#is still like 30+ other people i can make out with and go out on a date with myself if i feel lonely

[bapeach]

Valentine's Day

Anyone else suck at writing summaries for their stories? Anyways, happy belated Valentine's! I hadn't planned on writing a Valentine's related story, but here we are. Hope you all enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader  Word count: 4.8k+ Warnings: a bit clinché, swearing, long-distance Summary: Valentine's Day isn't so bad when you get to call with your long-distance best friend, except things don't really go the way you planned. You're not mad about it, though. ------------

Valentine's Day. A day loved by many and hated by even more. 

You belonged in the latter category. Why did couples need an extra day to celebrate their relationship? Why would you require an extra day to be nice to your partner when you should do that any other day as well? The only thing this holiday does is make single people feel bad. You’re not bitter about it or anything, it’s just a fact, okay fine, you’re a little salty.

Today is another Valentine that you’re spending single, but this time at least you have plans! While most of your friends were going to be off on dates, you were going to be calling your long-distance best friend and making fun of the whole holiday. To say you were excited to talk to the girl was an understatement.

Being a student-athlete wasn’t easy, Paige had complained about her busy schedule enough for you to know. Not that she had to, you could tell how exhausted she was whenever she found a bit of time to call you between school, homework, and basketball. It saddened you to know the blonde was wearing herself out completely to be the perfect student while also making sure she’s the best basketball player she can be. She barely ever has time to relax, and you’re scared she’s going to give herself a burn-out.

You were glad Paige found time today to hang out with you. You’ve missed her more than you thought you could ever miss anyone, not having heard her voice in weeks and only having gotten short messages to let you know she’s still alive. 

“Everyone is gonna be out and about on friday after practice so I’ll have the dorm to myself, FaceTime at 10:30?” Her message had read last Sunday, and you’d immediately agreed. While you knew the Valentine’s Day hangout was just a friendly hangout between best friends, you liked pretending it would be a date. 

When you met Paige, you never thought you’d ever fall for her so deeply, let alone be such good friends with her. But here you were, 6 years later, with the biggest crush on her.

When your mom sent you to a random month-long summer camp when you were 16, you’d protested with your whole being. You’d much rather stay home, bundled up on the couch all summer, re-reading your favorite book series, not going to a random camp out in the wild. “You’ll learn so much stuff! And you’ll make friends for life!” She’d said, making you roll your eyes. You didn’t believe a word she’d said, knowing that even if you managed to make friends, you’d only talk to them for that summer and maybe a month after.

You didn’t meet Paige until a week into camp. Her cabin was nowhere near yours, and so you weren’t in the same activity groups as her. One of your roommates had met her one night when she couldn’t sleep and went on a walk. She said you two would get along well, but the more she talked about the blonde, the less likely it seemed to you.

While you were shy, loved staying in, let people walk all over you, and were a bit of a teacher’s pet, 16-year-old Paige was the complete opposite. She was outgoing and friendly, and she loved teasing people even when she didn’t know them. She preferred the outdoors, getting restless when she had to stay in and couldn’t play her sports. She loved breaking the rules and always seemed to get away with it too, her charisma being able to charm all the camp leaders.

When your cabinmate had called her over during dinner, you were incredibly intimidated by the taller girl. She towered over you with a big grin, her blue eyes wide and full of mischief. She was loud and immediately set her eyes on you when she noticed your quietness. When your friends had joked about how shy you were, she’d only grinned wider, saying she was going to get you to come out of your shell.

She managed to win you over a lot faster than you dared to admit. After that dinner, she was always able to spot you in the crowd, coming over to tease you or introduce you to more people. Within a week, you two were glued at the hip. She managed to do what she said she would, making you a little less afraid to speak your mind, while you were able to bring a calm to her that no one knew existed.

You swore saying goodbye to her at the end of camp was one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do. You were quite dramatic at times. Sadly, you’d been right about the not staying friends thing. You two sent each other two letters once camp was over and called five times before life got too busy with school, extracurriculars, and new friends. After that, you didn’t talk for two years.

The next time you saw her again, you thought you were dreaming. You were touring different universities and had just finished the UConn one. Paige had managed to get even taller, her muscles were more defined, and she’d finally found her style. You thought you were mistaken at first, but then her bright eyes found yours, and a wide smile made its way onto her face. She excused herself from the conversation she was in and jogged over to you, not letting you say more than a hi before pulling you into a hug. You let yourself fall into the comfortable, familiar feeling, sinking into her as you hug her back.

This time, when you two parted and said you’d stay in touch, you actually did. Sadly, you didn’t end up going to UConn, instead choosing a university over two hours away from the blonde. Keeping in contact was easier now that you were older and more mature. You called each other multiple times a month, texting almost daily, and even met up IRL whenever you could. You’d attended quite a few of her games, and she even surprised you on your birthday last year.

That birthday is your favorite one so far. Paige had surprised you with flowers and a book you’d been wanting for ages. She spoiled you like crazy that day, even staying the night at your dorm before having to go back to UConn. The day after was the day you realized you were head over heels for her. You became aware of the fact that the butterflies you felt in your stomach weren’t just from being excited at seeing your best friend, they were actually because you had a crush on her.

You never told her about your feelings, however. You figured she only saw you as a friend and knew that there were hundreds of girls throwing themselves at her feet, so why would she choose someone who didn’t even live in the same state as her? 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts as you readjust yourself on your bed. Seeing it’s already 10:28, you open your camera to make sure you look okay. Patting down the flyaway hairs, you smile at your reflection. Closing the app, you grab your water bottle to take a sip and calm your growing nerves.

Knowing you’ll be even more nervous if you keep staring at the seconds tick by, you open TikTok and scroll on your FYP to pass the time. You quickly realize that wasn’t the best idea, seeing as there are only edits of Paige on your screen. Your face becomes a bright red as you watch the videos and save them all. You close the app after seeing an edit that makes you feel certain things, fanning your face as you try to get rid of your blush. 

When you look at the time again, you shake your head in amusement. 10:35. In the years that you’ve known the blonde, there haven’t been many instances in which the girl has been on time. Usually, it bothers you to no end when someone is late. It makes you feel as though they don’t respect you enough to be on time. With the blonde, it’s different, however. 

It’s cute to see her all flustered, apologizing again and again for her tardiness. It makes you laugh when she pouts at you, complaining about how her laptop had to do another update, how her alarm didn’t go off, or how Geno always has it out for her during the practices before a call. You grin when she leaves out the part where she was once again being a menace at practice, teasing her about it after Nika texts you to let you know Paige will be late and why.

You send her a quick text, asking if she managed to piss off Geno again, before checking to see if the Croatian had texted you anything. After another 5 minutes pass, you frown a little, slightly worried about the blonde. When your phone buzzes, you sit up straighter, fluffing up your hair a bit as you prepare to start the call. Grabbing your phone, you expect a “Sorry I’m late! You ready?” message, but you deflate instead.

“Hey, sorry I can’t call 2day, feeling exhausted, rain check?” It reads.

Of course, this isn’t the first time Paige has had to cancel on you. You understood that her busy schedule left her incredibly exhausted, and you knew she hated herself every time she had to cancel. Usually she pushed through, calling you anyway and falling asleep within 10 minutes of the call. She’d apologize profusely, a big frown on her face as her eyes turn a murky blue in sadness. You always told her you didn’t mind, you actually found it cute how her tired eyes would slowly blink at you before finally closing. 

The fact that she actually canceled this time meant she didn’t feel good at all, so you let her know it was okay and that you’d talk soon. Once you wish her sweet dreams as she goes to take a nap, you close your laptop with more force than necessary. 

While you typically wouldn’t mind all that much, you did this time. You missed her like crazy, you hadn’t had the easiest week, all your friends were out having fun, and to top it all off, you were about to have your period, making you even crankier than usual. You sit in silence for a moment as you try to blink away your tears. You press your palms to your eyes as you shake your head. Slapping your cheeks softly, you try to snap out of it. “Don’t be such a little baby,” you think to yourself.

You get up and stretch before pausing in the middle of the room. You look around a little lost, unsure of what to do now that your plans fell through. You bite your lip as you think about the tub of ice cream you left in your freezer for when you had a bad day. You pout as you realize you’ll spend yet another Valentine’s Day watching a cheesy movie that’ll make you cry into your ice cream.

Right as you’re about to open the freezer, you hear a knock at the door. You throw your head back, holding in a groan as you debate pretending no one is home. You knew it was most likely your roommate, who knew you were going to be home, having forgotten her keys again, so you make your way over to the door. 

You take a quick peek into the mirror to check if your eyes look red from your mini breakdown, silently cursing when they do. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you open the door, ready to tell your roommate to not mention it.

You freeze as your jaw drops open. Paige is standing in the hallway, holding a bouquet of red roses and a big teddy bear, a wide smile carved on her face. “Surprise,” she says, her voice soft as she takes you in. You cover your mouth with your hand as tears well up in your eyes again. “Damn these hormones,” you think, blinking to make them go away.

Seeing your watery eyes, the blonde’s smile softens as she mutters a “C’mere.” You fall into her open arms, squeezing her tightly as you nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck. Paige leans her head against yours, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple. She slowly shuffles you backward into your dorm, using her foot to close the door behind her.

Once you realize the way you’re gripping onto her, you let her go, heat creeping up your face. You feel a bit embarrassed, but the feeling gets taken over by the happiness of finally being near the blonde again. “What’re you doing here?” You breathe out as you look at her in childlike wonder. “Wanted to spend Valentine’s with my favorite girl,” she replies, shoving the flowers and bear towards you. The butterflies in your stomach flutter around as you take the gifts with a wide smile, your cheeks bright red at the nickname.

You quickly put the flowers in a vase with some water before setting the teddy bear down on the couch. When you turn back towards Paige, you see her already staring at you with a soft look in her eyes. You skip back over to her, flinging yourself back into her arms, making her chuckle. “Thank you,” you mutter against her shirt, fondness seeping through in your voice.

You pull back slightly with a loving smile, looking up at her but not leaving her arms. She moves one hand away from your back, bringing it towards your face as she rubs your cheek. “Anything for you,” she mumbles as she takes in your face like she’s trying to memorize every bit of it. You can feel your face heat up, but you can’t look away. Your heart beats faster as you admire her, waiting to see what’s on her mind as you see different emotions swim around in her eyes. 

Softly clearing her throat, she steps back nervously as she takes an envelope out of her pocket. She shifts her weight from foot to foot as she looks down at the envelope, her throat bobbing as she swallows harshly. “I, uh,” she starts, biting her lip before looking up at you with an anxious yet hopeful look. “This is for you,” she says, handing you the envelope. You raise an eyebrow at her as you ask, “What’s this?”

“Jus open it,” she says, fidgeting with her sleeve. You open the envelope tentatively, a little nervous at how anxious the usually confident girl is. Folding open the pink letter, you scan the page, smelling her perfume as if she sprayed it on the paper. You smile in adoration as you see the usual scribbly handwriting, this time a little less messy. Taking a quick glance at the girl, you see her rub her neck, nodding at you to read it. Your heart skips a beat as you read the words. 

It’s… It’s a love confession. 

You grip the paper a little tighter as you read about how Paige has had a crush on you for the past two years and how much you mean to her. Your eyes stay glued to the page until you reach the end. “Will you be my valentine?” The last sentence reads.

You look up at her in shock, excitement bubbling in your chest. The athlete is still looking at you, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?” You whisper, not wanting to break the intimate atmosphere. She nods her head as she bites her lip shyly. A broad smile spreads across your face as you nod enthusiastically. “Yes!” You say, your voice a bit higher as you’re unable to contain your joy.

“Yeah?” Paige grins, her confident, cheerful self showing again. She grabs you again, lifting you up as she twirls you around. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at the giddiness you’re feeling. “Okay, uhh, I’ve made dinner plans for tonight, but I was thinking we could just chill here for a bit and then go get lunch in that cute little café we went to last time I was here!” The blue-eyed girl beams.

You’re already nodding your head before she finishes her sentence, knowing you’d do anything with the girl. Seeing as you still have some time before you need to start getting ready, you drag the basketball player to your couch. You let her sit down first before settling down next to her and swinging your legs over her lap. You’d been in this position plenty of times before, but those times never felt as intimate as this time.

Your heart thrums in your chest as Paige immediately rests her hands on your legs, rubbing them softly as she relaxes into her seat. You hold your new teddy bear against your chest as you watch the blonde fondly. Catching you staring, she sends you a smirk, making you look down with a chuckle.

“So, how’d you manage to get coach to let you skip practice?” You ask, your head tilted in question. “Oh, that was easy, he loves me, so he said he’d let me skip for once,” she replies smoothly. You huff out a laugh as she says that, mischief clear in her eyes. “You’re such a liar,” you grin back. “Okay, okay, maybe that’s not exactly how it went,” she rolls her eyes playfully. You look at her triumphantly as she gives your leg a little squeeze, more amused than annoyed that you caught her. “He said I could skip, but that my next practice is gonna be extra hard.” 

You look at her in amusement but also slight worry. “You didn’t have to do this, you know? I would’ve been happy with just a phone call. I don’t want you to work yourself to the point of passing out,” you reply, your brows furrowed slightly in concern. She shakes her head, bringing one hand to your face to smooth out your frown. “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Besides, I think I would’ve gone insane if I didn’t see you soon,” she says, her voice more vulnerable than you’re used to.

Your lips curve back into a smile as she continues. “And stop worrying about me so much, I’m okay. If things get too much, I’ll let you know, I promise.” She sticks out her pinky finger, grinning at you as you interlace yours with hers.

You two keep talking until it’s time to get ready for lunch. Seeing as Paige is already dressed, you leave her on your couch as you walk up to your closet to pick a nice outfit before running to the bathroom to put yourself together. Once you’re satisfied, you return to the couch, blushing as you see the blonde check you out. You raise your eyebrow and send her a teasing grin, letting her know you caught her. She simply sends you a smirk back as she gets up.

There’s not a moment of silence on the way to the café as you two talk about the latest things in your lives. You talk about classes, basketball, family, friends, and the weird dreams you’ve had. The conversation continues to flow during lunch and into the afternoon as you walk around the city with Paige. A smile is permanently etched into your face as you stroll around with your hand in the blonde’s. While her hand is a bit rough from playing so much basketball, it’s still very soft. She rubs her thumb across your knuckles as she animatedly talks about the shenanigans she’s been up to with the team.

