made your stomach churn. "That's exactly why I should wear this. I don't want to draw any attention."

Riven was already shaking her head, diving into her closet with the determination of someone on a mission. "No way. If Paige Bueckers gives you courtside tickets, you dress for the occasion."

"She didn't give them to me," you protested, even though technically she had. "They were just left under our door."

"Right," Riven emerged with an armful of clothes. "Just like she just happened to end up in your bed that night?"

You threw Mr. Gummy at her head. She dodged, laughing as the bear bounced harmlessly off your desk lamp. "We are not talking about that again."

An hour and approximately seventeen outfit changes later, you finally escaped. Your excuse about needing to pick up materials from the engineering lab wasn't entirely a lie—you did have a project due next week. The fact that the engineering building was on the opposite side of campus from the athletic facilities was just a bonus.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice the person exiting the coffee shop until it was too late. Hot liquid splashed across your chest as you collided with what felt like a brick wall of muscle.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!" A voice that definitely wasn't Paige's (thank god) exclaimed.

You looked up—and up—into the concerned face of one of UConn's basketball players. The Croatian accent and defensive intensity were legendary enough that even you, perpetually sports-oblivious, recognized her from Riven's endless team discussions.

"It's fine," you managed, trying to ignore how the hot coffee was currently seeping through your shirt. At least it wasn't your engineering hoodie—Riven would've killed you if you'd ruined her carefully planned outfit for tomorrow.

She was already pulling napkins from her pocket, dabbing at your shirt with a look of genuine distress. "Let me buy you a new coffee. And shirt," she added, eyeing the growing stain.

"Really, it's fine." You stepped back, ready to bolt. The last thing you needed was another interaction with a basketball player.

But she wasn't letting you off that easy. She grabbed your wrist with surprising gentleness for someone known for her aggressive defense. “Nah, I insist. I'm Nika, by the way. And I really do feel terrible about this."

Before you could protest further, she was steering you back into the coffee shop. The barista's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Nika—clearly a regular customer—but otherwise maintained their professional composure.

"The usual for me," Nika called out, "and whatever she wants." She turned to you expectantly.

You mumbled your name and order—"Just a black coffee"—trying to shrink into yourself. Several students were openly staring now, probably wondering why Nika Mühl was buying coffee for some random engineering student.

"And a chocolate croissant," Nika added, ignoring your attempt to protest. "Trust me, they're amazing here."

You shifted uncomfortably as she paid, very aware of the wet fabric clinging to your skin. Nika seemed to notice your discomfort because she shrugged off her UConn warmup jacket and held it out to you.

"Here, you can't stay in that wet shirt."

You stared at the jacket like it might bite you. The same style jacket Paige had left on your floor that night. The one that probably cost more than your textbooks.

"I can't—"

"You can and you will," Nika insisted, pushing the jacket into your hands. "There's a bathroom right there. Go change before you catch a cold."

Something in her tone brooked no argument. You found yourself in the bathroom before you could really process what was happening, staring at your reflection as you zipped up the warmup jacket. It was slightly too big, making you look like a kid playing dress-up in their older sibling's clothes.

When you emerged, Nika had already claimed a table in the corner, your drinks and the promised chocolate croissant waiting. She waved you over with a smile that somehow managed to be both friendly and slightly intimidating.

"So," she said as you slid into the seat across from her, "what's your major?"

"Engineering. Mechanical." You picked at the croissant, wondering how quickly you could eat it and escape.

Nika's eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Engineering— wait." Her eyes widened with recognition. "Holy shit, are you that girl?"

You froze mid-bite. "What girl?"

"The one from the library! The one who told Paige—what was it?  ‘That you’re not one of her groupies’?” Nika's grin spread across her face like wildfire. "No wonder she's been such a mess lately."

You choked on your croissant. "What?"

"Oh my god, this is perfect. You're also the one she—" Nika cut herself off, studying your increasingly red face with growing delight. "The one whose room she crashed in after KK’s party?"

Your face burned hotter than the coffee you'd been wearing moments ago. "How did you—"

"Paige tells me everything," Nika leaned back in her chair, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Well, eventually. Had to drag this one out of her after she spent three days moping around practice like someone had stolen her favorite pair of Jordan’s.”

"I didn't steal anything," you protested automatically. "Not her phone, not her—"

"Oh, she knows that now," Nika waved dismissively. "Found it in the team room yesterday morning. Right where those girls said it would be." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Though I have to say, watching her spiral about it was pretty entertaining. She's not used to people calling her out like that."

The implication hung heavy in the air. You remembered the library girls' story about making out with Paige against the whiteboard. Something must have shown on your face because Nika's expression softened slightly.

"Look, Paige is complicated. She's not used to people seeing through her bullshit." She took a sip of her drink, considering her next words carefully. "Those tickets? That's her way of saying she fucked up."

"By accusing me of stealing her phone?"

"By letting you think she didn't remember that night."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "What?"

Nika's phone buzzed before she could answer. She glanced at it and grimaced. "Speaking of her royal highness, I'm late for film." She stood, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "Keep the jacket. Consider it compensation for the coffee attack."

You watched her head toward the door, your mind spinning with questions. Just before she left, she turned back with a knowing smirk.

"See you tomorrow at the game. Front row, right?"

The door chimed as she left, leaving you alone with a half-eaten croissant and more questions than answers. You looked down at the jacket, at the way the UConn logo seemed to mock you with its pristine embroidery.

Somehow, in trying to avoid Paige Bueckers, you'd managed to get tangled up in her world anyway. And tomorrow, you'd have to sit courtside and watch her in her element, all while wearing her best friend's jacket.

Mr. Gummy was definitely going to judge you for this.

"No." You glared at the suspicious red cup Riven was waving in front of your face. "Absolutely not."

"Come on! It's tradition!" She pushed the cup closer, its contents sloshing dangerously near the rim. The sharp smell of cheap vodka mixed with what you assumed was cranberry juice wafted toward you. "You can't go to your first real game sober."

You turned back to your mirror, adjusting Nika's warmup jacket for the hundredth time. The number 10 stared back at you, a constant reminder of yesterday's coffee shop encounter. You'd tried to talk yourself out of wearing it, but everything else felt too casual for courtside seats (according to Riven) or too formal (also according to Riven).

"I'm not pregaming a basketball game at three in the afternoon."

"It's four," Riven corrected, checking her phone. "And yes, you are. The team's already been at Gampel for hours, and we need to leave in thirty minutes if we want good spots for warm-ups. I refuse to let you sit there reading thermodynamics while history happens right in front of us."

You spun around, hands on your hips. "History?"

"Yes! We're playing Notre Dame. It's huge." She thrust the cup into your hands with such force that some of it splashed onto your fingers. "And you're wearing Nika Mühl's personal jacket. Do you know how many people would kill for that?"

"I got it because she spilled coffee on me," you muttered, but took a small sip anyway. Just to shut her up. The drink was surprisingly not terrible— mostly juice with just enough vodka to warm your chest.

"Right. Just like Paige 'accidentally' ended up in your bed." Riven made air quotes with her fingers, nearly spilling her own drink in the process. "And then 'accidentally' gave us courtside tickets."

"Can we not talk about that?" You took another sip, larger this time. The warmth spread through your limbs, making everything feel slightly softer around the edges. Maybe Riven had a point about the drinking thing.

"Oh, we're definitely talking about it." She flopped onto your bed, somehow not spilling a drop. "You're wearing her best friend's jacket to watch her play. This is like, next level psychological warfare."

You choked on your drink. "It's not warfare! I just didn't have anything else to wear."

"Mhmm." Riven's knowing smirk made you want to throw Mr. Gummy at her again. "That's why you spent twenty minutes adjusting it in the mirror."

"I did not—"

"You did! You were all,” She stood up, mimicking your earlier movements with exaggerated precision. "'Oh, should I zip it up all the way? Maybe halfway? What if I push up the sleeves?'"

You drained your cup in one go, grimacing at the burn. "I hate you."

"You love me." She was already mixing another drink, this one slightly stronger than the last. "And you're going to thank me when Paige sees you in that jacket and loses her mind."

"She's not going to lose her mind," you protested, but accepted the fresh drink anyway. "She probably won't even notice."

Riven's laugh echoed off the walls. "Oh honey. Paige notices everything. Why do you think she's the best point guard in the country?"

The walk to Gampel Pavilion was a blur of Riven's excited chatter and your growing anxiety. The drinks had taken the edge off, but your heart still raced as you approached the arena. Students were already lining up outside, many wearing jerseys and carrying signs. Your hand instinctively went to the zipper of Nika's jacket, suddenly very aware of what you were wearing.

"Stop fidgeting," Riven hissed, pulling you toward a separate entrance. "You look hot. Own it."

The security guard barely glanced at your tickets before waving you through. The arena was already humming with energy— staff rushing around with equipment, the band setting up in their section, early arrivals claiming their seats. 

Your courtside seats were exactly where you'd dreaded they'd be: directly behind the UConn bench. Close enough to hear every word, see every expression, feel every moment of tension.

"This is insane," you muttered, sinking into your seat. The court stretched out before you like a stage, the overhead lights making everything feel surreal.

"Look." Riven nudged you, pointing toward the tunnel. "They're coming out for warm-ups."

Your heart jumped into your throat as the team emerged, led by the coaching staff. Players filed onto the court in perfect formation, their practice jerseys a sea of navy and white. You spotted Nika first— impossible to miss with her distinctive playing style, already intense even in warm-ups.

And then there she was.

Paige moved with that effortless grace that made everything look easy, her ponytail swinging as she dribbled two balls simultaneously. She hadn't looked toward the crowd yet, locked in that pre-game focus that elite athletes got.

"Here we go," Riven whispered, her phone already out and recording.

You watched as Paige went through her warm-up routine, each movement precise and practiced. She worked her way around the three-point line, barely seeming to notice as shot after shot swished through the net.

Then she turned to grab a rebound, and her eyes swept across the courtside seats.

You saw the exact moment she registered you. Her hands froze mid-dribble, the ball bouncing away forgotten. Her gaze locked onto the number 10 across your chest, then slowly traveled up to meet your eyes.

The intensity in her stare made your whole body flush hot. You watched as her jaw clenched, that familiar muscle ticking in a way that sent heat straight to your core. Her eyes darkened with something that looked dangerously close to possession.

Nika appeared beside her, saying something that made Paige snap back to attention. But not before you caught the way her gaze lingered on how her best friend's jacket fit your frame.

"Holy shit," Riven breathed, still recording. "I think you broke her."

You slumped lower in your seat, already regretting letting the vodka convince you this was a good idea. "Shut up."

"No way. This is better than any reality show." She zoomed in as Paige missed her next three shots in a row. "Look what you did to her."

"I didn't do anything," you protested weakly, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from Paige's form. The way her practice jersey clung to her shoulders, how her muscles flexed with each movement, the intense focus that had returned to her features – though you swore you caught her glancing in your direction between plays.

This was going to be a very long game.

The game started exactly as you'd expected— with Paige absolutely demolishing Notre Dame's defense while you tried very hard to look anywhere else. It wasn't working.

"Did you see that pass?" Riven screamed in your ear for approximately the eighteenth time. "She didn't even look!"

No, you hadn't seen the pass, because you were very deliberately studying the fascinating architecture of Gampel's ceiling. The vodka buzz had worn off about twenty minutes ago, leaving you hyperaware of every move, every sound, every time Paige jogged past your seats during transitions.

The worst part? Nika kept sending you these knowing looks from the bench, like she was watching her favorite rom-com play out in real time. You were starting to regret not bringing your thermodynamics textbook after all. At least differential equations made sense. They didn't smirk at you or have perfectly defined arm muscles or—

"Time out, Huskies!"

The players jogged toward the bench, and suddenly your personal space was invaded by very tall, very sweaty athletes. You tried to shrink further into your seat, but there was nowhere to go. Especially not when Paige dropped into a crouch right in front of you, ostensibly to grab her water bottle.

"Nice jacket," she said quietly, just loud enough for you to hear over the timeout huddle. Her eyes traveled down your body in a way that made you feel like you were wearing significantly less than a full warmup jacket and jeans.

You opened your mouth to respond with something witty, something that would put her in her place like you had in the library. Instead, what came out was: "Your friend has good taste."

Paige's eyes darkened, that same possessive look from warm-ups returning with intensity. "Does she?"

Before you could dig yourself into an even deeper hole, Coach Auriemma's voice cut through the tension. "Bueckers! Get your ass over here!"

You watched as she jogged back to the huddle, trying to ignore how your skin felt electric where her gaze had lingered. Beside you, Riven was practically vibrating with excitement.

"I got all of that on video," she whispered, waving her phone in your face. "This is going in the group chat."

"If you send that anywhere, I will reprogram your phone to only play the Barney theme song."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The timeout ended, and the players returned to the court. You noticed Paige was playing with even more intensity now, if that was possible. Her crossovers were sharper, her passes more precise, like she had something to prove.

"Twenty bucks says she's showing off for you," Riven muttered.

"Thirty says you're delusional."

But as you watched Paige sink another impossible three-pointer and turn slightly— just slightly - in your direction before jogging back on defense, you had to admit that maybe, just maybe, Riven had a point.

The game continued in a blur of strategic timeouts (during which Paige found increasingly creative ways to end up near your seat), incredible plays (that you definitely weren't watching just to see the way her muscles moved), and Riven's running commentary (which was getting progressively less about basketball and more about the "tension that could be cut with a knife").

By the fourth quarter, UConn had built a comfortable lead, and you'd developed a concerning familiarity with exactly how Paige's practice jersey clung to her shoulders when she was sweating. This was not information you needed in your life. You had CAD models to build, robots to program, a future in engineering to secure. You did not have time to notice how her hair had started falling out of its ponytail in these impossibly attractive wisps, or how—

"Game! Huskies win!"

The final buzzer snapped you out of your completely professional analysis of athletic biomechanics. The crowd erupted as players from both teams exchanged handshakes and hugs. You stood, ready to make your escape before—

"Leaving so soon?"

You turned to find Paige standing right there, still slightly breathless from the game, her presence filling your entire field of vision. Up close, you could see the flush of exertion on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the slight curl of her lips that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

"I have studying to do," you managed, proud that your voice came out steady.

"On a Saturday night?" She stepped closer, and you caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with sweat. It should not have been as attractive as it was. "After watching me put up thirty points?"

"Thirty-two," you corrected automatically, then immediately wanted to die. Beside you, Riven made a sound that might have been a squeal or a laugh.

Paige's smirk grew wider. "So you were watching."

"It was kind of hard to miss, considering where we're sitting." You gestured to the courtside seats that had started this whole mess.

"About that," she ran a hand through her hair, and those loose strands fell perfectly around her face in a way that had to be practiced. "I was thinking maybe we could—"

"Paige!" Nika's voice cut through whatever she'd been about to say. "Media's waiting!"

You'd never been so grateful for press obligations in your life.

Paige's jaw clenched in frustration, but she recovered quickly. "This isn't over," she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. Then she was gone, jogging toward the media section with that natural athletic grace that made everything look effortless.

You stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Your skin still tingled where she'd been standing close enough to touch.

"So," Riven's voice broke through your daze. "Still think she hasn't noticed you?"

"We're going out," Riven declared, already rummaging through your closet without permission. "No arguments."

You looked up from your laptop, where you'd been desperately trying to focus on anything other than replaying the game in your head for the past two hours. "I have to—"

"If you say 'study' I will literally scream." She emerged with your one decent going-out top, the black one with the low back that you'd bought on impulse and worn exactly once. "You just watched UConn destroy Notre Dame from courtside seats while Paige Bueckers eye-fucked you in front of the entire student section. We're celebrating."

"She wasn't—" You cut yourself off, heat creeping up your neck. "And anyway, shouldn't she be celebrating with her girlfriend?"

The words tasted bitter in your mouth. You'd been trying very hard not to think about Taylor, about how Paige had crashed into your room calling out her name, about how clearly serious it must be if she was that desperate to apologize. The fact that she'd spent the entire game looking at you like... that... well, it just proved what everyone said about her, didn't it?

"Oh my god," Riven threw the shirt at your head. "Put this on. We're getting drunk and you're going to tell me everything you're overthinking about right now."

An hour later, you found yourself at The Tavern, nursing your second Moscow Mule while Riven recounted the game to anyone who would listen. The bar was packed with students celebrating the win, most still wearing their UConn gear and riding the high of victory.

"I just don't get it," you said, mostly to your drink. "Why is she suddenly so interested? I'm literally nobody. I spend my Friday nights debugging Python scripts and building robots that occasionally catch fire."

"Maybe that's exactly why," Riven waggled her eyebrows. "You're different. You don't worship the ground she walks on."

You snorted. "Right. Because what Paige Bueckers really wants is someone who told her to fuck off in the library."

The doors to The Tavern burst open, and suddenly the energy in the room shifted. A new wave of celebration swept through as the team arrived, fresh from their post-game duties. Your stomach did a complicated flip as you spotted Paige among them, now changed into fitted black jeans and a white button-down that should be illegal. Her hair was down, falling in waves that your fingers definitely didn't itch to touch.

"Speak of the devil," Riven smirked. "Want to test that theory?"

"Don't you dare—" But Riven was already waving enthusiastically, catching Nika's attention. The Croatian player's face lit up with unholy glee when she spotted you.

"Engineering girl!" Nika bounded over, dragging a very amused-looking Paige with her. "Still wearing my jacket, I see."

You started to unzip it, but she waved you off. "Keep it. It looks better on you anyway." She shot Paige a meaningful look that made your cheeks burn.

"I need another drink," Riven announced suddenly, grabbing Nika's arm. "Come show me where the team keeps their secret stash."

"We don't have a—" Nika caught on quickly, grinning. "Oh, right. That secret stash. This way."

And just like that, you were alone with Paige at the crowded bar, your body humming with awareness of how close she was standing.

"Subtle, aren't they?" Paige smiled, and for once it wasn't that practiced smirk. It was something softer, more genuine. She signaled the bartender, who materialized instantly. Must be nice being a campus celebrity.

"The usual?" The bartender asked Paige, already reaching for a bottle.

"And whatever she's having," Paige nodded toward your nearly empty Moscow Mule.

"I can buy my own drinks," you said quickly, reaching for your wallet.

Paige's lips twitched. "I know you can. But consider it part of my ongoing apology for the whole bed situation."

You raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep your voice steady. "You always apologize to your drunken mistakes with expensive drinks?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to snatch them back. But instead of looking offended, Paige just studied you with those impossibly intense eyes.

"Only the ones who let me cuddle their stuffed bears."

"Mr. Gummy," you corrected automatically, then immediately wanted to die. Again.

The bartender returned with your drinks, and you grabbed yours perhaps a bit too quickly, needing something to do with your hands. The Moscow Mule was perfect – strong enough to blame your burning cheeks on the alcohol.

"So," Paige said after a moment, looking far too comfortable for someone who'd just been called out on their drunken mistakes. "Engineering, huh?"

You nearly choked on your drink. "Are we really doing small talk right now?"

"Would you prefer I go back to staring at you from across the court?"

"I prefer knowing where I stand," you shot back, the alcohol making you braver than usual. "Because last I checked, you had a girlfriend you were pretty desperate to apologize to."

Something flashed across her face – regret? Embarrassment? "Taylor and I it's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" You couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of your voice. You'd heard enough stories about Paige's "complicated" situations to fill a textbook.

She turned to face you fully, and your breath caught at the unexpected vulnerability in her expression. "Look, I know what people say about me. Some of it's probably true. But Taylor and I have been over for months. That night... I was drunk and stupid because she'd started seeing someone new, and I handled it badly."

"By trying to crawl into her bed?"

"By accidentally crawling into yours." Her voice dropped lower, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. "Which, in retrospect, might have been the universe doing me a favor."

You forced yourself to meet her gaze, ignoring how your heart raced at the way she was looking at you. "Does that line usually work?"

"I don't know," she smiled, and it wasn't her usual cocky smirk. It was something smaller, almost shy. "I've never used it before."

Before you could process that, a commotion erupted near the pool tables. You both turned to see Riven attempting to teach one of the team's shooting guards proper form, which seemed to involve a lot of unnecessary physical contact.

"Ten bucks says they end up making out in the bathroom," Paige said, amusement coloring her tone.

"Twenty says Riven chickens out and spends the next week telling me about all the signals she thinks she missed."

Paige laughed, and the sound did something dangerous to your insides. "You know your roommate well."

"Well enough to know she's going to interrogate me about this conversation later."

"This conversation?" Paige shifted slightly closer, and you caught that intoxicating mix of her perfume and something uniquely her. "What's there to interrogate about?"

You gestured vaguely between you. "This whole... whatever this is. Where you're suddenly interested in small talk about my major and making jokes about the universe doing you favors."

"Maybe I just want to know more about the girl who told me to fuck off in the library." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "While wearing my best friend's jacket, no less."

"That was an accident—"

"Was it?" She was definitely closer now, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. "Because from where I was standing, it looked a lot like a challenge."

Your grip tightened on your drink. "Not everything is about you, Bueckers."

"No," she agreed, her voice soft but intense. "But the way you've been looking at me all night? That might be."

The air between you crackled with tension. You should step back. You should remember all the stories, all the warnings, all the reasons this was a terrible idea. You should—

"There you are!" Nika's voice cut through the moment like a bucket of cold water. "Coach just texted. Team meeting tomorrow morning got moved up."

Paige's jaw clenched in frustration, but she recovered quickly. "What time?"

"Eight AM." Nika's eyes darted between you and Paige, her expression far too knowing. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You weren't," you said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly judging by Nika's raised eyebrow.

Paige turned back to you, and the intensity in her gaze made your breath catch. "We'll finish this conversation later."

It wasn't a question.

You watched her walk away, trying to ignore how your body still hummed from her proximity. Nika lingered behind, grinning like she'd just won a bet with herself.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I've never seen her work this hard for someone's attention before."

"I'm not—" you started, but Nika was already following Paige, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a half-empty Moscow Mule.

Riven materialized beside you moments later, her eyes wide. "Okay, what the hell was that?"

"Nothing," you mumbled into your drink. "Just Paige Bueckers being Paige Bueckers."

But as you watched her gather her team to leave, she turned back just for a moment, catching your eye across the bar. The look she gave you was pure heat, a promise of more conversations to come.

You were so beyond utterly fucked.

Continue Reading Part 2

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Part One

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. 

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 20k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Slow burn, unrequited love, emotional repression, late-night work sessions, professional boundaries being pushed to their limit, that sick feeling when you realize he’s seeing someone else, and the kind of yearning that makes you spiral in your group chat. No resolution yet, just a lot of tension, timing issues, and feelings no one wants to name.

A Few Quick Notes:

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

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

Author's Note: So here’s Part One. I’m hoping this will be a two-parter, but let’s be real, I’m long-winded so we’ll see. My goal with this section was to really sit in the unrequited part. The slow burn. The quiet ache. The years of showing up, holding back, staying professional, and still falling deeper anyway. The almosts. The not-quites. The timing that never seemed to line up.

I’m also a little nervous because this is my first request and I really hope I got it right. Fingers crossed it hits the way it’s supposed to.

If you’re here for the angst, the emotional spiral, the girl who’s been in love with him for years while pretending it’s fine, this part’s for you. The heartbreak isn’t over yet, but the foundation is laid.

* * *

July 2020 - Cincinnati Bengals Training Facility

The media room buzzed with activity, camera equipment being assembled, lighting adjusted, and PR staff running through talking points. First overall draft pick. Heisman Trophy winner. The savior of Cincinnati football. The narrative had been constructed well before Joe Burrow ever set foot in the building.

Y/N Y/L/N checked her camera settings for the third time, methodically working through her mental checklist. First official shoot as a Bengals staff member, and they'd assigned her to the franchise quarterback. No pressure.

Her phone vibrated against the table. Three texts in a row from the sibling group chat that hadn't stopped since she'd landed the job two weeks ago.

Matt: Don't drop the camera when you see him

Aaron: Ask him if he'll sign my jersey

Lucas: Remind him that the Y/L/N family has survived a lot of bad quarterbacks

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling as she typed back a quick response.

Y/N: I'm a PROFESSIONAL. Unlike some people I know.

Lucas: I’m professionally jealous that you're breathing the same air as our franchise savior

Growing up with three football-obsessed brothers in Louisville had prepared her for this world in ways her master's degree in sports management never could. She'd spent her childhood being dragged into backyard games, learning to throw a perfect spiral out of self-defense, and developing an encyclopedic knowledge of plays and statistics just to hold her own at the dinner table.

"He's on his way down," announced Kayla from PR, clipboard pressed against her chest. 

"Everyone ready?"

Y/N nodded, adjusting her Bengals polo, still crisp and new against her skin, and straightened her posture. The room settled into expectant silence, cameras at the ready, the culmination of months of draft speculation about to materialize in the doorway.

When Joe Burrow entered, there was none of the fanfare his status might have suggested. He walked in with a quiet confidence that seemed to belong to someone much older than twenty-three. Dressed in Bengals gear that still looked just slightly unfamiliar on him, he surveyed the room with calm, observant eyes. His expression remained neutral, but there was something assessing in his gaze, taking in details and remembering faces.

"Good morning everyone," he said, nodding to the room.

Y/N watched through her viewfinder as PR staff introduced themselves, directing him to his mark for the initial photoshoot. She captured his handshakes, his nods, the way he listened carefully to instructions. Professional, focused, but with none of the arrogance that often accompanied first-round quarterbacks.

"We'll start with some standard shots," Kayla explained. "Then move to action poses with the ball."

As if on cue, an assistant hurried forward with a football, but in his eagerness, he fumbled the toss. The ball spiraled awkwardly through the air on a collision course with an expensive light setup.

Without thinking, Y/N stepped forward from behind her camera, catching the ball one-handed before it could cause any damage. The leather felt familiar against her fingers, a muscle memory from countless backyard games. She transferred the ball to her right hand in one fluid motion and sent a perfect spiral directly to Burrow.

He caught it easily, but his eyebrows lifted slightly, and that subtle Joe Burrow expression of being impressed without overstating it. The hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"Nice hands," he commented.

Heat rushed to Y/N's cheeks, but her voice remained steady. "Growing up with three brothers," she explained, already retreating to her camera. "You either learn to catch or get hit in the face a lot."

Something flickered in his eyes, recognition, maybe, of someone who understood the language of the game beyond the surface. He spun the ball in his hands, considering her for a moment longer than necessary before turning his attention back to the waiting PR team.

As the photoshoot continued, Y/N fell into the rhythm of her work, directing Joe through various poses with professional efficiency. However, something had shifted in their interactions, and a natural ease was developing between them. He responded to her cues without question, seeming to trust her judgment on angles and lighting in a way that surprised the more veteran staff.

"Can we get a few looking directly into the camera?" Y/N requested, adjusting her position.

Joe locked eyes with her through the lens, his gaze steady and unreadable. For a brief moment, it felt like everything else in the room had faded away, leaving just her, him, and the camera between them. Y/N swallowed hard, maintaining her composure as she captured the shot.

"Perfect," she said, her professional mask firmly in place. "Now just a slight smile, nothing forced."

The corner of his mouth lifted genuinely this time. Not the media smile he'd been giving the other cameras, but something quieter. Something real.

Click.

Later that evening, as Y/N sorted through the day’s photos from her new cubicle, she paused on the last shot. There was something in his expression she hadn’t noticed before. Focused, almost curious, like he wasn’t just looking at the camera but through it. Not vacant. Not posed. Just present.

She quickly moved to the next image, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. This was Joe Burrow, the franchise quarterback. She was just the newest media team member and was lucky to land a job during a pandemic. Whatever she thought she saw in that photograph was professional respect at best, her imagination at worst.

Her phone buzzed again.

Lucas: So... did you embarrass us or what?

Y/N glanced back at the photo on her screen, at those steady eyes looking directly into her camera, and smiled to herself.

Y/N: I was the picture of professionalism. Just caught a rogue football one-handed, saved  thousands of dollars in equipment, and threw a perfect spiral to Joe Burrow. No biggie.

The response was immediate, all three brothers texting simultaneously:

Matt: WHAT 

Aaron: YOU THREW A PASS TO JOE BURROW 

Lucas: WE'RE GOING TO NEED DETAILS. ALL OF THEM. NOW.

Y/N laughed, setting her phone aside without responding. Let them stew in their jealousy for a while.

She returned to the images, continuing to sort through them with methodical precision, telling herself that this was just the first day of many, that Joe Burrow was just another player she'd be working with, and that the way he'd looked at her through the camera meant nothing.

But as she exported the final selections, she couldn't help saving that one particular shot to her personal folder. Joe looking directly into her lens, that hint of a genuine smile, eyes alive with something that might have been curiosity.

* * *

The COVID Protocol Meeting

August 2020 - Virtual Team Meeting

“And that’s the revised media protocol for the season,” Kayla concluded, her face serious in the Zoom window. “Limited in-person access, virtual press conferences, and strict distancing during the interviews we do conduct face-to-face.”

Y/N scribbled notes, mentally calculating how these restrictions would affect their ability to connect fans with the team. Everything would be more distant, more sanitized. The exact opposite of what made sports culture thrive.

“We need to address the fan engagement problem,” the director of media relations added. “No fans in the stadium means we’re losing that community connection that’s central to the Bengals experience.”

Y/N hesitated, then unmuted herself. “I have some ideas, if you’re open to them.”

Several of the veteran staff members exchanged glances, the new hire speaking up so soon. But Kayla nodded encouragingly.

“Go ahead, Y/N.”

“First, what if we did cardboard cutouts in the stands? Fans could purchase their photos to be placed in the seats. It gives them a presence in the stadium, provides visibility during broadcasts, and could generate revenue we could direct toward COVID relief efforts in Cincinnati.”

The director nodded slowly, making notes.

“Second,” Y/N continued, her confidence building, “I know the team is planning the march to the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center and the $250,000 pledge to community programs. We could create a digital content series highlighting the social justice initiatives. In-depth interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, educational components. It’s meaningful content that connects to what’s happening beyond football.”

“And third, we need to replace in-person interactions with virtual ones. Q&A sessions with players, live-streamed limited-access practices, interactive social media challenges. The fans need to feel part of the Bengals community even when they can’t physically be here.”

When she finished, there was a moment of silence before the director spoke.

“These are solid, Y/N. Particularly the social justice series.” He looked around the virtual room. “Let’s form working groups to develop each of these. Y/N, I want you on the social justice content team, coordinating with player involvement.”

After the meeting ended, Y/N’s phone pinged with a direct message from Kayla.

Impressive first strategy meeting. The rookie quarterback is participating in the Freedom Center march. Since you’ll be handling content for that initiative, I’m making you the point person for his involvement. Virtual introduction tomorrow at 10.

Y/N stared at the message, excitement and anxiety wrestling in her stomach. Three weeks into the job, and she was already working directly with the franchise quarterback on a project that actually mattered.

* * *

August 2020 - Virtual Meeting

Y/N logged into the Zoom call five minutes early, double-checking her presentation on the Bengals’ planned social justice initiatives. She’d spent half the night researching the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center and preparing thoughtful questions about what aspects of the initiative Joe might connect with most.

At exactly 10:00, a new window appeared in the meeting. Joe Burrow sat in what looked like a home office, wearing a plain gray t-shirt, his expression attentive but neutral.

“Good morning,” Y/N began, professional despite her nerves. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N from the media team.”

“The one with the good arm,” Joe replied, that hint of recognition in his eyes. “Kayla mentioned you’re heading up content for the social justice initiative.”

Y/N nodded, momentarily caught off guard that he remembered her. “That’s right. We’re developing a content series around the team’s commitments, particularly the Freedom Center march and community programs.”

She shared her screen, outlining the proposed series – player perspectives on social justice, educational components about Cincinnati’s history with the Underground Railroad, and documentation of the team’s ongoing involvement in community programs.

“We want this to be authentic, not performative,” Y/N explained, watching Joe’s reactions carefully. “So I wanted to talk with you directly about what aspects of this initiative matter most to you personally.”

Joe leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting from polite attention to genuine engagement.

“I appreciate that approach,” he said. “A lot of teams are putting out statements, but how many are actually listening to the communities they claim to support?” He paused, considering. “My platform comes with responsibility. I want to use it to amplify voices that don’t get the same audience I do automatically.”

Y/N found herself nodding, impressed by his thoughtfulness. This wasn’t a PR-trained response; this was someone who had clearly been reflecting on his position and influence.

“What if we structured part of the series that way?” she suggested. “Instead of just documenting the team’s involvement, we could use player platforms to highlight community organizers and local leaders who’ve been doing this work for years.”

Something changed in Joe’s expression – a spark of interest, a subtle shift as he reassessed her.

“That’s exactly the right approach,” he said. “I’d be on board for that. Actually…” he hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. “I’ve been having conversations with some of the veteran players about organizing additional player-driven initiatives beyond what the team has planned. Would that be something you could help develop content around?”

Joe Burrow was a rookie, sure, but already, he was stepping into leadership. And now, somehow, he was bringing her into it.

He looked right at her this time, more serious than before.

“I might be a rookie, but I want to help create the right culture here.”

Y/N tried not to show her surprise. Joe Burrow, rookie quarterback, was already taking leadership on social initiatives and was bringing her into the conversation.

“Absolutely,” she assured him. “Whatever you guys decide to do, I can make sure it’s documented thoughtfully. Just keep me in the loop.”

Joe nodded, seeming satisfied. “Will do. Send me the schedule for the Freedom Center content when you have it. And Y/N?”

“Yea?”

“I meant what I said about amplifying other voices. That includes inside the organization. If you have ideas, bring them directly to me. I might be a rookie, but I want to help create the right culture here.”

After the call ended, Y/N sat back in her chair, processing. Joe Burrow wasn’t just another entitled athlete performing social consciousness for the cameras. There was a genuine commitment there, a willingness to listen and learn.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Lucas.

Lucas: How’s life shaping the Bengals’ social media empire?

Y/N smiled to herself.

Y/N: Just had a meeting with Burrow about the social justice initiatives. He’s actually… impressive. Not what I expected.

Lucas: Damn, they’ve got you working directly with QB1 already? Moving up fast, sis.

She didn’t respond, still thinking about Joe’s parting words. Bring ideas directly to me. It was an unusual level of accessibility from the franchise quarterback, especially to someone so new.

Y/N opened her laptop and began outlining additional concepts for the social justice series, feeling for the first time like she might be building something meaningful in this role and finding an unexpected ally in Joe Burrow.

* * *

September 2020 - Cincinnati

The morning of the team’s march to the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center dawned clear and crisp. Y/N arrived early, coordinating with the small camera crew allowed under COVID protocols. She had two jobs today: document the event and support Joe’s involvement.

Players and staff gathered in small, distanced groups, many wearing masks with “END RACISM” printed across them. Y/N moved among them with her camera, capturing candid moments of conversation and preparation.

She spotted Joe standing slightly apart, reviewing what looked like notes on his phone. Approaching cautiously, she asked, “Everything good for today?”

He looked up, recognition crossing his features. “Y/N. Yeah, just reviewing some history on the Freedom Center. Figured I should be informed if they ask me questions.”

Something about his diligence touched her. Many players showed up for PR events with minimal preparation, but here was Joe Burrow, studying historical context before a march.

“The content team put together some background materials,” Y/N offered. “I can send them to you.”

“That would be helpful,” he nodded. “I want to get this right.”

As they began walking toward the starting point, Joe asked, “You’re from Kentucky, right? Louisville?”

Y/N looked at him in surprise. “Yeah. How did you remember that?”

A slight shrug. “You mentioned your brothers when we talked about the social justice series. Said they grew up playing football in Louisville.”

Before she could respond, they reached the gathering point, and Joe was pulled into a conversation with veteran players. Y/N stepped back into her professional role, camera ready, but she couldn’t help reflecting on Joe’s unexpected recall of personal details she’d mentioned only in passing.

The march itself was powerful, players, coaches, and staff walking together toward the Freedom Center, a physical demonstration of commitment to addressing racial injustice. Y/N documented it all, but found her lens repeatedly drawn to Joe. Despite being a rookie, he walked with purpose, engaged in serious conversations with teammates and staff.

