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nothoughtsjustfic · 3 months ago

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Precious - L.JH

🦆Who: Lee Jihoon (Seventeen) x female reader 🦆What: Angst. Fluff. Nursery school teacher Jihoon. Single parent reader. 🦆Word count: 11.8k 🦆Warnings: Big ol’ misunderstanding, which technically, is intentional but not designed this way. That’ll make sense when you read. Junhui is reader’s best friend and a menace but also the best friend a person could want. Reader has a 4/5-year-old daughter. One-sided pining that isn’t one sided at all, they’re both just kind of stupid and bad at communicating at first. They learn though, don’t worry. 🦆Summary: “Your daughter absolutely adores her nursery school teacher, Mr Lee, and it doesn’t take you long to understand why.”

Masterlist Read the sequel Thinking about: Nursery school teacher L.JH.

A/N- this was originally supposed to be a little under 3k fluff piece about reader’s daughter adoring her nursery teacher and reader quickly understanding why. But I got ever so slightly carried away :))

If you want to know more about a certain nanny featured in this, you can check out the connected story, Thinking about: Nanny K.MG.

It starts with a meltdown.

You’ve only been home twenty minutes and have barely started the prep for dinner when your daughter runs into the kitchen with tears streaming down her chubby, little cheeks and wails of despair falling from her wobbling lips.

“Oh, baby girl, what is it?” You immediately abandon the rice you’ve been rinsing, to wipe your hands on your work trousers, so that they’re mostly dry when you pluck up your distressed child to hold tight and soothe.

It takes almost ten minutes of rocking and murmuring calming words and sounds before your daughter can blubber out an explanation.

“Bubba lost!” She explains, and although it means nothing to pretty much anyone else, you know. Bubba is her comfort plushie, even if it is perhaps the ugliest looking duck plushie you’ve ever seen.

When your best friend had given it to you when you were pregnant with your daughter five years ago, it had really been a joke. But your strange little angel of a child seems to share her pseudo uncle’s sense of humour; the moment she found the duck shoved in your wardrobe at two-years-old, it was love at first sight. Maybe it’s your own fault for naming her after him.

“Oh, Juni,” you coo before pressing a kiss to each splotchy, tear-sticky cheek. “Bubba’s not in your bag?” You ask as you carry her through to the living room, where her school backpack is on the floor with the usual contents tipped out around it from her frantic search for the plushie for her usual post-nursery, unwind snuggle time.

“Lost!” She wails, a fresh set of tears starting up, so you return to bouncing her slightly as you start wandering around the apartment in search of the toy. Though, you know that she takes it to nursery every single day for the post-lunch nap, and you hadn’t received a call from the school about a tearful, tired daughter, so she clearly had it with her at school today.

Once you’ve confirmed that Bubba is not in the apartment, you go back to the kitchen and grab your phone.

“Okay, baby, I need you to calm down so that I can call your school and ask if Bubba is in the classroom, okay?” You say, and it’s something like a miracle how quickly Juni stops making loud noises, even if she’s still sniffling and crying. “Thank you.” You kiss her head then press the dial button beside the school’s number.

Honestly, you aren’t sure anyone will answer; most of the staff, if not all, will surely have already left the building by this point. But to your relief, the ringing cuts off and a friendly voice answers the call, greeting with the school’s name and asking how he can help you.

“Oh, hello, I’m calling to ask if someone could check my daughter’s classroom to see if she left her duck plushie behind?” You wonder politely, while mentally pleading this man to be as kind as he sounds.

“Ah, of course, of course, which class?”

“Little Lambs,” you answer with the cute name of your daughter’s class.

You’re pretty sure that every class in the whole school is named after an animal, though you do know the other two classes for the youngest children are named cutely too: Darling Ducklings for the younger class and Cutie Cubs for the older class.

Juni had been so upset to have missed the chance to be called a Duckling, but you had been working remotely until this school year and hadn’t wanted to be apart from her so soon. At least she’s excited to be in the tiger themed classroom next year, even if she keeps asking if Mr Lee can still be her teacher instead of Mr Kwon.

Not because she dislikes Mr Kwon; she’s said he’s fun and nice, but she adores Mr Lee and talks about him at the most random times. She’s even asked if he can attend her birthday party and you had to deal with a tantrum when you told her that no, her teacher cannot attend a birthday party for a five-year-old. She still asks though.

“Oh! That’s right next to mine! I was just heading that way to see if Mr Lee is heading home yet, so if you just hold on a sec, I’ll go talk to him and we can look.”

“Thank you so much,” you breathe out in relief.

“Of course! Uhh, I don’t know how to put the call on hold so uhm, just wait?”

You laugh softly. “That’s fine, thank you.”

“Okay, great, be right back!” The phone clatters gently as it’s placed down before you hear the man running away. You find the irony of a teacher running through the school halls amusing; he no doubts spends a good chunk of his day telling the children to walk nicely down the halls.

“B-Bubba?” Juni questions, looking at you with big, red rimmed eyes.

“The teacher is going to ask Mr Lee.”

In an instant, Juni lights up at the mention of her third favourite human, behind only you and your best friend. “Mr Lee!”

It prompts her to start babbling on about her day with the man as if she hadn’t already told you everything on the drive home, but you don’t mind hearing it again. You love seeing her so animated and happy, even with tear stains on her cheeks.

The phone is still held near your ear so when a different voice greets you five minutes later, you’re ready. “Is this Juni’s mother?”

“It is,” you confirm.

“Oh, good. Hi, it’s Mr Lee, Juni’s teacher. I found Bubba amongst the class plushies, so I assume he got put there accidentally. I’m leaving to head home now, so I can drop him off on the way.”

“Oh, you don’t have to; I can come back, it’s not a long drive. I don’t want to bother you, Mr Lee.” Juni squeaks excitedly at the mention of her teacher, making you hold back a fond, little laugh so that the man doesn’t hear it.

“It’s no bother, I know how important Bubba is to her and that you’ve been at work all day yourself. I think it’s on my way anyway, you live near the park with the elephant slide, right? Juni mentions it a lot.”

“Ah, yeah, her uncle takes her there all the time.”

Mr Lee chuckles softly. “Yeah, she says. She really loves him a lot; talks about nothing but him, and you, of course.”

“Funny, she talks about nothing but you at home.”

There’s a moment of silence and you start to wonder if you should’ve kept that to yourself but then his soft, disbelieving voice comes back before you can backtrack and try to apologise for overstepping. “Really? She talks about me?”

“Yeah, she adores you.”

“Oh,” he says on a puff of an awed exhale. “That’s…I didn’t realise any of my students like me that much. That’s really…it means a lot to me to hear, thank you for telling me. I’ll be by in about twenty minutes with Bubba, if that’s okay?”

“Are you sure it’s not too much for you?”

“No, no, not at all. Really. I’m more than happy to do this, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

“Ah, okay, thank you, Mr Lee, we really appreciate your kindness.”

“You’re both welcome. I’ll see you soon.” The call ends and you lock your phone to place it back on the counter.

“Bubba?” Juni asks.

For a moment, you debate not telling her exactly what is happening because you know how she’ll react, but you also don’t like to hide things from you daughter unless entirely necessary.

So, you take a breath and put her down on the floor before answering. “Mr Lee is bringing him.”

As expected, Juni starts to yell and jump excitedly. You chuckle fondly and get back to preparing dinner, while hoping that she will calm soon enough.

Almost half an hour after ending the call, the doorbell rings and you practically have to tackle your daughter on the couch, so that she doesn’t run off to answer the door.

Usually, she never tries to answer the front door, or even touch it, though you still keep it locked with the chain across just in case; but she’s been bouncing and excitedly prattling on about Mr Lee visiting for half an hour now, so you’re not sure she’ll remember the safety rule.

“Okay, be calm. Remember, he’s just bringing Bubba,” you remind your daughter as you get up and walk to the door with her. Juni nods emphatically in understanding, though you’re not convinced she’s absorbed your words any of the times you’ve said them because she has already said multiple times that she’s going to show Mr Lee her favourite toys.

After peering through the spy hole and finding who you can only assume is Mr Lee when he’s bundled up so well with his scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face as his dark hair half obscuring his eyes as it sticks out from under his beanie, you unlock the door and open it.

“Mr Lee!” Juni shrieks as soon as the door is open enough to see the man in the hall. You notice his eyes curve, chill pinkened cheeks bunching up under his scarf before he pulls it down to tuck thickly under his chin so he can smile at your daughter.

“Hi, Nini, I brought you someone,” he greets, surprising you with the nickname you were unaware anyone, other than you, calls her, but you don’t mind. It somehow sounds even cuter from the man. He crouches down as he pulls his messenger bag around to his front and you spot Bubba’s head sticking out of one side.

“Bubba!” Juni gasps and bounces forward to pat the duck’s scruffy yet soft fur.

“We had a nice walk, and he had fun seeing all the sights on the way, but I think he’s more than ready to be back with you now,” Mr Lee says as he unzips his bag to gently pull out the duck to offer. Juni immediately takes it to hug tight and bury her face in its pale yellow and splotchy grey body.

“What do you say, Juni?” You prompt, tapping Juni’s head gently.

“Thank you, Mr Lee!” Juni all but yells, then launches herself forward to hug the man. Clearly, he’s already used to her abrupt and intense affection as he doesn’t falter in catching her and hugging her back.

The sight of this sweet man with his cute, pink tipped nose and cheeks embracing your daughter and looking genuinely happy to be here and accepting her enthusiastic love, makes your heart flutter.

The only man who has ever shown your daughter love is your best friend, but that’s entirely different; you and Junhui fooled around once as teens and decided it was gross and swore to never touch one another like that again.

Just as you manage to get your heart under control, by reminding yourself that this is your daughter’s teacher; someone who you can’t get involved with even if you wanted to, he looks at you and you’re pelted with the full force of his precious smile. Your stomach somersaults and your heart takes up breakdancing, or at least it feels like it by how it suddenly erratically thumps against your ribs.

“Thank you,” you say, forcing yourself to be normal, even if your voice comes out soft and a little breathy.

Something in Mr Lee’s expression changes, the smile lessens a little but not in an unhappy way, more like a thought is running through his mind as his head tilts ever so slightly. It takes him a second too long to respond. “You’re welcome.”

“Mr Lee, see my toys!” Juni encourages, grappling for the man’s glove clad hand as she backs towards the open door, trying to tug him, but she’s only a tiny four-year-old and he’s a grown adult; he doesn’t even wobble in his crouched form.

“Ah, baby, remember, Mr Lee is on his way home; he only came to drop off Bubba. He can’t come in and see your toys,” you explain.

Juni immediately pouts and looks at you with pleading eyes. “Peas, mama?”

“Please,” you correct gently. She pouts harder.

“How about we have a show and tell soon?” Mr Lee suggests, drawing your daughter’s attention back to him.

“What that?”

“Show and tell is where you bring something in to show the class. You can bring in your favourite toy and show the whole class, so long as your parents let you bring it, of course. You can only bring in something mama says is allowed to come to school, okay, Nini?”

“I bring Hector!”

“No!” You argue quickly, earning another pout from your troublesomely cute daughter. “Hector cannot go to school with you, Juni, that is a firm no.”

“But Hector best toy.”

“Hector is twice the size of you,” you remind.

“Now I’m curious about Hector, I won’t lie,” Mr Lee admits with a little chuckle.

“See Hector!” Juni enthuses, once again tugging the man.

“Juni,” you sigh. “Mr Lee needs to go home.”

“Well, I can spare five minutes to meet Hector, if that’s okay?” He replies, looking at you from where he’s still crouched with one hand in Juni’s and actually holding her instead of just letting her hold onto his much larger hand. Surprisingly, there’s a hint of pleading in his slightly rounded eyes and you’re too stunned by this man actively wanting to indulge your daughter that you just nod dumbly.

“Yay!” Juni squeals and scrambles to walk backward while tugging Mr Lee, who gets up now and lets her. He has to stop though when although Juni can fit past your body, the gap isn’t enough for him.

There’s a moment where you’re face to face and so close that you can feel the chill of the winter still clinging to his clothes, and you just hold eye contact with one another silently as a sudden tension fills the little gap between you.

It’s Juni that breaks the moment, even if she doesn’t realise. “Scusey, mama!” She nudges your leg, prompting you to blink back to reality and step aside to allow the man into the apartment. “Thank you!”

Mr Lee only stops when he realises that he’s wearing winter boots, which are a pain to undo. “Oh, uh, my shoes are a lot to get off,” he admits sheepishly. “I forgot I’m wearing these and not my work shoes, sorry, Nini, can you bring Hector out here, by any chance?”

You eye his boots as you lean against the front door and hear it click to a complete close under your weight.

“Otay, wait here!” Juni agrees and lets go of Mr Lee to scramble off to her bedroom.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, just loud enough for the man and not your daughter to hear.

He turns to look at you, blinking innocently from behind the strands of dark hair in front of his eyes. “Huh?”

“Indulge her; you must have to get home.”

He shrugs. “I’m in no rush. As I said on the phone; I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” He reaches up to try and move his hair out of his face, but between his beanie trapping it and his thick gloves making it hard for him to accurately touch his hair as he can’t really feel it, he just uselessly swipes over his face a few times. It’s oddly endearing.

“Do you want some help?” You offer, pushing off the door and motioning to his hair loosely without trying to get any closer.

“It’s okay-”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” you repeat his own words back at him.

He stares at you dumbly for a second, pink lips parted in surprise before they curl up at one edge as he laughs softly. “Touche. I uh, I’d appreciate the help, I don’t want to take my gloves off because they’re tucked in past my wrists and it’s a pain to tuck them without removing my coat.”

“Past your wrists?” You wonder as you move closer and lift your hands to carefully move the strands of his hair from out of his face, baring his eyes directly to you from only a few feet away. “Where did you get those? That sounds useful.”

“Oh, uhm, I got them abroad. My friend got married at a ski resort for some reason despite not knowing how to ski nor having ever been to a ski resort in his life, but yeah…I bought them in the town there.”

“Bet it was beautiful though.”

“Mm, yeah. Could’ve done without having to wear a suit in the snow for the sake of photos. They had to photoshop the pink from my face; it was very cold.”

You giggle at the thought of Mr Lee standing pink faced in a suit amongst beautiful, snowy mountains and part of you wants to see the original photos, but you know that would be weird to ask.

So instead, you simply finish tucking his hair neatly into his beanie to keep it in place without entirely exposing his forehead and temples to the cold. You’re entirely unaware of the way he’s staring at you in awe; blown away by how precious your giggle is and wondering if he can make you do it again.

“There,” you say when you’re done. “You can see clearly again, Mr Lee.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs as you lower your hands and step back while smiling at him. “You can call me Jihoon when it’s just us,” he blurts in offer.

You almost ask him if he plans to create situations where it’s just the two of you but the familiar sound of Hector’s wheels rolling on the laminate draws both of your attention away from one another and in the direction of Juni’s bedroom. Which is a good thing too, because you’re pretty sure your retort would’ve been an inappropriate flirtation.

“That’s Hector?” Jihoon mutters with wide eyes on the half mechanical, half plush creature on wheels.

To the best of your abilities, all you can describe it as is cyborg Godzilla in need of a better plastic surgeon because it truly is a monstrosity. Once again, it’s something that Junhui gifted to your daughter, and she loves wholeheartedly.

“My best friend is a menace, and he passed it on to her,” you deadpan and count it as a win when Jihoon snorts a laugh in response.

“Like Hector, Mr Lee?” Juni asks once she’s just about managed to stop the remote-controlled lizard creature before it collides with the man.

“He’s very impressive,” Jihoon replies diplomatically and now you’re the one barely catching a laugh in time and instead letting out an almost snort at his answer. He side-eyes you amusedly and presses his lips together to fight his laugh, as evident by the upturned corners of his mouth and crinkles next to his eyes before he looks back at Juni. “But your mama is right; Hector should definitely stay at home.”

“Otay, I shown tell ‘nother toy,” Juni declares simply.

“Show and tell,” Jihoon corrects gently before you get the chance. Juni just nods as if that’s exactly what she had said, making the pair of you smile fondly at her little figure focused on the large remote in her tiny hands to try and turn Hector around. “Hey, can I have a turn?” He requests.

Juni’s head jerks up to look at her teacher before nodding enthusiastically and bouncing over to offer the control while pointing out the joystick and buttons to tell him how to use it.

For a few minutes, you watch as Jihoon squats down in the entrance hall with Juni standing between his knees and her back to his chest in the circle of his arms as they both watch Hector roam around under Jihoon’s direction.

“Roar! Do the roar!” Juni says, in the exact same voice Junhui does to quote the little boy in the fourth Shrek movie.

Jihoon doesn’t manage to catch his laugh in time, and it comes out in a sudden bark before he manages to press his lips together, turning his laughter into strange, sputtered “pffts” that make you laugh silently.

Juni looks over her left shoulder at her teacher with the dirtiest side-eye you have ever seen, and you can’t help it; you burst into laughter, which sets Jihoon off laughing, making him turn his head so he’s not laughing in the child’s face. Now you’re also getting the side-eye from your four-year-old, but you’re doubled over with your hands on your knees and don’t even notice.

It takes the pair of you over a minute to stop laughing, though one look at the other’s laughter-teary eyes sets you both off again. Juni huffs in impatience and takes the controller from her teacher to press the button that makes Hector roar, while you and Jihoon continue to laugh away together.

The trill of your alarm going off in the kitchen is the only reason you manage to collect yourself. “Oh,” you sniffle, wiping under your eyes as you straighten up, a few giggles still slipping past.

“Dinner!” Juni exclaims eagerly and turns to look at Jihoon. “Dinner time, Mr Lee!”

“Ah, I suppose it is. You eat well, okay, and I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he says as he gets up, wiping the wet marks from his own cheeks.

Juni frowns at him. “Stay dinner.”

“I can’t, that’s your family time. I’ll eat lunch with you tomorrow instead, okay?”

“Pomise?” She asks, lifting her hand, and almost dropping the controller in the process, so she holds it close to her chest, to extend her adorable, little pinkie finger to the man.

“I promise,” he agrees, linking his glove clad pinkie with her tiny one. It’s a precious sight, but not as precious as how your daughter glows with joy then hugs the man before rushing to the kitchen to turn the alarm off, yelling goodbye as she goes.

“I hope you’re a man of honour, Jihoon,” you comment as Jihoon turns to the front door while you open it.

He pauses mid step for a split second before exiting the apartment and turning to look at you with a shy smile. “I am. I’ve never gone back on a promise.”

“Ah, good; I’d hate to have to think badly on you for breaking my daughter’s trust and heart.”