When you stop for ice cream, you order your favorite flavor before noticing Paige taking another flavor you love. It confuses you a little, knowing she doesn’t really like it, but you don’t really pay any mind to it as you continue rambling about what your professor did last class. When you sit down, you enjoy your ice cream as you listen to the girl in front of you. She takes small bites in between sentences, making her still have half of it left when you’re done with yours. As she talks, she starts feeding you some of her cup, making you smile at how cheesy you two are being. You don’t mind, though, this is exactly what you’d dreamed of.

When you notice the blonde isn’t eating her ice cream anymore, only feeding you, you go to protest. You don’t get the chance to, however, as the girl knew what you were up to. She quickly shoves another spoonful into your mouth when you open it to speak, rolling your eyes playfully. She grins as she shrugs a little.

Once you two are done, you walk back towards your dorm, silently thanking your roommate for having her own plans and not being home. Once inside, you guide the blonde to your bed, plopping down as you put on a random show for background sounds. You spend hours talking about everything and nothing, laughing harder than you have in months. 

“So, this dinner, where are we going?” You ask Paige as you crane your neck up from where you’re lying against her. She pretends to lock her mouth and throw away the key, making you roll your eyes. “You’re so unhelpful, y’know that?” She laughs, knowing it’s true. “Can you at least tell me what the vibe is? Do I need to dress fancy?” You question as you get up and walk over to your closet. You rifle through your options as the athlete speaks. “Semi-formal, I guess,” she shrugs, getting up herself. “Where are you going?” You ask as she starts walking towards the door. 

“Gonna grab my bag from my car, I’m not going to dinner in this outfit,” she replies, making you nod in understanding. Once she’s gone, you pause for a moment, pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. When you know for sure you’re not, you let out an excited squeal before calming yourself down and getting ready. Once you’re dressed, you sit down in front of your mirror to apply some light make-up.

You hear Paige walk back in, having borrowed your keys, as you’re applying mascara. Once you’re done, you look at her through the mirror and send her a bashful smile. She doesn’t smile back, too enthralled by your beauty. You shake your head as you giggle, grabbing your lip gloss. You lean in a bit closer to the mirror, applying a thin layer of gloss to make your lips shine. You glance over at Paige, seeing her eye the applicator as you glide it across your lips. She swallows harshly when you make eye contact, looking away sheepishly as she walks over to get ready in the bathroom. 

You scroll through Instagram as you wait for the blonde, liking the Valentine’s Day posts from your friends. When you hear the bathroom door open, you glance up, your throat going dry. Paige always looked gorgeous, but right now, you think she’s never looked better. She smiles softly at you as you take her in. She doesn’t tease you about the way you’re basically drooling over her, knowing she’s just as enamored.

“You look beautiful,” she says, grabbing your hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “Says you,” you grin with rosy cheeks. Her eyes twinkle with happiness as she leads you to the door. “Oh, one sec!” You mutter, running back towards your dresser to grab something. You quickly put the tiny box in your bag before walking back over to Paige. “Alright, I’m ready,” you say, rocking back and forth in excitement.

You walk towards the taller girl’s car in comfortable silence, your hand in hers, fingers interlinked. You let her open the passenger door for you, chuckling at her as she gives you a bow. “M’lady,” she tries to say seriously, but she can’t stop the smile growing on her face. “You’re such a dork,” you reply as you get in, hoping she doesn’t notice the bright color of your cheeks.

Once you two are on the road, Paige takes one hand off of the steering wheel, putting her arm on the center console. You look at it for a moment before grabbing her hand and interlacing your fingers once more. You take a peek at the blonde to see her reaction and feel your stomach flutter when you see her sporting a tiny, content smile.

Once you get to the restaurant, you look around in awe. It was beautiful. You still can’t believe that all of this is real. That Paige Bueckers, your best friend, is taking you out on a date and treating you like a queen. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling all day. 

You two share a bottle of wine as you enjoy your food, letting one another taste each other’s dishes, grinning when you find the other’s food better. You giggle as you switch your plates around, not paying any mind to the looks you’re receiving. After finishing your meal, you order dessert, sharing the sweet treat, feeling pretty full from dinner. 

Once you’re done, Paige pulls out a wrapped box with a tiny ribbon bow. For a moment you’re confused where it came from, but you quickly dismiss your confusion. “Paige, you didn’t have to get me anything! You’ve already paid for everything today,” you whine, feeling bad about how much the girl is spending on you. “Oh hush,” she says, “I love spoiling my girl.” “Your girl, huh?” You tease with a grin. She rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “Open itttt,” she says impatiently.

You giggle as you open it, letting out a gasp as you see the bracelet inside. “Paige…” you breathe out, “this is beautiful.” “Yeah? You like it?” She asks, hoping you’re speaking the truth. You nod eagerly, flashing her a toothy smile as you brush your thumb over the P charm. “I was scared it would be too possessive, giving you something with my initial on it for our first date,” she admits, scratching her temple. “I love it, P,” you say, letting her help you put it on.

You grab your bag, pulling out your own gift box. “You didn’t,” Paige grins as you hand it to her. “I did,” you grin back. “How? You didn’t even know I was coming today,” she asks, giving you a curious look. “I got this a while back and was just waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you,” you say, your heart drumming in your ears as you nervously wait for her reaction. Her face lights up at the sight of the new chain you’d gotten her. She lifts it out of the box, letting it shine in the dim restaurant lights.

She taps the tiny basketball pendant as it swings on the chain. The blonde sends you a radiant smile, her eyes shining with love. “Thank you,” she says, adoration clear in her voice. You raise one finger, making her pause. You rummage in your bag, grabbing a tiny plastic bag, before handing it to her with a smirk. She holds it close, laughing as she realizes what it is. Opening the bag, she grabs the tiny charm, twirling it between her fingers. “I see we had the same idea,” she smiles, her cheeks becoming a soft pink at the thought of wearing your initial on her neck. 

You help her put it on before waving over the waiter for the bill. You begrudgingly let Paige pay, knowing you’d never win that fight against her. You hold her hand as you walk towards her car, squeezing it softly. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst with joy and adoration. Once you reach the car, you look at the taller girl as she pauses. 

Her eyes flit over your face as she softly grabs your hips. She steps closer, gently pushing you against the car. She leans in closer, her eyes looking into yours with a questioning look. Your heart skips a beat as you nod lightly. The blue-eyed girl leans even closer, her lips hovering over yours for a moment to give you an extra second to change your mind. When you don’t, she presses her lips against yours in a slow but deep kiss. You grab her face, trying to pull her even closer as you close your eyes. After a minute, you pull away slightly to catch your breath. You move your hands towards her neck as you play with her baby hairs. The smile she sends you makes you weak in the knees, making you silently thank God that you’re leaning against the car. 

“Be mine?” Paige breathes, her question sounding almost like a statement. You don’t need to think twice as you nod, pulling her into another kiss.

You know it won’t be easy, being in a relationship while you’re miles apart, but you know that it’s all worth it when you get to call this amazing girl yours.

[queermasculine]

you don't have to answer this but are you still on t? I know you've talked about thinking you were into guys before figuring out u were into butches and I wonder if that realization changed how you saw your body?

I ask bc I'm in a spot where I can't fully tell if I need to go on t to look the way I'd feel right or if I can get to enough of a butch level with exercise and clothing and being around better people than currently. My gender wouldn't change either way, I'm still not a woman, but .. yeah.

realizing i was into other butches did change how i saw my body absolutely, like completely changed it, i don't think i had anything positive to say about my body pre-butch4butch at all tbh. looking at myself and realizing my masculine dream partner would actually have most of the features i was most dysphoric about was a total shift in perspective for me

whether that type of mental shift can lessen your dysphoria to a point where you'll never need T as a dysphoric butch, i'm still kinda figuring that out myself. i was in that "i've done my research and i've seen friends go through the process but i'm being a pussy" stage when i had my b4b epiphany and that brought my dysphoria down to manageable levels (this was years ago now) so i never went on T, but i still think T might be in my future – even if i've cut down my dysphoria by like 70% that remaining 30% can really chafe sometimes depending on the day

but if the question is "is it possible to get to a good place just by focusing on all the other, non-medical aspects of transition" yeah absolutely. like you really can change your appearance completely it's kinda crazy. many ppl don't realize just how much of the average cis guy's masculinity – which can seem so inherent – is actually just clothes and hair. even just getting your hair cut by someone who will give you an actual men's cut instead of the girl version of that style can totally change how you look because it just frames your face and neck so differently (speaking from experience)

that being said i don't think you should ever withhold HRT from yourself if you have access to it and think it might help you. just that it's possible to have a good life even if that's not an option for you, at least in my case it has very much been possible

edit: love all the ppl chiming in with their positive experiences being on T, however i was kind of trying to make this a positivity post for the transmascs out there who are not on hormones rn (like me) so if we could refrain from using wording that paints that life as being incomplete or lesser-than somehow that'd be great, thanks everybody🤘

[queer-froggit]

i'm ending it here because i'm boutta be here all day lol

ramble under the cut!!!!

lust's friend group is very tiny because everyone judges him for his job, but they're also all sanses so they're like "eh, not my problem" and really just ignore him, and even besides them lust has to work to get people to respect him. horror and lust are frenemies because they HATED each other at first sight- horror was very vocal about his prejudices and lust doesn't take shit from anybody. however, they're both old men just trying to get through their hell of a day without killing themselves, and they find common ground in that (same thing with lust and cross, except for them it's more lust teaching cross how to take himself seriously and turning into rivals instead) in my interpretation, lust dated a lot of people before realizing he was aro, with blue being his longest relationship. a lot of shit happened, but they're besties now.

horror and wine are frenemies because lthough they relate to ecah other, they do it in a "i pity you way", which pisses them both off. horror could never work for the royal guard, and i like to think horror takes his brother to move in with farm after leaving nightmare. it's basically saejun teaching him how to be a person again, and i think geno and farm would also make nice friends, since "old men who have finally learned to be content with what they have" trope. speaking of geno, i think he HATES reaper, like hate hate. i still haven't read aftertale, my only sources are analysis and pages out of order, but it just feels right to say? reaper likes pissing people off, so he sees geno as a pal because of this hate.

reaper and wine are dreams mentors, since reaper was supposed to have an appearance in dreamtale. reaper is more of a "using to learn your god powers" mentor while wine is "using your societal power", but they basically teach him that not everyone is going to want to be buddy buddy, and that's not something he should see as a failure (since they both have gone through the horrors). wine sees black as a more upbeat version of himself, but nox is always trying to be an opp, so he sees to reason to be friends. also they all hate fell because they think he's lazy and all bark yet no bite lol.

dust and fell are obviously friends in canon, but i feel like they especially relate because of their feeling of being trapped in hell and having to be guarded all the time (they're SO 30 for 30 by sza coded it's ridiculous), and if not romantic, i think that feeling can get familial. horror sees fell as a fake though, because he thinks underfell is just "undertale but they say fuck", so he thinks fell is all talk while he knows he wouldn't survive a DAY in horrortale (no one would), but dust and horror are friends, so horror forces himself to tolerate fell and give him advice about surviving (but more in a condescing tone).

sci and fell are a secret third thing because i could see them being siblings, rival friends or romantic (curse you cpau) so idk. same thinf with wine and cross because they're both royal guards who have gone through dictatorships, so they should relate to each other, but tehy're both bitches so they would probably be enemies, but them sparring would be so perfect???? maybe like a "my mentor is a bitch but it's to train me to do better", which works perfectly because cross is always trying to get people to see him as a superior, and wine always feels superior (but it's to do the same thing as cross), so wine talking down to him riles him up enough to try and beat him, and they can both let their stress out when they spar :) (they eventually realize that they've been living in a dictatorship where rheir leader has been incredibly selfish, don't worry)

swap and blueberror... idk how to explain it. i think they're very jinx and ekko coded. blueberror is the more hyper and blunt version of swap, and swap has to calm him down sometimes, but they would be besties because they bounce off of each other 👍

nightmare and ink are colleagues beacuse i said so :) ink is nightmare's equivalent of people watching video essays as background noise. also nightmare wanted to study fresh because he sees him as an anomaly (someone whose emotions he can't read, yet feels uneasy around him, depsite not knowing who he is), but then learned like one thing about him and decided not to open that can of worms. fresh just thinks nightmare is weird.

i think that's it... thank you for the chart sign!

Ship chart but it’s not a ship chart it’s a friendship/found family/QPR chart

[thoughtfulfiction]

Friend zone? End zone.

Author’s note: Anon requested🧡

July

Packing everything up and moving to France with no idea where you'd live or how you were going to make money, to study under some of the most well known pastry giants in the world was...crazy. But somehow, opening up your own bake shop in Cincinnati felt even more like you were losing the last hold on your sanity. You didn't know anyone here, no friends or family nearby, but Velvet Clementine was your dream. And today, the dream smelled like vanilla, caramelized sugar, and the bright zest of fresh clementines, located in the middle of the Queen City. You had your own staff, granted it was four people but still, you were the owner, the boss, of your very own place.

Cincinnati had been your home for six weeks when the bell chimed, and two men—tall enough to make your display case look like a dollhouse—ducked into the shop. They moved with effortless confidence, their voices a low rumble of laughter as they scanned the display case with the focus of someone choosing their last meal. You watched them pile on various pastries, looking through the rows of mini pain au chocolat, almond croissants and pastel de nata. The mini fruit tarts featuring clementines and red velvet cakes were the items that made you fall in love with baking, hence the name of the place. The shorter man reached for a tart, its glossy colorful slices glistening under the bakery lights, nestled in a bed of creamy white chocolate mousse. You watched as the other one picked up a croissant, giving it a slight squeeze—a soft crackle of delicate layers breaking beneath his fingers. They seemed satisfied with their various selections, happily walking over to the register, the tall one flashing his almost sinfully perfect smile as he paid for everything. You thanked them for coming in and sent them on their way.

"You can't be serious, how did you not say anything?" Your sous chef Quinn let out a breath she had probably been holding since the two guys walked through the door.

"What are you talking about?"

She scoffed, remembering the fact that you’d lived in Europe the last few years so their presence didn’t hold much weight. She tossed a dish towel over her shoulder as she turned to face you, ���they’re Bengals, babe. Like, literal football gods. Also, it helps that they’re stupidly attractive."

You hummed, processing everything she just threw at you. "Well, that part I did notice. And they’re freakishly...big. Good thing we made extras of everything, because I think they just wiped out half the front shelf."

