#i made these gifs three months ago 🤗 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldfades · 2 months ago

Text

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me | joe burrow⁹ (part two)

part one!!! | here are the people who commented for a part two on part one @rd14

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.9k (oops... sorry)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had spent months apart, each of you learning to live without the other.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lots and lots of angst!!! joe finding a new gf, hoe joe ��🤗🤗 BUT A HAPPY ENDINGGGG!!! YIPEEEE!!!

Seven months.

It didn’t sound like a long time, not really. Less than a year. Barely two seasons. Just over half of what used to be a full calendar with him—training camps, game days, off-seasons that blurred together with vacations and quiet mornings in bed.

But in reality, it had been everything.

Seven months since you had packed up the life you built and left Cincinnati behind. Seven months of unlearning the habits of loving Joe Burrow, of waking up without him, of forcing yourself to stop expecting a text that never came. Seven months of figuring out who you were outside of being his.

And now, just when you had finally settled into this new version of yourself, life was pulling you back.

Back to Cincinnati. Back to the city that still had pieces of you scattered all over it. Back to him.

It wasn’t about Joe.

You had spent months proving that to yourself, and you weren’t about to start unraveling now. This was about you.

About the job offer that had landed in your inbox three weeks ago, the kind of offer people in sports media fought years for—an on-air analyst role with The Ringer, covering the NFL, sitting at the same table as some of the most respected voices in the industry.

It was the dream. Your dream.

And you weren’t about to say no just because it happened to be in the same city where the ghost of your old life still lingered.

So, for the first time in months, you packed your bags for yourself. Not for a man. Not for a relationship.

For you.

But still, as you stared at your suitcases lined up by the door, heart pounding just a little harder than you wanted to admit, one thought lingered in the back of your mind:

What happens when he sees you again?

Joe spent the summer in places that never felt like home.

Hotel rooms, penthouses, beach houses that weren’t his—always someone else’s space, someone else’s idea of a good time. The kind of places that smelled like overpriced perfume, spilled liquor, and bad decisions.

And for a while, that was the point.

His teammates told him this was what life was supposed to be like.

“You’re 27, bro. You should be living.” “You’re Joe fucking Burrow. Act like it.” “Man, you wasted all your good years locked down.”

That last one made his stomach twist. Because it didn’t feel wasted.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he let them drag him to Miami, to Vegas, to private clubs where the rules didn’t apply to men like them. He let women press into him, let them murmur in his ear, let them take his hand and lead him places he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

Because that was the goal, wasn’t it?

To fill the silence. To drown out the memories. To stop thinking about you.

So, he drank.

Not recklessly—never sloppily—but just enough to take the edge off. Enough to let the vodka burn its way through his chest and dull the parts of him that still felt too raw.

He spent the nights doing what everyone told him he should—wrapped up in women he barely knew, letting them touch him, letting them call him baby in a voice that never sounded quite right.

Sometimes, in the blur of it all, he almost let himself believe he was having fun.

But then morning would come. And he’d wake up in a bed that wasn’t his own, sheets tangled, a warm body beside him that felt wrong.

She would still be asleep, breathing slow and even, and Joe would stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of something he couldn’t name pressing down on his ribs. It was always the same.

He’d lie there, his head still heavy from the night before, and tell himself this was good for him.

This was healthy. He was moving on. He was living. He was making up for lost time.

But then she would shift beside him, mumble something sleepily, and for a split second, he would forget where he was. For a split second, his body would expect you.

His arm would twitch, muscle memory almost pulling him toward you—except it wasn’t you.

It never was. And in that moment, when the reality of it came crashing down, Joe had never felt more hollow.

So he would slip out of bed. Pull on his clothes. Leave before she woke up, before she could reach for him, before she could make him feel even emptier than he already did.

Then, like clockwork, his phone would light up with a text from one of the guys.

Round two tonight? Another night, another city, let’s run it. Burrow, we’re not letting you sit this one out.

And every time, he would hesitate. Every time, he would think about saying no. But then he’d think about what saying no meant.

Silence. Loneliness.

A bed that really felt empty. And worst of all—thoughts of you.

So instead, he would type out the same thing he always did. I’m in.

And just like that, another night would begin. Another night of pretending. Another night of trying to convince himself that this was good for him.

That this was better than thinking about the one person who used to make him feel whole.

And the beginning of the season was always theirs.

It had been for years.

It was the one time of year where the entire world faded into the background—where it was just the two of them, preparing for battle in the way only they knew how. Training camp, preseason, the long, grueling days where his body ached and his mind buzzed with too much information—none of it ever felt as heavy when you were there.

Because you had made it easier. You always knew what he needed before he even had to ask.

You knew how to blend his smoothies just right—protein-packed but never too thick, not too sweet, not too chalky, just enough banana to hide the bitterness of the greens he hated but needed. You knew how many calories he needed to maintain weight, which meals gave him the best energy, when he needed something light and when he needed something hearty. You knew when he was too sore to get off the couch, and you’d already have an ice pack in one hand and a heating pad in the other.

You knew him. And now, you were gone.

Preseason was hell. Not just because of the training, not just because every muscle in his body burned by the time he got home, not just because he was still trying to prove he was fully back from the injury—but because this was the first time he was doing it without you.

For the past seven years, the start of the season had always meant you.

It meant waking up to you shaking him gently, telling him his morning shake was ready, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before he even opened his eyes. It meant coming home to meals that were already planned, already balanced, already exactly what his body needed to recover. It meant you running through the nutrition plan with him, tweaking it when necessary, doing the math so he didn’t have to think about it.

It meant structure. It meant routine. It meant you making sure he was okay, even when he was too stubborn to admit when he wasn’t.

Now, none of it was there. And he felt it more than ever.

The moment he walked into his house after practice, exhaustion hit him like a brick wall. His body was done—his legs sore, his back aching, his head pounding. All he wanted was to throw his bag down, take a shower, eat, and crash.

But instead, he just stood there. Because for the first time, he realized how much there was to do.

You weren’t there to remind him to drink his recovery shake. You weren’t there to make sure the fridge was stocked with what he needed. You weren’t there to have a meal ready so he didn’t have to think about it.

And fuck, he had never thought about it. Not once. Because you had always done it.

Joe sighed, rolling his shoulders, heading into the kitchen. The fridge door swung open with an empty, lifeless hum, and his stomach sank at the sight.

Nothing was prepped.

There were random ingredients, sure. Leftover takeout. Some eggs, maybe. A couple of protein bars shoved in the back. But nothing was ready. Nothing was measured, planned, easy.

And that’s when it really hit him.

You weren’t just gone. You had been holding his life together.

He shut the fridge, pressing his hands against the counter, breathing heavily through his nose. His head felt too full and too empty at the same time.

For years, he had been able to come home, sit down, and just be.

Now? Now he had to do everything himself.

Now, he had to think about what to eat, had to plan it, had to cook it. He had to wash the dishes after instead of finding them already cleaned. He had to remind himself to stretch properly, to ice his ankle, to foam roll before bed.

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it.

It was just that he had never had to before.

Because you had done it all. Because you had loved him enough to do it all. And he—

Joe exhaled sharply, shaking his head like that could make the thoughts disappear. Like it could make the guilt settle.

But it didn’t. It never did.

So he grabbed a protein bar, ate it standing up, and stared at the empty kitchen like it was mocking him. Like it was reminding him of everything he lost.

The morning you left Columbus, the sky was overcast, the air thick with the kind of lingering summer heat that stuck to your skin. It felt heavy, suffocating, like the world itself knew this wasn’t an easy goodbye.

Your best friend stood by the trunk of your car, arms crossed, shifting her weight like she was trying not to say something sentimental that would make you both cry.

"You sure about this?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

No. Not even a little.

But you nodded anyway, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. You were sure—about the job, about the opportunity, about the fact that moving back to Cincinnati was the next step for you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified.

Because Cincinnati wasn’t just another city. It wasn’t just a place on the map.

It was his city.

It was where you had built a life with Joe, where every street held memories, where every turn would remind you of something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You took a deep breath, reaching down to scratch behind Larry’s ears as she sat in her carrier, blinking up at you with wide, judgmental eyes. “Guess it’s just us now, huh?”

Your best friend let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, well, if she could talk, she’d probably tell you this is a terrible idea.”

“She doesn’t need to talk. She’s been staring at me like I ruined her life since I put her in there.”

“Because you did ruin her life. She was thriving here.”

You sighed dramatically, crouching to peer into the crate. “I get it, Larry. You’re a city girl now. But you’ll be fine.”

She flicked her tail. You took that as reluctant acceptance.

Your best friend leaned in, her voice dropping. “For real, though. If it gets to be too much—if you get there and you feel like you can’t do it, like it’s swallowing you whole—you call me.”

You looked at her, something tight forming in your throat.

You had spent the last seven months healing in this apartment, in this city, with her. She had seen the worst of you—the nights you couldn’t sleep, the mornings you barely got out of bed, the moments when you swore you would never go back to Cincinnati, to that life, to the person you used to be.

But here you were.

And you weren’t sure if you were proving yourself right or setting yourself up to fail.

��Promise me,” she pressed.

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise.”

She exhaled, reaching forward to wrap you in a tight hug. “Go be great.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, held on a little longer than necessary, and then let go.

It was time.

The first hour of the drive was quiet.

Larry had settled into the passenger seat, eyes half-lidded in irritation but otherwise calm, curled up on the blanket you had thrown there. The GPS said you had just over an hour to go, and the closer you got, the more your heart pounded.

It was happening.

You were actually doing this.

You were going back.

You were going back to Cincinnati, to a city that used to feel like home, but no longer did.

Going back to the restaurants you used to love, the streets you used to walk, the stadium that still felt like an extension of Joe himself.

Going back to a version of yourself you had spent seven months trying to bury.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter.

This was a mistake.

Maybe you should turn around. Maybe this was too soon. Maybe you had done all this work just to unravel the second you saw him again—because you would see him again. That was inevitable.

You sucked in a breath, reaching for your phone, scrolling through your playlists with one hand until your thumb hovered over a title that made you pause.

"I Can Do It With a Broken Heart."

You hesitated.

Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit play.

The first beat kicked in, and the song filled the car, the steady rhythm drowning out the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head.

“I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day.”

You huffed out something that was half a laugh, half a scoff.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

You turned up the volume, tapping your fingers against the wheel as the song pulsed through the speakers.

You weren’t going to let this break you.

You weren’t going to let the fear win.

This was your life.

Not Joe’s.

Not the life you built for him.

Not the future you thought you had.

This was your fresh start.

So you sang along, let the music wash over you, let the lyrics be a reminder that you had already survived the worst part.

Now, you just had to keep going.

The first week passed in a haze.

It was the kind of week where you moved on autopilot, where you unpacked boxes without really thinking about it, where you got up early, dressed professionally, walked into work like you belonged there—even when people looked at you like you were some kind of open secret.

You knew what they were thinking.

Knew what they whispered when they thought you couldn’t hear.

That’s Joe Burrow’s ex. Didn’t she used to be at every Bengals event? Wonder if she got the job because of him…

You ignored it.

You ignored the careful glances, the way some of your co-workers hesitated before talking to you, like they weren’t sure whether to bring him up or pretend they didn’t know anything.

You weren’t Joe Burrow’s ex.

You were you.

And you belonged here.

You knew that.

So you held your head high, settled into the studio, studied film, took notes, prepared for your first on-air segment like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into your work, into the statistics, into the plays, into the debates about teams and formations and Super Bowl contenders.

And it helped.

For a little while.

But then you went home.

And that was when the silence hit you like a freight train.

Because this wasn’t Columbus, where your best friend was always there to fill the quiet. Where you could crash on the couch and vent about your day. Where you could talk about Joe without every conversation feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest.

This was alone.

For the first time since the breakup, you were truly alone.

And God, it was loud.

The absence of Joe wasn’t just in the city itself—it was in the routine, in the things you used to do without even realizing they were because of him.

Like how you still woke up too early, your body trained to match his schedule, expecting to hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, making coffee before heading to the facility.

Except now, the kitchen was silent.

Like how you caught yourself walking toward the fridge with the muscle memory of preparing his post-practice meal—only to stop halfway when you remembered he wasn’t coming home.

Like how you reached for your phone when the Bengals played their first preseason game, fingers hovering over Joe’s contact, because for years, your first instinct was to text him after every game.

But there was nothing to say.

And maybe the worst part?

You weren’t just missing Joe.

You were missing the you that existed when you were with him.

The version of yourself that felt certain—who knew her place in the world, who belonged somewhere, who mattered to someone.

You had spent months finding yourself again, carving out your own identity, telling yourself that you didn’t need him to be whole.

But now, back in Cincinnati, back in the place where he existed so loudly—

You weren’t sure if you believed it anymore.

So you curled up on the couch, pulling Larry onto your lap, listening to the faint echoes of the city outside your window, and let the loneliness settle in.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just… empty.

And that, somehow, was worse.

The first game of the season was electric.

The stadium roared with life, packed with thousands of fans wearing his jersey, screaming his name, riding the high of the first Sunday of football like it was a holiday. The air was thick with anticipation, the adrenaline thrumming in his veins like a drug, the kind of high that made everything else fade into the background.

It was the kind of game where Joe felt alive.

Where every snap, every pass, every perfectly executed play made him feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Where he could silence the doubts, the guilt, the quiet gnawing ache that had followed him around since the summer.

By the time the final whistle blew, and the Bengals secured their first win of the season, he was buzzing.

His teammates clapped him on the back, Ja’Marr pulling him in with a grin, shouting something in his ear that was lost in the deafening noise of the stadium.

Joe was smiling. Laughing. Letting the moment consume him, letting it drown out everything else.

And then, out of instinct—out of years of routine—he turned to the stands.

He looked for you.

Because that’s what he always did.

After every win, his eyes found you first. No matter how crazy the stadium was, no matter how many cameras were flashing, no matter how loud the world got—he always, always found you.

You, standing there in the family section, wearing his jersey, waiting for him with that soft, knowing smile. You, with your hands cupped around your mouth, cheering louder than anyone else. You, who had been there since before all of this, since before the world knew his name, since before he was anything more than a college quarterback with big dreams.

You, who always made the wins feel real.

But tonight?

You weren’t there.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

The stands blurred, the celebration around him suddenly too loud, too suffocating.

Because of course you weren’t there.

You hadn’t been there for months.

And still, somehow, some way, he had forgotten.

For the first time in seven months, he had let himself exist in a space where you were still his. Where you were still waiting for him, still there at the end of it all, still his person.

But you weren’t.

You were gone.

And in your place, in the section where you used to stand, where you used to belong—

Was Katie.

His girlfriend.

She was standing there, blonde hair perfect, wearing a Bengals hoodie that was probably brand new, clapping politely as she smiled down at him.

Nice. Sweet. Pretty.

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

Because Katie wasn’t bad. She wasn’t anything, really. Just another part of the life he had built in your absence. Something easy, something light, something that should have made him feel better but didn’t.

Because she didn’t know him.

Not really.

Not like you did.

She didn’t know what to say to him after a loss. Didn’t know how he liked his breakfast in the mornings. Didn’t know the exact way he liked his shoulder massaged when the soreness became unbearable.

Didn’t know him like you did.

And for the first time since convincing himself this was what moving on looked like, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

A very, very big mistake.

His hands clenched into fists.

The celebration around him felt like static, like background noise in a life he wasn’t sure belonged to him anymore.

Because winning used to mean everything.

But tonight, standing in the middle of the field, looking up at the stands and seeing her instead of you—

He had never felt more hollow.

For the first couple of months back in Cincinnati, you told yourself you were thriving.

You said it like a mantra, like if you repeated it enough times, it would become real. You made new friends—real friends, not people who only saw you as Joe Burrow’s ex, not WAGs who looked at you with thinly veiled pity, not reporters who were too polite to ask what really happened.

They were normal. Kind. Fun. The kind of girls who made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, who invited you to wine nights and didn’t bring up Joe once. With them, you could pretend that Cincinnati wasn’t laced with ghosts of your old life. You could breathe.

You picked up new hobbies.

You took a pilates class, went to farmer’s markets on Sundays, tried baking even though you burned half the things you made. You started running again—not because Joe had told you once that he liked how focused you looked when you ran, but because you liked the way it made you feel.

You tried to redefine football as yours.

Not Joe’s.

Yours.

You threw yourself into your job, memorized rosters, studied plays, made sure you knew everything about the game so that when you sat in that studio, behind that microphone, no one could say you got this job because of him.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you really did feel like you were thriving.

But then, one afternoon, it all came crashing down.

—

It was a normal day at work. Normal segment. Normal conversation.

Until it wasn’t.

You were on air, talking through some Week 4 analysis, debating quarterback performances with your co-host, when he said it.

Casual. Offhand. Like it wasn’t about to shatter you completely.

"Well, I guess we can trust your take on Joe Burrow—you did have a front-row seat for a long time."

The words landed like a gut punch.

Your stomach clenched, a prickle of heat rising at the back of your neck.

You forced a laugh. A quick, easy, I'm completely unbothered laugh.

"Guess so," you said, brushing it off, moving on like it was nothing.

But inside, you were shaking.

Your hands under the desk. Your breath. Your entire body.

You spent the rest of the segment in autopilot, nodding at the right moments, forcing yourself to focus on the words, on the script, on anything but the feeling of your past creeping into a space that was supposed to be yours.

And the second the cameras cut, you were gone.

You barely made it to your car before it hit you.

The unraveling.

You collapsed into the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight they ached, and then—

You broke.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was months of holding it together, of telling yourself you were fine, of pretending you had rebuilt yourself from the ground up—only to realize you had been balancing on a fault line the entire time.

The sobs came fast, chest-heaving, breathless.

You had spent so long trying to reclaim Cincinnati, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t just a remnant of Joe Burrow’s life—that you could exist here, in this city, in this job, as your own person.

But the truth was, he was everywhere.

And right now, in this moment, you weren’t sure if you were anything without him.

Because Joe was the only person who had ever truly known you.

He knew the way your nose scrunched when you concentrated, the way you got irrationally angry when you lost at board games, the way you never finished a drink, always leaving the last sip untouched.

He knew your moods before you did.

He knew how you got quiet when you were sad, how you hated crying in front of people, how you avoided confrontation until you couldn’t anymore—until it bubbled over in sharp words and slammed doors.

He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself.

Like how you sometimes clenched your jaw in your sleep when you were anxious. Like how you had a habit of counting your steps when you walked, not even realizing it.

Like how, right now, you would be breaking down in your car, gripping the steering wheel, feeling completely and utterly lost—and the only person who could make it better was him.

But he wasn’t here.

And that was the worst part of all.

December used to be your favorite month.

The lights, the music, the warmth of it all. The way the whole world seemed to slow down, wrapped in twinkling lights and the soft hum of Christmas songs playing in the background.

But mostly, December meant him. It meant Joe.

His birthday, tucked right in the start of the holiday season, had always been something sacred to you. It was your thing—the one time of year where you could spoil him without him complaining, where you could go all out, where you could make sure he felt as loved as he made you feel every other day of the year.

You had never held back.

You would spend months planning—picking out the perfect gifts, arranging surprise dinners, making sure every little detail was right. One year, you got him that limited-edition Rolex he had been eyeing but never pulled the trigger on. Another year, you rented out a private cabin in the mountains for just the two of you, knowing he needed to escape the chaos of football for a few days.

Last year—God, last year—you had thrown him a surprise party with all of his friends and family. He had kissed you at the end of the night, hands cupping your face, murmuring against your lips, How do you always know exactly what I want?

Because you knew him. Because you had loved him.

And now, here you were.

A year later. A year without him.

And December didn’t feel magical anymore.

You tried. You really tried.

You put up the tree in your apartment, even though it was smaller than the one you used to decorate with him. You bought yourself Christmas candles, filled your space with the smell of cinnamon and pine, played holiday music when you cooked.

But it all felt wrong.

Because December had always been his month, too. It wasn’t just the holiday season—it was the anniversary of the last time you had ever been his.

The breakup had happened right after his birthday.