At the Freedom Center, the team gathered for a group photograph and brief remarks. Y/N positioned herself to capture reactions, smiling slightly when Joe adjusted his stance to be more visible in her frame. She didn’t think he even realized it yet, but he was already learning how to work with the camera and with her.

As the formal portion concluded, Y/N was reviewing footage when Joe approached, now carrying a Freedom Center brochure.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, nodding toward her camera.

“Plenty of good material,” she confirmed. “Thanks for being so aware of the documentation needs.”

“That’s your job, right? Making us look good,” he said, that ghost of a smile appearing briefly.

“Making you look authentic,” Y/N corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Joe considered this, then nodded in apparent approval. “You planning to go through the exhibits while you’re here?”

“I want to, but I need to get this footage back for initial editing.”

Joe glanced at the brochure in his hand. “I’m going to take a look around. Part of the point was to learn, not just be seen here.” He hesitated, then added, “Let me know what you think of the final content package. I’d like to see how this whole initiative comes together.”

“Will do,” Y/N promised, trying not to read too much into his interest in her work.

As Joe walked away toward the museum entrance, Y/N’s phone vibrated with a text.

Matt: Saw coverage of the march on ESPN. Did you meet any of the players?

Y/N smiled to herself, thinking of Joe reviewing historical notes and asking for her feedback on the content.

Y/N: Working directly with several of them on this project. They’re taking it seriously. More than just a PR move.

She tucked her phone away and packed up her equipment, reflecting on how the Joe Burrow she was getting to know differed from both the media portrayal and her own initial expectations. There was a thoughtfulness to him, an attention to detail that extended beyond football.

Y/N glanced toward the museum entrance where Joe had disappeared. The flutter in her stomach when he’d remembered details about her family, the way her pulse had quickened when he’d approached her earlier, these weren’t just professional responses to a colleague.

Oh no, she thought, the realization dawning with uncomfortable clarity. She was developing a crush on Joe Burrow. The franchise quarterback. Her literal job assignment.

Y/N forced herself to turn away, focusing intently on packing her equipment. This was exactly the kind of complication she couldn’t afford in her first real career position. She was here to document the Joe Burrow era, not catch feelings in the middle of it.

But as she headed back to the media van, she couldn’t quite shake the image of Joe studying historical notes before the march, his quiet determination to get things right. Or the way his eyes had met hers when he’d asked about her Kentucky roots, attentive and genuinely interested.

Professional boundaries, she reminded herself firmly. Just doing my job.

Even as she thought it, Y/N knew she was already in trouble.

* * *

October 2020 - Paul Brown Stadium

“This is surreal,” Y/N murmured, walking between rows of cardboard cutouts staring blankly from the stands. Her idea had turned into rows of life-sized fan cutouts, filling the empty seats with frozen smiles and silent support.

She snapped photos for social media, occasionally recognizing faces of season ticket holders who had submitted their images. The empty stadium echoed with the sounds of her footsteps and the occasional distant voice of facilities staff.

“Quite the crowd you’ve assembled.”

Y/N turned to find Joe Burrow standing a few yards away, hands in the pockets of his team-issued sweatpants. He wasn’t scheduled for any media today, and she hadn’t expected to see him.

“Tough audience though,” he added with that subtle lift at the corner of his mouth. “No matter how well I play, they never cheer.”

Y/N laughed despite herself. “But they never boo either. Built-in supportive fanbase.”

Joe moved closer, studying the cardboard faces. “This was your idea, right? Kayla mentioned it in a media briefing.”

“One of them,” Y/N confirmed, surprised he knew. “Part of our COVID adaptations.”

Joe nodded, walking slowly between the rows. “Creative solution. Kind of eerie, but better than completely empty stands.” He stopped at a particular cutout, an elderly man wearing what looked like decades-old Bengals gear. “Some of these go back generations of fandom.”

“The team means a lot to this city,” Y/N said, joining him. “Even when the seasons are rough.”

“Especially then,” Joe replied, his expression thoughtful. “Loyalty means more when it’s tested.”

They stood in oddly comfortable silence, surrounded by the two-dimensional crowd. Y/N was acutely aware that this was the first time they had been completely alone together, no cameras or meetings structuring their interaction.

“We’re setting up for a socially distanced filming session,” Y/N finally explained, gesturing to her camera. “Fan messages to play during the broadcast.”

Joe glanced at her equipment, then at the stands. “Need help?”

Y/N stared at him. “You’re volunteering to help set up a PR shoot?”

“I’ve got an hour before film study,” he shrugged. “Figured I’d see how the other side of this works. I’m usually the one being pointed at, not the one setting things up.”

Before Y/N could respond, her phone rang, Kayla from PR, probably wondering where she was with the setup.

“Go ahead,” Joe said, already picking up one of the lighting stands Y/N had brought. “I’ll start getting these positioned.”

The call was brief, Y/N confirming she was already at the stadium preparing. When she hung up, she found Joe had already assembled the lighting setup, positioned exactly where it needed to be.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, surprised.

He gave a small smile. “Enough times to know where the light should hit.”

As they continued setting up, Y/N was struck by how easily they worked together, a wordless efficiency developing as they prepared the filming area. Joe would anticipate what she needed next, handing her equipment before she asked or adjusting lighting as she checked camera angles.

“My brothers would never believe this,” Y/N muttered, almost to herself.

“What’s that?”

“The franchise quarterback doing setup work for a social media shoot,” she said, a little sheepish. “They think I spend my days chasing you around with a camera, not actually doing anything.”

Joe smiled, a real one this time, not just the hint of one. “Happy to help rewrite the narrative.”

He glanced back at the rows of cutouts. “What did they think about your idea, by the way? The cardboard fans?”

“They actually thought that was brilliant,” Y/N admitted. “They submitted their own photos. They’re around here somewhere.”

“Which ones?”

“Row 23, I think? Three guys who look suspiciously related to me, wearing vintage Boomer Esiason jerseys.”

Joe immediately changed direction, heading for Row 23. Y/N followed, amused by his curiosity. He stopped when he found them, three cardboard men in their early thirties, indeed wearing matching vintage jerseys, grinning widely at the camera.

“The Y/L/N brothers,” Joe observed, studying their faces. “I can see the resemblance.”

“God help me,” Y/N sighed.

Joe turned to her with unexpected seriousness. “You’re lucky. To have family that supports what you do like that.”

There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet sincerity that made Y/N pause. Before she could respond, the stadium doors opened and the rest of the media team arrived, ending their private conversation.

“Thanks for the help,” Y/N said quickly as Joe prepared to leave. “Unexpected but appreciated.”

He nodded, already shifting back into the more reserved demeanor he typically displayed around staff. “Good luck with the shoot.”

As he walked away, Y/N turned back to the cardboard crowd, her eyes lingering on her brothers’ frozen smiles. You’re lucky, Joe had said, with something like wistfulness in his voice. Another unexpected glimpse beneath the composed exterior of Joe Burrow, not just the focused quarterback or careful public figure, but someone who noticed family bonds and valued them.

And despite her best efforts, Y/N couldn’t ignore how her heart had raced when he had studied her brothers’ faces with such genuine interest, or the warm flush that had spread through her when they had worked side by side, moving with that easy, inexplicable synchronicity.

This is dangerous territory, she thought, forcing herself to focus on the technical aspects of the upcoming shoot. She was here to capture the Joe Burrow era on film, not fall for it firsthand. Developing feelings for Joe Burrow would be professionally reckless and personally painful, especially when he was already in a relationship. Olivia wasn’t a rumor or a tabloid story. She was his longtime girlfriend, dating back to Ohio State. They didn’t post much, but when they did, it was enough to remind everyone where things stood. Including Y/N.

Earlier, while organizing the cutouts by section, Y/N had paused at a familiar trio in the lower bowl. Joe’s parents. And Olivia. All smiling. All submitted together.

Y/N had kept moving, pretending it didn’t sting.

Now, standing among hundreds of cardboard faces and listening to her own heart speed up at the memory of working alongside him, she reminded herself again. This wasn’t a crush. This was a complication. One she couldn’t afford.

Later, reviewing footage from the fan message recordings, Y/N found an unexpected clip at the end of the day’s files. Joe had recorded a brief message directly to camera before leaving.

“To all the cardboard fans,” he said, that subtle humor evident in his eyes, “we hear your silent cheers. And to the real fans watching from home, we feel your very real support. Stay safe, and we’ll see you back in these stands as soon as possible.”

It was perfect content, genuine, thoughtful, with just enough warmth to feel personal without being overly sentimental. Y/N added it to the editing queue, knowing it would resonate with fans.

But as she worked late into the night on the final cut, she kept thinking about Joe among the cardboard crowd, noticing her brothers’ faces, helping with equipment no quarterback would typically touch. The Joe Burrow the public saw, composed, occasionally reserved, and the Joe Burrow who noticed details, who said you’re lucky with quiet sincerity.

Two versions of the same person, and Y/N was beginning to suspect she was one of the few people who got to see both.

* * *

Early November 2020 - Virtual Children's Hospital Visit

"You're on in five, four, three..." Y/N counted down silently with her fingers, giving Joe the cue to begin.

He smiled into the camera – that media-ready smile he'd perfected over the season, warm but controlled. "Hey everyone at Cincinnati Children's! Sorry I can't be there in person this year, but I wanted to say hello and answer some of your questions."

Y/N sat behind her laptop, coordinating the virtual visit while Joe interacted with children appearing on screen one at a time. Despite the technical constraints, he managed to make each conversation feel personal, giving children his full attention, answering their sometimes rambling questions with patience.

Between children, while the hospital staff set up the next patient, Joe glanced at Y/N for guidance.

"You're doing great," she mouthed, giving him a thumbs up. "Four more to go."

He nodded, taking a sip of water. This was their fifth virtual charity event together, and they'd developed an efficient shorthand. Y/N could read the subtle shifts in his expression that indicated when he needed a break or when technical issues were frustrating him. Joe, in turn, had learned to trust her direction, responding to her non-verbal cues without question.

The final child was a twelve-year-old boy recovering from surgery, wearing a handmade Burrow jersey over his hospital gown.

"My question is," the boy began shyly, "what are you doing for Thanksgiving since things are different with COVID?"

The question caught Joe off-guard, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before his media composure returned.

"That's actually a great question," he replied. "Olivia and I are keeping it small at our place this year. She's from Ohio too, so we're staying local instead of seeing extended family. It's different, but we're making it work, just like you're making things work at the hospital."

Y/N kept her expression professionally neutral, even as something inside her deflated. Of course Joe had someone. Of course they lived together. Y/N had seen enough social media tags to know that Olivia was his long-term girlfriend from Ohio who'd supported him through his college career at LSU and his transition to the NFL.

The information wasn't new, she'd heard casual mentions of Olivia in conversations around the facility, but hearing Joe speak about her with such warmth and familiarity made their relationship suddenly more concrete.

After the call ended, Joe stretched in his chair. "Think that went okay?"

"It was great," Y/N assured him, busying herself with equipment breakdown so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. "Those kids were thrilled."

"Thanks for coordinating all this," Joe said. "These virtual events could be awkward, but you make them run smoothly."

Y/N nodded, focusing on cable management with unnecessary precision. "Just doing my job."

"Still," Joe insisted, "it makes a difference having someone who..." he paused, searching for the right words, "gets it. Gets the balance between the PR stuff and what actually matters."

The sincerity in his voice made Y/N look up, against her better judgment. Joe was watching her with that quiet intensity that sometimes replaced his more guarded expression – the look that made it feel like he was really seeing her.

"Thanks," she managed, hating the flutter in her chest. "That means a lot."

An awkward silence stretched between them, until Joe cleared his throat. "So, uh, any plans for Thanksgiving? Going back to Louisville?"

"Can't this year," Y/N shook her head. "My oldest brother's wife is pregnant, so they're being extra cautious about COVID. We're doing a big Zoom call instead."

Joe nodded, understanding in his eyes. "That's tough. First holiday away from family?"

"Yeah," Y/N admitted, surprised by his perception. "It's weird, but it's just one year, right?"

Joe seemed about to say something else when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, a genuine smile spreading across his face – the unguarded kind that Y/N rarely witnessed.

"Olivia's wondering when I'll be home," he explained, already standing and gathering his things. "I should get going."

"Of course," Y/N nodded, the professional mask firmly back in place. "Have a great rest of your day."

He hesitated for a beat at the door, like he was going to say something else. But then his phone buzzed again, and the moment passed.

She stayed seated after he left, letting the quiet settle in. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known about Olivia. But hearing him talk about her like home—that was harder than she expected.

* * *

November 22, 2020 – Paul Brown Stadium

Y/N stood frozen behind her camera as the Washington defensive lineman crashed into Joe’s planted leg. Even from her position on the sidelines, she could tell immediately that something was catastrophically wrong. The unnatural angle. The way Joe’s body crumpled.

For a terrible moment, the stadium fell silent.

Then everything accelerated into chaos. Medical staff rushing onto the field, players from both teams taking a knee, coaches huddled in urgent conversation. Y/N’s training kicked in, her hands steady on the camera despite the sick feeling in her stomach, documenting what no one wanted to see but everyone needed to remember: the moment that changed the trajectory of Joe Burrow’s rookie season.

Through her lens, she watched as players from both teams approached Joe before he was loaded onto the cart. Even from a distance, Y/N could see his face, pale with pain but somehow composed, nodding at his teammates as medical staff secured his leg.

The cart began its slow journey off the field, passing near where Y/N stood. She lowered her camera for just a moment, their eyes meeting briefly through the crowd of concerned staff. Y/N gave him a small nod, part acknowledgment, part encouragement. The corner of Joe’s mouth lifted slightly in recognition before he was driven away, disappearing into the tunnel.

Hours later, after processing footage, filing preliminary reports, and fulfilling media obligations, Y/N sat alone in her office, staring blankly at her computer screen. The official announcement had come: torn ACL, MCL damage, additional structural issues. Joe Burrow’s rookie season was over, and a long rehabilitation lay ahead.

Her phone vibrated on the desk.

Matt: Just saw the injury. Absolutely brutal.

Lucas: You were there on the sideline? Damn.

Aaron: Recovery timeline?

Y/N appreciated their concern but couldn’t find the energy to respond with more than a brief acknowledgment.

Y/N: It’s bad. ACL, MCL. Looking at 9+ months probably.

She set the phone down and turned back to her computer, focusing on what she could control, organizing footage, preparing content plans for a team that would continue without its central figure.

A knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to find Kayla standing there, expression uncharacteristically subdued.

“Crisis management meeting in ten,” she said. “Oh, and you’re being assigned to Joe’s rehabilitation documentation.”

Y/N tried to keep her expression neutral. “Documentation?”

“The team wants to chronicle his recovery journey,” Kayla explained. “Limited access, very controlled narrative. Needs someone he’s comfortable with, who understands both the football and PR sides.” She gave Y/N a meaningful look. “He asked for you specifically.”

After Kayla left, Y/N sat motionless, processing this development. Amid the pain and chaos of a season-ending injury, Joe had thought to request her for the rehabilitation coverage. Had remembered her name in what must have been a blur of medical discussions and difficult conversations.

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unexpected source.

Joe: Heard you’re documenting the comeback tour.

Y/N stared at the message, surprised he was texting so soon after the injury. She’d assumed he’d be wrapped up in medical consultations and processing the devastating news.

Y/N: If you’re sure that’s what you want. We can assign someone else if you’d prefer.

The response came quickly:

Joe: I want someone who won’t make this into a pity story. Someone who gets it.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, deliberating her response. Professional, she reminded herself. Keep it professional.

Y/N: Then I’m in. We’ll document the comeback on your terms.

Joe: Surgery’s next week, December second. We’ll get going after that.

Y/N: Got it. Focus on healing. I’ll handle the content strategy.

She watched the typing bubble flicker on and off before one last message came through.

Joe: Thanks, Y/N. For everything today.

She knew he meant her work on the sidelines, the professional documentation of a difficult moment, but there was something in those simple words that felt more personal. An acknowledgment of their brief eye contact, the small nod of encouragement she’d offered when she’d lowered her camera.

Y/N: Always. That’s what I’m here for.

Setting her phone down, Y/N turned back to her computer, already mentally outlining a rehabilitation content strategy that would balance the team’s PR needs with Joe’s dignity and privacy. This assignment would mean more direct, one-on-one work with him over the coming months. More opportunities to witness the person behind the professional facade. More chances for her inconvenient feelings to deepen.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. She should request a different assignment. She should maintain more professional distance. She should stop the flutter in her chest whenever Joe sought her out specifically.

She should do a lot of things.

Instead, she opened a new document and titled it Burrow Rehabilitation Content Strategy, already knowing she was in far too deep to turn back now.

* * *

Early/Mid December 2020 – Rehabilitation Center

“Just a few more clips today,” Y/N assured Joe, adjusting her camera as the physical therapist prepared for the next exercise. “We’ll keep it brief.”

Joe nodded, his face drawn with the familiar tension that came with these early rehab sessions. Two weeks post-surgery, every movement was still an exercise in controlled pain management. Y/N had been documenting the start of his recovery, creating carefully edited content that showed determination without exploiting vulnerability.

“Ready when you are,” she told the therapist, who nodded and turned to Joe.

“Let’s work on those quad activations again. Ten contractions, five-second hold each.”

Y/N captured the session with practiced ease, knowing when to focus on Joe’s face, when to catch the therapist’s coaching, and when to lower the camera out of respect. She’d developed an intuitive sense for the line between honest storytelling and intrusion.

After thirty minutes, the therapist called it. As he stepped out to retrieve Joe’s chart, Y/N began packing her equipment.

“How’s it look?” Joe asked quietly, nodding toward her camera.

Y/N glanced up. She knew he wasn’t asking about framing. “It looks like exactly what it is. The beginning of a comeback story.”

A hint of a smile touched his mouth. “Pretty boring content so far.”

“The best comeback stories start slow,” Y/N replied, zipping her bag. “Makes the highlight reel more satisfying when it hits.”

Joe adjusted his position on the table, wincing. “This part doesn’t make the highlight reel, huh?”

“Only the parts where you’re showing superhuman determination,” she said. “Not the ones where you’re calling the PT sadistic.”

That earned a real laugh, though it quickly turned into a grimace. “You’re honest. I appreciate that.”

Y/N paused, sensing a shift. After two weeks of filming his rehab, the professional boundaries were still in place, but the nature of the work created a certain closeness. Documenting someone’s pain, frustration, and tiny victories had a way of drawing people closer, whether either of them liked it or not.

“The team wants an update for social tomorrow,” she said, steering them back to safer ground. “Any preferences for the message?”

Joe rubbed his thigh just above the brace, thinking. “Keep it simple. No dramatic promises. Just… I’m working. Progress is happening. Grateful for the support.”

“Done,” Y/N nodded, making a note. “I’ll send a draft for approval.”

“I trust your judgment,” Joe said. “You haven’t overplayed any of this.

“That’s why you requested me, right?” Y/N asked, trying to keep the tone light, though the question had lingered since she got the assignment.

Joe’s eyes met hers. “Yes. You see the person, not just the story.”

The honesty in his voice caught her off guard. Before she could respond, her phone chimed.

Kayla: Need the rehab footage by 3pm for review.

“Work calls,” Y/N said, holding up her phone. “I should get this back to the facility.”

Joe nodded. “Same time Thursday?”

“I’ll be here,” she said, collecting the last of her gear.

As she reached the door, Joe called after her. “Hey, Y/N?”

She turned. “Yeah?”

“You doing anything for Christmas?”

She shrugged. “Staying in Cincinnati. My brother’s wife is pregnant, so we’re playing it safe.”

“That’s tough.”

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “First Christmas away from family, but honestly, not the worst thing happening this year.”

“Right,” Joe said, though something in his expression flickered. “See you Thursday.”

That evening, Y/N returned to her apartment to find a care package from her brothers: Louisville bourbon, family photos, and University of Kentucky gear to “keep her from turning into a full-time Bengals fan.” The gesture made her laugh, but it also made her chest ache. The distance felt heavier than usual this year.

While editing footage from the day’s session, she noticed again how different Joe seemed in rehab. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t polished. Just quiet, steady effort. It was more compelling than any mic’d-up segment she’d ever shot.

Her phone buzzed.

Kayla: Rehabilitation content is getting excellent engagement. Team’s impressed with how you’re handling the narrative. Authentic but respectful.

Y/N replied with a quick thanks, then sat staring at the paused frame on her laptop—Joe mid-contraction, jaw tight, eyes focused. She knew this wasn’t supposed to be personal. But somehow, it was starting to feel that way.

She closed her laptop firmly.

Joe Burrow was her subject. Not her friend. Not anything more. The fact that he trusted her with his recovery story was a professional compliment, not a personal invitation.

Even as she thought it, Y/N knew she was lying. But sometimes, professional survival required a certain amount of self-deception.

* * *

December 24, 2020 – Y/N’s Apartment

Y/N’s apartment felt too quiet on Christmas Eve. She’d decorated half-heartedly, a small artificial tree with a few ornaments, some lights strung around her living room window—but the holiday spirit was hard to capture alone in a city where she still felt like a newcomer.

She was curled on the couch watching Die Hard (a Y/L/N family tradition her brothers had insisted she maintain) when her phone buzzed with a notification from the building’s security desk.

Package delivered for Y/L/N – front desk

Puzzled, Y/N paused the movie and headed downstairs. She wasn’t expecting anything, and her family’s gifts had arrived days ago.

The security guard handed her a medium-sized package wrapped in simple brown paper with her name written in neat block letters. No address. No shipping label.

“Guy dropped it off about an hour ago,” the guard said. “Said it was important you got it tonight.”

Back in her apartment, Y/N carefully unwrapped the mystery package to find a plain white box. Inside was a Cincinnati Bengals snow globe, but not the kind sold at the team store. This one was custom-made with meticulous detail: a miniature Paul Brown Stadium filled with thousands of tiny cardboard cutout fans. When she shook it, confetti in Bengals colors swirled around the stands.

A small card rested beneath the snow globe.

Y/N – Thought you should have something to remember your first season with the team. The cardboard fans deserve a place on your shelf. – Joe

Y/N read the card twice, just to be sure she hadn’t imagined the signature. Joe Burrow had found a custom snow globe with cardboard fans—a perfect tribute to her COVID initiative, and had it delivered to her apartment on Christmas Eve.

While she was still absorbing that, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Did it arrive in one piece? The guy at the shop was worried about the cardboard details.

She saved the number before responding.

Y/N: It’s perfect. How did you even find something like this?

Joe: Custom order. Guy downtown does specialty snow globes. Took some convincing to add cardboard people instead of snow.

Y/N: I don’t know what to say. Thank you.

She hesitated, then added:

Y/N: How’s rehab going? That last session looked tough.

His reply came quickly.

Joe: Getting there. PT says I’m ahead of schedule, but it still feels too slow. Olivia’s tired of me being restless about it.

The casual mention of Olivia brought her back to earth. Of course they were spending Christmas together, Joe recuperating, Olivia looking after him.

Y/N: Well, the snow globe was incredibly thoughtful. This officially puts my Secret Santa game to shame.

Joe: Wasn’t Secret Santa. This was just… a thank you. For handling the rehab documentation the right way.

Y/N sat with that for a moment. Joe had gotten her a separate, personal gift. Something he’d commissioned, thought about, followed up on. It wasn’t part of any exchange. It wasn’t required.

Before she could figure out what to say without giving herself away, another text came through.

Joe: Merry Christmas, Y/N. See you for the next rehab session.

Y/N: Merry Christmas, Joe. Rest up, comeback next season is gonna to be epic.

She set her phone down and picked up the snow globe again, turning it over in her hands. Outside her window, snow had started to fall over Cincinnati. Her first Christmas in a new city felt a little less lonely.

Y/N knew she should guard her heart. Joe Burrow had a girlfriend he clearly cared about. This was just a thoughtful gesture from someone who noticed details and appreciated hard work. Nothing more.

But as she placed the snow globe on her nightstand before bed, she couldn’t help the warmth that settled in her chest. Couldn’t quiet the voice that whispered

He was thinking about you on Christmas Eve.

* * *

January 2021 – Rehabilitation Center

“That’s good for today,” the physical therapist said, making notes on Joe’s chart. “You’re pushing hard, but remember what we discussed about not overdoing it.”

Joe nodded, jaw clenched in a way Y/N had learned to recognize as pain management. The session had been particularly grueling, testing new movement patterns that clearly challenged his healing knee.

“I’ll send these notes to the medical team,” the therapist continued. “Same time on Thursday?”

“I’ll be here,” Joe confirmed, his voice controlled but tight.

As the therapist left, Y/N began packing her camera equipment, giving Joe a moment to compose himself. She had been documenting his rehabilitation for six weeks now, establishing a careful routine: arrive early, capture what was needed, create space for recovery between exercises, and never make him feel watched during moments of struggle.

“That looked rough today,” she said, keeping her tone neutral as she stored memory cards.

Joe exhaled slowly, adjusting his position on the treatment table. “PT says that’s good. Means we’re pushing boundaries.”

Y/N nodded, recognizing the stock answer he gave to staff and coaches. After weeks of these sessions, she had become adept at distinguishing between Joe’s responses—the media answers, the team answers, and, occasionally, the real ones.

“We got good content,” she assured him, shifting the subject. “The determination shots will play well with fans. And that moment with the resistance band tells a clear progress story from last week.”

Joe made a noncommittal sound, staring at the ceiling. Y/N continued packing, assuming the conversation was over, when he suddenly spoke.

“What if I can’t come back from this the same?”

The question hung in the air, so quietly spoken that Y/N wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it. She turned to find Joe still staring upward, his carefully maintained composure showing rare cracks.

Y/N set down her equipment and moved closer. She reached for the camera she had just packed.

“Off the record,” she said, showing him as she turned off the device completely. “Nothing recorded.”

Something in Joe’s expression shifted, relief, maybe, or recognition that she understood what he needed in this moment.

“Everyone keeps saying I’ll come back stronger,” he continued, voice low. “The team, the media, the fans. ‘Joe Burrow’s comeback will be legendary.’ But what if it’s not? What if this,” he gestured to his braced leg, “changes things permanently?”

Y/N leaned against the treatment table, giving him space but staying present. “What does your PT actually say? Not the public version.”

“That I’m ahead of schedule but have a long way to go,” Joe answered. “That most players come back from ACL tears, but it can take a full season to feel normal again.” He paused. “If normal even exists after this.”

Y/N nodded, considering her response carefully. This wasn’t a moment for empty reassurance or team talking points.

“I tore my ACL my senior year,” she said, surprising him with the personal reference. “Playing soccer at UK. Doctor said I might not play again. Six months later I was back on the field.” She paused. “Different, but better.”

Joe turned to look at her fully, genuine surprise breaking through his frustration. “You tore your ACL?”

“I did,” Y/N said. "The rehab was brutal. I used to ice my knee and cry in the training room bathroom so my teammates wouldn’t see.”

“What changed?” Joe asked, fully engaged now. “How did you get from bathroom tears to ‘better’?”

“I stopped fighting the process,” Y/N said simply. “Started respecting the injury instead of resenting it. And I learned that ‘same as before’ is the wrong goal. You don’t get the same body back. You get a new one that moves differently.”

She hesitated, then added, “But here’s what no one tells you—the mental game changes too. You become more strategic when you can’t rely on pure physicality. You see the field differently. You anticipate because you have to. Some of my best plays came after the injury, not before.”

A moment of connection formed as Joe finally met her eyes, a small smile forming. “You don’t bullshit me. That’s why I like you.”

Y/N felt that flutter but kept her composure, moving back to her equipment. “The comeback narrative isn’t bullshit. It’s just incomplete without acknowledging the struggle.” She picked up her camera bag. “And Joe? No one who’s watched you work these past weeks doubts you’ll be back. The question is just who you’ll be when you get there.”

Joe nodded slowly, processing her words. “Thanks. For the honesty. And for turning off the camera.”

“Some moments aren’t for documentation,” Y/N said. “Though if you ever want to talk about the mental side of recovery for the content series, I think it would resonate. Athletes don’t discuss that enough.”

“Maybe,” Joe said, his professional mask gradually returning. “I’ll think about it.”

As Y/N prepared to leave, Joe called after her. “Hey, Y/N? Your team ever regret drafting you after the injury?”

Y/N smiled despite herself. “I wasn’t exactly first-round NWSL material, Joe. But no. The injury made me a better player. Different, but better.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she left, aware that something had shifted between them—a new layer of understanding beneath their professional relationship. For the first time, Joe had seen her not just as the person behind the camera, but as someone who truly understood his struggle from the inside.

It was a connection she hadn’t planned for. And one that would make staying professional a little harder every week.

* * *

April 2021 - Y/N’s Apartment

“They’re absolutely taking Chase,” Lucas insisted through the Zoom call, his voice slightly delayed over Y/N’s laptop speakers. “Burrow needs weapons more than protection.”

“That’s insane,” Aaron countered, his window lighting up. “They’ve got to take Sewell. What good are receivers if your quarterback is getting murdered every play?”

Matt’s face appeared in the third window. “Y/N, you literally work there. What are they thinking?”

Y/N took a sip of her beer, settling deeper into her couch as the NFL Draft coverage continued on her TV. The brothers’ traditional draft night debate was in full swing, though this was the first year they’d done it virtually instead of crammed into someone’s living room.

“I’m in media, not the front office,” she reminded them. “And even if I knew anything, I’m not sharing confidential information with you degenerates.”

“Come on,” Lucas pressed. “You’ve been filming Burrow’s rehab for months. He must have dropped hints about who he wants.”

Y/N shook her head. “Professional boundaries, remember? I document the recovery. I don’t gossip about draft preferences.”

In truth, Joe had mentioned Chase during a rehabilitation session the previous week. A casual “Be nice throwing to Ja’Marr again” while working on his passing motion. But Y/N took her role seriously. What happened in those sessions stayed there, unless approved for team content.

Her phone buzzed with a text, offering a welcome distraction from her brothers’ continued debate.

Joe: You watching?

Y/N stared at the message, surprised. It was draft night. She had assumed Joe would be watching with friends, family, or Olivia.

Y/N: Of course. Annual Y/L/N family tradition, now over Zoom.

Joe: Predictions?

Y/N thought carefully about her response, hyperaware of her brothers still arguing loudly through her laptop.

Y/N: My brothers are arguing Chase vs Sewell. Heated debate in progress. I’m staying neutral.

Joe: Smart. But off the record?

She smiled at his persistence.

Y/N: Off the record, I think your LSU connection might win out over conventional wisdom.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared.

Joe: We’ll see in about 4 picks. My phone’s been blowing up all night. Needed a normal conversation.

Something warm bloomed in Y/N’s chest at the implication, that texting her constituted “normal” for Joe, a respite from the pressures of draft night.

Y/N: Happy to talk about it like a regular person. How’s the knee today?

Joe: Good session this morning. Getting stronger. Doctor says I’m where I should be at 20 weeks.

“Y/N, who are you texting? You’re missing the debate!” Matt called through the Zoom.

“Just work stuff,” she replied absently, watching the three dots appear on her phone again.

Joe: Olivia says hi. She’s been impressed with the rehab content series.

Y/N’s fingers froze over her keyboard. The sting was immediate, the kind that crept up slowly even when she thought she’d braced for it. Of course Olivia was there. Of course they were watching the draft together. The reminder sat heavy.

Y/N: Tell her thanks and hey back.

She set her phone down and forced her attention back to her brothers and the draft coverage. On screen, the Bengals’ pick was approaching, the tension building as analysts debated the same Sewell-versus-Chase question that had divided the Y/L/N brothers.

When Commissioner Goodell announced “Ja’Marr Chase, wide receiver, LSU,” Lucas erupted in triumph while Aaron groaned dramatically. Y/N felt her phone buzz again but didn’t look right away, instead watching the coverage of Chase celebrating with his family.

Finally, she glanced down.

Joe: Like I said, LSU connections matter.

Y/N couldn’t help smiling, imagining Joe’s subtle satisfaction at the pick.

Y/N: Lucas says you’re welcome. Apparently he’s taking credit for Chase like he was in the war room.

Joe: Tell him I’ll let Chase know he’s got fans in Louisville. Heading into calls. Appreciate the breather.

Y/N: Anytime. Congrats on the reunion tour.

She set her phone aside and rejoined her brothers’ now-heated debate about the wisdom of the pick. But part of her mind lingered on that text exchange—on being the person Joe reached out to for normal amid the draft night chaos, and on the complicated feelings that continued to develop despite her best efforts to contain them.

The rehabilitation documentation had created a unique space between them. Not quite friendship. Definitely not romance. But something intimate nonetheless. Joe trusted her. Relied on her perspective. Valued her discretion.

It was enough, she told herself. And for now, it had to be.

* * *

July 2021 - Training Camp

The energy at training camp was electric, fans lining the practice fields for their first glimpse of Joe Burrow back in action after his devastating injury. Y/N moved efficiently through the crowd, capturing fan reactions and b-roll for the team’s social content.

“Y/N!” Kayla called, waving her over to the media area. “We need you on Burrow’s first team drills. Main camera, tight focus on his movement and confidence. This is the money shot everyone’s waiting for.”

Y/N nodded, adjusting her equipment as she headed to the designated position. After months documenting Joe’s rehabilitation journey, the painful early sessions, the gradual progress, the breakthrough moments, this felt like the culmination of a shared experience. Though she’d never say it aloud, she felt oddly protective watching reporters and cameras gather, knowing many were hoping to capture any hint of hesitation or weakness in his return.

When Joe jogged onto the field in full practice gear, a roar went up from the assembled fans. Y/N watched through her viewfinder as he acknowledged the crowd with a casual wave before joining the quarterbacks group. His stride looked natural, confidence evident in his movement. If he felt any apprehension about this first public session, it didn’t show in his body language.

Throughout the early drills, Y/N maintained her professional focus, capturing exactly what the team needed, Joe’s throwing mechanics, his footwork, the way he planted on the surgically repaired knee. But she couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction each time he executed a perfect dropback or stepped confidently into a throw, knowing how hard he’d fought for each of those movements.

During a brief water break, Joe glanced toward the media area, his eyes finding Y/N’s camera with practiced ease. He gave a subtle nod, something like acknowledgment or even gratitude, before turning back to his teammates. Y/N swallowed hard, refocusing her lens. That small gesture felt significant, a private recognition of the journey they’d documented together.

“Looking good out there,” commented a reporter standing nearby. “Can’t even tell which knee was injured.”

“That’s the point,” Y/N replied, not looking away from her viewfinder. “Months of work to make it look effortless.”

After practice concluded, Y/N was reviewing footage when she noticed Olivia standing near the family area, waiting as Joe finished speaking with coaches. She was stunning even in casual clothes, her easy confidence evident as she chatted with other players’ family members.

Y/N had managed to avoid direct interaction with Olivia throughout the rehabilitation documentation. Their paths rarely crossed during Joe’s recovery. Now, watching her welcome Joe with a warm embrace after practice, Y/N felt the familiar ache that she’d become adept at ignoring.

“Y/N, right?”

Y/N turned to find Olivia standing beside her, offering a friendly smile.

“Yes,” Y/N confirmed, professionalism automatically kicking in. “Nice to see you again.”

“I wanted to thank you personally,” Olivia said, surprising Y/N completely. “Joe mentioned how you handled the rehab documentation. Keeping it about the work, not turning it into some dramatic sob story. It meant a lot to him. To both of us, really.”

Y/N managed a smile, her grip tightening slightly on the strap of her camera bag. “Just doing my job,” she said, steadying her voice. “Joe made it easy. He was committed from day one.”

“Still,” Olivia insisted, “he said you understood what he needed from those sessions. Not many media people get that part right.” She paused, glancing toward where Joe was still engaged with coaches. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. It’s been a rough few months.”

The sincerity in Olivia’s voice made Y/N feel suddenly guilty for her complicated feelings. This woman clearly loved Joe and had supported him through an incredibly difficult recovery.

“He’s looking great out there,” Y/N offered. “All that work is paying off.”

Olivia nodded, relief evident in her expression. “That’s what the doctors are saying too. Though he’s still pushing too hard, in typical Joe fashion.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at that familiar truth. “Some things never change.”

