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waitimcomingtoo · 1 year ago

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A Film By Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter gets back into making little videos once the two of you start hanging out

warning: extreme 2017 homecoming era nostalgia

Masterlist

Of course he went for Liz.

Liz was the ingénue. She was perfect in every possible way. Perfect grades, perfect face, and the perfect boy pining after her. You’d been crushing on Peter since the third grade but with Liz around, he never noticed you.

But Liz was gone now. She had moved to Oregon following her dad’s arrest and taken Peter’s feelings for her with her. Now that she was gone, you decided it was time to stop pining after Peter from afar and start pining from up close. And so, when you walked into the cafeteria that day, you didn’t sit at the end of the table like you usually did.

“Oh, hey.” Peter smiled in surprise when you sat down next to him. Smiling was good. Smiling meant he wasn’t creeped out by you sitting so close. You gulped before giving him best smile back.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” Ned asked, making Peter give him a look. You immediately regretted your decision and wished you’d just stayed in your usual spot.

“What do you mean? She always sits with us.” Peter pointed out.

“No, she always sits down there. She’s never actually sat with us before.” Ned replied and gestured to the end of the lunch table.

“Yes, but I’m sitting here today because I needed Peters help with the chemistry homework.” You said and put your chemistry notebook on the table. You knew you couldn’t just randomly sit with them without a reason, so you came prepared.

“Oh, for Mr. Eddie’s class? It’s easy. I’ll show you my notes.” Peter’s offered with a smile. You returned the smile as he pulled out his own notebook. It was a win/win for you since you actually needed help with the homework and it would start a conversation with Peter. While he was explaining the problem to you, you never once looked down at the notebook. You were too focused on the curve of Peter’s suspiciously long eyelashes, the longest you’d ever seen on a boy. Ned noticed the way you were staring his his best friend and frowned a little.

“Does that make sense?” Peter’s asked when he was done explaining.

“Yeah, it does. Wow, thanks Peter. It sounds so easy the way you explain it. I wish this stuff came as naturally to me as it does for you. You’re so smart.” You said as if you had listened to a single word he had said.

“That’s nice of you to say but I’m really not that smart. I just like chemistry.” He replied as he blushed from the compliment.

“Oh, come on. You’re the smartest guy I know. You’re the only one that answers questions in that class. And you always get them right. When Mr. Eddie asks if anyone has any questions, I don’t raise my hand because I don’t even know what I’m confused about yet.”

“That’s I feel in English. I can barely make it through the first line in a poem and you’re already going back and forth with Ms. Teague about Pindaric odes or whatever they’re called.”

“You listen to when I talk in English?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Of course I do.” Peter shrugged. “I always find the reading boring until you raise your hand and talk about how you interpreted it. You make it interesting.”

“I liked that book we read when the kids ate the other kids.” Ned said and interrupted the moment. Your smile dropped as you and Peter looked at him with disgust.

“The one with the flies-“

“We know.” Peter cut him off.

“Anyways, thank you for helping me with the homework. I’ve been stuck on it all week.” You said to Peter.

“Ugh. That’s been me with my paper for Mrs. Teagues class. And it’s due tomorrow.” Peter groaned.

“Oh, the analysis essay? I could help you with that.” You offered.

“Really? You’d help me?” Peter smiled in surprise.

“Yeah. I already wrote mine. It would be no problem.”

Ned was watching this back and forth conversation for a while until it clicked it in head. He gasped and slapped the table, making you and Peter look at him.

“Oh my God.” Ned said. “That’s why you’re sitting here. You have a-“

“Can I talk to you for a second, Ned?” You quickly cut him off when you realized where that sentence was going. Before Ned could even answer, you grabbed his arm and pulled him outside the cafeteria to talk in private.

“You like Peter!” Ned whispered harshly. You clamped your hand over his mouth and pushed him up against the wall.

“You need to keep your mouth shut.” You hissed. “Yes, I like Peter, okay? I’ve had a crush on Peter since middle school. He never noticed me when Liz was around but now that she’s in Oregon, I might finally have my chance. I don’t want to scare him off so just keep your mouth shut and let me handle this.”

You took your hand off Ned’s mouth and he started to gasp for air.

“Oh, please. Your nose wasn’t covered. You could breathe just fine.” You said with a roll of your eyes. Ned stopped pretended and straightened up.

“So you actually like Peter? For his personality?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Ned admitted.

“I like everything about him. And I’m gonna tell him that. Just please, don’t say anything before I do. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.”

“Are you going to cast a love spell on him using a lock of his hair?” Ned whispered to you.

“What? No. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because you’re a witch.” Ned said like it was obvious.

“I’m not a witch.” You groaned. “I just accidentally cackled that one time but it was only because I had phlegm in my throat.”

“Then about that time on the bus?”

“We’ve been over this. It was just a coincidence that that biker fell off his bike after I gestured with my hand. I didn’t move him with my mind.”

“And that one time in physics?” Ned narrowed his eyes.

“I still don’t know how that guys shirt caught on fire.” You shrugged. “It’s a mystery to me.”

“It caught on fire after he made fun of you for being a witch.” Ned pointed out.

“Maybe he was just standing too close to the flame.” You shrugged.

“He was standing in the doorway. There was no flame.” Ned reminded you.

“The magic of science.” You shrugged again.

“But what about that time-“

“Don’t bring up the nosebleed.” You whined.

“I am gonna bring up the nosebleed.” Ned hissed. “In sixth grade, our Spanish teacher got a nosebleed right after he told you to stop staring out the window and made everyone laugh at you. How do you explain that?”

“You’ve made your point, okay? Now are you gonna tell Peter or not?”

“Look, I’m not gonna expose your gross secret feelings, as gross and secret as they may be.” Ned sighed. “But Peter is still my best friend so I have to look out for him. I don’t want any spells cast on him.”

“That’s fine. There will not be any spells.” You held your your hands in defense. Just then, Flash walked by and laughed when he saw the two of you talking.

“Woah. What is this, the friendless loser convention?” Flash snorted.

“Shut up.” You snapped. Flash immediately tripped over his feet and fell to the ground, making Ned look at you with wide eyes.

“Witch!” He whispered harshly as he pointed a finger at you.

“Shut up. Let’s go back inside.” You rolled your eyes and pulled Ned back into the cafeteria.

Later that day, you met up with Peter in the library to go over your assignments. You started with his English essay and finished that within an hour before moving on to your chemistry homework.

“You can plug the numbers into your formula now using the method I taught you. And then you just solve for x.” Peter explained as you worked out a problem together.

“Hm. You make it sound so simple.” You sighed and leaned on your hand. Peter saw the way you were staring at him in his peripheral vision and felt his face heat up.

“It’s, uh, it’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I never liked the way Mr. Eddie taught it. I figured this out myself and it’s worked much better for me.”

“Thanks for helping me. You’re a good teacher.” You said and put your hand on his arm. Peter laughed shyly at the contact and cleared his throat.

“Thanks. And so are you. That was the best essay I’ve ever produced. I honestly worry she won’t believe I wrote it.”

“Well if she says anything, I can vouch for you. You put in good work on this essay. You deserve the credit.” You assured him, making Peter blush all over again. It occurred to Peter that he never realized how pretty you were. You’d been classmates since 3rd grade so he always looked at you as just another girl in his class. Now that you had his full attention, he didn’t feel like looking away.

“Thanks. I appreciate you helping me write it. I know it can be frustrating to work with me because of my dyslexia.”

“It’s no problem. And it wasn’t frustrating at all.” You shrugged. Peter smiled at felt better about how long it took him to write the essay.

“Thanks.” He said. You had successfully gotten him to spend time with you one on one but now you needed to commence the next phase in your plan which was to hang out in a non school related setting.

“Would you ever want to hang out socially?” You blurted.

“Like, and not do homework?” He asked. You nodded your head and he smiled before nodding as well.

“Yeah. Sure. I’d love to.”

“Cool. Me too.” You smiled. You hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that but it worked nonetheless.

“Does this weekend work?” He asked you.

“Yeah. What do you want to do?”

Hard cut to that weekend. You were on the subway with Peter and he had his phone out to record himself.

“Firts social hang out with a girl. A film by Peter Parker.” He said in a low voice before flipping the camera to face you.

“Staring me.” You smiled and waved to the camera.

“Are you sure you’re cool with me filming this?” Peter asked as he flipped the camera back to himself.

“Yeah, of course. The other ones you showed me were so cute. But why did it seem like there were so many missing parts? You were always talking about something cool that I didn’t get to see.”

“Uhhh, no reason.” Peter said and looked to the side. He had skillfully edited out any incriminating superhero activity that you were not ready to see yet.

“Well I like it. I feel like I’m on Modern Family.” You said and posed for the camera.

“Which family member would you be?” Peter laughed and zoomed in on you. With his phone blocking his face, he could shamelessly admire your face on his screen.

“Duh. Lily.”

“I can so see that.” He chuckled. The subway lurched suddenly and you both grabbed onto the pole, coincidentally putting your hands in top of each others.

“Oh, sorry. Our hands touched.” You laughed shyly.

“Oh my God. So romantic.” Peter joked, making you blush and look into his camera.

“Stop it.” You laughed and covered his phone with your hand. He laughed as well and put his phone away.

After learn you had never been, Peter decided to the Lego Store. He’d been hyping it up to you all week over text and now that it was finally happening, he hoped it impressed you. You walked in together and Peter heard you gasp.

“Big Lego Aladdin.” You gasped and ran to stand under the giant magic carpet and Aladdin made of Legos.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that string of words come out of someone’s mouth.” Peter laughed and went to stand under it with you. You looked over at him and were surprised to see he was already looking at you.

“This is even better than you described it. You need to show me everything.” You said and excitedly shook his arm.

“I can do that.” He blushed and nodded his head towards some of the sets.

Peter took out his phone to film you as you looked at everything in the store. The way you were looking around like a little kid brought a smile to Peter’s face. He zoomed in on you and caught himself staring at you fondly through the camera.

“Come on. I haven’t even showed you the coolest part yet.” Peter said and brought you over to the build your figure own station. He laughed when you gasped again and started to excitedly rummage through all the pieces. Peter didn’t bring his phone out again until you had built each other.

“Show me what you made.” He laughed from the other side of the phone.

“Looks! It’s a little Peter. He has a backpack and a beaker.” You said as you proudly showed the camera the little Peter figure you had made.

“This is Y/n. I can’t believe I found the shoes you always wear.” He said as he filmed the figure he had made of you.

“You notice my shoes?” You asked with a smile. Peter didn’t catch it because he was too busy fitting the hands of your Lego figures together.

“Look. They’re holding hands.” Peter gasped.

“Aw.” You laughed. “Us on the subway.”

“We should give them some privacy. They might not want us to hard launch their relationship.” Peter said and put his phone away.

“You’re so cute.” You laughed without thinking about it. Peter looked up at you with rosy cheeks and you gulped when you realized what you said.

“I mean-“

“Come on. I wanna take you somewhere else.” He cut you off before you could explain. He brought you to Delmar’s and ordered his usual for you to split. You sat together inside and you tried your best to remain calm. You always wondered what Peter got up to when he wasn’t at school and now you were in one of his favorite places and eating with him.

“Okay, this is Y/n’s first time eating at Delmars since he reopened. Let’s get her reaction.” Peter said as he filmed you unwrapping the sandwich.

“Wait, why is it so flat?” You laughed and held the sandwich up.

“Oh, sorry.” He chuckled. “I forgot to warn you that he always squishes it for me. But you’ll like it. Trust me. It’s much better when it’s squished down real flat.”

“Well I’m glad I now know you like your sandwiches to be squished. I would not have expected that about you.” You said and took a bite of your half before giving him a thumbs up.

“Yeah? You like it?” He asked hopefully.

“I do. Your squishy sandwich was surprisingly good.” You admitted.

“Well, I’m very pleased to hear that.” Peter smiled and phone away. “So to make it even, you have to show me one of your favorite places next time we hang out.”

“Oh.” You smiled coyly. “I didn’t realize there would be a next time.”

“There better be. I had a lot of fun with you today. How come we’ve never hung out before?”

“I don’t know. I always wanted to but you were busy running around with Ned or staring at…” You trailed off and chose not to mention Liz in case he was still hung up on her.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad we’re friends now.” You said instead.

“Me too. I’ve never had a girl friend.”

“What was that?” You said and started choking on your saliva.

“All my friends in my life were guys. It’ll be nice to have a female influence in my life.”

“Oh. Girl friend.” You smiled tightly.

You hung out another hour before taking the subway back to your respective apartments. Peter walked to you the front doors of you building and you had an awkward moment where you didn’t know if you should hug or not.

“We uh, we should probably get an ending for your film.” You said with a timid smile.

“Oh, right. Thats a great idea.” Peter smiled and pulled out his phone. He pressed record and you waved to the camera with both hands.

“So, can you give our first time hanging out a rating?” He asked you.

“9/10.” You grinned and held up two thumbs.

“What? Why’d I only get a 9?” Peter scoffed and pretended to be offended.

“I had a 10/10 time but I have to deduct a point because we saw that guy cutting his hair on the subway and I was scared he was gonna throw the scissors at us.”

“Well I would’ve just protected you with my lightning fast reflexes.” Peter said simply. You smiled at him through the phone and he smiled back. He put the camera down and looked at you with a content smile on his face.

“Seriously, though. When’s the next time we’re hanging out?”

It ended up being just a few days later. And then again a few days after that.

“Peter’s first time!” You cheered as you filmed him during one of your hang outs.

“Trying boba.” He clarified. “I don’t understand this drink. Do I eat the balls?”

“Yes. Sip it slowly so they don’t all go down your throat.” You instructed. Peter took a big sip and immediately started choking.

“Peter! I said slowly!” You said as you slapped his back until he stopped choking. You quickly put the camera down to help him recover.

Your hangouts started getting more and more frequent and Peter soon considered you a best friend. Your weekends became each others and school days were often spent together in the library or at one of your apartments. You were quickly moving up the ranks in Peter’s life, just as you hoped. And the closer you got, the more Peter could not believe he had never noticed you before.

Little did you know, Peter often found himself watching the footage he had taken of you during your hang outs with a big smile on his face. He’d rewatch the videos he had taken and realize that they were slowly becoming less of a documentary and more of a highlight reel for you. He never imagined a girl as cool as you would for him so when he realized he was starting to fall for you, he quickly repressed his feelings. Little did he know, the feelings were mutual.

“Did you always make these little videos?” You asked Peter one day as he filmed you trying to balance on the curb of the sidewalk.

“I used too make them all the time but I hadn’t for awhile. I only started them again when we started hanging out.”

“Really? Why?” You wondered and stumbled off the curb.

“I don’t know. You remind me of the time before my life got crazy. It made me want to do these again.” He shrugged. You couldn’t help but smile at that information and turned around to look at him.

“So I could be the star?” You asked and posed for the camera.

“Exactly. You’re my muse.” He played along, making you laughed shyly. When he watched the video back later that night, he knew he had meant every word of that.

Peter sat in his bedroom one day and filmed himself wearing your glasses while you did homework at his desk. He looked over you every now and then just to admire the back of your head.

“Don’t break those.” You called without looking up. All you needed to hear was the sound of your glasses case opening to know what he was doing.

“I’m not even wearing your glasses.” He lied and admired himself in the camera.

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not. But yes, I am.”

“Knew it.” You snorted.

“Hey, how come girls always smell so good?” Peter wondered. “Your hair hit me in the face when you turned too fast before it smelled like a baby in a damn meadow.”

“It’s just my womanly essence. Now can you stop looking at yourself long enough to help me with my chemistry homework?”

“It’ll be hard but I can try.” Peter dramatically sighed and set his phone down. You got yo from the desk and went over to the bed with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Incoming.” You announced and patted your elbow twice like a wrestler.

“No, don’t.” He pleaded. You ignored his pleas and jumped on top of him. He groaned and pushed you off, leaving you laying in the bed beside him.

“Ow. My ribs.”

“You’ll heal.” You rolled your eyes. “Now can you help me with number 7?”

“Oh, yeah. No problem. Can you check this email before I send it?” He asked and handed over his laptop. You handed him your worksheet before reading over his email draft.

“Oh, honey.” You grimaced just a few words into the email.

“Is it bad?”

