#Reread all my past drafts and I see the differences

[wish-you-were-a-better-man]

writing be like (to me):

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Joe's POV | Part Three

📸 Catch up on Behind the Lens — in case you're behind 👀

📝 Read all my stories on the Masterlist

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💌 It’s Friday night, I’m up late — let’s talkkkkkkkkkkkkk

🏈 joe burrow x reader word count: 21.4k

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

Author’s Note: And just like that… Joe’s POV is done.

This one pushed me in ways I didn’t totally expect. Writing it alongside Y/N’s POV, trying to keep everything aligned emotionally and logistically, was honestly kind of a beast. Especially with how long my chapters are—every scene had so much to carry. But I’m really proud of how it turned out. My biggest goal was to stay true to Joe’s internal voice while keeping the emotional beats consistent with what we already saw from Y/N. That meant rereading a lot, reworking scenes to make sure they still hit from his perspective, and sitting with some hard silences that I think needed to be felt instead of filled. Thank you for your patience while I figured this out. Truly. I hope the payoff feels worth it. And as always—I’d love to hear what landed for you, what made you feel things, or just your favorite lines. You know I’m in the comments all night.

Let’s talk. I’m up for a while. 💬

Taglist:@honeydippedfiction @harryweeniee @mruizsworld @cixrosie

Tuesday Morning - 6:23 AM

Joe stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, the same position he'd been in for the past hour. Sleep had become impossible since that night in the edit bay. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back there—Y/N's hands in his hair, the way she'd kissed him back with equal desperation, the taste of everything they'd held back for five years finally given permission. His phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark and silent. He'd drafted seventeen different messages to Y/N over the past three days, deleting each one before he could send it.

Are you okay?

Delete.

Can we talk about what happened?

Delete.

I meant every word I said.

Delete.

The problem was that everything felt either too much or too little. Too casual for something that had fundamentally shifted his entire understanding of what he wanted. Too intense for a woman who'd asked for space to think clearly.

* * *

Tuesday - Facility Encounters

Joe arrived at the facility with a strategy. Act normal. Give Y/N space. Don't push for conversations she wasn't ready to have. Be the same professional, controlled Joe Burrow he'd been for five years. The strategy lasted exactly twenty-three minutes.

He spotted her in the hallway near the media offices, files clutched against her chest like armor, that focused expression she wore when she was managing multiple priorities. The sight of her made everything else fade—not because she looked different, but because she looked exactly the same while everything inside him had changed.

Their eyes met across the corridor. For a fraction of a second, Joe saw something flicker in her expression—surprise, warmth, maybe recognition of the man who'd kissed her like his life depended on it three days ago. Then the professional mask slid back into place.

"Morning, Joe," she said as they passed, her tone pleasant but distant. The same tone she'd use with any other player.

"Morning," he replied, matching her formality even as every instinct screamed at him to stop her, to ask about the kiss, to demand to know if she'd felt what he'd felt. But she was already moving past him, disappearing into her office without looking back. Joe stood in the empty hallway, feeling like he'd just failed a test he didn't know he was taking.

* * *

Tuesday Evening - 07:47 PM

Joe couldn't focus on the film in front of him. The defensive formations blurred together as his mind kept drifting to how Y/N had treated him that morning—like he was just another player, like nothing had changed. The silence between them was killing him. Three days of careful distance, of pretending that kiss had never happened, of watching her retreat behind walls he'd finally managed to break down.

Finally, he typed: Are you okay?

Simple. Direct. Giving her an out if she needed one, but letting her know he was thinking about her. That he'd been thinking about her constantly since Sunday night. He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then immediately regretted it. Too simple. Too safe. After everything he'd said in that edit bay, after the way she'd kissed him back, "are you okay?" felt like he was hiding behind politeness.

The message showed as delivered. Then read. Joe stared at the screen, waiting for the three dots that would indicate she was typing back.

Nothing.

He set the phone aside, running his hands through his hair. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she didn't know how to respond either. Maybe she was regretting the entire thing and trying to figure out how to let him down gently. His phone buzzed at 11:52 PM.

Y/N: I'm fine. Just processing. Thank you for asking.

Polite. Professional. She could have been responding to anyone. Joe read the message three times, looking for any trace of the woman who'd kissed him like she'd been waiting years to do it.

Nothing.

* * *

Later Tuesday Evening - Ja'Marr's Reality Check

Joe was sprawled on his couch that evening, mindlessly flipping through game film when his phone rang. Ja'Marr's name on the screen.

"What's up?" Joe answered, pausing the video.

"Bro, you sound like shit. What's going on? You've been weird all week."

Joe considered deflecting, making some excuse about playoff preparation or off-season planning. But the weight of carrying this alone was becoming too much.

"I kissed Y/N," he said simply.

Ja'Marr's eyebrows shot up. "Finally. When?"

"The other night. In the edit bay."

"And?"

"And now she's back to treating me like any other player. Polite, professional, completely fucking unreachable."

"She kissed you back?"

"Yeah. God, yeah. Like she'd been waiting as long as I had."

"Then what's the problem?"

Joe laughed, but there was no humor in it. "The Giants want her. You know that man. VP position in New York. She has to decide by Friday."

"Shit, you're right." Ja'Marr was quiet for a moment. "So you kissed her right before she has to choose between staying and leaving?"

"The timing wasn't exactly planned."

"Jesus, Joe. You've been in love with this woman for years, and you choose the week she might leave to finally make a move?"

The blunt assessment hit Joe like a physical blow. "I wasn't—"

"Don't," Ja'Marr interrupted. "Man, I've watched you for five years. You always want her filming your stuff, you look for her after every game, and you've been acting weird as hell whenever she backs off. You've been gone over this girl since day one."

Joe stared into his beer, unable to argue with the truth. "Maybe. Yeah. Probably."

"Definitely. So what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. I told her I'd respect whatever decision she makes. That we'd figure it out."

"That's dumb as hell," Ja'Marr said. "You want her to stay."

"Of course I want her to stay. But I can't ask her to give up her dream job for someone who took five years to figure out his own feelings."

"Why not?"

Joe looked up, surprised by the question. "Because that's selfish. Because she's worked her ass off for this opportunity. Because I don't have the right to ask her to choose me over her career."

"Says who?"

"Says—" Joe stopped, realizing he didn't have a good answer. "Says me, I guess."

"I'm not saying manipulate her or nothing. But damn, Joe, you can at least tell her how you feel. Let her know what she's walking away from."

Joe felt the weight he'd been carrying since that night in the editing bay night start to shift—not gone, but not crushing him anymore.

"What if she chooses New York anyway?"

"Then at least she knows what she's choosing," Ja'Marr said. "Right now you're deciding for her by not telling her shit."

* * *

Wednesday Morning - The Conference Room

Joe spotted Y/N the moment he entered the facility. She was moving quickly, eyes fixed straight ahead, clearly not looking for conversation. He couldn't take another day of this. Couldn't watch her pretend that other night hadn't happened, that five years of building toward that moment could be reduced to a mistake to be managed.

"Morning," he said when their paths crossed near the media suite.

"Morning," she replied, her voice giving nothing away.

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

The request clearly caught her off guard. She glanced at her watch—a gesture he recognized as buying time rather than actually checking the time.

"I have a meeting with Kayla at nine."

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

Something in his tone must have conveyed that this wasn't optional, because Y/N followed him into the room without further protest. Joe closed the door behind them, the soft click seeming unnaturally loud.

He turned to face her, hands in his pockets partly to appear casual and partly to keep from reaching for her. Y/N stood near the conference table, posture guarded, watching him with the same wary attention she'd give a wild animal.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, deciding on directness over diplomacy.

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

"I know about the deadline." Joe kept his voice calm, conversational. "Friday, right?"

She nodded, and he caught the flicker of surprise that he'd been keeping track.

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

"Yes."

Joe studied her face, cataloguing the details he'd memorized over five years—the way her eyebrows drew together when she was thinking, the slight tightening around her eyes that meant she was holding something back, the particular stillness she adopted when she was trying not to react to something.

"Have you made up your mind?"

Y/N shook her head, her gaze dropping. "I'm still weighing options."

Joe heard what she wasn't saying.

"Including what happened between us?"

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

Joe felt that barely-there smile tug at his mouth despite the seriousness of the conversation. Classic Y/N—trying to compartmentalize when her feelings were clearly written all over her face.

"Isn't it?" he asked. "Because it seems like you've been avoiding me specifically to keep it from being a factor."

He watched her carefully, saw the moment his words hit home. Her breath hitched slightly, her grip on the edge of the table tightening.

"I can't make a life-changing decision based on one kiss," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"It wasn't just one kiss," Joe replied, letting his voice drop. "And you know it."

The air between them shifted, charged with the same electricity that had sparked in the edit bay. Joe felt the pull toward her, the same magnetic force that had been drawing him for years but which he'd finally stopped fighting.

"What do you want from me, Joe?" Y/N asked, the question carrying the weight of five years of careful distance.

Joe didn't hesitate. This was why he'd asked for this conversation—to stop dancing around the truth.

"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 to see the gold flecks in her eyes, to catch the faint scent of her perfume. "Away from whatever this is between us."

Y/N's pulse was visible at her throat, her professional composure cracking under the weight of his direct attention. "That's not fair."

"None of this is fair," Joe agreed, surprising himself with the admission. "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?"

Joe met her eyes directly, no hesitation, no careful deflection. Time for complete honesty.

"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."

The words felt like a release, like finally saying what he'd been carrying for years. Y/N's expression shifted, surprise giving way to something more vulnerable.

Joe chose his next words carefully, knowing they would matter. "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 as he pushed through the harder admission. "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's eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she blinked them back with the same stubborn control she'd shown for five years.

"Why now, Joe? Why when I'm finally being offered everything I've worked for?"

The hurt in her voice made everything clear. She thought this was about timing, about him finally wanting her only when he might lose her. She didn't understand that losing her had simply forced him to confront feelings he'd been suppressing for years.

"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, close enough to touch her but keeping his hands carefully at his sides. "But I'm not asking you to stay for me. That wouldn't be fair to either of us."

"Then what are you asking?"

Joe considered his words, knowing this might be his only chance to say them. "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 cutting through the intimate bubble they'd created. "Y/N, I was looking for—oh." She stopped, clearly reading the tension in the room. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were in a meeting."

"We were just finishing," Y/N said quickly, her professional mask sliding back into place as she gathered her files.

Joe watched her collect herself, watched the walls rebuild in real time. Part of him wanted to ask Kayla to leave, to finish this conversation, to push until Y/N gave him a real answer. But he'd said what he needed to say. The rest was up to her.

"I have to go," Y/N said, her voice steadier than her hands.

Joe nodded, stepping aside to give her space. "That's okay. I said what I needed to say."

As she moved toward the door, Joe felt compelled to offer one final thought. "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."

Y/N paused at the door, her back to him, and Joe thought for a moment she might turn around, might say something that would give him hope. Instead, she walked out, leaving him standing alone in the conference room with the weight of everything unsaid still hanging in the air.

* * *

Wednesday Evening - The Wait

Joe sat in his car in the facility parking lot that evening, staring at his phone. Y/N's car was still there, which meant she was working late—probably trying to avoid him, or maybe trying to make sense of the decision she had to make by Friday.

He wanted to go back inside, to find her, to continue the conversation that had been interrupted. But Ja'Marr's words echoed in his mind: Let her make an informed decision.

He'd given her the information. The rest was up to her.

Joe started his car and drove home, carrying the weight of two days until Friday, two days to learn whether five years of building toward something had been worth the wait, or whether he'd finally found the courage to reach for something only to watch it slip away.

But for the first time since Sunday night, Joe felt like he'd done something right. He'd been honest. He'd been direct. He'd given Y/N the truth she deserved, even if it meant risking everything.

Now all he could do was wait, and hope that the woman who'd thrown him a perfect spiral on his first day would choose to stay and see what else they could build together.

* * *

Thursday Evening - November 2025

Joe sat in his living room, staring at game film that he wasn't actually processing. His laptop screen showed defensive formations from the Steelers, but his mind was replaying the conference room conversation from the day before. Y/N's voice echoing: "What do you want from me, Joe?"

One day. She had one day left to decide about New York, and he'd laid everything on the line. Now all he could do was wait and hope that five years of building trust meant something when weighed against a VP title and a fresh start three states away.

His phone sat silent on the coffee table. No messages from Y/N since their conversation. No indication of what she was thinking, what she was feeling, whether his confession had changed anything or just complicated an already impossible decision.

Joe picked up his phone, thumb hovering over her contact. He wanted to text her, to ask how she was processing everything, to remind her that he meant every word he'd said. But Y/N had asked for space to think clearly, and the last thing he wanted was to pressure her into a decision that should be entirely her own.

Instead, he found himself scrolling through their text history—five years of professional exchanges punctuated by moments of genuine connection. Late-night messages during his recovery. Quick check-ins during stressful media days. The gradual evolution from formal communication to something that felt like friendship, then something deeper neither of them had been willing to name.

The cursor blinked in the empty message field. Joe set the phone aside without typing anything.

* * *

Friday Morning - Facility Silence

Joe arrived at the facility early, hoping to catch Y/N in the parking lot or hallway—not to pressure her, just to gauge her mood, to see if their conversation had shifted anything between them. But her car wasn't in its usual spot, and a quick check of the media schedule showed she was working remotely.

Avoiding him, or avoiding the building entirely while she made her decision. Joe couldn't blame her either way.

"You look worse than yesterday," Ja'Marr said, dropping onto the bench beside Joe's locker. "Did you talk to her?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"She's deciding between me and New York."

"Damn." Ja'Marr was quiet for a moment. "When's she gotta choose?"

"Today."

"And you're just sitting here?"

"What else am I supposed to do? I said what you told me to say. Now I wait."

"Man, I didn't tell you to give one speech and disappear. You could at least check in, see how she's doing."

Joe shook his head. "I've said everything I can say. The rest is up to her."

Practice was a disaster. Joe's timing was off, his reads slow, his accuracy inconsistent. He kept checking the facility windows, looking for any sign that Y/N had come in, that she was somewhere in the building making her final calculations.

Coach Taylor pulled him aside after the third incomplete pass in a row.

"Where's your head today, Joe?"

"Sorry, Coach. Just distracted."

"By what? We've got the Ravens in two weeks. I need you locked in."

Joe nodded, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Football had always been his refuge, the one place where external complications couldn't touch him. But today, even that sanctuary felt compromised by the weight of what Y/N might be deciding.

* * *

Friday Evening - The Deadline

By 5 PM, Joe was staring at his phone, wondering if Y/N had made the call to New York, if she was somewhere packing boxes or booking flights or having conversations that would take her halfway across the country.

He forced himself to stay home, to resist the urge to text or call or do anything that might influence a choice that had to be entirely hers.

His phone stayed silent all evening.

* * *

Weekend - Radio Silence

Saturday morning brought no word from Y/N. Joe threw himself into his workout routine with punishing intensity, trying to exhaust himself enough that he couldn't think about what her silence might mean.

Ja'Marr texted around noon: Any word?

Nothing, Joe replied. Radio silence.

Maybe that's good? Maybe she's still deciding?

Or maybe she's already decided and doesn't know how to tell me.

Joe's phone stayed silent all weekend. By Sunday evening, he was convinced that Y/N had taken the Giants job and was either already in New York or preparing to leave Cincinnati behind. The silence felt like an answer in itself.

* * *

Monday Morning - The Practice Window

Joe arrived at the facility Monday morning with a knot in his stomach. If Y/N had taken the New York job, today might be one of the last times he'd see her. There would be transition meetings, handover conversations, maybe a goodbye that would have to be professional and polite while his heart was breaking.

He changed into practice gear mechanically, going through the motions of preparation while his mind raced through possibilities. Maybe she'd already given her notice. Maybe she was upstairs right now, cleaning out her office, preparing to leave everything they'd built together behind.

Practice felt surreal. Joe moved through drills on autopilot, muscle memory carrying him through formations while his attention kept drifting to the facility windows. Looking for any sign of her, any indication that she was still here, still part of this world they'd shared for five years.

Halfway through practice, during a water break, Joe glanced toward the building again. And there she was.

Y/N stood at the windows overlooking the practice field, watching them run drills. Even at a distance, Joe could see her clearly—the way she held herself, the familiar silhouette he'd memorized over five years of working together.

She was here. She hadn't left.

Their eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The other players, the coaches calling plays, the general noise of practice—all of it disappeared until it was just Joe and Y/N, looking at each other through glass and possibility.

Then Y/N gave him a small nod. Subtle, but deliberate. A communication that said everything without words.

I'm staying.

Joe felt the tension he'd been carrying suddenly snap—relief so profound it was almost painful. She was staying. She'd chosen Cincinnati. She'd chosen to see what might happen between them.

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 finally broke the spell, and Joe's attention returned to practice as players reorganized for the next drill. But the relief flooding through his system made everything feel different. Lighter. Full of potential he'd been afraid to hope for.

Y/N lingered at the window for another moment, and Joe caught her eye once more before she turned away. Something passed between them—understanding, maybe even anticipation.

* * *

Monday Afternoon - The Text

Joe showered and changed after practice with more energy than he'd felt all weekend. Y/N was staying, which meant they had time to figure out what came next. Time to explore what they'd started without the pressure of an imminent deadline.

But he also knew they needed to talk. The nod through the window had communicated her decision, but they still had everything else to work through—what this meant for them, how they wanted to handle things professionally, what came next.

Joe pulled out his phone and typed carefully:

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

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then immediately wondered if he should have waited, given her more time to settle into her decision before asking for anything.

Her response came quickly:

Y/N: When?

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

Y/N: Where?

Joe thought for a moment, then typed: Ever been to Hermitage Brewing? They have a back room. Owner's a friend. We can talk without interruption.

It was perfect—Danny would give them privacy, the atmosphere was relaxed, and it was removed from both the facility and the upscale places where Joe might be recognized. Neutral ground where they could be honest without performance or pretense.

Y/N: 8 PM?

Joe: I'll be there. Thank you.

Joe pocketed his phone, feeling something like excitement mix with the relief. Y/N was staying, and tonight they'd finally talk about what that meant for both of them.

For the first time in days, Joe felt like the future was full of possibility instead of dread. She'd chosen to stay, and now they could figure out everything else together.

* * *

Monday Evening - Anticipation

Joe arrived at Hermitage Brewing twenty minutes early, nerves humming with anticipation. Danny set them up in the back room without questions, just a knowing smile and two IPAs—he'd remembered Y/N's preference from Joe's description.

As 8 PM approached, Joe found himself checking his phone, adjusting his position in the chair, running through possible conversation starters. This wasn't a date, exactly, but it felt more significant than any date he'd ever been on. This was about five years of careful distance finally becoming something honest and real.

When Y/N appeared in the doorway at exactly 8 PM, Joe felt his breath catch. She looked nervous but determined, wearing dark jeans and a sweater—casual but thoughtful. Like she'd considered this conversation as carefully as he had.

"This is perfect," she said, settling into the chair across from him. "How did you find this place?"

As Joe explained his connection to Danny, he watched Y/N relax into the space, appreciating the privacy and authenticity of the setting. She understood immediately why he'd chosen it—somewhere they could be real with each other without worrying about cameras or curious observers.

"So," Joe said finally, when they'd both settled with their beers and the small talk had run its course. "You're staying."

"I'm staying," Y/N confirmed, meeting his gaze directly.

And Joe smiled, feeling lighter than he had in months. The conversation they'd been building toward for five years was finally about to begin, and for the first time, they had all the time in the world to figure out what came next.

* * *

Late November 2025 - 6:23 AM

Joe stared at his phone, thumb hovering over Y/N's contact. He'd been awake for twenty minutes, trying to figure out how to ask her for coffee without it sounding like work or some kind of follow-up to their brewery conversation.

Three days since they'd talked. Three days of being careful around each other at the facility, keeping things polite and professional. But he was tired of overthinking every word, every look, every interaction.

Y/N had told him to be real with her, to stop performing. And here he was, planning out a text message like it was a game script.

Joe typed quickly, before he could second-guess himself:

Coffee before work? Not facility coffee. The good stuff.

Simple. No overthinking it. If she wanted to see who he really was, this was it—direct, no games, no careful politeness.

Her response came almost immediately:

Where?

He remembered something she'd mentioned months ago during one of their content planning sessions—a throwaway comment about needing to escape to "that little bookstore cafe where nobody cares about sports." He'd filed it away at the time, the way he filed away most details about Y/N, not knowing why they might be important but unable to forget them.

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

It was perfect for what he needed—somewhere Y/N felt comfortable, somewhere he wouldn't be recognized, somewhere they could have a normal conversation without the weight of his public persona intruding.

Collective Grounds. 7:30?

See you there.

Joe set his phone aside, feeling nervous in a way he hadn't since high school. Their brewery conversation had been about figuring out where they stood. This was different. This was him trying to be normal around her—just Joe, not the quarterback.

The problem was, he wasn't entirely sure who that person was anymore.

* * *

7:15 AM - Collective Grounds

Joe parked on the street outside Collective Grounds, taking a moment to assess the space before going inside. The converted bookstore looked exactly like the kind of place Y/N would love—eclectic, intellectual, unpretentious. Through the windows, he could see mismatched furniture, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the kind of customers who looked more interested in their laptops and newspapers than in spotting celebrities.

Perfect.

He entered the bookstore section first, navigating narrow aisles between towering shelves, taking in the organized chaos of used books and hand-written recommendation cards. The cafe occupied the back corner, separated from the main bookstore by a low barrier but sharing the same warm, lived-in atmosphere.

Joe ordered coffee—black, the same way he'd been drinking it since college—and scanned the space for Y/N. He found her at a corner table near the poetry section, laptop open, already settled into the environment like she belonged there.

She looked up as he approached, and Joe felt that familiar flutter of recognition—not just seeing Y/N, but seeing her in her element, relaxed and unguarded in a way she rarely was at the facility.

"This place makes sense for you," he said, settling into the chair across from her.

No "good morning" or "thanks for meeting me." Just an immediate observation, the kind of direct communication that felt natural with Y/N.

"How so?"

Joe glanced around, cataloguing details the way he read defensive formations. "Quiet. No distractions. Good for thinking." His eyes returned to her. "Also no one here cares about football."

It was true. In the fifteen minutes he'd been here, no one had given him a second glance. The graduate student at the next table was absorbed in what looked like a dissertation. The artist near the window was sketching in a journal. The older man by the biography section was deep in conversation with someone who was clearly a regular.

"That obvious?"

"I haven't been recognized once since walking in." Joe felt his mouth curve slightly. "Novelty experience."

Y/N's smile was genuine, amused. "Poor you, having to be just another customer."

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

The question was deliberate. Y/N had challenged him to show her who he was beyond football, but that meant learning who she was beyond their professional relationship. He knew Y/N the media coordinator, Y/N the strategic thinker, Y/N the crisis manager. He was only beginning to understand Y/N the person.

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

Joe nodded, filing away another piece of information. "What kind of books?"

Y/N studied his face, and Joe had the distinct impression she was trying to determine whether his interest was genuine or polite conversation. "Fiction, mostly. Some poetry. Whatever catches my attention." She paused. "What about you? Do you read?"

The question caught Joe slightly off guard. Most people assumed athletes didn't read, or if they did, it was limited to sports-related material or whatever their PR team recommended.

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

"Not boring. Surprising, maybe."

Joe's eyebrows lifted. "Why surprising?"

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

Joe considered this, recognizing the opening to share something real about how his mind worked. "It's interesting how everything connects. The way small forces can create massive changes." He felt his composure slip slightly as he engaged with the topic. "Plus it helps with pattern recognition."

"Pattern recognition?"

"Everything has patterns. Physics, football, people." He paused, realizing he was about to reveal more about his analytical approach to relationships than he'd intended. "I like understanding how things work."

Y/N's expression shifted, something like fascination flickering in her eyes. Joe felt a small surge of satisfaction—this was what he'd hoped for. Not Y/N being politely interested in his hobbies, but Y/N being genuinely curious about how he thought.

"And you think relationships follow patterns too?"

The question was direct, challenging. Joe met her gaze steadily, recognizing the moment to be completely honest.

"Most of them. People playing roles, following expected behaviors, responding to predictable stimuli." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "But not all of them."

He watched Y/N's cheeks flush slightly, saw the moment she understood the implication. This—whatever was developing between them—didn't follow the usual patterns. It was more complex, more honest, more real than the careful performances he'd grown accustomed to.

"What makes the difference?"

Joe leaned forward slightly, holding her gaze. "When both people stop performing. When what they want from each other is just... truth."

The word felt significant as he said it. Not romance, not attraction, not chemistry—though all of those were present. Truth. The thing he'd been avoiding for five years, the thing Y/N had been challenging him to offer.

"Is that what this is?" Y/N asked. "Truth?"

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

The silence that followed felt comfortable rather than awkward. Joe watched Y/N process his words, saw something shift in her expression—not surprise, exactly, but recognition. Like she was seeing him clearly for the first time.

"So what happens now?" she asked.

Joe leaned back, letting his natural confidence settle over him. This was familiar territory—problem-solving, strategic thinking, managing variables toward a desired outcome.

"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?"

Joe's eyes held hers, acknowledging the complexity while refusing to be intimidated by it. "Why make it complicated? We're both adults. We're both interested. We're both capable of handling whatever challenges come up."

He could see Y/N fighting a smile, could practically hear her thinking that his assessment was both completely logical and completely insufficient for the emotional reality they were navigating.

"You make it sound simple."