Quinn laughed, stepping around you to check for herself. "I have a shelf they can—sorry."

"Okay easy tiger,” you let out a laugh, “they're gone. Are we still on for drinks tonight?"

"Oh absolutely, I definitely need a martini or three after seeing the best receiving duo in the game, in person. My boyfriend is actually going to lose his mind when I tell him."

You shake your head with a smile on your face, walking back to the kitchen to restock, the scent of butter and cocoa bean filling the air as you slip behind the counter to arrange the freshly baked tarts.

Much to your surprise, they were back three days later. The door sounded again, and the tall one walked up to you, his broad shoulders barely fitting in the doorway. "I'm Tee."

"Hi Tee," you smile, surprised. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon. Or your friend over there." Tee turns around to find Ja'Marr loading up on cheesecakes this time, not paying attention to anything else. The sight of him, mouth half-full of a pastry, causes you to chuckle.

"I didn't either but...damn. You the owner?"

You nod, hesitant but flattered.

"Excuse my language, but yo, this shit fire—like man. We had to come get some more. Everything’s made fresh, from... scratch?"

"Yeah, every morning I get here at like 5:30 and we bake everything. From scratch."

Ja'marr appears next to him, holding a mini crème brulee. "You are VERY good at your job. You'll be seeing a lot of us now that we're back for the season. Swear you weren't here when I left Cincy, how long you been here?"

"Stop, it's not that great.” You wave him off as he continues to nod profusely, holding up his latest find with wild eyes as you laugh again. “And I've been here a little over a month, just moved to Cincinnati actually."

"From?" Ja'Marr pipes up, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

"France, lived there for a few years to perfect my pastry skills and really focus on my craft."

"That's crazy, I just got back from Paris for Fashion Week. The food was amazing and looks like the classes worked cause you definitely know what you're doing."

"Thank you guys. And spread the word will you? I heard you two are kind of a big deal around here."

"Something like that, we appreciate you for these," Tee flashes a wide grin, holding up the bag as he thanks you one more time, "you'll see us back here soon."

The next day they returned the favor and since you'd been feeding them, they wanted to take you to a special spot downtown to really introduce you to the city. Of course you brought Quinn with you. Her boyfriend didn't believe this was actually happening until he Facetimed her and saw the guys for himself. It was nice to finally feel like you'd met people you got along with without having to try to be anyone but yourself. Over the next few weeks while exploring the Cincinnati food scene, you found out that Tee and Ja'marr were funny, sweet and kind, just two guys enjoying the last few weeks of the offseason before training camp ramped up. Both of them were in the midst of contract negotiations, having to explain to you the ins and outs of NFL life. They appreciated that you didn't care about their status and never asked unless they started the conversation and you loved having people around that made this city feel so much less like a foreign country.

Ja'Marr strolled in one morning with a grin, practically bouncing on his feet as he leaned across the counter. "Hey, so listen...you gotta make those mini cakes for my housewarming on Saturday. I mean, you have to be there, since we’re your best friends now and all. It’s only right."

Quinn, who had been wiping down the counter, stopped mid-motion and squinted at him. "Excuse me? So now I’m invisible? You’re just gonna act like I wasn’t the one keeping her entertained before you waltzed in with your designer sweatpants and phenomenal taste in bakeries? Some people." She shakes her head in mock disbelief.

Ja'Marr smirked, completely unbothered. "Anyway, Imma ignore that. Jealous isn't a good look on you Quinn." He quickly turns his attention back to you, "so...you'll be there Saturday right? I'll text you the address."

"Yes, I'll be there."

"And so will I, since we wanna exclude people from the conversation." Quinn adds in from behind you.

Ja'Marr, clearly pleased with his victory, flashed a grin as he turned to leave. "Speaking in third person? You know what I'll just see y'all Saturday." Before heading out, he shot you one more look over his shoulder. "Don’t forget, mini cakes."

As he walked out, Quinn glanced at you, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Looks like you’ve got some serious new friends now, huh?"

"We," you correct her, "we have some serious friends new friends now."

As a business owner, you prided yourself in being a professional. Even at your friend's party, you wanted to be more than on time and make the cakes look as pretty as possible. Quinn had joined you in the last-minute preparations, both of you arriving an hour before the gathering started to get things in order. The large living room was already buzzing—caterers setting up a lavish buffet, trays full of appetizers being placed on side tables. Some of Ja'Marr’s friends, who you assumed were visiting from Louisiana, lounged in the corner, their laughs echoing over the low hum of video game sound effects.

You and Quinn worked in tandem, setting the delicate mini cakes on a table near the center, the soft scent of the various flavors filled the room as you arranged the treats just so. You hadn’t even noticed Ja'Marr and Tee walking towards you until Ja'Marr's voice cut through the conversation.

"You brought my favorite ones, that’s so sweet. I am gonna tear. These. Up." His grin was wide as he took in the display of your pastries while wiggling his fingers.

"Be classy, please," you teased, glancing at him, "we don’t want your neighbors thinking a wild animal moved in next door."

"Nah, it’s cool," Ja'Marr shrugged nonchalantly, glancing down to check his phone. "I think one of the neighbors just got here."

The door clicked open, and in walked a tall figure. Your breath caught slightly in your chest as your gaze followed the man’s movement. His striking blue eyes swept across the room, a faraway intensity to his expression that made it seem like he was seeing more than just the people around him. There was a quiet confidence to his posture, the kind of calm authority that made him impossible to miss. His light brown hair, a little tousled in that effortless, perfect way, gave him the air of someone who had just stepped out of a high-end catalog.

"Burrow!" Ja'Marr exclaimed, his voice shifting into an easy familiarity. "Damn...I’m really surprised you here. Didn’t think you were leaving the house for a year after your little world tour."

"We went to the same country," Joe replied, his voice steady and slightly dry. "And it was just one." He gave Ja'Marr a side hug, but the moment was strange—a quick pinky shake that made you tilt your head, wondering what it meant. Something about it felt oddly intimate.

Ja’Marr turned his attention to you. "You remember that bakery we been tellin' you about? This is Y/N, the owner. We kinda best friends now so you need to get used to seeing her around. And that's Quinn, they're a package deal."

"Nice to meet you both." Joe’s voice was smooth, but there was a slight tension in the air as he extended his hand.

You reached for it, but Quinn—who had been standing beside you—was frozen. Her eyes were wide, staring at Joe like he was some kind of myth brought to life. The words she'd been about to say caught in her throat, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to process the moment. The seconds stretched on, but she didn't seem able to move, her usual confidence wiped away by her starstruck shock.

You nudged her lightly with your elbow, snapping her back to reality. She blinked, her expression changing in an instant. “Sorry,” she said quickly, her voice higher-pitched than usual as she shook Joe’s hand. “It’s just—um—I'm, like, a huge fan. My boyfriend, too. He’s gonna lose his shit when I tell him I met Joe Burrow.”

Joe’s eyebrow raised slightly, a small, amused smile pulling at his lips as he noticed her flustered reaction. He let out a soft chuckle. "Well, nice to meet you, Quinn."

You laughed softly, shaking your head at Quinn, trying to play it off while feeling your own pulse steadily increasing. Quinn, still flushed from her sudden nervousness, was no longer frozen but her eyes were still glued to Joe, unable to hide the awe on her face.

"Okay, now that we've got that out of the way," Ja'Marr said, clearly enjoying the shift in energy. "I know you don't play about your diet but when I tell you these cakes are the best thing I've ever put in my body? I'm being serious."

Before you can roll your eyes or downplay it, the homeowner stops you. "Don't even think about it, I don't wanna hear none of that. We just need to get him to try one."

Joe grabs one with a Biscoff cookie on top and takes a bite, completely unfazed by the fact that everyone is watching. "Wow, this is. This is incredible. I get why they won't shut up about your place. This is really good."

"Thank you," you laugh softly, trying to push down the weird sense of nervousness pooling in your chest. "And thanks for breaking your strict diet to try it, that means a lot."

He nods and more people start to show up so Ja'Marr leaves to greet them and Tee grabs a few tiny cakes for himself, Quinn asking him if he wants a plate. Everyone moved on from the previous conversation but as you made eye contact with Joe, something unexpected happened—a flicker of recognition, of something unspoken, passing between the two of you. His gaze held yours for just a heartbeat longer than usual, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room had melted away. Although you didn’t really want to, you ignored that feeling and focused on enjoying the night.

You and Quinn moved around the party, getting to know different groups of people, mingling with different players on the team, their significant others and she had to explain to you who all these people were. Of course you'd heard the names before, the buzz around the city the closer the players got to training camp and to the season actually starting. But if years in Europe had taught you anything, it was that sports fans are obsessively dedicated and somehow now you had also become an honorary Bengals fan because of Ja'Marr and Tee. And you couldn't wait to cheer them on. But right now? You couldn't wait to be home and in bed.

The exhaustion of the being up since 4:30 in the morning was continuously creeping up on you. The noise and the laughter mixing with the smells of rich food and the clinking of glasses was all becoming a bit too much after a long week of work. Your mind was constantly racing, your body tired and your spirit longed for some peace and quiet.

You slipped outside into the cool evening air, the chill of the night sky a welcome relief from the heat of the crowded room you'd successfully slipped out of. The city buzzed faintly in the distance, but it felt like a different world out here, away from the chatter and the constant movement.

You leaned against the porch railing, closing your eyes for a moment to just breathe.

The door clicked open behind you, and for some reason you knew exactly who it was. His presence was unmistakable.

“Didn’t expect you to be out here,” Joe’s voice was low, a little gruff but soft in the quiet of the night.

You didn’t answer right away, too focused on the quiet of the moment to form any words. You’d seen Joe around the party—he’d been laughing and chatting, looking perfectly at ease, but now he seemed... different. There was something in the way he stood, in the way he gazed at the horizon, that told you his social battery had run out just like yours had.

“You all good?” Joe asked after a beat, his voice a little more concerned than you expected.

You nodded, finally turning to face him. “Yeah. Just needed a minute. It’s...a lot, sometimes, you know? New city, new life, always on the go.”

Joe looked at you for a long moment, as though weighing something in his mind. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I’ve had days where I just need to...step away for a second. Guess we both needed some air, huh?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. Two people who seemed like they could handle anything, both seeking a quiet moment to themselves, at the same time. You glanced at him, noting the way his hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw slightly tense. He wasn’t trying to fill the silence with empty words or forced jokes, and for that, you appreciated it.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just standing there in the cool night air, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. For the first time, you felt the world slow down a little.

Joe shifted, and you glanced over, catching the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Tee and Ja’Marr won’t shut up about you. Guess it’s my turn to see what all the hype is about."

You smiled back, the moment stretching on, neither of you in a rush to move. "Hope I don’t disappoint."

Ja'Marr had you over a few nights later to go over some film with you to get you ready for "the most important season of your life." Tee walked into the living room holding an iPad full of notes, including the presumed depth chart for week 1. Joe sat on the opposite couch, a water bottle on the table in front of him. They gave you a rundown on what everybody's role is on the team starting with Joe.

"He's QB1, you know. Heart of the team, he's our leader." The more he talked, the more it sounded like he was reciting wedding vows to his quarterback, who looked like he was bored out of his mind. You glanced over at him, but he didn’t react, just sipped his water and let Ja’Marr ramble on. You had barely spoken to him all day—just small glances here and there without taking it any further.

The same thing happened the next day. And the day after that.

Finally, you spoke up. "You're not a man of many words, are you?"

Joe barely looked up as he responded, "Depends on who it is and what they're asking." His tone was casual, but there was a weight to it, like he didn’t give away words freely. Like almost every human interaction he had was a secret interview prying into his personal life.

"Okay, well, you've attended three sessions of my exclusive Bengals 101 class, and you've barely said a word," you pointed out, shifting on the couch to face him. "But yet, every day, you're here."

"I love football," he said simply, taking another sip of water. Then he set the bottle down, finally looking at you. "And I would hate for the newest football fan of the crew to be confused in the middle of the Jungle."

"Is that what they call it? The Jungle?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at the fact that he may have just cracked a joke.

Joe gave you a half-smirk and nodded. "It gets pretty wild, Y/N," he said, standing up and patting you lightly on the back as he walked past. "You better be ready."

He always kept interactions short, never going out of his way to talk to you in group settings, refusing to join the group chat that Tee had created with you, Ja'Marr, and Quinn. Instead of treating him like an onion who needed to be peeled, you just went with it and tried to lean in and embrace his dry sense of humor.

One night, you plopped down next to him on the couch. "Hey," you said casually, tilting your head to study him. "I was just wondering—do you ever smile? Like, unprompted? Or do you just reserve happy Joe for the comfort of your gigantic house when you're alone watching SpongeBob reruns?"

Joe turned his head slightly, his lips twitching into a smirk before he quickly looked away, trying to hide it.

Too bad for him—you caught every second of it.

A few hours later, as you cleaned up after another “film session”, you caught Joe watching you from across the room. Not in an obvious way—more like he was trying to figure something out, like you were a broken play he was seeing on his tablet.

He left without saying much, as always. You figured he preferred sticking to his usual routine—keeping his world small, guarded and unbelievably predictable.

So, when you saw him on the other side of Quinn's door after days of radio silence holding several bags of food, you almost dropped the bottle of wine in your hand.

"You know, you probably shouldn't have tipped that delivery guy. He just handed me these bags when I told him I was coming up here. I could've just been some horrible person stealing a perfectly good breakup recovery meal."

"I think because you're...you know—you? He probably would've handed you anything. I’m surprised he didn't ask for a selfie."

“Oh, he did,” Joe deadpanned, shifting the bags in his arms. “I signed the receipt instead. How's Quinn?"

"Honestly? She said she saw it coming, but it still sucks. You can come in."

Before long, everyone had found a spot, the coffee table now covered in takeout containers, the aroma of fried rice and lo-mein filling the air. The soft glow of the TV flickered across the dimly lit living room as Quinn sat curled up in the corner of the couch, picking at her food while Tee animatedly recounted his worst breakup story.

“At least your ex didn’t break up with you via emoji,” Tee said, waving his fork.

Ja’Marr nearly choked on his drink. “You lyin’.”

“Bro, she deadass sent me a salute emoji and just—gone.”

Quinn let out a weak laugh, shaking her head. “Okay, that’s tragic.”

“Exactly. So if I survived that, you’ll survive this.” Tee nudged her with his elbow.