“Good evening, Mrs. Howard. I hope this email finds you well. I’m so sorry for bothering you. I was just wondering if I could possibly have an extension on my midterm paper? No worries at all if an extension is not possible. I apologize for any inconvenience this email may have caused. Thank you for reading, Peter Parker.” You read out loud.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“After your name, you included the name of the class, the time you have it, and a description of yourself. She knows who you are!” You laughed and turned the laptop around to show him his mistakes.

“She may have forgotten.” He pointed out. “I can’t take any chances.”

“Peter, this email is way too submissive. You sound like such a bottom.”

“Well excuse me, genius.” He said sarcastically. “How would you write it?”

“Here.” You said and handed the laptop back after retyping his email.

“Oh, wow. That’s actually really good.” He said once he read your updated version.

“This is why we are such good friends. You have all the math and science knowledge in this little, beautiful head of yours-“

“Little?” He interrupted.

“You’re right. Sorry, I was just being nice. What I meant to say is that your head is huge.” You corrected. “Anyways, you have the math brain and I have the literary brain. It’s like you’re Einstein and I’m Victor Hugo.”

“Who the hell is that?” He laughed as he peaked at your mirror to see if his head was actually huge.

“The guy who wrote Les Mis.” You said like it was obvious.

“Never heard of it.”

“What? You’ve never seen Les Misérables?” You asked in a thick French accent.

“Huh?”

“We have to watch it. It’s so good.” You said and snatched his laptop back. You pulled up the movie and handed it back to him.

“Oh my God. It’s two hours and 38 minutes long? And a musical? Hell no.” Peter shook his head and pushed the laptop away.

“But it’s so good.” You urged. “We can just leave it on in the background while we work. It’s super light and easy to watch.”

“Really? What’s it about?”

“Oh, you know. Just war torn France.” You mumbled.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“But you’ll like it! There’s prostitution and con men and um…oh! And orphans! You can watch it and feel represented.” You said and shook his arm.

“I hate you.” He laughed but nearly gave in to your request just to see you happy.

“Fine.” You huffed. “I finished editing your midterm paper, by the way. You don’t actually have to send that email.”

“And here is your completed chemistry homework.” Peter smiled and handed your worksheet back.

“Aw.” You gushed. “Look at us. I love cheating with you.”

“So do I. We make a great pairing.” He chuckled as he looked over at you. You looked back at him and gulped. You hadn’t realized how close you were with your arms and legs pressed against each other as you sat together in your bed. Peter knew his sheets would smell like your perfume that night and smiled at the thought.

“Now that we’re all done with our work, you know what we should do?” He asked as he moved in closer.

“W-what should we do?” You stuttered now that he was right there.

“You know what I’ve been dying to do with you for a long, long time?” He asked.

“No. I mean, I don’t know. What?” You laughed nervously. Peter moved in even closer and right when you thought he was gonna kiss you, he reached over and grabbed his laptop back.

“I wanted to show you a real musical. Not this French miserable bull crap. Have you ever seen a little movie called Hair-“

“No. I’m not watching Hairspray with you again. You scream-sang every lyric last time and I couldn’t even hear it.” You cut him off and reached over home to take the laptop back. He pulled it away at the last second and you ended up on top of him. You looked into each others eyes and both froze in the positions you were in. Your faces were almost touching but neither of you tried to pull away. Your eyes were going back and forth between his lips and eyes and he was doing the same. Like magnets, you two started to lean towards each other but before your lips could connect, May opened the door.

“What did you guys want- oh! Sorry! I didn’t realize I would be interrupting something. My bad.” May smiled sheepishly and pretended to cover her eyes. Peter burned bright red as you quickly climbed off of him.

“May.” He said warningly.

“Sorry. But maybe lock the door next time. And use protection.”She whispered the last part before shutting the door.

“May!” He groaned and threw a pillow at the door. There was a long, awkward silence before you were even able to look at each other. When you finally did, you smiled awkwardly and kept your distance.

“That was so weird. What did she think we were doing?” You laughed nervously to break the silence.

“Psh. I know.” Peter scoffed. “She said she was interrupting but we weren’t even doing anything.”

“Yeah. What did she think? That we were gonna kiss or something?” You asked and laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing you could ever suggest.

“Us? Kissing? How silly. Imagine that.” Peter forced a laugh as well and looked to the side. The awkward silence returned and you struggled to look at each other.

“Do you think she made dinner?” Peter asked after a beat of silence.

“Let’s check.” You said and quickly got off the bed.

You didn’t discuss the almost kiss and went home shortly after. You couldn’t sleep that night because you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your mind. No matter how much you wanted him to like you back, if Peter reciprocated your feelings, he would have kissed you.

Your pity party didn’t last long because on the subway the next day, you felt Peter put his earbud in your ear. You heard the Les Mis soundtrack playing in your ear and looked up in surprise. Peter was already filming you with a huge smile on his face.

“This guy 24601 should stop stealing bread and stick to singing. He has serious pipes.” Peter said.

“You listened to it?” You melted into a smile and held your hand over your heart.

“Yep. I stayed up all night watching lyric videos because I couldn’t understand what they were saying with their accents. It’s actually really good. I love Eponine. I just wish Marious wasn’t such an idiot. How does he not see that his best friend is clearly in love with him?” Peter asked with exasperation. You looked directly at the camera and hoped it picked up the irony before looking at Peter again.

“He’s not an idiot. He’s a romantic.” You sighed. “He doesn’t notice Eponine because he’s in love with Cosette. And course he is. She’s prettier and richer and has perfect hair. He doesn’t even see Eponine.”

“Good hair isn’t everything. Eponine is way better than Cosette.” Peter scoffed. “I’m team Eponine all the way.”

“Are you really?” You asked hopefully.

“Oh, for sure. I see why you like this stuff. These songs are awesome.” Peter said and put the other earbud in his ear. He then flipped the camera around to film the two of you sharing earbuds. As Heart Full Of Love played in your ears, you couldn’t help but longingly staring at Peter. The fact that he had stayed up late just to listen to something you suggested made you overcome with fondness for him. If he had done something like that, maybe he actually did feel the same.

“I forgot how good this album is. I haven’t listened in a while. I used to listen to it all the time back when you…” You stopped short when you realized you were about to say too much.

“When I what?” Peter wondered. You looked him in the eyes and decided that it was time to be honest. The song ended and a new, much louder one began to play in your ears.

“Back when you liked Liz. She was Cosette. I was Eponine. I was the one pining after a guy who never noticed me because he was in love with another girl. You were never mine to lose.” You admitted. Peter stared at you for a minute before pulling his earbud out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear a word you just said. Master of the House is such a banger. What did you say?” He asked you.

“Never mind.” You smiled. “It wasn’t important.”

He smiled back before getting a text on his phone. You looked at his phone when you heard it buzz and realized he was still recording. In other words, he had just recorded you saying you liked him. Your eyes went wide but you only had a second to panic when you read the text he had gotten.

“Did Liz just text you?” You asked in a quiet voice. You felt like you were about to throw up. Years of crushing on a boy who liked another girl turned into months of pinning for your best friend and now turned into a rock in your stomach. Peter stopped recording the two of you to answer her text, which felt a little like a slap in the face.

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been talking lately.” He absentmindedly replied to you as he laughed at whatever she had written.

“You have?” You asked with a dry mouth.

“Yeah. She says Oregon is pretty cool. But she wants to come back and visit this summer to see everyone.” He told you.

“And see you?” You asked with a sad smile.

“I guess so.” He shrugged. “It would be nice to see her.”

“Yeah. Totally.” You said weakly. “So how long have you guys been talking?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks? She texted me a little while ago and we’ve been catching up.”

“That’s awesome.” You lied.

“I know. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from her again after she moved.”

“Neither did I.” You said through a forced smile. You needed to get off the subway and away from Peter before you started crying. So as soon as the subway doors opened, you bolted out.

“I gotta go. See you later.” You called to him before running through the subway station. You wiped tears as you went up the stairs and didn’t stop moving until you were in a bathroom stall at school. You gave yourself five minutes to be upset before drying your face and leaving the bathroom. It sucked, but it could have been worse. Now, Peter never had to know how you felt about it.

Peter was beyond confused by your exit on the subway but he wasn’t about to get any answers from you. You dodged his texts throughout the day and didn’t dare go into the lunchroom where you knew he and Ned would be.

“Y/n isn’t here yet?” Peter’s huffed as he sat down at your usual lunch table.

“Not yet. Actually, I haven’t seen your girlfriend all day.” Ned realized.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter blushed. “And I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me. She’s been so weird ever since this morning. Everything was fine on the subway until we got to school.”

“Well did anything happen on the subway that would weird her out? Oh no. Did you graze her boob with your hand again?”

“No. That was one time. And it was her boobs fault, not mine.” Peter whispered harshly. “We were just listening to music together and I was filming her like normal. But she could not get away from me faster once the doors opened. It was so weird.”

“Did you say anything weird to her? Girls don’t like it when you say weird things to them.”

“I know that. I didn’t say anything weird.” Peter replied as he pulled out his phone. He watched the video he had taken on the subway with no sound to see where he had gone wrong. All he saw was you looking at him with heart eyes which made his face heat up. But still, no evidence of where he messed up.

“I knew it. We were having a normal conversation about Les Mis and then I got a text from and then she ran. It makes no sense.”

“What was the text? Was it May saying something weird?”

“No. And stop saying weird. It doesn’t sound like a real word anymore.” Peter ordered. “And the text was just from Liz.”

“Oh shit.” Ned said when he heard this.

“What?” Peter wondered.

“Oh, Peter.” Ned sighed. “Peter, Peter, Peter.”

“What?” He asked again, annoyed now.

“Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter.”

“Are you gonna tell me what happened or just keep saying my name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’m sworn to secrecy. And I don’t want Y/n to put a hex on my family.” Ned said and held up his hands.

“Y/n swore you to secrecy? About what?”

“Can’t say.” Ned shrugged and zipped his lips.

“Does she not like Liz? And doesn’t want me to know?”

“Dude. Dude, dude, dude, dude. You are so close but so far.”

“So she does like Liz? Oh my God. Does she a crush on Liz? And she’s jealous that Liz texted me and not her?” Peter whispered with wide eyes.

“You’re getting colder.” Ned waved his hand. “I don’t even know how you got there.”

“That was all my guesses. Just tell me.” Peter whined.

“Hell no. I don’t want Y/n to curse my crops and make not grow for all of eternity.”

“You don’t have crops.” Peter pointed out.

“I could develop some.” Ned snapped.

“I just don’t understand what she would tell you something but not tell me. We’re best friends. She usually tells me everything.” Peter said right as his thumb accidentally hit the volume button on the video. Your confession to Peter on the subway was heard loud and clear by the two boys. Both of their jaws dropped as the video ended with you asked if Liz had just texted Peter.

“Well I wouldn’t have beaten around the bush like that if I knew you had video evidence of her saying she liked you right in your hands.” Ned sighed dramatically.

“I need to find her.” Peter said and ran out of the lunchroom. He looked around the school until he found you under the bleachers in the gym. You were sitting with your back against the wall and your knees drawn to your chest with your earbuds in your ears. When you saw Peter coming up to you, you quickly pulled them out.

“Hey.” He said and waved cautiously.

“Hey.” You smiled sadly as he sat beside you. You sat in silence for a minute as neither of you knew what to say.

“What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you all day.” He started off. You looked at your hands to avoid making eye contact and sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been talking to Liz?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t hiding it. I just didn’t think it would interest you.”

“Well you have no idea how interesting I found it.” You laughed dryly. “What do you guys talk about anyway?”

“Well, she originally texted me to ask me to confirm I had an internship at Stark Industries because her boyfriend didn’t believe her when she told him she knew a guy who worked there. Apparently he’s been trying to get an internship there for years and he wanted to know how I landed mine. Then we just started catching up. I only talk to her here and there, though. And it’s only ever about school or work.”

“Oh. I thought you guys were talking talking.” You couldn’t help but smile a little when you heard the word “boyfriend.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Just regular talking. When you saw her text on my phone, she was telling me about her cat getting spaded. And I didn’t know what that meant so she had to tell me. I should’ve just googled it.”

You laughed softly at that and he did too. The tension was let out of the conversation and you could finally breathe again. When you stopped laughing, you finally looked in his eyes.

“Do you still have feelings for her?” You asked quietly.

“For her? No.” He laughed. “Those are long gone. I have feelings for someone else now.”

“Oh God. Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to know.” You groaned and buried your face in your hands. Peter looked at you for a minute until an idea came to him.

“Actually, uh, I came looking for you because I was just making another video. Wanna be in it?” Peter asked and took out his phone. You looked at him like he was crazy and could not believe he had just asked that during that moment.

“I’m not really in the mood right now, P.”

“Come on. I can’t make it without my muse.” He said and nudged you slightly. You couldn’t help but to smile at that and reluctantly nodded. He propped up his phone against the bleachers and pressed record.

“In a world where two best friends have no idea how to communicate despite spending way too much time together.” Peter said in a fake deep, gravely voice.

“Okay. Shade. That’s fine.”

“What will it take for them to admit they have feelings for each other?” He kept the voice as he looked at you.

“Wait, what?” You asked and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. Peter smiled softly at you and shrugged a little.

“What’s it gonna take?” He asked again in his normal voice.

“I don’t understand.” You laughed nervously.

“I watched the video from before. From the subway. I heard what you said.” He admitted.

“Oh shit. You watched it?” You grimaced.

“Uh huh. So if you’re Eponine, I guess that makes me the idiot who didn’t realize his best friend was in love with him?”

“I guess so.” You said with a tight smile and still didn’t understand why he wanted to film this incredibly awkward conversation.

“You know, if I didn’t have a video of it, I never would have believed that you liked me.” Peter told you.

“You wouldn’t? Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t seem possible that the coolest girl I’ve ever met liked me.” He replied.

“You think I’m cool?” You asked skeptically.

“I think you’re the coolest. And you know, I watch the videos I take of you all the time. And half of them are just clips of you existing. So I do notice you. It just took me a second to catch up.” He told you. A smile tugged at your lips as you stared into his big brown eyes.

“You’re my best friend.” You told him. “I’m sorry I want more.”

“I’m not sorry.” He shrugged.

“You’re not?”

“I’m just sorry it took me so long to wake up and find that what I’ve been looking for has been here the whole time.” He said as he hooked his pinky under your chin and brought your face close to his.

“Wait, why does that sound so familiar?” You wondered.

“Don’t think about it too hard.” Peter whispered right before your lips touched. You kissed for the first time under the bleachers but it could have been in a palace for all you knew. The world disappeared around you as Peter slipped a hand behind your head to deepen the kiss. When you pulled away, you rested your foreheads together and laughed nervously together. It was a good nervous, a happy feeling of anticipation.

“Was that Taylor Swift?” You realized when you finally placed where you knew that like from.

“Shh. No.” He shook his head. “But yes, it was. You’re not the only one with good music taste.”

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

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@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

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@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

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@officialsimppage @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

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@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #Peter Parker mutual pining #peter parker x best friend!reader #spiderman homecoming #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n #peter parker x y/n

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starsinthesky5 · 25 days ago

Text

you are in love V part 1 || joe burrow x reader

description: this upcoming week will be monumental for you and joe. both of you have a chance to get to the top of the mountain in your respective careers, and for the first time, you are by each other's side through it all, and the whole world is watching

a/n: im baaaaaackkkkk! well, did I ever really go anywhere LMAO? anyway, sorry this one took so long ;) hope you enjoy it. this is part 1 of 2. the corresponding social media fic will hopefully be up this week!

warnings: SMUT mdni, fluff, hint of angst here and there

word count: 29.9 k

YAIL masterlist || YAIL lore → (this might clarify some things in terms of albums)

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyburrrow @joeyb1989 @softburrow @yelenasbraid @burrowbarbie @lovelyburrow @starkeyswomen @grittysbiggestfan @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @definitelynotdomanique

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I'm so in love that I might stop breathing, Drew a map on your bedroom ceiling, No, I didn't see the news, 'Cause we were somewhere else

Scrolling through your latest track recordings always felt like the most rewarding part of your exhausting day in the studio—a chance to sit back and revel in the magic that had poured out of you. But tonight? Tonight, it felt different. It felt better. You know why? Because this one was a glitter gel pen song. Every take, every note, every perfectly stacked synth—it all fit together like a dream. It was carefree, light, the kind of song that twirled you around the room in a haze of champagne bubbles and whispered secrets. The type of song that felt like the drunk girl in the bathroom at a party, grabbing your hands and telling you that you looked like an angel. You leaned back, tapping your fingers against your wooden desk as the track played through the speakers, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. “Damn,” you muttered to yourself, satisfaction settling deep in your chest. “That one’s it. Two for two on those blends, Jack would be proud,��.