"The feelings part is simple," Joe said, his voice dropping slightly. "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 by her list of complications. "Things to be managed, not barriers to be overcome."

Y/N shook her head, and Joe caught the mix of amusement and admiration in her expression. He was being clinical about something deeply personal, but somehow that felt more honest than pretending emotions couldn't be approached strategically.

"You've really thought this through."

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

"And what conclusion did you reach?"

Joe's expression grew more serious, though his voice remained steady. This was the moment to be completely honest about his assessment, his decision, his commitment.

"That I want to see what this could be. That you're worth whatever complications might arise. And that I'm done pretending otherwise."

He watched Y/N's face change as the words landed. No dramatic declarations or emotional speeches—just clear, honest communication of his position. This was how Joe approached everything that mattered: with careful analysis followed by unwavering commitment.

"What about work?"

Joe had anticipated this question, had already worked through the practical implications. "What about it? We're both professionals. We know how to separate personal and business." He paused, considering her specific concerns. "Though we should probably be discrete until your promotion feels established. For your sake, not mine."

He saw relief flicker across Y/N's face, confirming that he'd correctly identified her primary concern. She needed to know he understood the professional stakes, that he wouldn't do anything to undermine the position she'd worked years to achieve.

"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's smile was genuine now, amused by his phrasing. "The option?"

"The standing invitation," Joe clarified, allowing a hint of humor into his voice. "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, and Joe waited, curious about her assessment.

"Normal?" he suggested.

"Revolutionary," Y/N corrected.

The word surprised a laugh out of him—genuine, unguarded, the kind of response he rarely allowed himself in public. Revolutionary. He liked that assessment better than normal.

"I'll take revolutionary," he said, checking his watch and noting they'd need to head to work soon. "But right now I'll settle for not being late to morning meetings."

They gathered their things efficiently, a comfortable routine that felt natural despite being new. Joe waited while Y/N packed her laptop and notes, noting how she moved through the space like she belonged there.

Walking to their cars, Joe felt cautiously optimistic. The conversation had gone exactly as he'd hoped—honest, direct, focused on practical realities rather than emotional complications. Y/N had seen him thinking through problems, making decisions, being himself rather than performing for her benefit.

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

It was a test, subtle but deliberate. Joe wanted to know if Y/N was genuinely interested in building something consistent, or if this morning had been a one-time exploration of possibilities.

"Tomorrow might work," Y/N said, her tone deliberately casual.

Joe recognized the challenge in her response and felt his competitive instincts engage. She wasn't going to make this easy, wasn't going to let him assume her interest or take her availability for granted. Good. He preferred partners who matched his intensity.

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

As he drove away, Joe felt satisfied with the morning's work. He'd shown Y/N who he was when he wasn't performing—analytical, direct, confident in his decisions but interested in her perspective. He'd demonstrated that he could navigate their professional complications while pursuing something personal.

Most importantly, he'd proven to himself that authenticity didn't require becoming someone different. It just required stopping the performance and letting Y/N see the person who'd been there all along.

* * *

December 2025 - Saturday Afternoon

Joe was sprawled on his couch, laptop balanced on his chest, halfheartedly reviewing film from last week's practice when his phone buzzed with a text from Y/N.

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

Joe smiled at the message. Three weeks into whatever they were building, and Y/N had started sharing the mundane details of her weekend—grocery lists, errands, the small domestic realities that most people kept private. It felt significant, this casual intimacy of shared boredom.

Joe: Which Target?

He wasn't sure why he'd asked. Mild curiosity, maybe, or the simple desire to know where she was, what her Saturday afternoon looked like when she wasn't at the facility managing his media obligations.

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

Joe sat up, closing his laptop. He'd been planning to order takeout and spend the evening alone, the way he spent most Saturday nights during the season. But the thought of Y/N navigating Target aisles by herself, loading boring necessities into her cart, suddenly seemed like something he wanted to be part of.

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

He hit send before he could analyze the impulse. This was what Y/N had asked for—authenticity, not performance. His first instinct had been to offer practical help and companionship. No need to overthink it.

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

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

Joe appreciated that Y/N didn't need elaborate explanations or romantic justifications. She understood efficiency, practical decision-making, the logic of combining errands with social time.

An hour later, Joe pulled into the Target parking lot, spotting Y/N loading bags into the trunk of her car. Hair pulled back, jeans and a sweatshirt—she looked completely normal, like any person finishing weekend errands.

Joe found this version of Y/N unexpectedly appealing. Not the polished professional from the facility, not the carefully put-together woman from their coffee dates, but someone running weekend errands like any normal person.

"Need help with those?" he called through his open window.

"I've got it," Y/N replied, closing her trunk and walking toward his car. "Thanks for the rescue mission."

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

He surprised himself with the admission. Most of his previous relationships had involved carefully planned dinners at upscale restaurants where he could control the environment and manage potential interruptions. But with Y/N, he found himself preferring casual, low-key options that felt more like real life than performance.

"Fine with me."

They ended up at Culver's, Joe navigating the drive-through with the same efficiency he brought to everything else. He ordered without consulting Y/N—she'd mentioned liking their burgers during one of their coffee conversations—and drove to an empty parking lot where they could eat without curious observers.

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

The casual theft made Joe smile. It was such a normal, comfortable gesture—the kind of thing people did when they were relaxed with each other, when boundaries had softened into familiarity.

"Better than eating alone."

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

Joe considered the question while unwrapping his second burger. "Usually. Or with teammates, but that's just different."

"How so?"

It was a fair question, one that made Joe think about the careful compartmentalization of his social life. "With teammates, you're still kind of performing. Even when you're relaxed, you're still the quarterback. This is just... normal."

He glanced at Y/N, noting how she listened—not just waiting for her turn to speak, but actually processing what he was telling her about the isolation that came with his position.

"You miss normal?" she asked.

"I didn't think I did," Joe admitted. "But yeah. This is the first time in years I've eaten fast food in a parking lot and just... talked."

"About nothing important," Y/N added, gesturing to the empty parking lot around them.

"Exactly. About nothing important."

But even as he said it, Joe realized it wasn't true. Everything about this felt important—not the conversation topics, but the ease of being with Y/N without agenda or expectation. The way she'd texted him about Target runs, the way she'd accepted his offer to pick her up, the way she was stealing his fries like they'd been doing this for years.

"Can I ask you something?" Y/N said, settling back in her seat.

"Shoot."

"Do you ever get tired of being 'on' all the time?"

The question hit closer to home than Joe had expected. "Yeah. More than I probably should admit."

"When was the last time you felt like you could just... exist? Without managing perceptions or meeting expectations?"

Joe thought about it, really considered the question. "Honestly? Right now. Sitting in a Culver's parking lot with you, eating terrible-for-me food and not thinking about anything else."

Y/N smiled, and Joe felt something shift between them—not dramatic, just a deepening of the comfort they'd been building over the past few weeks.

"Good," she said. "That's the version of you I'm here for."

"Just Joe might be boring," Joe warned.

"I seriously doubt that."

Joe found himself smiling back, feeling lighter than he had in months. For the first time since their conversation at Hermitage Brewing, he felt like he was successfully showing Y/N who he really was. Not through grand gestures or carefully planned dates, but through moments like this—ordinary, unguarded, real.

"So what else does Saturday night Joe do?" Y/N asked. "Besides rescue people from Target and eat drive-through burgers?"

"Not much, honestly. Watch film, read, maybe call my parents."

"That's it?"

"That's it. I'm probably more boring than you think."

"Or maybe," Y/N said, finishing the last of his fries, "you're exactly as interesting as I hoped."

As they sat in the quiet parking lot, Joe realized this was what he'd been missing in all his previous relationships—the ability to be completely ordinary with someone who found that ordinariness worth her time. No performance, no pressure, just the simple pleasure of shared space and stolen fries.

* * *

December 2025 - Wednesday Morning

Joe was reviewing game film in his home office when his phone buzzed. Y/N's name on the screen immediately shifted his attention away from defensive formations.

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

Joe frowned at the message. Y/N didn't usually share problems unless she was looking for practical solutions, which meant she was probably stranded and trying to figure out logistics.

Joe: How long?

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

The thought of Y/N stuck at some service center, dealing with car repairs and ride-sharing apps, when he was sitting at home with nothing but film study on his schedule, felt wrong. Not because she couldn't handle it—Y/N was capable of managing anything—but because he wanted to help. Because offering practical assistance felt like something he could do without overthinking it.

Joe: I'll come get you.

Y/N: You don't have to do that.

Joe was already reaching for his keys. This wasn't about obligation or grand gestures. It was about Y/N being stuck somewhere when he had time and transportation. And he wanted to spend time with her.

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

Thirty minutes later, Joe pulled into the parking lot of a service center in Springdale, spotting Y/N through the windows of the waiting area. She was sitting in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, laptop open, making the best of an inconvenient situation with the same practical efficiency she brought to everything else.

When she saw his car, Y/N's face lit up with genuine relief and something that looked like appreciation. Not surprise—she'd probably expected him to follow through on his offer—but gratitude for the gesture itself.

"My hero," she said, sliding into the passenger seat with a dramatic sigh. "They're keeping it overnight. Something about parts and labor costs that made my credit card weep."

"Where to?" Joe asked, putting the truck in drive.

"I should probably head home and figure out how to get to work tomorrow."

Joe glanced at her, noting the slight disappointment in her voice. "Or we could drive around for a while. Unless you have somewhere you need to be."

Y/N studied his face, clearly trying to determine if he was being polite or genuine. "You really want to spend your afternoon chauffeuring me around?"

"I really want to spend my afternoon not sitting in my house analyzing film," Joe replied honestly. "And you're better company than most people."

"Most people?"

"All people."

Y/N smiled at that, settling back in her seat. "Okay. But I get to navigate."

"Deal."

For the next three hours, Joe followed Y/N's random directions through parts of Cincinnati he'd never seen despite living there for five years. She had him take turns based on whim—"Let's see what's down this street" or "That neighborhood looks interesting"—with no destination in mind beyond curiosity.

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

"You're just picking random turns," Joe observed, though he made the left without hesitation.

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

The question caught Joe off guard. He drove the same routes every day—home, facility, maybe a restaurant if he had to. Always going somewhere specific, always the fastest way there.

"Never," he admitted, something shifting in his understanding of how rigidly he'd structured his life.

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

The concept felt foreign and oddly liberating. Joe found himself relaxing into the aimlessness, following Y/N's directions without questioning the logic or efficiency. When she wanted to explore a particular neighborhood, he slowed down so she could point out architectural details or comment on gardens. When she suggested taking a detour through a park, he found a route that wound through tree-lined paths he'd never known existed.

They ended up at a scenic overlook Joe had driven past dozens of times but never stopped at. The city spread out below them, familiar skyline made new by the afternoon light and the company.

"I grew up in neighborhoods like that," Y/N said, pointing to a section of older houses with wide porches and tree-lined streets. "Louisville has whole areas that look exactly like this."

"What was that like?" Joe asked, genuinely curious. "Growing up with three brothers in a place like Louisville?"

"Loud. Competitive. Every dinner conversation was a debate about sports, usually football." Y/N smiled at the memory. "My parents thought they were raising four boys until I turned out to be better at arguing about draft picks than any of them."

"That explains a lot about your media instincts."

"Years of practice defending my opinions against people who assumed I didn't know what I was talking about."

"What about you? Small-town vs. city?" Joe asked. "More in-between," Y/N said, thinking about growing up in Louisville. "Big enough to have options, small enough that football still felt like the most important thing in the world." "I get that," Joe said, thinking about his own childhood in Athens. "Before all the pressure and expectations."

"Do you miss it?"

Joe considered the question, watching the city below them. "I miss the simplicity. The feeling that football was just football, not a business or a brand or a platform for everything else."

"When was the last time it felt simple?"

"Honestly? Right now. Driving around with no agenda, talking about nothing in particular." Joe glanced at Y/N. "This is the most relaxed I've been in months."

Y/N studied his profile, and Joe had the sense she was cataloguing this information, adding it to her understanding of who he was beyond the quarterback persona.

"Good," she said simply. "Because this is exactly what I was hoping for."

"What do you mean?"

"This version of you. The one who's curious about neighborhoods and willing to drive around aimlessly because someone asked him to. The one who doesn't need every conversation to be purposeful or strategic."

Joe felt something loosen in his chest. "You were testing me?"

"Not testing. Just... hoping you were actually interested in being normal for an afternoon."

"I'm discovering I like normal more than I thought I would."

As they headed back toward the city, Joe realized the afternoon had shifted something fundamental in how he thought about time and spontaneity. Y/N had shown him that not every moment needed to be optimized, that aimless exploration could be its own kind of valuable.

"Thanks for rescuing me from car service hell," Y/N said as they approached her neighborhood.

"Thanks for showing me how to drive without a plan," Joe replied, meaning it completely.

"Any time you want to get lost around Cincinnati, I'm your girl."

I'm your girl. Joe liked how naturally she said it, how it implied more afternoons like this, more chances to explore the city together without any particular destination in mind.

"I'll hold you to that," he said, pulling into her driveway.

As Y/N gathered her things, Joe realized he didn't want her to leave yet. Not because he wanted to drag it out artificially, but because this felt like the most honest time they'd spent together—no coffee shop conversations about expectations, no brewery talks about boundaries. Just two people choosing to spend time together because they enjoyed each other's company.

"See you tomorrow," Y/N said, pausing at the passenger door.

"See you tomorrow."

But as Joe drove home, he was already thinking about the next time Y/N might need rescuing, the next excuse to spend an afternoon discovering parts of himself he'd forgotten existed.

* * *

December 2025 - Sunday Afternoon

Joe had been looking forward to this all week—Y/N coming over to watch the afternoon games, the easy domesticity of shared space and comfortable silence. Seven weeks into whatever they were building, and he'd grown addicted to these Sunday afternoons when Y/N settled into his living room like she belonged there.

She'd arrived with coffee and the newspaper sports section, claiming her usual spot on his couch with the casual familiarity that had developed over weeks of careful boundary-testing. Joe found himself watching her as much as the game—the way she tucked her feet under herself, how she unconsciously leaned forward during crucial plays, the soft commentary she offered that revealed her deep understanding of football strategy.

"Terrible coverage," Y/N observed as the visiting team scored on a blown assignment. "Safety was completely out of position."

"Rookie mistake," Joe agreed, though his attention was more focused on Y/N's profile than the replay. Seven weeks of coffee dates and aimless drives, and he was still discovering new things about her—like the way she analyzed defensive schemes with the same precision she brought to content strategy.

During halftime, as analysts droned through statistics Joe could recite in his sleep, he found himself studying Y/N's position on the far end of the couch. Close enough to talk comfortably, far enough to maintain the careful distance they'd been navigating since their conversation at Hermitage Brewing.

The distance felt unnecessary now. Artificial.

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

Y/N looked up from her phone, eyebrows raised slightly at the direct request. For a moment, Joe wondered if he'd pushed too fast, assumed an intimacy they hadn't established. But then Y/N moved, settling beside him close enough that their shoulders touched when he leaned forward.

The contact was electric—just the simple awareness of Y/N's warmth beside him, the faint scent of her perfume, the way their bodies naturally aligned when they sat together.

"See how the linebacker's dropping back?" Joe said as the second half began, using the game as an excuse to lean closer, his voice dropping to match their proximity.

"Mmhmm," Y/N replied, though Joe could sense her attention wasn't entirely on the defensive formation he was explaining.

Without thinking about it, Joe's hand came to rest on Y/N's knee. The movement felt automatic, like his body had decided before his mind caught up. Y/N didn't pull away—if anything, she leaned slightly into his side, her hand finding his forearm

The game continued, but Joe's awareness had shifted entirely to the points of contact between them. His thumb traced absent patterns on Y/N's leg, feeling the warmth of her skin through the soft fabric of her jeans. Y/N's fingers rested on his forearm, occasionally tightening slightly during tense moments in the game.

This was what he'd been missing in all their careful conversations about boundaries and expectations—the simple pleasure of physical proximity, of being close to someone without agenda or analysis.

"This is nice," Joe said during a commercial break, his voice low enough that it felt like a confession.

"What is?"

"You being here. Like this."

Y/N tilted her head to look at him, and Joe felt his breath catch at how close they were. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes, close enough to count her eyelashes, close enough that the space between them felt charged with possibility.

"Joe..."

The way she said his name—soft, questioning, maybe a little breathless—changed something in the air between them. Seven weeks of taking things slow, of being careful, of respecting boundaries and managing expectations. But right now, with Y/N warm and close beside him, all of that felt less important than the simple truth of what he wanted.

"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."

The admission hung between them for a heartbeat. Joe waited, letting Y/N process what he was asking. He could see the moment she made her decision—not just about the kiss, but about crossing the line they'd been carefully maintaining.

"Then kiss me," Y/N said, the words barely above a whisper.

Joe's hand moved to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheek in a gesture that felt both reverent and possessive. Y/N's skin was soft, warm, real in a way that made everything else fade into background noise.

When his mouth found hers, the kiss was soft at first—tentative, testing, giving both of them a chance to adjust to this new territory. But when Y/N's hands fisted in his shirt and pulled him closer, Joe deepened the kiss, weeks of wanting finally allowed to surface.

Y/N tasted like coffee and something uniquely her. She kissed him back with an intensity that matched his own, her fingers tangling in his shirt like she was afraid he might pull away. Joe had no intention of pulling away—if anything, he wanted to pull her closer, to eliminate any remaining space between them.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder than they should have been from just a kiss, Joe rested his forehead against Y/N's. Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted, and Joe felt a surge of satisfaction at having put that particular expression on her face.

"We should probably talk about this," Y/N said softly, though she made no move to put distance between them.

"Probably," Joe agreed, his hands still framing her face, his thumbs tracing along her cheekbones. "But not right now."

"Not right now," Y/N confirmed, opening her eyes to meet his gaze.

When she kissed him again, Joe felt something settle into place—not just the physical connection, but the recognition that they'd crossed into new territory together. This moment of spontaneous honesty felt exactly right.

The game played on in the background, but Joe's attention was entirely focused on Y/N—the way she felt in his arms, the soft sounds she made when he deepened the kiss, the way her fingers had moved from his shirt to the hair at the nape of his neck.

This was what he'd been waiting for without fully realizing it: not just Y/N's presence in his space, but the permission to touch her, to be close to her, to stop pretending that seven weeks of building toward something hadn't been leading exactly here.

When they finally settled back against the couch, Y/N curled into his side with natural ease, Joe felt a contentment he hadn't experienced in years. Her head rested on his shoulder, her hand splayed across his chest, and the simple domesticity of it was more satisfying than any carefully planned date could have been.

"I've been waiting for that," Y/N said softly.

"Should've done it sooner," Joe replied, his hand finding hers.

As the afternoon game continued, Joe found himself only half-watching the action on screen. His attention was focused on the weight of Y/N against his side, the way her breathing had synchronized with his, the occasional brush of her fingers against his chest.

Seven weeks of taking things slow had led to this—not a dramatic declaration or grand gesture, but the simple honesty of wanting to be close to each other. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and Joe wondered why they'd waited so long to cross this particular line.

But as Y/N's hand found his and their fingers intertwined, Joe realized the timing had been exactly right. They'd built trust and understanding first, established a foundation that could support whatever came next.

* * *

Wednesday Evening - Joe's House

Joe's phone buzzed as he was changing out of his work clothes, Y/N's name appearing on the screen with a message that made him smile.

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

Joe typed back quickly: Come over. I'll order something.

When Y/N arrived twenty minutes later, Joe felt that familiar flutter of anticipation mixed with contentment. She looked tired but happy to be there, settling onto his couch like she belonged there.

"What did you order?" she asked, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under herself.

"Thai. Should be here in twenty minutes."

"Good choice."

Joe sat beside her, deliberately close. His arm stretched along the back of the couch, not quite touching Y/N but close enough that she could lean into him if she wanted to.

She wanted to. Y/N settled against his side with a soft sigh, her head finding the perfect spot on his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest. The weight of her against him felt exactly right—not performance or strategy, just simple comfort.

"How was your day?" Joe asked, his fingers automatically finding her hair.

"Long. Meetings, content reviews, more meetings." Y/N's voice carried the exhaustion of someone who'd been managing multiple priorities all day. "How was practice?"

"Fine. Nothing dramatic." Joe's fingers played with the soft strands of her hair, noting how Y/N's eyes fluttered closed at the gentle contact. "This is better."

"What is?"

Joe hesitated. He could deflect, make some casual comment about relaxing after work. But Y/N had asked him to be real with her.

"Coming home to you being here."

The words carried more weight than Joe had intended—an admission of domesticity, of wanting Y/N in his space, of the particular satisfaction that came from knowing she'd chosen to spend her evening with him rather than anywhere else.

Y/N went quiet against him, and Joe wondered if he'd overstepped.

"Joe..."

"I know," he said quietly, understanding her hesitation. "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, and Joe felt his breath catch at the expression in her eyes. Not concern or caution, but something softer, more open.

"I like being here too."

The simple admission was everything Joe needed to hear. Y/N wasn't just tolerating his interest or going along with his suggestions—she was actively choosing to be here, actively enjoying the intimacy they were building.

Joe's thumb traced along her jawline, feeling the softness of her skin, the way she leaned into his touch. After weeks of careful distance, he finally had permission to touch her face, to trace the features he'd been memorizing from across conference rooms.

"Can I kiss you again?"

oe could see the answer in Y/N's expression, in the way her lips parted slightly, in the way her hands had moved to rest on his chest. But he asked anyway—he needed to hear her say it.

"Yes."

This kiss was different from their first. Less tentative, more certain. Joe kissed Y/N like he was learning her, like he wanted to memorize the taste and texture and perfect pressure that made her sigh against his mouth. Y/N's hands slid up his chest to curl around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape in a way that sent heat straight through him.

Joe pulled her closer, one hand tangling in her hair, the other settling at the small of her back. Y/N felt perfect in his arms—the right height, the right weight, the right responsiveness to his touch. Like they'd been designed to fit together exactly like this.

The doorbell rang, sharp and intrusive, breaking the spell they'd created.

"Bad timing," Joe muttered against Y/N's lips, though he made no immediate move to answer the door.

"Very bad timing," Y/N agreed, her breath warm against his mouth.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, both slightly breathless, both reluctant to break the intimacy for something as mundane as food delivery. Then Joe leaned in and kissed her again—deeper this time, slower, like he was making a point about priorities. Y/N kissed him back with equal intensity, her fingers tightening in his hair.

The doorbell rang again, more insistent.

"Food's getting cold," Y/N murmured, though she showed no signs of moving.

"Don't care," Joe replied, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the sensitive spot just below her ear that made her shiver.

Y/N laughed, the sound breathless and delighted. "You'll care when you're hungry later."

"Fine," Joe said, pulling back with exaggerated reluctance. "But this conversation isn't over."

By the time they actually ate dinner, they'd established a new rhythm of casual intimacy. Y/N curled against Joe's side while they shared takeout containers, her legs draped over his lap, his hand resting on her ankle. The touches were constant but undemanding—not building toward anything specific, just maintaining contact because they could.

Joe couldn't get over how natural it felt. No awkwardness, no overthinking, just the simple pleasure of being close to Y/N while they talked about their days and shared food and existed in the same space without agenda or expectation.

"This is working," Joe said as they cleaned up the empty containers, Y/N moving around his kitchen with easy familiarity.

"What is?"

Joe gestured between them, encompassing the evening, the easy intimacy, the way Y/N had seamlessly integrated into his space and routine. "This. Us. Whatever we're calling it."

Y/N smiled, standing on her toes to kiss him briefly—casual, affectionate, like it was already habit. "It is working."

"Good," Joe said, pulling her closer, enjoying the way she melted against him. "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."

That was all Joe needed to hear. They could keep things professional at work and be real with each other everywhere else. No rushing, no pressure from anyone but themselves.

* * *

Playoff Push - The Pressure Builds

The facility hummed with a different energy as December progressed and the playoff picture crystallized. Joe felt it in every meeting, every practice, every interaction—the weight of expectations, the knowledge that everything they'd worked for during the regular season would be determined in the next few weeks.

But alongside the familiar pressure of playoff preparation, Joe was navigating something entirely new: maintaining a secret relationship while under the most intense scrutiny of the season. Every stolen moment with Y/N felt both more precious and more dangerous as media attention intensified and their time became increasingly fragmented.

Monday - Content Planning Meeting

Joe walked into the monthly content planning meeting with the same professional focus he brought to film study. These meetings had always been routine—necessary coordination between football operations and media strategy—but now they carried an additional layer of complexity. Y/N would be there, and he'd have to spend an hour watching her lead the meeting, making strategic decisions, commanding the room, all while pretending she hadn't spent Sunday evening curled against his side on his couch.

"Playoff content timeline," Y/N said, pulling up her presentation with the crisp efficiency Joe had admired for five years. "We'll need quarterback availability for three key pieces."

Joe took notes on his tablet, asking practical questions about scheduling and time commitments, maintaining the same professional demeanor he'd cultivated through hundreds of similar meetings. But he was hyperaware of Y/N's presence—the way she gestured while explaining strategy, the particular tone she used when addressing him directly, the subtle way her eyes would linger on his face for just a fraction longer than strictly necessary.

"The fan message piece - when do you need that filmed?" Joe asked, his voice carrying no hint of the fact that twelve hours earlier, his fingers had been tangled in her hair while they watched a movie.

"This week, before playoff prep intensifies," Y/N replied, matching his professional tone perfectly.