It had been cold, the city wrapped in the kind of sharp, biting winter that made everything feel harsher. And in a way, it had been fitting—because that night, when Joe had walked out, when the door had shut behind him, the warmth had left your life, too.

And now, a full year later, it was still gone.

His birthday came and went. You didn’t text him. Didn’t even let yourself think about what he might be doing, whether he was happy, whether he even thought about you at all.

But your body knew.

You woke up that morning feeling it like a weight in your chest, like something pressing down on your ribs. You didn’t check your phone, didn’t open Instagram, didn’t give yourself the chance to see what the world was saying about him.

Because it wasn’t your place anymore. Because you weren’t the person celebrating with him.

Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times you told yourself that you were okay, December would always be the cruelest reminder that you weren’t.

That you had once been his world. And now, you were nothing.

You spent Christmas with your best friend, and it should have been nice. It was nice. Warm. Cozy. The kind of Christmas you had always loved.

But it wasn’t his family.

It wasn’t his mom, who had always pulled you into a hug the second you walked through the door. It wasn’t his dad, who would slip you a knowing smile when Joe snuck a hand around your waist at dinner. It wasn’t his brothers, teasing you like you were already part of the family.

And it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Joe, pulling you against him on the couch, wrapping you in one of his hoodies, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. It wasn’t his voice murmuring, Merry Christmas, baby, in the quiet, sleepy warmth of the morning.

It wasn’t your life. Not anymore.

So, you smiled. You opened presents. You drank hot chocolate and laughed at dumb Christmas movies and let yourself pretend that this was enough.

But when you got home that night, alone in your apartment, staring at your Christmas tree that suddenly felt too big, you let the truth sink in.

December without him was unbearable. And you weren’t sure if it would ever get easier.

You had almost convinced yourself that you were fine.

Almost.

The past year had been a cycle—of loss, of healing, of learning how to be you again. But tonight? Tonight, you felt like you had finally gotten there.

You had put effort into your outfit, just because you wanted to. You weren’t dressing for anyone but yourself, weren’t trying to impress Joe or prove something to anyone. You had slipped into a sleek, fitted black dress, let your new friends style your hair in soft waves, even wore that deep red lipstick that had always made you feel untouchable.

And when you stepped out of your car in front of the restaurant, that new Chanel bag resting effortlessly on your shoulder, you felt good.

Not just okay. Good. Like yourself.

Or at least, the version of you that wasn’t still haunted by him.

Joe had seen you first.

And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

It wasn’t just the shock of seeing you—it was how he saw you. It was the way you walked into the restaurant, laughing at something one of your coworkers had said, your smile easy, effortless, real. It was the way you carried yourself, exuding that same quiet confidence that had once made him fall for you in the first place.

And God, you looked good. Not just good. Stunning.

Like you had stepped right out of a dream, wearing that black dress like it had been made for you, your hair falling in perfect waves, that red lipstick making his mouth go dry.

For a second, Joe forgot how to breathe. Because this was the first time he had seen you in a year. And somehow, you looked okay.

Without him.

The nausea hit immediately.

Because the last time he had seen you—really seen you—you had been crying. You had been begging him to fight for you, to stay, to want you enough to make it work. And now, a year later, you weren’t the woman who had walked away from him, heartbroken and lost.

You were this. Whole. Beautiful. Radiant.

Like he had never even existed in your world.

You didn’t see Joe right away.

Your coworkers were leading the way to your table, your heels clicking against the polished floors, your heart light in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. You were okay. You were doing this. You were thriving.

Until your stomach dropped. Because suddenly, you felt it.

That indescribable feeling—the one that came when someone was watching you. And when you turned your head, your breath caught in your throat.

Because he was there.

Joe.

Sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, not alone. You blinked. Your heart lurched. Your ears started ringing. He had a girlfriend.

You didn’t even know he had moved on.

And yet, here he was, sitting across from some blonde—long hair, perfect makeup, the kind of effortless beauty that made your stomach twist in a way you hated.

Because Joe wasn’t supposed to move on.

Not when you were still here. Not when you had spent the past year rebuilding yourself just to survive the loss of him. And now, in a single second, everything inside you cracked.

You felt sick.

Not because you wanted him back. But because, for the first time, you were faced with the reality that he had built a life that no longer included you.

That the man you had once known better than anyone—the man you had loved with everything you had—was now sitting across from another woman.

That you weren’t his anymore.

Joe watched the realization hit you.

Watched the way your face fell, your eyes widening slightly, your body stiffening like you had just been punched in the stomach. And suddenly, he hated himself.

Because you looked like you—strong, composed, pulled together—but in that brief second, he saw it. That crack in the armor. That hurt.

And fuck, fuck, he wanted to fix it.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t moved on.

Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

Yeah, Katie was nice. Yeah, she looked good on his arm. But she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he needed after a bad game, didn’t know the songs that made him think of home, didn’t know that he couldn’t sleep with the TV on because the noise made his brain race.

She wasn’t you.

And as much as he had tried to convince himself that this was right—that you were the past, that this was his future—he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

Because seeing you here, standing across the room, looking like this, feeling like this, made him realize something.

He didn’t want this life without you. And for the first time in a year, Joe felt something worse than heartbreak.

He felt regret. And Joe could feel Katie watching him.

She had been talking—something about how the steak wasn’t as good as the place she went to in LA—but he hadn’t heard a word. His eyes were locked on you.

On the way your body tensed, on the flicker of hurt that flashed across your face before you smoothed it over like it was nothing. On the way your fingers twitched at your side like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Like you wanted to run. And fuck, he hated that.

Hated that he was the reason you looked like that. Hated that even after a year, he could still hurt you just by existing. Then he felt it.

Katie’s hand sliding up his arm, curling around his bicep, nails digging in slightly as she pressed herself closer. She knew.

Of course she knew.

He hadn’t talked about you much—at least, not in detail—but she wasn’t stupid. She knew you had been important. That you had been in his life for longer than most people had even known his name.

And now, here you were. The ghost she had probably been waiting to meet.

"Joe," she said, sweet but pointed, her voice breaking through his haze. "You okay?"

Her fingers squeezed his arm. He barely resisted the urge to shake her off. He was so close to losing it.

He could feel his patience hanging on by a thread, could feel the way his body was coiled tight, his chest aching with something he didn’t want to feel.

Because it was his late birthday dinner. His friends were here. He was supposed to be happy. But all he could think about was you. And how you were standing there, looking like that, looking like everything he had ever wanted and everything he had already lost.

He pulled his arm from Katie’s grip as casually as he could, pretending to adjust his watch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because every second that passed, the more wrong this felt. The more suffocating the entire situation became.

The dinner had already been irritating—his friends were drunk, the restaurant was too loud, and Katie had spent half the night making passive comments about how he never posted her, about how she just wanted to feel special.

And now, this? Now, you were here?

It was like some kind of cruel joke.

Joe felt like the room was closing in on him.

The sounds of the restaurant—the chatter, the clinking glasses, the faint hum of music in the background—blurred into nothing, white noise against the sharp, singular reality of you.

Standing there. Looking like that. And worse—looking like you didn’t need him anymore.

That realization settled deep, lodged somewhere between his ribs, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake.

His fingers twitched in his lap. His knee bounced once before he forced it to stop. He was trying, really fucking trying, to play it cool, to keep his face neutral, to ignore the way his body had tensed the second he saw you walk in.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to see you like this—unexpectedly, in a crowded restaurant, after a year of living separate lives. He had told himself that when it happened, it wouldn’t matter. That by the time he saw you again, he’d be fine. That whatever you two had been, whatever had been left unsaid, whatever this was, it wouldn’t affect him anymore.

But he had been wrong.

Because seeing you now—standing there in that black dress, your hair falling over your shoulders in that soft, effortless way he used to push his fingers through when you were tired, your lips painted that deep shade of red that had always driven him insane—he felt like his entire body was betraying him.

His stomach clenched. His throat went dry.

Because for a split second, before his brain caught up, before reality sunk its teeth into him, he had expected you to walk toward him.

Like you always had. Like you were supposed to. Like this was still your moment, your ritual, your life together.

And then, just as quickly, he saw it—the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, the way your lips parted just barely before pressing into a tight line.

The way your hands shook.

No one else would have noticed. But he did.

Because he had spent years learning you, memorizing you, knowing every single tell, every little habit, every reaction before you even knew you were having one.

And that? That fucked him up the most. Because it meant this hurt you, too.

It meant you weren’t indifferent. It meant that even after a full year, he still affected you. And that should have made him feel better.

But it didn’t.

Because the way you had reacted wasn’t the way you used to. There was no fond exasperation, no teasing smirk, no warmth in your expression.

It was shock. Discomfort.

Like you didn’t want to be here. Like he was the thing making you feel sick.

And the worst part? He knew he had no right to be hurt by that. Because he had done this. He was the one who had walked away first. He was the one who had let you go.

And yet, even knowing that, even with the weight of that truth pressing down on him, he still felt something ugly coil in his chest at the thought of you not caring at all.

At the thought of you moving on without him, just as much as he had tried—and failed—to move on without you. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. His skin felt too tight, his pulse hammering in his ears, and then—Katie.

Katie, who was still gripping his arm, nails pressing into his sleeve like a silent claim, like she knew. Like she could feel the shift in his body, the way all of his attention, all of his focus, had zeroed in on you.

And then, as if to confirm it, she pulled herself closer, her chin tilting up, her lips curling into something sweet but firm.

"Joe," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the restaurant, "you’re all tense. Relax, baby."

Joe clenched his jaw. Because now? Now, it wasn’t just about you being here. Now, it was about this.

About the fact that he had spent the last year convincing himself that this—Katie, this relationship, this new life—was what he needed. That this was how he moved forward. That this was the best thing for him.

But the second you walked into the room, it had all come crashing down.

And when Katie pressed even closer, her hand sliding down his arm, her fingers curling into his, something in him snapped. Not visibly. Not obviously.

But he felt it.

Because for the first time in months, maybe even the first time since the breakup, he wanted out.

Out of this night. Out of this restaurant. Out of this version of his life where you weren’t in it.

But his friends were here. His teammates. People were watching. So instead, he inhaled sharply through his nose, casually slipping his fingers from Katie’s grip under the guise of adjusting his watch.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice tight. "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because when he glanced up again, when his eyes found you across the restaurant, he saw the moment you turned to your coworkers and muttered something under your breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Saw the way you inhaled deeply, steeling yourself, before turning on your heel and walking toward your table like he wasn’t even there.

Like he didn’t exist. And that?

That hurt worse than anything.

You had spent a year healing.

A year rebuilding yourself, re-learning how to exist outside of him, re-training your mind to stop associating every little thing with Joe Burrow. A year convincing yourself that you were okay, that you were better, that you had made it through the worst of it.

And then, in a single moment, it all shattered.

Because he was here. Not just here—here with her.

You felt it before you even saw him. That undeniable shift in the air, the creeping sensation of familiarity that made your breath catch in your throat. And then, when your eyes finally landed on him—on Joe—it felt like something inside you cracked open, raw and bleeding.

Because he wasn’t alone. He had a girlfriend. And it wasn’t just that. It was how he looked.

Relaxed. Unbothered. Like the past year hadn’t touched him the way it had ruined you. Like he had moved on so seamlessly, so effortlessly, while you had spent sleepless nights trying to pick up the pieces of yourself that he had left behind.

And maybe the worst part?

He looked happy.

Not the kind of happiness you had memorized—the quiet, real, content kind that came when he let himself breathe around you. Not the kind of happiness that was soft and easy, that came from forehead kisses in the morning and whispered inside jokes.

No, this was performative.

This was the kind of happiness you pretended to have when you were trying to convince everyone—including yourself—that you were fine.

And yet, even knowing that, even recognizing that this wasn’t real, it still hit you like a knife between the ribs. Because while you had spent the last year trying to be better, trying to move forward, Joe had spent it trying to erase you.

Like you never existed. Like the seven years you had spent together were just some forgettable chapter in his life, one he could close and move on from without looking back.

And that? That was unbearable.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms damp as you curled your fingers into fists under the table. You felt like you were spiraling, like you were seconds away from breaking right here, in the middle of this crowded restaurant, in front of everyone.

No. No, no, no.

You refused. You had spent too long putting yourself back together just to fall apart now. So you inhaled sharply, forcing a small, tight smile as you pushed your chair back.

Your coworkers looked up, brows furrowed.

“You okay?” one of them asked.

You nodded, already reaching for your bag, voice light, too casual. “Yeah, I just—ugh, I think something I ate earlier isn’t sitting right. I’m gonna head out.”

They nodded, accepting the excuse easily, offering quick well wishes as you grabbed your things and turned for the door. And you didn’t look back.

Not once. Not even when you felt the weight of his gaze burning into your back. Not even when every single step felt like it was dragging you further away from the life you had once lived with him.

Not even when, for the first time in a long time, you realized that no matter how much you had tried to heal, there were some wounds that time just couldn’t fix.

Joe watched you leave, and something inside him snapped.

It happened fast. One second, you were there, and the next, you were gone, slipping through the restaurant like you couldn’t get out fast enough. And fuck—fuck, he hated that.

Hated that you looked right at him and then turned away. Hated that you had left, just like that, without even acknowledging him.

Like he was nothing. Like he had never existed in your life, either.

It made his hands twitch, made his jaw tighten, made his stomach coil with something sharp and awful and unbearable.

It made him move.

He barely heard Katie calling his name. Barely registered the way his friends were still laughing, still drinking, still living in a reality where everything was normal.

Because nothing was normal. Nothing had been normal since you had walked out of his life. And for the first time in a year, Joe didn’t fight it.

Didn’t push it down. Didn’t try to convince himself that he was fine. Instead, he stood up, threw some cash on the table, and went after you.

Joe pushed through the restaurant doors just in time to see your taillights disappear into the night.

Gone.

Just like that.

And it felt like he was right back there again—standing in the middle of your living room, hands shaking, heart in his throat, watching as you begged him to just say something. Just fight for you. Just be the man you needed him to be.

But he hadn’t. He had let you go. And now, a year later, he had done it all over again.

His chest ached, his ribs felt too tight, his pulse was hammering so loud in his ears that he barely heard Katie calling his name behind him.

But then she touched him—her fingers curling around his wrist, her voice dripping with confusion and irritation.

"Joe, what the hell was that?"

He ripped his arm away so fast that she stumbled back a step.

"Are you serious right now?" His voice was rough, raw, his body vibrating with something he couldn’t contain anymore.

Katie scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I am serious. You just humiliated me in there! You followed your ex-girlfriend out of a restaurant when I was right there—on your birthday dinner, Joe."

She said it like it mattered. Like any of this fucking mattered. Like this wasn’t the single worst night of his life. Like he cared.

Joe let out a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face, feeling like he could burst out of his own skin.

"Jesus Christ, Katie," he muttered. "You knew. You always fucking knew."

Her eyes narrowed. "Knew what?"

"That this—us—was nothing." His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. His hands were shaking, his chest felt too fucking tight, and suddenly, everything came out. "You knew I was never over her. You knew you were never—never fucking her."

Katie flinched like he had slapped her. And maybe, in a way, he had.

Because he never said it. Never admitted it. Never acknowledged the fact that he had spent the past year trying to force himself to be okay, to be normal, to be the guy who could move on.

But it had always been bullshit. It had always been a lie. Because he had been living in a fucking delusion thinking that he could be with someone who wasn’t you.

And now? Now, he was standing outside a restaurant, watching the only woman he had ever truly loved drive away from him again, and he felt like he was being ripped in half.

Katie’s eyes were burning. She was angry, but worse—she looked humiliated.

"You are such a fucking asshole," she spat. "You let me think—" She cut herself off, shaking her head, biting the inside of her cheek before exhaling sharply. "You know what? Fuck you, Joe."

He barely reacted. Because nothing she said, nothing she could say, would make him feel worse than he already did.

He was a fucking mess.

A fucking idiot. A fucking coward.

"You need to go," he muttered, voice hoarse.

Katie huffed out a bitter laugh. "Gladly."

He pulled out his phone, tapped the Uber app with shaking fingers, ordered her a ride, and barely looked at her as he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.

She scoffed. "Seriously? You’re not even gonna drive me home?"

Joe clenched his jaw, staring down at the pavement. "I can’t."

And that was the truth. Because if he got in his car right now, he knew where he was going.

He didn’t remember the drive. Didn’t remember putting the car in gear, didn’t remember making the turns, didn’t remember how his foot even got on the gas.

One second, he was standing in the cold outside the restaurant, and the next—

He was here.

In front of your apartment complex.

The one he only knew about because of some casual conversation in the locker room, when one of his teammates had mentioned running into you near downtown.

He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t thought about coming here. But his hands were gripping the steering wheel, his breath was uneven, and he was here.

His knuckles were white. His mind was blank. His heart was breaking all over again.

And for the first time in his life, Joe Burrow didn’t know what the fuck to do.

Joe stood outside your door, heart hammering against his ribs, hands curled into fists at his sides, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt like he understood.

All of it.

The songs, the poems, the movies that had once felt dramatic, exaggerated, over the top. The grand gestures, the desperate pleas, the kind of heartbreak that knocked a man to his knees.

Because this—this—was the lowest he had ever been.

Worse than losing a game. Worse than getting injured. Worse than anything he had ever experienced. Because he had lost you. And he couldn't live like this anymore.

Couldn’t keep pretending that he was fine, that he had moved on, that he didn’t miss you every single second of every single day. Because the truth was, he did.

He missed everything.

Missed the way your voice sounded in the morning, still laced with sleep, soft and warm and home. Missed the smell of your shampoo when you curled against his chest. Missed your laugh, your stupid little quirks, the way you always knew exactly what he needed before he even said a word.

He missed loving you. And he missed being loved by you.

Because no one—not Katie, not any of the women who had tried to take your place, not a single person in the past year—had ever come close to what you were to him.

And maybe it had taken him too long to realize it. Maybe he had been too fucking stupid, too proud, too scared to fight for you when he should have.

But he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

So before he could talk himself out of it, before the fear could win, before he could convince himself that he had already ruined everything beyond repair—

He knocked.

The sound echoed in the quiet of the night, and for a second, all he could hear was the deafening thud of his own heartbeat.

Then—

The lock clicked, the door creaked open.

And there you were.

Standing in front of him, still in that black dress, your hair a little messier now, your eyes red-rimmed, like you had spent the last hour doing exactly what he had been doing—falling apart.

Joe felt something crack inside him.

Because you looked just as broken as he felt.

And before you could say anything, before you could slam the door in his face, before you could tell him to leave—

He broke.

“I—” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It all came out—rushed, jumbled, messy, barely coherent, but real.

“I can’t—fuck, I don’t even know where to start. I—I don’t know how to make this right, I don’t even know if I can, but I have to try because I can’t—” His breath hitched, his hands shaking at his sides, tears burning his eyes as he forced the words out. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t keep waking up without you. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. When I haven’t been since the second you walked away.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like you weren’t sure if this was real.

But Joe couldn’t stop. Because if he did, if he gave himself a second to think, he might break down completely.

So he just kept going.

“I was a fucking idiot,” he choked out. “I—I should have fought for you. I should have been the man you needed. I should have—fuck—I should have never let you think for a second that you weren’t the most important thing in my life. Because you were. You still are.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he didn’t even try to stop it.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I miss you so much that I don’t know how to—how to breathe without you. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His throat was closing up, his chest heaving, his heart fucking shattering, and all he wanted—all he wanted—was to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to show you how sorry he was.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet. Because this was your decision now. So he just stood there, completely open, completely raw, completely yours, and waited.

Waited for you to slam the door in his face. Waited for you to tell him that he was too late. Waited for you to break his heart all over again.

But there it was again—that ache.

That deep, unbearable, all-consuming ache that only Joe Burrow had ever been able to pull from you. That had always been the problem, hadn’t it? That no matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how much you had tried to move on, he was still Joe.

He was still your Joe.

And now, he was standing in front of you, breaking apart at the seams, giving you everything he should have given you a year ago. His eyes were glassy, his breath uneven, his entire body taut like he was waiting for you to destroy him.