The way the melodies melted together, the shimmering production weaving through every lyric—it was magic. The kind of song that didn’t just sit in the background, but demanded to be felt. It had all the makings of a smash hit.

That is, if it ever saw the light of day.

Your album had already been finalized for a few months now and there were no intentions to add to it, but the thing was, you just couldn’t stop writing. It’s like every little thing was inspiring you; from his laughter, to his knee silently rubbing against yours under the table—teasing, comforting, constant—to the way he looked at you before you fell asleep in his arms. Hell, even the cheap wine you pretended was champagne which he had picked up in a haste before coming back home to celebrate you inking the deal with Vogue to be on their cover for the May edition.

Words. Lyrics. Poems.

That was all that filled your mind when you were with him—which, at this point, was quite often.

And there’s only one person to blame for that.

Joe.

The song you had been working on tonight—Paris—was loosely inspired by your little adventure across France last month. From the dazzling waters of Cannes to the stylish Parisian streets, it was a trip filled with firsts & so many moments that had you thinking of song lyrics like it was second nature (which it was). Every stolen glance, every drunken whisper while stumbling down the dimly lit hallways of your hotel, every moment that felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you—it all poured into the song effortlessly.

We were somewhere else

You could still picture it. The way his fingers laced with yours as you wandered through the cobblestone streets, the city lights reflecting in his oceanic eyes making him look ethereal. The quiet laughter over dinner in a tucked-away bistro, the kind of place that felt like a secret. The warmth of his hands on your waist as he pulled you close on the balcony, the Eiffel Tower glowing in the distance. You really were somewhere else with him, it felt like you two were separated from the world, so immersed in your bubble to the point where you didn’t know what was going on around you.

Privacy sign on the door, and on my page, and on the whole world. Romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours

Love wasn’t something you needed to prove to anyone. You had learned that the hard way.

During this trip, after months of speculation, silence, and blurred paparazzi photos, the world finally knew—you and Joe.

The pop star and the athlete. The girl with the guitar and the boy with the game ball. The lyricist and her muse. The songbird and her falcon.

The headlines were persistent, dissecting every past lyric, every old interview, every possible connection they could make between the lovers. But they couldn’t pinpoint what it was, how someone like you had ended up with someone like him. Two different worlds. Two different crowds. Yet somehow, your hearts found each other and something extraordinary was etched in the stars as a result.

It was a big step, terrifying in a way that only fame could make it. Because for the first time, you were willingly letting in the same people who had spent the last year ripping you apart piece by piece.

But you weren’t scared. Not this time.

For the first time in your life, you didn’t give a damn.

Because romance isn’t dead—not if you keep it yours. You had spent so long believing love needed an audience, that it had to be constantly flaunted and performed to be real. But now, you knew better. Love was in the quiet moments. In the space between heartbeats. In the way Joe looked at you when no one else was watching. You kept that privacy sign up—on the door, on your page, on your entire world—because peace was priceless, something valuable and unattainable for the ill-fated that once you found it, you’d do anything to protect it. The outside world might try to crack open the doors, to pry into your life, but you didn’t owe anyone that access. Some things were too sacred to be shared, and that was perfectly okay. You were only going to let them see things on your own terms, without any need to prove something to someone. You were unbelievably happy with your life with Joe, and you wanted people to know—but never once should it have to come off as forced. And that’s what was so different about your relationship.

Nothing about it felt forced.

Which is why Paris was a dream you never wanted to wake up from. It was so easy, it all felt so natural—like the two of you had stepped into a world where time slowed down just for you.

The city had always been romanticized in your mind, but being there with Joe had turned every moment into something straight out of a movie. Fashion Week was his grand debut into that world—his first time on the runway, and you’d never been prouder. He and Justin had taken the stage like they belonged there, breaking barriers with each confident step. You still remembered standing off to the side, watching as Joe walked with that signature focus of his, the same intensity he carried on the field. Except this time, instead of pads and cleats, he was draped in high fashion, and god, did he wear it well.

The fittings had been an adventure in themselves. You had spent hours in designer showrooms, watching him try on pieces that ranged from effortlessly cool—Joe Cool—to downright ridiculous. At one point, he came out in a look so wild you couldn’t help but fall over laughing, clutching your stomach as he just stood there, unamused. “Babe,” he deadpanned, turning to the mirror. “I look like a rejected boy band member from 2003,” and you only laughed harder.

When you weren’t wrapped up in the whirlwind of Fashion Week, you had slipped away to explore the city together. Mornings were spent wandering through art museums, fingers laced together as you admired centuries-old paintings. Joe had a way of tilting his head when he looked at something he didn’t quite understand, brow furrowed in concentration. “So…this is just a bunch of dots?” he had murmured as you stood in front of a Seurat painting, and you had to bite back a smile, squeezing his hand. “It’s called pointillism, babe,”.

Afternoons were for indulging in every pastry Paris had to offer, for letting him feed you bites of pain au chocolat, for stolen kisses between sips of espresso at a quiet café. And the nights…well, the nights belonged to just the two of you. Quality time in the hotel room, tangled limbs beneath silk sheets, whispered words and soft laughter echoing against the walls after he had just finished drilling you into the soft mattress.

But outside your little Parisian bubble, the cameras had followed, the questions had lingered, the online buzz had been relentless. The world now knew about you and Joe, and they had plenty to say about it. Some were supportive, some skeptical, some downright nasty. But none of it mattered when you were with him.

And now, here you were, back in your studio, lost in thought, lost in Paris, lost in him.

Paris wasn’t just a place. It was a feeling. One that lingered, even now, as you sat in the dim glow of the studio, layering harmonies over a melody that already felt like nostalgia. This song wasn’t just about your time in the city of love. It was about him. The feeling he made you feel.

And you were dancing to the beat of that feeling, letting it guide you wherever it wanted, just as you let him guide you through the unpredictability of love.

After going through the recordings, you decided to head back to the drawing board. The soft hum of unfinished melodies filled the room, blending with the distant city noise outside. You absentmindedly tapped your blue glitter pen against the pages of your notebook, eyes scanning over the lyrics you had scribbled down earlier. The scent of coffee and warm studio air surrounded you, holding you in this moment—just you, your thoughts, and the music waiting to be shaped into something real.

Wrapped in your Bengals blanket, you sighed, sinking deeper into the plush velvet couch. A new verse was forming in your mind, the words almost there. You took the pen from your lips, pressing it to the page, ready to chase the feeling. But then, your phone buzzed beside you, pulling you from your thoughts.

The screen lit up, casting a soft glow in the dark studio, and a smile rose at the corners of your lips. Your lock screen—a snapshot of a moment that felt like home.

Well, because it was.

Last November. A slow morning wrapped in golden light. The photo had been taken in bed, the white sheets tangled around your bodies, the warmth of sleep still lingering in your limbs. Joe had snapped it—his arm extended, his messy morning hair barely in frame, but the focus was on you, tucked into his chest, your cheek pressed against his bare skin, eyes still heavy with sleep, while he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You didn’t even know he’d taken the photo until later that afternoon when he changed your lock screen himself, grinning like a kid who just got away with something. “You looked cute,” he shrugged, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And now, every time your phone lit up, it was there—a reminder of warmth, of love, of the kind peace you never thought was possible to possess.

You then read the message below, seeing it was from your assistant.

Jen: new interview was released from paris! looks like lover boy had a few things to say about his lover girl ;)

“What…,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat as another message popped up, this time with the link to the interview clip. You were aware that Joe had his own media run during your time in Paris, as the highlight of the trip was Joe’s Vogue World debut with Justin. It was something unique, something that broke the glass ceiling as these two American football stars took on the world of fashion and Anna Wintour like a hurricane. They were the center of attention during Fashion Week, so it was a given that there’d be an inquisitive microphone shoved in his face and a camera following his every move. Every step they took, every outfit they wore was analyzed and dissected by the press, but Joe seemed unfazed despite his initial nerves before the trip.

Your eyebrows knitted together out of curiosity, the only thought you had was, “He didn’t tell me they asked him about me,” and then you clicked on the link without hesitation, and there he was. You recognized the surroundings—seeing the racks of clothing, glam vanities, and cameras—and realized this must’ve been a BTS interview during his fitting that morning before he walked the runway.

You tapped play, and within seconds, his familiar, eye-crinkling laughter filled the studio, intoxicating and so freaking adorable, making your heart flutter all over again.

“What do I think of Y/N?” he repeats with a soft laugh, shaking his head as if he can’t quite put it all into words. There’s a blush creeping onto his cheeks, undeniable, even under the bright studio lights. “I mean, she’s great…honestly, she’s more than great. She’s magic. The literal best thing that has ever happened to me. She’s everything you could ever want in a girlfriend. She’s everything to me. A constant source of support, someone who understands the pressure I’m under because she’s in the same position as me but in her own career, someone who can make me smile and laugh harder than I ever have before,”.

He pauses for a second, running a hand over his jaw, a small smile playing on his lips. “Having her by my side over the past year has been nothing short of incredible. It’s been a blessing, a learning experience, a constant source of happiness in my life. Aside from being the most talented person I know—like, truly, watching her work, seeing her create, it’s inspiring—she’s also the most kind-hearted, down-to-earth person I’ve ever met. The way she carries herself, the way she navigates everything that comes with her career, it’s admirable. it’s one of the reasons I fell for her in the first place. I’ve learned a lot from her about how to manage my life in the NFL, privacy is a big thing for me and it’s rare…but she knows how to maintain it better than anyone,”.

His expression softens, voice dipping into something more intimate, like he’s forgetting for a moment that the cameras are rolling. “The world sees her as this superstar, this powerhouse who sells out stadiums and breaks records, but I see the girl who hums under her breath when she thinks no one’s listening. The one who stays up late, perfecting lyrics because she wants to make sure every word matters. The one who gives everything to the people she loves, no matter how exhausted she is. And somehow, I am lucky enough to get to be the person she comes home to,”.

The interviewer smiles, clearly intrigued by the connection between Joe and you, and then asks, “It’s clear you’re incredibly proud of her, but with both of you being in the public eye, do you ever feel the pressure of all the attention, especially when it comes to your newly public relationship?”.

Joe’s eyes flicker with thought as he ponders the question. His posture shifts slightly, and his expression softens as if the weight of it all settles in. He lets out a small sigh before responding. “I mean, yeah, there’s definitely pressure. We’re both in the spotlight, and people always want to know about us—about what we’re doing, what we’re feeling. It’s hard to escape that, sometimes. But, at the end of the day, it’s not about the noise around us. It’s about what we have. And we’re not afraid to show that,”. He lets out another laugh, shaking his head. “You know? Like…that’s my girl, that’s my lady. I’m not afraid to show that and own that. I’m proud of her, of us. I think when you have something that’s as real and rare as what we have, you should never take it for granted. You should protect it, yeah, but you should also be proud of it. Be happy. Show people how happy you are, but not so much that it feels forced and like you’re doing fan service. Do it for yourselves,”.

His grin turns a little playful, but the gravity never leaves his eyes. “She deserves that. She deserves everything good in this world, and I’ll spend forever making sure she knows that,”.

And then, the video ends, and the studio is once again filled with silence. But if you listen closely, you can hear the soft splosh of the teardrop hitting your phone screen.

You blinked, startled by your own reaction, swiping at the tear with the sleeve of Joe’s sweatshirt—the same one you’d stolen from him last night and refused to give back. A watery laugh bubbled from your throat as you stared down at your phone, the weight of his words still settling in your chest.

He called you magic.

He called you the best thing that ever happened to him.

He called you his girl. No. His lady.

You sucked in a shaky breath, pressing your lips together to keep from completely sobbing. You weren’t new to grand gestures or poetic declarations—hell, you wrote about love for a living—but this? This was different. This was Joe. And for the first time in your life, you were being loved out loud, without hesitation, without restraint.

No vague answers. No dancing around the truth. Just him, speaking about you the way you’d only ever dreamed someone would.

You replayed the video, just to hear the way his voice softened when he talked about you, the way his smile lingered long after he finished speaking. And maybe you played it a third time. A fourth. Okay…five times, but who was counting?

“God, I love you,” you murmured to the screen, even though he couldn’t hear you.

But he would soon.

An hour later

You wrapped up your work shortly after watching his interview, that giddy feeling in your stomach making you dizzier by the second. You planned on staying for at least another hour, but the urge to jump into his arms and kiss him until his lips were swollen and breathless overpowered every other thought in your mind.

The entire drive home, he was all you could think about.

The way he talked about you, with so much admiration and certainty…that he was your’s and you were his, like loving you wasn’t just something he did—it was something he was made for. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he rubbed the back of his neck when answering personal questions, that adorable little hesitation before he said something sweet, as if he still got shy about admitting just how much he adored you. Not because he didn’t want to accept it, but because he was so obsessed with you, it was so hard for him to stop talking once he started.

It had been nine months since your world had been turned upside down by the man who taught you the true meaning of love, yet every single day felt like the first. The excitement, the awe, the gratitude that you got to be his and he got to be yours—it never dulled.

And as you pulled into the driveway, barely remembering how you even got home in one piece, one thing was certain: you were completely and utterly wrecked for him.

Once you made your way inside, you slipped off your cream-colored Ugg slippers and padded toward the kitchen island, dropping your bag onto the cool marble countertop. Your eyes flickered to the stove, where two pots and a pan—ones that definitely hadn’t been there when you left—rested on the burners. The faint scent of garlic, butter, and something rich and savory still lingered in the air.

“He must’ve cooked dinner for us,” you murmured to yourself, a smile tugging at your lips.

Of course, he did.

He knew you’d be coming home late, probably exhausted from hours of staring at a screen, adjusting vocal layers, and maneuvering the microphone until everything sounded just right. He knew you’d be too tired to even think about eating, let alone cooking something for yourself.

You felt warmth bloom in your chest as you ran a finger along the cool surface of the pot, already picturing him standing right here, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully followed a recipe. Because while Joe wasn’t exactly the most confident chef, he tried for you. He always tried for you.

Even if he was working with the irrational fear that he’d give you food poisoning or burn the kitchen down.

Your eyes scanned the living room, and to your surprise, he was nowhere to be found. Normally, around this time he’d be sprawled out against the couch with a blanket, reading or watching some dumb movie to pass time before you came home.

Because that’s when the real fun started.

He couldn’t wait to wrap you up in the plush blanket with him, put on one of your favorite shows, and listen as you told him about your day—his favorite part being when your fingers found his hair, playing absentmindedly with the strands while he soaked up every word.

But tonight was different. He wasn’t following his little routine.

You wandered toward the stairs, assuming he was in your bedroom or office, slowly climbing each one as you felt the dull ache in your thighs return, a pleasant reminder of what transpired in the backseat of his Porsche last night on the way to visit his parents’ for dinner. One look at you in that denim mini-skirt and gray polo quarter zip sweater, and he was gone.

Flashback to last night

He exhaled sharply through his nose, “Watch it,” he mumbled, watching as your hand trailed up his thigh.

You grinned, loving the way you got under his skin, how easily you could make him spiral. “I don’t know what you mean,” you said innocently, but the way your fingers crept higher on his thigh told another story. You’d been teasing him all night, ever since you caught him watching you a little too closely, his gaze lingering on your ass when you leaned into the mirror to fix your hair. That hungry, distracted look in his eyes told you exactly where his mind had wandered—and your choice of skirt wasn’t helping.

He was trying, really trying, to be good tonight. To focus. To not think about how easy it would be to slip that tiny thing up and bend you over the nearest surface.

But you weren’t making it easy for him. Not one bit.

Joe let out a quiet curse, his free hand darting out to grab your wrist, stopping your movements. “You really wanna play this game right now?” he asked, voice laced with something dangerous.

You just shrugged, leaning closer. “Depends,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “What happens if I win?”.