“I won’t ever intentionally hurt her, I promise,” his words are entirely sincere, and you find yourself unable to doubt him, yet you still extend your pinkie to him without breaking eye contact. Jihoon glances at your offered hand and smiles a little before lifting his hand to link his pinkie around yours without hesitation as his gaze returns to your own. “She’s safe with me.”

“I know,” you assure and slowly unhook your pinkie, so he copies, and you both take your hands back.

“Mama!” Juni yells impatiently from the kitchen.

“Is she this loud at school?” You wonder amusedly.

“She’s certainly easy to hear, I can say that much,” Jihoon replies with a chuckle and starts adjusting his scarf to pull over his chin yet keeps his mouth free to talk. “Enjoy your dinner, I’ll uh, see you at drop off tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you then. Have a safe journey home, Jihoon.”

“Thanks.” He shoots you a smile and wavers, swaying in place before pulling his scarf up to cover his mouth, waving goodbye then walks down the hallway.

You wait until he’s out of sight before shutting and locking the door.

Even though Juni is once again calling you from the kitchen, you take a moment to will your fluttering heart to calm before going to join your daughter and hope that you’re not developing a crush on her teacher.

As it turns out; your hoping was in vain.

After that evening, every time you see Jihoon at drop off and pick up for the following two months, he smiles at you and wanders over if he’s not busy with another student or parent, to make small talk in the morning and tell you about Juni’s achievements and quirks of the day in the afternoon.

It’s the most you’ve ever conversed with the man in the handful of months he’s been Juni’s teacher, and as much as you truly love the attention that you’ve noticed he doesn’t go out of his way to other parents, you’ve also noticed something else. The silver band on his ring finger.

Once you notice the wedding ring, you try to not engage in conversation as much. You even send Junhui on pick-ups when you know your hormones are too excitable to remember that you can’t enjoy the attention of the man.

Though there’s only so much you can do when Jihoon approaches you one morning looking more awake than usual, with his eyes sparkling in the early spring sun and excitement stretching his smile wide on his pretty face.

He calls your name in a way that makes other parents look between you suspiciously, yet the man doesn’t notice. “Guess what!”

“Uhm, what?” You ask, awkwardly shuffling your weight from foot to foot and hoping he calms a little, as much as you love seeing him so animated, because it’s drawing attention. More attention than usual due to his clear favouritism towards you and your daughter every morning and afternoon.

“Are you okay?” He suddenly frowns in concern, noticing the way you’re trying to make yourself a little smaller as if that will stop the parents eyeing you. “Are you ill?”

“No, just…I should really get to work.”

“Oh, uhm, okay. Sorry, I probably keep you a lot, huh?” He reaches out towards Juni’s backpack in your hold, your daughter off somewhere with her friends on the playground until morning bell rings to tell them they must go into the class to get ready. “I won’t keep you; I can take Juni in so you can get to work on time.”

“Oh, right, yeah, thanks.” You hand over the bag then step back and look around for your daughter.

You hear her before you see her; squealing happily as she runs around with a little boy you can never remember the name of; you just know that his nanny always brings him to school and picks him up. Even if the nanny looks at him so adoringly you thought for the longest time that he’s the boy’s father, not full-time babysitter.

The pair are running circles around the tall man, who is moving his gaze between the two to watch over them, and the collection of mothers hovering and trying to flirt with him. It’s not an unusual sight at all, even when you know some of the women are married, but at least the nanny never seems to be interested and only replies politely.

“I’ll go say goodbye,” you say, motioning over to your daughter while looking back at Jihoon.

“Of course, I’ll see you at pick up.”

“Oh, uh, I think Junhui is picking her up today. Park trip,” you say, even though you’re very certain Junhui planned to get home on time to conveniently meet his cute neighbour in the car park and hit on her, and maybe even finally ask her on a date. But you know he’ll drop any plan for the sake of your daughter, though you make a mental note to pick up his favourite takeout on your way home from work tonight.

“Ah, I see. Well, have a nice weekend and I’ll see you Monday morning.”

“Yep, see you then,” you agree, then turn and approach your daughter. “Juni!” She immediately comes to a stop and looks at you, but the little boy doesn’t stop in time and collides with her, sending them both to the floor. “Oh, shit,” you whisper and rush over to kneel beside the nanny, who is already cooing over the pair and checking them over.

“We otay!” Juni assures and the little boy looks at her with tears in his eyes and a wobbling lip but noticing her smile, he sniffles, wipes his eyes then grins himself, making you and his nanny chuckle.

“We otay,” he agrees.

“Well, I’m glad you’re both otay,” the nanny says as you both help the children to their feet.

“Mama, can DanDan come my party?” Juni asks, looking at you with her trademark puppy dog eyes.

“Sunday is a bit close notice to ask someone to your party, most parents want more notice,” you point out softly. “I’d have to call his parents, and I don’t have their number.”

“You can take mine,” the nanny offers, drawing your attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a few of the mothers behind him baulk and you assume he’s avoided giving his number to any of them. You feel a little ping of pride in your chest at effortlessly getting the attractive man’s number, even if you truly don’t want it for the reasons they do.

“If you text me the details, I can talk to Danil’s mother about it and pass on your number when she gets home from work. Then she can call you herself. I don’t feel right giving her number to you without her consent.”

“No, no, that’s completely understandable. I’d really appreciate that,” you assure, taking your phone from your pocket to unlock and open a new contact. You hand him the device, so that he can input his details himself and not risk the too-nosey mothers overhearing the digits.

“Where bag, mama?” Juni asks, noticing the lack of her backpack in your grasp.

“Mr Lee took it, I’ve got to get to work now so he’s taking over from me,” you reply.

“Oh, otay. See you later.” She moves over to hug you tight and kiss your cheek noisily, which you return theatrically, making her giggle happily.

“Uncle Jun is going to pick you up today, Nini, okay?”

“Jun-Jun time!” She shrieks happily and starts bouncing around Danil, who watches her with giggles tumbling from his lips. “DanDan come park too?!”

“That’s really not my decision, baby,” you remind as you accept your phone back and notice that the man has saved his number as ‘Danil’s nanny’. You look at him funnily.

“Hm?” He wonders, noticing your expression.

“You didn’t put your name.”

“Oh, well, I just thought that would make more sense, because you only want my number because I’m Danil’s nanny.”

“Well, yeah but it’s a big derogatory, is it not? Just referring to you as nothing more than his nanny; you’re your own person, you know?”

“I know,” he chuckles and smiles at you softly. “I’m Mingyu, I don’t think we’ve ever actually talked before; you’re one of the only mothers who’s never approached me.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you draw a certain kind of attention,” you scoff amusedly and side-eye the lingering mothers, who abruptly look away and fail at playing innocent. Mingyu glances over and giggles quietly as he turns back around. “They don’t much like me. I’ve told them all off for various things; mostly trying to chat up my best friend when he picks up Juni and making him uncomfortable.”

“Best friend? Not partner?”

“Ew, gross!” You fake a gag that makes him laugh.

Suddenly, you realise you’re both still kneeling on the rubber tarmac, even if the kids are running off again, so you get to your feet, brushing off your knees as you go and Mingyu copies, extending to his full height and towering over you.

“Anyway, I’ll text you the details when I get the chance.”

“Mm, okay, I look forward to hearing from you. Between you and me, Danil’s never been invited to a party or anything before. Juni is really his only friend, he sings her praises, seriously, so I’m really happy she wants him there and you’re willing to accept him.”

“Of course, I’m not great with remembering who is who amongst these kids, but I know she’s mentioned him a bunch of times, especially lately, and he sounds like a great kid. I’ll be happy to have him at the party, and you and his parents, if you all want to come. It’s a picnic party, because apparently my child thinks the beginning of March is the perfect time to sit outside when it’s likely to rain. So maybe bring spare clothes and be prepared to abruptly move to my apartment if that happens.”

Mingyu chuckles. “We’ll bring raincoats and towels.”

“Perfect!” You beam and he laughs again. “Alright, I really should go, but nice to officially meet you, Mingyu, talk later.” You start walking backwards and hope you don’t crash into a parent or even worse, a child with your ass.

“You too! Wait, what’s your name?!” You call your name out and he smiles brightly. “Have a good day at work!” You give him a thumbs up then turn and jog off out of the school grounds to get to your car, where it’s parked down the street, and head to work.

In the midst of eating dinner, with Junhui and Juni seeming to silently compete in who can shove the most noodles in the mouths judging by their matching, bulging cheeks, the doorbell rings. You choke on your laughter at the way they both turn their heads towards the hallway with wide eyes and dangling noodles, like a pair of greedy, chubby cheeked dogs.

“I swear it’s like she takes after you more than me,” you comment as you get up after putting your cutlery down. “Never should’ve named her after you.” Junhui just grins at you, so you roll your eyes and leave the kitchen to approach the door.

When you peer through the spyhole, you’re genuinely surprised to find a familiar figure standing on the other side.

Confusedly, you unlock the door and open it just enough to look directly at Jihoon, who once again has his hair in his eyes; though at least now, thanks to the warmer weather, he’s no longer hiding half of his face in a thick scarf, even if his coat is done up all the way to his chin.

“Hi,” he greets a little awkwardly.

“Hi,” you reply and put the latch on the door to step outside and pull the door up so that Juni doesn’t hear her teacher’s voice and excitedly abandon her dinner. “Is something wrong? Did Juni forget Bubba again?”

“No, no, I just asked her to give you a note, but I found it on her desk after class, so I guess she forgot it.”

“A note?”

“Yeah, so uhm, as a teacher I sometimes get invitations to new child-friendly exhibits and stuff before they open to the public; so that I can try things out and give feedback from a teacher’s perspective. And it’s also like free publicity for them because then I can see if it’s worth booking a class trip or something.”

“Right?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard about the new interactive science museum opening like an hour’s drive away?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

Jihoon’s tongue darts out to lick his lips quickly and you kind of hate yourself for tracking the movement with your eyes despite knowing he’s a married man. You rapidly lift your gaze back up and hope he hasn’t noticed.

“I received an invitation last night to the open day on Sunday; I can take up to two children so long as there’s another adult so that’s one adult per child for the open day. And well…I was wondering if you and Juni would like to go with me?”

“What?” You blink at him. “Me and Juni?”

“Yeah. I don’t have any children in my life, just my students, and I thought it’d be nice to get a child’s perspective; so I know if it’s fun and interesting enough for them. And well, I just…I thought of you. And Juni! I mean I thought of Juni and you. Her-her first, of course. As the child.”

“Of course,” you mumble, still looking at him with furrowed eyebrows from your surprise and confusion at the man turning up at your door to ask you and Juni to do something outside of school hours. “Is that something you usually do?”

“Huh?”

“Ask students and their parents to go to these events with you?”

Jihoon’s cheeks prickle a soft pink and his gaze flickers away quickly, then back at you. “No. I just…I don’t really like the other parents, honestly.”

“They’ve noticed.”

“What?”

“You really didn’t see the way they looked at us this morning?”

Jihoon’s expression turns down and pinches a little in confusion. “What do you mean, looked at us?”

“When you called me; multiple parents looked at us suspiciously and it’s not the first time. They often give me dirty looks; like I’m some kind of homewrecker just because you approach me and not anyone else, at least not smiling like you do me.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawns on his expression. “I didn’t realise; I didn’t even think of how it may seem. I just…”

“I think it would be inappropriate and only worsen their suspicions to be seen with you outside of the playground, Mr Lee.”

Jihoon winces. “You can still call me Jihoon.”

“It’s probably for the best I don’t. It’s too familiar to call my daughter’s teacher by his first name.”

“Right.” He chews on his lip as he nods slowly, eyes downcast to look at his own hands as he laces them together tightly in front of himself. “I understand. I’m sorry for overstepping, I didn’t mean to get too familiar and make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, I’d just rather not have homewrecker pinned to me, you know?”

“You’re not, it’s not like that,” he lifts his head to look at you imploringly. “You’re not a homewrecker.”

“I know; nothing has happened, nor will it. We were just talking. But you probably shouldn’t turn up at my apartment unannounced like this.”

“Ah, yeah, I just…it’s on Sunday so I couldn’t wait until Monday, for obvious reasons.”

“I understand.”

“Well, uhm, I just like…it’s in another town and we can meet there if you want? It could be like coincidence. We don’t have to explore the museum together, just go in together because it’s under my name and all that. Nobody can say anything and it’s not inappropriate to just exist in the same building at other ends.”

“It’s Juni’s birthday party on Sunday.”

“Oh, right,” his eyes widen a little. “I forgot. She tried to invite me, but I said it’d be inappropriate.”

“Yeah, she asked me too, multiple times.” You chuckle a little. “I told you; she loves you.”

“I love her too, in a like…professional teacher way. I love all my students but she’s special. She just has so much love and joy in her that it’s impossible not to favour her, even though I shouldn’t. You’ve done a really good job raising her; I’d be proud if I ever have a child anything like her.”

“Ah, thank you,” you flush softly with the praise. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best.”

There’s a moment here, with your eyes locked and something hanging in the air; it feels anticipatory in a way that brings back the same tender violence as before in your chest.

You want to look away, but you’re stuck in place, unable to turn even though your mind is yelling at you that this is a married man, and you can’t have him the way you yearn to. But your heart beats louder than logic and your apparently fragile morals.

It gets louder still when he takes a half step forward, only stopped by the door pulling open behind you and Junhui’s tall figure looming over you concernedly. Jihoon shuffles back and glances away with something that looks like guilt on his face.

“Mr Lee, what are you doing here?” Junhui asks, putting his arm around your shoulders to pull you back to him.

Being your best friend, Junhui knows all about the feelings you’ve developed for your daughter’s teacher over the past two months of sparkly eyed attention and beautiful smiles. He had slapped your limbs a few times when you confessed to him that you can’t stop thinking about Jihoon, even once you noticed the ring on his finger. Which is half of the reason Junhui has been so willing to do school runs in your place; so that you don’t fall prey to your own heart and become the homewrecker the other parents clearly think you are.

“Just had to discuss something time sensitive but we’re done, so I’ll go now. Have a nice evening. I’ll see you on Monday,” Jihoon replies, giving Junhui a curt smile and one a little lingering to you, before he turns and rushes off down the hall.

“The fuck did he want?” Junhui grunts, tugging you into the apartment and flicking the latch off to securely push the door up and let you lock it back up.

“Just a thing; I’ll explain later, let’s just eat.”

“Mm, alright.”

Junhui is not impressed at all when he learns the information that Jihoon asked you to go with him to the museum, even if Juni was supposed to be the reason for the invitation in the first place.

Your best friend’s disapproval is made more obvious than his rant on Friday night, once Juni was in bed, when you go down to your car on Monday morning with Juni to take her to school and find Junhui sitting on the bonnet of your car chewing on a pastry, which he immediately shares with Juni.

Without him even explaining his presence, he gets in the car with you both to go to the school, munching away and spilling pastry flakes all over the interior, but you’re too silently glad for his presence to berate him. You know he’s only here as a tall, crumb covered buffer in case Jihoon tries to approach you, and you appreciate that a lot.

In the playground as you stand with Junhui and Mingyu, who seem to have become friends since the picnic less than 24 hours ago, you spot Jihoon glancing in your direction multiple times, yet he keeps his distance with a tiny, almost imperceptible frown.

When you leave work the same afternoon, you find Junhui once again sitting on your car, despite the fact he works across the city so had to have left early to get here. Neither of you say a word, even if you want to call him an idiot for ditching work early, but you appreciate your best friend far too much to even pretend to scold him for silently supporting you in your mission to not fall for a married man.

For two straight weeks, Junhui appears every morning and most afternoons for the school run. The only afternoons you don’t leave work to see him waiting are the afternoons where he picks up Juni alone to take for their after-school park trips.

It seems that Junhui is the perfect deterrent because Jihoon doesn’t approach you once in those two weeks.

The only time you talk is when you approached him first to tell him that another child had said things to Juni that makes you think their parents have said something nasty about you in front of the child. So, you wanted to warn Jihoon that Juni will hit the child if they say another bad thing about you, just as Junhui taught her to. “Once can be let go, but twice deserves punishment”, are his exact words and honestly, you don’t even mind that he’s trained her in such a way, with the baby fighting skills to match. It’s taught her to be understanding, while not letting others be endlessly cruel or walk all over her.

Junhui may give your daughter odd habits and interests, but he at least teaches her to have a backbone, and you will forever be grateful to him for that.

Although it’s weird for you to go from being blessed with Jihoon’s direct attention and precious face twice a day for almost two full months, it’s much better for your heart to yearn with the distance than up close.

You had hoped that it will continue and you can gradually get over Jihoon, but a little over two weeks since enforcing the break, your phone rings while you’re in the middle of cooking dinner and the school number appears on your screen.

Somehow, you know it’s Jihoon before even answering. “Hello,” you greet.

“Hi, it’s Ji- uh, Mr Lee,” Jihoon’s familiar voice responds.

“Is something wrong?”

“She hasn’t noticed yet?” He mumbles confusedly.

“Noticed what?”

“Bubba is with me; I found him under my desk, for some reason.”

“Oh,” your tone is confused and without thought, you walk through to the living room, expecting to find Juni on the couch watching her after school cartoons but they’re playing to an empty room.

“Mm, so I thought I should drop him off. Professionally. I know she can’t sleep without him.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

“Okay, I’ll uhm see you in twenty minutes then.”

“Yeah, see you then,” you agree distractedly and hang up before stepping into your daughter’s room to find her drawing a picture at her little table. “Nini?”

“Yes, mama?” She replies, looking up at you innocently.

“What are you doing?”

“Draw picture for Mr Lee.”

“You’re drawing a picture for Mr Lee?” She hums and nods her head as she looks back down to her paper and returns to colouring. You approach and peer suspiciously at the drawing of who you know is you, because she always draws you the same way, and what vaguely looks like Jihoon, smiling and holding hands. “Baby, what’s this drawing about?”

“You hold hands and be happy.”

“Right, okay and why are you drawing that?” You crouch down beside her and lean your arms on the table to watch her carefully work on her masterpiece.

“Mr Lee sad.”

“What?” Your face falls and you look at your daughter. “Mr Lee is sad?” She nods. “Why do you say that? Did he tell you he’s sad?”

“No. He smiles little bit now.”

“He smiles less?” She nods. “Oh…” You turn your focus to the picture, not sure what to say.

“Mr Lee smiles with you,” Juni states a few seconds later when she puts her crayon down, signalling she’s finished with her drawing. “So, I make picture to make Mr Lee happy and smile because you are hold hands and happy.”

“Oh.”

“I did good picture, mama?” She asks, looking at you with hope in her eyes. “Mr Lee will be happy?”

“It’s a very good drawing, well done, baby,” you answer, carefully avoiding responding to her second question, and kiss her head.