And you could have.

You could have slammed the door in his face. You could have walked away, left him out in the cold, given him a taste of his own medicine.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you had never stopped loving him.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before your mind could catch up with your heart, you stepped forward and pulled him in.

The second your arms wrapped around him, Joe broke.

A sharp breath shuddered out of him as he buried his face into your hair, his body sinking against yours like he had been waiting for this moment for so long—like he had been starving for this.

His arms circled you, strong and desperate, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid to let go, like he needed to hold onto you to keep himself standing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his voice cracked and raw. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face into his chest, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie as your tears finally spilled over.

Because fuck.

This was the first time in a year that you had felt this. The warmth. The safety. The rightness of being in his arms.

You hated how good it still felt. How much you still wanted it.

Joe tightened his grip, his arms pressing you closer, his body trembling slightly as he mumbled more apologies, more I should have fought for you, I should have never let you go, I should have never—

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.

And for the first time in a year, you really looked at him.

His face was different. A little more tired, a little more worn, his jaw sharper, his cheekbones more defined, but his eyes—his eyes—were still the same. Still that impossible shade of blue, still holding that same intensity, that same Joe-ness that had always made you weak.

And suddenly, that was all you needed.

All the months of heartbreak, all the lonely nights, all the pain—it all blurred for just a moment. Because the only thing that mattered was him.

And then, you let him inside.

Joe looked around, taking in your apartment, the newness of it, the little things that weren’t his, that weren’t yours and his.

And then, finally, you both sat on the couch.

There was no space between you—his thigh pressed against yours, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to sit up straighter, forcing yourself to speak.

Because if he was here, if he was really going to do this, he needed to hear everything. He needed to understand what he had done.

So you told him. You told him everything.

“You broke me, Joe.” Your voice was quiet, but firm. “You really, really broke me.”

Joe inhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt him.

“I spent months—months—trying to figure out what I did wrong,” you continued, your throat tightening. “Trying to understand why I wasn’t enough for you. Why you couldn’t just try. Why you let me walk away when I was begging you to fight for me.”

Joe’s head dropped into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His breathing was uneven, like he was barely holding it together.

You swallowed hard, wiping at your cheek. “I had to learn how to exist without you. And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Joe let out a slow, ragged breath. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked, your hands gripping your knees. “Because while I was trying to survive losing you, you were out there—” You hesitated, shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. “You were living. You were drinking, partying, fucking around with people who weren’t me. You had a girlfriend.”

Joe flinched, his jaw tightening. “She was nothing.”

“That’s not the point, Joe.”

His shoulders slumped, defeated. “I know.”

You blinked, breathing through the sharp ache in your chest. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I haven’t thought about this moment a million times,” you admitted, voice softer now. “Because I have. But if you think I’m just gonna let you back in, like none of it ever happened, you’re wrong.”

Joe sat up, nodding, his hands clasped together tightly. “I don’t expect that,” he said, voice low but steady. “I don’t expect anything. But I—” He let out a heavy exhale, running a hand through his hair. “I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

Your heart clenched.

Joe turned to face you fully, his knee bumping yours, his expression desperate and real and so fucking raw.

“I never stopped, not for a second,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I could live without you. I thought I could move on, that I could distract myself, that I could convince myself that I made the right choice. But I didn’t.” His hands curled into fists. “I ruined the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”

Your chest felt like it was being squeezed, your body so tired of carrying all this pain.

Joe swallowed hard. “I will do anything to make this right. Anything.” His eyes were pleading now, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you. “But you have to tell me how.”

You hesitated, inhaling deeply, your fingers twisting in your lap. And then, finally, you said it.

“You have to try.”

Joe nodded instantly, like there was no hesitation, no doubt, no fear left in him. “I will.”

But you weren’t finished.

“I’m not just gonna let you back in.” You met his gaze, steady despite the storm inside you. “I need you to prove that you mean it. That this isn’t just guilt, or nostalgia, or regret.”

Joe didn’t blink. “I know.”

“I’m serious, Joe. I’m not gonna be your safety net. I’m not just something you can come back to because you’re lonely. I need you to prove that this time, you’re not gonna leave when things get hard.”

Joe shifted forward, his voice so sure, so certain.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time in a year, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to fight for.

The next few weeks felt new.

Not in the way falling in love for the first time does—full of naive excitement, full of the rush of this is forever without ever questioning what forever actually means.

This was different.

This was love with edges, love with history, love that had been broken down to its very foundation and rebuilt with hands that knew how fragile it was.

You and Joe didn’t fall back into old habits, didn’t slip into the comfort of what once was. Because what you had before hadn’t worked, and maybe that was the point.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

You weren’t together every second of every day. You weren’t just Joe’s girlfriend anymore. And maybe that was exactly what you had needed all along.

Joe never stopped trying.

He took you on real dates again, ones that weren’t just convenient dinners after practice, but ones he planned—a private table at your favorite restaurant, a weekend getaway, tickets to that concert you had mentioned in passing months ago.

He brought you presents—not extravagant, expensive gifts, but things that showed he listened to you. The signed first edition of that book you’d been searching for, the rare vintage jersey you casually mentioned once, the perfume you used to wear back in college but stopped because you thought it was discontinued.

He gave you space when you needed it. And when you talked, he listened.

Really listened.

And that gave you hope. Because this? This was the old Joe.

The one who had loved you before the fame, before the pressure, before the weight of the world had sat heavy on his shoulders. The one who had once promised you the world and had meant every word.

And maybe—just maybe—this time, he would keep that promise.

And Joe had never been happier.

He hadn’t realized what he had until he lost it. Until he spent a year trying to pretend like life without you was still life at all. And now that he had you back, he would never, ever lose you again.

So he did what he should have done the first time.

He showed up for you. For everything.

For your job, which he saw now wasn’t just something you did, but something you loved, something you were good at. He watched every segment, sent you texts after each one, grinned when you debated your co-hosts on-air like you were born for this.

For your hobbies, the ones you had picked up when he wasn’t around—reading late at night, running at sunrise, perfecting your French braiding skills just because you could. He watched you bloom into a version of yourself he hadn’t seen in years.

And he realized—this was you.

The you that had existed before the NFL, before the noise, before the expectations. And fuck, he had missed you.

Not the girlfriend who had once made his life so seamless, so easy, so comfortable.

But you.

The woman who never let anyone take her for granted. The woman who had built a life outside of him. The woman who had once loved him enough to let him go when she realized he wasn’t ready to love her the way she deserved.

Joe had spent years thinking he wanted someone who fit perfectly into his life. But the truth was, he didn’t want a trophy wife.

And you had never wanted to be one.

He wanted this. You, with your own ambitions, your own life, your own dreams.

And now, he had you back. Not because you needed him.

But because you had chosen him.

And he would spend the rest of his life proving that he was worth that choice.

Three months had passed, and somehow, this felt normal again.

Not in the way it once had—not in the suffocating, all-consuming way where your life revolved around Joe and his schedule.

This was better.

This was right.

And tonight, for the first time in over a year, you were his date to an NFL event. The NFL Honors, to be exact. The kind of night that used to feel like pressure, like you had to be perfect, like you were a reflection of him rather than your own person.

But not this time.

This time, it was just a date. A night out. A moment to celebrate him and everything he had fought to reclaim this season.

You would have been excited, had it not been for the fact that you were currently doing your makeup in a moving vehicle.

“You’re gonna stab yourself in the eye with that thing,” Joe mused, eyes flicking to you in the passenger seat as you struggled to apply mascara.

“I wouldn’t have to if someone had given me more time to get ready,” you muttered, carefully swiping the wand through your lashes.

Joe scoffed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Are you kidding me? You literally had hours. I was ready thirty minutes before I even came to get you.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head back for another coat. “Yeah, well, some of us have more to do than just put on a suit and fix our precious curls.”

Joe smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “You love my curls.”

You ignored him, reaching for your lip liner, only to fumble and drop it between your seat and the center console.

“Fuck,” you hissed, shifting to try and reach it.

Joe took the opportunity immediately. “Damn, you that excited for tonight?”

You groaned, pressing your head back against the seat in defeat. “Joe, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he mused, one hand on the wheel, the other casually adjusting his watch, looking way too pleased with himself. “All dressed up, sitting next to me, getting flustered… You sure it’s the event you’re excited for?”

You turned to glare at him, your face already burning, and the second he saw it—that blush—he grinned.

Like he had just won the fucking Super Bowl.

Like making you blush had been his goal all along.

And honestly? Knowing Joe, it probably had been.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you muttered, arms crossed.

Joe reached over and gave your thigh a small squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel, still grinning. “Yeah, but you love it.”

And the worst part?

You did.

You knew he was going to win before they even announced it.

There had been a lot of speculation, sure, but there was no doubt in your mind.

No one had fought harder than Joe. No one had come back from a worse season to prove himself the way he had.

So when they called his name—Joe Burrow, Comeback Player of the Year—you barely heard the crowd over the sound of your own excitement.

You were on your feet in an instant, clapping, beaming, so proud.

And when he turned toward you before heading to the stage, his hand brushing against yours in a silent moment of acknowledgment, your heart clenched in the best way.

This was his moment.

But you were his person.

—

Joe took the stage, adjusting the mic, the gold trophy shining under the lights.

“Uh—wow,” he started, shaking his head slightly, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was trying to gather his thoughts.

The crowd laughed, and he let out a small exhale, gripping the trophy a little tighter.

“I’m not gonna stand up here and act like this season was easy,” he admitted, his voice steady but raw, real. “It wasn’t. At all. I went through a lot—personally, professionally, mentally. And honestly? There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be back up here again.”

Your chest ached a little at that.

Because you knew.

You knew how much it had taken for him to get here.

Joe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “But I had a lot of people in my corner. My teammates, my coaches, my family. And—” He paused, just for a second, and then his eyes found yours.

“And someone who reminded me what I was fighting for.”

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t a grand declaration.

It wasn’t over the top.

It was just a moment—a split second where it was just you and him in a room full of people.

Joe cleared his throat, shifting his weight, nodding once. “This is for all the people who never stopped believing in me. And to anyone going through something they don’t think they’ll come back from—keep going. You never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Joe gave a small nod, turned, and walked off the stage.

And when he got back to your table, the first thing he did was lean down and press a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “Told you I’d make it worth your time.”

And yeah.

He really, really had.

The night felt easy.

The way it always had, before everything got complicated. Before the pressure, before the expectations, before you had to fight for something that should have been effortless.

Now, it was effortless.

Joe was next to you, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot of pasta while he rambled about the upcoming Super Bowl, going on about the defensive schemes and how the media was making too big of a deal about certain matchups.

Larry sat perched on the counter, her tail flicking every now and then, eyes trained on Joe like she actually cared about football, which was something Joe found endlessly amusing. He had already started referring to her as his cat, despite the fact that she had only tolerated him in the beginning.

“She loves me more than you now,” he had said just last week, smirking as Larry curled up next to him on the couch.

And you had just rolled your eyes. "Not a chance."

Now, standing here, making dinner in your quiet apartment, it felt like you had never left each other’s orbit. Like no time had passed at all.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past.

You were just here. With him.

You turned toward the fridge, reaching to grab the parmesan, when you felt it.

A tap on your shoulder. Instinctively, you turned back. And everything stopped.

Joe was on one knee.

Your breath caught, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared down at him, frozen.

His hands were slightly unsteady, his fingers wrapped around a small, velvet box. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his lips parted like even he couldn’t believe he was doing this right now.

But his eyes—his eyes—were sure. There was no doubt. No hesitation.

Only love.

Joe exhaled sharply, running his free hand over his face before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

“Okay,” he started, shaking his head slightly. “I had this whole plan. I was gonna wait until after the summer, do some big, romantic thing, maybe take you on a trip, make it perfect.” He swallowed hard, looking up at you. “But, uh—yeah. Clearly, that didn’t happen.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, your heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear anything else.

Joe’s fingers tightened around the ring box. “Because the truth is, I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait. I’ve been thinking about this since the second you took me back, and I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I bought this ring the week we got back together. I didn’t even fucking hesitate. Just walked into the store, told them exactly what I wanted, and bought it right there. Because I knew.”

Your chest ached.

Joe let out a small, nervous laugh, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I knew the second I lost you that I had made the biggest fucking mistake of my life. I knew that I couldn’t do life without you, that I didn’t want to do life without you. And I know—I know—I have spent the last year proving that to you. But let me prove it for the rest of my life.”

Your vision blurred, tears spilling over as you let out a soft, choked breath.

Joe’s voice wavered slightly, his own eyes looking glassy. “I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we always planned. I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we should do. I want to marry you because I choose you. Every single fucking day. Over and over again. For the rest of my life.”

Your hands were trembling now, your lips parting as you tried to breathe.

Joe swallowed hard, shaking his head. “You are the love of my life. You always have been. And I am done wasting time.” His jaw clenched slightly, his fingers tightening around the box. “So, please, for the love of God, put me out of my misery and say yes.”

A breathless laugh bubbled out of you, your whole body trembling, your face wet with tears.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Joe’s face broke into the biggest, purest smile you had ever seen.

And then you were falling to your knees in front of him, your hands grabbing his face, pulling him in for a kiss that was everything—every promise, every ounce of love, every second of waiting for this moment.

Joe kissed you back instantly, his hands shaking as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as possible, like he could never get enough.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, his thumbs swiping at the tears on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And for the first time in forever, you said it back without hesitation.

“I love you too.”

Joe grinned, slipping the ring onto your finger before he could drop it, and then exhaled dramatically.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “That would’ve been awkward as hell.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as Joe pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, Larry watching in the background like she knew exactly what had just happened—

You realized something.

This was exactly how it was meant to be.

#joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joe shiesty #joey b #jb9 #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #nfl fic #nfl players #nfl imagine

1K notes · View notes

tofics · 3 months ago

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write something about dean reacting to you getting your 🍒's pierced or him even finding out that they have been. Totally totally okay if not LOVE your work 🫶

Eeeek, my first request ever!!! 🤩 For that alone I'm inclined to make this as perfect as possible, but due to post-holiday brain-rot I can make no promises about the actual quality of what I'm about to produce. 🙈 I immediately had two ideas when I read this, so you're getting both.

Version 1 is just funny, whereas version 2 has a slight bit of angst to it, still a funny ending though. Hope you enjoy! 🤗

Warnings: nipple piercings, bare titties, exposing your 🍒's in front of strangers (willingly), some bleeding, canon typical violence (monster death)

POV: Dean finds out you got your nips pierced.

Version 1 "Sam, don't! He could be the shapeshifter, for all we know!" Dean pulled his brother back by the jacket. "A - a what?" The man in front of you stammered, his eyes blown wide in fear. You quickly hushed him. "It's okay, just get in there!" You were convinced this guy wasn't the shapeshifter. You knew it in your gut, but you knew that explanation wouldn't fly with Dean.

The four of you quickly pressed into the small bathroom. Dean had his gun pointed at the guy's throat, who was nervously eyeing the weapon. "It's okay", you assured him in a hushed whisper. "We'll get you out of here. Just give him the spoon, Sam." You nodded at the younger Winchester, who in turn started prodding his jacket. One pocket, another, then a quiet curse.

"I must've dropped it!"

You glanced at Sam in disbelief. Dean grunted, though he didn't take his eyes off of the stranger.

"Now what?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't have anything else silver on me. Do you?"

"I got lots of silver bullets," Dean growled, still clearly convinced that the poor soul trapped in this bathroom with you was the monster you were looking for. The man yelped quietly.

"Not helpful, Dean," you hissed, but the hunter just grunted.

"You got any better ideas?"

Silence filled the air as all three of you pondered over your current predicament. Then a lightbulb went off in your brain.

"I do, actually."

With swift movements, you handed your gun over to Sam and then began pulling your sweater off.

"Uh - what are you doing?" Sam stared at you like you had lost your mind and even Dean was glancing over at you as you began peeling your top upwards.

"My nipple piercings are made of silver," you explained casually. Sam's eyes grew wide while a vein popped out on Dean's temple. The man you were trying to save looked like he was trying very hard to look anywhere but at you. "If Dean's bullets are the only other silver thing we got, then I don't see any other way than this. I'm not blowing some guy's brain out just to be on the safe side," you continued.

Your top went over your head, leaving you in nothing but your bra from the waist upwards. Sam's face had a funny color and Dean looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. His eyes briefly traveled down to your exposed cleavage, then quickly flicked back up to your face. "You can't be serious," Sam cut in.

"About my nipples being pierced or the piercings being silver?"

"About letting this guy touch you."

You brushed Sam's concern off with a tut. "Oh, hush. Don't be so prude. Now, go on," you said and undid the clasp of your bra with swift fingers.

Three loud inhales sounded as you revealed your boobs to the room. Sam's eyes immediately went towards the ceiling. The stranger briefly glanced at your tits with a pained expression before following suit with Sam, mumbling something about how surely, all of this just had to be a weird dream. Dean, however, took a good long look before a smile whisked across his lips.

"When'd you get this done?" He whispered with an appreciative tone.

"Couple of months ago," you replied, smiling back at him. "You like it?"

"Like it? Sweetheart, I-"

"Guys," Sam interrupted, eyes still glued to the ceiling.

"Right, right, sorry." You reached for the man's hand who jumped when your hand touched his. "Go on, dude. Just put a hand on it so we know you're good."

The guy made no move to do much of anything, so you gently lifted his hand to your chest until it made contact with one of your piercings. "Just a dream, just a dream," the man mumbled with his head still turned upwards and away from you. "Maybe I'm a shapeshifter too," Dean mumbled, his eyes on the man's hand pressed to your boob.

You grinned in reply. "See? He's good." The man's hand showed no signs of injury as you lifted it off of your chest again. "Now how about I get dressed again and we go find the actual son-of-a-bitch?"

Version 2 Sure, people warn against getting body alterations done under the influence of alcohol all the time. It's sort of an unwritten rule, the kind of common-sense one is just expected to have. But as booze tends to do, it prefers to link up with mischief instead. Common-sense is just so boring. Such a goody-two-shoes. The nay-sayer of all genius ideas. And clearly, that's what getting your nipples pierced is: a genius fucking idea.

At least so you thought last night while out and about with Jo. The two of you had teamed up in an effort to drink your shared sorrows away: you'd just come back from yet another hunt during which you'd felt belittled by Dean yet again, and Jo was in the midst of another heated fight with Elle about being allowed out for a hunt at all - again. Each dismissal had lit the fire of injustice within the both of you, and while your first few drinks were meant to quench the flames, they had the opposite effect, acting like fuel instead.

Soon, both you and Jo were slurring your respective rambles about your 'suppressors'.

"Just isn't fair." Jo slammed her fist down on the bar top, earning herself a quick glance from the bartender.

You shook your head woefully. "It isn't. They just don't see us. It's like we're invisible. Or babies. Invisible babies."

Jo pointed her finger at you. "Exactly! Invisible babies. But we're not! We're grown women, god dammit! Women! Would babies have boobs like that?" Her finger swayed from your face to your cleavage, followed diligently by the guy who sat two seats down from you. Your chin dropped to your chest as you glanced at your own boobs before meeting the eyes of the sleazy guy two seats over. A sluggish grin crawled over your lips. "Nice, aren't they?" A toothy grin appeared on the other patron's face. "Sure are, baby, sure are," he called back, causing you to look at Jo with triumph in your eyes. "See? He agrees too. No baby would have boobs like that."

Jo nodded, her head bobbing up and down in a wobbly fashion. "Cause he sees us. Not like my mom. Or Dean." She scowled, then downed another shot the bartender had dutifully lined up for you at your signal.

"We jus' gotta find a way to show 'em," you slurred. "Way to show how badass we are. Hmm." You nodded to yourself like you'd just said the most profound thing.

A moment of silence passed between you two girls before Jo's face suddenly lit up. "I got an idea."