Lucky for both of you, the highway was long behind, and now you were on the quieter, more familiar roads of his hometown. When he spotted a deserted shopping complex up ahead, the parking lot empty and a thick cluster of shrubs tucked away behind it, he didn’t hesitate. Without a second thought, he swerved the car into the lot, the tires skimming over the road with a satisfying screech. He threw the car into park and immediately turned to you, his eyes darker than the night around you—stormy, almost predatory.

“Get in the back,”.

A thrill shot through you at his tone, and you didn’t waste a second before climbing between the seats, settling against the cool leather as he followed closely behind.

You two had danced this tango quite a few times in the past, so you knew exactly how this was going to go. Flashes of the two of you, sprawled out in the backseat after picking him up from practice, his sweaty tank still clinging to his body, your legs spread over his lap as he groaned into your mouth, filled your mind. The thrill of being caught only added to the fire between you, his hands rough and impatient as they gripped your thighs, pulling you closer, pressing your back against the cool leather.

You knew exactly where this was going, just like all the other times—the way his lips would drag down your neck, the way his breath would hitch when you reached for him, the way his self-control would snap the second you rolled your hips just right.

His grip on your hips was ironclad as you straddled his lap, your denim skirt bunched up around your waist, the thin barrier of your panties already pushed aside. His head rested against the headrest, his lips parted, breath ragged as he watched you roll your hips against him, grinding your soaked core along the length of his cock.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers digging into your skin, barely holding himself together. “You’re such a tease, aren’t you?”.

You smirked, leaning in to brush your lips over his, teasing, taunting. “Maybe,”.

He sighed, his hands gripping your ass, pulling you even closer, making you feel just how hard he was for you. The teasing was short-lived, though—you both wanted it too badly. You lifted up just enough to line him up, his tip rubbing against your entrance, and then you sank down, inch by inch, until he was seated to the hilt.

A short gasp left your lips, your hands bracing against his shoulders as you adjusted to the stretch, the fullness of him buried deep inside you. Joe cursed under his breath, his hands flexing against your waist as he fought the urge to thrust up into you. “Shit, baby,” he rasped, his head tilting back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut for a second before they snapped back open. “You feel so fucking good,”.

You rolled your hips slowly, relishing the way his jaw clenched, his muscles tensing beneath you. Taking full control, you lifted up slowly before slamming back down, drawing a strangled moan from his lips. “Jesus fuck,” he gritted out, his fingers bruising against your skin, his need for control slipping with each bounce of your hips.

You set the pace, riding him hard and deep, your movements messy and so calculated as if it was muscle memory.“Mm, fuck,” you whimpered as the windows fogged up, the car filled with the sound of your moans, his deep grunts, and the filthy slap of skin on skin. His hands roamed under your sweater, pushing it up to expose your chest, his warm palms immediately cupping your breasts through your black lacy bralette, thumbs flicking over your hard nipples. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured, his mouth latching onto your neck, sucking and biting as his hands greedily explored your body. “So perfect,”

You moaned in response, your movements becoming more frantic, chasing that high that was rapidly approaching. He felt it too, his hips snapping up to meet your thrusts, taking control in that way only he could.

“God, Joe—,” you gasped, hands flying to his hair, tugging as your body trembled.

“I got you, baby,” he groaned, his pace becoming erratic, his thrusts rough and deep. “Gonna cum for me?”.

You nodded, unable to form words as the pleasure overwhelmed you and the coil in your belly snapped, your walls clenching around him, dragging him right to the edge with you. His grip on your waist tightened, and in one swift motion, he lifted you just enough to slip out. “Gonna…fuck—,” he cut himself off with a deep grunt, his fingers digging into your sweaty skin as he pulled you flush against him, his faint—but there—abs flexing as he spilled onto your stomach, painting your skin in hot, sticky ropes of his release.

And god, you lost it.

Your fingers swiped through the mess on your stomach, bringing it up to your lips, licking the taste of him off your skin, moaning around your fingers as you locked eyes with him. “Holy fuck,” Joe choked out, his blown-out pupils darting between your mouth and your stomach, his jaw clenched so tight you thought he might break a tooth.

He grabbed your wrist, dragging your fingers back to your lips, his breath heavy as he whispered, “Do that again,”.

End of flashback

“Damn,” you muttered under your breath, a rush of heat rising in your body just at the mere thought of last night. You’d so kill for a repeat, but you were about two seconds away from passing out and sleepy, tired sex wouldn’t be enjoyable for either of you.

Once you reached the bedroom door, barely making it because your legs felt like they were about to collapse, the faint melody of an extremely familiar song wafting through the frame had you tilting your head in curiosity. The synth, the voice…the bass…it was so....

You slowly nudged the door open, and—oh.

Joe was sitting on the floor, shirtless, clad in just a pair of black sweats, glasses perched on his nose as he focused intently on the pile of Legos in front of him. Your breath hitched.

Oh my god.

The glasses.

He never wore them unless he absolutely had to, always opting for contacts since they were convenient, but he must’ve needed to give his eyes a break. And the fact that he was sitting there, all casual and domestic, building one of the many Lego sets you both had drunkenly ordered on the boat in Cannes?

You were instantly, irreversibly feral.

“God, dammit. He always does this,” you sighed and thought to yourself, the heat pooling in your lower belly.

But you kept it down. Barely.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted with an easy smile, still focused on clicking a piece into place on the Milky Way set he’d been working on. He looked so boyfriend right now. Too boyfriend. You didn’t even think—you just met him on the floor, crawled into his lap, clinging to him, burying your face in his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His hands instinctively landed on your hips, completely forgetting the Lego’s in front of him as he steadied you. “You okay?” his voice was softer now, laced with quiet concern.

You nodded, exhaling against his skin. “Yeah. More than okay,” you whispered. “I just love you,”.

You felt him relax under you, his arms wrapping fully around your waist, pressing you closer. “I love you too,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes searching his face, and his expression was nothing but warmth. And god, he just looked so soft and babyish in those black glasses. He never wore these out in public, which is why you felt so special because he only lets you see him like this. This was the real Joe. Your Joe.

“I saw the interview,” you admitted, using your thumb to brush lightly against his cheek.

He hummed, a knowing look flickering in his eyes since he knew exactly what you were referring to since his own assistant had also alerted him. His thumb traced soft circles against your hip as he stayed silent. He didn’t need to say anything. He just held you, knowing how much moments like these meant to you.

Quiet love.

“You out-do yourself every time,” you muttered in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of coconut & hibiscus—your bodywash which he surely had stolen again. “Just when I think you can’t possibly be more perfect and sweet to me, you take it to the next level without breaking a sweat. And it’s so natural for you to just talk about me, like me. I’m such a mess but you see past all of it and somehow find all the redeeming qualities in me and I…,”.

As you trailed off, his hand slipped under the hem of your sweatshirt, pressing against the cool skin of your bare back. His fingers pushed into your plush-like skin, a subtle way of showing you that he was here, he heard you, and he felt you. “You deserve it,” he whispered in your ear, his other hand pulling you further into his lap.

“You deserve all of it, Y/N. I mean it when I say you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean it when I say you’re magic, because the way you lit up my entire world by just existing in it? That’s some houdini shit right there. I don’t know how you did it, but you did. And I’m gonna make sure everyone with an ear hears about it. You spent way too long clawing and fighting for someone to see you the way you deserved to be seen,” he said. “But baby, you don’t have to fight anymore. I see you. And I’ll never stop making sure the whole damn world does, too. If you’re a mess, you’re the mess I want,”.

Your throat tightened, and before you could stop yourself, you surged forward, capturing his lips in an all-consuming kiss. You poured everything into it—every ounce of gratitude, every whisper of love, every unspoken promise that you’d never take a single moment with him for granted. Joe sighed into the kiss, his grip on you tightening as he melted into you, like he was just as desperate to hold on to this feeling as you were.

When you finally pulled back, your breath came in soft, uneven pants, your forehead still pressed against his. “You’re so good to me. You are literally magic, forget me,” you whispered, a breathless little laugh escaping you.

He grinned, his fingers brushing against your jaw, his thumb tracing that faint love-bite he left last night. “I love you,” he cooed, tilting his head, his nose nudging yours. “I’m gonna love you ‘til the end of time. That’s all. No magic, spells, witchcraft…even voodoo. Just love. My love,”.

You pushed your face back into his neck, his hands returning to their spot on your waist as you let out a contented sigh, relishing in the serenity that he brought to your life so easily. By just holding you close, letting you listen to the lulling thrum of his heartbeat. “Thanks for cooking tonight, by the way. You were a busy bee, weren’t you? Cooked and worked on the Legos,”.

He nodded, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek, “You’ve had a jam-packed week…long studio sessions, rehearsals for your performance on Sunday, finalizing everything for the weekend. I, one, wanted to take some of the load off you, spoil you a little, and make one of your favorites—,”.

Your ears instantly perked up. “Chicken Parm?” you interrupted, eyes wide with excitement.

He chuckled, shaking his head at how easy you were to please. “Yes, I made you Chicken Parm,” he confirmed, barely getting the words out before you started peppering grateful kisses along his neck, murmuring little hums of appreciation against his skin.

“And two,” he continued, voice slightly strained from the distraction, “I needed to keep myself busy because I missed you,”.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips. “Missed me?” you teased, tilting your head playfully. “Damn, Joey, are you that attached to me?” your tone was light, teasing, but the truth of it made your stomach flip. The fact that he could barely go an hour without hearing your voice, three hours without seeing you—it was adorable. It was everything.

His grip on you tightened as he exhaled through his nose, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Do I really need to state the obvious?” he murmured, before slowly pushing himself off the floor, lifting you effortlessly with him. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands gripping onto his shoulders as warmth bloomed in your chest.

He led you both over to your massive California king bed, the plush duvet, which usually would be neatly folded, was now slightly messed up, evidence that he had been lounging here before getting distracted by his Lego project. He sat down on the edge, keeping you firmly in his lap, his hands roaming up and down your back in slow, comforting strokes. “In case you forgot,” he murmured, his lips attaching to your neck while he spoke. “I’m extremely obsessed with you,”.

Your hand found its way into his bed-head hair—soft, messy, with a lingering scent of rose—as you dragged your nails across his scalp. “Yeah? Is that why you were listening to my music before I walked in?” you teased, a confident smirk rising on your face as you gently pulled him away from your neck to meet his eyes.

You knew it was familiar—the production, the vocals—because it came from you.

Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve.

The magic you had created that dreadful night in New York, when the only way you knew to get your feelings out was through music. When the only thing you could do was either cry until your eyes shrunk, or sing until your voice was gone. When you couldn’t bring yourself to look at your phone, because every single headline popping up reminded you of the betrayal, the heartbreak, the way the world seemed to turn against you overnight. Every notification felt like a fresh wound, every cruel word from strangers a dagger to your already shattered heart.

So, you did the only thing you knew how to do—you poured it into your music. You sat in that dark studio, your fingers trembling as they hovered over the piano keys, your voice raw and aching as you sang the truth you could never bring yourself to say out loud.

Before you could get lost in the past, Joe squeezed your waist, transporting you back in the present, away from the place you so narrowly escaped. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “It’s different now. You’re different now. I’m here now,”.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you inhaled a slow, steady breath, calming yourself before the nerves could creep in and drag you under. You had fought too hard to climb out of that darkness, clawed your way back piece by piece. And he—he had fought just as hard to hold you steady, to be your anchor when the waves threatened to pull you under.

No.

You couldn’t let yourself spiral. Not now. Not when you had come so far.

“I’m better than that. I’m better now,” you reminded before taking another breath. Once you opened your eyes to meet his, you sighed, “I know,”. His eyes were soft, yet behind them were the faint remnants of the pain you’d been carrying for nearly a year. The pain he took upon himself because he couldn’t bear to watch your heartache alone. He had carried it with you, every step of the way, shouldering the weight even when you tried to tell him it wasn’t his burden to bear. But that was just who he was; loving you meant feeling everything with you, for you.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch so light, so reverent, like he was trying to soothe away the ache that still lingered beneath the surface. “You don’t have to say it,” he murmured. “I get it,”.

Joe hesitated, caught in the push and pull of his own thoughts. His mind pushed him to press further, to dig into the remnants of pain left behind by the smallest man who ever lived—to make sure not even a trace remained. But his heart? His heart told him, No. She’s happy…truly happy. You know that, and she knows that.

And when it came to you, Joe never listened to his mind. He always followed his heart, let it lead him like a compass pointing true north. Because if he did listen to logic, to the voice in his head that warned him to guard himself…well. Who knows whose hand he’d be holding right now?

Instead, he chose you because his heart did. Every time, in every lifetime.

His lips hovered over yours, his breath warm against your cool lips. “We’re both going for the gold, you know,” he smiled, his voice a mix of pride and promise. “Nobody does it like us. Literal IT couple. And it’s not even close. They wish they were us…this successful and hot,”.

This was his attempt at making you smile again, to shift the focus from your wounds to your wins. Because that’s what mattered now; not the past, not the pain, but the triumph waiting just on the horizon. This week was going to be intense, to say the least. Sunday, the Grammys, where your last album was nominated in every major category—including Album of the Year. Wednesday, the NFL Honors, where Joe was up for MVP. A whirlwind of milestones, each one a testament to the blood, sweat, and relentless dedication you had both poured into your crafts. And yet, success had never come without its shadows. Doubt, tension, the watchful eyes of those who lived to speculate, to pick apart your every move. But despite it all, you rose. You both did. Because nothing—not the noise, not the pressure, not the skeptics—could overshadow the truth: you worked for this. You earned this.

You internally screamed at his effortless transition, grateful for his ability to sense your nerves before you even voiced it. He knew that this would bring up something you didn’t want to think about again, and he wasn’t going to let you go there. Your fingers began toying with the collar of his sweatshirt as you focused back on what he was saying, “So you’re saying we’re untouchable?” you winked.

“Untouchable and Unstoppable,” he corrected with a smirk, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, pushing into the skin and watching it pop back into place. “No one comes close,”.

And they didn’t. Nobody could come close to the level of stardom you two had, and combined?

Forget NFL QB and Pop Star, you were The Royal Couple of America. The world had been obsessed ever since your relationship went public, and the frenzy hadn’t died down one bit. If anything, it had only grown stronger. With every new detail that was shared, every photo, every little crumb from your time together, they fell even more in love with the two of you.

A soft sigh left your lips as you melted into him, your head resting against his shoulder and your body shifting closer to his. “Are you excited?” you asked, voice quieter now. “For everything coming up?”

“Excited?” he scoffed, pulling back to meet your gaze. “I’m fucking hyped. I get to watch you set the stage on fire, and I get a front-row seat. Does it get any better than that?”.

You bit your lip, playing with the hem of his shirt. “I’m nervous,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Announcing the album, stepping into this new era…I’ve been waiting for this. I need this. To really turn the page. I just hope it goes the way I want it to. I really really love this album and I hope they don’t get caught in the revenge gimmick of it all when truthfully, this album is a love letter to you,”.

Joe’s eyes softened as he cupped your face gently.

A love letter.

A love letter to the man who had shown you the kind of love you’d always dreamed of, the kind you never thought you deserved. The way he’d supported you, held you up when you felt like crumbling, and how every moment with him felt like coming home. A love letter to those late nights, when the city was asleep, and all you could taste were his lips…your idea of luxury. A love letter to days in the sun, when you were drinking on the beach, with him all over you. A love letter to the king of your heart. To your endgame. To your Karma. To Daylight in human form.

“I promise it’s going to go the way you want, okay? You’ve worked so hard, put your heart and soul into every song, every little thing with this one. I can feel how special it is to you, and your fans, the ones who’ve stuck by your side since day 1…they’re gonna see it,” he assured you. “You’re about to kill it, baby. This is your moment,”.

A slow smirk spread across your face as you traced your fingers over his chiseled jaw. “And what do I get if I win?” you asked, your voice laced with heat, a kind of heat that sent a thrill through Joe’s body.

His expression turned mischievous as he dipped his head closer to your ear, his voice dropping to a deep murmur. “Lots, and lots, and lots of time in bed,” he rasped, his teeth grazing your earlobe before he gave it a teasing tug.

A breathy gasp left your lips as you pulled back slightly, your eyes flickering up to his. “Perpetually horny,” you whispered, your hands sliding up his bare chest underneath his hoodie, nails dragging along his belly, teasing him until he couldn’t handle it anymore.

Joe only grinned, completely unapologetic because he really didn’t care. He meant it. Every damn word.

