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

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

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

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

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

Seven months.

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

But in reality, it had been everything.

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

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

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

It wasn’t about Joe.

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

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

It was the dream. Your dream.

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

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

For you.

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

What happens when he sees you again?

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

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

And for a while, that was the point.

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

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

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

But he didn’t say that.

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

Because that was the goal, wasn’t it?

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

So, he drank.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. Loneliness.

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

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

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

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

And the beginning of the season was always theirs.

It had been for years.

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

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

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

You knew him. And now, you were gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing was prepped.

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

And that’s when it really hit him.

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

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

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

Now? Now he had to do everything himself.

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

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it.

It was just that he had never had to before.

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

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

But it didn’t. It never did.

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

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

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

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

No. Not even a little.

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

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

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

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

It was his city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But here you were.

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

“Promise me,” she pressed.

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise.”

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

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

It was time.

The first hour of the drive was quiet.

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

It was happening.

You were actually doing this.

You were going back.

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

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

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

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter.

This was a mistake.

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

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

"I Can Do It With a Broken Heart."

You hesitated.

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

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

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

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

Yeah. That sounded about right.

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

You weren’t going to let this break you.

You weren’t going to let the fear win.

This was your life.

Not Joe’s.

Not the life you built for him.

Not the future you thought you had.

This was your fresh start.

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

Now, you just had to keep going.

The first week passed in a haze.

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

You knew what they were thinking.

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

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

You ignored it.

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

You weren’t Joe Burrow’s ex.

You were you.

And you belonged here.

You knew that.

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

And it helped.

For a little while.

But then you went home.

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

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

This was alone.

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

And God, it was loud.

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

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

Except now, the kitchen was silent.

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

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

But there was nothing to say.

And maybe the worst part?

You weren’t just missing Joe.

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

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

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

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

You weren’t sure if you believed it anymore.

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

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just… empty.

And that, somehow, was worse.

The first game of the season was electric.

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

It was the kind of game where Joe felt alive.

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

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

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

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

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

He looked for you.

Because that’s what he always did.

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

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

You, who always made the wins feel real.

But tonight?

You weren’t there.

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

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

Because of course you weren’t there.

You hadn’t been there for months.

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

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

But you weren’t.

You were gone.

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

Was Katie.

His girlfriend.

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

Nice. Sweet. Pretty.

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

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

Because she didn’t know him.

Not really.

Not like you did.

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

Didn’t know him like you did.

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

A very, very big mistake.

His hands clenched into fists.

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

Because winning used to mean everything.

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

He had never felt more hollow.

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

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

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

You picked up new hobbies.

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

You tried to redefine football as yours.

Not Joe’s.

Yours.

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

And for a while, it worked.

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

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

—

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

Until it wasn’t.

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

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

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

The words landed like a gut punch.

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

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

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

But inside, you were shaking.

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

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

And the second the cameras cut, you were gone.

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

The unraveling.

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

You broke.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t controlled.

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

The sobs came fast, chest-heaving, breathless.

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

But the truth was, he was everywhere.

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

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

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

He knew your moods before you did.

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t here.

And that was the worst part of all.

December used to be your favorite month.

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

But mostly, December meant him. It meant Joe.

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

You had never held back.

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

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

Because you knew him. Because you had loved him.

And now, here you were.

A year later. A year without him.

And December didn’t feel magical anymore.

You tried. You really tried.

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

But it all felt wrong.

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

The breakup had happened right after his birthday.

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

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

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

But your body knew.

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

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t his family.

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

And it wasn’t him.

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

It wasn’t your life. Not anymore.

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

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

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

You had almost convinced yourself that you were fine.

Almost.

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

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

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

Not just okay. Good. Like yourself.

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

Joe had seen you first.

And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

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

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

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

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

Without him.

The nausea hit immediately.

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

You were this. Whole. Beautiful. Radiant.

Like he had never even existed in your world.

You didn’t see Joe right away.

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

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

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

Because he was there.

Joe.

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

You didn’t even know he had moved on.

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

Because Joe wasn’t supposed to move on.

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

You felt sick.

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

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

That you weren’t his anymore.

Joe watched the realization hit you.

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

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

And fuck, fuck, he wanted to fix it.

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

Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

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

She wasn’t you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course she knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

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

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

And now, this? Now, you were here?

It was like some kind of cruel joke.

Joe felt like the room was closing in on him.

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

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

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

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

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

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

But he had been wrong.

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

His stomach clenched. His throat went dry.

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

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

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

The way your hands shook.

No one else would have noticed. But he did.

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

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

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

But it didn’t.

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

It was shock. Discomfort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he felt it.

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

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

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

Like he didn’t exist. And that?

That hurt worse than anything.

You had spent a year healing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe the worst part?

He looked happy.

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

No, this was performative.

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

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

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

And that? That was unbearable.

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

No. No, no, no.

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

Your coworkers looked up, brows furrowed.

“You okay?” one of them asked.

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

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

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

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

Joe watched you leave, and something inside him snapped.

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

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

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

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

It made him move.

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

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

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

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

Gone.

Just like that.

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

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

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

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

"Joe, what the hell was that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes narrowed. "Knew what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was a fucking mess.

A fucking idiot. A fucking coward.

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

Katie huffed out a bitter laugh. "Gladly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was here.

In front of your apartment complex.

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

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

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

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

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

All of it.

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

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

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

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

He missed everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knocked.

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

Then—

The lock clicked, the door creaked open.

And there you were.

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

Joe felt something crack inside him.

Because you looked just as broken as he felt.

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

He broke.

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

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

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

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

So he just kept going.

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

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

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

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

But he couldn’t.

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

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

But there it was again—that ache.

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

He was still your Joe.

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

And you could have.

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

The second your arms wrapped around him, Joe broke.

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

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

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

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

Because fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And suddenly, that was all you needed.

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

And then, you let him inside.

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

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

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

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

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

So you told him. You told him everything.

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

Joe inhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not the point, Joe.”

His shoulders slumped, defeated. “I know.”

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

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

Your heart clenched.

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

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

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

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

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

“You have to try.”

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

But you weren’t finished.

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

Joe didn’t blink. “I know.”

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

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

“I won’t.”

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

The next few weeks felt new.

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

This was different.

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

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

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

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

Joe never stopped trying.

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

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

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

Really listened.

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

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

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

And Joe had never been happier.

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

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

He showed up for you. For everything.

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

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

And he realized—this was you.

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

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

But you.

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

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

And you had never wanted to be one.

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

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

But because you had chosen him.

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

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

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

This was better.

This was right.

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

But not this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he had just won the fucking Super Bowl.

Like making you blush had been his goal all along.

And honestly? Knowing Joe, it probably had been.

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

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

And the worst part?

You did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was his moment.

But you were his person.

—

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

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

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

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

Your chest ached a little at that.

Because you knew.

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

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

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

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t a grand declaration.

It wasn’t over the top.

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

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

The crowd erupted into applause.

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

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

And yeah.

He really, really had.

The night felt easy.

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

Now, it was effortless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were just here. With him.

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

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

Joe was on one knee.

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

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

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

Only love.

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

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

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

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

Your chest ached.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” he whispered.

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

You realized something.

This was exactly how it was meant to be.

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

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headspace-hotel · 3 days ago

Text

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...

#books #reading #stories

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bloatedandalone04 · 3 days ago

Text

Kiwi

Summary: You’re pregnant with Rafe’s baby, and he’s more stressed out about it than you are (and rightfully so).

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: fluff, swearing, protective rafe, soon to be dad rafe, smut, angst if you squint, unprotected sex, pregnancy.

You were steadily entering your second trimester, which was shaping out to be a little easier than your first. You were still craving the weirdest food combinations, but Rafe would never complain about needing to go out and buy them for you since the grateful smile you always gave him made his heart feel so full.

Seven years with you, and he was still as crazy about you as he’d been since the first date.

With that being said, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend to like your weird (and sometimes really fucking gross) pregnancy cravings. But he would have to, since you’re carrying his baby like a fucking champ, and you looked so stunning while doing so.

Rafe had just gotten back from a grocery store run, sporting a bag full of odd food choices for you, and he set it down on the counter before leaving the kitchen to go find you.

You were in the living room, your feet planted on the couch as you scrolled through your phone. Why you were standing on the couch, he had no idea, but the thought of you accidentally falling was the first thing that flashed through his head, and he was not about to let that happen.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he rasped, quickly walking over to you and grabbing your waist. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You’re four months pregnant, babygirl, you need to be careful. Jesus Christ.”

“I am being careful,” you defended yourself, holding your phone in one hand while your other ran through his hair. You looked around the living room, your eyes flickering between every corner as you stayed standing on the couch. “I saw a spider, and I don’t know where it went. And you know how much I hate spiders. I had to make sure it didn’t crawl on me or something. Then I would’ve been the one having a heart attack.”

You sounded so unserious, but Rafe knew you were being completely genuine. Your fear of anything that had more than two legs was no joke, and he couldn’t count the times he’s killed something for you on both hands.

“Plus, I’ve only been standing here for, like, five minutes,” you added, looking down at him and shrugging casually, as if you didn’t feel the way his grip tightened on you at your words.

“Five minutes is too fucking long,” Rafe muttered, shaking his head afterwards as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against your belly. “You’re not thinking straight right now, are you? That’s the only logical explanation for this.”

His big hands stayed planted on your waist, keeping you steady as he pulled away and looked up at you, his blue eyes wide and full of nothing but adoration for you and the little life growing inside of you.

“You’re going to give me gray hairs, you know that right?” he grunted, a smile forming on his lips when you let out a soft laugh.

“Ooh, silver fox Rafe,” you teased, draping your arms around his neck as he helped you off the couch. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. You’d look so fucking hot with gray hair, baby. Like, so fucking sexy. So don’t tempt me.”

Rafe scoffed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Silver fox? I’m twenty nine, baby, not forty,” he mumbled, “But, I guess if you like that sorta thing…who am I to judge?”

You laughed, leaning into his touch as you pressed your lips to his jaw. “I like anything that involves you,”

He smiled down at you, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I like anything that involves you too, babygirl,” he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed against yours. “Actually, I love everything that involves you.”

Then he was leaning all the way in and kissing you deeply and slowly, his hands sliding down your body until they grazed your ass, and then he was full on groping you through your leggings.

You whined against his mouth, your lips pressing more firmly against his as you pulled him impossibly closer to you until your bump was pushing against his abs. “You always have to one up me, don’t you?” you muttered, “And what’s with you always grabbing my ass? You’ve been obsessed with it since we got together.”

Rafe smirked down at you. “Of course I’m obsessed with it, it’s part of you,” he replied, and you pressed your lips together.

“You are so fucking sweet and sexy and I think we should go to our bedroom before I-” you cut yourself off by screaming directly into your husband’s face as you practically jumped back up onto the couch with wide eyes.

Rafe didn’t even need to turn around to know that the eight legged creature who scared you before had made its big return. “What did I tell you?” he muttered, taking you into his arms as he lifted you from the couch.

“Rafe! Stop, it’s literally right there and it’s so fucking big,” you protested as he carried you out of the living room and into the kitchen. Once he had you sitting safely at the breakfast bar, he slid the bag of food over for you to inspect as he grabbed a piece of paper towel.

“Stay here, okay? Eat something,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he walked back into the living room to find the harmless insect that had been tormenting you during the entire time he was gone.

You were pulling Rafe along with you towards the bedroom, your lips all over his neck and jaw, but he was moving so slowly. You were now six months pregnant, and Rafe had become more and more protective of you, if that was even possible at this point.

And while you loved him for it, his hesitation every time you initiated sex was making you go crazy. You were so turned on, and you needed your husband.

“Rafe,” you moaned, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you walked backwards. “I need you. I need you so bad. Please? I promise, I won’t break.” you whined, nearly stumbling as you pulled him along with you.

Rafe’s hands instantly tightened on your waist, his thumbs brushing along the underside of your belly as it pressed against his abs through his shirt. “Easy, babygirl,” he cooed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

While you knew he wanted to be gentle and sweet with you, you also knew exactly how to rile him up and get him going. Rafe had been obsessed with your body since the second he first saw you completely bare, and his obsession had only intensified once your body began to change due to your pregnancy.

You stepped back and pulled your shirt over your head, revealing your breasts that had grown so much, they were nearly spilling out of your bra. You watched Rafe bite his lip before you moved onto your leggings, and you stepped out of them and kicked them aside as well.

Rafe groaned as he pulled off his own shirt and jeans, his hands finding your waist again as he moved to sit on the bed. “Come here,” he murmured, sliding your panties down your legs before he guided you onto his lap.

You willingly went, a needy whine leaving your lips as you settled on top of him and pulled down his boxers, freeing his hard cock. “I love you,” you moaned, kissing him as you began to rub yourself along his dick. “I love you so much.”

He gripped your hips, guiding the slow rolls of your body. “I love you too, baby,” he groaned, “More than my next fucking breath.”

His words made your head feel all fuzzy, and he lifted you slightly to position himself at your soaked core. When he eased you back down onto his cock, you both let out a sound of relief as you came together as one, and you reveled in the feeling of his big hands on your body.

“Fucking perfect,” he praised, his eyes hooded as his hands slid around to grip your ass gently.

You moaned loudly, holding onto his shoulders as you rolled your hips against his as best as you could with your bump persistently brushing against his stomach. “Fuck,” you whimpered, arching your back a bit and making your chest press right up against his. “Oh fuck, Rafe, you feel so good.”

He felt so good, you were powerless to stop the loud moans from leaving your mouth as you rode him. Rafe’s hands slid up your back and fumbled with the clasp of your bra before he pulled the fabric away from your body, his palms immediately roaming over the newly exposed skin. “Fuck, babygirl, you’re so tight and wet for me. Sweet pussy was made for my cock,” he grunted, rolling your nipples between his fingers until they pebbled under his touch. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Then he was leaning in and kissing you deeply, his tongue brushing against yours as he met your bounces with upward thrusts of his hips. You moaned against his mouth, his words making your body heat up in a blush. You’d never get tired of hearing him say things like that.

His hands moved to your belly, and he caressed it as he broke the kiss and buried his face against your shoulder. “God, you feel so good,” he moaned, making your blush deepen as you moved a little faster and a bit harder.

“Rafe,” you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair as you felt your thighs start to burn from over-exertion. “Oh, fuck…I’m gonna cum.” you warned, feeling the knot that had been steadily building up inside you start to tighten.

Rafe grunted, reaching in between your bodies until the heel of his hand was pressed firmly against the underside of your belly and his fingers were brushing against your clit. “Yeah, cum for me, baby,” he murmured, his other hand moving to your hip as he guided you to take him a little harder. “I’m close too.”

His fingers pushed you over the edge, and your head fell forward onto his shoulder as you came for him. A cry left your lips as you weakly bounced on his lap, your legs shaking a bit as you pulled on his hair. “Fuck,” you gasped, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders as you felt him thrust a few more times before he stilled.

A deep groan left the back of his throat as he held you close to him, his warmth filling you up from the inside out as he let out harsh pants against the side of your neck. “I’ll never get over that,” he muttered, placing soft kisses along your shoulder as he ran his hands up and down your back. “I’ll never get over you.”

You grinned as he gently eased you off him and moved back on the bed, taking you with him as he leaned back against the pillows. “Good,” you hummed as he turned you around and spooned you from behind. “Because I think you’re stuck with me for life.”

When you guided his big palm to rest on your belly, Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head as his thumb rubbed along your swollen skin. “Good,” he echoed. “Because you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. You’re all I want in the world.”

A lazy smile formed on your lips as you snuggled back against him, and only a few seconds later, you had fallen asleep.

Not me working on my birthday again...thanks for reading x

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totalswag · 1 day ago

Note

Heyy!! Hope you’ve been great! I have a request…….💌💌

How about Drew and popstar!reader do like a super hot Calvin Klein ad together, and launch a collab with the line. xx

calvin klien collab ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note i've been doing great thank you for asking lovie!! ugh I enjoyed writing this and coming up with some good ideas heheh. i hope we get to see drew on an ad one day (he would look so good). since i usually write about singer!reader x drew being in a relationship, i wanted to write something that doesn't involve them together, more so meeting for the first time.

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary in which you and drew starkey are collaborating in a hot calvin klien photoshoot for the first time.

warning(s) high tension, flirting, bodies touching, y/n and drew being the hottest people on the planet.

Being asked to be involved in a Calvin Klein photoshoot was a complete dream come true. You've always wanted to be one of those women, and now you are able to say you are. When you got the news from your manager you were filled with loads of emotions.

What no one was expecting⎯Drew Starkey and Y/N Y/N featured on Calvin Klein together. After the announcement, everyone was going wild over the news. No one would've thought to two most upcoming talented people in the industry in a photoshoot together.

The room is alive with the low buzz of cameras clicking, stylists altering clothes, and the subtle smell of expensive cologne and body oil hanging in the air. The buzzing of music playing in the background set the mood for the shoot.

Meeting Drew for the first time felt unreal. He was so generous, kind, and understanding of boundaries. He told you, "anytime you feel uncomfortable please let me know."

That made you trust him during the entire process.

"Thank you for coming, my name is Andrew, and I will be your photographer for the shoot," he says while shaking your hands; "for this shoot, we want it to be super hot as the company quoted."

You and Drew are standing in front of a full-length mirror, bodies inches apart, wearing nothing but the sleek, minimalist Calvin Klein underwear that has already been dubbed the year's best campaign⎯and it hasn't been launched yet.

"Lean in a little more," the Andrew says.

Drew tilts his head, grinning slightly as he approaches. His fingers ghost over your waist, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth of his skin through the dense tension in the room. Your pulse quickens. His gaze drifts down to your lips for just a second too long. The camera flashes, recording the moment in real time.

When you put your palm on Drew's bare chest for the following shot, you'll notice how hard he swallows. His skin is warm, and his muscles feel taut when you touch them. You're supposed to be playing a role⎯selling desire, closeness, and the effortless Calvin Klein fantasy⎯but neither of you knows where the performance ends and reality begins.

As you two pull away the tension between you two is still lingering in the air. Drew's usual playful smirk soften into something unreadable. This is all supposed to be professional.

The second part of the shoot arrives. Drew is lying on his back in jeans, with you on top of him in jeans and a jean jacket. Drew's right leg was sitting up, while his left leg laid down. You rested your head on his bare chest, peering into the camera.

Andrew clicks many times in a matter of seconds, prompting you both to change positions. Drew was directed to place his left hand on your waist beneath the jean jacket, and you were asked to lift your upper body while maintaining eye contact.

His piercing blue eyes on you and yours on him. Chills going down your spine. Everything in your body was on fire.

Once the third portion of the photoshoot came to an end, Drew and you were sent back to your dressing rooms to get back into your normal clothing then come out to look over the pictures.