As genius as it had seemed to you four shots in, the next morning, you weren't so sure anymore that piercing your nipples had been a genius move. It did look amazing (one glance in the mirror in the morning after waking up confused why your nips felt so damn sore had convinced you of that easily), but you still needed some convincing about the practicality of it as you got dressed and put on your clothes for the day. It proved as your first challenge: a bra was immediately out of the question after feeling how tight the material pressed against your sensitive and raw skin. You threw on a large, comfy t-shirt instead and paired it with an even larger sweater. Oversized clothes to the rescue.

As expected, your drinking spectacle of last night didn't go unnoticed by either of the boys. Sam's "Whoa, you look rough" got quickly followed up by a dry snort from Dean at the sight of you. "Jesus, you and Jo empty half a liquor store or something?" You only grumbled something unintelligible as a response while you fixed yourself some coffee from the small breakfast spread your motel offered.

While you nursed your coffee, Dean and Sam made a plan for the day. Their mission yesterday had been a bust - the empty factory had, in fact, not been the hiding place of the shapeshifter that the three of you were after, which left it still roaming about. You didn't partake in the planning process, partially due to your hangover, but mostly due to the fact that you were still hung up on your exclusion. For your own safety. Dean's reasoning had felt like a punch in the gut. Did he still not trust your abilities?

"Hey." You were pulled back to the present by fingers snapping in front of your face. "You with us?" Dean's eyes were searching your face as you zeroed back in on him. You grunt for a response had one of his brows raising, but he didn't comment on it, instead pulling you aside when the three of you headed out towards the parking lot.

"Are you okay?" You knew that look. Dean's scrutinizing gaze roamed over your face to look for the subtlest of clues. You'd made your protest heard loud and clear yesterday, and you read the subtext in his question with ease. Are we okay? You inhaled deeply as you stalled to answer. You were still upset with him, but you didn't have it in you to discuss his views on your involvement during hunts in your current state. Your head was pounding too much, and your nipples faintly felt like someone was holding a lighter to them. "Yeah. I'm okay," you responded with a sigh. Dean looked like he was about to object, clearly not buying your answer, but just then, Sam called out for the two of you.

Genius fucking idea. You gritted your teeth as you sprinted after the shapeshifter. Of course you'd end up in action the one day you didn't wear a bra. As if chasing supernatural beings wasn't challenging enough, you were now forced to awkwardly press your arms under your boobs for support as you ran down the damp alleyway. Because of your makeshift-bra, your gun was holstered between your hands right under your tits, aiming directly forward. It wasn't a safe way to run, nor a comfortable one, but you didn't have time to ponder either of those facts. The shapeshifter was getting away, and you couldn't let that happen.

You saw it turning a corner a couple hundred feet ahead of you and dashed after it, tits squeezed together in front of your chest like they were your main weapon and not your gun. The fabric of your shirt rubbed over your freshly pierced nips like sandpaper on wood and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself focused on the monster chase instead of the pain.

When you skid around the corner, you found the shapeshifter trapped between yourself and Dean on the other end of the back alley. It's head spun back and forth between you and him like a trapped animal and for a moment, it felt like time had frozen. Your eyes briefly flicked over to Dean, whose brows were furrowed in concentration and determination, and he shook his head at you ever so slightly.

The flush of anger inside your belly was hot and instant, yet before you had time to react, a loud shriek echoed through the alleyway and the shapeshifter launched itself your way.

It all happened so quickly that you acted more out of instinct than on rational thought. The kicks and blows to your body barely registered before a gunshot rang through the air and the monster's lifeless body dropped to the ground in front of you.

You stared at it, panting. The adrenaline coursing through your veins felt like fire being pumped through your body. It took you a second to register Dean's voice through the ringing in your ears.

"Hey. Hey. You okay? Are you hurt?" Hands were gripping you by the shoulders and you were spun sideways. You blinked a couple of times as Dean came into focus in front of you, concern etched into every fine line on his face. "Talk to me," he urged as his eyes feverishly scanned you up and down. You shook your head faintly, still dazed. "I'm fine." You'd taken down the shapeshifter yourself. You'd done it. You'd kicked ass.

A slow smile spread on your face as the realization set in. You had taken down a shapeshifter all by yourself. In front of Dean, no less. Now he had to see you.

"We got it, Sammy. Yeah. It's done. Uh-huh. No, she took it out." Dean glanced over at you as the two of you walked back to his car. You were still smiling smugly ear to ear. Dean looked like he'd been forced to eat a lemon whole.

"What d'you think? Of course not." He growled into the phone. You could imagine Sam's question without having heard it. You let her come? Dean had ordered you to stay in the car of course. But then you'd seen the shapeshifter run by. Who in their right mind would've stayed in their car at the sight?

"Uh-huh. Yeah. We'll meet you back at the motel." Dean hung up. Anger radiated off of him in quiet, shaky waves. Under any other circumstance, you would've been quaking in your boots right about now, wary of the storm that was about to come your way any second now. But not today. Today, you were flying high, fueled on by your win.

Dean settled into the driver's seat, but didn't start the car. Here we go, you thought. Speech incoming. Yet it didn't come. When you turned your head to look at him, you didn't find Dean staring you down, but frowning at your chest instead.

"You're bleeding."

Your own forehead crinkled up as you looked down on yourself. Two deep red spots were starting to bloom on your chest, right where... Crap.

You quickly slung an arm over your chest, covering up the two spots. "I, uh. It's fine." Though it felt anything but. You hadn't noticed it in the moment, but the monster had apparently struck you in the chest, right across your boobs. Your fresh piercings had seemingly not appreciated that move in the least. Now that you had been made aware of it, your nipples felt like they were on fire, pain striking through each boob like a spasm.

Dean's jaw tensed. In one swift move, he leaned in and plucked your arm from your chest, exposing the bloody spots on your sweater that were slowly growing in size. You could see his frown deepening as he examined your injuries. Warmth crept up your neck and into your cheeks.

"It's not fine. What did he do? I can't see puncture wounds. Why are you bleeding?"

Whatever triumph you had felt just a moment ago had ebbed away and was now being replaced by the icky sticky feeling of shame. You turned your head so he wouldn't see the embarrassment coloring you the same color as the spots on your sweater, but Dean spoke your name in a soft, yet stern voice.

You knew he wouldn't let this go.

You sighed deeply. "I got my nipples pierced." Your voice was barely above a murmur. Heat blazed from your cheeks and pain throbbed in your wounded nips.

For the first time ever since meeting Dean Winchester, he did not hit you with a quick comeback. The lack of a snarky reply was so jarring that you looked back at him, despite the embarrassment shining bright in your cheeks like Rudolph's nose.

Dean's face seemed to be frozen in a state somewhere between surprise and amusement. You stared at him for a moment before scoffing. "Just get it out." His eyes flickered from the bloody spots on your torso to your eyes and back, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Get what out?"

"The comments. Whatever you're dying to say. I know you've got some stupid shit already cooking in that brain of yours," you scoffed, and as if on cue, mischief glinted in his eyes.

"Actually," Dean started and flung a casual arm across your seat. "I think it's kind of hot."

The lack of reprimand caught you off guard so much that you could only stare at him.

"But I am gonna need details. Was it Jo's idea? Or yours?" Dean flashed a widespread grin at you and started the car. He was clearly enjoying himself.

You could only roll your eyes and groan.

"You know, I'll have to check when we're back. See how injured you are. Patch you up," he continued, the grin now stretching so wide that it almost went from ear to ear.

"Not a chance, Winchester."

Dean only snickered in return.

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

#fic request #thank you for submitting a request!!!#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #does this count as smut?#dean winchester smut #dean winchester request #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester drabble #supernatural drabble #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

186 notes · View notes

holdmytesseract · 9 months ago

Text

moodboard by @mochie85 divider by @fictive-sl0th <3

Summary: It's been a long time coming... But now the day for you and Loki to say 'Yes' and enter the bond of marriage has finally arrived. A covenant for eternity.

Chapter One - Of Cakes and Dances

Warnings for this Chapter: fluff, bit of suggestive smut

Word Count: 2,6k

a/n: We officially start our road to the wedding, guys! 🥳 In this chapter we have some cake tasting and dancing. Enjoy! 🤗

A huge shoutout goes out in this chapter to @chennqingg ! She crafted the beautiful wedding invitation! Thank you so, so much, my friend! 💚

💍 Chapter Zero °☆• Chapter Two 💍

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• A Covenant for Eternity Masterlist (coming soon!)

A rather loud knock against the main door of Loki's (and now as well yours) apartment echoed through the hallway and rooms; even reaching you in the bathroom.

Not that this was a problem so 'early' in the morning - well, not usually, but today was Saturday and both you and Loki had your 'day off'. Given that fact, your fiancé was still sound asleep and you, well... You had just stepped out of the shower mere minutes ago.

"Gimme one minute, pwease!" You called out of the door frame; tooth brush in mouth.

After quickly getting dressed and at least halfway ready, you jogged towards the door; opening it slightly out of breath.

"Morning, babes!"

Natasha was standing in front of it; big smile on her face and a small sized parcel in her hand.

She immediately noticed your laboured breath and flushed face, of course - and Nat being Nat, she couldn't let this just pass.

"Had to dismount your princely stud first?" Your best friend asked boldy; throwing you a dirty smile and wink.

You blinked.

"What? I- No! Nat!" Once your brain had caught up you immediately 'defended' yourself; gently slapping her shoulder while laughing. "You and your dirty mind! Geez, I was just having a shower and about to get ready for the day. You were the one interrupting me and forcing me to hurry, babes! Besides is my..." You lifted your hands to draw quotation marks into the air, in order to quote Nat. "... princely stud still asleep."

The widow had done nothing but smirk and giggle while you had explained 'the situation'.

Now she shrugged her shoulders. "We both know it could've been both." "Oh shut up!" You giggled and then proceeded to hug her. Only halfway unfortunately, because the little parcel was kind of in the way.

"What have you got here?" You asked then; nodding at said rectangular carton box. "The reason why I am here." Your best friend smiled. "I was just returning from a run, when the postman delivered this for you - and I may have a guess what it is..."

The gears in your head were turning, until realisation hit you; eyes widening.

"The wedding invitations!" Natasha nodded. "Yup! I mean, it's about time they arrive. We've only got three months left..."

Three months... Three... Natasha was right. Only 85 days left until you were going to marry the love of your life.

"By the Norns... How did the year go by so quick? I could swear Loki just proposed to me and now we are already getting married?" Your best friend giggled, "Well, like I already said... It was about time for Loki to get that ring." and handed you the parcel. "If you need help with these... You know where to find me." The widow gave you a wink, then turned to leave. "I'll see you!"

You smiled. "Bye! And thanks, babes!"

Later that Saturday - after you finished your business in the bathroom and Loki had made it to leave the bed as well, the both of you took a look inside the parcel together. Until now, you had just seen a rough blueprint of the invitations and not the originals. Excitedly, you opened up the package - and couldn't believe your eyes. They were absolutely stunning. Beyond your expectations. "Baby, look at that..." You carefully took one in your hands. Loki just chuckled, "I am looking, darling." and leaned over to press a kiss against your temple. "I love them!" You stated; eyes still clued to the green and golden card.

The god nodded approvingly. "Indeed. They are beautifully crafted. More than fit for an invitation to a royal wedding."

You giggled. "Yeah? Are they fulfilling the princely expectations?" Loki gently squeezed your side. "Of course, love." "Shall we send them out then? It's time, isn't it?" He smiled at you; blue eyes shining with love and anticipation. "I'd be more than happy to do so."

You and Loki spent the rest of the day with folding the invitations, putting them inside an envelope, labelled said envelopes and of course send them out. Some of them were handed over personally and some reached their receiver with a little help of seidr.

Sending out invitations wasn't the only thing you and Loki had to still 'get done' for the wedding. Oh no... Two big things were still scribbled on the 'to-do' list - of which one was to practise your wedding dance.

You and Loki had already chosen the songs and a 'choreography' was made. The only thing what you still had to do now, was practising. Your soon-to-be husband hadn't really a problem - given the fact that he was a prince. He learned how to dance in his youth.

As for you... Well... You struggled a little bit, but you were confident. Plus, you had the best teacher...

"No, my love," the god spoke through the music with a chuckle; shaking his head. A snap of his finger later, the song stopped. "You..." He adjusted your arm around his shoulder gently. "...have to keep your arm like that. Unless I won't be able to lift you properly." You sighed. "Sorry, babe. Asgardian dancing isn't my cup of tea, I'm afraid." Once more Loki shook his head; the man bun keeping his curls from tickling your arm. "No, don't say that. You never danced like this before - of course you need more time and practice." "Yeah, but... We already practised this about ten times..."

Loki chuckled. "Yes and you're doing wonderfully. Do you wish to know how long it took me to learn all this?" You just nodded. "Over a year." That left you speechless. "Exactly. Now come on." Loki got into position. "Let's do it again." You agreed; getting into position as well. "At least I can waltz and we have to practice part two of our dance not remotely as much..." "You say that as if it meant nothing, darling. I'd be so bold and say that not every Midgardian woman can waltz." "Yes, but-" "Ah.Ah," Loki tutted; interrupting you. "No buts. You are my dancing queen." His words left you blushing, and before you were able to say something, he 'switched on' the music again.

You quickly tried to focus; recalling the dance steps you had learned already - and it worked. It really worked. You smiled as you moved with Loki over the rich marble floor in one of the dance halls in Asgard.

Practising in Asgard? Yes. Why? Loki insisted, since one: The actual dance would take place here as well, so it was better for the practice and two: Because the professional dance lessons (if you would choose to take some) were for free. Plus, nearly every Asgardian was a literal dance professional...

Since you (and Loki) wanted to keep things even and make a mix of an Asgardian and Midgardian wedding, the dance consisted of two components. You'd start with the Asgardian part and then switch over to the Midgardian. Two realms, two songs - and actually two dances. The waltz was no problem for you, but the Asgardian dance style was...

With the ending of the last tunes of the beautiful musical piece, you and Loki took your 'final position' as well. Your right arm draped over his shoulder; hand resting on the nape of his neck. His right arm was in the exact same position. Your forehead was leaned against his; skin on skin and eye to eye.

The god smiled, "Well done, love." and broke the position to catch your lips in a small, gentle kiss. "See? You did it." "Almost," you corrected him, but couldn't help but smile as well. Loki rolled his eyes - still with that smirk on his face, "We'll get to it, I promise." and took a step back. "Let's start again."

Loki distanced himself from you and got into position, with his hands crossed behind his back. Then he snapped and the song started from the beginning. The both of you started to walk towards each other graciously. Once you were an arm length away from your soon-to-be husband, you curtsied. Just like Loki took a bow. In rhythm with the music, your right palm found his left palm; forearm to forearm and other hand neatly resting on yours and Loki's back - and so you started to dance.

Loki slipped into a fresh t-shirt, while he made his way towards the bathroom. Knocking gently, he called out your name; gaining your attention.

"Love? Are you ready? We have to go in about ten minutes. Unless we'll be late."

Loki's 'wake-up call' caused your eyes to widen slightly. You may or may not have forgotten the time a little bit while showering... "I'm on my way, babe!" You quickly hopped out of the shower and into a fresh pair of underwear, before blow-drying your hair - at least a little bit (It was late summer, so actually not a big problem since it was pleasantly warm outside.), and got dressed in your baby blue summer dress.

Once you left the bathroom, your fiancé was already waiting for you; leaning against the wall with the car keys in hand.

"Are we ready?" You smiled and stepped up to him; winding your arms around his neck. "Eager to go?" The god chuckled. "It's about cake, darling. Of course I am eager."

You giggled and pecked his lips. "Let me just grab my purse and then we can leave." Loki nodded; watching you walk past him.

The two of you had an appointment today at the best pâtisserie in down town New York City in order to do a cake tasting. It was about the wedding cake, of course and you both agreed that it would be best to try some things first, before you'd decide about the interiority of the three-tier wedding cake. The design and decoration was already set and arranged with the pâtisserie. Now you and Loki had to do the 'fun' part... Tasting different fillings and flavours.

Your destination was a twenty minute car ride away from the Avengers compound. Give or take.

Luckily the traffic was not a complete chaos, so you made it to arrive in time.

The pâtisserie was bustling with people - of course. After all, it was the best in down town; yes, probably in whole New York City.

With your hand snugly wrapped up in Loki's bigger hand, you waited patiently in line until it was your turn. "Hi, we have an appointment for a wedding cake tasting," you explained to the friendly looking young man behind the counter. His eyes widened when he looked at you and Loki; recognising the both of you for sure. "Oh, uh, yes, give me a second, please..." He said nervously, looked down and seemed to search for something, until- "Ah, yes. Please follow me." You nodded with a smile. The young man's cheeks reddened and he smile bashfully back at you.

You and Loki followed him then to a little back room with two doors, a small grey sofa, white counter and some bar stools. The wall was painted in a beautiful shade of pastel orange and a few art pictures hung here and there. It looked quite neat and cosy.

"Have a seat, please." The man gestured towards the sofa. "Riley will be with you in a minute." You smiled, "Thank you." while your fiancé gave him a nod. Once more the young guy smiled shyly and fumbled nervously with his fingers. "It's an honour to have you here, Ms. Y/L/N and Mr. Laufeyson."

For the first time since you entered the pâtisserie, Loki spoke up; leapfrogging you. "Well, it's a pleasure to be here." You silently agreed with the god; who still held your hand in a snug grip and made sure you were standing close to him.

Even though you were about to be married, he still showed the people who you belonged to. Guess some things never change, you thought with a smile; looking at your engulfed hand. You didn't care, though. Quite the opposite... Loki's slight possessiveness was attractive and admittedly sexy in your eyes.

The man opposite you blushed in a dark shade of red, "That's great to hear." before shuffling his feet. He was on the verge of leaving the room, but before he did, he turned around to face you and Loki once again; seemed now to have scratched all his bravery together and ask: "I-I know this is p-probably inappropriate to ask, b-but may I get an autograph l-later?"

You smiled brightly. The guy was kinda cute, you couldn't deny that. "Of course. Just hit us up before we leave again."

The young man's eyes twinkled with happiness - and relief. "T-Thank you." Then he left the little room and you and Loki alone.

About five minutes later, the other door at the side wall opened and in came a woman in 'workwear', bright pink hair, glasses and quite a few piercings.

You and Loki were sitting on the sofa - like instructed; hands still intertwined and resting in your lap. Your free hand was on Loki's thigh, close to his knee. When you saw the woman, you both stood up.

"Hi there!" She said in a happy, enthusiastic tone and crossed the distance to meet you and shake your hands. "I'm Riley, we talked on the phone. Nice to meet you." You shook her hand, smiling. "Y/N and Loki." The friendly woman winked, "I know." shook Loki's hand as well and gestured for the counter with the bar stools. "Shall we move over?" "Sure." You and the god followed her. She went behind the counter and you both got comfortable on the stools.

"Alright!" Riley drummed her fingertips slightly on the wooden surface; smiling. "We already talked about your wedding cake in general a few months back. All that's missing are the fillings - and that's why you're here today. I prefer to do that in terms of a tasting, because it guarantees that the cake is really after your taste. But, before we do that I have to ask if you'd like to make any last minute changes, regarding the style or decoration of the cake?"

You and your fiancé exchanged a look and simultaneously shook your heads. "No, it's perfect the way it is."

Riley clapped her hands. "Alright. I'll go, fetch the things we need and then we can start, yes?" "Perfect, thank you."

Just a few minutes later, she returned with a big tray full of small, round cakes. They were neatly arranged and, of course, labelled. Riley put the tray down on the counter in front of you and Loki. Your eyes roamed over the different cakes with their different fillings and you just couldn't wait to taste them.

"Okay," started Riley with a smile. "I put together a wide range of different stuff and flavours. We've got some classics like vanilla, chocolate and strawberry, but also a few special - some might say exotic flavours like mango, melon and matcha, and of course some which are refined with alcohol and coffee."

"Start which whatever you like." That was a sentence you and Loki didn't let yourself tell twice. You dived right in, always splitting the tiny cake in half and tasted the delicious treats.