The weight in the room had started to ease, the heaviness of Quinn’s breakup quickly turned into a lighter and softer energy. You sat on the couch sharing a blanket with her, almost having to force yourself into finishing your food because it was unfortunately your first real meal of the day. Joe sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his knee brushing against yours every time one of you shifted. You told yourself it was nothing.

Every once in a while, your eyes met—quick glances during a particularly funny scene, a knowing look when Ja’Marr started yelling at the TV. He was more relaxed tonight, his usual quiet guardedness giving way to something looser, something easy.

For the first time since moving to Cincinnati, you felt it. That feeling of belonging. Of finding your people.

Quinn let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning her head against your shoulder. “I guess I’ll survive.”

“You definitely will,” you reassured her, placing your hand on hers, giving it a squeeze.

Joe shifted beside you, his voice low. “You picked a hell of a crew to stick with.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze, something unreadable in his expression.

“Could be worse,” you teased, nudging his leg slightly.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. For a second, it seemed like he might say something else—but instead, he just reached for an egg roll.

After that night, things started to shift more toward football. The usual late-night hangs became less frequent, the group chat more active with reminders about packing lists and schedules. Training camp was looming, and you could feel the weight of it, even though you weren’t the one suiting up.

One night at Ja’Marr’s, Tee stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. "This is our last free weekend before camp. Y’all better soak it in.”

Quinn groaned. “Ugh. That means my social life is about to take a massive hit.”

Ja’Marr snorted. “Don’t act like we don’t have days off. We just gon be tired as hell.”

Joe wasn’t there that night—he’d taken off for a few days on his annual lake trip, something about needing to “reset.” Not that you were keeping tabs on his whereabouts or anything, but the house felt quieter without him.

Then, two nights before camp started, he walked into Ja’Marr’s house like nothing was different.

Except, everything was different.

Tee was mid-sentence when he noticed, his words dying in his throat as he squinted at Joe. “Boy, what the hell?”

Ja’Marr turned, eyes widening. "Nah. No way."

You blinked. “Did you—did you shave your head?”

Joe barely reacted, setting his keys down like this was any other day. “Yeah.”

“And bleach it?” Quinn added in, looking intrigued...and a little scared.

“Yep.”

Tee leaned forward, inspecting him like he was some rare species. “You look like a villain in a Fast & Furious movie.”

Joe smirked, rubbing a hand over his buzzed, bleach-blond head. “Perfect.”

Ja’Marr was still in shock. “Bro, what possessed you?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “Felt like it.”

You tried to stifle a laugh, shaking your head. Of course. The most dramatic change of the offseason, and he acted like it was nothing.

Quinn tilted her head, appraising him. “You know what? I don’t hate it.”

Ja’Marr ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Man, now we gotta deal with this version of Joe all season.”

Joe just grinned, casually grabbing a side salad off the counter like he hadn’t just broken everyone’s brains. Training camp hadn’t even started yet, and he was already causing chaos.

Quinn, Tee, and Ja’Marr burst out laughing, looking at each other with wide grins. "Hold up—do y'all realize what this means?" Tee pointed between them. "We all got buzzcuts now."

Ja’Marr gasped, nodding. "Oh, it’s a sign. We're about to be in sync this season. Chemistry off the charts."

Quinn snorted. "What, like you're the bald-headed Avengers?"

Tee clapped his hands. "Nah, we’re like…an Olympic relay team. Faster, stronger, better communication."

Joe shook his head, amused. "You guys are ridiculous."

"You say that now, but just wait," Ja’Marr said, stroking his chin like he was cooking up a master plan. "I'm over here manifesting greatness."

Joe just rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his food, but then he caught your expression. You were dying to say something. "Go ahead, tell me what you really think. I've heard a few. Cody Rhodes, Eminem..."

"I was gonna say a more attractive version of Jonah Hill in the 21 Jump Street flashback scenes."

Tee and Ja’Marr lost it. Ja’Marr literally had to grab the counter for support, and Tee was staggering away, gasping between wheezes. "Bro, I can see it!"

Joe stared at you, lips pressing together like he was physically restraining himself from laughing. "That’s just hurtful."

"You asked." You bit back a grin.

The chaos continued around you, but somehow, it ended up just the two of you standing there as the others got distracted by something else.

You hesitated. You shouldn’t ask. But you did.

"Why did you do it?" You tried to sound casual. "Your hair looked fine—I mean, more than fine—but… why?"

Joe leaned against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. His lips twitched like he was about to say something stupid. Then—

"I want frosted tips."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"And I’ve never seen anyone actually look good when they just go get them, so I’m doing it the natural way."

You just stared at him. "Joe. This is the most insane way to get blond highlights, and you know it."

"Sorry you feel that way," he said, totally unbothered. "But I don’t do things halfway. Go big or go home."

He said it so casually, but the way he was looking at you? That was dangerous. The kind of look that made the room feel a little too warm, made your stomach do an annoying little flip. His icy blue eyes held yours just a second too long—long enough for you to realize that you should run for your life.

Because if you stayed here any longer, you might have to admit that you were developing a teeny, tiny, completely inconvenient crush on Joe Burrow.

August

Having a crush as an adult kind of feels like you're having a heart attack. You could be completely fine one second and then suddenly your entire being was consumed with thoughts of him so vivid it made your chest hurt.

The first preseason game was finally here, giving you the perfect excuse to focus on literally anything else. Your first tailgate was an experience, that morning of the game was by far the busiest day you'd ever experienced. Pre-orders were being picked up left and right, mini pies and cheesecakes were snatched off the shelves before 11am and the only thing that remained by the time all of you left the shop at 2pm was a lone batch of cupcakes that you ended up giving away for free at the stadium. It was easy promo.

Paycor Stadium felt like magic. A chaotic, slightly unhinged kind of magic. Fans were everywhere—some already drunk, all of them decked out in orange, fully prepared to dedicate their mental health to a 53-man roster for the next several months. You just wanted to see your friends do what they loved—well, at least two of them, since Ja’Marr was in the middle of a holdout. Or, technically, a hold-in, since he was still around the building but not practicing. You were still trying to grasp the nuances of contract negotiations, and honestly, you needed a few more Bengals 101 cramming sessions to feel more confident in your abilities to explain the situation, if anyone were to ask.

Time slowed when Joe stepped onto the field. And the stadium erupted when he threw a touchdown to none other than Tee. You swore you saw a couple of fans crying, which was kind of heartwarming but also a little funny, considering they didn’t know him personally.

Joe hadn’t talked much about his wrist injury or the recovery process after surgery, and you never wanted to pry. You figured he’d open up when he was ready. But as you watched him out there, commanding the field like nothing had ever been wrong, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had been as easy as he made it look.

He commanded the field like he commanded every room he entered. You met up with him, Ja'Marr, Tee, Quinn and a bunch of his friends from Athens along with his family to gather at his house, not only because it was the beginning of the season, but it was also a new beginning for him post surgery. The celebration was on, laughter and quiet music filling every corner of the house. You couldn't really hear it, but it had to be from Joe's never ending playlist filled with Gunna and Kid Cudi songs. People drifted in and out of conversations, drinks in hand, taking in the importance of indulging in the calm before the storm of the regular season.

At some point, you found yourself in the kitchen, away from the noise, refilling your drink. You weren’t alone for long.

Joe lingered in the doorway for a second before stepping into the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside you. His presence was quiet but steady, like he was still deciding if he wanted to speak.

For a moment, the two of you stood next to each other silently. You were perfectly happy listening to the muffled sounds of the party happening in the next room. Then, finally, he exhaled, his voice low enough that it almost got lost in the noise.

“I um—I cried last night.”

You turned to him, startled by the sudden confession. His gaze stayed on the counter, fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood.

“There were nights when I thought I wouldn’t make it back here,” he admitted. “Like, really about thought it. More than I ever have before.” He swallowed hard, jaw tightening for a second before he let out a humorless laugh. “I’ve never been afraid of failure. Not really. But this time… it was different.”

You could only imagine what that felt like—to have the thing you built your whole life around suddenly feel uncertain. To sit in the unknown and not be able to do anything but wait.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, shifting so you were fully facing him. “I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like for you.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “But I do know I’m glad you’re here. That you made it through. And that I get to see you come out on the other side of it.”

Joe finally looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

Before you could stop yourself, you sighed, "I think about failure all the time."

His brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You glanced down, running your thumb over the rim of your glass. “Every single day at the bakery feels like a risk. Like one wrong move, one slow month, and it all comes crashing down. I try not to let it eat me alive, but it’s always there in the back of my mind.” You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Every day is either a risk or a victory. Some days, it’s both.”

Joe was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “I get that.”

And you knew he did. Probably more than anyone else. Maybe that was the thing about him—he understood the weight of expectations, the pressure of something you love being both the best and hardest thing in your life.

The party carried on around you, but the two of you stayed there, in the quiet.

Joe wasn’t sure when it started, but sometime after the day he met you, he’d found himself wanting to be near you. To talk to you. To hear what you had to say.

Now, standing here, watching the way your eyes softened when you spoke, he realized something that both excited and terrified him.

He liked you. He really liked you.

And when you smiled at him—soft, understanding, like you really saw him—something in his chest tightened. He was absolutely fucked. And he knew it.

The day after his ill-timed epiphany, he had to figure out a way to see you, without making it completely obvious that he wanted to see you. So he did the one thing he could think of.

"THE Joe Burrow, gracing my humble bakery with his presence?" You place a hand over your heart in mock surprise. "Did hell actually freeze over? Or did you finally crack under the pressure of living a sugar-free life?"

The quarterback looks around and shrugs, "told my parents about this place and I wanted to grab them something before they head out. What should I get? What's good here?" He laughs and you glare at him.

"Everything," Quinn interrupts before disappearing in the kitchen to go over their fall menu, "you know this."

"Well…surprise me." Joe says, when it's just you again. "You're the professional here. And I trust your opinion."

You pick out a few things, putting them in a box and handing them over to him after he tapped his phone on the tap to pay. His fingers brushed against yours on the box, just for a second. Just long enough for his slightly calloused touch to settle into your skin. He didn’t pull away immediately. Neither did you. And then, just like that, the moment passed.

Joe thanked you, turning on his heel and walking out without another glance. He told himself not to think about it. About the way your hand felt against his. About how his skin still felt warm where you’d touched him.

He spent a considerably long time staring at his palm in the car before shaking his head, gripping the wheel, and driving himself home.

September

The month came with the promise of real football. Instead, it delivered losses. Three straight. By the end of the month, they were 1-4, and the frustration was suffocating.

Losing wasn’t new to Joe—football was a game of highs and lows. But this? This felt different. This felt like clawing for air and only inhaling more water. He’d been playing pretty well but that hadn’t translated to team success so needless to say, he was frustrated.

And when Joe was frustrated, when the weight of the season pressed down on him, he did what he always did: he shut people out.

His routine became even more rigid. Early mornings. Earlier nights. Film. Practice. Ice baths. Rehab. Study. Sleep. Repeat. No distractions. No detours. Just football.

No one took it personally. Not really. This was how he was wired. How he dealt with things. But that didn’t mean you didn’t notice the way his texts became shorter, the way he started disappearing from the group chat, the way even Ja’Marr and Tee could barely get more than a few words out of him after a loss.

You weren’t even sure if stopping by was the right move. Still, you showed up at his house the day after their first win, peanut butter oat cups in hand and a ton of nerves in your stomach. You just…wanted—no needed to see him. To lay eyes on him and know he was okay.

Joe opened the door a few moments later, looking like a guy carrying a losing record on his shoulders. His hoodie was slightly wrinkled, his hair, which had already grown out tremendously, was still damp from a shower, and there was something unshakably tired about the way he stood.

But when he saw you, his posture relaxed just a little.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Hey.” You offered a small smile, holding out the box. “Figured you’d be on lockdown mode, so I won’t keep you. Just wanted to drop these off.”

His lips twitched like he was debating whether or not to smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But I did.”

Joe exhaled, running a hand over his face before glancing down at the box in his hand with a small smile. You were definitely going to consider this a win.

You let the silence settle between you for a moment before finally saying, “I know this is my first season actually paying attention to all this, but…I do know one thing.”

He looked at you then, a softer expression on his face as he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“This season isn’t over,” you said firmly. “Not even close. I know you well enough to know you won't just give up without a fight.”

Joe swallowed hard, slowly nodding his head. He didn’t respond right away, but you didn’t need him to. Instead, you reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder—just for a second, just to ground him.

“I’ll let you do your thing,” you murmured. “I just needed to see you for myself.”

Something flickered in his expression, something almost vulnerable, but before you could place it, he sighed, releasing a significant amount of tension in his muscles.

“Come on,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’ll walk you out.”

The morning air was cool as the two of you walked in quiet steps toward your car. When you reached the door, you turned to say goodbye, but before you could, Joe pulled you into a hug.

It caught you off guard at first, the warmth of him, the way he held onto you like he needed this moment more than he was willing to say.

And then you felt it.

The steady, rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

You weren’t sure what it meant. If he even realized how much he was giving away just by standing here, holding you like this. And as much as you wanted to say something—to push—you got in your car holding back a smile.

October

The guys were riding on a high after beating the Giants, allowing themselves to celebrate for a total of...four hours.

By the time Joe made his way to Ja’Marr’s place, the energy in the house was still buzzing. Most of the guests had gone home and it was just the core four cleaning up in the kitchen, while others made their way in and out of the house. For once, nobody was sulking over film breakdowns or injury reports. It was rare for Joe to show up to things like this—especially in-season—but a win after weeks of frustration made it easier to step outside his routine, even if only for a little while.

He kept to himself for the most part, sitting back and listening while his receivers talked over each other about plays, what went right and what they could’ve done better. But the conversation took a sharp turn when Quinn, comfortably stretched out on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, looked up and announced, “Oh, by the way, I got her on dating apps.”

Silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

“Wait, what?” Tee sat up so fast he almost knocked over his drink. “Are you serious?”

“Like, for real?” Ja’Marr leaned forward, grinning. “Ain’t no way.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Quinn smirked, pulling out her phone. “Took some convincing, but she finally caved. And now I get to be the supportive best friend who helps her swipe.”

Ja’Marr rubbed his hands together. “Hand it over. We gotta see this. Make sure ain’t no weirdos on there. Last thing I need is for you to end up on some true crime Netflix special.”

Joe stayed quiet, gripping the neck of his water bottle a little too tightly as you handed them Quinn your phone and she pulled up the profile. Tee and Ja’Marr crowded around, making dramatic noises every time they scrolled past a new guy.