“Exactly,” Olivia agreed with a knowing look. As Joe approached, she added quietly, “Anyway, thanks again. Looking forward to seeing the season content you create.”

Joe approached from across the field, catching sight of them mid-conversation. His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he smoothed it out with a nod.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Just thanking Y/N for her work during your recovery,” Olivia explained, her hand finding his naturally. “The content series has been really well done.”

Joe’s eyes met Y/N’s briefly. “She gets it right. Always has.”

The simple validation shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. Y/N nodded professionally, already stepping back. “Just capturing what’s there. You looked solid today. Confidence reads clearly on camera.”

“Months of practice,” Joe replied, the hint of a private joke in his eyes, a reference to their many conversations about perception versus reality in the rehabilitation content.

“I should get this footage back for editing,” Y/N said, gesturing to her camera. “Good to see you both.”

As she walked away, Y/N tried to sort through her conflicting emotions. The professional pride in seeing Joe’s successful return. The personal satisfaction of having been part of his recovery journey. The complicated ache of witnessing his relationship with Olivia up close, their easy intimacy, their shared experience of his injury.

Y/N had maintained appropriate boundaries throughout the rehabilitation process, focusing on the work rather than her inconvenient feelings. But seeing him back on the field, confident and strong after all those difficult sessions, stirred something deeper than professional satisfaction.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Kayla: Need the practice footage ASAP. National outlets requesting clips of Burrow’s return.

Y/N welcomed the distraction, focusing on the immediate demands of her job. There would be time later to process the complex emotions of this day, and to reinforce the professional walls that seemed increasingly necessary as the new season approached.

* * *

2022 Season – January 2023

“And Joe Burrow leads the Cincinnati Bengals back to the AFC Championship game for the second straight year.”

The announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium as Y/N captured the sideline celebrations, moving efficiently through the chaos to document the team’s triumph. After a remarkable comeback season in 2021 that took them to the Super Bowl, the 2022 Bengals had faced enormous expectations. They were meeting them with another deep playoff run.

Y/N had established herself as a key member of the media team, promoted to Social Media Coordinator at the start of the season. The role gave her broader responsibilities beyond player-specific content, though she still handled much of the quarterback and skill position documentation.

As players embraced on the field, Y/N captured Joe’s celebration with his teammates. The confident smile, the easy leadership that had developed over three seasons. When he glanced toward her camera and gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment, Y/N felt the familiar flutter she’d learned to ignore.

Their professional relationship had evolved over the past year. The intensive connection of the rehabilitation period had naturally shifted as Joe returned to full strength and Y/N’s responsibilities expanded. They still worked together regularly, but the intimate space of those recovery sessions, where vulnerability and trust had created something unique, had given way to the more structured interactions of normal team operations.

Later, in the locker room, Y/N navigated between celebrating players and capturing authentic moments for the team’s social platforms. Joe stood at the center of a media scrum, handling questions with the composed confidence that had become his trademark.

“Y/N!” called Chase, waving her over to a group of receivers. “Get this for the official account.”

She smiled and directed her camera toward their celebration. This was her world now. Trusted by players, respected by staff, the voice behind the team’s digital presence. The professional success was everything she’d worked for, even as she maintained careful boundaries with the quarterback who had once trusted her with his most vulnerable moments.

After finishing the required content, Y/N was packing her equipment when she sensed someone approaching.

“Good game to capture,” Joe said, now changed from his uniform but still flushed with victory.

“Congratulations,” Y/N replied, her smile genuine. “Back-to-back championship games is no small feat.”

“The content team has been killing it this season,” he said, nodding toward her coordinator badge. “That promotion was well-deserved.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, a little surprised he’d noticed. Since his full return, their interactions had been mostly professional. Still friendly, but nothing like the closeness they’d shared during his recovery. “Everyone makes it easy to create good content.”

Joe gave a small shrug. “Still. You’re the one shaping how it’s remembered.”

Y/N smiled at that. “Well, my job’s bigger now. I’m not just chasing quarterbacks around anymore.”

A comfortable silence settled between them. The kind that only develops between people with shared history. For a moment, Y/N felt a faint echo of their rehabilitation sessions, when conversation had flowed naturally despite the professional context.

“Olivia’s organizing a team gathering if we make the Super Bowl,” Joe said, breaking the quiet. “You should come. The whole media team is invited, but”, he paused, searching for the words, “it would be good to have you there. After everything.”

Y/N nodded, maintaining her professional composure despite the unexpected invitation. “Thanks. That would be nice.”

Joe seemed about to say something else when Chase called his name from across the locker room. “Quarterback meeting in five.”

“Duty calls,” Joe said with a quick smile. “See you around, Y/N.”

As he walked away, Y/N finished packing her equipment and tried to parse the brief interaction. There had been something in his expression. Not quite nostalgia, but recognition of their unique history. The rehabilitation journey had created a connection that, while carefully professional, had left its mark on both of them.

Y/N’s phone buzzed with the brothers’ group chat.

Lucas: Another AFC Championship! Bengals social team crushing it with the content.

Matt: They better be paying you overtime for playoff coverage.

Aaron: How close are you and Burrow these days? Still working together often?

Y/N stared at Aaron’s question, unsure how to answer. The truth was complicated. They worked together professionally, but the intensity of their connection during his recovery had naturally faded as circumstances changed.

Y/N: Professional relationship. I work with all the players in my coordinator role. But yes, still see him regularly for content.

She tucked her phone away and headed for the media room, where immediate deadlines awaited. The answer hadn’t been a lie, exactly. But it hadn’t captured the nuance of whatever existed between them. The lingering awareness, the comfortable silences, the way his eyes still found her camera in crowded moments.

Y/N had become expert at compartmentalizing these thoughts, focusing instead on her professional success and the exciting playoff run ahead. Whatever complicated feelings remained were her burden to manage. Not Joe’s, and certainly not something that would ever interfere with the career she’d worked so hard to build.

Even if, occasionally, she still caught herself watching him through her viewfinder a moment longer than strictly necessary.

* * *

February 2024 – Joe’s Home Gym

Y/N adjusted her camera, capturing Joe as he completed another set of wrist stabilization exercises. Four months into his second major injury recovery in three years, the rehabilitation routine had become familiar to them both. This session was taking place in the home gym Joe had built after his ACL recovery, a space that reflected his methodical approach to training, all clean lines and functional equipment, personal touches minimal.

“How’s that feeling compared to last week?” Y/N asked, lowering her camera as Joe finished the exercise.

“Better,” he replied, flexing his wrist carefully. “More control. Less hesitation.”

Y/N nodded, making notes for the recovery update that would be released to fans later in the week. As Social Media Coordinator, she no longer had to handle the daily documentation of Joe’s recovery, but she had still accepted his request to personally oversee the key elements of his rehabilitation content. After the success of their first recovery series, the team had readily agreed.

“The fans will be happy to see the progress,” she said, reviewing the footage. “They’ve been worried since Baltimore.”

“Four years with the Bengals and two seasons ended by injuries,” Joe commented, a rare note of frustration breaking through his composure. “Not exactly what anyone had in mind.”

Y/N looked up from her camera. “The comeback narrative plays well the first time. Second time, it reads as resilience. Those aren’t bad stories to have attached to your name.”

He gave her a small smile, the kind reserved for when she cut through the media spin to something more genuine. It was a look Y/N had catalogued without meaning to, along with his game-day focus, his press conference diplomacy, his unguarded moments of triumph. Four years of documenting Joe Burrow had left her with an encyclopedic knowledge of his expressions.

As his physical therapist entered to begin the next series of exercises, Y/N stepped back, camera ready but maintaining a respectful distance. She had perfected the art of being present without imposing, of capturing vulnerability without exploiting it.

“Y/N,” Joe called as the PT finished setting up. “The team said you’re heading to the combine next week?”

“Yeah, they want feature content on potential draft picks.” She adjusted her lens. “First time being on that side of the process.”

“Tell them to find someone who can stay healthy,” Joe said, that subtle humor in his eyes. “Someone boring who never gives the social media team anything dramatic to document.”

Y/N laughed. “I don’t know. Documenting your injuries has been good for my career. Got me this promotion.”

“Happy to help,” Joe replied dryly, though something in his expression shifted and grew more serious. “You deserve it. You always see the person beyond the player. Not everyone does that.”

The simple observation caught Y/N off guard. Before she could respond, the PT motioned that they were ready to begin the next exercise, and the moment passed.

Later, reviewing the footage alone in her apartment, Y/N paused on a frame that captured Joe mid-motion, his expression reflecting the focus and determination that defined him. After nearly four years, she still found herself studying these images longer than necessary, still felt that familiar tug of emotion she had long since accepted but never fully conquered.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Sam, a colleague from the PR department who had gradually become her closest friend on the team.

“Please tell me you’re not still working,” Sam’s voice carried the easy warmth Y/N had come to rely on. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Just finishing up the Burrow rehab content,” Y/N replied, closing her laptop. “Wanted to get ahead before the combine trip.”

“How’s our quarterback looking?”

“Good,” Y/N said, careful to keep her tone professional. “Recovery’s on track. Should be cleared well before training camp.”

There was a brief silence before Sam spoke again. “And how are you doing with all of this?”

Y/N hesitated. She had never explicitly discussed her feelings for Joe with anyone. Not her brothers, not her colleagues. But over the past year, Sam had noticed things, the way Y/N’s expression changed when Joe entered a room, how she instinctively anticipated his needs during media sessions, the careful distance she maintained in group settings.

“I’m fine,” Y/N said automatically. “Just doing my job.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam replied, the skepticism evident in her voice. “And has that job gotten any easier in the, what, almost four years you’ve been doing it?”

Y/N sighed, glancing at the snow globe still sitting on her nightstand, a reminder of a Christmas Eve long ago. “It’s not like that. We work well together. We have a professional rapport. That’s all.”

“Y/N,” Sam said, her voice gentler now. “I’ve seen how you look at him when you think no one’s watching. And I’ve seen how he seeks you out in a crowded room, how his eyes follow you. Whatever’s between you two, it’s not just professional rapport.”

Y/N felt a familiar tightness in her chest. “Even if there was something, which there isn’t, he has Olivia. Four years together. That’s not nothing.”

“True,” Sam conceded. “But that doesn’t change what I’ve seen.”

After hanging up, Y/N moved to her window, looking out at the Cincinnati skyline that had become home. Four years. Four years of building a career, of establishing herself as a respected voice within the organization, of carefully maintaining boundaries while documenting the career of Joe Burrow.

Four years of feelings that hadn’t faded, despite her best efforts.

For the first time, Y/N allowed herself to fully acknowledge the truth she had been dancing around since that first photoshoot when a rookie quarterback had caught her perfect spiral and looked at her with surprised recognition.

She was in love with Joe Burrow. Had been for years.

Admitting it felt both crushing and freeing, like finally naming something she had been avoiding for a long time. But recognition didn’t change reality. Joe was with Olivia. Y/N was his colleague. The boundaries between them were necessary and fixed.

As she prepared for bed, Y/N made a silent promise to herself. When she returned from the combine, she would create more distance. Focus on other players. Delegate more of Joe’s content to her team. For her own preservation and for the career she had worked so hard to build, she needed to step back from the center of Joe Burrow’s world, even if she had helped hold it together.

It was time to tell a different story. One where she wasn’t caught in a perpetual state of yearning for something that couldn’t happen. One where she was the main character again.

* * *

March 2024 - Bengals Media Suite

Y/N had been back from the NFL Combine for exactly four hours when the whispers reached her. Moving through the facility's open office space, she noticed the furtive glances, the conversations that hushed as she approached, the unmistakable atmosphere of gossip in circulation.

"What's going on?" she asked Sam, who was leaning against the doorframe of the media suite, phone in hand.

Sam's expression shifted to something cautious, almost apologetic. "You haven't seen the news?"

"I just got off a plane. What news?"

Sam hesitated, then turned her phone screen toward Y/N. There it was, a sports blog headline blown up for emphasis: "Bengals QB Joe Burrow and Longtime Girlfriend Split After Four Years."

Y/N felt the floor tilt beneath her, but kept her expression carefully neutral. "When did this break?"

"This morning," Sam said, watching her face. "It's been confirmed by multiple sources. Apparently, it happened a couple weeks ago, before your trip."

Y/N nodded mechanically, her mind racing to process this information while maintaining outward composure. "Well, I hope they're both okay. Break-ups are rough."

Sam raised an eyebrow at her deliberately casual tone but seemed to understand Y/N's need for discretion in the middle of the office. "The PR team's in emergency mode trying to control the narrative. You might want to be prepared for questions about the social media approach."

"Of course," Y/N replied, already moving toward her office, seeking privacy to collect herself. "Thanks for the heads-up."

Once behind her closed door, Y/N sat heavily in her chair, the news still reverberating through her. Joe and Olivia had been together since before her time with the Bengals. Their relationship had been a constant backdrop to her own complicated feelings, a fixed reality that had allowed her to keep those feelings firmly contained. With that boundary suddenly removed, Y/N felt exposed, as though a wall she'd been safely hiding behind had vanished.

Her phone buzzed with a group text from her brothers, who had clearly seen the news.

Matt: Don't think we didn't notice you've been radio silent on the Burrow news.

Lucas: Is he okay? Getting bombarded with questions as the resident Bengals expert in the family.

Aaron: More importantly, are YOU okay?

Y/N stared at Aaron's message, surprised and unsettled by his perceptiveness. Had she been that transparent all these years?

Y/N: Just got back from the combine and learning about it with everyone else. Don't have inside info. And obviously I'm fine, it has nothing to do with me.

The response was immediate:

Aaron: If you say so, sis.

Y/N was saved from replying by a knock at her door. Kayla, the head of PR, stood there with a tense expression.

"We need to coordinate on the social media approach," she said. "Engagement's through the roof, but we need to strike the right tone. Respectful distance while acknowledging the fans' interest."

"Absolutely," Y/N replied, grateful for the professional focus. "I'll draft a content strategy for the coming weeks."

"What are you thinking?" Kayla asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N considered for a moment. "Actually... I think we don't acknowledge it at all."

Kayla's eyebrows shot up. "Not even a brief statement?"

"Joe has never discussed his personal life publicly before," Y/N explained. "He's always kept that separate from his football identity. Starting now would set a precedent that his private life is fair game for public consumption."

"The fans will want—"

"The fans want football," Y/N interrupted gently. "We continue with regular football content, draft prep, team developments. We respect the boundary he's always maintained between his personal and professional life."

Kayla studied her thoughtfully. "That's... actually a solid approach. Let me run it by the team. Also, Joe's asking for you to handle his NBC Sports interview next week personally. Seems like he might be on the same page."

After Kayla left, Y/N sat motionless, absorbing this new development. Even amid personal upheaval, Joe still trusted her judgment, still sought her specific perspective. The weight of that trust felt heavier now than it ever had before.

Throughout the day, Y/N buried herself in work, drafting content plans, holding strategy meetings, responding to media inquiries. Every task provided a welcome distraction from the thought that circled her mind: Joe was single. For the first time since she'd known him, Joe Burrow was single.

It was nearly seven when her office phone rang.

"Y/N Y/L/N," she answered automatically.

"It's Joe."

She straightened in her chair, professional mask firmly in place despite the privacy of her office. "Hi. How are you doing?"

A soft exhale on the other end. "Been better. But surviving the media circus."

"I'm sure," Y/N said, keeping her tone carefully neutral. "We've drafted a content approach that should help."

"Kayla mentioned your strategy. No acknowledgment. Keep it focused on football."

"I hope that aligns with what you want," Y/N said, suddenly uncertain. "I just thought—"

"It's exactly what I want," Joe interrupted, his voice warm with approval. "That's why I'm calling about the NBC interview. I need you there."

Y/N paused, confused. The NBC interview was a major opportunity, but not typically something that required her personal oversight. "I can assign our best team—"

"I want you there," Joe interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. "You understand that not everything needs to be a story. You respect the boundaries. That's rare in this business."

Y/N felt a rush of professional pride mixed with something more personal. "I'll be there. We'll make sure they stay focused on football."

"Thank you," Joe said, relief evident in his voice. "And Y/N? Thanks for not asking why it happened. Everyone else has."

After hanging up, Y/N sat in the quiet of her office, the lights of Cincinnati beginning to twinkle in the early evening darkness outside her window. The professional boundaries she'd promised herself felt suddenly more essential and more fragile than ever before.

Joe needed her expertise. Her professional judgment. Her ability to maintain boundaries when everyone else wanted to cross them. That's what this was about—nothing more. She couldn't allow herself to read anything deeper into his request, couldn't let hope take root where it had no business growing.

Yet as she packed up her things to head home, Y/N couldn't quite suppress the small, persistent voice that whispered through her careful defenses.

He's single now. And the first person he called was you.

The Next Day - Bengals Conference Room

Y/N arrived early to prepare for the content planning meeting, arranging her presentation materials and reviewing her notes on the NBC interview format. She'd spent half the night crafting the perfect approach, one that would allow Joe to gracefully deflect personal questions and maintain focus on football.

The door opened, and Y/N looked up, expecting to see the PR team. Instead, Joe entered alone. He was dressed casually in Bengals athletic wear, hair slightly tousled, expression calm but tired around the eyes. Without the usual buffers of coaches, staff, or other players, his presence seemed to fill the empty conference room.

"Morning," he said, setting down his coffee. "Hope I'm not too early."

"Not at all," Y/N replied, her professional demeanor instinctively taking over. "I was just setting up."

Joe nodded, taking a seat at the table, not across from her as she expected, but at the adjacent corner, close enough that she could detect the faint scent of his aftershave. "So what's the game plan?"

Y/N pulled up her presentation, grateful for the distraction of work. "I've drafted a content strategy for the NBC interview. The approach is straightforward—if personal questions come up, we have prepared deflections that redirect to football topics without acknowledging the headlines directly."

She walked through the key points, outlining potential questions and suggested responses, maintaining eye contact with the screen rather than with Joe. This was familiar territory, the professional space where she felt confident and in control.

"This is perfect," Joe said when she finished. "No drama, no personal details, just football."

"You've always kept your private life private," Y/N agreed, finally meeting his gaze. "No reason to change that approach now, regardless of the circumstances."

Joe studied her for a moment, his expression warming. "You've always understood that about me. Even from the beginning."

"It's my job to understand what players need in terms of media strategy," Y/N replied modestly.

"No," Joe countered, leaning forward slightly. "Other media staff push for personal angles, human interest stories, emotional hooks. You never have. You respect the boundaries I set, sometimes before I even articulate them."

The directness of his praise caught her off guard. "I just try to see the person behind the player."

"And that's why I trust you," Joe said simply. "You see me as a person first, not as content to be packaged."

He paused, his expression shifting to something more contemplative. "I've been thinking a lot lately about the frames we put around ourselves. The stories we let others tell about us. The parts we keep private."

"That makes sense," Y/N offered carefully. "Especially with everything going on now."

Joe nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "I've started to realize how exhausting it is to maintain those frames. To always be seen through someone else's lens. I'm starting to wonder what it would be like to just... be seen. Without the frame. Without the lens."

There was something in his voice, an undercurrent of meaning Y/N couldn't quite decipher. Before she could respond, the door opened and the PR team filed in, breaking the moment with their arrival.

As the meeting proceeded, Y/N maintained her professional focus, presenting her strategy and responding to questions. But beneath her composed exterior, her mind kept returning to Joe's words, to the strange intensity in his eyes when he'd talked about being seen without a lens.

When the meeting ended, Y/N gathered her materials, aware of Joe lingering as the others filed out.

"The NBC interview is Tuesday at ten," she confirmed, keeping her tone light and professional. "I'll have the final prep materials to you tomorrow."

Joe nodded, but seemed distracted. "Y/N," he began, then stopped, glancing at the partially open door. "Never mind. We can talk about it Tuesday."

As he left, Y/N remained in the conference room, trying to make sense of what had just happened. In four years of working closely with Joe Burrow, she had learned to read his expressions, to anticipate his needs in professional settings, to recognize the difference between his media persona and his authentic self.

But today he had looked at her differently. Spoken to her differently. As though seeing her fully for the first time, or perhaps allowing her to see him without the careful filters they'd both maintained for so long.

Y/N gathered her things and headed back to her office, reminding herself of the promise she'd made just days ago. More distance. More professional boundaries. Less emotional investment in a relationship that existed primarily through a camera lens.

Yet as she settled at her desk, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. Joe Burrow was single for the first time since she'd known him. And for reasons she couldn't yet understand, he seemed to be looking at her in a way he never had before.

Tuesday's interview suddenly felt like much more than a standard media appearance. It felt like standing on the edge of something new and unknown. Something that both thrilled and terrified her in equal measure.

* * *

March 2024 – NBC Sports Interview Setup

The NBC Sports crew had transformed a corner of the Bengals facility into a sleek interview set, complete with a branded backdrop and professional lighting. Y/N surveyed the space with a critical eye, making quiet adjustments and mental notes about camera angles as the crew finished setup.

“All set on your end?” asked the NBC producer, a woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense tone.

“We’re good,” Y/N confirmed, checking her notes one last time. “Just a reminder, football questions only. No personal inquiries.”

The producer’s smile tightened. “We’re aware of your guidelines. Though our viewers may find the personal angle relevant.”

“They’ll have to find that content elsewhere,” Y/N said pleasantly. “Joe’s here to talk about his recovery and the season ahead.”

Before the producer could respond, Joe walked in, dressed in Bengals gear, his easy confidence settling over the room. Y/N watched as he greeted the crew with practiced professionalism, calm but fully present.

“Everything look good?” he asked, joining her at the edge of the set.

“All set,” she said. “We’ve reviewed the outline and reestablished the limits.”

Joe nodded. After four years of media work together, their rhythm was seamless. Y/N knew where to stand, when to flag a break, how to redirect a question with a subtle cue. They didn’t need to talk much anymore.

“Five minutes, Mr. Burrow,” an assistant called.

“I’ll be over there,” Y/N said, gesturing to her post just off-camera. “Remember the deflections if they press."

Joe reached out, catching her arm gently. “Hey.” His voice dropped. “Thanks for handling this. For knowing what I need.”

Y/N met his eyes. “That’s what teammates do, right?”

A smile flickered across his face, referencing a conversation from years ago. “Right. Teammates.”

The interview began smoothly. Joe fielded questions about his wrist, the off-season program, and his expectations for the year ahead. The host was polished and respectful, at first.

Then came the shift.

“So, Joe, with everything going on in your personal life lately, how has that impacted your mindset heading into the season?”

Y/N tensed, ready to intervene, but Joe’s glance toward her stopped her. He had it.

“I’m focused entirely on football right now,” he said evenly. “My recovery’s on track. We’re building something special here. That’s where my head is.”

The host pressed gently. “But a change like that, after four years, has to affect your mental approach.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered, ready to call it, but Joe held her gaze. Calm. Steady.

“One thing I’ve learned is that some parts of life belong to the public and some don’t,” he said. “I’ll talk about every detail of rehab, film study, preparation. But my personal life stays personal, not because it’s secret, but because it’s mine. I hope people can respect that.”

The host, sensing the firm line and the soundbite, moved on.

Thirty minutes later, the interview wrapped. The NBC crew began packing up. Y/N was reviewing her notes when the producer approached.

“That was good television,” she said, sounding almost impressed. “We didn’t get the personal angle, but his response was better than any breakup statement.”

“He meant every word,” Y/N said.

When the room cleared, she found Joe still in his chair, scrolling through his phone.

“You handled that perfectly,” she said, sitting down across from him. “The personal boundary line, clean and confident.”

“I had a good coach,” he said with a faint grin, then set his phone down. “You free for lunch? I could use some normal conversation.”

Y/N blinked. In four years, they’d rarely had lunch that wasn’t attached to a content shoot or a meeting. “I’ve got a review at two, but I’m free until then.”

“Great,” Joe said, already standing. “I know a place where no one will bother us.”

* * *

Local Cafe – 45 Minutes Later

The place Joe picked was small and tucked away on a quiet side street, the kind of cafe that didn’t advertise and clearly didn’t care to. No branding, no social media walls — just warm lighting, scratched wood tables, and a menu written in chalk. They sat in a corner booth, out of view from the street, menus already half-forgotten between them.

“I come here when I need to breathe,” Joe said, catching the way Y/N looked around. “Owner’s son played D-II ball. He doesn’t care who I am. No photos, no questions. Just food and quiet.”

“Everyone needs one of those,” Y/N said, settling into the seat. “A spot where no one asks for anything.”

Joe looked at her, curious. “Where’s yours?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. “East side. Little cafe in the back of a bookstore. Average coffee, great scones. Nobody cares about sports. I just sit and read and pretend I’m not attached to a team account.”

Joe grinned. “That actually tracks. I can picture it. You with a book, probably judging the plot structure.”

“It’s a curse,” she said, smiling. “Comes from too much content review.”

They ordered lunch. The conversation stayed easy, lighter than it ever was at the facility. Joe asked about her brothers, recalling random details she didn’t even remember mentioning. Y/N asked about his training plans, casually weaving in suggestions for future content ideas without falling into work mode completely.

“So,” she said, nudging her empty plate away, “how’s the wrist holding up after all that expert-level pointing in the interview?”

He flexed his hand theatrically. “Strong enough to gesture with purpose.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s going on the injury report.”

Joe leaned back, relaxed in a way she didn’t often see. “This is nice. No cameras, no checklists. Just… lunch.”

Y/N nodded. “There’s a reason I didn’t bring the content kit.”

“We should do it again,” he said, casual but sincere. “Lunch. Coffee. Whatever. Just… not at the facility.”

She felt it then, that small shift. The line they’d both been quietly standing on for years moving slightly, the rules changing under them.

“I’d like that,” she said, keeping it light. “Might help with brainstorming.”

Joe tilted his head, giving her a look that was equal parts amused and direct. “Not for work. I mean just to hang out.”

Y/N blinked, a quiet flush rising to her cheeks. “Oh. Yeah, okay. That’d be nice.”

She looked down for a second, then back up, trying to play it off with a quick smile. “Not just for work, then.”

Joe smiled too, something almost teasing in his eyes. “Not just for work.”

Back at the facility, they walked side by side until the hallway split. Joe paused before they parted.

“Thanks for today. The interview. Lunch. All of it.”

“Just doing my job,” Y/N said, the reflex kicking in before she could stop it.

Joe looked at her, steady. “No. It’s always been more than that with you.”

And then he turned and kept walking, leaving Y/N standing there, trying not to replay the sentence before she’d even finished hearing it.

* * *

April 2024 – Bengals Facility Media Room

Over the next few weeks, a new pattern emerged. Joe would seek Y/N out after meetings or rehab sessions, suggesting coffee breaks or lunch outings that had less and less to do with content planning. They started talking more, not just about football or strategy, but about music, families, the random thoughts they didn’t usually share with coworkers. A friendship was forming, one that felt separate from everything else they’d been before.

“Y/N!” Sam called, poking her head into the media room where Y/N was editing draft day content. “Lunch plans?”

“Can’t today,” Y/N replied, eyes on her screen. “Meeting Joe about his charity event next month.”

Sam leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, already smirking. “That’s the third ‘meeting’ this week. Someone’s becoming a regular.”

Y/N glanced up. “We’re just talking through logistics.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Logistics. Of your friendship. That just so happens to involve daily lunch plans.”

Y/N sat back, crossing her arms. “We’re friends, Sam. Is that so strange?”

“Not strange,” Sam said. “Just new. And very different since the breakup.”

Y/N went still. “So what if it is?”

“Just… don’t act like you don’t know what’s happening,” Sam said gently. “You’ve been in love with the guy for years, and now he’s single and spending more time with you than anyone else on the team.”

“Keep your voice down,” Y/N muttered, glancing at the open door. “And no, nothing’s happening. We’ve always worked well together. That hasn’t changed.”

“Except it has,” Sam said. “You’re not just filming him in the weight room anymore. You’re texting. Hanging out. Laughing in the break room like it’s nothing. It’s something. And I just don’t want to see you get hurt pretending it’s not.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She stared at her screen, the video paused on a frame of Joe walking into a press conference, casual and calm and so familiar.

After Sam left, Y/N closed her laptop and sat with the weight of the conversation. She knew Sam wasn’t wrong. The boundaries between her and Joe had shifted. The conversations had changed. So had the silences.

Joe texted.

Joe: Still on for lunch? Found a new place with killer sandwiches.

Y/N: Definitely. Meet you in the lobby at 12:30?

Joe: Perfect. Looking forward to it.

Three simple words.

Looking forward to it.

And she was too. That was the part she didn’t know what to do with.

* * *

July 2024 – Training Camp

Training camp came in hot, literally and figuratively. The facility pulsed with energy: players returning, rookies getting loud welcomes, schedules tightening, everything moving fast. Y/N moved with it, camera slung over her shoulder, coordinating her media team between drills and pressers. This year, she had more responsibility, more people to manage, more angles to cover.

On the field, Joe looked sharp. The wrist held up. His throws were crisp, timing on point. Y/N tracked him through her lens, quietly relieved. This was the version fans had been waiting for. And she’d seen every step it took to get back here.

“Looking good out there,” she called as he passed during a water break.

“Feeling good,” Joe said, tipping the bottle back. “Might actually survive a full season.”

“Don’t jinx it,” she warned.

He grinned, and for a moment it felt like spring again, when they were texting about books and sneaking off for lunch and everything between them felt easy.

But something had shifted. Subtle, but noticeable. Their lunches had slowed. His texts, less frequent. He still sought her out during media stuff, still made space for her during press days. But the familiar rhythm had changed. More distance. A little quieter.

Y/N told herself it was camp. The pressure. The tunnel vision. Still, it lingered.

One night, after most of the building had cleared out, she spotted a familiar figure in the film room. Joe, hoodie on, eyes on the screen.

“Don’t you ever take a break?” she asked from the doorway.

He looked over, offered a tired half-smile. “Not this time of year.”

She stepped inside, sliding into the chair next to him. “Even quarterbacks need to let their brains cool off.”

Says the woman who’s been here since dawn.” He nodded toward her camera bag.

“Touché.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the room lit only by the frozen frame on the screen.

“You’ve been kind of MIA lately,” Y/N said lightly. “Everything good?”

Joe didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on the paused film. “Yeah. Just… camp mode. Lot to lock in.”

She nodded. “If you need a break from all this, I’m around. We could grab dinner, talk about literally anything but football.”

That made him smile, just barely. “I’d like that. Maybe next week? When it slows down.”

“Deal.” She stood, grabbing her bag. “Don’t stay too late.”

As she walked back through the dim hallway, she couldn’t shake the quiet knot in her chest. Something was different. Not bad exactly, just… not what it had been. And maybe Sam had been right, that the closer they’d gotten, the more it risked tipping into something unspoken.

Maybe Joe felt that too.

Still, whatever this was between them, it mattered. And if keeping it meant backing off, Y/N could do that.

She had before.

* * *

November 2024 – Late Night

Y/N’s phone lit up with an incoming call, dragging her out of a dead sleep.

Sam (2:47 AM)

She answered immediately. “What happened?”

“You haven’t seen your phone yet?”

“No, I just got in from the flight and crashed.”

Sam exhaled. “Joe’s house got broken into tonight. While we were still in the air.”

Y/N sat up, heart pounding. “Wait, what? He was on the plane.”

“I know. That’s what makes this weirder. Apparently someone showed up at his house and found a shattered window. Cops were called. No one hurt, but it’s all over the internet.”

Y/N blinked. “Who showed up?”

Sam hesitated. “A woman. Ellie James.”

The name hit like ice water.

“She told police she was his employee. But fans already clocked her. She’s a 21-year-old model. Big on Instagram, runway work, a couple of campaigns. TikTok found her instantly.”

"It's blowing up on X right now. Apparently, he's been seeing someone for months. No one had any idea, not even the team."

Y/N was already unlocking her phone.

“‘Break-in at Joe Burrow’s home while team in Texas. No injuries reported.’”

“‘Ellie James identifies herself as “employee” in police report. Fans suspect more.’”

“‘Burrow and Ellie James: timeline of a secret relationship?’”

“They’ve got screenshots, tagged photos, weird little clues going back to July. That’s when people think they started seeing each other. Which—” Sam hesitated. “Kind of lines up, right?”

It did. July was when Joe had started pulling back. When their texts slowed, when their lunches stopped, when the tone of everything between them shifted into something more careful and less open.

Sam continued, “She wasn’t living with him, but she had access. Enough to be there alone. That’s the part everyone’s running with. The whole internet’s treating it like confirmation they’ve been together for months.”

Y/N didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

“Kayla called an emergency meeting for seven,” Sam added gently. “You’ll be in the room. We’re keeping it quiet for now, no official posts, no statements, but it’s gonna be messy. Just… be ready.”

After the call ended, Y/N scrolled through her phone. Headlines were popping up faster than she could keep track: Model Found Inside Joe Burrow’s House After Security Alarm Trip. Woman Identifies as Employee. Internet Says Otherwise.

Photos from Ellie’s Instagram. Old likes on Joe’s posts. A resurfaced clip from preseason camp that now felt painfully obvious. The puzzle pieces were already being assembled by fans who needed no confirmation to draw conclusions.

Y/N dropped her phone onto the bed and stared into the dark. It all made sense now, why he’d started retreating, why the easy momentum between them had suddenly stalled. While she’d been wondering what changed, he had already been moving toward someone else.

And she hadn’t known. Not once had he mentioned Ellie. Not to her. Not in passing. Not even after everything they’d shared.

She let herself lie back down, though sleep wouldn’t come again. Her chest ached with the kind of heartbreak you can’t rationalize away. Four years of working beside him. Of being trusted. Of feeling like maybe, just maybe, she was something more than just a colleague.

But tonight made it plain. She hadn’t been the one he’d let in. Not to his house, and not to the private parts of his life he kept so fiercely protected.

Y/N blinked up at the ceiling, a tear sliding quietly into her hair. She would go to the meeting in the morning. She would do her job.

But in this quiet hour, there was no protecting herself from the truth.

He had let someone else in.

And it wasn’t her.

* * *

November 2024 - Bengals Facility, 7:00 AM

The conference room was already filled when Y/N arrived, PR staff and executives huddled around the table, phones buzzing with alerts, coffee cups scattered like defensive positions. Dark circles under eyes revealed who had been up all night tracking social media fallout. Kayla stood at the head of the table, a slideshow of current headlines projected on the wall behind her.

Y/N took a seat beside Sam, grateful for the friendly face amid the tension. She'd spent the hours since Sam's call cycling through shock, hurt, and professional resolve, finally landing on a numb determination to get through this day with her dignity intact.

"Good, we're all here," Kayla began, silencing the murmurs. "As you're aware, there was an incident at Joe's residence last night while the team was returning from Dallas. The situation has escalated with social media speculation about his relationship with Ellie James, the woman present during the break-in."

Y/N's eyes remained fixed on her notebook as Kayla continued detailing the situation: security footage being reviewed, police statements, media requests flooding in. The office was buzzing with opinions about how to handle the revelation of Joe's apparent secret relationship.

"We need a clear, consistent message," said Marcus from PR. "Confirm the relationship, express appreciation for privacy during this unexpected exposure, pivot back to football."

"We should get ahead of this," another executive agreed. "Have Joe make a brief statement addressing the speculation directly."

"No," Y/N said quietly, then louder when several faces turned toward her. "No. That's exactly what we shouldn't do."

Kayla gestured for her to continue. As Social Media Coordinator, Y/N's perspective on public messaging carried weight, especially regarding Joe, with whom she'd worked closely for years.

"Joe isn't going to want to talk about this," Y/N continued, keeping her voice steady despite the emotional undercurrent. "He's never discussed his personal life publicly before. Not with Olivia, not after their breakup, not ever. We need to let him lead and share what he wants to, if anything."

"But the speculation is already overwhelming," Marcus countered. "The internet's connecting dots, creating narratives—"

"And that's the internet's problem, not ours," Y/N interrupted firmly. "This wasn't a planned reveal. His home was broken into. His privacy was violated. And now we're sitting here discussing how to package his personal life for public consumption?" She shook her head. "He deserves better from us."

A silence fell over the room as her words sank in.

"Y/N's right," Kayla said finally. "Joe's always maintained clear boundaries between his personal and professional life. Our job is to respect and reinforce those boundaries, not erode them further."

