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mrs-delaney · 29 days ago

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Behind The Lens | Part Four

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

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 20k

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

Taglist: @honeydippedfiction @harryweeniee @mruizsworld

A Few Quick Notes:

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

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

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

November 2025 - Days After the Kiss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded, surprised he'd kept track.

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

"Yes."

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

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

"Including what happened between us?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"About what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then what are you asking?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt: Made up your mind yet, sis?

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

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

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

* * *

The Decision Process

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

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

Matt: Finally ready to make this decision?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Terrible timing," Lucas agreed.

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

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

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

"Maybe?" Y/N said uncertainly.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N nodded.

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

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

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

"Why not?" her mom pressed gently.

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

The room went quiet, letting that truth settle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Which is?"

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

"And Joe's just a bonus?"

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

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

* * *

Making the Choice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And long-term incentives?"

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

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

"When would this take effect?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

Y/N: When?

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

Y/N: Where?

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

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

Y/N: 8 PM?

Joe: I'll be there. Thank you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you want to do?"

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

"How long are we talking?"

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

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

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

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

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

"And outside of work?" Joe asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Late November 2025 - First Steps

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

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

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

Y/N: Where?

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

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

Y/N: Collective Grounds. 7:30?

Joe: See you there.

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

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

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

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

"How so?"

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

"That obvious?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not boring. Surprising, maybe."

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

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

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

"Pattern recognition?"

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

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

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

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

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

"What makes the difference?"

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

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

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

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

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

"So what happens now?" she asked.

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

"Just like that?"

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

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

"You make it sound simple."

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

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

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

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

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

"And what conclusion did you reach?"

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

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

"What about work?" she asked.

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

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

"How discrete?"

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

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

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

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

"Normal?" Joe suggested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

December 2025 - Getting to Know You

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

Joe: Which Target?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fine with me."

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

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

"Better than eating alone."

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

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

"How so?"

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

***

A Week Later

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

Joe: How long?

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

Joe: I'll come get you.

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

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

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

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

"You're just picking random turns."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week Seven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is?"

"You being here. Like this."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week Eight:

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

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

Joe: Come over. I'll order something.

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

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

"Thai. Should be here in twenty minutes."

"Good choice."

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

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

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

"What is?"

"Coming home to you being here."

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

"Bad timing," Joe muttered against her lips.

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

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

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

"What is?"

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

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

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

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

* * *

Late December 2025 - Playoff Push

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

Their stolen moments became more precious and more carefully orchestrated.

Monday - Content Planning Meeting

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

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

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

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

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

"Wednesday afternoon work?"

"Perfect. Tyler will coordinate the details."

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

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

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

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

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

"After filming. You free?"

"Depends what you have in mind."

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

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

Wednesday - After Filming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll be there."

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

Thursday Morning - Facility Hallway

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Joe..."

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow works."

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

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

Friday - Storage Room

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

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

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

"How long until your shoot?"

"Twenty minutes. Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Boring. How was film study?"

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

"Depends. What did you have in mind?"

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

"That sounds perfect," Y/N admitted.

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

"What kind of plans?"

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

Weekend - At Joe's House

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

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

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

"Much better."

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

"Mmm?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I was hoping you'd ask."

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

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

* * *

January 4, 2025 - Pittsburgh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the Plane - 11:47 PM

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

Her phone buzzed against her leg.

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

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

Y/N: Of course.

Joe: Don't want to be alone tonight.

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

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

Joe: Thank you.

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

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

Cincinnati - 1:23 AM

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

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

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

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

Joe's House - 1:52 AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Joe..."

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

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

"I can't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sit," she said gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If I don't hold it together—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw clenched. “Then look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lie back.”

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

When his fingers slipped between her legs, he stilled.

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

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

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

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

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N shattered.

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

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

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

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

His eyes never left hers.

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

Y/N nodded, breath catching. “Yes.”

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

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

His jaw clenched. “Say it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joe, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Look at me.”

Her eyes flew open, meeting his.

“Look at me when you do it.”

Y/N shattered.

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

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

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

Neither of them spoke right away.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know this changes everything, right?”

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

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

She swallowed, heart still thrumming under her skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Eleven."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The response came back almost immediately.

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

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

Kayla: My office. Coffee will be ready.

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

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

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

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

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

"Better?" he asked when they broke apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

8:31 AM - Kayla's Office

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

"You knew about the meeting?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I thought we were being professional."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

Joe: How did it go?

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

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

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

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

Joe: Good. See you after.

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

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

* * *

10:58 AM - Bengals Front Office Conference Room

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds appropriate," Katie said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N: How did it go?

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Define fine."

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

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

"None that matter," Joe said simply.

"What does that mean?"

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

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

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

"You didn't..."

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

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

"I told you I would."

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

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

"Again you make it sound so simple."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And tonight?"

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

Her phone buzzed again.

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

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

* * *

July 15, 2025 - Training Camp Begins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Joe seems settled. You both do."

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

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

Y/N: Feels right not hiding.

Joe: Never hiding again. See you at lunch?

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

Joe: Never too exhausted for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even with people watching?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you. See you at lunch."

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

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

Her phone buzzed with a text from Sam.

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

Y/N: Joe doesn't do dramatic.

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

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

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

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riiwrites · 1 year ago

Text

boyfriend!dazai who…

a/n : for my love @perfectlyjollyland who requested this ages ago but i didn’t see until recently because i only pay attention to my inbox! im so sorry ill be checking comments too next time, hope you’re well! <3

a/n : also i hope you’re okay with the pre-boyfriend/before boyfriend part, i just thought that’d be cute i love lovesick!dazai sooo much.. more boyfriend dazai under the cut!!

chuuyas version | atsushis version

dividers used belong to @/benkeibear

masterlist | taglist | main page

pre-boyfriend!dazai who at the start asks you for a double suicide (as per usual), but when you give him the cutest smile and giggle and say no, he knows he’s too deep in now.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who becomes head over heels when he first meets you and now has a new mission, making you reciprocate those feelings.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who loves the cliches, the random ‘anonymous’ love notes on your desk when you’re at work or the random flowers delivered to your workplace/home - he loves it all.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who respects your boundaries if you were to tell him to lay off or if he was making you uncomfortable.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who finally gives up..gives up throwing hints and just decides to take his shot.

“So..say, if a handsome stranger who’s kind of not a stranger since you know him as an acquaintance asks you out because he’s given up with all of the deadpanned hints he’s been giving you for the past few months but he’s kind of scared of being rejected..what would you say?”

You stare him with a few blinks as he looks at you with a great smile on his face, although you can see subtle drops of sweat dripping down the side of his temple.

"..Is this said handsome stranger you, perchance?”

Dazai let’s out a single laugh, placing his hands on his hips.

“Ha! How bold of you, though..I am charmed your first thought of this handsome stranger would be me, bella~” He coyly smirks, closing his eyes in what you can’t tell is either pride or suspense.

You furrow your eyebrows with a little smile, fixing up your paperwork as you place them on the desk. “No, I just figured since it was you who’s been leaving such persistent and eager notes on my desk as of late.”

You watch his expression slightly change as he lets out a cough of embarrassment, locking eyes with you now.

“Well..” He starts, then gives up halfway through.

“..Is it a yes?”

pre-boyfriend!dazai who not only is taken by surprise by your response, but his heart does a few jumps in joy as his efforts became a success, making him now your boyfriend.

boyfriend!dazai who has his hand down your back pocket whenever you two are walking together.

boyfriend!dazai who’s love language is both physical touch and acts of service, always having his hands on you in the littlest way and also providing the most he can to his s/o.

boyfriend!dazai who has the reputation of being quite the flirtatious one, gives it up to his precious s/o.

boyfriend!dazai who googles cheesy and dirty pickup lines to try and rizz you with, always ending them in a winky face.

boyfriend!dazai who sends you little messages every day now that he has your number, little words of affirmations and talks to get you ready for your days.

boyfriend!dazai who if he had a tiktok account he’d make slideshows of you two and repost videos of couples relating to you two.

boyfriend!dazai who you spend all of your holidays with, especially christmas and new years.

boyfriend!dazai who practically lives at your house now, but nobody’s complaining.

boyfriend!dazai who has a box of every little thing you’ve given him, so when he’s feeling down he can look at it and smile.

boyfriend!dazai who tries to keep you away from his past, to protect you from the ugly truth.

boyfriend!dazai who opens up about oda, not all of it but most of it since he believes oda would’ve liked you.

boyfriend!dazai who takes you to the places he has the fondest memories in. the lupin bar, the art gallery, the agency.

boyfriend!dazai who appreciates the little things, as he’s not someone who can afford much he tries to give you the best he can.

boyfriend!dazai who always argues that he loves you more trying to get the last word and when you think you have it, you hear a little mumble of “I love you more” as you walk away.

boyfriend!dazai who loves your hands, tracing the lines of your palm and fingers and creating little shapes on them makes him feel at peace.

boyfriend!dazai who can be possessive but in a good way, he has good reasons to be possessive.

boyfriend!dazai who when he sees someone give you a half lidded smirk or bedroom eyes, he gives them a deadly stare that could imprint on their skull as he wraps an arm around your waist.

boyfriend!dazai who constantly babbles on about you at work with the agency, always telling Atsushi about the cutest things that you did the night before or what you did the day before that.

“Ahh..and the way they just clench their fists at their sides when they are angry with me! Ah~ I could melt..”

“That’s..really nice, Dazai-san..”

“Oh! And the way they grab my hand so tightly when we’re in public ahhh~ I could melt!”

“D-dazai-san..-“

“Ahhh, and the way the-“

boyfriend!dazai who ends up with about 14 wounds all over his body because of kunikidas beatings..kunikida says he’s lucky it wasn’t 15.

boyfriend!dazai who you take care of at his lowest.

boyfriend!dazai who sometimes can’t understand why you put up with him, but you reassure him with words and kisses all over his face.

boyfriend!dazai who peppers your face with kisses back and gives you a small smile despite how sad he can feel.

boyfriend!dazai who watches the fireworks with you and doesn’t think of going out just as beautifully because why would he let such a precious thing slip out of his hands like that?

boyfriend!dazai who doesn’t care about himself or his mental health, but cares the most about yours.

boyfriend!dazai who once felt like he was drowning, but then found his light to the surface who has a smile of diamonds and a heart of gold.

TAGLIST : @hauntedsol @hopefulpain @forgotten-blues @ruru-kiss @texas-bitch-yee @lvstyangel @thetizzler @is-therelife-onmars @atlasnessie @101strawberries101 @reesesnieces @suzurans-world @mackereland-slug @heartsfourdazai @iratherowan @onlinewhisper14 @nomnomventi

white = unable to be tagged :(

@/riiwrites - reblogs are highly appreciated ❤︎︎

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sweetdispatch · 3 months ago

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Punish me - L. Hughes

v' bakery pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader summary: Luke decided to punish you after misbehaving the whole day long warning: NSFW, dom!luke, spanking note: the request disappeared from my inbox but it was next on the list! taglist: @bunbunbl0gs

The age difference had never been an issue between you and Luke. You were older than him with a different point of view on life but you two get along with each other very well. It always made you laugh that work was important for both of you and that’s why everything was working great between you two.

Despite the fact that you were the older one, Luke was the one who was dominating your dynamic in a relationship. People around you thought that it's the other way around but that was impossible when he was always towering over you. It was a natural thing between you and you didn’t see a problem in this.

For your friends you two acted normal but behind closed doors, you were totally dependent on Luke. He was always reminding you of everything and always needed to be sure that you’re alright. It was adorable for you that he’s taking care of you. But the biggest dominance was visible in your sex life.

Luke always needed to be on top of you. Even when he let you be on top, he was setting the pace. You were his personal sex doll. He was taking out of you his every frustration and was helping you relax with nonstop overstimulation. You two know each other's bodies perfectly, know how to make the best pleasure and limits. Yours and Luke’ sex life has never been better.

Sometimes, you enjoyed being a brat and seeing how hard you can push Luke to punish you. You feel like it’s refreshing when he’s in total control. He was dominant but he was always making sure you’re alright and fine with whatever he’s doing. Although when you were acting like a brat, he only cared about putting you in your place.

Today was one of those days where you were desperate for this kind of sex. You were misbehaving on purpose just to get his reaction. Luke was sending you looks which meant that you should drop the attitude but you didn’t do anything about it. You wanted his rough side or more like, you needed his rough side.

Whole morning you were ignoring him and his words. Luke knew you and knew that you wanted him to punish you. He didn’t want to let you win and tried to shrug it off but you were unbearable. When he left for training, you accidentally forgot to respond to his text messages and do what he asked you for before he went out.

Luke’s blood was boiling but he knew he needed to keep it calm because you had plans for later. You two were going out for dinner with Jack and girlfriend. You put on purpose the tight, red dress that was always driving him insane. During dinner, you were touching his thigh every time accidentally touching his crotch.

“Behave” Luke whispered into your ear and you giggled.

This didn’t stop you. Thankfully for him, you were just sitting by the table with his brother and girlfriend waiting for the bill. The minute Luke paid, he grabbed your hands and dragged you to the car so you could return home. He didn’t say a word to you, didn’t even spare you a look. You knew that you pushed him enough to get what you wanted.

When you walked into your shared apartment, you started going towards the bedroom to hang out the coat. Before you made another step, you heard Luke.

“Stop right there” You could tell that he’s furious at you. You turned around to face him. “What’s gotten into you and that little stunt today huh? We could have had a nice day but you decided to act like a bitch. Come here” Luke ordered you.

You obeyed and came closer to him. Luke quickly turned you around and bent you over the counter. He pulled over your dress and slipped your panties down. Your ass was bare naked in front of him. His big hand was caressing your ass cheek before the first slap landed.

“I know that you wanted me to break and fuck you roughly. You wanted me to punish you” Another slap landed on your ass. “I’ll give you what you wanted but not how you wanted this. I’ll spank your ass till it’s red. You’ll be begging me to stop but I won’t” Luke said and spanked you again.

His actions were repetitive. You could feel the tears escaping your eyes but you knew you put yourself in this position. You were moaning from the pain and pleasure that Luke was giving you. After a minute, he got a break and was caressing your ass.

“I know this will make you wet and desperate for my cock but that’s all you're gonna get. I won’t fuck you today or for the rest of the week. I need to teach you a lesson. You need to earn my cock in your greedy pussy” Luke whispered into your ear and you froze.

You didn’t predict this. You tried to apologise but Luke laughed at your desperation. He spanked you a couple more times until your ass was red like he promised. He grabbed your hair and pulled you up to face him.

“Next time if you want to act like a brat, remember how it feels” Luke kissed you and left you standing there alone and desperate.

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes oneshot #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #new jersey devils #v' bakery

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misshoneyimhome · 2 months ago

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What’s up buttercups!

Another day in paradise—aka Chapter Fifteen (or something like that…) 🌙 You know what they say: three things can’t stay hidden forever—the sun, the moon, and the truth 💕 And let’s be honest… nothing good ever comes from keeping secrets from your best friends.

Well—except maybe hot, steamy sex with a certain captain… but who’s counting? 🙈

As always, happy reading, and all my love from yours truly 🥰

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, language, 18+ soft: soft dom/sub play, praise kink, lip biting, handcuffs, tied up, oral pleasure (f receiving), sex toy (vibrator), some overstimulation, unprotected vag sexual intercourse, cum inside, aftercare

Word count: 7.3k Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three ; Chapter four ; Chapter five ; Chapter six ; Chapter seven ; Chapter eight ; Chapter nine; Chapter ten; Chapter eleven; Chapter twelve; Chapter thirteen ; Chapter fourteen

Some who might have interest: @hockeybabe87 @tonyspep @thesecretestblogever @delayed-delusions @kurlyteuvo @emsdevs

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter Fifteen: A Knight's Move

“Dearest Toronto readers,

We’re still breathless from the heat of Wednesday night—on and off the ice.

Auston Matthews may have played like a man possessed (one goal, one assists, and more smirks than shifts), but it was the post-game hallway showdown that had our inbox flooded. A little birdie tells us that Ryan-the-ex made an unscheduled appearance backstage… and walked out with more than just a bruised ego.

But here’s what we know: the Queen didn’t wait to be saved. She stepped in. Defended her king. And later? Well, let’s just say the treatment room saw more action than the crease.

So now we ask… what happens after the passion? After the blood, the bruises, and the breathless confessions?

Word on Bay Street is that cracks are beginning to show—not on the ice, but in the Queen’s camp. A surprise visitor. A tension-filled lunch. And whispers that her most trusted knight may be turning away.

Meanwhile, the Ice King has gone silent. Brooding. Cold, even for him. The team feels it. His smile’s gone missing. And the locker room? Let’s just say not everyone’s in love with his love life.

All we’ll say is this: when knights move, they don’t fall quickly. But they do shake the board.

Hold your crowns close, darlings.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

Thursday –

Chase had always been mildly annoying—too smug, too polished, the kind of guy who used the word “leverage” in casual conversation. But lately, his attention had shifted. You noticed it in the way he lingered near your desk a bit longer, the way he asked about Auston with too much curiosity and too little subtlety. He’d started dropping into your inbox more often too—quick messages about player media timing or sponsorship visibility that didn’t need to come from him. Always signed with a too-chummy “Talk soon ;)”.

“You know, I was just telling Dani in Partnerships,” he said on Thursday morning, leaning on the corner of your desk like he owned it, “we should really leverage the Matthews momentum this quarter. Maybe pitch a few co-branded charity activations? PR gold, right?”

You kept your expression neutral, eyes flicking up from your laptop just long enough to be polite. “Sure. I’ll run it by his team.”

Chase smiled too broadly. That smile he used when he thought he knew something. “Or you could run it by him directly. I mean, you two are pretty tight these days.”

You felt the words land like a pebble dropped in still water—small, but spreading. Your fingers paused above your keyboard. “We work well together.”

“Right,” he said, drawing the word out, tone dripping with meaning. “Work.”

He straightened his tie like he’d just checkmated you in a game you hadn’t even realised you were playing. You made a point of turning back to your screen, eyes narrowing slightly at your inbox.

“Anyway,” Chase added, already taking a step back, “if you ever need a second opinion—or a media push—you know where to find me.”

You didn’t answer. Just clicked into a blank email draft and started typing nonsense until he finally walked away. But your stomach stayed tight for the rest of the morning, the echo of his implication crawling beneath your skin.

He didn’t know. But he was close.

And that was almost worse.

Friday –

By contrast, Friday morning had started with promise.

Jess had texted the night before: Girl day prep. Mani/pedi & chai lattes? 11am. Bring gossip.

You’d taken the day off, and you’d practically clung to the plan like a lifeline all week—craving a break from the chaos, the gossip, the heat of Auston’s body pressed to yours and the lies you were barely keeping straight. Time with Jess felt like an exhale you hadn’t had in weeks.

You pulled on your softest cream sweater, the one with sleeves that hung over your wrists like a comfort blanket, and a pair of high-waisted jeans that didn’t scream “trying too hard.” Your hair went up in a claw clip, a swipe of mascara on your lashes, and a dab of gloss before you slipped into your boots. Civilian armour.

Jess was already waiting outside your usual coffee spot, oversized sunglasses perched atop her head and two drinks in hand.

“Look who remembered how to dress like a normal person,” she called as you approached, holding one of the cups out toward you like a prize. “No Leafs logo in sight. Are we okay? Blink twice if you’re being held hostage by the equipment manager.”

You laughed, wrapping your fingers around the warm cardboard sleeve. “Give me a break. I’ve been living in jerseys and PR-grade blouses for the past month. I forgot what normal felt like.”

“WAG life changes a woman,” she said with a teasing grin, linking her arm through yours as you fell into step. “Look at you—coffee in one hand, boyfriend in the starting line-up, your name getting whispered on Reddit. Auston’s been glowing lately. You keeping secrets from me, babe?”

You snorted into your cup, the chai burning just slightly on the way down. “Please. If anyone’s glowing, it’s Knies. His skin looks photoshopped.”

“Oh, I’m not denying the baby Leaf is thriving. But you,” Jess pointed a finger at you. “You’ve got that… post-honeymoon haze. That ‘I’m getting absolutely railed on a weekly basis and also maybe falling in love’ kind of glow.”

You nearly choked. “Jess.”

“What?” she laughed. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You opened your mouth, ready to volley something snarky and vaguely defensive, but before the words could land, a voice pierced through the soft buzz of the street.

“There you are!”

You turned instinctively—and froze.

Your mother.

Wearing oversized sunglasses, carrying a miniature designer handbag, and smiling like she’d just walked onto a talk show set. Her heels clicked confidently on the pavement as she closed the distance.

“Mum?” you blinked, voice sharper than you meant. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” She waved you off, air-kissing the air near your cheek like you weren’t halfway to a meltdown. “You said you were doing a girls’ day with Jess the other day, so I just figured… to be one of the girls.”

You whipped your head toward Jess mouthing, I’m so sorry.

“I thought I’d surprise you both,” your mother continued, slipping effortlessly into your inner circle like she’d RSVP’d. “It’s been ages since we had proper time together. And I have been dying to talk more about this Auston.”

You stared. At her pink-tinted lips. At her ridiculous sunglasses. At the universe, who clearly hated you.

Jess blinked. “Did… she just say dying?”

“Oh yes,” your mother chirped. “I mean, the dinner was lovely, but I didn’t get nearly enough time with him. He was so charming. And tall. I was telling your aunt about him last night. And don’t even get me started on those shoulders.”

You closed your eyes.

“Kill me,” you muttered into your chai.

Jess squeezed your arm once and murmured, “Babe. Breathe.”

The next couple of hours were bearable—just. Your mother was in her usual form: polished, pleasant, and passive-aggressively maternal. She asked about Auston’s schedule, his taste in wine, whether he was “still planning to do something nice for your birthday,” which you hadn’t even mentioned.

“He’s just so lovely,” she said at one point, sipping her chai. “I hope he’ll be around for Christmas. Your cousins would adore him.”

You nearly choked.

Jess watched you carefully, her brows pulling tighter every time your mother spoke about ‘plans with Auston Matthews’. You tried to smile, nod, make non-committal noises.

You should have known it wouldn’t stay easy for long.

After shopping, an awkward lunch and way too many excuses not to talk about Auston, your mother insisted on coming back to your flat. “Just a little chat,” she’d said, all bright smiles and false lightness. Jess had naturally come too, filling the train ride with stories about work drama, anything to keep the mood floating like a balloon you didn’t dare pop.

But now, inside your living room, the walls felt like they were pressing in.

Jess excused herself to the bathroom with a breezy “two minutes, promise,” leaving you alone with your mother, who perched on the edge of the sofa like a woman about to deliver a sermon.

You perched on the other end, your tea cooling fast between your palms.

She reached out, placing her manicured hand over yours, her voice low and purposeful.

“Darling, I’m only saying this because I care. If you and Auston are serious—truly serious—you need to start thinking about the future. Careers are important, but they can be flexible. Love… doesn’t always wait for you to be ready.”

Here it was again.

That same sentence, dressed in different lace.

The one she used when you didn’t call enough. When you chose late nights at the office over brunch with extended family. When she asked if you’d frozen your eggs yet, casually, over dessert.

But this time, it wasn’t about you.

Not really.

It was about him.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

Maybe it was Chase’s smug face still lingering in your mind, dripping with implication. Maybe it was the constant pressure of your mother’s picture-perfect expectations. Maybe it was just the exhaustion—of keeping the story straight, of keeping yourself straight, in a life that had long since spun off script.

You opened your mouth to respond, but she was still talking, already steamrolling ahead, her tone bright, oblivious.

“I mean, of course you should have a wedding here in Ontario, but—”

“Mum!”

The word ripped out of you too loud, too raw, like a snapped bone.

She blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

You stood up so fast your tea sloshed, setting it down with a clatter you didn’t mean.

“You have to stop,” you hissed, hands shaking, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. “All of this—you can’t talk like that. Like it’s real.”

A frown etched across her forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” you said, gesturing helplessly at the air between you. “Me and Auston. It’s not real. It was never real.”

Your mother’s face froze, confusion hardening into something colder.

“You had dinner with him at our home,” she said slowly, disbelieving. “He helped your niece with her spaghetti.”

You let out a broken laugh. “Yeah. He’s really good at pretending. It’s an act, Mum. We’re not truly in love.”

Your voice cracked again, splintering under the weight of it.

“It was fake, okay?” you said, softer now, the admission falling out like ash. “We made a deal months ago. He needed help with the media, I needed credibility at work. It was supposed to be light, staged, strategic. And then it just… kept going. Got messy.”

Your mother’s mouth opened and closed, her hand withdrawing like you’d burned her.

“You… lied?” she said finally, almost breathless. “All this time?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said weakly. “Not like this. I didn’t think anyone would care—”

The soft sound of a door creaking open made your stomach lurch.

You turned.

Jess stood frozen at the edge of the hallway, one hand still resting on the doorframe.

Her expression was blank, but her eyes—God, her eyes were wide and hollow and wounded.

Your heart stopped dead in your chest.

“Jess—” you croaked, stepping toward her.

She flinched back—not dramatically, but enough that you felt it like a slap.

“I need a minute,” she said, her voice eerily steady, like she was holding herself together by the thinnest thread.

Then she turned, braid swinging with the force of her exit, and before you could move, before you could call after her, the door clicked shut behind her.

You stood there, breathing hard, the living room spinning slightly around you.

Behind you, your mother stayed frozen on the sofa, hands folded neatly again like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just watched you unravel.

The clock ticked on the wall.

The room smelled faintly of cold tea and steam from the bathroom and everything you couldn’t say.

You didn’t sit back down.

You just stared at the door Jess had left through, feeling the hollow pit in your chest stretch wider, deeper.

You weren’t sure what hurt more: the look in Jess’s eyes, or the fact that telling the truth hadn’t fixed anything.

It had only broken what little you had left.

You: Please just text me when you get home. I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to happen like that. Please, can we talk?

There was no response.

You stared at the screen, willing the typing bubble to appear. It didn’t. After a few minutes, you locked your phone and pressed it flat against your thigh, as if closeness might summon forgiveness.

Your mother stood near the coat rack, her sunglasses pushed up onto her head, tapping her fingers against the leather of her handbag.

“Well,” she said eventually, her voice clipped with that brittle calm she defaulted to when she didn’t know which tone would land right. “I’ll give you some space.”

You nodded but didn’t look up. Not because you were angry—but because it was easier not to see the confusion on her face. The quiet disappointment. You didn’t owe her the full story, not now. She didn’t press. Just adjusted her coat and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind her with a softness that still managed to echo.

Silence followed instantly. Heavy. Dense.

You sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the untouched mugs on the table. The tea had gone cold. Your chest felt the same—distant. Unwarmed.

You sent another message.

You: Please talk to me. I never wanted to lie to you. It just got complicated.

Still no response.

“Oh, dear readers. We always knew the Queen’s crown was heavy—what we didn’t expect was how sharply it would tilt when the truth finally slipped free.

The court is splintering. Whispers have turned to thunder. And now, a once-loyal knight has laid down her sword—not with a grand declaration, not with tears, but with a silence sharp enough to draw blood.

Sources say the Queen confessed a secret meant to stay buried, a truth too jagged to fit the fairy tale. What started as a game of appearances has grown teeth, and the wounds it leaves behind? They are real.

And what of our Ice King? Word from inside the locker room says he’s colder than ever. Quieter. Disconnected. The kind of distracted that leaves coaches frowning and teammates whispering behind closed doors.

Something has shifted, Toronto. The board has cracked. The knight has moved—and now, for the first time, the Queen stands truly alone. - The Benchwarmer.”

The air inside the locker room still held the sticky bite of morning skate—sweat, detergent, damp tape, and whatever godawful cologne Knies had decided was his “signature scent” this week. Auston sat on the bench, hunched over his skates, aggressively yanking at the laces like they’d insulted his mother.

Mitch flopped down beside him with all the grace of a man who’d never learned how to sit quietly.