“You love it,” he shrugged, his hands slipping beneath your sweatshirt again, fingertips tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His hands slowly inched closer to your bra clasp, and you weren’t going to stop him.

Because he was right. Damn, you loved it.

You loved the way he’d rile you up like this…subtly, with the most gentlest of touches. You loved the way he’d cover every inch of your skin with his mouth, like worship, like devotion. You loved the way he fucked the feelings out of you, made you forget about everything except him—except the way he felt inside you, the way he made you unravel, the way he whispered your name like a promise.

You loved when you got caught up in a moment with him, with lipstick on his face.

You’d let him do whatever he wanted to you, wherever he wanted, and whenever he wanted. Because with him you were safe. With him, you didn’t care. With him…you let things go they way they were meant to go.

Flashback

It was late. Way too late. But you didn’t care. The studio was dimly lit, the warm glow of the soundboard and the neon sign on the wall with your name casting soft shadows across the room. It was just you and Joe—your favorite kind of recording session. No producers, no distractions, just the two of you.

And so it goes…

You adjusted your headphones, eyes flickering to the glass separating the recording booth from the lounge area. Joe was sprawled out on the couch, his black hoodie slung over his shoulders, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He had his hood up, but you could still see the glint of his baby blues as he watched you intently, lips quirked up in admiration.

You pressed play, letting the instrumental flow through the speakers. The bass thrummed low, sultry, the beat crawling under your skin as you let the music take over.

I'm yours to keep, and I’m yours to lose…

Joe let out a low whistle, clapping his hands together. “Yeah, that’s my girl,” he grinned, dimples flashing. “Fuck, that sounds sexy as hell,”.

You bit back a smirk, running a hand through your hair before stepping back up to the mic. You tried to focus, but it was hard when you could feel his gaze on you—hot, unwavering, dripping with pride and something else that sent a spark of heat straight to your core.

You know I'm not a bad girl but I, do bad things with you

Joe groaned from the couch, shifting slightly as he felt a growing tent in his sweats. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. Those lyrics…the implications of what you were saying. That’s what drove him mad. You weren’t a bad girl, but with him? It was as if you lost every shred of decency and shame in your body. From the risky late-night escapades after dinners in New York, to the way he’d press you against the wall of whatever storage closet you stumbled into at the facility just because he wanted to taste you—the primal urge taking over every one of his senses—to the way you’d scream his name as loud as you could while shaking underneath his sweaty body in the privacy of your hotel room…on a very public floor. You didn’t give two fucks with him, and that solidified the effect he had on you.

He was like a drug, blocking out every one of your senses and making you feel euphoric and untouchable.

Your lips curled into a smirk, taking note of his obvious discomfort, “You okay over there?”.

He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze dark and hooded. “No,” he murmured. “I’m struggling,”.

Your stomach flipped.

You tried to keep it professional—you really did—but when you stepped out of the booth, something in the air had shifted. Joe was already pushing himself off the couch, eyes locked onto yours as you met him halfway.

“This is soundproof, right?” he murmured, referring to the studio room, his hands finding your waist, tugging you flush against him.

You smirked, dragging your nails down his chest. “Mhmm. You’re dating a singer, baby,” you whispered, pressing your lips against his jaw. “We can be as loud as we want in here,”.

That was all it took.

In an instant, he had you bent over the soundboard, your palms splayed against the cool surface. He shoved your leggings down, not even bothering to take them off completely—just enough to give him access. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he smirked, dragging his hands over your ass, gripping the plush flesh hard enough to make you gasp. “Standing up there, looking like a fucking dream. singing those lyrics? You knew what you were doing,”.

“Joe—,”.

Your words cut off in a sharp moan as he slid two fingers between your folds, teasing, spreading your arousal. “So wet,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. “Always so fucking wet for me,”. You whimpered, pushing your hips back against his hand, but he pulled away, leaving you desperate and empty.

Then, the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Your breath hitched, your nails scraping against the console as he pushed in, slow at first, making you feel every inch as he stretched you open.

“Oh…fuck,” you gasped, head dropping forward. Joe groaned behind you, hands gripping your hips tight as he bottomed out. “Jesus Christ, baby,” he muttered, voice strained from pleasure. “Always so goddamn tight for me,”.

He pulled back, just a little—then slammed back in, knocking the air from your lungs. “Joe!” you cried, your voice bouncing off the soundproof walls.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He set a ruthless pace, hips snapping forward, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your desperate moans and his intense, breathless groans. Your ass bounced against his pelvis with each deep thrust, the force making the soundboard shake beneath you.

“Yeah, that's it,” he gritted out, watching the way your body responded to him, how you took every single stroke like you were made for him. “Look at you, baby. Taking me so fucking good,” your legs trembled, pleasure coiling tight in your belly as he hit that spot deep inside you, over and over again.

“Joe, please—,”.

“Please what, baby?" he chuckled, his hand moving down to your ass, kneading the flesh as he continued to rut into your dripping heat. “C'mon, baby. Tell me what you need,”.

“More,” you sobbed, rocking back against him, chasing your release. “Fuck me harder—,”.

His groan was guttural, almost pained as he watched your eyes roll back, your jaw slack and your hand gripping the console like your life depended on it. “Yeah? You need it?” he murmured, gripping your hips even tighter before fucking into you with reckless abandon, dragging you back onto his cock with each brutal thrust.

The pleasure was too much. Your body burned, feeling growing so intensely that all you could do was hold on, your moans turning into broken cries.

Joe loved it.

“Listen to you,” he groaned. “Screaming for me, just like that. Fuck, baby, you sound so good. So fucking good,”. His hand trailed down your back, nails leaving faint scratches to amplify the sensation you were feeling in your body. You were so close, teetering on the edge, and he knew it. “B- baby p..please, I can’t…agh,” you whimpered, the coil in your stomach tightening with each snap of his hips into your core.

His hand slid down further, fingers rubbing tight circles against your clit. “Cum for me,” he panted, his pace relentless. “Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, baby. Let me have it,”.

Your whole body tensed, a high-pitched moan ripping from your throat as the pleasure snapped—your orgasm crashing over you in a white-hot wave. “Ohhh, fuck. Joe, mmph,” you panted, his rhythm faltering as you walls clenched around him.

“That’s it,” Joe rasped, “Fuck, I’m gonna—,”. He thrusts in one last time, burying himself deep, spilling into you with a soft, lustful groan before loosening his grip on your hips. “Oh, fuck,” he panted, slowly coming down from his high while he remained buried inside of you.

The only sounds filling the studio were your ragged breaths and the low hum of the track still playing through the speakers, looping in the background like the soundtrack to this moment. your vision blurred, the dim glow of the LED panels above molding into something cosmic—like the city skyline outside, like the stars you and Joe traced with your fingertips whenever you stayed up too late on the balcony.

Joe finally pulled out, a soft kiss pressed between your shoulder blades as his hands soothed over your hips where his grip had definitely left bruises.

“So it goes?” you murmured breathlessly, looking back at him, your voice strained with the aftershock of your orgasm.

He chuckled, still breathless, forehead resting against your spine. “Yeah,” he nodded, pressing another lingering kiss to your bare skin. “So it fucking goes,”.

But he wasn’t done with you yet—not like that. Before you could even process it, he was moving, slipping out of your in search of something, leaving you cold and fucked-out against the console.

“Stay right there,” he said, voice softer now, filled with tenderness. A few seconds later, he returned with a small towel from the corner of the studio, one of the ones you always kept here for potential food or drink mishaps. He crouched between your legs, cleaning you up with the utmost care. “You okay?” he asked as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

You nodded, a lazy, blissed-out smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay,”. He kissed your temple, helping you adjust your clothes before handing you a half-empty water bottle from the table. “Drink,” he told you, before pulling you into him, arms wrapping around you. His fingertips traced slow, absentminded patterns over your thighs as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“I missed you today,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, like this wasn’t the hundredth time he’d told you that.

You hummed, nuzzling into him, the warmth of his body grounding you. “You’re insatiable,” you teased, but the way your fingers curled into him, the way you melted against him, told a different story.

End of Flashback

That night was the perfect example—messy, unrestrained, all-consuming. Whether it was those late hours in the studio, tangled up in the haze of music and lust, or the nights spent wrapped up in each other beneath the sheets, it was always like this. Intense. Perfect.

Like everything was falling right into place, just for the two of you.

His fingers toyed with the clasp of your bra, his touch featherlight, teasing, like he had all the time in the world to tease you. But the heat pooling between your thighs begged to differ. You needed him, now.

“Tell me,” he murmured, lips brushing over the corner of your mouth, purposely stopping himself from kissing you which he could see you so badly wanted. “Tell me how bad you want it,”.

Your breath hitched, fingers curling against the hard planes of his stomach. “Joe—,”.

“Nah, baby,” his voice was a low rasp, his hands sliding underneath the straps, fingers massaging your skin. “Say it. I know you were thinking about it, I can see it in your eyes,”.

Busted.

A soft whimper escaped you as you absentmindedly rocked against him, chasing the friction you craved. He chuckled smugly, that signature cocky confidence you fell in love with practically dripping from his body.

Because he already had you exactly where he wanted you.

And that was his favorite part.

—

A few days later — Los Angeles, California

Sunset Boulevard.

The Hollywood Sign.

The Walk of Fame.

Those same paved streets you used to stroll down years ago, when your innocence and naivety were still fully intact. When your dreams…well they were just dreams at that time. When the closest you’d got to stardom was accidentally being mistaken for a celebrity because you’d walked into a coffee shop on Sunset with those navy blue Prada shades perched on your nose and the matching bag around your shoulder.

Your first big girl purchases.

You remember how back then, you sat in your shoebox apartment in Studio City, textbooks and notebooks stacked high on the coffee table, mocking your so-called ambitions. Reminding you that a degree, a stable job, a normal life was your best bet. That making it in this industry was a long shot. That you’d never get there.

With the stars.

You spent hours refreshing your inbox, praying for a response to your audition tape…hell, even acknowledgment of the demo you’d sent out. Because back then, you thought acting was your best shot. That music—the real dream—was too far out of reach. But you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Because here you were now. In the heart of the city of angels. Sitting in a vanity chair with your name stamped across the back. Your team buzzing around you in your dressing room, makeup brush in one hand, a tablet with your schedule in the other, your custom Versace dress hugging your body like a second skin. At the Grammys.

Because you did make it. And you weren’t just with stars. You were the star.

Coming back here…to this city…the place that once was your dream, after everything? It was evoking a number of emotions within you. This was the city where you fought for every opportunity, where the recording booths and studio lots held your wildest dreams. But once you had it—once you lived it—you realized this wasn’t how you wanted to exist. That you couldn’t stand the constant pressure and spotlight on you.

You loved SoCal, the picture-perfect beaches, the electric pulse you’d feel while cruising down Beverly Hills. But beneath the glitz, the sparkle, the promise of it, this place was hell. The paparazzi lurking outside your house, trailing your every move, digging for dirt. The relentless scrutiny, the hidden jealousy that was deeply rooted in the people you considered your friends, the constant hunger for more.

So you did what you knew how to do best. When things got hard, when they stopped feeling right, when the life you built started to feel more like a cage than a dream—you bolted. Like hell. Straight to the city that never slept, hoping its restless energy would drown out the noise in your head. But in your rush to run away from it all, you didn’t stop to think. Didn’t stop to question if you were running toward something better or just away from the chaos you left behind. Your judgment was poor, and New York? It was the worst place you could’ve chosen to find peace.

You wanted to escape the loudness of LA, but New York was even louder. The flashing lights, the rapid pace, the way it swallowed people whole without a second thought. You tried to lose yourself in the towering buildings, the crowded streets, the music that pulsed through subway tunnels and rooftop bars. You tried to convince yourself that this was where you belonged, that the city would be your saving grace. And in a way, it was. It helped your career soar.

But at an irreplaceable cost.

Your happiness.

When the version of New York you had in your mind faded—the romanticized dream of it all—you realized that this place wasn’t for you either. The loneliness and chaos here was just as loud as it was in LA. Surrounded by strangers who moved with purpose, who seemed as if they had it all figured out, you felt like the outlier. The straggler. The one who had wandered too far from home, only to realize she had no idea how to find her way back. And the lingering question in your mind this entire time was…where was home? And just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, everything you’d built came crashing down—because of him. The biggest mistake of your life.

Those green eyes you once considered your safe haven? They were darker than you ever could’ve imagined. Like a storm brewing just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It was as if, with one swift motion, he had taken his hand and wiped the chessboard clean, sending every carefully placed piece tumbling to the ground. The rules no longer applied. The game was his to control. And you?

You never even stood a chance.

But then, you felt it—the eerie calm in the thick of chaos, the kind that only exists in the eye of a storm. The world around you was still spinning, the remains of everything you’d been running from circling just out of reach, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t being pulled under. It was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that made your ears ring, but the kind that coaxed you to open your eyes, to really look, to really see.

And when you did—when you finally dared to lift your head—there they were.

A pair of piercing blue eyes, steady and unwavering, cutting through the destruction like a lighthouse in the middle of a stormy sea. Eyes that didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch, didn’t turn away. They just watched you, saw you, held you in place when everything else threatened to slip through your fingers.

And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t lost anymore.

He took your hand in his and suddenly, the storm that had raged around you didn’t seem so terrifying. He didn’t just pull you from the wreckage; he became the place you could run to, the shelter standing strong against the winds and relentless downpours.

With him, the chaos dimmed to a quiet hum. The weight of the world didn’t sit so heavily on your shoulders. He wasn’t just a refuge; he was a promise—one that whispered, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to do this alone anymore,”.

You found yourself going back and forth, sneaking into his bed from that point on. You couldn’t resist the way he made you feel—like you were more than the world made you out to be. In his arms, you were whole. You were more than just a name or a face; you were someone deserving of peace, of love, of calm in the storm. When the cameras wouldn’t stop poking. When the headlines and comments became too sharp. When you needed to be held, to be reminded that you were still flesh and bone, not just a brand. You’d run to him. To his bed.

And in the blink of an eye, that bed became your home.

He became your home.

Joe became your home.

“Joe…,” his name slipped from your lips in a whisper, barely audible. You were so lost in your own daydream that you didn’t even realize you’d said it out loud.

Jen—your assistant—noticed the way your gaze had drifted, your fingers toying with the fabric of your dress. She knew that look all too well. It meant one of two things—you were nervous, or you were thinking about him. And judging by the soft, faraway expression on your face, she already had her answer. She smirked knowingly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the vanity. “He’s really got you in a chokehold, huh?”.

Her voice snapped you out of it, your eyes refocusing as you blinked a few times. “What?”.

Jen let out a soft laugh, shaking her head in amusement. “Joe. You were thinking about him, weren’t you?”.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. “I was just…zoning out,”.

“Mhm.”.

She wasn’t buying it. Of course, she wasn’t buying it. That’s because she was Jen.

Jen was an enigma—impossible to define with just a few words. She had a little bit of everything in her: sharp wit, relentless determination, and a heart big enough to carry the weight of all the people she cared about. She was kind, but with an edge that guaranteed she was never underestimated. Brilliant in her work, yet always a step ahead, using her cleverness like a well-honed weapon. And most importantly, she would do anything for you—not just because she was your assistant and PR manager, but because she was one of your best friends.

She’d been with you since day one, witnessing every mistake, every triumph, every late-night breakdown, every whirlwind romance, and every gut-wrenching fallout. She knew the struggles you had tolerated to get here, the price you paid for your success. And no matter how messy, chaotic, or impossible things got, she never walked away.

Her job wasn’t easy. You knew that. And sometimes, the guilt of it sat heavily on your shoulders.

But Jen? She never let you carry it alone.

And that meant everything to you.

“Zoning out about your football-playing lover, I assume,” she winked, knowing all too well what that glint in your eyes meant. When you and Joe first started hanging out, in that ‘get to know each other’ phase, you had carefully hidden it from everyone in your life. Friends, family, your manager, even Jen. But this woman could read you like one of her many floral notebooks, filled with detailed notes and perfectly color-coded tabs. She had a knack for spotting the things you tried to keep buried—especially when it came to him.

You should’ve known better than to think you could hide it from her. It was in the way your phone never left your hand, the way your smile lingered a little longer after a text, the way your eyes darted toward the door whenever he was supposed to be near.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, shaking your head as she smirked. “You think way too highly of yourself.”