Joe admired her composure, her ability to compartmentalize. It was one of the things he'd always respected about Y/N professionally, but now he appreciated it on an entirely different level. She could sit across from him in a conference room full of colleagues and give no indication that they'd spent the previous evening discussing everything from childhood memories to playoff strategy while sharing takeout on his couch.

"Wednesday afternoon work?"

"Perfect. Tyler will coordinate the details."

As the meeting concluded and Tyler and Kayla gathered their materials, Joe lingered, ostensibly reviewing something on his phone. He waited until they were alone, then moved closer to Y/N's chair, his body language casual but intentional.

"Wednesday filming," he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. "What time?"

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

Joe's hand found her lower back, hidden from view by the conference table. The contact was brief but deliberate, a reminder of the physical connection they'd been building away from these professional spaces.

"And after?"

Y/N's pulse quickened under his touch—Joe could see it in the slight flush that rose to her cheeks, the way her breathing shifted almost imperceptibly.

"After what?"

"After filming. You free?"

The question carried layers of meaning. Not just about her schedule, but about her willingness to continue navigating the complexity of stolen time together during the most intense period of his professional year.

"Depends what you have in mind."

Joe leaned down, his mouth close to her ear, close enough that he could smell her perfume, could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "Come to my place. I want to actually spend time with you without worrying about who might see us."

He'd said too much. Made it obvious how tired he was of all the sneaking around, the constant watching over his shoulder.

Before Y/N could respond, Joe headed for the door. Better to leave it simple than stand there explaining himself.

Wednesday - After Filming

The filming went fine. Joe delivered what Y/N needed, same as always.

But he found himself watching her work—the small nods when he hit the right tone, how she quietly directed Tyler to fix the lighting. She was good at this. Had been since day one.

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

"Thanks," Joe replied, already looking toward Y/N. This was the moment he'd been anticipating all week—the transition from public performance to private connection.

"Y/N, can I get your take on the messaging? Make sure it hits the right tone?"

The request was professional enough to avoid suspicion while creating space for them to talk privately. Joe watched Y/N recognize the manufactured excuse and play along seamlessly.

"Of course."

As Tyler packed equipment, Joe and Y/N moved to the side of the media room, maintaining the pretense of content strategy discussion while actually negotiating the evening ahead.

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

Joe stepped closer, not enough to draw Tyler's attention but enough to lower his voice. "Good. Now, about tonight..."

"Tyler's still here," Y/N murmured, and Joe appreciated her continued awareness of their surroundings even as her body language suggested she wanted to be closer.

"He's not paying attention," Joe replied, letting his hand brush against hers—brief contact that sent electricity up his arm. "Eight o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

oe smiled despite himself. A whole evening without watching the clock or checking who might walk in.

"Good. I'll order dinner. Actually want to talk to you without interruptions for once."

Thursday Morning - Facility Hallway

Joe made sure to be in the main corridor Thursday morning when Y/N usually got to work. He knew her routine—coffee in hand, sitting in her car for a few minutes going through her notes before coming inside.

When she walked in, Joe felt that familiar flutter. Y/N looked relaxed, like their evening together had been good for both of them.

"Morning," he said, falling into step beside her.

"Morning," Y/N replied, and Joe caught the subtle smile she was fighting.

"Sleep well?" The question was innocuous enough for any observer, but Joe's tone carried the intimacy of someone who knew exactly how Y/N had looked curled against his side during the movie, how peacefully she'd slept with her head on his shoulder.

"Very well," Y/N said, and Joe heard the acknowledgment in her voice—not just of sleep, but of the comfort they'd found in each other's company.

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 despite the public setting. "It's the company."

The comment was risky for a hallway conversation, but Joe didn't care. Having Y/N at his place had changed something. Made his house feel less empty, more like home.

"Joe..."

"I know," he said, recognizing her warning about location and propriety. "Wrong place for this conversation. But I like having you there. In my space."

They'd reached the point where Joe went one way and Y/N went the other. Joe stopped, trying to figure out what he could get away with here.

"Dinner tonight?" he asked, his tone casual enough for any passerby but his eyes holding hers with obvious intention.

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

Joe felt a flicker of disappointment but respected her professional priorities. "Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow works."

Joe nodded, then surprised himself by stepping closer, his hand briefly touching Y/N's elbow. To anyone watching, it would appear to be a casual gesture of farewell, but Joe made sure she felt the intentional warmth of his palm, the deliberate nature of the contact.

"See you later," he said, already moving toward the player area but carrying the satisfaction of Y/N's response with him.

Friday - Storage Room

By Friday, Joe's restraint was wearing thin. A week of careful public interactions and stolen moments had built to a level of tension that demanded release. When he spotted Y/N gathering equipment for a social media shoot, Joe saw an opportunity for the kind of private contact they'd been rationing all week.

"Need help with anything?" he asked, stepping into the storage room and closing the door behind him with deliberate precision.

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

Joe moved closer, his hands finding her waist with the kind of familiarity that felt both natural and dangerous in this setting. "How long until your shoot?"

"Twenty minutes. Why?"

The practical question carried undertones of anticipation. Y/N knew exactly why Joe was asking about timing, just as she knew exactly what he intended to do with whatever private moments they could steal.

"Because I've barely seen you this week and I miss you."

The admission was more vulnerable than Joe had intended, revealing the emotional cost of maintaining professional distance while building personal intimacy. Every careful interaction at the facility felt like performance when what he wanted was authenticity.

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

"Doing what?" Joe asked, his thumb tracing a small circle on her hip, enjoying the way her breath caught at the contact.

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

Joe's smile was slight but genuine. "Would you prefer your office? 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 press a soft kiss to her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume. "We're just talking."

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

Joe pulled back to look at her, recognizing her need for actual conversation along with physical connection. "Fine. Let's talk. How was your meeting with the sponsors?"

"Boring. How was film study?"

"Tedious." Joe's hands stayed at her waist, providing the constant contact they'd both been craving. "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."

The proposal was simple but felt revolutionary after a week of careful public management. Joe wanted uninterrupted access to Y/N's company, the luxury of being together without constant awareness of external observation.

"That sounds perfect," Y/N admitted.

Joe smiled, leaning down to kiss her properly—soft and brief but enough to remind both of them what they were building toward. "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 envisioned—on his couch, Y/N curled against his side while he traced absent patterns on her arm. No agenda, no timeline, no external pressure. Just the simple pleasure of proximity and the luxury of unstructured time together.

"This is nice," Y/N said, her head resting on his shoulder in a position that had become natural over their weeks together.

"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 with practiced ease. The simple contact felt significant—not dramatic or overwhelming, but steady and satisfying.

"Y/N?"

"Mmm?"

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

The words carried weight beyond their casual delivery. Joe was acknowledging not just the physical comfort but the entire structure they'd built—the careful balance of professional respect and personal intimacy, the way they'd learned to navigate complexity without losing authenticity.

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."

Joe had never been someone who valued things that came easily. Challenge and difficulty were familiar territories that made success feel earned rather than given. What he and Y/N were building required constant navigation, careful timing, mutual respect for professional obligations—and all of that made their private moments feel more precious rather than less.

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

Joe leaned into her touch, then turned his head to kiss her palm gently. The gesture was tender, intimate, free of the urgency that characterized their stolen moments at the facility.

"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, Joe reflected on how natural this felt despite its newness. The easy intimacy, the unforced conversation, the way they fit together both literally and figuratively. Whatever they were building felt solid and real, worth the careful navigation required to protect it from external pressures.

The playoffs would bring their own intensity and demands, but Joe felt confident that what he and Y/N had established could withstand those pressures. They'd proven they could maintain professional excellence while building something personal and meaningful.

And as Y/N's breathing grew slower and more regular against his side, Joe realized that this—more than any championship or individual accolade—was what he'd been working toward without knowing it. Not just success, but someone to share it with who understood both the cost and the value of what they were building together.

* * *

The Final Whistle

Joe stood where the final play had died, staring up at the gray Pittsburgh sky. Steelers 28, Bengals 21. Season over. Another year of carrying everyone's hopes and expectations, another year of falling just short when it mattered most.

The stadium noise faded to nothing as it hit him. Five months of work. Sixteen weeks of games. All of it for nothing.

He spotted Y/N on the sideline, camera up, doing her job even now. Part of him was glad she was there. Part of him hated that she had to see this.

Players started moving toward midfield for handshakes. Joe made himself walk, go through the motions—shake hands with Steelers who meant their respect, nod at teammates who looked as gutted as he felt.

Walking toward the tunnel, Joe caught Y/N's eye for a second. No words. Just a look before he disappeared into the locker room, carrying another year that ended too soon.

The visiting locker room was dead quiet. No yelling, no speeches. Just guys sitting there, processing that it was over for another year. Joe sat at his locker in full gear, staring at the floor.

He knew what came next. Interviews. The same questions he'd answered before. Credit the opponent, say you're disappointed, thank the fans. Every losing quarterback said the same things.

But his mind kept replaying the game. The pick in the third quarter. Getting sacked on second down when they needed a first. The audible that didn't work.

Coach Taylor gave his comments to the media—said the right things. Joe's were shorter. Just enough to get through it so he could get on the bus, get on the plane, get back to Cincinnati and deal with another season that ended without a ring.

On the Plane - 11:47 PM

The team plane was quiet. Most guys were sleeping or staring out windows. Joe sat a few rows back from the media staff, giving everyone space to deal with this however they needed to.

He couldn't sleep. His mind kept running through every play, every decision, every moment where things could've gone different.

All of it was on him. Not just tonight, but every season that ended like this. He was the franchise quarterback. The city's hopes, everyone's dreams—it all came back to him.

Joe pulled out his phone. Five years of handling disappointment the same way—stay composed, don't let anyone see it get to you. But tonight felt different. Tonight he couldn't carry it alone.

He typed without thinking too much about it:

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

He'd never asked anyone to help him deal with this before. But Y/N had seen him at his worst—during the injuries, the rehab, when his guard was down.

Y/N's response came fast: Of course.

No questions. No hesitation. Just yes.

Don't want to be alone tonight.

He'd never admitted that to anyone. Not during his careful courtship with Y/N, not ever. He needed her here tonight.

I'll follow you home from the facility.

Thank you.

Joe put his phone away, feeling like he could breathe for the first time since the game ended. Y/N would be there. He didn't have to do this alone.

Cincinnati - 1:23 AM

The facility parking lot was mostly empty when the team buses got back. Just a few cars—staff and families who'd waited up. Joe grabbed his gear and said goodbye to teammates, but he was really watching Y/N finish up her work.

When he came out twenty minutes later in sweats with his bag, Joe felt completely drained. Everything they'd worked for, gone. But Y/N was there, waiting for him like she'd promised.

Their eyes met across the parking lot. This wasn't about whatever they'd been building between them. This was about trust—trusting her to see him like this and not think less of him.

He nodded toward his car. Y/N followed him through empty Cincinnati streets, both of them driving in silence through a city that had gone to sleep disappointed. But at least they'd face whatever came next together.

Joe's House - 1:52 AM

Joe's house felt different when they arrived—darker, quieter, emptier than usual. The careful order that normally brought him comfort felt sterile in the face of the emotional chaos churning in his chest.

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

The offer was automatic, part of his ingrained politeness, but it felt inadequate for what was actually happening. Y/N wasn't here as a guest making social calls. She was here because he'd asked her to help him carry something he couldn't handle alone.

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

The direct question hit Joe like a physical blow. What did he need? He'd spent years carefully managing his emotions, maintaining professional composure, handling disappointment with controlled grace. But tonight, all of that felt insufficient.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, feeling 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 with gentle certainty. "You don't have to be."

The simple assurance nearly undid him. "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, the words tumbling out despite his usual emotional control. "I keep replaying every decision, every throw, every fucking play call."

Y/N stepped closer, her hands moving to frame his face with a tenderness that felt both foreign and necessary. "Stop."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. For tonight, you can." Y/N's thumbs brushed across his cheekbones, her touch grounding him in the present moment. "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—through the handshakes, through the interviews, through the long plane ride home—finally began to slip under the weight of Y/N's permission to be human.

"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, 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. For the first time in hours, Joe felt like he could breathe.

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

"Always," Y/N replied, and Joe believed her completely.

When Joe pulled back to look at her, something had shifted in his expression. Y/N was exactly where he wanted her to be—not because she had to be, not because it was her job, but because she'd chosen to be there when he needed someone most.

And for the first time since the final whistle, Joe felt like he might actually be okay.

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."

Joe had spent years carefully containing his emotions, channeling them into performance and preparation. But tonight, with Y/N's weight warm and solid in his lap, her eyes focused entirely on him, he felt something fundamental shifting.

"I'm not asking for soft," Y/N said quietly, her hands moving to frame his face. "I'm not asking for slow. I'm asking you to stop holding it in. You don't have to be careful with me right now."

Joe's eyes searched hers, something vulnerable and desperate flickering there. "You don't understand what you're saying."

"I understand perfectly." Y/N's thumbs brushed across his cheekbones. "You've been holding this together all night. Holding yourself together. You don't have to do that with me."

"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. Years of emotional control warring with the desperate need to let someone else carry the weight for once.

"Y/N..."

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

"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 growing heavier. Then he saw the exact moment his restraint snapped—not into violence, but into something raw and desperate and honest.

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, “Fuck,” his grip tightening on her hips like he couldn’t hold himself back another second.

“Off,” he said, tugging at the hem of her dress. “I need—fuck—I need to see you.”

She didn’t say anything, just stripped. No hesitation, no ceremony. Her eyes stayed locked on his, steady and unflinching, and then—she dropped to her knees like she’d been waiting to do it.

Joe leaned back slightly, planting his hands on his thighs. She was still looking at him, like she was daring him to say something, to stop her. Like she knew he wouldn’t.

“You want this?” His voice was low, rough.

“Yes.”

His jaw clenched. “Then look at me.”

She didn’t look away as she untied his sweats and pushed them down just enough. He was already hard, already throbbing, and she hadn’t even touched him yet.

“Don’t tease,” he muttered, hand coming to the back of her head. Not forcing, just steady. A warning. “Not tonight.”

She wrapped one hand around him and took him into her mouth—no warm-up, no playing around, just all in, smooth and sure.

Joe’s head dropped back, a hiss cutting through his teeth. “Fuck—that’s it.”

He looked down again, watching her, needing to see it. His fingers tightened in her hair. “Deeper. You can take it.”

She adjusted, let him guide the pace, didn’t flinch.

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

She moaned around him, and he felt it, low and deep. His whole body jolted.

He was already too close, already on edge, but he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t. Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when her mouth felt like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

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

She didn’t. She couldn’t. And he didn’t want her to. Her eyes stayed locked on his, steady even as she kept her rhythm. She was doing it for him. Just for him.

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

She hummed, deliberate. That sound hit him low, sharp. His hips jerked forward just slightly, control unraveling.

“I’m not gonna last,” he got out, breath gone, voice uneven. “Not like this.”

He looked down at her again, jaw tight, eyes locked in. “Get up.”

She pulled back, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Still breathless. Still tasting him.

Joe stood, grabbed her hand, held on tight. Not gentle. Not rough. Just certain.

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

* * *

He pulled her up in one smooth motion, not letting go of her hand as he headed down the hall. Grip locked tight. Like if he let go, the moment would break.

He pushed open the bedroom door with his free hand, backed inside, and pulled her in with him.

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

He walked her backward toward the bed, hands on her waist, mouth back on her throat. No pause. No slow build. Just heat and need and the taste of her still on his tongue.

She hit the edge of the mattress and he nudged her down. Stood over her, eyes dragging across her body, trying to figure out where the fuck to start. He wanted all of it. Every inch.

She reached for him.

He shook his head once. Firm.

“Lie back.”

She did. Breath shaky. Legs already open for him.

He dropped to his knees, fingers sliding between her legs—and froze.

“Jesus,” he muttered. His voice came out low, rough. “You’re soaked.”

Her breath hitched, sharp. She didn’t say anything.

He looked up at her. Dead on. “That was just from your mouth on me?”

She didn’t flinch. “What do you think?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

“Good,” he said.

Then he dropped his head and took.

No warm-up. No easing in. Just mouth on her, tongue moving with focus. He didn’t give a fuck about rhythm or build-up. He just wanted to make her come apart. Fast. Hard. Like she had five years of tension to burn off.

She cried out. Loud. One hand flying to her mouth like she couldn’t believe how good it felt.

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

“Don’t run from it,” he said against her. His voice was already frayed. “Stay with me.”

“I’m trying,” she gasped. “Fuck—don’t stop.”

So he didn’t. He doubled down. Groaned low when she tilted her hips, licked deeper when she gasped. Let her ride it. Let her take what she needed.

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

She tried to speak. Didn’t make it. Legs shaking. Hands clawing for something to grab.

“I’m gonna—Joe—fuck—”

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

And she did.

The sound she made was raw. Nothing soft about it. She broke apart with her thighs tight around his shoulders, whole body shaking.

He didn’t stop until she slumped back, wrecked. Chest heaving. Breath shot to hell.

Only then did he pull back. Slow. Deliberate. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving hers.

He stood. Looked down at her, completely laid out for him, and wrapped his hand around himself—just once, steady. He was hanging on by a thread.

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

She nodded. “Yes.”

He tilted his head, thumb sliding across the head of his cock. “You’ve wanted this for five years?”

She exhaled like it knocked the wind out of her. “Yes.”

His jaw locked. “Say it.”

“I’ve wanted you,” she said, right on the edge of begging. “Please, Joe. I want you.”

That was it.

He pushed forward in one hard thrust. Deep. All the way.

Y/N gasped, hands flying to the sheets, back arching. “Fuck—”

Joe dropped his head, groaning. “Jesus, Y/N…”

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, buried inside her, holding her hips. Taking in the feel of her. Tight, warm, perfect.

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

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

He didn’t.

He gave her more��deeper, faster—his pace picking up as she met him, her leg hooking around his hip like she couldn’t get close enough.

“This what you wanted?” he growled. “Me fucking you like this?”

“God, yes, harder,” she gasped. “Just like that—Joe, fuck—”

He bent over her, hand braced beside her head, thrusts sharp now, hitting deep every time.

“You take me so fucking well,” he grit out. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”

She moaned, loud and open.

“I want to feel you come,” he said, pushing harder. “You gonna come for me again?”

She whimpered. Body locking up. So close.

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

“Joe, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Look at me.”

Her eyes flew open. Met his.

“Look at me when you do it.”

She came hard. Whole body clenching around him, thighs shaking, breath breaking into pieces. Her cry punched right through him.

“Fuck—” Joe gasped, hips jerking, rhythm gone. He thrust once, twice, then lost it completely—groaning low as he came inside her, everything snapping loose all at once.

He stayed there. Inside her. Still breathing hard. Forehead pressed to hers like he needed something to hang onto.

Neither of them said anything.

* * *

He stayed inside her longer than he meant to. Just breathing. Just feeling it. Her heartbeat under his hand. The way her body was still holding him, still wrapped around him. The weight of what they’d just done settling between his ribs like gravity.

Then he pulled out, slow, careful, and pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee before stepping back.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, voice still rough but steadier now. Not wrecked anymore. Just real.

She didn’t answer. Just stared up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling fast.

He went to the ensuite. Turned on the water. Let it run warm while he found a cloth. When he came back, he was still naked, still buzzing under his skin, but he didn’t rush. He knelt between her legs again, holding the cloth in one hand. Looked at her like a question.

She didn’t flinch.

He cleaned her with quiet, focused movements. No talking. No big moment. Just taking care of her because he wanted to. Because this part mattered too.

Wherever the cloth passed, he followed with a kiss—her thigh, her hip, her stomach. He didn’t think about what it meant. Just did it.

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

“You know this changes everything, right?”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t look away either.

His thumb ran over her knee. Steady. Like he always was when it counted.

“I’m not going back from this,” he said. “And I’m not going to pretend.”

She swallowed hard. He saw it.

“I’ll handle it,” he told her. “The higher-ups. Front office. I’ll talk to them myself. You don’t have to do anything.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers.

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

She exhaled. Not relief exactly, but close.

His hand skimmed up her thigh again. Slower now. Grounding, not hungry.

“We’ll keep it professional at work,” he said. “I won’t make you look bad.”

She met his eyes. “I know you won’t.”

He leaned down and kissed her again. Slow. Mouth lingering. His hand cupping her cheek like he wasn’t done holding her yet. Like maybe he never would be.

They got under the covers without much talking. Not because there wasn’t anything to say. Because they’d already said enough.

She curled into him like it was muscle memory. Head on his chest. Her leg over his. Like they’d done this before. Like it wasn’t brand new.

His hand moved along her back in slow, absent lines. Not thinking about it. Just needing the contact.

Silence held for a while. Heavy but not uncomfortable. Then he said it, soft. Quiet enough he almost hoped she didn’t hear it.

“Thank you.”

She stirred a little. “For what?”

He exhaled through his nose. The weight of it sat in his chest.

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

She didn’t say anything right away. Just brushed her fingers over his ribs. That little spot that always made him feel like his body wasn’t all his own anymore.

“I’m sorry it took me five years to get here,” he said, and his voice cracked a little.

Her voice didn’t break. Not even close. “You’re here now.”

He nodded once, barely.

Then he put his hand at the base of her spine and left it there. Holding her. Holding this.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

And he meant it.

* * *

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

Joe stood in his bedroom doorway with his coffee, watching Y/N get ready at his bathroom sink. A week of mornings like this—her stuff on his counter, their clothes mixed together in the hamper. It felt right.

He'd been thinking about this since their first night together. They couldn't keep sneaking around forever. This thing between them had become too important to hide. He was tired of pretending Y/N was just another employee.

"I'm sitting down with the front office today," Joe said, his tone casual but decisive. "To tell them about us."

Y/N's toothbrush stopped mid-stroke. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Joe saw the moment his words registered—surprise, then something close to panic.

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

"Eleven," Joe replied, taking a sip of coffee. He'd already run through this conversation in his mind, anticipated her concerns, prepared his responses. "Meeting with ownership, Kayla will probably be there, maybe legal."

Y/N whirled around to face him, and Joe could practically see her mind racing through the implications. "Joe! You can't just spring this on me! I haven't told Kayla yet!"

Joe set down his coffee, recognizing that Y/N's panic was legitimate even if he didn't share it. "I told you last week I was done hiding this. I meant it."

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

"Eleven."

Joe watched Y/N glance at her phone, saw her calculating the time she had to manage this situation. Her mind was already in crisis management mode, the same focused efficiency she brought to handling his media disasters.

"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."

Y/N pushed past him toward the bedroom, and Joe followed, recognizing that his casual approach to this announcement had created exactly the kind of professional complication he'd been trying to avoid.

"Y/N," he called after her, watching her pull clothes from his dresser with sharp, efficient movements. "It's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," Y/N said, her anxiety evident in every gesture. "This could mess up everything I've worked for. The timing, the optics, the fact that I just got promoted—"

Joe caught her hand, stopping her frantic preparation. He'd miscalculated this moment, had been so focused on his own readiness to go public that he hadn't fully considered Y/N's need to control the narrative around her career.

"Hey. Look at me."

Y/N met his eyes, and Joe saw the fear there—not of their relationship, but of the professional implications she'd been carefully managing since her promotion.

"I've thought this through," he said quietly, meaning it completely. "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."

The moment Y/N said it, Joe realized his mistake. He'd been thinking about this from his own perspective—his timeline, his readiness, his need to stop hiding. But Y/N was right about the optics. The order of these conversations mattered.

"Shit. You're right."

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

Joe watched Y/N text with practiced efficiency, coordinating an emergency meeting while simultaneously getting dressed and mentally preparing for a conversation that could affect her entire career trajectory.

"This is going to be a disaster," Y/N muttered, checking her reflection in his mirror.

Joe moved to block her path to the door, recognizing that his casual confidence wasn't helping her anxiety. "It's not. Y/N, stop panicking."

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

Joe kissed her, cutting off her spiraling thoughts with the kind of direct action that had always worked between them. When they broke apart, he saw some of the tension ease from her shoulders.

"Better?" he asked.

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

"There's no damage to control," Joe said firmly, meaning it completely. He'd run through every possible scenario, every potential complication. "We're adults in a relationship. We're both good at our jobs. Everything else is just logistics."

Y/N stared at him with something between admiration and frustration. "I wish I had your confidence about this."

Joe opened the front door for her, his voice gentle but certain. "You don't need confidence. 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, his protective instincts engaging. "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's expression softened slightly 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."

As Y/N walked toward her car, Joe felt a mix of anticipation and determination. He'd made his decision about going public, and while the timing had created temporary stress for Y/N, he knew it was the right choice. They'd been careful long enough. It was time to stop hiding.

10:58 AM - Before the Meeting

Joe walked into the conference room the same way he approached playoff games—confident, prepared. He'd spent the morning thinking through what he'd say, what questions might come up. The ownership group was already there—Mike Brown, Katie Blackburn, the executives, and Kayla. Good. Y/N had talked to her. This wasn't about asking permission. This was about telling them what was happening. His relationship with Y/N was serious, and they needed to know.

"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 as their franchise quarterback.

"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 brief silence that followed was exactly what Joe had expected. He could read the room like he read defensive coverage—surprise shifting to calculation, executives processing implications and potential complications.

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 recently." 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."

Joe let that statement settle, making direct eye contact with each person at the table. Not defensive—just establishing facts that couldn't be disputed.

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

"It could," Joe agreed, his tone remaining conversational. "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 paused, choosing his next words carefully. He wanted to be respectful but also clear about his position. "I 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 but carrying unmistakable weight.