“Mr Lee be here soon?” She wonders as you get up, making you look at her in alarm. “With Bubba?”

Then, it suddenly makes sense; just why your daughter, who is usually so stuck to her post-nursery routine, isn’t sitting on the couch with Bubba or screaming the place down because her comfort plushie is lost. “Juni, did you hide Bubba under Mr Lee’s desk, so that he’ll have to come here?”

Juni’s eyes slowly widen in the way they always do when she realises that she’s done something wrong and is feeling guilty all of a sudden. Her cheeks pinken slightly and you sigh, knowing that you have your confirmation, even as she remains silent.

“That’s not good, baby; you can’t do things like that, okay?”

“But Mr Lee sad!”

“I know you care about Mr Lee, but he is an adult, and it isn’t anyone’s business but his own. You can’t trick him to come here to give him a picture.”

“And see you.”

“What?”

“You make Mr Lee happy, mama. You no talk anymore, only talk to Mingoo and Uncle Jun and not Mr Lee.”

“Wait, is this why you don’t like Mingyu lately?” You baulk, only now having an explanation to your daughter no longer liking to be near the kind man and always dragging Danil off in the mornings, while you and Junhui talk to Mingyu as you all wait for the doors to open for the children to be let in for the day.

“He steal you tenshun.”

“My attention?” She nods. “Baby, Mingyu hasn’t stolen anything; he’s mine and Uncle Jun’s new friend.”

“Mr Lee friend too! Have to be equal to all friends!” She repeats words that you and Junhui have both told her multiple times in gentle reminder when she talks about one child more than others, just so that she doesn’t leave any of her friends out unintentionally.

“Mr Lee isn’t my friend,” you inform. “He’s your teacher, not my friend.”

The way Juni frowns at you can only be described as painfully lost. “But you smile together. You make him happy; he make you happy. Like friends.”

“Mr Lee doesn’t make me happy.”

“Not now, you no talk because Mingoo,” she huffs.

“It’s not because of Mingyu. Mr Lee is your teacher and has other parents and students to give attention to; I’ve stepped back to let him do that.”

“Well don’t!” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Step not back.”

“Forward is opposite to back.”

“I know! I’m not stupid.”

“I never said-”

“You stupid,” her grumbled words cut you off mid-sentence to gawp at her in astonishment. Never before has your daughter called you stupid.

Even though you shouldn’t take it to heart, knowing she’s just upset and still learning, it stings.

“Excuse me?” You ask, putting your hands on your hips when you manage to gather your wits to retort. She looks at you and upon taking in your firm expression, she immediately looks away again. “You do not talk to me or anyone like that, Juni. That is not a nice thing to say.”

“Mr Lee your friend.”

“Don’t change the subject. This is about you calling me stupid.”

“You be stupid for saying not friend. He is.”

“Juni-”

“No! You be stupid! Mr Lee your friend, and he need you! You make him happy, but you ditch for stupid, stupid, stupid Mingoo!”

“Alright, that’s enough, you need calm down time,” you declare, packing up her art supplies quickly to put back on the shelf, while she watches you with rapidly saddening eyes. “When you’ve calmed down and are ready to apologise for being mean, you can come to me, and we will talk properly.”

“You being mean!” She doubles down and abruptly gets up to storm over to her bed and throw herself on top of, where she start to cry.

As much as you want to soothe your distressed child, you know she needs time alone, and frankly so do you, so you turn and leave her room without another word.

It breaks your heart to return to making dinner as if you can’t hear Juni’s crying turn from angry wails to unhappy sobbing down the hall, but you stay firm and wait for her to be ready and come to you.

By the time the doorbell rings, you can only hear the occasional hiccupped inhale and sniffles when you listen carefully over the noises of making dinner.

When you open the door to Jihoon already standing with Bubba in arms against his chest as if he’s been using the toy as his own comfort plushie, you suddenly see why Juni thinks she needs to trick Jihoon to stop by in an attempt to cheer him up.

The man looks paler than usual, with dark smears under his eyes badly hidden with concealer, which isn’t even his shade, and his lips look bitten half raw. He looks like he needs a hug.

“Oh,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

“Oh? Were-were you expecting someone else?” He asks, looking down the hall with widened eyes as if he expects this mystery visitor to suddenly appear.

“No just…you uh…is it rude to say you don’t look good?” You wince at your own words, but he doesn’t.

Jihoon looks back at you and sighs a little. “It’s the truth.”

“You look like you need a hug, or a strong drink.”

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Oh…” He hums vaguely in response and awkwardly looks at the floor between you while tightening his hold on Bubba. “Do…Do you want a hug?” You offer.

Jihoon’s head snaps up to look at you with bulging eyes and a slightly dropped jaw. “Wh-what?”

“A hug? Do you want one?”

“Yes,” he blurts, then shakes his head and steps backwards before you can even try to move closer. “I mean no, no, that’s inappropriate. You’ve made it very clear that you want a strict teacher-parent relationship with me, and I will respect that.”

“I’m offering as a parent, for the sake of my child.”

“Why would hugging me benefit Juni in anyway?” He looks utterly bewildered.

“She hid him under your desk, so you’d have to come here,” you inform, pointing at his chest, where he’s hugging Bubba tight.

Jihoon looks down at the creepy duck, then up at you even more puzzled than previously. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s noticed that you’re sad and apparently, I make you happy.”

“Oh…” he mutters and shrinks into himself a little further while no longer making eye contact with you, focusing on Bubba again as he mindlessly strokes his fingers over the fluff. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be obvious.”

“Wait, she’s right?” You baulk. “I thought she was just being a kid.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m the reason you look like this?” You motion to him vaguely, though he doesn’t look away from the duck and just nods in confirmation. “Fuck. Why? This isn’t right, Jihoon. You can’t look this pitiful because I put boundaries that should remain in place so that our lives don’t get fucked up.”

“I wasn’t aware being my friend would fuck up your life but thanks for letting me know,” he grunts and thrusts the duck towards you one handed. “I’ll leave and stop being a bother.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” you assure, naturally taking the toy ready to give back to your daughter. When he tries to lower his empty hand as he turns to leave, you grab it. “This is why. You-” you cut off when you realise that although it’s his left hand you’re grasping, there isn’t a single piece of jewellery under your touch.

Confusedly, you tuck Bubba under your arm to free your own left hand to take his wrist to prevent him from walking away, like you fear he will, when you let go with your right hand to reveal his bare fingers to your sight.

“Where’s your ring?” You mutter and look up to find Jihoon staring at you with wide eyes and frozen in place. “Jihoon?” You prompt when he continues to stare with parted lips.

“H-Huh?” He blinks a few times to try and bring himself back to reality.

“Where’s your ring?”

“Ring? What ring?”

“Your wedding ring.”

“I’m not married,” he mutters, eyebrows pulling together as he too looks at his hand.

“No, no, you are,” you insist while dropping his hand to move Bubba from under your arm to your chest to squeeze slightly as you mind starts to whirl. “You wear a fucking wedding band every day, I saw it earlier. I know you wear one. Jun’s seen it and Juni drew it on her picture! You’re married, Jihoon!”

“Oh,” his eyes slowly widen in understanding. “That’s just a trick.”

“What?”

“Last year, a lot of parents were really inappropriate towards me, so I faked an engagement and came back this year wearing the ring; to stop them bothering me for reasons that aren’t about their children.”

“What?”

“I’m not married, I’m not even seeing anyone. I’m single, like really single,” he emphasises. “I haven’t even been on a date in years.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

An awkward, slightly tense silence comes over the pair of you as you try to stop your mind from spinning and heart racing with hope and a brand-new dance routine.

“That’s why you stopped talking to me?” Jihoon manages to get out in such a quiet voice that you barely hear him over your pulse thudding in your ears. But you hear and look up at him. “You stopped talking to me because you thought I’m married?”

“You wear a ring,” you reason.

“Yeah, but I thought…I just thought that you don’t want to be friends with me, not that you’re…fuck,” he exhales and lifts his hands to put his face in them. “The one person I didn’t want it to work on,” he groans into his palms, making your stomach flip with fresh hope that he means that he might possibly feel the same way you do.

You watch with anticipation dancing amongst your internal organs, while he scrubs his hands over his face with a few strange groans, then abruptly pushes them up into his hair despite his beanie, resulting in knocking it off to the floor, yet he either doesn’t notice somehow, or simply does not care.

Jihoon looks directly at you with his fingers in his hair before dropping his arms and taking a step closer while opening his mouth to say something with a painfully sincere expression on his face, but a sniffled voice from behind you stops him in his tracks.

“Mama?” Immediately, you turn to look at Juni, where she’s standing down the hall looking miserable with her precious little face swollen with sadness. “I-I’m sorry for call you stupid,” she apologises, lip wobbling.

As soon as you lower to your knees, Juni runs over to throw herself into your open arms and clings to you tightly. “I know, baby, I know. Thank you for apologising; I appreciate it a lot.”

“Never call you stupid again,” she promises, even if you know she likely will forget that promise as she grows, especially as a hormonal teenager. Though you won’t hold it against her.

“Thank you.” You kiss her head and hold her tighter as you get to your feet, stuffing Bubba between your chests for her to immediately grab, while you turn to look at Jihoon.

He’s got something tender in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you and your daughter, and you realise that it’s not the first time that he’s looked at you two like this; like the sight of you settles his very soul.

“Do you like lasagne?” You blurt.

Jihoon slowly looks at you instead of watching Juni rub her face into the almost bald patch on Bubba’s belly, where fur is missing from all the times that she’s done exactly this after an emotionally exhausting cry. “What?” He mutters dumbly.

“Lasagne, do you like it? And garlic bread.”

“Uh, ye-yeah,” he confirms with a nod and shuffles on his feet as both of his hands grip the strap of his bag, where it’s crossed over his chest.

“Do you maybe want to join us for dinner? I made too much for just us because I thought Jun would be here, but he went home with an upset stomach from once again eating out of date yogurt because he doesn’t want to waste it. It wasn’t even his yogurt. I don’t know where he got it from.” Admittedly, you’re rambling with sudden nerves at the thought of Jihoon rejecting your invitation, but you can’t stop yourself. “Only if you don’t have plans. Not that I’m assuming you don’t, because you could be very busy and-”

Hearing your name on his tongue for the first time in two weeks cuts you off immediately, lips pressing together as you blink at him with widened eyes. “I don’t have plans. I’d love to have dinner with both of you.”

Juni perks up as your tense posture deflates a little with relief. “Mr Lee eat dinner too?!” She shrieks, then squeaks and leans towards him when he nods in confirmation.

Jihoon smiles, lighting up in that truly precious smile you haven’t seen in weeks as he steps forward to take your daughter from your arms. Juni immediately cuddles up to him and leans her head contently on his shoulder.

You can only watch as you step back to let him into the apartment and shut the door after him. He’s not wearing winter boots now, just trainers, which he easily slips off beside the shoe rack without putting Juni down or removing his caring hold on her.

“I show Mr Lee picture now?” Juni asks and you just nod so she wiggles, prompting the man to put her down.

Jihoon takes the chance to remove his bag and coat to hang on the hooks, then accept her offered hand to toddle after her down the hall to her bedroom as she rabbits on, about you have no idea what, you’re too focused on the sight of the man happily going along with your daughter as if there’s nowhere that he’d rather be.

Though before he disappears into her bedroom, he looks over at you and smiles in a way that makes you believe that perhaps, there’s one other place he’d be just as happy to be.

Although you had assumed Jihoon would make excuses to leave after dinner is over, he doesn’t. He stays to help clean up. He stays to sit on the couch with Juni on his lap to watch far too much TV for a school night. He stays to read Juni a bedtime story with you, both of you sitting either side of her on her double bed that dwarfs her but fits the three of you perfectly. And he stays to return to the couch with you and look at you with a soft, content smile that hasn’t left his features all evening.

“I think she might’ve been right,” you comment after you’ve both just been sitting for a couple of quiet, peaceful minutes curled up facing one another, knees almost touching with the sides of your heads on the back rest.

“About what?”

“I’m stupid.”

Jihoon chokes out a surprised laugh at your words, making you smile. “I think you’re far from stupid but I’m clearly missing something here, so please do elaborate.”

“You look happy now.”

“I feel happy now.”

“Because of me?” You ask, hope tilting your words upwards.

“Yeah, but also your precious daughter. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d want any child I have to be like her.”

“You want children?”

“I never used to.” He shrugs a little.

“When did that change?”

“September, when a ball of love and energy spilled half a cup of dirty water over her own painting and proceeded to laugh like a maniac while splashing her tiny hands in the mess.”

You can’t help but laugh, knowing that he’s talking about Juni’s very first day at nursery, when she came out covered in dried paint and Jihoon had repeatedly apologised to you about the mess.

“Then I met her mother,” he continues, making your gentle laughter trickle away, hearing the softness in his tone. “And instead of getting angry at me or blaming me for the lack of spare clothes in her child’s backpack like other parents have before, she just laughed and said she’d try to remember to pack spare clothes for the next day. And she did. I had to change her daughter the next day when she tripped and fell in a muddy puddle, and when I told her mother, she only asked if her daughter made the most of being in the puddle. Which, she did; that child always makes the most of being a mess and has taught her friends to do the same.”

“Oops,” you offer with a sheepish smile.

Jihoon chuckles and shakes his head. “Even though it means I have to change and dry at least one child a day now, I wouldn’t ever change it. That little girl is the most amazing child. She’s allowed to be a child while still being emotionally intelligent enough to be the most caring and supportive five-year-old I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching. I’m dreading the day I have to watch her move on at the end of the year. I don’t want to let her go.”

“She has that effect,” you confirm with a pleased smile at the thought of how much love there is directed at your daughter, which you hope only grows as she does.

“She gets it from her mother.” Jihoon looks between your bodies to where your hands are clasped together around your knees before he reaches out to touch your hand. His lips twitch up a little further when you release your hold to allow him to take one of your hands into his. “Do you think that perhaps, maybe her mother will give me the chance to prove myself to her? That I’m worthy to be by her side and maybe one day, not any day soon; I know it’ll take a long time to get to that point, but maybe one day, I can perhaps have the honour of being a part of her daughter’s life too outside of school?”

“You really want that?” You whisper. Jihoon nods, still looking at your hand as he traces his thumb over your knuckles, entranced by the divots and bumps. “Please look at me, Jihoon,” you plead as you lift your head. He pauses, takes a breath, then looks up at you slowly. Noticing that you’re no longer leaning against the backrest entirely, he straightens up a little too, to match your position. “I think that she already adores you.”

“The mother or daughter?” He replies and swallows thickly.

“Both of us.”

Jihoon’s eyes start to shimmer with joy. “Really? Y-you mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“I fucking adore you both too,” he replies with a sudden heavy exhale. “I like you so much, more than I ever thought I could like someone and that says something because I was convinced that I was in love with my last girlfriend and wanted to marry her.”

“Are you saying that you like me more than the woman you wanted to marry?” You deadpan.

Jihoon opens and closes his mouth a few times in the perfect fish imitation before his cheeks bloom a beautiful, precious pink and he smiles sheepishly at you. “I guess so?”

“Sounds serious,” you tease.

He chuckles and nods. “It does, huh? At least you know that this isn’t something casual or inconsequential to me. If you’d give me the chance, I’d devote myself to you for the rest of my life. You really are my happiness.”

“That’s…I don’t want to be someone’s only reason for being happy, Jihoon. I want you to have joy outside of me too. I already have one person who is dependent on me, and I refuse to accept another, unless I birth them so-” Jihoon suddenly making a strange, choking type sound, cuts you off, causing you to look at his rapidly reddening cheeks with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, yep. Great! I’m great!” He almost wheezes.

“Liar. What is it?”

“Nothing,” he squeaks and squeezes your hand a little. “So uh, is-is that like…something you’d want?”

“You?”

“Another baby,” he blurts, before hiding his blushing face in his hands. “Ignore me, please.”

“No,” you snort a laugh and shuffle closer to pull his hands down from his face. He lets you, but tilts his head downwards to try and hide, though looks at you through his lashes. You’re pretty sure he isn’t intentionally making himself look so cute, yet he looks utterly adorable. “Let’s just start with a date first, yeah?”

“A date?” You nod. Although he’s still very pink, he lifts his head. “I’d really like that.”

“Me too. But I think we should take it slow; you’re still Juni’s teacher and I don’t want to complicate anything. I know you favour her and I’m not going to stop that, but I don’t want anyone to make assumptions that it’s just because you’re fucking me.”

“Fucking you,” he whispers, eyes going a little dazed, up until you laugh, and then he’s groaning and hiding his face in the cushion of the backrest. “I’m so fucking lame. Please pretend you haven’t seen me being so pathetic, so you don’t lose interest.”

“I don’t think you’re lame or pathetic,” you giggle and reach out to gently wiggle your fingers between his cheek and the fabric until he lets you lead him back upright and facing you. You take a moment to focus on curving your palm against his cheek and then soften as he tilts into your hold as if it’s already nothing more than instinctual to seek out your touch. “I think you’re precious, Lee Jihoon.”

Jihoon takes a stuttered breath in before he curls his hand around your wrist to hold onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll cease to exist if he doesn’t. “Is asking to kiss you going too fast?”

You don’t answer, not verbally at least. You extend your thumb to brush against the edge of his bottom lip, smiling as they part softly before you lean in, and he eagerly mirrors your position to meet you halfway with a simple, yet oh so sweet, kiss.

“I really hope you’ll always think I’m precious enough to remain with you,” he admits in a whisper, lips almost brushing yours as his free hand lifts to cup your face adoringly.

“I’m not worried about that at all,” you assure confidently then tug him back in for another soft kiss.

It’s not a lie either, you’re not at all worried that Jihoon will ever be anything but precious to you; you truly can’t imagine him ever doing a thing to change that particular opinion of yours.

What you are worried about, however, is how your daughter will react to you dating for the first time in her life, especially when it’s Jihoon who you’re dating. You hope that she thinks of him as equally as precious as you do, and she’ll be happy about it.