Both, you and your soon-to-be husband didn't think that deciding on three different flavours for your wedding cake was that difficult - but by the Norns, it was. Almost everything just tasted absolutely wonderful and exactly that was the problem - and that you and Loki had different favourites...

"Okay, okay..." You said, taking a deep breath. "Compromise, babe. You decide on the top cake, I get the bottom one and we choose the middle together?" The god nodded; giving you a smile. "Agreed."

In the end, Loki chose chocolate-mint, you mango-maracuya and together you decided on something with a little kick - Baileys. Three completely different flavours, hopefully one for everybodys taste.

Here's the beautiful invitation @chennqingg designed!

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @herdetectivetheorist @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @kimanne723 @lou12346789 @smolvenger @lokisrealpurpous @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @aagn360 @cakesandtom @alexakeyloveloki @glitchquake (Continuing in the comments!)

#the baby fever au #the baby fever wedding #loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki x you #tom hiddleston x reader #loki fluff #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson x reader #marvel loki #loki mcu #loki smut #loki x reader smut

145 notes · View notes

flowerprincesscherryblossom · 1 year ago

Text

angels

pairing: Female Reader x Kim Namjoon word count: 2670 warnings: angst, dad!joon, mention of mandatory military enlist series masterlist A/N: Hello everyone🤗 it's been a long while since i've posted anything but this has been just the absolute worse and i couldn't get my mind behind anything. the title and inspiration for comes from the song Angels by Michele Morrone which i actually suggest you check out while reading this Hope you like it and that you have a wonderful day wherever you are💜

Balancing idol life and private life is a difficult task in itself, matters being made worse by having a secret daughter and a possible relationship with you.

You and Namjoon had been stuck in, what he called a strange version of a will-they-won't-they. You had said that there wasn't a chance for the both of you due to the sense of danger of how people would react, but you had also said that if he was willing to wait for you that you'd give him a chance.

And he did.

He waited until you were comfortable enough to be his once again. And now the both of you acted as if you were in the beginning of your relationship all those years ago, little kisses, small touches, and other stuff.

The difference between then and now was that, before, both of you called yourself boyfriend and girlfriend, now, there was no label. He figured that you didn't want the label, or at the very least saying it aloud because a part of you was still scared of feeling that same hurt all those years ago.

As much as all the hiding annoyed him sometimes, he knew better than to push you out of your comfort zone. One wrong step from him and Namjoon could lose you and Ayeong, and that's something he wouldn't be able to live with.

The three-year absence had done more than enough damage between him and his daughter, so much he had missed - her first words, her first steps, etc. - and continued to miss, all because of how busy his idol life would get, all because he wasn't allowed to be with his daughter as freely as he wanted.

A three-year absence… Something that he was about to do again.

The conversation about whether or not BTS would fulfill their mandatory military service had been around for a couple of years, and now, all of them had decided to go of their own accord.

The members had been surprised that their leader had decided to go, since the first time the six of them met the three-year-old Namjoon had said that, despite the busy schedule he still wanted to spend as much time with her as he could.

He couldn't blame them, and, in all honesty, he felt the exact same.

Maybe surprised wasn't the correct term, he felt more shocked and confused that he had uttered those words without a moment of hesitation.

Back when the 'will BTS go to the military' conversation started, he had said that he would go if called for, all seven of them did, they wanted to serve their country.

But that conversation had started before his daughter was part of his life, before she was born.

It would certainly raise a few eyebrows if he didn't go with them, wouldn't it? Namjoon could postpone it for a little while but eventually, he'd have to go.

He knew you'd be understanding of the situation, you were fully aware of the possibility when the both of you were dating, but Ayeong was a completely different story.

When he met her it already had been three years after her birth, the poor girl hadn't even been aware that she had a father until he showed up at your house. She had become quickly attached to him after that first meeting, and he had tried to the best of his abilities to spend as much time as he could and to be a good father to her.

When he had to leave for another city or country he always made sure to video chat nearly every single day, no matter how much the tiredness of the day grasped at his skin, all because of her.

But now it was different, he wouldn't be leaving for hours, days, or months, he'd be gone for almost three years. By the time he came back, his little girl would be six years old, and he would've missed so much by then.

Life was truly cyclical - he broke your heart, leaving you alone with an unshared unexpected pregnancy, only to come back three years later and find a place in both of your and your daughter's hearts, only to leave again and come back after another three years.

It's like poetry, it rhymes.

It had been hours since Namjoon had closed himself off in his studio, leaning back against his seat and going through each drawing Ayeong had made for him over and over again, with the only sound being the heavy rain hitting the building, raining like the day he reencountered you after three years and the first time he saw his daughter, the depression of the entire situation piercing his heart with each picture.

Namjoon doesn't know how long he's been stuck in this cycle, but eventually, he released a deep breath, cracking his neck and taking hold of his phone to check the time. It was almost ten pm, no missed calls or unread messages waiting for him.

With a sigh he unlocked the phone and sent you a text, asking if he could come over. The three dotted text bubble kept appearing and disappearing for a while before you finally settled and sent a simple one-word message 'k'.

Without much further ado, he stood up from his seat and stretched his back muscles before walking out the door and towards your house.

The only thing protecting him from the weather was a jacket, a hat, and a mask, with two of those things being more to protect his identity from anyone who might recognize him. He didn't even bother grabbing an umbrella, he wanted the rain to drench him, he wanted his outside to match his inside.

A trip that took minutes felt like hours, each step feeling heavier, almost as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his back. He raised his fist against the door and knocked, feeling as defeated as he had been all those years ago when he had been forced to break up with you.

Much to his chagrin, it hadn't been you who had opened the door but Ayeong, who upon seeing him started going up and down on the tip of her toes, smiling so wide and bright that her dimples were showing while making grabby hands in order to be picked up. "Daddy!"

It felt like an arrow had pierced his heart.

"Hi princess," Namjoon picked up his little girl, holding her tightly in his arms as he hugged her, kissing the top of her head.

"Ayeong, I told you not to open the door without me," you said softly as you leaned against the living room door.

"But mommy," the three-year-old said with her best puppy dog eyes and pout on her lips, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck as Namjoon did his best to keep her in his arms as he closed the door and started to take off his shoes.

You simply rolled your eyes but there was a smile on your face. "No buts, what if it wasn't daddy at the door?"

"Ayeong would yell for daddy," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, looking at her father with a twinkle in her eyes, almost as if waiting for him to back her up.

He couldn't deny her. "And daddy would come running so fast to save Ayeong and mommy," he tickled her, stepping away from the entrance and in your direction, the sound of her laughter being music to his ears.

"Please don't encourage her," he wrapped his unoccupied arm around you, pulling you close to him, and giving you a peck on the forehead.

Now that he was close to you he could see that the smile didn't reach your eyes, almost like you were forcing yourself to do it, and there was a twinge of sadness in your eyes, almost like you were close to bursting into tears. That was all the confirmation he needed to know that you had heard of the news.

You pulled away from him and turned to your daughter, bopping her nose. "It's time for bed."

The little girl whimpered, pouting and almost looking like she was on the verge of tears, holding as tightly as she could to her father. Seeing as you remained unmoved Ayeong kept whimpering while her free hand started to hit Namjoon's shoulder, urging him to make you change your mind. Which he did, doing his best puppy dog eyes while pouting as well.

The staring contest went on for a couple of seconds before you finally admitted defeat, rolling your eyes and releasing a sigh. "Fine, you can stay up for a little longer," with that you left father and daughter on their own and walked towards the kitchen.

At the victory, the three-year-old let out a very excited yay, kissing him on the cheek before squirming away from his hold. Carefully he put her on the floor and watched her walk toward her room, going on the assumption that she was going to grab either one of her plushies or the drawings she loved to make for him.

With a deep breath, Namjoon walked towards the kitchen, finding you leaning against the counter with a cup of hot tea in your hands, eyes focused on the liquid as if it contained the answer to all of life's questions.

You looked at him from the corner of your eye before turning back to your tea. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks," he leaned against the counter, standing next to you.

Silence fell between you, Namjoon not knowing what other menial small talk he could do, and he assumed you were feeling the same.

So, instead, he went ahead with the important subject of the conversation. "You heard about it?" you didn't need him to explain what he meant, you knew, so you simply hummed. He gave a small smirk, a sense of déjà-vu caressing his skin. "You don't seem surprised."

A small smirk formed on your lips, no doubt feeling the same way he was. "It was going to happen sooner or later."

Namjoon's arm moved from its place on the counter towards your shoulder, his thumb drawing circles on it, pulling you closer to him and kissing your head. You wrapped one of your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his chest, trying your best not to break down.

Both of you stood like this in silence for some time, before he decided to start speaking again. "You're not going to say anything?"

"Do I get a say in all of this?" you said with a dry laugh as tears started to well up in your eyes.

He didn't reply, for what else could be said? Your opinion on whether or not you wanted him to fulfill the mandatory military service didn't matter, he was going to go anyway.

With a sigh you withdrew from him, walking towards the sink and washing the half-full cup of tea. "Do you want me to talk to her?" you asked without sparing him a glance.

"No," he replied with a sigh of his own. "I should be the one to do it."

On cue, the little three-year-old girl entered the kitchen, running as fast as her tiny legs allowed, while both of her tiny hands griped onto a dozen or so papers, no doubt the many drawings she had made in his absence.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy look!" Ayeong excitedly said, jumping on the tip of her toes while flailing her arms.

And he was going to rip that happiness and shatter it into pieces. It hurt. It hurt so much.

Carefully, Namjoon picked up his daughter and held her tightly. "Let's put you to bed," as he walked towards you he wondered, for a brief second, if Ayeong could hear how monotoned his voice sounded. "Give mommy a kiss goodnight."

You leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek, whispering goodnight, and the three-year-old did the same, making extra sure that she wouldn't let go of her drawings.

Once done he walked towards the little girl's bedroom, his steps once again feeling heavier. His mind going in circles on how he would tell about what was going to happen.

In Ayeong's pretty pink bedroom, everything Namjoon did felt incredibly slow. From laying his daughter in her bed to pulling her lilac sheets and tucking her in, something she kept fighting him on as she kept whimpering because of the drawings.

He wasn't sure if it was time, his mind, or himself that made everything feel like it was moving at a snail's pace.

He took a seat on the bed, of which the three-year-old immediately cuddled up against him, and went through each drawing, with the little girl explaining each one. Namjoon decided to be as meticulous as he possibly could, picking at every little thing on each page, just so he could hear Ayeong talk.

Like he wanted to insert the sound of her voice into his mind for the days to come.

After going to all the drawings as slowly as he could, he put them aside on her plastic toy table before settling back on the bed, which his daughter took as an opportunity to climb onto his lap and lay her head on his shoulder as she hugged him.

He reciprocated the hug, doing it as tightly as he could without hurting her, trying his best to not shed any tears.

But as comfortable as he felt, there was a ticking clock going on in his head, telling him that he was running out of time. He was going to leave any day now, and there was still so much he still had to do. He had pushed aside finishing his new album for long enough.

"Ayeong," he said softly, running his hand through her back. "Daddy needs to tell you something."

She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked at her father, sleepiness clear in her eyes. Namjoon took a deep breath, syncing himself up. "Daddy is going away for a while."

"Hmm," the three-year-old rubbed her eyes.

"And…," he bit his bottom lip, his next words feeling painful like he had an incredibly sour lemon on his tongue. "He's not going to be able to see Ayeong for a long time."

She seemed to wake up at his words, and Namjoon could see in her face that she was running what he had said and trying to understand everything.

"Is daddy going on tour?" she struggled with the last word due to her still learning the language, but also because she never liked when he went away, especially when it came to long periods of time.

"No baby, daddy's going to the military and," there was a lump in his throat, it felt incredibly dry. "And he's not going to be able to see or talk with Ayeong for a long time."

The three-year-old probably didn't understand much of what he had said, but what little she did was enough to make her eyes tear up. "Why?"

"It's something daddy needs to do," he released a deep sigh. "He doesn't have much choice."

At his words, his daughter started to finally cry, burying her face on his shoulder and her tiny hands gripping tightly to his jacket.

He didn't say anything for nothing he said could fix what was happening, so he simply held her tight and cradled her in his arms, the tears he tried to contain now falling freely, each whimper and sob from Ayeong piercing his heart over and over again.

Namjoon would have to leave at some point and finish his work before he left for the military.

But not right now, he would leave that for tomorrow morning.

Right now the only thing he wanted was to spend the rest of the night with his daughter in his arms.

#bts #kim namjoon #bts namjoon #namjoon fanfic #namjoon x reader #bts fanfic #namjoon angst

63 notes · View notes

laurasstufff1 · 3 years ago

Text

April. ft John Stones

Credits for the gift to @avenirdelight !!!

Summary: You are the photographer 📸 for Manchester City🏙, but most importantly, you are the mum of a precious baby girl 👩‍👧. John doesn’t seemed to mind it, in fact, he loves it💓.

Warnings: none. I just had the need to write something that involves babies and John 🤤. Also it’s my first time writing for this man, so any feedback is welcome! 🤗😚 and English is not my first language, so sorry for the mistakes I probably made 🙁

Word count: 3.7k (idk what’s wrong with me, I can’t write short stories anymore😑)

John still remembered the first thing he thought when he saw you on the side of the field, with a camera around your neck. He actually said it out loud ‘she’s so beautiful’. He also remembered the reaction of the whole team when he confessed the obvious in the changing rooms almost a week later, they just laughed and teased him.

And despite that, the feeling in John’s chest only grew more when you mentioned you were a single mum to a beautiful baby girl, showing them pictures on your phone proudly and introducing her to them when you brought her to work for the first time soon after.

That was almost eight months ago, but nothing had really changed.

“You haven't even ask her out and you’re already thinking of her like the mother of your children” Kyle laughed watching John’s gaze fixed on you. It was 9 am and, as always, you were walking into Etihad Campus canteen, but you were not alone. Your 1 year old walked next to you holding your hands, she still couldn’t balance properly on her own.

“Shut up” he mumbled watching as you greeted the staff, better said the staff greeted the cute girl walking next to you.

“You’re drooling mate” Jack said making the whole table laugh. He knew he wasn't, but still checked. This was going to be along day…

“Come on, come on!! one more step, princess!!” you encouraged your sweet girl as she held your hands, clumsily walking towards the table where the players, who were your friends and her ‘uncles’, were waiting. John had a big smile on his face, the same he always had when you were around. He was by far your best friend in the club, who knew if that relation could get somewhere else, as you silently wished at nights. You knew your situation as a single mum wasn’t ideal, but love conquers all, right?

“Come here, baby!” John got up of his chair and kneeled in front of it, opening his arms to welcome the little girl. She let go of your hand and took those last three steps on her own until she reached John, who took her in her arms “Hello baby April” he whispered kissing her soft cheeks. April, that was her name. And yes, you named her after the month she was born, your favorite month.

“Please be careful!” You shouted watching John lifting her in the air, her high-pinched laugh could be heard in the whole room. “Morning guys” only then you greeted the others, who answered with the same words as they kept their eyes focused on April. That little human had the whole club wrapped around her fingers.

“He loves her more than you, and trust me that’s almost impossible” Phil laughed as you rolled your eyes back and John glanced at him. If looks could kill…

It was kinda obvious to everyone how both of you felt towards each other, even April seemed to know what was going on between you and John. But they didn’t want to push anything, knowing your situation wasn’t as simple as it looked, even though John was determined to at least try it from the very beginning.

“I’m sorry for bringing her. My mum had a headache this morning” you said although you knew there was nothing wrong in bringing her, they loved her as much as you did and, as a photographer, she let you do your job perfectly fine.

“Are you joking?? April being here just makes everything better” Ruben said from the other side of the table and the rest nodded. On the other hand, your daughter started laughing when John lifted her sweatshirt and started giving her raspberries in her tummy, shouting ‘stop’ between giggles.

“Football!” she suddenly said when he stopped, pointing to the big crystal windows where she could see the green fields.

“Yeah yeah, football” you laughed taking her out of John’s arms, who looked at you with characteristic smile of him “you guys got her mad, it seems like she only knows that word” you rolled your eyes back as the whole table laugh, making comments on how proud they were about it. “Anyways, we have to go, alright?” You looked to your daughter who nodded with her little smile.

“Aren't you taking pictures today at training session??” Jack asked.

“Only in the evening, I need to edit some to upload them to the web as soon as possible. Bye guys!! Say bye bye, April” she didn’t pronounced the word, but she did wave her little hand making all the players melt at the sight.

“So freaking perfect” John whispered under his breath when you left, thought Kyle, who was sitting next to him, heard.

“The baby or the mum?” He laughed.

“Both mate. Both” John mumbled with his gaze fixed on you and April. “This is it, today is the day’” he said again looking at Kyle, who just patted his back smiling proudly at him.

“April baby, can you turn it down a bit?? Pretty please” you pouted and made puppy eyes to your daughter, who found it funny and smile, doing as you told. Happy baby, obedient baby. You learnt it the hard way. “Come in!” You shouted all of the sudden when you heard a knock on your door. You scared your baby without wanting and she started crying just when the door opened.

“Oh no no no. I’m sorry princess” a concerned John entered your little office, taking a sight of the crying baby.

“It wasn’t you. I scared her when I said ‘come in’, apparently too loud” you laughed watching as he kneeled on the carpet floor next to her, leaving the pencil case and notebook in one side and placing his big arms around her little body.

“But don’t laugh, the poor baby is scared!” he said looking at you, who couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t because of your daughter, of course not, you were the first in taking care of her. It was because of John, he was so worried about the crying baby, and somehow he still made you nervous when you were alone in the same room. “Is mummy laughing at you?? She’s bad, huh? Come here, look what I’ve got you!” He talked to your daughter with that baby voice, a mixed of surprise and happy and sharp sounds, as he sat her on his lap showing her the coloring book and the pencils he brought her.

“You didn’t have to, John” you finally talked watching him showing April the colour pencils.

“It was nothing. I saw it the other day in the book shop and thought she might like it. I forgot to give it to her before” he smiled at you and then focused back to April “Look, there’s a princess” he gasped raising his eyebrows at the little girl making her smile.

“Mummy” she said pointing at the princess she was about to coloured.

“I know” he said, and thank God he was looking down at the book because you knew your cheeks were burning red “and look, this is you” he talked again pointing to another princess on the next page. You smiled watching them from your desk, the photos you were editing were long forgotten.

“You” April talked again, this time pointing at an ugly troll.

“Hey!! You little bastard!!” He started tickling her sides as her laugh filled the room along with yours and John’s. He let her calm and kissed her chunky cheeks before getting up, leaving her to do her thing.

“Thank you” you sincerely said looking at the man in front of you.

“It’s nothing” he repeated shaking his head laughing with his gaze fixed on you before talking again “I need to go”.

“Yeah, you’re going to be late” you said realising the time.

“Oh, I don’t care. Bye bye” he waved to April, who was still in the same position.

“Bye bye John” the girl said opening and closing her fist.

“What else do we need to tell him?? He brought you the books and the pencils…” you pointed at her new materials, and she looked at them for a moment while she looked for the right word.

“Thank you” she said in a low and shy voice. It didn’t take much for John to kneel in front of her again and hug her tight, placing loads of kisses in her whole little face.

“Come on! Leave! You’re going to be late!!” You hushed as you got up of your chair and pushed him out of your office.

“She’s just too cute!” he yelled running down the corridor.

Lunch time came back fast and both you and April were starving, she definitely got your love for food. When you got there the boys were already sit, you waved at them and walked towards your table at the dining area, with all the other staff who weren’t necessarily players. It was Kyle the one who got up and directed you to the same table as them, taking April in his arms.

“Where do you think you’re going? Taking this beauty away from us, huh?” He talked to you but looking at April, who giggled at the funny face he showed. “Go heat that, I’ll take her to the table with us” he said realising the baby food in your hands.

There was just a slightly problem: you couldn’t reach the microwave, not even on your tiptoes. You discovered there was a strange obsession with placing the microwave in the highest shelve. It was indeed baby safe, but they forgot about short people like you. “Let me help you” John laughed watching you struggle and took the crystal bowl in his hands to place it in the microwave. He did not need to get in his tiptoes to do it.