"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 had made his position clear without raising his voice or changing his expression.

"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 not tense—just thoughtful. Joe had made his point without being confrontational, had protected Y/N's reputation while establishing clear boundaries.

"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."

The meeting proceeded smoothly from there, covering practical considerations and establishing clear guidelines. When it concluded, Joe felt satisfied with the outcome. He'd protected Y/N's reputation, established his position, and set the tone for how their relationship would be handled moving forward. As he walked out of the conference room, Joe checked his phone and found a text from Y/N asking how it went. He smiled, typing back quickly:

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

For the first time in months, Joe felt completely free. No more careful scheduling, no more stolen moments, no more pretending that Y/N wasn't the most important thing in his life. They could finally be together openly, honestly, without the weight of secrecy.

It felt exactly right.

* * *

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

Joe walked through the facility feeling lighter than he had in months. The meeting had gone exactly like he'd expected—straightforward, professional. Five years of good work meant they respected his judgment. No drama, no complications. He went straight to Y/N's office. Felt good to just walk there without timing it perfectly or making up some excuse. When he knocked and went in, closing the door behind him, it was simple—he wanted to see her.

"Got a minute?" he asked, taking in Y/N's expression of barely contained anxiety.

Y/N practically launched herself out of her chair, and Joe felt a flutter of amusement at her obvious stress. "How did it go? Seriously, be honest."

Joe's mouth curved into that subtle smile, the one that appeared when he was satisfied with an outcome he'd carefully orchestrated. "Exactly like I said it would."

"That's not details," Y/N said, moving closer with the kind of urgency that suggested she'd been catastrophizing every possible scenario for the past hour. "I need actual details. What did they say? How did they react? Are we in trouble?"

Joe reached for her hands, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers that betrayed her attempt at composure. "We're not in trouble. Y/N, breathe. It was fine. Better than fine."

"Define fine."

Joe pulled her closer, his hands settling at her waist in the kind of casual intimacy they could now display without worry. "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 with the same intensity she brought to analyzing game footage, 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. He'd handled the meeting with the same strategic precision he brought to reading defenses, but Y/N didn't need to know about the subtle power dynamics he'd navigated to protect her position.

"They needed to understand that questioning your qualifications or suggesting your promotion was connected to us would be... problematic."

Y/N's eyes widened, and Joe saw the moment she understood what he'd actually done in that conference room. "Joe, what did you say?"

"Nothing dramatic," he replied, though he could see Y/N wasn't buying his casual dismissal. "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, his voice dropping to match the seriousness of what he was telling her. "Without being dramatic about it. Just made sure everyone understood where things stand."

Y/N's expression shifted, surprise giving way to something that looked like overwhelming gratitude. Joe felt a surge of satisfaction at having handled the situation exactly as he'd intended—no drama, no ultimatums, just clear communication of his position and the consequences of questioning it.

"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 in a gesture that felt both tender and possessive. This was exactly why he'd been confident—not because he was naive about potential complications, but because he'd understood the dynamics at play and his own value within the organization.

"Because I did know. Y/N, I'm the franchise quarterback and you're incredibly good at your job. We're both adults. There was never any real question about how this would go."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," Joe said, leaning down to kiss her softly. The kiss felt different now—not stolen or careful, but open and honest. "Everything else was just noise."

When they broke apart, Y/N rested her forehead against his, and Joe felt the tension finally leave her body. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. Like, officially doing this."

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

The relief was immediate and overwhelming. Months of careful management, of stolen glances and manufactured professional distance, were finally over. He could touch Y/N when he wanted to, could look at her without calculating who might be watching, could stop performing careful indifference when what he felt was anything but indifferent.

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

"Definitely no more storage room meetings," Joe agreed, though his expression grew slightly nostalgic. "Though I have to admit, there was something exciting about the secrecy."

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

Joe's expression grew more serious as he considered what he would and wouldn't miss about their careful navigation of professional boundaries. "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 own voice surprised him. Joe hadn't fully realized how much Y/N's careful self-protection had affected him until he was able to articulate its absence. Watching her constrain herself professionally because of their relationship had been more painful than maintaining his own careful boundaries.

"It is important."

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

Y/N's phone buzzed, breaking the intimate bubble they'd created. Joe watched her glance at the message, saw her expression shift to something like amused resignation.

"Sam," Y/N explained, showing him the screen. "She's been suspicious for weeks. She's going to lose her mind when I tell her."

"Good," Joe said, kissing her forehead with genuine satisfaction. "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 was deliberate and unapologetic. Joe had spent months carefully managing his feelings, restraining his natural inclination to claim what mattered to him. No more restraint, no more careful distance.

"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.

This kiss was different from their earlier exchange—deeper, more certain, carrying the weight of finally being able to be honest about what they meant to each other. When they broke apart, Joe felt settled in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

"So what happens now?"

"Now we go back to work," Y/N said practically, and Joe appreciated her ability to compartmentalize even in moments of emotional significance. "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. The casual assumption that he'd come to her place, that they'd spend the evening together, felt like the most natural thing in the world. "I like the sound of that."

"Good," Y/N said, reaching up to straighten his quarter-zip in a gesture that was both unnecessary and deeply intimate. "Because I have about five years of not being able to touch you in public to make up for."

The promise in her voice sent heat through Joe's chest. Five years of careful professional distance, of managing attraction and suppressing the desire to touch her, were finally over. Tonight, and every night going forward, he could stop pretending Y/N wasn't exactly where he wanted to be.

Joe kissed her once more—quick but thorough, a promise of more to come—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. Everything else is just logistics."

As Joe left Y/N's office, he felt a completeness he hadn't experienced since before their relationship began. No more careful scheduling, no more manufactured reasons to be in the same room, no more pretending that Y/N wasn't the most important thing in his life.

For the first time in months, Joe Burrow could just be himself—franchise quarterback, sure, but also a man completely in love with a woman who'd finally stopped having to hide it.

Walking through the facility corridors, Joe nodded to colleagues with the same professional courtesy he'd always maintained. But now, when people looked at him, they'd see someone who'd chosen transparency over convenience, who'd prioritized honesty over ease.

They'd see a man who'd found something worth protecting and had protected it exactly the way it deserved.

And Joe had never felt more like himself than he did in that moment, walking through his workplace knowing that Y/N was somewhere in the same building, officially and openly his.

* * *

July 15, 2025 - Training Camp Begins

Joe arrived at the facility early for the first day of training camp, his usual routine unchanged despite everything that had shifted over the past six months. The summer air was thick with humidity and the promise of another season ahead. It had been six months since his meeting with ownership, six months of being openly together with Y/N, 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. Joe parked in his usual spot and noticed Y/N's car a few spaces over. No more careful timing of arrivals, no more pretending they didn't coordinate their schedules.

Walking through the facility corridors, Joe noticed the differences immediately. Staff members who used to give him polite professional nods now smiled with something warmer. They knew about Y/N now, knew she was part of his life in a way that went beyond work.

"Morning, Joe!" called out one of the equipment managers. "Your lucky practice jersey's ready. Tell Y/N I said hello."

Joe nodded, appreciating how naturally Y/N had been incorporated into the team's understanding of who he was. She wasn't just the VP of Digital Media anymore—she was his girlfriend, part of his world in a way that felt right. The locker room was buzzing with the energy of a new season starting. Players catching up after the off-season, coaches reviewing practice plans, the familiar rhythm of football preparation that Joe had missed.

"Look who's back," Ja'Marr said, appearing beside Joe's locker. "How's it feel to be Cincinnati's most private power couple?"

"Like we're doing it right," Joe replied, pulling his practice gear from his locker. "Y/N's not built for a spotlight on her personal life."

"No kidding. You give one-word answers about her in interviews and somehow still make it clear you're completely gone."

Joe felt himself smile slightly. "I protect what matters to me."

"Including her," Ja'Marr said with obvious approval. "It's actually really sweet how you handle it. And can I just say, it's about damn time you two stopped pretending."

"We weren't pretending, we were being professional."

"Man, you were torturing yourselves," Ja'Marr said with a laugh. "The whole team could see it. You've been different since y'all got together—more focused, less uptight. Whatever she's doing, tell her to keep doing it."

Before Joe could respond, Coach Taylor's voice echoed through the locker room, calling for the first team meeting of training camp.

As Joe headed toward the meeting room, he pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to Y/N.

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

Her response came quickly.

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, after the team meeting but before practice started, Joe found himself walking toward the media offices. Not because he had to—no scheduled interviews or content shoots—but because he wanted to see Y/N in her element here, at the place where they'd built their foundation over five years. He knocked on her office door and stepped inside, closing it behind him out of habit more than necessity.

"Got a minute?" he asked.

"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. This building held five years of their history—every careful conversation, every stolen moment, every time he'd requested her specifically for his media needs because he trusted her judgment completely. "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."

Joe kissed her then—brief but thorough—marveling at how natural it felt to be affectionate with her here, in her office, without calculating who might see or what conclusions they might draw.

"Go get ready for practice," Y/N 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. The words came easily now, after months of being able to say them openly.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you. See you at lunch."

"Love you too," she replied, and Joe felt that familiar satisfaction at hearing her say it back so easily, so certainly.

Walking back toward the practice facility, Joe felt a completeness he'd never experienced here before. For five years, he'd been excellent at his job while carefully managing his feelings for Y/N. Now he could be excellent at his job while being completely himself.

As he changed into practice gear, Joe looked out the windows toward the practice field. For the first time in five years, Y/N could watch him work without having to hide how much she cared about him, both as a player and as a person.

And Joe could perform knowing that the woman who'd documented his entire NFL career was there not just because it was her job, but because she'd chosen to be part of his life in every way that mattered. The first practice of training camp was about to begin, and Joe Burrow had never felt more ready for a season to start.

[sortagaysortahigh]

Through Time 2016. | James 'Bucky' Barnes

Series Masterlist. (this is part 3)

A/N: OH MY GOD!!!!! ok guys im ngl, this was one of my favorite parts of this fic thus far. I hope you like it </3. Once again, everyone say thank you to @anxietyandtacos and @love-chx for dealing with me and reading/rereading my drafts <3 Follows canon events, but is not fully canon compliant.

Summary: Seeing Bucky as The Winter Soldier was heartbreaking, but you knew he was still there, and you'd agreed to go on a search for him with Steve. Although, finding him ushered in a whole new world of problems.

Warnings: 2nd person POV, Use of Y/N (not often but IM SORRY OK), angsty, spelling and grammar errors, cursing, Racial themes/Mentions of racism, hydra trauma for my shaylas </3, straight up violence, no smut sorry guys i couldnt be that depraved here </3

Word Count: 4.8k

Bucky Barnes x WOC!Reader (Reader has vague descriptions, but it is noted that she is a woman of color!!!! Which is an important plot point!)

Once again, the things I have to say are far from appropriate!

2016 Europe

Following the events of Ultron’s uprising and the aftermath of Sokovia, you had learned several things. The first is that highly intelligent artificial intelligence is not something to take lightly, especially when it shows signs of self-awareness, a hatred for its maker, and a God complex. 

The second was that you were actually now considered to be something similar to a super soldier. Tony Stark had run several tests on you, and he was able to pull the records of your experiments, followed by the original serum, and when he gave you access to his lab, you were able to cross compare your DNA strands with Steve’s and pull the molecular differences pertaining to the serum injections.

But there was something else, it wasn’t exactly gamma radiation, but it was some form of radiation that had been condensed and reworked, as if the particles themselves were from another planet or universe—turns out they were. While Hydra was working to find the Tesseract, they’d come very close with several different particles and traces from it.

They’d used those for the serum flooding your body. Hence the whole ‘being bulletproof’. 

You were stronger and faster than ever before, except you hadn’t grown in size like Steve, no the changes were much more subtle. It even held influence in how your mind moved, how you processed information, and somehow Hydra had managed to rewire bits and pieces of your brain.

It was clear they were in the beginning stages of making you into a weapon similar to Bucky. But they hadn’t gotten the chance to finish. 

The third thing you learned was that mutants and magic existed, which sure you had your suspicions based on mythology, but meeting Wanda Maximoff and her now deceased brother Pietro only emphasized that. Plus Bruce Banner—who’d go from being a normal man to a giant green Hulk. 

You’d also met more than one God, which wasn’t all that shocking, Thor Odinson was a sweetheart, which might’ve been what made the introduction a bit more manageable.

The final thing you’d learned throughout the entire process was that you did not want to be a hero. You wanted to be a Doctor and a scientist, which you were—but they’d ushered you into their world and somehow you fit right in. 

The most current issue revolved around the Sokovia Accords, there was a constant fight internally with the Avengers over the accords. In your personal opinion, the Accords were a terrible idea, the government was never known for truly caring about anyone’s well being, a team of people who were meant to help the general public signing off on something like this—it was catastrophic.

Tony Stark was obnoxious, you much preferred Howard. Tony’s biggest issues were his need to be right all the time and his ability to be guilt tripped over the mistakes from his past, hence his entire obsession with signing the Accords.

In wars and battles there were casualties, you knew that better than anyone else.

You never had any vocal opinions, Stark had tried to give you shit countless times over your siding with Steve. Out of everyone in the group, Steve was still the most ethical and moral, although he did have his qualms and his problems.

One of those problems was never being able to get over Peggy Carter. 

You loved Peggy like a sister, but you knew she wanted Steve to live his life, not dwell on the past. He never could though, not while she was still alive. Her funeral was depressing and sad in a large cathedral in London with a choir that she would’ve poked fun at decades ago. 

At the funeral, you sat directly beside Sam who sat next to Steve. You cried, admittedly. She was your friend, she’d given you opportunities that weren’t imaginable in the forties, and seeing her photo framed surrounded by flowers and an empty casket hurt.

But you knew Peggy wanted you to live in the moment. She’d told you that when Steve had finally taken you to see her. The first thing you did was tell her how elderly she’d gotten, the both of you sharing a very familiar laugh. She’d told you to keep looking for James, told you that you still had time, and that there was still a happy ending somewhere for you.

You wanted to believe her, you truly did.

But what was left to believe. Not when you’d been on this wild goose hunt with Steve for two years, only finding the ghosts of your past instead. 

That was until Vienna, until Sharon Carter had given everyone the news that he was real—that Barnes was still alive chasing the ghosts of his own past. However, several government agencies had orders to shoot on sight. It was a saddening fact, and it made your heart hurt.

The last time you’d seen Bucky was in 1945, the real Bucky. 

Then two years ago you’d seen remnants of that man, and now, now you were in Bucharest of all places. Steve had found where he’d been staying, you didn’t want to go with him. 

But Steve Rogers had a way with words, he’d managed to convince you to go to the rundown apartment space. Now you stood in the middle of it all, each and every window was covered in newspapers, scattered folders around, dishes here and there, a few open bags of food, and it smelled like burnt cigarettes.

He didn’t have a real bed—just a pile of blankets and a pillow on the floor. 

You leaned your forehead against the wall, the torn wallpaper making your skin itch a bit. Then you sniffled, jaw clenched as you shut your eyes, fighting the tears that were always on the verge of spilling. 

This was a mission, you were in your usual all black tactical suit, thigh holsters with knives and pistols while a modified assault rifle with a sniper scope was slung lazily over your back. The boots on your feet suddenly felt too small, the suit too restricting, as if you couldn’t breathe.

Then you heard the footsteps, and you reacted faster than anticipated, pistol now in your hand as you faced him—Bucky.

Your hands shook. Steve immediately turned, and as he spoke to Bucky you now realized he wasn’t the Winter Soldier, it was some form of him—some form of the man you loved. He didn’t remember everything, but he knew you and Steve, you could see it in his eyes.

Then again, you’d seen it in his eyes when he tried to kill you.

“Doc—Doc!” you blinked a few times, now registering Steve’s voice, glancing over at him, then lowering your gun, sliding it back into its holster with a nod. 

“Sorry—shit. I can’t do this—” then your comms went off, Sam notifying you of how close the German special forces unit was. Then Sam was announcing the breach, a smoke grenade came through the window and Steve covered it with the shield.

You were told specifically not to shoot, so you had to fight your way out of this one. 

Bucky and Steve were on the move, and you immediately realized this decision would impact your future for a long time.

Before you fully registered it, you were ducking and dodging hits left and right, disarming soldiers without a care in the world, smacking the butt of their shotguns against their faces—knocking them out. A few managed to land a couple of hits to you—it pissed you off.

You weren’t fully conscious of where Steve and Bucky were, not when you had five men trying to cage you in, you quietly mumbled ‘thank you Peggy and Nat’, before throwing yourself into a spin, leg out as you kicked two of them over. You managed to wrap your legs around one of their bodies, using him as a human shield before kicking off—shoving him into the other men like a human bowling ball.

Then there was the stairwell, you were mumbling a series of broken curse words while moving from guard to guard, punching and kicking your way out of things. Eventually when you were over it, you grasped onto one of them and jumped down the middle, using his body to help brace your fall.

“I’m so tired of this shit!” you shouted at Steve who was chasing after Bucky.

After another fifteen minutes of fighting and running—without shooting—you were arrested by the German police. Then, you find out there’s a guy in a cat costume that just happened to be the current Prince of Wakanda. It made sense that he was there considering the United Nations meeting where the Wakandan King—his father—was killed in a bombing less than a week ago, and the media had already pinned it on Barnes.

Rhodey shook his armored head at you and Sam, both of you being arrested as well. Except Sam had just been arrested—you were being pinned to the ground.

“Is this a joke? Seriously—get the hell off of me!” your voice was loud as you spoke, pushing yourself off of the ground, the arresting officer falling back into the crowd. Your jaw was clenched as you sat on your knees, approximately forty guns pointed directly at you. “Oh boo hoo, just shoot me then!”

Steve sighed, shaking his head. 

“Stand down Doctor!” you blinked a few times before squinting at Rhodey, scoffing while letting them cuff you. 

You found it unfair that Sam and Bucky got to ride with the Wakandan prince, meanwhile you were in a separate armored vehicle, still in handcuffs. They’d arrived first, Agent Ross already waiting with Sharon Carter.

Meanwhile you were still in cuffs, being pulled out of the truck by two officers.

“Get the hell off of me” you spoke in German, shrugging them away from you before pulling your wrists apart, ripping the cuffs off, ignoring their gasps and protests as you rubbed your sore skin. Everyone stared at you as you approached the group, your jaw clenched and patience running thin.

“Y’know, you were much sweeter in the 40s.” You nodded at Steve.

“I was also normal in the 40s, and in the middle of a war effort. Oh and I was in love! How cute huh? With him—” you motioned towards the large high-security transport box they’d locked Bucky in. One singular manicured finger in his direction while you stared straight at Steve, gaze shifting to Sam, then to T’Challa and Agent Ross.

“Now if I’m being marked as an enemy of the state, I’d like to know about it Agent Ross.” 

After about two hours of being lectured by Tony Stark and Agent Ross, you’d come to the conclusion that you were now technically on house arrest, all of your gear had been suspended as it was technically U.S. property. 

You sat in the briefing room, eyes on the screens, watching as Bucky was questioned. Held in place like a caged animal. The man across from him stated Bucky’s full name, he clenched his jaw before taking a deep breath.

“My name’s Bucky—” he paused, looking directly at the camera “—and I want to talk to Doc.” 

Your eyes widened, everyone turned to look at you, then everything went dark. Power flickering on and off for a few seconds, only a few red emergency lights in the room now. 

Somewhere in the commotion you’d been knocked down, and as you scrambled to get back up, everyone was already out of the room. So you followed suit, or rather you ran the opposite way that everyone else was headed. Eventually you’d stumbled upon a sinking helicopter. Steve holding Bucky’s unconscious body up in the water.

The abandoned workshop close to the water would do. You managed to track down Sam, sending him your exact coordinates while Steve trapped Bucky in place by pinning his arm down. 

Bucky woke up less than an hour later, finally regaining consciousness as the four of you were hiding out.

You leaned against the large garage door frame, arms crossed in front of your chest as Sam let Steve know that Bucky was awake. He was quiet as he sat there—looking directly at you. You didn’t know which Bucky this was, and your heart couldn’t handle asking. Not now at least.

“Which Bucky are we talking to?” Steve hesitated as he asked, brows knit together as he waited for a response.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah—you used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” he laughed as he spoke, shaking his head a bit. Then he looked directly at you again “Doc, I missed you—thought I’d never see you again. Guess we made it to the other side after all?” 

You took a few steps back, brows knit together, eyes wide, the sincerity in his voice had hit you right in the heart. You stumbled into Sam, who steadied you by the shoulders. You nodded at him, a silent thank you.

“Can’t read that in a museum.” Steve’s voice went in one ear and out of the other, you couldn’t focus properly, not when you’d finally found Bucky—he actually remembered. 

“You still wear the locket I got you Doc?”

Your hand instinctively went to your neck, two fingers slipping below the collar of your shirt feeling the chain beneath them.

You felt the familiar sting of tears as he spoke, your eyes trailing his figure as he hunched over slightly, looking at you with a split lip and those icy blue eyes that you’d fallen in love with so many years ago. The eyes that you’d mourned, the eyes that you’d grieved. 

“Shut the hell up.” Your voice was shaky, eyes directly on his. 

Steve could practically sense your hesitation, but he knew there was nothing he could say to you that would convince you that this was Bucky—Your Bucky. Not after the whirlwind that had been the past two years, combined with the year following the end of the war.

“Your favorite color’s yellow and you’re afraid of clowns.” He spoke so softly, as if it was just you and him in the room.

“Stop it!” you shouted at him, now storming off, sniffling, wiping your tears away as you shook your head. This wasn’t happening, you’d waited for this moment, and now that it was here—you didn’t want it anymore. Or maybe you just weren’t ready to see him again, or for him to see you. 

This new version of you—who you became.

The three of them watched you walk off, Sam sighing, hands in his pockets as he shook his head. Bucky looked down at the ground, jaw clenched before looking back up at Steve. Meanwhile Steve looked torn between talking to Buck or chasing after you.

“Don’t you dare follow me Rogers!” your voice was loud, practically echoing off the empty walls of the abandoned auto shop. 

You needed a few minutes to sit and breathe, you knew more about the Winter Soldier program than both Steve and Sam, not because you had more access to current information, but because you’d stumbled upon the plans for it before Hydra had captured you. 

As you slid down the wall, you were lost in your own thoughts. You knew about their long term goals, about the way Hydra planned to make an army of killers to change history.

Clearly they’d succeeded enough.

Wait—they’d succeeded. So why would someone go out of their way to look for just Bucky. Your eyes widened, getting off of the ground where you’d been sitting, walking back over to them. 

The three men had been in the middle of a conversation, you completely interrupted them without a single care.

“Where’s the rest of the Winter Soldiers?” 

Bucky looked up at you, biting his bottom lip for a second before nodding “Siberia—where they held me.” 

“God damnit, can’t life get easier in the twenty-first century. Let’s go boys, Steve—help him up. Sam, call the blonde, we need our shit back. Barnes—the next time you shoot at me I’m taking you down.” 

It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. 

He nodded his head, the same lopsided smile that you’d missed so much was now on his face. 

It’d taken you twenty minutes to steal a car, the vehicle of choice wasn’t the best—but it was the most low profile. A small royal blue Volkswagen bug. You hot wired it, using a few of those ‘life skills’ that Clint had taught you last year. 

The sight of three bulky men in the small car was enough to make you laugh, opting to slide into the back row beside Bucky, your knees touching as Steve got into the front. The drive was relatively silent, your gaze held on the outside world passing by, while Bucky’s was stuck on you.

He leaned into your space slightly, voice low as he whispered “I never stopped thinking about you, y’know.” 

You shushed him, jaw clenched as you refused to meet his stare.

“You could at least acknowledge me, Sweetheart.” 

You now turned to face him, he was much closer than you’d expected but that didn’t stop you. “Hush, We have bigger issues to address right now than me and you. Now please, be quiet Barnes.” 

Sam stifled a laugh “damn, that was cold—even for you Doc.” 

When Steve finally parked you were quick to look forward, ignoring Sam and Bucky’s bickering while you watched Steve’s interaction with Sharon Carter.

“Y’know, I think it’s a little weird that she’s Peggy’s niece, but I guess Steve just has a type. It’d be worse if it was like, her granddaughter or something.” you spoke absentmindedly as you watched the interaction, leaning into Bucky’s space while trying to get a better view.

“Barnes, have you always been this huge? Wait—nevermind you have.”

Sam's brows shot up as he looked back at you “So that’s how you two used to get down?”

You shushed him, pointing forward, watching as Sharon pulled Steve in for a kiss. 

The three of you gave him encouraging smiles. 

Then it was go time, you had all of your things, and now you were meeting with Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, and Scott Lang in the airport parking garage. While Scott was introduced to everyone you focused on sifting through your gear, humming a tune before pulling off your sweatshirt.

Bucky’s brows raised as he watched you. You clearly hadn’t had a care in the world, then again, you’d always had a carefree nature to you, but when it counted, you were always there and attentive. He liked your new look, your hair was longer, and it was braided into two thick braids, a few hairs framing your face.

He noticed the necklace immediately, the locket resting along the swell of your chest. It made him smile—it’d been a while since he was genuinely smiling.

You were quick to pull on the black vest, rolling your shoulders back before fastening it and loading each pocket with your weapons of choice. Then you paused, glancing over at Steve. “Are we shooting today? Or not shooting?”

Clint laughed at you, smiling while nodding his head “still on the shooting or no shooting routine Doc?”