Though you can’t think of that now; you have a precious man to kiss until your lips are swollen and the pink of his cheeks threatens to become permanent. You’ll let your daughter’s reaction to the news be a problem for future you. You have more immediate matters to focus on, after all.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

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mrs-delaney · 16 days ago

Text

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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i-eat-mold · 10 months ago

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can you imagine being Nakahara Chuuya, 15 years old? for starters you’re 15 which by itself is a nightmare but whatever. you’re the head of this weird kid gang in the slumps where you grew up and btw you also don’t remember anything that happened before the age of 8. you can manipulate gravity which is pretty cool and you have some friends ish that you have to protect (aka said gang members that are also just kids and early teenagers) because you just have a heart so big that won’t fit inside your ribcage but whatever. and you know how 15yos are they have like their own language and behavior for each of their own little social groups and if you don’t act or talk or whatever that way then you’re like really weird, but whatever.

one day you find this weird kid that is dressed like he walked right out of his own funeral and is also covered in bandages and just won’t fucking shut up. he’s the most annoying *thing* you’ve ever seen even though he’s barely alive. You obviously beat him up right away and then he becomes even weirder. suddenly you’re stuck with the weirdest boy you could have ever imagined. he’s the dumbest person alive, he communicates by staring into your soul with his one(1) empty void of an eye and saying absolutely nothing. he acts like he has never had a single social interaction in his life. he declares his love for you within the same day of meeting him. Btw, you’re stuck with him for the next seven years. Oh, and he lives in a metal container in a dump. Also he has like two friends which you are pretty sure don’t even like him either. one of them barely talks and is somehow even weirder than the boy itself and the other one is an absolute stuck up which you are pretty sure might be a double agent but no one says anything despite how obvious it seems to you. you still aren’t sure whether this boy wants to die or not. he is an absolute machine at playing arcade video games but a completely useless piece of shit at everything else. He rolls on the floor when he’s focused. oh and also he has stated several times that he spends every waking moment thinking of how to make you miserable, and somehow he still would never let you die.

i guess he’s your friend?

#your average autistic guy #teen dazai was so stupid #and teen chuuya deserves a medal for dealing with it #like damn #what the fuck #shitpost #bsd #bungou stray dogs #skk #soukoku #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #teen skk #teen dazai #teen chuuya #skk hc #teen skk hc #teen soukoku #teen soukoku hc

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ghostyuri · 9 months ago

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hopelessly devoted to you

click here!

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…a certain someone remembers your birthday.

before you read…fluff + angst. cutie patootie ellie <3

it was a grueling day. the sky dim from the consistent storming, the rain damping your body and hair, up until you and jesse had taken cover at a moldy gas station. you sat there for an hour, listening to him talk about dina and their separation…their tenth separation? you lost track a while ago.

but you don’t judge, you hummed in agreement to his frustrations and nodded the entire time. you get him, you do. your failed love life could be a ten-minute-long monologue, you think. relationships are hard in the small community of jackson, everyone has their person or keeps to themselves. you prefer to keep to yourself. you don’t necessarily need anyone— not if you can’t have her.

infected that were migrating through had run you out of the gas station, you and jesse dodging branches and heavy rocks throughout the forest as you ran back home. you, of course, tripped over a dead stump and banged your head on nature's floor.

if you were jesse you would have laughed at yourself, but your generous friend could only watch in horror, worry painting his features while he helped you up, practically dragging your stumbling self until you were in the clearing.

every single muscle in your body was aching when you arrived at jackson’s gates, it felt like seeing the gates of heaven itself. you don’t know what time it is, the sky has been dark the entirety of the day, and your head is pounding.

“we should get you to the infirmary, just in case,” jesse tries, however, you are ready to call it a night and worry about your current issues tomorrow. probably a bad idea, sure, but you don’t care that much in the worn out state you’re in. “i’m fine, jesse,” you lie to the man, but the smile you give him is enough for him to back off, “just need a bandage and a very comfortable bed. not one of those cots.”

“you’re stubborn…ellie’s rubbing off on you.”

“shut up,” you jokingly tell him, chewing your bottom lip as your mind goes to ellie. the idea of seeing her sweet face after the day you just had would provide you more comfort than the bed you so desperately yearn for.

to hear her voice, telling you about the day she had, that you know for certain was miles better than yours. and that’s amazing— ellie williams doesn’t deserve a hard day in her life. you would take all of them for her, even if each one felt as cruel as today.

jesse walks you all the way home, an illuminating glow coming from your windows, despite turning the lights off before you had left. or at least, you had thought you did. you say goodbye to jesse, having to promise you will take care of your injury before bed so he would leave.

you open your door with a deep sigh of relief, eager to shred your backpack and soggy clothes, and slip into something comfortable.

you drag your feet down the hall, stopping in place when your shut bedroom door, swings open before you.

“fuck.”

“ellie?” your brows dip, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at the surprise, “what are you doing?”

“i, uh, well,” she scratches the back of her neck, turning around, waiting for you to follow her into your bedroom. you do, mind drifting to the thought of how unkept you left it earlier, not having time to deal with the laundry at the end of your unmade bed. ellie had seen that; you’re embarrassed.

you gulp, stepping inside the room, and the sight you’re met with confuses you. your bed is made. your clothes are gone. instead, there’s a beige teddy bear, one that’s unfamiliar to you, that’s never been in your room before. it’s undeniably cute, even with its left ear ripped and its eye poorly patched back on.

laid against its belly is a large and flat square object wrapped in old newspapers, tiny pieces of duct tape holding it together. where a classic and beautiful ribbon would be, are shoelaces, making a bow. or an attempt at one.

and laid against that, is what appears to be a doodled on piece of paper. you glance at ellie, then your bed, then ellie.

“i…” she begins, the soft expression on her face suddenly hardening when her eyes trail to the single droplet of blood falling from your temple, and down the side of your face.

“what the fuck happened?” ellie takes a few short steps towards you, grabbing your face with her coarse hands, and turning you so she can inspect the area. even when you try to turn your head, she keeps you still.

“gonna tell maria to pair us. i love jesse but—”

“i tripped, ellie, it couldn’t have been prevented,” you cut her off, but her suggestion does make your heart flutter, and you wouldn’t be opposed to it. you’d spend every last second you have in this universe with her.

“you don’t know that,” ellie says, the woman thinking she could do anything to protect you— even simple mistakes you cause yourself. she exits the room for a moment, and you can’t help but walk to the foot of your bed to get a closer look at the objects on it.

you pick up the paper, realizing it’s not just a piece of paper, it’s a card. a makeshift one. and the doodles aren’t just doodles, it’s a dinosaur holding three balloons. three of your favorite colors. happy birthday, it says. birthday…your birthday…it’s your birthday.

it had not crossed your mind once today, this week, or this month. you only thought about it a couple of months back when it was briefly brought up in a conversation. how the community you were born into utilized calendars even if there was nothing to look forward to anymore, and how you almost wish you weren’t informed on the day you were born. there was nothing to celebrate, no one to celebrate with.

ellie was determined to change that, and she did.

you open the card, a paragraph in the center of the paper.

hey y/n, guess what day it is :) if you couldn’t tell by the extremely beautiful dinosaur in a party hat, it’s your day!! happy fucking birthday, y/n. probably doesn’t feel like much of a celebration today. little do you know i celebrate you everyday. don’t tell anyone that. i honestly think i’d die without you so never leave me, yeah? i love you y/n. i could take up this whole page telling you every little thing i love about you but i’m not going to do that because i don't think i could stop. i hope you had a good birthday. if not i hope this helps. love, your ellie.

“sit down,” ellie reenters the room, not noticing the card in your hand, too focused on the medical supplies in hers. when she does, her face heats up, her pale face flashing red. you continue to hold it as you obey her, sitting next to the teddy bear. she waits for you to speak first, and you do the same to her, which causes a moment of silence as she kneels on the floor before you.

you’re taken back, utterly shocked by how fucking precious the girl could be, how good it feels receiving appreciation from her. getting love from her. not the love you have for jesse or dina, something different, something incomparable. she has your heart clutched tightly in her fist.

“thank you, ellie.”

“it’s nothing,” she shrugs, pouring a bottle of water on a bathroom towel, then bringing it to your face. she’s gentle as she wipes the dark red liquid away, dabbing the injury, scanning your face for discomfort so she can stop immediately. she’s definitely going to yell at jesse.

“it’s something,” you tell her, “and it means a lot to me…it really does.”

she halts her movements for a second, the embarrassment that maybe she did too much, vanishing from her body. “yeah?”

“duh,” you laugh slightly, “i didn’t even remember it, ellie. i was too busy having a shitty day. so thank you for making it better.”

ellie smiles slightly, holding back the grin threatening to spread across her face. she continues to clean your injury, knowing she could scold you for not seeking medical attention right away, but she won’t ruin the moment.

she finishes up by placing a clean bandage over the wound, pressing it delicately against your skin, an odd urge to place a kiss on your forehead to signal she was done. she thinks it’s weird, and doesn’t do it.

ellie reaches for the newspaper-wrapped object beside you, taking the card from your hands and replacing it with the gift. “open it.”

“you didn’t have to—” “open it.”

you groan, doing as told, fighting the annoying strong duct tape and peeling the paper off carefully, not knowing what’s beneath it. ellie keeps her green irises steady on your face as you do so, watching your mouth part faintly when you see the uncovered gift. “ellie…”

it’s a vinyl. an old one. one you’d listen to on a cassette tape until it deteriorated, and you had lost access to the heavenly vocals of the band you so greatly adored. ellie’s not familiar with them, but she had told you she would like to be after how highly you had spoken about them.

she hadn’t forgotten that conversation, or that band, and excused herself on patrol to seek out the damn vinyl in every music shop. she didn’t know it would be so hard, but even if she did, she would search again and again and again. it’s not only a gift, it is a reflection of ellie’s admiration of you.

“how— why— i don’t even have a record player,” you point out, eyebrows dipping slightly at the harsh reminder. “so?” she asks like you just said the silliest thing in the world. “i do…we can listen to it together.”

it’s then that you notice her hand on your knee, thumb grazing through the denim of your jeans in a repeated motion. you forget about the throbbing in your head, and you no longer care about the soreness of your body. that, along with the entire world, seems to fade away right now.

it’s not just your heart in her hands. it’s you, your mind, your soul, everything you have is in her palms. everything she tells you makes you feel weightless, like time pauses and you don’t have to worry about a single thing. just her. nothing else. just ellie. no one else.

“i love you.”

ellie smiles, “love you too.”

“no, ellie, i…” you hesitate, sucking in the air and then exhaling. your eyes are on the birthday card next to you, the vinyl in your hands, and then her widened pupils. you realize then, that you don’t need to repeat yourself, you don’t need to emphasize it. ellie gets it. your hands are trembling, and she holds them. but something is wrong.

the moment stretches on endlessly, watching a shadow of sadness flicker over her beautiful features. without her saying a word, that she has yet to do, you understand. she won’t say it back. not in the sense that you wish for her to.

“i…dina came to me…after her and jesse…she…” ellie’s quiet voice drifts off, sparing you the details of the night dina first showed up at her door, a repeated pattern until they finally shared an intimate moment that led to a short-lived kiss.

something you missed, because you weren’t searching for hints they had something. something you crave. her head is down, “i’m sorry.”

your confession now hangs heavy over both of you. you feel sick. you feel dumb. and yet, you force a small, understanding smile. “it’s okay.”

the words feel hollow. ellie feels like shit. she’s never cried in front of you, and she’s fighting back the tears that so desperately want to fall right now. she hadn’t meant for this to happen. she hadn’t met to fall in love with her best friend, all while her other friend was falling for her.

she could’ve waited— she would’ve waited. but it happened so fast, and ellie had made a decision already.

“i’m um…really tired,” you chuckle, trying to ease the tension, but it somehow makes it worse.

“y/n—” “do you mind if we call it a night?”

“you hit your head pretty bad,” ellie says, the sorrow tone of her voice now mixing with worry, “you should stay up.”

“you’re not my doctor, ellie,” you immediately catch the snappy tone you give her the moment the sentence leaves your mouth, biting your tongue in response. ellie doesn’t point it out nor make an argument out of it. she is the most understanding with you. even if the context is her simply looking out for you. you fold in your lips, still holding the gift, ellie finally standing up.

she doesn’t know what to say. at all. she could say sorry a million times but eventually they will mean nothing to you. she doesn’t even know if they do now. “i uh…i’ll leave you alone.”

the worst words you could ever hear from the person you love the most in the world. of course, part of you wants her out of sight after the humiliation you just walked yourself into, but the other part of you wants to go with her, play the vinyl she had gifted you, and lay together in her bed as her finger taps in rhythm to the music on your thigh. but you can’t do that. not when her bed is reserved for someone else.

you barely nod, “okay.”

she gulps, hesitantly walking to your bedroom door, the one she was so happy to walk into just an hour prior. there’s guilt in each step she takes, her cheeks hot and mouth dry. she stops in your doorway, tugging at her bottom lip with her sharp teeth, glancing back at you.

whatever she was prepared to say, dies on her tongue, swallowing it down and opting for something else.

“happy birthday, y/n.”

then she’s gone. and you’re left alone with a teddy bear; a permanent reminder of this night. happy birthday to you.

#-🐈‍⬛#i think i like this? hm. will think on it more.#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #ellie tlou x reader #yes im cailee spaeny washing her again i cant stop #ellie williams angst #angst ellie williams x reader #wlw fanfic #tlou ellie x reader #ellie x gn reader #ellie williams x gn reader

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slimybeth69 · 5 months ago

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Part 2- Cave In

Series Masterlist | Part 1

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- flashbacks of readers graphic and sad past!!!

While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you!

Joel’s mind drifts off to the days and nights he spent teaching Ellie how to play guitar– watching her learn, grow more confident in the way she held the instrument. Then hearing her play her first song is one of his favorite memories. He wonders what her, Dina and JJ are doing right now.

He wonders if Tommy and Ellie are looking for him– Joel can’t imagine they wouldn’t be. Not after what they did in Seattle a couple years ago. His daughter and his younger brother would come looking for him, and eventually they’d find him- and rescue him.

The three of them- Joel right alongside them, would kill you in the process, he’d make sure of it.

That’s all he can think about– being rescued and watching you die as you wrap a second layer of duct tape around the oven mitts on his hands.

As much as Joel hates you, he can’t deny that you’re resourceful.

With the shock collar still around his neck, and now, two pairs of oven mitts secured to each of his fists, Joel watches you untie his arms from the chair.

He is stiff, and misses the fucking sun. Joel just wants to the feel the warmth on his face- but he can’t really even think about that now, he’s thinking of all the ways he’s going to fucking knock you out the minute you crawl into his lap.

He’ll knock the shock collar remote out of your hand, headbutt you– a real one, he’ll go right for your nose and try and break it– then he will wrap his big strong arms around you, and squeeze until he can feel your ribs snap.

He’s got it all planned out- until he hears the sound of more duct tape ripping, and he wonders what part of him you’re going to tape next.

Joel watches in horror as you tape the remote to your palm, your thumb gingerly laid across the button that would shock Joel probably into next week. You wrap the tape until Joel can barely see the remote anymore.

You’re more resourceful than he thought, and that’s terrifying. Joel is almost sixty years old– he’s being outsmarted by some insane woman who lives in a mall in what now is the woods outside of Jackson.

How did you get here? Where’s the rest of your group or community? Joel hasn’t seen a single other person since he got here, and he hasn’t seen or heard you interact or say you had to go meet up with anyone since he’s been here.

There is no way you’re surviving out here all on your own on peanut butter, raspberries and whiskey.

“Let me go,” his voice croaks. “C’mon. Y’don’t really wanna do this.” He’s pleading. He hasn’t fully begged yet, not pathetically– which is what you must want to hear. You wanna hear Joel– the big strong man cry and whine and beg for you to let him go.

You drop the roll of tape on the floor beside your feet, “Got some rules ya’ gotta follow, Mister.” You ignore Joel, taking an inched step towards him. “Number one is ya’ don’t hit. You don’t hit– I don’t zap ya'. Sound fair?" You don't wait for him to reply. "Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

Joel rolls his eyes and is immediately met with an intense muscle spasm throughout the entire right side of his face, and down his neck. It spreads out over his shoulder and through part of his chest.

It lasts for only a split second, but it leaves Joel panting, his brow already beaded in sweat from just that short electric shock.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ– don’t fuckin’--" he starts to warn you with a stern tone and narrow eyes– but he’s greeted by your wet, stare only inches from his.

Your mouth opens and closes once, twice… three times before any sound comes out. “Stop makin’ me hurt you,” you whine, one single tear falling from the corner of your eye. “I really don’t like hurtin’ ya’-- I don’t wanna do it, so don’t give me reason to, right?”

Joel glares at you while deep down inside him somewhere his heart twists slightly.

Awww, look it’er cryin’. Cute lil puppy, alone, out here in the woods–

Joel blinks twice as you crawl into his lap, your soft, warm body pressing against his tentatively, as if you were waiting for him to start fighting you off, to start screaming and shouting at you.

He wants to so badly, he wants to feel his forehead connect with the bridge of your nose as hard as it can– but it’s like you hypnotized him when you curled up on his lap.

“Now ya’ wrap your arms ‘round me,” you breathe against Joel’s neck.

Joel fucking sighs at the feeling, almost wishing you press your lips to the spot directly behind his ear.

Go on, move your arms…

Fuck no! Something is seriously wrong with him, he needs to talk to someone besides you. He knows you’re a bad person; a good person wouldn’t do something like this.

Joel knows that if he puts his arms around you the way you want him to, he might start squeezing, and keep squeezing regardless of the pain from the electric shock. He’d seize up and wouldn’t be able to let you go, even if he wanted.

That might not be a bad thing though, either Joel would kill you, or you would kill him. It would solve his problem either way– and that was fine because he didn’t want to keep living like this. He couldn’t.

It would drive him fucking insane. He already feels like he is going insane the way he wants to kiss your neck, and suck on the spot where your collarbone ends, and your throat begins.

C’mon, fuckin’ do it. Ya’ know she wants it, give it to her– make her fuckin’ beg for it first…

Oh fuck, Joel knows that is the unstable part of his brain talking– and he has to shut it out.

You are Joel’s attacker, his fucking captor– the one keeping him from his family, the one he worked so fucking hard to get back. He might never see them again because of you. He’s thinking of all the ways he could hurt you–to hurt you badly, he wants to see you dead– but all those feelings of anger and hatred flee from his brain when you press the most soft, sweetest, barely-there kiss to his jaw.

“Thank you,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. The way you sigh and melt into Joel, molding to him, has his head spinning for a whole new reason, and he’s completely fucking sober this time.

See big feller, ain’t that hard t’just comply.

Joel realizes only then that he has both of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him, with his cheek resting on your head.

She ain’t t’bad, right? Smells nice’n sweet, like a pretty lady.

It’s so hard to hate you and want you dead when your soft, sleepy breaths flits across the skin on his neck.

“I have more movies–”

“Anything besides the princess movies- please,” Joel sighs, not removing his cheek from your head. “I can’t do the princess movies again, anything else…”

“Do you like Batman?” The action of you lifting your head off his shoulder is the only reason he pulls away from you. “The cartoons?”

Joel snorts, and nods his head at you. “I do– me ‘n Tom–” Joel stops himself from sharing too much with you for no reason whatsoever, his eyes dropping to your bare thighs.

It makes his mouth water when he looks at them, even though they’re bruised to hell, with fresh cuts and old scars adorning your supple, and kissable looking skin.