“Maybe,” she hummed, reaching for your lip gloss on the vanity, “Or maybe I just know you better than you know yourself.”

“She knows me way too well, ugh,” you thought, sighing and finally conceding. “I just…this is a big night, you know? And it’s our first red carpet together. It’s…a lot. Tonight is a lot for more than one reason,”.

Jen nodded in agreement, her teasing smile softening into reassurance. “It is. But you’ve done this a million times, Y/N. And now, you get to do it with him. You finally have someone with you who wants to support everything you do, wants to be on your arm, and wants to let you have center stage. But you also have someone who wants to shield you, protect you, be that steady hand that won’t ever let go of you. That safety net that’s always ready to catch you.,”.

That part was true. You weren’t walking this carpet alone. You weren’t facing the flashing lights, the screaming reporters, the endless scrutiny by yourself. Joe would be right there, his hand in yours, standing beside you like he always did. But he wouldn’t do anything to make this about him. No. He’d never steal your moment, never even think about doing something to outshine you.

That’s what separated him from the rest. And that thought alone made everything feel a little easier.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed on the vanity table. You glanced down and felt your heart do that stupid little flip it always did when you saw his name.

joe: almost go time. how’s my girl doing?

You bit your lip, trying (and failing) to suppress your smile as you typed back. God, the way he sent butterflies through your stomach by sending such a normal, typical boyfriend-like text to you made you want to shove your face into a pillow and scream like a teenage girl.

you: nervous. excited. wish you were here already though. i miss you

Seconds later, the three little dots appeared.

joe: i’m on my way, promise. it’s just this stupid ass LA traffic like why are we just sitting here. they act like there isn’t multiple routes to get to the arena

you: welcome to grammy weekend in LA baby. get used to it ;)

joe: i wish i could just fly like superman or some shit. but i’ll be there. trust me. i’ll run all the way if i have to

The thought of him actually doing it—sprinting down the streets of downtown LA in a perfectly tailored black suit, breathless, sweaty, that wild determination in his eyes—sent a shiver down your spine. The image alone was enough to make your stomach flip.

“I’m so fucked tonight—especially because he’s wearing the suit,” you thought to yourself.

It had been your wish for the longest time—to see Joe in a suit, crafted by one of your favorite designers. You’d pictured it so many times, but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. The sharp lines, the way it fit him just right, the way he carried himself in it. It was almost unfair how good he looked.

You knew he preferred comfort, especially at events like this. He was never one for the glitz and glam, never one to trade comfort for something too flashy. And the last thing you ever wanted was for him to feel like a fish out of water. But tonight was different—tonight was important to you. And he knew that.

So when you casually brought up the idea, expecting at least some resistance, he surprised you. He didn’t complain, didn’t hesitate. He just agreed. Because if it mattered to you, then it mattered to him. Sure, the scratchy fabric and tailored fit would probably have him fidgeting all night, but he had you by his side. That was all the comfort he needed, the only thing that truly mattered.

As you got lost in the whirlpool of thoughts regarding how amazing and rewarding it would feel to peel his suit off his chiseled body tonight, after the hectic and tiring experience of it all, you saw another message bubble appear from him.

joe: which by the looks of it, i will be ;) good thing me and dak worked on cardio last off season

joe: but you know i got you. always. i’m gonna be with you soon. i promise

A smile rose on your lips at his last message, “He’s on his way,” you told Jen, admiring his text for a second more before sending him a white heart emoji and placing your phone back on the table. “I didn’t show him the look for tonight so…make sure you have an AED on standby,” you joked, settling back into the chair as your makeup artist finished applying the last bit of highlighter to your rosy cheeks.

Jen shot up straight, her movements suddenly precise and efficient, as if a switch had flipped in her brain. The moment your words registered, a silent alarm seemed to go off, setting her into motion. Without a word, she spun around on her heel and walked toward the couch, where your travel bag sat. You watched, brow furrowing, as she crouched down and carefully unzipped the side compartment with the kind of focus that made it seem like she was handling something far more serious than, well…whatever it was she was looking for.

Your curiosity grew as she rifled through your belongings, her fingers moving with purpose. “Uh…Jen?” you said, your voice laced with amusement. “What exactly are you doing?”.

She didn’t answer instantly, too busy locating exactly what she was looking for. When she finally pulled it out, she held it up like it was a crown jewel.

The thigh chain.

It was a gorgeous gold chain decorated with a pattern of diamonds and black jewels, which shimmered under the dressing room lights. The delicate ‘J’ charm at the center catches every glimmer.

This was the most important piece you had custom-made. The one you’d kept a secret, just like your dress.

Jen grinned triumphantly. “This,” she said, holding it up for emphasis. “This is going to be the thing that sends him over the edge,”.

You laughed, shaking your head as she handed it to you. “You think?”.

“Oh, I know,” she smirked. “You’ve been killing him with these little touches lately, and this? His initial wrapped around your thigh? He’s going to malfunction on the spot,”.

You bit your lip, glancing at the delicate chain in your hands before looking at your reflection in the mirror. The final touches were coming together, and you couldn’t have been more excited for the carpet. For the chance to show everything off now that you were coming back into the limelight. Your dress—custom Versace, stunningly sculpted to your body—was already a showstopper. The blacks, the golds, the silvers…it was as if you were wearing your album in clothing form. The snake ring and the stack of gold and diamond chains around your neck matched the aesthetic you were going for perfectly.

Oh, and how could you forget?

The bracelet.

The one he had custom-made for you by Cartier and had gifted you during your trip to Cannes. It sat around your left wrist, his initial and yours shining brighter than any piece of jewelry you were adorning tonight. It was the only personal addition to your look, partly because you never took it off, but mostly because you wanted just about everyone to know how much this meant to you. How much he meant to you. Show them how—just like the bracelet said inside the band—the stars all aligned. They aligned for you both and this moment you were sharing, and you were ecstatic to share a glimpse of that with the world.

But this? The thigh chain…this was even more personal. A quiet, intimate detail meant just for him. And well…whoever else’s eye it caught. Your fingers traced over the black and gold ‘J’ before you looked back at Jen. You knew he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing you with this on, let alone remain standing after he saw you in this dress. You felt awful for getting him so flustered by wearing things like this—whether it was a new bikini, a new dress, or a pair of jeans that hugged you just right—because you knew he paid attention to every little detail of your body. Every curve he ran his hands along, every expanse of skin he pressed his lips to, every crevice he was allowed to cherish.

But that was what made this so exciting.

“...Alright, help me put it on,” you grinned, your fingers sliding the fabric off your thigh to disclose the skin where the slit was.

She smiled, placing her hands on your shoulders and giving you a reassuring squeeze, “With pleasure,”.

—

Safe to say…Joe was in need of immediate medical attention when he walked into your dressing room.

The moment he caught a glimpse of you, everything else seemed to fade into the background for him. Like the world was draped in a dark cloak, and the spotlight was shining just on this beautiful figure in front of him—you. His blue eyes widened, his jaw slackened just enough to make you smirk, and for a second, he just stood there, taking you in like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

And when you did a little twirl—letting the dress cling and shimmer in all the right places—he damn near lost it.

“Holy—,” he started, but his voice cut off as he raked a hand through his hair, exhaling with a sharp breath. But then…then he saw the chain. The delicate gold and black diamond ‘J’ draped around your thigh, catching the light with every subtle movement.

“Is that—,” he said a little quieter, slowly walking toward you as his eyes remained glued to that specific piece of jewelry. You bit your lip, watching his reaction play out with pure satisfaction. Then, with the smallest tilt of your head, you shifted the dress slightly, unbuttoning the slit just a bit to let him see it better. His breathing hitched. “Is that…my initial?”.

He was right in front of you now, close enough for you to see the way his pupils had blown wide, the way his jaw clenched like he was trying so hard to keep his composure. But he was failing.

Miserably.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, your voice dripping with amusement.

Joe let out a low curse under his breath, dragging a hand down his face before shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, without a single warning, his hands found your hips, gripping tight enough to make you gasp.

“...Joe—,”.

He leans in, lips hovering just below your earlobe, “You’re killing me, baby,” he whispers, voice strained and raspy, which combined with the way he was hand was firmly placed on your hip, only meant one thing.

He’s horny.

Slowly, a satisfied smirk tugged at your lips as you felt the heat of his breath against your skin, his grip on your hips tightening like he was using every ounce of restraint not to lose himself right then and there. His nose brushed against the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and you swore you felt him shudder. “Wearing my initial on your thigh like that…you knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you?”.

You tried to stop a giggle from escaping your lips, but it came out as more of a breathless hum. “Maaaaaybe,”.

Joe groaned, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, heavy with something deep and unfiltered. His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing against your hips before he sighed heavily like he was trying to shake off whatever thoughts were running wild in his head. “You expect me to just carry on after this? This dress is insane on you, and you’re already gorgeous as is but…damn, Y/N. Makin’ me feel a lot of things right now. You look so…so gorgeous, and I swear I’m about to short-circuit,” he muttered, looking at you like you were the sole reason for his downfall.

“You managed to make it here in one piece,” you teased, fingers tracing absentminded patterns against the fabric of his suit jacket. “Maybe that means your self-control isn't as bad as you think,”.

Joe let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah? You think so?” his fingers trailed lower, brushing against the exposed skin of your thigh, just above where the chain rested. His touch sent a shiver up your spine. “Because right now, all I can think about is how fast I can get us out of here,”.

You raised a brow, pretending to consider it even though you knew that you couldn’t skip this even if you begged Jen on your knees. “That would be a real shame, wouldn’t it? After all, I did put this whole look together just for you. Made sure I showed off just enough of everything to keep you on edge all night…so you wouldn’t get bored,”.

Joe's head tilted, his lips twitching in frustration. “You’re evil,” he muttered, his hands squeezing your waist one last time before he forced himself to step back. He dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath before shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m gonna need a damn miracle to make it through this night without ripping your dress off at any given chance,”.

You slouched your shoulders, feeling a little more at ease now that he was by your side. “And I’m gonna need a miracle to make it through tonight without having a manic breakdown,” you nervously chuckled, grazing over his suggestive joke and suddenly feeling the reality of the situation as if you hadn’t spent weeks preparing for this specific moment.

You’d have to face the buzzing cameras, the invasive questions, deal with the whispers and the constant attention—good or bad—for the first time in nearly a year. You’d been away from all this, and although you had slowly made your way back into the limelight during Cannes & Paris last month, treated it as a quiet reintroduction, this was the biggest test.

Because not only were you just walking the carpet, you were making a statement. A statement that you were back, not going anywhere anytime soon, and you were happy. Your smile would be brighter than the stars, genuine and heartfelt. But most importantly, the pristine image they created of you would finally crumble.

You could finally just be you.

This was the first time you were putting yourself back in the game, pushing yourself back into the fold of the business you lived for. The last time the world saw you, you were a ghost of yourself, swallowed whole by the weight of everything that had gone wrong. They had watched as your life unraveled in real-time, dissecting every misstep, every crack in the facade you had so carefully built. You had become their favorite tragic storyline.

But now, you were coming back—stronger, sharper, more in control than ever. Reclaiming your throne with more confidence, talent, edge, and zero fucks to give. And yet, not giving a fuck was what made this so terrifying. It was a constant tug of war inside your mind between the girl ready to make that statement and the girl who cowered in fear of the idea of this backfiring.

The sharp sting of those words echoed in your mind, rumbling through your chest, threatening to dim the light you had fought so hard to reclaim.

“Because when people fall out of love with you, there’s nothing you can do to make them change their minds. They just don’t love you anymore,”.

You had said it once. Spat it out like poison on a night when sleep was the last thing on your mind, in the dim glow of his living room, wrapped in the kind of grief that felt like it would never leave your bones. And those words were all you could think of currently.

Joe's expression softened instantly as he carefully watched your movements. He could see it—the way your fingers toyed with the fabric of your dress, the slight tremble in your breathing, the way your confidence wavered just for a second. And that second was enough for him to step in, to remind you why you were here, why you were meant to be here. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching for your hand. His thumb traced soothing circles along your skin, a simple but significant gesture. “You don’t need a miracle, baby. You’ve already got this,”.

You huffed out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about the screaming paparazzi or interview questions designed to make you slip up. I swear to god if I hear one of them pass a single disrespectful comment or ask me about him. I’m walking right out,”.

Joe smirked, squeezing your hand. “And as you should. But you know, I do have to make sure I don’t black out the second I see you step onto that carpet, looking the way you do,”.

That earned him a small smile, but the nerves still lingered. He could feel it. He had become an expert at seeing right through you, even when you tried your hardest to hide your emotions from everyone around you. He’d only been with you for a short amount of time—compared to some of your friends and family—but somehow, he knew you better than they ever could.

So, he did what he knew best. He anchored you to him, his fingers tightening around yours as his blue eyes locked onto yours, and he spoke to you. And if there was one thing Joe Burrow was good at? It was speaking.

He was the best listener you knew, but even better at giving advice. Every word that left his lips was thought out, measured, and laced with a warmth that could bring you back from the deepest trenches of your mind. He had this way of making even the most chaotic moments feel painless, like everything wasn’t as terrifying as it seemed. And when he spoke to you specifically, his words were extra soft. Not once did he lose his patience, raise the tone of his voice, or even utter a word that would rub you the wrong way.

“I know this is big. I know it’s a lot all at once. But you’re not walking out there alone. You’ve got me, you’ve got Jen, you’ve got your team. And more than that? You’ve got the entire world watching, waiting to see you own that carpet and stage he way only you can. Waiting to see you come back and take what was always yours,” he assured while giving you a warm smile. “Remember everything we worked on these past few months, okay? Number 1. They don’t know you. Number 2. They don’t own you. Number 3. They can’t touch you. You control this game, now. They wanted you gone, so you did what they asked and you took your shit and left. Now, you’re back. And now, they’re all waiting out there for you. They follow what you do. They listen to what you say. And they are afraid of what you’re going to do. Not the other way around. You’ve made them wait for months to the point where they need you. You don’t need them,”.

You took a deep breath, letting his words sink into your skin. He was right. You’d spent months away from this world, rebuilding your life, your confidence. Spent all your time refocusing, rewiring everything they’d forced upon you.

He was right. They needed you.

They needed you because they could feel the weight of your absence, the lack of the kind of excitement only you could bring to the table. An empty hole in the industry that many tried to cover, but failed miserably. And that was because there was only one you. You’d taken the time to heal yourself and prepare yourself for the moment when you’d have to come back. And now? Now was that moment. And you weren’t just walking the carpet.

You were taking it back.

Your name.

Your reputation.

Without speaking a single word, you launched yourself forward, looping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his chest. You inhaled the scent of his expensive cologne, a warm mix of sandalwood, amber, and the faintest hint of something undeniably him. It was intoxicating, comforting, the kind of scent that wrapped around you like a protective shield.

Joe didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in tight like he was trying to mold you to him, like he could hold you together even when the world threatened to pull you apart. And for a moment, everything else faded. The noise, the flashing cameras waiting just beyond the door, the weight of expectation pressing against your chest. None of it mattered—not when you were here, safe in his arms, breathing him in like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

“You good?” he murmured against your temple, voice laced with concern.

You nodded, but your grip on him tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit jacket.

“Liar,” he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You exhaled a shaky breath, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. Those blue eyes that had saved you once before. That were still saving you now.

It was almost strange how effortlessly he could pull you back down to earth when your mind started to spiral. Joe excelled at just about everything—football, leadership, and being a role model for his fans. But if there was one thing he was truly unmatched at, one thing he did better than anything else…

It was being your person. And not once did he ever make you feel like that was difficult for him to do.

“Just…don’t let go yet,” you whispered, wanting to stay in the quiet calm of this special moment for as long as humanly possible.

Joe’s lips twitched, but there was something serious in his gaze as he ran a hand down your back, soothing you, steadying you. “Not a chance, baby. Not a fucking chance,”.

—

A half-hour later — Red Carpet

The moment your heels touched the edge of the carpet, a small wave of nerves crashed over you like the first signs of an impending storm. The sight of the flashing lights, the sound of the camera shutters…they were relentless. A blinding, dizzying storm of light and noise. You hadn’t stepped onto the actual center carpet yet since you were waiting for Joe to finish his conversation with Jen, but you could already hear the voices calling your name, overlapping in a chaotic symphony. You could feel their eyes burning into your skin, and that sensation made your skin crawl. God, you had almost forgotten how much you hated this part of what you did.