“You good?” he asked casually.

Auston didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

From across the room, Morgan Rielly gave a loud, disbelieving snort. “Ah yes. The ancient hockey lie.”

Mitch smirked. “Seriously, though—you’ve been weird.”

Auston shot him a look. “Thanks for the diagnosis.”

“No, like… mood swing weird,” Knies added, towelling his hair dry. “You were full-on Captain Hardass in video review yesterday, and then I caught you literally humming during warmup.”

“It was Lovebug,” William added without looking up from his phone. “Not even ironically. Just… sincere.”

Auston groaned. “Jesus. Are you all stalking me now?”

Morgan leaned against the wall of his stall. “Nah, man. You’re just loud with your moods. You snapped at the equipment guy because your laces were too short.”

“They were too short,” Auston muttered.

“And then you texted me at 12:47 am asking if I knew a florist,” Morgan continued, deadpan.

“I was ordering flowers. For my mom.”

A beat of silence.

“You hesitated,” Mitch said gleefully. “You totally hesitated.”

William glanced up. “Your mom also the one who made you smirk like a movie villain when she showed up in your jersey on Wednesday?”

Auston yanked off his second skate with more force than necessary. “Can everyone shut the hell up?”

“Oh, he’s pissed,” Knies grinned. “Classic denial stage.”

“Not denial,” Auston muttered. “Just don’t see why it’s your business.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Well, considering you’ve been stomping around like you lost a fight with your own feelings? Kinda is our business.”

“I didn’t lose a fight,” Auston snapped, then paused. “Not—emotionally.”

“Oh, he’s admitting there was a fight,” Mitch stage-whispered.

Auston glared at him.

Morgan held up a hand. “Alright, let’s just run through the facts: You met her family. You text your defenceman at midnight for bouquet advice. You skate like a god when she’s watching and brood like Batman when she’s not.”

“I do not brood.”

“You are brooding right now,” Knies said, pointing with a grin.

Auston leaned back against the locker, jaw tight. The cool metal pressed into his shoulders, but it didn’t ground him the way he needed. Not today.

“She’s just…” He trailed off, jaw working.

“Just what?” Morgan pressed.

“It’s complicated.”

Mitch’s eyes widened theatrically. “Ooooh. That’s what people say when they’re in love and scared shitless.”

“I’m not in love,” Auston said quickly. Too quickly.

Silence.

Knies raised both eyebrows. “Not yet, or not admitting it?”

Auston didn’t answer.

Morgan crossed his arms, voice softening just slightly. “Look, man. We’ve seen you play lights-out when she’s around. We’ve also seen you spiral when you’re in your own head. She’s good for you—even if it started weird, or messy, or whatever you don’t want to say out loud.”

Auston stared at the floor.

“She’s not just some girl,” Morgan added. “Not anymore. And if you’re seeing your mom this week?”

Mitch let out a low whistle. “Yikes. Mama Matthews will get it out of you, dude.”

Auston dragged a hand down his face, sighing hard enough to blow the hair from his forehead. The cut under his lip still stung when he moved too much. Everything felt like it was catching up with him—Ryan, Jess, you. His temper. His heart.

“I don’t know how to talk to her,” he said finally. “Not about… whatever this is.”

“You already are,” Mitch shrugged. “You’re just doing it with your eyes and not your mouth.”

William nodded once, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Tell her before someone else does. Girls don’t wait around forever. Especially not ones like her.”

There was a pause. Long enough for the weight of it to settle in Auston’s chest.

Knies cleared his throat. “You’re not fooling anyone, man. Just call her.”

Auston stood, grabbing his hoodie from the hook behind him. “I’ve got shit to do.”

“Like what?” Mitch called after him.

Auston didn’t stop walking. “Like figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

He shoved the hoodie on over his head and muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “why do things always have to be so fucking messed up.”

William smirked as the door clicked behind him. “Think he finally got it?.”

Your phone buzzed just as you were folding a hoodie you didn’t want to wear and didn’t want to put away. The cotton was soft, worn at the seams, smelling faintly of clean laundry and memories you hadn’t decided whether to keep or let go.

Auston: Come over?

Two words. No emoji. No punctuation. Just space. An open door. A question wrapped in quiet.

You sat on the edge of your bed, the fabric bunched beneath your thighs, phone resting heavy in your palm. You stared at the message, thumb hovering like it was waiting for some divine cue. It wasn’t the kind of text that demanded a response. It didn’t shout.

It whispered.

Like he knew you were drowning a little and didn’t want to pull you under—just offer a hand, open and patient, if you wanted to take it.

You didn’t know what to say. Jess still hadn’t answered your messages. Not even a read receipt. Just silence. And every minute that passed only deepened the hollow in your chest, carving out more space where the ache lived.

You were tired.

Of lying.

Of pretending you weren’t aching.

Of chasing a version of yourself you barely recognised anymore.

You didn’t want to talk.

You just… didn’t want to be alone.

So, you typed one word, hand barely steady:

You: Okay.

—

The Uber ride was a quiet blur. You didn’t bother with makeup—your skin still carried the soft salt of dried tears and city air. You’d pulled your sleeves over your hands, thumb rubbing along the seam like it might keep your pulse steady. Outside, the world was grey and blurred—lights smeared across rain-speckled glass, buildings and people reduced to silhouettes.

You didn’t bring a bag. Just your phone. Just your body and the ache sitting inside it like ballast.

Auston’s building loomed familiar now, like a place you returned to more than you meant to. The lobby lights were soft, golden, the hum of the elevator muted and warm. The front desk guy gave you a nod but didn’t say anything, just tapped the counter lightly—like a secret handshake only the two of you understood.

His door was unlocked.

The hallway was quiet. Carpeted silence. And when you pushed it open, the soft scent of him hit you immediately—cedarwood and something darker. Muskier. Intimate. Like skin. Like comfort.

There was no music playing. No TV flickering in the background. Just the faint hiss of the furnace kicking in and the soft buzz of the refrigerator.

And him.

He was standing in the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed up over his forearms, the drawstrings tangled loosely at his chest. His hands were planted flat on the counter, knuckles pale, like he needed the contact to stay grounded. His head was bowed slightly, hair a little messy, jaw dark with stubble.

He didn’t turn when you stepped in. Just exhaled. Like the tension had known you were coming before he did.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Your throat tightened around the word waiting there. “Hey.”

He glanced over his shoulder—only briefly, but enough for his eyes to catch yours. There was no smile. Just something softer. Something raw.

“You came quickly,” he said, voice low and even. “I mean… it’s nice to see you.”

The words slipped into your chest like warm hands pressing gently against your ribs. Not demanding. Not coaxing. Just… kind.

You nodded. Didn’t trust your voice not to crack. Not when you were already barely stitched together.

He stepped back from the counter, gesturing slightly with one hand. “You hungry?”

You shook your head. Even the thought of food turned your stomach. He must’ve known.

His eyes lingered. Dark and steady. Like he was reading you—scanning your face like it held all the answers he didn’t know how to ask. You saw the faint twitch in his brow, the way his jaw worked, like he was biting back instinct. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t push.

He just walked over and stood in front of you. Not touching. Not demanding. Just… there. A little slouched. A little tired. Like you.

“I’m not good at this,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “But I’m trying.”

You looked at him then—really looked. At the faint purple shadow still blooming beneath one eye. The cut on his bottom lip, a thin slash of red half-healed. At the way his shoulders stayed tense, like he was bracing for a punch you weren’t going to throw.

You stepped closer. Rested your forehead against his chest.

His hands found your waist instantly. Hesitant. Gentle. But certain. Like he’d been craving this moment all day and didn’t know if he was allowed to reach for it.

You closed your eyes and breathed him in.

He smelled like skin warmed under fabric. Like clean laundry and cedar and something you couldn’t name but knew by heart. Your fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie.

“Rough day,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said against your hair. “Me too.”

You stayed like that. Breathing in sync. Hearts thudding too loud.

Then, slowly, you slid your hands under his hoodie, palms smoothing over the warmth of his bare stomach, up across the planes of his chest. His breath hitched the moment you touched skin. His muscles tensed beneath your fingers.

“I… I don’t want to talk… or think,” you murmured. “Not right now.”

His head dipped, lips brushing your temple. “Then don’t.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. The light in the room was soft, catching the edges of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows.

His eyes were already darker. Focused. Waiting for permission.

“I don’t need sweet,” you said. “Not tonight.”

His jaw flexed. “No?”

You shook your head. “I just need… less thinking. Less feeling. Just… forget about everything and fuck.”

He exhaled through his nose—slow, controlled—but his hands gripped your waist tighter.

“I can do that.”

And then he kissed you.

Not softly.

Not cautiously.

It was heat and hunger and restraint wound so tight it sang in your bones. His mouth opened against yours, tongue brushing deep, one hand tangling in your hair while the other held your hip like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You whimpered into his mouth, fingers curling into the hem of his hoodie, pulling him closer. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t wait. His hands found your thighs, gripping tight as he lifted you onto the counter with a grunt that rumbled deep in his chest.

The granite was cold beneath you, but it didn’t matter. Not when his body pressed between your legs like gravity.

His hands bracketed your hips, thumbs digging into denim.

“I want to play,” he murmured against the skin of your neck. “I want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

Your heart skipped. Your breath caught.

“Go as far as you want.”

He froze—just for a second. Just long enough to look at you. To see if you meant it.

“You sure?”

You nodded, voice trembling. “Please.”

His gaze swept over you—slow, deliberate. He saw everything. The ache. The want. The weight.

Then he kissed you again—deeper this time, rougher.

“Bedroom,” he growled.

And you let him lead. You let yourself fall.

He didn’t speak as he led you to the bedroom—just took your hand and walked you down the hallway, slow and steady, like he already knew you’d follow. Like there was no question of where you belonged. The hallway light cast soft shadows over the floor, and with every step, your heart beat louder in your ears.

The door clicked shut behind you with a quiet finality.

No candles. No music. Just the hush of the room breathing around you.

He pulled his hoodie over his head with one swift motion and tossed it to the chair in the corner. His chest rose with a sharp inhale, the muscle beneath his tattooed skin was tight with tension that didn’t quite feel like restraint—it felt like purpose. Pressure, waiting to break.

You stood near the foot of the bed, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat, spine tingling with anticipation.

Then Auston turned to face you fully. His jaw was tight and his eyes unreadable. He didn’t smile.

He just looked like a man ready to unravel.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, voice low and deliberate.

There was no question in it. No pause. Just command.

Your stomach flipped just a little, but you didn’t hesitate. Because it wasn’t a bad feeling, it was… thrilling.

You peeled off your sweater, the fabric catching slightly on your fingers. Then your jeans along with your knickers, slow and trembling. You unclasped the hook of your bra behind your back, straps slipping from your shoulders. And then you stood there bare before him, shivering slightly—not from cold, but from the weight of his stare.

He watched all of it. Silently with arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he was trying to commit the image to memory.

And then he moved.

Crossed the space between you in two strides. One hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing lightly beneath your chin. His eyes searched yours—not for hesitation, but for confirmation. And he found it.

Then he kissed you.

Hard.

Hungry.

His mouth slanted over yours with a force that stole the air from your lungs, all grit and heat and unspoken ache. You opened for him instinctively, gasping into the space between your lips as his tongue swept against yours. His other hand came to rest at your lower back, pulling you flush against the bare heat of his chest.

Your hands roamed his muscular chest - or his arms, or neck. Just anywhere you could touch.

He groaned against you, deep in his chest like the sound had been waiting to come out all night. His mouth lingered near yours, his breath hot, lips brushing yours again—soft, but laced with restraint that only made you tremble harder.

And then he bit down on your lower lip.

Just enough to sting. To claim. To make you gasp into his mouth like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

When he finally pulled back, your lips felt swollen. Your breath was ragged.

His thumb dragged slowly over your bottom lip, eyes dark with heat and something unreadable. His voice came out rough, frayed at the edges. “Fuck, you look good like this.”

You barely had time to respond before his tone shifted.

“Get on the bed.”

The words were low, deliberate, and commanding in a way that made your knees nearly buckle, your body responding before your mind had the chance to question it. You obeyed without hesitation, moving back slowly until the backs of your legs brushed against the mattress. Breath shallow, heart drumming loud in your ears, you climbed up and sank into the sheets, lying back near the headboard with your arms loose at your sides and your eyes never leaving his.

He didn’t move immediately. He just watched you for a beat longer, his expression unreadable, jaw tight as if holding back the weight of everything unsaid. Then he turned, walked to the bedside table, and slid open the drawer with calm purpose. The faint sound of metal shifting inside broke the hush of the room, and when he turned back to you, he was holding something small, cool, and silver between his fingers.

Handcuffs.

Not fuzzy. Not playful. Just sleek and cold.

His gaze locked with yours, his tone quieter now but laced with authority. “Do you trust me?”

The question hung thick in the air between you, humming with tension and electricity. It wasn’t gentle or coy—it was rooted in something deeper and heavier, edged with promise.

You nodded.

But he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it,” he murmured, voice huskier, hungrier.

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t hesitate. “I trust you.”

He moved toward you, slow and sure, and climbed onto the bed, kneeling between your thighs with a deliberate steadiness that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were warm and certain as he guided your arms upward, positioning your wrists together above your head. The first cuff closed around your right wrist with a soft metallic click. The second fastened your left and to the metal loop in the headboard. The restraint was firm but not harsh, and when you tested the give, you realised you were bound—open, vulnerable, and entirely his.

But surprisingly not afraid.

He leaned down and pressed a single kiss to your shoulder, the heat of his lips branding you gently, and then he pulled back just enough for you to see the shift in his eyes. The hunger. The control. The promise of what was coming.

“You want to forget?” he murmured, voice like velvet and fire. “Then I’m going to make sure you don’t think at all.”

The words sank into your chest like a fuse being lit.

You whimpered, just barely, and that was all he needed.

His mouth curved into something feral as he reached for you, hands gripping your thighs firmly. In one rough pull, he dragged your body closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him, his strength making your breath catch as your cuffed arms pulled taut above you.

Then he dropped to his knees.

His palms settled on your hips, fingers flexing. And then his mouth met your cunt—hot, sure, and consuming.

“Oh fuck, Auston—”

He didn’t pause, didn’t tease. He licked into you with single-minded focus, no warning, no slow build. His tongue was firm and relentless, working you like he was trying to wring every last drop of tension from your body. Like he needed to punish you and pleasure was the weapon.

Your hips bucked instinctively, searching for more, for relief, but the cuffs held you down. Helpless beneath the onslaught of his mouth, you couldn’t move, couldn’t shift, only take what he gave you.

His grip tightened on your thighs, anchoring you as his tongue circled and dragged and pressed in maddening, perfect rhythm. The obscene sound of wet heat filled the room, and your legs were already trembling, breath catching with every flick of his tongue. His nose bumped your clit just right, again and again and again, pushing you further until it was almost too much to take—

And then he stopped.

You gasped, hips twitching in the air as he stood, leaving you bare and throbbing in the quiet.

Your eyes followed him, still dazed, as he reached back into the drawer and pulled out a slim black vibrator. He flicked it on with a soft buzz that seemed to echo, and the low hum filled the room like a warning.

Your breath hitched.

Your eyes widened.

But he simply smirked.

“You said no more feelings,” he said, voice low and unapologetic. “So, I’m going to give you everything.”

He climbed back between your legs, dragging the vibrator slowly along your inner thigh, making your skin jump beneath the touch, teasing you with every pass but never quite giving you what you needed.

And then he pressed it against your clit, firm and direct, so your whole body jolted.

You cried out, arching in the cuffs, breath punched from your lungs.

“Too much?” he asked, the vibration never letting up.

You shook your head frantically, already straining against the edge. “No. Please. Don’t stop.”

The orgasm hit too fast, too sharp, tearing through you with a force that made your vision blur. Your wrists strained in their restraints as your hips bucked, but he didn’t let up—not even for a second.

The toy stayed right where it was—circling, pressing, punishing. And then his fingers joined in—one at first, then two—slipping inside you and curling just right, perfectly, devastatingly.

You came again, this time with a cry that cracked your voice wide open. You sobbed through it, raw and breathless, as your whole body shook.

Then retreating his fingers, he kissed your cheek, your neck, his voice like gravel in your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Fucking gorgeous when you break.”

The vibrator finally clicked off, leaving a silence that felt just as charged as the hum had been. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him.

And then he stood.

He shoved down his sweats and boxers in one motion and stepped back between your thighs, cock thick and flushed, his gaze locked on yours as he lined up and sank into you in one long, brutal stroke.

The stretch was sharp, overwhelming, but you were soaked and ruined and ready, your cunt fluttering around him like it didn’t know how to handle the fullness.

You moaned—loud and desperate—as the handcuffs clinked above your head, the metal cold around your wrists.

Auston groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

And then he started to move.

Hard and rough.

Not violent, but forceful in rhythm, every thrust landing with the force of everything he hadn’t said. Deep and unrelenting as your body clung to him, spasming with every stroke.

You cried out—again and again, your voice breaking.

“Can’t handle it?” he asked, breath ragged against your skin, but he never slowed.

Tears streaked your cheeks. But your answer didn’t waver.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Don’t. fucking. stop... please”.

He kissed your temple. Just once. And then he fucked you harder.

You lost all track of time. All sense of where your body ended and his began. All that existed was the throb between your legs, the slick sound of skin meeting skin, and the low rasp of his voice when he whispered your name like it meant salvation. He was fucking your brains out.

And when you came again, you broke around him with a sob that shook your whole body.

“Fuck—baby, that’s it,” he groaned. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

Because he wasn’t far behind. You felt it in the way his hips began to stutter, in the way his hands gripped your wrists tight enough to bruise.

And when he finally climaxed, it was with a deep, broken sound in your ear. His hips jerked, his cock pulsed inside you, and his arms wrapped tight around your arms as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You stayed like that for a long moment. Breathless and bare. Tethered only to each other and the mess you’d made.

And just like that… then came the gentle part.

He eased out of you slowly, careful like he didn’t want to startle you, before he reached up and released the cuffs one at a time, massaging your wrists with tender fingers, and pressing a kiss to the inside of each.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough with concern.

You nodded, your voice caught somewhere in your throat.

He brushed your hair from your face, thumb catching one of the tear streaks. “Good girl,” he whispered. “You took all of it.”

You didn’t know if you were floating or falling, but you knew you were safe. And that was enough.

The water steamed around you, beading down your shoulders, washing away the sweat, the heat, the high. Auston stood behind you in the shower, one hand braced against the tile near your head, the other resting lightly on your hip, steadying you. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

His fingers then moved slowly across your back, soap lathered into his palm, every touch careful and reverent—like he was trying to wash away more than just the night. You tilted your head slightly, letting it rest against his chest. The solid weight of him anchored you. His skin was warm, his heartbeat steady beneath your head, and for a moment—just one—it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. Like this space, fogged with steam and breath and heat, was the only place that made any sense.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Something that felt gentle and almost thoughtful.

“You good?” he asked, voice quiet, rough with sleep and something softer.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He traced a slow path down your chest with the pads of his fingers. “Was it… too much?”

You shook your head. “No. It was everything I needed.”

He didn’t speak. Just exhaled, his breath brushing your temple.

The silence returned—not heavy, not cold. Just full. With everything neither of you had said yet.

But then you swallowed, your voice barely rising above the hum of water. “Jess knows.”

Auston didn’t flinch, but his fingers stilled against your skin.

And then you kept going, words trickling out like the water around you. “She overheard me talking to my mum. I didn’t mean for her to. I didn’t mean to tell anyone… not like that. It just spilled.”

He shifted, pulled you in closer, arms winding around your waist, chin resting lightly against the top of your head.

“Will she tell anyone?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know… she didn’t look angry. Just hurt. Like I’d broken something she thought was safe.”

He didn’t answer straightaway. He just held you tighter.

You let your fingers trail over the side of his forearm. “And Chase… he doesn’t know. I think… Not really. But he’s watching, and he’s asking questions.”

Auston nodded slowly, his lips brushing your ear. “We’ll handle it.”

You turned slightly to look at him. His face was softened by the steam, his hair wet and curling around his forehead. His eyes were steady. Serious. But not afraid.

“We?” you asked.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. We.”

The word landed in your chest and stayed there. Solid. Quiet. Sure. Like something you could build from, if you dared.

He reached in front of you and turned off the tap, and the silence that followed was almost loud, the gentle drip of water echoing in the small space as you stood together, bare and vulnerable, skin to skin.

He took a towel and wrapped you in it first, arms sliding around your shoulders as he tucked you in like instinct. Then he grabbed one for himself, rubbing at his hair with lazy hands before glancing toward the bedroom.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You can stay if you want.”

You hesitated. Just a breath. Just long enough to feel the weight of what wasn’t being said. You didn’t know what this meant—not yet. You didn’t have a plan or the right words for the shape this thing had taken between you.

But you didn’t want to leave.

Not tonight.

So, you just nodded, and he offered a smile—small, almost shy. Like it mattered more than he could say.

In the bedroom, he handed you a T-shirt—long and soft and worn in all the right places, unmistakably his—and waited while you slipped it over your head. Then he pulled back the covers, climbed into bed, and held them open like an invitation.

You climbed in without a word.

The sheets were warm and smelled like him. Like the sex you just had.

You then curled into his side, your head on his chest, his hand resting gently at your hip under the covers, fingertips drawing slow, aimless circles into your skin.

And there, in the hush of the room, with the storm outside your mind finally quiet, you let yourself drift.

“Dearest Toronto readers,

We told you the board had shifted.

While the Ice King skated through morning drills with a jaw like stone and a stare that could curdle milk, whispers began to curl around the edges of the rink. His mood, some said, was unstable. But we disagree. It wasn’t the throne cracking—it was the walls around his heart.

You felt it, didn’t you? The silence behind locker room doors. The soft unravelling in hallway glances. The storm before something honest.

And then—she appeared. Not on a red carpet. Not in a press release. But quietly, in a hoodie and tired eyes, walking into the Ice King’s private domain like she’d been there all along.

We hear the suite was quiet that night. No champagne. No flashbulbs. Just hands held under running water. Secrets whispered between kisses. And a woman who knew exactly what she needed: not a saviour, but a sanctuary.

Even the sharpest observers sometimes miss the softest truths.

But not us.

Not when the Queen lays down her armour and still commands the room. Not when she admits what hurts—and lets someone else help carry it.

She didn’t need rescuing. But she still chose to be held.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

#The Benchwarmer #inexperienced!reader x Auston #auston matthews fanfic #Toronto maple leafs fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl romance #nhl imagines

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hivemuthur · 5 months ago

Text

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 12.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11.

word count: 5,5K

tag: #the game of teaching body

author's note: Ok guys, this is it! My hands are shaking as I'm publishing it. Thank you all so, so much, for all the kind comments, for the freakin' art (like what? fanart? of my writing? I'm still gagged over it!), for reblogging, placing messages in my inbox, for everything! Something that was supposed to drag my attention away from the temporary shittiness of my life, has turned into a full-blown passion, as currently I am drafting three new fics and working on all your awesome requests and I wouldn't be doing it without your encouragement. Thank you.

(disclaimer: I have a request for the opposite of the situation happening here, coming soon!)

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

You noticed Viktor’s breath coming in short, uneven pants, his face twisted—not with pleasure, but something else entirely. His movements faltered, his grip tightening on your shoulder for balance before he suddenly stilled. His hands dropped to the desk on either side of your hips, fingers digging into the surface as though bracing against some invisible force.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, as though fighting off something within himself. His head hung down, strands of hair clinging to his damp forehead.

Alarmed, you scanned his body, searching for a clue. “Viktor?” you whispered, your voice steady despite the concern that thrummed through you. But he didn’t respond.

With a frustrated groan, Viktor slipped away from you, grabbing a pillow from the bed to shield himself as he limped toward the armchair. Every step was stiff and uneven until he finally collapsed into it, stretching his leg out with a sharp hiss. “Fucking cramp,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his hand rubbing at his thigh.

“Where?” You hopped off the desk immediately, pulling your sweatshirt over your head as you hurried to his side. You knelt beside him, your hands already seeking out the problem. “Let me see.”

His body tensed further, his lips pressing into a hard line as his free hand rose to cover his face. Anger, frustration, and something darker flickered across his expression. Embarrassment, no—shame. He was a man who hated to feel weak, and this moment—vulnerable, raw—clawed at his pride.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, but the pained wince that followed betrayed him.

You softened your voice, making it as non-threatening as possible. “Viktor,” you urged, your fingers hovering just above his thigh. “Show me.”

For a moment, you thought he’d refuse. His jaw worked as though grinding back a retort, but the tension in his leg won out. With a reluctant nod, he guided your hands to the offending muscle. You worked slowly, methodically, your fingers finding the knotted muscle and easing into it with unpractised care. Viktor leaned back, his head tipping against the armchair with a low, shuddering exhale. You glanced up at him occasionally, careful to give him space, but unable to stop the flickers of affection that crossed your face.

When the cramp finally loosened, Viktor’s body sagged with relief. His hand fell from his face, but his brows were still knitted together, his mouth almost invisible, save for a line. He looked... defeated.

You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his knee, a wordless gesture of comfort, before reaching for the pillow. You straddled his lap, intent on drawing him back, or rather away from this. But just as your lips hovered above his, Viktor’s hands came up, catching you by the shoulders and halting your movement.

“Wait, I—” Viktor exhaled heavily, his eyes darting anywhere but yours. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths, the frustration in his face giving way to disgust. “This is… strongly unattractive.” He offered you a sad, apologetic smile, one that left his eyes empty. It was a weak defence, a brittle mask to cover the discomfort roiling beneath. He didn’t want you to see him like this—not yet, maybe not ever. “I’m… sorry.”

Your lips curled into a soft, teasing smile. “Are you joking? A hot man in need of aid? In my books, that’s strongly attractive.” Your tone was light, your fingers weaving gently through his hair as though trying to coax him back to you. “Any other… affliction I could be of assistance with?”

But Viktor’s smile faded completely. “Please, stop,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it almost cracked. His body stiffened beneath you, his hand rising to cover his face again. He didn’t push you away, but the gesture was louder than words.

As if on cue, your hand slipped over his, tugging it gently away. “Let me in,” you whispered, your voice a soft, disarming plea. You rubbed your nose against his cheek, your warmth melting into him, your presence grounding him. Viktor’s breath hitched, a shallow inhale slipping through his parted lips. He was never this close to anyone—not like this. His heart was never this close to opening, his fears never this close to crawling into the light.

“How did this happen?” you asked, your fingers trailing behind you to graze the tense muscle of his thigh.

Viktor hesitated; his gaze fixed somewhere on the space between you. His teeth tugged at his lower lip, and when he finally spoke, his voice was distant, almost clinical. “Rotated femur. Just… a bad case.”

He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t have to. Your mind worked quickly, piecing together everything you knew about him, every detail you’d catalogued. The timeline was clear, the reasons obvious, but you made the deliberate choice not to probe further. Instead, you placed a gentle hand on his chest, your touch steady and reassuring. “You’re okay,” you said softly, trying to guide him somewhere lighter, somewhere safer.

Viktor’s chest fluttered beneath your hand, his breaths uneven and shallow, each one giving away his hesitation. His eyes flicked to yours briefly before darting away again, the vulnerability in that fleeting glance leaving him feeling exposed. He gripped the armrest of the chair tightly, his knuckles whitening, as though he were bracing himself for something he couldn’t name. The silence between you stretched like a pained muscle.

For a long moment, he stayed like that—closed off, his expression unreadable save for the tightening of his jaw and the way his lips pressed into a thin line. But then, slowly, his grip on the armrest slackened, his shoulders dropping as though releasing a burden. He didn’t speak, but something shifted in his gaze as he looked at you again. It was tentative, unsure, but there was a crack in the armour—a fragile permission.