He can feel you looking at him, waiting for him to finish what he was about to tell you. His eyes flash up to yours when you question him.

“Who’s Tom? Whatta’bout him?”

Joel can see your desperation in your face and eyes–they're wide, still slightly wet with the tears from zapping him moments ago. You must want to know so badly, and he decides to use it to his advantage.

“Get me some meat– anything– n’ I’ll tell ya’.” Joel can’t help but smirk to himself because this is going to work.

Your eyes light up, and you lean in real close- the tip of your nose pressed against his. “Promise?”

Joel nods, his eyes locked on to yours, “Promise.”

Give’er a lil kiss.

Joel leans forward to do it, but you pull back with your brows furrowed and a scowl on your face.

“No. Ya’ punched me last time ya’ did that.” You whisper at him, still frowning.

“Sorry f’that-” Joel starts but you don’t let him finish.

Your head shakes from side to side quickly, eyes still wide– untrusting, but desperate for something, he’s seen that look before so many times in so many different sets of eyes. After you scramble out of his lap, finding your footing on the floor beside the chair, you look down at him, still frowning.

“Sorry don’t mean nothin’- not out here it don’t.”

S’okay, Sug. You’ll be fine– Mister-man’s gonna be real thankful.

“Well he fuckin’ better! I hate gettin’ shot at, I hate havin’ t’fuckin run real fast- I hate that the place is almost three fuckin’ hours awa–” Your eyes fall onto the horizon where the sun is starting to rise just over the mountains in the distance. “Ain’t even get any fuckin’ sleep–”

Oh Sug, it’ll be worth it, he’s gon’ tell you–

Lies. He’s going to tell you lies, and for what!? You almost got shot–

“I know I almost got shot— You don’t think that I know I almost got shot!?” You’re nearly shouting in the woods. “Now both of yous be fuckin’ quiet– m’tired, and I twisted my fuckin’ ankle–”

And it’s the truth, you did twist your ankle when crossing the stream about a mile back, and thankfully the raiders had stopped following you a while ago, but with all the adrenaline it was easy to keep running. That was, until you slipped on those stupid fucking rocks.

It takes you thirty more minutes to get home, and by the time you do everything hurts, and you just want to go to sleep. Your ankle throbs with every tender step you take.

Taking a deep breath, you plaster on a smile and push open the door. "Honey, I'm home," you call out in a sing-song voice, trying to mask all your exhaustion and this fucking pain that won’t quit.

Mister’s already watching for you as you make your way slowly down the stairs. His eyes narrow as his eyes mill across your frame.

You don't look great. Disheveled, torn clothes, scrapes on your hands and knees from when you fell.

"What happened t’ya?"

Oh he’s worried ‘boutchya! Let him help you, honey.

You wave off his question with a limp hand. "Never mind me,” you toss your backpack on the table, the bottles of whiskey clank around inside noisily as you sit down in the metal chair beside Joel’s recliner. “Gotch’yer meat you wanted to fuckin’ bad.” You say, rolling your eyes.

Mister-man looks you up and down. "Y'look like hell," he says, his eyes tracing over the scratches on your arms and legs.

You ignore his words and his wandering eyes and open up your backpack. “I got jerky,” you pull out two large containers of dried meat and set them on the table. “-got bread ‘n more peanut butter— they had jam this time.”

“Who is ‘they’?” Joel asks, his eyes never leaving you even as his arms and wrists begin to twist gently under the restraints.

Embarrassment floods you, it takes over everything that you are, just like it did when you told him you had been watching him for a while. You know what you did was bad, and you shouldn't be stealing or killing-- but you're only doing it for him!

You look at him, with a hollow feeling in your chest that you can't quite place. "They’s just... people," you say quietly. "They don't matter none."

Joel tilts his head, studying you so intently that makes you want to squirm. "Ya’ hurtin’?" he asks, voice rough like sandpaper grating your ear canal.

“Who is Tom?” You avoid all questions about you, and any issues you have because why burden Mister-man? You're not his problem, you want to give him a worry, burden free life here in the mall with you and Puddin'.

Mister watches you very carefully as you pull a slice of jerky out of the container, he’s practically drooling when you place it as his lips. He groans as he begins to chew, and immediately takes another bite before he’s even swallowed the first.

He doesn’t answer— not even after the entire piece of jerky is gone, so you withhold the next piece.

“Who. Is. Tom?” You shift closer to him and wince when your ankle brushes against the leg of the chair.

"Tom... Tommy is my brother." His voice… there's something almost tender in his tone when he says his brother's name.

It feels like someone it clenching your heart in their fist, and they’re fucking squeezing.

"You're my fucking sister!" His voice is so hoarse, raw and desperate. It doesn't even sound like him anymore. "Don't— please, don't fucking do it, I'm sorry-" "You told me sorrys don't mean nothing anymore— not out here they don't!" You shout back at him, the gun in your hand trembles right along with the rest of your body. "You were supposed to t-take c-care of me! You p-promised mom and dad," you sob, your thumb pulls the hammer of the revolver back and your index finger squeezes the trigger. "Hey, HEY!" He holds both of his hands up, a weak attempt to shield himself from whatever is about to happen. Shoot him, kid. He deserves it after what he put you through. He let those guys— The gun just goes off, you don't even feel yourself pull the trigger. All you see is a fine, red mist explodes from his forehead and the back of his skull— and then everything is quiet, everything is calm. Good job, Sugar. I'm so fucking proud of you.

That was the first time you ever heard the light voice, the sweet voice that says nice things to you.

And m'gonna be here for ya' forever, Sug.

“I know,” you sigh.

Mister blinks at you, “You know Tommy?”

You blink back at him, “No?”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy like the evening air at the end of the summer. Joel watches you, his eyes darting between your face and the jerky still in your hand. “Okay…”

“Did Tommy like Batman?” If Tommy likes or liked Batman or anything about that universe at all, he’s an okay guy in your book.

“He likes Superman,” Joel chuckles when he delivers the news. “I’m the one who likes Batman.”

You audibly gasp, “You like the comics and the cartoons?”

Joel's lips twitch at the corners, almost forming what looks like a smile. "Used to read 'em with Tommy when we was kids. " His eyes fill with sadness.

You lean forward, tilting your head to the side in curiosity. "Why’re y’sad?" you whisper, the pain in your ankle momentarily forgotten.

"I ain’t sad," Mister-man is gruff. "Tommy and I used to collect comics, argued about who was cooler. Obviously Batman, 'cause he ain't got no superpowers. Just pure skill. Tommy thought Superman was better."

“Both of ‘em suck— I just like Harley Quinn,” you nod.

You were going to say more but the very faint sound of clicking ticks in your ears. It’s far enough away that you can get upstairs and drop the metal gate that locks the store up nice and tight.

It’s never fun, and you don’t like having to do it— but thankfully you just made a haul, so you’ll be good for a couple day.

You just hope Puddin’ is okay. Ya' saw him yesterday, but he didn't sleep in the big bed with ya' like he normally would.

“Har—” Mister-man starts, oblivious to the terrors that are lurking just above your head.

“Shhhhhh,” you hold your finger up to your mouth and furrow your eyebrows at him. “Stay quiet ‘n I’ll give ya’ some more jerky, okay?” You whisper almost silently.

He nods and stays quiet because he knows how scary those fucking things are, and he probably doesn’t want to be tied to a chair if one every came around.

Standing up feels like a pack of sparklers— like the ones they used to have at the 4th of July parties when you were a kid, before all this— it feels like those, popping and sizzling up your leg. You have to bite back a moan as your body leans against the table for support. The table skids across the floor noisily as you hold yourself up on it and it makes your blood run cold.

You have to get up those stairs and drop that gate, Sug. Mister is countin’ on you…

It’s like time freezes and all you can picture is poor Mister getting torn apart.

You hesitate listening intently. The clicking grows louder, a sickening, bone-chilling sound that echoes through the abandoned mall. Your twisted ankle throbs, but adrenaline starts pumping through your veins.

“Gotta move, sweetheart.” He must have heard the clicking this time too. Joel’s whispering voice is even and calm even though your chest feels like it could cave in on itself, your ribs feel like they could explode inward towards your lungs like sending shattered bone fragments hurdling towards your delicate, soft insides. “Y’can do it. I know it hurts—”

The metal gate. Everything around you goes silent, and the only thing you can hear is the sound the gate makes when it closes and locks into the floor. You have to get to the metal gate.

You clutch the railing with a white knuckle grip and pull yourself up the stairs two at a time, biting almost completely through your bottom lip, grunting with each painful step.

The clicking is clearer, and closer now that you’re on the same level as the infected, and you can tell there is more than one, and they’re moving fast.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss as you limp towards the entrance of the store.

As you reach it, you can see the seven infected closing in fast. Your sweet, sweet Puddin’ is hauling ass towards you— the infected right on his little, scaly tail.

“C’mon Pud,” you whine, dropping the gate down for just enough room for him to run through, and possibly let one of the infected in if you weren’t quick enough closing it behind him.. “C’mon Puddin’!”

It’s like your words spur him on and his little legs kick into overdrive. He slips under the metal gate just as the infected slam into it, throwing you off your balance. You’re thrown back at least three feet, and watch in horror as the gate starts to rise on its own.

Move kiddo, come on! Get your ass up and fucking shut that gate!

Your body screams in protest as you scramble across the floor, your twisted ankle sending sharp bolts of pain through your leg.

Puddin' is playing dead right behind you, but you don't have time to think about him right now. He's safe and inside, that's all that matters. The gate keeps rising, inch by torturous inch, and the infected are pushing against it with stupid inhuman strength!

"No, no, no," you mutter, pushing through the pain. The clicking grows louder, more frenzied, as the first infected begins to squeeze its misshapen head underneath the rising gate.

Pulling the knife from your belt in one hand, you bring it down into the skull of the infected trying to slip through, and with the other, your fingers grapple for a hold on the handle of the metal grate.

The infected skull cracks open with a sickeningly wet crunch, dark blood and gray matter splattering across the floor.

Your hand finally grips the smooth metal tightly, even though now your palm is nearly dripping with sweat, and with a grunt that feels like it's being stolen right out of your lungs, you pull down with all the strength you have left inside of you.

The gate comes down with a crash that echoes throughout the mall, the infected on the other side of the gate screech and squeal loudly. Some of them stick their arms through the slots, and their skin peels back like overripe fruit, claws scraping desperately for any piece of you they can reach.

You don't even want to think about how grotesque they are, you flip the lock that secures the gate to the floor as their fingers grapple and scratch deep into your skin. It clicks into place and you finally exhale, not realizing you had been holding your breath.

So fuckin’ proud of you, Sug. Knew you could do it.

The shrieking cries of the infected fill the otherwise silent mall and the confined space you’re now trapped in. You can't help but glance back toward Puddin'—the little white and gray furball who is still playing dead.

“S’okay, we’re safe,” you sigh, letting yourself rest on your elbows and then on your back completely. You stare at the ceiling, and wonder how long the infected will stick around.

The sounds coming from right above Joel has his heart racing, and he’s trying to free himself from his restraints harder and more desperate than ever before.

With a roar of determination, uncaring of the dangers above him, he jerks one arm up and then down. It’s not enough; he can still feel them biting into his skin painfully, creating new rope burns.

“C’mon, c’mon!” he grunts as time stretches into an eternity. The picture of you being shredded by gnawing and gnashing teeth makes his stomach churn.

Just as that thought creeps in, he hears a metallic rattling, but the wailing of the infected are still clear as day.

The clang of metal echoes again, and for a moment, he thinks maybe you did it. Maybe you’ve locked them out. Maybe you just signed yours and his death certificates and locked some of them in the store.

He tries to twist his wrists again, then again, but each movement sends sharp, stinging pain surging up his forearms. “Fuck!” He exclaims loudly.

She’s up there, fightin’ them off all alone—

"I know, dammit.” His jaw is tense and he focuses all of his energy on trying to loosen the ropes enough, or rub them against the metal fame to fray it enough so he can snap them. The strain builds in his muscles, and he can feel the ropes biting deeper, but he can’t stop— the feeling inside him brings him right back to the hospital in Salt Lake when he was looking for Ellie.

He thought he had felt helpless then, he thought he had felt helpless when that girl and her group of friends had trapped him and Tommy in that cabin— but now he knows the true definition of despair. Tied to a chair, listening to you getting torn apart right above him, and then he’ll have to watch those infected come to tear his throat out.

The door to the basement opens slowly, and Joel’s heart almost stops beating completely. Bile rises in his throat at the uneven steps that start down the wooden steps. It’s a slow, clumsy sound accompanied by grunts and pained whimpers.

When your boots come into his line of sight, he exhales loudly. The sight of you, safe and still breathing sends a warmth through Joel’s spine that spreads into the rest of his body and he’s not sure why.

Awe shit, she’s hurtin’ real bad.

Joel fucking knows, he can see it with his own two eyes. You’re limping, worse than you were went you bolted upstairs and now you’re covered in fresh wounds, and blood trickles down your left forearm, wrist and fingertips, leaving little droplets in your wake. Your cradling something dead and furry in your right arm.

“Ya’ get bit?” Joel’s skin prickles as he asks, trying to get a better look at your arm, straining to see in the dim light.

“Naw,” you grunt at him, sitting in the chair you had been sitting in before you had run upstairs. “Just got scratched.”

Joel eyes you, unsure if he can believe you while you extend your left arm and show him the deep gouging scratches carved into your flesh. “S’bad,” Joel murmurs as you press your arm against your dirty jeans. He flinches at the sight, and turns his arms under the ropes.

What’chya wanna do? Hit her or help her?

Both? Joel synchronously wants to do both. He wants to lay you down on the mattress across the room and tend to your wounds. He wants to wash the blood of your skin, and wrap you up— watch your eyes glisten and sparkle as he cares for you. And then Joel would beat your face bloody, and bludgeon your chest in until it caved.

“M’fine,” you offer weakly. “Ain’t the worst that’s ever happened t’me.”

Somewhere deep inside of Joel twists painfully when the inflection in your tone tells him you think that’s true.

“How’s your ankle?” Joel doesn’t bother looking, he knows it’s bad by the way you limped down the stairs.

“Said m’fine,” you grumble, setting the dead animal down on the table very gently next to the shock collar remote.

“What’s that? Fresh meat finally—”

Joel doesn’t even see it coming, your hand moves so fast and the next thing he knows he is being zapped into silence.

“Ain’t fuckin’ fresh meat- you don’t ever speak about Puddin’ that way, ya’ hear me?” You zap Joel the entire time you’re speaking, and he can barely hear you over the screaming between his ears. It’s deafening and blinding, and making him feel fucking stupid.

“Fine fine.” Joel grits out through a jaw clenched so tight he might actually break his teeth.

You flick the remote off and toss it on the table as if it’s too hot to touch any longer. The buzzing in Joel's ears fades slightly, leaving only the thudding of his heart and the rasp of his breathing.

“I fuckin’ hate hurtin’ you,” you sob softly, wrapping your arms around what appears to be an opossum. You pull it closer to you, and nuzzle your face against his fur.

Joel recoils at the sight, but watches as the dead animal comes to life, and gives your cheek a gentle lick. “That’s your pet?” He asks, disbelief dripping off his tongue.

You don’t look at him, or even really acknowledge that you heard him— you just continue to snuggle the animal and cry quietly.

Joel doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to comfort you in a weird way, but he still wants to see you dead? But the thought you dying also scares him a little?

It’s ‘cause you wanna be the one snuggled up next t’her. Jealous of an opossum—

No the fuck he doesn’t! Joel does not want to snuggle up to you, he doesn’t want to feel your warm body pressed against his—

Even though she’d fit perfect right next to ya’. Picture it, ya’ got’chya arms ‘round her ‘n you got your legs all wrapped in hers…

The sight of you, vulnerable and fragile with that small, stupid animal, tugs at his heart in ways he hasn’t experienced in years. He shakes his head violently, as if he could actually dislodge the thoughts spinning in his mind. “You’re fuckin' crazy,” he mutters to himself under his breath.

Your chair scrapes across the floor as you turn quickly to the right so you can face him. Your jaw ticks and one of your eyes twitch. “I ain’t fuckin’ crazy— stop sayin’ that.” You whisper to him. “Why ya’ bein’ so mean? I jus’ saved your life…” Your face twists up like you might start crying again, and your eyes now are still wet with the tears you had been crying moments ago.

“Saved my life?” Joel scoffs through clenched teeth, the remnants of your electric assault still tingling faintly in his fingers and toes. “That’s what y’think you did for me?” He can feel his resolve faltering as the fat, wet tears begin to roll down your cheek, but he forces himself to stay angry. It feels safer— it feels better that way. “More like puttin’ me through hell, darlin’.”

He doesn’t even mean for the word darlin’ to come out of his mouth, he wasn’t even thinking it, at least— he doesn’t remember wanting to cal you darlin’.

But the moment it slips out, he watches your expression change. You wipe at the tears staining your cheeks, smearing dirt and blood across your face. A flicker of something warm and soft ignites in your eyes, like sunlight breaking through dark clouds. “Darlin’…” you echo him, a fractured smile threatening to bloom despite the pain etched across your features.

Joel’s heart sinks, and also bursts with pride all at the same time. You are in fact insane, but he made you stop crying.

Look’it that, she’s almost smilin’ now.

That warmth spreads through him again, against his will—against all logical reason. “I didn’t mean it,” he mutters, not really sure if he did mean it or not. Yet the sight of you still clinging to that opossum, caressing him carefully as he nibbles gently on one of your fingers. The sight draws him in deeper than he would like to admit, but he just wants to clean you up, wrap you in bandages and then let you fall asleep on his lap.

“Didn’t… mean it?” You repeat the words like you don’t understand them, and your smile falters just a bit as you study his face, searching for truth. “Liar,” you smirk at him.

There is a warmth in your crazy eyes that makes Joel want to sink as far into the chair as he possibly can, he wishes he could disappear but he doesn’t. He says, watching you like he’s frozen in place. “Nah, s’just the shock talkin’,” he whispers and nods his head to one side like there would be a video replaying the who ordeal that happened only moments ago. He wishes there was so he could watch it happen over and over, so he could build up the walls around him, keep you the fuck out of his head.

“Yeah…” There is a distance to your tone, like you’re not really there anymore, and you drop your gaze to the opossum nestled in your arms. “Ya’ made me do that though,” you whisper, eyes flicking up to him quickly— they’re darker, a little scary and Joel wishes he could hide inside his own skin.

“Made you?” Joel’s voice rises, anger flaring throughout him like a wildfire in a forest of dead, dry trees. It spreads fast before Joel can control himself.“Y’think I made you do that? You are a crazy fuckin’ bit—”

You zap him again with a jolt that sends white hot sparks crawling up his spine, and sucks the air right out of his lungs.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” you scream and clutch the opossum tighter.