“Absolutely not,” Tee muttered, swiping left.

“Oh, hell no.” Ja’Marr swiped even faster. “Why he posing like that?”

“This one’s kinda decent, though,” Quinn argued, nudging the phone toward them. “Look at him.”

Joe didn’t look. He didn’t join in on the commentary, didn’t make a joke, didn’t do anything except sit there, staring at the condensation rolling down his water bottle, wondering why there was a weird feeling sitting heavy in his chest.

It wasn’t like he had a right to feel any type of way about this. And he knew what it meant.

But that didn’t stop him from feeling it anyway no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

Between the temperature fluctuations and the sudden boom in business, your head was spinning. The bakery had never been more popular. What had started as a hidden gem over the summer had officially become one of Cincinnati’s go-to spots. Lines stretched out the door on weekends, with customers raving about the new fall menu: cinnamon swirl snickerdoodle blondies, apple cider donuts, maple pecan scones. You barely had time to catch your breath between managing the chaos and perfecting each batch, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Meanwhile, the Bengals’ season remained a rollercoaster. A solid win against the Browns gave everyone a glimmer of hope, but that optimism came crashing down when the Eagles steamrolled them by twenty. After that game, no one heard from Joe. His silent rage wasn’t unusual after a loss, but it was nevertheless, felt from miles away.

The next week, they bounced back in a big way, blowing out the Raiders at home. The scoreboard said it was a dominant win, but Joe was still visibly pissed, seen on the sidelines venting to Zac Taylor about missed offensive opportunities and a shit ton of penalties that should've been avoided. The moment went viral—clips of his animated rant flooded social media, with analysts debating whether his frustration was a sign of his competitive fire or a deeper issue brewing in Cincinnati.

That night, everyone met at Jeff Ruby’s for dinner, but Joe didn’t show. To the surprise of absolutely...nobody.

Toward the end of the night, the restaurant manager approached your table with a takeout bag in hand. “This is Joe’s order,” he explained. “He called it in, but something came up. He asked me to give it to you, is that okay?"

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I got it.”

It wasn’t long before you were standing outside his house, takeout bag in hand, knocking on his door. When he opened it, he looked exhausted. Not physically—no visible bruises or signs of injury—but mentally. His eyes were dull, his usual composed demeanor carrying an edge of frustration.

You gave him the bag. “Figured you should still eat.”

Joe took it with a small nod. “Thanks.”

For a second, you considered just leaving, letting him sit with whatever was weighing on him. But instead, you crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You wanna talk about it?”

He let out a slow breath, rubbing his jaw before stepping back to let you in. You followed him to the kitchen, watching as he set the bag down on the counter but didn’t open it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, finally breaking the silence. “I just—” He sighed. “I’m playing well, but I don’t know if we as a collective have what it takes to close out games when it actually matters. We can beat shit teams, but the moment we go up against a real contender, it’s like everything falls apart. And I hate feeling like we’re right there but just not good enough.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. Joe wasn’t the type to be satisfied with mediocrity. He needed to win, and not just in ways that looked good on paper. At this point, to get back on track they needed to look dominant— unstoppable. Not like kids throwing together a project at the last minute because they forgot the due date.

“I get it,” you said softly. “This is your job, your career. You don’t half-ass anything, and you don’t want to settle for middle of the pack.”

Joe’s lips pressed together, his gaze flickering to yours. “Exactly.”

He ran a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “I’m sorry for missing dinner. Just…had a lot on my mind.”

You tilted your head, a flash of curiosity taking over. “Anything besides football?”

For a second, he was quiet, debating whether or not to answer. You could see the internal battle written all over his face, his jaw tensing and flexing as he pondered the risks of honesty.

Then, he muttered, “Fuck it.”

Your brows lifted, but before you could ask, he looked at you—really looked at you—and said, “I’ve been...thinking about you.” His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the weight behind it. “More than I want to. More than I should.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

You should’ve said something, but for once, you had no idea what to say. Instead, you took a step forward. Joe’s eyes tracked your movement, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance. His hand brushed against your waist, his gaze flickering to your lips, leaning in ever so slightly—

“Yo, have you seen my phone charger?”

Ja’Marr’s voice shattered the moment like glass.

Joe immediately stepped back, cursing again under his breath as Ja’Marr walked into the kitchen, completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted.

Your entire face was on fire and you were sure your heart was seconds away from bursting out of your chest.

Joe looked like he wanted to murder his best friend.

November

Neither of you brought up what almost happened. Maybe because neither of you were sure it should have happened. Or maybe, deep down, you were both afraid of what it would mean if you admitted that it did.

So, instead, things carried on like normal—except they weren’t normal at all.

Joe still came by the bakery, though now he had a habit of showing up under the guise of casual excuses. Like when he walked in one morning, a familiar water bottle in hand, and placed it on the counter in front of you.

“You left this at my house,” he said, completely straight-faced. “Wanted to make sure you’re staying hydrated.”

You blinked at him, then down at the bottle—one of many you’d undoubtedly left behind at places far more inconvenient. “You drove all the way here for…this?”

Joe shrugged. “Seemed important.”

Quinn made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. You didn’t have to turn to know she was giving Joe a look—one that said she saw right through him.

Still, nothing was said.

The two of you danced around the elephant in the room for 17 days. Then came the bye week, and as fate would have it, or your own personal hell, you ended up at Joe’s house, standing side by side in his kitchen as you baked a pumpkin pie together. The whole thing came randomly, he mentioned in passing that it was his favorite and he was spending his entire bye week on the couch so naturally you came up with a solution. Nobody else was free so it just ended up being you and him. Of course.

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg, and warm sugar, the scent pulling you into your natural element. This was your Paycor Stadium, your stage. R&B played in the background, filling the comfortable silence as Joe rolled out the pie dough with slow, concentrated movements. The counter was dusted with flour, the remnants of your work scattered across the surface.

"You’re pressing too hard," you murmured, stepping in behind him. You placed your hands gently over his, guiding his movements. "You want it even, but not overworked."

Joe huffed out a breath, the warmth of his chuckle brushing against your cheek. "So what you’re saying is, I’d be terrible on a baking show?"

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as you both worked the dough. "I’m saying, there's some room for improvement for sure."

Joe turned his head slightly, just enough for his blue eyes to catch yours, his expression hard to read but there was a certain glimmer in his gaze. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. This was how it had been for months now—a quiet understanding, an unspoken closeness that had slowly built between you. It was in the way he showed up to your bakery with your favorite coffee, the way you memorized his weekly schedule, the way he looked for you after every home game, his gaze scanning the crowd in the player guest section postgame until he found you.

The pie crust was ready now, but neither of you were ready to move to finish it.

Joe’s hands lingered under yours, his thumbs lightly grazing your knuckles. "I like this," he admitted after a moment, his voice low. "Us. Doing this."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Me too."

It wasn’t just about the pie, and you both knew it.

You helped him move the dough into the pan, your fingers brushing again, sending little shivers up your spine. The pumpkin filling sat ready in a glass bowl, waiting to be poured, but Joe seemed far more interested in you. His eyes traced over your features, cataloging every detail as if he was afraid he’d forget them.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

Joe shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

He exhaled slowly, rolling his lips together as if debating what to say. Then, instead of answering, he reached out to touch you, his fingers trailing down to your jawline, resting there a smidge too long. His movements were gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t. You couldn't.

The space between you evaporated, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so delicate, so achingly tender, that it stole the breath from your lungs. It was slow, unhurried, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you against him. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself sink into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with vanilla extract—it was intoxicating.

Joe deepened the kiss, a quiet desperation laced within it, months of lingering glances and fleeting touches culminating in this moment. You felt his hesitation fade, replaced by something raw and real, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

But then he pulled away.

And you saw it—regret, creeping into his expression before he even said the words.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “This was a mistake.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Are you serious?”

Joe exhaled, looking anywhere but at you. He was still standing somewhat close but his hands weren’t on you anymore, making the temperature in the room instantly feel like it had dropped 20 degrees. Even the expression on his face was a little colder than before. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Your heart was pounding, anger curling hot in your chest. It was the only thing fueling you and keeping you warm. “I think it's a little too late for that. Joe, things have already changed. These past few weeks—hell, these past few months—we’ve been dancing around this. We’re not in fucking high school. Just tell me the truth.”

You took a step closer, forcing him to face you. To look at you. “Do you honestly have no feelings for me?”

Silence.

Then, finally—too quiet— “I don’t.”

You flinched like he’d slapped you.

Joe must have seen it because he let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just—overwhelmed. The team is losing, and I’m playing the best football of my life, and I just—I can’t add another thing to my plate right now.”

You studied him for a long moment, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. Then, finally, you nodded.

You stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to say something—but he didn’t. He just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes locked on the floor like he was hoping if he didn’t look at you, this would all just go away.

“You’re such a coward.”

Joe’s head snapped up, but you were already shaking your head, anger and frustration crashing into you all at once.

“You are so stuck in your own head,” you continued, voice sharp, unrelenting. “You keep everyone at arm’s length so you don’t get hurt. So you don’t have to admit that you actually feel things like a normal human being. You’re not some heartless football machine, Joe. You don’t have to live, breathe, and die this sport 24/7 to be fulfilled.”

You took a step forward, forcing him to face you, forcing him to hear you. “And you can stand there and act like this isn’t real, like there’s nothing between us, but I know there is. And you do too. Maybe it’s new, maybe it’s always been there, but I’m not stupid. At least I didn’t think I was.”

Joe’s jaw tightened, but he still said nothing.

And that? That pissed you off even more.

You scoffed, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you turned on your heel, grabbing your things off the counter. “If you want to pretend none of this is real, then fine. I won’t fight you on it.”

Joe didn’t move. He didn’t stop you.

You lingered for half a second, hoping—praying—that he’d snap out of it. That he’d reach for you, say your name, give you anything.

But all he did was stand there, motionless, watching you go.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head one last time before you reached for the door.

“Don’t burn my pie,” you muttered, then stepped outside, slamming the door shut behind you.

December

Joe told himself, over and over, that he’d made the right decision.

That pulling away had been necessary. That it was better this way.

But as the weeks passed, the reality of it settled in like a dull, persistent ache in his chest. The group dynamic wasn’t the same anymore. Quinn was firmly on your side, and Tee and Ja’Marr were caught in the middle, trying their best to act like everything was normal when it clearly wasn’t.

You only hung out with them if Joe wasn’t going to be there, and eventually, he stopped showing up altogether. Left the group chat, too, because what was the point?

So, yeah. He told himself this was what he wanted. That it was for the best.

Then one day, the night before his birthday while the Bengals were in Dallas, his house was broken into.

It was everywhere. The footage of the smashed window. The grainy security cam stills of showing the inside of his house. The headlines dissecting every detail—what was stolen, how much damage was done.

For a second—just a fleeting, stupid second—he thought maybe you’d reach out.

But you didn’t.

And why would you? It wasn’t your place anymore.

You were moving on. Meeting new people.

Like Cory.

Sweet, mature, honest-about-his-feelings Cory.

More than Joe could say for himself.

Joe wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

At all, really.

But when he overheard Tee and Ja’Marr talking about you, about how you’d been going on several dates with some guy named Cory, he couldn’t help but listen.

“Seems like a good dude,” Tee said, scrolling through his phone. “Takes her out, treats her right.”

“She actually looks happy, too,” Ja’Marr added. “Not whatever the fuck that was with Joe.”

Joe rolled his eyes, slamming his locker shut. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ja’Marr turned to him, unimpressed. “It means you fumbled, bro.”

Tee nodded. “Big time.”

Joe exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t in the mood for this. But they weren’t letting it go, so he told them. Everything. The kiss, the fight, the way he let you walk away because he was too caught up in his own head to admit how he really felt.

By the time he finished, Tee and Ja’Marr were looking at him like he was the dumbest man alive.

“You fumbled twice,” Tee corrected.

“She’s moving on,” Ja’Marr added. “And from the sound of it, dude’s actually putting in effort. You had your chance.”

Joe didn’t respond, just sat there, feeling more irritated by the second. He told himself he didn’t care.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft hum of jazz playing in the background as you swirled the last bit of your wine in the glass. Across from you, Cory was smiling, eyes warm and excited in a way that made you feel a little guilty. He was sweet, thoughtful, and easy to be around. The kind of man that you bring home to your parents and settle down with. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was easy. There was no tension, no unsaid words, no history thick enough to make the world stand completely still for a minute.

You were on your fifth date now, and even though you liked him, you knew deep down you weren’t feeling it the way you were supposed to.

“I, uh—I actually got something for you,” Cory said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Well, it’s more of a surprise, really.”

You set your glass down, watching as he pulled out a sleek envelope and slid it across the table toward you. “Go on, open it.”

You hesitated before peeling it open, your heart practically stopping when you saw what was inside. Two tickets to the game—Bengals vs. Broncos. A must-win. And VIP passes for the postgame meet-and-greet.

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“I wasn't snooping in your house or anything but I did see a Bengals cup in your cabinet the other day. But you never really said anything about being a fan?” Cory said, clearly proud of himself. “i don't know, I figured you might like it. And hey, you can finally meet some of the players.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. You swallowed down the instinct to refuse, to make up an excuse, to say absolutely the fuck not. But what reason did you have? To Cory, there was nothing complicated about this—just a thoughtful gift for someone he was getting to know.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Wow, Cory. This is...really sweet of you.”

“So, you’ll come?” he asked, his grin widening.

You nodded, the weight of your own decision pressing against your chest. “Yeah,” you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I’ll go.”

And just like that, you sealed your fate.

Admittedly, it was their best game of the season. A win in OT, a Tee touchdown to keep their playoff hopes alive, and all the players riding on a high of a multiple game win streak. A month ago, you would've been celebrating right along with them. But tonight you really needed to get through this meet and greet without throwing up. And without blowing your cover. If nothing else, this was Cory's opportunity to have a once in a lifetime experience and the last thing you wanted to do is ruin that.

And then you saw him.

And Joe saw you with...him.

He saw how the guy next to you couldn’t wait to shake his hand—Joe thought it was a joke. Thought maybe this was some kind of sick cosmic punishment for all the terrible decisions he’d made in the last few months.

You looked good, unfairly good in your jacket and Bengals beanie, one that Tee had given you and Joe felt his irritation morph into something else entirely.

You weren’t even looking at him.

Cory, meanwhile, was beaming. “Man, it’s so cool to meet you. You played great tonight.”