You shrugged, shooting him a quick wink. “It’s easier than asking if things are supposed to be lethal or nonlethal—besides, nonlethal could still mean shooting. I like to be more general about the simple things.”

Steve sighed, looking around the group. “Well, if we have to, we’re shooting.” 

You nodded, grabbing your pistols, slotting them into their holsters. Then you grabbed your closing your left eye, looking directly through the modified scope before nodding and sliding it over your shoulder. 

“If I go to prison after this, just know, I’m gonna be pissed, guys. Once again—I survived World War 2 as a regular person. Y’know sometimes I miss Howard, he was a lot more likable than Tony.”

Bucky’s brows knit together while he watched you, shaking his head slightly at your added commentary. Then you grabbed a few ammunition canisters, emptying one into the trunk directly, brows knit at the sight of the bullets. You picked one up, squinting before scoffing.

“Seriously? Stark messed with my bullets?” 

Sam shrugged, “well, to be fair, you shoot like Clint, I’d say bullets hurt worse than arrows.” 

Scott blinked a few times “wait—she’s not kidding guys? You survived a World War? You’re like twenty six aren’t you?! Wait—are you actually a Doctor? I thought they just called you Doc because you’re really smart and precise?”

You nodded your head at him “I got my doctorate in osteopathic medicine from Tuskegee University in 1940 at twenty-one. What can I say, I’ve always been an overachiever. Graduated from school early, skipped a few grades here and there—although I can say the education system then was a lot more simplified than it is now outside of the higher education graduate aspect.”

Scott was shocked but you’d just gone back to humming and arming yourself. 

The mission was supposed to be easy, you’d take a few rogue helicopters and fly to Siberia from Germany. The choppers were already waiting for you all, however, so was Tony Stark.

That led to a major battle sequence that you weren’t the biggest fan of. But you did enjoy being perched up high, taking shots. The hardest person to hit was T’Challa, his vibranium suit impenetrable—but the easiest person to hit was the spider-boy. 

You made sure not to shoot him with anything harmful. He was a kid after all. You’d switched for tranquilizing darts, hitting him with three which had him collapsing in seconds. Granted, based on his athletic ability and the information you’d seen on ‘Spider-man’ in Queens, you knew it was a temporary solution. 

Rhodey shot a missile in your direction. That pissed you off.

You’d rolled onto the airport hangar, a bit out of breath at the impact. Then you were up, grasping your rifle, watching Rhodey in the sky for a few seconds before taking your hit, the bullet hitting the back of his knee-the suit cracking slightly. The motion was distracting enough to have him down and out of the way.

You noticed Sam and Bucky on the ground then, both webbed up—the sight made you laugh.

“Seriously? A kid took you both down?” you laughed while cutting them loose. “Now please, go make yourselves useful.”

They both got up, but as you went to leave, Bucky grasped your forearm. You blinked a few times as he gently pulled you towards him.

“Now's not a good time for this Barnes.” he shushed you this time, the motion making you scoff. Then he was kissing you, lips against yours, one hand caressing your jaw before he pulled back.

“Had to do that one more time—if things don’t end well.” 

You were flustered, eyes wide as you stared, blinking a few times trying to snap yourself out of the lovestruck daze. Then you slapped his chest, shoving him back slightly. “Now is not the time Bucky!” With that, you were off, practically sprinting in the direction of the large broken window, then you jumped, landing on a broken car, pistols in hand, shooting directly at Tony—distracting him for a brief moment.

Sam looked over at Bucky, raising a single brow “what, you’re into grand romantic gestures?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes “Only for her.”

Everything passed by in a blur, you were doing your best to keep up, watching as Scott grew incredibly large, buildings were falling, people were crashing, and suddenly, you were being tackled to the ground by vision, your eyes wide as you struggled to catch your breath. He glanced back at you before flying off, leaving you down on the ground. 

Wanda helped you up, then she was clearing a path for Steve and Bucky, you easily followed suit, sliding between them and below the crashing buildings. 

Nat looked at you three, then she was shooting an electrified bullet between you and Bucky, hitting T’Challa directly.

You paused, looking at her, and she gave you a knowing nod.

Steve and Bucky both turned back as they approached the jet. You shook your head at them both. 

“I’m not going—besides who's gonna clean up this mess with Nat?” 

They both nodded at you. However, you were quick to run up to Bucky, grasping him by his vest before smashing your lips against his. The kiss was fast, but meaningful. Then you were shoving him away again. “You better not die, Bucky. I’m gonna be pissed.”

He smiled at you, giving you another quick peck, “See you on the other side Doc.” Then he was getting in the jet with Steve. 

“See you there, Sergeant.” Then you glanced at Steve, raising a brow “Don’t forget to break us out Cap.”

-

Everyone that had fought on Steve Roger’s side had been arrested and sent to the Raft. One of the most highly secured prison facilities in the northern hemisphere. There was no breaking out unless someone managed to break in first.

Steve had done the honors of breaking everyone out two months into the sentence. 

Of course you spent most of that time talking his ear off about him taking too long.

What you hadn’t expected was for Steve to bring you to Wakanda with him while everyone else waited in a safe house off grid. He’d tried using the excuse that King T’Challa wanted to meet you, as if you hadn’t already met in combat several times. But you had to admit, the city was beautiful—the technological advancements were amazing, and it was all so unreal.

Then you’d made it to one of their larger laboratory facilities, eyes scanning the room until they’d landed on Bucky, who sat slightly slouched over with his lopsided smile at the sight of you. He was in a thin white shirt, an IV line in his right arm while his metal arm was no longer there, just the shoulder implant.

His hair was a bit longer, beard still scruffy, but he looked calmer. 

“He’s going back under.” Steve motioned to the Cryo-freeze pod, you nodded your head at him.

“Temporarily?” Steve nodded before clearing his throat. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

Then you approached Bucky. His eyes hadn’t left your figure as the doctor excused himself.

“Heard you’re a jailbird now?” 

You laughed at his joke, shook your head, and smiled as you hugged him. He wrapped his right arm around your waist as yours wrapped around his shoulders. Your head rested on the metal of his shoulder briefly. “Something like that, gotta keep my resume updated y’know? Times changing and all that.” 

You were now standing between his parted legs while he nodded at you, hand still resting on your waist. 

“Peace is a good look on you Sergeant.” you traced a single finger along his bearded jawline before brushing a strand of hair out of his face. 

“Well Doc, let’s hope my time here makes that peace permanent.” His eyes searched yours for approval. Bucky missed you so much, it was hard, having you back and being able to fully remember you while knowing that he couldn’t have you back permanently. Not yet at least, not when he couldn’t control his own mind.

“You want me to wait for you?” you raised a brow.

Bucky laughed, nodding his head, then he glanced down at the same locket. “I think you’ve already been waiting, mind waiting a little longer?” 

You shook your head “I don’t mind at all. Besides, you still owe me a date in Brooklyn.” You leaned closer to him, resting your forehead against his. “Bucky, promise me you’ll be okay?” 

He kissed you softly. 

You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. You kissed him like it was the last time you’d ever see him—because honestly, deep down that’s how it felt. There was still a sense of dread when it came to losing Bucky, yet somehow, in this exact moment, he managed to reassure you that things would be alright.

“Dream about me when you’re in there Sergeant.”

He laughed “Doc, you should know that there’s not much dreaming that happens in there—but if by any chance at all I do dream, I hope it’s about you.”

You squeezed his right hand, before stepping back, motioning for Steve to walk over.

As they spoke, you nodded, glancing around the facilities—this was the kind of place that you wanted to be. Everything was so different, so new, there was so much opportunity here.

Then Bucky was standing, he squeezed your hand one last time before gently letting go, a doctor escorting him into the chamber. He shot you a quick wink and a smile as he got in. “I love you, Doc.” 

You nodded at thim, trying to fight your tears from falling. “I love you too, Buck.” 

Then his eyes were fluttering shut as the pod fully sealed, and the glass quickly frosted over.

-

Thanks for reading my lovers and honey bunches <3

Series Masterlist

[lovelyfantasia]

Only Science Can Explain It

Seth Brundle x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Who knew being stood up on date could lead you to reuniting with your favorite professor from college? With fate leading you two seeing each other again, you let fate decide what would become of you two by the end of the night.

WARNINGS: 18+, age gap (10 years), unprotected sex, professor trope (not his student anymore, but still)

NOTED: gender neutral bestie

A/N: This one has been collecting dust in my drafts for over a month. With the amount of times I've reread this and edited, it was time for it to see the light of day. This is my first, and certainly not my last, Seth Brundle imagine. Enjoy :)

WORDCOUNT: 5,585

<><><>

Late April of 1986. Cambridge, Massachusetts…

The sun was having no sympathy on your eyes as you walked from his car to your small bungalow home. Sunglasses were nowhere to be found and a headache was forming. 

A lack of sleep can do that to you, but you could care less. It was the first time in a long time where you found it completely worth it. Hell, you would do it all over again if you could. 

“Jesus, Y/N, I thought you died or something!” your roommate, Y/B/F/N exclaimed when you made your way into the home sheepishly. 

“I’m very much alive and somewhat dead, so there’s that.” You walk right past them to go to your room. After the physicality of last night you knew a shower was in order to freshen up. Though, you’re going to be upset washing the smell of him off your body. 

The grip of his hands on your hips are like ghosts for you; knowing it’s not there, but you can still feel that grasp. He was the last person you thought was going to be as rough as he was. But seeing his muscles bulge, his curls defining from sweat, his eyes blown out from the haze you had him in, you truly underestimated his clearly talented abilities. 

“So…where exactly were you?” your roommate made you jump as you yelped a little and turned to see them leaning up against your doorframe. Arms crossed with a smirk on their face, Y/B/F/N had a sneaky suspicion of how you enjoyed your night. 

You really weren’t sure about revealing the truth. Your roommate knew who he was, but you know their reaction is going to be priceless if you tell your tale. 

“Before I tell you the story I just want to say the person I was with totally isn’t my type. Just noting before I tell you who it is.”

“The fact that you have to preface this by saying that makes this more enticing,” you plant your face in your hands and let out an exhausted huff. “Now spill.”

One deep breath in, one good long exhale. 

“Do you remember our professor from the science department that we got a lot for classes? Professor Brundle- well, Seth Brundle?”

Their eyes lit up and walked into your room, now standing in front of your bed.

“Oh my God, yes! I truly still don’t know how he managed to pass me, but he adored you. He had his quirks, but he was the best.” 

You just stared at them. Just a smile on your face while you wait for the pieces to connect in their brain. For someone who has their bachelors in physics, common sense sometimes took a little bit to work. 

The eyes bug out of their head while the jaw drops. There it is. 

“NO-”

“Just hear me out, for the love of God!”

<><><>

Last night…

No way this was happening to you. You did not wear your good dress and got your hair done for you to be stood up on a date. Finance guys are the bane to womens’ existence and you were aware of that, but you had a sliver of hope this one was different. 

It’s been almost a full hour since your planned meet-up time at the popular restaurant/bar, Saoirse’s. 8 o’clock on a Friday and here you were, sitting at a bar where you used to come in your college days. With the Massachusetts Institute of Technology – or just M.I.T. – being an eight minute drive away from Saoirse’s it was a hot spot for students to invade on Saturday nights. 

The nostalgia of those days come back to you, but they’re only recent memories as you’re now almost a whole year post-grad. 23 with a full-time job at a research lab, still living with your college roommate in a small house you two are renting out, and trying to enjoy your 20s in the midst of going into the real world. 

Of course part of the stress is the attempt of making something of your love life. So far, not going too well. 

As you were about to chug your martini and leave, you saw a familiar man make his way up to the bar. His hair is now longer yet his style of suits stays the same. 

Professor Brundle, molecular physicists. 

He was your favorite professor. You two had the kind of relationship where you’d show up to his office hours to just chill out in one of the chairs and update him about your life. As time went on he grew comfortable sharing personal bits of his life to you. By senior year you had full access to his office, secretly giving you a key for when you needed alone time to destress while he wasn’t there. 

Seth knew there was something about you when it came to potential. He picked up right away that you weren’t all that afraid of challenges of what physics threw at you, but that your perfectionism could be the death of you. He would know because that was him. To save you from yourself, he paid you a bit more attention than others. His presence in your school life gave you balance to not let it all get to your sanity. 

Keeping in contact was supposed to happen, but never launched and you went your separate ways. 

“Professor Brundle?” Seth turns his head to your direction and sees you. Your off-the-shoulder dark maroon dress hugging you in all the right places, hair perfectly done, minimal makeup to showcase the beauty that speaks for itself. 

A smile slowly spreads on his face and he makes his way over to you. You hop off the tall bar chair to be able to envelope him in a hug. You forgot that there was quite a height difference, so Seth had to bend a bit. Even in your heels he still towered over you.

“How are you? How long has it been- almost a whole year? W-what are you doing here?” The shock was settling in that it really was you. 

His little secret is that he does miss seeing you. From in his classes when he’s teaching, your random appearances at his office, to walking together to his class since you were usually one of the first people to arrive. From time to time he’s debated with himself if it was a crush on you making him feel this way. He had your phone number for a whole year yet couldn’t bring himself to reach out to you. 

Now that you aren’t his student anymore, he doesn’t trust his heart on how it would feel to continue whatever bond was created. With you in front of him right now, looking the way you do, he was proving himself right. 

“I’m good! Got that position you helped me search high and low for, still living with Y/B/F/N on the outskirts of town. Ya know, just taking post-grad life one day at a time.”

“My goodness, that’s fantastic to hear. Are you expecting someone or just here alone? I know you’re one for your alone time.” you slightly blushed that he remembered such a small fact about you. What you didn’t know is that he remembered practically everything you told him about yourself. Personality characteristics, hobbies you enjoyed, interests, he clung onto every word. 

At the thought of you, Seth finds himself in a constant battle on convincing himself he never had nor will have feelings for you. 

“Well, I actually got stood up by some guy. He was supposed to be here an hour ago, but it’s whatever. It’s what I get for giving one of those douche-baggy finance types a chance.” What a fucking idiot, Seth thought to himself. If he was 23 again and got a chance with you, he would’ve hated himself if he managed to fuck it up. 

“Jeez, Y/N, I’m really sorry. Some guys just will never know a good thing when it’s in front of them, especially with someone like you.” You don’t know why his words are having such an affect on you, but the blushing comes back. Seth does notice your slight flustered demeanor and is devilishly applauding himself. 

“Are you here by yourself too?”

“Yeah. Late night at the school in my office. Finals are around the corner and I have to mentally prepare myself just as much as my students do. Well, you remember how it all goes.” you two exchange a small laugh. 

You were not about to waste this night away. Between how hot you felt and your old professor standing before you, your impulsiveness was wanting to get the best of you. 

“Would you like to get a table with me?” Seth is surprised that you asked, but can’t pass up this chance. The night was young and the universe just handed you to him on a silver platter. 

“Of course.”

<><><>

The crowd picks up after an hour passes. You stopped drinking for the night, wanting to be clear minded to catch up with Professor Brundle. The last thing you wanted was to be buzzed while talking about science with a man who’s well-known in his field for his work. 

Two waters and a plate of fries sit between you two as you go on about your cherished college memories, the good and ugly of late night studying and rowdy parties. 

“My party girl days are pretty much behind me. I now enjoy sipping and relaxing instead of chugging from a beer keg.” a hearty chuckle comes from the professor as he chews on a fry. With how well you kept your grades up, he was astonished to hear all this from you. You had people fooled that you didn’t have a life outside of your busy academic life and you were okay with that. The only expectations you had to meet were your own and that’s a rule of thumb you still stand by. 

While he went on about upcoming conventions he has to attend, you start to take him in. He took his blazer jacket off, leaving him in his white button down and gray slacks. To get more comfortable he took off his red tie and rolled up his sleeves. He did that while watching you talk about your job with a smirk on his face and it made your heart race quicken. That was a first for you in his presence.

When you were his student you knew there was no denying how handsome you thought he was. Developing full blown feelings, on the other hand, was useless to you. If you can’t act upon them, then you didn’t want them. Wasted brain space, you thought. If you were going to yearn for someone, you wanted to be able to make them yours.

But now things are completely different and he was yours for the taking. A part of you felt it was still wrong to try anything with him since he was your professor at one point. Fact of the matter is that you are no longer a student at M.I.T, no longer his student, and he was up for grabs.

You were not appreciating how your body and mind was betraying you while you observed him. The decision now was if you were going to give your senses that satisfaction. 

“No fucking shit,” you mumbled to yourself as your attention was caught by something much worse. Your date with an arm around another girl, shuffling their way through some people to get to the bar. You knew all too well that comparison is a killer of self confidence, but you couldn’t help it at the sight of the woman he had with him. 

“What’s wrong?”

“In a twist of events, my date is here with another woman.” Seth doesn’t even bother to see who the shit-head guy is. He was too busy looking at your face while you stared at the pair at the bar. It was breaking his heart seeing the look you had on your face.  

One thing about Seth is that when it comes to social skills with strangers he can be awkward at times. Right now, his anger is exceeding whatever issues he had with that. He has a terrible but hilarious idea of how to ruin that guy’s night and put a smile on your face. 

“Here, take my coat, meet me by the door.”

“Professor Brundle-”

“Trust me on this,” he stands in front of you and hands you his coat. With the both of you holding onto it, he smiles and looks into your eyes more than he should’ve. “And no more calling me Professor Brundle. You can call me Seth now,” he says and walks off. 

You don’t know why you found that so hot. All night since seeing him you’ve been trying to wrap your mind around why you’re finding your old professor so attractive to the point of seeing him as sexy. He’s not what you go for at all. You’ve never ventured with the more nerdy guys, especially older men at that. But this combo is leaving a new, sweet taste on your tongue that you could get used to. 

Your eyes spot Seth from the entrance door, talking to your date. You just hope he doesn’t embarrass you in any sort of way that could lead to making a scene. Whatever he said worked because the man looks flustered and trying to explain himself to the woman in front of him. She looks shocked and walks away from him in the opposite direction. 

“Okay, let’s get out of here!” Seth leads you out with his right hand on the small of your back. His touch left you feeling wanting more of it – everywhere else on your body. 

“What the hell did you say to him?”

“I may have pretended to know him and thanked him for an exquisite experience the other night at his place.” he mischievously smiles and you let out a cackle. Catching your breath from the laugh, you were about to open the door, but Seth beat you to it. 

“You think I’m going to let you open doors for yourself? C’mon now.” 

Jesus, guys your age you’ve encountered could never. Their chivalry has yet to kick in meanwhile Seth was as old school as they came. Unfortunately, the bar of expectations out of the men nowadays is dropping as the years roll by.

“Thank you,” a soft smirk is planted on your face while you look him in the eyes as you make your way into the car. “How’d you know that was going to work on them?” you ask him once he sits in the driver seat. 

“What I didn’t tell you is that I know of the woman he was with. One of my buddies in my department at the school, she’s his girlfriend’s friend. She is homophobic, I do not like her at all, so they got what was coming to them tonight since they both suck as people, clearly. And it’s perfect that I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even remember who I am.” He revs the engine on and you were ready to let him put his key in your ignition. 

“Oh, I meant to ask: did you want me to drop you off at your place? You’re more than welcomed to come back to my apartment too since we still have some catching up to do,” he rambled on. Not his best excuse to hide his feelings for not wanting this night to end. 

“We can go back to yours,” you say to his surprise. 

“Sounds like a plan.”

<><><>

His apartment was kind of out of the ordinary, but then again, Seth was an out of the ordinary person. The place matched him: half living space and half lab, organized but still somewhat chaotic, and cozy. 

It was a very open kind of space, but you put the pieces together that this technically wasn’t supposed to be a traditional apartment. He managed to turn what is supposed to be his lab into his apartment for the price of one. You started remembering that he has vaguely talked about this before and how bewildered you were when you found out. 

“Now how in the hell did you manage to get that piano up here?” 

“Don’t even get me started. It was a nightmare that almost landed me a broken toe,” you giggle and set your purse on the couch. “Would you like anything to drink? Water, wine, champagne I have yet to pop open?”

“Could I please have some water? No use for a perfectly good bottle of champagne to be popped when there’s nothing to celebrate.”

“We could celebrate this reunion, if we really wanted to find an excuse to have some,” he says as he hands you your water. Your hands brush and the both of you are trying to hold it together, even after such a miniscule touch. The same thought process crossed your minds’: popping the champagne can increase the chances of something happening, but you wouldn’t want to have it occur this way. Then again, self control exists. 

Yeah, you two are adults with self control that can keep this at bay. 

“Honestly, why not?” Seth widely smiles at you, then goes to get two cups of champagne. 

A few cups and some scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream later, you two weren’t able to shut up. Various topics were discussed, geeking out on science, him explaining his teleportation ideas, the night was never ending for you two. 

His fingers work their magic with playing beautiful music on his piano. Your arm is resting atop of it with your chin on your palm, watching him. 

“Physics and piano skills, who knew?” he snorts a bit from your comment and gestures with his eyes for you to come sit next to him on the bench. You obeyed and realized how close you sat next to him until you felt your legs brushing up against each other. His cologne warps your mind for the second time that night. 

Like you thought, you have self control and this man was just your professor a year ago. 

“Do you know how to play?”

“Oh, it’s been awhile for me.”

“Let’s see that muscle memory, then,” and you start playing some keys while he’s going at it too. It sounds jumbled, but also good at the same time. It makes you giggle, this whole moment. Honestly, you felt that it was quite sweet and endearing. You two are just adults rekindling a bond that you thought you would never get to endure again with him. 

Your left hand moves on top of his right one as you two were reaching for the same keys. His skin was at the level of flower petal softness. Your mind brings that to a whole other dimension you never thought it would go when it came to Professor Brundle. The wonder of how those soft hands would feel on your bare skin. 

“Oh- I’m sorry,” you say and retreat your hand towards yourself. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was the pent up denial he had, but whatever it was possessed Seth to grab that same hand and bring to his lips for a kiss. 

Your heart fell in the pit of your stomach. It’s almost as if you could hear the impact of the fall.

Before you knew it, you both were leaning into each other. Self control was banging on the wall of your brain, but that little voice was muffled out. 

It went silent once Seth’s lips were on yours. 

Never has a kiss felt so wrong and right simultaneously before. It felt like every satisfying little thing coming together that can bring a smile to your face. The pop of a champagne bottle on New Years Eve. The first firework to hit the sky on the Fourth of July. The sight of the first snowfall during Winter. 

You would’ve taken him on that bench at that moment if you could. Of course, the reality was the opposite. 

You were the one to pull away, not being able to look him in the eye after what just occurred. That little voice was coming in loud and clear now. 

“I should probably get going home.”

Seth was ready to admit defeat. Wave his white flag and accept that he only got a kiss. It proved everything he was pushing away since last year and he knew it was going to drive him crazy from now on.  

Sometimes craziness can drive a person to confidence that they never knew they had. 

“You’re more than welcome to stay. And before you say anything: you can borrow my clothes to sleep in and I will gladly take the couch. Plus, who wants to take a taxi at this hour anyway?” You give him a look and he puts his hands up in defense. “I swear, this is out of pure intentions despite what we just did.”

You couldn't help but to believe him. You could just see it in his face because it was the same energy he gave you when handing you over the duplicate key to his office. Being this trusting of a man was never part of you, but Seth was the only exception. 

“Fine, you win. I request a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxers, though.”

“Making my palace yours already?” He cracks a smile and gets up from the bench. You follow him into his bedroom area, his bed made and looking divinely comfy for you to slip in. “Here you go. One baggy top and a pair of boxers. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” you nod and feel the heat in your neck surface from the eye contact you had with him. 

A good hour or so has passed. The place is completely dark except for the lighting shining through his windows. The ceiling has become the best place for you to stare at as you’re trying to sleep. Nothing is working – for the both of you. That kiss reigns over your thoughts’ with an iron grip. 

As expected, this led to the never ending list of questions while also pondering what exactly would’ve happened if you never broke away from the kiss. 

You were ready to find out what the night would’ve looked like if you didn’t pull away. 

You sprang out of the bed and turned the corner to go to the couch, but come face first into Seth’s chest. Before you could stumble backwards, he catches you by your waist. 

“Well hello to you too,” he says with a laugh. His hair was more curly and tad messier from the pillow he was laying on. The only thing he had on was pajama bottoms, no shirt covering his toned upper body. You had no idea what he was hiding under those suits after all these years. 

You didn’t know what to say or how to explain what you were feeling towards him. Words fell short, but you reaching up to grab his face and kissing him said everything you needed to get out. 

Seth got the memo real quick and started walking you backwards towards his bed without breaking the kiss. You fall back onto the bed, making yourself comfortable as you watch him climb over you. God, if only college you would be a fly on the wall right now. 

His head was spinning. He was focusing on you intently while trying to grasp that this was happening. You both could read each other; a cocktail of nervousness and neediness radiating. 

You connect to his lips once again, then take off the white t-shirt he let you borrow. If he was in awe of you in the dress you were wearing, then he was in heaven seeing you almost naked. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N,” he whispers, causing you to blush. 

“Like what you see?”

“How about I show you just how much I like it,” he dives back in,  going for your neck. Your fingers find their way to his hair, running them through it and tugging on it when he gets a little rough. 

His mouth trails a line of kisses from your jaw all the way down to your breasts. Seth knew not to rush his work as the outcomes never came out the way he wanted it to. Taking his time to get it just right was his forte. He was doing exactly that to your body all with his lips, now peppering kisses on your breasts, licking your nipples, and feeling up your clothed sex to build you up right where he wants you. He was starting to feel your wetness through the cotton of the boxers, a low groan escaping him at the touch. 