You saw it immediately, the subtle easing of his posture, the way his eyes softened despite the war still raging inside him. You stayed still, letting the moment settle, your touch light and unintrusive. Your thumb traced soothing circles over his chest, your movements careful, watching for even the smallest sign of discomfort. When none came, your fingers drifted to his thigh again, the tension there still palpable under your gentle ministrations.

“You can tell me to stop,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes searching his for any flicker of doubt. But instead of resistance, there was something else entirely—a flicker of trust, raw and unpolished, but unmistakable.

“So... how do we not make it upset?” you asked carefully, leaning forward to rest against his chest, your palm cradling his cheek. Your voice was calm, your touch light, but Viktor’s body tensed beneath you again, the rigidity in his frame speaking volumes. The answer, when it came, wasn’t surprising.

“We don’t ask questions about it,” Viktor huffed, his tone carrying a faint edge, though it softened as his hand began to move idly up and down your back. His touch was a distraction, deliberate and almost subconscious, as though trying to steer the moment away from his discomfort. But the heaviness lingered—how had this spiralled from intimacy to a conversation about his leg? The absurdity of it all made him feel drained, a long sigh escaping him.

“But I never asked you,” you murmured quietly, your lips pressing to the curve of his neck. Your words lingered, warm against his skin, as your fingers trailed through his hair. “And I seek to correct my mistake.” You whispered the words like a secret, your tone so tender it nearly disarmed him. Viktor clenched his jaw, the growing ache in his chest conflicting with the faint spark of heat your presence stirred.

“You read me like a book. And here I am, still wondering… what gets you off,” you teased softly, your playful tone a deliberate shift away from the seriousness he so clearly wanted to avoid.

“Definitely not questions about my leg,” Viktor groaned, pulling back slightly, though his lips twitched in reluctant amusement. He let out an exasperated sigh, wiggling just enough to escape the trail of kisses you left along his neck. “Please, let’s sit this one out.”

Even though the warmth of your weight on him stirred something deep in his core, the shame pressed harder, suffocating, and unrelenting. He tried to muster an apologetic smile, but it fell flat, and the tension returned like a phantom haunting his every breath.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, adjusting yourself on his lap, your hands cupping his face with intent. This wasn’t about sex anymore, and Viktor could see it in your eyes. You weren’t looking for fun or distraction. You were asking for something bigger, something he wasn’t sure he could give.

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, his voice steady despite the storm inside. But then, with a small, bitter laugh, he added, “Though I know exactly what’s coming next. You’re going to ask me when I’m comfortable, and we’ll never have fun sex again because you’ll forever burn this moment into your brain as a pity party for the cripple.” His words were dry, calculated, but the flash of frustration in his eyes betrayed him. “Which I am, by the way. But that’s beside the point.”

“Viktor, I don’t care if—”

“You are not allowed to say ‘cripple,’ it’s my word only,” he cut you off, his tone clipped as his eyes fixed on you. Your lips twitched in a half-smile as you rolled your eyes in response, your patience endless.

“I don’t care if you’re an Olympic athlete or a chess world champion,” you continued with exaggerated care, your voice steady, measured. “I want to know what gets you off. No more, no less.”

Your thumb brushed softly against his cheek, a small, grounding gesture that made Viktor’s jaw tighten for just a moment before he let out a slow breath. “And I won’t force you to do or say anything,” you added gently, your words laced with sincerity. “But I’m asking you to reconsider, given that you are in a safe space.”

He studied you for a long moment, his gaze flickering over your face, searching for something—doubt, insincerity, any crack in your words he could latch onto. But there was none. Just your calm, unwavering presence.

“And this is your request?” he asked finally, raising an eyebrow, though his tone lacked the sharpness it held before.

“This is my request,” you said plainly, your bluntness somehow soothing, disarming. You leaned in to kiss his forehead, a tender gesture that made him close his eyes, his resistance softening like ice melting under the warmth of spring sunlight.

You let him gather his strength. You stayed close, your movements deliberate and slow, as though any sudden action might startle him into retreat. Your hand slid to his chest, resting there lightly, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart. You waited, not speaking, letting the weight of your presence fill the space between you.

Viktor’s fingers twitched at his sides, then hesitated before coming to rest lightly against your hips. His grip was tentative, almost unsure, but he didn’t pull you closer or push you away. His silence stretched out, but in it, something shifted—a small crack in the wall he’d built, a mute permission.

You tilted your head, your gaze fixed on his, waiting for a sign—any sign—that his discomfort was easing. It came in the form of his breath, no longer shallow but slow and steady, his shoulders relaxing by degrees. The corners of his mouth twitched faintly, almost imperceptibly, as though he was trying to let you in but didn’t quite know how.

“I’m here,” you whispered softly, your words more a reassurance than a prompt. “Whatever you’re ready to share—or not—it doesn’t change anything.”

Viktor’s eyes lifted to yours, and for a moment, the battle within him seemed to subside. He didn’t speak, but the look he gave you said enough. A faint vulnerability glimmered there, a quiet acceptance of your presence, even if he wasn’t ready to bare everything yet.

He sighed, the weight of it carrying the burden of his struggle outside of his body. Damn you.

“Let’s see,” he trailed, his hands moving to rest on your thighs, his touch light but grounding. “I thoroughly enjoyed our last time,” he admitted, his words tentative at first, but gaining confidence as he felt your weight settle more comfortably on him. “And it was… comfortable,” he added thoughtfully, as though revealing a truth he hadn’t quite allowed himself to accept before.

You smiled, leaning into his warmth, your hand brushing softly over his shoulder. You didn’t push, didn’t rush him, giving him the space to guide the conversation.

“Standing, eh, is not my forte, as you saw,” he continued, his hand trailing off to the side as his gaze followed, lingering somewhere beyond you. His voice was steady, but you could hear the faintest hint of self-deprecation beneath it.

“It’s not my favourite either,” you mused, your fingers threading gently through his hair, tucking a loose strand behind his ear. You could feel the subtle shift in his body as he relaxed beneath your touch.

“Don’t lie, you liked it. I saw you,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at your face, though the glint of amusement in his irises betrayed him.

Your laugh was soft, playful. “I liked it because it was with you,” you breathed, your voice carrying a teasing innocence. You leaned in to place a sweet kiss on his lips, feeling his judgmental hand fall back to your thigh.

His grip tightened slightly, and a sly smirk curved his lips. With a sudden, playful jolt of his hips, he snapped you out of your little act, making you gasp in surprise before laughter bubbled out of you again.

“I like when you suck on my thumb,” he said, his voice lower now, softer, yet carrying an unmissable heat. His hand rose, pressing the pad of his thumb gently against your lips. You parted them immediately, your lips warm and soft as you took him in without hesitation. Your eyes fluttered shut at the quiet praise that followed, his voice like a thread of warmth weaving through you.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his tone laced with a mix of encouragement and wonder. His thumb moved, brushing against your tongue, the sensation grounding him in the present moment.

You opened your eyes to find his gaze fixed on you, his expression softened, the guarded edge that usually shielded him nowhere to be seen. Vulnerability still lingered, but now it was met with acceptance, even a flicker of confidence.

“You’re good at this,” you teased, your words a whisper as you gently pulled his hand away to press a kiss against his knuckles. “Being open.”

His laugh was quiet, a breath more than a sound, but it was genuine. “Don’t get used to it,” he warned, though the slight smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

You simply leaned in, resting your forehead against his, your weight steady but light enough to remind him that you would follow his lead. “One step at a time,” you murmured, your hand resting over his heart.

In your touch, in your gaze, Viktor found a quiet reassurance that spoke louder than any words. And for the first time, the fear that had gripped him so tightly began to loosen, slipping away into the quiet intimacy you had built together.

“I like to see you,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft yet steady, as his hand cupped your face lovingly. “Doesn’t matter if you’re on top or I am,” he continued, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “Though I have to admit, this setup you got us in here is… appealing.” His lips curved into a faint smirk before he pulled you closer, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was as tender as it was deliberate.

“Oh, and I will never say no to a good head,” he whispered against your mouth, the teasing edge in his tone mirrored by the smirk tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, your eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “A good head? Are you trying to tell me something?” you quipped, shifting your hips against his, eliciting a groan that vibrated through him.

“I’m not complaining,” he replied innocently, though the way his hands tightened on your hips betrayed his composure. He rolled his hips beneath you, his movements fluid, deliberate, and taunting. “All I’m saying is that practice makes perfect, and I am… willing to be your study buddy,” he finished, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as the corners of his mouth quirked upward in a smile.

You found yourself slightly breathless at his audacity, but you refused to falter. Instead, you leaned in closer, your teeth grazing his lower lip in playful retaliation. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” you teased, your voice low, though it carried a spark of mischief that only made his grin widen.

The tension between you shifted, turning softer, as Viktor let out a quiet, contented sigh. His body, once taut with uncertainty, now felt pliant beneath you. A gentle heat spread through his veins, chasing away the lingering shadows of shame and fear. For a moment, he simply gazed at you, his expression thoughtful, as though weighing his next words carefully.

“I... want to be wanted,” he finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of his honesty. “I want you to want me—not to see me as—”

He faltered, his brows knitting together as his words trailed off. His hand moved to rest over yours where it lay on his chest, grounding himself in your touch. Viktor’s gaze searched yours, wary yet hopeful, as though testing the waters of how much more he could bare to you.

You tilted your head, your fingers lacing gently with his as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t,” you said softly, your tone steady and resolute. “I see you as you, as exactly who you are. Consider me… bewitched.”

A wave of affection swept through him, soothing the raw edges of his vulnerability. You didn’t push, didn’t demand anything more from him than what he was willing to give, and it was in that quiet understanding that Viktor felt something shift.

It wasn’t just trust—it was something deeper, something that made the walls he had so carefully built around himself tremble and, piece by piece, begin to fall.

“And Viktor, I want you… so, so much,” your voice barely a whisper against his mouth as you gave him a longing kiss, your hands cradling his face as though he was the most precious thing in the world.

Your words ignited a spark deep within him, fanning the embers of confidence that had smouldered under layers of doubt. Viktor’s hesitation began to wane, replaced by something more primal and eager. His lips moved against yours with renewed hunger, his body responding to you in ways he could no longer suppress.

He hummed, the sound low and rumbling, as his hands found your waist and pulled you closer, his movements deliberate yet restrained, like a man rediscovering his footing. “Hmm, tell me how much do you want me,” he muttered hoarsely against your lips, his breath fanning over your face.

His hands travelled lower, gripping your ass as he guided your movements, your tongues tangling in a slow rhythm. You rolled your hips lazily on his cock, feeling him grow hard beneath you, his groan vibrating through you as you murmured, “So, so much, it hurts. Fuck me, Viktor,” against his lips.

Viktor let out a low chuckle, the sound rich with both amusement and arousal. “Ask me nicely,” he teased, his voice steady now, laced with a familiar confidence that sent shivers down your spine.

Your gaze locked with his, a flicker of playful frustration dancing in your eyes as you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. His hands slid under your sweatshirt, cupping your breasts with deliberate tenderness, his thumbs brushing against your skin in a way that made you gasp softly.

A tremor ran through you as you exhaled, your fingers threading through his hair. You hesitated, your pride momentarily warring with your desire before you finally gave in. You voice was quiet but filled with emotion as you whispered, “Please, make love to me, Viktor.”

The words melted over him, and he felt last bits of doubts leaving him. His expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss you deeply, his lips warm and unhurried against yous. This wasn’t just about reclaiming your passion—it was about finding something sacred in the spaces between your bodies, something that belonged only to you and Viktor.

Without breaking the kiss, his hand travelled between your bodies, and you could feel his fingers playing idly at your entrance. He couldn’t fight a smile blooming on his lips when he found out how much indeed you wanted him—your core hot and fluttering on his tender skin as he lazily guided the head of his cock inside.

It was easy to claim you. It was easy to be with you now. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, and you both let out soft groans of relief, filling each other's gaps. For a moment, neither of you moved, letting gentle twitches of your connection guide the growing feeling of pleasure bubbling between you.

Viktor started with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips; it was almost painful, and he felt himself wanting more and less at the same time. With a quiet gesture, he started rocking your hips on top of his, letting you find her own flow. When he felt your movements grow more balanced, he handed the control over to you and savoured the sight of you swaying on top of him. You lazy, sensual rhythm carried both of you in tandem, as your bodies grew closer and closer together. He got himself busy with kissing your neck and kneading the flesh of your ass.

As your rhythm grew more frantic, the strain of holding back visible in your furrowed brow, he pulled you closer by the back of your neck and muttered into your ear, “Touch yourself for me.”

It was both a command and a plea, and you placed your timid hand where your bodies met. You felt momentarily exposed as Viktor’s eyes studied your face, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You held his gaze and seeing there was nothing else but admiration in it, you put yourself on display for him. You let him take in your face, the movement of your wrist, all the quiet sounds you made as your hips stuttered and you came on his cock with a loud “Fuck!” muffled by his neck.

He watched you, fascinated, his own mouth agape, as he felt your walls clenching around him. His own pressure was rising, when he pulled you closer, caging your arms with his and let his thrusts take over. He pushed his hips up with a gentle force, your body already melting around him, as he traced a slick trail up your neck with his tongue.

Seeing his searching eyes and the strain in his forehead, you leaned in and encouraged him with a barely audible, “Come for me.” Viktor’s breath grew hot, and you swallowed the moan he gave you when you whispered a quiet praise against his skin. “You fuck me so well.”

“Fuck, I’m—” he squeezed you flush against him, as the final pants and groans fell from his mouth and he spilled himself inside you, his face pressed against you neck. Feeling him shift beneath you, you hugged him tighter and soothed him with a soft, “Stay."

You remained straddled on his lap, your bodies cooling together in the quiet aftermath. Your fingertips traced lazy, featherlight patterns over his shoulders, grounding you both in the stillness. Viktor's hands rested on your hips, his thumbs brushing absentmindedly over your skin, as though to memorise the moment. Only your breaths, soft and calm spilled into the silence of Viktor’s room.

***

“Of course. Breaking the law, as usual,” Viktor smirked, catching you smoking a cigarette outside the window in between a study session with Sue. “How many times do you think I should let this go?”

“Three,” you deadpanned. “I will have one more that way.” You were so fucking tired. And Sue was completely useless, already snoring soundly in your room.

“How is it going?” he asked, plucking the cigarette from your fingers and taking a drag. You shuffled on your feet with a long sigh and shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to learn all of this in such a short time and then remember it for the rest of my life.”

“You are not. You will forget it briefly, and then it will come back,” he said, passing the cigarette back to you.

“The visions of the future,” you murmured, tracing your open hand toward the window, as if it held the vision itself. “The only future I see is the break. Unless I fail. Then, possibly Starbucks.”

Viktor scoffed. So dramatic. “Such a baby,” he muttered, tracing his thumb over the swell of your lips. It was tender, and he wanted to tell you he was proud of you.

The last time had stirred something very scary within him. His guard was down, ruined. It was never coming back up—it was so ruined. So, he had to be sure. But now, of course, wasn’t the time. You were elbows deep in genetics, chemistry, and other subjects that Viktor had no interest in.

“I think I should switch departments,” you sighed, the sound too heavy for a joke, even though it was, and you smiled weakly. Viktor only blinked slowly, taking the cigarette back.

“Eh, you are doing great. I was much worse during your year.” He hugged you with one arm, the other lifting the cigarette to your lips. You raised your brows in question, though no answer came.

“My mother says changes are good.” This time you put more effort into the joke. “Though she also tells me to wear red knickers to exams and tests, so… I don’t know how trusted she can be.”

“Oh, they work. How do you think I am where I am?” He chuckled, warming your shoulders with his hands. The rumble of his laughter carried itself through you, down, down to your toes. “Not all changes are possible, though.”

“Viktor, if you’ve changed, anything can.” Your voice was wistful, as if you didn’t know what you were saying.

He hadn’t changed.

“I haven’t changed, though, have I?” A hysterical thought tore through him. “Look at us, back here, at the beginning. You, deep in thoughts, and me—” Deep in love with you.

“Viktor, what… what are you doing?” You blinked, unsure. He was stalling. His shoulder left yours as he leaned against the windowsill, just like he did then. You put the cigarette out and flicked it outside. “Do you want to talk about something?”

“Not really, I’m just stating a fact.” I want to tell you; I just have to be sure.

“Fact being?” You swallowed it down—the fear that had started crawling up your throat. You smothered it and pushed it back down, bitter on your tongue.

“That some things don’t change.” He made sure to sound unfazed, to make it sound non-threatening, just natural—an obvious truth about him.

“Why are you being so defensive?” you asked, your eyes narrowing.

“I just… don’t want you to jump into something you’re not sure of.” You have to be sure. He allowed himself a shrug and a faint eye roll for the effect. He watched you, your body completely still as you watched him back.

“I haven’t jumped anywhere yet,” you said, measuring your words, gathering your composure. A month ago, it would have made you claw his eyes out, but now you knew. Because you felt the same. He loved you, and he feared it, and you felt the same. “I’ve barely dipped my toes.”

“What are you saying?” Were you saying what he thought you were saying? It felt like a challenge, and for once, he didn’t like it. It felt more serious than back at the beginning. He had more to lose now. “What do you want from me, really?” He meant to keep it in his thoughts, but it shot out.

“Change is inevitable. I don’t want games. I want you.” A countdown of statements. Dry and measured, said with no affection, just stating facts, like he was. Was that why it had felt so hollow?

“You can’t just walk into a relationship with the intent to change somebody. I won’t. This won’t,” his voice rose dangerously, echoing through the empty corridor. He pointed to his leg and pushed his cane firmly into the floor, as if to steady himself.

“That’s not what I said. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. I’m merely saying that changes happen,” you said firmly, letting your arms drop from their defensive cross on your chest.

He hesitated. You were right, somehow, and he was right as well. “What do you want from me?” Just say it. So I can be sure.

“Do I have to know now?”

It was so different from your fight in the snow. He had guarded himself back up, came prepared. You had to improvise. No, you knew. You knew him already. He’d said he’d give you his princess heart, and he did, and now he was asking if you would take it.

“I have to know now,” a shuddering breath escaped him. I have to know now because I won’t be able to walk away later. I have to know now. I have to know now.

“I… brood. I put my work first because it’s the only thing I had for the longest time. I will become boring. And this will become hard,” he began counting it down and couldn’t see the end. “I am… aware that people grow apart. I accept it. But—”

“Viktor,” you interjected. “Why are we talking about growing apart when we haven’t even started anything properly?”

“Because it’s important. And because… yesterday. What you did yesterday, I don’t think I—” I don’t think I can live without it.

You stared at him, breathing evenly, as if you were forcing the breaths inside you.

“You haven’t seen me at my worst. You really haven’t,” he added, noticing you formulating a scoff. Each word was such a strain. Each and every one tried to crawl back down, deep into his stomach, and stir there with all the bile and cigarette smoke.

“I get so jealous. I get so angry. I get angry because I can’t fuck you the way I want to. My leg hurts, and I remember everything. I never forget anything. I will use everything I can against you if it comes to it. So what do you want from me?”

“All of it.” Blunt, almost painful.

He pleaded weakly with your name on his lips. He was so tired. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.

“I want it all. Now, and later. I will keep it safe.” I will keep your heart safe; I promise. “Viktor, I also remember everything. I get jealous and angry. I will use the things you didn’t want to say against you, probably, and I’ll regret it after. I’ve beaten you up in the snow. What you’re describing is human.” I love all your human things.

All the while, you stood at arm’s length. Viktor came closer, swallowing it all down. The words he had said let themselves out, and he swallowed your words too—they coated his stomach with warmth. He swallowed it all down, awash in it.

He pulled you in, slowly, his touch tentative. “Okay,” his breath fanned over her face. “Okay.” I love you so, so much that it hurts.

“I think… I’m in love with you.”

He thought a current of vomit would take him, but it didn’t. Instead, it was your hands holding his as you stared at him, wearing your sweatshirt with a torn collar and his boxer shorts, barefoot, a blanket loosely wrapped around you.

“I love all of you. I promise,” you whispered, meaning it with all your fluttering heart. And Viktor knew you meant it. He knew by the way your hands cradled his ribs, your body slotted in with his so he could feel the drum of your chest. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you tightly and allowing himself a relaxed exhale, which felt like the first one he had ever taken, as the game was truly over, and you both had won.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #the game of teaching body #disability inclusion

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saturnyo · 4 days ago

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Call Me Castillo

Chapter 3 - That Wasn't In The Job Description

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Pairing: Harry Castillo x Reader

Summary: Such a crazy proposal that Harry has brought forth. Fake date him and get rid of anyone still talking about your failed engagement and his soured reputation in the media. Will you accept or deny his proposal?

Warnings: mentions of Y/N like once or twice, I believe, power imbalance, some fluff, etc

WC: 1.9k

A/N: I usually use Spotify for the song choice but it's acting up so bear with me on using YouTube for now until the issue is fixed

Song choice: Lose You to Love Me by Selena Gomez

youtube

From: [email protected]

To: {Redacted}

CC: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]

Subject: A Clarification for Everyone Involved

Hey [Y/N],

I've taken a few days to process everything. After some deep reflection (and advice from my therapist, whom I hope you'll consider seeing too), I wanted to take a moment to officially and respectfully bring closure to what we had.

I know that things haven't been perfect lately, and I accept my share of the responsibility for how things turned out. I never wanted to hurt you — you're an incredible woman, intelligent, compassionate, and genuinely kind. However, I've realized that we've been growing in very different directions, and continuing to push forward with a wedding that no longer reflects where either of us is would be unfair not just to me, but to you and everyone involved.

For transparency and to avoid any confusion or rumors, I've looped in the bridal party on this email. I think it's best if everyone hears the same message directly, without distortions or misinterpretations.

To be clear: our relationship is over.

You can come by the apartment this weekend to collect your things. I've boxed up most of your stuff already — it's labeled and waiting in the foyer. Please text me when you're on the way so I can make myself scarce; I think space is the healthiest thing for both of us right now.

I know this is hard. Believe me, this wasn't easy for me either. But I hope in time, you'll understand that this is the best decision for both of us. You deserve someone who truly sees you and can meet your emotional needs in a way I simply couldn't.

No hard feelings. I still wish you the absolute best, sincerely.

Warm regards, Andrew

P.S. To everyone CC'd — please be respectful and give us both some time before reaching out. This is already hard enough without adding to the drama. Thanks for understanding.

─── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──

You stared at the computer screen longer than you cared to admit. It was bad enough that the man dumped you in front of everyone at your engagement party; now he has sent you an email and CC'd the entire wedding party.

What a fucking asshole.

The day started relatively normally. You had a strange interaction with Maria and Jackie from legal, who scurried off at the sight of you when you walked into the break room. It was weird, but you ignored it and continued to get your coffee. When you got back to your office, you could hear Harry's voice through the wall talking with a business associate. He didn't know you listened out of curiosity and sometimes boredom - you couldn't help it; the walls between your office and his were thin.

You heard a ding from your email inbox, figuring it was legal; IT reminding you to change your password or even Tobias wanting to gossip about who's fucking who in the office- smiling to yourself at your best friend's antics before opening it. Your heart dropped when you saw the name and email address it was sent from, then you realized that your former wedding party bridesmaids and groomsmen, whom you had considered friends at one point, were included too.

When you thought it couldn't affect you any more than it already had, your darling ex-fiancé has decided to humiliate you more. He has a weird sense of entitlement and humility. Acting like a good person, saying he's gone to therapy, and honestly, he should have gone a long time ago.

Love or what you thought was love blinded you from his narcissistic tendencies and his annoying way of demeaning what you did for work.

"My cute little secretary," he would say as if my working for Harry Castillo was anything but an achievement.

You kept rereading the words over and over again. It was almost like a corrupted psalm, a mantra filling your head with nonsense and making you feel guilty. A distant noise buzzes in your ears, but it's irrelevant; the words jumping off the computer are all you can see.

"Y/N?...."

"Y/N!"

Harry's voice comes through the door, knocking on it, trying to get your attention.

"Yes, Mr. Castillo?" You murmured, still torn between his voice and your computer. There was no response from the other side.

You sighed. "Yes, Harry?"

You could feel his smile through the wood and wallpaper.

"I need to speak with you about the deposition."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Deposition? I didn't know anything about that."

"It's something I've been handling myself. Can you just come over to my office for a minute?"

"Yes, Harry, I'll be right there."

His footsteps fade away as you get up, gathering your notepad and pen. When you opened the door, he was casually sitting back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him like he was waiting for you to admit a secret that he already knew.

Harry motions for you to sit down in the same chair as yesterday, waiting for him to speak about the "deposition."

"So you wanted to speak about the dispos-" you started to speak.

"That was a lie." He says, cutting you off

You raise your eyebrow. "A lie? Why would you need to lie?"

He looks at you for a moment, hesitating to tell you whatever was so important that he would lie to you to get you to come to his office. Harry had never done that before, so you were extremely curious as to why he would do something a bit out of character. Suddenly, he shifts in his seat, leaning forward closely, his face close to yours, but not uncomfortable.

"I need you to hear me out, ok?" He stops, then continues. "It's about the gala."

"Are you choosing someone else for your plus one? Or do you want to cancel your invite?"

His face goes white, making the words that just fell out of your mouth equivalent to robbing a bank.

"No. No. No, I still want you to be my plus one..."

"I feel like there is a but in there somewhere."

Harry takes a deep breath before continuing. "I think we can help each other. You know the media paints me as a womanizer and bachelor. Now with you, I'm assuming you want people to stop asking about your...failed engagement."

Your skin prickles at the memory of being left at the front of a grand ballroom, everyone's eyes on you as your fiancé, now ex, walked out the doors without so much as a goodbye and a pathetic sorry.

"Why are you bringing those two things up?" You replied.

"Well, I think we can solve both of our problems. At the gala, we should announce that we are dating."

You know the moment in a movie where the hero says something, and it just makes you stare at the screen for hours after the film has even ended?

Yeah, that is what just happened.

You looked at Harry like he was the hero in the movie, when instead of an incredible speech on defeating evil, or having to band together to defeat the oncoming forces, he said something that only a crackpot could say.

"I-i'm sorry, you said what now?" you exclaimed, your eyes almost bulging out of your head.

"I understand how that may sound, but just listen for a moment, ok? Those around us have vilified both of us, and I think that, even if it's temporary, it can give us some breathing room to at least get them off our backs."

You jumped up, abandoning any professionalism, and were dumbfounded at how he said it so casually.

"Are you kidding me? Harry, you're asking me not only to lie to our coworkers but also to the press and my mother that we're dating. Plus, you want to do it at a gala. A gala where the elite will be in attendance watching our every move, and of all places, you want to announce it there!?" You snapped.

"Y/N...please, I'm trying to help you in this situation. I know your fiancé just emailed-" he stops completely, caught in a lie he hadn't meant to reveal.

"Email? How did you know he emailed me?" You questioned. You walked over to his side of the desk, hands on hips, staring him down until he confessed. "Harry Castillo, what do you mean about the email?"

"It was flagged in the system. Look, that's not important right now. What is trying to figure out how we can convince everyone."

"Wait, wait, I haven't even agreed to the idea."

Harry didn't even flinch. His jaw ticked. The brief hint of something else passes quickly.

"It's just for a brief time. You won't be shackled to me forever. We can draft up something that's ironclad if it'll make you feel better, and we need something more than just my word." He adds that his brown eyes soften towards you, as you cannot look away.

"What else are you going to suggest now? That I move in?" You quipped.

"Tempting," he muttered with a smirk.

"Harry..."

"Look, I just...I do want to help. I hate to see you being leered at everywhere you go in the office. If i had my way everyone would be fired-well monies your friend Tobias" he said, voice softening.

His words settle in, taking your breath away. Harry has always been kind, but this? This is different. You breathe in and out before speaking. You know it's probably a bad idea, but if you agree, your life won't be the same.

"I'm assuming that we'll have to do a couple...stuff like holding hands and...kissing." You said, blushing.