Joe barely managed a nod, jaw tight.

Cory didn’t seem to notice the tension thickening the air, but you did.

And when your eyes finally met Joe’s, there was something there—something that made his pulse jump—before you quickly looked away.

Yeah. Joe was pissed.

The moment Cory got distracted meeting some of the other players, shaking hands and taking pictures, Joe saw his chance. He stepped toward you, lowering his voice.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “Attending a football game, in the city I live in. Apparently that's a crime now.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then be more specific," you bite out.

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “Him? This?” He gestured vaguely in Cory’s direction. “Really?”

Your expression hardened. “Yes, really. He’s kind, honest, actually says what he feels instead of hiding behind excuses and—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “You know what? No. I don’t owe you an explanation. I don't owe you shit.”

Joe clenched his jaw. “So that’s it? You’re just—what? Moving on like none of it mattered?”

“Oh, now you want to talk about it?” You whisper yell. “You didn't have anything for me when I asked you, remember? All you could do was look at the floor like a freaking idiot. It was crickets and now you have the nerve to ask me what this is? You don’t get to do this, Joe. You don’t get to push me away, call me a mistake, then act like you suddenly care when you see me with someone else.”

He stepped closer, voice low and tense. “You know damn well I care.”

You swallowed, blinking up at him, and for a second—just a second—Joe thought you might let your guard down. That you might admit there was still something there.

But then you shook your head. “If you actually cared, we wouldn’t be having this conversation here. We actually wouldn't be having this conversation at all. I would've been here, with you. Not looking for pieces of you in another guy, a perfectly nice guy who just wanted to meet the freaking Bengals today. So if you don't mind, I'm gonna go meet Tee Higgins and Ja’Marr Chase...for the first time.”

Joe didn’t know what to say to that.

So you left him standing there, walking back toward Cory with a smile, pulling him in for a hug like Joe wasn’t just barely holding himself together.

January

Exactly seven days later, while Cory was over watching the game with you, Joe took a hit and stayed down. This time you were hanging on by a thread, on the inside. On the outside, you shoved some popcorn in your mouth and sipped on ginger ale, hoping the bubbles would bring your heart back to its rightful place instead of where it currently resided...in your stomach. You didn't know if he had a concussion but he definitely looked out of it, missing throws he usually made and the Bengals escaped Pittsburg by the skin of their teeth, securing a two point win on the road, their destiny up to chance. Ja'Marr called you in the locker room after the game to tell you he needed you at the watch party for good luck in praying on the Dolphins and the Broncos downfall. You told him you'd think about it, part of you didn't mind being in the same room as Joe, especially after you caved and watched his postgame press conference to make sure he wasn't lying about being concussed. Maybe the two of you could be cordial with each other and leave the past behind.

You woke up on the couch with NFL Network still on tv. Something about it felt embarrassing, because it felt right. Months ago you were watching an introduction to football PowerPoint and now you'd regularly catch yourself having football withdrawals. Just as you were ready to call it a night, turning off the tv and mentally preparing yourself to head to your room, you heard a knock at the door. Who could possibly be coming over at 2 in the morning?

You stood frozen in the doorway, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Your stomach dropped—hard and fast—like missing a step in the dark. Joe was standing there, still in the clothes you had seen him wearing during in his postgame press conference. His hair was a mess, the shadows under his eyes deeper than usual. He looked exhausted. But that wasn’t what made your breath hitch. It was him. Here. Now. After all this time.

“Joe.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

He exhaled heavily, a far away look in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms, trying to steel yourself, ignoring the way your pulse was racing. “You don’t know? What do you mean you don't know? You just drove around after you landed and magically ended up here?”

“I don't know, I just—I couldn’t go home. Not without seeing you.” He swallowed hard, eyes flickering over your face like he was searching for something, anything that might give him an answer. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but when I got on the plane, all I could think about was you.”

Your heart clenched painfully. Damn him.

“You scared the hell out of me tonight,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “Watching you go down like that—” You shook your head, gripping the fabric of your hoodie. “I hated it.”

His eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. “I know. Can we just—can I come in?”

You stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing in around you.

“Joe.” You sighed, your resolve crumbling at the sight of him standing there like that, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him in.

“Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a minute.”

And against your better judgment, you stepped aside.

Joe ran a hand over his face and took a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking on that play, the pocket collapsed so fast I didn't even have time to throw the ball away. And when I hit the ground, all I could think about was you.” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Not football, not the game, not the playoffs. You. And how I’d fucked everything up so badly that you wouldn’t even reach out. That I wouldn’t get a chance to apologize.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable.

“I’m so, so sorry. I was a coward,” Joe admitted, his voice breaking. “I am a coward. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be in control—of my game, my career, my emotions. It's kind of my thing. And you…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You fuck all of that up for me. The way I feel about you scares the living shit out of me.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

“I’m not some heartless football robot,” he continued, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m a man who’s been terrified to feel anything real because it means I can’t control it. And when I’m with you, it’s real. It’s been real for months, and you were right. About everything. I was too much of a fucking idiot to admit it.”

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow. You wanted to believe him—God, you did—but you couldn’t just let him walk back into your life like he hadn’t wrecked you before.

“I need you to give me a chance to fix this,” Joe pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Please.”

You swallowed hard. “Joe…”

“I swear to you,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his hands almost reaching for you before he forced himself to stop. “I promise, I will prove to you that I’m not that coward anymore. Just… just say you’ll let me try.”

You studied him carefully, searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only raw, unfiltered desperation and a kind of vulnerability you had never seen from him before.

Your walls were still up, but something inside you cracked. Just a little.

“You have to earn me this time,” you whispered.

Joe nodded instantly. “I will.”

After a hard conversation with Cory in the morning, you decided to attend the watch party the next day to test the waters. And to see your friends all in one place again. The atmosphere in Joe's house had shifted from tense to comfortable, a soft kind of warmth that had been missing for a while. The room was still, save for the quiet hum of the television, which was showing the Broncos slowly dismantling the Chiefs, much to the frustration of everyone else in the room. Joe had been quiet for the most part, lost in his thoughts, but you could tell he had already come to terms with the inevitable.

You weren’t sure if you should be relieved or sad about the Bengals missing the playoffs, but you did know one thing: it didn’t feel like the end for you and Joe. Not anymore.

The room had cleared out, the others heading to their respective homes after the game, leaving you and Joe alone. The snow outside had started to fall heavier now, creating a peaceful stillness that you couldn’t help but love. Joe seemed to notice the shift in the air as well, his eyes softening as he glanced over at you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His concern was still there like that first night he found you outside the housewarming party, that need to take care of you even now.

You nodded, even though there was a part of you that was more uncertain than you wanted to admit. “Yeah. Just…just thinking.”

He leaned back against the couch, eyes flicking to the window as the snowflakes danced in the cold air. “You want me to drive you home? It’s getting pretty bad out there. Or, you could stay? Only if you want to."

You hesitated for a second, a small part of you wanting to avoid the drive, to stay with him just a little longer. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he was sure this time. Like there was no more running. “I think…I think I want to stay,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Joe didn’t need any more convincing. He pulled you in close to him on the couch, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he let out a slow sigh. “I’m really gonna miss football," he murmured. “But I’ve got a lot of work to do with you, so I guess I’ve got some time now. I messed up before. I’m not messing this up again.”

You smiled, the weight of the past few weeks lifting off your shoulders just by being close to him. “I can’t wait to put you to work, 6am at the bakery tomorrow morning. And the next few mornings. For a while.” you teased, your voice barely audible.

Joe’s eyes darkened for a moment, a quiet promise in his gaze. He cupped your face gently, leaning in with a tenderness that took you by surprise. When his lips met yours, it was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment. A kiss full of unspoken apologies, solidifying what was to come, and the quiet declaration that he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right between the two of you. Even if some of that ended up with him getting covered in flour for the foreseeable future.

You didn’t pull away. In fact, you melted into the kiss, your heart swelling in your chest as his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place like you were exactly where you belonged.

He pressed one more slow kiss to your lips before his eyes flicked to yours, searching. “So… does this mean our friendship over?” His voice was low, careful, but there was something else there—hope, maybe.

You didn’t even have to think about it. You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head and running your fingers through his hair. “Absolutely. It’s dead and gone.”

Joe exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head before reaching for you, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “Good,” he murmured, tugging you closer. “Because I really didn’t want to be your friend anyway. Got much bigger plans in mind.”

[mmmichyyy]

inspired by this snippet from the las culturistas podcast to write this silly gallavich ficlet 🥪

it's two in the afternoon, and ian is bored out of his skull.

the office temp job was supposed to be, well, temporary. an easy way to earn some cash, contribute to the squirrel fund, save a couple bucks for a rainy day.

but three months later he's still the office bitch - ordering office supplies, organizing files, killing a couple trees a day because documents can't be printed double-sided for some reason, getting everyone's coffee order, messing up everyone's coffee order (god forbid brenda drinks a latte with foam once in a while) - while spending every waking minute fighting the urge to blow his brains out.

ian checks his watch. two hours, fifty-five minutes, thirty-six seconds until he clocks out. thank god it's fucking friday, at least.

the great thing about being a lowly temp worker is the fact that no one pays him any attention. his cubicle is in a dusty corner with a desk and a worn out swivel chair that endless other temps have sat their ass on before him. as long as he finished his tasks for the day and people are sufficiently caffeinated, he can be on his phone and no one can say shit.

so obviously, he's swiping grindr on company time, because what the hell else is he going to do?

mickey. 23. dick me down hard or fuck off.

hm. the guy only has two pictures - one mirror selfie, blurry, though his slicked-back dark hair and blue eyes standout on milky skin. damn. already ian is into him.

but then. the other mirror pic, taken of his backside, is what makes ian believe in some kind of higher power up in the sky. because holy shit this guy might just have the nicest ass he's ever seen?? round, plump, partially covered in soft grey briefs, and ready to be devoured. hello?? yes??

ian: free tonight? i can dick you down good and hard :)

mickey: how long

ian: however long you want baby

mickey: i meant your dick dumbass

ian: oh

[attached image: my_dick_morning_wood_69.png]

mickey: meet me in 30 mins

ian blinks. thirty minutes? he glances at the time. 2:18pm. what kind of guy wants to meet for a hook-up in broad daylight? is he a sociopath? or a murderer who likes to see their victim clearly as he stabs them multiple times?

whatever. for a quality ass like that, it's a risk he'll have to take.

as usual, no one in the office even glances his way as he hastily grabs his backpack and bolts towards the elevator.

ian: address?

*

"i think you broke me," ian pants, flopping on his back, boneless and completely satiated. "oh my god. how... where did you even learn how to do that?"

mickey shrugs and casually lights a cigarette, as if he didn't just rock ian's entire world. twice. and again. "lots of practice."

"i didn't even know someone could bend that way," ian says in awe, completely fascinated by the magical gremlin with the nimble fingers. "and the thing with your tongue?? are you a trained acrobat or something?"

mickey blows out a line of smoke and offers up the cigarette between his fingers, to which ian eagerly accepts.

"i know what i like, and i'm good at it." mickey lightly pats ian on the cheek. ian responds by melting into a pile of goo. "you weren't so bad yourself, stud."

oh. oh no. ian is done for.

before he can say anything or unhinge his jaw wide open for round three? four? his stomach gurgles out a loud groan. very unsexy, quite possibly the least attractive sound, ever. ian blushes, hoping mickey didn't hear it. but then–

"you wanna get a sandwich?"

ian twists his neck to the side so fast, he nearly gets whiplash.

"what?!"

mickey snatches the nearly finished filter from ian's hand and stubs it out on the side table ashtray. jumps up from the bed and tosses over ian's shirt from the floor. "c'mon, get your ginger ass up. there's a deli down on the corner that makes a mean spicy meatball sub and the parm is to fuckin' die for. been thinking 'bout it all day."

"you wanted to have sex in the afternoon and now you want a sandwich? with me?" ian has had his fair share of hookups, but never has he met someone so sexually deviant yet simultaneously endearing like mickey. is he dreaming right now? "seriously, who are you??"

mickey scoffs. "you think i'm going to take it up the ass after eating a meatball sub? you're a fuckin' idiot. so you wanna go stuff yourself with tomato sauce or not?"

yeah. ian is in love.

[just-a-creep-babe]

Hiiii! I see that your requests are open for Valentine's day? I hope I can still request nsfw for Ben 💙 Maybe friends with benefits that could lead to more? Thank you so much!! 💕

Not me accidentally writing angst for Valentine’s Day 😭😭

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Check out my ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

Masterlist: x

The night starts off like it usually does; with a text

It's the typical "you up" kind of message, and it's loaded with so much stereotypical fuckboy intention that, in any other context, it'd have you rolling your eyes

But it's not just any other context; it's BEN

You don't even have to turn the idea over in your head to know that you'll be going

You tug your shirt up over your chest to reveal your bra—a decently comfortable lacy white thing with no underwire—and snap a pic to send to him

He hearts it almost immediately, and his response is fast enough to make you wonder if he's not in your phone right now, doing god-knows-what he usually does when he's haunting tech

The three bubbles pop up, disappear, then pop back up again

It brings an involuntary smile to your face, like those kind of dumb, lovestruck smiles people get when they're hopelessly head-over-heels for someone

The realization, though it isn't the first time it comes to mind, is enough to sober you

You text him that you'll meet him in his room in 30 after you shower, and then you toss your phone onto your bed and leave without waiting for his reply

You take your time in the shower

You stand there, basking in the hot water thrumming against your skin, until the room's thick with steam

Your thoughts keep falling into the same loop; you think about your feelings for BEN, you think about the agreement you had when you first started sleeping with him, you think about the time you've spent with him since having that agreement, and you think about what he might think of the whole thing

And then that loop restarts over and over again

Even when you step out and dry yourself, you're still thinking about it

There's no answer to the mess, it seems, no solution to the hole you keep digging yourself deeper and deeper into

And that’s what bothers you the most about it

You fix your hair up, put on whatever scandalous bits of lingerie look nice, and then you're making your way out the hallway and to his room

You knock on his door using your usual code, and then you let yourself in and firmly click the lock shut behind you

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the room, but as soon as they do, you see him

He's lying back, one hand behind his head while the other lazily strokes over the bulge pressing up against his boxers

He's in nothing but his underwear, and the sight of his bare skin is just as alluring as ever

That sardonic smile you've come to adore slowly finds its way to his face as he looks up at you

He tilts his head to the side, his pointed ears twitching, and with a hum, he speaks

"I was gonna return the favour," he grins, "but you threw it away too quickly"

You feel his eyes track your every move as you walk up to him

And when you're standing right in front of his bed, you undo the knot of your night robe, and the fabric parts to reveal your own underwear

"Threw what away?" you ask, though it seems he's in no rush to answer you as he takes in everything you've just revealed to him

He fists the shape of his cock through his boxers, and you watch as it twitches in his hold, and he juts his hips forwards as it does, like he can't control the movement

It reminds you of the way he pushes himself deeper into you when he's cuming, and the memory has you squeezing your thighs together as something molten stirs in your core

"Your phone," he eventually answers, his eyes slipping over the curve of your tits before finally resting on your face

"I was gonna give you a sneak peak too, you know," he teases

"That so?"