“Seth, this all feels fucking fantastic, but I’m losing it over here.” he looks up at your a smirk.  He’s turned into a totally different person before you.

“And what exactly do you want? I need words, baby. Can’t give you what you need without the proper instructions,” and he goes back to sucking on your nipple. Your fingers tighten their grip on his hair as you arch your back from the pleasure ripping through you. 

“I-I need you, please.”

“But you already have me-”

“Oh, you know what I mean! Fuck me!” your sexual frustrations got the best of you – as well as his obvious teasing. 

“My goodness, Y/N, you could’ve just said that,” Seth says in a mocking tone. 

He slides the boxers you were wearing down your smooth legs, having you completely naked in front of him. He’s been with gorgeous women, no doubt about that, but you just became the pinnacle of a Goddess for him. 

You left him speechless. 

His trance was broken when he felt your hands grabbing at his waistband, pulling them down. His hardened cock sprang out and your eyebrows shot up real quick. You always heard the jokes that the nerdy ones have the packages, but you weren’t a firm believer. Until now.

“Like what you see?” he asked you in a husky tone, his eyes set on yours. That sweet but serious professor you once had is temporarily dead. If this is how he is all the time in bed, you weren’t giving him up that easily. 

“Fuck yes,” and the kissing resumed, harder and rougher this time. He even bites on your bottom lip and tugs on it a bit. You were just about ready to explode. 

Right when he could feel where he needed to be, he pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch of him. 

The ecstasy was revving up for the both of you, the want of going animalistic on each other bubbling to the surface. Each thrust Seth did, the more feral you felt yourself getting. You understood why he was being somewhat gentle, not wanting to escalate things too quickly. 

It was when he was quickening his pace that your nails had a mind of their own, scratching down his back. You knew for sure that was going to leave marks in the morning. 

“Seth, yes, yes- oh my fuck!-” he kept a hard, steady pace that was sending your eyes in the back of your head. This was sheet gripping, profanity screaming, nail scratching sex that you’ve been searching for since the first time you ever experienced it. 

He stops and flips you two, you being on top of him now. You weren’t stopping what you started and started to ride him. To get that itch from this position, you go into a squat with your feet planted on the bed. 

The light bulb went off in Seth’s brain and he makes you lift yourself a bit, then mercilessly pounds into you. The sound alone make you dizzy, but seeing the look on his face, watching himself fuck into you makes you about to snap. 

“Baby, I’m close,” you cry out, but that just fuels him to keep going. 

“You really want to come? Get those fingers down there for me, will you?” without hesitation you slip your middle finger on your very wet clit and start rubbing it. 

It didn’t take long until your orgasm hit you, your moans heightened to almost a scream. Seth was slick with sweat, but he couldn’t stop now that you were screaming his name over and over, sounding heavenly to his ears with an angel on top of him. 

He stops and lets you go back to riding him like you were. Seth sits up and starts guiding your grind by his hands on your ass. Your high is still cascading over your body, still wanting more. You place your hands on the sides of his face and make him look up at you in the eyes. 

You’re going to be mine, you thought to yourself with his hazel eyes setting you on fire. 

Between the sloppy kissing and you picking up your pace, Seth was ready to bust. 

“C’mon, professor, I know you want to come for me.” 

That little nickname was what sent him over the edge. He knew exactly what you were doing, using that out of all things to push the buttons of his twisted fantasy. Wet dreams have occurred, ones where he wasn’t proud of since you were the star of them. They started for him right before your graduation and it was that little nickname that would roll off your lips. 

Hearing it in front of him, from you of all people, had his cock twitch inside you. His grip on your ass tightened – definitely going to leave slight bruising by the morning – as he was releasing. The moans were becoming uncontrollable and he even slapped your ass from the heightened pleasure he’s felt for the first time in forever.

Seeing the state he was in, needing to hold onto you for dear life while you felt his cock twitch from coming stroked your ego a tad. Such a dominant lover turned pathetic for you was so appetizing to you. 

You climb off him and plop down on the bed, your head hitting the perfect spot on the pillow. It seemed to you your restlessness was cured. 

“Where are you going?” Seth goes to his bathroom and comes back with a small damp rag to clean you up with. 

“I am a gentleman before an animal in the sack,” and you cackle out a laugh, then he goes to help clean you up a bit. Him seeing his cum drip out of you was fuel for his cock to harden in the next five minutes. He was just praying you were wanting another round. 

You didn’t even want to know what time it was. It didn’t matter though because you were willing to fuck him until you knocked out. 

“Round two?” you asked, filling the silence of the room. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” and you laugh into the sweet, all consuming kiss he gives you. 

<><><>

Present day…

Y/B/F/N’s jaw was on the floor while their hands were covering their mouth. They were in utter shock and you just sat there, slightly disassociating at the memories of the night before.

“Do not tell me you’re having sex flashbacks in front of me right now!”

“Huh- No! Anyway, yes, it happened. Yes, it was life changing sex…and yes, I indeed fucked my old professor. Did I mention he’s 34?” and now their eyes bugged out of their head. 

They looked at you with the “okay, what happened next?” face. 

“That’s it? Nothing in the works?”

“Well-” then the phone started ringing. “Ugh, fuck, let me get that,” and you trot to the phone on the wall near the kitchen. “Hello, Y/N speaking.”

“So you did give me the right number.” His voice sends chills down your spine in such a way that you want to lean against the wall and slide down. 

“You thought I was going to give you a fake? I see how you think of me now, Brundle and I’m offended.” You can feel the cartoon hearts pop above your head after hearing his hearty laugh. He’s quickly turning you into a mush and you only spent one night with him.

“I was actually calling to see if I can take you on a proper date. We can do whatever you want, no issue, sweetheart.” you turn your head to see your roommate silently cheering you on, knowing you were on the phone with him. 

“If I really have the choice, then what I would want to do would keep us cooped up in your apartment.”

“Easy there, tiger. You’ll be getting your fixins’, don’t you worry about a thing.” you could’ve screamed from the flirtiness alone. You’re too happy and pleased that you got to unlock this side of a man who used to show his introvertedness in front of you. 

“Okay, okay, fine. We can take this slow, nothing too nice yet. Want to kick it old school and have a lunch date in your office? For old times sake?” Seth was silently celebrating while his voice gave a cool, calm, and collected answer. 

“It’s a date.”

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

[As usual I can't write about this show, so once again these are just thoughts, that I have been writing, leaving in my drafts, deleting a bit, writing some more, and so on. ]

Tis better to have loved and lost?

So, this cliché, of all things, is what's been on my mind since I finished LITBC. I hate this quote. It's not important why right now, I just do. But put it another way. Are things only good if they last? Is the joy, the love and the happiness somehow erased if it doesn't last forever? This is what has been swirling around my brain these past few days while I recover from the pain this show put me through.

Young was never the happiest guy. All through this series, and the novel, he has spoken of his loneliness and sadness. Which is why ultimately, he doesn't fight for Gyu-ho or even is surprised when things don't work out. I think, when looking backwards, is easy to embellish the past, to make it more than it was. To make it happier, crazier, sometimes more tragic even. But what I appreciate about this flashback, is how it all seems so normal. It's a snapshot, a moment outside of reality, because they're on holiday, but we get to see all sides. They fight, they make up. They get rained on, and they have sex. They are wet and uncomfortable but they are together. Like a small representation of their relationship as a whole. The first time we saw them in Bangkok, it was a blip. It was just happy.

And watching these moments,a part of me is sad. The happy ending lover is sad. The little whimpering voice that goes, but they loved each other so much, why can't they stay together???? 😭

And this is where rewatching the final two episodes after rereading the final part of the novel, kinda helped turn a corner and put a damper in my own suffering.

There's a feeling in those last seconds that is nowhere to be found in the novel. Hope. In the novel, he hasn't moved on. He's still stuck in the loss of the relationship with Gyu-ho. There's nothing in it that tell us that he'll be okay from now on. That he turned a page, and can now remember Gyu-ho with a smile. Instead he's still just sad, "crumbling away, little by little."

So, in that way, the show is definitely a less sad. Because like Young, I'm now able to see this relationship in a different way. As something precious that Young got to experience at least once in his life. He got the chance to open himself completely to another person, and be loved for who he was.

Of course the presence of the T-aras throughout contributes a lot to the lighter feeling of the series and specially these last moments. In the novel, he would stay in bed for days on end, and neglect his appearance and hygiene. But here we got to see the T-aras bursting into his place, forcing him to clean himself up and get out of the house. And the fact that he's closer to Eun Su, also made me feel like he's less alone, and maybe there's a deeper friendship there than I believed there was before. And perhaps he will trust him enough to tell him about Kylie. Or even the whole group.

I'm still undecided about the father subplot being added. I mean, since the author is the screenwriter, I'm not gonna say it's wrong, but I could've certainly gone without it. I just don't see what it actually added to the story besides just another person that Young couldn't count on. I already knew he was not present in his life, I didn't need to know he was an even worst human being.

I still wanna rewatch the whole thing to pay attention to the different parts, and the different ways in how they were shot, because I was too focused on all the feels to appreciate anything else.

[moonsun2010]

I'm mad Tumblr ate my anon asks (it's not appearing in my Drafts????) but luckily I have a copy saved to my email so:

HEY YOUR DRACULA ANIMATIC IS SO SO GOOD I can't comment on youtube (bc I have no account) but I've watched it like 10 times now, the song fits so well and the art is incredible, I love all your character designs and the way you portray all the scenes is so spot on!

I just finished re: dracula and idk how you managed to tell the whole story so well in under 4 minutes but it was amazing I love the way you use color in the animatic, the use of mostly black/white/grey is so good for evoking the specific type of horror story this is, and it makes the red in the blood and in dracula's eyes stick out in a way that is absolutely brilliant and that last shot with the sunset is GORGEOUS and then the epilogue!!! I love that you did the epilogue to and having the gentle piano music and doing it in full color gives it such a peaceful and comforting feeling, the drawing of quincey and lucy in it in the afterlife together is so sweet <3 the detail that went into this is amazing, like the captain of the demeter having the rosary even though we only see it for a second, I keep wanting to pause on every single frame so I can properly admire all the cool art lol, also the things like jonathan's beard growing out after dracula breaks the mirror, and the rosary hanging above his bed, and dracula still having the scar from the shovel in the final showdown

AND THE PART WHERE DRACULA CATCHES THE LETTER... literally the way you tell the whole story with (almost) NO WORDS in not even 4 minutes and the whole thing flows so smoothly is incredible I love the way you do like the zoom out thing on some places, it adds a whole new dimension to it visually also the way you draw mina and jonathan after the october 3rd bit is lovely, your jonathan looks so cool with the white hair and i love how you did mina's scar, and the part where her scar disappears at the end was such a cool way to depict that and the difference between human lucy and vampire lucy is done so well, like it's so clearly the same character but you can really see how she's not herself anymore, and the way you used that when they kill vampire lucy and show arthur's resolve to use the stake bc he's now seeing her as a monster who replaced and essentially killed the woman he loved and he wants revenge, literally I will never be over how much story and emotion you managed to fit into a single music video and the way you did quincey's death? crying at that part tbh.

AND THE FRAME OF DRACULA GETTING BEHEADED WITH THE RED BACKGROUND.... IS JUST *chef's kiss* I was going to say I have no words for how much I love this but clearly I have quite a lot of words lol, thank you tumblr for not having a character limit anyway have a good day/night :)

Anon I'm so sorry for this delayed reply,,, I kept rereading this in awe and didn't want to release it into the wild (and it still got eaten anyways-)

I'm so glad you enjoyed the character design!! It's not my strong suit at all so that's reassuring. The colour scheme lowkey started out as a timesaving measure, but it also allowed for me to render scenes with detail that I otherwise couldn't've with the tight time frame I had, since at the time I was also juggling university assignments. I'm glad the sunset scene hit as hard as it did, since I had also just discovered Disco Elys/ium, so it was an attempt to emulate Rostov's illustration of Harry on Filippe III's statue). It worked out in the end anyways, since the grayscale + red accent combined with a colourful epilogue gave a "the horror is now in the past, and we are in a (literally visually) livelier future)" <3

I've seen so many people say they want to pause on each frame to examine it in detail, and guess what, you can get a zip file of them all as watermarkless pngs in my kofi! For free! It's pay-what-you-want since I just really wanted to get as many eyes on this as possible, but any tips would definitely still be appreciated.

It was fun mapping out the match cuts and transitions e.g Dracula catching the letter, Mina and Dracula with Lucy in the churchyard, since the previous semester I'd taken a storyboarding class that taught that, so I HAD to include it. Zoom outs helped add visual interest to otherwise still shots, so I'm glad they didn't come off as overdone haha.

It was tough mapping out what storybeats to include, but I'm super happy that the angst for all the key moments in the video hit right :D Was worried about losing momentum after leaving the Jonathan in Dracula's castle bit, and so I really wanted the ending of each verse(?) to correspond with a red screen injury— notice that "you'd better let yourself off and, while you still have strength in your legs, escape from this horrible hell/你最好放过自己 趁双脚还有力气, 快逃出这可怕地狱" always ends with some character harming another, and when the verse repeats again but with the ending lyrics changed "you’d better let yourself off, rather than crying out to another, “Save me!”... Save me!/你最好放过自己 胜过跟谁叫救命... 救命!", it still ends with Van Helsing staking the 3 vampire women. And of course, the ending "escape from this horrible hell/快逃出这可怕地狱" ends with the sunset, its red now replacing that of the blood the characters had to spill previously, signalling an end to their necessary monstrosity (and also a literal monster with Dracula dying).

Like with the frame of Dracula getting beheaded, the timesaving measures, limited skills (plus lack of any sort of storyboarding software, I was just ""animating"" the movements with Shotcut) forced me to find creative workarounds. I could fill at least 3 pages with writing dissecting all my choices lol but idt therell be much interest in me analysing my own art. Thank you so much for watching my animatic :)

[i-sveikata]

Hello author, I hope all is well!!!

It's really hot 🥵 here in Italy and what do I do? I reread the spiciest parts of your chapters to help me sleep 🤣 ahahah!!!

I have no questions, I know that when the time comes you will publish but I am writing to you only to thank you as always for the splendid work you do, your writing is absolutely fantastic and above all I have to reveal a secret … you know that I think I am a bit like Pete (of his slightly masochistic side)?😈

I must say that, in addition to the desperation of waiting, I am actually so happy to read that you are fixing, elaborating and adding scenes …🫣 I like the agony of waiting because it lengthens the chapters of a streak that I am not yet ready to say goodbye to …😣 maybe it's been three years now and, I also rightly think, the fandom has "calmed down" a lot, but I'm happy that there are writers like you who remain!!!

🤩I was curious, and I don't think I read it, at least not in the last posts, is there a sentence/scene that particularly touched you from an emotional point of view? That upset you and after writing it you thought "perfect"?

Here, in the end I made a papyrus, sorry … I just wanted to say thank you like the other times!🙂‍↕️

p.s. I know the game isn't out yet, can you give us a juicy sentence from the next chapter?

hello there!! i saw your ask a few days ago just haven't been able to sit down in front of my laptop to give you a chap sneak peek.

im going good and im sorry it's so hot in italy atm!! me over here freezing my butt off in australia cause its winter but im glad the spicier parts helped you sleep lol ;)

oh thank you so much for saying so!!! oh that's cool. yes for my draft it starts out very basic like a goes to b, person said this and other person said that so when i come back to it theres always so much more like descriptions, inner thoughts and research to be added in to flesh out what starts out originally as very basic action sequences. ha the agony of waiting yes i totally understand that! honestly fandom is soo much of a self experience within community, so like if it's not something that's calmed down for you then it doesnt really matter whether everyone else might have moved on to the next big thing. we totally curate our own fandoms and people keep them alive in lots of different ways!

ohhh what an interesting question hmm i think the ones that feel the most raw to me are whenever pete's careful control of himself and his emotions breaks and he would start actually articulating how the safe house made him feel to vegas. he's been so carefully keeping a lid on everything that when it all comes out of him in emotionally fraught moments it feels even more painful and devastating because not only is vegas getting a peek behind the curtain, but we as the audience can see just how pushed to the brink pete is ever since he escaped and vegas decided to still pursue him anyway. i feel like any of those sort of confrontation scenes feel the most intense emotionally speaking. but i really like the intensity of pete choosing to fulfill his own desires, choosing to allow vegas to touch him, choosing to let down his careful control in small ways and seeing vegas be so careful and tender with him then. tbh i don't generally have like a 'perfect' eureka moment when writing. i usually just write and then my most basic question after that is, does this work? do i believe it? and if that answer is yes i move past the scene. if no i keep working on it until it's exactly what i want. whenever i write i'm always writing for me, thinking of what i would like to read so that's kind of the basis of my process a lot of the time. (not to say that reader's comments aren't inspiring, or might make me think of areas that i hadn't focused on yet or things like that). haha no need to apologise for a papyrus we love to see it. also here's an excerpt from the latest chap hope you like ;)

:

“Pete, Pete, Pete,” he says stumbling through the words like he dropped a couple of letters along the way and his mouth forgot to pick them back up again. The slur of it too distinct to be mistaken for anything else. “My viciously pragmatic, Pete.”

Pete seizes his wrists and gets a face full of the scent of liquor that Vegas exhales on the next breath. But he locks eyes with the guards over Vegas’ shoulder and tries to hold onto what dignity he can with Vegas already dipping a warm hand underneath his shirt, caressing in a scattered way whilst no doubt ineptly searching for the entry into Pete’s pants.

“I’ll take it from here.”

Oat nods, looking unabashedly grateful and clearly relieved when Pete is nudged back by Vegas’ body, propelling him further away from the others. He sees Oat toss a section of fabric over the armchair in the entrance room, likely Vegas’ blazer, before he ducks back out of the room and the door finally releases itself from the human doorstop that was the full line of Oat’s steady torso, sealing itself shut with a resounding thud of finality.

Pete’s hardly given a moment to comprehend that they’re alone again before Vegas is on him, more thoroughly and less controlled than before as his hands draw an incomprehensible path across Pete’s body.

There’s no logic to it, no discernible goal but Pete finds himself short of breath anyway when he finally succeeds in forcing Vegas’ unexpectedly clumsy hands off, drawing their bodies apart like the sharp slap of a rebuttal.

Somehow Vegas is completely unbuttoned now, though Pete knows his own hands weren't wandering down and he’s surprised by how efficient Vegas can still be when properly motivated.

There’s a hardly a second of silence before Vegas, undeterred, is crowding in again and Pete feels a hard yank of startled pleasure in his gut at the thought that this might be a fight in the making after all.

Vegas smiles, amiable and elastic and deep into the good humours of intoxication. “Beautiful angry thing,” he mutters, crooning as if Pete can be swayed by any of his drunken nonsense.

[brick-van-dyke]

Some Thoughts on the 'Writing Process'™

So I see a lot of writers struggle with these very specific things, AKA:

The Staring at the Blank Page Thing where you struggle to come up with ideas, words, etc

The Word Counting Counting where you cannot stop counting your word count

The 'Can Someone ELSE Proofread This Because I Don't Want to Read It' dilemma

The 'How Do I STOP Hating Everything I Write' issue which also leads into the 'How Do I Stop Scrapping Everything' issue

And finally the 'I DONT WANT TO WRITE I WANT TO IMAGINE IT INSTEAD' problem

There are various things that can make writing hard, but I have had some thoughts! And maybe they might just be useful.

So for Issue Number 1, I've found that, if you want to write, NEVER do it before you already have the ideas. Looking at a blank page just makes it harder. You get bored and that makes writing feel boring. Of course, this is all just my opinion, maybe this actually works for you. BUT! In my own personal experience, I find that actually LIMITING how often I open my document helps a bunch. No matter how much you wanna write, there's no point torturing yourself over how little you're doing and shaming or pressuring yourself to get it done. Punishing yourself is just gonna kill your inspiration and, obviously, you're not going to want to write if you now associate it with punishment for not writing. It's a cycle of just being mean to yourself. Well, don't wanna be unproductive? As silly and counterproductive as it sounds; self care is the answer which I've found that actually works.

This actually leads into Issue Number 2. I think these probably stem from the same issue; punishing yourself for not producing. Again, punishing yourself and shaming yourself into just staring at a blank screen or staring at how little the word count is or how much you have to go until your goal is just going to kill your inspiration and make you bored. Shaming doesn't get you to write more, or faster or suddenly become more productive. Believe it or not? Self care and making it fun is what makes a fun story come to life. You're not just writing a block of text that's a recount to sell in this capitalist hellhole (I mean you are but that doesn't mean the process has to be bound by capitalism because FUCK CAPITALISM), you're writing a story you wanna tell; focus on the story before the method and don't punish yourself for it not just magically appearing. These things take time, they take trial, error, mistakes and various drafts, but FIRST? They take those little moments where you just daydream scenes and the imagination you have to exist at all. Focus first on the story and your own health and the rest will come, slowly but surely. Anyway that was a lot of words to essentially just say; don't look at the word count, focus on the story and the length will follow regardless. It's fine to check and obviously, you'll just have to at some point. But please please try and do what you can to avoid checking, even use a different method. I use page count because it's so varied and inaccurate that it actually doesn't matter and just tricks my brain into using that to see my very general progress and makes it seem bigger than it actually is. It also can just be easier to check at a glance if I want to make sure the structure of each chapter is more or less consistent enough.

Issue Number 3 is tricky, mostly because once you've made something, it can be legitimately very boring to reread everything you JUST wrote. For me, I'm sort of chaotic in that I reread as I go or do it very randomly and rewrite as I come up with things. The good thing is though that what you write isn't set in stone. It's malleable and fluid. I always have a cut and paste section on my computer where I just... cut and page and rearrange things as I think of it. I don't worry about "oh but what if I mess up" because you're ALWAYS gonna mess up! That's actually one of the cool things about writing, you CAN mess up and go back and reread it eventually to make it work a bit better after all the other chaotic going-back-and-fixing-things. Which brings me to my main point (especially if you don't want to replicate my chaoticness) I try to leave proofreading itself as much as I can for the end of it all. As in, I just let myself write, yes rearranging and going back whenever I want, but never throwing anything OUT, never scrapping the whole document because it's gonna have bits you might reuse. And more to the point, it gives you a lose skeleton to base your next draft on. It's more work but I find it really reassuring in that you don't judge every little thing as you go, but just say "meh, fuck it!" and write whatever works, then rewrite it in a separate document all over again, never deleting the last one so you can copy and page whatever you liked from the first draft, or second, or third, and use each mistake and flaw. Recycling is good folks, even just in writing. Or... at least it is for me. If this doesn't work for you, it doesn't work for you, but this is just what helps me so maybe it might help you too.

This also goes into Issue Number 4. Honestly, you're never gonna not be your biggest critic. But! You can at least make your work feel a bit more positive and go in with a "eh who cares?" mindset into writing. It may not erase the "wow this is hot garbage" feeling, but it'll feel a bit more like "well this is MY hot garbage and I don't care if it's bad or good, because at least it was fun". Plus, like I said; recycling is very good. The best way to force yourself not to hate something is to get really damn used to it, AKA, never getting rid of it. Which is hard, I know. Especially if you just really freaking hate it. And, well, it's not like I'm saying you should keep absolutely every little thing, I don't want you all to get clutter and folders upon folders of stuff you won't use...buuut I am saying it helps to keep things and get comfortable in your own messiness and imperfection. It starts to feel normal at least, or for me it does, and slowly you kind of just...accept it. Also, making fun little things to enjoy your ideas away from your writing itself. If you draw? Make fanart. Maybe even make AUs in your head. Maybe make some mood boards. HYPE YOURSELF UP! Or as best you can at least, and never force things. If you aren't feeling this particular story right now? Move on to another project and yes having WIPs can be annoying but sometimes it's necessary. Again, these are all just my opinions and stuff I do when I struggle with these; I'm not commanding anyone to do anything and as always, maybe this won't work for you personally. But hey, doesn't hurt to give it a try first and see if it works, or maybe something else will. Whatever the case, this is just my own two cents.

And finally, Number 5. Honestly? This isn't so much as issue in and of itself as much as just an issue of prioritisation. Imagination is the most important part of even coming up with a story to begin with and, honestly, imagining scenes can really help build a mental image of what you want to describe and how things look and feel. One thing, a little cheat code you could say, that I've found is melding daydreaming with research. Which makes absolutely no sense since this is the most funnest part with the most boring part of writing, but hey, it works surprisingly well I assure you. So here's the setup I have; no doc (except for if I really need to jot down some notes), then images that remind me of my work (Pinterest boards maybe, a few mood boards, etc), then the research. I go between each of these; daydreaming. The result? I imagine scenes with the research I want; motifs that work with themes, imagery to use in scenes, what architecture works, what the weapons look like. Then, before I even write, I go back and still daydream WITH what I've researched and it sticks in my mind way better than even the notes I've made. Speaking of, with notes, I like to doodle in the margins of them, make them fun, highlight with fun colours. Sometimes? Research, note taking and writing doesn't have to be work in and of itself, sometimes it can be fun and a little quest of your own. Sometimes making writing and research feel like you're daydreaming can make all the difference between begrudgingly slugging through a chapter, or just having fun writing a new scene you just imagined and that starts to form into something new and exciting.