Pictures came out perfect.

"That one has to be my favorite" you say, referring to the picture of Drew sitting behind you, left hand on your waist, head on your shoulder. You sit between his legs, lean back against his chest, and wrap your arms tenderly around his head. You both look sexy and badass.

Drew and you walked out together with your managers trailing behind you two keeping good distance. You laughed at something he said about filming for Queer when he nearly fell.

"It was really nice getting the chance to work with you, Y/N," Drew admits. "Maybe we should hang out sometime?" Could I get your phone number?

"You're a great person to work with Drew and I would like that, I'm free this Friday if you aren't busy?" You suggest, smiling sweetly.

He chuckles before gazing at his feet, reaching into his pocket for his phone, and handing it to you.

"Perfect, see you soon, Y/N" Drew says, pulling you in for a hug.

"See ya!"

It's been four days since the shoot and your fans have been eager. Calvin Klien teased viewers with behind-the-scenes footage prior to the release of the entire campaign.

One of the clips shows Drew casually tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear in between shoots. Another angle captures the way he murmurs something to you right before a shoot, causing you to giggle softly—an intimate, unscripted moment that only heightens the tension.

Fans on all sorts of social media apps were going crazy. The edits of the clips were being posted. Your phone was blowing up from texts and calls from your closest circle over the campaign ad.

fan88: They didn't have to go this hard for a Calvin Klein ad, but here we are 😳

fan15: i can take them both all at once btw

fan22: so you're telling me this their first time meeting???

fan11: I CAN’T DO THIS. WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE THEY’RE ABOUT TO DEVOUR EACH OTHER!!! 😫

drew starkey: i think we just broke the internet

drew starkey: i'm about to pick you up too

⎯⎯ my taglist! 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

@rosezza @chenslucy @whorelaud @rafeyslamb @mymultiveres @runningfrom2am @drewsephrry @drewizz @diqldrunks @starkeyvhs @percysley @francislovergirl @sukuna-wafiu @skyslowalking @kneelarmhstrung @inthelibrarybtw @lilumz-blog @lovingsturniolo @xoxosblogsblog @darkacademictrash @claudiamoscatoo @starkeysturniolo @ratgirlcunt @eddxemxnson @rafespreciosa @yanna2coolz @raewontgoaway @definitelynotdomanique @isabellaxlilah @inlovewrafe @minyoon23 @stevesxwhore @skywalker0809 @yesshewrites1 @acidfeens @stxrzyn @sfotiegiuls @babypoguelife @dolletebun @stoned-writer @drewstxrky @kiiyomei @bxmaaa @pwertiies @6r4cie @ifwfratboychris @sjmalfoy19 @drewrry @outerbanksloverp4l @thesunflowersociety @drewwhor @my-name-is-baby @sparklyananas

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brawberryz · 3 days ago

Text

I don't want to die

Batfam × negleted Asuka langley!Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error/ This story has no relation to my Evangelion AU

You hate this

You hate everything, nothing is ever fair to you

You always tried your best being batgirl but still you couldn't get anyone to tell you how proud they were of you

You were good at fighting and you solved cases in hours but still it seemed like you didn't exist for your family

Your presence was a shadow between the great walls of the mansion, you didn't understand why none of your efforts to get noticed worked

But it's okay, you don't need anyone

You didn't need his approval, you're fine alone because you know very well that no one will protect you or take care of you

But at the same time you didn't want to be alone, you wanted to experience that love that Bruce gave to his other children and which you never felt

Bruce

How you hated that name, he was never a father to you and he never will be, he pretended to be the perfect and exemplary father but deep down he was as broken and rotten as you

You hated him so much, you hated your father and your mother, You hated your brothers and you hated men

Nobody understands you and comprehends you, they pretend to like you but you know that the fake

Richard, claimed to be the eldest brother and that he cared about his brothers but you knew it was a farce, he was as hypocritical and fake as the whole family

He only showed affection to the people who suited him and if you were not useful he just ignored you

You hate him so much, his mere presence makes you nauseous and disgusted

Jason, he was an idiot just like the whole family, since he had revived he was a person full of anger and revenge

In a way you understood him a little, but then you hated him

I believed that just because his life had been miserable it didn't mean that he should make life miserable for others, sometimes you wished that the joker would beat him to death with that crowbar again

Tim, you didn't hate him as much as the others but you still despised him

Since you and he arrived at the mansion You had some kind of rivalry since you two were equally intelligent and you were very competitive children

I never wanted to admit that I was wrong and at some point you were like that too, but having Bruce always put you on his side made your blood boil

Because Bruce seemed so proud of him but with you he treated you as if you were some kind of mistake

Damian, he was the second person you hated the most every time you two saw each other it seemed like you wanted to kill each other

You still remember the first time he arrived at the mansion you weren't so excited you thought he would be another idiot you would have to deal with

You were very surprised when you saw how a katana was heading towards your head, by instinct you dodged it your years as batgirl had favored you for the first time

You didn't remember that fight well, you only knew that if your father and your brothers didn't interrupt that fight you and Damian were going to end up killing each other

But there was something that stayed in your head, when they separated you Damian you and him were equally hurt by their big fight but everyone decided to pay attention to him

Everyone was so worried about him and they had only met him a few hours ago, but you

You had lived in this mansion for more than a decade and they didn't even bother to check on you

The only one who seemed worried was Alfred who carefully tended to your wounds

You could still remember the look of disappointment and anger that your father gave you after that fight

You wanted to cry at that moment and yell at him but you couldn't, you couldn't show yourself weak

It was a simple nonsense that shouldn't affect you, you were never going to show yourself vulnerable or cry again

But deep down, you would have liked to be able to cry

Barbara, you didn't hate her but you didn't like her either, you just tolerated her since at some point she was quite useful in your missions

But you weren't going to lie that at some point you felt jealous of them when she was Batgirl, you saw how Bruce treated her with so much love as if she were a daughter

How he looked at her with pride and cared for her, and you were there looking at her with hatred without knowing why she deserved that love and you didn't

It wasn't fair, she hadn't even tried hard to get Bruce to respect her and you who spent your whole life training and becoming one of the strongest and most skilled members of the batfam he didn't even turn to look at you

Cass, you tolerated her to a certain point your opinion of her was neutral

Sometimes you used to train together but you never talked, you only got together to train or on missions that Bruce asked her to accompany you

Steph, you met her when she was Robin, you got along well at the beginning but when she stopped being Robin you two separated and stopped talking for a while

When she came back she looked so different as if something had changed, you had heard that she went through a lot of things when she left like getting pregnant or something

You just kept quiet and didn't ask her so as not to make her uncomfortable

Your life wasn't the best but you learned to live like that, you got used to this life full of disappointment

Maybe you should just accept this life and wait to die, no one will remember you and the only thing people will remember will be batman's invisible daughter

You will remain as one of Bruce's many mistakes, a mistake he could never fix

It was another mission, it was easy you just had to deactivate some bombs that the scarecrow had placed in some buildings, you had done it many times it shouldn't be difficult

And as you sensed it was very easy, there was only one bomb left that was located in a warehouse

You were confident without paying attention to the warning of your father and oracle

You quickly went to the place where the bomb was located, you had deactivated many bombs this one should not be so difficult

But you trusted too much

Oh no

It was a trap, a fucking one

Before you could react the bomb ended up throwing the toxic fear all over the place and you didn't even have time to react

"(NAME)!"

Bruce shouted trying to get you out of there but it was too late

He could see how your body fell to the ground trembling while tears came out of your eyes

He could hear how you screamed in fear and begged for it to stop

"NO! NO PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME REMEMBER, ANYTHING BUT THAT!"

You said between screams while you grabbed your head and curled up further into yourself

Bruce was surprised to see you in that state, he had never seen you so vulnerable and scared

He knew it was the fear gas's fault but he was still surprised, not even when you were little and had come to the mansion you never showed yourself scared or vulnerable

Since you were little you always had that look full of hate and resentment

He quickly went to you to check your condition, he hugged you tightly to prevent you from hurting yourself because of your state

"(Name)!, please react!"

He said trying to make you see reason but all you did was scream in pain and agony

Whatever you were hallucinating was much worse than anything

Your head was full of memories of your childhood and that incident

You were supposed to forget it forever but apparently they decided to come back

...

You didn't remember your mother's face, it was a blur between your memories you only remember her tired voice

When you were little you didn't understand why she always seemed so depressed and tired, you were too young to understand the world around you

She was hardly ever home and if she was she was always lying on the couch drinking cheap alcohol

You always asked her what was wrong but she always answered "it's adult things, honey"

In those moments your little self wished you could be an adult and understand everything, to be able to help your mom with whatever she was suffering

But you couldn't, you were a little girl unaware of the world and the problems that surrounded her

You wished your mother had been more present in your life

You knew she had to work for hours and then come back tired, but still...

You still wanted her love

You saw how the other kids at school came to pick them up, how they hugged their parents happily

Hugs

Have you always wanted to know what it would feel like to have someone hug you, would it feel as warm and comfortable as many say?

You just wanted to experience that, deep down you dreamed that someone would hug you in such a quality and loving way

Then that day came, you could still remember it

You had come home from school as usual, everything seemed normal

Too normal

"Mom, I'm home!"

Screaming at you as you took off your shoes and left your backpack on the table

You found it strange that she didn't answer since she was supposed to stay home today

You walked down the small hallway of the apartment until you reached your mother's door

It was half open and you thought he was asleep, you opened it excitedly but all that joy and excitement disappeared as soon as you saw that horrible scene

"M-mom..."

You said in shock looking at her hanging body, small tears came out of your eyes as you looked at that scene completely paralyzed

You quickly reacted and went to her crying, praying to any god that existed that this wasn't real

But it was real, your mother's skin was as cold as the snow falling outside the apartment

After that it seemed that your memory decided to erase all traces of something you remembered

To a certain extent you could still feel your mother's cold skin between your hands

When you were little you didn't understand why Your mother had done that, but now

Now you understood everything...

You woke up in your bed, you heard the soft knock on your door

It was Alfred asking you to go have breakfast

"I'm not hungry Alfred, just leave me alone please..."

You said in a tired tone, it was the same tone your mother had

You curled up further in your bed, the old butler said something you weren't able to hear but you didn't care either

Nothing mattered anymore

So the days went by, you weren't even able to get out of your bed or eat

Even the batfam was surprised not to see you as usual to patrol

Richard decided to check on you and almost fainted when he saw your condition, your room was a mess, full of dirty clothes and other things

It was almost impossible to walk around there, your floor was full of things like books, clothes and other things that he didn't want to know what it was

But the worst was your appearance, you smelled terribly bad and your hair was greasy

He quickly forced you to take a shower, he had to push you into the bathroom since you didn't even deign to answer or get up

After Richard told the rest of the family about your sorry state something inside them turned on, like a protective instinct towards his sister

Now they had to force you to do things as mundane as bathing or eating, since apparently you weren't even capable of doing it by yourself

Each member of the batfam tried to cheer you up in their own way

Jason took you with him to the library while he told you about the new book he was reading, he thought it might be interesting for you but all you did was give him a tired look

Tim made you sit next to him while he worked on his computer, sometimes he asked you if you wanted to help him in some case but you just refused

The old you would have accepted without hesitation but the old you was no longer there

Damian and Cass made you go with them to train with them but you refused, arguing that you were too tired or didn't feel like it

So they just made you sit there while you watched them train since Bruce asked everyone to keep an eye on you

Steph and Barbara tried to cheer you up by making you spend time with them, but nothing worked

You gave them the same empty and tired look you gave everyone

Bruce decided that the best thing was to take you out of school and take you with him to work, since according to him you were in a very delicate and vulnerable state

Besides he could educate you, you didn't need any teacher when you had him, it was much better since you spent all day by his side and he could control you better

Richard tried to get you to bake a cake with him but all you did was look at him tiredly before nodding at his idea

But he still tried to make you happy while you two cooked but nothing could make you feel something

You were like a doll without emotions, you had entered a state where you couldn't even tell what was real and what wasn't

Your body was there but your conscience wasn't

But don't worry, as long as you're next to them you don't have to worry about anything

I'm thinking of updating Goodbye World My soon, there are just a few things left to edit and then I'll upload it

Leaving that aside, I hope you enjoy this!

@strwberryglass

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kashverse · 1 day ago

Text

based off of this request ☆ kunafamily masterlist

ah, marriage. truly a blessing, a union of souls, a sacred bond forged through love and commitment.

or whatever.

because there is nothing beautiful about it when your twelve-year-old daughter stomps into the house, still in her dusty-ass middle school uniform, drops her backpack by the door with the weight of a woman who has seen the horrors of war, and announces—

“mama. papa. i am getting married.”

...

there is a silence. a deafening, suffocating, air-sucked-out-of-the-room silence. the only sound is the low hum of the AC and the softest shuffle of mr. pickles, your ancient maine coon, who, for the first time in what seems like eons, flops in front of babykuna’s feet. a humble offering. a plea for mercy. baby the tabby? he lets out a single, horrified, “YEEEOOOWWWWWL—” like he has just witnessed a first-degree felony right before his very eyes.

you? you’re laughing. not because it’s funny, but because your brain is short-circuiting. “babe,” you choke, eyes darting to sukuna, who has gone uncharacteristically still. you swear you can hear the windows error sound effect echoing inside his head. but he blinks, snaps out of it, and suddenly—

“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN MARRIED?”

you jolt, clutching your chest. “sukuna, for the love of god, inside voice.” but he is hyperventilating. actually hyperventilating.

he stumbles forward like a man on his last legs, dropping to his knees so that he is face-to-face with babykuna. “baby,” he starts, voice tight, shaking, the desperation of a father who has just been emotionally gutted. “marriage is a big deal. are you sure about this?”

babykuna, bless her obnoxiously stubborn heart, crosses her arms.

“yes.”

sukuna visibly deflates. “but—but why?” he croaks, rubbing his face as if this is causing him physical pain. “what happened to all the other snot-nosed brats?”

babykuna huffs. “they were gross, papa.”

“EXACTLY.” he seethes. “they’re all gross! including this one!”

“nuh-uh. he’s different.”

sukuna looks like he’s about to throw up. he grips her little shoulders, voice dropping to a low, grave whisper.

“listen, babygirl. i will give you anything. anything you want. you want another cat? i’ll get you another cat. you want half of my company shares? done. a custom labubu line with your name on it? consider it already in production.”

babykuna’s brows knit, lips pursed in deep thought. there’s hope. hope that maybe, the dreaded king of the corporate world will win this negotiation. but then—

“no.”

babykuna stomps off to her room.

and as she marches away, victorious, baby the tabby lets out a final, gut-wrenching shriek, a soulful cry that echoes down the halls like the mourning of a thousand fallen soldiers. mr. pickles lets out a deep, ancient sigh, the kind only a being who has lived through generations of turmoil can muster.

and sukuna? he just slumps to the floor, lifeless, broken, defeated.

“i’ve lost her,” he whispers, staring blankly ahead. “i’ve fucking lost her.”

you pat his head. “there, there. at least she didn’t pick a finance bro.”

the next day, there is a shift in the air. you sense it first, the way the walls seem to breathe easier, the way the atmosphere in the sukuna household isn’t shrouded in impending doom. and then you see it.

babykuna walks in, her steps just a bit heavier, like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. mr. pickles, who has been mourning nonstop since yesterday, immediately flops next to her feet, a slow, dramatic descent that speaks volumes.

please, his weary, ancient eyes seem to say. do not get rid of me when you are married.

baby the tabby, however, is far less sentimental. he doesn’t even look at her. doesn’t even acknowledge her presence. babykuna notices.

“baby,” she calls. baby the tabby flicks his tail and turns away. the ultimate betrayal. she frowns, drops her backpack on the floor, and then—

“i’m not getting married anymore.”

silence.

mr. pickles exhales a long, tired sigh, as if the very gods have heard his prayers. baby the tabby, however? ecstatic.

he springs onto babykuna like he’s just won the lottery, tackling her to the sofa and kneading her chest with such fiery, unbridled passion you fear he might actually give himself a heart attack. but the real show? sukuna.

because the moment those words leave babykuna’s mouth, he goes dead still. and then, slowly, so slowly, he turns to you with the wide, gleeful, demented grin of a man who has just cheated death. “babe,” he breathes. “call a baker.”

“...a baker?”

he nods, eyes gleaming.

“i’m getting a cake.”

you blink. “for...?”

“us.”

he grips your shoulders, voice thick with emotion.

“a congratulations cake. for us. we fucking did it.”

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1d1195 · 2 days ago

Text

Pucking Rookie IV

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: slow burning!!!

Warnings: ANGST violence. CW: Signs of abuse.

Summary: Harry is very hot. Very sweet. VERY protective.

“Hey everyone,” she greeted brightly. “How’s everyone today?” She asked while setting down a tray of eight glasses and two pitchers of water on the table.

“Wonderful, baby, so excited to have you.”

She nearly knocked the glasses over (fortunately, since they were water glasses, they were only plastic). She made eye contact with him and felt her heart completely stop for a few beats. Kael smiled wickedly in return.

Fuck.

She kept her smile in place. “What can I get you to drink?” She asked. After eight years, she already knew what he wanted so she focused on his teammates.

“We were hoping to see The Chargers tonight,” Kael told her. “Do they come here often?”

She didn’t respond. “We have a few specials tonight, so if you have any questions, please let me know,” then she sauntered away to place the drink order.

“Already know what I want, baby?” He called. “That’s so sweet!”

She ignored him. Taking deep breaths she headed to the kitchen. Louis wasn’t in yet. Harry didn’t know she was working. Which meant the rest of the team thought she wasn’t working too. Marc and Michael probably had their suspicions that she was with Harry. So, no one knew she was there. Not really.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was probably just going to be an hour. He had his team with him. It wasn’t like they could have a private conversation in the middle of a restaurant. Yeah, he would probably tease and torture her for the better part of that hour, but she could be civil. She could pretend. She had for ages. He didn’t know she was working for The Chargers—she was sure he had an idea that she might be. But the afternoon set it in stone.

He was such a dick. It was the first time she had seen him face to face since she moved out. Everything about him made her skin crawl and she hated it. Every touch and kiss between them seemed tainted now. All those good memories, dates, hockey games, everything felt ruined. Each interaction was colored now with the hindsight that he didn’t love her. Not the way she did. Not the way she expected him to love her for ever and ever. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve that. She knew she didn’t deserve that.

So why did he make her feel undeserving of it ever again?

Kael and his teammates came and went fortunately. Just as she predicted. Only a little over an hour. She refrained from speaking directly to Kael and focused on the group as a whole.

When Kael left, she was well past the feeling of relief. There should have been a stronger word for how liberated she felt. She used the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and took a moment to process everything. It was just like Kael to come in and make her feel like shit without even trying. Louis was supposed to be in, so at least she had that going for her.