Harry shifts in his seat once more, almost uncomfortable under your intense stare. The idea itself was crazy, impossible even. You know Harry extremely well, not only having worked with him for two years, but you have also practically scheduled his entire life.

The question is, does he know you?

"Look, this isn't how I imagined asking you." He said quietly. "I mean, I didn't think about asking you something like this at all."

He pauses, then meets your gaze again, soft and vulnerable.

"But the truth is, I'm tired. Tired of the way the media paints me as some womanizer. In reality, I keep myself busy whenever I'm not at work or other functions, as you know. It's strange, yes...But I still think it can help us."

He lets the words hang between you, his fingers tapping on the desk. Not in annoyance but curiosity.

"So what do you say?"

─── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──

So what do you say?

His voice is a constant reminder of what you just agreed to. A deal. A contract. You two made a 3-month agreement to fake date, starting at the gala, to avoid further negative press and gossip about your failed engagement.

"So what do you say?"

Not even a beat passes.

"Yes."

The hallway leading to the elevator felt like time was moving slowly. Your legs felt heavy like cinder blocks, dragging behind you. The rest of the day went by without a hitch. Harry had meetings to attend to all day, so you were left to your own devices. As you sat in your office, you kept thinking it was a mistake and considered telling him that it was off when he got back.

But another part of you, the hurt part, wanted to get back at your ex, so you are starting to move on just as quickly as he did, if any of his Instagram posts were true.

During your break, you couldn't help but check it. It's where you saw a post of him with a girl you don't recognize.

You and he had only separated a week prior.

Later that night, when you were sitting on your couch eating some leftovers, you heard your doorbell. It's probably something your mother sent or a salesman going door-to-door.

You didn't expect to see a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bottle of your favorite wine.

There was a note attached to it.

Y/N...

I know our "relationship" is just an agreement, but you still deserve to be treated correctly.

I hope you enjoy them.

-Harry

It seems the big, bad Harry Castillo has a heart after all.

#harry castillo fanfiction #harry castillo fic #harry castillo x you #harry castillo smut #harry castillo #the materialists #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedroispunk #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #zaddy pedro #pedrohub #pascalispunk #Spotify #Youtube

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reiderwriter · 2 years ago

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♦️Pardon The Way That I Stare♦️

Chapter 8 of That's What You Get

Prev Chapter || Next Chapter

Summary: After some encouragement from Emily and Penelope, you try to explain your reaction to Reid at work. Until you find yourself reacting to him more and more, distracting you from doing your job. Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, Reader is just really horny for Reid (REAL). A/N: We're getting closer to the climax and I'm SO beyond excited for everyone to read the next chapter because I think it's going to be so good but also so evil and I enjoy that very much. If you like the series, let me know by dropping a message in the replies or in my inbox, and follow my other account @reiderslibrary for just fics from me without my random thoughts and bullshit in between... You can find masterlist here, and the series masterlist is linked here!

You were stupid, there was no other logical explanation for it. Staring at Emily on your doorstep as your brain stood there, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, trying to process the words she’d just said to you, there was really only one thing running through your brain.

“I’m a fucking dumbass.” you groaned, your hands coming up to your head as you pondered your next move.

“There’s no chance that you’ll believe this was all just one practical joke that I’ve been playing to test how quickly you could turn up at my place with wine?” You looked up hopefully at Emily, and she returned with a concerned look of her own, that silently communicated ‘No, I wasn’t born yesterday.’

“Worth a shot, come on in.” You opened the door wider for Emily and grabbed a second glass from your kitchen to share the wine before she could start her interrogation.

“So,” she prompted as soon as you returned to the couch, and you sighed heavily as you nodded and began.

“I married Reid in Vegas.”

“Yes, I got that from the text, what I didn’t get was why, what, when, where, who, and how! Question words, Y/N, important information if you please.” You chuckled at Emily’s tone, and you melted a little into your couch. Just like with Penelope, letting others know had comforted you. You’d never been one to bottle up your emotions, and you couldn’t exactly tell Spencer how you felt about him, so your dearest FBI-assigned best friends were a welcome compromise.

“You promise not to tell anyone? Penelope knows, and so does Rossi, but no one else does. Well maybe someone else but I don’t know who that someone is - long story.” You rambled, still aware of the promise you’d made with Spencer, and knowing that you’d actually broken it twice now.

“Scouts honor, now get on with it.”

“You were never a scout.”

“That’s beside the point, Y/N, now spill!”

“Do you remember when we finished the case in Vegas last weekend, and we all wanted nothing more than to go home, but the jet was landed?” A small nod encourages you to continue. “Well, Reid offered to show me this bar that he thought I’d enjoy, and honestly, I’d had a tense phone call with my mom and was feeling a bit crappy, so I thought a drink wouldn’t hurt.”

“A drink might get you married though.” You glared at her at the interruption, and she held her hands up in surrender as you continued.

“The bar was amazing, and he noticed I was feeling down, and I don’t know, he just has this way of making me feel calm and fully together. I was a mess earlier that day, but with like one short conversation, he kind of turned my mood entirely around.” You flushed then and decided to ignore Emily’s next interjection.

“Oh god…”

“Apparently after that, we went to a casino or another bar or something, but honestly, I drank so much I don’t remember any of that. But at some point, we bought a very expensive engagement ring, made our way to the Bureau for Wedding Licences and then a chapel and now we’re legally married.” You tried to end your story there, but Emily wasn’t having that.

“No, you’re not stopping there. You said you kissed, and you ruined everything, and you mentioned a wedding night in that text, do not shortchange me now, Y/L/N. Wait, should I be calling you Reid now?” She grinned at the flush that coated your entire body with that, and you buried your head in your pillows.

“Okay, okay. Well, we’re trying to figure out who the witnesses to our wedding were. We know that two team members were there, and Penelope was one of them, but Spencer doesn’t know that yet. Again, another long story.” You let your words sink in as you realize the tangled mess you’d spun for yourself in the last week.

“We spent some time researching our options on Saturday night, to see if we could get our memories to come back and I might not have left until a couple hours ago?”

“Y/N! You’ve been banging Reid for the last three days?”

“No! No, nothing like that, we didn’t- well, we did just not at his house, but also I don’t think you want to hear about that.” You spilled all the details about your last few days with Reid, his touches, his care, the dates you’d been on, the way you’d wrapped yourself around each other in your sleep, but still woken up to an empty bed, all the way up to that fateful kiss and your stupid reaction.

“So there, I’ve ruined it.” Emily looked at you pityingly and started to say something when your doorbell rang a second time.

“That’s reinforcements,” Emily said, standing and moving to greet the newcomer herself. You were relieved when Penelope Garcia came marching through the door, ice cream in hand and mouth already moving.

“Have no fear, your guardian angel is here. Emily texted me en route and I disentangled myself from my plans with a now very suspicious Derek Morgan to race over here. I think I managed to throw him off the scent by mentioning my ukelele lessons with Sam though, he always kinda glazes over whenever I go into heavy details about that.” She perches herself on the couch beside you and starts organizing things on the table, pulling out three tubs of ice cream and locating adequate spoons in the drawer.

“Pen, you didn’t have to do all this…”

“Yes, I did. Emily tell her I did. I need all the details that you suddenly remembered Y/N or I’m going to go crazy, and let me tell you, I am not an effective tech analyst when my mind is all aflutter with wonder.” You smiled awkwardly at the situation. You’d glossed over the details of your wedding night with Emily, going no further than insinuating that you’d had sex, but now the pressure was on.

“We just want to help you, Y/N. And we’re morbidly curious.” Emily joined in. Both of their eyes were trained on you in a hopeful expression, leaving the ball firmly in your court as you fought down the embarrassment rising from the back of your throat.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath.

“I think it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” was all you managed to squeak out before they were reacting, asking twenty questions each in the space of a minute as your body both caught fire at the memory and shrunk down to the size of an ant at the attentions.

“Calm down, calm down, I’ll tell you more but you have to calm down.” They stilled themselves and bit their tongue, and you continued.

“Well I don’t want to get into the, uh, specific details, but let’s just say that he’s very good at putting theory into practice. That or he’s actually very experienced in sex and nobody ever realized, because the things he was doing were like, expert-level maneuvers. I didn’t think I was that flexible until he was hitting from-”

“OKAY not that much detail, this is still Reid we’re talking about.”

“Sorry,” you giggled sheepishly and decided to spare them all the details. “All I’ll say is that we both finished multiple times. And I might have stupidly let him finish inside of me.”

“Y/N, you should know better! Safe sex is really important, especially if you’re fucking in a hotel room in Vegas.” Emily half-chastised you, but you could hear the humor in her voice and just rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly having sex with a stranger, I was having sex with my husband.” That got you a teasing cooing from the two women and you buried your face in your hands again.

“So he’s your husband now, is he? How long have you been married? Like three days?”

“Five. Fuck, we’re running out of time.” The length of time that had elapsed since you’d walked down the aisle shocked you as soon as you’d acknowledged it, and you downed your glass of wine as your brain ran rampant.

“Rossi said that if we didn’t tell everyone in a week, he’d do it for us so we didn’t lose our jobs, and we need to file for an annulment soon so we don’t have to get a divorce but there’s like… a one week window, and it’s already been five days. Shit. shit shit shit shit.”

“Hold on, Y/N, you said he kissed you earlier today, right? I wouldn’t exactly recommend getting married and then dating your partner, but it sounds like you both at least like each other enough to pursue this relationship, why would you need an annulment?” Emily’s confusion only served to remind you of the reason they were both here in the first place.

“That’s the problem. I think he thinks I don’t like him like that. And it’s totally my fault that he thinks that, because when he kissed me I didn’t react well and then he just left, and I think I ruined everything.”

“Define not reacting well,” Emily probed further.

“I pushed him away and slammed the door in his face. But that was only because I remembered everything that happened between us on our wedding night, and remembering the most satisfying experience of your entire existence while face-to-face with the man who you’d hitherto never thought capable of that, and having it occur in like 0.02 of a second is a paralyzing experience.”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot,” Penelope whispered from her side of the couch and you nodded heartily in agreement.

“And what, he just left?” Emily asked again, tone incredulous with all the information she was receiving.

“Well when I’d had my moment and realized what I’d done, I opened the door again and he wasn’t there. And that was only like a minute later. He messaged me this after he left.” You grabbed your phone and opened it up, showing the girls the message and noting their winces in reaction to his words.

“It’s bad, right?”

“No! No, this is salvageable! You just have to… be brave?” Penelope didn’t seem to believe her own words as you pulled your phone back and poured yourself another glass, ready to drown your sorrows once again. Emily was a little more confident.

“Okay. Here’s what you do. I’m going to talk to Rossi for you tomorrow morning at work, get him to hold off on his big reveal while you go and explain everything to Spencer. How does that sound?”

“That sounds doable, I guess.” You sniffled a little, rereading the text having made your emotions jump back up to the surface again as you fought off tears.

“Brilliant. And then you can stay married and continue having wonderful sex, and make some genius babies and make me their godmother.” You threw a pillow at Penelope that she was just too slow to catch, and filled the rest of your evening with wine, ice cream, and good company.

–X–

Emily sends you a thumbs-up text after she talks to Rossi the next morning, and a weight falls off your shoulder. One step down, one to go right?

You’d arrived at work probably a little bit too early, having spent the night tossing and turning and playing every possible outcome in your mind over and over again. It had been half an hour before the next person turned up, and Hotch had only given you a confused half-nod in greeting before secluding himself in his office. Rossi had been the next to arrive, about twenty minutes later, and he too had questioned your presence but not in so many words.

“Early morning, Y/N? Settling into new routines in your newly-wed life, are we?” You’d stuttered out an answer but he was halfway up the stairs by the time you finished, obviously meaning the comment to be rhetorical.

Morgan, Emily, and JJ were all next, showing up only a few minutes before your shift officially started, but there was no sign of Reid, and you were running out of time - and privacy - to talk to him.

Then at 9 sharp the elevator doors opened, and from your seat at your desk, you watched him step out, feeling your tongue grow thick and your heart beat faster as he made his way into the office. This wasn’t how you were supposed to feel, this was cartoonish like a teenage boy in a brat pack movie watching the hottest girl in the school walk down a corridor. This was Spencer, your husband, and your best friend, and here you were feeling giggly and shy.

You almost felt like texting Emily back, telling her if you started giggling and twirling your hair, to take you out back and put you out of your misery.

He didn’t make eye contact with you as he settled into his morning routine, pulling off his scarf, putting his bag away, and then moving to the kitchen to fill up on his morning coffee. You did your best to covertly follow him, trying not to alert the others to your heart eyes as you looked at him and forgot everyone else.

“Spencer, can we talk?” You blocked off the entry to the kitchen as he spun around to face you, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

“Sure, Y/N, what’s up?” His voice didn’t betray any of his emotions, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and you could tell you’d hurt him the day before. You took a deep breath and walked closer to him as he continued making his coffee, again refusing to look you in the eyes as he continued as normal.

“It’s about yesterday-”

“We probably shouldn’t talk about this here, right?” He cut you off in a whisper, his voice sending shivers down your spine as you gripped the countertop beside him for support. You’d gotten closer than you expected at first, somehow magnetically drawn to him, your body language just as open to him as he was closed to you.

“I think we need to, Spence. I’m sorry, I panicked.”

“No, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have done that-”

“Spencer I got my memory back.” His eyes widened and he blossomed in front of you again, attention entirely on you now as he took in your words.

“You did?”

“Partially, only the… Only the memories of your hotel room.” His eyes darkened in understanding, moving unconsciously closer to you, placing a hand next to yours on the counter as he effectively trapped your body in.

“Oh. Those memories.”

“Yeah. So you can see why I was a bit distracted.” He nodded at your words, but he was still coming closer to you now. Your body felt weak underneath you, entirely reacting to his closeness, the warmth rolling off his body, the electricity sparking between you despite him not touching you anywhere.

“Distracted?” His eyes darted to your lips as he grew closer, and your legs chose that exact second to give in underneath you.

Your knees hit the ground uncomfortably, as he reacted to your sudden movement, trying to grab you and pull you up, but only managing to grab the hand that was already holding the counter above you, awkwardly twisting and pinning your arm up.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m sorry, I think… I think I should go,” you were face to face with his crotch, and looking up at him in that position was certainly giving you unwholesome thoughts. He jumped back as you scrambled out from underneath him, begging whatever god was out there that none of the profilers you worked with would question the dazed state that would follow you for the rest of the day.

–X–

Despite your need to straighten things out with Spencer, you’d avoided him for the rest of the day, and, having been called out on a case, you spent the better part of the week avoiding him as well. After literally falling for him, you’d decided that maybe in your newly weakened lovesick stage, it was best for everyone on the team that you try to stay as clear-headed as possible.

Not everyone on the team, though, agreed. He’d trailed after you like a lost puppy for days now, and you wanted nothing more than to give in and throw yourself in his arms. But there was a murderer on the loose and you needed to give your entire attention to it.

He’d tried multiple times to get you to help him with some work, suggesting that you go through some files together, or check out one of the witnesses together, much to your discomfort. Luckily, Hotch had picked up on some of the discomfort between the two of you and had kept you somewhat apart, not asking questions.

But the last night on the case, he’d cornered you, and you had to work twice as hard to extricate yourself from the situation.

“Y/N, why are you avoiding me?” He’d caught you alone in the hotel lobby, pulling you into a dark corner without much foot traffic to confront you. “Is it because of the kiss? Because the way you talked about getting your memories back the other day made me think we were okay about that again, but if we’re not then I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not the kiss, Spence, and we really shouldn’t be talking about this here.” You tried to turn and leave, but he grabbed your elbow and spun you back into him, bodies pressed flush up against each other now.

“Spencer let go, someone could see us.” Even you knew your voice sounded half-hearted, not really wanting him to stop touching you at all.

“If it’s not the kiss, then why are you acting like I don’t exist?” His face was close again, and you felt your body reacting the same way it had done in the staff kitchen. Your knees went weak again, but he was prepared this time, holding you up in his arms, gently maneuvering you so you were pinned against the wall.

“Is this it?” He asked, letting his hands trail over your body as you whimpered under his touch. “Your reactions?”

Your brain was empty of a response, so you just held still, desperate to see what he would do or say next.

“You know, the deadline on our annulment has passed. It’s been over a week now,” he said, his forehead resting on yours as he brought his hips ever closer.

You were the one that gave in first, pushing your head up to capture his lips in a crushing kiss, needing him the way you needed water, food, and sleep. You’d deprived yourself for so long, and now you were hungry, ravenous, and he was the same. Your lips opened, and soon his tongue was snaking in, caressing you in ways both familiar and new, and your entire body heated up to its boiling point.

You moaned under his touch as his hands wandered, silently begging for more of him. Your brain only kicked back into gear when you registered the sound of voices about to turn the corner. Quickly pushing him off, you pulled yourself together just as JJ and Morgan found you there.

“Y/N, Reid, Garcia got a positive ID on our unsub, we’re about to go SWAT his house, get your gear ready.”

Either you were very good at masking your emotions and the physical outburst you’d just shared, or Morgan was just too caught up in getting his job done that he didn’t look too closely at the way Reid’s tie was half undone, your lips were pink and swollen and that both of you were breathing abnormally. Whichever it was, you were just thankful that neither of them questioned you as you all left to go and do your job.

–X–

To your detriment, you’d avoided him on the jet back as well, choosing to wrap a blanket around yourself and sit in a single seat at the end of the plane rather than risk his hands on you again like last time. You already couldn’t be trusted around him, and you wanted to take no risks with everyone else present.

He’d sat in your line of vision purposefully though, making eye contact every now and then to remind you that he was still watching you. You’d feigned exhaustion and pretended to sleep in the end, despite the flight duration only being a measly two hours. He’d let you exit the plane alone though, and said a general goodbye to the team upon landing, giving you a second look and wave before taking himself home.

The ball was firmly in your court.

“What the hell was all that?” Emily whispered in your ear as you both watched him leave alone. “What happened to the plan?” You smiled awkwardly, not wanting to admit how fucking horny the man made you feel, and how it was affecting your work performance so badly that avoiding him was the only way to keep your job.

“We had the talk, everything’s fine.”

“The two of you aren’t walking out of here hand in hand, so obviously everything is not fine, Penelope, tell me I’m wrong.” The other woman had stumbled into the bullpen upon landing and Emily had immediately drawn her into your hushed conversation as soon as Morgan had made to go home as well.

“What’s going on, hot stuff, I thought you’d be enjoying every second of your marital bliss by now.”

“He’s too distracting.” You whisper shouted at him. “He kissed me again last night and I almost let him take me in the lobby. And Morgan and JJ almost caught us, so yeah, he’s too distracting.”

“Oh god, you’re horny for Reid.” Emily laughed slightly at the implication as if it had just dawned on her and you hadn’t had an entire conversation where you fawned about how good in bed he was.

“Yes, I’m horny for Reid, okay, now please stop laughing, I’m in pain.”

“Well you know there’s only one solution, right?” Penelope said as if it were clear as day. “You need to go have sex with him again. See if you can be normal with him when you’re not so pent up.”

“I don’t know, Pen….” You were still staring at the elevator doors, even after it had been so long since he’d left.

“What is there to not know? You like him, he likes you, you’re married. Like you said before, it’s not like you’re having sex with a stranger, he’s your husband.” Having your words thrown back in your face gave you the boost of confidence that you needed, and you sprang from your chair.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Emily repeated and you looked back down at the two women.

“Okay, I’m gonna… I’m gonna go seduce my husband, I guess?” You turned on your heel and left, marching out to the sounds of whoops and cheers from the two women behind you.

🏷️ @w-windyy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @daddy-dotcom @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @ghostheartbeat @casss2111 @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @academiacoffeelover @softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @wakaladjarin @ratbastardchild @mcira @danika1994 @stargurl99 @whovianwholikesgirls @its-not-too-late-for-coffee

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid series #criminal minds self insert

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jasmines-library · 1 year ago

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Hello ml !! How’ve you been? <3

I was wondering if you’d be up for writing smth with the batfamily, and maybe their reaction to reader coming back home from a sleepover at their partners house, and telling them that they got cheated on?

Have a great day/evening/night <33 🫶

Heartbreak Doesn't Feel So Good.

Hello Hello! Thanks for requesting again, I always love to see you in my inbox. I hope you have been well. Sorry it's a little on the shorter side but I wanted to get this out for you today.

Word Count: 1k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

The first thing Jason noticed when you stepped through the door was that there were tears running down your face. He had always been observant, but he knew you well. He could tell that your mascara ran beneath your eyes from the way your shoulders were hunched to match your slow movements, gaze firm on the ground. And if he listened carefully enough, he could hear the sniffling that you failed to conceal as you tried to wipe away the evidence of your upset.

“What’s that matter?” He was up in a second, moving toward your side. His face and voice were laced with concern.

You had stayed the night round your partner's house and weren’t supposed to be back for at least a few hours. Jason had seen the way you left, grinning as you carried your bags to the car. But now you stood crestfallen, dropping your bag on the floor in defeat. Something had clearly gone wrong and Jason was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“What happened?” He frowned, helping you remove your jacket.

“I-” Your lip trembled as your eyes filled with tears again. Jason pulled you to his chest and let you weep.

After a tender moment, he guided you over gently to the couch where he sat you down and took your hand in his, repeating his question. His heart nearly broke when you looked up at him.

“They…They cheated on me.” your voice broke as you stuttered out what happened.

Jason felt his fingers clenching to fists.

“What?!” The voice hadn’t come from Jason. It had come from Tim who was passing by the room on his way back from the cave.

“I don’t know what happened…” You sobbed. “I thought we were fine. And then they left for a moment… their phone kept going off. So I checked it. I didn’t want to impose…but I thought it might have been something important. And then I saw her name. And the messages.”

“I swear to god-” Jason nearly growled.

“And when they came back into the room I confronted them. And they didn’t even try to deny it!” More tears streamed from your face, falling hot like acid. Like a lingering reminder. A cruel joke. “They just told me that ‘they didn’t love me anymore’. That they had ‘found someone better’. What kind of an answer is that?!-”

Tim tried to soothe you by placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Shh. It’s gonna be okay kid.”

“But…I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

“What’s going on?” Dick had arrived with young Damian in tow. The pair had been sparring and had decided to check up on Tim following his absence, but were starstruck to find you bawling on the couch.

“What’s wrong little bat?” Damian asked. His voice was surprisingly gentle and held much more concern than you thought was ever possible for the stubborn boy.

All four eyes watched you, anticipating you to speak. But you just couldn't, your mind was too busy and you didn’t dare utter the words that you were trying so hard to believe weren’t true. You knew that the moment you said them again all of your walls would come tumbling down, torn from whatever remaining supports were keeping them upright.

“They cheated on her.” Jason spat.

“What an asshole.” Damian jeered. He had seen how happy the pair of you were and the thought of someone switching up that quickly made him feel queasy.

“Oh y/n/n.” Dick sighed “I’m so sorry. That’s unfair.”

You shrugged.

“Didn’t even give her a reason.” Jason continued. You could practically see the steam coming from his ears, despite how he tried not to lose his temper for your sake. But the more you revealed the harder he was finding it. “Just left her at a snap of their fingers.”

“It’s their loss. They didn’t deserve someone like you in the first place.” Dick told you.

“Exactly.” Damian nodded in agreement. “You’re totally way out of their league.”

“You think so?” You sniffled.

“100%. You’re worth so much more than anything in this world and that asshole didn’t deserve any of you.”

A smile upturned at the corner of your lips. Tim reached out and wiped the tears away from your eyes.

“Hey. No more of that crying okay? It’s gonna be fine.”

You nodded, though you still couldn’t shake the sadness from your bones.

“Wanna watch shitty movies and eat ice cream?” Dick asked, sensing this.

“Please?”

And the four of them moved quickly, gathering pillows which they chucked onto the couch to create a pillow fort of sorts. Damian ran into the kitchen to grab ice cream, though he was uncertain of what flavour so he grabbed two alongside a handful of spoons and a plate of brownies that Alfred had just finished making. Then they made themselves comfortable on the couch, surrounding you in their embrace before letting you decide on a film to watch.

And so the five of you sat there for hours, watching chick flicks and trying to devour tubs of ice cream before it melted completely. As much as they would never admit it, Damian and Tim were mouthing along to the lines of the cheesy films, or singing along to the songs. One of their guilty pleasures. Jason seemed engrossed in the movies too, surprisingly. Though you weren’t sure if he was pretending to be interested and was actually plotting the inconspicuous murder of your partner as revenge. The thought made you chuckle. The five of you stayed bundled up on the couch until slowly, one by one you began to drift off and your heartbreak had been forgotten for a few hours at least.

When Bruce arrived back from his late night patrol and found you all together, his heart warmed. They were always going to take good care of you.

BATFAM TAGLIST:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

@mamapucket

@hearts4robs

@harleycao

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lovestory · 21 days ago

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i haven't really felt like opening tumblr at all this year, but it was obviously very moving when i saw taylor's post about her masters, and i thought of this community immediately. i thought about the day when we found out scooter had bought the masters initially, posting about it, and taylor seeing those posts we made on here. i feel pretty inclined to share this with you: i got a new job, i started last week - and it pays more than double what my last job did. i'm the in house graphic designer for a huge commercial construction company now, they take really good care of me, and i've dropped out of uni because i have found success and love for design again. i didn't even know opportunities like that existed in the small area i live in, and i definitely didn't think they'd choose me.

in january i made the decision to leave tumblr. aside from a general disinterest and struggling massively with my mental and physical health, i was just tired. being treated the way i was online since before i even turned 13 was exhausting. i had people in my inbox when i was a minor sending me sexual messages and begging me to post my prom pictures, people making "gossip" blogs about me, people sending me my address, people sending me three part messages about why they hate me. whenever i'd say i hated this kind of behaviour, people would blame me for not turning my ask box off. last year in particular i'd dealt with a couple of stalking incidents and completely closed myself off from people contacting me on here. but instead of respecting that, i would just have other blogs get anons about me. one day i saw a mutual get a message about me, and half the shit they were saying just wasn't even true, and i'd just fucking had enough. i just wanted to step away and be a fan in a different way for awhile and try to focus on getting better. consume content and think what i thought without people arguing or making vague posts in response.

i moved out of our rental in april. as we were moving out, it led to the discovery that the entire house was infested with black mould that had been painted over/covered up when it was renovated. this mould was making me incredibly sick after living with it for so long, my entire body was covered in hives every day, i couldn't breathe, i couldn't keep my eyes open, i felt awful. our new house is finished being built, they're just doing the landcaping. i can't explain how sick i felt every day, and what a relief it is to not be in that kind of pain anymore, and to not be renting anymore.

i've always felt like i was working harder than everyone else just to compensate for the fact that i'm me. it was so liberating to walk in for an interview and know i had exactly what they needed. it was so liberating to be offered so much money for what i do, no arguments, no telling me that they couldn't afford to pay me decently. i nearly gave up on graphic design, i loved it too much to let it be ruined. i'm not afraid to say that i'm good at what i do anymore, i approach my work with confidence. for six years i've worked as the only employee for two separate businesses, being paid worse than anyone else i know, and i'm so relieved to be working with people again - talking to people my age. the isolation was killing me.

it makes me emotional looking at my blog as an archive now, i am so proud of all the little things i made over the years and what i contributed. being a fan of taylor was my life for so long and the only thing i held onto to keep going, i love the records of hers that i have, i love the memories, i love that she used to see my posts. and i'd be lying if i said what the fandom has turned into hasn't turned me off from participating. i will never return to tumblr in the capacity i once was, but if i ever get a thought or an itch to make something fandom related, i'll post it. i guess it felt important to share how drastically, a lot of you have followed me for over 10 years now. i really had to push myself to bring myself out of where i was stuck, it was really hard. but it's okay now.