Joel watches as it goes back to playing dead in your arms. He’s about to shout back at you, start a screaming war and hope those infected break through that gate upstairs and kill both of you— but then you whisper something quietly, and Joel almost doesn’t catch it.

“I’m not gunna fuckin’ do that, stop tellin’ me t’kill him.”

Joel’s blood runs cold like ice… who the fuck are you talking to? Or about?

“Are you still hungry?” Your voice is soft, almost sweet now. “I can get you more jerky… I got lots of whiskey—” you say, the fierce anger from moments ago melting away, replaced by a manic eagerness to please him. You reach for your bag again, your arm still bleeding badly— but you’re unfazed by it, or at least doing a good job pretending it doesn’t bother you.

You pull out a glass jar.

“Are those coffee beans?” Joel can barely believe his eyes. His mouth starts to salivate immediately.

You wrinkle your nose at him and shrug your shoulders. “Dunno— they look like some kinda bean— smell all burnt up to shit though,” your nose stays scrunched up as you begin digging around in your bag again.

“Lemme smell,” he can barely contain his excitement as he watches you unscrew the lid to the mason jar. There is a hesitation in your movements when you go to hold the jar under his nose, like you’re trying to figure out his game, the trap he’s set. Your eyes scan all around him, face and body unmoving. “I jus’ wanna smell it— I’ll tell you if it’s coffee or not,” he’s as close to begging for something as he’s ever gotten.

“You like coffee?” You sound so curious, and gingerly place the mouth of the jar under his nose. He takes in a deep inhale and the wonderful, deep and rich aroma of coffee fills his nostrils.

Joel groans loudly, and for a long time as the scent permeates his sinuses, he can almost taste it on his tongue for a fleeting moment.

“Take that as a yes,” you giggle and let him breathe in the smell a little longer. “How do I make it for ya’?” You ask, pulling the jar away and screwing the lid on tight.

“Gotta grind those beans up real fine— then let it brew in some hot water.” Joel explains, watching as you dig around in your bag for more of your loot. "They make special pots for it— percolators."

"Percolators?" You parrot him, tilting your head to one side—

Cute lil puppy.

You fucking are, Joel hates to admit it to himself but even all covered in blood, and muck— looking like you've been to hell and clawed your way back out by the skin of your teeth— your eyes are bright and alert, watching him intently.

"Yeah, keeps the coffee grounds out of your water—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"So you put those crushed up beans… in the water… to just not want them in the water at the end of it all?" You hold up the coffee beans and look at them incredulously, your eyes squinted and narrowed on the glass jar with one eyebrow cocked up slightly.

Joel can't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up at your expression, your face still dirty and tear stained. "Never had coffee before?"

You shake your head at him, and continue rifling through your bag.

The opossum on the table comes alive again now that you're calm and quiet, he pops his little head up and this is when Joel notices the small teal and pink collar around his furry neck. As you pull the rest of the things out of your pack, the little critter starts to lick and clean your wounds.

It makes Joel grimace at the sight of the wild animal trying to help you, take care of you, but again— it tugs at a place inside of him he hasn't dared venture in years.

You're in the small bathroom just off the main room cleaning up in the sink you filled with water from a jug you brought down yesterday. “Ya’ wanna sleep on the bed t’night?” You nod to the mattress pushed up against the wall across the room.

What the fuck?

Mister-man looks just as shocked as the dark voice in your head sounds. “Ya’ gon’ let me sleep comfortably- take these fuckin’ ropes off me?” His voice is bitter and bites at you, makes you furrow your brows at him.

Sug, he’s been tied up for a while now—

For good fucking reason, he’s going to kill her the minute she unties him.

He’s got the dang collar on now, he’s gonna listen to her.

What happens when she falls asleep? Huh? She’s been up going on almost eighteen hours—

How d’ya know how many hours it’s been? She don’t have a watch or a clock!! You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ ‘bout.

She’s going to fall asleep and the minute she does— he’s going to strangle her.

The image of Mister-man with his hands around your throat makes you do two things— it makes your stomach flip, and it makes your cunt clench.

What the fuck was that?

She likes the idea of Mister-man chokin’ her a lil, dont’chya Sugar?

The heat rises from your chest and up your neck, behind your cheeks. You kinda do want Mister to choke you a little, but not with the intention to kill you!

“What’re you fuckin’ smirkin’ ‘bout over there?” Mister snaps at you.

When you look at yourself in the mirror, you are smirking and just standing in front of the sink frozen in place. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the images of Mister’s big, strong hands around your neck. “Nothin’,” you lie to him, which makes you feel bad— but you can’t tell him that’s what you were thinking about.

Tell him, see what he says…

Will you shut the fuck up—

“I figure you can sleep there ‘n I’ll sleep in the chair t’night— still gon’ have to tie you up, but least you can lay down…”

That’s not really what you want. You want his arms wrapped around you, and your legs all messed up in his. You wanna feel his warm breath on the top of your head because that’s gotta be the best way to fall asleep, feeling someone else’s warm body, feeling their heart beating inside their chest.

Let’s ya’ know they’re really there- ain’t a dream or something you’re imaginin’.

“Why the hell d’ya want me all comfy f’anyway, huh?” he asks, suspicion laced in his tone, but a hint of curiosity glimmers behind his dark brown eyes.

You shake your head and go back to cleaning your arm so you can bandage it. “No, I’m jus’ tryin’ t’be nice. Figur’d you could stretch out if ya’ wanted.”

He watches you, that suspicion still etched into the lines of his face, but the curiosity is unmistakable, swelling in the way his brow furrows deeper and his lips twist just slightly. “Why ya’ tryin’ to be nice?”

“I dunno… don’t want you hatin’ me no more—”

Stop it right now! Shut the fucking door and stop talking to him.

“Why would I ever stop hatin' you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. Mister-man hones in his gaze on you like a hawk. “You think bein’ nice t’me is gonna make me forget that ya’ tied me up down here?”

You shrug lightly as you wrap a bandage around your arm, feeling the warmth of blood already seeping through the fabric.

Don’t listen to him, Sugar. He don’t mean it.

Sounds like he fuckin’ means it.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” you say softly, finally meeting his stare head-on. “I just wanna feel normal again…”

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Yeah Sug, keep that to ya’self.

You feel ashamed, real shame, uncomfortable for sharing too much, and now the voices are agreeing with each other? That’s never a good sign. You’ve done something wrong.

“Normal?” He chuckles, but it feels malicious. “Ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ normal about this, sweetheart.”

“Stop sayin’ that if you don’t fuckin’ mean it!”

His laughter dies down, leaving an awkward silence between you. The room feels smaller, somehow and it feels like Mister-man is right on top of you with judging eyes. “I do mean it,” he replies, softer now but still sharp and angry. “Y’think it’s normal t’be tied up in the basement by some—”

“Some what?” You interrupt him as the anger rises to meet the shame and hold its hand.

Mister stares at you, face unchanging when he speaks. “Some. Crazy. Fuckin’. Bitch.” He enunciates every word. “What is this? Some fuckin’ fairy tale to you? One of your stupid princess movies, huh?”

“They’re not stupid,” you snap back, your voice rising in defiance. “And I’m not crazy. I just…”

“Just what?” he presses, his tone challenging. “What do you want from me?”

Don’t fucking say it.

“I jus’ want ya’ t’like me,” you whisper- feeling small and insignificant. “Want ya’ t’not hurt me again,” you point to your still slightly blackened eye.

His studies you like you’re a problem that he can’t solve— the muscles in his jaw flex, and he pinches his brow together tightly. “Ya’ want me t’like you?” He echoes softly, he says the words like they might unleash an evil into the room.

You nod, feeling like you’re frozen and on fire all at the same time, it makes your stomach churn like you might be sick. The way he’s staring at you make you feel naked and exposed.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, breaking through the silence and makes you flinch.

“You’re handsome,” you let the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them.

He shifts in the chair like you made him uncomfortable, confusion weaving its way into the creases of his hardened and in fact, beautiful face.

“Handsome?” he repeats the word like it's a foreign language, like it’s something he hasn’t heard in ages.

“I sure think so,” you nod again.

Your face is so hot it feels like it’s being held to flames.

Well, this is the most you’ve talked to anyone in a real long time, Sug… it’ll get easier.

You could just stop talking completely and go to sleep. You’re delirious.

No she ain’t. Mister-man is handsome, and she want’s him inside her again real bad.

Your walls clench around absolutely nothing at the thought of his thick, throbbing length plunging inside of you, stretching you to fit around him perfectly. The idea of it happening again makes you dizzy and you can’t help but bite your lip, your face somehow grows hotter than you thought possible.

The look Mister gives you- the half smirk, one raised eyebrow makes you think he can read your mind.“Handsome,” he snorts softly, eyes never leaving you, but now they trail down the curves of your body. “You trynna ‘sit in my lap’ again, sweetheart?” The words come out of his mouth slow like molasses, and that country twang he has sends a shock right to your core.

“Maybe,” you say, voice trembling slightly but unwavering, “maybe if you wanted to, I would.”

His face softens slightly, the anger and suspicion melting away like snow in the sun. He raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. "Why would I want that, honey?" he asks, his voice teasing slightly.

“You seemed to want it the other night,” you limp out of the bathroom and sit down in the metal chair beside his recliner.

“I was real drunk,” Mister explains, but his demeanor has changed, he looks relaxed, he’s resting his head on the back of the chair, looking at you through hooded eyes. “Ya’ took advantage of me,” he growls softly, but beckons you over with a nod of his head.

“Ya’ told me t’do it…” you snap. “I ain’t take nothin’. Advantage- I ain’t-- what? You asked me t’do it!”

He sure fuckin’ did ask you! How dare he say that bullshit ass—

I hate to admit it, but… he’s right—

The last thing you ever wanted to do was take something from Mister-man that he didn’t want you to take! It’s the worst feeling in the world- being held down and forced into—

Shhhhh, Sugar. It’s alright, s’all over now. It was just a misunderstanding.

“I ain’t m-mean t’do that,” you say weakly through the lump forming in your throat. “I thought ya’ wanted me t’do it— that’s why ya’ punched me?”

His eyes widen slightly, “I didn’t punch ya’ for that.”

"Then why did ya’ punch me?" Your voice cracks slightly as tears begin welling up in your eyes again; embarrassment filling every cell within your body once more.

“I was gonna try’n leave. Go home—”

“Ya’ lied t’me… said you’d stay,” you whimper, wiping the tears before they can fall.

“Please stop cryin’…” Mister-man's voice is surprisingly gentle as he speaks, and you feel your heart squeeze in response.

You sniffle, trying to regain your composure. "I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t ask me first," you mumble, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve.

"Why not?" Joel asks softly.

Look'it that, ya went'n made her cry! For what!? She's just trynna be nice t'ya! Jus' like she said. She wants a lil boyfriend, someone t'snuggle up with at night-- like a normal person!

There isn't anything fucking normal about you, not at all.

“I ain’t like stuff gettin’ taken from me,” you admit quietly, turning your gaze away from him.

Joel narrowed his eyes, sitting up a bit straighter in his recliner, the leather creaking underneath his weight. "What’ya mean by that?"

“Lets get ready for bed, ‘kay?” You ignore his question and stand up, wincing when you put any weight on your ankle. You hold the remote in your mouth gingerly as you begin untying him from the chair.

****

Joel watches you from the mattress in the corner. You have his hands still bound up in the oven mitts, and now you’ve tossed a rope over a pipe in the ceiling and tied up his elbows so he can move and lay down. Stretch out if he wants to, but he can’t walk more than five or six feet in either direction— and the pipes secured tighter than he had been hoping it would be.

Joel can hear you reading the Batman comic books to yourself and that opossum you keep calling Puddin’, but you haven’t looked or spoken to him since you tied him up an hour or so ago. Just left him with two things: a plastic bottle of water and metal flask with whiskey in it. He was silently thankful when you twisted the lids off without him having to ask.

He knows struck a nerve with his question, but he didn’t really expect you to shut him out completely. He takes a swig from the plastic water bottle.

Ya’ want that sad lil puppy t’come over here, dont’chya?”

He does, oddly enough. You being crazy was better than you giving him the cold shoulder, like he wasn't even there.

He wonders if you read to that stupid animal every night, and if you snuggle with him in the bed you sleep in upstairs. He wonders if you have to drink yourself to sleep every night with how many bottles of whiskey you brought back.

His mind just continues to race.

****

Joel can’t sleep. He thought for sure the minute he put his head down, he’d drift off and sleep better than he has since you tied him up down here, he’s got a blanket and a pillow now but they do nothing to comfort him into closing his eyes.

Call her over, see if she’ll come snuggle up next to you.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into the completely dark room.

“What?” You whisper back to him from the void.

“C’mere— it ain’t fair ya’ gotta sleep in that chair. I know s’uncomfortable.” What the fuck is he doing? He’s not going to willingly allow you into his space, is he?

“M’fine,” you murmur back to him. “Go t’sleep.”

“Can’t sleep— come sit in my lap again,” Joel smirks to himself because fuck, what he would do to feel your warm cunt enveloping him like you were made strictly for him, and him alone. It makes his cock twitch just thinking about it.

Joel holds his breath, waiting for you to respond. Then, finally, you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper, “Why would I do that?”

“‘Cause I’m handsome…” Joel teases you, listening to the way the chair creaks as you shift on it. He wishes so badly he could see you. “I know ya’ wanna feel good, I wanna feel good too.”

“Y’just wanna punch me again, try’n escape—”

“Where would I go? Them infected are still up there, I ain’t gettin’ outta here anytime soon,” he’s being honest. He had thought about it, but the idea of having to share a room with your dead body— even if he moved you upstairs, the idea of having to wait around with your corpse until the infected cleared out gave him a bad feeling.

It’s ‘cause you don’t wanna kill ‘er. Ya’ wanna be deep inside that tight, wet, warm perfect hole.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters under his breath. His cock’s fully hard now, and it’s making a tent in the black sweatpants you put on him before bed. He rubs the oven mitt on his hand against the bulge in the fabric and groans loudly.

“What’re you doin’?” You ask from your place in the chair.

“Come find out, sweetheart.” He sighs, leaning against the wall the mattress is pressed up against.

Joel listens to you limp and shuffle towards him in the dark. Your hands hesitantly touch his shins before you crawl onto the bed with him.

“Take ‘em out f’me, baby girl,” he leans into you now that you’re sitting next to him, pushing his nose into your hair. He inhales deeply and takes in the heady scent of your sweat lingering whatever fucking pheromones that are making him just as insane as you.

“Ya’ really want this?”

Joel wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you as close as he can get. “M’sober this time,” he moan quietly into your ear when you push his mitt covered hand, away and slip your hand underneath the waistband. He bucks his hips up into your fist as you begin to stoke him.

“You’re s’warm,” you sigh, turning your head to face him.

Joel wastes no time catching your lips in a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste you, savor your flavor. You taste like whiskey and strawberry jam. The smell of cheap bathroom hand soap lingers on your skin from washing up in the sink. All of it makes him feel like hes intoxicated.

“Fuck, y’feel so good,” he growls into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip gently as you pull away. “Take these fuckin’ mitts off me—”

Your hand leaves his pants and the warmth of your body is gone from beside him. “It’s a trick?” You sound hurt in the dark, like Joel’s played some terrible prank on you and you just found out.

“No, no, no-” he’s desperate for your touch. It felt so good, and he wasn’t even thinking about trying to trick you or do anything shifty once you took the mitts off, he wanted to grip you and grope you. Plunge two or three fingers right into your wetness. “No, m’not trynna trick you— I just wanna touch you.”

“S’what you said last time,” you snap at him. He can tell you’re still close, probably still on the mattress. He shifts and tries to get closer to you but he hears your skin drag across the concrete floor.

“Shit,” Joel grumbles. “I know, fuck— I know, but I mean it this time-”

“I don’t believe you.”

Of course you don’t believe him! He socked you right in the eye as hard as he could the last time he didn’t have at least 4 inches of padding on his fists.

“I wanna make y’feel real good, the way y’were makin’ me feel real good just then,” he’s inching towards the sound of you dragging yourself across the floor on his hands and knees slowly. The ropes stop him from going any further while you continue your retreat. “C’mon, baby…”

“Y’just sayin’ that, don’t mean it…” The sound of your body shuffling away from him stops though, and he wonders if he’s got you on the hook with the pet names.

Try it again, Mister.

“Please, honey… I wanna hear y’moan Mister’s name,” he coos to you, hiding from him somewhere in the darkness.

You let out a long, slow, shaky breath before you answer. “What is your name…”

He’s so fucking desperate for some sort of relief that he tells you before he can come up with a fake name— he’s learned the hard way about sharing his real name with strange women. “Joel.”

“Joel…” You whisper back to him. “My very own Mister-J?” You sound excited.

“Mister-J?” Joel cocks his head to one side, but is pushed back onto the mattress by the force of you barreling into him.

“That’s what Harley calls the Joker,” your straddling his waist again and without thinking twice, Joel wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. His forearms brush against the bare skin of your thighs and it makes him groan softly as he pushes you down into his lap.

“Ya' wanna be m'crazy girl? Like Harley Quinn?” Joel chuckles as he nudges his nose against your chin, tilting your head back to expose your neck.

You hesitate, and pull back from him slightly.

“I ain’t gon’ bite you,” he promises, leaning in as much as he can so he can press his lips to the column of your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, sinking into him like you’re melting. “Oh fuck,” it leaves your mouth as a whimper, and Joel’s cock throbs at the sound.

“Like this?” He nips at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and you shiver in his arms. He can’t hide the smile, he doesn’t care to. He loves that he’s capable of making you make those sounds.

You hum an almost silent ‘mhm’, and wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through the curls at the nape.

Joel has so much more room to move around now that he’s unrestrained, so he rolls his hips up into yours so you can feel what he has to offer. You gasp and arch your back, pushing yourself further onto him. He moans softly, his mitts trailing down your spine and cupping your ass cheeks as best they can. He can feel the heat between your legs growing and he has a nagging thought in his head.

Lay down, let her climb right on top—

Joel shifts and wiggles down onto the mattress so he’s flat on his back, with you still straddling his hips. “Take your lil shorts off,” Joel taps your thigh, and then lifts his hips so he can shove his sweatpants down his legs.

You don’t ask any questions. You roll off of him and Joel feels your shoulder touch his as you lay down to remove your bottoms. You go to crawl back into his lap but he stops you.

“Sit up here,” he grips your hips as best he can with the mitts, and tugs you up to his face.

“What!?” You sound distressed, “Ya’ want me t’do what?”