“Hey love,” Louis called. “Everything good?” She probably looked a little shaken, so she wasn’t surprised he asked. She felt shaken.

“Good,” she smiled assuredly. She flitted around the room, ducked behind the bar, and went about her day. It was a busy night, and she wasn’t going to let Kael sour her shift that he had next to nothing to do with. So she didn’t. The next hour ticked on quickly and she was feeling more herself as the time stretched between Kael’s departure and the present.

“Hi baby,” he cooed.

Her arms felt numb almost instantly, she was lucky she didn’t drop her tray. Her fight or flight swept her and just made her freeze. She turned as she had earlier in the day and looked at him. “Hi,” she said curtly. He was alone, which made her nervous.

“I figured you must get a break soon. I’d like to talk.”

“Not for a while. And it’s busy,” at least that wasn’t a lie. “So I might not take one tonight.”

Louis was hurrying about from kitchen to back room, to front of house. It was busy as it could be, but she wanted to keep an eye on him. If Kael got her alone, she wasn’t sure she would be able to control her emotions as well as if she had someone that knew she was not in a situation she wanted to be in just by looking at her. Louis wasn’t Harry, but he would know all the same that she was uncomfortable.

Kael smiled brightly.

Well, at least someone that cared ifshe was uncomfortable.

“I’ll wait,” he offered.

“Great,” she deadpanned.

She went to the back room and wished that there was a group of Chargers there. If she called any of them, she knew they would break curfew and be there for her in a heartbeat. The thought of Kael anywhere near her would make Callie incensed for ruining her day. Niall would be protective in his own way and focused on her. Asher and Lang would get her away from The Locker Room and make sure Kael never set foot there again.

She could hardly imagine what Harry would do to him.

But she lied. She told Harry that she wasn’t working. The routines the boys had had in place prior to her arrival with the team had been disrupted more than she ever anticipated. It was nice they cared but it wasn’t fair to them to upheave their lives for her. She was just the photographer for the team. Their coach’s niece. They didn’t ask to have someone they needed to babysit.

She was an independent, self-sufficient person.

“You okay, love?” Louis asked.

She nodded and flitted around the room taking order and tried not to think about the feeling of Kael’s stare on the back of her head.

It was perhaps another hour, and Kael was true to his word in staying put. Fortunately, The Locker Room remained steadily busy. She didn’t have to lie about not taking her break. She foisted him off on another waiter who grew a little tired of him asking for her each time he went over. “Baby,” he snatched her hand as she went by.

She pulled away. “Kael, I’m busy,” she marched away before he could reach for her again.

Without warning a multitude of memories where he snagged her hand over the years filtered through her mind. His grip tight on her arm or hand. Never in a way that any outsider would notice. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered to herself. She was going to call Harry. His wrath would be well worth it. At least Kael was scared of Harry and the team. Especially if he was outnumbered. She was shaking a little as she headed for the kitchen hoping to catch Louis at least.

“Hey,” Kael said grabbing her again as she passed too close to his table. This time he caught a real hold of her arm and pinned it to the table. To any other onlooker it would look like he was just keeping her in place holding onto her hand in almost a romantic kind of way. No one would see how his fingers dug into her skin, how she was feeling the ache of the hard wood against her knuckles and wrist bone like she just lost an arm-wrestling contest. “I just want to talk.”

She wanted nothing less. “Hey, Louis!” She called quickly and loudly enough so that he would be able to hear her over the din of the whole place regardless of where he had gone off too.

Within seconds Louis was there from the back room.

Harry was right beside him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her arm on the table. Her mouth popped open in shock. She had no clue he was there. Most obviously, she didn’t want him to see this. “Oh fuck,” she whispered and tried to pry her hand away from Kael’s. She squirmed slightly as he refused to release her. He cupped his other hand gently on top of her arm trying to get her to stop.

Harry wasn’t supposed to be here. He was only supposed to come to her rescue because she couldn’t figure out what else she was to do. She was going to hide in the kitchen and wait.

Harry wasn’t supposed to be around Kael.

“Styles,” Kael practically sang. He didn’t release her arm. “Didn’t know you were here. Tough loss today. I hope it’s the same tomorrow, to be honest.”

He didn’t take the bait. His nostrils flared. “Let go of her hand Crowe,” Harry snarled stepping closer to him.

“We were just talking, right baby?” Kael smiled and took his free hand to cup the side of her face. She turned her face away and brushed it away from her skin.

Harry continued to approach him—up close and personal. If they were on the ice the cages of their helmets would have been touching. “Let her go, right fucking now,” his shoulders were heaving.

“It’s fine,” she croaked. Harry didn’t even acknowledge her.

Was he trying to keep it together? Not make a scene, maybe? Harry was quick to anger—like most hockey players. He probably would have torn Kael limb from limb by now if this wasn’t a local place where fans and the rest of the team went.

“Let go of her,” her he repeated, his voice was so deep. His body shaking.

“Harry, I’m fine—”

He ignored her still and Kael continued keeping her in place despite her squirming. She wanted to whimper as he squeezed her tighter and pressed her hand harder into the table. To the untrained eye, you wouldn’t know. But Harry was watching like this was his favorite movie and they were at the climax of the plot. He saw the way she winced and her body bend slightly as he pressed harder. “Mind your fucking business, Styles,” Kael shook his head. “This doesn’t involve—”

“She is m’business. Especially when you’re fucking hurting her,” the whole bar area went silent as they realized one of their favorite celebrities was about to punch the lights out of one of the best names in hockey. “If y’don’t let her go, m’gonna rip your hand off, Crowe. And m’gonna enjoy it,” he promised shaking his head. “Let go of her.”

She wanted to move more but was utterly terrified. Harry could get in serious trouble. Kael wasn’t particularly dangerous, but his grip was making her whole arm ache. Harry’s threat made her stomach swoop; he was so ready to protect her. Of course that was nice, but she wanted to cry. Hurting one of the top professionals in the league (even if Harry was also at the top) was a great way to get a hefty suspension and fine if he was caught.

Just another way she was going to upend his perfectly normal, happy life.

“Harry, stop,” she begged.

“Yeah, Harry, stop,” Kael mimicked. But she inhaled sharply, pulling and moving again uselessly to try and get away from the grip he had on her wrist. She whimpered despite herself as the pain continued. “Mind your business Harry,” he snarled. “M’talking to my girlfriend.”

Harry didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Stop fucking touching her, Crowe.”

“She’s mine. I’ll do whatever I want to her.”

Harry stared at him, his gaze flicking to her wrist still pinned to the table. She was still squirming, looking to get away. Louis reached for her and Harry put his hand on his chest and pushed him away. He walked to the bar, grabbed a shot of whatever the bartender was pouring. His head tipped back as he sucked the liquid down. The quiet clink of his glass hitting the bar was the only sound in the room. Silently, Harry plucked the rings he wore when he wasn’t playing hockey off his fingers. He tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket. It felt like the seconds were ticking by in slow motion. Not even the pain from Kael’s tight grip on her hand was enough to draw her attention away from Harry’s movements.

She swallowed, her eyes pleading with Harry not to do it. It wasn’t that bad. She could take it. The pain she was feeling now was hardly anything in comparison to what he could do. This was nothing.

“One more time, Crowe... Let go. Of her,” Harry’s voice was even. Measured. It had the tone of I’m not asking again.

“She’s mine, Styles. Find someone else to stalk.”

Harry smirked, shook his head, and his eyes flickered to hers for only a second. Then they were back on Kael. “Oh. No. No she’s very much not yours.”

As slow as the seconds had ticked by, they all came rushing back at full speed; maybe time even sped up. Harry delivered a lightning-fast punch to Kael’s nose causing him to gasp and drop her hand as he instinctively reached for his face. With the toe of his boot, Harry tipped his chair before Kael could get his bearings, and he fell flat to his back. The chair broke into pieces with his weight. He gasped, trying to right himself and protect his nose from bleeding everywhere. Harry reached down before Kael could get a grip. He yanked him up by the collar and front of his shirt. A stupid, ugly orange and blue sweatshirt that Harry was delighted to wrinkle hard in his hands. Before Kael was barely on his feet, Harry hauled him backward. Shoved him hard into the bar so the edge dug into his spine, no doubt. Without pause, Harry delivered a solid punch to his cheek, a heel stomp to his foot, and knee to his stomach.

Kael bent forward, gasping for air and Harry’s breathing was as even as if he was sleeping.

Her hand went to her mouth and the other to her stomach as she tried to hold herself together. Everyone looked in pure shock. Surely someone was supposed to try and stop Harry. Even if he was a hockey player for the town that everyone loved. But given he incapacitated Kael in a matter of thirty seconds it wasn’t like anyone wanted to try and stop him. Even Louis was speechless and looked in horror. “Are y’gonna touch her again?” He didn’t say anything, which was the wrong answer as Harry twisted him in an instant, pressing his face down into the bar, pulling his arm back behind his body. “I said, are y’gonna touch her again?”

“No,” he rasped.

“M’letting y’keep your hand. Don’t make me regret it,” he snapped and shoved him a final time into the bar. He dropped a few hundreds on the bar for the damage and his drink. “Louis, keep the change,” he muttered over his shoulder without sparing another glance at Kael. “S’time t’go, Bunny,” he murmured lowly for no one else to hear but her. He placed an arm around her waist, and tugged her toward the exit. Every pair of eyes followed them.

“B-but m-my shift—”

Without missing a beat, he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and stuffed it in the front pocket of her apron. “Let’s go,” he repeated and ushered her outside.

Harry opened his passenger door and gestured for her to get in.

She looked nervous, which made Harry uneasy. This strong, brave woman who bantered with unruly hockey players and dealt with fans and drunk patrons looked a bit lost. “What about my car— I mean... your other—”

“Get in the car, Rookie,” he ordered.

She followed his direction. Harry waited until she was safely buckled inside before closing her in. He locked the door for the short walk around his car, only unlocking it so he could slip inside. Once seated and buckled, he turned the car on and immediately exited the parking lot. After driving in silence for several moments Harry dropped his hand on her thigh like it was an instinct.

He didn’t ask if she was okay. Which was kind of him, because how could she be? Her heart was thudding in her chest, her wrist hurt, and her brain was a mess. Harry’s hand on her leg should have made her uncomfortable given he didn’t ask. But it was almost too comforting, and she dreaded the idea that he would have to let go of her eventually.

“Don’t y’dare cry over him, bunny,” his voice was tight.

She sniffled, not realizing she was, in fact, crying. She swiped her hands across her cheeks. “Sorry,” she whispered looking toward the window.

Harry shook his head and sighed. His hand squeezed her leg while he pressed his head back into the seat hard—if the head rest wasn’t there and he didn’t have to watch the road, she was certain his eyes would be facing the ceiling of his car, searching for strength somewhere above him. His jawline seemed sharper than ever as he clenched his teeth. “Y’don’t have t’apologize.”

“Thank you,” she croaked quietly. “For doing that, I...” she swallowed hard. “I don’t really know what I would have done,” she admitted. The scenario didn’t seem to play out in full if Harry wasn’t there. Yeah, Louis would have helped, but this was different. Harry didn’t say anything. She pulled his wallet out of her apron and placed it in one of the cup holders between them. “I don’t want—”

“It’s yours.”

“Harry, it’s not that—”

“Bunny, I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you all afternoon. Since I met you, really. I can’t stop. I used t’think ‘bout nothing but hockey. But s’like you’re the only thing on m’mind now. M’happy when I see you around the rink taking pictures. M’happy when y’try t’skate on m’pond. I love our lessons, and I want t’have y’in my house all the time. M’happy when you’re around. Happier than I’ve been in years, and I didn’t even know I wasn’t completely happy. I can’t have one-night stands anymore. I tried, I did. You’re a long shot. I know that. Someone who deserves a guy so much better than a hot-tempered hockey player as evident by the piece of shit that hurt you in so many ways,” His voice is quiet. “S’not a secret I like you. A lot. If we can only be friends and roommates—because m’sure as hell not bringing y’back to that sorry excuse of an apartment—then s'what I’ll do.”

There was only a brief beat of silence while she contemplated all he said. “I worked really hard on my apartment,” she whispered.

This seemed to soften him a little. He sighed. “It’s adorable, Bunny. It is. But m’constantly worried you’re going t’be kidnapped, robbed, or worse. You can move in this week,” he insisted. “I have the day off after tomorrow and I was going t’spend it at the gym t’lift with the guys so we can pack and move your shit all the same instead.”

“Harry, I don’t think that will work... I have to pay out the rest of my lease if I move out early.”

“That’s bullshit,” he scoffed. She didn’t say anything. Because she kind of agreed that it was bullshit. But she couldn’t move in with Harry. Not when he just admitted he liked her the way she did. It set her heart into a dramatic flutter. Being legally bound would hopefully be enough of a reason for Harry to agree to let her stay until her lease ran out. Then she could figure out her next steps. “Fine,” he decided after a moment. “The black debit card in m’wallet will take care of it.”

She snorted unable to hide her shock. “Harry, you can’t—”

“M’done arguing with you ‘bout this, Bunny.” She frowned and looked at her hand, turning her wrist and wincing ever so slightly. “Is your wrist okay?” He asked.

She shrugged and answered instinctively. “It hurts; but I’ve had worse,” she gasped at her own mistake almost instantly. “Oh fuck, I mean—” she stopped speaking. It didn’t matter. It was too late. Harry saw through it and understood exactly what she meant. He clenched the steering wheel tighter and he swallowed. The bob in his throat looked like he was drinking a glass of nails.

“Did he ever hurt you like this before?” Harry’s voice was an octave lower than she ever heard it. His eyes narrowed as he stared forward.

She didn’t want to make matters any worse, so she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. For several seconds, the car seemed so silent it was as if the tires weren’t even on the ground anymore or if she was breathing.

“Harry,” she whispered eventually.

Harry took a deep breath not liking the tone of her voice and pulled off to the side of the road.

“What are we— Harry!”

Before she could understand what was happening, Harry was outside and opening his trunk and the car doors locked her inside. Instantly, he pulled out one of the back-up sticks he had in case his two in the locker room broke in the middle of a game (or if he wanted to practice while he was home on the pond out back). He slammed it hard on the pavement multiple times grunting as he did until the stick snapped. Then he grabbed a second and repeated this process again, swearing and cursing like he was imagining Kael was under the stick.

Once satisfied with his destruction, he collected the broken pieces and dropped them in the back before sitting in the driver’s seat again, his breathing only slightly elevated.

She stared at him wildly. Her eyes were wide and beautiful. “If he touches you again, m’killing him,” he said simply. It was a promise. His breath was heavy from the exertion.

She nodded; Harry put the car in drive and continued back toward his place. His hand went right back on her thigh, which she still found comforting and warm, even though she had only had the luxury of his hand on her for no more than a few minutes. “Okay,” she whispered hoping there wouldn’t be an again to speak of.

Harry let the silence linger again. “My apartment is the other way,” she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “I just told you, Rookie, y’not living there anymore.”

“Oh my God, Harry. You can’t be serious.”

He snorted. “No. I am. As a heart attack.”

“Harry I can’t move in—”

“Of course, y’can. I have like five bedrooms. Pick one. Pick three for all I care.”

She swallowed. “What if I pick your bedroom?” She was attempting to lighten the mood, maybe. Harry wasn’t sure. Or maybe she was trying (and failing) to be annoying. But Harry was never annoyed by her. He was amused at worst. She was adorable. Every little thing she did was adorable.

“Then it’s yours,” he shrugged. He was hardly home during the season anyway. With his niece, Mum, and Gem out of town, he wasn’t home much in the off-season either. He could easily move into another room if she wanted his. In fact, he probably would give her his room. It wasn’t the only one with a bathroom, but it had a nice tub that he knew was being wasted without proper use and it felt like she deserved a relaxing night to soak in the tub until she got pruney and everything else that stressed her in her life disappeared.

“I thought you didn’t bring women home to stay,” she reminded him.

“Never had one that I wanted t’bring home,” he shrugged.

She pressed her head to the window. He was quick. Didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll stay tonight, but I’m not moving in. My uncle is going to kill you.”

He shrugged. “S’a long line of Glacier Wolves who’ll want t’kill me before him.” She giggled softly under her breath. Harry glanced at her peripherally and smirked at the little smile that graced her lips. “M’niece is over a lot in the off season,” he told her. “Gem and Mum come by too. So s’had women there before.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then, yeah. Never had a woman I wanted to bring home,” he repeated. Harry parked in his driveway, turned to her, his hand still on her thigh and honestly, she never wanted it to move.

“Are we still friends?” She blurted. He just admitted he liked her. It was no secret she liked him too. It could make things very awkward going forward so she wouldn’t blame him if he really didn’t want to be friends any longer.

“What a weird fucking question, Rookie,” he shook his head.

“Can you just tell me?”

“Yes, we’re still fucking friends. Despite the fact I would love t’be more.”

She closed her eyes. “He really fucked me up, Harry,” she whispered. “He... he wanted some trophy girlfriend that doted on him and worshipped him for being a good hockey player. He didn’t want me to be my own person. He didn’t want me to have my own hobbies or interests. Like I was nothing, a nobody—”

“Rookie,” he whispered.

“—and I just let him treat me that way. Because it was easier than confronting it—”

“Rookie.”

“—So I don’t want to keep falling for you because you... you’re so talented and you will overshadow me and you should. But it’s so fucking cold living in the shadow of someone else and I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

He winced. “Bunny,” he wanted her to stop.

“I don’t love that nickname either,” she sighed. “I want to. It’s cute and it’s even cuter when you say it. But the connotation of being a puck bunny is just more of what Kael insinuated and I don’t—”

“I don’t think you are a puck bunny. S’not why I call you that. Y’wrinkle your nose like a bunny when y’concentrate. S’the first thing I noticed when I met y’taking pictures rink-side. And you’re always going and going like the little Energizer bunny. But mostly, s’because you’re so fucking cute like a bunny. S’honestly nearly nauseating sometimes.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed trying to keep all the feelings of falling for another hockey player at bay. “So, I make you sick?”

He smiled. “Excessively.”

“And you want me anyway?”

“Excessively,” he whispered cupping her face. She leaned into the touch, closed her eyes, and sank into the way his hand caressed her cheek for a moment.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and looked at him shyly. “You probably know that he cheated on me,” she reminded him. “And the worst of it, I don’t know if it was the first time, and I don’t want to know. Because I already felt stupid for letting him belittle me and letting me forget parts of myself.”

Harry tilted his head back fully staring at the ceiling for a moment. “Yeah...” And now Harry knew this wasn’t the first time he had hurt her either. Whether it was intentional or not.