"So what do we do?" someone asked.

"We focus on the break-in as a security matter," Y/N suggested. "We acknowledge the incident without commenting on personal details. We prepare for questions but don't volunteer information Joe hasn't chosen to share himself."

The meeting continued with logistics planning, security protocols, media management strategies. Y/N participated with professional focus, offering insights on social media monitoring, content approaches, protective messaging. No one in the room would have guessed from her composed exterior the turmoil beneath the surface, the personal devastation she was carefully compartmentalizing to do her job.

As the meeting concluded, Kayla approached Y/N. "Joe's coming in at ten for a scheduled press briefing about Sunday's game. After this, reporters will obviously try to shift focus. Can you prep him? You've got the best sense of how he'll want to handle this."

Y/N nodded, her stomach twisting at the prospect of facing Joe after last night's revelation. "I'll handle it."

10:15 AM - Press Prep Room

Y/N was reviewing notes when the door opened and Joe walked in. He looked tired but composed, dressed in standard team attire, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. For a moment they simply looked at each other, the air between them heavy with unspoken complications.

"Hey," he said finally.

"Hey," Y/N replied, professional mask firmly in place. "You okay?"

"Been better," Joe admitted, taking a seat across from her. "I'm guessing you've heard."

"It's been a busy morning," Y/N confirmed neutrally. "The team's concerned about how to handle the media today."

Joe nodded, studying her with that perceptive gaze she'd come to know so well. "What do you think I should do?"

Y/N took a deep breath, pushing aside every personal feeling to focus on what Joe needed professionally right now.

"I think what happened was an invasion of privacy in more ways than one," she said carefully. "First the break-in itself, then the public speculation. You don't owe anyone anything, Joe. Not explanations, not confirmations, not details about your personal life."

Joe's expression softened slightly. "That's what I figured you'd say."

"The reporters will try to ask," Y/N continued. "They'll find roundabout ways to bring it up. But you can respond the same way you always have when personal matters arise. Redirect to football. Maintain your boundaries. We're not confirming or commenting on anything you don't want to discuss."

"Thank you," Joe said quietly. "For understanding. For not..." he hesitated, "not asking questions yourself."

Y/N felt a flash of hurt at the implied gratitude for her professional distance, when all she wanted was to ask why he'd never once mentioned Ellie during their countless lunches, their growing friendship, their shared confidences. But she pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand.

"That's my job," she said simply. "To help you navigate the public aspects of your career while respecting your private ones."

They spent the next fifteen minutes reviewing likely questions and deflection strategies, maintaining a careful professional rapport that revealed nothing of Y/N's inner turmoil or whatever Joe might be feeling about this unexpected exposure of his private life.

As they finished their prep, Joe paused before standing. "You know, in all these years, you're the only one who's never tried to frame me according to what others want to see. Who's never pushed for more than I wanted to give."

The irony of his gratitude for her professional boundaries when she'd spent years carefully hiding how much more she wanted from him was almost too much to bear.

"Everyone deserves privacy," Y/N managed. "Even you."

Something flickered in Joe's expression, a moment of searching, before he nodded and stood. "Right. Let's get this over with."

Press Conference

Y/N stood in the back of the room as Joe stepped up to the podium, dressed in Bengals gear, posture steady, expression unreadable. The media had been buzzing since early morning, the room packed with local and national reporters, every one of them waiting for a chance to ask the question that had consumed the internet overnight.

Before they could.

Joe adjusted the mic slightly, then spoke with calm clarity.

“I know there’s been a lot of attention around my name in the past twenty-four hours. Out of respect for the people involved and for myself, I’m going to say this once. I feel like my privacy has been violated in more ways than one, and way more is already out there than I would want out there and that I care to share.”

He paused, letting the silence settle over the room.

“I’m here to talk about football. That’s what I’ll be answering questions about today.”

The room went still. Not stunned, but quieted. Everyone knew exactly what he meant. He wasn’t dodging. He was drawing a line.

Y/N exhaled slowly, a complicated ache settling in her chest. It wasn’t what they’d written together, but it was unmistakably him, measured, respectful, honest. Joe didn’t deny or explain. He simply protected the parts of his life he hadn’t invited anyone into.

A few reporters tried to pivot back toward the story, but Joe held firm, calmly redirecting every question to Sunday’s matchup, his wrist recovery, the team’s progress. He gave them nothing else.

When it ended, he stepped down from the podium and looked once toward the back of the room. His gaze met Y/N’s for half a second. A silent acknowledgment. Then he was gone.

Sam appeared beside her. "That wasn't what we prepped, but it worked."

"Better than what we prepped," Y/N agreed, her professional assessment genuine despite her personal turmoil. "No one's going to push after that."

"And how are you handling it?" Sam asked quietly, concern evident in her voice. "This can't be easy."

Y/N kept her eyes forward, not trusting herself to maintain composure if she looked at her friend. "I'm fine. It's not about me."

* * *

November 2024 - Bengals Media Office, Later That Day

Y/N sat at her desk, monitoring media coverage of Joe's press conference. His direct statement had effectively shut down the most invasive questions, though speculation about Ellie James continued across social platforms. She was crafting guidance for the social media team when a knock sounded at her open door.

She looked up to find Joe standing there, changed from his press attire into casual team workout gear.

"Got a minute?" he asked.

Y/N nodded, professional mask firmly in place despite the sudden acceleration of her pulse. "Of course."

Joe closed the door behind him and took a seat across from her desk. For a moment, he just studied her, those observant eyes taking in details in a way that had always made Y/N feel simultaneously seen and exposed.

"I went off script," he finally said.

"It was better," Y/N replied honestly. "More authentic. Set a clearer boundary."

Joe nodded, a small smile touching the corner of his mouth. "That's what I figured you'd say." He hesitated, then added, "I wanted to thank you for how you handled everything this morning. Sam mentioned you shut down the suggestions to make some official statement about... everything."

Y/N shrugged, keeping her expression carefully neutral. "I just did what you would have wanted. Protected your privacy."

"You always do," Joe said quietly. "Even when others don't."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken questions. Y/N kept her focus on her professional role, refusing to acknowledge the hurt and confusion swirling beneath her composed exterior.

"The coverage should die down in a soon," she said, gesturing to her monitor. "We'll maintain regular football content, no acknowledgment of the personal angles. The usual approach."

Joe nodded, but made no move to leave. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious.

"Look, Y/N... about Ellie."

"You don't owe me any explanations," Y/N interrupted quickly, heart suddenly pounding. "Your personal life is your business."

"I know, but given everything..." Joe trailed off, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain. "We've been friends. Having lunch, talking. It feels weird not to acknowledge it."

Friends. The word stung despite its truth. "It's really okay, Joe. I understand why you'd keep your relationship private. You always have."

Joe studied her face. "It's complicated. More complicated than what people are assuming."

Y/N felt a flicker of something, not quite hope, but curiosity, before she tamped it down. Whatever was happening between Joe and Ellie James, it wasn't her business unless it affected his public image, which was her professional concern.

"Complicated or not, it's yours to share or not share," she said carefully. "On your terms. When and if you want to."

Joe nodded slowly, seeming both grateful and somehow disappointed by her response. "Right. Well, I should let you get back to work."

He stood to leave but paused at the door. "I was thinking maybe we could grab lunch soon. Like we used to. I miss our conversations."

The invitation hit Y/N like a physical force, stirring up the complicated feelings she was trying desperately to compartmentalize. Part of her wanted to accept immediately, hungry for any connection with him. Another part knew that continuing their friendship after last night's revelation would only prolong her heartache.

"Let's see how the schedule looks," she replied, a neutral response that neither accepted nor rejected. "Things are pretty hectic right now."

Something flickered across Joe's face, disappointment, perhaps, before he nodded. "Sure. Just let me know."

After he left, Y/N sat motionless, staring at the door. That conversation had left her more confused than ever. Joe seemed to want to maintain their friendship, perhaps even explain whatever was happening with Ellie, while Y/N was still reeling from discovering the relationship existed at all.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Sam.

Sam: Just saw QB1 leaving your office. You okay?

Y/N: Fine. Just discussing press conference fallout. Professional stuff.

Sam: Available for wine and venting later if needed. No judgment.

Y/N smiled despite herself, grateful for her friend's support.

Y/N: Might take you up on that.

She turned back to her work, focusing on the tangible aspects of her job rather than the emotional complications. Whatever Joe's relationship with Ellie James was, whatever "complicated" meant in this context, Y/N needed to accept that she had been firmly placed in the "friend" category. And perhaps it was time to accept that and establish some healthier boundaries of her own.

That Evening - Sam's Apartment

"So he just showed up at your office to thank you, then vaguely called his relationship with Model Barbie 'complicated'?" Sam asked, refilling Y/N's wine glass. "What does that even mean?"

Y/N sank deeper into Sam's couch, the professional composure she'd maintained all day finally crumbling in the safety of her friend's apartment. "I have no idea. And I didn't ask."

"Why not?" Sam demanded. "After four years of pining—"

"I don't pine," Y/N interrupted defensively.

"Fine, after four years of 'professionally admiring from an appropriate distance,'" Sam amended with air quotes, "don't you deserve some answers? Especially after how close you two got this year?"

Y/N took a long sip of wine. "What would I even say? 'Hey Joe, why didn't you mention your secret girlfriend during all our lunches and conversations?' Or maybe 'Just wondering why you pulled back right when I thought we were getting closer?'"

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "Exactly those questions!"

"That's not who we are," Y/N sighed. "I've spent four years respecting his boundaries, his privacy. I can't suddenly demand explanations about his personal life just because I'm hurt."

"But that's the thing," Sam said gently. "You're not just a colleague anymore. You became friends, real friends. And friends tell each other when they start dating someone."

Y/N stared into her wine glass, confronting the truth in Sam's words. "Maybe we weren't as close as I thought."

"Or maybe there's more to the story," Sam suggested. "He called it 'complicated,' right? That's not exactly 'madly in love.'"

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said firmly. "The point is, I've been holding onto this hope that maybe, someday, he might see me as more than a friend or colleague. But the reality is, when he became single, he didn't turn to me. He found someone else. Someone completely separate from his football life."

"And you think that's what he wants? Separation?"

Y/N nodded slowly. "It makes sense. I represent his professional world, the cameras, the documentation, the public scrutiny. Ellie represents something completely different. Something private."

Sam studied her friend's face. "So what are you going to do?"

"My job," Y/N replied simply. "I'll keep doing my job excellently. And I'll start creating some healthier boundaries for myself." She took another sip of wine. "Including not accepting lunch invitations that will only make it harder to move on."

"And if he persists? If he wants to explain this 'complicated' situation?"

Y/N considered the question, recognizing both the temptation and the potential pain. "Then I'll listen. As his friend. But with no expectations beyond that."

Sam seemed skeptical but supportive. "Just promise me you'll prioritize yourself this time, not just his privacy or comfort."

"I'm trying," Y/N admitted. "Four years of habits are hard to break."

As they continued talking, Y/N's phone buzzed with an incoming text. She hesitated before checking it, already knowing who it would be from.

Joe: Just wanted to check how you're doing. Today couldn't have been easy for you either, managing all the fallout. Thanks again for having my back.

The sincerity of his concern, even amid his own privacy crisis, was quintessential Joe Burrow. Y/N stared at the message, debating whether to respond.

"Him?" Sam asked, watching her face.

Y/N nodded.

"What are you going to say?"

After a moment's consideration, Y/N typed a response that embodied her new resolution: friendly but with clearer boundaries.

Y/N: Just doing my job. Everything will settle down soon. Get some rest, we have a game to win Sunday.

She set her phone aside, ignoring the immediate notification of his reply. Tonight was about processing, about beginning to disentangle her heart from the web of hope and expectation she'd woven around Joe Burrow.

Tomorrow would be about moving forward. Professionally excellent as always, but with a new personal awareness that what she'd spent years hoping for simply wasn't going to happen.

It was time to protect her heart as carefully as she'd always protected Joe's privacy.

* * *

November 2024 - Game Day

The stadium hummed with energy as Y/N moved along the sidelines, camera in hand, documenting pre-game preparations. Despite everything, she found comfort in the familiar routines, the professional focus required to capture the right moments, the technical aspects of her job that left little room for emotional distractions.

She had successfully avoided direct interaction with Joe since their office conversation, managing team social media remotely when possible, delegating player-specific content to her staff when appropriate. The distance was self-protective, a necessary step toward accepting that their relationship would never be what she had hoped.

As players took the field for warm-ups, Y/N kept her camera trained on rookies and highlight plays, deliberately avoiding lingering on the quarterback. She was reviewing footage when a voice spoke behind her.

"Avoiding me?"

Y/N turned to find Joe standing there, helmet in hand, pre-game intensity evident in his posture but a question in his eyes.

"Of course not," she replied smoothly. "Just focusing on the content plan."

Joe studied her, that perceptive gaze seeming to see through her professional excuse. "You haven't answered my texts. Declined two lunch invitations. That's new."

Y/N maintained her composed expression despite the confrontation. "It's been a busy week. Lots of media management after everything that happened."

"Right," Joe said, clearly unconvinced. "Y/N, if something's—"

"You're about to play a game," she interrupted gently. "That's where your focus should be. Not on lunch plans or texts."

A mix of frustration and concern crossed his features. "This conversation isn't over. But you're right about the timing."

As he turned to head back toward the team, Y/N called after him. "Joe?"

He looked back.

"Good luck out there."

The corner of his mouth lifted in that subtle smile she knew so well. "Thanks. I'll need it against this defense."

Y/N watched him jog back to the quarterback group, his form perfect, his presence commanding attention without effort. She would always admire that about him—the natural leadership, the focused intensity, the quiet confidence.

But admiration could exist without expectation. Respect without romantic attachment. Professional excellence without personal entanglement.

At least, that's what Y/N was determined to learn.

As the game began, she threw herself into her work, capturing key moments, coordinating with her team, creating the content that brought fans closer to the action. This was what she excelled at. What she had built her career on. What had earned her respect throughout the organization.

And if her heart ached when the camera caught Joe celebrating a touchdown, when he glanced toward the sideline where she stood, when he gave his post-game interview with that mixture of humility and confidence she'd documented for four years—well, that was her burden to bear.

Her phone buzzed with a text as she was packing up her equipment after the game.

Joe: We need to talk. For real this time. Not about work.

Y/N stared at the message, her new resolution already being tested. Every instinct urged her to agree immediately, to hope that "complicated" might somehow explain why he'd kept Ellie a secret from her, even as they'd grown closer as friends.

But the reality was painfully clear. Joe had chosen someone else. Someone young and beautiful, someone entirely separate from his football life. Someone he'd wanted to keep private. The "complicated" aspects of his relationship with Ellie didn't change the fundamental truth: he didn't see Y/N the way she saw him.

Y/N: I'm heading out of town tomorrow. Family visit. Can it wait until next week?

It wasn't technically a lie. She had been planning to visit her brothers sometime soon, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to gain some distance and perspective.

Joe: If it has to. But Y/N, I hate how things are between us right now.

She paused, fingers hovering over her keyboard, temptation warring with self-protection.

Y/N: We'll talk when I get back. Good game today.

Putting her phone away, Y/N finished packing her equipment, her mind already planning her impromptu trip to Louisville. Maybe time with her family, away from the daily orbit around Joe Burrow, would help her find the strength to maintain a friendship with him while accepting the reality of his relationship with Ellie.

Because one truth had become painfully clear: being Joe Burrow's friend, confidant, and trusted colleague was both a privilege and a form of exquisite torture when you were in love with him.

Something had to change. And since she couldn't change her feelings, she would have to change the dynamics of their relationship, for her own sake.

Even if that meant creating distance where she'd once sought closeness.

Part Two

[bambisnc]

(   ➴ ) 𝒮𝖮 𝖧𝖨𝖦𝖧 𝖲𝖢𝖧𝖮𝖮𝖫 ♡ i find you in every crowd

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ headcanons + 0.5k // swearing + unedited ˖ ✧

𝓍𝗈𝗑𝗈 ─── chuu >3< + [FILE.ZIP]

ㅤㅤ౨ৎㅤㅤclassmate ni-ki who definitely has a cool kid aura. you know what i mean. even though he's slightly reserved and keeps to himself or his group of friends, he's known by basically the entire school population, inviting adoring gazes every corridor he saunters through. would probably even be voted #1 hallway crush and win in a landslide ..

starting off specific as hell, but i just KNOWW classmate ni-ki would be the typa guy to spin pens on his fingers and be annoyingly good at it. might offer to teach you if you stare a little too hard, though.

classmate ni-ki who would be super willing to do anything he could to make longer periods a little more interesting. for example, he'd help make you a little cringe button! except y'all would probably add more options on the button (such as "type shit", "LMFAO", "slay", "boring"). yes this is based on smth i did irl heart eyes.png

classmate ni-ki who would nawt at all be above bribing you to help him w/ his work. there's just so much work okay !!! it's better if you do it together anyway !!! and oh ... what's that? oh, silly him, he didn't mean to buy that extra strawberry milk ... sigh, and he doesn't even like it that much ... you might as well take it honestly. or would you rather it be wasted? :/

classmate ni-ki who whenever there's randomly assigned seating Will totally manipulate the results to get to sit w/ you by casually swapping his piece of paper w/ whoever has the seat next to you. who else is gonna make math class fun for him, after all?

classmate ni-ki who has a penchant for playing with your hair if he's in your vicinity. twirling strands of it if your hair is on the longer side or Ruffling it every second he can if it's shorter, are his go to moves. but to be fair he'd let you play with his too. if you ask really REALLY nicely. and maybe also lend him your biology notes.

super specific thing #2, but if you drop something and bend to get it back, classmate ni-ki would do that thing where he'd cover your head with his hand so it doesn't hit the edge of the table (</3)

classmate ni-ki who would for sure let you draw on his hands. not even just a doodle or 2 bro would be chill with a whole ahh piece of artwork covering his entire arm. plus, he'd be super proud of it too; like "show it off to whoever's around" type shit :P

classmate ni-ki who might sometimes persuade you to play hooky and skip classes w/ him occasionally. just the unimportant periods though (or maybe an assembly or two shhh). you'd be kinda intimidated at first, worried about what his plans might involve but then he'd pull out a packet of cat food and go, "i'd like you to meet my cat, Cheese." ><

ㅤㅤoverall, an 11/10 experience. you wouldn't mind taking the same subjects as him to be classmates w/ him again ^-^

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[peepshow321]

TaskRaccoon Premium: Chapter 1

Josh was at a dead end. For years he had put his entire focus and energy on his education and studies, above his social life, his health, and his finances. He came top of his class in History and Classics and so in his head all that hard l work had paid off, but now that he had graduated... what was next? His classmates had swanned off into internships and graduate programmes, but Josh found himself in the summer after graduating with no job, no prospects and, most importantly, no money.

Josh's parents had supported him throughout his further education, but now that he was back home they decided to treat Josh like an adult. And that meant rent. Josh balked at the suggestion, but his parents were adamant and so Josh found himself on the job hunt.

This proved trickier than Josh anticipated. Turns out the local libraries and bookshops didn't care about his top degree; they wanted experience. And as Josh lowered his sights to restaurants, cafes, even the bowling alley, he found himself receiving the same feedback.

Needing to save making cash quick, a sympathetic interviewer told Josh to pick up the odd job on TaskRaccoon - an app where Josh could choose to help people with tasks like moving furniture, watering plants, doing shopping in exchange for a small fee. It wasn't perfect, especially as Josh didn't really have the build or inclination for manual jobs, and Josh often found himself doing jobs he never expected while at school. But over time Josh felt an unexpected satisfaction with earning a buck and paying his parents. So much so that Josh had bigger aspirations - moving out of his parents place.

That, of course, required money. And while Josh worked hard with the TaskRaccoon jobs he was given, he needed something more.

On a random Tuesday afternoon, a solution seemed to land out of nowhere on Josh's TaskRaccoon app: TaskRaccoon Premium. Out of nowhere, Josh's app pop-up with a link to a Premium version of the app. It was an additional service where workers such as Josh would get a boosted fee for the same types of tasks plus, according to the app, receive "all the skills and know-how to complete the task to perfection." Josh figured that last bit was maybe the app providing how-to guides on how to complete the more common tasks, which he took as a nice freebie.

To lure users in, there was even an offer - sign-up to TaskRaccoon Premium, perform a randomly assigned task, and receive double the boosted fee. Josh had done his fair share of the most common tasks on the app already (walk my dog, assemble my shelves, do my groceries) so figured it was well worth his while to take the gamble. And so Josh bit the bullet, sign up for a Premium account, and waited to be given his first random task.

Without any pause and without any fanfare, Josh's first random task appeared: "I need someone to clean my pool". Josh groaned; it wasn't the first time he had seen a pool cleaning request but it was one he always chose to ignore because he felt he didn't have any of the right equipment and would have no idea where to start. And while this new Premium version had offered access to "skills and know-how", there only thing on the app was an address. Josh couldn't even see an option to cancel.

Josh wavered, but as he saw the blue sky outside and remembered the promise of a doubled fee, he decided to go for it. He could rake some leaves out of a pool easily enough. The address was only a 15 minute drive away, so Josh grabbed the keys to his mum's sedan and got going.

It felt good to be outside and Josh enjoyed the sunny drive. So much so that he didn't notice his mum's humble car begin to change. The front section became blockier and more basic, her touchscreen sat nav becoming an older model. The seats and interior decor became faded, and Josh had to readjust his seating position as the car seemed to somehow lift off the ground. The steering wheel grew in size and, to match it, bizarrely, so did Josh's hands. Without warning, Josh's pale hands began to darken in complexion and as they grasped the now-rough wheel Josh didn't notice the veins that ran down with now lean and well-rounded hands.

Josh pulled up to a red light, momentarily confused about how he seemed to sit above the surrounding cars. He also felt cramped in the car and realised that his seat was pushed up way too far. He, a bit embarrassingly, was the same height as his mum so he never normally had to adjust the seat, but as he pushed the seat back he realised just how much he needed to stretch out his legs. As the light turned to green, he was oblivious to his jeans riding up and becoming a loose pair of swimming shorts, revealing his now lengthy and toned legs, feathered with dark hair.

Josh pulled up at the designated address shortly after, a sizeable house in a nice neighbourhood. As he got of the car, he was for a moment confused by his need to climb out of the car and then felt off balance when he landed on the tarmac. Before he could interrogate any further though, he looked in surprise at the pick-up truck boot filled with pool cleaning gear. A voice in the back of Josh's mind told him to panic - why the hell did he suddenly have all this gear - but remembering that he had a job to do Josh collected the gear and approached the house. Josh stopped en route to take his jumper off to enjoy the warm sun, not noticing the way his new well-fitted tank top which hung closely to his chest and showed off his slightly more toned arms or the darker shade of his skin...

Josh carried the gear with surprising ease to the front door, and was warmly welcomed by a middle-aged women who introduced herself as Beth. Beth showed Josh to her garden where a medium-sized pool sat, clearly long overdue a clean. Josh thanked Beth, pausing a little at the vague lilt coming out of his month. Was it just him, or just his voice sound deeper...

Josh got to work. The pool needed much more than just some leaves removed but with every task, Josh found himself instinctively knowing what to do. Which pump to use, when to apply chemicals, how to get the pH levels perfect, it all just flooded into Josh's mind. And he was surprised at how flexible he was at reaching all the right places - Josh didn't love manual jobs but he almost felt like his reach had gotten better. It was hot work though and Josh removed his baseball hat and towelled his brow and face, briefly feeling unfamiliar stubble on his face and thick short locks of hair on his scalp.

It wasn't long before Josh has completed his job, a sense of pride sweeping over him as he stared into the now pristine waters. That pride however quickly morphed into confusion as he gazed at the reflection in the shimmering water. Maybe it was distorted, but there was no way that that tall, dark reflection could be him. He was shirt, slender, pale, wasn't he?

He dropped his net and stared at his hands. His suddenly thick, dark hands. Josh began to breath sharply as he noticed just how high up he was, that he was in an outfit that he had never bought, and that his short, pale self had seemingly been replaced with a tanned, lean body.

As Josh was clutching at his newly stubbled face and grasping at the space where his small paunch should be, Beth came out with a pitcher of cool lemonade. Josh spun around in panic, and before Beth could say anything he muttered "lo siento" and ran back to his car.

Josh stopped sharply outside as he stared at the beaten up pick up truck outside Beth's drive, a truck that sat where he thought his mum's sedan should be. A truck that keys in his pocket unlocked. Breathing deeply, and trying his best not to panic, he clampered into the car and pulled down the mirror, staring at the unfamiliar dark eyes that stared back at him. Dark eyes amongst a handsome face, with a strong chin covered in thick but trimmed stubble and framed by dark, tightly curled locks. "What the fuck" Josh uttered, eyes widening at the accented deep voice that emerged.

Josh explored his tightly muscled body now covered in a light sweat when his phone pinged. He unlocked it - the phone recognised his face even if Josh didn't - and the TaskRaccoon app popped up, showing a task completed and $500 dollars deposited in his account.

But what kept Josh's eye though were the other task options appearing. There were more pool cleaning jobs, but also other tasks ranging from moving furniture, plumbing, and even covering people's work shifts. Josh noted that there was an option to cancel his "Premium" membership, but some of the fees weren't to be sniffed at. His breathing calmed down and Josh sat into his car seat, and pondered his options.

Chapter 2

****

Hi all!

Some of you may have seen this story on other sites, but I'm bringing it to Tumblr for the first time and with pics! There will also be some small tweaks as I post over the next few weeks.

As always, welcome any feedback or chats!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

wish lantern rewrite

I can’t be the only one that wishes we had actually traveled to a new location… that we had learned about a new culture and holiday… that Riddle had actually had more character development in Wish Lantern instead of being cooped up in the library, being forced to play pretend princess in order to get out, and give like maybe a handful of lines max in the second half of the event 😭 What we ended up getting was fun too, but I keep thinking about the missed opportunities and how great this story event could have been.

If Twst won’t give it to me then I will have to cook my own food 😤

Here’s how I would write Wish Lantern if I was in the Twst writing room:

Since Riddle is the SSR, I feel the story and its set-up should center him. I’m thinking maybe he’s invited to (or told by his mother to attend) some kind of conference or event in the Kingdom of Heroes or the Sunshine Lands for aspiring medical mages. Let’s say it is being held in the same place where the story of the Princess in the Tower originated because the Sundrop flower mentioned in the tale has miraculous healing properties (and the city/kingdom has since become known for its medical advances).

Riddle is uneasy about going there by himself (the implication being that this event is set after book 1 and, more specifically after book 6, when Riddle expresses to Azul he has been considering pursuing law instead of magic medicine/the career his mother chose for him). Maybe he mentions this unease around Deuce, that he feels obligated to go because “Mother knows best… She has always known what is best for me, hasn’t she?” It could even be in the library. Say that Riddle is brushing up for the conference and happens to run into him, who is looking for a book to help with completing an assignment. After listening to Riddle’s woes, Deuce, being one of the people who knows about his dorm leader’s complicated feelings toward his mother and finding his own independence, offers to come along as emotional support.

As for how Jack gets involved, he’s Deuce’s club member. Maybe he overhears Riddle talking about sports medicine or panels presented by medical mages who work with athletes, or Deuce mentions it in a club meeting. Jack becomes interested because he’s the type of person that’s always looking for ways to enhance his training and to learn more about this subject.

Kalim can either join because he's conveniently in the library + wants to learn more about poisons and antidotes (on his own self-development journey to be more self-sufficient instead of relying on Jamil all the time) or because the Asims are sponsors of the event and he gets a free invite through his Rich Privilege.

Use the usual "Grim overhears and whines until he and Yuu get invited to go along" excuse or maybe have Yuu and Grim come because they, too, want to be emotional support for Riddle. (They could have heard from Deuce?) With that, we have all of the main characters for this event assembled.

Even though this is a rewrite, I'm going to try and follow the conventions of OTHER "hometown" events. That means most of this rewritten event will be exploring the new area, learning about its customs and traditions, souvenir shopping, and sampling food. This would be a great chance to, of course, throw in Tangled references. Because I proposed that this event be focused on a conference for aspiring medical mages, we can also learn more lore about what medical technology and practices exist in Twisted Wonderland and how magic has played a part in advancing medicine.

So it turns out, there's a festival going on in the area at the same time as the conference. That's because there's a holiday in this kingdom that celebrates the Princess in the Tower finding her way home by following a trail of lanterns. Since the conference doesn't start until the next day, we can go out and enjoy the festivities! (Riddle can be hesitant at first, but the others convince him to loosen up.)

The new outfits + hair can be explained away as part of local traditions. Everyone is provided with a potion that lengthens their hair so they can emulate the Princess in the Tower. Or maybe there can be a potion-making station, and length still correlates with the skill at which you were able to brew it. (In this version, the hair lengthening potion isn't made with super rare ingredients; it is something easily accessible for even non-mages to brew and can be made cheaply.) YES, THAT MEANS WE GET LONG HAIR GRIM.

Local specialties could include dishes mentioned or depicted in Tangled, like hazelnut soup (Rapunzel's favorite).

HERE ARE SOME CUTE INTERACTION IDEAS BASED ON RAPUNZEL'S OWN EXPERIENCES IN CORONA: the gang doing chalk drawings and clowning on each other's artistic abilities (or lack thereof), trying out cupcakes (the reasoning being that they're "single servings" so it's okay for Riddle to indulge), exploring bookshops, painting on the walls, and everyone joining in a big group dance! (For the dance, maybe there’s a competition to see who can drag in the most bystanders into the dance and Riddle gradually finds his footing in that + is crowned the winner?) There could even be a tavern that pays homage to The Snuggly Duckling.

While we're out having fun, there should be a consistent pattern of Riddle having to be convinced that it's okay to be participating in these activities. He feels that he should be focusing on studying for the conference, but the others are there to reassure him it's okay to take breathers.

"You won't perform at your best if you're always at 100%. In terms of a workout, you'd be asking to pull a muscle if you push yourself to exercise without end." (Jack)

"Mmm? But how often are we going to be in [name of city]? We're here now, so we might as well experience everything that's here!! The food, the music, the games, the people... You can't find that anywhere but here." (Kalim)

"I get the importance of preparation, but I'm kind of curious about the celebration that's going on. If Rosehearts-senpai wants to study, then he should do that. I'd feel bad exploring the city without him, though... He might miss out." (Deuce)

"Shouldn't you at least grab some grub first? I'm pretty hungry too! Let's check out the food stalls!" (Grim, maybe Yuu can also get a dialogue option)

At some point, the group decides to browse and buy souvenirs. They discuss who they are shopping for and come upon the subject of family. Kalim and Jack want to buy stuff for their siblings and Deuce thinks his mom might appreciate a locally made handkerchief with the kingdom's sun emblem on it. (As a trucker, Dylla often drives for long hours so she might find use in a handkerchief to wipe her forehead.) Yuu and Grim can also bring up potentially getting something for the Ramshackle Ghosts, who are like their found family.

Riddle becomes visibly uncomfortable when the topic of family is brought up. Everyone else sounds so happy talking about theirs, but he has no idea what a happy family is supposed to be like. Deuce (and maybe Yuu + Grim too) realizes why Riddle is uncomfortable and quickly apologize. Kalim and Jack, who aren't familiar with Riddle's background or his attempts to speak with his mother over winter break, are a little confused but the others feel it's not their place to explain why and Riddle doesn't know them well enough to elaborate on personal matters. (Here, Jack and Kalim serve as an in-universe reason to keep his family history vague so as to not spoil people who haven't gotten that far in the main story yet, but the awkwardness is palpable enough to imply something is wrong to serve the narrative of the event story.)

Now, "hometown" events tend to introduce a new character, typically a family member, to us. However, the new characters are not those who appear as the "trauma source" for the respective OB boy. (For example, Falena was not the character introduced to us in Tamashina Mina/Cloudcalling on the Savanna and we met Kifaji instead.) Following this trend, we will not be encountering Mrs. Rosehearts but rather MR. Rosehearts.

I realize that we don't have a ton of lore about Riddle's dad yet so everything I write about his personality is completely headcanon (primarily based on the personality of the King of Hearts). The only things that are canon in this depiction is that 1) Mr. Rosehearts is a medical mage like his wife is and 2) Mr. Rosehearts does not have a happy marriage with his wife.

Anyway, we run into Mr. Rosehearts out in the city. Turns out that he is one of the presenters at the conference and he was supposed to meet and receive Riddle. He's a quiet and slightly anxious man but overall is kind to his son (though we should get the impression that Mr. Rosehearts isn't good with confrontation and folds easily).

Maybe have a part where Mr. Rosehearts is surprised that Riddle has friends because uh... the last time he recalls his son having friends, it was because his wife ranted at them for 5 hours and banned them from their home. But hey, he's chill about it and promises Riddle this can stay between them and he won't tell his mom. Could insert a line or two that implies that the winter break talk didn't go over well. (This is just my headcanon, but you could also stick in a line that insinuates that the Rosehearts parents don't just outright divorce because Riddle's mom can't deal with the potential social fallout + realizing that she is "wrong" in her marriage.)

Every "hometown" event thus far has presented us with some kind of minor external conflict to be resolved. In this case, Riddle's conflict is more internal. He's wrestling with what he wants to do with his future and trying to cope with the reality that his mother isn't the loving, "always correct" woman he thought she was. This, of course, mirrors Rapunzel's struggle with Mother Gothel, who tries to keep her in the tower and doing as she commands.

We finally make our way to our quarters for the night (Riddle has his own room; everyone else has to share one), perhaps in tall tower to mimic Rapunzel's home with Gothel. Riddle knows he should retire early because the conference is first thing tomorrow, but he admits to everyone that after spending time in the city, he has become curious about the tradition of releasing thousands of wish lanterns into the night sky. It happens pretty late in the day though, so he brushes it off and says they should sleep.

... But the others get really hype about Riddle "finally getting into the spirit of the holiday" and decide they should see the lanterns!! The only problem is, Riddle is locked in his hotel room for the night. There could be a local superstition, tradition, or security reason for this. Like maybe due to the story of the Princess in the Tower (and Gothel locking her up), people who are indoors at a certain time of night can't leave until the next day?? Or maybe Mrs. Rosehearts had prepared Riddle's room for him in advance and instructed staff to ensure he doesn't leave because she has been paranoid about him "breaking the rules" again after the tart incident. I don't know, pick your reason.

YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS??? It's time for Jack, Deuce, Kalim, Grim, and Yuu to be Riddle's Flynn Rider + animal companions to break Riddle out. Our group represents the freedom and childhood wonders Riddle missed out on, the antithesis to Mrs. Rosehearts'/Mother Gothel's control. I can see Riddle using his long hair to hoist himself down, Jack using his UM to help everyone race to the water in time to catch the lanterns, Deuce being the muscle if they run into any thugs, Kalim using his social skills to quickly befriend the locals and ask for directions to the best vantage point or using his $$$ to rent the group a rowboat, etc.

We can keep the rhythmic/twistune from the original version of this event where Kalim, Deuce, and Jack were able to safely descend using Riddle’s hair but Riddle hesitates before he’s able to get himself to follow. The reason is the same; he worries about breaking the rules and how his mother would disapprove of him leaving the home. Riddle wonders if the Princess in the Tower felt the same, but ultimately his friends convince him it’s fine (by baiting him with the rules). He will be trapped in this tower forever if he doesn’t summon his strength and take the leap. If not now, then when? When will my life begin? “There are people waiting for me outside, so… it must be okay for me to leave. Right… Mother?”

Riddle keeps nagging everyone about how many rules and social norms they're breaking, but eventually he loosens up and even laughs a little at some of the dumb things they do. We can maybe have him thinking, This is just like… and then flashback to his childhood days with Trey and Chenya.

They're out on the waters just in time to see the lanterns being released. Alternatively, the even runners could be having trouble lighting up all the lanterns or something so Riddle has the opportunity to help with that (this way, we’d still get the other rhythmic/twistune featured in the original event). That particular rhythmic/twistune ends on Riddle with five lanterns floating overhead, which I think could be important symbolism (five lanterns -> five mentions of Heartslabyul).