You took a sharp inhale, nervously adjusting the fabric of your dress with your trembling fingers as you waited for Jen to lead you over. Once you felt her gentle hand wrap around your forearm, you knew it was go time. “I’m okay…I’m okay,” you mentally chanted, but were you trying to convince yourself that you weren’t about to burst into tears…or everyone else?

But then, the second your gaze locked with the paparazzi—the eager voices calling your name—something in you shifted. Suddenly, the nerves, the hesitation, the creeping doubt? Gone with the wind.

“Well, that was easy,” you smiled to yourself, surprised at how all it took was the call of your name for you to calm down. But just like how it wasn’t easy for you to reach this point in your life—where you felt secure in the world you’d built, deeply in love with the man of your dreams, excited about your future—it wasn’t going to be easy to just waltz back into this world, despite how seamless it initially felt. And that fact hadn’t hit you just yet.

Like flipping a switch, you straightened your posture, lifted your chin, and stepped forward with a grace and confidence that had taken months to master. Your movements were effortless, your expression poised. This time was different. This wasn’t like the years before when you let them dictate your every move—the way you smiled, how long you posed, how much of yourself you gave away.

No.

This time, you were in control.

“Y/N! Over here!”.

Flash.

“We missed you!”.

“How’s Joe?”.

“A little to the right!”.

Flash. Flash.

“Y/N, look over here!”.

“Gorgeous! Stunning!”.

Joe stood off to the side, just beyond the madness, watching you with pure awe. He had seen you like this before from a distance—poised and radiant under the spotlight—but there was something different about tonight, about seeing it up close. Maybe it was the way the dress clung to your body or the way your presence commanded attention even when you felt like crumbling beneath it. Maybe even the way you were standing there as yourself for the first time, and not the version of yourself the media had created. Either way, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

But unfortunately for you, nice things don’t always last as long as you’d hope. You could feel it—the creeping anxiety, the familiar pressure pressing against your ribs because well, it was too good to be true. Did you really think they’d learned to be respectful and less invasive during the time you were gone? Please.

“Why’d you disappear?”.

Flash.

“What happened between you and him?”.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

“Did you cheat on him with Joe?”.

“The chain on your thigh, is that for Joe?”.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, and your chest tightened as the chaos began to overwhelm your senses. The cameras, the flashing lights, the sea of eyes dissecting your every move, it began to blur all into one maddening hum. That familiar heat crept up your spine, flushing your cheeks and burning your eyes.

And those questions? Those fucking questions?

Had they just…forgotten? Forgotten how he had shattered you, how he had stripped you down to nothing, piece by piece, betrayal by betrayal? Had they forgotten how it all came crashing down in one disastrous, very public fallout? The leaked texts, the photos, the posts that turned into headlines overnight?

Had they forgotten him? The man who made you doubt everything you ever knew about love? Because you sure as hell hadn’t.

They had the audacity to think you cheated? Did your previous album just write itself? Did you simply disappear for almost a year just because you felt like it?

And then it hit you. You were feeling exactly like how you felt nearly a year ago.

Like history was repeating itself in the worst way possible.

Like you were back in that hotel room, the one you fled to because the paparazzi had opened up shop outside your home, waiting for a glimpse at you. A glimpse at America’s new favorite tragic storyline—who couldn’t keep her picture-perfect relationship or career straight. It was like you were holding your phone again, hands trembling as you scrolled through an endless flood of headlines. What Really Happened Between Them? The Fall of a Pop Superstar. America’s Sweetheart: Not So Sweet After All?

Rumors twisted into daggers, and speculation sharpened into accusations. Each tweet, each article, each dissected frame of your past relationship pushed deeper into the open wound until you weren’t sure where their version of you ended and the truth began.

And now, here you were. Face-to-face with the past.

Your breath hitched.

Your body betrayed you, a subconscious step back—small, but telling. The doubt crept in first, then the fear, then the overwhelming weight of it all. For the first time in a long time, you felt her—the girl you used to be. The one who had crumbled under the pressure, who had let the world convince her she was nothing more than a failed love story.

Then, like instinct, like second nature, like it was all you knew, you turned your head in search of him.

Joe caught your nervous gaze in an instant, and he moved without a second of hesitation. He didn’t even need you to say anything, because he just knew. He saw it happen in real time, how your loose posture stiffened, how you dug your fingernails into your palm, how your radiant smile faltered for a split second.

He saw the way your eyes were slowly softening, crying out for him with a silent plea.

The second he was at your side, his presence wrapped around you like thick armor, shielding you from the suffocating fog that was forming around you, making it harder for you to breathe. His large, warm hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the black fabric of your dress just enough to let you know—I’m here. After he gave you that gentle squeeze, like clockwork, your shoulders dropped, your breath evened, your pulse no longer hammering against your ribs. It was like he turned down the heat just before the water boiled over, keeping everything steady before it could spill into chaos.

But even though you had relaxed a little, the cameras didn’t stop. The voices didn’t stop.

“Are you nervous to see him?”.

Flash.

“Is it true you have an album coming out?”.

“Joe, how does it feel knowing she wrote an entire album about another man?”.

Flash. Flash.

“Joe, how do you feel about her past?”.

Your jaw clenched, but before you could let the words settle in your mind, lose yourself in the nonsense, before the whispers could crawl under your skin, Joe leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear. With a bold grin he murmured, “I cannot wait to fuck you tonight,” voice rough around the edges in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “After you win everything and steal the spotlight like I know you can,”.

A breathy laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, all the cameras caught it. Thankfully, they couldn’t hear his words because they were being drowned out by the sound of their own relentless questions. God, you’d seriously never show your face again (for real this time) if they heard something that was strictly meant to be spoken in private. When you tilted your head to look at him, you looked straight into his eyes, instantly sensing exactly what he was doing. Calming you, distracting you, making sure you stayed with him instead of plunging into the chaos.

And damn it, it worked. Like a charm.

For once, his cheeky comments and shamelessness were to thank, usually they made you roll your eyes but now they were your saving grace. You still rolled your eyes, however, but smiled because of his silly, maybe even slightly insatiable way of getting through to you. “Watch your tongue, Burrow,” you grinned as you leaned into him for just a second longer, letting yourself relish in the heat radiating off of him, the way his fingers toyed with the fabric of your dress, his hand slipping lower and lower. But then…

“Joe! Kiss her for the cameras!”

“Give us something good!”

“Show us you’re not just the rebound!”

Your grip on him tightened, that last particular comment hitting a little closer to your heart than you would have liked. “They just wouldn’t quit, would they?” you thought to yourself, the idea of Joe, the man you’ve been calling your home for 9 months, being a rebound, was sickening. And Joe being Joe, once again noticed your mild discomfort instantly.

He turned to you, tilting his head slightly, blue eyes sparkling with something mischievous and entirely too smug. It was the shade of blue his eyes had been all those times he’d motioned for you to sneak off with him to one of the storage closets during practice. The shade of blue his eyes had been every time he pulled you into his childhood bedroom when you were visiting his parents, just because he needed you alone, because he missed the taste of your lips. The shade of blue his eyes were every time he asked you to run away with him.

And then, before you could react—he pulled you close and kissed you. He just kissed you so casually in front of an entire audience of paparazzi, in front of every single person in this room. The man who despised PDA, who hated flaunting his affection, just pressed his lips to yours in front of the entire world.

Not just a quick peck for the cameras. Not just a half-hearted attempt to silence the speculation.

No, this was a soft, warm, slow kiss. A kind of kiss that you two shared in private, away from the rest of the world because it was far too sacred to share.

A statement. The statement.

It silenced the whispers, shattered the doubts, and rewrote the narrative in real time. It wasn’t a rebound. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t a carefully calculated move for the cameras. This was real—undeniably, unapologetically real. It was a declaration, bold and clear, that your love was something to be celebrated, not dissected. That he wasn’t just standing beside you—he was standing for you. He didn’t have to kiss you, he really didn’t. But he wanted to, and he did it with no room for hesitation or doubt. This said that as long as he was here, no one could touch you, no rumor could shake you, and no ghost from your past could haunt you.

It was a testament. To him. To you. To the love you had built; one that didn’t just survive the storm, but came out stronger on the other side.

Your breath hitched, your body momentarily frozen as his lips moved against yours with the kind of certainty that made your head spin. You knew how he felt about things like this, but at this moment, it seemed like he didn’t care at all. The flashing cameras, the relentless voices, the suffocating atmosphere, all of it melted away.

It kind of reminded you of the first time you kissed him.

When he pulled back, there was a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, like he knew exactly what he had just done to you. “Oh,” you breathed out, blinking up at him.

Joe chuckled, his thumb brushing against your waist, his voice teasing as he leaned down again, just for you. “What? Didn’t see that coming?” he smiled.

No, you didn’t. That was exactly why your jaw went slack, eyes locked onto his as the butterflies in your stomach turned into a full-blown hurricane. The cameras flashed in rapid sequence, capturing every lingering glance, every effortless touch, every moment between you and Joe that was sure to dominate headlines by morning.

You barely had time to process it before you felt his hand glide back to your waist, his fingers pressing firmly into the fabric of your gown as he subtly angled your body toward the cameras. And then, like this was the most natural thing in the world, he pulled you in just a little closer, flashing that signature Joe Burrow smile—the one that had fans wrapped around his finger and the paparazzi eating out of the palm of his hand.

He was giving them a show. Giving them exactly what they wanted while maintaining the wall that prevented them from prying into your carefully crafted safe space. And the thing was? He wasn’t even trying.

You held onto him a little tighter, standing tall beside him, your confidence growing under the ardency of his touch. A few more poses were made, some designed specifically to show off your thigh chain, which was making Joe’s body temperature rise by the second, but also should be doing numbers online by now. You gave them a few more smiles, a few more adorable moments caught in the flashing lights as you made your way down the carpet. But suddenly, as you were nearing the end, it felt like the energy shifted; like the clouds outside had become dark with warning, like the stitches along your heart—the one’s Joe placed—were being picked at.

The yells started again. Louder. More urgent.

“There he is!”. “Y/N, look!”.

You felt your heartbeat come to a sudden pause, your breath hitching and your stomach churning all in one go. It was the feeling of pure dread curling in the pit of your stomach, like ice-cold water was rushing through your veins. Your body tensed instinctively, muscles freezing as your eyes darted toward the paparazzi who were all looking back. The room suddenly felt like it had shrunk, the walls closing in as the once-deafening crowd faded into white noise. You could hear the blood pounding in your ears, and feel the weight of every inhale, every exhale, as if the very air had condensed around you.

Your fingers tightened at your sides, “No. Not here. Not now,” you muttered under your breath. And when you followed their gazes back onto the carpet, your entire world tilted on its axis in a way it hadn’t since last year.

You saw him. He was there. He was here.

Your ex.

His piercing green eyes locked onto yours with an unsettling sharpness, as if he was trying to tunnel his way back into your soul, back into the very place he once claimed as his own. The same soul he had cradled with whispered promises and sweet nothings, only to stab away at it with his insecurities, his flaws, his selfishness.

And you hated it.

What was worse—what made your skin crawl—was the way he dared to smile at you. That same cheshire cat smile he used to flash when he wanted to smooth things over, to lull you into compliance, to make you forget the way he had gutted you time and time again. As if he thought he still had that power over you. As if he thought he had the right to look at you like that after everything he had done—after turning your love into a battlefield, after making you question your worth, after reducing you to nothing but a fractured version of yourself.

And the cameras? They were capturing every second of it.

They weren’t catching the invisible scars he had left behind, the ones that only you could feel. They weren’t catching the nights you had spent fraying in the dark, trying to piece yourself back together from the wreckage he had left behind. They weren’t catching the way he had rewritten your reality, made you second-guess everything you knew about yourself.

No. They only saw the spectacle. The headlines. The narrative. And the worst part? He didn’t even care.

The blissful bubble you had been floating in popped in an instant, a flood of memories hitting you like a freight train. The things he said to you, those poisonous words that you thought were the truth, they came rushing back.

“You’re exhausting, you know that? It’s always something with you,”.

“Nobody actually cares about you in this industry, they just care about what you can give them,”.

“Maybe if you weren’t so needy, I wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere,”.

“You act like I hurt you so badly, but you should be thanking me. I made you relevant,”.

“You’re never satisfied. I could give you the world, and you’d still find something to complain about,”.

“You act like you’re perfect, like you never did anything wrong in this relationship,”.

“She’s just a friend, stop being like those other girls, Y/N,”.

The way he made you question yourself. The guilt trips. The gaslighting. The loneliness that had stewed even when you were right beside him. It all came back to you, making you feel like it was just yesterday when your entire world, the only one you knew, crumbled to pieces and went up in flames.

You didn’t even realize you had zoned out until you felt Joe’s touch, and when you did, you jumped from the warmth he brought back to your ice-cold skin. “Hey, hey,” his voice was softer now, laced with concern. His fingers brushed over your hand first, then your cheek, coaxing you back to him. “It’s okay, It’s okay. I’m here,”.

He had seen him too, and the anger Joe was feeling was far worse than anything you were. He had to control the urge to walk over there and swing at him, make that pathetic excuse of a man feel the same kind of pain he inflicted on you that had you feeling like this even months later.

Joe didn’t have to say his name for him to understand how you felt. He didn’t have to ask because he knew what you were feeling, because he could recognize the look in your eyes. His other hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in soothing strokes. He dipped his head, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I love you,” he murmured, quiet and soft enough just for your ears to catch. “I’m here now. It’s going to be okay. He can’t hurt you,” he said, the look in his eyes drawing you in. They were endless, like the deep ocean at midnight, swirling with something extensive and unlimited. Small streaks of lighter blue shimmered like stardust caught in the waves, galaxies trapped beneath his irises. There was something magical about them, something that made you feel light, like if you stared too long, you might get lost and never find your way back. But you didn’t want to look away. His eyes held everything—comfort, love, a silent promise that you were safe, that as long as he was here, nothing could touch you.

He had spent the last nine months proving that your past didn’t scare him. That the baggage you carried wasn’t a burden, but something he wanted to help you hold. That love—real love—didn’t come with conditions, ultimatums, or twisted justifications. Joe had seen the cracks in your foundation, the places where love had once lived before it was shattered, and instead of stepping around them, he had sat beside you, helping you piece yourself back together. He didn’t ask you to forget, didn’t rush you to heal—he just stayed and waited.

He loved you when you were radiant and untouchable, standing under the bright lights with the world at your feet. But more importantly, he loved you in those quiet moments, when you couldn’t stand on your own. When you were lost in the shadows of your past, gasping for air under the weight of memories that tried to drag you back.

And right now, that love was all you needed to believe in. “...Okay,” you nodded, eyes fluttering shut as you breathed in his comforting scent and melted under his touch. You needed to remember that he was the past, no longer a factor in your future, a future that was as bright as the light shining on you. No longer something you’d let yourself be defined by because you were defined by the things you loved.

You had healed. You had grown. You were happy.

And you did all of that without him. You did all of that with Joe.

Joe kissed your forehead softly, lingering for just a second before gently guiding you off the carpet, ignoring the chaos behind you and bringing you back to reality. His eyes locked with Jen, who was already rushing to your side along with the rest of your team. You felt her hand gently grab your free hand, a sign of confidence given as she gave a firm squeeze, “You did amazing, Y/N. I had no idea he would be here, let alone get on the carpet right after you. But you did great, seriously,” she assured you, and after taking another deep breath, you returned her sentiments with a soft smile.

“You need to thank Joe, you know,” you laughed quietly, nudging his hand to get his attention as the two of you made your way through the doors toward the entrance to the main hall. The distant hum of the crowd buzzed through the walls, a persistent reminder of where you were, of what was waiting just beyond the next turn. “I may have been toeing around the manic breakdown territory line, but he did what he always does,” you smiled up at him.

“Save you?” he simply asked, tightening his grip on your hand as you both passed more paparazzi, who seemingly took a step back once they saw the look in Joe’s eyes. One that screamed: That’s enough of that. Freak her out again and I’ll throw you across the room like a football.