“And...” she swallowed. “I don’t think you’re like him... if you take anything away from this conversation, please know that I think you’re nothing like him. You’re up front about most of everything. He kept things from me. But... you’re you and you could have any woman you want in any city you want. I don’t fault you for that—I really hope you know that... but I don’t want to be a number anymore, Harry. I don’t want to feel like an idiot, and I don’t think you would intentionally make me feel like an idiot but—”

“Bunny,” he interrupted, turning back to gaze into her eyes so intensely it felt like everything around them disappeared except for the space between them. The seriousness in his green eyes made her stomach flip. They seemed darker. Like the color was changing to a darker shade to explain how serious he was and how he meant every word that spilled from his mouth. “I think you’re brilliant,” he whispered. “In every facet of your life. I’ve thought about nothing but hockey m’whole life. It has been eat, sleep, and breathe ice, pucks, and sticks. The second I met you, every thought has been ‘bout you,” he reminded her. “If I never played another game of hockey, I really think I would be okay s’long as y’were around.”

Her heart felt like it was broken and whole all at the same time. It was too sweet. She bit the inside of her lip. “Well, I don’t want that,” she whispered. “You’re quite good,” she reminded him.

He chuckled. “The point remains, Rookie... I want you t’have everything y’could possibly want. I want t’do anything I can t’help y’achieve anything y’want t’do.”

She looked at her lap. “I can’t believe you went to get a drink.”

“I really didn’t think y’would be there... was hoping I’d run into Louis and maybe he would know if y’were okay. Y’never answered my texts. Didn’t tell me y’made it home.” he frowned. “Why did y’lie t’me, Bunny?”

She took a deep breath. “The whole team has been so nice to me,” she whispered. “I’m not really used to that...” she trailed off. “Callie got so many penalties, you had to interrupt your post-game cool down to walk me to your car, everyone wants to take shifts to watch me... you have to drive me home, give me one of your car... I’ve seriously disrupted your lives... and it was all just too much today. I don’t want to bother you guys. You didn’t sign up to have a kid or a pet you need to watch. Uncle Charlie didn’t have to give me a job with a hockey team. I feel like I didn’t earn anything. It’s so sweet that all of you care, but it’s weird for me...”

God, she was cute. Even sad she was cute. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Y’haven’t disrupted our lives,” he promised. “We’d do this for anyone.”

“That’s comforting I suppose.”

“C’mon, s’late... we have a game tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

“Course, Rookie,” he squeezed her leg one more time and then got out of the car. (As she predicted, she hated the feeling of Harry’s hand anywhere else but her thigh.)

Entering his house, Harry kicked off his shoes and headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. She texted her group chat with Michael and Marc as she flopped onto the couch until she got more direction from Harry.

I’m at someone’s house for the night so don’t worry about me.

Michael reacted to her message with a thumbs up.

It better be a HOT hockey player.

Michael reacted to Marc’s message with a thumbs down.

Good night, Marc!

I want every INCH of detail

That earned a vomiting emoji from Michael. I do NOT want any details.

GOOD NIGHT MARC

Harry hated that he had a big house. If they were at her apartment, they could have been squished in her bed right then. She wouldn’t be down the hall and half of Harry’s mattress wouldn’t have felt so cold. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Fortunately, his phone vibrated almost immediately. Like she somehow knew he was awake.

Are you awake?

M-hmm

Can we get breakfast, please?

Harry would throw himself down a set of stairs for her if she asked. “You could jus’ come in here t’ask,” he called.

“I’m creating boundaries!” She answered from a guest room. “Besides this bed is comfy and I don’t want to get up,” she giggled.

“Well, I don’t want boundaries,” he grumbled to himself. He wondered if she slept without pants on. Not that it mattered. He was turned on by the thought of her naked in his bed or if she was in a full snow suit.

“What did you say?” She called.

“Nothing,” he grumbled and pressed the palm of his hand over the front of his shorts willing the blood to rush anywhere but his dick at the thought of her in a goddamn snow suit. “I just have t’shower,” he mumbled.

“Okay, I’ll be here,” she sighed, and Harry could picture her snuggling herself further into the mattress. Maybe it was for the best she was in another room. If she was there looking all cute and cuddly on his bed, he would have to quit hockey. He would probably spend the rest of his life worshipping her on his mattress in every possible way.

Plus, his dick would never be anything but hard.

“Jesus, fuck,” he sighed to himself under the spray of the warm shower. He tried to think about anything but her pretty self in the other room. In his house. In his bed. In his clothes. She was probably changing into her uniform from the night before, so at least he wouldn’t see her in the shirt and shorts he gave her to wear for bed.

He shook his head and focused on shower and not what it would feel like to press her against the tile or—

“Fuuuuck,” he touched his forehead against the tile. Hockey. Defense. Goals. Niall. That’s good. Niall, gross. Callie—FUCK Callie. Asher owes me ten dollars for betting Lang wouldn’t say “good effort” in their pool game the other day.

His shower took twice as long to shower because he had to actively think about something other than his pretty friend. Once he was out, he slipped into a pair of sweats and one of his long sleeve practice shirts. As he put on his deodorant, he realized it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize what she was doing as he got dressed. “Rookie, you are not,” he called as he hurried down the hall.

“Not what?” She asked innocently.

“Doing my dish—Rookie, what the hell!”

“They were just there! And I was bored, Harry. Plus, you didn’t say I couldn’t!”

“I told you last time.”

“Well yeah, but that was last time.”

“Please stop,” he begged and rubbed a hand over his face. “We’re supposed t’be going t’breakfast.”

“Well, I figured while you took two years to get ready,” it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes max but maybe his effort to not think about her in his shower took longer than he thought, “I would make myself useful,” she shrugged and set the final dish on the drying rack beside his sink. She turned the water off and ran the dishtowel over the counter and edge surrounding the sink. She turned, leaning against the counter. Her black and silver uniform top for The Locker Room was on her again. Her leggings from the night before clung to her legs like a second skin.

He wondered how she could look so cute after working a hectic, busy shift, then slept all night and it barely looked like she had a hair out of place. “What?” She asked looking down at her shirt. “Do I have something on this? We’ll have to stop at my apartment first if I do. I’m not going out with you to breakfast when you look hot and I look like trash,” she frowned.

He snorted. “Y’don’t look like trash, Rookie.”

“Well, do I smell or something?”

“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You’re beautiful. Stunning really,” he shrugged one shoulder and reached out to touch her face. He skimmed his thumb along her cheek wishing he could lean in and kiss her until they were both breathless. He smiled softly enjoying the way her cheek warmed under his touch. For someone so snarky, she was awfully shy. “Let’s go,” he tilted his head toward the main hallway. He made his way before she could read into it as he was sure she was wont to do.

Harry opened her passenger door and smiled wickedly at her as she got in. “What?” She asked, her eyebrows pinching together.

“You think I’m hot,” he sang.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Harry chuckled, closing her inside.

Kael didn’t play because he was injured. The report sustained it happened at practice the day before but everyone on The Chargers bench knew. Kael kept his gear on but moved to the end of the bench for the starters and lines of his teammates that would be playing. He hardly cheered, hardly moved.

The rest of The Wolves sent death glares to everyone on the team. Harry was checked into the boards more times than he could count. But every time he caught sight of the pretty photographer twirling her wrist in between photos, he felt grateful for each hit. She continued to take pictures, placing her camera into the cutouts of the glass around the ice.

Kael hid from pictures from his own media specialist, the news outlets, and even the fans during the game and in between periods.

“Coward,” Asher growled as they left the ice and headed to the locker room at the end of the game. The group that typically resided in the back of The Locker Room was livid when they found out from Harry that Kael hurt her. They too must have seen the way she twisted her wrist around between pictures. Harry wondered if she noticed she was doing it. It ate at him that it wasn’t the first time that piece of garbage hurt her. There was nothing Harry could do—well, maybe if he ever did figure out time travel, he could. But for now, he could take the hits from Kael’s stupid team and make sure the pretty photographer was okay.

Besides.

He may have had a tough game physically, but Harry was truly on cloud nine.

“Sweetheart, you good?” Lang called from the front of the line heading back toward the locker room.

“I’m good!” She answered.

Harry didn’t even care that Niall was walking alongside her and not him. Or that Callie gave her arm a squeeze when he walked by. It didn’t bother him that Asher was as irate as him either.

Because the word Styles was on her body. It was purposeful. If Kael paid attention, he would see it. He would know she supported Harry, regardless of how outlandish it was (or wasn’t) that he defended her last night. Harry knew the second he saw it, that Kael was going to look at the pretty girl with his number on her and start fuming in his seat. Maybe that’s why his team aimed for him so vehemently throughout the game as well.

Whatever, Harry could take it.

It was well worth it to see his name on her jersey.

Harry realized it was his time to shine after they went out for breakfast. He drove her to get her car at Louis’. He followed her home to the shady apartment building. He wasn’t in the mindset to leave her for any bit of time given the night before. Maybe not for a good few days either if he had it his way. They had away games coming up so they would be all but trapped together on a plane, a bus, and in a hotel so that was in his favor.

He really hoped she would be in a nearby room at the hotel. Or better yet, there wouldn’t be enough rooms, and he could share his with her.

“Why’d you choose eleven?” She asked when she came out of her room after getting ready. She was fluffing her pretty hair and tugging at the hem of the jersey that she had put on. It took a moment to register in Harry’s mind that she was talking to him and was anticipating a response. In her mind, it was no big deal that she was nonchalantly wearing his name and number. That she was by far the prettiest thing he had ever seen. The sweetest person he knew.

He swore his heart skipped a beat as his vision refocused on the lovely girl wearing his name on her back.

He cleared his throat. “S’the first number I ever got,” he shrugged. “But now I say m’so good, m’number twice.”

She grinned and laughed quietly under her breath as she put earrings on with The Chargers logo. “I like that. You are very good. I’ve seen a lot of hockey myself. I like to think I’m a good judge of ability.”

When Harry was younger, he thought if he could have a superpower, he would want to time travel. As he got older it changed a bit, he wanted super strength so he could be the strongest hockey player. Read minds so he could predict the movements of opponents on the ice. Since he met her, he returned to the tried and true: if he could time travel, he could figure out twenty seconds after he kissed her if she hated him or kiss him back, he would have done it right then.

He smirked. “So m’the lucky one today?” He asked pulling on the sleeve.

“I don’t know, does wearing someone’s jerseys constitute as lucky for the day?”

He nodded. “Yeah, very much so, Rookie.”

“Then sure; you’re very lucky, Harry,” she rolled her eyes.

Harry had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his smile from splitting his face in half. He turned away slightly and caught sight of a string of pictures on her little kitchen bar. “What’s all this?” He asked, picking up a photo and inspecting it. It was one of the ones she took while Harry was practicing before the rest of the team showed up. Another photo she got laying down on the ice of Callie’s skates when Harry wanted to rip his teammate’s arm off for holding her so close that day. One from Niall’s empty net. Another of Asher’s locker, his jersey on display. A close up of the C on Lang’s jersey. One of just the empty rink—no fans, no players, nothing.

“Oh... I don’t know,” she looked away shyly piling them together. “I was playing with the idea of making a series of photos,” she flipped one over to indicate the back showed the number three in the line. “You guys are attractive and stuff, but I thought there was a lot of beauty in the little things behind the bench, you know? It’s not just fights and points. The rink is so pretty,” she shrugged.

Harry grabbed her hand before she could stack any more of them away. He looked at each of the pictures painstakingly selected from the hundreds of photos she took each day. The way the light shone off a helmet, the way a shadow fell on the bench. “They’re beautiful, Bunny. Why don’t y’do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make it a series?”

She shook her head. “No... I don’t know. Not many people care about sports photography,” she shrugged. “Not like this anyway.”

“Rookie, I think every team owner and manager in the league would pay t’have this set in their arena.”

“No way, there’s not a single headshot of a star player. In sports, the only thing that really sells by far is you guys and your pretty faces,” she patted his cheek. “It’s tragic, I have some incredible photos of a few baseball diamonds at sunset. But there’s no fans and no players so it just wouldn’t sell well.”

“Show me,” he urged.

She sighed and put her jacket over “We’re going to be late, Harry. Uncle Charlie is already going to be annoyed with me that I’m wearing your jersey. And so will the rest of the team.”

“They all had their turn, Rookie, y’made me wait forever,” he grumbled. They didn’t have to be annoyed. They didn’t have a crush on her the way Harry did. They all knew that. His teammates were his family, but they made him cranky no less; teasing him about how smitten he was about their photographer.

She smiled sadly. “Harry,” she sighed. “I’ll show you another time.”

“Promise?” He pleaded.

“Promise?” She repeated in disbelief. Harry was nearly thirty years old and sounded like he was in kindergarten.

“Promise you’ll show me,” he said pointedly.

“Alright, yeah," She shook her head, sighed with a smile still on her lips. "I promise.”

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#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #hockey!harry styles #pucking rookie

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madlori · 49 minutes ago

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Since I just rewatched it, this is what immediately sprung to mind.

There are two episodes in season 1 of "Outlander," the final two, in fact, that are notoriously difficult to watch. Jamie Fraser, the male protagonist, is imprisoned at the mercy of Black Jack Randall, a sadist who is sexually and emotionally obsessed with Jamie (Randall is not presented as particular gay or straight - his sexuality is cruelty, basically) and has been for years.

Randall tortures Jamie and rapes him repeatedly. Neither the book nor the show pull any punches with this. You see it, in visceral intensity. When he is rescued by his comrades and Claire, the female protagonist (his wife), he withdraws and becomes suicidal, until she all but forces him to talk about his experience and begin to heal from it. It's on ongoing plot thread for some time, his recovery from this trauma. We see echoes of it even recently in season 7, when over 30 years have passed since this incident.

Many viewers of the show find these scenes too upsetting to watch, and skip them. This is 100% valid and I definitely understand having that reaction.

These scenes are among some of my favorites.

Not because I enjoy the thought of someone being hurt in very deep, personal ways, or because I'm the kind of person who thinks that's great (I am not). If this were real, I'd have a very different reaction. But it's not real.

It's because I find the exploration of depravity, of what makes someone carry it out and how the victim responds to it, interesting. The performances are absolutely stunning. The brutality is difficult, but I am not bothered by difficult. I find these scenes emotionally affecting, but they don't disturb me on a personal level. I enjoy content that is difficult.

I am not alone in this. Humans want to touch the abyss. It's normal. Fiction allows us to do this in a safe way where no one is being harmed.

I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.

#cw: rape #cw: rape mention #cw: torture #outlander

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golden-cherry · 3 days ago

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deal - cl16 (49/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Climbing up the mountain can be very freeing.

Warnings: angst (self-doubt, insecurities, mentions of abuse in a relationship, Charles is very insecure about himself), the end is a bit fluffy, but don't expect too much

Word Count: 4.1k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: I feel like this describes Charles well. I cried when writing this chapter. I hope you like it. feedback is appreciated.

It is the first time in years that Charles has no desire to climb the mountain on those stupid skis.

His feet hurt, he is cold even though the jacket he is wearing is suitable for even colder temperatures, and his hands are so stiff from the frigid air that they painfully curl around his ski poles.

The snow blinds him because of the bright sun, his bones feel heavy, somehow his mouth is so dry that he would like to rinse it with water every five meters.

But maybe that's just because he'd rather be at home in Monaco. Because that's where you are. And there is no place he would rather be right now.

Closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in the apartment was incredibly difficult. He would have loved to put you in his bag and take you with him, but you would only have distracted him from training.

And if he wants to be world champion one day, he can't afford to make any mistakes.

It's been two days since he's seen you and heard your voice. In the morning, when he wakes up and gets ready for the day, you are still fast asleep, and during his training, Andrea has his phone so that Charles can collect his thoughts and stay focused. Only in the evening, when Charles is in bed, he manages to text you a few messages before falling asleep, cell phone in hand, completely exhausted.

He misses you every second.

Before he met you, he would never have imagined that he could miss someone he had only known for a few days so much. He had missed Annika from time to time, after all, he had definitely loved her at some point, but he had never longed for her or anyone else the way he did for you now.

As soon as he has a moment to himself, whether it's in the shower or on the toilet or when Andrea isn't bothering him with calories or carbohydrates or protein for a moment, he misses you so much that he can almost feel the physical distance between you.

But most of all, he misses you in the morning when he wakes up. When he is in that one second when he is neither sleeping nor fully awake. Snuggled up warm in the blanket and against the pillow, where in the evening he imagines it would be your body that he is snuggling up to. And in the morning, for a brief moment, it feels as if you are actually lying next to him, which is why the second he realizes that you are miles away from him hurts the most.

“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, who has slowed down a little to run up the hill next to Charles. ”You're suspiciously quiet.”

Charles, who hasn't realized that he has slowed down at all, looks at his trainer in confusion. “Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

Andrea shrugs. ”Usually you're chattering away at me during training. That usually helps you to distract yourself from how exhausting it is.”

He has a point there. Charles pushes himself forward on his skis. “I don't know. This time I don't feel like you're torturing me up this mountain. It's still the same route we usually take, isn't it?” He looks around as if he can recognize the surroundings.

Andrea raises his eyebrows and also picks up the pace. ‘We're in a completely different area, Charles.’ He points to another mountain with his gloved hand.

If his friend hadn't told him, the man from Monaco would never have noticed, so absorbed is he in his thoughts about you. The mountain Andrea is pointing to seems more familiar to him than the one in front of them. And a lot smaller. If they had taken the familiar route, they would have been at the summit long ago.

“You asshole,” Charles curses and wipes his face. ‘Why did you choose a different mountain? And especially one that's higher?”

Andrea can't help but grin. ’You came in second in the championship this year. I'm hoping that if we increase your training, you'll come in first next season and...”

“And what?” Charles interrupts his trainer. "The whole thing is useless if my strategists and the whole team mess up so much during the race. I can train as much as I want. It won't work." He gets so caught up in it that he doesn't notice how quickly he pushes himself up the mountain on his skis.

“Charles –”

“No, Andrea. This whole thing cost me the title. Wrong tires? Last-minute changes in the pit? What the hell?” he gets worked up. He knows that his anger is unfairly directed at the wrong person, after all Andrea is only there for Charles's well-being and not for what happens on the track, but it just comes spilling out. And he can't stop it.

His ski poles dig deep into the white snow, which Charles barely notices. He only sees the summit in front of him and hears Andrea breathing loudly next to him as he continues to complain.

“It's not right that I come in second because of such little things! If I had caused accidents, then at least it would have been my fault and I could have dealt with it more easily,” he says, annoyed. ”But what kind of stupid plans were these, anyway? Even a toddler could come up with a better strategy!”

Andrea, who knows full well that Charles needs to vent his anger, walks quietly beside him and lets the storm pass over him. It's not often that Charles gets this angry. And normally he blames himself, but he certainly doesn't take such serious mistakes on his head.