It's beautiful. Everyone oohs and aahs at the sight--most of all, Riddle. He can say something like... "This city is known for its many contributions to magic medicine. I know that, and yet... I don't believe any magic or medicine could replicate what I am feeling in this very moment." There is some part of Riddle that acknowledges the healing and therapeutic properties of just... being allowed to have freedom, of allowing himself to live in the present and not stress about the rules or gearing up for a future someone else has decided for him all the time. He just doesn't know how to fully verbalize it + has not fully come to terms with it yet, so this is how he expresses it. At last, he sees the light.

While the new location they travel to + the conference provide us with the backdrop of medicine and health for this rewrite, I think there’s also something to be implied about the injuries we don’t see, the pain inflicted that isn’t physical. Both Riddle and Rapunzel were trapped in towers but were also emotionally controlled and prevented from leaving/made scared or the world and disobeying their mothers. When Riddle sees the lanterns, it’s sort of a “wake up” sign to his soul, a reminder of how healing it can be to just… live by one’s own terms, to not be ruled over by fear of disappointing someone else or failing to meet expectations. Rapunzel and Riddle bear scars on their heart from having been raised in the households that they were, and it is seeing the lanterns in-person that helps to “heal” what hurts them.

Riddle recalls the story of the Princess in the Tower and how she made a wish to see the lanterns, so now people make wishes upon these lanterns before releasing them into the sky. He lets go of his own lantern and wishes that, someday, he can be like the Princess in the Tower and this lantern floating up to the sky… and follow his own Road to Freedom.

Everyone sneaks back into their rooms and rest for the day. Uhhh, and there can be a scene of slicing off their hair for tomorrow. Riddle can talk about how the Princess grew her hair long because her mother told her to, but that it must have been cumbersome to walk like this. This way, by cutting off the hair like how the Princess does at the end of her story, it's a liberating act.

It doesn't matter what happens at the conference because what was important was the experiences Riddle had with his friends leading up to it. At most, maybe we see Mr. Rosehearts again while heading to the venue and they have a brief exchange where Riddle lets it slip he's a little tired. "That's so unlike you," Mr. Rosehearts remarks. "Well," Riddle replies with a small smile, "I am a growing young man, after all. I am changing every day."

I want to be clear that this does NOT mean Riddle has had a full character arc to come to terms with how he was raised. He would NOT feel 100% okay with rebelling against his mother by the end of this (hypothetical) event. The point of my version of Wish Lantern isn't to empower Riddle to fistfight Mrs. Rosehearts or to tell her off. The point is that it's supposed to be a small step in helping Riddle through the very complicated process of recognizing he was traumatized and/or abused, accepting that reality, and learning about how he can grow from it and his abuser (who is someone he thought he loved and could trust). This can take YEARS to process in the real world, and it would probably be similar to Riddle. Again, this is meant to be a SINGLE STEP he takes, NOT THE ENTIRE JOURNEY.

So in my rewrite, the event would be split up like this:

Episode 1: invitation to the event; gathering all the relevant characters, hopping through the mirror

Episode 2: arrival in the new location and having fun in the area

Episode 3: souvenir shopping, meeting Riddle's dad

Episode 4: retiring to room, changing mind and deciding to break out instead

Episode 5: seeing the lights, ending

As you can see, the structure is very similar to a traditional "hometown" event. I didn't want to stray too far from Twst's usual writing conventions, as it could mess with the cohesion with the rest of its story events. I did, however, try to change things up a little (like having an internal conflict instead of an external one) and tied in this (hypothetical) story with Riddle's overarching character development, as those are elements that I personally prefer in a story. I realize that the biggest change here is tying my rewrite much more strongly to the main story than similar events have 💦 BUT LET ME HAVE THIS, I think I cooked 😭

... What Wish Lantern could have been OTL Don’t get me wrong, though!! The version we did get wasn’t all bad. There was lore about the NRC library, lots of involvement from the staff, and fun character interactions with the whole student cast. I just feel like those could have all been used for a different event and not the Tangled one which could have been so much more interesting for Riddle and his character.

[cherryredstars]

Not sure if I’m doing this right since I’m new to tumbler :D but hi love ur writing followed you in an instant!

I was wondering if you could write something for a very low self esteem, inexperienced reader who goes to uni so is like 21 or something and is Miguel’s neighbor. They live in this building and their other neighbor is a rude lady who complains at the slightest Noise basically. she doesn’t dare bother Miguel but is always bothering the reader since reader can’t tell her to f off. Reader is just such sweet chubby lil cinnamon roll :(

Idk if I should have been less descriptive or more TvT; ?

Anyway hope you’re doing great :D don’t forget to hydrate ♥️

1K Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Age Gap, Sexual Touching (With Clothes on), Slight Fluff

Summary: He helps you, you help him.

A/N: This is perfect, don’t worry, love!!!

Word Count: 2.4K (Not Edited)

This is most definitely going to leave you a crying wreck in your bathroom later.

Your nerves were already on high alert with finally becoming independent and moving out of the college dorms, that pesky exam and assignment you procrastinated on working on, and your job has been firing and hiring people left and right. The last thing you needed was your cranky old neighbor, (it is crazy to think that you once thought she was going to be a kind old woman who would give you cookies when she was lonely), to come banging on your door with a  list of complaints and reasons why she could get you evicted. You do not know what to do, never being in this type of situation before. Honestly, you do not even know about half the things this woman is accusing you of. 

You can only stand there, hand tightly holding the door open as you try not to cry from stress. In your head, you are counting in an effort to make sure your breaths are coming out evenly. The last thing you want is to have a panic attack and have your neighbor add the threat of a mental hospital to the list. You nod along weakly to what she says, letting out whispered apologies that only seem to make her angrier. 

“You useless teenagers and your need to ruin good things, don’t think I forgot when you tr-”

“Is there a problem here?”

His voice is deep and smooth, causing the both of you to jolt. You visibly relax when you turn your head to find Miguel standing outside his apartment door. He has just gotten back from work and running errands, his lab coat draped over his arm as he holds paper bags in his arms. His hair is slightly tousled from the autumn breeze, and a few strands of his black hair are scattered with grey. His sweater hugs his arms and torso in a way that is mouthwatering, and you quickly look away when his eyes meet yours.

Miguel is the only neighbor you really know. He had helped you the first time you moved in, hearing the way you struggled to bring some things up to your apartment. He offered to help, carrying in boxes faster than you could into your apartment. When you had gotten furniture, he was happy to come over and assemble it for you. He is so kind to you, offering to help with a leaking pipe or to answer any of your questions about how to do something. You might have grown a slight crush on your neighbor, something that slightly freaked you out when you realized because of the obvious age gap the two of you have. You have not even finished college yet and he is in his mid-thirties working in a big corporate lab. 

Miguel clears his throat and you look back at him. He stares at you expectantly, totally ignoring the stuttering woman who tries to answer his question. He is only ever interested in what you have to say. You flush under his intent gaze, quickly shaking your head. You do not want to cause more problems, and you definitely do not want to have your cranky neighbor form a bigger vendetta against you. 

Miguel’s eyebrow raises, definitely catching the anxious expression on your face. He hums dismissively after a minute, eyes lazily trailing back to the older woman. His nose scrunches up slightly at the sight of her and he looks away again as the woman stops trying to defend herself. Miguel shrugs, the paper bags rustling with their contents. He turns to face you, once again ignoring the older woman. 

“Then you wouldn’t mind helping me put away my groceries, right? Can’t get my keys with my hands full,” Miguel speaks in a lazy drawl. 

You are quick to nod your head in agreement, stepping out of your doorway and closing the door. The woman steps back, a displeased look on her face as she watches you walk over to Miguel. Miguel keeps his eyes trained on you, watching everything you do. You are shy when you smile up at him. With your back turned towards the old woman, you mouth a ‘thank you’ to him. His eyes instantly snap to your lips, intently studying your exaggerated words. His eyes seem to darken for a second before he blinks and it is gone. His eyes trail back up to your eyes and he tilts his head slightly down. 

“Keys are in my pants pocket.”

You quickly nod, whispering out an ‘okay’. Your face burns as you have to get closer to him to not knock into his arms. The angle is slightly awkward, your hands slip into his pants pocket and your face burns from having your hand so close to his…thing. As you try to find his keys, Miguel looks down at you with a heated look. He watches silently for a few minutes before looking back up and over your shoulder to the older woman. His face is masked in indifference, maintaining eye contact with her until she fidgets and turns away without saying a word. 

At the same time she walks into her own apartment, you make a sound of victory as you finally retrieve his keys. You dangle them in his face with a proud smile, and he gives you an amused smirk. He steps away from his apartment door, giving you room to step in front of him and unlock his door. As you insert the key, you feel Miguel press up against your back. His warmth seeps into your spine and you are quick to bite your tongue so you do not let out a squeal.  

His breath tickles your neck and ear, warm and slightly minty. “What did I tell you about standing up for yourself, hmm cariño?”

The question rumbles with his voice and you have to hold your breath in order to not make an embarrassing sound. You turn to look at him over your shoulder and instantly regret it. He has not moved his face yet, and you are a breath away from him. If you leaned forward the slightest bit, your noses would be touching. You gulp nervously, and Miguel’s eyes trail down to your lips once again. He lets out a deep hum as you lick them nervously. 

“I- she’s not that mean to me.” You whisper out in the older woman’s defense. You cannot help the way your lashes flutter as you try to meet his eyes. 

Miguel scoffs at your defense, finally backing away from you. He shifts his hold on the bags, freeing his hand to turn the doorknob. Your hand is still there, and your breath hitches when his large hand encompasses yours. His hand moves both yours and the doorknob, making a combined effort to open the door. You are still watching him from over your shoulder, mouth slightly opened in awe. Miguel looks down at you, something playful in his eyes as he tilts his head to the side. 

“You’re blocking the doorway, cariño. The ice cream I got you is going to melt.”

Your blush returns from the pet name and you stutter out an apology as you rush inside his apartment. It’s warm, and you’re hit with the smell of him. You find the light switch and turn on the lights, flooding the whole place with a warm glow. Miguel follows you into the kitchen, placing the paper bags on the dining room table. He rummages through them, glaring at you when you try to grab one to start helping. His hands connect with something cold, and he pulls out a personal pint of ice cream. He hands it over to you and you turn it around to see the label. Your eyes instantly light up when you read the brand and flavor. Last week you had ranted to Miguel about how the grocery store did not have your favorite ice cream in stock as he was fixing a problem with your internet. The whole time he just hummed along, you did not actually think he was listening. 

He smiles softly at you as you beam up at him. He turns back to the groceries, sighing when he sees your hand reaching for the bags again. He turns to you with a bored expression. He gently removes your hands from the bag, telling you to go eat your ice cream before it melts. You grumble playfully under your breath, complaining about how you were supposed to be helping. He chuckles as he follows after you, getting a spoon out for you. 

“I thought the whole point was that I was supposed to help you put the groceries away, not eat them.” 

Your complaining is cut off by a yelp when Miguel grabs your waist. He lifts you up, putting you on top of the counter. Your eyes are wide as you look at him and his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You squirm slightly from his proximity. 

“You can help me by sitting prettily and keeping me company. Tell me about your day.” 

He pulls away then, returning to the dining room table and carrying a bag to the counter next to you. Your eyes are still bashful as you watch him, quietly opening your ice cream and beginning to eat it. Miguel starts to pull contents from the bag and looks over at you expectantly. Hesitantly, you begin to go through your day, easing into it the more you talk. You speak between bites of ice cream, half paying attention to Miguel as he walks around the kitchen to place things in their proper places. Occasionally, he looks over at you as you speak, his eyes trained on the way you place the spoon in your mouth and lick at the delicious treat. 

You are almost done when he puts the last thing away. He walks over to you as you continue talking absentmindedly, just finished slipping the spoon out of your mouth again. You stop talking when Miguel’s eyes drop to your mouth, his thumb coming up the swipe at your lower lip. When he pulls it away, a bit of melted ice cream is stuck to his skin. His eyes meet yours again when he brings it to his mouth, licking it away. He hums in appreciation for the taste. 

Your mouth drops open with a gasp as you watch, eyes trained on the pink muscle. You watch as his lips form a sly smile, and you blush as you look back into his eyes. But his eyes are still trained on your parted mouth, eyes dilated and hungry. He leans forward slightly, hand returning to rub at your bottom lip before he replaces it with his lips. He is not kissing you exactly, only sucking on your lip until it is swollen and red. He gives it a small nip before he pulls away, his hands falling to rub your thighs. It causes a small whimper to escape your mouth and Miguel basks in the noise. 

His hand seeps closer and closer to the area between your thighs, grabbing the carton of ice cream and moving it to the side. His hands hastily return to the area between your thighs, fingers brushing against your center. Your breath hitches and you look down to where his hands are. Your attention is snapped away when his gravelly voice meets your ears. 

“Continue with the story, querida. You don’t sound like you finished.”

You stutter over your words, the topic of conversation blanking from your mind. Miguel chuckles knowingly, his fingers continuing to brush up and down until they land on your clothed bud. He presses into it hard enough so you can feel it through the fabric of your pants and panties, gently reminding you where you left off. You nod nervously, hands snapping up to meet his shoulders as you feel wetness rushing into your panties. You stutter and choke on your words, eyes shutting as you rotate your hips sloppily into his hand. The movement is jerky, and you feel slightly embarrassed at how painfully obvious it is that no one has ever touched you like this before. But Miguel seems to like it, likes the idea that you’re untouched and he is the only person who has seen you like this. 

It gets even better when you make those soft noises, cutting yourself off and having to be reminded about what you were saying. Miguel continues his hand movements, pressing into you and rubbing and stroking. Your wetness has seeped through your panties, dampening the material of your leggings. If you were not lost in how good it feels, you would have been grossed out and uncomfortable. A weak call of his name escapes you and Miguel looks up from your cunt to look at your face. He hums in acknowledgement, watching as you try to pull his face closer to yours in a kiss. 

He swiftly avoids it, and you would have curled into yourself at the blunt rejection if you did not become distracted by his mouth suck and licking along your neck and jaw. Your mouth falls open with a moan, head leaning back to give him more room. He groans against your skin, fingers pressing tight circles to your clit. With a few hard circles, your back arches and your hold on him tightens. Gasping moans leave you and you feel the band in you snap, releasing more wetness into your panties as you finish. Miguel pulls his head away from your neck, keeping his fingers to your bud as you ride out the orgasm. Once you slump back down, he pulls his hands away. As you catch your breath, Miguel cleans up the mess on the counter. He reaches over, closing your melted ice cream and putting the spoon in the sink. 

You are still in a daze when he pushes the warm container in your hands, his own hands gentle as he lifts you off the counter. Your eyes are glossy in after-lust as he gently guides you out of his apartment and into yours. His warm hand leaves the small of your back, massaging your sides before he whispers a thank you into your ear for your help. You are only pulled completely out of your daze when you hear your door lock and close as Miguel leaves. You turn to look at the door, cheeks blazing as you clutch tightly onto your ice cream.

You are totally getting a noise complaint for that old woman tomorrow.

Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

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[tadc-harlequin-au]

New Puppet Unlocked: Caine, The Puppetmaster!

Caine's character description:

For the longest time, Caine believed that he was the only Puppet left who hasn't gone insane, and has spent living in near complete and total isolation for it (if it weren't for Bubble, his robotic Butler Blimp), drowning himself in booze for what seemed to be the remainder of his days.

That was, until Pomni suddenly arrived at his office out of nowhere and challenged him.

Her sudden appearance, her fierceness in battle and various other reasons, Caine sought to get Pomni to see the dire situation after a stalemate in their duel; That they're the last remnants of sane minds remaining in this forsaken lands and he needs her help for what must be done next, if they are to improve the world's conditions. Thankfully, the Harlequin was not actually cold-hearted, just hot-tempered.

Reinvigorated in his self-assigned purpose, The Puppetmaster now spends his time either indoctrinating reawakened Puppets and teaching them how to become "human" once more, tinkering/inventing new machines, having friendly debates or sparring with Pomni just to satisfy her urge to battle, and various other things.

Though, he still likes to drink.

Fun facts about Caine:

He is a massive drunkard.

He passes out in the most random places if he drinks too much. One of the most outrageous locations Pomni has found him in was at the chandelier on the main lounge, which even he can't remember how he got there.

Caine still acts boisterous and speaks mostly formally; though there are ways you can break his way of speech, the easiest way to do it is to surprise him.

He avoids using swears, says it's a gentleman's code. Though, some get past his mouth on a rare occasion.

He created Bubble out of loneliness, initially just wanting someone to talk to.

In a comedic parallel, he tends to limit Pomni's cravings for battle by holding her sword hostage as much as possible, of course to the Harlequin's frustration.

His second gold tooth on his bottom jaw was a result of his and Pomni's first meeting/duel. She ended up kicking him so hard in her rage, one teeth cracked in half and flew off.

He tends to look at everyone with a positive mindset and the want to see the best in them; although Jax seems to be a rare exception. Still, he lets the automaton be.

Most of his time is spent hanging around in his office. The only time you'll see him outside is if there's a task he needs to attend to, assembling Pomni back together in the cellar, another sparring match with the Harlequin, or when he talks to Z and/or Kingr, since they are both too big for the insides of the mansion.

Like almost every ADHD-person, he is prone to getting distracted easily.

He has a strict "no fighting in the premises" rule; instead, he tells them to literally take it outside (even if it means being on the neighboring lawn), as long as it's not on the INSIDE.

He keeps his shirt opened because he feels discomfort and suffocated when he buttons it up.

He doesn't like to talk about his past.

When asked what's his classification, he'll avoid and switch topics. His rare anger (but eerily-calm way of speech) comes out when you ask about it too much.

He does admit that his entire body was self-modified.

You can hear his arrival in a scene by the sounds of ball joints slightly cracking in place.

Aside from Pomni, he likes Kingr the most, finding the chess piece's presence calming. This has lead to jokes about a bromance happening between the two.

And just like Pomni as well, Caine fixes Kingr the most because the Helpful King tends to use himself as a shield for the Harlequin.

He's rarely seen without his cane.

He HEAVILY dislikes it when Pomni dies. When he is aware that Pomni is at the brink of death, he'll start panicking and telling her to go back and abandon the mission for now, through Bubble.

After Pomni's surprise arrival (and proof that he could still be hunted down if he wasn't careful enough), he took the manor up to the skies to ensure that the manor remains a safe haven.

Quotes:

"Greetings! I am Caine, and I am here to help you. That's all you need to know."

"I think we can arrange that."

"This is not part of the plan!"

"No fighting! Take it outside."

"Perhaps we can reach to a sort of agreement..."

"Hmm... quite intriguing."

"Why, I must say, this is quite the predicament..."

"Will you be mindful of your own sake next time, pretty please?"

"... I don't-... think that's how-... you know what, do whatever you want."

"... Okay, you don't need to go that far."

"You know what this calls for? [...] A CELEBRATION! [...] BUBBLE, TO THE LIQUOR STORAGE"

"You know, I haven't really thought this through enough--"

"BUBBLE! Did you chew through my latest project again?!"

"Oy vey..."

"I am aware of the effect that alcohol has on me. And quite frankly, I don't care."

"Strange, where am I? Who am I? What are we, but mass-produced products catered to extending one's stay on a desolate, abandoned realm? Are we even human anymore, or are we machines that think we're human in order to save ourselves from the pain of a fake existence? Hm? Oh right, I haven't eaten my dinner."

"Must we really resort to this method?"

"Oh, I just fixed that!"

"Apologies, I blanked out for a second. What were we talking about?"

"Bubble here can help you out on your dilemma. Just don't listen to him for any advices. Personally, I think sometimes he can make you jump off a cliff."

"What do you mean "I need to stop drinking"? I'm perfectly fi- *passes out*"

"Am I aware that it is an unhealthy coping mechanism? Yes. Do I plan to stop? Not exactly, there aren't a lot of options left."

"That is outrageous! Me? With her? That's... It's... *sigh* I can't. She'd never."

"May I just say, for once, what the actual fuck."

[orellazalonia]

Found some footage of unhinged!reader training rookies:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMS8vnswe/

(Hi! I love your works, you're amazing!!)

I’M DYING LOL AND IT WORKS SOMEHOW. So, that got me thinking how would she train them…. Now we turn it into a Drabble/blurb [Confession: I don’t know the difference between those two yet LOL] Happy reading! Also greetings! Thank you so much, always so nice seeing you around. Thanks for following along!!! :D

Unqualified, Unhinged, and Unforgettable

Summary: A bunch of excited, hopeful rookies have the absolute displeasure honor of being trained under you.

Word Count: 700+

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

The rookies were excited. Nervous, but excited.

After all, they’d been assigned to training with one of the Avengers. A respected, battle-hardened legend. Probably someone like Steve Rogers. Or maybe Natasha Romanoff! God, even Sam Wilson would be incredible.

“Wait,” One of them whispered. “Who’s that?”

You walked onto the training mat holding a stick of string cheese like a cigarette, wearing mismatched socks and aviators. You pointed the cheese at them.

“Morning, nerds.”

The recruits glanced at each other.

“…Are you the trainer?” One asked hesitantly.

You bit the cheese, chewed, and nodded. “Absolutely. Avengers’ top strategic mind. Fun fact, I have never successfully used a revolving door. You’ll respect me soon enough though.”

One recruit hesitantly raised their hand. “Why are you barefoot?”

“I fight better when grounded to the earth’s vibrations,” You replied. “Also I couldn’t find my shoes.”

And so began the most absurd training session in S.H.I.E.L.D. history.

-

Hour 1:

You paired them off. “First, pick a partner. Then pretend they just betrayed you in a high-stakes casino heist.”

They hesitated, looking around at each other as they tried to process the instruction. You shouted, “Feel the betrayal! Feel the drama! Slap them if you need to!”

One poor recruit started sobbing. Another screamed, “I LOVED YOU, TYLER,” and tackled their partner into a fountain.

You applauded. “Amazing. Raw and painful. That’s real combat.”

-

Hour 2:

You rolled a blender onto the mat with duct tape, Christmas lights, and three timers.

“This,” You announced dramatically, “is your bomb.”

“That’s a blender,” Someone whispered slowly.

You leaned in, deadly serious. “That’s what they want you to think.”

The rookies huddled, genuinely trying to figure it out. One made the mistake of cutting the red wire (which was actually a Twizzler). The blender turned on and shot glitter everywhere.

“That was a decoy,” You told them solemnly. “Now you’re covered in regret and sequins.”

-

Hour 3:

You took them on a “field simulation” which turned out to be a surprise shopping trip to IKEA.

“Navigate this labyrinth. Assemble a chair. Use only hex keys and trauma.”

Two recruits got lost in the kitchen model displays. One called you from inside a wardrobe. You refused to help.

“If you can’t escape IKEA,” You said, eating a meatball with your bare hands, “How will you escape Hydra?”

-

Aftermath

When the rookies returned to HQ, some crying, some covered in glitter, and one holding an emotional support fern; they were never the same.

But they were better, somehow. Sharper and unpredictable. Capable of disarming actual bombs and Swedish furniture with nothing but rage and a plastic fork.

Bucky found you later in the common room, sitting on the couch, eating marshmallows with chopsticks and watching a documentary on nuclear fission at max volume. You were also wearing his hoodie, which meant you were either thriving or about to cause an international incident.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You turned those rookies into emotionally unstable weaponized gremlins.”

You didn't look away from the TV. “I prefer the term ‘innovative prodigies.’”

“They challenged Sam to a duel using plungers and grief metaphors.”

“They need to learn how to weaponize emotion. That’s day three material.”

“They built a working trebuchet and launched my motorcycle onto the roof.”

You finally turned to look at him. “And did it not work?”

Bucky stared at you. “You trained them for one day.”

You gave him a slow blink, then gently offered him a marshmallow with the chopsticks. “You love me.”

“I love you,” He said flatly, taking the marshmallow. “I also think you might be a war crime in human form.”

You grinned. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He walked over and dropped his head into your lap with a tired sigh, arm slinging around your waist. “Next time you train anyone, I’m sedating you first.”

“Won’t happen but that’s fair,” You said, petting his hair with one chopstick. “But you have to admit… they’re kind of unstoppable now.”

From down the hallway came a loud bang, a screech of victory, and someone yelling, “FOR SCIENCE AND THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP!”

You sipped juice from your “World’s Best Trainer” mug and said softly, “My legacy begins.”

Bucky just groaned. “God help us all.”

[radioactivatedspider]

Maternity Leave

Main Masterlist Big Sky Masterlist

Pairings; Beau Arlen x pregnant wife!reader

Genre; action-comedy, domestic humor, light drama

Warnings; gunfire, injury(minor gunshot graze), mild language, comedy in high-stress situations

Summary: Beau's pregnant wife gets grazed by a bullet and finally agrees to maternity leave—much to his panicked relief.

573 words

Beau Arlen had exactly three rules when it came to his very pregnant wife joining him on field assignments:

1. No running.

2. No ducking behind things.

3. No getting shot at.

She broke all three before noon.

The morning had started out normal enough—coffee, some hormonal tears over a cereal commercial, a quiet drive into the canyon to follow up on a tip about illegal guns being run through an old trailer park. It was supposed to be low-risk. In-and-out. Look, ask questions, go home, kick his boots off, and rub cocoa butter on her stomach while she fake-slept through Jeopardy.

But of course, of course, something had to go sideways the moment he turned his back.

“I told you to stay in the car!” Beau barked as she crouched next to him behind his cruiser, bullets zipping past like angry bees.

“And I told you I’m not made of glass!” she snapped, wincing slightly as she pressed a hand to her side. “It’s just a graze.”

“Graze?!” he squawked, nearly breaking his neck trying to check for damage. “You were shot. That’s a bullet wound! That's a literal gunshot wound! You're growing a human and you just took a round like you're John McClane!”

“I am barely bleeding.”

“You have blood! That’s one hundred percent more blood than I want coming out of you!”

She looked down at her side. It did sting. But in her defense, the guy was a terrible shot, and she’d seen worse paper cuts from assembling nursery furniture.

Beau was already pulling out supplies—bandages, hand sanitizer, a bottle of water, a protein bar, and possibly a defibrillator. “You are going home. You are going home and sitting on the couch with your feet up and watching Love It or List It until your due date. Do you understand me?”

“I can’t just sit around and knit until this baby shows up. I’m still a federal agent.”

“You’re an adorable federal agent with a fetal sidekick. You should be nesting. You should be comparing crib sheets and arguing about paint swatches. Not dodging bullets!”

She shrugged. “Well, I did bring a color palette. It’s in the glove box.”

Beau stared at her.

Then he stared at the bullet hole in the truck behind her.

Then back to her.

“I swear to God, woman, I love you so much it makes my teeth hurt, but I am this close to zip-tying you to a La-Z-Boy.”

She gave him a tired, sheepish smile. “Okay, okay. I think I’ll take that maternity leave now.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning back against the truck with a groan. “Bullets are nature’s way of telling you to take a damn nap.”

Beau let out a long, strangled sigh, then gently helped her up. “Thank you. And after this baby’s born, we’re gonna sit down and have a long conversation about career boundaries and the appropriate time to start working from home.”

“Sure,” she said, smirking. “Right after I teach our kid how to shoot straight.”

Beau froze. “What?”

Jenny's voice came through the radio: “Arlen? Suspect’s in custody. We’re clear.”

He lifted the mic. “Copy that. Also, bring the first-aid kit and maybe a tranquilizer dart. I’m gonna need one.”

His wife patted his chest with exaggerated sympathy. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just didn’t know I was marrying Rambo with a baby bump.”

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Forbidden Love

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4500

Summary: Soon-to-be Congressman James Bucky Barnes has fallen for you, his bodyguard. But will you risk your job protecting him to be his girlfriend?

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Oral (Fem), fingering, maybe a little bit of idiots in love. 

A/N: @avengers-assemble-bingo for James Buchanan Barnes - 108th Birthday. The square filled “Confetti”. (card #4B 024) 

A/N 2: Thank you to my betas @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @nekoannie-chan Thank you to @fictional-affairs for the header. Thank you to @whimsicalrogers for the divider

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

The sun was starting to rise when Bucky woke suddenly. He reached across the bed to find the sheets were cold, you were gone. You were quiet when you left before the sun would rise. You were so stealthy it freaked him out since he was a super soldier and former assassin. 

He stretched real quick before climbing out of bed naked. Bucky headed to the shower and put the water as hot as he could handle it. After his shower, he continued to go about his morning routine with the news turned on so he could hear what was new that morning.

Walking to the closet he pulled out a suit, dress shirt, and tie. Dressing within minutes he tied his expensive dress shoes and looked himself over in the mirror. Another day to work towards becoming a Congressman.

Bucky made his coffee and sat in front of the television listening to what was going on in the world. Fifteen minutes go by and he hears a knock at his door. Getting up he goes to greet his bodyguards who for now will follow him around until the election is over. 

Standing at the door is you dressed in a black suit with a gun on your hip. The other men are searching the grounds of his home to make sure everything is secure. 

As you step inside you take in his features. Always a sharp dresser Bucky stood before you looking like a man ready to conquer the world. His suit was navy, with a white shirt underneath, and a tie to match. You love how the suit brings out his eyes. A minute passes and you catch yourself eye fucking the man you are assigned to keep alive. 

Bucky catches you staring and can’t help but smirk. Last night was incredible as he finally talked you into staying the night at his place. He was able to take you apart with his sinful tongue and mouth that had you moaning his name like a prayer. He made love to you and had you shedding happy tears from the experience. He would fuck you all night long to show you how he felt about you.

But it wasn’t just sex that made Bucky head over heels for you. You both talked a lot and shared your past lives with one another. Bucky admired how hard you worked to get your job and never let the man-dominated field scare you away. You were a force to be reckoned with.

In private when it was just the two of you, you had a kindness he hadn’t seen in a long time. You would let the walls around your heart crumble down and be completely loving and loyal to a fault. In short, you were everything he wanted in a relationship.

Now he knew you had a different mask on. You were all work and no play when you guarded him. Bucky trusted you with his life and knew you were capable of doing your job despite the feelings between the both of you.

“Good morning, James.” 

“Good morning, doll. Why don’t you come here and give me a kiss for running out on me this morning.”

“How about no. I’m on the job and any of those other agents could walk in on us. You know the rules when the suit is on its business only and I’m in charge.” You were watching him as he moved closer to you.

Bucky leaned in and whispered in your ear, “And when the suit is off I’m in charge, fucking you within an inch of your life.” He smiled when you gasped. Leaning down, Bucky kissed you just below your ear. Just as he pulls away from you a knock on the door echoes in the house and the door opens. 

You turn around and see one of your fellow agents Mark Spencer enter the door. He nods to both of you.

“Perimeter is secured. We have an hour to get to the first newsroom.” 

The man was tall and slightly built but not in a Bucky kind of way. No, you think, Bucky was all hard planes and thick in more ways than one. You shake yourself from your thoughts and nod at Mark.

“Well James, are you ready for us to go?” You asked as you turned around and locked eyes.

Bucky smiled, “I’m ready, doll face.” 

You shook your head and corrected him with your name. But Bucky was already heading for the door calling over his shoulder, “Whatever you say doll face.”

At the newsroom, you and Mark stood backstage watching Bucky on live TV talking about his agenda and how he wants to make a difference. He was an intelligent man who spoke passionately about the changes he would like to see made. 

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him speak. You admired the man who wanted to do so much for his position as a congressman. He had two weeks left to campaign and  was up in the early polls over his opponent.

That smile was all Mark needed to see before he smirked and asked, “So care to share what you’re smiling about?”

That brought your attention back and had you looking at Mark with a frown. “What, I can't smile now at work?”

Mark stood with hands on his hips. “Don’t think I’m dumb. I see the way you two flirt.”

Your eyes went wide at his statement. Was it that obvious you and Bucky had feelings for one another? You were his bodyguard. You protected Bucky with your life. The job called for professionalism and anyone would kill to be in your shoes protecting James Bucky Barnes. He was Captain America’s best friend after all and a war hero. 

Shaking your head at Mark you turned back to the monitor to watch Bucky. “I don’t flirt with him. We’re just friendly in a professional manner. My job is to keep him safe at all times.”

Mark shook his head. “Whatever you say, boss lady.” He chuckled to himself and remained quiet as you both watched Bucky about to finish his interview. 

The news anchor leaned forward and placed her hand gently on his vibranium one. “So James I have to ask. Is there someone special in your life? Someone that holds a special place in your heart?”

Bucky pulled his hand away while still showing that million-dollar smile. “Umm, yeah I have someone special in my life. We’re just not ready to take our relationship public just yet.” 

Your eyes widened in shock as his eyes locked with yours through the monitor. He wasn’t suggesting you was he? There was no way he was putting your nighttime activities out there. He couldn’t, you could lose your job. You haven’t even talked about what you were yet with each other. 

Bucky winked at the camera and the news anchor was calling for a commercial. He thought he did great in the interview today. He was wondering what you were thinking when he spilled there was someone special. Bucky was in love and he didn’t want to hide it anymore. Getting up from the chair he headed backstage where you were waiting with Mark.

His eyes locked onto your face and he could see he might have messed things up by your expression. Maybe he should have talked with you first but you did leave early that morning before he could.

“James, are you ready to leave? We have a schedule to keep to.” Your words were sharp. You didn’t mean to sound frustrated or angry but you didn’t know how to feel.

Bucky sensing your feelings just nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.” 

You lead the way out of the newsroom and to the back where the SUV sits. Scanning the area first you nodded to Mark to bring Bucky out and to the waiting vehicle where another agent sat in the driver's seat. You and Bucky slid into the back seat while Mark sat in the front passenger seat. You both remained silent as you headed to his next engagement.

The rest of the day went by as usual. Bucky did interviews, held a luncheon, and mingled with his constituents. By the time they knew it, it was time to bring Bucky home. The car ride was pretty silent at times and you only discussed where he was heading next. It seemed all the air was sucked out of the vehicle.

When you arrived at his house Mark and the other agents checked the perimeter once again. This left you clearing his house to make sure it was safe. As the agents left it was just you and Bucky alone.

“Well, I guess I should be heading home too. We have another two weeks to go before you get sworn in. I guess I will see you tomorrow James.”

“Bucky. You know I like it when you call me Bucky in private. Don’t go yet, we need to talk.” 

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over a chair. He undid his tie and unbuttoned his top two buttons before sitting on his couch.

You followed him into the living room and sat on the other side of the sofa. You looked over to him and he was just staring at you. Clearing your throat you lock eyes with each other. 

“So what do you want to talk about?” You asked.

“What happened earlier? You haven’t been your joyful self since the first interview I had this morning. Was it the news anchor touching my hand? Cause I pulled away from her.” Bucky stated.

You cast your eyes down for a minute. How could you bring this up without sounding stupid? Taking a deep breath you finally look up into his curious blue eyes.  

“You were asked if there was someone special in your life who holds a special place in your heart. Were you talking about me? Cause if you were I’m no one special at all. All we do is let off some steam after work sometimes by having sex. It’s not like we have been on an actual date or anything. You have never put a label on us.” 

You knew as the words left your mouth it was a slap in the face to Bucky. You had feelings for him but now that Mark made his remarks earlier about the two of you, you were worried about him going to your boss to expose the truth. If you lost your job you wouldn’t know what to do. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you and leaned forward. “Is that all you think of us is blowing off steam when we have sex? I made love to you just this morning and you were begging for more as I recall. I was indeed talking about you and you're someone special to me. We have shared so much about ourselves to one another and yes I consider when we order food for delivery that to be a date as it’s just us. Where is this all coming from? You know how I feel about you and I want you to be mine. I didn’t put a label on us because you have never expressed how you felt.”

Tears started to well in your eyes. “I-I don’t want to lose my job Bucky over something that may or may not last. I love what I do for a living and I don’t want to lose that part of me.”

“How can you say we may not work out if you haven’t even given me a chance? Who says you have to lose that part of you job-wise? I love being around you. You’re so smart, your instincts are spot on and I legit trust you with my life. Even if you didn’t want anything relationship-wise from me I would hire you as my personal security guard.” 

His eyes are staring into yours as he pleads his case to you. “I don’t want to do the rest of my life without you somehow in it. Please trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about when it comes to your job or us.”