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crowleysgirl56 · 1 year ago

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The world is on fire. It’s been on fire for a while now. I have struggled severely for the last few years with attempting to find any happiness in anything. I’ve always loved Good Omens, but it become such a specific hyper focus since season 2 aired, and for once I found a tiny little space in the corner of the internet that I could consider my happy place. This fandom and everyone in it finally brought me a little happiness again. It is now on fire too. So yeah, I’m going to pull away for a little while.

To everyone who is randomly getting anonymous inbox messages from people screaming at you that you’re a terrible person because you like “that pedo David Tennant” (like I have been, I assume it’s the same random person targeting a bunch of people), I feel for you, I’m with you, I’m sending you my thoughts and love, I hope you can just ignore, delete, not engage and move on.

For those who are upset over everything that has occurred with the allegations against Neil Gaiman, you’re feelings are valid. You can separate the art from the artist. You can feel angry with him, sympathy for the victims, and sad that it could affect season 3. All things can be true at once.

So let’s remember a few things:

1) his actions are creepy at best and abhorrent at worst.

2) believing women means giving them the space and time to hear what they have to say, afford them empathy, and not dismiss them outright.

3) the court of public opinion is not the place to make judgment.

4) Boris Johnson’s sister, who is connected to TERF ideology, dropping a podcast the day before a significant general election may perhaps not be the best bastion of truth.

5) screaming at each other won’t solve anything. Please be kind.

So I’m going to take a step back for a bit, touch some grass, and hope the fires are slightly more under control when I get back.

#good omens #David Tennant #Michael Sheen #Neil Gaiman #touch some grass #please be kind #everything is on fire #it’s not fine

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ilovelyneysm07 · 1 year ago

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So, what does one do, when they learn that their copy of Genshin has become self aware? Research it? Report it? Revel in it? Become Paranoid about being kidnapped into the game? Read fic about it get a clear idea?

No, well, atleast reader decided that wasn’t any option, they were just going to drop that shit like it’s hot, and move on to Star Rail, after all they didn’t really like meta-media… But it followed, That damned Doctor seemed to stare just a bit too much… And the cards, the gosh darn cards.

So, the reader thought, might aswell just see if it’s Hoyoverse Trolling them, play some Prakitect and finally finish the campign… But then, turns out, no matter what they do. Reader can’t escape the phantom of the Magician and The Doctor. The park guests always seem to stay for just a bit longer, gloss over staff areas being slightly visible. Oh, and the slight upticks in money for no reason, presumably for donations.

Now, Reader needs to go back figure out why this is happening to them and how do they fix it.

(Perceptive!Reader is cursed with every game they play becoming self aware.)

ANON THIS IS... AMAZING??? WHAT THE FUCK???? I LOVE IT?????

This is literally my first ask (sorta, more like "message in the inbox" kind of thing) and it's so- good?? I love it, anon, I love you (/p) your mind is *chef kiss*. I love the idea.

And I really get the Reader here, like, I love reading about self aware games and shit, but EXPERIENCE IT?? Hell nah, I'm deleting my account fr. Imagine your favorite characters following you to other games, it'd be actually terrifying.

But this is really good, Anon! Keep 'em coming! (And if you want me to make it a drabble or smth just let me know!)

#perceptive!reader #genshin lyney #genshin #lyney #lyney x reader #honkai star rail x reader #self aware genshin #self aware hsr #genshin impact sagau #dr ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #dr ratio #dr ratio hsr #hsr dr ratio #genshin impact lyney

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pixie-felix · 4 months ago

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Last message for the night I promise. I'm so sorry for blowing up your inbox ;-; If this is bad I sincerely apologize. More better thoughts will come in the future

Dom!Innie: He may be the maknae and he def has a noona kink, but he likes taking care of you (as seen in previous conversations. It's giving service/soft dom. Turning off both your phones because you don't need that right now? Treating you to extra orgasms because you had a hard day/week?) He loves making you smile whether that means gifting you that dress you had your eye on or getting the dorm to himself for an at-home date. He does love having things to himself and that includes you most of the time. You're his sweet loving noona so it's unlikely you'll have to endure punishments. He's not one for edging, but thrives off your pleasure so he'd more likely be into overstimming you (he's confident you can give him one more). It fills him with pride that he can make you cum that many times, that he knows just what makes your legs shake, that you let him mark you up to his heart's content. He takes aftercare notes from you and you're the main person he enjoys skinship from so on long nights be ready for cuddles, kisses, and falling asleep with one arm around your waist locking you in place as the other traces your back.

--🍭

First of all, spam me. Spam me all day, every day, as much as you want. Every time I see your emoji in my inbox I do a little happy dance (very cool, I know) and find a quiet corner to huddle over my phone like some kind of smut goblin.

Secondly. You have never had a bad idea in your life. Stop such nonsense thinking. Or, just put your insecurities in my ask box so I can BEAT THEM OUT OF YOU WITH LOVE AND ENTHUSIASM BECAUSE YOU'RE BRAIN IS GREAT AND EVERYONE WHO IS COOL AGREES.

That was a little intense, I apologise. Threats of violence are my love language 🫶

Okay, so I've had this Innie headcanon in my brain for a while, waiting for the right moment to crawl out through my keyboard and into the wilds of Tumblr.

So, it seems in these scenarios we're making, we're basically poly with all of skz, right? The ballbusting one is my favourite so far. That is taking me places.

You remember how Innie (fuck it, I might start calling him Ayen too, that's such a pretty spelling, and it's accurate, I'm going off topic, shit) is your kiss and don't tell boy?

Well, there's one accidental exception to that rule.

Much like how Felix and Innie discovered about ballbusting because hyung line were discussing it?

Well, drunk!hyung line were discussing the inaccuracies of porn, and Innie isn't really listening because he's beating Lixxie at uno. So when a currently unidentified hyung starts bemoaning squirting as something that never happens in real life, I.N doesn't think twice before going "What are you talking about? Noona does that every time."

BOOM. ACCIDENTAL MIC DROP.

Chaos ensues. All the hyungs are pestering, nay, hounding Innie for the deets. Trying to figure out exactly. What. It. Is. that Innie does that causes the mythical squirting happen.

Felix is having a minor uno based breakdown, but tomorrow when he remembers the kerfuffle he might be brave and ask Innie about it. After all, they shared their first ballbusting together. That forms a bond, right?

Of course, Innie tells them nothing. And makes a point of never being around drunk!hyung line when they're discussing anything sexual henceforth.

Chan/Changbin/Hyunjin (+Han) are going to be going mad trying to figure it out. Hyunjin is definitely going to start "accidentally" walking in on you and the maknae a lot. Heck, maybe Chan will too. Suddenly, they're all doing your laundry for you, buying you silly little gifts, any little excuse to come into your room urgently.

Han: LOOK NOONA I BOUGHT YOU A CACTUS THEY'RE SO CUTE DON'T YOU LOVE HIM!? 🥰🥰🥰 (I feel like I read this in a fic or an smau, I'll see if I can find it to link up but yes hello if this is your fic/smau I've taken the idea from pls let me know so I can credit u 🫶)

Chan: Hey love, I tumble dried your pajamas. They're still warm so if you put them on now, you can be all cozy 🥰 Oh, hi Jeongin. Fancy seeing you here. Well, now that noona is getting undressed, who's up for a quick three way?

Changbin: I made you a protein shake now please may I bench press you 💪🙏🥰

Hyunjin: *bursts in* YANG JEONGIN YOUR SECRETS WILL BE MINE HOW DOES SQUIRTING WORK TELL ME NOW OR I'M GOING TO WALK INTO TRAFFIC

Lino "doesn't care". But he does start paying more attention to how you and Innie interact on a daily basis. For completely unrelated reasons of course.

Seungmin actually doesn't care. Because Seungmin is full of his own secrets... 👀 And because he's careful to never be around drunk!hyung line when they're horny. (I feel like there is a backstory as to why he avoids his drunk horny hyungs, but I currently have nothing for that.)

#🍭 anon #skz smut #i.n smut #jeongin smut #innie smut #ayen smut

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lewismcqueen · 1 month ago

Text

written in red. 03

vamp!lh44 x black!reader

read from beginning | 02 | 04

summary: You recieve free VIP tickets to VIII's concert in order to write a review. It's more interesting than you thought it would be. wc: 1k a/n: uh-oh watch out everyone there's a new plot device on the loose! Hamilton's diary entries! This chapter is a shorter one but please do let me know your theories in my inbox or comments :) cw: blood mention, implied animal death

“Hello there, friend. I hope you’re well. Can’t say that I’ve been.

Normally, I’d just laugh it off and take it as a compliment when people tell me I ‘don’t look a day over 30’, but now it’s made me a bit paranoid. I’ve found myself staring in the mirror repeatedly, trying to look for an extra line, a wrinkle, even a single gray hair (I found one in my left eyebrow yesterday) just to prove that I’m…normal. That I’m not the superhuman they all seem to want me to be. I gave my last interview on Friday, and I can’t remember anything except for just how badly my teeth ached the entire time. Not even my wisdom teeth hurt that bad when I had to get them pulled as a youngster. Gums are bleeding around my canines. Just my canines, though. Nowhere else. I think something’s wrong. Will document any further symptoms here before I take a trip to the doctor’s.

-LH”

You placed a bookmark carefully between the pages you were reading before shutting the book firmly, placing it in your bag with one hand still gripping the steering wheel. The man seemingly experienced minor health issues before he disappeared, but it seemed he’d made that decision independently of them. Why was he so afraid of the idea of aging slowly? You let out a huff, returning your other hand to the wheel. Not much could be gleaned from this entry, but it was a start. At any rate, you had a concert to attend.

VIII had dropped a new single the day before titled No Strings Attached. It sounded like it would be another ‘fuckboy anthem’, as you’d described some of his songs to Julie on the phone while finishing up your transcript. When you queued it up on your phone, you fully expected sharp 808s beneath a hazy-but-catchy melody. It was not at all what you heard.

The song began with a guitar. A slow, tentative plucking of strings in three-quarter time, the kind of rhythm that sounded like a pendulum swinging - a pocket watch swinging back and forth in front of your eyes. The guitar is joined with haunting, layered background vocals and an atmospheric synth as the song progresses. It was all VIII’s voice. A charming falsetto turned siren. And this siren song only had one verse:

Pull my body from the ground, lover

Tie strings to my arms, legs, and hands

And make me dance.

He repeated this verse, over and over. Each time his voice became harder, raspier. It was as if he was growing more agitated as the song progressed. But was he angry at being manipulated, or begging desperately to keep having his strings pulled?

Something about the song felt…odd. And it wasn't just the unconventional structure. The vocals seemed to echo loudly in your skull despite the song filtering through your shitty car speaker. They made your blood run cold, like you’d just been accused of something. It set your mind—-and heart— racing. As the concert venue came into view, you thought frantically with shorter and shorter breaths, Is he talking to me?

The song ended abruptly and the chill left you, leaving a burning feeling at the back of your head in its place. You took a deep breath. The song was only a minute long. Now released from whatever trance it had put you in, your previous thought seemed silly. The man hardly knew you. Why would you of all people be the recipient of his message?

Finding someplace to park felt like an eternity, but you eventually made it inside with your ticket in-hand before the concert began. The venue was actually a theater of medium size with red embroidered seats. You took your seat in the middle front row, sighing in the midst of fans chattering and security guards giving orders. The stage was hidden behind tall, red velvet curtains that occasionally shifted with activity. This hardly seemed suitable for a suave young r&b artist. Maybe a well-funded off-Broadway production, but not an VIII concert. As the lights dimmed, and folks settled into their seats, you realized it was also a bit chilly. You tugged at the sleeves of your sweater so that they covered your knuckles, your VIP lanyard jingling around your neck as you shifted.

The curtains parted, and the theater was pitch black. In those few moments of darkness, you heard a low hissing sound fill the air. Soft lights illuminated two smoke machines on opposite sides of the stage. Then, a harsh spotlight fell on a dark figure, cloaked in all black such that he looked to be made of just one shape.

The crowd roared.

There was a singular microphone standing in the middle of the stage, and the dark shape that was VIII approached it, the spotlight following him. The crowd got even louder once he slowly removed the hood, revealing a silver fencing mask that glittered beneath the harsh lighting. How he managed to sound as clear as he did behind that mask, you didn’t know, but that silky voice cut through the air with a familiar precision that made your body temperature drop.

“Pull my body from the ground, lover…”

You knew the words, somehow. The girls sitting on either side of you knew the words. It seemed that the whole theater had learned the lyrics to this song that had barely been out for twenty-four hours, and you all sang it in unison. Even when you tried to stop, you felt—deep within your chest—a profound urge to sing. Your vocal chords felt wrong when you didn’t. By the time the song ended and the lights went out again, you could hardly recall what had just happened.

As the show progressed, you slowly began to grasp why the man had chosen a theater. By the tenth song you realized: VIII was telling a story. It had a three-act structure. He began clothed in black, putting his most melancholy and pessimistic tracks first. Not exactly the best way to get the crowd hyped up, but he didn’t seem to care about starting off with fan favorites. Neither did the fans.

A flurry of dancers clothed similarly in black outfits descended upon him, tearing at his cloak until it came apart, revealing a tailored suit underneath that sent the audience into hysterics. It was a bright red that could’ve been seen from the nosebleeds, and you might even say it matched the shade of your father’s jacket. It was tailored in a rather boxy shape, leaving very little room for any hints of the human form underneath to emerge. Black leather gloves gripped the microphone as he sang of heartbreak, desperation, and going back to people you shouldn’t. You noticed that none of the past few numbers had the same trance-inducing effect as the first, but his voice was still…hypnotic. Yes, that was the word. You made a mental note to build around that word for your concert review.

You recognized more of the songs approaching the third ‘act’. VIII had acquired a pair of armored shoulder and knee pads that glinted beneath the lights as he sang of being untouchable, despite the blood-red of his suit suggesting otherwise. He looked like a defeated knight that didn’t want to admit he’d lost. Inevitably, he’d have to shed his bulky armor, which he did by the end of the show, leaving him in nothing but an off-white, Victorian-style shirt that covered his neck area. You were impressed by his commitment to showing as little skin as possible publicly if he could help it. It did make you wonder why he didn’t show that same commitment on the day you interviewed him.

The concert had—admittedly—been so riveting that you nearly forgot you had a backstage pass (courtesy of your editor, of course). Two security personnel led you there, where the man of the hour was currently dabbing sweat from his forehead, the lower half of his face obscured by a black bandana. Dark eyes lifted to meet yours for a second time, crinkling as he smiled underneath the face covering.

“Fancy seeing you again,” he greeted cheerfully. “Have I finally turned you into a fan?”

You gave him a half-smile, patting your laptop through your bag. “Not yet. Just here for a concert review.”

His eyebrows lifted. “My first real concert, and you guys are already writing reviews? Hope I’ve done a good job.”

“I’d say you did pretty alright.”

“In my experience, that’s how Americans say something’s mediocre.”

You giggled, surprising you with how girlish and unprofessional it sounded. Clearing your throat, you continued, “You might be right. But in this case, it just means I had a good time. Best of luck to you.”

Before you could fully turn around to leave, the singer called out, “D’you not want a quick photo before you leave?”

Ah. That was usually what backstage passes were for.

You smiled awkwardly, pulling out your phone as you approached him. “Right, of course!”

It was late at night by the time you returned to your apartment. The thermostat had decided not to work tonight, so you sat cross-legged on your bed in your pajamas, Ferrari jacket draped over your shoulders to keep you warm as you finished up the last paragraph of your draft review. You had set Hamilton’s diary next to you to be opened as soon as you were done with the article, right on the page you had bookmarked. There was a second entry, dated two weeks after the first.

“G’day, mate! (I’ve been practicing my Aussie accent lately. It gets very boring when you’ve decided to go missing until the public finally decides to leave you alone. I haven’t gone outside in ten days!)

I thought I’d have to get both canines pulled, but the dentist didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. You know, besides the bleeding, which has since stopped anyway. They don’t seem to be loose, either. They’re bigger than I remember. Almost…longer. Odd thing, that. Planning a trip to a lovely farm tomorrow. Friend of a friend’s, not far off from the estate. Ciao!

-LH

You flipped the page. This entry seemed to be from the very next day. Hamilton’s handwriting looked drastically different here, you noticed. The words ran together, occasionally with letters that stuck out in odd directions mid-pen stroke. As if he’d been rushing. Shaking.

“I really don’t know what’s got into me. I swear I love animals. I don’t even eat meat. But the poor thing was just…sitting there. Grazing. And suddenly I was hungry in a way I’ve never felt before. I wasn’t thinking, my brain couldn’t muster any coherent human thought other than ‘eat’.

I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I can't apologize to anyone else. I couldn’t get the blood off, so I just ran. Not like anyone could track me. I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrowed. The guy had been vegan, you remember it being a big thing that some fans had even tried to replicate themselves. Did he suddenly decide to break his own rules? He couldn’t possibly have…

You shook your head, slamming the book and your laptop shut before diving under the covers. You had a first draft to submit tomorrow.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lh44 x reader #f1 fanfic #lightning writes

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yoongleboonglepie · 2 months ago

Text

Pechsträhne Chapter 13

BTS x Reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter playlist-Youtube music

Chapter Playlists-Spotify

Word Count Approx: 21k

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A/N: Here is another lore-heavy chapter-but more modern lore if you catch my drift. My inbox is open, and I'm ready to chat while I write chapter 14!! As always, if you want to be added to the taglist shoot me a message! Sometimes I don't get notified of comments.

Love you all!~Delyn

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Recap

“Yes. Now have mercy on my soul, reaper. I have done no wrong.”

Jungkook swallowed, his head tilting to the side in a taunting jerk. “Nothing wrong?” He cast his eyes in Y/n’s direction, taking in the damage Clay had done. Clay’s own gaze finding her gave her the privilege of watching the light of hope drain from his expression like a squashed bug.

Jungkook shifted his weight back so he could lift Clay a few extra inches off the pavement, coiling his muscles up for his final blow.

“Go to hell.”

Jungkook slammed the man into the ground, and Y/n felt the rumble of it within her, but not against her skin–the rumble was not of this world. The man shrieked with misery as his body crumbled into dust within Jungkook’s hands, the particles falling to the road and disappearing beneath the surface.

Silence overtook them.

Namjoon was stuck, hovering over Y/n’s shoulder–slack jawed and still and his face maculated with stripes of black ooze. A comforting hand suspended on her shoulder blades where he had used it to help her up. Y/n was paralyzed with an overwhelming sense of awe–staring at the place where Clay had been only moments before, the space now empty save for Jungkook’s hands that splayed out on the asphalt to support his weight.

The hands that had just slaughtered a demon in front of their very eyes.

Jungkook was the only body that held motion; his shoulders undulating with each inhale and sweat dripping from his brow. He looked beyond exhausted–his face colorless and steadfast–for he himself was still processing what he had just done.

The woods that flanked them on either side trickled back to life from their fearful silence. The birds that had gone quiet returned to their glorious songs and symphonies, and the trees swayed in a peaceful dance of bark and leaf, like they were thanking them through the whispers of the breeze.

Jungkook steadied himself on his heels and tipped his head back, his eyes falling shut while he focused in on bringing in breaths of fresh air through his nose and exhaling them through his mouth in small puffs. He dropped his head down, and with trepidation, brought his pitch black eyes to spear through Y/n and Namjoon. Neither of them spoke to him first, unsure of what to say after what they had witnessed–their silence landing uncomfortably with Jungkook–who took their speechless reverence as anything but.

“Are you…” Jungkook started hesitantly, coming to stand where he was once seated. “Are you scared of me?”

Y/n let her eyes wander from his dark eyes that held the inhuman power to see, and the hands that had just committed feats she would have never thought possible two months prior; and shook her head resolutely. She struggled with pulling herself to her feet and took staggering steps with a level of coordination that’s only fair competition would be a newborn giraffe.

“Jungkook, that was single handedly the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.” Y/n stumbled forward to meet him, the blow to the back of her head messing with her equilibrium, and her adrenaline left her muscles shaking against her will in its efforts to release itself from her body in waves.

Namjoon made a noise of protest in the back of his throat, coming to his own senses and scrambling to his feet to stop her reckless venture that was doomed to end in some kind of fall. He brought an arm around her shoulders and used one of his hands to guide her forwards.

“Agreed–Though I’d prefer if you didn’t just walk willy nilly all over pavement of all things with your second injury of the week.” Namjoon apprehended her with a disbelieving shake of his head, making a ‘come here' gesture with his chin. “Jungkook, come to us before she eats rocks with another fall.”

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes to the side while she tried to escape his hold to walk on her own. “I’m not a grandma Joon, tis but a flesh wound.”

Neither of them cared for her delusional attempt at humor, Jungkook joining in on the smothering by coming up along her other side, wrapping her arm over his shoulder and maneuvering most of her weight onto him.

“I can handle her–bring the car closer.” Jungkook grit his teeth, the hand he dug into her waist fighting to keep her still from her incessant tugging.

Namjoon obliged, running a few yards back to hop into the driver’s side door of Yoongi’s jeep that had been left ajar, turning the engine and putting the car in a slow and controlled roll towards them.

“You’re trusting him to drive?” Y/n winced from the headlights that cut through the misty fog and seared into her eyes. “I thought you wanted me alive…”

Jungkook let out a small humored exhale. “It’s only for like…two minutes.” The car stopped, the passenger door coming to welcome them with open arms with the metal edge only inches away from colliding with them.

Y/n gave him the best deadpan stare she could, the sound of Namjoon jumping from the front seat blurring into the surroundings as her eyes fixated on a droplet of black blood splatter on the corner of his lip and cheek–bringing two of her fingers up to immediately wipe it away knowing it was a futile effort. They all looked like they had stood on the other end of a wood chipper after sending a can of black paint through it, one drop was hardly going to change the outcome of their appearance.

Jungkook’s brown eyes followed her movements, giving her that same cloudy and indistinct expression that shrouded his face from her discerning eyes that specialized in picking him apart. He loved to wear this look as of late, plucking it out of his mind and dressing it up with apathetic distance at the strangest of times.

Y/n didn’t know if it was the double head injury, or the adrenaline that made her act so brazenly, but as Namjoon rounded the front of the car she smiled up at Jungkook, her thoughts coming out a simple and plain from her lips as though discussing the weather.

“Pretty.”

Before Jungkook could respond to her compliment, she was whisked towards the car and his words were swallowed by Namjoon ushering him to help hoist her in the passenger seat. Buckled and tucked safely into their seats, the three of them rode in a loaded silence back to the Estate. All of their minds completely blasted to smithereens from the last 24 hours of events.

Y/n let herself sway lamely with each bend of the road, the few thoughts she did have tumbling out into the space between them. “How did you know to come find me? And where?”

“I saw you running. Alone.” Namjoon turned the car onto the bumpy side road that led to the front entrance, his voice bouncing in tandem with the rocking motion of the car that he drove just a bit too fast in. “I went to get the car and called Jungkook on the way–figured it’d be easier to cross your path with a car that can go off road than on foot.” He coughed, and gave her a half smile. “Plus I figured it was a ghost, and I don’t have any powers to defend us against that kind of thing. I was hoping that while they might outrun us on foot, there was no way they could outrun us going eighty up the main road.”

Y/n chuckled, letting her forehead fall onto the cool glass of the window. “I hope not.” Y/n watched the estate come into view. Its tall walls, countless pristine windows now dotted with spring and summer flower boxes, and majestic atmosphere looked like both a safe haven, and a prison at the same time. “You couldn’t see him at all?”

“Not until Jungkook lifted him off of you.” He stole a glance to her from the road ahead.

“Eyes up please!” Y/n used two fingers to turn Namjoon’s face towards the windshield. “That doesn’t explain how you knew where to find me so quickly.”

“I could sense you.” Jungkook spoke up from the back seat, his head wobbling side to side in a parallel manner to Y/n. “I’ve spent enough time with you…spiritually…to have a feel for your energy.” He creased his brow in slight distaste, nibbling on his lip. “I’m still working on longer distances.”

Y/n looked taken aback slightly, unsure whether to feel flattered or uncomfortable knowing that her whereabouts were always perceivable. She concluded that for the time being, it was a comforting kind of thought to know that if she were to be in another life or death situation that he would take little time to locate her–that thought alone was enough to placate any feelings of discomfort.

Namjoon pulled the car to a slow stop on the gravel path in front of the Estate, the engine rumbling softly beneath them. The trio sat there for a few minutes, trying to muster up the courage to complete the trek back to their rooms.

“You know, we are getting really good at handling this stuff. I think we should make a career out of it.” Y/n chimed in through their heavy silence. “Same time next week?”

Namjoon gave her a flat look, his eyes unamused. “We shouldn’t be treating your near death experiences with the same severity as a child falling off their bike. It’s not something I’m personally interested in making a habit.”

“I’m not treating it lightly! I’m just commending our stress management skills compared to the first time.” Y/n held her hands up in surrender. “Because let’s be honest–it probably won’t be the last–so it’s good that we have a bit of a system.”

“You are taking this lightly. Y/n, I think you might actually be in true denial. Shock even.” Namjoon turned the ignition off, the keys jingling together as he stuffed them in his pocket.

Y/n swatted his words away with her hand. “Pfft–No way. I’m just handling this like a champ. After all,” she turned to give Jungkook a lopsided grin, “we have a secret not-so-secret weapon now. Why should I even get upset? I’m alive and that’s all that matters.”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched, and he looked at her with wide incredulous eyes. “How hard did you hit your head this time? Now you're really starting to worry me.”

Y/n gave him an unimpressed shrug. “Not sure. He did give it a good whack.”

Jungkook made a noise of disbelief from the back seat, while Namjoon dropped his forehead to sit against the steering wheel to take much needed dragging inhales to keep the fragments of his sanity together.

“So…” Y/n pursed her lips and side eyed the front door, pulling Namjoon out of his silent prayers. “How the fuck are we getting past the cameras when we look like this?” She gestured to the lovely abstract rendition of their skin and clothes the spirit had so kindly embellished them with.

Namjoon clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth repeatedly while he turned ideas over in his head, bringing his gaze up to stare blankly up at the front doors while one of his long fingers tapping against the wheel to the beat of his thoughts. His eyes lit up, and he turned in the car seat to regard them both with a sheepish smile.

“I have an idea–but you guys may not like it…”

_________________________________________

“Alright, other side.” Namjoon ordered Jungkook to spin so his back would face him, his clean front half dripping water onto the concrete floor below his now bare feet. Jungkook blew water from his nose as he did so, bringing his hands to wipe the water from his eyes with his fingers while he shook out his now soaking curls.

Without warning, Namjoon opened the nozzle of the greenhouse hose to spray the back of Jungkook’s clothes and legs, earning a low cry of objection from Jungkook, the ice cold spray startling him. Y/n giggled from her spot on one of the wooden stools Namjoon had pulled up next to him for her to sit on while she waited her turn, taking joy in a moment that felt so light hearted and in reminiscent of their youth while her brain rushed to process yet another near death experience–thank god for dissociation was all she could say.

Namjoon’s plan was the only one good enough to stick to: spray off in the green house and enter through the back separately–if anyone asked they would say that Y/n had come to visit him at work and the hose nozzle burst. Jungkook’s clothes were dark enough that if he moved fast enough, the camera’s would just pick him up as extra sweaty from his gym session.

The water cut off again, and Jungkook was free to take his seat while he dried off a bit to supervise Y/n’s birdbath. Y/n rose to her feet, peeling off her destroyed socks and discarding them to the side, then taking her spot where Jungkook had just been over the drain.

“I’m going to lower the pressure in case anything is tender from your fight. Let me know if you need to take a break.” Namjoon commented, turning the dial onto the setting he thought best and ignoring Jungkook’s offended grunt at not being offered the same pleasure. He flicked his warm brown eyes up to her, his dimples making an appearance with a small smile. “Ready?”

“Yup.” Y/n held her arms up, and squeezed her eyes closed to brace for the impact. She still yelped when the stream pelted her skin and clothes–the water much too cold for anyone to really prepare themselves for–and scrunched her entire face to protect her eyes and mouth from ingesting any of it.