Charles knows that making mistakes is an inevitable part of competition, and sometimes, they're the difference between standing at the top of the podium and finishing second. Being the runner-up in a championship can feel bittersweet – so close to victory, yet just short of it.

Being second in the championship feels like a mix of pride and frustration. On one hand, Charles has achieved something incredible – outperforming almost everyone, proving his skill and showing that he deserves to sit in the red car with the horse on it. But on the other hand, there's that lingering thought inside of his head – he was so close. The tiniest mistakes, the small miscalculations in his strategies, or someone else having a slightly better day made the difference in the end.

There's this ache inside of him, knowing he was almost the champion. The podium felt different when he looked up at Max Verstappen holding the trophy he desperately craved. Charles felt a lot of things in that moment – disappointment, regret and even anger – at himself, the situation, the team and at the margin that kept him from winning.

“I could have won the title. Max will definitely win the next season too, as strong as Red Bull is. How will I ever live up to my reputation then?” He clenches his jaw. ”I feel like I'm stuck with what I'm doing now. And I'm doing my best, Andrea. I really am. But it's apparently not enough. Do you know how incredibly frustrating that is?”

Being second carries a unique weight – a strange middle ground between triumph and heartbreak. And hell, Charles heart broke with every race that put more distance between his and Max's points. He feels like a failure, like he failed his team, his family and friends. He failed his fans, that support him through every decision he makes on and off track, that defend him whenever he makes a mistake during races.

And it haunts him. What if he had pushed just a little harder, made one less mistake, reacted a second faster? What if he made a different decision that would've outweighed the mistakes his team made? What if he became world champion in the famous red car he worked so hard to get into? The famous red car that his dad loved so much?

Disappointing his dad was the worst part of it all. It was a different kind of pain, heavy and crushing. It's not just about failing at something – Charles feels like he simply isn't good enough. Like he let someone down who believed in him. He could have been champion this year – he was so close to standing on top of the podium. What if he never gets this close to winning? What if he never holds the big trophy in his hands, dedicating it to his dad, who always wanted to see him drive in the Ferrari?

Charles' anger has been building up for so long that he doesn't know where to put it. If only he had concentrated more on the season and hadn't been so distracted by his personal problems -

“And Annika. What a waste of time the whole thing was. I should never have gotten involved with her. I should have ended the relationship when I realized that she wasn't the one. When I realized that I couldn't give her the attention that a healthy relationship requires.”

Charles would never admit it, but Annika’s betrayal in their relationship cut deeper than expected. It’s not just about broken promises – it’s about broken trust, the foundation of any meaningful connection. It shook everything Charles believed to be true about Annika – or love in general.

The worst part wasn’t the act itself or that he caught them right in the act, but the realization that someone he trusted with his heart made the choice to hurt him. After the break-up he questioned everything – was any of it real? Was Annika lying to him the whole time? Even after everything, the wounds linger.

Some betrayals are survivable with time and effort, but others leave scars that never fully heal. They change people – it changed Charles. It hardened his heart, made love feel dangerous to him and made him create walls where there once was openness.

He guarded himself like a survival instinct. At first, it was solely for protection – he told himself that if he didn’t let anyone in, nobody could hurt him. The walls became his shield, keeping out disappointment, rejection, and the risk of being vulnerable again.

But over the course of the weeks, Charles noticed the walls he put up brick by brick didn’t just keep the pain out – they kept everything out. Love. Connection. The chance to feel something real. Hell, he didn’t even tell his Maman that he was back home in Monaco. He pushed his family away, his friends, acting cold and distant – not because he didn’t want love, but because he’s so scared of what happened when he let someone else in.

It took Charles some time to figure out the truth, that the walls didn’t keep him safe and sound – they kept him stuck. They stopped him from healing, from growing, from experiencing the things that make life meaningful. But he was so scared of breaking them down when it took him so long to put them up, that he didn’t know what to do when he met you.

It was terrifying, letting you in slowly and hesitantly. He’s spent so long guarding himself, convincing himself that no one except his close ones can be trusted, that it almost felt unnatural to let you in. At first, he resisted, kept his distance. But the fact that you didn’t even know who he was felt so good, made him feel safe to share his story with you and then – you stayed. You didn’t push too hard, but you didn’t walk away either.

Surely, this friendship has had it’s ups and downs, but this is what happenes when two people, who protected themselves so much that they become too careful, too hesitant to let someone in fully.

And instead of forcing your way through, you waited. You were there. You proved in small, consistent ways, that you’re not like the woman who made him built those walls in the first place.

And then, without realizing it, he stopped expecting the worst. He let you see his wounds, his fears, his past, and instead of running, you stayed. You stayed with him through awkward dinner conversations about his ex, you stayed with him when he didn’t correct his family about your relationship status, you stayed when he overstepped the boundaries of your friendship. Your gentle touch, your honest conversations while burning Annika’s things.

You stayed when he revealed to you who he really is. You see him – the real him – and don’t flinch at what you see. Little by little, cracks form in his defenses. He finds himself wanting to trust again, to love again, even though it scares him to death.

When you look at him, it feels like sunlight creeping through the cracks in the fortress he thought were unbreakable. It was unsettling at first after being in the dark for some time. But you didn’t break down his walls in a dramatic, earth-shattering way.

It was quiet. Subtle. It sneaked up to him in moments he didn’t even realize – they way you looked at him when he played your song on the piano in the bookshop, when you let him hold you while you cried like his arms were the safest place in the world, when you showed him that you want him for who he is.

But even though you broke down most of his walls, he still can’t admit that you’re all he needs.

He can’t let you in fully after what Annika did to him, he can’t let you touch him like he wants you to. He can’t let himself feel so much for you because what if those feelings he has for you – the feelings he swore he’d never harbour for anyone again – are not enough for you?

What if he gives you his all and you decide that it’s not enough? That he is not enough? He can’t tell you why he doesn’t want you to touch him, because what if you’ll see him differently? What if the things he wants, he needs, are different from what you want?

He feels like he isn’t good enough. The scars Annika left on him made him question his worth, his value, his ability to be loved. There are moments where he feels too far gone, too damaged, not strong enough to break free from the fear of losing you that he’d rather keep you at arms length hurting himself than push you away and out of his life.

He can’t let you touch him after Annika, because sex with her felt wrong, like he was broken because he wanted different things than her. Because he craved intimacy like his life depended on it, the safety that comes with it, but it always felt like he needed to deliver, even if he didn’t want to. It felt like a chore, no gentle touches or loving words, only demanding hands and lips and thighs and he swore to himself he’ll never let it happen again.

If you don’t touch him at all, there’s no chance you could hurt him like that.

He’d rather give you all he’s able to give instead of letting you return anything.

“I could have waited for…”

“Charles.” Andreas‘ voice is gentle and soothing, in contrast to Charles’. When the man from Monaco looks at his friend, he smiles at him. ”We're here.”

The wind howls at the summit, biting and cold, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel it. He can’t feel anything except the weight that presses down on his chest. He stands there on top oft he world – and all the space in the world couldn’t quiet the chaos inside him.

Andrea chose this route to help Charles clear his head, the mountain was supposed to be his escape, his victory. He climbed every inch of it, each slide of his skis pushing him further from the mess he feels inside. The view from the top is actually breathtaking: endless stretches of jagged peaks, skies that feel closer than ever. He should feel something – pride, accomplishment, freedom. But instead, there’s only the overwhelming silence that gnawed at him.

For a moment, everything is still. He pulls his beanie and glasses from his head, closing his eyes and trying to ground himself in the beauty around him, but the images, the memories, everything – it all comes flooding back. The things he can’t outrun. The words that had been sad. The choices that had left him fractured and alone.

A sob caught in his throat, sharp and unexpected and he falls to his knees in the white snow at his feet. The tries to fight it, but the tears come anyway – slow at first, then faster and harder. They burn against the cold wind, mixing with the salt of the sweat on his skin – and he can’t stop them.

They stand for everything he hasn’t been able to say, everything he has be scared to face. He thought he could bury it, hide it behind the walls he built, behind the distance from it all.

His hand tremble on his thighs, his chest tightening with every broken breath. His vision blurred, the edges oft he mountain fading into the background. It doesn’t matter that he’s at the top – he feels smaller than ever. The tears slip down his cheeks like a rush of a river too long dammed.

„I’m not enough“, he whispered almost unaudibly. A confession only the mountains and his friend could hear. „I’m never going to be enough.“

The world stretched out before him, magnificent and indifferent, and in that moment, he realized that being on top oft he mountain didn’t mean escaping it all. He had climbed all this way, but he couldn’t outrun himself. The hurt, the mistakes, the weight of everything he’d buried deep inside.

He doesnt flinch when he feels Andrea’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing and reassuring him that whatever he feels right now is okay. That the tears that fall down onto the snow have their right to exist after being bottled up for so long.

The sobs faded, leaving him gasping for air in the stillness of the summit. He wiped his face, trying to wipe away the brokennes, but it lingered in his chest. His hands still trembling from the release, from the rawness that had bubbled to the surface. For a long moment, he just sits there, the wind biting at him, the emptiness inside him as a vast as the world stretched out before him.

And then it hit him, like a sudden punch that knocked the breath from his lungs.

You.

Your laugh. Your smile. The way you always seem to know what he’s thinking, the way you care in the quietest ways – how you’ve been there for him, even when he pushed you away. How, despite everything, you stayed.

He tried so hard to tell himself that he’s better off alone, that he doesn’t need anyone else to fill the empty spaces inside him. He thought he could bury his feelings, run from the truth. He has told himself that love was something to fear, something that could trap him, break him, leave him just as broken as he’d been before.

But now, sitting on top of the world, it all makes sense.

He loves you. He always has. He can feel it in every part of him, the truth that has been there all along, buried under layers of fear and pride. It’s not something he can outrun, not anymore. He can’t ignore the way his heart always beats faster when you’re near, the way everything seems to fall into place when you smile at him, the way your presence has been the one thing that feels like home.

The moment of realization hits him like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. It’s undeniable.

He loves you.

Not in the casual, passing way he once tried to convice himself was enough for his relationship with Annika, but in a deeper, truer sense. It’s always been you – only you. Right from the start when the both of you stood in the small apartment.

But the weight o fit, the sheer force of that truth, felt like it could crush him, especially when he realizes how long he’s been running from it.

His heart races, pounding hard in his chest, but it isn’t the kind of excitement he thought would come with such a revelation. Instead, it is quiet terror. The terror of feeling too much. Of feeling anything at all.

His breath comes in shallow gasps as the cold mountain air cuts through him. It isn’t the altitude or the wind that chills him – it’s the fear of being too vulnerable again. Of letting anyone close enough to hurt him. The thought of telling you, of exposing his raw, vulnerable part of himself, feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to climb back down.

He stares out over the vast horizon, the world stretching out endlessly beneath him, and for a moment, he considers it. The possibility of going back, of telling you everything he has just realized. But the thought of your eyes on him, the weight of the words, the vulnerability—it‘s too much. Too raw. Too dangerous.

So, he stays silent. He stays with the truth, buried deep inside of him. The love he feels for you is now his secret, locked away like a fragile thing, too delicate to share. He can‘t find the courage to let it out—not now, not after everything that had happened.

But there is something about knowing, about feeling it — just knowing that he can love again — that makes the world feel a little less heavy. It isn’t perfect, and it doesn‘t fix everything, but it is enough. For the first time in a long time, he doesn‘t feel so broken. He isn’t empty. He is filled with something — something soft, something he thought was gone forever.

Maybe he isn’t ready to tell you. Maybe he will never be ready. But the knowledge that love still exists in him — that it can still find him, even after everything — is enough to hold onto for now. It isn’t a victory, not in the way he wants, but it is a beginning. And in that, there is a quiet peace. A peace that, despite all the fear and hesitation, he coul still feel, still hope.

And that, for the moment, is enough.

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solxamber · 3 days ago

Note

Leona romantic and here's the song!

https://youtu.be/nBteO-bU78Y?si=BNupz7ZfAHeIzMER

Dont forget to drink water and eat some food!

"Love me like I love you" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: We're Still Underground by Eve

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 660

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship

Leona Kingscholar had never trusted happiness. It was a fleeting thing, a trick of the light, a cruel joke whispered on the wind before it was snatched away. He had learned long ago that hope was a losing game, that people only stuck around until they found something—or someone—better.

So when you came into his life, so bright and unwavering, so determined to love him without reservation, Leona didn’t know what to do with it.

You were everything he had convinced himself he wasn’t meant to have. Soft laughter in the morning, your fingers smoothing through his hair as he rested his head in your lap. Gentle kisses on the corner of his mouth, whispered words of affection given so freely it made his chest ache. You looked at him like he was worthy, like he was enough.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because one day, you would realize the truth.

One day, you would see what everyone else had always seen—that he wasn’t worth staying for.

Leona had been waiting for that day since the moment you first called him yours.

Waiting for you to wake up and understand that he could never be the person you deserved.

Waiting for the moment you left him behind.

It was late when it happened, when the words he had spent so long dreading finally left your lips. The two of you were tangled together on his bed, your body warm beside his, your hand resting against his chest in lazy contentment.

“I love you."

He froze.

For a moment, the words didn’t quite register, like a foreign language spoken too softly to understand.

Then, his body tensed, and something heavy lodged itself in his throat.

“Don’t joke about stuff like that,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. His voice was calm, but the grip of his fingers against the sheets betrayed him.

There was silence, thick and suffocating.

Then—

"Leona."

His name on your lips was firm, filled with something unshakable. Before he could move, you reached for his hand, gripping it tightly.

"Look at me."

He did.

And you were watching him with something so raw, so devastatingly real, that it made his heart stutter in his chest.

"I mean it," you said, voice steady, eyes burning into his. "I love you."

Something inside him cracked, something deep and buried, something he had spent years convincing himself didn’t exist.

His breath was uneven, his thoughts a mess of tangled emotions. "Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"Leona, you're it for me." Your fingers tightened around his hand, grounding him, keeping him from slipping back into the shadows of his own mind. "I love you. Not some idealized version of you, not some fantasy. You."

His throat felt tight.

You weren’t saying this because you wanted something from him, or because you were caught up in the moment.

"You think I want the sun?" you murmured, your forehead pressing against his, your warmth seeping into his skin. "I don’t care where we are, Leona. I don’t care if we never leave the underground. As long as I have you, that’s enough."

His fingers twitched, then curled around yours.

For so long, he had been waiting for the inevitable goodbye.

But you weren’t leaving.

You had never planned to.

Slowly, hesitantly, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, could feel the quiet certainty of your presence beside him.

And maybe, he could believe in this.

Maybe love wasn’t about climbing toward something unreachable. Maybe it wasn’t about being enough for the rest of the world.

Maybe it was simply this—two people standing in the dark, hands clasped tight, knowing that neither of them would ever let go.

And for the first time in his life—

Leona didn't mind remaining underground

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona #leona x reader #leona kingscholar #leona

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eddiegettingshot · 3 days ago

Note

your prompt for today: pink🩷

When their night out winds down, and they land on Eddie’s doorstep, Buck’s gut begins to prickle with sudden nerves, or maybe anticipation. He really can’t tell the difference. Strange, because he thought he’d been handling being on a first date with his best friend pretty well. After all, it’s a song and dance that’s usually about making a good first impression, and not only did that ship sail years ago, but Buck didn’t even get it right. So dinner just felt like dinner, except for the fact that Eddie kept their feet tucked together beneath the table the whole time.

Granted, there were a few days where Buck kept forgetting anything had changed between them if they weren’t physically together, if Eddie didn’t have a hand on him, like he’d lost all sense of object permanence where Eddie was concerned. What’s startling is that in most ways, nothing has.

Like this: Eddie turns to him now as he unlocks his front door, brow arched.

“What, you got somewhere else to be?” he asks.

Buck doesn’t bother asking what Eddie had seen in him, that he’d decided he needed to stake an explicit claim on the rest of Buck’s night (and, with luck, the morning?). It’s not like he’s in the habit of playing things close to the vest, but half the time he doesn’t even need to say a word—not to Eddie. He’d been peeled open long before he knew he had anything to confess.

Easy to imagine: himself, held in the tender cradle of Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s thumbs feeling down his center to find the tenderest spot, pushing deep all at once, prying him apart—through the rind of him, his ribcage, so all his insides, overripe with adoration, come spilling out into Eddie’s palms. That’s how it feels. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“No,” he says, shuffling closer. He’d been hanging back, playing with his car keys in his pocket. “No, I—I’m coming in.”

“Good.”

Eddie sounds so openly pleased. Warmth spills through Buck’s spine. He hadn’t considered that he wasn’t alone in this—bracing against some new humming energy, staring too closely at the back of Eddie’s neck—but he watches Eddie’s shoulders soften, right before he lets Buck inside.

Then, once Buck’s on the couch, thinking really intently about how they’re going to occupy it together (it’s been a busy week; they haven’t even seen enough of each other for Buck to have adapted to their new rules of engagement. Can he crawl into Eddie’s lap?), Eddie pauses, says, “Uh, hold on,” and bustles off to the kitchen.

He returns with a lighter for the candle sitting on the coffee table, which is—new. Buck hadn’t noticed until now. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie light a candle in all the years he’s spent in this house, and now his lip is trapped between his teeth as he does it, avoiding Buck’s eyes all the while.

It hits Buck hard and fast: Eddie is really, really nervous. And trying to be romantic, for Buck. And if he crawled into Eddie’s lap, probably Eddie would laugh, and let him; he’s allowed. And maybe nothing feels different but it’s all changed. That’s what Buck wants, for once. That’s what Eddie wants, judging by his wide dark eyes, flushed cheeks, the flickering candlelight. Sometimes Buck’s slow on the uptake. This time, he might have just been scared.

“You look nice,” Buck says.

Kind of bad timing—Eddie’s just in his socks; he’d shed his jacket and the fancy watch Buck’s only seen him break out a couple times; he’d undone the first couple of buttons on his shirt; he must have run his hands through his hair when he was out of sight, since it’s falling halfway down his forehead. Buck should have said something when he picked Eddie up—he’d thought it, then, but he had been so comfortable with Eddie in his passenger seat, he didn’t want to risk making things weird.

Eddie’s laugh is just a soft puff of air. He relaxes. “Thanks,” he says, coming around to sink down beside Buck, turning a knee out so they’re touching, as if by reflex.

“I like that color on you,” Buck continues. “Always have.”

“Hm,” Eddie says, smiling. He’s in rose pink. He’s also leaning closer, lifting a hand and brushing his fingertips down Buck’s brow, his cheek. His eyes flicker, and suddenly they’re trained on Buck’s mouth. Buck’s stomach swoops boyishly. “It’s a good color.”