You get on the bed, straddle him so that his bulge is right between your thighs, and slowly rock your hips down against him

He hisses—the sound low and needy and entirely too addictive—and throws his head back as his hips wriggle up to meet you halfway

You have to mention it, you think

You can't keep pretending it's not happening

You can't keep lying to yourself, lying to him

You need to confess—and let whatever happens happen

You open your mouth, the words just at the tip of your tongue

But right as it's about to spill out, his hands find their way to your bare skin, and it seems all you can do is suck in a breath through your teeth as electricity dances from his fingertips and up your spine

You arch up, yielding to his silent command, and all you can think about is how you need him inside of you

You need him to satiate you

He purrs—and you swear the bastard knows the effect it has on you, judging by the glint of mischief in his eyes

And when he tells you to take your bra off, you give in without a second thought

He runs his hands up to your chest like second nature, like it’s where his hands belong

When he thumbs at your nipples, you breathe out a sigh and roll your hips over his bulge

You feel him—hard and eager against you—and it has you clenching around nothing

All you can think about is more

He hums in approval, his gaze fixed on your tits while he greedily gropes and squeezes at your flesh

You return the favour by indulging in the feeling of his skin beneath you

You trace from his chest, down his torso and abdomen, until you eventually reach his pelvis

His skin is soft, but it isn’t warm like a normal living body

And something about that, something about how different he is, how special—it has you digging your nails into him and scratching possessive red lines into his skin

He groans, head falling back to reveal his neck, and you take the chance to lean in and bite at his throat

He chokes out a moan, his hands flying down to your hips like he’s trying to grasp onto something to steady himself

“(Y/n)—“ he practically hisses your name, and when his thumb digs harder into your pelvis, you whine and jerk on top of him

But you don’t let it distract you from littering his neck with marks

You savour the taste of his skin, licking and sucking and biting him—hard—because it feels like one of the only ways you can alleviate your longing for him

And it’s only when his thumb ghosts over your clit above your panties that you finally relent

You pull back to admire your work; he’s flushed and panting, his neck bright red, and he has that look in his eyes that you know means he’s getting impatient

Good, you think

But it’s like he knows you’re getting cocky and he doesn’t like the control you have, so in retaliation, he sends mini shocks up through your clit

Your body seizes with the feeling, back arching up again, and with his free hand, he returns to lather your tits with more attention

You squirm on top of him, and it has his cock grinding between your puffy folds through your underwear

“You want my dick, baby?”

He has this grin on his face as he says it, because both of you know he’s just asking to hear you beg for it

And you do want it—and you want so much more than just his dick, too

So it doesn’t bother you to beg

It doesn’t bother you to bounce on him so that your tits jiggle from the motion, and it doesn’t bother you to beg and stick your tongue out like a desperate little slut for him—just the way he likes it

His cock twitches in reaction at the sight of you, and when he pushes your underwear to the side and strokes his fingers up and down your dripping slit, you shudder

He sinks his middle finger between your swollen folds, curls it up, then adds his ring finger

It’s bliss

You grind down to meet him for every thrust, and every time he curls his finger, your body sings for more

You ride his fingers, hands touching anywhere and everywhere they can reach, searching for more—always more

You arch your back again and bring his free hand to your chest, and he rewards you by thumbing at your clit

It has your arousal gushing out with some indignant whimper

As he’s slowly pumping in and out of you, watching your every reaction, your every little moan and gasp and shudder, the hand at your tits moves down to find its way to his dick

“I want it,” you breathe, “let me have it”

Let me have you, you think, but you don’t say it out loud because you don’t want to ruin the moment

“Then sit on it,” he groans

He pulls his fingers out, and you immediately miss the contact, but the disappointment is dulled by the sight of him finally exposed

You bite back a moan as you wrap your hand around the base of him

He twitches again, precum beading up his tip, and you have to resist lapping it up while he watches

Instead, you line him up and ever so slowly sink down onto him

You savour it—savour every inch of him spreading you open, stretching you out and grinding right where you need him

He watches you with lidded eyes, and when he has your attention, he makes sure you see the way he sucks on his two fingers that were previously buried in your cunt

You squeeze him involuntarily, and he groans with a smile

“B-BEN, I—“

Your confession threatens to overwhelm you

It threatens to bubble out your throat and past your lips, because it’s like having him inside of you like this makes the longing all the more unbearable

But then he pushes his hips up, and it has his dick nudging up against something so deep inside of you that your toes curl and your cunt squelching around him

So all that escapes is a whimper and a moan, and you’re back to moving your hips up and down to ride him

The slightest movement has your body burning for more

He’s throbbing inside you, and every time he thrusts up into you, you clench around him and waves of slick make a mess between the both of you

Your thoughts turn to mush as your brain’s overridden by the feeling of him

Up and down, you bounce on him, driving him harder, faster, deeper inside of you with every thrust

And when he brings his hands around your hips to guide you, to help you fuck yourself along his length, it has you mewling for more

Over and over again, you drive yourself up and down

And every time you tighten around him, he jerks inside of you and tiny shocks course up your body

The familiar rush of pressure builds, your body screaming for more

And every time you move, your arousal sticks between your thighs and his, and it leaves a ring of your slick at the base of his cock

But all of it just makes it easier to ride him, to use him until you’re both panting and you’re steadily losing your grasp on the pace you’d set

“F-fuck—atta girl~ So fucking good for me~”

The way he praises you between moans coaxes you to keep going faster

His hands keep flitting between your hips and your tits, like he doesn’t know which to choose

But he eventually settles on your hips and keeps his gaze on your face, on your lips as you bite them back to stop yourself from screaming his name out

“You close, baby? C’mon, be a good girl for me. Be a good girl and cum all over me”

His praise threatens to push you over the edge

You dig more possessive marks into him, fingers clutching him tight for all he’s worth, and his eyes roll back and his hips push up into you at the feeling

You moan his name like a wordless plea for him to cum inside you

You want him to fill you, want him to claim you

Your cunt sucks him in, tight and wet and all-too inviting, and he hissed at the feeling as he flexes his hips as deep into you as possible

Your name escapes him, and the sound of it resonates within you, and if it weren’t for your orgasm taking the breath from your lungs, you’re not entirely certain you’d be able to stop yourself from confessing right then and there as you cum around him

Everything inside your body tenses, and then all at once, your high hits you, and next thing you know, you’re lurching forward and shaking and crying out for him

He presses you closer into him, but his hips never once relent as he chases his own high

Your nails dig into his hair, pulling it back so that you can bite into his neck again

And it’s like that’s all it takes for him to get over the edge as well

He fucks himself as deep as he can possibly reach, and then his cock stiffens and twitches, and you feel him spill the entirety of himself inside you

It feels so, so fucking good

Your eyes roll back, jaw going slack to release a pathetic moan against his skin

He doesn’t stop grinding up into you until he’s completely spent, and even once he stills, you don’t move off of him

You’re panting against him, sweaty body on sweaty body, and his hands are stroking up and down your back, his cock still twitching occasionally as you squeeze him involuntarily every now and then

You don’t want to move off of him, but you know you can’t stay linked forever

So you reluctantly get off, and lie down next to him

He grins and pulls you close to his chest

If you close your eyes, you can pretend it’s an act of love, of devotion, but you know it’s just the result of the after-bliss making him seek the comfort of another body

Your confession finally dies on your tongue as you realize you shouldn’t say it—not right now, anyways

Next time, you finally settle, your body feeling at peace, there’s always next time

[infinite-hearts-333]

To the lovely person that left this comment!

Congrats, everyone will now have to suffer with the angst I unleash cause you gave me a opening to infodump~ /silly (AND THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENT HEHE <3333)

Credit list! (Come get your babies fam lol):

@rqaszoba, @lucin-kun, @hiwelcometothemonstersancturary, @twin-wxngs

So to those brave enough, let me introduce to my darling little au 💥

Warning now: this au can be considered a little heavy. (Aka we have: character death (OC’s + main cast/the BBI’s), overdosing, someone gets impaled, gore, Pat has PTSD + OCD by the end of it so lots of reference to them struggling with that PLUS survivors guilt, they were also kept at a clinic due to being thought to be crazy.)

Alright let’s start with our darling red dove of a ‘Angel!’

Pattin is my version of the Player, and in this particular au, they were there during the Hour of Joy. But ya know who else was there? Their friends! And as that little blurb said, they manage to help aid in getting Pat out of the factory, the only survivor, at the cost of their lives.

Pattin grew up in a household that was less then kind to them, (huzzah divorced parents 💥) and they considered their friend group their family. And in one, single day, in one horrific accident, they lost them all.

To say, our darling little Pat was devastated.

And the cherry on top? When this bloody, exhausted and utterly distraught child, started to yowl on and on about the horrific monsters in the factory when the police finally rocked up and found them, they were passed off as delusional and making things up to cope with the trauma. No one believed them. No one ever would.

They did not have a good time with dealing with survivors guilt, and was kept for their own safety and others, (with how they angrily lashed out at times) for a long time at a clinic to recover.

And once they started to act the way people wanted, acting normal, like everything was fine, they released them and sent them on their merry way.

Fast forward eight years, and Pattin gets a peculiar letter in the mail. One that claims that all the employees are still there. That they’re alive.

Pattin knows it’s utter BULLSHIT.

But well, Pattin is selfish. And they had ten, long years of hate boiled up in them for what had happened to their family.

Pattin didn’t go to PlayCo to be an angel, no, no.

They went there to be a Monster.

And now, the other fun skit of the au, Aka: someone said ‘ghost’ and I went feral.

Pattin’s broken little family never truly left, no. After an experience like that? No way. Their souls seemingly forever tether to the darkness and blood and soot and wreckage of the factory, not quite knowing what was happening, nor what happened to them.

Almost in limbo.

Almost like they were waiting. Waiting for something.

Or someone.

As Pattin stumbled through the wreckage of what they once considered a home, they found the scattered pieces of their family, tokens of of what was left of them.

Strands of Raphael’s hair,

Charlie’s bracelet,

The torn patch of Koda’s uniform,

The twin’s matching earrings.

And suddenly, what was left of Pat’s family found themselves able to do, instead of just watch, speak and be heard, not ignored, and to help, not be useless. Help keep Pattin safe, like they did ten years ago.

Pretty much, the au is a 70% hurt to 30% comfort, in the terms of my lovely Lunatic of a OC is running around killing anything and everything in PlayCo with their possessive (LITERALLY BAHA) Ghost fam.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I was inspired to write this scene in dialogue script format. The Sea Grunk Twins maybe feel a bit too open and being able to communicate, especially Stan. But let's assume it's been several months since Weirdmageddon and they've actually been working with therapists.

Plus being faced with their counterparts struggling over several days maybe got them talking and reflecting some more. Witnessing the obvious emotional constipation from the outside is painful. The obvious differences about their lifes help, too. And it's not like they talk much about their own issues.

--

Carla: Please tell me it won't take these two knuckleheads almost 30 years being able to ask for hugs!

Sea Grunk Stanley: Carla, we're one of the worst versions you could ask for help about this.

Sea Grunk Stanford: If only because an accident led me to 30 years being lost in the multiverse until Lee saved me. Not to mention the extreme circumstances that led to our reconciliation.

SG Stanley: Your Standford and Stanley are way ahead us in several ways compared to when us old coots met again. Both times.

SG Stanford: I assume that our histories were identical until a certain point, that being when- A witch you said? When the witch cursed the younger Stanley. But even if you discount that detail-

SG Stanley: Moses, I wish I could.

SG Stanford: Hush, we all know you're not really bothered by that. Um, going back. Our respective lifes have diverged immensely from each other. We just don't know what will happen or what they need because we can't compare the two situations.

We're still playing catch-up with dealing with our own trauma, lacking communication, and having been separated for that long without almost anybody else supporting us.

SG Stanley: And you know some of the fucked up stuff around the history that probably's the same.

Carla: I made some guesses about the things the twins let slip about their childhood and adolescence. And their twenties.

SG Stanley: It was... probably even worse than you already heard. It makes that sappy intimacy and being vulnerable stuff even more terrifying. The two need to relearn each other. Need to unlearn some deep-rooted shit rotting away in their minds.

SG Stanford: A lot of it was planted there by other people. Which doesn't change that it's unfortunately tangled with their bond and feelings about each other on top of everything else. We would know.

SG Stanley: But! Not all of it is bad!

SG Stanford: Lee's right. You said that they're way ahead of us in some ways, compared to us when we were their age.

SG Stanley: Actually talking with and listening to each other. *beat* Well, some listening, and some telling each other important things.

SG Stanford: Having an actual support system outside of their immediate family, with healthy relationships. More than one person who can comfort them or call them out on their shit. Who they can rely on, and who can rely on them.

SG Stanley: I repeat, I'll deny having said any of this sappy stuff later if asked.

Carla + SG Stanford: But we won't let you forget! :)

SG Stanley: Shut up, I'm denying. So. Having real friends and family-who-are-also-friends has helped us the most. There, I said it. And now I'm denying I said it.

SG Stanford: That, and therapy. But yes. Not being on our own anymore has made it possible even getting to this point.

Carla: So you're saying that they need time to figure it out, but that they will eventually. *sigh*

SG Stanford: Well, not only that. I'm actually worried about a trend you've mentioned. They're the most comfortable hugging each other and showing affectionate behavior when the other was hurt or in danger?

SG Stanley: I swear, if they start any bad habits over that, I'm going to tie them together and sit on them until they've talked things out. Properly!

Carla:

SG Stanley:

SG Stanford:

SG Stanley:

Carla:

SG Stanford: Carla.

SG Stanley: I'm getting the rope-

Carla: Don't you dare!