“My knight in shining armour” you jokingly laughed.

“To your daughter I’m an ugly troll” he said adjusting the time on the microwave and smiling at the memory.

“Different perspectives” you shrugged smiling at the man. After waiting a couple of minutes, you headed together to the table, where you could hear your daughter laughs and certain players making animal sounds, like dogs, cows and horses.

“What is happening here?” You asked with your hands in your hips making April laugh harder. “Come on princess, food’s ready” you were about to grab her in her arms, but John was faster.

“Can I?”

“Yeah! But make sure to cover your lap with a napkin or something like that, you’ll get dirty” you laughed watching as he handle your daughter, placing her in his lap as he fed her, completely ignoring the rest, just focusing on the baby and her food. You could really get used to that.

“Look at you two” you smiled “she’s just being good because you have food” you added as he rolled his eyes back, not completely believing you, because the truth was she was always good with him.

She finished her food in a record time, as soon as she did she demanded to be in your arms. “Aaaand peace is over for me” you chuckled as John placed her in your lap and she started playing with your hair, your shirt, your fingers…literally anything she could grab. “Ouch!” You mumbled when she took a piece of your hair in her little but strong hands.

“April! Leave mummy’s hair, we don’t want her to get bold, do we?” John laughed seeing the big eyes April gave him when he said it. She looked back at you, who raised your eyebrows, and she let go of your hair. “That’s my good girl” he started tickling her again and giving her raspberry in her tummy, which resulted on him laying his head on your lap too, as April's laugh flooded the whole room, followed by John’s cries when she grabbed and pulled his hair this time.

“You two are literally something else” Ruben laughed watching the scene.

“They are always like this” you sounded desperate trying to get April’s hands out of John’s hair.

“John’s just another kid. Worse than April” Kyle laughed along. With one last kiss in April’s cheek and a kind smile to you, he left to get ready for the evening session.

You had to leave to take some pictures too, so you go to your office and wrapped April in the most warm coat you could find in the stores and placed her in the baby wearing, close to your chest, before putting on your coat and taking your camera. You’ve already worked like this a couple of times and it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it seemed, in fact you loved to feel her body so close and she relaxed so much she always slept.

“Where’s April?” Jack asked after the session. They were all laying in the floor finishing their stretches as you checked the pictures you just took.

“Here” you opened your coat to reveal a sleeping baby under it, a smile forming in your lips when you saw their reaction.

“It’s like a kangaroo!!” Phil excitedly shouted and the others laughed, you included.

“Shhh” he immediately shut up, as well as the others, hearing as John sushed. He got up and stood next to you, caressing your daughter’s warm face. “Isn’t she cold??” He didn’t even let you answer and he was already taking off his coat to wrap it up around your body.

“No no, I’m okay, John. We’re okay” you said including your daughter “please take it, you’ll get cold with the sweat”

“No, I insist” he said pulling it back.

“John” you talked to him the same way you did with April when she got you mad, but he denied with his head smirking when he recognized the tone you used.

“Just take it YN or he won’t be able to sleep at night” Kyle said making the whole group laugh making you a little shy. They always teased like that and still you weren’t used to it.

“Thank you” you finally accepted it with blushed cheeks, as blushed as his. Though he could perfectly use the training as an excuse. “I was about to go inside anyways”.

“Well let’s go” he said placing his hand on the small of your back and walking towards the office after saying goodbye to the rest. John turned around to check if he forgot something important but instead he saw a few players smiling at him with suggestive smiles on their faces, Kyle showing him a thumbs up that John returned showing him his middle finger.

“Well hello there” John smiled when April opened her eyes a few minutes after you reached your office.

“Mummy?” The girl asked concerned not seeing you there.

“She’ll come back in a minute, princess” he softly talked moving away a piece of hair from her face. “You had a good nap, didn’t you?” His smile grew when he realised the marks of the blanket on her face. The girl just nodded with a tired face and John just couldn’t handle such a cute girl. “Come here” he picked her up from the baby buggy and hold her in her arms, she immediately leaned her head over his shoulder closing her eyes again while John traced random patterns in her little back enjoying that silent moment with her. A few minutes later the small reunion you always had to share your pictures with the team ended, and so you came back, being extremely silence when you realised she felt asleep again in John’s arms.

“If she doesn’t wake up now she won’t sleep tonight” you whispered sitting on the other chair of your office.

“Let her sleep for a bit more” he whispered back, surely feeling that kind of sadness you felt everyday when you had to wake her up from her sweet and peaceful sleep “She has never sleep like this, in my arms” he softly said, making you wanting to melt right there and them.

“Just a few more minutes” you mumbled completely giving up on the sight. Then silence filled the room. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, you were too focused on John’s sweet touches on your daughter’s head, face and back, completely falling for him.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He suddenly asked, his gaze still focused on your daughter, you didn’t know if he was taking to her or to you. But then he raised his gaze and your eyes met his. You knew he was asking you, and he was dead serious.

“John- I- I don’t” your heart began to race faster than ever, and he noticed, of course he did.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t ask you all of the sudden, sorry” he talked in a low voice hugging your daughter, finding comfort in her body.

“No it’s not like that. I want to” you didn’t know how but you managed to say it so loud and clear “but since a year ago I not only make decisions for myself, but also for that little girl you have there” you pointed at her with your chin and she moved a little in his arms.

“Go back to sleep princess, adults are having an important conversation here” John whispered in her ear making you laugh quietly.

“John” you started talking again in a low volume not to wake her up again “I do like you. But I can’t put myself through it again and-“

“I’m not like him. Don’t you dare to compare me to him, you know I’m different” he suddenly became defensive, knowing how April’s father behaved during the last couple of months. Of course he wasn’t the same, he showed you his true colors even when you didn’t ask for it and you couldn’t love it more.

“I’m not comparing you to anyone, I know you are different. But so am I from the girls you dated. I have a daughter John, this is no joke. I have to take care of a human being. And it’s the best thing that has ever happen to me but also, do you know how much trouble can it be?” You asked him so seriously it made him laugh “I just don’t want to drag you into this”.

“That’s not your choice to make. And I think I already made it clear, I already showed you my position”

“John” you huffed hiding your face behind your hands thinking of a way to make him understand.

“YN. Don’t be selfish. I love her as much as I love you. I won’t ever regret this, I won’t ever leave you” he begged you to say yes and you knew he was being honest.

“Just one date” you whispered looking at the floor, where the coloring book he got her was still laying, and you could even feel his smile thought you couldn’t see it “And just so you know. Whenever we go on a date it’s never going to be you and me alone. And we’ll probably end up at my home, in my couch, which by the way is full of toys that shouldn’t be there, watching some kind of cartoons or Shrek, she loves Shrek. And my mum. My mum is going to ask you lot of questions, and-“

“Wow wow wow, stop there” he cut off your rambling and you mentally thank him as you were almost out of breath “we haven’t gone on a date and you’re already mentioning your mum?” He laughed as you shrugged while picking up the toys April had around.

“We haven’t gone on a date and you said I love you. To the both of us” you pointed at April, remembering his previous words.

“It’s true” he said looking down at the sleepy baby “I would’ve said it the first day I met you, but the boys told me not to so I wouldn’t scare you. And I really hope I didn’t scare you now” the one rambling now was him and it only made your smile grow wider. “And yes. I want the dates for three, the toys…and your mum” he keep on talking.

“Okay” you happily laughed nodding, thought still keeping your voice low “now, wake her up or she won’t sleep tonight” he started saying something in her ear that you couldn’t quite understand and tickling her side until her eyes opened, a soft smile on his lips.

“Mummy” she repeated.

“She’s right there” John handed her to you and you showered her with kisses.

“Shall we go home, April?” You asked her and she nodded with a tired face, even though it wasn’t even 7 pm. Just when you were about to grab all the stuff, John was faster and did it for you, somehow still managing to open the door as you carried April in your arms. ‘Thanks’ you chuckled watching him struggle. You reached to the underground garage, and just when April was secure in her baby seat you started to pack everything in the boot of your car, with the helping of John. “Thank you. Again” you laughed as you already lost count on how many times you already said that to him that day.

“My pleasure” he laughed and stayed still in front of you, looking down at your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” He suddenly asked again.

“You’re pushing your luck today, aren’t you?” You laughed. You quickly looked to you right to check on your daughter, who was playing with one of the many toys she had in the car, and then looked back at John, who was still looking at you. “Do it before she gets tired of waiting”.

It didn’t take him more than one second to hold your face with his hands and close the gap between you, catching you off guard because of his quickness, it was definitely something good when a baby was around. Smiling into the kiss, you secured your hands behind his neck, taking mental notes on how he moaned when your fingers caressed his hair, definitely enjoying it as much as you were enjoying the feeling of his protective arms around your waist. It was a long sweet kiss that sadly had to end because of the damn lack of air. He kissed your forehead before you made your way to the driver’s door, watching as he opened the door where April was sit, still playing with her toy. He kissed her forehead the same way he kissed yours as you watched them with literally heart eyes.

“Good night, John” you said when he closed the car door, somehow managing to form a coherent sentence after what had just happened.

“Night YN. Drive safe” he said, staying still in his place as he watched you drive away, as he always did.

#football fandom #england football imagine #footballers imagine #football imagine #footballers #john stones x reader #john stones #John stones imagine #John stones fanfic #John stones x you #John stones oneshot #footballer oneshot #Manchester city #Manchester city imagine

377 notes · View notes

littlepadika · 4 years ago

Note

hi P🥰🥰 what are your thoughts on javi having someone really sweet and sunshiney to come home to after an intense day at the embassy? but in the sense of they’re still just friends but both have feelings for each other!! you’re my favourite on this app 🤗

Yes anon... our Javi deserves a sweet bebita to come home to 🥺. Also I'm your FAVORITE 😭 what?!?! ILY <3

Javi's Sunshine (1) l Javier Peña x F!Reader

Part 2

Warnings: YEARNING, legal age gap

AN: Thank you @heythere-mel for the food recommendation. Now I have to make this dish and live out my fantasies hehe

Javi trudged up the steps rubbing his tired eyes. It was another terrible day at work. He was stuck behind his desk writing reports and in meetings, everything but actually working the case. Worst of all, a unit of police was ambushed outside Bogotá following a lead Javier found. Two men were killed. Javi was supposed to be there. He could have stopped it. Days like this Javi used to head to the bar, losing himself in a woman who was pretty enough and liquor that was strong enough. However, he headed home.

You had been Javi's neighbor for a few months. He had enjoyed the one minute exchanges he would have with you every morning, a pep in his step when he'd finally force himself out the door. He loved your laugh, your bright eyes, your sunny disposition. If you were any less perfect he would have already taken you out, experienced your pleasure. However, there was something about you that felt too monumental. He didn't want to waste you.

Three days ago, a pipe burst across his hall and you knocked on his door asking if you could crash at his. You were a university student. You didn't have any family to fall back on while the landlord fixed the apartment. You seemed put out, worried he would say no, which only made him say yes with more enthusiasm.

You were a tiny sun. Shedding light onto everything you touched. His grimy apartment shone as you cooked, and reorganized even if he grumbled about it. He knew the beauty would stick even after you were gone. The spoon you used to stir pasta sauce would forever hold that precious memory. The old record player you repaired would sing beautiful music for many days to come. You were everywhere and he couldn't believe he got to be a part of it. Perhaps your midas touch rubbed off on him. A sinner could hope.

That's why Javi was hustling home. After such a grueling day he needed to see you. He needed to remember there were still beautiful things in this world. That there was something, someone to hope for.

"Javi!" You smiled when the door opened. "I was starting to wonder when you were coming home."

"You didn't wait for me, did you?" He smiled softly. He could smell something delicious and spicy cooking in the kitchen. Your hair was mused. Your face makeup less. And you shone like a lighthouse in his dark. Leading him home.

"Of course I did." You let him walk in and set his things down before asking him about his day. You could tell it had been bad. He had wrinkles in his pants which told you he was sitting all day. His tie was already off.

"Smells great in here, hermosa." Javi joined you in the kitchen, grabbing the plates and glasses from the high shelves.

"Thank you." You smiled. "It's your recipe I mean i think it is. I uh- I found this..." You rifled through the drawer finally pulling out a stained notecard.

"Oh?" Javi took it from you. He blinked a couple of times, his eyes still adjusting to the warm light of the kitchen. Spicy Fideo. His mother's recipe. Handwritten. She had slipped it into his things when he left for Colombia. He found it when he unpacked.

"I hope you don't mind. It sounded good." You chewed your lip nervously. Maybe you crossed a line. You made yourself too at home.

"It's my mother's." Javi mumbled.

"Oh." You smiled. "That's sweet. Well... I doubt mine is going to taste as good but I did my best." You took the bowls from beside him while he continued to watch you dumbstruck. You dished the pasta into each bowl, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. "So how was work? Bad i'm guessing?"

"Oh yeah. It sucked." Javi came to his senses, tips of his ears reddening under knowing gaze.

"You know you can talk to me about these things. Roomie." You nudged him with your hip playfully as you passed. He gulped. You blushed. Roommates. That's not what you wanted to be.

"I don't want to talk about it." Javi sat, pulling his napkin into his lap. "And not because you can't handle it." He added with a wink. "I just don't want to right now." Maybe he was being a little avoidant, but he just didn't want to waste the time he had with you on sad things. There would be time for that once you were gone. That thought made him pause a moment. Fuck, you would be leaving one day. Across the hall but that was an ocean away at this point.

"Okay." You smiled bracingly. You watch him lift a bite of the pasta into his mouth. He moaned when the flavor hit his tongue. It was delicious. Just a bit spicier than how his mother made it but still a taste of home. "Good?" You asked tentatively.

"So good. Maravilloso." Javi took another bite. You glowed at the praise finally trying it for yourself.

"Wow...this is delicious. You'll have to give your mother my thanks."

"I will. Next time I call. Gracias, hermosa. For doing this. For everything." Javi smiled though the thought of you leaving hung over him like a storm cloud.

"Javi..." You chuckled. "You're the one who is housing me."

"Pssh." He shook his head "That's- that's not the same."

"Well it means a lot to me. Cooking and running errands. That's how I give my thanks. You know..." You blush down at your food "My love language. Acts of service. That's me."

Javi's eyes widened. Love language. "I-I haven't heard of that."

"It's acts of service, physical touch, gifts..." You trailed off unable to think of the rest. "But acts of service that's how I give.... oh! words of affirmation and quality time. Those are the other two."

Javi chuckled resting his elbows on the table. "Quality time." He latched onto the last one you mentioned. "Quality time sounds like mine... I don't know I haven't ever thought about it like that."

You shrugged. "It's different for everyone."

You and Javi ate in silence while he pondered this. Quality time. How he rushed home to be with you. To spend time with you. You did things for him. Acts of service. The answer hung in the air between you both if only Javier would just grab it. But he was scared. Scared he wouldn't be enough. Scared what he could put you through. Those two men who were murdered today, he could have been one of them if he was there. How could he put you through that? This had to be enough. Sitting and having dinner. Sharing a laugh. Letting the record player fill the space in between. And as you wiped your mouth off and mentioned something about cake, he knew it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My masterlist

Permanent Tagist: @ajeff855 @what-iwish-you-knew @kirsteng42 @fan-of-encouragement @sleep-tight1 @pascalisfairyy @ceniington, @prettypedros 🧁, @pascal-rascal424 @axshadows @prideandpascal @frenchyjuju @pedrosmustache @blackmarketmummy @idreamofboobear r @pretty-brown-eyess @persephones-garden @javierpinme @mylittlesenaar @bellaorisa @elinedjarin @beskarboobs 💖@beskar-candy @dindjarinneedsahug @anaaaispunk @headinthestarz 💫 @beskarprincessjenny @nicolethered

Javi taglist: @3rdfloorview @goddessofsprings

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña drabble #narcos fanfiction #narcos #narcos fic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #ask padika #anon

325 notes · View notes

ajokeformur-ray · 4 years ago

Note

Omg im so sorry i didnt think of that, i was a little in my own head after that incident and was looking for blogs w characters i like (the possum is ok!! We got him help!!)

Im autistic im sorry!!! Im not good with emotions🥵 i wont do it again &be more careful!!!!

Hello, nonnie!!! ~ 🥰💖

Oh, darling, it’s okay! 💖 I understand. I’m so sorry that you had that incident! It’s so upsetting and scary when situations like that happen (I’ve had a few myself, which is partly why it really upsets me) and I’m so sorry that you’ve had this experience.

I’m so relieved to hear that the possum is okay and that he got the help he needed! 🤗💗 You’re a beautiful person for helping another living being skksks I almost want to thank you on behalf of the possum.🥺🥺🥺💙

Okay, well... you’ll have to forgive me for any rusty characterisation because I haven’t written for L since October 2019 (such a special time...🥺) but I do want to give you something because of how this has affected you and because of how sweet these asks are, so I’ve spun a small something under the cut. I hope it’s okay! It’s unedited and literally just whatever I thought up on the spot ksksksk I just really want to give you something, darling.💝

TW; animal harm implied under the cut (not much because I don’t want to upset myself or anyone else, but know it happened “off-screen”).

L got to the phone before you did.

He had you on surveillance at all times, even when you were by his side where you belonged, so when you had the possum carefully cradled in your lap, L was already phoning you. He didn’t need to ask what had happened, when it had happened, or anything else.

His only concern was you.

“L, I - the possum, it - “

L cut you off. “I know, Y/N, I saw.” His voice was monotone to all by you. You heard the slightly rushed breathing, the crackle of the phone as he held it tighter to his ear than necessary, the audible swallowing of whatever sweet treat he was munching so that he could speak to you slowly, clearly, to keep you calm and rational. “There is a veterinarian clinic near by. I will stay on the phone with you until you get there. Can you put me on speaker, Y/N?” By using your name often was L grounding you and keeping you there with him.

L kept his promise and he got you to the clinic easily enough. You did your best to get the possum help and on your way home all you could think about was L. His dark eyes, those treats he favoured, the loose way he held you until you squeezed his midsection and made it obvious that you craved him.

Your journey home was a blur, your vision barely focused on the road ahead of you, your nerves fried. You parked the car in the garage at the Tate Hotel, opened the driver’s door and almost fell into L’s arms. His plain white shirt absorbed your tears and slowly, slowly, did L get you into his hotel room.

You were safe.

You were home.

TW; shootings, unsolicited violence (it’s J, I mean????)

J was not happy. You knew to not phone him when he was out on “business”, so when he answered the call with an eye roll, he was expecting something bad. Anything less and he would have your head.

“J, the - I hit a - possum - “ You broke off, too upset to speak.

J made a sharp motion with the hand which wasn’t holding the phone and three men scurried forward like rats out of the darkness as he put you on speaker.

“All right, doll, shush, shush, shush,” J shook his head, “Deep breaths for me, hm? Where are ya’?”

“I don’t know, I - “ You choked on a sob and J sighed, making another motion with the same hand so that another of his men could start to trace the tracker he’d put on your car months ago.

“Sit tight, Y/N. I got’cha.”

J put one, two, three bullets into random people’s heads and stalked from the warehouse, the three men he’d chosen hot on his tail as the fourth man texted him your location.

The world could burn for all J cared, for in this moment all he saw was you.

#death note #L #ledger joker #ledger!joker #tw; animal harm #tw; violence #nonnie

4 notes · View notes

jenrecs · 2 years ago

Text

good lord this whole chapter was a rollercoaster ride from start to finish

You work in your room, sitting at your desk, your bedroom door wide open. You’re kind of working, kind of watching water rush down the road below the apartment. It’s well after dinner, pitch black outside, but the streetlights illuminate the flow as the rainwater moves along beneath you. You’re having trouble focusing because of the rain - it lulls you to sleep, tricks you into thinking it’s bedtime. You can’t remember ever seeing rain like this, and the sound is all-encompassing, like you could wrap yourself up and exist within it.

i loved this !! the setting was so nicely described and you always have a way of making characters and the atmosphere interact with each other throughout a scene and it is beautiful !!!!!