Holy shit, Buck thinks, head full of jasmine and honey and smoke and the cologne Eddie’s wearing, something unfamiliar with an exotic spiced note. They kissed before—they’ve been kissing all week—except this time Buck starts whimpering before their lips meet, and Eddie swallows whatever strangled noise he makes with a grin. Buck lurches in, fisting urgent hands into the front of Eddie’s shirt.

“Eddie,” he pants after a while. It’s hard-won, because Eddie is demanding, and he bites. “Eddie, are you sure?”

Now that they’ve done it, like, really crossed the line, gotten a taste—he’s gotta know if this is what Eddie was looking for, when he told Buck he loved him. Not just the sex, which they’re definitely about to have—all of it. Buck shoves his knuckles against Eddie’s chest to feel his heart gallop, hard but steady like it grew Thoroughbred legs.

Eddie’s cupping his face in both hands while they kiss. He pulls away, not far, and surveys Buck the way he would a patient: like he’s trying to puzzle out what’s going on beneath Buck’s skin, in all the places he can’t quite reach.

“Buck,” he says, gently. “Of course.”

He pushes his thumb between Buck’s teeth. Satisfied, Buck drags him back in.

#my writing #hee hee ........ :) <3 <3 #i actually only reread this once and i'm being vulnerable by just posting it #february ficlets

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orthodera · 10 hours ago

Text

Okay so. I wasn't sure what to share at first but this hit me just now while I was trying to sleep. Also I'm putting this here instead of the tags because I anticipate it being a fair amount of text and I want to be able to use commas.

When I was a kid, at some point, I must've been about 9. I can't remember why, but I became obsessed with rolling. Like, I'd be standing in the grass, and I'd suddenly launch myself at the ground, and use the momentum to roll over and stand back up. Here's an illustration.

I have no idea why! I was an autistic child. But I practiced this for hours, usually to entertain myself while attending my sister's weekend soccer games, and became very good at it. I only ever did this on grass because I didn't hate myself. I was also mildly afraid of breaking my neck but I just. Kept doing it anyway?

Anyway. I eventually stopped doing this and kinda forgot how to do it at all. Then one day when I was 11, I was walking across the court at school with two of my friends, and I tripped. SLAM down onto the concrete. Except... Not really. Instead what happened was this:

I landed with momentum, minimising the impact, executed a perfect roll, and was back on my feet before I could even process what happened.

My friends stared at me in shock and horror. I stood there, amazed, still trying to understand what just happened. It felt exactly as sudden as it appears in my shitty diagram. I was standing, then I was down, and then I was standing again.

I landed on my shoulder, on concrete. It should've hurt. It didn't hurt at all. Muscle memory had kicked in and I had rolled like a fucking ball.

For the entire two years I was at that school, I brought it up over and over again, probably annoying everyone around me. Just looking at that patch of concrete made me laugh. It thought it could defeat me, but I had been training for that battle since before I met it. I survived with maybe a scuff mark on my shoe, a bit of dirt on my white uniform t-shirt, but completely unharmed. All because I was an autistic 9 year old. Hell yeah.

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

#stories about life #sorry this was way longer than i intended lol #i knew it would be long but not THAT long #i think i might just reblog this every now and then and add something new bc i have shitty memory and itd help me remmeber things #lore post

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vettelsvee · 2 days ago

Text

I'M SORRY, JULIET | Mick Schumacher

Mick Schumacher x Secret Girlfriend Vettel!Reader

SUMMARY: You're secretly dating Mick, both of you hiding it from everyone in your families until you get so happy about him getting his first points in Formula 1 that your father, Sebastian, ends up finding out

WORD COUNT: 2404

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of teen pregnancy (age 17 from Seb and Hanna), angst. Settled on 2022 British GP

VEE'S NOTES: I missed so much posting about Mick so I had to bring him back... even that means Seb is the "bad guy" here. Hope you like it and thanks for reading! I'll be waiting for your opinions <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

You hadn’t attended a Formula 1 race for longer than you could remember, and truthfully, you never thought you would again until Mick Schumacher started turning your world pink.

The boy had known you since you were a child, back when you would occasionally attend races hand in hand with your grandfather, Norbert. Your relationship deepened every time you saw each other in the paddock or at family gatherings, and despite the age difference between you, you grew closer and closer until you eventually fell in love with each other.

Even before your relationship began, you were both fully aware of the obstacles in your way. It wasn’t just the fact that Mick was six years older than you, but also that you were the children of two drivers who weren’t just former rivals and friends, but also were like family.

All of that, combined with the inevitable pressure from the press if they ever found out about your relationship, mattered little to Mick. One afternoon in mid-June, when the Schumachers and the Vettels had gathered together, he had decided to confess his feelings for you. At first, you were completely in shock, hearing from the lips of the very boy you had loved for years that he loved you too.

So, of course, when Mick asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend, you didn’t doubt to say yes.

Neither of you cared what others might say because, for now, no one knew about your relationship.

And there you were now, standing in the Aston Martin garage alongside your mother and your three younger siblings, watching the race with great enthusiasm as Sebastian drove the emerald-green car.

To the outside world, it might have seemed like you were simply there for one of the most important days in your father’s career since it was his 35th birthday. But in reality more than watching your father, you wanted to see your boyfriend.

Hanna noticed the tense expression on your face. Smiling warmly and without taking her eyes off Emily and Matilda, who were playing tag nearby, she stepped closer to you.

“Are you okay, Y/N? You seem like you’re in another galaxy.”

Your body tensed at the question, something that happened every time someone in your inner circle mentioned directly or indirectly your secret boyfriend. You tried to hide what was on your mind, but the combination of your mother’s presence and your nerves made you say more than you actually wanted.

“I’m nervous because I want dad to finish in the points,” you said with as much conviction as possible, though it wasn’t enough to convince Sebastian’s wife. “And well… I’m also worried about Mick.”

Hanna raised an eyebrow, curious, but not pressing. She had once been seventeen too. More than that, she had gotten pregnant with you at that age, and she knew that your concern for Mick went beyond simple friendship. Mothers developed a sixth sense when it came to their children, and she knew you too well to be fooled.

“Mick? Why would you be worried about Mick?” she asked, making sure not to pry too much or reveal how much she already knew.

“Well… he’s having a really good race today,” you replied, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’d like him to get a high position,” you explained, “even though with the piece of crap car he has we can’t expect much.”

Hanna nodded understandingly, reading between the lines of your words.

“I get it, sweetheart. I was the same way with your dad when he started racing,” she said, deliberately choosing her words to make you overthink. “Mick has a lot of talent, but he’s not in a team that helps him shine, so I understand why you care so much.”

“If you ever need to talk about Mick you know you can trust me, right?” Hanna added,

You appreciated your mother’s words, though you remained cautious just in case she was digging for something that might expose your relationship. How naive you were to think she didn’t already know you were dating one of Sebastian’s best friends’ sons.

When the checkered flag waved and the twenty cars crossed the finish line, your eyes remained glued to the leaderboard. Not only had Carlos, one of your best friends, taken his first victory, but both Mick and Sebastian had finished in the points, placing eighth and ninth respectively.

Your father earning two points on his birthday was amazing. Your boyfriend earning three? Even better, especially since it was his first time scoring points in Formula 1. Saying you were emotional was an understatement, and no matter how much you tried to hold it in, a few tears escaped down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly to avoid drawing attention.

Hanna, still by your side as she fed the youngest member of the family, noticed you approaching with a hesitant expression, as if you wanted to ask something but were afraid to.

“Can I go to Mick’s garage to congratulate him?” you asked cautiously. “It’s his first time scoring, and I’d like to say something to him in person before we leave for Switzerland.”

“I know you’re excited for him,” your mother said while burping the baby, “but I think it’s better if you stay here. It’s your dad’s birthday, and honestly? I doubt Haas would even let you see Mick.”

You nodded, though sadness crept in. You looked at the monitors, seeing the top three drivers already celebrating on the podium. Even from your location, you could hear the Spanish national anthem playing over the speakers.

“Mum,” you tried again, “come on, let me go congratulate Mick. I’ll be back quickly, and I’ll be here by the time dad gets back!”

Your exaggerated gestures and the way you waved your arms were too adorable, and Hanna couldn’t help but see herself in you. She remembered how she had felt when she started dating Sebastian, wanting nothing more than to see him every chance she had. As much as she tried to be the responsible mother, sometimes she just couldn’t help it. This was one of those moments, one where she gave in to the charms of her eldest, the spitting image of her father.

“Make sure you come back as soon as possible,” she relented with a small smile. “I don’t want your father calling me a bad mother for letting his baby do grown-up things.”

“Thank you, mum!”

With that being said, you sprinted off, weaving through mechanics, fans, and celebrities scattered around the paddock. You checked your phone to see if Mick had texted you, but there was nothing. That only made you hurry toward the Haas garage. Seeing it empty, you quickly turned around and headed toward the hospitality area, which was further away. While dodging anyone in your way, you sent Mick a message telling him you were on your way and that you had to be quick before your father returned.

When you arrived, the first thing you saw was Mick soaked in champagne, holding a bottle in his hand. The Haas team members, including Guenther, were celebrating. You felt out of place and your insecurity crept in, making you want to turn around and leave. But then Mick saw you, and the moment your eyes met, you knew you had made the right choice.

Mick immediately broke away from the group and rushed to your side, hugging you tightly. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, even if just a quick peck, but his rational side reminded him that now was not the place.

“Congratulations, Mick!” you exclaimed, your excitement taking over you. “Oh my God, oh my God! I’m so proud of you!” you squealed, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I finally get to see you, princess. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to,” he murmured playfully. “Although, I’d love to do a few other things with you.”

Your face turned bright red, something you had grown used to ever since you started dating Mick and were used to hear his endless compliments.

“How was the race?” he asked. “Did you like it, even though I probably looked like an idiot who doesn’t know how to drive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mick!” you scolded, lightly hitting his arm. “You scored points for the first time. If that’s being an idiot, then I don’t know what that makes me.”

“That makes you the love of my life.”

Mick pulled you even closer, and just as he was about to kiss you, completely ignoring the risks, a voice interrupted.

Or rather, someone did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mick Schumacher?!”

As soon as you heard your father’s shouts, you and Mick pulled apart. You stood frozen, your face turning completely pale as Mick began cursing himself. How was he supposed to explain to the man who was like a father to him in many ways that he was dating you, his daughter?

You didn’t stay silent. You, who had a temper as strong as the man who had given her life, stepped between Mick and your father, trying to ease the tension that had formed over a simple show of affection.

“Dad, stop! It’s not what it looks like!” you exclaimed, nervous but determined.

“What do you mean it’s not what it looks like?” Sebastian scoffed, unwilling to believe your words. “Come on, Y/N, you were about to kiss him!”

“Yes, because Mick is my boyfriend,” you stated without hesitation. “We’ve been secretly dating since last month because we didn’t want to say anything just yet,” you explained without caring about the consequences. “So don’t act like this and use your fucking head and be reasonable for once.”

The Aston Martin driver was stunned, unsure how to react to the news that his daughter had a boyfriend, and that it was none other than the son of the man he considered his best friend, who had once been his mentor.

Mick watched as Sebastian looked at you in disbelief before shifting his gaze back to you, focusing all his attention on you.

“Y/N, this is insane… Mick,” he gestured toward him, “isn’t just any driver, he’s the son of—”

“I already know, Dad!” you interrupted, your tone sharp. “And? Does it matter? I don’t care who his father is, or who mine is, or the relationship between you two,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “We love each other, we take care of each other, and that’s the only thing that should matter to you.”

Mick alternated his gaze between father and daughter, finally mustering the courage to say something. But, before he could even open his mouth, Sebastian raised his right hand, silencing him immediately:

“Stop trying to fix this. You’ve fucked up, Mick,” he muttered as he stepped closer, his voice low enough that not even you could hear it. “My daughter is too young, and you know you could get into serious trouble if this gets out,” he added before stepping away and moving back toward you. “ I just sort of saved you from shit talks about you, so consider yourself lucky.”

“You can’t blame Mick for this, Dad,” you interjected defiantly. “We’re adults, and we can make our own decisions, so just leave us alone already.”

“You are not an adult, Y/N Vettel, you’re still a kid,” Sebastian snapped, his voice filled with unfiltered anger. “Stop acting like you are, because all you are is a reckless little girl.”

“Let me remind you that when you were 17 you fucked mum and you got her pregnant.”

You threw it out without thinking, and immediately, you regretted it, placing your hands over your mouth as if that could fix what you had just said. You knew you had been the most beautiful mistake your parents had, but you didn’t think about the impact it could have in their lives, especially in your father’s.

"I'm sorry, Juliet," the older driver began, trying not to let his anger and, especially, the pain he felt from your comment show. "But it's time to leave."

"Dad..."

"Not 'dad' or anything, Y/N," Sebastian said, raising his voice and making it sound harsher than he had intended at first. "Do you think it’s funny for me to see my daughter rubbing herself up against the one I consider my son?"

Mick paled as he heard his mentor’s words, feeling completely awful because he knew Sebastian was right. You threw him a look, but didn’t have the strength to answer. You were so in shock that you didn’t know how you hadn’t just left yet.

"And you, Mick," he said now, shooting a penetrating look at the young man, "I thought you could show a little more respect for our family and everything we’ve built together all these years."

Having said that, Sebastian took you by your shoulders carefully and started walking back to where the rest of your family was, not giving you or Mick a chance to say goodbye.

"We don't choose who we fall in love with, Sebastian," Schumacher blurted out, still frozen in place.

Your father and you turned around. The look of disappointment on Seb’s face made Mick feel a thousand times worse than he ever thought he could, but it was the sight of your tears falling rapidly that made him start crying.

"I expected you, more than anyone, to agree with this," he continued, pointing at you and himself, "because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that your daughter deserves someone good who can make her life the best it can be. If I can’t be that person because you won’t let us..." he pointed at himself, "...then I’ll be okay with it being someone else."

Vettel swallowed hard, not knowing what to say to the German’s words.

"I just want Y/N to be happy," the boy said again, "and if I have to let her go for now until you can accept and see that I’m really in love with your daughter, and that she’s the love of my life, I’ll be willing to do so."

With that, the young man turned around, trying not to look back, hoping to hear some words from those he had considered his family for so many years.

But, unfortunately for him, you and your father didn’t.

211 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 2 days ago

Note

Omg your writings are so scrumptiously delicious 😋 I always come back to read them again And again especially the phainon ones! Agh they are soo good! Also been wondering since you wrote Yan! Phainon× vamp! reader... how about Yan! vamp!phainon×reader..if that's okay... Have a great day/evening/night!

Yandere!Vampire Phainon x Reader

[artist]

The sun dipped low over the village, casting golden light across the cobbled streets. Laughter echoed between stone walls as a group of children ran through the narrow alleys, their feet kicking up dust. You were among them, breathless and grinning, trying to keep up with the boy ahead of you.

“You’re too slow, Y/N!” Phainon teased, turning back with a wide grin. His silver-white hair gleamed under the fading light, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

“I’m not slow! You’re just unfairly fast!” you huffed, trying to catch him.

Phainon only laughed, effortlessly dodging your outstretched hands. Behind you, the others—Mydei, Anaxa, and a handful of others called out, egging you both on.

“Give Y/N a chance, Phainon!” one of them yelled.

“Yeah, don’t be mean.” Anaxa added, though his voice was laced with amusement.

Phainon slowed just enough for you to reach him, letting you tug on the sleeve of his tunic. “Caught you!” you declared triumphantly.

Instead of pulling away, Phainon tilted his head, smiling. “Guess that means I belong to you now” he said lightly.

“You’re weird.” you muttered, but you didn’t let go of his sleeve.

The warmth of the evening settled over you all as you made your way to the village outskirts. Beyond the fields, a small grove of trees offered a quiet retreat from the watchful eyes of adults. It was your group’s favorite place, a hidden world where you could be anything you wanted.

Mydei flopped onto the grass with a dramatic sigh. “I’m tired. Someone should carry me home.”

“You have legs” Anaxa scoffed, sitting down beside him. “Use them.”

You chuckled and sat next to Phainon, who stretched out lazily. The golden hour made his pale skin glow, and for a moment, he seemed almost otherworldly. You’d always thought he looked a little different, but then again, all of them did. The village women sometimes whispered about it, about their unnaturally striking features, their strange presence—but you never paid much attention. They were your friends. That was all that mattered.

Phainon leaned close, resting his chin on his palm as he watched you. “You’re staring” he teased.

You blinked, startled. “I was not.”

“You were” he insisted, grinning. “Do I look that handsome to you?”

“You’re annoying” you muttered, lightly shoving his shoulder.

He only laughed.

The conversation shifted to plans for tomorrow, with Mydei complaining about chores and Anaxa suggesting another race through the village. You listened, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Phainon’s eyes were still on you.

You didn’t know then that Phainon had already decided.

Years Later

The group was no longer whole.

Time had worn down the bonds of childhood, and the innocence of those golden days had long since faded. Some had drifted apart, others had changed in ways you could barely recognize. The carefree days of running through the village had been replaced with whispers in the dark—secrets you weren’t privy to.

And yet, Phainon remained.

“You’re quiet tonight” he remarked, setting down a goblet as he leaned back in his chair.

You looked up from your seat across from him, the dim candlelight flickering between you. “Just thinking.”

Phainon studied you, his blue eyes sharp despite his ever-present smile. “About what?”

You hesitated. Should you say it? That you had noticed the strange way the others carried themselves, the way they whispered behind closed doors? That some of them had started keeping odd company—company that left them with faint red marks on their throats?

That the people you once knew felt like strangers?

Instead, you sighed. “I don’t know. Things just feel… different.”

Phainon tapped his fingers against the table. “People change” he said simply. “But I haven’t, have I?”

You glanced at him. No—Phainon hadn’t changed. He was still the same bright, teasing boy from your childhood. Always smiling, always close.

“You haven’t” you admitted, but the words felt strange on your tongue.

Phainon tilted his head, his gaze unreadable. Then, he smiled.

Outside, the night stretched on, and somewhere in the darkness, something shifted.

Something you weren’t meant to see.

The place was hidden, tucked away in the shadows of the city’s underbelly. It wasn’t a tavern, nor a brothel, but something worse—a gathering ground for those who lurked in the dark, where morality had long been forgotten.

Phainon moved through the dimly lit corridors like a specter, his presence drawing wary glances. They knew him here. Knew his name, his strength. Even among vampires, he was a force to be feared.

A low murmur caught his ear.

In the far corner, a vampire, one who owed him a great deal, had cornered a trembling girl. Her breath hitched as the man leaned in, fingers curling around her throat.

Phainon barely spared them a glance.

It wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his concern. The weak suffered, the strong took what they wanted. That was the way of things.