TLDR: Make writing fun! Like Mary Poppins once said; "a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down". Sometimes it's actually better to make the work into a treat instead of using a treat as a bribe or punishing yourself. In fact, making any part of the process into a punishment for not working just makes everything harder.

ALSO! Just in general, take breaks! It's easy to forget what you're doing (especially once it becomes fun) and forget to take care of yourself both physically and mentally. Too much time looking at a screen (or even just a page) can be straining! Remember to eat! Remember to drink water and sleep! Get up and walk around if you can, go to the bathroom and maybe even go for a little walk outside and get some Vitamin D if you're able to. Remember to maybe take a few days away from writing so you can come at it again with a refreshed mind and new perspective, sometimes you can get boggled down and start getting too focused on one little thing. It's good to let yourself have half an hour, an hour or even a few days to just refresh and go out and get new inspiration just from living. Sometimes the key to writing and ideas is to just stop writing for a bit and to just take a breath.

[snowyroads]

I feel so greedy after reading your latest fic, I WANT MORE. 💀 I absolutely loved it, I appreciate that you write our boys in a way that feels realistic. Sometimes I think it’s hard to write dialogue for NFL fics that doesn’t seem odd or forced but I can really see Joe and Ja’Marr in your writing. Hence why I can’t wait for whatever you write next 🥲💜 AMAZING WORK

HAHAHAHA 😭😭🤭 don’t feel bad for being greedy anon!!! I love writing!! <333 (im insane 😵‍💫)

BUT i have a TON of wips rn and i literally keep writing little by little for each because im too obsessed w wanting to finish all of them!!!😔 AND THEN things like last week happened where i get the strongest urge ever to write just about one fic and all my attention is on that one wip 😭 (neglecting the poor others 😾)

so here’s a list of some of the wips i got going on rn: (putting a cut cuz i yap)

1. a joemarr time travel au that has been in the works since october that the wonderful chasedeys came up w and let me write a version of it!!! (she probably doesn’t even remember me asking to write about it cuz it’s been so long 😭😭)

it’s also taking forever because i want it to be multiple chapters and who knew how hard it would be to write the pov’s between the past and the future 😮‍💨😮‍💨 (so this one is most likely going to be my next post because imma put out a couple chapters at different times!!!)

2. a koc/jj smutty Christmas fic 😼😼 (I CANT FOR THE LIFE OF ME figure out how to write a player/couch dynamic) every time i think im getting the hang out it, i reread it and delete it cuz i hate it😭😭 so that one might take a while!!

3. stef/josh angsty reunion. basically they see each other again, outside of the football field (maybe during offseason or sum??) and they finally talk about everything yk?? just a very emotional fic tho with all the angsty and eventually fluff (and probably smut 😭)

4. another stef/josh EXCEPT it has nothing to do with football and it’s a Hallmark au. like city boy Stefon meets farmer boy Josh out in butt fuck nowhere after Stefon’s plane has to have an emergency landing due to weather or some shit like that. and it’s all the cliches of a Hallmark movie. the small town community, trying to save the local bakery, Stefon not liking Christmas that much, Josh teaching him Christmas is more than just Santa and presents, it’ll even start snowing when the kiss. like i wanna go full out!!

but that ones gonna take a while too cuz it would be fully from scratch and i wouldn’t have anything to go off of (if that makes sense??😭)

5. Joemarr in France during the Paris fashion week!!! this was actually asked by an anon a while ago and i still haven’t finished it😔 (IM SO SORRY ANON!!!😓) but basically it’s them in France together and just up to no good yk?? (plus some smut cuz Ja’marr wouldn’t be able to hold himself back after see Joe’s outfit!!!)

SOOO, i have all these wips in my drafts, waiting to be typed upon 😼 CUZ THEY WILL ALL COME OUT EVENTUALLY!!! 🫡🫡

anywhoooo, does this even answer ur question anon??😭😭 TYSM for the compliment btw!! <3333 love you guys!!!💗💗

[candlemouse]

I thought about Heir to Light recently and realized it's been like half a year since it finished! (Time flies. How is it almost 2025.) In light of this revelation I will ask: what was your favorite scene/chapter to write? What was the most challenging?

Hi!! I know, isn’t that crazy? It was such a constant for so long. And 2025 is such a big number…

Spoilers for my fic “Heir to Light” ahead <3

Thank you so much for the question!

I’m having trouble choosing! I think, as for the chapter I love to reread, it’s Chapter XVII because Garreth and Kendra finally kiss. I love reading that chapter because it’s such a nice catharsis to all their conflict. But, that’s not the question lol. As for writing…

Chapter III and V were my first favorites! I remember, early on, really enjoying writing those. See, I had a draft of Heir to Light up until the 2nd or 3rd chapter sitting in my docs for an about a year until I showed it to @carolinelikesdinner and they encouraged me to continue. She also gave me the idea for a treehouse! And writing Garreth and Kendra getting to know each other was so fun and adorable. Those chapters made me really excited to continue writing.

Also, I really loved writing Chapter XV when Ronodin enters not as a character of the past, but someone actively working with them. He’s absolutely hilarious. And not serious, which is so fun to contrast against Kendra who naturally is more poetic and moody about most things. It also was fun to write his and Garreth’s relationship considering how fraught Garreth and Kendra were at the time. Truthfully, Ronodin is fun to write in any fic, at any time.

Finally, the last chapter XX was so gratifying to write, and I had so much fun. I love the ending. I used seasons a lot in the story. They leave Fablehaven during fall, have the most hardship during winter, but the story leaves them in spring for their new beginning.

Plus, the chapter right before that, from Garreth’s point of view is such a sweet homecoming. I love that one so much. They’re like my babies and I had to let them go. I really liked the line “Their futures were bright and they would ride out the twilights together. “ because they will!!!

As for challenging chapters, anything that had a fight scene was always annoying to write for me. But, it’s funny because the most challenging chapters to write end up becoming my favorites to read. Like, the Chapter XVII above or Chapter XIX when Kendra faces the Sphinx and Garreth dies. You guys are lucky, though, that he came back to life, because in the original outline he was straight up supposed to die. But, I got too attached and couldn’t do it. Instead, I killed Muriel (sorry girl!).

Chapter IX when Garreth finds out about Kendra’s magic was also hard to write, but mostly so hard to decide how I wanted it to go! I had two main versions: the one in the fic and one where he saves her. But, I ended up wanting conflict between them (I had just broken up so this was also probably some projection), and I liked the idea of Garreth and Eve being different in their reaction to magic and that being directly related to their relationship with their father.

Anyway, thank you so much for the question! I loved writing this fic so much. They took up so much space in my head I could probably talk about it for hours.

I hope you have a good new year! 🫶🫶 It was nice to hear from you 🩷

[almostfoxglove]

Just popping in to say hi!! Hope all is well with you🥰 I read you saw Materialists. I saw it last week too and it's been very interesting reading people's takes. I had no idea it would be so controversial. Curious as to what you thought about it. Also, I made myself cry by choosing to reread More Than Letters. It's sooooo good (and diabolical) and I miss them. Sending lots of love and spoons!

MICHELLE SWEETHEART, HELLO!! my gosh you are just the kindest. (also swoon, hi javiiiiii) I'm doin alright over here - I hope you're doing well too pal <3 <3 and AAAHHH rereading more than letters?! I'll sob right here right now!! I miss them tooooooo - I had a little spark for them the other day and started drafting the next part, which was really fun (and probably also a little diabolical oops I SWEAR I'M BRINGING THEM HAPPINESS EVENTUALLY) so I'm excited to hopefully dig into it properly soon :,,) thank you so much for this, really <3

but yesss it's been so interesting to read folks' reactions to materialists!! I was also surprised to see some of the reactions to it - I'll yap a little under the cut & tag to hopefully save folks from spoilers/details, but I'm gonna try not to spill the whole plot!!

HI!! okay so for real past lives is one of my favorite movies ever, so I was gonna be sat in that theater even if pedro wasn't in it and will do so again for any movie celine song ever makes lmao <3 and on a surface level I thought materialists was fun! there were some writing decisions I didn't totally understand, but I knew the trailer was going to be misleading and tbh I dig it when movies subvert expectations, so I wasn't mad about the vibe being a little different than expected (though I would still love to see her make a straight up romcom).

also wasn't surprised to see harry's screen time be so low. the reveal of his "investment" made him so interesting/complicated/compelling, like there's so much potential for juicy nuance there - so it was a little bit of a bummer to see the breakup scene end so swiftly. but I get it!! he wasn't the main character. that's what fics are for :-)

some of the other casting didn't totally hit the spot for me and I think probably influenced how much I connected w the movie, but I'm not here to hate on anyone. and there were a lot of bits that were really fun!! fun soundtrack, some lovely cinematography some really good lines, a dash of yearning, a really compelling peek into a world eons away from my own experience dating (rich people world is crazyy), harry castillo being a walking heartthrob like ooooof. I'd watch it again!

what did you think of the movie??

thank u for the love & spoons, you make this place so much brighter :,,) I love you pal!! <3

[uncleasad]

This post came past my desk today, and I thought folks here might find it interesting/helpful, particularly the suggestions (from the academic paper, as summarized by the author of the blog post) for clearing a block—or at least a specific type of block:

Take a break from writing: “Stop writing, decide tomorrow is another day, and walk away from the computer until the next day.” (26%)

Work on a different writing project: “Jump from the work on which I’m currently engaged to another.” (13%)

Keep writing: “Force myself to write to a certain page number” (12%)

Revise or reread current work or skip ahead to work on a later section: “Reread notes or drafts” (10%)

Read a book or watch a movie: “I read the work of authors I admire to become inspired.” (10%)

Take a walk: “I go for a walk” (6%)

Discuss ideas with others: “Ask for advice. See what other people think. While you usually won’t use what they suggest their ideas can kickstart you brain.” (8%)

Change writing location or writing method: “Switch up locations or methods of writing – write using a pen, a typewriter, etc.” (6%)

Exercise: “Exercise/movement” (3%)

Research: “Researching relevant or related topics” (3%)

Eat or drink something: “Drinking coffee or snacking” (2%)

Meditate/do yoga: “Meditate for five minutes” (1%)

Number 2 is responsible for pretty much the entirety of my In-Progress list as well as for the Tales from the Salvatore Kitchen series. I’ve also done a lot of #4 (especially on After Ten Long Years, which currently consists of 5 distinct sections, but I also successfully employed the reread/revise strategy on the final part of the Josie Saltzman’s Final Holidays trilogy), some #6—which is really a specific subset of #9 I think—(often working in the yard/garden or mowing the lawn instead of walking per se), sometimes #7 (looking at you, friends 😀)…and #10 is a good procrastinator 😂

One thing I don’t see mentioned, and the source of all my best ideas (as I’ve mentioned before) is take a shower; the article I linked to in that post explains why that works.

(Sadly, none of these suggestions are relevant for my current case of writer’s “block,” which is entirely a lack of time. Maybe I should stop visiting tumblr 😂)

[consistentsquash]

2023 HP Fic Recs

HP Fics written and completed in 2023 which I read and loved. My recs are based on my reading + taste.

Snarry

OTP!

For I Have Found Salvation by @lumosatnight

Severus is a priest, and Harry is the parishioner who may just make him break his vows of celibacy.

Enough said. Hot, wrong, dirty. So totally Snarry!!! Also with a twist you don't see coming! Rated E. 7100 words. From Snarry AUctober Fest 2023 collection.

  Snake Charmer by @perverse-idyll

Sometimes all Severus had to do was turn thirty-plus years of repressed hunger upon him, and Harry would start shaking.

They are total disaster failmarriage hotness! Feel really sorry for everybody around them. Like a lot! The opening line is giving one really bad vampire in Hunger so much for me :D :D It's like a snippet/draft from WARM my beloved! <3 3200 words. Rated T.

  Devotion by @danpuff-ao3

Is there anything more undignified than needing someone so much?

26000 words. Rated E. Maximum hotness. Maximum wrongness. Maximum dirty bad delicious Snarry. This is the longest HP fic I read this year and 100% worth it!!! I am a big fan of Danni's Snarry and this fic is one of my all time fav Snarries. From Snarry-a-thon 2023 collection.

  In His Bed by @givereadersahug

Jealousy flooded Harry at their familiarity with each other's bodies. Resentment at their ease in getting each other off — the passion, the eagerness, the joy. All so different from his relationship with Severus.

Harry is super Slytherin here! Using the memories in order to learn what makes Snape tick! I really loved the dirtybadhotness of this fic! 450 words. Rated E. HP Kinktober collection.

  Coda to "Soft Touch" by @perverse-idyll

He'd thrown the bait. Would Snape catch it? Yes, he would, and throw it back.

Soft Touch is the Most ethical Massage Therapy fic ever :D Dirty, bad, hot, wrong. So it's incredible to get this really sweet and wholesome coda. You can see the undercurrents of the more complicated themes but also really sweet. 3300 words. Rated T. This is as fluffy as PI Snarry gets :D :D

  Femslash

Nymphadora, Nymphet by @thistlecatfics

Could this woman be a relative of her mother’s?

Bellatrix/Tonks, Bellatrix/Andromeda. 20200 words. Rated E. From Women of the House of Black fest 2023 collection. Really hot, dirty, wrong on literally every single level :D Obviously I love it! The femslash Lolita fic HP fandom really really needed :D

  Candles Lit Against the Dark by @perverse-idyll

Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank/Minerva McGonagall. 13600 words. Rated G. My favorite fic of 2023. From Snapecase 2023 fest collection. Beautiful, beautiful fic which is kind of my personal epilogue for the books at this point. Lost count of rereads. It's packed with beautiful friendships, people focusing on the sweet instead of the bitter, people moving on together, people forgiving each other. It's an incredible fic with perfect execution on some classic tropes like matchmaking and friends who are going to help you whether or not you asked for it. Also some not so classic tropes like celebrating a female character's life/happiness/love being the center of a rich fic. Ultimately this is Minerva McGonagall's fic and I am so here for it.

  Once of Eden by eldritcher.

Lily/Eileen. 2000 words. Rated M. Poignant and super sharp character study of Lily. Lots of storms inside her head about her family/war/Petunia/Snape. This is right before her marriage but she has this feeling she doesn't fit into that life and she doesn't want to let go of her past. Like a lot of us, she's also seeing her past/childhood through these nostalgic glasses but at the same time she's also noticing adults in her life and has this bittersweet feeling that she's an adult now/making adult choices now. Serious Catcher in the Rye vibes. This fic has the Lily for me. Really like Harry, really Gryffindor. It's a really beautiful, sensitive, unique, powerfully human fic.

  Leather by @saintsenara

Tonks/Fleur, Tonks/Charlie, Tonks/Remus, Tonks/OFC. 2900 words. Legit character studies of bi characters are super rare in our fandom. I don't really go for self-discovery type fics but this one is whoa! Love, love, love and highly recommend this one. It's out and proud and amazing. <3 From Ladies of HP Fest Collection.

  Rare slash

Rare as in the only fic on AO3 for the pairing :D

The Ice Cream Man and the Potions Master by @squibstress

Florean Fortescue/Snape. 9000 words. Rated G. From Hoggywartyxmas 2022 fest collection. This is definitely my fav slash fic of the year <3 I feel like a lot of times especially with OTPs the preslash part is kind of assumed to happen in the background. This fic does an incredibly amazing job of setting up the preslash and it's just ultra convincing. New Snape ship dropped <3

Gen

Yeah, I read gen! Tbh I don't except when a character study fic or an author's writing style really grabs me :D

October by @ashesandhackles

Insanely amazing character studies. Rated G. The Barty Crouch Jr. character study, Disappointing Fathers, is probably my all time fav genfic with him. I came out of this super sympathetic for Barty which is something that never happened to me before. So well written and brilliantly characterized.

  Womb by eldritcher

3000 words. Rated M. Phineas Nigellus Black character study with a beautiful friendship with Snape. Dark and intense but the fic has my fav Snape resurrection of all time <3 From Snapecase 2023 fest collection.

  Birds of Paradise by eldritcher

2700 words. Rated G. Fawkes character study with a beautiful friendship with Albus Dumbledore. Really beautiful, ethereal fic. eldritcher can write non-human characters with their own "type" of emotional connect. Normally they use this superpower for writing interspecies :D But this is a beautiful gen fic. From Pandemic, my most beloved. Obviously each and every eldritcher fic has a really special place in my heart but Pandemic is just insanely generous giving something special at the right time when it was needed and it made a huge difference for me personally. Love and anarchy, always!

  The Octaves and the Circumsion of Our Lord by eldritcher

The Dark Lord is circumcised. Nobody knows how everybody knows, but everybody knows.

2300 words. Rated M. Regulus Black character study with a beautiful friendship with Kreacher. Dark and intense fic about Regulus getting radicalized but also showing how he actually buys into those beliefs. Normally I avoid Regulus fics because the characterizations just don't work for me. This is exactly how I imagine Canon Regulus.

  Al Najid by eldritcher

She has come here to make an example of this woman for the son to find. Snape should know that betrayal comes with consequences.

2800 words. Rated M. Bellatrix Black character study set just before she tortures the Longbottoms. A complicated situationship with Eileen. Dark and hot mess Black family fic.

Het

Oof. Literally zero reason to trust my hetfic recs but you got to trust me :D These fics are amazing!

Ariadne by @ashesandhackles

Surrealistic, beautiful character study of Cho. It's got Harry/Cho, Cedric/Cho for pairings but this is 100% her fic. 1100 words. Rated G.

Exploring Cho's feelings for Harry in wake of her grief for Cedric's death, with symbolism from myth of Ariadne, Theseus and the Minotaur

  Four Christmases Pomona Sprout Loved and One She Hated by @kellychambliss.

Aberforth/Pomona. 6800 words. Rated T. This fic keeps it real. I really felt her pain because when you are an adult making new friends is super hard! The BEST Aberforth Dumbledore Snarkiest!!!! <3 I am a big fan of how this author writes The Abe D! Actually I am a big fan of this author. FAVE! <3 A lot of times rarepairs can feel kind of hard to believe because the characters don't have canon time together. You are totally going to be convinced. ALSO BANTER. I love relationship progression with banter. Things get bittersweet because of the war but it's got a really beautiful earned happy ending <3 My fav het fic of the year. Best fic to end this list :D

[teriwrites]

Down Memory Lane: A Wrap-Up

I have no idea how I actually managed to see it through, but here we are! Over 900,000 words in content read, an ungodly amount written towards silly reactions and summarizing, and I have officially worked my way through the past over-half-of-my-life's Novembers.

To be fully honest, the whole thing is still overwhelming enough that I'm having a hard time putting anything down to summarize it as a whole. The past near-4 months have been dense, burying my head into my WIPs, and the closer we got to the present, the more backload of Thoughts I had about each. So trying to whip up a nice, concise, comprehensive summary feels just about impossible.

So I suppose I should just start at the very beginning:

Why the Hell Did I Do This?

As with most of these questions, there are a couple different answers:

Why not? - The initial spark for doing this retrospective project stemmed out of realizing that I had access to every one of my old November projects. I'd been meaning to go back through a few of the different drafts, and I've always enjoyed rereading my own writing. So I didn't really need any other reasons to do it! That said...

A Needed Ego Boost - Without going into too much detail, I've been struggling with various insecurities in my writing for the past few years. Feeling stagnant, stumbling over the same pitfalls, never quite achieving on paper what I envision for my story. I could make a whole post surrounding the 'why' of those insecurities, but ultimately, I figured that by reading my writing from the age of 13, I could feel better about my writing at age 26.

Amusement - Everytime somebody shares the writing they were working on in elementary/middle school, it's always lovably ridiculous. I was really anticipating diving into that type of insanity, especially after drafting something as heavily melodramatic as The Blind Oracle last November

What the Hell Happened?

So, yeah. If you've been seeing my posts pop up regularly for the past few months, you might've noticed that I've been consistently working away towards the goal of reading through everything and jotting down some reactions and notes as I went

I didn't really know what to expect when I actually got started. I didn't have any sort of structured idea of what to track specifically, so I just kind of started reading and hoped that the development would be obvious.

Thankfully, it was! I read the slowly but surely burgeoning storytelling of a girl stepping through adolescence and into emerging adulthood.

Some of the various things I found included:

Workarounds for cursing as a Devout Catholic Child

Incidental Anti-Capitalist rhetoric

Intentional Anti-Capitalist rhetoric

Accidental glimpses into my adolescent psyche regarding values, biases, self-image, etc.

All the insane silliness I could've hoped for

Accidentally poignant commentary on the current political climate

So much redundancy. So many sentences describing things that absolutely did not need to be described in any detail.

An unfurling love of descriptive writing

So much banter

I laughed, I cried, I cringed, I spent like a month and a half longer than I expected getting through it. What else could I ask for?

The More Things Change...

A lot has changed in my writing since I was 13 (obviously), but aside from the quality itself, the writer I was in 8th grade wouldn't likely recognize the writer I am now

So what's changed?

Pantsing vs. Planning - When I was a kid, first beginning to write stories, my approach to writing meant coming up with an exciting idea, writing maybe 1,000 words towards the idea until I'd satisfied the initial excitement. And then, when I set it down for a minute, and a new, shiny idea came along, the cycle would repeat.

While Below can't take all of the credit for my learning how to commit to an idea - there was another project in the background throughout middle school that I dedicated like 30K to over 3 years - it was the first project to show me that I could finish something.

But the 'write what excites you' mindset didn't always work so smoothly, even during November. In 2013, I genuinely gave up halfway through the month. My excitement for the project had worn off. I'd written myself into plot hole after plot hole. The only reason I won that year was because I was surrounded by online friends crossing the finish line in the last few days of November. So I determined to join them and spent all day of the 29th and 30th hitting an accumulative 18K.

It was incredibly difficult. But it also was a huge learning experience. I realized through The Abernathy Chronicles that putting in work beforehand - timelines, worldbuilding, character creation - could actually be fun, and it helped me stick with an idea to know where it was going.

Realism vs. Escapism - What was fun about this particular dichotomy is that it doesn't fall along some sort of linear development. It isn't like I started writing fantasy, and then slowly branched into litfic, or the other way around.

That said, there have been trends. Growing up, I wrote exclusively fantasy/sci-fi/paranormal/etc. If magic wasn't involved, superpowers were. If superpowers weren't involved, ghosts were. If ghosts weren't involved, magic was. Technically, I believe my first foray into contemporary writing was in short stories I worked on towards the end of high school. And even then, there were often fantastical elements to it.

Once I'd gone off to college, I noticed an interesting pattern. My 1st year of college, in 2016, November in particular was a terrible time. The election/my mental health/in the thick of classes I hated all had me drained. So I set out to write a story revolving around a pretty bare, basic rebelling-against-the-government plot, with basic miserable-archetypal characters.

The following year, when my life had entirely flipped-turned-upside-down, I was writing about two pre-teens working through the struggles of middle school. Then, in 2018, I was writing about a young woman falling into the egoism of fame. In 2019, it was young men coping with the horrific past of their nation as they stepped into adulthood. My first true instances of contemporary (or at least within the past century) fiction, looking at interpersonal relationships and exploring the self. All written during a high point of my life, pursuing my interests with a healthy academic and social life.

Then 2020 came. Cue me writing a story about a girl running into the world of the fae to save her brother as I sat alone in a dorm while all of my friends had already graduated.

Are we seeing the pattern here?

So maybe it's not something that has to do with the development of my skill, but it was interesting to look back and notice how my life and stability reflects itself in my writing*

*Funnily enough, maybe my most realistic WIP - Downstairs, 4 Hawthorn Rd - I'd actually place in the 'escapism' category, since I was literally using it to escape back into pre-pandemic life

Inspiration - This one kind of ties in with the last, but where the ideas that I actually write about come from has always been fluid, but over time, I do think there's been a shift.

When I wrote Below, it stemmed directly from a dream I had about escaping some kind of institution. There are always obvious ties to the general Y.A. genre at the time, but also to specific stories like Maximum Ride (or honestly even moreso the Virals series by Kathy Reichs, we don't needa talk about how Kristen was straight up copied off of Tori Brennan lmao). Similarly, the idea for Hell™ Hath Frozen Over was literally snatched from someone else on the NaNo forums (once again, soz).

But as time went on, I started finding inspiration outside of 'literally snatching up other people's ideas and tweaking a few things and calling it mine'. I took more interest in prompts. I made a game out of grabbing titles off of title generators and framing a storyline around them (which led to Boy of My Imagination, Creature of Scandal, and Beneath Alder Creek). I drew inspiration from stories I loved without trying to directly imitate them - Anne of Green Gables lightly features in more of these projects than I can count and yet nothing in my WIPs really resemble that story. I found myself asking questions and setting out to answer them in my writing.

There's no right way to find ideas, and I think the best approach has always been leaving yourself open to taking inspiration from any source that offers it to you. The real difference here, I think, is that I've gotten better about how to wield that inspiration and forge it into something of my own.

...The More They Stay The Same

As much as things have changed since November 2011, I'm ultimately still the same person. And regardless of whether it's in my Superpowered Teens YA at 13 years old or my Foreseeing Tragedy at 26, there are going to be glimpses of me in all of it

Humor - My sense of humor has revolved around a sort of dry wit for honestly about as long as I've been writing. And while I don't think I was able to communicate that well in how I wrote when I was 9, it's been a big part of my narrative voice forever

In a way, I think I'm actually at my best with this kind of voicing when writing in 1st person - it's a lot easier to show from directly inside a character's mind - using primarily 3rd person just means that a lot of my writing involves a sort of detached narrator offering commentary

The Fatal Choice: "I am here to visit family," Delroy explained, though he wasn't at all. He was there to try and break out some prisoners, but something told him that they wouldn't be so receptive if they knew that.'