Namjoon got his just desserts when Jungkook was incharge of rinsing him off–the younger making sure to turn back up the dial to the higher pressure Namjoon had used on him. All the while, Y/n couldn’t help but lean up against Jungkook’s wet side from her seated spot, enjoying the feel of his laughter vibrating against her forehead; they had curated a small pocket of peace in an otherwise terrible weekend.

After their impromptu baths, they were able to scurry themselves back to their rooms for real showers and dry clothes. The trickle of warm water left room for her to think up at least a dozen reasons and excuses for her overprotective friends as to why she should still be allowed to go through with their afternoon plans of traveling into the Paralrealm. If they were to truly get anything done, they couldn’t keep stopping every time some demon reared their ugly head–something she knew Yoongi would at least have her back on. She hoped they could see past her current reckless tendencies enough to still treat her with some autonomy. Sure at the moment she might not be processing what had just happened healthily (if at all), but she couldn’t force herself to do it any other way either–her emotions had been muffled in some subconscious act of self defense. They were still definitely there, just hidden behind metaphorical draping velvet that muted the presence of their existence.

She could deal with the piled up boxes of thoughts and feelings later, she decided, taking the dampened impact as a gift to keep going about her day. So what if the pile exploded through the curtains later when they got too big to manage? That was a later Y/n problem.

Right now Y/n had someone to find–sort of.

Grabbing the leather tube of her family tree from its hiding spot in her closet, she made quick work of the lid and slid the thick paper out from its confines and onto the floor. The strong jaw and angled face of the mimic was still fresh on her mind, and the name was familiar enough to draw her to the conclusion that she must’ve seen it somewhere before.

“Clay…” She tested the name on her tongue, running her finger along the branches in search of just who she was looking for, the paper tickling the edge of her finger underneath each drag of it across the surface. And it was like her hand knew exactly where to go–pulled by some unseen force like a magnet from within:

Clarence Wörner. 1900-1989. One of her very distant cousins.

Y/n snapped the QR code on her phone to open the website portal, marking an X near his name and offering a small description of her own.

“M.A.D: Calls himself Clay, and can shapeshift into people at will.”

Then she tapped the small stack of photos beneath his name that Jimin had so graciously tried to include for each family member, cycling through the three of them that were available. It was undeniable when looking at his picture to see the resemblance–this was without a doubt, the man that had been blasted to dust scarcely over an hour prior.

The same strong jaw and neatly kept hair, his eyes clearly a lighter shade in the first black and white photo instead of pools of inky black waste. A woman sat close to his side, staring blankly at the camera in a similar fashion to him, neither one showing any sign of physical closeness or affection. Like they were acquaintances sat together at the party of a mutual friend, caught off guard and disinterested in having the moment be captured for eternity. However the description insinuated quite the opposite.

“Clarence Wörner and Wife Hazel.”

Y/n looked into their hollow eyes for a few extra beats before she exited \ from the photo, unable to keep staring into their gray expressions any longer without feeling her stomach churn. Her thumb went to hover over the button to close the portal entirely, when something had her eyes retracting back to the description she had just written–for something new was added to it that she definitely hadn’t put there.

“M.A.D: Calls himself Clay, and can shapeshift into people at will.

-Was an actor at the Wörner Hotel Theater. Took a particular liking to Shakespear, most notably A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He often played the role of Puck: a shapeshifting fairy; claiming the role as his own at any theater in the state that would let him. His mother was Polish, thus he and his brother were fluent in both Polish and German as well as English.

The Mills Brothers, Elton John, show tunes, and Elvis Presley were his favorites–clears him up for a bit if you know what I mean.

I suppose this information might be of use at the moment.

Sorry for snooping.

Y/n looked at the new addition, blinking down at the pixels with befuddlement. Was this Jimin? He would be the only other person that could possibly have access to her website portal–he created it after all.

Y/n took little time in adding her message below the mystery persons, something soft and fuzzy stuffing her ears and mind when images of Jimin fluttered by.

“Jimin?...”

She waited, elbows propping up her upper body from its reclined position, eyes staring at the blank space beneath it, willing something to appear before her eyes. But nothing happened. Y/n heaved a sigh of disappointment–she couldn’t deny the small flicker of hope that had sprung up into her heart of getting to speak to him again even though their last interaction had left her less than content–to know that above all else he was holding his own with her parents.

Yet there was nothing.

She took that as a sign to move on, sticking a pin in the interaction for her to remember to share what the mystery person had written with her friends while she rolled the family tree back up and away. The slide of leather and paper against her hands was a cruel reminder of the fresh scrapes along her hands that she had forgotten to address.

Y/n had just finished applying the last band-aid to her palms when she heard the telltale sounds of Yoongi’s boots descending the hall–the gentle thuds stopping her in her tracks. The Mimic really had even perfected the way he walked down to the cadence, and it made her feel sick with the thought of how long it must’ve been watching him to be able to master so many little details of what made him Yoongi. The steps stopped outside his door and she was jolted from her stupor. During all of the commotion, she hadn’t even thought of contacting the real Yoongi about what had happened–what if he had been hurt?

Y/n scurried over to the door and wrenched it open with so much force Yoongi looked up at her in surprise from where he was reaching for his own door handle, his eyes wide and his mouth pulled into a flat line.

“Can I help you?” He asked, one eyebrow raised into his hairline while he pushed his door to swing open.

Y/n’s mouth opened and closed like a fish in water. Seeing his real face, and his real eyes looking at her with such life and vitality it left her speechless. Sure, the mimic had done a great performance, but with him standing in front of her now, she couldn’t believe she had fallen for whatever show the puppet was putting on. He was wearing the red workman's uniform, so she would give them that, and they had managed to master the way he walked. But there were differences they couldn’t fake. Like a small bandage wrapped around one of his fingers, twinged with red spots of blood instead of black, or the swing of his boots already crossing the threshold into his heavily warded room.

Oh fuck, Y/n commented internally as her throat began to burn. She had barely spoken to him and he was already blasting open the curtains shrouding her emotional state with just his mere presence. The day comes to her in a rush–terror, humiliation, gratitude, anger, relief–all baring themselves out for Yoongi to see.

“Yoongi!” Y/n didn’t think for the second time that day–the only difference being that this impulsive action was fueled by the need to feel the real Yoongi alive instead of fear and self defense, and launched herself to him without hesitation. Arms wrapped around his slender neck and pulled him close, the thud of his heart beat in his chest and the faint whistling sound from his nose an unsuspecting consolation. Yoongi, although confused, returned the hug with the unsure placement of his hands on her shoulder blades.

“That’s my name, yes.” His voice was wavering between sarcastic and concerned, like he was uncertain which emotion he was supposed to feel yet. “Are you sure you should be doing this in the middle of the hallway where someone could see?”

Y/n shook her head, her words muffled by the collar of his uniform, finding herself unable to stop the flow of repressed tears that seemed to always find their escape around Yoongi. “I don’t care.”

He grunted softly at her response and shuffled the two of them into his room, nudging the door closed behind them with the toe of one of his boots. Y/n couldn’t let go of him–not yet. She wanted to keep feeling how warm his skin was, and how the way he breathed sounded natural instead of forced. His touch left warmth instead of static tingling in its wake, its intentions clement and forgiving; not even a lick of the vicious and bloodthirsty clutches of the imposter.

“Okay really–did something happen? You’re lighting up like strobe lights on a wedding dance floor. Are you hurt?” Yoongi rattled off his questions, but didn’t push her away. Y/n knew he could sense her mood crashing down from denial to whatever it was she was storming through her with high winds and crashing waves.

Y/n retold her experience to him in shaky breaths, refusing at any point to let up the tight hold she kept around his shoulders–an unfounded belief nipping at her conscious that if she did, he would turn into the dead and graying demon from the woods and her hug was the only thing protecting him from that same fate. By the time she got to the physical altercation she felt like there was not enough air in the room, and Yoongi tucked his chin over her shoulder and leaned the side of his head against her own with a heavy sigh that was saturated with a million reactions that he withheld internally for the time being.

“Just can’t catch a break, huh?” He mumbled, his voice vibrating against her chest.

Y/n let out a watery laugh and wiped her face on one of her hands that rested on his shoulder. “Nope.” Y/n exhaled sharply, and continued on with one of her prepared talking points. “I’m not going to rest tonight. I can’t. I can’t keep letting them win. Not after whatever is happening with–” Y/n her voice gave out, but forced herself to find it once more. “–with Jin and Hoseok. Not after what those bastards did, using you like that. I won’t let anyone get away easily.”

“Okay.” Yoongi stated softly.

“I know you think it’s risky but–” Y/n cut off her own further defense, pulling back from their hug to look Yoongi in the eyes with shock. “Wait–Okay?!”

Yoongi nodded, licking his lips with his subconscious tick–not some fake attempt at it. “Okay. You know your limits, and at the end of the day it’s your choice. I don’t have any interest in controlling you or giving you rules to follow.”

“So you’ll have my back against Kook and Joon?” She asked hopefully.

Yoongi scoffed lightly, squinting his eyes at her with a small smirk. “Now you’re asking too much.”

Y/n let the tension fall from her body with a tear-sodden laugh turned sigh, sinking back into his awkward embrace and giving him an extra squeeze. “You truly are the best, you know that?”

“I…” Yoongi swallowed audibly, his throat bobbing with the sound and his words coming out muttered. “You’d be the only one that seems to think that way.”

Y/n tore herself away from him with furrowed brows, her mouth open to scold him for thinking such thoughts blocked out by a knock at his door. Yoongi hastily made sure to create more distance between them, and coughed into one of his fists before opening it for the two aforementioned men–both properly washed and dried.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Yoongi let out a tsk sound, the moment of vulnerability he had let slip through his walls now gone, vanquished by his prickly persona. The two of them pushed through the door without question, nudging Yoongi out of the way to find their designated spots around his room.

Y/n didn’t even bother giving them a moment to breathe, starting forth with her best strong face and pretending she hadn’t just crumbled into Yoongi minutes before. “I’m still going in. It’s my choice, and I’m tired of waiting. We are giving them exactly what they want by waiting around–if Jin and my mom have some kind of idea of what we are doing or whatever the fuck is happening with the ghosts, we need to keep pushing to stay ahead.”

“Y/n–” Namjoon started, his face saying more than his words could–that he strongly disagreed and was revving into his own counterpoint.

“No. You can either help me, or take the day off. You guys have the privilege of walking out of here on your own anyways–I don’t.” Y/n dropped to her knees besides Yoongi's bed, pushing Jungkook’s legs aside to make room for the wooden chest beneath it. “And I for one, would not like to be strangled, hunted or have my head smashed into the nearest surface every time I want to get a snack from the kitchen. Rest helps me in the moment, and I appreciate your concern–I really do–but I need more than concern. I need action.”

Yoongi came to her side, helping her to unlock the chest and start stacking the items behind them wordlessly.

“What if Jungkook needs rest? After what happened with him–”

“Wait,” Yoongi’s head snapped up to narrow his eyes at Namjoon, “What happened with Jungkook?”

“I haven't gotten to that part yet.” Y/n grunted, slamming the lid closed and pushing the chest back under the bed and out of the way, directing her next comment to Yoongi. “ Jungkook went full psycho and exploded a ghost.”

“I’m sorry–” Yoongi cut himself off with a disbelieving scoff, “–What did you just say?”

“He grabbed him–Clay–and forced him to show himself, then he just…” Y/n looked to Jungkook for help, but the man in question was avoiding everyone’s eyes to stare off into the patterns of Yoongi’s rug. “...He just grabbed him and made him disappear.”

“Fucking hell guys–Open with that next time maybe?” Yoongi looked from person to person, shaking his head. “Some old man’s A/C breaks and I miss everything…”

Y/n ignored him, unable to think of anything other than her task at hand. “So you two–are you in or out?”

Jungkook fixed her with a stern glare, his eyes so heavy with fatigue Y/n almost felt bad for asking him. Almost. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Perfect.” Y/n chirped, raising an expectant brow to Namjoon. “Joon?”

Namjoon hollowed out his cheeks and pursed his lips, his eyes downturned towards his knee that bounced through his tension. The room was teetering on his response, the three of them waiting on the edge of their seats.

“Fine.” Namjoon stood abruptly, wiping his hands on his pants and groaning in frustration. “I’ll go grab the tea and some cups.” He pointed a finger menacingly at the three of them. “Don’t do anything until I get back, and you,” His finger landed on Y/n with more emphasis, “Let the two of them set it up at least. I’m going to go gray with all of this stress.” He mumbled the last part mostly to himself as he slipped from the door, leaving Yoongi and Jungkook to do as directed.

Yoongi cleared his throat, and gestured with his hands lazily to the pile of candles and cloth and a small laugh. “How does he expect us to ‘set it up’ when we have no idea how he wants things for the tea?”

“Maybe we should set up the session wards wider? Maybe just each corner of the room and lay out the cloth. Then he should probably be back by then.” Y/n had barely finished her sentence before Jungkook was up and on his feet, brushing her hands away from the pile and picking it up, looking expectantly at Yoongi for instruction.

Yoongi took the change in stride, guiding Jungkook to place a grid of stones, sprigs of herbs, and smears of essential oils in each corner of the room as an improvised ward. Y/n let her eyes close, heeding Namjoon’s instruction to take what little time she had to rest before she was to be thrown into whatever awaits her on the other side. The moment of peace didn’t last long, for she was leaping to her feet with an abruptness that startled the two men away from the bag of dried lavender Yoongi was giving hushed instructions over.

“I need to grab something from my room! I completely forgot…” Y/n padded to the door, pulling it open and taking large and quick steps into her own.

Too quick to miss Jungkook’s panicked grunt and Yoongi’s snapped “Focus here, she’ll yell if she needs us for the three steps it takes to get to her room.”

She sped to her closet, sifting through the jewelry box left abandoned on one of the shelves for the necklace Yoongi had given her, slipping it onto her neck and clasping it after a few failed tries. Her eyes stayed laser focused on the mess of jewelry–both old and new–prodding through each chain and pendant for one of the pieces she was looking for.

When her Oma–Margaret–had died, she had been sure to bestow both her and her two sisters with pieces from her own collection; pearls, brightly colored beaded necklaces, dainty rings with gemstones of all colors, and crystal earrings. One set of earrings, gold and three-tiered, glinted from the back of the box for Y/n to find with ease.

She snatched them into her fist, swiping a pearl necklace from one of the hooks for good measure. Y/n inspected the pieces, laying them over her palm and running a gentle finger over the surface of the glittering gold. She could remember the very last time she had seen her Oma wear them, the crystals reflecting orange and purples from the ballroom lights during that year’s Halloween party. Her legs had been too weak to stand by then, so she had designated herself as the one who held the candy bowl out to children as they passed by the ballroom doors on their way to their next activity. A simple witch hat sat crooked on her head that her Grandfather Johan had forced her into, some excuse of having her get into the holiday spirit tumbling out of his mouth while he snapped countless photos with a digital camera. They all had known it would be her last Halloween that year, even if no one had possessed the guts to say it, so she kept the hat on and didn't protest the hundreds of photos family would stop to take with her.

Namjoon’s baritone voice sounded from the hall, the sign she needed to hurry back over to Yoongi’s room. She tore her eyes from the earrings and met him at the door, a large plastic pitcher of grayish green tea in his hands and a stack of small plastic cups shoved into the pockets of his pants threatening to tumble out onto the floor.

With the wards up and the tea in hand, Y/n felt the first jitters of nerves buzz beneath her skin–for this might be something completely new–it could either work wonderfully, or go terribly wrong. But what was new for them? That spectrum of possibly had been their new baseline.

Nonetheless, Y/n held hope. Hope, for Namjoon was one of the smartest people she knew, and she had immense faith in his capabilities and thoroughness. Namjoon was finishing up his directions: Drink, lay down, and close her eyes; and if she felt anything off or odd, to let them know immediately so he could administer a few drops of a tincture he had made to counteract the ingredients in the brew.

“Any questions?” Namjoon asked, scanning over her face for any sign of resignation–a crease or a shift of her eyes to let him know she wanted to back out–only he didn’t find any.

Y/n shook her head, but Jungkook spoke over her movements with a question of his own.

“Can we go in with her?”

Namjoon chewed on his lip and tipped his head to the side with a shrug. “We can try–but I can’t promise it will work. I tried my best.”

“I think we should make sure it works with her first before sending all of us in. What if she falls asleep and doesn’t wake up for a couple hours? We don’t want to rush in empty handed and have us all compromised.” Yoongi drawled, already in the process of moving the candles from the center to different spots around the room to make space for where she was to lay.

“Then let’s just get to it.” Namjoon poured the first cup, and Jungkook helped clear the rest of the space. “Ready?”

The small cup of lukewarm tea was pushed into her hands, and Y/n seated herself down where the candles had once been, cradling the liquid to her chest. Her eyes closed as she imagined her trusted vines of vibrant green blooming out from within, wrapping around the tea to infuse it with her own intentions and energy. She pictured one dipping a delicate spiral through the surface, a buzz of lethargy sweeping over her mind at just one touch. Small tendrils of the vines were tasked with poking into the bowl to her left where the jewelry lay in a neat pile, a gust of her rose scented perfume pluming up from them where they were resting on top of a scrap of paper with her grandmother’s name scribbled on it.

Thoughts of Let me in quickly safely, and I wish to see Margaret Wörner please bring her to me, repeated like a mantra within her mind.

She steadied any nerves with a deep breath and stole a glance around the room to each of her friends, nodding to herself when she found each of them offering their own reassuring stare.

“Bottoms up.”

The tea slipped down her throat in one go, bitter and earthy with the after taste of something sharp that had her face scrunching in distaste–her sinuses opening with the pungent flavor. “Jesus Namjoon, what is in here? An entire spearmint plant?”

He shrugged, a small smile curving his lips. “I thought you were the mint connoisseur, you tell me.”

Y/n scrunched the plastic with a roll of her eyes, tossing it towards Yoongi’s trash can and missing. “Oops.”

She barely registered Yoongi’s judgement on her aim, for the room already started to blur at the edges and her eyes coming to a blink so slow she had to deliberately make sure she was still completing the action. Her torso teetered forward, her weight supported by her hands on her knees. She vaguely understood the words being said around her–

"Move the pillow over-"

“Lay back!”

No one would have to tell her twice, two gentle hands guiding her to lay back onto the black cloth where her head found one of Yoongi’s pillows. The distant feeling of Jungkook’s fingers slotting between hers, and Yoongi’s hovering face dissipated into nothing. There was no lapping water, and no scruff animal slinking around the darkness that enveloped her–the only two things she missed. She did not miss the burn of the rubber band that didn’t pull at the back of her eyes this time, nor the feeling of having her soul sucked from her body like a magnet.

There was nothing but the welcoming arms of sleep.

_________________________________________

This was so much better, Y/n decided, the room coming back to her in a smoky haze. She was in–and this traverse through the veil was all the more bearable.

Even though her ghostly hand held nothing, she could still feel a warm tingle upon its surface where Jungkook’s was attached to her physical body, and it gave her the push she needed to come to a seated position. Her eyes met his completely black ones, zeroing on the way his mouth moved in silent words that she assumed by Namjoon’s excited reaction that he was sharing her victorious transition.

She rose to a crouch, keeping her eyes trained on the door for any sign of movement beyond it.

“Oma?” She whispered, but no response came.

Y/n pressed her lips together and came to stand, giving Jungkook a point towards the door and a thumbs up. Though they had run through this a thousand times over the past week–that she would be looking for her grandmother, which meant she’d have to leave the room–Jungkook still looked perturbed. She could see him fighting the urge to follow after her, stuck between holding her hand and trailing after her ghostly form. Y/n pointed to her body and made an ‘eyes on me’ , hoping he understood the message to listen to it. Her head popped right through the surface of the door, peering out into the hall to check for any signs of danger.

The hallway was empty save for the same misty haze that blanketed the entirety of the realm, her head swiveling from one end of the hall to the other, looking for her grandmother. She heaved a sigh, toying the idea of searching further out into the hall and the landing when the clinking of metal and glass stole her attention back into the room.

“I gave these to you to keep, not to offer back to me.” Margaret lifted the string of pearls to dangle from her finger tips, her sleek pink skirt and blouse a stark contrast to the blues and creams of Yoongi’s room.

“How did you–the wards–” Y/n stuttered, her grandmother pocketing the pearls into her skirt as she rose to stand.

“You invited me in. That’s how this works as I’m sure you knew.” She gave Y/n a sly, knowing look that shifted into one of stone. “I thought I told you to stay out of this place.”

“I can’t Oma. I–no–we need answers, and things are only escalating for us. I’ve survived my fourth attempted murder as of just this morning, there’s no ‘staying out of it’ for me anymore when they insist on dragging me back into it by the throat.” Y/n wildly waved her hands about as she spoke, tired of having to explain herself to each and every person she came across. “I’m here because I need any answers or information you have to give me.”

Margaret hummed, and Y/n could hear the pearls click against each other from her pocket as her elegant hand tucked itself into it to roll them between her fingers while she listened.

“The answer I have to give you may not be the one you really want.” Margaret brought her other hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose, her brow creasing with a sharp exhale from her nose.

“Any answer is better than none.” Y/n threw her hands up into the air in exasperation, and let them fall to her sides with a whispered, “Please.”

Margaret dropped her own hands and gracefully stepped over towards the door to stand beside her, flashing her a rueful smile. “We are outnumbered. That is all I have to say to you.” Margaret pushed past Y/n, stopping when only her head remained in the room. “It’s over. Go back to your body.”

Her head disappeared beyond the door, adding an extra layer of finality to her words.

Y/n had fought too hard to get in here and there was no way she was backing down yet. She gave Jungkook one last panicked glance before taking off after her.

“What?” Y/n sped to her side, imitating her hunched form and creeping steps, dropping her voice to a whisper after a stern look from her Grandmother. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s exactly as I stated.” Margaret held a hand up to signal a pause, and Y/n stopped to peek over her shoulder at the small black blurs of motion that darted from the foyer and down the hall beneath them, disappearing in a fit of warbled childish giggles. She waited until certain they were gone before speaking once more. “We can’t stop them anymore. They have taken too many of us–it is only a matter of time before we are all infected. And your mother has done nothing to help us.”

“Infected with what? What is my mom doing?” Y/n hissed back, keeping her steps light as she followed Margaret to the top of the steps. “Start from the beginning–I’m missing something big here.”

“It’s not just about what she is doing, but what she isn’t.” Margaret huffed, but conceded with a low voice. “For decades, the women of this family married into the family name–doomed to watch and never lead at the face of anything. However, between the lines, we all had one very important job: keep all of this,” Margaret gestured to the house and then to herself, “under control. Because none of the men were brave enough to face reality.”

“What reality? What job?” They were halfway down the stairs now, and Y/n’s chest began to tighten with anxiety the further she went.

“The reality is that something is horribly wrong here. This legacy–do you really think it’s as sparkly, or as cut and dry as your father, and his father, and even his father before him let everyone believe?” Margaret turned to land a scathing gaze on Y/n. “That everything was perfect? That everyone loved each other and held hands around the table in prayer each morning? That you and Adelaide were the only women who tried to fight for the crown, and that they all just peacefully made way for their brothers and sons?”

Y/n didn’t know what to say, any further questions ripped from her throat.

“Since Johanna Wörner, we’ve had one job and one job only: Clean up after the mess our husbands made. Whatever that mess looked like.” Margaret continued their trek, reaching the bottom of the steps. “And that was a full time job in that of itself–the cleansings, the prayer, the mitigation of feelings and emotions to keep things from blowing out of proportion, protecting the living from the enemies they have made along the way. We had a truce with the others as she called them–a truce that Adelaide started.”

“With who, Oma?” Y/n implored, letting herself be whisked into the study by her Grandmother’s steady hands.

“Now that I don’t know the answer to–we were never allowed to ask. All I do know is that your mother broke that truce, and now we are all paying the price for it.” Margaret slid the doors closed behind them, a breath of relief tumbling from her chest once they clicked into place. “I tried to hold down the fort–I really did–up until the day I died, Y/n. But your mother had no interest in listening, and now here we are. If I didn’t know any better it's almost like she wanted this to happen: for if the devil is on one's side, then it’s easier to raise hell.”

Fury bloomed through Y/ns ribs, weaving in and out of the crevices and burning everything in its path. “She’s doing this for what? To spite me? I can’t even begin to think what she would do this for.” She paced furiously about the study, hands gripping at her sides for some sort of stability.

“Y/n, think clearly now.” She spun on her heels, her hands coming up to rest on Y/n’s cheeks in a comforting manner and halting her frantic pacing. “Your brother is far too young to inherit the hotel in time, especially not with Anselm–your father’s predicament. My guess would be that she would step up to…hold his place until Roland is of age. And I think she made new deals and broke some old with the wrong people to make that a possibility.”

Y/n couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. She could feel her soul trembling with rage so hot it threatened to consume her entirely.

“Of course, this is all speculation…” Her grandmother continued forth, sliding her hands down Y/n’s shoulders to hold both of her hands. Her face and voice were defeated and tired. “All we do know is that at this time, she has won. And there is nothing we can do about it.”

“No.” Y/n seethed through her teeth, unwilling to accept that answer. “We haven’t lost because I’m still here. What is the infection? Who is ‘we’? Who are you working with?”

Cruel was an understatement–a word that didn’t fully encompass the true nature of fate itself; the whip it holds gripped in a tight fist cracking down on anyone and anyone how they see fit.

The study doors to their side slid open with an audible bang, fate cracking its whip down on the two of them, rattling the stained glass on either side of the doorway and leaving them exposed and vulnerable to the prying eyes within the foyer.

Small and frail, the mystery little girl from the hutch stood in the gap. The only change in her appearance was that her normal eye had begun to sink into its socket even further and her skin was more discolored than it had been the couple weeks prior. She looked just as startled as the two women in the study, her own actions eliciting trembles from her hands and a quiver at her lip.

“Y/n, you must get back to your room.” Margaret’s voice shook, and she used one arm to shield Y/n back from the child.

The child wept bulbous gray tears, their feet fighting with every step to cross the doorway into the room, like each step tore her apart from the inside out.

“You don’t have to come in here child–Do not hurt yourself any further.” Her grandmother breathed out, pressing Y/n further into the study with each encroaching step of the child

“I h-have to.” The girl cried, her voice a cross between human and evil, folding and lilting around her vowels with the residue of an almost forgotten accent. “I’m scared!”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Margaret continued, leading Y/n to round the edge of one of the couches to put more distance between them and the child. “You can leave this room and let us pass.”

The girl shuddered, her chest rattling with each sob, staggering forwards to follow them around the loveseat. “I can’t. If I help them they told me it would stop–that the pain would go away.” She heaved in a gasp, but still found her breath unable to quell the rising waves of her emotions, her next words coming out in a wail. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore!”

Margaret pushed Y/n around the back of the sofa once the girl was deep enough to the study to give them an advantage, rushing the two of them out of the open door and towards the stairs to take them two at a time.

“I will answer all of your questions I promise–we just need to get you out of here first.” Her grandmother urged Y/n to move faster, her eyes unable to pick one spot to look in their panic-stricken search for any additional threats.

“Who is she?” Y/n called back to her, her own feet meeting the landing and turning sharply to the right. “I’ve seen her twice now and have no idea who she is.”

“I don’t know whose child she is, she is a mystery.” Margaret grabbed Y/n’s hand and led the way back to Yoongi’s room on quick feet, “All I do know that she is fast, and calls herself Ani. The poor girl has been fighting the turn for quite some time now. She is the one who took Patti.”

A snarl echoed from the foyer, and shoes struck the floor in such rapid succession it sounded like they were dragging across it instead of lifting up with each step; fast was an understatement–she was an animal closing in on her prey.