He stepped forward to leave. And then, without warning, the image shifted. For a brief, horrifying second, it wasn’t some nameless girl in that man’s grip. It was you.

His body went rigid.

Would he still walk away? Would he still ignore it?

The thought sent something ugly curling in his chest.

A slow inhale. A measured exhale. He forced his body to relax. It wasn’t you. It would never be you. You weren’t meant for places like this.

Still, the unease lingered.

With a final glance at the struggling girl, Phainon turned and walked away, the thirst in his throat demanding attention. He needed something to quiet his thoughts, someone to satisfy his hunger.

As he stepped deeper into the night, a realization settled within him.

If it had been you, if anyone had dared to touch you, he wouldn’t have hesitated.

The morning sun filtered through the trees as you went about your daily routine. It was rare, almost strange, not to have Phainon lingering nearby, flashing that easy smile of his or teasing you about something trivial.

Maybe he was busy.

It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear at times, though he always returned like nothing had happened. You never asked where he went, and he never told you.

Today, the village was as lively as ever. You made your way through the familiar paths, exchanging greetings with the townsfolk and stopping briefly to chat with Anaxa, who seemed preoccupied with something.

“You seen Phainon?” you asked casually.

Anaxa snorted. “No, and I don’t plan on looking for him either.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Just… sometimes, it’s better not to know where he goes.”

The words sat uneasily with you, but before you could press further, someone called your name from across the street.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of small errands, idle conversations, and the comforting normalcy of routine. Yet, beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

By the time evening rolled around, the absence felt heavier.

Phainon always found you before the day ended. Always.

So why wasn’t he here?

The next morning, Phainon appeared as if he had never been gone.

He leaned against the doorway of your home, arms crossed, a lazy grin on his face. “Miss me?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small, relieved breath you let out. “You wish.”

He only chuckled, falling into step beside you as if no time had passed. And just like that, things returned to normal. You didn’t ask where he had been, and he didn’t offer an explanation. That was how it always was.

That evening, your mother handed you a small parcel wrapped in cloth. “Take this to your grandmother, will you? But be careful, don’t linger too long. It’ll be dark soon.”

You reassured her with a smile before setting off. The road was familiar, winding through the outskirts of the village, lined with tall trees that cast long shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon.

By the time you started heading back, the last traces of daylight had faded. The path home felt different at night—quieter, colder. The wind whispered through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.

Then, the silence broke.

A rustle.

You stopped, heart thudding in your chest. The trees swayed, their branches casting twisted shadows across the path. It was probably just an animal.

Then you heard it—breathing.

Before you could turn, something slammed into you, knocking you to the ground. A weight pinned you down, cold fingers gripping your shoulders.

“Smells good...” a voice rasped above you.

Your breath caught as you looked up, meeting the hungry, gleaming eyes of a man. No—a vampire. His lips curled, revealing sharp fangs.

“Let go of me!” You struggled, panic surging through your veins.

He chuckled, amused by your resistance. “I haven’t fed in days. Just a little taste—”

Then, in an instant, he was gone- ripped away.

The weight lifted, and before you could process what had happened, a sickening crack echoed through the air. A strangled cry followed, cut short as something heavy hit the ground.

Shaken, you pushed yourself up.

And then you saw Phainon who stood a few feet away, his back turned to you. At his feet, the vampire lay crumpled, twitching weakly. One of his arms bent at an unnatural angle.

“You picked the wrong person” Phainon murmured.

The injured vampire let out a choked whimper. “I— I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t know?” Phainon repeated, tilting his head. “Didn’t know they were mine?”

“Please—”

Phainon sighed. Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward and crushed the man’s throat beneath his heel.

Your heart pounded as you watched him. He turned to you, his usual warmth still present—but now laced with something darker.

“You’re trembling” he said softly, stepping closer.

You couldn’t move.

Then, ever so gently, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from your face.

“You should be more careful, Y/N.”

His fingers lingered.

“I’d hate to lose you.”

Your vision blurred. Your breath came in shallow gasps, but it wasn’t enough—your chest tightened, the world tilting as cold sweat slicked your skin.

Phainon. The vampire’s broken body. The blood pooling beneath him.

“Ah—” Phainon exhaled, amused yet concerned. “I suppose that was a bit much for you.”

The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you whole was the serene, almost affectionate smile on his face.

You stirred, eyes fluttering open. You weren’t outside anymore. Dim candlelight flickered against wooden walls—your room.

“You’re awake” Phainon murmured.

He was sitting at your bedside, one arm draped lazily over the chair, watching you with a quiet intensity.

Your body tensed. The memory rushed back all at once—the attack, the vampire, the way Phainon had crushed his throat like it was nothing.

Your fingers clenched the sheets. “You—”

“I carried you home”

Silence stretched between you.

“I took care of it. No one will ever touch you again.”

“You… killed him.”

Phainon didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed almost puzzled by your reaction. “Of course.”

The boy you had grown up with, the one who had laughed with you, teased you, stayed by your side—had crushed a man’s throat without hesitation.

Phainon leaned closer, reaching out slowly, as if not to startle you. His fingers brushed your wrist, light and careful. “You’re safe with me” he murmured.

Days passed.

Phainon left you alone, giving you space to recover, though he never strayed too far. You could feel his presence even when he wasn’t visible—watching, waiting.

But the fear that had once taken root inside you began to shift.

Curiosity gnawed at your thoughts.

Where did he go at night? What kind of life did he lead beyond the smile he showed you?

And more importantly—how much had he hidden from you?

So, when the sun dipped below the horizon, you made your choice.

You pulled on a cloak, wrapping it tightly around yourself before slipping into the night.

Phainon was easy to track. He moved with a confidence that came from knowing no one could touch him, his form barely more than a whisper in the darkness.

You followed carefully, staying just out of sight.

The path led away from the village, past old roads and tangled trees, into the underbelly of a world you had never seen before.

And then—you found it. The Hidden Den.

The place was alive with a dark, pulsing energy. Torches flickered against stone walls, casting long shadows over the twisted gathering.

Vampires lounged on crimson-draped couches, fangs sinking into willing throats as girls draped themselves over their laps. Others inhaled thick, perfumed smoke from ornate pipes, their pupils blown wide with pleasure.

On one side, blood was being poured into goblets like fine wine, passed between hands in hushed trades. In another corner, a vampire licked fresh crimson from his fingers while a dazed-looking woman trembled beside him, her pulse sluggish.

This was what he was part of?

A sick fascination mingled with your horror. You wanted to turn away—but you couldn’t.

A presence loomed behind you.

Before you could react, a hand gripped your shoulder and yanked you back into the shadows. Your back hit a cold wall. A figure loomed over you, silver hair catching the dim light.

Phainon.

But this wasn’t the version of him you knew.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to wander where you don’t belong?”

You looked up at Phainon, at the way the dim torchlight cast shadows over his face—sharpening his features, making him seem even more untouchable. His grip on your shoulder was firm, grounding.

But you weren’t afraid.

You were angry.

"Is this what you're into?" you demanded, voice sharp, cutting through the low hum of sinful indulgence around you. "Is this the kind of place you belong to?"

Phainon's expression didn’t waver, but his fingers twitched slightly against your shoulder.

You continued, ignoring the cold air brushing against your skin. "I don’t want you here. You’re better than this."

His lips parted slightly in surprise. Then, amusement flickered in his gaze. "Better than this?" he echoed. "And what makes you think that?"

"Because I know you" you said without hesitation.

A moment of silence stretched between you, taut with unspoken things. Then Phainon exhaled softly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe you. His grip finally loosened, but he didn’t step away. Instead, his eyes drifted downward—toward your exposed wrist, where your pulse beat strong beneath your skin.

"You followed me all this way" he murmured. "Was it just to scold me?"

You hesitated for only a second before speaking.

"If you’re that thirsty, drink from me instead."

Phainon blinked.

And then he laughed.

"You’re unbelievable." he said, voice hushed.

But he didn’t refuse.

Phainon leaned in slowly, watching you carefully, as if waiting for hesitation. But you didn’t flinch. His fingers brushed against your wrist, tilting it slightly. His lips ghosted over your skin.

And then—

A sharp sting, followed by warmth.

Your breath caught as his fangs pierced your skin, precise and careful. It wasn’t painful, not really. A strange, tingling sensation spread through you, your body growing light, unsteady.

Phainon made a quiet sound against your skin, like a sigh of relief, like he had been waiting for this. His grip was gentle, his touch reverent. And just as quickly as it started, it was over.

He pulled back, licking the last drops of crimson from his lips. "You taste too good for your own good" he murmured, almost to himself.

You barely heard him.

Because suddenly, the heavy perfume in the air—the scent of blood, of incense, of whatever drugged haze lingered in this place crashed down on you all at once.

Your knees buckled.

Phainon's arms were around you before you could hit the ground.

"Ah," he breathed, catching you easily. "Didn’t think that one through, did you?"

Your body felt weightless as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms.

By the time you woke, you were home.

The scent of that place was gone, replaced by the familiar warmth of your own room. Your body felt drained, sluggish, but safe.

And sitting beside you, as if he had never left, was Phainon.

"You’re reckless," he murmured, breaking the silence. "But I like that about you."

His fingers brushed against your wrist again, where his mark remained.

"You should rest," he said softly. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

And for some reason, despite everything—you believed him.

You barely remembered falling asleep.

After Phainon carried you home from that wretched place, exhaustion claimed you faster than you could think. Your body was too weak, too drained from everything that happened.

But when you woke up—something was wrong.

A hand clamped over your mouth before you could make a sound.

Your eyes shot open, heart slamming against your ribs. The room was dark, but you could make out a figure looming over you—a vampire, his breath heavy with the scent of old blood.

"You shouldn’t have been there, little thing." the man sneered.

The one who owed Phainon saw what you both did. So he thought he could take advantage of the situation.

Panic surged through you. You struggled, but his grip tightened.

"You cost me" he hissed, voice low and venomous. "But don’t worry. You’ll be useful in another way."

He yanked you up from your bed, arms locking around you like iron.

The moment Phainon stepped into your house, he knew something was wrong. The air reeked of an unfamiliar scent—bitter, old blood mixed with the distinct stench of someone who didn’t belong.

Your room was a mess. The blankets were thrown aside, your belongings knocked over, and worst of all—

You were gone.

Phainon’s entire expression darkened.

The scent was fresh. They couldn’t have gone far.

His fingers twitched, sharp nails lengthening slightly as he inhaled deeply, locking onto the trail like a predator.

He found you in an abandoned alley, pressed against the cold stone as the vampire loomed over you, fangs bared.

"Don’t struggle" the man sneered. "I just need a little taste—"

Crack.

The vampire was on the ground before he could register what happened, Phainon’s boot pressing down against his throat.

The man choked, clawing at Phainon’s leg, but the weight didn’t budge.

"You made a mistake" Phainon murmured, voice eerily calm.

His foot pressed down harder. The vampire’s struggles weakened.

"Phainon" you rasped, voice hoarse, barely able to move.

That was the only thing that stopped him.

Phainon’s gaze flicked toward you. His eyes softened—just a fraction.

With one last sharp glare at the trembling man beneath him, Phainon finally stepped back.

The vampire gasped, wheezing as he scrambled away.

Phainon didn’t bother watching him flee.

He was already kneeling beside you, fingers brushing over your face, checking for injuries.

"Tch." His voice was light, but you could hear the underlying tension. "I leave you alone for one moment, and this is what happens?"

"Not my fault."

A chuckle. "I guess not."

And before you could protest, he scooped you up again, cradling you against his chest.

Phainon’s home was nothing like yours.

The moment he brought you inside, he didn’t let you out of his sight. You were still rattled, too exhausted to argue as he led you to a bath, forcing you to sit and soak in the warm water while he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

"You don’t have to watch me" you muttered, sinking into the heat.

"I do" he replied smoothly.

You scowled but didn’t push further.

After you finished, you dressed in the spare clothes he handed you, soft and unfamiliar, but comfortable.

But even then, something was off.

Phainon’s expression was unreadable as he stood in front of you, arms still crossed, eyes sharp.

"What?" you asked, frowning.

He exhaled, then leaned in slightly, inhaling.

Your entire body tensed.

"That scent" he murmured.

It took you a second to realize what he meant.

Even after bathing, the vampire’s scent still clung to you.

Phainon didn’t like that.

You barely had time to react before Phainon closed the distance between you.

One hand reached for your wrist, the other sliding up to your jaw, tilting your face toward him.

"Phainon—?"

"You smell like him," he said, almost absentmindedly. "I hate it."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in further, his nose brushing lightly against the side of your neck.

A slow inhale.

"Phainon—!"

His hands slid down, trailing over your shoulders, gripping your arms just enough to keep you still. He wasn’t rough—no, his touch was slow, intentional.

"You don’t want to reek of someone else, do you?" he murmured against your skin. "Let me fix it."

His lips brushed over the curve of your throat, not quite kissing, not quite biting—just enough to make your pulse spike.

"Stop squirming" he chuckled when you shifted, his voice warm, teasing. "You wanted me to drink from you before. Did you change your mind?"

"That’s not—this is different—!"

Phainon hummed, a soft, knowing sound. "Not really."

His arms wrapped around you fully, pulling you flush against him, his warmth seeping into your skin.

This wasn’t about feeding.

This was about marking.

"Better" Phainon murmured, finally leaning back to meet your gaze. His blue eyes gleamed, satisfied.

"You smell like me now."

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #phainon x reader #phainon honkai star rail #hsr phainon #phainon hsr #phainon

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mwahsol · 19 hours ago

Text

I see you

Description: You are obvious about your feelings towards her. Recently her most recent “fling” dumps her claiming that all she can talk about is you, every topic you are somehow in some way mentioned. Paige being confused doesn't understand what she's talking about, you are just her friend right? The more she thinks about it, the more she starts questioning your “friendship.” One night while hanging out with your guys teammates everything comes crashing down.

Since tomorrow is my birthday I've decided to be nice and come back from the dead :) also, WHY IS IT SO HARD TO HAVE MOTIVATION TO WRITE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS. Anyways enjoy babe.....

Since the first time you had laid your eyes upon her, you knew you would fall in love with her. How could you not love her, when you first got recruited you were nervous that you wouldn't get along with the team seeing as how you were naturally more reserved but as soon as you entered that gym Paige instantly welcomed you with open arms. She broke down all of your walls and you slowly but surely became closer with everyone, she brought you out of your shell. Whenever you needed a partner during practice she was instantly at your side touching you in some way showing her eagerness to play with you, right by your side. When she couldn't sleep she would beeline to your room, she would crawl right in next to you on your bed seeing if you wanted to go somewhere with her or wanted to keep sleeping. To you it didn't matter what you did, you just wanted to be with her, so if she wanted to go shoot around at 2 am or sleep next to you and listen to your podcasts with you, without a doubt, you would do it. At first, you genuinely believed that this was how best friends were, you just loved her. After your first year, you slowly started to realize that you fell in love with Paige Bueckers. Maybe she could love you too, right?

After three years on the team and two years being in love with her, you started dropping hints throughout of your feelings but she never noticed. You watched her hold others the way you would dream of being held by her, you saw how she would wrap her hands around their waists, how she would lean down to whisper into their ears about how beautiful they looked that night. How could she not notice that you spent hours getting ready to feel pretty for yourself but a part of you wanted Paige to tell you that she thought you looked beautiful. All of the girls she would hold always seemed completely different to you, you would compare yourself to them. You couldn't be mad though they weren't at fault, how could they have known that you would give anything for Paige to look at you how she looked at them? Selfishly you would always wonder why them. Why not you?

You watched her kiss them. Paige has never been shy about affection, so to her kissing girls while her teammates were near has never been a problem. Unfortunately, you always seemed to look at her when she was kissing them like her life depended on them. The way she would bring their hips near hers, her hands holding their jaws gently, how she would smile into their kiss knowing they enjoyed it. You saw it all. You could only watch with envy in your eyes, you prayed countless times that she would kiss you like you were oxygen. As soon as you saw their kiss you would turn away and go to one of your teammates and cry to them. They all knew about your love for the blue-eyed blonde, they could all see how you looked at her like she hung the constellations in the sky, they saw all the tears you would shed for her, they saw everything Paige didn't. How could they see if but she just didn't.

All you could do was watch as Paige would run around the door asking everyone if her outfit was good enough for a date, she always comes to you first. Why does she have to torture you more. Why does she have to taunt you. In all fairness, she didn't know that every time she would come and excitedly tell you about how she asked a girl out on a date, it would eat you alive. You felt like you couldn't breathe every time you imagined what their date was like. Would it be how you always envisioned your dates with her? If you told her you loved her would it change anything? Would she drop everything and tell you she has been in love with you too?

As the clock shows 2:16 am, you get up giving up on trying to go to bed. Sliping into your bunny slippers you walk to Azzi’s room, you know she's most likely asleep but maybe she's up watching a Netflix show or something. To your luck you're right.

“Hey bun, couldn't sleep?” She asks knowing why but she'll let you rant.

“Nope my brain won't shut off,” you say as you take off your slippers to climb into bed with her. Slipping yourself into her side, making her arm drape over your shoulders while you hug her midsection you can hear her hum.

“Why? Wanna talk about it?” If Azzi was honest with herself she was shocked Paige hadn't noticed that you have worshiped the ground she walks on.

“Just thinking about all the stuff with P.” Since she left for her date at 9 it's been all you could think about, you will end up driving yourself crazy by how much you think about her on dates that aren't with you.

“You know all that thinking will make your head even bigger than it already is,” she giggles as you look at her with fake offense and shove her gently but when you both stop laughing she softly says, “Bun you both are some of my closest friends but maybe you should try out dating too, see what's out there.”

Her words echo through your head, since you started playing at Uconn you never really dated. Your main focus has always been playing and your academics, then the realization of your feelings for your blond teammate happened and that shut the door of dating for you. You never even thought about dating anyone that wasn't Paige, you knew no matter who it was they wouldn't compare. Their laugh wouldn't be hers, the way their hands would touch you wouldn't be the warm hands of the blue-eyed player, their lips wouldn’t be the ones you dreamt about, they wouldn't be Paige. It wouldn't be fair to give someone else hope of a future with you when your future slept right next to you most nights. Your heart would never be theirs, your heart will be on the court with her.

“I don't know if I could even act like I could see something with them,” when Azzi hears the sadness in your voice she can't help but want to call Paige and yell at her about how blind she is. “You don't have to see it anymore than as a casual date, find someone you think is cute then go for it, or next time someone asks you say yes.”

When you go to say that wouldn't know where to start she cuts you off. “And don't you dare say you don't know who because I've seen multiple boys and girls ask you out but you always say no. Just go on one then see how you feel about it bun.” She says teasing but also encouraging you to get outside of your bubble a bit, maybe you'll find a way to be ok with Paige not reciprocating your feelings. Maybe.