“Turn around, and sit down,” Joel growls up at you.

You hesitate, the uncertainty clear in your voice. "I-I don't know..."

"C'mon, darlin'," Joel coaxes, his voice low and husky. "Let me taste you. I promise ‘m gonna make you feel so good."

With shaky movements, you turn around and slowly lower yourself over Joel's face.

He inhales deeply, taking in your scent. "That's it," he murmurs encouragingly. "Just like that." Joel can feel the heat radiating from your core as you hover uncertainly above him. He lifts his head, nuzzling his nose against your inner thigh. "Lil lower," he nips at your supple skin.

With a soft whimper, you finally sink down onto his waiting mouth. Joel groans at the first taste of you, his tongue delving between your folds. Your sweet and tangy, a little sweaty and musky— it’s fucking heady and perfect. He can’t get enough.

“Oh fuck,” you shudder as Joel licks a stripe from your clit to your entrance, which is already dripping and Joel feels pride swell in his chest.

Without Joel having to ask, or prompt you in any way, you lean over and take his hard, aching cock in your hand. Joel nearly comes right there when he hears you spit on it noisily and palm your warm saliva around the throbbing, drooling tip.

“Fuuuuck,” Joel moans approvingly before his tongue pushes into your entrance.

"Oh god, Mister," you whimper, your hand still working his cock in long, slow strokes. Then you kitten lick the tip and he has to stop himself from bucking his hips.

Joel's mind goes blank as your warm, wet mouth envelops the head of his cock. He groans against your pussy, the vibrations making you shudder above him. His tongue laps eagerly at your fold, drinking in your arousal as it flows freely.

You bob your head, taking more of his length with each downward motion. Joel's hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust up into the heavenly heat of your mouth. Instead, he focuses on pleasuring you, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

You whimper around his cock, grinding your hips down onto his face.

Joel pulls back slightly, his breath hot against your core. "That's it, baby girl. Ride my face," he growls before diving back in, his tongue circling your clit.

You pull away, your hand replacing your mouths ministrations and rest your head on Joel’s hip as you stroke him, never faltering on giving him pleasure. “Please d-don’t stop!” You cry out, your grip tightening around his shaft as you rock your hips. Joel's mitt-covered hands grip your thighs, urging you on.

"Gonna cum for me, darlin'?" he murmurs against your slick folds. "Let me taste it."

Joel feels you tense above him, your thighs quivering as you grind down harder on his face. He doubles his efforts, lapping at your clit with quick, firm strokes of his tongue. Your hand on his cock speeds up, pumping him in time with the rocking of your hips.

"Oh god, oh fuck," you whimper, your voice muffled against his hip. "I'm gonna-- I'm--"

Your words dissolve into a high-pitched moan as you come undone. Joel groans as he feels your pussy pulse against his mouth, a fresh wave of your arousal coating his tongue.

Your sounds, the way your hips continue to rock against his mouth as you unravel has his own release bubbling up to the surface. Joel groans deeply as his own orgasm crashes over him, his hips bucking up involuntarily as he spills into your hand. You stroke him through it, milking every last drop as he shudders beneath you.

Joel's whole body twitches as you clean him and your hand with your tongue, "Taste good," you mumble against his stomach, pressing soft kisses to the trail of hair between his cock and belly button.

Then, with shaky movements, you lift yourself off of Joel's face and turn around to face him. Even in the darkness, he can sense your uncertainty.

"C'mere," Joel murmurs, his voice rough. He reaches out, pulling you down to lay beside him. You settle against his chest, your breath warm on his neck.

“Don’t kill me in my sleep, ‘kay?” You sigh, pressing a kiss to his pulse point.

Joel murmurs something incoherent, already on the verge of falling asleep.

Sorry it was like 45 minutes late (two days early if you look at the master list ok?-- I may have had something to drink.... and of course thanks @pedrospookie for that adorable fucking mood board. I hope you all like this chapter-- it's a little domesticated (i think), but I have more crazy, unhinged antics coming next chapter!)

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories

(omg I think I got everyone but that's so many people, please let me know if I left you off or if you want to be taken out of the tag list!)

#kidnapped!joel miller x unhinged!reader #pedro pascal characters #fic: girl dinner #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #DDDNE #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #tlou joel #joel miller #crazy reader insert

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shannonsketches · 3 months ago

Note

Can I just yap to you for a tiny bit how much I love that small, beautiful moment of wordless communication between Bulma and Vegeta in Super Broly movie, when they talk to Trunks on the phone? It's SO perfectly parents-coded. And it's right after Vegeta nags her about weak security in her lab, which indicates he 1. hangs out in there a lot with her, and 2. is worried about her safety when he's not there to protect her. And lets just say that red leather couch that's sitting there has seen a lot of use, lol. 10/10

God I fucking love the Super Broly movie. Not just because it is an excellent animated film even outside of being a Dragon Ball fan, but also because as a fan it's just so focused on the characters and their relationships with themselves and each other, even during the fights!!

And also because I'm a lifelong Vegebul, yes, goddammit, all of that. Thank you for the excuse to spam small detail choices I love.

The board artist, animator, and director made the decision to have Bulma look down at Bulla when Whis posed this question to Vegeta. She knows he was about to go on sabbatical to be with his family before Goku brought Frieza back! She knows why he needs to be stronger!

Look at how cute this boy is. Baby boy. Baby. Happy to talk to mom even when it's not good news. He is so loved and so safe in his house.

Vegeta pausing his berating of the guy who brought Frieza back to life to see what Bulma's call is about.

You know this is a conversation they have every single time he leaves the planet because she's so used to having a super-powered apex predator sleeping next to her she keeps assuming everything will be fine until he gets back, and if that ain't a look that says "Boy do not start with me,"-

The "they were wearing armor like papa's" reaction kills me

Goku being the perfect vehicle for exposition because he's super forgetful about details, and has to have things explained to him, and letting the characters be a part of that reality is always my favorite choice:

Bulma: did u not sense these dudes, mr know-it-all? Vegeta: don't look at me, he's the one who brought Freeza back Bulma and Vegeta: why does he look conf-- oh for fucks sake he doesn't even know what's happening

but without any dialogue at all skldjalks Outstanding

and Bulma collecting herself to not misdirect her frustration at her child,,,I love them

Vegeta being right behind Goku but waiting for Bulma go first, and not just exiting on the same side Whis did to get boots on the ground faster... Great choice for the composition and also to tell you about the character's relationship!!

Stopping next to her instead of trying to get out ahead of Goku, but also--

Not being so overly protective that he can't allow old friends to play.

He moves away from her to engage the enemy and doesn't get near her again until Goku has the floor...and then my favorite bit that I got to point out to a friend who watched this and asks how Bulma survived the ice breaking,

Her hubband,,

He love him wife. Even if she's crazy. Especially 'cause she's crazy.

See... Toei's DBS mistake was painting Bulma as a nag when you know good and goddamn well it's Vegeta "Babysitting Grown Men My Whole Career" IV.

I just know he's the one, "Don't stand that close to the edge." "Don't leave all these wires laying the floor one of you is going to trip." "Pick up your clothes I just cleaned in here." "I don't care if it's the goddamn cat the next one to stuff this kitchen towel into the oven handle instead of folding it over like you found it is going to 1v1 me in the gravity room"

Bonus: My absolute favorite cap from the sub

Fascinating, my love, do go on.

#the ice continent is cold...you're so right my queen #dbtag #media analysis

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impala-dreamer · 5 months ago

Text

Skin on Skin

A Supernatural Story

~ While working a case of multiple random deaths in New Jersey, Y/N finds out that the old adage of “be careful what you wish for” isn’t just a saying…~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader

6,087 Words

NSFW, Magical Curse, Unconscious and Pain, Sexual Acts of Multiple Varieties, Slight Temporary Death, Swoon-worthy Romance, Oral, All the Sex… | Originally posted to Patreon Nov 2024

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

The contents of Mrs. Claudine Hofstadter's purse were piled in the center of the small round table surrounded by notepads, pens, two old taco wrappers, and a manilla folder containing a copy of her autopsy report. The fourth odd death in Warren County, Mrs. Hofstadter, new Marchant, had perished when her stomach burst after consuming seven pounds of raw horse meat. According to the report, the previous evening, she had snuck onto her neighbor’s ranch and attacked Ember Blitz, the prizewinning racehorse that was revered by the community. Mrs. Hofstadter mounted the steed and bit down into its throat, taking the creature down in under two minutes flat.

She was dead within seven minutes.

While the other three deaths were seemingly unrelated - no animals were harmed in their demises - they were certainly strange. Once Sam Winchester had picked up on the news, the trio piled into the freshly washed 1967 Chevy Impala and headed for the New Jersey mountains.

Now, the brothers Winchester were talking through various theories while Y/N Y/L/N wasted away from boredom at the table. The case wasn’t uninteresting, but she was simply too distracted by exhaustion and bodily tightness to pay attention.

Days on the road trapped in the backseat were cramped and smelly, and nights locked in a single motel room with the manly hunters were more of the same. She had no time alone, no place to escape to for a moment of peace, no moment to rub one out and calm down. She had tried that morning, waking up early and silently sneaking into the shower, but Sam was up moments later, interrupting her private time to grab his running shorts from the bathroom floor.

She was dying from stunted release.

Fading away from lack of attention.

Desperately craving a warm body pressed up against her and roaming hands groping her flesh.

Absently, Y/N fiddled with the objects recovered from Claudine’s purse. The golden butterscotch hard candies called to her, but she knew better than to eat candy from a stranger’s bag. She pushed the sugary temptations aside and sifted through neatly folded, hopefully clean, tissues, and more packets of Equal than she’d ever seen. There wasn’t much else in the pile: a well-worn Revlon lipstick in mauve, two pens, a blue emery board, and a lighter.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Dean gesturing towards her and for a moment, she tuned back in.

“Y/N agrees with me, don’t you?”

Startled, Y/N grabbed the silver lighter from Claudine’s pile and closed it in her palm. Quickly, she cleared her throat and nodded. “Absolutely, I do.”

While she had no idea what she’d agreed with, she knew it was easier always to answer each of them affirmatively or they’d know she hadn’t been listening. Besides, she usually sided with Dean on matters that required wild gesticulation, if not just to annoy Sam.

“See?” Dean turned back to his brother and the younger man groaned.

“Fine. But-”

The lighter was old and its once shining case was dull and dented by years of use. Y/N rubbed her fingertips over the cool metal, tracing the embossed lines and clicking the lid open and shut while keeping her attention on the boys.

Sam was annoyed and he ran his fingers through his hair. The chestnut strands kept to their place, tucked neatly behind his ear and Y/N found herself imagining them falling to tickle her cheek while Sam balanced himself above her in bed. She wondered what his giant hand would feel like trailing down her naked body, what his long fingers would be like tenderly weaving through her hair. It had been too long since anyone had touched her, and Sam was always so kind and flirty and-

Y/N bit her lip and sighed.

The click of the lighter lid closing went unnoticed below the heated conversation.

“All I’m saying is that people eat horse meat all over the world, Dean. It’s not that uncommon.”

Dean leaned back as if disgusted by the idea, which he was. “OK, sure, but they don’t eat enough to kill themselves. Also- gross.”

His freckled face scrunched up adorably and Y/N’s eyes sank into him. His lips were extra pink and shining, and Y/N’s nipples hardened at the thought of his mouth closing around them, kissing his way down her body, tasting her. He was just too sexy and it had been so long since she’d even kissed anyone. She needed to be touched and devoured, and Dean was always looking at her with hungry eyes, teasing her about going to bed and-

Another click of the lighter, another jolt of desire to her clit.

“So what’s with the other guy- Mark-”

“Marcus Whitmore. He was found with a bullet-hole-like wound to the temple, but no evidence of actually being shot.”

“Yeah, what about that guy?”

Y/N was completely zoned out of the conversation, staring dreamily at Dean’s impossibly broad, muscular shoulders and Sam’s tight little ass lost behind slightly baggy jeans. Dean crossed his arms, flexing his biceps, and Y/N squirmed in her chair. Sam tossed his head back, lengthening his thick neck, and Y/N bit back a desperate whine.

She rubbed at the lighter’s wheel, the dull ridges catching in her thumbnail.

“I’m not really seeing a connection here, Dean.”

“Well, something’s fucked up. Explain to me the first victim- that had to be a witch, dude.”

“What kind of spell fills a woman’s stomach with butterflies?”

“If I knew, we wouldn’t be talking about it, we’d be out ganking some bitch.”

Y/N’s body was on fire; her mind wrapped up in explicit scenes starring each man. She struggled to hold in a moan when Sam plopped down on the edge of the closest bed and threw himself back in exasperation. Her eyes followed his long form from feet to forehead and back down, lingering on the perfect line of him.

Tired of arguing, Dean pulled out the chair opposite Y/N and sat down, his long, bowed legs spread wide. Y/N’s eyes flew right to his crotch and her mouth watered as Dean unknowingly tempted her by dragging his palms down his thick thighs.

Her pulse raced. Her cheeks burned. Her pussy throbbed.

She clicked the lighter closed.

God, I need to be touched…

Sam let out a deep breath and she watched the rise and fall, wanting to run her hands over his muscular chest.

She flipped open the lid again.

I haven’t cum in so fucking long…

Dean slouched in his chair and put his head back. She blinked slowly as her pussy dripped, wanting to nibble on his throat and suck a mark by his ear.

She spun the flint wheel.

If I don’t get fucked soon, I’m gonna die.

Suddenly, her hand started to shake and she let out a hard gasp. As she opened her fist, the antique lighter began to glow bright and hot. She dropped it on instinct and a burst of white light flooded the room.

Blinded, the trio lifted their hands to block the light, but it was over before anyone could reason out what was happening.

Sam jumped up from the bed. “What the hell was that!”

Y/N’s stomach churned as panic pushed lust aside. “Um…” Sheepishly, she looked down at the lighter and cringed.

Dean, noticing her expression, grimaced. “What did you do?”

Defenses flared. “Nothing!” she protested. “Why do you always think I did something?”

Annoyed dimples popped above his plump lips and Dean held out his hand, ticking off instances as he spoke. “Spilling the potion in Rochester… Knocking over that safe in Wyoming and letting the demon loose… Taking a peppermint from the witch in-”

Sam stepped between them. “OK Stop! What was that flash?”

Y/N swallowed hard and pointed to the floor. “I think it came from the lighter…”

Calmed but worried, Sam nodded. “And why did it? Do you do something?”

Offended, Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “Et tu, Brute?”

Redness rose in his cheeks. “You must have done something!”

Y/N stood in a huff. “I have done nothing wrong, ever! Today, at least.” She sighed, feeling a little strange. “I’ve just been sitting here thinking about life and how I…” Her vision blurred but she blinked it away. “Um…” Her head felt funny as if the room was spinning, but she shook it off. “Uh… I was just thinking…” A phantom hand tugged at her legs and she swayed, about to drop. “Oh, fuck-”

Dean was quick to catch her, reaching with strong hands to set her back on her feet. “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I…” The dizziness was almost painful and her legs felt like jelly.

Sam dipped his head to look her in the eyes. “What did you think, Y/N/N? Were you holding the lighter the whole time?”

Her eyelids were fluttering; irises floating upwards. “Y-yeah…”

Still holding her, Dean pressed his palm to her cheek and instantly, she felt better.

Gasping in a deep breath, she smiled. “Oh! I’m ok.” She stood up on her own. “I think I’m better.”

Confused but optimistic, Dean let her go. “You sure?”

Feeling perfectly fine, she left his arms and nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m good.”

The moment his touch was gone, Y/N swayed again. The room was spinning and colors were brightening, nearly blinding her.

Dean grabbed her once more, this time closing his hands around her bare arms.

Skin on skin, she felt fine once more. “I’m good, Dean. Really.”

Pushing away, Y/N moved free of his touch and instantly hit the floor. Her balance vanished and her breaths were slow and strained. As she crumbled, Dean followed.

“Son of a bitch!” He gathered her into his lap and clasped her hand. “What the hell were you thinking about?”

Y/N breathed deeper, feeling a thousand times better. “Just about…” Awkwardness tightened in her gut as she looked up at Sam. “...Your ass.”

The imposing tower of a man blushed.

Dean tensed up and chuckled. “My ass?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. His.”

“Uh…” Shyly, Sam straightened up and tried not to grin. “Thanks?”

Disappointed, Dean groaned. “Yeah, well…” He caught Sam posturing proudly and wagged a finger at him. “You shut up.”

Once again feeling right, Y/N sat up and away from Dean. In a split second she went from well to bad. A terrible pain gripped her stomach and she coughed up a mouthful of hot bile. “Oh God- Dean, I’m…I think I’m dy-”

“Whoa, hey!” Dean pressed his hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever. “Hang on.”

The pain vanished and she swallowed the nasty taste. “This is not fun…”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

The second Dean removed his hand from her head, Y/N lost consciousness, dropping like a stone to the ground.

Sam fell to his knees to help but Dean got there first, scooping her up back into his lap and gently shaking her. He held her cheek and called her name softly.

“Y/N, come on…”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Guys, I think the lighter is cursed.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, no shit.” Shifting, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a well-worn navy bandana, waving it at Sam. “Don’t touch it-”

Sam took the rag and rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to.” Carefully, he wrapped up the magical lighter and placed it back on the table to be examined later.

“I feel horrible,” Y/N muttered, shifting against Dean to sit up a bit.

“I bet.”

He pushed away to give her room and immediately regretted it as her eyes rolled back to white.

“Damn it!”

A hand on the back of her neck brought her back and Y/N groaned. “Don’t.”

Dean flinched, ready to pull away. “I’m sorry- I just-”

Y/N shook her head and grabbed his wrist, holding his hand on her neck. “No. Don’t stop touching me. Please.”

Confusion circled the room, washing over them like a midnight fog.

Sam leaned against the table, looking back and forth between Y/N and the lighter. His eyes narrowed. His brow creased.

“Y/N, what exactly did you think?”

Nerves ran down her arms. “It’s embarrassing.” Carefully, she stood up, Dean’s wrist still clutched in her hand. “I don’t wanna say.” Faced with confession, she forgot her predicament and dropped Dean’s hand. The floor undulated like a tidal wave, knocking her off her feet.

This time, Sam was there, his overheated hands delicately holding her elbows. His touch surged through her and Y/N looked up with a hazy smile.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I think you need to.”

Sighing, she slid her hand down Sam’s massive forearm and slipped her hand into his, holding on. “Well… It’s been a long time since… ya know.” She shrugged at Dean and then up at Sam, hoping they would catch her drift without writing it in the sky. “And… you guys are always around and I…”

Dean climbed to his feet and crossed his arms. “Spill it.”