They arrived at Yoongi’s door, and Y/n tried to tug Margaret in after her–only for an invisible force to stop her from entering. Fingers dug into her wrist and yanked with more force, though whatever she had wasn’t enough–the ward always resisted with just enough force to counter whatever strength Y/n used.

“Oma–please.” All of Y/n’s anger decapitated, replaced with raw panic as each attempt to tug her in through the door was denied. “You were just in here!”

She tossed her head back to look at Jungkook, who was silently relaying what he was seeing to the other two, her hand still tucked snuggly in his own.

“Jungkook–help us please! She needs to come in!” Y/n begged, and she saw tears start to track down her own face that was still beneath him as the child’s growling grew closer. The hopelessness pooling on Jungkook’s face was enough of an answer to know that he couldn’t hear her.

Y/n stepped back out into the hall, grabbing her grandmother’s shoulders and pushing with all of her might.

“Y/n stop!” Her grandmother shouted, “You’ll just have to leave me behind!”

“No!” Y/n set her jaw together, with determination. “I won’t do that. That’s never an option.”

The child was at the end of the hall, whipping as fast as wind and just as unforgiving. Her teeth were bared in both fear of the women in front of her and the drive to rip their throats out with their jagged edges.

“Y/n get in there now.” Margaret choked out her words, and when Y/n made no move to flee, she spun around to grab at her wrists desperately. “Get in there now! Do not make me ask you again!”

Margaret’s eyes filled with tears, shining a smile drenched in despondency that quivered at her lips and broke Y/n into pieces. A tender hand caressing Y/n’s cheek with shaking fingers crumbling her resolve. “I love you, Entlein. Do not waste your life to save those of us who are already dead. I wish you great things.”

Her world tilted, for her grandmother shoved Y/n through the doorway with one final touch of her hands.

Y/n couldn’t see what happened next, though she could hear it. A wet squelching sound coupled with the echoing screams of her Grandmother, loud enough to penetrate through the door and rattling into her bones. Sewing itself into every fiber of her being as sound she would never be able to unhear. Y/n wouldn’t–she couldn’t let her be alone.

“Open the door!” Y/n shrieked to the clueless men in the room, her finger pointing to the blockade aggressively, unsure how to make her point any clearer. “Please just open the door!”

That seemed easy enough for Jungkook to understand and relay, Namjoon kicking into motion and running through her to rip the door open for her to see what was left of her grandmother.

Her eyes were gone. Dripping black pits of tar took their place, cascading down her cheeks and onto the carpet below her. The planes of her face were tilled and torn, decaying in front of her eyes at the serrated edges. Her mouth was did the most damage to Y/n–gone was the lovely curve that danced about her memory over shared children’s books, plates of mac and cheese or dusted with flour from their baking escapades. Now set as though carved in stone, was an overly animated frown that resembled a theater mask in size and shape. Cavernous and unnatural. She was motionless, the young child now splattered with the remains of her eyes standing above her with a look of terror, her body shivering in involuntary convulsions as she looked to Y/n.

“I didn’t mean to. I can’t help it. They made me do it!” the girl blubbered through her words, wiping her soiled gray hands onto her tattered dress like it would erase what she had just done.

“Who.” Y/n whispered, unable to force her eyes away from the horrid sight in front of her–the ghost of her grandmother stirring, its movements jagged and sharp. Salt pooled in Y/n’s eyes, blinding her with rage and desolation at what she has become.

“The evil one. She is wicked. She makes me hurt. She makes us kill.”

The reality in front of her flickered in and out like a lightbulb screwed a bit too loose, thrusting her senses into periodic flashes of nothingness with the spread of a floral and saccharin taste across her tongue.

“No!” Y/n tried to spit the flavor from her mouth, her exclamation startling the girl in front of her to retreat. “Not yet!” She called after the child desperately, but she did not listen. She lunged to face her friends behind her, catching Namjoon’s nimble fingers screwing the lid of a dropper back into place as her own human face scrunched at the taste of its contents.

Y/n spent the last few moments she had observing the twitch of Margaret’s ghost with each stretch of the rotting veins that spread down her face and into her neck. The way her youthful complexion pulsed with a corruption that spun its webs deeper into her skin, eating away at the remains of the woman she loved.

The unnatural curve if her mouth moved, barely so; a haunting whisper.

“Find Bear. He is all that is left.”

The darkness won its battle for control, and she welcomed it.

Y/n knew she was awake now as the echoes of her grandmother's voice faded, and that her eyes could move if she wanted them to. She could hear Yoongi prodding at her with gentle words, feel the subtle tug of Jungkook’s hand on her own, and taste the herbal tincture Namjoon had dropped between her cracked lips. She didn’t want to hear any of that–she wanted to stay with her grandmother and to find Bear like she wished.

To sick Jungkook on that pitiful little girl that had so brutally mutilated her grandmother.

To sink the teeth of her own wrath into her mother’s existence and call her out for what she was: a Liar, a thief, and an enemy. A manipulator. Thus by proxy flinging herself violently onto her two friends that had betrayed her trust–betrayed her everything to side with something so monstrous and cruel.

She eventually did move, forcing her experience from her mouth with carefully maintained monotony onto awaiting ears. There would’ve been nothing more she would have wanted to do than give them something to celebrate, but she had nothing good to share. Just more questions and more tension.

It’s a strange, and indescribable experience to mourn the death of someone who has already died. This wasn’t grief she could go find a therapist to work through it with, or even any sort of comforting slew of nonsensical words like “She will always be watching over you,” or “She is in a better place.”

Because she wasn’t–not anymore. She was rotting for eternity with nothing but violence and misery to keep her company. There was no heaven or hell to pull her from the damnation someone else had bestowed upon her, no exit from the dark seep of her soul into otherness.

By the time night had come to weigh them all down with uncertainty of what tomorrow held–she was alone. Jungkook wasn’t laying on her floor this time to keep all of the phantom images from pervading her senses with the scent of death and images of torn flesh and hulking beasts, or the rough and inexorable hands reaching out to claw at her throat and chest. After her trip into the Paralrealm, he had been avoiding her. Whether it be from sheer exhaustion of what had happened, or if he felt some kind of shame for the way he wasn’t able to help her. Perhaps both of their minds were writhing in their own prisons of self inflicted pain that night.

She was tired, but not just the kind that thirsted for sleep.

Her feet dragged across the floor of her rug, back and forth in deep treading patterns and lines. She wanted to reach out to someone, but couldn’t bring herself to text them–she had shoved her problems on them enough.

Maybe if she would’ve just stayed away, none of this would’ve happened. Maybe her being here on the property made it worse, made it harder for them to fight it.

Y/n was standing at her bedroom door before she could gather what she was doing, the door pulled ajar and her back pressed to the doorframe. She slid to the floor, bringing her legs up to rest her chin on so she could stare undisrupted with cold unblinking eyes at the spot outside Yoongi’s door where her grandmother had been last. Willing the image into fruition and then molding it in her mind in some childish game of make pretend, picturing a million different endings to her memory.

That maybe if she had waited, and Jungkook hadn’t been so tired he could’ve grabbed her grandmother and saved her; or brought the hands of a reaper down to punish the child for their actions. That they would be still sitting in Yoongi’s room and protecting her grandmother from the others and the curse that plagued them.

In a mirror image of that morning, Taehyung ambled from the end of the hall towards their neighboring rooms; though this time his feet were much slower, and his eyes much heavier. His dark hair was sticking to his neck and forehead with dried sweat, and a glittering royal blue jacket was draped over the crook of his elbow from tonight's show. He hadn’t noticed her yet, for his head was kept low and his eyes downturned to watch each methodical step.

To Y/n’s surprise, he stopped right outside Yoongi’s door–right where her grandmother had been–and chewed at the inside of his cheek. In a sweeping motion, he brought his chocolate brown eyes to her door where they widened once he found hers staring up at him from her spot on the floor, having clearly not expected her to be there. They stayed that way, frozen in place while sizing each other up.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He deep voice rumbled from his chest, heavy at the ends with lassitude.

Y/n picked at the threads of her shorts, keeping her puffy eyes downturned and out of sight. “Shouldn’t you?”

It was quiet again, but not the kind of quiet solitude Y/n wanted. This one was tense and uncomfortable. She felt exposed with the way his eyes raked her figure, seeing a side of her she didn’t want him to see.

Taehyung jerked the sleeve of his black button up higher on his forearm to get a read on his watch, turning to regard her with a weary frown. “Cafe opens in twenty minutes. Wanna go for that coffee?”

_________________________________________

Coffee or not, there was some kind of peaceful reverie to be found in the Edelweiss cafe that morning. Sunday mornings weren’t as busy, only one worker carrying themselves around the counters and taking inventory for the day while the sun was still down. Y/n hadn’t even bothered getting dressed–and how that must’ve looked to anyone that happened to be walking by.

A beat down woman in cotton shorts and a crewneck sweatshirt, and Taehyung Kim, still dressed in his finest from his sold out show the night prior–quiet and brooding over steaming cups of tea. Under any other circumstances, Y/n would have enjoyed picking apart the version of Taehyung that sat in front of her: reserved, fatigued, and jaded. This version of himself intrigued her more than the flirty showman he put on, for here he looked real–a conundrum of mysterious yet lax, like if she asked one question he would unravel in her hands.

“Bad day?” Taehyung rasped first, watching the steam float from his untouched tea.

“You could say that…” Y/n mumbled, disinterestedly twirling a straw in her own brew.

Taehyung tilted his head to study her response, one of his long fingers tapping the smooth table beneath it, and his mouth quirking to one side as he pondered whatever it is he found so interesting in the way she looked.

“You know…” He began, his voice deep and airy. “I’m not unfamiliar with this–” He gestured to her with a pointed look, “ –My uncle often had bad days when he lived with me and my parents. I’d end up staying up late with him to keep him company through them. I know it’s uncomfortable or embarrassing, but you can always talk to me about it.”

Y/n furrowed her brows together and cocked her head to the side. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Taehyung anxiously licked his lips, his hand coming to twist his cup from side to side. “I’m not trying to overstep, and you don’t have to tell me anything–I just can’t not check in to make sure you’re okay.”

“Tae,” Y/n let out a heavy sigh, setting the straw to the side to rip at her napkin instead. “I really can’t grasp what you’re putting down here.”

“How about this.” He raised one unimpressed brow, clearly taking her confusion as a cover up for something he thought he saw; he took a tiny sip of his tea to clear his throat, letting his voice come out smoother after the honey and chamomile coated his tongue. “I’ll tell you something about me first–anything you want to know. Then in return, you tell me something about you.”

Y/n weighed his offer, finding it interesting enough to humor. “Fine.” Y/n sucked her bottom lip in, staring across at her table mate while she racked her brain for a question.

“Favorite color.”

Taehyung snorted, and gave a baffled shake of his head. “That’s what you want to know?”

Y/n shrugged timidly, the napkin in her hands now a pile of brown confetti.

“Emerald green, cadmium red, violet.” He listed off easily, slipping right into his own question. “What’s three things that make you happy?”

“Plants.” Y/n shot back without thinking. “My friends. Music.” Y/n settled on her last answer after some thought. “What drew you to performing?”

Taehyung blew his breath through his lips in a burst, “That’s a loaded question.” He untucked his shirt from his dress pants and undid the cuffs on his shirt as he spoke. “It’s always been what I’ve been good at, and it was easy to practice from home. Being able to sing and dance made people I cared about smile, and I liked that.” He lifted his cup to chew at the end of his straw, and leaned against the back of his chair with his attention only on her. “What is something you’re looking forward to? Something you can’t wait for it to happen? Planned out already or a daydream–doesn’t matter.”

This question stumped her. She hadn’t thought about anything other than the shit she was knee deep in with the hotel and her family–every move she made and any plans had been circling around unraveling whatever ball of knotted yarn this was. She chewed on her lip while she thought of an answer.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t really been thinking very far ahead lately.” She admitted, averting her eyes back to the table at her confession.

“Nothing at all? Not even a dream vacation or some bucket list item you have?” He pushed further.

“Well I guess I’ve always wanted to go on a really long road trip–like weeks long. I want to go around the country and really see things; take my time. Because of the hotel, we never really took long vacations, we always had to be back home after a few days.” Y/n shook her head at the ridiculousness of her next statement. “All this money and they don’t really use it for what people would expect us to: I’ve never left the country because my trip was canceled once my apprenticeship was tossed in the trash, and we only went to nearby beaches maybe a handful of times. This place has always been everything, it was all we ever needed.”

Taehyung hummed pensively, taking a swig from his cup and making a ‘come here’ motion with his hand. “Hit me.”

“They said you were from California–surely there were hundreds of opportunities out west. Why come here to Pennsylvania?” A safe question, Y/n suspected.

“Family,” Taehyung stated matter-of-factly. “My mom knew Jimin’s grandmother, and so we started visiting him occasionally to check in on him, and my mom absolutely fell in love with all of the trees and just how green it was by chance. Plus, if I can be blunt for a minute?” Taehyung looked up at her from the liquid in his cup.

“Be my guest.” Y/n motioned for him to continue.

“Money. My family wasn’t very well off growing up. My grandparents had fled to the United States looking for a ‘better life’ like a lot of people did during, before and after the war. They never learned English, and struggled to really find their place here–to feel welcomed–but they were determined to make it work.

My parents ended up taking care of both of them once they physically couldn’t work anymore, and my uncle full time while I was growing up. It put a big strain on them financially though they’d never admit it. I grew up watching them give everything they had to each other, and I just wanted to do the same for them.” He shook the cup in his hand, listening to the liquid slosh from side to side. “My mom really encouraged my creative side, but even as a kid I knew that the chance of that making me any money with it was mute. That was until we had spent a few weeks here in the winter, and I just knew I had to be here.” He smirked over the rim of his cup, pausing before his next sip for his next remark. “That and I knew you guys paid well after I heard some whispers through the grapevine from one mischievous tour guide.”

“Hmm, I wonder who that could be?” Y/n exhaled from her nose in place of a laugh, taking in his answer and letting it sink slowly into her brain.

“What’s a memory that makes you smile every time you think of it?” He was ready with his next question, like he had prepared these for an interview, and she was the shaking and sputtering potential employee trying to come up with the right answers.

“You keep making me think.” Y/n held a hand up to her forehead and let out a few nervous chuckles, squeezing her eyes closed to think.

“That’s the point.” Taehyung joined in on her soft laughter.

“You sure you guys will be alright here by yourselves?” Misuk asked for the fifth time, her hand coming up to fiddle with the elegant beaded necklace she wore over a sunset orange sundress.

She was eyeing up the gaggle of children nodding their heads eagerly back up at her with apprehension and up to the lawn in front of the guest house that was dotted with four brightly colored tents. The shapes of canvas and metal had been put together with the help of their dads, with multicolored sleeping bags and pastel stuffed animals piled inside to make them more homely. Y/n’s mother cut in, the sound of the old screen room door slamming pulling Misuk’s fretting towards the house.

“I packed real food, plenty of water bottles, and stocked the kitchen up with precut fruit and cereal for the morning.” Mariah stepped anxiously down the steps from the sunroom, an empty cooler bag in hand. “Please for the love of god, try and eat something other than s’mores tonight, and be asleep before the sun is up–capiche?” She walked up to all three of her children, planting large overexaggerated kisses onto each of their heads.

“Don’t hover–they’ll be fine!” Jeonghan, Hoseok’s father wrapped an arm around Misuk’s waist and jostled her to his side. “It’s just one night, and we are right down the road. Plus Hilga will be sleeping upstairs in the house in case of emergencies.” He gripped his wife’s shoulders with an encouraging shake. “We have to let them learn to grow!”

“Will there be bears? There’s no bears here right?” Misuk could still be heard fretting all the way to the back of the house where their car had been parked, a few of the parents already piled inside.

“Stay safe, little birds!” Y/n’s father Anslem saluted them as he sauntered off to the car to join them. “Y/n–keep an eye on your sisters!”

“You’re in charge, Seokjin!” His mother, Hana pointed at him with slightly narrowed eyes. “If Hilga is asleep you watch out for them!”

The children were a giggling mess the moment the first car left the dirt driveway. Of course the first thing on their agenda was tearing through the warm summer grass with bare feet. After bubble wands had been waved and tossed aside; three tumultuous rounds of freeze tag; badminton rackets and wiffle balls trampled on and discarded; and one round of duck duck goose to appease Matilda; there was a lull in their activities that the earth found a way to fill with its own wonders.

Under the sky’s coat of twilight, they cantered through the rolling hills and weeds to chase after the pulsing lights of lightning bugs as they began their drooping and lethargic bounce over the scene to say their greetings to the ones twinkling like string lights in the trees.

Without fail, what started as innocent play turned into a competition: the first metaphorical stone tossed by Y/n declaring she could catch the most at one time, and the rest ferociously lining up for the challenge.

“Here.” Jungkook would softly whisper to her as he passed one here and there to her palms against her will, looking across to her with blank eyes that blotted with softness at the edges.

Hoseok struggled the most–torn between winning and freaking out each time the insect’s tiny legs moved along the ridges of his hands. “I hate it!” He would shout, shaking them off in a frenzy before furrowing his brows in determination to try and pick up a few more.

He ended up running alongside Y/n, who would scoop up the ones he threw each time, her hands overflowing with the movement of effervescent lime, black and orange. Y/n only faltered once she heard the first sniffle from Matilda, her sudden absence from their side jarring her to a stop. Y/n found Matilda a few paces back, her face downturned to her empty hands where one bug had just lazily lifted off of their surface to soar out of reach.

“What’s wrong Gänse?” Y/n scampered back to her side, out of breath with both hands clamped closed around her treasure.

Matilda’s lower lip jutted out, her chin wrinkled with dejection as she watched its departure. “I can’t catch any.”

Y/n frowned, surveying the rest of the kids' strategies. Yoongi was seated in one spot, his hands coming up to cup around the bugs that floated idly by with calm control; Hoseok was lingering besides them, his body taut with discomfort from the three bugs he had successfully carried for longer than two minutes; Jin was leading Jimin on a blazing trail through the grasses to unsettle all of the bugs that had landed at their feet into clouds of light for them to swipe into; Namjoon was sitting around the unlit campfire as the volunteer to keep Amelia company, who vehemently despised lightning bugs but was also too anxious to be by herself.

Y/n leaned back into her sister’s face that had started to bulge with how hard she was keeping in her tears. “How about I show you some tips? We just have to find how you catch them best.” Y/n wiggled her brows and giggled.

“Okay!” Matilda immediately lit up with childlike eagerness, her hands flapping in excitement,

“Tip number one,” Y/n gestured to Hoseok with her elbow. “Hobi always drops them, so stick by him.”

“Hey! I’m not going to this time!” Hoseok defended, though the way he bristled as one buzzed against his cupped palm said otherwise.

Y/n ignored his complaints, her steps picking up speed towards Yoongi. “Tip number two, if you’re not fast, try doing what he does.” They approached his seated form with slow steps so as to not disturb his methods. “See?”

“I can be fast if I want to be.” Yoongi scrunched his face, keeping his voice low. “I just don’t want to be.”

“Not as fast as me!’ Hoseok stuck his tongue down at him in a taunt. “I’m the running champion!”

Yoongi glared up at him, his face pinching together in irritation then releasing with a wide grin of realization. “You have one on your face!”

Hoseok screeched out in terror, his hands splaying open to release the few bugs he had trapped to swat at his face while Yoongi bellowed with laughter, his face lit up from below by the glow of his palms.

“Get them Gänse!” Y/n shouted through her laughter. Matilda only added to Hoseok’s panic, her smaller hands jumping to grab at his hands and face to sweep them into her palms while he hopped about to free himself of their tiny feet and fluttering wings before taking off to streak across the grass in his escape.

Unfortunately for her, Hoseok's flailing sent them all scattering out of reach, and another pout made its home on her mouth.

“I’ll never catch any.” The tears sprung back into her eyes and she crossed her tiny arms over her chest, kind of assumed absolute only a child was capable of.

“Here,” Yoongi sighed, sensing the oncoming meltdown and tapped the ground next to him with his bent knee, “I’ll show you how I do it.”

The girls sat on either side of the boy, and he demonstrated his sure fire way of scooping them up into a small hole he made with his fingers like the mouth of a whale–making Matilda giggle when he made low exaggerated gulps with each bug he caught. It took a few tries, but after a few minutes Matilda finally made her first successful catch.

“I did it!” She leapt into the air with a shout of victory, sending some of Yoongi’s next victims in all directions and tossing her clasped hands around his neck in gratitude. “Thank you Yoongs!”

“You did congrats. Now scram before you make me lose all of mine!” He tried to shove her off, though he couldn’t hide the way the corners of his mouth lifted with pride.

The two girls ran off to find Hoseok where he had joined in on Jin and Jimin’s stampeding, his ‘champion run’ stirring up the most bugs; his lithe form darting in wide circles with his arms spread out while Jimin and Jin ran about within its borders to catch as many as they could.

“Can we join?” Matilda tapped at Jin’s shorts with her fist, looking up at him with big pleading eyes.

Jin smiled, warm and inviting, and without hesitation. “Sure!”

Jungkook had joined in from where he had disappeared into the treeline to grab the stragglers, and five of them leapt about the grass while Hoseok took pride in his job of disturbing them with his lightning speed, Matilda doing her best to keep up with the older children.

Y/n took off to help Jimin, who had taken a bit of a fall after he jumped to catch one that was too high, leaving Matilda under Jungkook’s supervision, his quiet voice droning to her: “You want some of mine? I have a lot…”

“You okay Jimin?” Y/n asked him, but he was already rising to his knees.

“Yeah I’m fine.” Jimin blushed crimson, avoiding her eyes with a shy tug at his shirt. “I just tripped, that’s all.”

Y/n gasped, her eyes widening at his now empty hands. “You lost your bugs!”

“Oh.” Jimin frowned down at the place they used to be, then smoothed it out with a melancholy smile. “It’s alright. I probably wouldn’t win anyways.”

Y/n pressed her lips together, tightly with a shake of her head. “You can take some of mine.”

“You don’t have to–”

Y/n had already opened her palms to the wriggling mess of insects within, rushing Jimin to scoop some into his own. “ Nobody left behind here with us, remember?”

Jimin grinned softly down at his now glowing fists. “Yeah, right.”

“Did you just give him some?!” Jin sputtered out from behind her. “That’s cheating!”

“You can have one of mine then!” Matilda chirped, coming up to his side. “Jungkook gave me hundreds of them!” She grinned up at him, the small handful of bugs she held nowhere near such an enormous number, but to her she felt just as rich.

“O-okay…” Jin flushed as Matilda passed him two of her own, unable to turn down such a kind and innocent face.

In the end, everyone ended up passing each other bugs in some wild contrast between caring for one another but still wanting to win. Though it came as no surprise when Jungkook still reigned as the final champion, somehow his reserved yet resolute manner had his hands overflowing–even after giving up so many of them to Matilda, Y/n and Jimin.

The conclusion of their competition was celebrated by her aunt Hilga carrying out a bucket of roasting spits, a jumbo bag of marshmallows and a bulk pack of chocolate bars. She stayed only to help them light the fire pit, before giving them one final warning to be careful and disappearing into the screened-in sunroom with her feet up on the table and a glass of sweet tea.

Within thirty minutes, the bag was ripped open with over half of the confections devoured, all nine of the children sprawled on chairs and log benches with sticky faces and fingers coated with melted sugar. The worst of it being on Matilda’s, and Jin had designated himself to grab a wet paper towel to rub at the smears of chocolate and marshmallow on her cheeks and between her fingers with a parental nature while Jungkook over saw holding her braids out of the way for the cloth.

“You got some too, Ducky!” Hoseok chortled from the side Jungkook wasn’t on, using a separate napkin to swipe at her cheeks.

Y/n smacked his hands away, grabbing the towel from his hands. “I got it–you’re going to take my face off!” Hoseok just laughed, pressing his knee against hers in his usual manner–he was known for his lack of spatial awareness, his knees and elbows taking up more room than he needed.

Jimin was still fidgeting across the flames, the only people he was the most comfortable enough to sit between being Jungkook and Jin for the time being. Though he looked like he wanted to join in on the closeness and banter (though unbeknownst to him he would, in almost no time at all), but for now he was content just watching, offering sweet smiles and laughter when expected of him.

The night dwindled to a close, Yoongi extinguished the fire and they all lent a hand in dragging their tents into a tight circle, the doors left open for them to chatter idly with one another as they all trickled off to sleep to the sound of fluttering bats, singing crickets and distant hoots of owls.

Y/n's tent consisted of her and her three sisters, Amelia having already nodded off in the back with an arm around a snoring Matilda, facing away to block her eyes from the lanturn they had turned on in the middle of their huddle. Next to them was Jin and Jimin, the younger one of the two passed out with his head out of the tent. Having said that, Jin wasn’t faring any better–his head jolting forward into the clutches of sleep while he fought to keep watch over the stragglers.

Hoseok and Namjoon were next, the latter tucked into a plant encyclopedia and the former half out of his tent propped on his elbows, mirroring the way Y/n was (and Jimin had been) so they could keep whispering nonsensical tales and spooky stories to each other across the gaps. Yoongi was in his and Jungkook’s shared tent with the door half closed, while Jungkook kept his head propped on his elbow, his dark eyes zeroing in to silently listen to whoever spoke next, never offering up any conversation of his own but simply enjoying being included. However his own head had dropped minutes before, soft snores escaping his mouth against the skin of his arms.

Hoseok had gone silent and Y/n assumed he had fallen asleep, finding herself listening to the soft puffs of all of her friends breathing that surrounded her.

“Hobi?” She whispered, her thoughts already resigning herself to being the last one standing besides the evidently struggling Jin.

“Hmm?” Hoseok slurred, turning his head to gaze over her with red rimmed eyes from sleep, his head still laying flat against the entrance of his tent.

“Are you awake?”

She heard shuffling of cloth against canvas, and saw him pick his head up to look at her with hair that stuck up in all directions. “Yea.”

Y/n giggled, he had clearly fallen asleep. “Do you think we will be friends forever?”

“Of course I do.” Hoseok gave her the best serious face he could muster. “You can't get rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me.”

Y/n smiled, letting her head fall onto her folded arms as they looked across from each other, Hoseok letting his head fall back against his arms to mime her position. Their faces cast with a dim yellow glow from the lanturn and the moths that spotted its surface to throw shadows over the children. “Good. Because I want to do this forever and ever.”

“Me too.” Hoseok sighed out, succumbing to the slumber he fought so hard to stay out of.

Y/n drifted in and out of consciousness, only remembering the looming shape of Jin as he went around to lift her head into her tent and secure the door closed, repeating the motion with Hoseok and Jungkook before turning out the lantern and sliding into his own tent. The last thing she heard was the zip of their tent door, and Y/n let herself finally drift off to sleep.

“That sounds like it was a good time.” Taehyung remarked, his eyes amiable and easy-going.

Y/n gave a tight lipped smile, her throat suddenly feeling tight with the visions of the past. “It was.”

That was one of the memories she had replayed over a thousand times during her time away at school, like an aged VHS tape that had gone frayed with how many times she had rewound it just to watch it again. She had thought that she had worked through all of the feelings it brought on in crushing waves of grief–and she had–until a new layer was added from the night prior. The image of Hoseok’s sleep-muddled face as he whispered words of commitment to her left a sour taste in her mouth.

“Crazy to think that Jimin used to be shy.” Taehyung chuckled, sensing a shift in mood and trying to redirect her thoughts back to something pleasant.

That managed to pull a snort from Y/n, and she brought her own lukewarm tea to her mouth for a tiny sip. “It only took him a few months after that for him to really find his place with us. Then he became just as shameless and clingy as he is now. Goodluck trying to find that old Jimin now–if you want to see him you’ll have to find some witch to put a spell on him or something–find a private investigator. That man is gone.”

Taehyung let out a full bellied laugh, the sound cutting through his exhaustion and lighting up the room. “Oh completely gone.”