“You guys won't ever let the bun name go huh?” You ask hoping to change the subject.

“As long as you wear those slippers I don't think so, they're cute though,” she hopes you give it some thought though, she and everyone hate seeing you heartbroken. Maybe just maybe this way Paige could see what everyone else sees.

While you fall asleep you can't help but think that maybe it's a good idea.

By the time Paige gets home it's almost 4 am. Her heads was killing her from all the arguing she and her most recent “fling” were having. She wanted to come home earlier but as soon as she heard your name be brought up negatively she instantly started arguing till her throat was sore. As she unlocked the front door she knew she wanted to see you, when she opened your door and saw your empty bed her heart stopped. Where did you go? As she pulls out her phone to check Life360 she sees that your location is here at the dorm.

“She's sleeping in my bed.” Paige flinches not expecting anyone else to be awake much less Azzi.

“Why?” She doesn't know why but knowing that you're not in your bed makes her uneasy, but you being in someone else's bed that isn't hers makes her skin crawl. Why? She's never had a problem with it before? It could be that even when you would sleep in someone else's bed besides hers she would still be laying next to you bothering whoever's bed you both lay on. No that couldn't be it, right? She wasn't jealous.

“Couldn't sleep.” Azzi knows the blonde like the back of her hand. Why couldn't Paige figure out that she was in love with you too.

Whenever Paige held someone she almost had to force herself to. The feeling of them close to her made her feel wrong but she took it as maybe she lost feeling for them so she would cut them off, find someone else, and the cycle repeated. Anytime she would compliment the girls she would be seeing she would only compliment things that reminded her of you. When she would kiss them she would allow herself to pretend they were you, desperately pulling them into her grasping at the image of you being the one she was kissing instead, feeling herself smile at the daydream of you. When she would feel eyes on her she would pull away from the kiss seeing you walking towards the team, why did her heart hurt, why did she feel guilty that you saw her kissing someone? She's never had a problem kissing anyone in front of her team but when you would look all she wanted to do was wipe her lips and try to explain things to you, but explain what, you both were friends. When she would dress up for dates she would come to you first wanting to hear your opinion on how she looked, she would always seek approval from you first. But you were both just friends, right? Right. She's just overthinking.

“Oh ok, I'll just go to bed then.” With a small nod, Paige turns to go to her room until Azzi opens her mouth.

“Why were you looking for her?” Come on P, say something Azzi can't help but want to get a reaction out of her so maybe she could also see how in love she is with you. Hoping to push her best friend to see her true feelings maybe.

“Just wanted to check up on her you know,” Paige can't see it, yet.

“Ok see you in the morning P,” Azzi says a bit disappointed but knowing Paige will think about it. “Mhm, nigh Az.”

Since that encounter with Azzi, Paige has noticed that you slowly started distancing yourself from her. Maybe she was overthinking but what other explanation could there be? At practice, things seemed tense. You would partner up with Aubrey or anyone else before she could even make her way to you. When she would try to come into bed with you she started noticing that you weren't home when you usually would be in bed. Sometimes she would notice that you would come home far later than you ever have, where were you spending your time? At times she would see you right as you were leaving but you were always dressed up. In heals? Makeup and hair done almost always. You’ve always been beautiful to her no matter if you were dripping in sweat or in a fancy dress but she knows you, you don't get dressed up unless you are going out with the team, and you don't go out much enjoying being home and relaxing after practice, she couldn't find any reasons as to why you were almost every night out.

Why didn't you talk to her? Why wouldn't you even glance at her? Why does her heat physically feel like it's breaking when she thinks of you? And why did she hear you talking to a girl over the phone one day as you were getting ready? Why did she ask you if you were almost done because she was outside? Why?

Paige was going crazy without answers. She was going crazy without you.

One night the team decided to have a movie night and order a bunch of junk food to relax and spend time together. Feeling a bit guilty that you already had plans with a girl you were casually seeing you told all the girls you wouldn't be there but you would make it up to them, you told all except one. Paige, you physically couldn't bring yourself to tell her about your date. You know even after all of your dates and trying to expand outside of your friendships you were right, no one amounted to Paige. No one held a candle to her. You felt stupid that you kept distancing yourself when all you wanted was to be next to her again. You couldn't keep watching her anymore, you didn't have it in you to watch her give everything you've ever wanted from her to others. So when practice ended you rushed home to get ready to go out.

As all of the girls were setting up and bringing in the food Paige couldn't help but notice that you were missing. Looking around from her spot on the couch, next to her was your spot she had been saving it hoping that maybe tonight she could get you to sit next to her, all of the girls started to get on the couch and/or their place on the floor. She had almost argued with Jana as she had sat in “your” spot. Seeing as you hadn't told Paige about your plans, KK opens her mouth ready to tell her that you weren't joining but as you come out of your room all dressed up in a dark purple mini dress, a black pair of heals, silver jewelry stacked on your arms and neck, your skin glowing with body glitter, your hair curled, and makeup that complimented your features she feels the world stop. You looked enchanting. If she were standing up she's sure that she would fall to her knees right then and there. She couldn't help but wonder why you were dressed up though, you were all staying in no?

All of your teammates freak out jumping on you and telling you how pretty you look. “Girl oh my give me a spin,” Nike hypes you up holding your arm up and letting you give them all a 360. “Y/n you know I'm single currently,” Kayla jokingly flirts back. “Oh my, bun you look gorgeous,” Azzi adds knowing this might wake Paige up. As the rest of the girls gush over you Paige can't seem to get up, she was in a trance as soon as she saw you. You in her favorite color might be one of the most beautiful things she has ever seen in her entire life.

“Ok ok guys I need to head out, they're waiting for me downstairs,” you let out laughing at their antics.

You're leaving?

“Bye guys I'll try to be home soon,” as the door shuts Paige can feel herself go numb.

“Where is she going?” She asks scared that she might know the answer. They can all see her shut down, they can't help but feel guilty for her but also happy for you that you're trying new things. No one has the heart to tell her the truth until Azzi looks at her and tells her the hard truth, “She's going on a date.”

When those words leave Aizz’s mouth she feels like she's about to throw up. Is it true? All those times she saw you dressed up you were going to see someone? She feels like she can't breathe but she has to look, she has to look at their faces to see if it's true. As her head rises to look at them they can all see the tears in her eyes, almost like instant deja vu they see your eyes looking back at them. They have been here before but with a different teammate crying over the other. It's almost poetic how similar your eyes seem when you cry over each other in front of them.

“P why are you crying?” KK is the one to ask to test out if her friend finally understands her feelings for you. They knew that they couldn't tell her, she's too stubborn to listen to them, she had to be the one to realize her feelings.

Paige finally understood.

“She won't even look at me. When I walk into her room and she's not there I lay in her bed hoping to catch her when she comes back. She won't even play with me. I can hear her talking to someone but I don't want it to be someone she is seeing. I don't understand what I did to make her mad at me,” as she rambled on Azzi couldn't help but feel a bit responsible but also not. She gave you unbiased advice, she wouldn't take it back.

“Paige that night I caught you looking for her, why did you come home late? Why was she the first person you looked for,” come on Paige see what's right in front of you they all think.

Paige can't stop the tears from coming. She knows her voice will come out shaky but it's now or never, “I went out with that girl from the soccer team and I thought the date was going great till we went back to watch a movie at hers and she blew up. She stalked yelling at me that the whole night I kept talking about Y/n and how at first she thought it was sweet that I had a close friendship with her but after talking about her only, that I act like I'm in love with her. At first I honestly just planned to walk out but then she started insulting her and I just couldn't keep my mouth shut, how could she talk badly about her? She didn't even do anything wrong,” while the team listened to Paige they gave each other a look knowing that she does talk about you any chance she gets. How did she still not see it?

“And when I got home I just wanted to sleep with her but she wasn't there, I started to panic but I saw that her location was still here then Az said that she was with her and all I could do was go to my bed.” She explains not knowing what's going on.

“Paige can you really not see it?” Ice asks trying to see if it finally clicks for the blonde.

“What?” Why are they all looking at her like she should know something. Could it be? No right? If she says the words. If she asks, she can't take it back. Maybe just maybe.

All of your memories together float through her brain. Your eyes that shine like stars when you look at her, your hair that smells like coconut from your shampoo, you're eyelashes that lay over your cheeks as you sleep, your nose that gets red when you get cold, your lips that she catches herself staring at thinking about what it would be like to feel them on hers, your laugh that is like music to her ears, your voice that is like a siren song to her, your hands that fit in hers perfectly, your chest that she lays her head on to hear your heartbeat, your legs that wrap around her when she picks you up, every single thing about you she worships. Her waking you up at 2 am to go hoop with her and you not even thinking twice before getting dressed, late night ice cream when you both just want to be together, you both saving each other seats never wanting to be too far apart, the dumb bunny slippers that she got you that you now rarely take off, the way you both climb into each other's beds and just lay together. You're everything, you are what she looks forward to every day, you waking her up to pancakes with coffee, her watching your angelic face while you sleep. Paige Madison Bueckers is in love with you, a girl who is on a date with someone else in her favorite color.

“I love her, I’m in love with her,” she mumbles out in awe.

“Yeah, you are,” Kayla states what everyone is thinking, but what will she do now.

“Does she love me?” Paige asks afraid of the answer.

“You're kidding right?” KK asks shocked that she's even asking.

“What?”

“Paige that girl has loved you for years,” she can feel herself lose her breath. What? There's no way that's true right? Please tell her that she heard wrong.

“Everyone could see it but you.” No no why didn't she see it sooner. “Why didn't she say anything?” She asks not knowing if she hopes it's a cruel prank or if she wants the confirmation that you love her.

“Did she have to? She made it pretty clear to you.” What.

“I mean do you see her waking anyone else with pancakes?” But you're always nice.

“Much less bring it to us in our beds.” You had sleepovers together that's why. Right?

“She sleeps with you almost all the time, the only times she hasn't was when you were with another girl.” Shit.

“You don't see her matching outfits with anyone else do you?” She always did love it when you would match colors, it made her feel like she had a claim over you even if it was just for the night.

“P whenever you would kiss someone or held their hand she would come to us crying. I don't think she would cry just because.” She made you cry, all those times she saw you walking away you had tears in your eyes.

“What do I do?” There has to be a chance right. She can't let you go now that she knows you've been there all along.

“I don't know.” What.

“What do you mean?” Please she needs something.

“Well P she kinda keeps going to these dates to get over you.” No. She's so close she can't just not try.

“I have to give it a shot, please.” Give me something, anything. Is all she can keep thinking hoping for any shot no matter how small.

“Well I know she's at that restaurant that opened up by the pizza place, Lavie or something like that,” Jana says remembering you telling her before practice when you asked her for her opinion on your outfit.

When she hears the name her movements are almost like she's in a trance, her only thought is to get to you as soon as she can. She stands up not caring if she's in her pajama pants, glasses that she rarely wears outside, her wavy hair in her natural state, grey nike tech sweater, and gets her keys from the dining table. They all watch her leave with encouraging smiles on their faces knowing that you two will end up together. They've all watched you fall in love and everyone even on the staff knows that you both need each other just to exist.

While you and your date are at the restaurant you can help but feel sick to your stomach. You know she knows you're pretending she's someone else. You allow yourself to envision her as Paige perhaps this is the closest you'll get to her. Why can't you just let her go. She haunts you. The way she looked at you when you came into the living room is embedded into your brain.

“I'm sorry to take you away from her tonight,” Hayley says knowing the team had plans tonight.

Your head lifts quickly looking at her for answers. “I know you all had plans,” she explains a bit while eating her salmon.

“No it's ok I enjoy getting out,” you reassure her since it was your choice that you went out not liking the idea of being near Paige for a long time. You try your best to keep the distance you've created.

“Do you miss her?” What? There is no way she knew right?

“Y/n I've seen the way you look at her. If I'm honest I'm also trying to get over someone, I see the way you look through me basically and I’m not mad really. I'm pretending you're someone else too.” Hayley confesses. You let out a breath of relief seeing as you both are just two people in love with another trying to find comfort in each other.

“No luck for you ether?” You ask her hoping at least one of you has some luck in getting over your situations. “Nah but I'm not too mad at it, I enjoy spending time with you.” She grins at you showing that she's being sincere. “I enjoy my time with you too.” As you continue your dinner the weight of this being a “date” wearing off you both start genuinely talking like friends would.

Paige gets to the restaurant as quickly as she can, she's pretty sure she might've broken some laws but for you, she’d break all of them to get to you. As she sits in her car for a second she collects her thoughts, was she really about to go in there and steal you away? Yes. The thought of you in there with someone who isn't her is burning her skin. When she sees you laughing through the window in the front she feels herself get hot. Screw it. She gets out of her car almost too quickly that she almost stumbles out. Walking up to the establishment intimidated her a bit, it's a nice place and here she comes in her pajamas to get you. It's all worth it for you. When she opens the door she can see the hostess opening her mouth to ask her if she's lost but she marches to your table nearby determined to get you.

Since your back is turned to her Hayle sees her before you do but you sense Paige before she even entered the restaurant, not wanting to believe your sensation you ignore it.

“Hey, I think one of us might just have some luck.”

“What?”

Paige stops right next to your table panting. You stare at her wide-eyed in shock. What is she doing here?

“I need to talk to you.” She states, her eyes pleading with you to come with her.

“I'm kind of in the middle of some-”

“Go, I'll be ok. Text me how it goes.” Haley blurts out wanting one of you to get your happy ending.

As soon as Paige hears the words she grabs you almost pulling you up and rushing you both out of there. She's too fast, you're heal-covered feet can hardly keep up.

“Paige wait I'm in heals. I'm going to trips wait up.” When the words leave your mouth she instantly stops and turns to you as you regain your balance. As you straighten up you let out a yelp not expecting her to pick you up bride-style and walk you both to her car. You hear the car unlock and she opens the passenger door while still holding you and puts you inside gently making sure you ok before she shuts the door and goes to the driver side.

You turn to look at her with shock and are about to ask her what does she think she's doing but she beats you to it. Turning to face you she looks into your eyes directly and says the five words you've been dying to hear.

“I’m in love with you Y/n” You feel the world stop when she says that. Are you awake right now? Was this a cruel dream?

“Don't say that,” you let out feeling your eyes start to tear up and your throat tightening.

“I love you Y/n.”She says determined to fight for you. She's not letting you go unless you truly want her to.

“Paige you're being mean, stop it please I can't take it.” How could she? How could she mock you? You turn to look away from her not being able to look at her while she lied to you. While trying to win your gaze, you feel her hands. The hands you've craved are turning your face to her slowly wiping your tears. While you let yourself have this one moment with her she starts speaking knowing that you need to hear from her again that she loves you.

“Y/n/n I'm so unbelievably in love with you and I didn't even realize it till I saw you walk out of the dorm. I know you may not want to hear this but whenever I would kiss other girls I would imagine that they were you, when I would hold them I thought about you, all of the things I've done with others I would envision you. I know it's wrong but I was such a fool, it has always been you. You're it for me bun. If I can't have you in this lifetime I pray I get to have you in the next and every after that. We were made for each other. Anytime I listen to Jeff Buckley I instantly think of you. If I could I really would give all my blood for your sweet laughter. I could write novels of you, every single thing about you I could write thousands of pages for. Anytime I hold you I never want to hurt you, I want to take care of you. I want to show you that I can love you gently and purely. When it comes to you I'm all in, everything is yours. Whatever you want I'll do, I'll give it all to you only please baby. Let me worship you in every way possible. I'm all yours, my mind, my body, my heart, my soul, everything was made for you. Give me a chance, let me show you. I can't handle the thought of you with someone else. I don't want to be without you.” During her confession, she rested her forehead against yours. Her finger still wiping the new tears that appeared as her speech went on. Your sweet girl.

“I've loved you for two years maybe even longer. I would watch you with them, my skin felt like it was being peeled off, my heart would stop when I would see you.” You let out not being able to hold it in. Pulling away to look at her you see she started crying too.

“I know I'm sorry baby. Please let me love you, I may not deserve it but I need it. Please.” Her eyes filled with more tears how could you say no. How could you say no to everything you've been hoping for.

“I love you, Paige. I’d give up anything to be with you, you are everything I've wanted for so long. I physically crave you. Even though I didn't say it out loud I tried to show you. I can't blame you completely, I should've said something but I was too scared of losing you.” You say laughing a bit at how much you're both crying. It's your turn to wipe her tears away. Her skin under your fingers feels like you were meant to hold her.

“I love you too. I should've realized sooner. We're both so stupid.” She replies while laughing a bit. You both couldn't stay mad at the other. As she admires you while you're trying to make sure her face is dry all she can do is think about kissing you.

“Kiss me,” did she hear you right? By the look on your face, she can tell you need her as much as she does. The kiss felt even better than you both had imagined, you could taste her tears and vanilla chapstick, she could taste your tears and strawberry lipgloss. She grabs your jaw while her other hand grasps at your waist pulling you a bit over the console. One of your hands is on her shoulder while the other is in her hair. As the kiss goes on it gets hungrier, pulling away to catch your breath you stare at each other.

‘How beautiful,’ runs through both of your heads.

“I love you.” Paige can't help but say it as she pecks you all over your face, repeating it between kisses.

Giggling you can't help but grab her face and peck her on the lips, “I love you too.”

As you both look at each other you can't help but crave something.

“Can we go get ice cream?” You ask not being able to hold it in anymore.

“Are you serious?” She asks laughing in amusement. While you get back into your seat properly buckling your seatbelt you turn to her and smile, “Always.”

“Does this could as my first girlfriend duty?” She asks grinning at the title she's given herself as your girlfriend. Yours.

“Yes so please love let's go, I need a sweet treat.” You flutter your eyelashes at her knowing that'll get her. Even though she would've done it without she smiles seeing as how you agreed that she was yours.

“Can't let my baby go with her ice cream,” she states as she puts the car into drive then moves to grab your hand in your lap, wanting to hold you in some way.

“Aw such a sweet girlfriend I have,” you say as you bring up her hand to your lips giving it a kiss while looking at her grinning so hard your face hurts.

“Yes ma'am, although I think you're sweeter,” you can see her blush from your kiss on her hand. Any little touch you give her makes you giddy.

“I love you, Paige.”

“I love you more Y/n.”

“Not possible.”

“Possible only for you.”

As you both get ice cream and watch the stars you both just feel at peace knowing you were with the person that was handmade for you. Made for each other in every way possible, tied together, sown together, invisible string. Right in front of each other all along.

D1 yearner... BUT anyways I need to lock in and write because the way my drafts and prompts look...... I hope you enjoyed this <33333

Kiss the sun🌞

#fluff #angst #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #wlw #uconn wbb x reader #uconn x reader #wcbb x reader #Spotify

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