You sat silently taking his words in. He wanted to hire you? That was a huge raise right there. He never mentioned that before. Was it just emotionally driven that he wanted you around? Not really you thought he did say he trusted you with his life. He was right when he said you never gave him a chance to try to work out whatever was between the two of you. Fighting the tears that are trying to fall you look back at Bucky who looks like he is going to fall apart at any moment. Why weren’t you being honest about your feelings as well?

You stood from the couch and Bucky did the same. “I have a lot to think about tonight. I’m going to head home.”

Bucky tried to reach for your hand but you backed away. “Please just stay and let's talk this all out.”

Stepping backward you shook your head. “No, I need to think this over at home. I will be here for my shift in the morning. Goodbye, Bucky.” You rushed out of his house and headed to your parked SUV, leaving Bucky all alone to pick up the pieces of his heart.

Once you were home you let the tears flow and cried your heart out. Why was life so difficult? You had a man that was in love with you. Something that you haven’t had in your life since taking a private security job. Bucky wanted to hire you on privately after he won the election. He wanted to make something of the two of you and you were too scared to just say yes. Why were you like this?

You kicked off your shoes at the door and headed to your room to put your gun up for the night. Once it was secured you quickly jumped in the shower to let the stress melt away. All your thoughts of Bucky though came crashing down on you. From the nights you shared dinner at his place, to the quiet conversations you had about your pasts, and to the times you made love with one another. There was no denying that you two had something special. So why are you trying to throw it away over a silly job you have with an agency? Yeah, it meant something to you but the opportunity Bucky is giving you will never come around again. If he is willing to give you a job and a chance to explore what could be between you both, why not take it? Tomorrow you will tell him your answer.

The next morning goes by as usual as you get ready to head to Bucky’s place. You were nervous all night and could barely sleep. Today was a big step and you hoped you didn’t blow it with him last night. When you arrived at his house you were met with the agency's SUVs parked outside his home. Quickly you parked and made your way to the house. Walking towards the front door you were met by Mark who was guarding the door.

“Oh well look who it is. Aren’t you supposed to be at home? You have a lot of balls coming up here.”

“What are you even talking about Mark?” You looked at him curiously.

You went to move by him but he put his arm out to stop you. “No, go. You need to speak with the director.”

As if on cue the director stepped out of a black SUV. He looked disgusted with you as he approached you.

“Well, I was wondering when you were going to check in agent. Before you say anything let me speak. It has come to the agency's knowledge that you and soon-to-be Congressman James Barnes have been having an affair at his home.”

“Wait, please you don’t understand.” You started to plead. 

“I don’t understand what? That you’ve been fucking the man you were supposed to keep safe. The man you swore an oath to protect. This is an egregious act that you pulled and that needs to be dealt with right away. It is with a heavy heart that I have to fire you from this agency. You are not allowed to see Mr. Barnes at least for the next two weeks of his campaign. His PR is trying to cover up this mess that you left behind. You need to leave. Do I make myself clear?”

“I want to see Bucky.”

“Bucky? Don’t you mean James? We have spoken to Mr. Barnes and he has made himself clear he wants nothing to do with you.”

That shattered your heart hearing those words. He didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.This couldn’t be true, could it? 

“I want to speak with him now!” You demanded.

“I said no. Now get yourself off this property or I will have you removed forcefully.”

Just as the director yelled those last words, Bucky's door flung open. 

“What in the hell is going on outside my house? His eyes scanned from Mark to the director and finally fell on you. He smirked when he saw you but instantly frowned when he saw your face. “Doll, what’s wrong?”

The director walked forward toward Bucky. “Mr. Barnes, we were just taking care of everything outside. Go inside and continue talking with your PR Consultant.”

Bucky looked from you and back to the director. “That won’t be necessary. Doll come here.” He stretched out his arm to you and you started to walk to him. 

“She can’t be here. She was fired from our agency. She has been asked to leave on my authority.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, I hate to break it to you but you're all fired. I will be getting my own personal security.” The director went to speak but Bucky put his hand up. “No need to waste my time anymore. You have treated the woman I love with such disrespect that I will no longer be needing your services.”

You walked up the stairs and stood next to Bucky. You watched as the security agency left the property after a few minutes. Looking up at him you smiled. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me doll. Let’s go inside where we can talk. I’m all done with my PR team anyway.”

Walking inside hand in hand you saw a lady getting her files and briefcase before she walked over to you. “Nice to meet you, agent. I’ve heard wonderful things about you. Just know you both did nothing wrong and this will be handled by me now.”

Bucky nodded his head. “Thank you for your support.” 

The woman smiled at you both and left the house leaving you both alone. 

Bucky looked at you and offered a friendly smile. “Can we talk?” 

“Yes, I would like that.” You squeezed his vibranium hand as he led you to the living room.

“Look, I'm sorry if me saying anything on national TV about having a special someone just ruined your career. I never wanted that for you. I should have talked with you about it first instead of saying anything. I never meant to hurt you. It’s just that… I’m so in love with you doll. I have been for a while now. I just never knew how to tell you first.” His hand squeezed yours gently as he spoke. “But with that said I will accept whatever you have to say to me now.”

You let out a soft sigh. “Bucky, I need to be honest with you. I also have feelings for you as well. I’ve had them since I first met you. I’m in love with you too. I tried to ignore those feelings even when we were intimate but I can’t deny how I feel anymore. When you asked me if I wanted to be head of your security, well, a part of me does. But the other part of me just wants to be your girlfriend. I want to see where the road before us leads and I want to be by your side as you get sworn into office. What do you say, Bucky?” 

Bucky pulls you close and kisses you passionately. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulls you down onto his lap on the couch. You straddle his hips and grind down into him as you both continue to make out. Bucky pulls back from kissing your lips and starts kissing down your neck. The light burn from his beard feels so good against your skin that you shiver. You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants and you can't help yourself as you grind more against him. 

“I have to be inside you doll,” he confesses as a groan leaves his mouth. 

Quickly you are both shedding clothes and before you know it you’re both naked. Bucky picks you up in his arms causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you effortlessly to his bedroom which is down the hallway. Once inside he gently lays you down on the bed and follows you up to the pillows. He starts kissing you down your neck again while the vibranium hand tweaks your nipples. He plays with both your breasts as he finally makes his descent down between your legs. Bucky watches your reaction as he starts to kiss your inner thigh, rubbing his beard gently against you. 

You respond with a soft moan as he kisses everywhere except where you need him the most. Finally, he kisses your pussy and licks a stripe through your petals causing you to arch your back when he reaches your clit. Bucky drapes his arm across your hips holding you down as he feasts upon you as a man starved. Every pass of his tongue through your lips has you groaning his name in pleasure. Your hand finds his hair and latches on like a lifeline. His tongue swirls around your clit and has you begging for more.

“Please Bucky. I need to cum.” 

Bucky briefly chuckles against your pussy but complies. His flesh fingers push into you and curl just the way you like. His mouth latches onto your clit and sends you over the edge screaming his name to the heavens. Your arousal covers his beard and he can’t help himself as he tries to lick as much of you off him. He hums from the taste of you and crawls his way back up your body. He leans down and kisses your lips letting you taste yourself on him. 

“I need you, doll. Let me have you.” Bucky kisses you all over your face and ends with a forehead kiss.

“Bucky, I need you.” You look into his eyes and see that his eyes are dilated with want. 

Bucky grabs his long, thick cock and strokes himself a few times before he is placing the tip at your wet entrance. Your legs wrap around his hips as he starts to push inside you. Your hands grip his biceps as he starts to roll his hips and thrust inside of you. The stretch always makes you groan as he pushes deeper and deeper inside of you. Your bodies work together like a well-oiled machine. Every push and pull, every thrust for thrust has you panting his name. Bucky starts to thrust into you harder causing you to whine.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…”

“That’s it doll, keep screaming my name.”

His hips speed up and the sound of the bed bouncing the wall echoes within the room. Your moans of his name drive him crazy like a feral animal. His right-hand starts to move down your body and finds your clit. Bucky starts rubbing it with his fingers as he continues to take you apart. In a matter of minutes, you are cumming hard around his cock and milking his cock as he chases his high spilling deep inside you. Bucky pulls out of you and lays beside you bringing your body close to his. 

“I love you Bucky.” You kiss his shoulder.

“I love you too, doll.” Bucky kisses your forehead.

“I could stay like this forever with you.” He states as he holds you tight. 

“I could too but don’t you have somewhere to be today? You do have less than two weeks left before you are Congressman James Barnes. Don’t you have to shake hands and kiss babies?” You chuckle out the last part.

Bucky chuckles with you and shakes his head. “I cleared my schedule for the day. I want to spend it with you. Take you on a real date and maybe seduce you all over again.”

You look up at him and see his smile shining down on you. “That sounds like a good plan. But one thing, who is going to be your security team?”

Bucky’s hand starts rubbing your back as he hums to himself. “Well since you said you want to be my girlfriend there goes my head of security.”

“I was joking, I would love to be head of your security. I also know some good people, people who I trust that would love to be a part of your security detail. Just let me pull some files together and we can talk it over when we are both not naked.”

Bucky groaned, “But I love you naked. But yes I know what you are getting at. We shall talk about it more tomorrow 'cause I have the best agent protecting me today. Now let's go shower and get ready for our day ahead.”

The next two weeks fly by with no problems. Just like you told Bucky you hired a group of men and women who had the experience needed to keep him safe.You took the head of security job. You loved keeping your boyfriend safe and spending time with him.

Before you know it Bucky is getting sworn into his position as Congressman. Confetti rains down on the both of you as people cheer for the new Congressman. He has big plans and hopes to work with others toward a better future. But nothing is better for his future than having you by his side. What started as a forbidden romance is now evolving into something special. 

Tagging:

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@avengers-assemble-bingo

[delicatebarness]

bridges to burn | prologue

Summary: You arrive at the Avengers Compound to manage your uncontrollable Extremis powers. As you navigated the new environment, you clash with your assigned babysitter/bodyguard, Bucky Barnes.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Iron Man 3. Intense Emotional Conflict. Superpowers and Uncontrollable Abilities. Parental Concern and Pressure. Family Tension. Emotional and Physical Heat.

Word Count: 1103

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

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A/N: Oh look, another.

BTB Tags: - Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this serious.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

Touching down at the Avengers Compound, the Quinjet’s engines hummed softly as they powered down. You stepped off the lowering ramp and took in the sprawling complex. The building was an impressive blend of sleek modern design and cutting-edge technology, lush greenery surrounded the wide-open spaces. The peaceful landscape contrasted against the bustling chaos of the city, where you spent most of your life. 

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood waiting for you near the entrance, concern, and determination etched across his aging features. The familiar scent of motor oil and cologne filled your senses as he enveloped you in a quick hug. His grip around you was firm, silently reassuring you that he was there for you. 

“Welcome home, kid,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. However, his eyes revealed the worry he had tried to mask. “Come on, let me show you around.” 

Following him through the compound, you passed training rooms that were filled with state-of-the-art equipment, common areas where you caught glimpses of some familiar faces, and the impressive hangar with various vehicles and aircraft. The building buzzed with activity, yet there was still a sense of order and purpose. 

Finally, you reached Tony’s sanctuary, his lab. The place you knew he felt most at home. You marveled at the array of gadgets and projects scattered around, as you followed his gesture for you to step in. Screens displayed holographic schematics, while robotic arms moved with precision, a new creation being assembled. The faint hum of machinery was a comforting backdrop. 

“And, this is where the magic happens,” Tony said, pride touching his voice. Watching you take it all in, his lips played a small smile. “But, before you get too comfortable, there’s something we need to talk about.” 

Raising your eyebrow suspiciously, you waited for him to continue. Looking uncharacteristically nervous, he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I know things have been… rough since the incident,” he began, trying carefully to choose his words. He leaned against a workbench, fixing his gaze on a point somewhere behind you, crossing his arms over his chest. “And, I know you’re struggling to control the Extremis,” he trailed off, pausing before he continued, “but, we can’t have another accident like that. Not again.” 

The memory of the uncontrollable heat coursing through your veins caused you to flinch. The sight of the flames, the smell of burning wood, the panic in the firefighter’s voice as they tried to contain the damage. Since it saved your life as a child, you lived with the Extremis virus. Your mother, Maya Hansen’s legacy, turned you into a ticking time bomb. 

“I know, Dad,” you sighed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll do better.” 

Shaking his head, Tony pushed off the workbench and stepped closer to you. “It’s not about doing better. It’s about getting help. Which is why I’ve arranged for someone to keep an eye on you.” 

The door to the lab opened, snapping your attention away from your dad before you could protest. And in walked, Bucky Barnes– The Winter Soldier. You had seen him in action and heard the ghost stories, but meeting him in person… that was different. He was imposing, a steely gaze seemingly assessing every detail of the room, and you. As he approached, his movements were fluid, almost predatory.

“Tin-Man, this is my daughter,” Tony spoke as he gestured toward you. “She’s going to be staying here for a while. And… you’re going to be looking out for her.” 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly toward you, and you could see in his piercing gaze that he was as thrilled about this arrangement as you were. “I was expecting a kid,” he said bluntly, a hint of annoyance carrying in his voice. Crossing his arms over his chest, the metal of his arm caught against the light. 

“No, I’m not a kid,” you snap back, matching his posture. “And, I don’t need a glorified babysitter. Unless,” you paused, shoot Bucky a playful smirk. “You’re here to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?” 

Tony stepped between you, holding up a hand to forestall any pending argument. “Easy, both of you. This isn’t up for debate. Barnes’ here to help, whether you like it or not.” 

You glare at Bucky, who returns the look with an equal intensity. “Fantastic,” you said, your voice dripped with sarcasm. “My very own bodyguard, don’t expect me to make this easy for you.”

Smirking, Bucky’s eyes filled with amusement almost as if he was accepting a challenge. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your iris’ blazed with anger, a burning orange glow. 

His smirk never faltered. “Whatever you say… Princess.” 

Watching the exchange, Tony’s expression changed to one of concern and exasperation. His face, usually composed, now showed signs of strained patience. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tried to stifle a sigh. “Alright, both of you,” he injects, his voice filled with frustration. “This isn’t a battlefield. Can we at least try to keep it professional?” 

You took a glance at Tony, then back at Bucky, who still had a smirk plastered across his face, enjoying the friction. Tony continued, his tone firm but weary. “I get that you two won’t see eye to eye, but let’s keep the drama to a minimum. We’re here to make sure things don’t  go up in flames, literally.” 

Squaring off with Bucky, you took another step closer. The heat between you both was almost tangible. “I mean it, Winter Soldier. I’m not some dame in distress that you get to boss around.” 

Leaning in, his voice was a low, taunting whisper. “And I’m not some nanny here to hold your hand.” 

The tension crackled between you, and you noticed how his eyes were cold and calculating, with a flicker of something else– something that mirrored the heat in your own. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something more, but whatever it was, made your heart race. 

“Good,” you retorted, sarcasm stayed laced within your words. “I wouldn’t want you thinking you could handle me.” 

His eyes locked with yours, his smirking only growing. “Trust me, Princess, I can handle anything you throw at me.” 

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t help but feel the thrill of his challenge rush through you. “We’ll see about that.” 

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze burning into your back. This wasn’t over– far from it. And somehow, the thought of that excited you as much as it infuriated you.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[ofjunemoment]

getting even | lee haechan (P2)

synopsis —  Haechan promises you that he wasn't the one behind the prank. But he also tells you that he likes you. You're torn between which one you want to believe more.

pairing - haechan x fem!reader

genre - university!au, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, very slice of life, eventual smut (MDNI)

Wc - 19k

content - camping, clubbing (again), smut (MDNI)

warnings: reader is drunk in one scene

a/n - YAYYYYYY here's the final part of getting even!! thank you for waiting patiently and I'm sorry it took this long,, thank you guys so much for your reactions and feedback on the first part, it definitely helped me finish this part quicker than I wouldve! i had so much fun with this haechan, and i hope you guys have fun with him <33 smut tags will be under the cut (not proofread sorry)

this is the second part of the getting even series! make sure to read the first part before reading this ^^

smut tags - fingering, unprotected sex (dont do this <3), oral (m receiving), praises, dirty talk?? like barely...., gets romantic and sappy in the middle sorry, lmk if I missed anything <3

“Is that everything?” Yubin scribbles at her clipboard as Juyeon closes the trunk of the van shut, clapping his hands together to rid of any excess dust.

“Seems like it,” Sohee speaks out softly, but her sigh is unmistakable. “But Jihoon is late. Again,” Everyone looks around for any sign of Jihoon, but it seems like your whole radio club is assembled but him.

“Ah, no worries. I just got a text from him saying he’s on the way. Something about Yubin wanting extra drinks…” Juyeon pipes up. Said club manager flushed as she got called out, waving her hand and scoffing in denial. “I didn’t say that! I just said, you know, that he should bring things to make the trip more… livelier?” For this semester's story scoop, your club had decided to make a trip to the rural farming areas just a few hour's drive south. Juyeon, the modern history major, had said that there was a grasshopper surge that he had decided to study for in his first year of course, which led to everyone being interested in how the farmers reacted to such a phenomenon. And so you all banded together and rented two vans and borrowed Yubin’s car, now filled with equipment and luggages, to stay in the town for two nights and conduct primary research on the topic.

Everyone seems excited one way or another for such an event, viewing this trip as a much-needed break from studying and assignments. Well, everyone except for your beloved friend, Naeun.

“I already feel sticky and we haven’t even started the trip,” Your selective germaphobic friend murmurs as she eyes the camping equipment that is being shoved at the back of the van by Minseok and Soyeon. 

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. “You wouldn’t be complaining like this if Jeno was in the mix,” You lightly shove your shoulder against hers, giggling when she glares at you.

“Jokes on you, I would be saying the same thing. Just with different context,” You grimace at her suggestive brows fluttering at you. Still, before you can let your impulsive thoughts take over and strangle her, you hear the crunch of tires against asphalt. You are met with a car pulling up at the waiting area where your club is waiting.

Jihoon steps out of the car and daps up Juyeon and Minseok, while bowing politely and apologising for being late towards Sohee and Yubin. 

“If it makes you feel better I bought a lot of alcoh—” Yubin's sharp laugh cuts off the rest of his sentence as she smacks at his shoulder a few times, her cackles bordering like a threat. 

“You’re so young and dumb, running your mouth. Oh, to be youthful…now get your shit out of the car.” She pinches his shoulder before gesturing towards the vehicle he’d pulled up in.

“Actually, I was gonna ask for a favour too…” The rest of the sentence goes unnoticed by you as your attention catches on the car that Jihoon has just gotten out of. It seems like he wasn’t the only person, and you hadn’t realised that until the car doors had opened and out stepped Jeno and Haechan.

“No fucking way,” Naeun pales next to you, and the feeling is mutual as your eyes widen on reflex. “We should really try being scared of good grades instead,” 

Jeno steps out of the car holding a box filled with what looks like alcohol and snacks that go along, his sleeveless shirt highlighting his flexed biceps as he carries the box towards where Jihoon is gesturing. Haechan, too, steps out with a box in his grip, adorning a simple shirt and summer shorts, and you can’t pull your eye away from him. Jihoon has his friends distract Yubin and Sohee from his late arrival (it works on the former, not much on the latter) as he guides Haechan and Jeno to shove the boxes in the back of the van you’re taking.

“I even brought extra sleeping bags, they’re new so you don’t have to worry,” His smile stays on even when Yubin pinches at his cheek. “Look at you trying. Hey, we have two extra seats in the vans if you two want to join?” She ignores the sharp look she receives from Sohee as she looks at Jeno and Haechan, who give a glance at each other and then Jihoon, and back to Yubin.

“Thanks for the offer, but I have a game to practice for,” Jeno smiles, and you feel Naeun grip at your wrist. He casts a glance at you, which sends you into a shock before a smile takes over his features. Everyone’s now looking at Haechan, and there’s only one way he can react when he has this much attention on him.

“How could I reject such an offer,” He bats his lashes as Jihoon grapples him into a friendly headlock. 

“I’m done,” You mutter, as everyone bustles around you to get their items in the car, Juyeon and Haechan are discussing how to ration their clothes for the latter to use, while Jihoon pulls out a fully inflatable flamingo from the trunk of his car, trying to somehow persuade Sohee on bringing it along. 

“There isn’t even a pool there!”

“But there’s a lake, no?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. “Naeun, I’m so done,” Naeun relaxes his grip on your wrist when Jeno waves goodbye to everyone once Jihoon takes all his belongings out of the car. She pats your shoulder encouragingly, prioritising herself now that Jeno isn’t around to send her into a loop.

“You’ll be fine, I mean, he’s probably gonna be preoccupied with Jihoon. You probably won’t be able to even interact with him.”

True to her word, everything was fine. You didn’t even have to share an awkward greeting with him in front of everyone to save face and show that you get along well. Your tasks were assigned briefly by Sohee, and everything fit like it was planned to in the trunk of the vans.

You’re sitting in the back seat of one of the vehicles when the door opens and in comes Haechan. You do a mental check and realise that the only seats left are the two available ones next to you; although one was occupied by Juyeon’s massive skincare bag. As you were about to shove the bag in the middle seat and have Haechan sit on the opposite side, the bag was swiftly taken away by the owner himself.

“Ah, we need to make some space here for you to sit.” His sweet smile comes sinister in your eyes, as you see Haechan looking at the place before sparing a glance at you, the first of the day if anyone was keeping count. Not that you were. 

Seeing the caution in your eyes, he goes to settle himself on the opposite side, leaving the middle space empty for your comfort. As Haechan is trying to settle into the car seat, Jihoon takes a moment to glance inside before disappearing for a quick moment and returning with a pool toy, which he promptly hands to his friend.

“There’s no more space at the trunk,” He shoves it even more at Haechan’s side, making the boy tumble and fall into the middle seat instead, his hand coming in contact with yours. As you flinch, you just manage to realize what is happening before Jihoon closes the car door and heads to the passenger seat. Yubin starts the drive, and you find Naeun and Minseok in the middle row, with Naeun looking back at you with concern evident in her eyes.

You try to wave her off the best you can without Haechan realising, but it seems like he’s too preoccupied battling with the inflatable flamingo. “Why don’t you deflate it and inflate it when we get there?” He calls towards the front of the car at his friend.

Jihoon spins around from his seat and tries to look at Haechan through the gaps from the overshadowing pool toy. “This one’s weird, it doesn’t easily inflate again, so might as well just take it there while it’s fully filled. It’s not a tight fit for you two, is it?” 

Haechan gives the toy one more push and it’s angled in the least invasive way, yet his left side is pressed against you, and you can’t help but focus on the contact that his knee makes against yours, as the warmth of his skin travels easier with the skirt you’re wearing. You try your best to not look at the guy next to you, reminding yourself that it's only a two-hour drive, and you can probably try to sleep through most of it.

“No, we’re okay,” You ease Jihoon’s worries, who smiles brightly at you before turning back around.

Tucking yourself against the car, you try to find an angle that's most comfortable for you to fall asleep in, but while you’re shifting around something blankets your legs. When you open your eyes, you see Haechan placing a jacket on your leg. Where did he even pull this out from?

Looking at him, his gaze follows up from his jacket placed on your leg to your face, giving you a light smile as he tries his best to give you space even in the tight fit. Without a word, he folds himself against the flamingo toy and closes his eyes, ready to sleep. You want to thank him for his gesture, but as you see his breathing steady, you instead decide to follow his lead and shut your eyes, careful with his jacket against your legs. Soon, your eyelids begin to drift down, and your breaths become slower and deeper until you eventually slip into a restful sleep.

After what feels like a few hours, you awaken to find the van has stopped moving, and the rest of the club members have already gathered outside. You take the jacket in your hands and stretch your weary legs out before stepping outside, feeling the cool summer breeze against your face. Naeun’s the first person to realise that you’ve stepped out, waving her hand at you and gesturing you to join their circle.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” She teases when you catch up, bumping her shoulder against yours.

“Alright guys, there are four tents, three of them fitting two people and one fitting three. You can pair up and grab them and set up at this area.” Sohee ticks off things on the clipboard, not taking her eyes off of it as she informs your group. “Try to be done by one, we’ll take a drive down to the village area and have lunch before we take a look around and see if there’s anyone who’s willing to be interviewed.” People have started to gather their bags from around their feet, ready to set up the tents. “And be careful about the space, we don’t want to be too crowded because it’s already hot enough. I know the lake is just a few minutes walk away from here, but refrain fro—”

“Let’s start setting up, yeah?” Yubin claps her hands together, effectively cutting her partner off and letting everyone disperse. 

As you find an area to set up your tent, you’re not even done with hammering in the corners of the tent into the ground before you hear your friend groan. 

"I never imagined they'd make us actually set up our own tents on this trip," Naeun sighs.

"Oh, come on, it's not that hard," you retort. "Besides, it's all part of the experience, isn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that," Naeun laughs.

"Hey, I'm serious! This is meant to be fun," you reply with a smile. As you near the end of your process, you take a moment to look around the camping area. In the middle of a faux circle your tents are making is a general campfire and dock, where most of the snacks and drinks are placed, ready for consumption at later times in the day. Looking at everyone setting up their respective tents, you catch a glimpse of Haechan and Jihoon working diligently. Haechan’s back faces you as he hammers in the corner of his tents to the ground, and you’re only taken away from such a view when Naeun clears her throat.

“I’m innocent,” You don’t even look at her as you say this. Rolling her eyes at your helpless behaviour, your friend turns to the two of them setting up, before feigning a voice of interest. “Oh! Did you guys set up next to us? We’re neighbours now,” Jihoon looks up and smiles cheekily, indulging in your friends' reactions as he starts to talk about how excited he is about the trip. Meanwhile, Haechan merely glances at her, before his eyes shift past her figure and land on you. 

You shift in place at his gaze, meekly lifting a hand to wave hello, unable to think of anything else. A gleaming smile breaks out on his features as the corner of his lips tilts up, laughing at your awkward behaviour. You break eye contact, not wanting to spend another second subjecting yourself to being ridiculed like this. When you do, your eyes fall into the lent jacket folded and perched on top of your bag, a reminder that you’re yet to give it back.

When you and Naeun shove your bags into the tent and zip the entry close halfway, you hear a clap echo from behind you, where Yubin stands in the middle of the dock. 

“Is everyone done? Come around so we can do a quick brief before we go into the village,” When you all circle around her and the other club leader, a quick rundown is given to you of what is to expect when you head down to the village. You will all go around the village as a group, asking the residents about their knowledge of the grasshopper surge and if they’re willing to participate in a form of interview

The drive to the village was less squished as all the items you’ve packed have been unloaded, and you are able to view the beautiful scenery you had missed while asleep on the way here. Soyeon reaches over and tries to point at the best scenery for you to view, while Minseok tries to distract you by claiming to see a cow every few seconds.

You arrive at the village entrance, your windows rolled down to take in the fresh air and appreciate the charming farming fields spread out before you. The trees swing with the light summer breeze, while the shine of the sun highlights the bright-coloured fruits hanging off of the different gardens of each house. The houses are all clustered together, no doubt creating an easy atmosphere for friendliness between neighbours.

As you exit the van, your eyes slowly wander around to take in the sights of the village. Juyeon spots a few kids running around and playing with large hoola hoops, exchanging a friendly smile and wave with them. Both Yubin and Jihoon seem excited to wander around, quickly taking the opportunity to explore the quaint village by walking into the streets.

It’s quiet as you pass by the houses, with the people no doubt staying inside to have a nice lunch while staving off the heat. “I think there’s a good Naengmyeon store just a few minutes walk.” Sohee looks at both her phone and the clipboard alternatively, before starting her journey without a glance behind her. 

As you follow Sohee, you and Naeun walk side by side, taking in the fields and their vacancy. “It’s so serene,” she chimes.

You hum, “It must be so relaxing to live here, even the weather is good,” You stretch your arms out to get a better feel. “If I was living here I wouldn’t have a single complaint. I bet they all must be nice too,” 

“If I lived here,” Jihoon chimes, “I would be one of those old people that walks around with a stick I just found on the ground,” 

“I would live here with you,” Haechan adds with a smile. “Just so I can break your stick and laugh when you fall,” 

Jihoon jokingly goes to wrap his arms around Haechan, who tries to defend himself by delivering jabs into his friend’s waist. Your group laughs at their antics before suddenly being made to take a sharp left.

The quietness that existed two seconds before the turn is now all gone, as you’re met with the bustle of what you assume is the village centre. Market stalls litter around as kids run through their gaps. People gather around shaded decks, fanning themselves with various objects as middle-aged women gossip around. Even the two restaurants are bustling, but when Sohee goes to the one she had previously found, they miraculously provide tables for all nine of you, splitting into groups of four and five.

As fate would have it, you’re seated with Haechan and Jihoon, with the latter too oblivious to the stiff body language you and Naeun now harbour. Haechan provides a tight smile, but his friend goes on about how he’s starving. He calls for the owner of the place and orders your food.

The woman looks to be around sixty years old, and it’s obvious that you’re all thinking the same thoughts; she would be a good candidate to interview. “Anything else,” She jabs when you all silently look at her. 

Jihoon, ever the extrovert, sacrifices himself. “Ah, actually ma’am, I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but how old are you?” You can’t help but wince at his choice of sentence, now looking anywhere but at either one of their directions. Haechan purses his lips while Naeun coughs and goes to cover her face with her hand.

You feel more than hear her anger radiating off of the poor woman, as she shoves her hand into her apron pockets defensively. “My, talk about ‘not wanting to sound rude’,” She mocks. “Might as well ask what my income is, or better yet, the size of my br—”

“Please don’t misunderstand! I was just curious because I’m here to—”

“Just wait for your food and eat it diligently before I decide to kick you out,” Jihoon shrinks back in his seat, nodding his head solemnly. She tsks one more time before sauntering off, groaning and muttering under her breath as she goes.

“That couldn’t have gone any better,” Haechan pats his friend's shoulder, before tucking his chair further away from him, his foot bumping against you in the process. You share brief eye contact, about to share some awkward niceties before Jihoon goes to strangle him, something that occurs constantly it seems. You turn to Naeun, who looks back at you at the same time, with what you guess is the same bewilderment evident in your eyes. You burst out into laughter, leaning into one another as you take in what had happened

When you’ve all licked your bowls clean and had Jihoon semi-formally apologise for offending the lady, the group decided to saunter around the centre in order to find people to interview. 

“Okay, not a hard task.” Yubin looks at the clipboard that Sohee holds in her grasp, turning back to look at all of you. “We just need to be friendly, and boom, interview opportunity. But in case that doesn’t work, let’s have Jihoon-” The boy in question groans, “And Soyeon go around and try to conduct a mini questionnaire. Just simple questions like how long they’ve lived here, what their occupation is, and then find a leeway to ask about the grasshoppers.” Yubin clasps her hands together, and when no one budges, she starts shooing you off. Jihoon and Soyeon, the two clear extroverts of the group walk away, while Minseok starts dragging Juyon in the direction of a doughnut shop he wanted to try. Yubin and Sohee have their own way of handling things, which leaves you with Haechan and Naeun.

Naeun decides to be the icebreaker this time around, as she turns to both Haechan and you. “Yay! We’re our own trio now,” She makes some jazz hands as she says, “Just like old times in the Beehive club,” Your smile turns sour at the mention of the club.

You cross your hands in front of you in thought. “How can we approach someone about this?” You questioned out loud, but Haechan smiled at you before patting a hand on his chest.

“I can charm anyone over the age of fourty-five, it’s a hidden talent of mine. Alongside being able to juggle five things at the same time—”

“—There’s no way you can juggle five things at the same time.”

“... Do you want my help or not?” You and Naeun shove two thumbs up each in motivation before the boy takes a deep breath and starts scanning the area. With the bustle of lunchtime, there are a lot of people going around, some now setting up their dessert market stalls. 

Haechan shoots his chance by going up to a grandpa who walks by, wearing long sleeves and pants to stave off the burn of the sunlight. “Hi, sorry to bother but do you think you would be… interested…” The man kept walking as if nothing had happened, barely blinking when Haechan had come up to him. “Okay, that’s okay. Maybe he was hard of hearing?” As if on cue, the man waves as someone calls his name, going up to them and maintaining a conversation.

Now you have to find someone else. Simultaneously, all of your gazes fall on this one old lady pushing her cart, with a bit of a struggle if the minute movements of the cart are anything to go by.

Haechan makes his way through to her. “Aye, it must be hard for you to carry all of this alone. Let me help you miss,” He flashes his charming smile and you can’t help but find him endearing. In the summer heat, his cheeks look warmer than usual, as the shine of the sun reflects off his skin gleamingly. He looks cute, and you suddenly feel a sort of ache bloom in you.

The grandma squints for a while as she looks up at Haechan’s figure looming over her, and you would too if you were in her position; he’s practically beaming. But when she lifts her hand off of the handles of the carriage, it isn’t to give the boy reign but rather to deliver a hard-hitting smack at his shoulder.

You flinch and Naeun lets out a shocked shriek, as Haechan’s eyes widen, hand coming up to his bicep as he steps back.

“Damn city boy, you’re in my way!” She trudges off, and you all can’t help but look at her retreating back, the ring of her cart mocking your attempts.

It was difficult to try again after those failed attempts (you found it cute as Haechan would pout every now and then while he rubbed at his shoulder), but when Minseok and Juyeon had come back with three successful participants, you had all suddenly felt extremely competitive. 

And so you tried again, and again, and once more. Finally, a lady who was selling tanghulu had asked about your reason for visiting this town, to which she had nodded earnestly when finding out you were here to know more about the grasshopper surge. She later agreed enthusiastically when you had asked with your sweetest voice if she doesn’t mind being interviewed about it, going as far as to invite you to her house.

“Ah, we don’t wanna intrude on your privacy,” You had started shaking your hands about, but the lady merely tched at your behaviour. “Nonsense, if anything, you can do me a favour by coming in and keeping me company,” She gestured at her meek stall, and you couldn’t help but smile sweetly and nod.

With all of the interviews and mini-questionnaires secured, your group popped back into the van and ventured back to your camping grounds. Your village centre trip had taken a few hours to finish, and it was no surprise that by the time you had gone back, it was dark, and you were hungry once more.

Soyeon giggled next to you when she heard your stomach grumble. “I can make a mean shin ramen if you’d like,” You were about to bashfully thank her for offering before Juyeon loudly spoke up.

“You’re hungry too right? See Yubin, we should start the fire and barbeque now!” A bit more whining occurs before the fire pit is finally lit. In the dark of the summer night, a light breeze still comes around now and then. You drape a blanket stolen from your tent over your and Naeun’s legs, sitting on the log as everyone tends to a different part of the camping experience.

Yubin and Juyeon get busy with making the food, while Jihoon crowns himself as the bartender of the night, but instead of mixing drinks he merely passes them around and encourages everyone to take a sip before the food gets ready. Sohee quietly sets up a corner of the circle for smores to be made without risking the marshmallows from catching on fire, and a bit to her left sits Haechan, who sips at his bottle of beer while looking at the fire.

It seems like even the warm tone of the fire compliments his skin a lot, and you can’t help but look in his direction constantly, your eyes not wanting to look away. Naeun drones about a cute bag she had seen in the market earlier in the day, but your eyes are stuck on his features, pouted lips glistening after each sip of his drink, his fingers fiddling with one another against the bottle and then tapping at his knee. 

The sounds around you muffle as you focus on the contrasts of the dark summer night and the orange-yellow flame of the fire against the boy. You feel your stomach fluttering as you come to realise that the nervous feeling you harbour around him is a result of your blooming affection for him. 

Suddenly, you feel a warm gaze on you, and you turn to see Haechan's eyes fixed on you, with a gentle, understanding gaze. Your pulse quickens each moment you lock eyes, and it’s hard to bring yourself out of this reverie.

In the middle of enjoying this blissful moment with him, your heart fluttering and your eyes locked onto his, you startle as you feel someone tap on your shoulder.

You turn around to see Naeun looking at you, a slight frown on her face.

"What's wrong?" You ask her. Naeun shakes her head slightly and looks back in Haechan's direction.