Heedless and willful, you jump, crossing the space in a single stride. Namjoon’s hands coming to your waist like he was waiting for you.

OKAY. I TOLD U I DID NOT EXPECT THERE'D BE SPICE IN THIS CHAPTER. IT CAME OUT OF NOWHERE AND HIT ME LIKE A TON OF BRICKS but i am definitely not complaining !

the entire smoot?? insaneeeeeee. after reading your fics by order of release date, from CF to WWH and now to MFFMHH, i love seeing how it increasingly gets more descriptive and frankly, life ruining 🤗 but i am so here for it. horndawg jo era ?? 🤭

anywho... HE KEPT CALLING HER BABY?? mister kim namjoon you and your damn mouth 😭 dimples you are full of surprises lately

Namjoon hovers near your bed, clearly unsure if he should head to his own side of the apartment or not.

this was so cute !! y'all boned twice but at the end of the day he's still an awkward and gentle giant. love that for him

Like something inside you knew, long before you did, that whatever was between you was dead before it started.

Like something inside you knew that no matter how many words you devoted to him, you could never breathe life into it.

ok i hate you so much for these lines cuz they're so good i'll be thinking about them for the rest of the day. i had to clench my fists and try not to screech cuz of how brilliant they are

“I love you, Tete,” you tell him, and it’s the first time you’ve said it to him without feeling like you’re hiding layers, slipping secrets between the vowels. “I’m right here. I promise.”

weak every time she calls him tete. oh tete my tete :(((((((((

“What?” you ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t answer, just leans down to kiss you sweetly, his thumb stroking your jaw whisper-soft.

their whole date!!!! they are made for each other!!!! god that day was so soft and i was so in love with them being in love and it was so nice to see them be out and about and just vibe with each other all day long without having to hide from anything or anyone and it was so devastatingly fluffy that i completely forgot that something bad was gonna happen

“I texted the wrong group chat…” he says quietly, still sounding horrified. “Fuck, I’m so fucking stupid. I’m so sorry. I thought it was the one with only Yoongi and Hobi…”

ah yes. the Something Bad. i told u i screeched and i'll say it again here. I SCREECHED. thank god my roommate wasn't home to hear the inhuman noise i let out. NAMJOOOOOOON 😭 god i didn't think that it'd get out like this. in front of the whole gc???? GOD.

You watch it cross his face as he decides to make you prove it, but you don’t have enough time to react before he’s doing the thing you’d day-dreamed of time after time after time - before you knew Namjoon. He’s closing the gap between you, his hand curling in the fabric of your jacket, his lips finding yours, searching for something that three months ago he probably would have found.

UHM OKAY SO. I DIDN'T THINK THIS WAS THE THING THAT PEOPLE WERE SCREAMING ABOUT EITHER. you have bested me, jo. i never saw this coming. i thought he'd say something dumb and harsh and hurt her feelings but GODDDDDDDDD I NEVER THOUGHT HE'D KISS HER. good lord. that was definitely 100 times worse than anything he could've possibly said. but fuck?? the line that i bolded???? so good what the foooooook???

but yeah i mean, should he have done that? no. was that a dick move? yes tete. but do i hate him?? honestly no. i did still scream "WHY WOULD U DO THAT" and bawled when it happened and i do understand why people would want him to fall off the face of the earth BUT! we know that he's hurt?? and shocked, and confused, and it probably wasn't the greatest feeling to learn that your supposed best friend is kinda dating one of your friends and you only found out bc of an accidental text to a gc with all of your other friends. especially when everybody else kinda knows that said best friend is in love with u so idk it probably did some damage to his ego too

again, tete, dick move! and yeah it did blow up in everyone's faces and effectively killed their friendship but like... he's HURT and CONFUSED. yes, we know how important their friendship is to her and how it's one of the few things (if not the only one) getting her through everything that's happened and it sucks for her if it goes up in flames, but ofc the friendship means a lot to him too. he's not malicious or anything. he gets affected by this change in their dynamic too. he's used to being a priority for her (which isn't necessarily a bad thing imo), used to knowing everything that goes on in her life but now suddenly the rug is pulled out from underneath him and i guess i could see that he was spiraling a bit. grasping at straws, trying to do whatever to make their relationship go back to the way it was. she's not the only one who doesn't know what to do with this new reality. he has to deal with it too 🤷‍♀️

He stumbles away from the window, trying to get away from it, but the image burns in his brain. He makes his way blindly back towards his bedroom. His heart pounds, and he finds himself nauseous, his eyes suddenly burning like he’s walked through smoke.

but ngl i'm glad i read it this week cuz if i had to wait to see what happens next i think i would probably die 😭

IX. Heedless and Willful || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

Things accelerate between you and Namjoon, but complications linger.

Section Warnings: language, kissing, groping, breast play/nip stim, fingering, protected sex, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms (f. receiving), multiple rounds

WC: 8k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday December 1st

The weekend brings with it a deluge of rain, a slow-moving weather system that has the streets holding inches of water, the road-side drains overflowing.

You stay inside all day, and so does Namjoon, but you largely orbit around each other, working on your own things, leaving the other alone.

Things had accelerated so suddenly between you that now you feel like you had slammed on a brake, inertia carrying you to teeter dangerously over an edge. You’re not sure if Namjoon is feeling the same way, but you think it’s probable.

You kind of want to tip over the edge, is the thing.

You’ve just given up on focusing and closed your laptop for the night when there’s suddenly a huge boom from outside, loud and close enough that the floor shakes beneath your feet, and everything goes black around you. You scream, startled, and jump to your feet, knocking your desk chair over behind you with a loud clatter. That startles you a second time, and you scream again, clutching at your chest and backing yourself against your bedroom wall, heart pounding.

Across the apartment, Namjoon shouts your name, his voice deep and commanding, clearly alarmed.

The dark presses in around you, little fingers on your ankles and arms. You can’t see anything - not your bed, not the chair on the floor, not your hand in front of your own face. The silence is suddenly so loud it throbs around you - the sudden lack of normal noise toying with your senses. You’ve never been in quiet like this - no hum from the refrigerator, the central air system, your devices. All you can hear is your heartbeat pulsing in your ears, the angry, relentless sound of rain, and the echo of Namjoon’s voice calling your name, playing back and looping through your mind so loudly that it’s almost like you’re hearing it again.

You are hearing it again - his alarmed voice cuts through the darkness, calling your name with a little bit of an edge, a tinge of fear this time.

“I’m here,” you manage, your voice coming out like a gasp.

From the living room, you can see a small point of light coming rapidly closer, and then Namjoon appears in your doorway, guided by his cell phone’s flashlight. He seems a little out of breath as he pauses in the doorway, taking in the scene before him - you pressed against the wall, a hand still pressed to your racing heart, the chair askew on the floor, the rain pelting the window like it wants to break the glass.

Once he can see that you’re unharmed, Namjoon clicks his phone off, and you both let your eyes adjust. In the dark, everything various shades of black, his shape seems so large, taking up so much of your vision. He steps around the chair, not bothering to right it, and stops about two feet from you.

“I think a transformer blew out there,” he says, his voice odd, like most of his brain isn’t even aware that he’s speaking.

Two feet from him, your hands itch to reach out and touch him. Your feet beg to close the space between you. Your heart continues to throw itself against your ribcage, furious and demanding to be heard. The darkness takes its tiny fingers off your limbs, presses guiding fingertips to your back instead, nudging you forward.

If you’re going over the edge anyway, isn’t it better to jump than to fall?

Two feet from him, in the most profound darkness and silence you’ve ever experienced in your life, you find yourself nearly gasping for each breath as you fight your body’s every urge.

A line of St. Vincent Millay’s poetry leaps into your head, unbidden:

in me alone survive the unregenerate passions of a day when treacherous queens, with death upon the tread heedless and willful, took their knights to bed

Heedless and willful, you jump, crossing the space in a single stride. Namjoon’s hands coming to your waist like he was waiting for you.

He can kiss you only for a moment before he’s interrupted by you tugging his shirt up; he breaks away from you to pull it the rest of the way off and tosses it behind him, coming back to attach his mouth to your neck, sucking and kissing a line down to your collarbone. You run your hands along his chest, over his pecs, down his stomach, up his sides, your head thrown back to make room for him as he nips and soothes at your throat.

He groans happily as you dip your fingers towards the waistband of his jeans, then tugs bossily at your own shirt. You peel it off, dropping it to your feet, and move to kiss him again, but he’s busy reaching around your back and deftly pinching the clasp of your bra. It falls away, and you shake the straps loose from your arms, hearing it hit the ground. Cold air assaults your chest only a second before Namjoon’s large hands cup you, his mouth searing against yours out of nowhere.

Everything’s heightened in this total dark, total silence. You can hear every hitch of his breath, the thud of your own pulse, can feel every tiny movement of his hands, of his mouth. He toys lightly with your nipples, running his fingers in circles around them before plucking at them lightly, then abandoning your chest to run his hands over all the newly uncovered skin - your stomach, your back, your arms.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I’ve thought so the whole fucking time, you’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t think straight sometimes.”

“Namjoon,” you gasp quietly, half a reaction to his words and half a reaction to him gripping the waistband of your joggers and pulling them down over your ass in one motion. You kick them off and he walks you backwards to your bed, pushing at your shoulders until you fall backwards. You hear his zipper as he removes his jeans, and when he climbs up next to you on the bed you can feel but not see him straining against his boxer-briefs.

He brings his mouth to a nipple without warning, giving it one experimental lick and taking it between his lips when you whine in appreciation. You can feel yourself getting impossibly wet as he alternates licking and sucking, and his spare hand rubs circles down your body until he reaches the lace edge of your underwear, and he pauses. It’s the first time tonight he’s shown any hesitation.

He removes his mouth from your breast and moves back up where he can kiss you. His fingers skim the lace, a ghost of a touch, barely there.

“You good, baby?” he murmurs, so low, and you feel yourself clench - over the timbre of his voice or his cocky use of the pet name, you’re not sure. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Touch me. Please.”

It’s wild how dark it is, how you can’t see anything on his face, can’t see which way he’s moving; the dark seems like it’s pressing in around you, like it’s the very thing shielding you from the onslaught of rain that you can still hear loud and clear.

Namjoon’s fingers skim over your slit so lightly it almost tickles, and you squirm, needing more. He presses harder on his second pass through, pressing the lace against your entrance. He moans when he feels how wet you are even through your panties, pressing himself harder against your leg as he swipes his fingers through again. Then he’s hooking his thumbs under the waistband and pulling your panties down your legs, cupping your sex with his whole hand.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers hoarsely, and presses his middle finger into your heat up to the last knuckle. You suck in a breath, fingers curling in your bedspread, as he fucks you that way - middle finger only - for the barest of minutes before adding a second digit.

“God,” you groan, feeling yourself stretch to accommodate it. “Damn it.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You’re so wet, what the fuck.” He’s right - you can hear it each time he pushes back into you. Your back arches, your body trying to press his fingers even deeper. When his thumb grazes your clit, you gasp out loud.

He swallows the rest of your noises with a kiss as he continues, and when the crest of your orgasm snaps a few minutes later you moan messily into his mouth as his fingers fuck you through it, steady and unyielding.

“Holy shit,” he groans when you clench around his fingers as the waves hit you. “That’s right, baby, fuck.”

You’re reaching for his briefs the second you’re back in your body, down from your high, and he pulls his fingers from you gently to help wiggle them over his hips and off his body. You slide your hand over him lightly and he hisses through his teeth as you wrap your fingers around him and rub him base to tip, sliding your palm over the wet head of his cock, using his own pre-cum to slick up your hand as you continue.

He’s hot in your hand, bigger than you’d expected, and you revel in listening to his light moans turn breathy as you toy with him. Finally, he grabs your wrist, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“Should I go get a condom?” he asks, voice so low it’s almost a growl.

“I have some,” you tell him, rolling away from him and sliding your nightstand drawer open. You lay on your stomach so you can use both hands to rip a new one from the strip, and Namjoon rises to his knees behind you, one hand tracing the curve of your ass.

You reach over your shoulder to hand him the foil packet, and you’re startled by his phone light again when he turns it on so he can see what he’s doing. His phone lays on the bed, illuminating him from below, and you take a minute to take in how good he looks. You’d had no idea he had that body under his sweaters and baggy t-shirts.

He turns the light off again, the darkness surprising you with its intensity all over again. Your eyes are so busy trying to adjust again that you miss him moving until you feel his hands guiding you to lay back, his legs stretching between yours, his tip prodding your entrance as his lips find yours again.

“You’re okay?” he checks in a whisper, reaching down and squeezing himself at the base.

You kiss him in answer, pressing your core against him, letting your body tell him yes, I’m fine, yes, I’m ready.

He rocks into you slowly, an inch at a time, and the sensation tears a low, long groan from you. It mingles with his own; he breathes through his mouth in short pants, tinged with half-formed moans, until he bottoms out and he stills.

“Give me just a second,” you request, whispering, and he nods, running a hand reverently down your face, down your side, coming to rest under your ass, hitching you up slightly as he adjusts. You hiss as the movement forces him just a touch deeper as you struggle to relax.

He kisses you again, deeply and sweetly, and as you grip his shoulders and feel yourself relax, you start to move, little bits at a time.

“Okay,” you whisper, when you’re ready. “Thanks.”

He scoffs, like it’s ridiculous of you to be thanking him, but he starts to move. It’s slow, and even though you can barely see him you get the feeling that his eyes are on you. In the amplified silence, each breath seems to echo between you, each tiny moan or hitch of breath coming through loud and clear. You kiss sloppily, your hands exploring as he keeps the slow rhythm. His cockhead drags against you, the feeling agonizingly sweet, and you arch against him, trying to bring him closer.

The rain beats against the windows in waves as he fucks you slowly, like it wants in, like it has a score to settle. You press fingertips gently to Namjoon’s face, blindly feeling your way to the flat of his cheekbone, down to his jaw. Everything feels so intense, your fingers shake a little as they trace his jawline, reverent.

“Namjoon,” you whisper, and he answers you by sheathing himself completely, pressing his mouth to yours, and doubling the pace. He’s so large, it feels like he’s everywhere - inside you, around you, above you, everywhere.

You cry out when he finds an angle that has you seeing stars with each stroke, and he grunts, working hard to keep hitting it the same way. You lock your legs around the back of his thighs, trying to keep him close. You cling to his shoulder with one hand and tangle the other in his hair, holding tight as he pounds into you. When he feels you start to pulse around him, the beginning of an orgasm starting to build up, he actually laughs, once.

“Close, baby?” he asks, reaching down to press his thumb against your clit.

“Y-yeah,” you gasp, the feeling of electricity racing clear down to your toes. “Joon, please, oh - god -.”

He hums, pleased, and shifts you so he’s holding you up by the hips, the angle changing just slightly.

“Ohmygod, yes,” you cry, and the circles he’s been rubbing into your clit suddenly send you flying, your eyes screwing shut, a single, wordless wail leaving you as every muscle in your body goes taut.

“Fuck,” Namjoon hisses as you squeeze around him, dropping his forehead onto yours and gasping your name as he spills into the condom inside you. He pumps into you a few more times as your muscles relax by degrees, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

You lay tangled together for a few minutes, both breathing hard. Namjoon slips out of you gingerly and shifts like he’s going to get up. You kiss him quickly, before he can get too far, and he stills, letting you.

When you’re content, he disappears into the bathroom, dealing with the condom and cleaning up. He returns with a damp cloth for you, turning the light on his phone back off again when you’re done.

In the total darkness, he pulls you close. You rest your head against his chest, his arms around you, and listen to his heart. Despite the storm and the power-outage, you’ve never felt so safe. You can’t imagine ever feeling anything else while he’s wrapped around you like this.

“You called me baby,” you tease after a little while, and he snickers.

“It just slips out,” he laments, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Sex makes me… affectionate. I have trouble untangling the two.”

You hum against him. “I think I like that,” you observe, and he hugs you a little tighter.

You’re starting to drift off when he says your name again.

“Hm?”

“I promise this isn’t the post-sex chemicals talking,” he says carefully. “But I wanted you to know. I think… I’m really falling for you.”

You press your lips together, wrap an arm around his middle and hold him close. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, your eyes suddenly burn, you can’t inhale.

Because you’ve felt it, too. And you don’t know what to do with it.

He takes your silence the wrong way. “You don’t have to - don’t feel pressure to say anything -.”

“No,” you say quickly. “I promise, it’s very much not that. I’ve… maybe been thinking the same thing. It’s just… scary. You know?”

He presses his lips to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he says. “It can be. But I’m here. We’re in it together, okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, tangling your feet in his legs, searching for a warm spot for your chilly toes. “Okay.”

Sunday December 2nd

The lights come on hours before dawn, your lamp illuminating the room in a yellow glow, your laptop dinging as it starts to receive charge again, your alarm clock numbers flashing 12:00 over and over again. You lay there, still, coming to your senses by degrees.

Namjoon is still in bed with you; you can feel his body, warm and solid, behind you. Minutes pass and it becomes clear by his steady deep breathing that the lights aren’t going to wake him up. You roll slowly, trying not to disturb him. He’s sleeping on his back, his face turned away from you, one arm flung up over his head. You feel yourself smile as you look at him.

There’s not a doubt in your mind that you want this, that you want him - wholly, completely, without boundaries or limitations. There’s not a doubt in your mind that the way he treats you - the way he gives you such openness and understanding, the way he listens and asks questions, the way he hears you and cares for you - is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. When you’re with him, you feel like he’s by your side, like he’s got you.

And while Taehyung had been physically next to you for the last seventeen or so years of your life, it’s never felt like this.

You scoot closer, lining your body up against his side, and reach an arm over his stomach, pulling yourself as tight to him as you can and laying your head on his chest. In his sleep, he shifts, sensing the difference, the arm that was over his head coming down over your back and pulling you in. Then his head lolls back to your side, his eyelids fluttering. He reaches to press a kiss to the top of your head, and then flops back down against your pillow.

“Lights’re back?” he tries to ask, the words slurring together with sleep.

“Mhm,” you answer. “Do you want me to get up and turn the lamp off?”

“No,” he says, voice low and scratchy. “Stay.” Then he reaches over, guiding your chin up gently so he can lean down and kiss you again.

You open for him immediately, leaning up on an elbow to reach him better. It’s different this time - slow and sensual, explorative, relaxed. There’s no rush, no pressure for it to go further. His fingers run through your hair once, twice, then release it, skimming down your bare back instead. You realize with a shiver that you hadn’t gotten up to find pajamas in the dark.

He keeps you warm anyway, his hands roaming your back, your arms, your ass, your back again. You have a lot of things you want to tell him, but you save them, store them for later, as your body responds to his touch and you give yourself to him again. When he pants your name against your lips you feel the words bubbling up inside you, beating against doors to be let out, but you lose them along with your senses when he tips you over the edge again.

You clean up better after this time, waddling to the bathroom to pee and then stopping at your dresser to pull out pajamas. Namjoon hovers near your bed, clearly unsure if he should head to his own side of the apartment or not.

You scoff at him, like he should know better. “Get back in that bed,” you demand teasingly, and he listens, running a hand through his messy hair and looking around like he’s a little dazed, a little unsure of how he got here.

You click the lamp off and make your way back to him.

He wraps his arms around you immediately, and you eventually fall asleep matching your breaths to his slow ones.

Wednesday December 5th

I know my many failings I just can’t be the girl I should But I hope you know despite this In my life, you’re everything good

It’s certainly not good writing, and you have zero intention of turning this in for anything - zero intention of another living soul ever seeing it. But it feels good to put the words to paper.

You close the notebook when Gloria and another girl from class join your table. You’ve been assigned the task of workshopping your classmates’ portfolios as the semester crawls to a close, and today you’re meant to sit around and talk through your notes with each other.

“I want to go first,” you say immediately. “Gloria, you are out of your mind.”

Gloria beams, knowing exactly what you’re referring to.