[It's about the Cat Stan Twins having the same desire (protect their brother) and same issue (if I can't even protect him, what worth am I? / he's more important than me / self-worth) putting them into conflict.]

This is so good. And Carla's the perfect person for them to talk to about it.

Because their lives are so different, they can't know for sure how the cat Stan's will turn out. We know they'll figure out how to talk communicate with each other, but at this point in time that's hard to see. Especially since their friends have to help them along and watch all their painful attempts.

I love this. Acknowledging how they can't know for sure, but pointing out how well the younger twins are doing compared to where they were at at that age. Then SG Stan wanting to hurry the process along lol.

[blackboxtheater]

voted for them again!

prompt this time is: cozy!

something simple, thanks!

I do believe the people have spoken, but on the off chance that you follow my blog and haven't voted for Mumpearl in the the Mumbo Jumbo ship bracket, you still can! We can show our presence as a small but mighty rarepair and go down with the ship as we sink beneath the waves lapping at Boatem's shores.

I will still take prompts until voting closes so if you wanted to submit, this might be your last chance 👀

But time for prompts!! Cozy prompts!!

So this could be read as a stand-alone season 10 established relationship tidbit, OR as the season 10 epilogue to House of String that I'm never going to write because I literally already have 21 chapters of content and that's just through season 9. If you've been suffering from all the pining in the recent updates, this is a bit of an antidote to that :)

But either way, the interior of Pearl's base, and in particular her double bed next to a wall of trap doors has HAUNTED me (/pos) since she ran around her base in hide and seek with Gem. Something about the vibe just gave me "sunlight streaming through shutters at sunrise" and now you gave me an excuse to write that!!!

Plus Pearl clearly designed a bedroom and actual living space in her base, while Mumbo just makes a giant storage system as a base and sometimes puts a bed places. So the idea that he still is making his base, but actually sleeps and lives at Pearl's is the premise for this setup.

🌙 🌙 🌙

The sound of the last shulker whirling shut echoes through Pearl's storage room.

There is truly nothing as satisfying as a neatly organized storage room with a set of perfectly prepared shulkers right in the middle, ready to be picked up on the way to a brand new build the next morning. Sure, Pearl likes the update this season where they can add text and images to the boxes. It's helpful and does make it easier to know at a glance what is in each box, but there is something so familiar and soothing about a classic, color-coded row of shulkers prepped for an exciting new build.

Now that she's stopped banging around her storage room opening and closing chests, there's a silence that settles over the space. It's a rare sound on Hermitcraft which is why she loves the peace and quiet that only comes in the dead of night.

She loves the chaos and mischief and joy that the other hermits bring to her life. She does. She loves them all more than she could ever describe. But she also has big plans for her builds each season that require lots of time and effort to not only design, but to construct and refine until they are exactly as perfect as she knows they can be. And it's hard to be productive when her communicator is constantly blowing up with Scar's death messages. Or when a wild Gem can appear out of the sky at any moment. Or when Keralis has some new ideas for the flower and dyes shop or when Ren is looking for an extra person to play Hungry Hermits with or when Grian breaks the mail system again or or or or or.

There is always a distraction looking for her during the daylight hours. It's so easy to have a full, busy, wonderful day where she makes zero progress on any of her projects. Which is why she keeps staying up so late season after season.

Sure she could try to fix her sleep schedule this year now that Mumbo is staying with her full time. He's always yawning by 9:30 and crawling into bed by 10. But she likes being able to get some focus time in when the rest of the hermits are fast asleep. Or at the very least deterred from dropping in unannounced by the ever present threat of mobs lurking in every shadow.

And Mumbo doesn't seem to mind that she drifts down to her study as he drifts up to bed.

Pearl does mind though that her dogs seem to have universally decided that sleeping in a comfy, warm bed is better than keeping her company late into the night. Sure the cats are still awake with her, watching her with their reflective eyes as Pearl makes her way up from the storage room to her and Mumbo's bedroom.  But it's not quite the same as previous seasons when she'd regularly been making design updates late at night with a dog curled up at her feet.

But when she open the door to their bedroom, she does get numerous sets of dark eyes turning to look up at her illuminated in the dull glow streaming in through the crack in the door. Mumbo, as always, is completely passed out, rolled on his side and sleeping right through the sound of her quietly slipping into their bedroom. Her valiant guard dogs, however, silently watch Pearl's nightly routine of she softly padding over to the closet to get changed and ready for bed. And, just like every night, once she is finally ready to climb into bed there is a series of soft thump as her babies jump down to clear her side of the bed and give her room to crawl under the covers.

There's one final round of shuffling and adjusting before the whole Pearl/Mumbo compound is settled for the night. There's the soft click of dog paws against the floor as her puppos find their places curled in corners and at the foot of the bed, the rustle of bedsheets as Pearl tucks herself in behind Mumbo, and finally the quite breath Mumbo lets out each night as Pearl curls around him.

When Pearl mentioned this little routine to him, Mumbo swore up and down that he slept right through her shuffling around and he had no idea when she finally ended up coming to bed each night.

While she initially assumed he was just being cute and polite for her sake, the longer they lived together, the more Pearl was inclined to believe him. He really didn't give any indication of being awake each night as she has moved around their bedroom opening drawers and shutting doors as she got ready for bed. But there is a soft noise that he make every night without fail as Pearl curls up again his back, tucking her face between his shoulder blades and into the soft fabric of his well-worn sleep shirt. Pearl almost likes the idea that he isn’t awake and aware that this happens better. It means that even asleep, there is some part of him that's waiting for her to come into bed. A part that doesn’t fully relax until he feels her warmth beside him. And once she's there, he can finally relax, letting out a soft sigh, barely audible over the rustle of leaves outside. She even thinks sometimes that she can feel the last bit of nervous tension easing out of his shoulders as she nuzzles into him, inhaling the smell of soap and fresh cotton.

It's become a familiar enough scent that even after to most chaotic days it helps calm Pearl's thoughts, helping her drift off to sleep under the warm covers to the sounds of Mumbo's even breathing beside her.

🔆 🔆 🔆

Now that Mumbo has had the pleasure of waking up with the sunrise, he's not sure he could ever go back.

There is no jarring alarm or unexpected buzzing from a communicator to jolt him awake. No sharp, sudden distinction between peaceful sleep and full consciousness. Instead, the sunlight filters through the copper trap doors that make up the walls of his and Pearl's bedroom each morning, slowly bringing him to awareness as the day begins.

The soft sound of the birds outside and the warm light against his eyelids is the first thing he's aware of most mornings now. Which wakes him up just enough so he can shifts around and reach out for the warm body even his subconscious knows is sleeping beside him. But the first tendrils of consciousness aren't satisfied with just knowing Pearl is there in the bed next to him, they want her closer and go seeking her out, gathering her sluggishly into his arms and pulling her into him.

That's one of the few things that can still jolt Mumbo awake now; reaching out and his hazy, half asleep brain not finding Pearl within reach. The first time he reached out to find nothing but a cold pillow and the furry back of an equally confused dog blinking back at him, he had startled awake, fumbling for his communicator with the terrible feeling that something bad had to have happened. If Pearl wasn't in bed, Pearl must be missing and in danger, his barely awake brain had concluded. His worried messages, which his brain had not been conscious enough to remember to whisper rather than put in the general Hermitcraft chat, had been greeted by a sheepish Pearl admitting she may have been so focused on her project that she hadn't notice the birds had started singing to tell her she had worked all the way through to sunrise. The messages had also been fantastic fodder for all of his friends to tease him for the rest of the week, even if most of it was good natured teasing about how cute him and Pearl were together.

But this morning isn't one of those unfortunate rare days he wakes up alone, so when Mumbo rolls over his arm curls around Pearl to pull her into his chest. Sometimes he catches a half mumbled 'good morning' or even a sleepy kiss if she rolls into his chest, but this morning she just wraps her arms around his and snuggles back against him with just the barest bit of fleeting consciousness that he knows will be gone again by the time he's fully awake.

But he's in no rush. These warm, cozy moments curled up together each morning are some of his favorite each day and he's not eager to end them too soon. So he spends a few more minutes letting his consciousness slowly come on line, becoming more aware of the world around him as his brain cells wake up one by one.

First, he starts to hear the leaves rustling outside and can feel their movement shift the pattern of sunlight against his eyes lids. He starts to notice the smell Pearl's shampoo and can feel her leg brush against his as she shifts again in his arms. And finally, he hears the click of nails on the floor as their dogs start to grow impatient in their wait for breakfast.

Which is his cue that his precious morning moments are drawing to a close and it's almost time to get up for the day.

By the time he finally opens his eyes, there is already 3 pairs of black dog eyes staring at him over the edge of the bed. The dogs are smart enough to know that Mumbo looking at them means breakfast is soon, and they can stop giving him pleading looks in bed and can go sit quietly by the bedroom door. But they are also smart enough to know that it will be another few minutes before he gets up, taking a few more moments to appreciate the warm, quite mornings now that he's actually awake enough to take everything in.

But Mumbo knows the dogs won’t wait forever, and there's a long list of things he wants to get started on before the rest of the server wakes up and starts causing chaos. So Mumbo presses a kiss to Pearl's temple and slowly detangles himself from her and the warm covers. There's a little grumble she always lets out as he does, but he attributes that more to the sudden chill as he slips out from under the covers rather than her being conscious of him leaving. He knows that by the time he comes back upstairs to change out of his pajamas, she'll be sound asleep, sprawled cross the bed and taking up more space than a single human should be capable of.

But right now, the most pressing concern is the flock of dogs patiently waiting at the bedroom door for him to get breakfast started, and the growing feeling that hot cup of tea sounds like a great idea right about now.

[sovonight]

why is so much of sewing just tracing and cutting and tracing again q_q i see why people get projectors and use adobe illustrator now

[gemharvest]

Hate thissss I feel like I haven't been properly productive today (somehow posting two art things Doesn't register properly in my mind) so I wanna stay up to get as much as I can down, but I also need to go to sleep in case I'm called in tomorrow because fuuuuuck going to work on little sleep that shit sucks. But also, the possibility of being called in makes me wanna stay up even more, so I can finish art in case I don't have time tomorrow. So now I'm sat up at 12:30 tired as shit but unable to draw or go to bed. The never-ending cycle of hell.

[this-doesnt-endd]

Got really horribly sad outta nowhere and like idk if its cause ive just been looking kinda ugly or like cause ive been working a lot or like general vibes but im not having a fun time

[milfbrainrot]

thinking a lot about separatist attitudes on here that have done more harm than good in the past

remembering how when i was younger it was common to reblog posts about discrimination etc with a disclaimer in ur tag that you don't personally experience what's being talked about, or at least something on ur blog listing out ur privileges. and like, privacy concerns aside, i also remember when it then became Problematic to do tags because it's a Reminder to the minority op that... other people exist and were trying to make the post about themselves or something?

like maybe the argument was that it came off like a way to get points for reblogging a post about oppression while not experiencing it urself, even though... in my experience the reason we did that was because our identity labels determined what we could/couldn't do in the eyes of our surveilling mutuals. if i reblogged a post about racism without clarifying my own identity, people might assume i wasn't white and put my opinions through a lens i shouldn't have had, because i also fully believed the idea that only people who experience a thing can have valid opinions on it.

it also determined whether you were Allowed to reblog posts with certain slurs, or reblog posts about something as simple as listening to music if it was from a blog with bpd in the handle but you didn't have bpd because listening to music with a mental illness makes it... different somehow. so you needed to be as transparent as possible so people could judge your morality appropriately and it was normal to want that because otherwise what are you trying to hide and don't you want to improve? etc. and i do think, superiority complexes aside, people did think they were doing a good thing when they'd send me asks like "hey you reblogged a video where a black person says the n slur but you're white so you shouldn't be communicating that by extension!!!"

like of course we have to keep our own privileges in mind when discussing certain topics. it does have an impact, something something intersectionality. but the culture around this being SO micromanagy and invasive seemed to create more divides because relating to people with different experiences was Bad and trying to be supportive was impossible to do in The Right Way.

we need to be more critical of the info we get, of course! but being in a tumblr sphere where you could only listen to minorities about their oppression meant that when some black blogger said it was fetishistic to find people of color attractive, i went "okay i won't do that then!!" instead of realizing... hey maybe barring myself off from finding anyone who isn't white attractive as an attempt to not be racist is in fact looping right back around to being racist. you need to be mindful of what that attraction entails and how to go about relationships fairly etc, but it was basically asking us to find people of color unattractive????? which kinda sounds fucked up!

and that doesn't even begin to cover how so many minorities have different opinions on things, and then i later realized if i could be wrong and change my opinions about things related to my own identity that's not a solid mindset to have. "listen to minorities instead of platforming oppressors about these matters" got totally misconstrued into listening to takes that make no sense from 15yr olds who had been identifying as lesbians for 2 months total, because ur made out to be an idiot who can't think for urself if you don't share an experience. i say this as a lesbian but lesbians seemed to spearhead so much aphobia that it was justified because welp, gotta listen to lesbians and other queer people about this even though they haven't yet unpacked the personal issues that come along with intersectionality yet! and ofc, ignoring the queer people who did support aces and aros because that was decided to be homophobic to do.

i think we can go forward into these conversations consciously without going so hard about it that we end up creating new walls between us and anyone different, but thinking it's okay because These Walls Say I'm A Good Person For It. like, back to the disclaimer tagging, i feel like if i made a post abt lesbian stuff and ppl were tagging it with a disclaimer abt being straight it would be weird but appreciated that it's solidarity from people i wouldn't have expected it from at the time.

i also think that having microlabels and split attraction and all these different ways of letting people embrace queer relatability (for example, since this applies to some things more than others) even if they're not the traditional definition of the label is a good thing because more investment and support for an oppressed community can only be a good thing in the end. but no, you can't have an icon of a character of color if ur white, even though doing so would help other people find the show and therefore support it!

we are all so much more similar than we are different and as long as people are mindful of their experiences versus those of others in the right contexts, and as much as i get why people did want to treat their tumblr circles like locked forums where they wouldn't have to deal with cis people asking questions or having misconceptions on their posts... i just don't think the infighty/hostile ways we went about it and still do go about it sometimes ended up as helpful as people treated it to be.

but whatever, tumblr is tumblr.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[daddy-long-legssss]

me after three days of in-person meetings and team-building activities.

[angeltism]

oh to be part of rentarou's massive sapphic polycule