"Have you been noticing Haechan's strange behaviour recently?" She whispers to you. Your brows furrow, but you can’t bring yourself to look at the boy anymore. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know, it kinda feels like he’s silently brewing something.” She taps her fingers against her chin as she thinks. “Or maybe I’m just making things up, I need a drink” She shrugs and quickly goes to stand up, heading towards Jihoon’s direction, who beams when your friend asks for a stronger drink.

The night continues with the food getting annihilated less than five minutes of it being cooked, and everyone mixing their spirits just to experience drunken fun quickly. A few impromptu singing sessions occur, and a very terrible round of truth or dare as Minseok decides to make everything hard by saying such as “I dare you to down two shots or give me fifty-thousand won”. No one was pleased with his low blow.

You know it’s time for you to head off to bed when your eyelids start drooping even when everyone is singing at the top of their lungs. You pat Naeun’s knee as you stand up, with her barely noticing as she tries to match her adlibs to the song. 

“I’m gonna head off to bed now,” As she nods back at you, you tuck the blanket back on her knees before shuffling away and towards your tent. Retrieving some things from your bag inside your tent, you hear some shuffling to your left as you head back out. Haechan stands at his tent situated next to yours seemingly calling it a night too as his hands carry his toothbrush and toothpaste.

You’re not sure where you got the confidence to speak first, but Haechan’s soft gaze illuminated by the moonlight eases you. “You’re heading to bed too?”

“Yeah,” He exhales. “I don’t think I can handle two more hours of a Bruno Mars medley. Even I have my limits.” The smile on his face grows as he looks at you, cheeks full of adoration.

As you stand there, a thought tugs at the back of your mind, a memory that you almost missed amidst the camaraderie and laughter earlier. With a sudden realisation, you remember that you still have Haechan's jacket that he lent you earlier. Feeling a little guilty and nervous, you quickly retrieve it from your bag, tugging at the sleeves of the jacket and straightening any creases.

"Actually, speaking of limits," you start, your voice a touch sheepish, "I kind of borrowed your jacket when it got cold. Sorry, I didn't know exactly when I should give it back."

His eyes widen in mock surprise, a playful grin curving on his lips. "You mean you stole my jacket?" he teases, an eyebrow raised.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Borrowed, Haechan. Borrowed."

He chuckles, his gaze dropping to the jacket you're holding out. "Well, I guess I can let you off the hook this time."

You let out a relieved laugh, a weight lifting off your shoulders. Haechan's fingers brush against yours as he takes the jacket from you, his touch lingering and warm against you. His eyes, usually full of mischief, now seem to hold a depth of emotion that you can't quite decipher. The playful smile he wore has softened into something more sincere.

"Thank you," he says, his voice gentle as he folds the jacket over his arm. "But you know, you could have kept it if you wanted to."

Your stomach dips at the implication as you let out a nervous chuckle, fingers fidgeting slightly as you meet his gaze. "I know, but you have to give back what you’ve borrowed,"

He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. "Well, I'm glad you're honest, even if it's about jacket theft," he says, a hint of a teasing smile returning to his lips.

A comfortable silence settles between you, the tension from before now replaced by a sense of connection that feels even stronger. The distant sounds of the campfire and the rustling of leaves create a soothing backdrop, and when you look at the boy in front of you once more, you’re suddenly brought back to the moment you shared at the festival. 

“I thought you were rejecting me before I could even muster the courage to ask you out.” Was he joking again when he said this? Making some elaborate sick and twisted prank to make you feel better about the bucket of water that wasn’t even his own doing? 

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and when you go to clear your throat and voice your thoughts, Haechan's lips curve into a warm smile. "Well, it's getting late," he says softly, glancing toward his tent. 

You’re momentarily taken aback, now feeling lost on what to say. He takes your silence as a bid, zipping open his tent flaps and toes off his shoes. 

“Wait, Haechan,” Your voice surprises the two of you still, as Haechan looks over his shoulder and back at you with a hum, his eyes scanning your features. 

You shuffle in place, before bringing your hand up and waving at him timidly. “Sleep well,” 

This time, his reaction is different. He purses his lips, as if restraining a more exuberant smile, his eyes glinting with something unspoken. His nod is gentle, and he avoids meeting your gaze directly. "Goodnight, Y/n,"

The following day, after you’ve all washed up and had something to eat, you gather around the cleared dock in a circle once more. 

“Okay, so it seems like we have six willing participants. We’ve decided to split the teams as such,” With the crew only having access to three cameras, and today being the last day you all can visit the village, there will be three pairs conducting video-form interviews on three of the participants, while the rest do a one-on-one interview without any form of digital recording.

“These are the three pairs: Soyeon and Juyeon, you two will interview Mr Choi. Jihoon and Naeun, you’re on the Sim couple, and Haechan and Y/n can go to Mrs Kim,” You try your best to not seem as surprised as you really feel when you look at your partner, who beams back at you playfully.

Naeun raises her hand. “If my partner can’t shut his mouth and let the interviewees speak, do I have permission to smack across his head with the clipboard?”

“By all means,” Sohee replies without hesitation, while Jihoon raises his hand to his head protectively, looking warily at the clipboard that is being passed around to the groups.

X

You all depart at ten in the morning, hopping into the van and leaving your camping sanctuary. Yubin was kind enough to drive each of you to the houses of the interviewees, reminding all of you to meet at the village centre at three p.m. latest for dinner and then a drive back to the camp. 

Looking at the scribble of the address that the lady gave you yesterday (you’re still shocked that she entrusted you with such information) you look at the gate in front of you which sports the same exact numbers. With one simple scan around, you find that there’s only a handle attached to the door to indicate your arrival.

Haechan steps forward and knocks twice, before you hear a slide of a door and a few grunts. “Give me a few seconds, I’m not as agile as I was a few years ago,” Opening the gate, you feel like you’ve been washed anew, as Mrs Kim smiles widely at you two. “Come on it, I prepared some fruits for you two to eat,”

“Oh, Mrs Kim you didn’t have to,”

“Nonsense,” She tchs. “It’s important for you young people to stay healthy.” As you enter, you see the beautiful exterior of her house and a mini deck that adorns the fruits she had mentioned. 

Haechan adjusts the shoulder of the bag filled with equipment, his arm grazing yours briefly. “You have a very lovely estate, Mrs Kim,” He compliments, and his eyes squeeze shut when the woman reaches forward and pinches at his cheek. You can’t help yourself from laughing, as he contains his grunts.

“You flatter me too much young man,” She pats at his cheek once more, and you have to stop yourself from cooing when you see the red tone of his skin before he covers his cheek with his hand, rubbing it as a form of soothing remedy. “I have a few more things to bring. Did you guys have breakfast? Actually, doesn’t matter, even if you did you should eat more. It’s important to stock up on energy early in the morning.”

“Mrs Kim you don’t have t—”

“You guys can set up,” She shuffles back to her house, sliding the door open and shut behind her, gone before you could utter another word. Both of you look at the deck, which has a big bowl of fruits and three cushions for you to sit on.

Haechan is still rubbing at his cheek when he speaks, “I guess we can set up now, you wanna sit at the deck and I’ll adjust the camera?” The two of you work in harmony, with you adjusting the seats in order to achieve the best angle for the camera, while Haehcan looks at the viewfinder and asks you to shift when needed.

When you’re setting up the microphone and your clipboard with the provided questions, Mrs Kim comes back with two lines of kimbap lined on a plate and three sets of cutlery. Haechan lets out a sharp gasp in gratitude while your jaw slackens.

“Thank you, Mrs Kim,” You hum as you look at her, adoration no doubt filled in your irises. She waves shyly at you, before settling down at the cushion you had positioned for her. “Okay, there are a few questions that I have for you here, and it shouldn’t take more than fourty minutes if I don’t have any follow-ups.” You start explaining to her, and you look over at Haechan to check and see if your volume for the microphone is good or not. He gives you a thumbs up and a nod, which prompts you to continue with your debrief. 

“We can take breaks as much as you like, and if there isn’t anything you’re comfortable with answering please tell us. We’re not trying to make you feel bad with this interview, we just want more people to know about this because there isn’t much recorded at the moment,” You list off, not wanting to miss a detail. Situated behind the camera, you miss the way Haechan smiles fondly at your focused expression, but Mrs Kim doesn’t as she lets her gaze flit between the two of you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” You smile at her, and she smiles back before giving you a confirmation.

“Please introduce yourself!” As you ask her question after question, you munch on a few fruits to stave off the heat in the outdoor summer weather. You fill up your cups using the water jug Mrs Kim had brought and subtly shove it to the corner of the deck where it is closest to Haechan, who would try his best to retrieve it with as little disturbance as possible, After thirty minutes, you had only gone through three questions, stuck with asking her follow up questions about her farming and harvesting upbringing with how invested you were. You pause the interview recording as Haechan mutters something about needing the bathroom, and you finally get to dig into the food that Mrs. Kim has prepared for you.

You’re munching on the food when Mrs. Kim asks you a question. “Did you two decide to come here together?”

You cover your mouth with your hand as you speak, “Oh, we’re part of a group at university and our project was to research this topic,” You pour another cup of water for her when you see her reach for the jug. “Which thank you for accepting our offer, it was hard getting someone …” 

She laughs as she waves her hand at you. “The old people in this village are all grumpy because of the heat, don’t take it to heart sweetie,” Haechan struts back outside once more, and tampers with the camera to check the records. He brings it to you and asks about the angle which makes you two fall into a convo about the angles. You pick up a piece of kimbap and offer it to the boy, noticing he hasn’t had anything to eat as of yet.

You miss the fond look Mrs Kim holds, as Haechan shakes his head slightly with his mouth open, before engulfing the food and chewing, mumbling more about the camera settings.

“Mrs Kim, are you alright with changing the angle of the camera so it can focus on you?”

“You two are such a cute couple,” You almost get whiplash from how fast you turn your head to look at her, your utensils almost dropping the piece of strawberry you had picked up.

“Oh,” Haechan starts, and you’re not sure if the rouge colour of his cheeks is due to the sun or something else. “We’re—”

“And you’re such a gentleman too,” She gestures at Haechan before picking up an uncut fruit and peeling it. “I have five children, and a dozen of grandchildren. One of the younger ones is around the same age as you, so you remind me a lot of him.” She reminisces, and you can’t bring yourself to correct her statement when she gives you another piece of anecdote. “Although it’s been some time since I’ve seen them, I hope the next time I do they’ve grown as handsome and as kind as you are,” 

Haechan grows flustered as he occupies himself with a bite of a fruit, before developing a sudden tenderness. He saunters up to his side and holds his arms wide for a hug, which the woman grows mockingly agitated with, before accepting it. He whines cutely, “Mrs Kim, you can’t go all soft on me with no warning,” He rubs at her shoulder gently. “If you’d like, I’m more than happy to come back again to visit you, in exchange for your world-class food,” He receives a soft smack on the shoulder before bursting into laughter, and you can’t help but feel a sense of adoration at his words.

“You’re only gonna be a nuisance at my side,” She grunts when Haechan goes back next to you, plopping himself down to indulge more in the food. “I’ll let you visit me only if you bring your lovely girlfriend too,”

You start coughing on the grape you were munching on, as Haechan tuts at you and gives you a glass of water. Gulping it down, you stop yourself from having another fit when Haechan says, “I’ll bring my lovely, precious girlfriend with me too. Promise,”

Your interview with Mrs Kim was done three hours after your arrival, as you left with a full stomach and a massive hug from the sweet woman.

“Have a safe trip back,” She waves, and you and Haechan navigate your way through the neighbourhood and towards the village centre.

Haechan gives a wistful sigh. “What a sweet lady, I thought every person over the age of sixty wanted to run us over in this town,” 

“I think they just wanted to run you over.” You comment and are met with a light shove to your shoulder with his, a playful grin dancing on his lips. "Me? Come on, I'm nothing but a bundle of charm and charisma," he retorts while he stretches his arms out.

"Sure, if you say so," you reply with a smile, feeling the warm sensation before settling low in your stomach again.

As you both navigate through the village centre, the quaint streets bathed in the warm hues of the sun, Haechan's tone becomes a touch more serious. "You know, spending time with Mrs Kim was really nice," he admits, his expression softening.

You nod in agreement. "Absolutely. She's such a sweetheart. The way she talks about the village and its history, you can tell how much she loves it."

"True," Haechan agrees, his gaze distant for a moment before focusing back on you. "It's heartwarming to see how deeply connected she is to this place."

As you stroll along the cobbled path, a comfortable silence settles between you. The serene atmosphere of the village combined with Haechan's presence makes it feel like you're in a different world altogether, a world where worries and uncertainties can be set aside, even if only temporarily.

Eventually, the village begins to fade into the background as you approach your destination. With the fading light, the sounds of the evening grow softer, and you find yourselves in a quiet corner by the riverbank.

Haechan glances at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "You know," he begins, his tone softer now, "I’m glad you were my partner for today."

You meet his gaze, a warm smile forming on your lips as you feel heat gather at your cheeks. "Yeah, it was fun." You cut yourself off short, scared that if you keep talking you’ll say more than you’d want to.

He grins, a hint of his mischievousness returning. "And who knows, maybe next time Mrs Kim will have some more matchmaking plans for us," he says, his eyebrows wiggling playfully. You laugh, shaking your head at his antics, but feel a nervous flip in your stomach. 

Before you can overthink and pick his words apart, you hear a honk from behind as a car drives up to the both of you. Yubin rolls down the window, gleaming at you from behind the wheel. “Great! You guys are done too, we were about to come pick you up. You guys had something to eat already?” You both nod your heads, now uncertain of Yubin’s enthusiasm.

“Perfect, because we aren’t heading to the centre for lunch anymore.” She tilts her head back to the van, urging you to get in. “We’re heading to the waterfall!”

It turns out that the man Yubin had been interviewing alone had mentioned a picturesque waterfall just a short drive from the town. The location came complete with a restaurant situated slightly downstream, but what had truly captured his nostalgic sentiment was his recollection of summers spent there during his youth. While she tells you all this, you don’t notice the passage of time. It's only when the car slows to a stop and Jihoon emerges from the trunk, his inflatable flamingo in tow and already sporting swim trunks, that you realize how far you've journeyed.

"Wait, are we actually going swimming?" Juyeon asks, his voice laced with surprise as Jihoon confidently strides towards the water, each step creating playful splashes. Sohee looks ahead at the water and Jihoon, expression blank once more. “We brought a few towels, some of them finished early so we drove back to the site and grabbed some things.” She shrugs her cardigan off, revealing her swimsuit from underneath. “You don’t have to swim if you don’t want to,” And she steps into the water, trailing behind Jihoon.

Naeun, who was one of the lucky ones to have finished early, is also wearing her swimsuit and is now trying to persuade you to join. “Just dip your feet in, you’re already wearing shorts! I brought some slippers for you too,” When she sees that you’re not budging, she huffs at your stubbornness before heading in. Even Miseok, who was fully clothed, went ahead and emerged himself into the water, squealing about the cold of the water.

You sigh in thought, looking down at your cladded feet, contemplating whether you should go in or not. You do feel the sweat built up from the whole day's work disappearing in the presence of the cold waterfall, but the body of water looks more and more tempting as droplets land at your feet, courtesy of Naeun and Soyeon declaring war against Minseok and drowning the guy with splashes of water, their laughter ringing through the air. Yubin clings to Sohee’s waist as she twirls her around in the water, and Haechan tries to coax Juyeong into making Jihoon sink by toppling him over the flamingo.

You sit by the edge of the water, your feet dangling in the cool stream, watching your friends enjoy themselves. Haechan, ever the observer, notices your conflicted expression. His eyes meet yours, and he saunters over with that signature mischievous grin that never fails to stir something in your chest.

“You coming in?” voice tinged with playful curiosity, he gets out to stand next to you, tousled hair dripping and his sun-kissed skin glistening. His shirt clings to his form, and it takes all of your willpower to look away from the dip in his waist. 

“I don’t know, I’m still thinking…” The cold water looks exceptionally inviting, but you wouldn’t have a change of clothes, and you’re not sure if the white t-shirt you adorn would help in not exposing you. 

“Hmm, I mean, you had a bucket of water dunked on you once, right?” He circles behind you as he says this. “So this time it shouldn’t be too bad,” Before you can turn to look at him and decipher what he means, you feel strong arms circle around your waist before you’re being trudged forward, a startled laugh escapes your lips as he carries you toward the water.

"H-Haechan, wait!" you protest, a mix of laughter and uncertainty in your tone.

He pays no heed to your objections, stepping in more and more into the cold and refreshing water. As the water reaches his waist, he takes another step forward, your laughter mingling with the splashes around you. The initial shock of the cold water is soon replaced by a rush of exhilaration as he swings you left and right quickly.

"See?" he grins at you when you turn to look at him, the playful spark in his eyes impossible to ignore. He takes another step forward, wanting to get the both of you close to the rest, but his foot gets caught momentarily as he leans forward more, making you squeal as you’re faced with your death for a few seconds.

Fortunately, you don’t fall in face first, as Haechan gathers himself just in time. His arms are gripped tighter around your waist, as he tries to fully regain his balance by grounding himself into you. You feel his chest against your back, and if it weren’t for the cool stream of water whizzing past your body, you would’ve been burning up.

“You almost killed us both,” Haechan loosens his hold around you as you say this, gently turning you around to face him instead, your grip going back to his forearm. Nothing could have prepared you for the view you’re met with, a smile gleaming across Haechan’s face, carefree and unfiltered as he revels in the summer sun and the cool water from the waterfall and riverbank. He looks like the embodiment of summer, and you’re slowly finding yourself wanting to bask in his light.

His smile slowly fades as his eyes start looking across your face, taking in your features one by one, from the corners of your eyes to the shine of the sun against your cheeks, and lastly your lips. You feel your breath hitch, the only thing grounding you being the grip you hold on the Haechan’s forearms, while his hands hover over your waits, before gently getting a hold on them, his fingers squeezing deftly. You’re not quite sure if you’re intently focusing in on his face, or if he’s slowly leaning in, but before you can figure out the air that hangs between the two of you, a deafening screech sounds in front of you, and in that suspended moment, your instincts kick in. Your arms reflexively rise to cushion the impact, and Haechan's body collides with yours. 

For the second time this afternoon, you close your eyes as you brace yourself for impact, the world briefly becomes a blur of sensations. The water is just deep enough to soften your fall, but you know the skidding of the pebbles under your feet would inflict some sort of pain. Neither of you gets to find your footing this time round, as you fall into the water, refreshing coolness sliding down on you before engulfing the two of you.

As the world comes back into focus, you find yourself near Haechan once again, his laughter bubbling through the water. His mischievous grin is evident even underwater, and it's easy to imagine the triumphant sparkle in his eyes.

"You really can't catch a break today, huh?" he teases, his words echoing through the water.

You can't help but let out a laugh. "You could say that." Haechan surfaces beside you, water cascading from his hair, his wet shirt clinging to his form once more. As you two recover, you look up and towards the direction of the commotion that happened to send Haechan and you toppling over. There you see Minseok, a look of uncertainty cast on his face before it falls to a cheeky grin, his face stretching almost uncomfortably.

"Guess I misjudged the distance," Minseok calls out, his tone light as he shrugs his shoulders. Your brows furrow, but you don’t say anything when Haechan playfully splashes water in Minseok's direction. "Nice aim! You almost gave us a heart attack and had us follow the stream,” He points towards the flow of the water starting from your feet, and looking down at your soaked-through shirt you realise that you’re more exposed than what you had planned.

Haechan’s gaze catches on you crossing your arms over your shoulders, a weak attempt of you trying to cover yourself. Quickly scanning the bags and mats huddled together just on the floor next to the waterfall, he gently offers his hand for you to take, swishing through the currents and stepping out, helping you do the same before he grabs the only available towel he could find, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“There,” He pats your sides, helping you to dry. Your heart warms at his gesture, smitten eyes looking at his while he looks anywhere but directly at you.

People start getting out slowly too, some grumbling about being hungry from not having a chance to eat before coming to swim. When everyone grabs a towel, you realise that Haechan is the only one left without one. Everyone’s too busy tending to themselves to notice, and you see a faint shiver coarse through his body, the cold of the water relentless even in the heat of the summer.

You shoulder off your towel, handing it to him without saying much. He looks at your extended hand and you know he’s about to refuse when he sports a sheepish and teasing smile, ready to refute your attempts by making some sort of joke out of it, or claiming you need it more.

Somehow, you know that he won’t give in until you also have a towel or something similar to help you, so you decide to do something else. You place one end of the towel around his right shoulder, and you see him open his mouth to voice his protest, but his voice dies in his throat when you stick yourself by his left shoulder, wrapping the other end of the towel around yourself too. He looks at you incredulously, and you’re sure now that teh heat on your cheeks can’t be blamed on the heat of the weather anymore.

You try to will away your flustered expression, now refusing to meet his eye. “You wouldn’t take the towel, so I had to make do,” You mutter, now feeling somewhat ridiculous for your attempt at wanting him to use the towel. Haechan, having never met with this side of yours, gets a bit giddy as he grins widely at you, reaching out from under the jacket to pinch at you. You smack away his hand, before muttering something about wanting to find Naeun, separating yourself from the towel and quickly stepping away.

Back at the campsite, everyone takes turns rinsing off and helping to prepare for tonight's round of food. Although most of the drinks that Jihoon had brought were dwindling to a finish, he pulls out an extra bottle of emergency vodka, preparing shots for everyone to have. 

As Jihoon’s tactics of making everyone drink to get drunk don’t go through, he tries something that never fails. “Okay, we’re playing never have I ever, and for every one finger you put down you have to take a shot,” Yubin immediately bites, saying “Never have I ever been named ‘Sohee’,”

Sohee's reaction is swift and accompanied by an indignant glare. Without missing a beat, she reaches for a shot glass and downs the vodka, setting it down with a determined clink. Jihoon grins, clearly delighted by the engagement he's sparked. "Only Yubin can pull something like that and not get torn in half,"

But Sohee doesn’t back down easily. “Never have I ever cut my own bangs,” Yubin purses her lips from laughing, lowering one finger as she looks at her shot glass in shame before downing it. A few other people drink too, with Haechan laughing at Jihoon who takes a hard-hitting shot.

“Why would you cut your bangs?” Naeun questions Jihoon as he recovers from the taste of vodka. “Sometimes times are tough,” 

Haechan scoffs. “He saw a video of a guy thirst trapping and the girl he liked at the time had liked it. So he thought a haircut would be a quick fix,” Jihoon scowls at being called out so easily. Before he could strike back with a question, Minseok suddenly speaks up.

"Never have I ever accidentally spilled a secret that wasn't mine to spill," Minseok announces, his eyes locking onto Haechan's with a knowing glint. The question lands like a playful challenge, drawing amused glances and ripples of laughter from the group. Haechan's expression shifts from surprise to a grin, lifting a shot glass and downing it seamlessly. Your eyes catch on the side of his face as he tilts his head back, throat bobbing lightly as he downs the drink, and amid all the ruckus and noise of the group, you can’t help but find his expression hot.

Not right now, you can’t start salivating in the middle of a friendly gathering and so you turn to look away. Your gaze instead catches on Minseok, and his once playful expression has suddenly faded into a displeased one, as he pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. You grow confused at his sudden shift of mood, but before you can further contemplate anything, Naeun shrieks at a question that Soyeon had asked bringing you back to the group.

The game shifts into story time, as people talk about how they’ve broken bones to the times they were caught masturbating. You can’t help but grimace at Juyeon’s story of how the person he was with had kicked out his pet cat from the room only for her other cat to pop out of the closet, as she cooed at her pet not even a full minute after they finished. 

Someone reaches for a bottle of water and finds that the ones on the deck are all empty. “I’ll get some more from the van,” You volunteer, standing up and dusting yourself off. Yubin’s temple is resting against Sohee’s shoulder as she slurs, “Take s’meone witchu... Bottles heavy..” You glance around only to be met with Naeun excitedly asking Juyeon to tell her more about his embarrassing moments so she can exchange with him, while the rest egg him on. Your attention shifts to Haechan, his eyes already fixed on yours. With a subtle tilt of your head away from the campfire, a surge of confidence courses through you as you invite him to join you. 

The walk to the van is quiet, save for the crunch of your shoes and sandals against the floor, as you look at the sky and the trees, anywhere but at him now that he’s actually by your side. 

Haechan's voice breaks the silence, soft. "Was it fun for you so far?"

You turn your gaze to him, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I’m glad to have gotten away like this before the exams start up again." Subconsciously, you start treading closer to him, your shoulder now brushing against his every other step you take. “But I don’t think I can go to another social gathering until next year,”

He chuckles, a sound that seems to meld seamlessly with the night's tranquillity. "Tell me about it. Minseok’s been on a mission this whole trip, hasn't he?"

You nod, the playful note in his voice helping to ease the tension that had briefly gripped the atmosphere. “Your title is gonna be revoked soon if you don’t watch out,” 

You arrive at the van, and you feel the weight of the key in your pocket, but you can’t bring yourself to fish it out, as you now stand face-to-face with Haechan. Even with the sun’s shine bringing out the warmth and glow in him, you’re just as mesmerised during the night, the moonlight turning him blurry at the edges, and you can feel yourself softening even more. 

You’re brought back to the festival when Haechan had pulled you away and continued to laugh at you for being mad at him for pulling a prank on you. You’re still not entirely sure if he isn’t to blame, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you recall his words. “I thought you were rejecting me before I could even muster the courage to ask you out.”

He’s right in front of you again, looking at you patiently, gaze slowly flitting over your features, from your eyes to your cheeks, at your hair and fleetingly at your lips when you go to speak.

"Hey, about what you said earlier…” you begin, your voice steady but tinged with a hint of uncertainty as your hands fidget with one another. “Back at the festival, about asking me out,"

His eyes meet yours, searching for something in your expression. He seems to hold his breath, waiting for your words to unfold.

"Was that just... you know, another one of your jokes?" you ask, your tone light yet inquisitive. 

Haechan's eyebrows knit together for a moment, a hint of surprise in his eyes as if he didn't expect you to bring up the topic, not like this. He then lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "No, I wasn't joking," he says, his voice gentle but earnest.

His second confession hangs in the air between you, a mixture of emotions swirling beneath the surface. You feel your heart racing, your mind racing even faster. Your next words are caught in your throat, wondering if now is the time.

“I…” But Haechan’s anything if patient and kind, as he steps closer and gently clasps your hand in his, both of your gazes falling on your now linked hands before travelling up to your faces. “I really like you,” You breathe, and your gaze zeroes in on his plush lips. “And I really want to kiss you now,”

Your cheeks heat up at your sudden bluntness, but a tender smile graces Haechan’s features and he takes a step closer. Your hands remain linked, his touch warm and reassuring against your palm. His head tilts a bit, breath mingling with yours as his eyes fall to look at your lips, gaze growing hooded in the dark of the night.

His lips meet yours gently, the plush skin enveloping you, and all you can feel and hear is him. The summer breeze and the crickets chirping now fades away, as you feel his fingers clasped through yours and the brush of his nose against you. He separates slightly, pulling back as he slowly opens his eyes, but you’re barely done.

Panic overtakes his features when you let go of his hand, but then it's replaced with a look of surprise when you quickly but gently clasp his face in your hands, leaning in and kissing him once more. He can’t help the slight smile that urges to overtake his features, but he grounds himself by clasping your waist, pulling your body closer to his. He pecks your lips, again and again, his palms squeezing your waist deftly, as if he can’t get enough. Your arms link around his shoulders when he pushes himself closer to you, shifting from caring pecks to heated kisses, pushing you two closer together. 

Finally, when the soft breeze doesn’t help fight the heat, you separate from each other, but your bodies are still intertwined. You rest your forehead against his collarbone and he smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist now.

“Fuck,” You mutter, “Why was that so good?” He chuckles at your words, kissing the side of your head that’s still buried in his chest.

“Yeah?” He mumbles into your hair, and it takes all of your willpower to not collapse right then and there at his hot tone. “Can’t wait to show you more then,” He pecks at your cheek lightly before stepping back and towards the van, and you can’t help but silently mourn the loss of his touch.

When you get back to the campfire and sit next to Nauen, she comments on how warm your body is.

“Of course my body is warm, it’s summer. Did you forget?” Naeun looks at you with one of her eyes squinted shut, the other barely open as she tries analysing you through her drunken state.

“You’re right, I did forget. I just thought Haechan kissing you would’ve made yo—“ You smack your hand on her mouth as your wide eyes scan across the deck, scared that other people have caught on to her words. Naeun and her damn mouth, and really accurate drunk guesses.

After looking around, you’re relieved to find that everyone’s too busy with their own activities. Your eyes fall on Haechan, who must’ve felt your gaze as he quickly glances towards you, sending a wink and an air kiss. You roll your eyes, looking away quickly so he misses the fondness that overtakes your features.

Naeun leans on your shoulder as you two look at the blank space that once had your shared tent. 

“I’ll miss this place,” She sniffles, and you can’t help but scoff. 

“You were complaining just twenty minutes ago about how gross this trip made you feel.”

“Maybe the cleanliness of camping is the friends we made along the way,” She loses her footing when you move away from her, making her lose her position from being perched on you. Going to the van where everyone’s huddled at, you help give some of the items to be fitted into the truck.

Rubin tucks a strand of hair that’s sticking out from Sohee’s hair as the latter reads off of the clipboard in her hand. “Okay, everyone has their bearings?” Jihoon shuffles in with his flamingo plushie. “Wait, let me deflate this quickly and shove it at the back,”

“No!” You exclaim, and everyone looks at you with your sudden outburst. Without the flamingo, you wouldn’t have an excuse for wanting to squeeze closer to Haechan as you sit next to each other. You quickly gather yourself, clearing your throat and trying to seem nonchalant. “Uh, I mean like, don’t deflate it now. It’ll be hard to inflate it again.” You look away as you gesture your hand around. “There’s space at the back of the van anyway.”

You catch Haechan’s gaze, who is now covering his mouth with his hand to not burst out with laughter. Jihoon looks at Yubin with confusion, before the team leader shrugs, gesturing for the flamingo to fit into the van. When everyone shuffles into the van, Jihoon hands you the flamingo, which you happily grasp and tug at your left side, as you sit in the middle. Haechan fits himself at your right side, and you try your best to avoid Naeun’s suspicious yet knowing glare.

When the van roars to life, so does conversation between everyone, as Jihoon plays music through the aux cord, providing some background music. Now that you’ve achieved your goal of having Haechan sit next to you, you don’t know what to do, settling into your seat with the inflatable flamingo cradled in your arms. His thigh pressed against yours as the two of you relaxed back into your seats, and you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on anything but the warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothes, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

As you steal a glance at Haechan, you find him already looking at you, a playful glint in his eyes and a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. You can never win.

He seems to find amusement in your flustered state, a knowing look passing between you as if sharing a secret language. And just when you expect him to tease you, he instead offers you an airpod of his (which you’re thankful for, you don’t know what suffices as an excuse for oggling him the way you did).

"Here," he says, his voice a soft undertone amidst the conversations. You're momentarily taken aback by his gesture, your fingers brushing against his as you accept the earbud. 

It’s when you’re in the middle of choosing which decade of music to listen to when Minseok turns around and is met with your bickering. Naeun joins in, a smile on her lips as she enjoys the banter between you and Haechan.

Then, Minseok's voice cuts through the chatter, posing a question that catches you off guard. “Did you forgive him after his prank?” It takes a moment for you to realize that it’s directed at you. You glance between Naeun and Haechan, uncertain of how to respond to his unexpected query.

Quick to step in, Naeun's voice rises above the background noise as she takes charge of the situation. “The water bucket? Haechan wasn't behind that one,” Minseok now looks at Naeun with a confused tilt. 

"But he was, right? I remember he was on his way to class and turned back at the last minute." 

It’s now your turn to be confused. “How did you know he was heading to class then?” You see a bit of colour drain from his face as you ask him, and before he can say anything, Juyeon and Soyeon call for his attention, giving him an escape from the conversation.

A glance is exchanged between you, Haechan, and Naeun, a silent agreement passing between you all. Naeun waves off the topic, assuring you with a casual gesture. "Don't worry about it for now. Let's get back to what we were doing." With that, she turns her attention back to the ongoing activities, allowing you to enjoy your privacy once more.

As you listen to the calming music he plays, you lay your head on his shoulder, finding solace in the rhythmic hum of the van's journey. His voice drifts into a lively monologue about his evolving music preferences over the years—tales of the artists he favoured in his younger days and those who currently capture his admiration. You can’t help but feel warm as he tells you personal anecdotes of listening to his parents’ karaoke sessions, and how his mum especially used to love singing.

Watching him speak animatedly,  a wave of endearment washes over you. Pouting as he sometimes speaks and moving his hands when he wants to emphasise a point, The surge of fondness overwhelms you and you let your urges take over, nipping lightly at his shoulder, not knowing how else to assert the cute aggression you feel so suddenly.

“What—” Haechan claps his hand over the spot you playfully bit, his mock protest making you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “That hurt!”

“It wasn’t even that hard! My teeth barely caught on.” You cross your arms. He suddenly wraps one arm around your shoulder, hand bumping against the barely alive flamingo as he pushes you closer to him. “Don’t go soft now. I didn’t say I didn’t like it. But just be careful now,” He leans into your ear, lips grazing your skin as he whispers. “I like biting too. Sometimes hard enough to leave a mark,” 

You glare when he parts from you. “Is that a threat?” 

He tilts his head in thought. “A threat for a good time? Maybe,”

You would be lying if you said the trip didn’t change anything. Naeun has been relentless, asking you every time she sees you smiling if it’s because of Haechan.

“You never smile for any other reason,” She barely misses the pillow that’s flung in her direction.

But as you return back, you’re suddenly met with your responsibilities you had momentarily forgotten about, as deadlines creep up. You’re only either at your classes, the library, at work or at home. So you don’t get to see Haechan, but you do text, which gives Naeun reasons to tease you. It hurts you to say that she’s right about you smiling because of him, so instead you deflect and threaten to spill the beans on her crush on Jeno. That stopped her for two weeks, and that’s all the time you needed to focus on your studies.

As everyone’s assignments and exams come to an end, a flurry of parties and gatherings are held, and people are ready to let loose before dispersing once the holidays start. 

And so here you are, at the first party of the week, taking shots with Naeun as if they’re water. Usually, one of you would opt to be just a bit more coherent and sober than the other, just to make sure no one makes any mistakes they’ll regret later; but the exams were hard-hitting this semester, and what else do you talk about the day after these parties if not your fuck-ups?

It’s Sunwoo’s house that you’re raiding, and Naeun has somehow convinced the host to give them unlimited shots as compensation for when he made her talk about Haehcan’s prank.

“You really hold grudges don’t you?” He says as she pours you two another round, almost missing your cups with how much he’s also had himself. She giggles as he says this before her expression falls as he looks at him with a scowl. “Say that again and I’ll show you what a real grudge looks like,” 

The night continues to be rowdy, as go around dancing to the music that’s being blasted and you stumbling yourselves into a game of truth or drink, where you would drink even with questions you were okay with answering. You’re now plastered to a couch, unable to move as your body feels unnaturally heavy.

“You know,” Naeun hiccups. “I love you, like, so much. You fucking bitch.” She slurs, tapping her hand against the couch in an attempt to find your hand. She gives up after three taps, hiccuping once more. 

You nod against the back cushion of the couch. “I love you too, but,” You blink open your eyes, wanting to look at your best friend as you say this. “I just want you to know that you’re deserving of so much love.” You also try to move your hand to find hers, but you quickly realise that you can’t even find where your hand is.

So you keep going. “Soo much love. And the fact that you’re still single? Crime, jail immediately,” Naeun starts tearing up, because she gets emotional easily after three shots. “You’re so right, like, how long has it been since I’ve had my back blown?”

You shake your head, “Not even that, you deserve someone who’s into puppy play as much as you are. You know what?” Somehow finding some strength, you push yourself up and place your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself, wanting to gaze into her eyes as you say this. “You deserve Jeno and you should confess to him; he would be a psychotic maniac to not want to date someone as hot and as pretty as you are.” You miss catching the tears falling from her face, but you don’t need to do much, as her expression contorts from sadness to realisation.