“Catch me up?” the third girl, Sharmin, asks.

“Gloria’s entire portfolio is in iambic pentameter,” you tell her dryly. “Honestly, Gloria, I’ve got to know why.”

Gloria giggles. “Okay, okay - it really was just for the challenge. Like, it’s super great that poetry is all no rules but sometimes the challenge of saying what you’re trying to say within the framework of existing rules is�� kind of fun?”

“I shall call you The Bard. Or maybe Bardess,” you joke.

The three of you move on to discuss the actual content of Gloria’s portfolio and then Sharmin’s - asking questions, noting lines you really liked, pointing out patterns and themes and hedging guesses on their meanings.

Finally, it’s your turn.

“Your voice is really sharp,” Sharmin compliments you. “I mean… maybe I don’t mean sharp. Clear? Crisp? Something like that.”

“I thought so too,” Gloria agrees. She pulls up a document on her laptop, referring to some notes she took. “I also noticed - and really liked - that while your topics were all different from each other, you had this recurring theme of life and death.”

You stare at her blankly. “I do?”

She gives you a sideways smile; it’s not uncommon for you two to pick things up in each other’s writing that you hadn’t noticed.

“Sure,” she says, and her finger goes to her screen as she reads a few examples, “Who would try to fight the tide, / the dark, the depth, the chill? That’s from your first one.

“Then, the second one: On Sundays I leave stones / atop marble markers to memorialize / those that you and I chose / to leave unturned. That whole entire poem is about a graveyard, so, yeah.”

“Oh! And your latest one!” Sharmin adds. “Where you’re, like, growing bones in your chest?”

You cover your face. “It sounds so dumb like that.”

But even as you’re speaking, other lines spring into your head:

Autumn leaves me hollow.

but my feet itch and beg to go, / into the night where the wolfpack hunts, / into the storm of wind and snow.

Nothing grows here that isn’t dead.

Gloria’s right. You do have a recurring theme about death.

You hadn’t realized. You hadn’t known you were weaving this single thread through everything you put to paper.

What you did know, the part you were aware of was that every one of those poems was about Taehyung.

You press your fingers over your mouth and take a slow, steadying breath. Somehow, everything hurts. It feels like you’re coming apart. It feels like your sutures have been cut too soon as you wrestle with this truth laid out for you:

Every metaphor you ever wrote with Taehyung in mind was somehow connected to death.

Like something inside you knew, long before you did, that whatever was between you was dead before it started.

Like something inside you knew that no matter how many words you devoted to him, you could never breathe life into it.

Like something in you knew the situation had a failure to thrive from the very beginning.

“And life?” you finally manage to ask through your fingers. But you already know every line you wrote about what comes next, about moving forward, about better possibilities.

If autumn can’t make me happy, / I wonder if winter might.

I know despite the dangers, / I can’t afford to stay inside.

This one, they say, will live.

And, most recently - that the girls hadn’t even seen, in my life, you’re everything good.

You didn’t need someone to point these lines out to you. You knew exactly what you’d been writing about - Namjoon, and the way his very presence seemed to represent the promise of something better.

–

You hustle home after class, walking so fast that you actually get your heart-rate up. Inside, you drop your bag on the ground and call Namjoon’s name, crossing the living room.

“Yeah?” he calls back, turning at his desk, but you’ve already entered his room, approaching him at a clip.

He’s got about a hundredth of a second to look surprised before you’re kissing him, hands coming up to cup his face firmly. He leans up to meet you, grunting with happy surprise, his hands coming to rest on your forearms.

When you break away, he smiles at you quizzically. “What was that for?”

You shake your head, indicating that you know your reasons are silly. “Because I wanted to,” you tell him truthfully. “Because I like you, and I missed you today, and….”

And you’re everything good.

“And I’m just… happy to be with you,” you finish lamely, nibbling with your bottom lip, a nervous habit.

He slides one hand down your arm and takes your hand. His smile softens from something teasing into something sweet, those dimples winking at you.

“Well,” he says, looking up at you, “speaking of how much you like me… you don’t have class on Friday, right? What about work?”

Friday is a day off at the university - some kind of training day for staff.

“Nope,” you say. “Kris is on, not me. Why, what’s happening?”

Namjoon’s hand goes to the back of his neck. “I, uh,” he says, a little bashfully, “I wanted to take you out. Like, for the day. On a date. I had some ideas.”

You press your lips together, trying to fight back the smile that’s breaking across your face.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice coming out small. “That sounds really nice. On Friday?”

“Mhm,” he says, his smile growing cockier now that you’ve said yes. “Wear comfortable shoes. And something warm - it’s supposed to snow a little.”

You’re still practically fighting the pleased smile off your face with a broom. “Okay, I will,” you tell him. You feel like you need to get out of there so you can squeal and hop around and maybe text Kris. “I’m gonna go change. Come hang out if you want?”

You tap his wall twice in goodbye and head to your room, closing the door while you change into sweatpants and a hoodie. You’re aware that he’s seen you naked now, but it still feels necessary. You text Kris as you change, and they send you back a row of exclamation points and a “#TeamDimples!”. You send them back an eye-roll and head to the living room couch.

–

[5:22 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m going into the city friday to do some holiday shopping [5:22 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you in? [5:23 PM] You: i have plans already :( i’m sorry [5:25 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: we could come back early [5:26 PM] You: my thing’s all day :( [5:29 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: ok [5:30 PM] You: sorry tete :( [5:34 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: it’s fine. dinner tonight? [5:35 PM] You: only if i dont have to walk my ass back to campus… [5:37 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: youre such a complainer 🙄 [5:37 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’ll pick you up

You chew on your pinky nail, staring at your phone screen. Do you need to see if Namjoon has dinner plans? Do you need his permission to go eat with Taehyung?

You don’t know the rules to this middle-ground you’re in.

But in light of everything you figured out today, you err on the safe side.

Namjoon’s in the kitchen, opening a beer by the sound of it. When he wanders back through the living room, you catch his eye.

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately. You must look worried.

“Is it�� um… Taehyung wants to grab dinner on campus. Are you - can - ?”

Understanding dawns on Namjoon’s face, and he comes over, sitting on the couch next to you and setting his beer on the coffee table.

“You don’t need to ask me before you spend time with your friends,” he says seriously. “Even that friend. You said you’re in this… so, I trust you.”

It’s such a simple thing, but it almost chokes you up. “Okay,” you whisper, so your voice won’t break. “And you’ll be okay? You can order or something?”

“I fed myself for years before we lived together,” he reminds you gently.

“Yeah, okay,” you say, feeling a little foolish. “So, I’ll see you after dinner?”

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be here,” he promises.

–

At dinner, surrounded by noisy groups of other students, you and Taehyung each pick at your plates, chatting in between bites.

Finally, as you scrape some sauce absently around your plate, he shoots you a baleful look. “I’ve really missed you lately,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach sinks. “I’ve been here, Taehyung,” you protest. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“I know,” he says. “I know that. It just feels like we don’t talk as much anymore.”

You twist your lips to the side. There’s truth to what he’s saying, and you know it.

“If you want to talk to me, talk to me,” you insist. “Nothing’s different.”

He looks at you flatly. “You know that isn’t true.”

He purses his lips, looks away from you. “What’s new with you?” he asks, finally. He must have been thinking about how little he’s asked you that, over the past few months, how happy he was to let you exist just outside his orbit. “Have you heard from Lin lately?”

You fill him in on what you can - Lin, Kris and the bookstore, even finally telling him a bit about your thesis work on St. Vincent Millay’s anthology. He tells you about a fight he had with Jimin, about how he almost failed a required biology class this semester, how his mom had the flu last week but is doing better now.

He doesn’t mention dating, so neither do you.

The guilt eats at you all night long, even after you’ve gone to bed. You lay in the dark, your stomach hurting with it.

You’re not sure if you feel bad because you and Taehyung aren’t supposed to keep secrets, or if it’s because you know you’ve done Namjoon wrong by keeping quiet.

Both, you decide sometime around two in the morning. You text Namjoon, “are you asleep?” He answers almost immediately, “almost. you ok?”

You brace yourself and send, “can i come over there?”

When he sends back, “please do” you grab your phone charger and make your way across the dark living room, lit only by the streetlights outside. You make your way into Namjoon’s room, into his bed, into his embrace. You fall asleep between his arms, feeling entirely like the least deserving person alive.

Friday December 7th

You follow Namjoon’s directions on Friday, wearing something warm, and sneakers. But when you head for the kitchen in the morning - he’d told you to be ready early - there’s no Namjoon in sight.

“Namjoon?” you call through the quiet apartment. “Hello?”

There’s no answer. You pull out your phone, ready to text him, when you hear footsteps and then the jangle of keys outside the front door.

Namjoon comes in sideways, shouldering the door open, a tray with two coffees in his hand.

“I tried to get back before you were up,” he says sheepishly.

“We have coffee here,” you say in answer, trying to catch up to whatever is going on.

He gives you a mischievous smile. “We have a train to catch. We needed them to be to-go. You ready?”

It’s cold out; you’re immediately glad for your big puffy coat and the scarf around your neck. You walk with your hot coffee in one hand and Namjoon’s hand in your other. The walk to the train station is only minutes, and soon you’re standing on the platform, peering in the direction that the train should come in from. When the wind picks up, you scoot closer to Namjoon, scavenging for body heat. He smiles down at you and gives your hand a squeeze.

When the train rushes in and the doors slide open, Namjoon lets you go first as you step out of the cold and head down the corridor, looking for two empty seats. You find one in the second car you walk through, and you slide over to the window seat. You both settle in, rearranging heavy coats and coffee cups.

“How long are we on for?” you ask Namjoon. He’s refused to tell you anything about the day, wanting it to all be a surprise.

“Around half an hour,” he tells you, and offers you an earpod. Quiet beats fill your ear as the train starts to move, buildings rushing past faster and faster until they give way to the browns and greens of less urban areas.

Namjoon taps your thigh when your stop comes, and you slide out and follow him towards the doors and back into the sharp, December air.

“Where are we?” you ask, as the train pulls away. Namjoon waves a hand at the train station’s sign, which reads the name of a quiet town west of your university. You’ve never been here before, but you know of it.

Namjoon leads you by the hand away from the train station and towards town. You spend the morning ducking in and out of little niche shops, a few art galleries, and one extremely cluttered antique store just for the hell of it. You talk the whole time - pointing out funny items, telling stories when something sparks a memory, joking and laughing quietly.

Around lunchtime, you stop on the sidewalk. Snow flurries drift down around you; not enough to stick, just enough to get caught in hair and eyelashes.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asks you, blowing on his fingers to warm them. “There are actually a lot of decent options along here.”

“Somewhere warm,” you joke, and he gives you an indulgent smile. Then he wraps an arm around your shoulders as you continue up the street, reading a few menus until you settle on a little cafe. You share a hot meal, watching the snow fall lazily outside.

“What else do you have planned?” you ask curiously, as you finish up eating.

“One more stop,” he says. “It’s the piece de resistance of the day.”

“Ooh,” you say, eyes wide. “Can’t wait.”

Namjoon pays and you zip yourselves back into your coats, heading back into the snow. He leads you, to your surprise, off the main strip and down a narrow side-street. A weathered sign swings in the winter wind, the paint so chipped and peeled that you can’t read it anymore.

He pulls the door open and holds it for you as you step through the threshold of the most beautiful antique bookstore you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, my gosh,” you whisper, reverent, eyes scanning the walls of shelves, the tables, the stuffed armchairs.

“I know you love books as much as I do,” Namjoon’s low voice says, close to your ear. “I wasn’t sure if you love old books as much as I do.”

“I do,” you breathe, running a hand just above the covers of the displayed novels to your right.

You walk together through the display tables, deeper into the belly of the shop. The register is currently unmanned, a little bell on the counter meant to summon whoever operates it.

“I have an idea,” you say to Namjoon, looking over your shoulder to smile up at him. “Let’s play a game?”

One of his eyebrows jumps. “What kind of game?”

A giggle erupts from you, and you try to stifle it. “Not that kind. Let’s shop alone. I’ll pick out three for you, you pick out three for me. Then we can meet back here in… twenty minutes? Or so? Then we can swap.”

Namjoon’s smile is open and wide, practically taking up his whole face. “I like it. Twenty minutes? I’ll set a timer on my phone.”

You go in separate directions as you browse. At one point you have six books in your arms, and you stop and set them down, examining their spines for which you should keep and which you should put back. The smell of old pages permeates the air, along with something Christmas-y - pine, maybe a touch of peppermint. You make your way further into the store, climbing a set of open, metal stairs that lead to a balcony of sorts, with more shelves at the top.

You can see Namjoon down below, crouching next to a shelf, his finger tracing the spines of the books on the bottom shelf, clearly looking for something specific. You smile softly, watching him. Then you bustle on to the next section you’re interested in.

When your phone buzzes in your pocket that your twenty minutes are up, you make your way back down to the spot you’d chosen to meet back up. You hold the books behind your back, smiling.

He does the same. “Trade on three?” he asks. “One… two… three!”

You hand him the stack and he hands his books over to you. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you read the titles. You’d both done the same thing without knowing - one fiction, one non-fiction, one poetry.

“I think we spend too much time together,” Namjoon jokes, faking solemnity.

“Agreed,” you say, grinning up at him. “What do you say we buy what we want to buy and go across to that coffee shop to read?” You point out the window, eyeing the coffee shop across the street.

“I like this plan,” he tells you happily, and takes your hand to lead you to the register.

The coffee shop is a good choice - it’s got a fireplace on one wall, and you and Namjoon manage to score a small table not too far from the circle of warmth. Just as he had on the train, he hands you an earpod, and you spend several hours easily - chatting some, reading, watching the snow out the window.

You haven’t felt this at peace, this understood by somebody, perhaps ever in your life.

It gets dark early, making it feel late at night when it’s still early evening. Namjoon holds you close as you walk back down main street, back in the direction of the train station. Halfway down the block he stops, looking down at you, something warm in his gaze.

“What?” you ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t answer, just leans down to kiss you sweetly, his thumb stroking your jaw whisper-soft.

You’re sleepy the second you sit down on the train. You lean against Namjoon’s shoulder, eyes heavy. You’re not sure if you actually drift off or not, when Namjoon gasps beside you.

“What?” you ask, sitting back up. He looks back at you, eyes wide, clearly horrified. “What? What happened?”

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, eyes flashing to his phone and then back to you. The panic in his voice is evident. ��Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” you repeat, feeling your own nerves start to tingle.

“I texted the wrong group chat…” he says quietly, still sounding horrified. “Fuck, I’m so fucking stupid. I’m so sorry. I thought it was the one with only Yoongi and Hobi…”

He turns his screen to show you. The groupchat is clearly the one with all the guys, the bubbles at the top numerous.

[6:02 PM] Hoseok: Namjoon you’ve been quiet all day

[6:03 PM] Hoseok: what’s the story?

[6:05 PM] Namjoon: took y/n on a date today to that antique bookstore 😊

[6:09 PM] Seokjin: wait….. taehyung’s y/n?

[6:09 PM] Jungkook: OOP-

Your stomach sinks. “Oh, my god,” you say, eyes on his phone screen.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, sounding pained.

“No, it’s okay,” you say automatically, even though it probably isn’t. You take a deep breath, rub a hand over your face. “He was going to find out eventually. And, honestly, I didn’t want it to be a secret forever, you know? This isn’t… this is real, it’s not a stupid friends-with-benefits thing, it deserves to… be.”

You trail off, not sure what you mean, but Namjoon leans forward, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

“I’m still sorry,” he murmurs into your hair.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “It really is.”

On your lap, your phone buzzes.

[6:12 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: wow.

Sunday December 9th

You try for two days to get Taehyung to answer you. He ignores text after text, call after call.

On the first day, you feel terrible. You’re sure he’s feeling betrayed, confused, hurt.

By the second day, you’re pissed.

[9:57 PM] You: taehyung, please talk to me

[11:08 PM] You: tete. please?

[12:33 AM] You: seriously, can you answer?

[9:41 AM] You: morning. Can we talk today please?

[2:12 PM] You: the silent treatment’s getting old. Pick up.

[5:57 PM] You: i’d LIKE to apologize to you in person but its kind of hard when you’re ignoring me!!!

[8:49 PM] You: fine, i’ll do it this way [8:54 PM] You: i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. I’m sorry you found out that way. [8:56 PM] You: for what it’s worth, we aren’t like…… officially official or anything [8:57 PM] You: it’s been heading that way, yeah, but…. not yet [8:59 PM] You: i think… telling you would have made it realer, and i didn’t know if it was real enough for that yet [9:03 PM] You: and if i’m being honest… i didn’t know how to tell you

[9:32 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: can i come over

Relief floods through you so heavy that you exhale everything inside you, eyes closing, head sagging towards your chest, the hand holding your phone going limp. Namjoon looks over at you from his side of the couch.

“He answered?” he asks.

“He’s coming over,” you confirm, typing in an answer to Taehyung. “You don’t mind, right? I owe him some answers.”

“No,” he says evenly. “I don’t mind. Do you want me to… I mean, I’m just thinking of when I talked with Elyse. Would me being there… help? Or make it worse?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It’d help me tremendously,” you admit. “But I think it’d make it worse for him. Thank you, though. I appreciate the thought.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, and reaches out to give your hand a squeeze. “Well, you know where to find me.”

Outside, the December night is cold, but dry, the air tickling your throat on its way to and from your lungs.

“Listen,” you say softly. You and Taehyung are sitting side by side, a foot apart, on the stairs in front of your apartment. The stone step feels like a slab of absolute ice underneath you, but you can’t care about that right now. “I’m sorry it happened like this. I was trying… I was trying not to let anything change between us.”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, just stares at the road. From the side, you can see the tightness in his face, the clench of his jaw, the movement of his throat as he swallows. You’ve known him almost your whole life. You can read him like a book.

He’s hurting.

He’s trying to pretend he’s not.

“I mean,” you continue, your heart aching, “you never tell me about your girls.”

“That��s different,” he croaks.

“How?” you ask softly. “How is this different?”

“I wasn’t actually dating any of them,” he says.

It’s not the whole reason, and you both know it.

“So, what is this?” he asks. “Is he your boyfriend now?” He positively sneers the word.

This stops you. You don’t know how to answer. Technically, no. But essentially… yes. You just hadn’t talked it through yet. “He… I…”

Taehyung stands suddenly, shoves his hands in his pockets, paces to the curb and back. “Well?” he demands, facing you. The hurt is practically dropping from him, and you’re reeling to fight the instinct to make it better, reeling trying to determine at lightning speed if you’ve actually done something wrong.

“Not technically,” you whisper.

He stands there, surrounded by the dark, staring you down, his face more serious than you’ve ever seen it. You stand too, taking a few steps to stop before him.

“What does this mean for us?” Taehyung asks. His voice breaks on ‘us’. “What are we now?”

You reach out, fingers skimming along his arm, wanting to comfort. “Taehyung, it doesn’t mean anything for us. We’ll be the same as we’ve always been.”

–

Upstairs, Namjoon can’t let go of the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He can’t get that day with Elyse out of his head - how his eyes had found yours and he’d felt steady, had literally felt the fist of anxiety loosen on his lungs. What if you needed him out there? Finally, he can’t take it anymore. He crosses the living room and peeks out the window, just to gauge how it’s going - he’s sure he can read your expression or your body language enough to tell if you’re okay or not.

He leans over, looking out, and the blood in his arms and legs turns in an instant to ice.

Outside on the sidewalk, you’re kissing Taehyung. His dark hair hangs over your face, where one of his hands rests. Your bodies are impossibly close together, seeming to meld into one in the shadows.

“Fuck,” he hisses, punching his doorframe. Then he slams his door shut, and locks it for good measure.

He should’ve known, he thinks. He should’ve seen this coming from day one.

Elyse had made him feel stupid, yeah.

But it was nothing like this.

<- Prev | Next ->

I'M GOING INTO HIDING BYE!!!!!!! <3

love y'all thanks for reading!!!

379 notes · View notes