Y/n cracked a small smile, trying to come up with her next question for the man in front of her, finding herself lost in his alluring aura and the true unfiltered image of him she was seeing at an ungodly time of night (or day depending on your perspective of things).

“Out of questions already?” Taehyung recentered himself, letting out a fake sigh of disappointment.

“Am not,” Y/n rebuked, taking a risk with her next question, “In fact I just thought of one now.” Y/n leant across the table, sliding her cup closer to his. “What makes you a skeptic? Religion? Upbringing?”

Taehyung cleared his throat and squeezed his lips together, and it became apparent to Y/n that the question was much riskier than she had expected–his face taking on a shade of discomfort she had never seen from him before.

Y/n felt shame fester beneath the surface of her subconscious, the extended silence between them growing stifling. “Sorry if that’s a sensitive topic. You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable–I can think of a different one.”

“It’s fine.” Taehyung gnawed at his bottom lip, drawing in a heavy breath. “Do you want my real answer or do you want an easy answer?”

“Real.” Y/n breathed out before she had even realized she had opened her mouth.

He nodded, and leaned his weight onto his elbows at the edge of the table. “I could give you an answer about science or data or whatever–but it’d be a lie. And I don’t feel like lying today.”

Y/n swallowed, looking up at him with unwavering curiosity–one of her fatal flaws.

“My uncle–as I’ve previously mentioned–lived with us full time when I was growing up. I’m really close to him, and he became like a second father to me. I think about him a lot when I’m practicing or playing music.” Taehyung recalled, his eyes taking on a more distant appearance as if watching his own memories fly by. “I used to perform for him all of the time because it helped calm him down. Every show—every recital I had–he was there, front and center.”

“He really struggled.” Taehyung shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “Mentally I mean.” He clarified, his eyes scanning Y/n’s face for any signs of how she was responding, but she gave none–just patiently waiting for him to share whatever he wished to.

“We could never afford to get him an official diagnosis when I was younger, but we knew something was troubling him. He’d talk about being watched and his moods would flip dramatically–he was completely unpredictable. One moment he’d be how I knew him best: caring, supportive, great at telling jokes, and a kickass chef. The next he would go into these,” Taehyung brought his hand up to wind in aimless circles, “episodes. He would become irrational and talk of seeing people watching him from behind doors and curtains, that there were people coming to get him, or accuse my dad of stealing something of his or lying. Things he genuinely believed were true. Things that genuinely distressed him.

“It was scary sometimes. Not him–he never scared me really–but the situations he could put himself in were scary. On multiple occasions he would disappear overnight, and we wouldn’t be able to find him until morning once we were able to get some neighbors involved. We couldn’t call the police whenever it happened because we didn’t know what state he would be in at any given time, and we didn’t want them to think he was a threat when he was actually just probably scared and upset.

“After the first instance we had to install cameras around the house and trackers into his phone, and we did our best to learn what helped him manage and cope with these episodes without medical intervention. Pretty much all of my paychecks from the first six months I worked here went to getting him into a psychiatrist, and putting him on medication after he checked all of the boxes for Schizophrenia–and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I get to see him be more at peace with himself now. And while he still has good and bad days, it’s much easier on him and that’s all I could’ve ever asked for.” Taehyung licked his lips and brought his eyes down to avert her gaze.

“Wow. Tae that's…” Y/n breathed, unsure of what to say.

“A lot, I know. Not as simple as being a man of science.” He let out a dry chuckle “But let me circle back to the original question, because all of that was relevant–I swear I’m not just dumping on you for no reason.” He shifted in his seat, his demeanor becoming more confident.

“I’m a skeptic because I think the human mind is vast, and complicated. I think it can be dangerous to feed too much into the idea that there are mystical things we can’t see or explain, especially seeing first hand how many people tried to ‘pray’ for my uncle or suggest that what he was going through was good because he was talking to angels or some other bullshit.” His head cocked to the side quickly in a short burst of irritation. “I know they mean well, but if that was the only people he had been surrounded by, he would’ve never gotten the care he needed and would still be struggling. I personally prefer to keep my feet grounded in reality as much as I can.”

“I’m sorry I asked–I should’ve just let it be.” Y/n deflated, feeling like she had forced him to be too vulnerable too quickly.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m proud to talk about him.” Taehyung fixed her with an honest look. “He is one of the best people I know.”

Y/n looked at him, taking in the way his eyes flashed with love and passion at the mere mention of his uncle and felt warmth bloom in her chest with admiration. “What was your favorite thing that he cooked?” Y/n inquired.

Taehyung looked at her blankly, before his face lit up with understanding and mirth. “He made a mean braised short rib when we could afford to buy it.”

“Sounds delicious.” Y/n smiled at him over the lip of her cup. “What else?”

She spent a good half hour getting lost in the way Taehyung described all of the wonderful foods his uncle (who Y/n learned was named Yeongjae) used to cook for him. Y/n could almost taste each dish with how well Taehyung depicted the texture and flavor, and felt as though she was sitting at the table with them as he retold his favorite memories that surrounded each dish.

After a while, a few guests that were begrudgingly awake had wandered in and out of the cafe to leave with tired eyes and hands full of food and drinks to take up the elevator to their families–though it felt like they were on a different plane entirely. The two of them were lost in a world of scratched wooden tables, ugly overhead lamps from the seventies and a story about when his uncle had made too many dumplings–her hands aching in phantom pains from the laborious efforts Taehyung had gone through to help him fill and fold them all.

She enjoyed the small bubble her and Taehyung had created. It felt safe.

Safe from the horrors that everyone else was wrapped up in, like he was a breath of normalcy that helped her forget that there would be things she needed to face when she returned to her room. And she relished in it, going as far as to slide her hand across the table and let their fingers engage in a delicate dance of just barely ghosting each other as they fiddled with their cups. It felt normal, and she liked it.

“I guess it’s my turn to ask you another question.” Taehyung crushed his empty cup in his hand and played with the crumpled ball.

“Oh shit–yeah I guess so.” Y/n laughed lightly. “Go right ahead.”

“Are you feeling a bit better now?”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes locked with Taehyung’s prodding yet beautiful ones, a knowing look dancing within their brown confines. She swallowed, a new type of warmth spreading throughout her chest and into her cheeks. He had done this for her.

“Yes. I am.” Y/n nodded, enjoying the boxy grin that spread across his face in response.

“Good.” He let the hand resting on the table start to play with her fingers. “If you ever have any other bad days, I’m just across the hall. Whenever you need me.”

_________________________________________

Y/n had spent almost her entire Sunday in and out of sleep (save for the ten minutes she took to watch the live stream sent to her email of Jimin walking across a stage in his cap and gown). Thoughts of finding Bear, her grandmother, and her friends leaving her unable to get any restful sleep.

There was still no word from either Hoseok or Jin–and a small voice at the back of her head even wondered if they knew she was still alive. That voice was one she had to squash each time it tried to weasel its way into the forefront of her mind, because it was something she couldn’t even begin to humor.

To make matters worse, whenever she had seen Jungkook that day, he looked like he was split down the middle–constantly oscillating between looking at her expectantly, brows knit and eyes piercing; or like he couldn’t bear to look at her at all. Y/n had to tell herself that it had everything to do with how he was handling his own processing of his jump in power, or else she was worried about what any other reality might possibly do to her mental state at that moment.

At long last, Yoongi called her into his room with a simple text message. Though it struck her as odd that it was a private text and not to their group chat–she still obliged–grateful to have any excuse to escape the confines of her room without having to cope with Jungkook’s confusing stares.

[Zoltar]: Hop on over when you have a minute. No rush if you’re sleeping.

The sun had gone down by now, and she readied herself for another session by already having Yoongi’s necklace clasped around her neck, and one of her own pillows tucked under her arm. She couldn’t look down at the carpet as she quickly rounded the corner to find his door already cracked open for her to walk right in–the courtesy of knocking forfeited.

“Yoongi?” Y/n poked her head in, itching to get out of the hallway and into his room and closing the door gently behind her.

He was seated at his desk, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears and his pencil working to shade a section of his paper. Y/n wasn’t sure if he could hear her, or if he had even expected her to come over so quickly–he had probably assumed she was still sleeping anyways.

“Yoongs?” She tried again, her hand coming out to tap his shoulder.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He leapt almost a foot off of his chair, ripping his headphones from his head and looking up at her with wide eyes.

“You’re the one that invited me here!” Y/n couldn’t help but snicker at his reaction, earning a very flat glare from him. “I called for you but you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah and I thought you were asleep!” He clutched at his chest to calm his racing heartbeat, scrambling to pause the music that pulsed through his dropped headset. His eyes caught the pillow in her hand, and he paused, flicking them up to her quizzically. “What’s that for?”

“For when I drink the tea again.” Y/n stated as if it were obvious. “Isn’t that what I’m here for?”

“Not exactly.” Yoongi sighed, dropping his pencil into the cylindrical holder at the corner of his desk and turning his chair to face her. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Jeez, don't sound so grave.” Y/n grunted from the back of her throat, but the look on his face told her he wasn’t in a joking mood.

“It’s about the psychic stuff.” He started slowly, taking his time to ease the words from his mouth and gauging her reaction with each one.

No, she thought to herself, don’t you dare. She settled for a quick “What about it?” instead, feeling it was more appropriate. For now.

He quickly brought his hands up in surrender. “Before you bite my head off, I’m not telling you to quit. So get that out of your head because I can see it swimming there.”

Y/n released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and lowered herself onto his bed, drawing out the end of her words to raise into a question. “Okay…?”

“It’s about the next steps. About who we see next.” He swallowed thickly, and started to pick at the skin of his arms as he folded them over one another.

“Bear, obviously.” Y/n stated, unsure of where he was going.

“Yes–I know Bear.” Yoongi nodded a bit too quickly, wetting his lips twice in succession. “But I think there’s someone else we need to see first. That I need to see first.”

Y/n tried to wrack her brain for who else could be as important at the moment, but couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer. “Who? Matilda?”

“Well yes but not yet.” Yoongi looked everywhere but her, his foot tapping aggressively at the floor.

“Yoongi I swear to god, just spit it out.” Y/n begged, her hands squeezing the pillow in her hands. “You’re being weird and it's freaking me out.”

Yoongi finally looked at her, his eyes spearing through her to get a read on how she was feeling–a look she was beginning to recognize on his face. “I want to see my grandfather. I need to see him. There was something really important that he had tried to tell me before he died but I didn’t listen–and I think it’s relevant now.”

Y/n scrunched her face up, blinking in bewilderment. “Why were you scared to tell me that? I wouldn’t be mad or anything.”

Yoongi heaved a sigh, dispersing some of his anxieties into the air between them, his mutterings so low she almost couldn't hear it. “It’s not you I’m worried about…”

“Who are you worried about?” Y/n tilted her head, giving him a once over.

“The kid–Jungkook.”

Y/n wanted to laugh–she really did–the idea of Yoongi being scared of Jungkook was too funny of a tease to pass up. But any sounds that had started to bubble up from her lips were silenced by the way his legs shook with agitation, and his eyes turned icy, shutting her up immediately.

“Why would you be scared of him?” Y/n breathed out, now at a loss.

“Because I fucked up.” Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, leaving it more wild than before. “I fucked up with him a couple years ago after you had left.”

“I can’t imagine it could’ve been that bad…” Y/n tried to ease into the conversation, but even she couldn’t quell the spirit of inquiry that livened within herself. She knew something must have happened between the two of them for Jungkook to be so volatile when she had first returned–she had just assumed it was her mom’s wedge that she had put between them and never thought to ask any further.

“Well you weren’t there.” Yoongi whispered.

“Then explain it to me.” She instinctively brought one of her hands out to lay over one of his own, feeling the way his skin flexed over his knuckles when they tried to pick at his skin with more fervor. “I think my turn to be your therapist is long overdue anyways.”

“After you left–like I said before I knew something was wrong. Your mom wasn’t breaking, and I was only just diving into the occult. I needed help to get answers and I knew where I wanted to go for it first.”

“Jungkook.” Y/n affirmed, letting her fingers curl around his palm to stop their nervous onslaught.

“Yeah. I asked him to help me find G-min–to go into the spirit realm and find him so I could ask him questions. Ask him about all of his nonsensical ramblings and the messed up ink drawings he would lose himself in every day. And selfishly, I wanted to just see him one more time like Jungkook got to.” Yoongi stared daggers into his desk like it was the most despicable thing in existence. “He trusted me. Maybe even a bit too much.

I was so blinded with rage at your parents, and residual grief that I pushed Jungkook harder even when he asked me if we could stop. And he listened. Followed me blindly because that’s just who he is–and I abused his trust. Pushed him too far for my own gain and wish to prove your mom wrong and catch her in her lies.”

“What happened to him?” Y/n whispered, now twining her fingers one by one in between his own.

“I was an amateur with this stuff and in over my head with it all. I didn’t use the right combination or the right wards for what I was doing, and was only able to get myself just to the precipice of the other side when he collapsed into a heap. His eyes were stuck black and open, and he couldn’t see anything but ghosts. I couldn’t get him out and it scared the shit out of him–rightfully so.” Yoongi’s voice grew muddy and wet. “And then I had the audacity to ask him again. Then we fought and called each other some nasty shit. I had to switch rooms with Hoseok because we just couldn’t bear to see each other for a while. Only added fuel to the fire of pointed fingers and rumors your mom threw at me, and everyone just started assuming I was some devil worshipper or necromancer and that I’m the one causing all the crazy shit.”

Y/n let out a shaky breath, letting him have a few moments after his confession to settle his mind. “Did anyone still talk to you after?”

Yoongi barked a humorless laugh. “That’s funny. What do you think? You’ve seen how everyone acts around me. Namjoon was kind enough to actually listen after a year or so, though I could tell until you got here that he was doubtful of my true intentions. I think he listened more so for his own benefit, so we could join heads when it came to protection and stuff.”

“If no one else believes there’s something to be worried about, why would they care? ” Y/n gripped his hand tighter within his own, hoping to convey the sympathy she felt for him in her bone crushing hold.

“Because knowing something is happening and believing something is happening are two very different things. Knowing is passive. You can move on with your day when you just know something, pretend that merely dismissing it into the back crevices of your mind with the rest of the trivial facts you know means it’s not a problem. Whereas believing means you can’t deny it, you can’t avoid it. You don’t sit by and look away when things get sticky, you stand up and you push back–because you believe it’s the right thing to do. But because I was the only one, I was the odd one out. I was the enemy they chose to focus on.” Yoongi radiated waves of indignation, the heat smothering Y/n with their fury with each word he seethed through his teeth. “It’s a lot easier to just blame me than to stand up and face the reality that they are enabling. They would rather rot in a place of comfort than fight through something that could make them uncomfortable.”

Y/n didn’t know what to say. There was nothing she could say to undo the mess that had been made, or the lines that had been crossed. Y/n just let herself say what she thought, and hoped that something from it would stick.

“I for one, believe you. I believe that you are good.” Y/n used her other hand to trace comforting shapes on the back of Yoongi’s. “I wish I never would have walked out, I would’ve been able to help you from the start of all of this so you weren’t alone in all of this.”

“You came back. That’s what matters. ” Yoongi let out a puff of air, doing what he could to limit any anger from seeping into his words. “I had started doing this all mostly for you anyways, so I can’t be angry with how you handled it. And unfortunately if I hold grudges and keep everyone out, I’d have no one left.” A small melancholy smile curved the edges of his mouth, his last phrase coming out in an attempted joke. “It’s better to have them on my side now even if that means swallowing my pride sometimes.”

Y/n wanted to join in on the jest, never turning down an opportunity to tease Namjoon—but she couldn’t move past something he had slipped in in the middle of his response that had something unfamiliar, something new curling under her skin and flowing through her blood stream. Something suffocating and freeing at the same time.

“You did all that for me?”

Yoongi’s head shot up to meet her gaze, his eyes unwavering and his ears twinged pink. “Of course I did. What they did was unfair to you, and if we all just stand by and let it happen to one person it's only a matter of time before they get comfortable enough to do it to us. No one left behind and all that bullshit.”

Y/n felt tears well in her eyes, and for the first time in the past few days they weren’t because of something tumultuous–it was because she felt utterly amazed, loved, and supported. She felt seen.

“I don’t care what nonsense they say about you. You are amazing, Yoongi Min.” She launched herself forwards, holding him close for the second time that weekend–probably the most they’ve hugged in almost a decade. “I’ll talk to Jungkook for you. He could never hate you–not forever anyways. We will figure out how to get you to G-min.”

He didn’t fight it this time or falter, he let himself melt into her hold and grip her around her middle with just as much enthusiasm as she held him. She wondered when the last time someone had held him like this would’ve been–probably the Christmas she had left, or whenever his parents had been in the country. They really did have more in common than it had seemed, she noted, letting the small shudders of his shoulders and the single tiny sniffle that slipped out of his mouth just loud enough for her to hear go without comment. Rather focusing on carding one of her hands through his dark hair, and holding onto him tightly with the reminder that she did care–that she would still love him even if no one else would.

_________________________________________

[Morning Glory 🌼]: <image>

[Morning Glory 🌼]: I forgot to send this on Saturday. Look at this message that popped up in my family tree portal. Suspicious?

[Jungkook ⚫⚫ 🔪]: Jimin?

[Joon 🌱] : Are you sure you didn’t write that and forget?

[Morning Glory 🌼]: Of course not Joon 🙄 I would know if I wrote something like that.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: That’s what I’m thinking, Kook.

[Joon 🌱]: 🤷Sometimes you forget things.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: Not anything like that, dingus 😑 Why would I apologize to myself for snooping????

[Joon 🌱]: I’ve heard you have full conversations with yourself at the greenhouse, how am I supposed to know?

[Morning Glory 🌼]: Ugh. Yoongi, anything insightful to offer?

It had been almost two hours since she had sent the last message, and she couldn’t help but check her phone every second she could in between taking care of the gardens and greenhouse plants. Although still tormented by waves of headaches that now just become a part of her everyday, she couldn’t just say she might have worsened her concussion without raising any eyebrows. Thus she found herself tasked with easy jobs like watering and pest checks, or organizing the collected plants for the upcoming Spring pop up event the coming weekend into tall vases as they came in.

It wasn’t like Yoongi not to respond. Maybe he was actually caught up in work for once? Y/n chortled at the thought the moment it rounded the corners of her brain, knowing that while he was a hard worker, he didn’t love his job enough to get lost in it for longer than thirty minute increments.

A light tapping on the glass of the green house door pulled Y/n from the hunched shape she had taken to trim off any of the suckers that had sprouted from their tomato plants. She shucked off her gloves and tossed them onto the wooden table in the entrance room, unlatching the door to face who she suspected to be one of the high school kids here to help pick flowers dropping off another load.

A small slip of paper was thrust into her face, fluttering down for Y/n to scramble to catch as it flipped in somersaults. No one stood at the door (no one she could see at least), but a faint whiff of gunpowder and dirt drifted from the paper, leaving her with only one guess at who the messenger could possibly be.

“Tree man?” Y/n beckoned, craning her neck out of the door.

The grass rustled a few feet to her left where two boot prints indented into it, stilling at her call.

“Thank you for the other day.” Y/n grimaced at how awkward she sounded and how crazy she must’ve looked talking to nothing, but didn’t let the feeling get to her too much. “I appreciate it.”

There was no verbal response, but the boot prints lingered for a few seconds longer before taking off in a sprint towards the woods. She took that as a sign of acknowledgement, and shut the door hastily to keep from bringing in attention from anyone else.

She thumbed the small rectangular slip in her fingers, flicking it open with her thumbnail and reading the neat scrawl on its surface.

“Can we talk? Historical society, 2pm. Please bring more of the stuff Namjoon had given me if you can.”

~Jimin

Y/n kept the note tucked in her apron the rest of the morning unless she was taking it out to show Namjoon, the pads of her fingers constantly running over the flimsy edges and the divots made from the pen. She restrained herself from texting him, for if that had been a safe option that would’ve probably been his first choice.

2pm couldn't have come at any slower of a pace. Jungkook came by that afternoon to escort her to the building, still giving her the same whirlwind of stares and brooding lip bites as the day prior–she was going to lose her mind if he didn’t just spit out whatever was bothering him and soon.

One thing at a time, she told herself as the front door to the historical building came into view, steeling herself to be ready for whatever was to come.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave. I’ll try to make sure it’s still within your lunch break, so I wont dilly dally.” She adjusted the plastic bag of dried herbs Namjoon had gathered for her on her arm, turning to give Jungkook one last look, one last chance to pull himself out of whatever funk he found himself in.

He cast his gaze up into the trees, floating his eyes to follow the bees and dragonflies that zoomed overhead. “Okay.”

Y/n exhaled sharply from her nose, but didn’t push it. If something was bothering him, he would only run further if pushed, and she would just have to wait until he was ready to confront it in his own time. She didn’t even make it to the awning, her boots barely scuffing the surface of the cool stone in front of the door when it was thrown open and she was yanked through it with a yelp.

“Jimin! Are you–”

He whirled on her, a finger pressed to his lips and his eyes imploring her to listen. Y/n swept her gaze over his face–rested, yet intense–his dirty blonde hair swept up from his forehead with how many times he had run his hands through it. He lowered his hand and used it to push open the second door once he was sure she understood his request for silence.

Jimin steered them forwards through the entrance room and weaved them through the main exhibition dome–the art that lined the walls of the lengthy hall that led to his office passing by in blurs of color and lines. He had yet to speak a single word when they stumbled into his office, though he turned to face her again the moment the door was closed with an outstretched hand, his fingers making a childish ‘gimme’ motion towards the bag.

Y/n thrust it into his arms and watched as he tore through its contents, frantically grabbing handfuls and stuffing fistfuls of dried lavender, rosemary, basil and garden sage into a stone bowl waiting at the center of his table.

He rounded the table with purpose, swiping a pack of matches from the opposite end and fishing one out with quick-moving fingers. Striking it across the lip of the box, he dropped it into the pile of foliage until their edges started to singe with orange embers and weep wisps of smoke. He snuffed the end, lifting the bowl into his hands and wafting the smoke around the room until the scent enveloped them in its earthy and fragrant aroma.

He set the bowl down back at the center of the table, letting it burn away unbothered. Y/n took it as her moment to speak up.

“Can we tal–”

Jimin held up one hand, his eyes blown out wide and frantically mouthing a ‘Wait!’ He jutted his head in all directions, patting down his pockets in search of something that he appeared to have misplaced.

With newfound enthusiasm, he skipped over to one of his lounge chairs, snatching up something from the crack between the cushions and shaking about with vigor.

After a few seconds of ear splitting jangling, Y/n was able to see that it was a golf ball sized round bell that he was shaking as though his life depended on it in each corner of the room. He discarded it into his pocket, and flicked on his record player to drown out the way his dress shoes clacked against the floor all the way to his desk. One of his drawers opened with a groan of aged wood against metal, and he clenched his teeth together with the effort it took to remain silent while he fumbled a small stick of frankincense into a ceramic holder, lighting it the same way he had done to the bowl of leaves.

The scent recognition was immediate–the familiar smell that had been wafting about his office that she hadn’t been able to place during her last visit was the incense he was burning–the same incense Yoongi had given her to burn in her room as needed.

Jimin stood taut, hovering over the burning twig with visible impatience. He was practically shaking–his brow irked and quivering, and his hands gripping at the edge of his desk with white knuckles. Only when the smoke curled up into relaxed whisps did he glide across the floors to engulf her in his arms, pressing his face into her shoulder and knocking the air from her lungs.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t say goodbye–I wanted to. They came to get me way earlier than expected and I knew it’d be too risky.” Jimin finally broke the dam, rocking them back and forth in a small circle.

“It’s okay! I figured as much.” Y/n struggled to pull herself away enough to gesture to the herbs with her chin. “What’s all this? Jimin please tell me you can tell me something.”

His amber eyes turned resolute, and he nodded eagerly. “I can. But I only have until they burn out to talk. Once they are snuffed, we have to go back to normal discussion or silence.”

“Then you better start talking Jimin Park or god so help me–”

“I can hear them. The spirits.” Jimin’s words spilled from his mouth like a weight had been lifted off of his chest. “I can hear them all of the time–all day every day. It never stops. I got used to tuning them out so long ago that I never bothered listening to anything they were saying until it was too late.” He took both hands to cradle her face in his hands, his eyes scanning her eyes. “They lie a lot. Saying anything they can to try and keep my attention for anything longer than a few seconds. Usually it’s vulgar or violent nonsense–but after I saw the bruising on your neck, I couldn’t help but start to crack. Then with what happened in the kitchen I just-”

“You know about Hadwin? And what happened in the kitchen?” Y/n gasped, her hands sliding up to grip at his forearms.

“I do now, yes. I’m so unbelievably sorry for not listening to them sooner–maybe I could’ve helped you.” Jimin shook with emotion, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry for being so cryptic–but a telephone works both ways. If I can hear them, they can hear me. Word travels incredibly fast to people you don’t want to be involved with when there are hundreds of ears waiting to ingest everything you say and spit it out to whoever can listen. It’s why I tried to get you to talk to me first, at the very least I could keep my responses vague and unassuming if you were the one doing all of the talking.”

“Holy shit Jimin.” Y/n pulled away from him, her mouth blubbering with what to say next. “I don’t even know where to begin. I have so many questions I don’t know what to ask first.”

“Any of them. Ask me any of them and I’ll do my best to answer.” Jimin grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the small plush loveseat near his reading area and tugged her down to sit next to him.

Y/n had so many questions fighting for dominance in her mouth, that she ended up blurting out the first one that stuck–though it wasn’t one she cared for. She just needed to break the ice. “What were you saying about Taehyung when we were on our date? What was that?”

Jimin bellowed out with melodic laughter, tucking her close to his side with a timid swipe of his tongue across his lower lip. “It was a lousy attempt at trying anything to get you to understand that I can hear things. The night at the Adelaide, you came out of the greenroom looking like you’d seen a ghost and I figured it was Bea–she calls Taehyung the new egg anytime she brings him up.”

“The name’s Bea.” The woman stood far shorter than Y/n, and took graceful strides towards where she stood, stopping a few feet away and holding out a gloved hand. “The bee’s knees of the Adelaide. Though the new egg is quite the snazzy showman if you ask me.”

“Taehyung is a good egg, isn’t he?” He blurted out, cutting her off and regarding her heavily over his shoulder.

“Oh my god!” Y/n jumped against the cushion with excitement, jostling the two of them against each other while her brain connected the dots. “I never would have put that together!”

“Sorry…”Jimin sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I did the best I could in the moment.”

“On Saturday, was that you in the family tree portal?” Now that she had asked the first question, the rest were barreling from her mouth before she could think.

His face flushed pink, and he shook with a weak chuckle. “Yes, that was me. I really apologize for snooping when I said I wouldn’t–but after looking over your cute little hand drawn tree with all the x’s, I started to piece together information of my own that I’ve been gathering from them. Figured you could use a hand. Did you see Clarence around the property, or what triggered that?”

Y/n sunk into the couch with a powerful exhale. “ Do you know what happened this weekend yet or have you not caught up?”

Jimin’s brows furrowed, his eyes turning steely. “I haven’t gotten the chance to debrief between coming back to work and setting up time with you. What happened?”

“I was at the guest house with–”

The doors to Jimin’s office burst open, Namjoon stood bracing it against the wall to keep it from closing in on them with the force that Jungkook had shoved it open with. Both of their chests were heaving with their efforts to catch their breath, having clearly run through the building to get here. Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so hard she could see the muscles of his face twitching, and Namjoon’s eyes blazed with a fierceness she hadn’t seen since he had first found out about Hadwin.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Jungkook demanded sharply, stepping further into the room, his eyes trained on the smoldering bowl.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear it go off–but everything's fine! I'm safe!” Y/n jumped from her spot on the couch with a spirited grin, pulling Jimin up with her. “Guys, Jimin can–”

Namjoon cut her off, his tone uncharacteristically short.

“Yoongi is missing.”

_________________________________________

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