The Insurgence: "I don't mean to brag, of course, but my servant - Amos, you'll remember him - has been practicing his driving. I knew that a young man of his age ought to learn to drive, and so I've been having him practice in the fields near the house." Ross' expression was not that of someone who remembered the person being mentioned, but he listened silently and intently.'

Castle on the Hill: "No, I usually just take a nap or something, but right now, I'm full of energy." The energetic Hans appeared no different than how he typically did.'

Beyond Alder Creek: 'Maybe traveling on her own for awhile would be good for her. The clamminess of her palms clearly demonstrated how much faith she had in the idea, but relying on herself had always been a part of the plan.'

Like these all stretch across several years, but something about clearly pointing out contradictions between what a character says vs. what they think/mean/show definitely shows up in a lot of my writing, and I'm sure there are other jokes that I could find similar examples of

Exploration - While I don't think there's anything wrong in finding your comfort zone in reading/writing and sticking to it, as I grew up, I found trying to branch out important to me. I didn't just want to write poor quality Chosen One knock-offs forever. As soon as I realized that I was capable of actually following through on my ideas, those ideas began to expand

This isn't to like herald myself as some great writer who tackles every genre and form with equal comfort and skill. By no means. My comfort zone lands largely in historical fantasy, and I like it there. But I also like to branch out, and it was fun to go back and see myself doing just that through the years.

Hell™ Hath Frozen Over was one of the first steps I ever took outside of classic Y.A. stories, most of which involved some degree of the Chosen One trope. The Fatal Choice showed my first real attempt at worldbuilding. And though I largely stuck with my fantasy comforts for awhile, as my inspiration expanded, so did my interest in finding ideas outside of that comfort zone. Granted, a lot of what experimentation can be found in these WIPs was grounded more in short stories that I'd jot down in my free time - exploring sci-fi and paranormal and horror and suspense and romance and humor and contemporary ideas.

Most recently, The Blind Oracle involved a lot of playing around with not just tenses and POVs, but intentionally working personal conflicts into the writing. Introducing lyrics from songs I added to a playlist for the WIP (which I've never done before and honestly don't expect to keep up with). I wanted this project to be as cathartic as possible - and it paid off!

Experimenting and exploring with different areas of writing is something I usually associate more with my older self - college and beyond - but it's really nice to see that the interest in pushing myself actually goes all the way back to the very beginning.

Highlights

I just wanted to take a brief part of this massive-af (in-line with every other post I've made towards this project, at least) essay to offer a highlight from each of the 16 projects before I start winding this down:

Below (2011): 'No news is good news right? Well, that's how it felt right now. Unfortunately, we had a lot of news coming our way at the moment.'

Hell™ Hath Frozen Over (2012): "Hello, Gabriel? I have a message for you to send to Lucifer. Yes, the CEO of Hell™. Yes, the guy who used to be our best employee here. Yes, the one who turned evil. Please tell him to stop forwarding his mail to us."

Below (2012): 'His brow was furrowed, and if looks could kill, Raevin would have had her insides spilled onto the table and stabbed several times until they all bled out.'

The Fatal Choice (2013): 'Before, Delroy had wondered how an executioner could be disloyal to his Governors. Now, he had no doubt in his mind that the executioner would as soon kill the Governors if provided enough incentive.'

Behind Closed Doors (2014): 'Every piece of the puzzle had fallen into place, and its picture formed a hideous corpse in an alleyway. Sir Cedric Boyd had had the Prime Minister murdered.'

Boy of My Imagination (2015): 'I wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong and that I would be completely fine by the fall, but I found myself falling silent. The truth was that I wasn't sure when I'd be okay again. It'd only been a bit over a week since I'd woken up, and I hadn't expected changes overnight, but at what point was I supposed to start feeling better? When were my constant headaches going to fade? When would my memories return to me? How long was I going to have to wait until I could feel normal again?'

The Insurgence (2016): "Glamorous?" Miles asked, brow furrowing. Pressing a fist into the wooden surface of the desk to stabilize himself, he leaned forwards. "Do you call hiking through the Osennas Mountains as the winter season approaches glamorous? Or risking my life every time I cross the border with forged papers which, with competent training, could be easily deciphered as fake? Is dragging cartloads of firearms through the mud and walking through the night until my legs are too stiff to move 'glamorous' to you, Miss Abberton?"

Emma's Wonderland (2017): 'Finn couldn't be quite sure how exactly things went, so quickly as they occurred, but suddenly Emma was in a bunch of mud that the melting snow had uncovered. And he couldn't say exactly what he did, but Finn would always have the vague memory of stumbling forwards and sucker-punching Trey Kendall in the jaw.'

Creature of Scandal (2018): 'Before she could leave, Charlotte allowed herself to turn once more to Carson and say, "By the way, Mr. Wheelis. The name is Charlotte Wilson. Remember it. This won't be the last time you hear it."

Castle on the Hill (2019): 'Perhaps, Hans thought as he slid into the front seat of the car, there was more to this group than bickering. They were all grinning and laughing, and even after they'd returned to Peter and Georg's apartment, half the night passed before any of them managed to calm down enough to finally get to sleep.'

Beneath Alder Creek (2020): "The Courts run on honor. Those without it are removed. Tell me, which Court does your guide belong to?"

Downstairs, 4 Hawthorn Rd (2021): 'So, saving her blank document, she closed out the tab and sent her laptop to sleep.'

Beyond the Grave (2021): 'The world is wide. I've had a long journey. Let's not talk of my shortcomings.' The wind rustled in the trees, like a parent ruffling their child's hair.'

The Lies in the Legend (2022): "There are those that will use whatever means necessary to convince you they are well-meaning enough, or innocent enough, or powerful enough that you must listen to whatever they tell you. But nobody - not me, not your friends, not even the Prince - should be above reproach in dire circumstances."

Beyond Alder Creek (2023): 'Humanity tore a rift in the fabric of the Beyond. So be it. Winifred Pewitt would burn it in its entirety before she let it rob her of her brother.'

The Blind Oracle (2024): 'The innocent ignorance of the kingdom's powerful, their authority a facade in the horrible knowledge he'd been cursed with. Fate cast him from their comfort like a shadow from the light. He saw death in their pleasure; even a skull appeared to smile.'

Was This Project Worth It?

As I mentioned, I put in 4 months of my life dedicated to reading through my old WIPs, completely refrained from reading or engaging too much in anything else, wrote copious amounts of notes, all for this project that I didn't even have a solid grasp on when I started.

There were so many days that I spent wanting to bang my head against my desk, trudging through the most boring string of sentences ever put onto paper. Spending an entire page dedicated to content that really only needed a couple sentences, or didn't need to be included at all. So many notes that I didn't want to be taking to describe stories I haven't had a vested interest in for years.

And at the end of it, what all do I really have except for so many posts with the same little banner on the end of them?

Truly, is it worth going to reread writing from so long ago?

YES.

If only for the purpose of nostalgia, rereading old writing will always be worth it imo. If only for finding the humor in the insane choices of phrasing and voicing. If only out of curiosity, or boredom, or if trying to rekindle your own spark with why you love this craft in the first place, it is absolutely worth going back to your roots.

(That said, looking back on older writing requires being able to give your younger self grace. An open mind and acceptance of meeting the writing where it's at are so important!)

Anyways, I started this largely because I felt awful about where I was at in my writing. I felt convinced that nothing I put on the page was 'good enough', that it all fell short to what my idea of the scene/description/conversation/story was. Everything felt surface-level and poorly patched together. I wasn't convinced that I'd made any progress over the past few years, and that the difference in my writing back in 2011 and in 2024 could've been that stark.

And I was so wrong.

Admittedly, I think it'd be almost impressive if I managed not to have any notable difference in my writing over 13 years of writing out at LEAST 50,000 words, and usually at least doubling that during the non-November months

But to actually witness my own development actually gave me so much confidence in the progress I've made. Watching characters come to life, seeing landscapes come into focus, stories themselves unfold with more ease. My 13-year-old self would read my writing today and actually gape at what I've managed to accomplish. And if for nobody else's sake, then for hers, I'm more than happy to bask in my hard-earned skills.

NaNoWriMo...

Let's just call it what it is, especially now that the company itself has sunk and can't claim any more ownership to the actual heart of what that challenge has always meant to be.

NaNoWriMo was, and in some ways still is, a very influential part of my life. And before I can completely finish this up, I can't have a whole retrospective project based around my NaNo novels without acknowledging its impact.

I've already talked about how my first year of NaNoWriMo shaped my writing journey by teaching me that I could actually finish something. It also introduced me to a chatroom full of teenage writers who became some of my closest friends in high school - and some of whom I'm still close with. We encouraged each other, challenged each other, took up beef with some of the moderators for not letting us promote our chatroom on the YWP site (which is bitterly ironic, given what would go on on those forums a decade later)

All this to say, my first few years of NaNoWriMo gave me everything that I needed as a writer at the time: community and the audacity to push through a first draft, regardless of how messy and incomprehensible it was.

As the years went on, it became a beloved tradition. My ability to finish a first draft was established after awhile, but I was still bouncing between various ideas between Novembers. If 1K was all it took to get inspiration out of my system when I was 13, then a 1st draft did the same thing to me at 18. And that fit in perfectly with NaNoWriMo's goals: every year, I could start a new draft from scratch and write out at least 50,000 words towards finishing it.

But then I kept growing up and kept developing. I started finding ideas I actually wanted to stick with.

Even before NaNoWriMo (the company) started sinking under its own controversies, I was finding myself at a crossroads with the challenge itself. I realized that I wasn't spending enough time working on my WIPs outside of October/November to actually make much progress before we'd reach that time of year to start drafting up a fresh bout of inspiration.

I first started seriously considering what my future with the challenge would look like in 2023. I'd already won 12 consecutive years and couldn't imagine not at least participating. But participating meant having to neglect working on projects I was passionate about.

(Thus: using that year to work on my second draft of BAC)

The scandals of 2023 coming to light alongside the whole AI mess of 2024 largely seemed to answer that question, at least in terms of officially participating in the challenge using its website and all that. Even if I'd wanted to keep writing 1st drafts forever, there are certain stances I can't stand by

But even if none of that had happened, I think I would still find myself in 2025 looking at where I've come from and where I'm at now.

Writing 50,000 words in 2011 was a great exercise to force me to rapidly write out a story and stop relying entirely on the motivation of being in the mood to write.

Writing 50,000 words in 2012 taught me that not every story needs to be a novel, and that some only need 25,000 to tell it.

Writing 50,000 words in 2013 taught me that flying by the seat of my pants doesn't actually help me personally get through a novel any easier.

Writing 50,000 words in 2014 solidified for me that actually having some sort of plan to go by was not the boring, tedious work I thought it'd be.

Writing 50,000 words in 2015 taught me that choosing to tackle a massive challenge on top of a challenge (rather than first exploring a new genre in something like short stories outside of November) would lead to slogging through the month.

Writing 50,000 words in 2016 taught me how to gauge my own mental capacity and lean into a story that'd bring me the most escapism and least difficulty to write.

Writing 50,000 words in 2017 taught me that I was allowed to balance my traditions with a social life without sacrificing either.

Writing 50,000 words in 2018 brought me a year of writing alongside friends irl for the first time.

Writing 50,000 words in 2019 was less important than what came after: finishing the last 20K after November had ended.

Writing 50,000 words in 2020 offered an essential, familiar outlet in a world that'd turned on its head and demonstrated that, sometimes, the best stories are those that come out of self-indulgence.

Writing 50,000 words in 2021 taught me how to tweak the challenge itself to fit my own goals - writing out two novellas instead of one 50K+ novel

Writing 50,000 words in 2022 showed me how easy even a challenge like this can be when the WIP aligns with your interests.

Writing 50,000 words in 2023 taught me that there's absolutely nothing which could prevent me from writing 50,000 words in 30 days.

Writing 50,000 words in 2024 taught me that I cannot spend every November of my life writing 50,000 words.

I love this challenge, and I don't think that I'll ever fully give it up. Currently, I plan to spend November 2025 writing out, you guessed it, 50K (though I already know what that will be towards, and it's a very specific project). In November 2026, who knows? Maybe I'll keep with the traditional 50K, maybe I'll shift my goals to something that aligns better with my long-term plans. Eventually, I'll have to break the chain of Novembers.

When that day comes, I'm sure I'll have a lot of thoughts and feelings to share about it. But until then, all I can say is that I'm so grateful for what NaNoWriMo has provided me, regardless of where the nonprofit ended up. The writer, and in many ways the person, I am today would not have been possible without it.

And with that, there is only one question left to ask.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Now that I've gone back and examined my own work, as the trajectory pushes into the present and beyond, it begs the question of what to do now. If there is anything to do now, outside of going back to the grind.

But I've had four months to think about it, and I have some ideas for what could come next:

Fundamentals - I've had the general goal for awhile of going back and doing basic writing exercises - the type of thing you'd see in school - to ground myself back in various areas of creative writing. Whether that means something like a class, or just genuinely grabbing prompted challenges for myself, I don't think it would hurt to look at the craft a little more academically.

Sharing My Writing - If I've gotten used to writing out full drafts and I've done some work on making those drafts comprehensible, an area that I'm definitely still struggling in is actually sharing that writing and, eventually, asking for critique. While I don't think my first step in this would be to fully start posting entire novel drafts online for people to see, I think this is where short stories could really shine.

November - While, as I've said, I don't think that I will be participating in the 50K/30 Days challenge forever, I'm not quite willing to give it up just yet. But once I do, I'm sure that that time of year will always feel more creatively motivating. So maybe I could create new challenges for myself to fall (ha) during November. Broach into rewrites, or edits, or encourage myself to branch into entirely new forms of writing - creative nonfiction, maybe, or script-writing, or finding new genres to tackle.

Nothing is set in stone, obviously. If all the next 13 years brought me was more of the same of what I've seen here, I'd still be astounded by what all I've yet to do. But there's nothing like charting out your course to give you a better idea of what lies ahead. And, with hindsight being what it is, I think that's what I was actually looking for in this project all along.

So with all of that settled, I think it's time for me to get writing!*

*after a long-deserved, potentially month-long nap

[vainvenus]

hi vee!! did u watch the last few races?? i think theyve been the root of my stress for the past weeks ngl😭 not even my job has got me this stressed fr

and btw, ive been rereading ur fics like crazy, literally cannot get enough of them!!

GIRL. UNFORTUNATELY I HAVE KEPT UP WITH THIS ENTIRE TRIPLE HEADER AND IM GROWING GREY HAIRS BECAUSE OF IT.

Like as a Lando and Oscar fan I've been yay but as a Ferrari and 1644 fan? I feel like I'm entitled for compensation especially when that double DSQ happened in Shanghai. I quite literally screamed into my pillow.

And like Charles being consistent with P4 but not happy with it made me tweak even more like cmon now give me either a double podium or a Charles podium or I'm genuinely gonna rip out my hair like???

BUT SAUDI ARABIA HAD ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT? THE FACT THAT WE HAD FOUR DIFFERENT RACE LEADERS IN THAT RACE WITH MAX, CHARLES, OSCAR AND LANDO WAS LITERALLY INSANEEE.

But towards the end I was literally yelling at my TV for him to go faster because the gap between him and Lando literally had me feeling like I was in the garage as his strategist like shut uppp he drove so so well and I'm so happy he finally got that podium

All in all it was such a good race and not just like the top teams, a lot of the midfield teams had so many good overtakes like Ollie and Hadjar like they were seriously pushing those tractors and double points for Williams was so so satisfying to see

So that's not all I wanna say I'm sure I'm forgetting more but I would ADORE it if we could keep doing these race week debriefs because Miami is coming up and while ik a lot of people don't like it because it's the most cringey and full of celebs who don't care much for the sport I love the energy of it and ofc the edits to Miami by Will Smith

ALSO THANK YOU SMMMMM LOVE! I'm planning on posting the next parts for my main ones and since I have a busy weekend coming up I'm trying to get all the drafts for them done and upload them Friday, no promises but hopefully!! 🤞🏾

[caramelmochacrow]

[YUKAESO ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION POST 1/2]

Drawing details (You are here!) Fic details

First on the itinerary list is explaining the drawings and details I liked in each one! I'm going to be going through based on prompt order (of course). Just so you know there will be at least a nine month difference between these prompts and me now remembering them, so that's pretty crazy that I can remember a lot about the drawings especially.

(Word count: 2103 words)

Generally speaking (to save redundancy): I went with the idea of the drawings being chapter covers, you know? It depicts parts in the fic, but not in a comic/manga length. Oh, and I changed up the drafts a lot. The drafts were created when I was almost done with chapter 7, in around June-July; I started planning them in March. Another fun fact: Did you know the sketchbook that has most of my YukaEso week plans/drawings took me 3 months to finish? Mostly because I was in school and got busy with exams and being in productions, but also because I was busy writing YukaEso week. I drew one drawing (even the one for the countdown) per week, so I started at the end of July and finished drawing all of them on YukaEso week itself. I actually drew them from July to September. Yeah let that sink in.

Anyway, let's start with day 1, Rain!

To me, rain as a prompt with YukaEso is pretty simple thanks to Peaky Stormy Story; them under the rain! I thought of many cute prompts with them, but none of them fit the both of them exactly. Especially with Esora 'the rain ruins my hair and I don't like that' Shimizu involved.

I thought more about getting stuck under the rain with someone and how intimate it is, so I went for a more personal(?) feeling with the drawing. It's just the both of them alone under a solitary, clear umbrella. For inspirations, I did base this one off Yuka's Peaky Stormy Story card, but also one part of this anime I'm obsessed with, Major 2nd. Here's the photo for reference:

You can see that one was my biggest inspiration. The reasoning being that this image does not exist in the manga. I was yuribaited to put it very bluntly. To quell my frustrations with this fact, I drew this to both ease my frustrations over never getting the manga version and use it to inspire me to make the first YukaEso week drawing.

I was meant to have a whole background sorted, to the point I reread the Prologue Peaky manga to see what kind of street they would be in if they were going to Yuka's house. I, of course, threw this all away and instead went with raindrops. This was because I realized as I finished the drawing that I didn't want to draw perspective.... I love YukaEso but I am not drawing buildings with perspective only to probably obscure most of my work with raindrops. If i had more time though, maybe I would've done it...

A funny thing to note, I originally planned the YukaEso week drawings to have limited color palettes that always had yellow and green in the palette, hence the very limited use of color and shading. I, however, struggled with this and went on to not use limited color palettes. Haha.

Now, onto the next day, Gift!

Because it was, you know, gift, I wanted the drawing to be related to the gift giving part in the fic (duh). I wanted to draw the part when Esora gets the gift, or the aftermath. I decided to do something kind of related to the first one. In my drawing it is the one part of the photo album that Yuka gifted her, but that hand is Yuka's. From what I recall, I'm pretty sure I planned the drawing was showing Yuka pasting the pictures and stuff around.

One part I'm really proud of was being able to do the sunset thing with that lighting, aughhh I'm so proud of it! I'm kinda sad when I put the blur effect it kinda got ruined but whatever! It adds a sort of charm to it (in my opinion).

Another thing I'm proud of is Esora's outfit, AUGH! Shout out to my older sibling who helped me out a lot with the original outfits for the drawings. I actually have a lot of scrapped drawing ideas, but I'll show them on the post for my drafts of the drawings/fics along with my other scrapped ideas.

Day 3 is next, which is Holding hands :DD

The panel idea was because I wanted to show the hand holding without needing to draw a full body. I then semi-regretted it after I struggled the whole day looking over the panels again and again. I'm glad the hands turned out amazing though. My references for the hands were from google images and me holding my own hand (rip). I really love the colors in this drawing, I feel really warm and giddy when I see it (lol). Another reason might be because Yuka looks really cute here.

For the background, some of the silhouettes are references to other characters. The characters are: Junna, Nana, Misaki, Kaoru, Kim Dokja, Yoo Junghyuk,and two of my friends' ocs! It isn't obvious, but I didn't want it to go unnoticed. They were the characters I kinda wanted to see in the convention yes.

The reason why I chose their xross beat outfits was because... I don't know! It looked cute! I wanted to draw it!

Day 4, AU !!!!

I really love this drawing so much (I say this for all of them lol) But it was really hard to decide what to draw. I scrapped a lot of ideas until -- thanks to my dear mutual Misc for giving me the idea -- I went for a Roleswap AU. I've always loved Roleswap AUs (I actually have a D4DJ unitswap AU in mind) so I just went with it. I thought of YukaEso as RinRei for around five minutes and already had a plan. My older sibling is a big RinRei fan so they supported this a lot, I went and rewatched the episodes with Rinku and Rei first meeting a million times to find which part to depict.

The part with the seashell really got me, since that was what made Rei interested in Rinku and keep teaching her. I knew it had to be a picture of Esora the moment I saw it. I wanted to capture the dreamy look of that part, like how Rei was remembering it in her room. I put the bubbles and the background colors as a reference to Happy Around; the orange also helps amplify the warmth Yuka has.

I actively made sure that the way Esora was colored in the photo was different as well. She's colored close to how Yuka is, warmer than actual Esora because it's how Yuka sees her. One thing I wished I did was put the bubbles in Esora's panels as well, but it's too late; they were last minute additions. (I added it in while I was working on day 5)

Anyway, onto day 5! Makeup :3c

OOoh boy. This is when I started going crazy because it was almost YukaEso week and I was riding on the high that was the most amazing card ever, but I think that was all of my drawings to be honest. (hint: ramune). Anyway, for this one, I wanted to go for a pastel colors because I wanted to reflect how cute they were and the fact they were in a relationship in the fic. I really liked the idea of showing off the color palette like it was a makeup palette; I had to check actual makeup palettes to see how the colors would be set up.

Also! I actually wanted to make original stage outfits, but I was losing my steam and decided to go with stage outfits that already exist in the game.

Other than the stage outfits, I struggled doing the lipstick part a lot, not because of my dysphoria. I'm semi-okay now with depicting makeup thanks to that drawing but I'm still uncomfortable with lipstick. Now I'm trying to figure out how to make my art style more accepting toward makeup, but I'm still kinda struggling. (I cultivated that thing to not allow makeup for years, it's pretty hard to undo all of that lol)

Now now, the one I love the most, day 6, Public!!!!!!

I knew I wanted it to be something from the last part of the fic when they go Esora's bachlorette party. After struggling for pages and pages, I finally decided to go with the part when Esora grabs Yuka's hand and asks her to stay. This thing frustrated me so much, but it was worth it.

I really like the detail of the rain only being present under the light. I always liked it when it rained at night so I could see the rain under streetlights/car lights; I was really happy to get the excuse to draw that, lol. I wished I cleaned the drawing up more thoroughly, but I can't do anything about it now.

For the placement of the chapter 6 thing, I was inspired by Meteor Garden 2001, which inspired the fic and drawing so much.

It was this part, in episode 17 specifically. I wanted the lighting to be harsher, but I would need to adjust all of the lighting on every color under the light source again, so I didn't. Also, streetlights can't be that harsh from that distance. There isn't much I can say about this drawing other than the fact that I feel that it captured what I saw during the fic properly.

Onto Day 7, Proposal, oooooh~

Oh god. Where do I even start with this one? Joooooke. I had a lot of ideas because it was the last one but, for the sake of my sanity at the time, I went simple. The fic connected to the last one, so I had to make this one connected to (in a way). My school was having exams at the time and the pieces before this one tired me out severely. This -- like chapter 6 -- is from the last part of the fic.

Anyway, I designed the outfits while I was in school and kinda made most of the draft at school too, lol. Yuka's outfit was inspired by Jung Heewon from the ORV webtoon. That's it pretty much, I just wanted her to look handsome. Esora's outfit was just made up by me and my older sibling and not based on anything exactly that I remember. The writing on the image was taken from a scrapped idea for chapter 2, that's why there's the date from the fic itself on the top corner; the photo was taken by Maika if you were wondering.

One part I really like from this drawing is the rings shining on their fingers, that one was something I really wanted to add into the drawing. Every time I notice it, I get a little teary, lol. I will say, I wished I went all out on the drawing like the others, but I know why. I still wish I did something crazy though. Anyway, that's all I can remember about this drawing, haha.

But wait! THERE'S MORE?!

The drawing for the countdown! Yay!

I drew this one before day 7, that's why it looks nice. Anyway, the biggest inspiration for this drawing was Yuka's Ramune card (of course) but! Also! Ao Natsu the movie. Specifically with Esora's yukata. I really love how Rio's yukata looked in the movie so I took some inspo from her. I also took inspiration from the cover of the movie; it has a lot of blues and the yellow and green of the sunflowers made it pop a lot. For Yuka's outfit, I based it off her first summer casual outfit and adjusted it a little. Oh, and for the people who didn't know, Esora and Yuka are in middle school for this drawing :) (I made up middle school designs for them because they didn't have much of a difference from highschool to middle school orz)

I bought a few ramune bottles myself during this time so I used them as reference; the flavor is supposed to be the normal flavor but, because of the lighting, it looks like the grape flavor. (I haven't tasted that one yet, by the way.)

I didn't want to draw the whole background, so I "cropped" out everything and just made it have the sky instead. That was the most important part to depict to me other than the ramune bottles. The firework colors are intentional; if you look closely at the one in between the ramune bottles, it's a mix of yellow and green :3c

Anyway, yeah, that's all! See you in the other YukaEso post :3c