Y/N screwed her eyes closed tight and grit her teeth. “I thought… ‘If I don’t have sex soon, I’ll die’!”

One eye peeked open at Dean who frowned. “Son of a bitch.”

The other eye joined to find Sam rubbing his free hand down his cheek. “Son of a bitch.”

Y/N chuckled nervously. “Oops?”

Generally speaking, a curse can be broken in one of two ways: kill the witch who cast the spell, or destroy the object that carries the magic.

Since there seemed to be no witch around to dispatch, the hunters turned their attention to the lighter. Looking back through the case files, Sam found two instances where other victims had the antique firestarter in their possession at the time of their death. There was no way to track the origin of the offending trinket or know how it moved from person to person, but it was more than clear that it instigated a deadly game of wordplay with its victims.

Y/N squeezed Dean’s bicep. “So, the second vic, Mark-”

Sam rolled his eyes and carried on preparing the table for a fire. “Marcus. Whitmore.”

“Yeah, that guy. He… Well, I mean, it’s pretty obvious he said something like “I need that like I need a hole in the head!”... right?”

Dean held back a laugh. It wasn’t funny, but it was funny. “Yup.”

“And the first woman- she had butterflies in her stomach. I get that. Also… ew.” Picking up the lighter, Y/N let go of Dean without thinking and began to fall flat on her face as the air left her lungs. Thankfully, Sam reached over and grabbed her hand in time. She smiled gratefully. “But what happened to Claudine?”

“Easy,” Dean said with a smirk. “She was so hungry she could…”

Y/N cringed. “Eat a horse. Got it.”

Dean licked his lips, accentuating his grin. “Hey, Sam says it’s not that bad… I’d try it.”

“I’ve seen you eat a taco off a dirt road.”

He nodded. “And I’d do it again.”

Sam interrupted by clearing his throat and passing Y/N’s hand back to Dean.

Without further discussion or ceremony, the lighter was blessed with salt and ironically, lighter fluid, and set ablaze by a single match struck by Sam.

The trio watched it burn. The metal glowed a bright orange and sparks erupted as the magic was released into the ether forever.

“Well, there’s another one for the books,” Dean commented victoriously.

Y/N sighed happily. “Thanks, guys. And I’m sorry. I promise not to touch anything dangerous again.”

Sam laughed sweetly. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep…”

Turning away from the boys, Y/N threw her free hands up into the air and rejoiced. “I’m free!” She spun once and felt her stomach lurch. “I’m…” Momentum pulled her into another spin and the ugly red-floral wallpaper began to dance a dizzying tango. “I’m…” The third spin had her legs twisting and her knees buckling.

She hit the floor like a heap of useless bones, crumbling down like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Sam reached her first and revived her with a sweep of fingers across her forehead. Y/N gasped and sat up, exhausted and defeated.

“I don’t think it worked.”

Sam sighed. “It didn’t.”

Near tears, she looked between the brothers, desperate to be unburdened by the deadly magic. “What now?”

Sam looked up at Dean who tried his best not to smirk while balling his right hand and placing it over his left palm.

Sam won, and with Y/N’s consent, carried her to the bed farthest from the door.

Dean hung his head, muttering something about rocks and scissors, and set off to take up residence at the bar on the corner while the deed was done.

Nervous and still holding hands, the pair lay together for a long while. The silence was loud but not uncomfortable, as neither knew what to say or how to begin.

Suddenly worried, Y/N turned onto her side to face him. “Ya know, if you don’t want to, I get it.”

“No!” Realizing he answered too quickly, Sam cleared his throat and smiled. “No. I want to. I’ve wanted to forever. I mean… Uh… It’s just a little strange.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at his confession and pushed her fingers through his. His hand was so much bigger than hers, so much stronger. She looked away shyly, but Sam pulled his hand free and set it upon her cheek, drawing her eyes back to his.

His kiss was hesitant but Y/N urged him on. She hummed against his lips and tipped her head to the side, giving him room to move. He licked into her mouth and a dizziness overtook her, this one just as magical, but so much better. She closed her eyes as her lust grew and rolled onto her back, taking him with her.

It wasn’t easy to undress, and each layer of clothing shed had Y/N nearly passing out again only to wake up safe in Sam’s arms. He was gentle with her, kissing his way down her body, tracing her curves with his hands. His skin was hot, his movements sure. He was stirring her passion and literally keeping her alive.

Sam held himself up on strong arms, hovering over her just as he had in her daydream. He bent to kiss her lips and his hair fell into her eyes, swept over her lips, tickled her cheek. She reached with a careful hand to push it back behind his ear and Sam smiled, touched by the tender gesture.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, hazel eyes hazy and locked on her face.

She burned for him, every inch of skin tingling and calling out for him. Y/N spread her legs around his trim hips and squeezed him between her thighs. He felt her wetness against his cock, the heat coming off of her sex.

She rocked her hips, pressing the tip of him into her pussy.

He sucked in a quick breath and shivered.

“Please, Sam…”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled sweetly and nodded. Sure, they had to do it, but she also wanted it. She wanted to feel all of him deep inside. To experience the magic of Sam Winchester.

“So fucking sure,” she breathed, wrapping her hands around his shoulders and pulling him closer.

He sighed and dipped to kiss her again, slipping his tongue between her lips and drawing out her breath. She moaned into him and dug her fingers into his flesh, needing him more than anything.

Slowly, he pushed inside. Her vision exploded into fantastic clarity. Colors danced, the lights seemed brighter, and the world was right again. She held her breath as Sam jerked his hips, fucking her with long, deep strokes that made each muscle tighten around him.

A deep kiss closed her eyes; a hard thrust made her gasp.

Sam kept her riding the edge of bliss for longer than she thought possible. He moved his body with precision, playing her lust like a musical instrument. She dug her nails into his shoulders and chewed her lip to hold in a chorus of blasphemy that would shock the angels watching above.

“God, you feel amazing,” he moaned.

Shifting between her legs, Sam pushed her left knee up high and the new angle made her eyes roll back. She could feel her pulse raging in her cunt; the pleasure building higher with each thrust.

Sam threw his head back as he quickened his pace. Sweat was beading on his brow and upper lip, glistening on his firm chest. He held her knee up against his side and grunted with each pulse of his hips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum…”

His jaw dropped. His eyes squeezed shut. His body went stiff and then shook as he let go. In the depths of a ragged breath, Sam whispered her name and then fell down, covering her completely and kissing her lips.

“You are incredible.”

Y/N gripped his arm and kissed his shoulder. She sighed happily and snuggled deep against him as he rolled over.

“That was so hot, Sam. Thank you…”

He blushed at her thanks and kissed her again. Once he started, he didn’t want to stop, but exhaustion struck him hard.

“How do you feel?”

Y/N paused for a moment as she took stock of herself and then smiled gratefully. “I think I’m cured!”

“That’s amazing,” Sam said with a sigh. “I’m glad you’re OK.”

“Thanks to you.” Y/N let her eyes trail down to his cock. “And you.”

With bright red cheeks and a shy laugh, Sam turned away and grabbed the blanket from the floor, covering himself. “Be right back.”

Y/N winked as he left and Sam shut the bathroom door.

Staring into the mirror, he took a few calming breaths as his mind replayed what had just happened. He was amazed and excited, shocked and sated. He laughed thinking about how many times nearly dying had brought him closer to someone, and he was glad this time it was Y/N.

Deed done and hands washed, Sam walked back into the bedroom. “That really was something amazing, Y/N,” he mused, reaching for his discarded shorts. “I mean… I guess I can tell you now that I’ve thought about it before… A lot, but…”

Y/N hadn’t answered or looked up. She was turned on her right side, her head softly laid upon the pillow, fast asleep.

Sam pushed his head through his gray tee and smiled at his sleeping beauty. Carefully, he moved to the side of the bed and pulled the sheet up over her shoulder, tucking her in. An overwhelming surge of happiness struck him in the chest and he bent to kiss her soft cheek.

Her skin was cool.

“Y/N?”

Sam shook her shoulder but she didn’t wake.

“Fuck. Y/N!”

He grabbed her face between both hands but she didn’t stir.

“Come on, come on! Wake up!”

Keeping one hand on her cheek, Sam grabbed his phone from the floor and rushed to dial Dean’s number.

The phone rang in his ear and another rang outside of the room.

The lock turned and Dean stuck his head through the door. “You decent?”

Sam huffed and threw his cell down. “Get in here!”

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting grown-up time,” Dean joked, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

“Dean.”

“How’d it go?”

His answer was found as soon as he shut up and looked over at his brother. Sam was crouched down at the side of the bed with his hands on Y/N’s face and bare arm. She was unmoving beneath the sheet, not even the rise and fall of her chest was visible.

Dean froze.

“What the fuck happened!”

Frantic and confused, Sam shook his head. “I don’t know! We… ya know. And she was fine! I got up to pee and-”

Dean raced to the bed. “And ya killed her!”

“She was fine, Dean!”

Green eyes examined the scene. Y/N was still as in a deep sleep, but the absence of breath told him otherwise. “Do the hand thing! Touch her-”

Tears strained against his eyes and Sam looked up at his brother, desperate for any help. “I am. It’s not working.”

“Fuck. Fuck!”

The wheels turned in Dean’s head and before Sam could say another word, Dean was tugging his jeans down and ripping his shirt off.

“What are you doing?”

Dean shrugged and climbed into bed beside Y/N. “I don’t know, but this can’t hurt.” Naked but for his boxers, he pulled back the sheet and rolled close to her. He covered her in his arms and crushed her face to his chest. He held her there, counting the seconds until he felt her breathe again.

Magically, the air returned and Y/N started shaking beneath him. She struggled to push away and coughed life back into her body.

Dean swallowed hard and rubbed her back. “Jesus, Y/N/N, you scared us.”

“What the fuck happened?” she asked, wide eyes looking between the brothers for an answer.

“Romeo let you die so he could go pee.”

Offended, Sam popped up from the floor. “That’s not what happened, Dean!”

“OK, stop yelling.” Y/N tugged at the thin white sheet and pulled it with her as she sat up. Her body was aching but not in a good way. The lights hurt her eyes, her head was pounding, her chest burned. “I, um… I feel really like- like crap.”

Dean scooted closer, keeping one hand on her. “I know.”

She looked up at Sam. “But why? We… didn’t we?”

He shrugged. “We did. It should have broken the spell.”

Dean bit back most of a smirk. “Did you stick it in properly?”

Despite her swaying pain, Y/N laughed with him.

Sam did not find it funny in the slightest and rubbed at his temples. “I know how to- Damnit, Dean!”

A true smirk pulled through.

Y/N shivered. “I don't get it. I thought…” The answer smacked her in the face and she cringed. “Oh.”

Dean leaned in. “Oh?”

Sam narrowed his gaze. “What’s ‘Oh’?”

“Well…”

The brothers sighed in tandem.

“I maybe…”

They hung on her pause.

“I maybe thought something else right before the sex thing and I-”

“Y/N…”

Sam’s disapproval and exhaustion went through her like ice and her defenses rose quickly.

“I didn’t realize the thoughts went together! Hell, I wasn’t planning on this!”

He softened and sat on the edge of the bed by her side. “It’s OK. I’m sorry. Obviously, this wasn’t planned.”

She smiled sadly and tucked her arms around her knees, hiding.

“What exactly did you think before the sex thing?”

Her stomach flipped nervously. “Uh… well…”

Dean squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Come on, can’t get worse than this.”

She took a breath and then spelled it out. “I was watching you guys and thinking about how I haven’t exactly had time alone and… well, how I haven’t come in forever and… then the sex thing.”

Silence floated around above them while the pieces fit together.

Dean licked his lip. “Wait…”

Y/N hid her face in her knees.

Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Did you not- come?”

She tried to play it off, to act like it wasn’t a devastating thing for Sam to hear, but it wasn’t great. “I mean… it was really nice, Sam. Like really hot.”

Dean tried to hold on and not laugh out loud. “But he didn’t… You didn’t… finish?”

Sam growled. “OK, shut up, Dean! It was stressful.”

The elder cocked a brow. “Did you?”

Standing up, Sam turned away to hide his awkwardness.

“You did!” Dean sucked his teeth in disappointment. “Tisk, tisk, brother. Ladies first. Always.”

Y/N shivered as Dean turned his eyes to her and dragged his fingertips down her arm. “He didn’t do anything wrong, I just didn’t… get there.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Dean shifted onto his knees and looked into her eyes. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

Sam was out the door before Dean had tossed his leg over Y/N’s middle, pinning her to the bed. He grinned and wet his plump bottom lip. “Never leave a boy to do a man’s job.”

Y/N laughed but lost the glee to arousal when Dean dropped down close. He held himself barely an inch away, too far to kiss, but close enough to breathe in. He smelled like crap beer and wing sauce, and suddenly it was the most appetizing scent in the world. She lifted her head and took a taste, kissing him hard and licking deep into his mouth.

Dean’s eyes closed and long lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks. She smiled and drank him in.

“Hi.”

He laughed gently. “Hey. You cool with this?”

“Do I have a choice?” she teased.

“There’s always a choice.”

“You know what I mean.” She turned her face away, embarrassed and unsure.

He chased her. “You wanna know if I’m just doing this to save your life?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Dean let her linger for a second longer than was kind. He closed his eyes, gathering up the right words.

“I don’t want you to die,” he said finally. “But I also want you to cum on my tongue.”

Her entire body shuddered with need and he savored the look of passion in her eyes. He kissed her softly and she scratched her hand through his short hair making him growl into her mouth.

Never creaking the connection, Dean moved slowly down her naked body, sweeping his lips over each dip and curve, igniting every nerve he touched with tingling fire. He licked at her pulse, blew a gentle breath over her ear, strummed her lips with his thumb.

When his hot mouth closed around her nipple, Y/N arched upwards, as if she was a magnet and he a slab of iron. She curled her arms around his shoulders and dragged her nails down between his shoulder blades. She could feel his shiver and it drove her mad.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she mumbled, shocked when the words came out.

Green eyes looked up and Dean grinned. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes was enough. A flick of his pink tongue forced her back down onto the pillow and Dean slithered down to settle between her thighs. He slid one thick finger through her wetness and then matched it with his thumb, carefully spreading her lips apart.

His breath was slow and hot, and her clit hardened when he held his lips there, not touching but teasing, letting her need grow beyond what she could stand.

“Please…”

Dean pulled away and dropped kiss after kiss to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. She squirmed and lifted her hips, whined when he passed over her pussy again.

“Dean- please…”

He sucked a kiss on her outer lip and Y/N cried out, utterly desperate for him.

Looking up, he licked his lips slowly and Y/N dropped her hand to his head, swept her touch down his temple, curled her fingers around his ear.

“Please,” she begged, near to tears. “I need you.”

Dean moaned under his breath. “You got me.”

Tongue flat against her pussy, Dean lapped at her wetness before sealing his perfectly plump lips around her clit. Sparks pulsed bright white behind her closed eyes as he licked and suckled, devoured her heat. When her legs began to shake, he slid his middle finger into her, his knuckles disappearing as he sank deep inside.

“Fuck!”

She gripped the bed sheet.

His tongue rippled against her clit.

Her eyes rolled back in pure pleasure and she came with a tight-lipped shout, her hips bucking up into Dean’s handsome face.

“Goddamn!”

She panted and wiggled to get away, but Dean refused to let go. If she scooted back, he followed. She squirmed to the left, he pulled her back.

Finally, he pushed his arms beneath her legs, hooked his hands around her hips, and tugged. Trapped, Y/N had no choice but to hold still and let him carry on.

He started slowly, winding the tip of his tongue gently around her pulsing. Y/N sighed happily as her heart rate calmed and her breathing caught up. She stretched her arms out across the bed, enjoying the attention and the feeling when he hummed against her skin.

“You’re… really fucking good at this,” she whispered.

Dean pulled up with a kiss and a wink. “Did you expect anything less?”

Y/N shook her head and lost all thought as he dove back down and picked up speed.

Words were piercing the air. Unintelligible, filthy, cursed words that had to fight through clenched teeth to be heard.

Her toes curled and dug into his back.

His fingers pumped into her, forcing out another orgasm, but Dean wasn’t satisfied. He rubbed deep inside until her shoulders were off the mattress and her breath was stopped in her throat.

Her eyes went wide and he held her gaze as her body convulsed and let go. A hot stream flooded his mouth and the cheap bedding below. Dean drank her down and kept thrusting, eeking out every last drop until she collapsed and whined, pushing at his face to move him away.

“Fuck! I can’t… that’s never happened before-”

Smug and a beautiful mess, Dean climbed back up to frame her from above. His lips were swollen and his jaw ached, but he’d never looked so content.

“You just needed a little help, is all.”

Y/N shook her head and pushed herself up to kiss his glistening mouth. “No. I just needed you…”

It was a while before Sam returned, and thankfully, everyone was clothed and clean when he opened the door.

Y/N was lying on the bed with Dean by her side. His hand was resting on her stomach and she covered it with her own.

Sam took a hesitant step into the room. “How’d it go?”

A grin lit Dean’s face and Sam held up his hand, halting the details.

“Never mind.” He looked to Y/N. “How are you feeling?”

She sighed happily and sat up. “Amazing.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am. I promise.” Pushing Dean away, she leapt up from the bed and stood in front of Sam. “See? No touchy.”

He exhaled in relief. “Good. I’m glad.”

Reaching for his hand, Y/N smiled up at him. “Thank you, Sam. You saved me.” She kissed his hand and his cheeks burned bright.

“Hey!” Dean cleared his throat and looked offended. “I helped.”

Y/N laughed. “Yes. Yes, you did. Thank you, too.”

“So… what now?” Sam asked, still clinging to her hand.

“Now… we move on. Lighter’s destroyed so no danger there.” She smiled sweetly and turned away to grab her laptop. “I’m sure there’s another case lurking just around the corner.”

Sadly, Sam let her fingers slide away.

“Yeah. Probably.”

It wasn’t what he meant, but he didn’t want to get into anything else just yet. Y/N was safe and that’s all that mattered.

Other things, other feelings could be dealt with another day.

As if reading his mind, Dean walked up and clamped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. The brothers passed a look between them, promising never to talk about it, and to be civil in the forthcoming fight for Y/N’s affection.

Light was shining from the screen, lighting up her smile as Y/N looked up at the guys. “I think I got something! Three bodies turned up in the woods about two and a half hours south of here. Buzz online is that it’s the Jersey Devil.”

Dean laughed and turned away. “No such thing.”

“Sure there is!”

Sam shook his head and ran his hand through his hair to right the mess. “Sorry, Y/N. It’s not real.”

Y/N huffed. “So sex curses are real but winged, kangaroo-looking monsters in the forest aren’t. That’s what we’re going with?”

A shrug.

A smile.

A story for another day.