“You’r—” She hiccups briefly. “So right. You’re so right. You know what? I’m gonna go and confess now,” Naeun’s willpower comes back in full force, as she suddenly stands up, posture straight like never before. You’re flung off of her as she does this, collapsing onto the couch, not yet having found the same energy she has mustered. 

You’re not sure if your cry of good luck reached your friend’s ears from where you’re squished against the couch, but you can’t bring yourself to care as grogginess starts to take over, your eyes barely staying open even in the rowdiness of the party.

You feel yourself fall asleep just a bit, but are brought back to the lights and music of the party when you feel a gentle tap against your forearm. Opening your eyes, you’re met with Haechan’s crouched form as he smiles fondly at you, eyes scanning your face.

“You okay?” He asks, and you give him your best smile and a thumbs up. 

“Never... Never better.” You reach out your hand, wanting to have some sort of contact with the boy in front of you. “Actually, I’m way better now that Haechan is here,” 

Haechan’s smile widens into a grin, as he sees you flailing your hand around his general direction. “Haechan is happy that he’s here. Come one, let’s get you to sit up.” He clasps your hand in his, before gently lifting you from your horizontal position. You lean towards him, wanting to bask in his presence more, but he hums at you, urging you to sit back. Your face makes contact with the back cushion of the couch once more, and you can’t help the pout that sports your face. With your ears no longer buffered, the loud noise from the party rushes back to you at full force.

“It’s so loud here,” You murmur, squeezing Haechan's hand, to which he responds with a gentle squeeze of his own “So loud, ‘s annoying. Everyone’s annoying, but you, and Naeun is wetting her dick right now,” You don’t even care if your words are coherent or not, and judging by Haechan’s warm gaze, it doesn’t seem like he cares either.

He cups one side of your face, covering your ear from the ruckus of the party while having you look at him. “You wanna go home, baby?” 

You struggle just a bit to find his gaze, but smile at him anyway, pressing a gentle kiss against the palm of his hand that’s cupping your face. “Baby...yeah, wanna go home.” He pulls his hand back at your agreement, pecking his lips at the same spot you kissed him, before helping you to your feet. "Alright then, let's get you out of here."

[SATURDAY; 2:46 AM]

haechan <3: hope youre okay

haechan <3: drink lots of water when you wake up

[SATURDAY; 11:03 AM]

you: i wanna hibernate my life away

haechan <3: aw dont do that

haechan <3: maybe try a panadol first?

you: i will now

you: thank you for last night 🤍my prince charming

haechan <3: yours? 

you: ..

you: anyways.

you: how can i repay u :( 

haechan <3: dont gotta repay me for anything

you: let me have this one 

haechan <3: if you insisttttt

haechan <3: come over to mine tmr

you: how would i be repaying u that way??

haechan <3: i get to see your pretty face

you: 😐

haechan <3: ik you’re kicking ur feet rn

you: stop stalking me omg

You shuffle on your feet as you wait for Haechan to come to the door, feeling a bit stiff as you stand in the hallway of the apartment he lives in. When you had used the excuse of not wanting to annoy his roommates by coming over, he had attempted to reassure you that you won’t need to worry, because they won’t be here. 

The keyword is attempted. You feel far from reassured that it’ll just be the two of you for the rest of the day, afraid that the freedom of being home alone with him would lead to your mind jumping to places you’re not sure about. 

As you fidget in the hallway, your mind races with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You've spent time with Haechan in various places, but this is the first time you'll be alone together, let alone in his apartment. The possibilities and implications of this newfound privacy make your heart race.

Finally, the door swings open, and Haechan stands there with a welcoming smile. He's dressed casually, the hem of his white t-shirt hanging just at the waist of his grey sweatpants. "Hey, come in." he greets, strolling aside to let you in. Stepping in, you can’t help but let your eyes wander around, curious about the space he lives in. You’re surprised to find it in a messy-clean state— there are no stains or food scattered around, but there are many things clustered upon one another, as if either Haechan or his two roommates, Renjun and Jeno, were too lazy to put them away or thought they might need it in the near future.

He sees you scanning his living space and starts scratching at his neck in embarrassment. “Ah, I thought we could just hang out in my room, that’s why I didn’t make an effort to clean here..” He points back towards his room, and you feel shame bubble in you when your mind wanders. Maybe he just didn’t want to mess with his friends’ belongings scattered in the living room. Or maybe he wanted you in his room and on his bed.

Before you can dwell too much on those thoughts, you offer a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it's totally fine," you say, doing your best to sound nonchalant despite the butterflies in your stomach. "Your room sounds great." 

He smiles at you warmly, before gently reaching forward and holding your hand in his, pulling you towards his kitchen. He pops open a cupboard, and in you see an abundance of snacks. “Wanted you to pick anything you like,” He chuckles when he sees your amazed appearance. “We spend, like, seventy percent of our monthly grocery funds on these things,” He grabs a few snacks to his liking, urging you to pick your faves too. Afterwards, you shuffle behind him towards his room, which you can’t help but study again. A single candle emits a soft, warm glow on his desk, and a few pillows, seemingly borrowed from the couch, are arranged neatly on his bed. You can’t help but feel warm at the prospect that he had gone out of his way to clean his room like this for you.

Heading towards his bed, you place the snacks down at the bedside table, curiously glancing around at Haechan as he roams around, switching on the TV that’s mounted opposite his bed, sitting at the edge of his bed where his laptop sits, trying to connect his streaming service. “Is there anything you want to watch?”

You hum in thought, “I’m fine with anything.” You settle at the edge of his bed, feeling a bit unsure of where to sit. Once Haechan puts a movie on, he smiles at your awkward demeanour, fiddling with your fingers as you look at his bedsheets. He goes up to the headboard of his bed and pats the space next to him, signalling for you to join him. Smiling at his initiative, you take a seat next to him, getting more comfortable against the pillows when he wraps his arm behind your back, sinking back into the pillows. 

You truly did try your best; you looked at the subtitles and read them along with the voices of the actors on the screen, and tried to encapture the scenes and backgrounds, but you couldn’t, for the life of you, fully focus on the movie. Not with the warm contact that is spread at your back, your shoulders pressed against Haechan. It also doesn’t help that your eyes travel to the ripple of the fabric of his sweatpants when he readjusts himself to a more comfortable position, or that you envision his soft grunts of moving around as something else whispered deeper into your ear.

It doesn’t seem like you’re good at keeping your feelings at bay, though. Haechan playfully squeezes your side after noticing you lost in thought, your gaze lingering on the tantalizing glimpse of skin between his shirt and waistband. “Is the movie too boring?” Your eyes snap up to his face, now feeling a mix of shame and guilt for letting your mind travel elsewhere.

“No! It’s just…” You trail off as you try racking your brain for an excuse. “Sorry, was jus’ thinking.” You feel another squeeze at your side, and if you were standing at this very moment your knees would’ve given out on you. You find it unfair that he’s able to do all this and drive you up the wall so easily.

He hums at your words before his gaze goes back to the movie playing. You almost scoff at his indifference, but also go back to looking at the TV. Two can play that game.

But you fall short once more when you feel him squeeze your waist once more, this time with his finger sleeping under your shirt, his pinky in contact with your skin. You can feel your heart racing and your palms getting sweaty. You try to tame yourself, to appear calm and composed, but deep down you know you can't help it.

You let your hand drop casually on his thigh, turning yourself to lean more into his body, trying to gauge his reaction. But he remains unfazed, expression unchanged as he merely adjusts himself slightly to accommodate for your new position. You decide to take it a step further, subtly squeezing your body against his, making sure to somehow slot your boobs against him, wanting him to feel more of you.

This guy's got a thick skin, you think, his demeanour as unyielding as ever. He doesn't show that your touch gets to him as he looks at you shifting closer to him. But if you look closely, there's a little twinkle in his eyes, a quick hint that suggests you're getting to him. 

"Can I hug you?" he asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and anticipation. He chuckles, clearly amused by your eagerness as you nod your head, and wraps both of his arms around your waist. You take this opportunity to finally feel more of him, and give him something to be distracted with. You straddle his thigh, accepting his embrace as you slot your head at his collarbone.

His hands stiffen at your back, no doubt from feeling the heat of your body against his so suddenly, but he doesn’t let anything else on, as he starts to stroke your lower back, now cooing at you. “What’s got your pretty head all occupied, hmm?”

You hate how easily he’s able to pin this on you, his hands against you and his words whispered in your ear making you feel hot all over. Another soft squeeze of his fingers at your side reminds you of his question, and you feel shame climb up your spine before you’ve even uttered your answer.

“You,” pulling back from him, you look directly at him when you say this, voice almost breathless. You feel his thigh against your core covered by your shorts, and you hope the light press of your heat against him goes unnoticed. “My heads full of you, has been. Thought about you, about this,” The drive of your hips against his leg is now done with purpose, as you feel him stiffen at your boldness, almost making you whimper when you rut down. “Can’t stop thinking about you,”

He lets out a soft sigh when you ground your hips against him again, brows furrowed as he looks at your desperate state. You see a blush spread across his cheeks and creep up his neck, while he tilts his head back slightly, breathing in deeply as if to find composure within himself. He’s both flustered at your sudden ramblings about him, all while feeling a swell in his chest that he’s the cause of your current desperate state. His hands now find claim at your waist, neither pushing you down on him stronger nor pulling you away, simply gripping you as if in need of something to ground him. His eyes are wispy when they look up at you, mouth parted open as he takes a shuddering breath in. “What did you think about?”

What didn’t you think about? His touch on you drives you further, urging you to feel more. You shift your knees to meet at his hips, as you settle yourself down at his groin. “Thought about kissing you,” Your hands splay themselves at his chest, your pupils no doubt dilated the way your gaze settles on his plump lips. He bites on them, no doubt teasing you for something so close yet so far from where you want it; on your lips, both the top and bottom ones. 

When you lean in to embrace his lips with yours, his head swivels around as his lips land on your cheek, gaze casts down as his fingers hover over your stomach, before descending down to your clothed core, your loose shorts giving him easy access. His breath fans hot against your face when he swipes his fingers ever so lightly against you, nail catching on your clit through the fabric of your panties. A soft, pathetic sound leaves your lips, as you feel your hole clench on nothing with the brief contact that he’s had with you.

You go to grind yourself down against his fingers, wanting to feel more of him everywhere, but his hands travel to your hips, grip strong as he stops you from pressing against him. He tuts at you, hooded eyes travelling up your body, catching on your chest, where you pant lightly, breasts going up and down. When he finally lets his eyes go past your boobs, his grip turns harsh as he presses you back when you try to ground yourself against him once more.

“My pretty girl,” His tone is sweet, but you can’t help but feel like he’s mocking you. “I asked you a question,” When he sees your faraway gaze, he chuckles against you before leaning in, letting his lips graze against your collarbone now exposed by him pulling your collar aside for access, nipping at your skin before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue. You scramble through your brain as you try to remember the question he asked, too occupied with his fingernails digging into you. 

As if he can sense what's running through your mind, he refreshes your memory.

“What,” another playful bite lands, harder this time at the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Did you think about, baby?” 

Gathering your thoughts, you now realise that he won’t be giving you what you need unless you tell him. You feel your stomach burn low as you recall the moments you’ve let your mind wander.

“Thought about your fingers,” You start, looking earnestly at him as if to convince him of your burning need. “Your fingers in me, fucking into me.” You pant when his hand drops the grip it had on your waist, his digits swiping at your core through your panties. When he presses the pads of his fingers against you, he curses lightly under his breath at how wet you already are. Using his other hand to tuck the seat of your underwear aside, his fingers meet your bare pussy, swiping up and down against your folds, spreading your slick around. 

“Fuck,” You sigh when he slowly presses his middle finger in, going till his knuckle meets your skin before pulling back out, his eyes seeking your face, wanting to see the pleasure in your expression. You squeak in surprise when he pushes another finger straight after, before building a slow rhythm against you. “Keep going pretty,” He sighs, his gaze captivated by your face. His hand that’s tucked against your underwear goes to your folds, thumb pushing against your clit in encouragement.

“Also,” You gulp down a breath of air. “Also thought of going down on my knees for you,”

“Fuck,” Haechan’s head falls back as you say this, his fingers quickening in speed. “Yeah? What else?” You whimper at his new pace and at his onslaught of touches against your sensitive clit, body clenching up when he taps at your bud quickly.

“Ab-about…about you fucking me,” You squeeze your body closer to him. “Fucking me until I can’t think,” You don’t realise that you’re moving now, grinding up and down against his fingers that are fucking into you.

Haechan groans at your words and actions, eyes squeezing shut as you start to chase your own pleasure. “That’s it baby, fuck. Wanted me to fuck my pretty girl dumb?” He hums against your cheek, placing a sweet peck against your skin, a stark contrast between his words and his grip on you.

You try to gather your wits, but Haechan lets his other hand wander up your body, shoving your shirt and bra away in favour of freeing your boobs. You moan when he pinches your nipple, your body shuddering at the different stimulations.

“Didn’t know my baby was so dirty,” He chuckles at your reaction, scratching his nail against your nipple before rolling it between his fingers. “When did you get like this?”

“In the car,” Your confession slows his movements, but you’re too busy chasing your high to realise. “On the drive when you were next to me. Your scent was jus’.. Everywhere.” Your hands clasp on his shoulder for support, thighs aching as you grind your core against his hand. “Wanted you to take me right there,” 

You just miss the sharp intake of breath he takes, eyes going unfocused at your desperate form trying to find some sort of release, getting off only with his two fingers in you.

“Fuck,” He moans breathily, eyebrows furrowing. “Shit— so fucking dirty, thinking of wanting to take me where anyone can hear, can look.” He keeps his fingers still for longer, wanting to see how far you’d go to chase your own high, slick sounds tightening the knot in his stomach.

His eyes look mesmerised as he watches your every move, even when you move yourself up and off of his fingers. You start shaking your head, clawing at his clothes. “Can’t,” You groan, “Can’t finish like this.. Need you, so bad.”

Haechan moans at your desperate hands before copying your movements, shoving your shorts and underwear away before letting you do the same. His cock bobs against his stomach once you pull it out of its confines, and you feel drool gather at your mouth at the sight, tip adorned in a pretty shade of red and glistening with precum, leaving a spot of wetness against his skin, exposed by you pushing his shirt up, wanting to see more of him.

Once all your clothes are off and discarded, you don’t hesitate to reach forward and kiss him, lips parting against each other as you press your bodies together. Your hand travels to his chest, nail catching on his nipple as you let your fingers descend down, the scratch on his sensitive skin making his body jolt, hips bucking forward as a whine falls from his lips.

Your hand clasps his dick in your hold, separating from the kiss to look down as you pump him a few times. He moans against your cheek as his eyes fall shut, not being able to look at you pumping him for long, scared he’ll finish right then and there.

“Pretty doll,” He pants. “Love —fuck, love having you against me,” At the pet name, you can’t help but keen, wanting to hear more of his praises. Planting one more kiss against his plush lips, you let your mouth travel down against his figure, only stopping when you’re right at his groin. You arch your back for better leverage, before guiding the tip to your awaiting mouth. You press your tongue against him, kitten licking around the head as you gather his precum, before pressing an open mouth kiss.

“Fuck,” He hisses when you let his tip go past your lips. “So good, such a good girl for me,” You keen at his words, humming around his cock before going further down, wanting to take more of him. When your tongue swipes at the underside of his head, you feel his thighs tense around you, hip stuttering a bit from wanting to fuck against the tight heat of your mouth. Haechan tilts his head down as he squeezes open his eyes, wanting to see you take him in.

You don’t get to test your limit on his dick before you feel a hand settle at your cheek, pulling you up and off of him. He leans down, meeting you halfway to kiss you, tasting a bit of himself when your tongues swipe against each other.

“Couldn’t,” he pants when you pull away from each other, hands gripping your waist as he manoeuvres you to lay flat against the bed. “Wanted to fuck you, couldn’t handle not being in you any longer.”

You smile at his desperation, letting yourself be handled into the position he wants you in. His cock shines with a mix of your spit and his precum, tip sensitive and red as he grips at his base, giving it a few pumps before tapping it against you. You whimper when his head meets your clit, finally feeling the pressure again where you want it the most. Haechan can feel his composure slowly slipping away, the control he’s had before withering as he sees you laid before him, chest heaving up and down and you wait for his next move. So pliant and so ready, all for him.

He says just as much, as he leans over you, placing a hand near your head while the other repeatedly taps his dick against your folds. “Look so perfect, so needy. All for me, right?”

“Yours,” You drape your hands over his shoulders, wanting to feel him all over you. “All yours,”

“Yeah?” His voice is soft as he says this, eyes lilting up from your pussy hugging his cock, as he slides over your folds, gathering your wetness onto himself. “All mine.” 

His eyes are now caught between your bodies, mesmerised by the way his dick looks between your folds. Straightening his back, you see him get hypnotised by the slide of your bodies together, keening into you further when you moan and writhe against him as his swollen tip brushes over your clit.

“Good for me,” he lets his hand slide down your body, gripping up and down your thigh before he grips himself at the base. Without another word, he slowly pushes himself into you, drowning in your moans as he bottoms out. You feel your walls clench tightly, sucking him in as you arch your body into him.

You curse when his pelvis stills at your hips, but he doesn’t move, staying fixed against you before dipping his head down, and landing a kiss on your lips. This time, his lips move with less fervour and more passion against you, suddenly slowing down the rush you feel buzzing in the air between you.

“Haechan, please,” You pant when he separates from you, hugging your legs around his waist and pushing your bodies together in lieu of wanting more. “Please move, want more,”

You don’t miss the shiver the throb of his cock inside you when you clench again, wanting to encourage him to do something. He presses a sweet kiss against your lips once more, and another against your cheek before pulling back; enough to be able to travel his gaze all over your face, taking in your dilated pupils and glistening lips. 

His eyes locked onto yours with a sincerity that sent shivers down your spine. "I like you," Haechan confesses, breath warm against your skin. "I want us to be more than just this; than just this moment." 

You’re taken aback by the sudden confession, yet you feel your body warm for reasons other than the heat that’s between your legs. 

"I don't want this to end either." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Haechan’s relieved smile lets you know that he’s heard you nevertheless. Diving down, he kisses you hard, teeth lightly clacking against one another as the both of you smile into each others’ mouths. He moves back a bit, before thrusting in and filling you once more, letting you feel him fully to the hilt over and over again. He moans low against your lips, and you feel your thighs shake around his waist, feeling overwhelmed by his touch and sounds.

“Can I,” He pants as he picks up the speed, his hand going to your leg before pulling it up to press flush against your chest. “Can I be yours?”

“Yes,” You whine. “Be mine, all mine.” You clench around his cock again, making him groan out against you. “Fuck, Haechan. I’m all yours. Please,” You aren’t sure what you’re begging for at this point, but it seems like Haechan is just a step ahead, knowing what you want before you can want it.

Pressing your legs against your chest, he goes to drive himself right flush against you, pressing you into a mating press. “S-shit—”

“Oh my god,” You sob as you feel him deep inside. “S’ deep,”

“You’re so pretty,” His eyes cast down between your linked bodies as he says this. “So pretty and hot, taking me so well.” He moves to clasp your leg over his shoulder, stretching you open for him, the pain in your body is nothing in comparison to the pleasure he delivers with each plough of his dick into you. “Can’t believe you wanted me to do this to you in front of everyone,”

“God—” Haechan’s words combined with the join of his finger against your clit send you into a fury, body clenching as your back arches off the bed. “Gonna—”

”Fuck you with my fingers where everyone can see,” His fingers tap incessantly against your bundle of nerves, hissing as you grip his bicep. “Would you let everyone hear you come? Show everyone who can make you feel this good,” He’s now mumbling to himself, hips snapping with a whimper falling from his lips when he feels your walls tighten against him. “Look at you, all fucked out and pretty. Who else makes you feel this good?”

“You,” you gasp, now panting, body wanting to writhe away from the overwhelming amount of feelings you’re filled with. “Only you can make me feel this good Haechan, fuck—”

“Are you close?” He hums, and a groan slips out from his lips at the nod of your head, watching the way you bounce on his cock, tits bouncing up and down from each drive of his hips. “You’ve been so good, let go, baby,” He leans in to plant a kiss on your lips and cheek, and with a few more targeted taps against your clit and a steady thrust of his hips, you feel hot white course through your body as you reach your peak. He peppers kisses down your face and into your neck, hips slowing down as he burrows his head in your neck, allowing you time to come down from your high.

As he goes to pull out and move away, you channel all your force to keep your legs locked behind his back, keeping him in place inside of you. “Inside,” Your voice is hoarse from feeling fucked out. “Come inside me, please Hyuckie,” 

It seemed that your words were all he needed to push him over the edge, as his hips stutter once, twice, before you feel the twitch of his cock inside of you and spurts of cum fill your cunt. His whimper muffles against your neck, bodies running hot as sweat gathers on your skin. 

“You good?” His voice is soft when he says this, hand coming to caress your hair and cheek, a stark contrast against teh harsh plough of his hips earlier. You smile dazedly as you lean against his palm, nodding and kissing his hand, which he pulls back gently and places a kiss at the exact spot your lips landed, before coming to kiss you directly. 

“Bear with me,” He mumbles when he pushes himself up straight, and you wince when he slowly pulls himself out of you. You can feel the slow gush of his cum seeping outside of your hole, and Haechan’s eyes looked mesmerised once more as he looks at your cunt. Almost as if by reflex, his fingers reach out to your sensitive core, gathering the messy mix of your fluids before plunging his fingers back into you, plugging your pussy back full with his cum.

You whine loudly at the overstimulation, spent body twitching as you let Haechan do what he wants. “S-sorry,” He still seems dazed as he says this, eyes unable to stray away from your pulsing pussy. “Couldn’t help it…” He pulls out his fingers, spreading them and looking at the wet mixture of your sticky release.

“Haechan…” His eyes widen when you mumble his name, but soften when you reach out your hands weakly, gesturing him in for an embrace. “C’mere,”

Like a teddy bear, he cuddles into you without hesitation, body curving into you as he gently moves both of you around to lay comfortably. He kisses the crown of your head, cheek smushing against your forehead as he tries to get as close to you as possible. “Was that good?”

You hum. “Everything I wanted and more, you were so good to me.” Although you know he tried to hide it, you still feel the giddiness course through him, his skin now growing warm against you at your praise.

You can slowly feel the exhaustion catch up, the task of keeping your eyelids peeled open getting more difficult as time passes by. 

“Thank you, Channie,” You mumble tiredly, feeling his skin rumble beneath you as he hums. 

“Anything for my baby,” And before you know it, you slowly fall asleep.

It didn’t take long for people to realise the two of you are together, and it wasn’t even Naeun’s fault this time.

The one who makes it known to the whole campus that you’re together is Haechan, and you would be flattered that he can’t help but mention you every second sentence, always finding a way to say the phrase ‘my girlfriend’ in any given context, but you also can’t help but be embarrassed about the fact that he’s parading you around like this.

So, everyone knows you’re together. But they also know the water bucket prank, and how you both now know who it actually was. 

Being the partner of the campus prankster and class clown means that everyone knows about the incident of you getting soaked right before your mandatory class. But when you had thought that it was Haechan to blame, the car ride back from the village had raised your suspicions of Minseok, when he had tried to convince you that it was, in fact, Haechan who pulled it; his source being.. gut feeling?

Jihoon had also confessed a week after the camping trip about how Minseok had drunkenly confessed to wanting to prank the prankster, setting up the water bucket thinking Haechan was to attend that class. Unfortunately, his plan fell through when you walked in instead. 

You would’ve accepted Minseok’s apology for dunking the water on you, even if he didn’t intend to do that to you; but that’s the problem. He didn’t apologise and even tried to deny the fact that he had planned on doing that when you had brought it up to him. He had avoided both you and Haechan, which was such a petty thing to do. With the grudge you’ve been holding against Haechan when you thought he was the original pranker, you’re unable to tone it down with Minseok this time around. You don’t want to start with the fact that it was a simple, water bucket again. 

So it goes without further saying that the party that’s being hosted by Sunwoo again is not one without purpose. Haechan had always had something up his sleeve when something like this happened (which, taking into account his reputation, this wouldn’t be his first rodeo). But unfortunately (but fortunate for one), you’re nowhere to be seen yet.

Minseok is bouncing his leg as he sits on the couch, hand gripping his cup which was been empty for more than twenty minutes, too nervous to move off of the couch and get himself more in case anything happens to him. When people come up to him, offering him a dance or a shot, he shakes his head no vehemently, not wanting to take the chance.

When Naeun drops down next to him on the couch, drink swiping around in his cup, his eyes widen in fright as his heart starts beating erratically. The girl giggles at his cautiousness, going to smack at his shoulder, which he effectively avoids just in case that was part of an act.

“It’s so funny—” Naeun’s giggle gets cut off by a hiccup. “Because, you’re so scared now. Did you plan on gluing yourself to the couch or is that what they pulled on you?” On her claim, Minseok’s bouncing leg immediately ceases any movement, as his body suddenly goes stiff, now looking at the girl beside him incredulously. 

Naeun shrieks in the middle of her laughter at his expression, as Minseok suddenly shoots up from his sitting position, looking at the couch he was just perched on while his hands grasp at his ass, checking for any damage. Naeun almost falls to the floor with how hard she’s laughing now, heaving at Minseok’s expense.

“Not funny,” Minseok frowns at her toppled figure, now warily scanning around the place once more, feeling vulnerable now that he’s standing.

Naeun rubs at the corner of her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. “They’re not here tonight if that helps.” It took the wary man a few seconds to realise who she was talking about. “Haechan had a last-minute shift to cover or something early tomorrow morning, and so they both decided to skip out on this party.” She chuckles against her cup, taking a sip as she lets her eyes scan Minseok’s quivered stance. “So you can relax. For now. I'm gonna go find the love of my life.. I mean Jeno,”  

The gleam in her eyes grows as she stands when Minseok scans around the party once more, before heading to the kitchen, deciding that he finally needs another drink.

Walking next to Haechan, you shush him when he suddenly starts talking loudly, animated expressions making you laugh while you shove at his shoulder with your own. You walk down the campus hallways, making your way towards the broadcast club room for today's meeting, with Haechan insisting on dropping you off.

When you’re shoving Haechan away from poking at you, nearing the door of the meeting room, your attention catches on to another person lingering in the stark empty hallway. When you look to you’re side, you’re met with Minseok, his expression shocked still as he, too, heads towards the room.

“Oh,” You’re a bit breathless from trying to avoid all of your boyfriend's onslaught attacks. “Hey Minseok,”

“W-what..” He starts, before clearing his throat, not wanting to come off as weak or scared. “What are you guys doing?”

Haechan’s arm is slung around your shoulder, squeezing you to his side. “Just dropping her off at the broadcast room.” Oh, of course. The same reason why he’s also situated in the hallway. 

“Go on, Seok.” You motion towards the door, encouraging him to go ahead first. “I’ll say bye to Haechan and I’ll come i—”

“No!” Minseok exclaims with his hands stretched out, shaking them vehemently before dropping them down after realising how dramatic his actions were. “Uh, it’s okay. I’ll wait, and we can all go in together." He hopes his expression comes off as kind, but from the look on both of your faces, it seems to be more similar to a grimace than anything.

“Actually,” Haechan starts, wanting to get rid of the awkwardness swirling. “I’ll come in too. Jihoon needed my help with a sound system.” Even with Minseok closer to the door, it doesn’t seem like the boy is gonna make an effort to go in; not unless you two do, and prove to him that nothing is waiting for him on the other side.

“Well, okay..” You glance at your boyfriend with a questioning look, to which Haechan merely shrugs at you, his mouth turned downward. Stalking towards the door, you open it slowly stepping in while holding it open for the two men to get in. Minseok is still vigilant, looking at all corners of the open door for anything out of place, famously a bucket of something, maybe.

But when you head in and look back at him expectantly, he stalks in eventually, embarrassed at seeming so cautious about —seemingly— nothing in particular.

A chorus of greetings is shared, with you and Haechan waving hi to everyone and heading towards your friends, sitting down and starting conversation. Minseok doesn’t let up, getting a thorough look at the room he’s frequented a lot, scanning for any misplacements or outliers. He squats down to take a look below the table and cranes his neck to take a good look at the ceiling. He’s the last to realise the room going silent, as everyone looks at him expectantly, casting glances at each other at his odd behaviour.

It’s Sohee who breaks his quest. “Are you gonna take a seat or not?” At that, Minseok startles, before realising that everyone’s attention is caught on him. His cheeks warm up as he goes to his seat, tucking himself against the table before muttering a meek apology. 

As the meeting commences, Minseok can’t help but look around the room restlessly, feeling on edge even when everyone sends him weird glances when he bounces his leg endlessly or takes a look to his left and right periodically. 

But the meeting ends, and nothing out of the ordinary happens. Everyone gets out of their seats, and you head towards Haechan and Jihoon, who are huddled in a corner next to the stereo, fiddling around with it as they finish up their work. Minseok suddenly feels ashamed for suspecting the two of you; just because he was menacing enough to pull something doesn’t mean you would do the same. Packing his things from the table, he goes to stand up and heads towards you, repeating in his head how to apologise to you two. But even with a hand braced against the table to steady him, he couldn’t get to his feet.

“What—” He tries to stand up once more, both hands now braced against the chairs’ handles, but to no avail. The chair topples ever so slightly as he exerts all his force, and it's as if he’s glued to the chair.

“You—!” When you turn to look at him, you topple over with laughter, your hand finding Haechan’s shoulder to shake, wanting to bring his attention towards Minseok who’s struggling against the chair. Haechan grins, coming to a stand next to you and looking at the boy. Everyone else giggles along at the carried-out prank, slowly filling out the room but not before taking a quick picture and video. 

“Oh no, are you okay Minseok?” Jihoon’s fake worry makes shame bubble in said person's stomach. “It seems like you’re stuck,” 

Coming up to him, you place a pair of pants on the table near him, giving him a sweet smile. “I don’t think you’ll be able to come out in one piece, so here’s some emergency supply.” You give him a pat against his shoulder, before Haechan softly grabs your hand, bringing you towards the door before giving Minseok a wave goodbye.

thank you loads for reading till the end!! I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, its late rn and I'm not bothered to really go through it thoroughly once more. also, will I ever learn how to pace my fics after the two characters get together????? guess we wont ever know

if you liked this, please don't hesitate to let me know!

[richrdjones]

Breaking Down the Best: SolidworksAssignmentHelp.com vs. Assignmentpedia.com for Solidworks Assembly Assistance

SolidWorks is a powerful software tool for designing and creating 3D models and assemblies. For students learning this software, assignments can be challenging, especially when it comes to creating complex assemblies. This is where specialized assistance websites come into play. Two notable platforms offering SolidWorks assembly assignment help are SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com and Assignmentpedia.com. In this blog, we will diplomatically compare these two websites, focusing on their strengths and offerings, to help you decide which might be the best fit for your needs.

Introduction to SolidWorks Assembly Assignment Help

The complexity of SolidWorks assignments, especially those involving assemblies, often necessitates external assistance. SolidWorks assembly assignment help services provide students with the support they need to understand and complete their tasks efficiently. Websites like SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com and Assignmentpedia.com have emerged as popular choices for students seeking expert guidance. Let’s delve into what each platform offers and how they compare in various aspects.

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com: A Specialized Platform

Overview

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com, as the name suggests, is a dedicated platform focusing primarily on SolidWorks assignments. This specialization gives it an edge in providing targeted and in-depth assistance for all SolidWorks-related tasks, particularly assemblies.

Services Offered

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com offers a wide range of services tailored to the needs of SolidWorks students:

Assembly Design Help: Detailed assistance with designing and assembling complex components.

3D Modeling: Support with creating accurate and functional 3D models.

Simulation and Analysis: Help with running simulations and analyzing the results within SolidWorks.

Homework and Assignment Help: Comprehensive help with various types of SolidWorks assignments, ensuring timely and accurate completion.

Project Assistance: Guidance on larger projects, including capstone projects and other significant academic endeavors.

Expertise and Quality

The team at SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com consists of professionals with extensive experience in using SolidWorks. This expertise translates into high-quality assistance that is tailored to the latest industry standards and academic requirements.

Customer Support

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com places a strong emphasis on customer support. They offer:

24/7 Availability: Round-the-clock support to address any queries or issues promptly.

Personalized Assistance: Tailored guidance to meet the specific needs of each student.

Live Chat and Email Support: Multiple channels for students to reach out for help whenever needed.

Pricing

Pricing at SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com is competitive and designed to offer value for money. They provide transparent pricing structures with no hidden fees, making it easier for students to budget for their services.

Assignmentpedia.com: A Comprehensive Academic Help Platform

Overview

Assignmentpedia.com is a broader academic help platform that offers support across various subjects, including SolidWorks. While it does not specialize exclusively in SolidWorks, it boasts a wide range of services and a diverse team of experts.

Services Offered

Assignmentpedia.com provides extensive academic assistance, including:

SolidWorks Assignment Help: Assistance with all types of SolidWorks tasks, including assembly, modeling, and simulation.

Homework Help: Support for assignments across various subjects beyond just SolidWorks.

Tutoring Services: Personalized tutoring sessions to help students understand complex concepts.

Project Assistance: Help with academic projects in a wide range of subjects, ensuring a holistic approach to student needs.

Expertise and Quality

The team at Assignmentpedia.com includes experts from various academic backgrounds. This multidisciplinary approach allows them to offer comprehensive assistance that covers not only SolidWorks but also its applications in different fields of study.

Customer Support

Assignmentpedia.com is known for its robust customer support system, which includes:

24/7 Availability: Continuous support to handle any questions or concerns at any time.

Diverse Communication Channels: Options to contact support via phone, email, and live chat.

Feedback Mechanism: A structured system to gather and act on student feedback, ensuring continuous improvement in their services.

Pricing

Assignmentpedia.com offers flexible pricing options that cater to a wide range of budgets. They provide detailed quotes based on the complexity and urgency of the assignments, ensuring transparency and affordability.

Comparative Analysis: SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com vs. Assignmentpedia.com

Specialization vs. Generalization

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com: Specializes in SolidWorks, offering deep and focused expertise. This specialization can be particularly beneficial for students seeking in-depth assistance with SolidWorks assembly assignments.

Assignmentpedia.com: Offers a broad range of academic help services, including SolidWorks. This generalization allows for a more holistic approach, supporting students in multiple subjects alongside SolidWorks.

Range of Services

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com: Focuses on SolidWorks-related tasks, ensuring comprehensive support for all aspects of the software, including assembly, modeling, and simulation.

Assignmentpedia.com: Provides a wider array of services, extending beyond SolidWorks to include various academic subjects. This can be advantageous for students who need help in multiple areas.

Expertise and Quality

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com: Boasts a team of SolidWorks experts, ensuring high-quality assistance tailored to the software’s intricacies.

Assignmentpedia.com: Features a multidisciplinary team, providing a broad perspective and expertise that spans various academic disciplines.

Customer Support

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com: Offers personalized and dedicated support with a strong emphasis on customer satisfaction. The 24/7 availability ensures that students can get help whenever they need it.

Assignmentpedia.com: Also provides 24/7 support with multiple communication channels, ensuring accessibility and responsiveness.

Pricing

SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com: Transparent and competitive pricing designed to offer value for specialized services.

Assignmentpedia.com: Flexible pricing options catering to a wider range of budgets, with detailed quotes based on assignment complexity and urgency.

Conclusion: Choosing the Right Platform for SolidWorks Assembly Assignment Help

Both SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com and Assignmentpedia.com offer valuable services for students seeking SolidWorks assembly assignment help. The choice between the two largely depends on your specific needs:

If you are looking for specialized and in-depth assistance with SolidWorks, SolidWorksAssignmentHelp.com may be the better option due to its focus and expertise in this area.

If you require a broader range of academic support alongside SolidWorks assistance, Assignmentpedia.com might be more suitable, given its comprehensive academic help offerings.

Ultimately, both platforms are dedicated to helping students succeed, and their services can be instrumental in mastering SolidWorks assemblies and other related tasks. By evaluating your specific requirements and preferences, you can choose the platform that best aligns with your academic goals and needs.