You stepped through the last curtain, the dim backstage hallway meshing with the electric glow of the arena. The moment you stepped into the open, the mere scale of it hit you like a tidal wave. Hundreds upon hundreds of people filled the seats on the floor and throughout the arena, the air vibrating with excitement and anticipation as this night was known for when musicians left their marks and had their moments at the center stage. The massive stage was illuminated in deep silvers and golds, shimmering under the lights and it stole your breath, just for a second. It was like this was your first time being here, and in a way…it kind of was?

It was your first time here as the new you.

Your fingers tightened slightly around Joe’s as your eyes traced the stage—the very place you had poured your heart out, which felt like a lifetime ago, where your voice had carried through every inch of this arena, where you had left pieces of yourself behind in every lyric. Seeing it now, bathed in light, surrounded by the crowd’s buzz, made something settle in your chest. Pride. Awe. A little disbelief.

Who knew you could have missed the sights and sounds of this place so much?

Joe squeezed your hand, bringing you back to him. “Hey,” he murmured, ducking his head slightly so you’d meet his eyes. “You okay?”.

You nodded, exhaling, your lips curving into a small smile. “You don’t need to save me,” you finally answered, glancing up at him. “You do that thing…with your eyes, and your touch. Like you’re asking me to run away with you without actually saying it…when I get like that. All zoned out and nervous,”.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “And would you?”.

You leaned into him, heartbeat calming, a comforting heat radiating between you as you looked back at the stage—at the place where you belonged. “Every time,” you whispered, a little breathy as if the shimmering lights, open stage, and sleek black microphone had cast a spell over you, making it hard for you to focus on him.

And as he led you toward your seats, his fingers laced with yours, thumb sliding up and down yours out of habit, you knew the past couldn’t touch you here. Not with him by your side. This was your night, and nothing would stand in the way of taking back what was once yours. But most importantly, Joe wouldn’t let anything get in the way. Whether it was your own nerves threatening to take over and strangle your confidence or the ghost of your past trying to cast a shadow over your moment, he was there to shield you.

He had seen you plant the seed of this night long ago, watching you from afar, from the screens, before he got to know the woman behind the art. He watched as you nurtured this album through storms of doubt and heartbreak, as you tended to it with passion and dedication. And now, as it finally bloomed into something magical, something with the potential to be extraordinary, he wasn’t about to let anything ruin it.

You had grown, and flourished despite everything meant to break you. That was the most admirable thing about you. Your strength, your ability to rise from the ashes time and time again—like a flower pushing through the cracks of concrete, refusing to fall—were some of the biggest reasons he had fallen in love with you.

Joe had always known you were special, but watching you now, still standing tall under the pressure of it all, he was reminded of just how unstoppable you truly were. No matter how many storms had tried to destroy you, you had only come back stronger, more vibrant, more you than ever before. And to him, that was the most beautiful thing in the world.

—

The ceremony was in full swing just a half hour later, and once it all commenced, you felt yourself easing into the moment, the tension in your shoulders loosening bit by bit. The spectacle of it all—the glittering stage, the flashing cameras, the sheer magnitude of the night—had initially been overwhelming, but now, surrounded by the best company, it felt a little less daunting.

You were seated with the perfect group—Joe, Jack, Margaret, Taylor, and Sabrina—each of them a pacifying presence in their own way. Laughter bubbled up between sips of champagne, conversations floating effortlessly between catching up and playful banter. For a moment, it almost felt like just another night out with friends—except, of course, for the hundreds of people in the arena, the millions watching from their homes, and the fact that your name had already been called more than once by the presenters on stage.

That’s right…more than once.

Three times to be exact.

Once for Best Pop Solo Preformance, which had you frozen for a good 10 seconds once it was announced, then for Record of the Year, which you nearly missed because you were in the bathroom, and finally—one of the most important categories—Song of the Year.

It hadn’t registered in your brain that this was really happening, that your talent and work were being recognized in the highest regard. You really came into this expecting absolutely nothing, especially after the year you had, and well, pissing off your ex-boyfriend’s dad who happened to be the very respected CEO of your former record label doesn’t exactly increase your standing in the industry. But regardless of everything that happened, the label switch, the breakup, the drama, they were celebrating your piece of work and you without any hesitation. But you were still confused as hell each time you heard your name, like…did they actually care? Because it sure as fuck didn’t feel like they did when you actually needed them in your corner.

That’s why you couldn’t believe it when you heard your name come from the stage…again. You were mid-sip of champagne, fully convinced that Taylor would win for SOTY, already half-turning toward her to celebrate her moment—until the words actually registered in your head.

“And the Grammy goes to...Y/N for ‘Is It Over Now’!”.

For a second, it felt like the world stopped. The golden lights blurred above you, the roaring applause barely reached your ears, and all you could do was sit there, mouth slightly open in shock, processing what had just happened.

Then, Joe was in your line of vision, his eyes wide before they crinkled with a proud, almost cocky smile. Before you could even think, you stood up and launched yourself into his arms, a squeal leaving your lips as he caught you effortlessly, lifting you slightly off the ground. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tight as he pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your lips. The cheers from your table—hell, from the entire arena—only grew louder at the sight of it.

Joe swayed you side to side, his hands gripping your waist as he leaned back just enough to beam at you. “You did it, baby. 3 for 3 so far, like I told you. Full sweep,” he murmured, his voice filled with so much love it nearly made you tear up on the spot.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you turned, immediately dapping up Jack, who grinned and pulled you in for a tight hug. “I fucking told you!” he laughed, shaking you slightly. “Song of the Year, baby! Look at you!”. When you looked over you saw that Margaret was wiping at her eyes, her happiness for you—someone she considered a sister—coming out in the form of tears. Sabrina was screaming, letting everyone around you know that you just did that, “Look at her!! That’s my fucking girl!”. And Taylor? She looked both proud of one of her closest friends and in awe of how Joe was, once again, openly showing this much affection towards you in front of everyone.

It was perfect. So freaking perfect.

Heart still hammering against your ribs, you made your way to the stage, your entire figure shimmering and dazzling under the lights, and as you took the golden trophy in your hands from the presenter, you exhaled sharply into the mic, still dazed. Still unsure of how the hell you got up here in one piece.

You don’t remember what you were saying in your acceptance speech, almost feeling like your mind was detached from your body and you were moving on autopilot, but all you could sense was that whatever you were saying had everyone in the room looking up at you with a genuine proud smile. The same room of people who you had thought turned their backs on you a year ago, had stabbed you in the back when you were at your lowest, were celebrating you.

The only thing you did remember from your speech was something you wouldn’t normally do.

A dig.

The old you would never shade someone like this, let alone at all. She would quietly accept her award, give everyone their flowers, downplay her role in her own accomplishment—emphasis on her accomplishment—and leave the stage. Because that’s what she had been trained to do.

The new you? Oh, she didn’t care whose feelings were hurt, who was offended that they didn’t get a shout-out, or if he was listening.

Which was why…

“—And of course,” you added, voice laced with a syrupy sweetness that didn’t quite match the glint in your eyes, “A very special thank you to the one who inspired this lovely, lovely Song of the Year,”. You let the words sit in the air for a second, flashing a knowing, almost dangerous smile. “He knows exactly who he is,” you smirked, locking your eyes with the person you had so sweetly called out in front of an entire arena filled with celebrities, studio execs, media, and his own peers. “Thanks for that! ‘Cause now I got one of these,” you smirked, nodding towards the golden trophy in your palm.

The crowd lost it. Laughter, gasps, and even a few whoops filled the arena. They all knew who you were talking about, it’s not like your album and even this song was lacking any clues, and their reactions were doing exactly what you needed them to do. Make him nervous and show everyone your newfound edge.

When you scanned the crowd again, this time searching for something sweeter rather than sour & bitter, you saw Joe, still in his seat, throwing his head back with a laugh, shaking it in pure amusement. “God, she’s so good,” he chuckled to the rest of the table, his heart swelling with pride because he was witnessing the by-product of months and months of deprogramming and healing—unshakable confidence & the balls to grab the bull by the horns.

You grinned, shifting gears as you returned to what you originally meant to do up here. “But really, this means the world. Thank you for letting me do what I love. Thank you for letting my pain turn into something beautiful. And most importantly…thank you for letting me prove that I could still do this,”. You lifted the Grammy slightly in the air, a silent moment of gratitude before nodding at the crowd. “I love you guys. Thank you, again!”.

With that, you made your way offstage, an echo of applause filling the air, your heart still pounding, your hands slightly shaking from disbelief, but the moment you locked eyes with Joe again—all you felt was peace.

After the show went to commercial, you spent a few moments chatting with your peers as they came over to congratulate you, even allowing them a chance to formally meet your date, a few of them even wanted to take a photo with him because well…he’s Joe Burrow. You weren’t paying that much attention to what they were talking to him about because your attention was being held captive by the performance stage, feeling the nerves creep back in as you were soon going to be up there and doing what people came here to do—make their marks on the night where artistry was honored.

Once the conversations around you died down and the crowd dispersed, you eased back into your seat, letting out a breath of relief as you let yourself sink into the familiar fervor of Joe beside you. Your fingers absentmindedly tapped against your thigh, your eyes sweeping over the room, scanning for any trace of Jen. There was only one thought in your mind now, only one sound really.

The sound of the clock ticking.

Then, you felt it—Joe’s hand coming down over yours. The touch alone made your breath hitch, but it was what he did next that made your chest tighten. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His lips were soft, the heat of his breath tickling your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. The simple, intimate gesture calmed you, pulling you back from the whirlwind of nerves spinning in your chest.

His voice was quiet, just for you. “That was badass,” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk against your skin. “Calling him out like that? You had the whole damn place eating out of your hand again,”. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his blue eyes locked onto yours, filled with something intense—something that made you feel like the only person in the room. “You deserve every second of this, and I’m so fucking proud of you,”.

Your stomach fluttered, heat rising in your cheeks. Joe had always been proud of you, and had always been your biggest supporter, but hearing it tonight—after everything—hit differently. It settled deep inside your bones, quieting the self-doubt that sometimes crept in.

“I just spoke my truth,” you shrugged, squeezing his hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “And, okay, maybe I had a little fun doing it,”.

Joe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “A little fun?” he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to that husky, intimate tone that always sent a thrill down your spine. “Baby, you set the whole damn place on fire the second you touched the carpet. I seriously think the entire city will fall after you announce the album. Like triggering an earthquake not caused by the San-Andreas fault line,”.

A breathy laugh escaped you but it was unfortunately short-lived, the importance of what was coming next settled over you once again; the realization that you couldn’t escape the inevitable. The performance. The moment that would redefine everything. The moment you had been waiting for ever since you started recording reputation back in August. Your pulse quickened at the mere thought of being on that stage, singing those lyrics that nobody had heard yet, wearing those colors that were meant to usher you into a new era. You were excited about this, no doubt about that, but you were feeling those jitters again since you hadn’t done this in a very long time.

Joe must have sensed it because he gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. “You ready for this?” he asked, looking at you with the most gentle smile humanly possible. He knew how to handle you in moments like these, with words that held the same kind of intensity his pep-talks to his guys during half-time would, but conveyed with a softness that allowed you to be vulnerable with him.

“I don’t deserve him,” you thought to yourself, a pout forming on your face because of how he could easily tell when something was bugging you. Before you could answer, some movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention. Jen was making her way toward you, her earpiece in place, phone in hand, her signature smile on her face. “It’s time,” she said, voice stable but laced with uncontrollable excitement as she also had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers tightening around Joe’s one last time before you stood. His eyes never left you, steady and sure, his silent way of saying, You’ve got this. I believe in you. You turned back to him before you walked away, your voice softer this time, but laced with that newly developed cocky confidence of yours that he adored so much, “Are you ready for it?” you asked, leaning down to plant a kiss on his smooth cheek.

His smirk deepened, something mischievous flashing in his eyes when he looked into yours after you pulled away. “Let the games begin,” he winked.

You stared into those beautiful blue eyes for just a few more seconds, fully taking in the last few moments of peace you had before you let Jen guide you backstage so you could get changed into your performance look. The moment you stepped behind the curtain, the energy shifted. The bass of the music thrummed in the floor beneath your feet. The buzz of the crowd vibrated through the walls. The anticipation was thick, electric, and ready to explode the second you stepped onto that stage.

“And next, she makes her long-awaited return to the center stage! A special performance by Y/N!”.

A breath shuddered from your lips as the wardrobe team rolled up the rack carrying your performance look—an all-black, sparkling bodysuit that shimmered like something unreal under the lights, knee-high boots—sleek and powerful.

The final nail in the coffin.

You flexed your fingers, rolled your shoulders, breathing through the last lines of nerves. “You got this…You got this,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else, shaking your arms to ease the tension and loosen your body.

Just behind the curtain, the stage was waiting for you. The entire world was watching to see what you were going to do, what your next move was going to be. Would the headlines in the morning be drenched in praise, commanding your return? Or would they drip with disappointment, another story of a star who couldn’t reclaim their light?

You refused to let it be the latter.

Fingers tightening around the edges of the vanity table, you stared into your own eyes through the mirror, searching for the fire that had carried you this far. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself against the whirlwind of nerves and adrenaline crashing through your veins.

Then, with quiet confidence, you whispered to your reflection, “Remember who you are,”.

—

The arena hummed with electricity as the lights dimmed, the murmurs of the crowd turning into a haunting silence. They didn’t know what was coming—nobody knew except for Joe and the people at your table. You had kept this a secret, held it close to your chest like a hidden weapon, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. They all expected you to perform your hit single, it was the most logical thing to do since it was your leading nomination tonight and the most safe move you could make after coming back to the scene.

But since you were in an era of unpredictability & breaking through the standards people set for you, you were going to do the exact fucking opposite. Safe is great, it’s comfortable and familiar, but risk is even more thrilling. You had been preparing to perform two unreleased songs from reputation for the past month, and this was it. Here it was.

The lights shifted to a dark mix of crimson red and black, the first haunting notes of Don’t Blame Me rang through the speakers as you stepped onto the stage. Your voice was sultry and controlled, your figure cloaked in the shadows as you hummed the opening melody of the song.

And then a few seconds later, the lights around you flickered away, a spotlight shining behind you highlighting your silhouette as the shadows moved in sync with the pulse of the song.

“Don’t blame me, love made me crazy…,” you sang slowly, your body gradually being revealed by the spotlight, cheers and applause ringing through the arena as you came into their lines of vision. “If it doesn’t you ain’t doing it right…,” you continued, now starting to walk forward towards the center of the stage—your stage.

Then, a flurry of background dancers and backing vocalists came onto the set, taking their places behind you as you smirked at the audience, fully immersed in the adrenaline that was coursing through your veins. And damn, it felt so good.

Like you were coming home. Like your thirst was being quenched for the first time in a century.

“Oh lord, take me, my drug is my baby, I’ll be using for the rest of my life,” you belted as the backing vocalists made the lyrics echo throughout the room through their voices, your own voice dripping with raw intensity, dripping with power. The bass rumbled through the stage beneath your boots as you continued, vibrating in your chest as the music built, electric and intoxicating. Your dancers moved behind you in perfect synchronicity, their bodies swaying, their movements sharp yet fluid, feeding into the dark, hypnotic energy of the performance.

Your arms stretched out, head tilting back as the lights flashed in perfect time with the crescendo, bathing the stage in pulses of deep crimson, gold, and black. You felt it—the power, the desire, the sheer force of hundreds of voices screaming your words back at you, feeling every single lyric as deeply as you did.

You continued through the song, your vocals had never been better, and you were hitting every move with an effortless ease that drove the entire crowd mad, giving them looks—the pettiness, the confidence, the change all shining bright.

The realization hit you right then and there—Joe was right. You were absolutely untouchable and unstoppable, the crowd goes wild at your fingertips. You surrendered yourself to the music and the choreography, allowing the drug that was performing on stage to overwhelm your senses and the euphoric rush to kick in.

As this song neared its end, you found yourself back in the center of the stage, your breaths coming in pants yet remaining controlled as you continued to the final verse. But just as they expected this game-changing performance to end here, you kept going.

With a wicked grin curling your lips, you let the words drip from your mouth like honey laced with poison. “Don’t blame me, don’t blame me, don’t blame me for what you made me do…,”. Your gaze swept across the crowd, calculated, searching. You weren’t just performing anymore—you were hunting.

And then, you found him.

Tucked away at one of the tables to the right of the stage, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. His skin had gone pale, his hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, his entire body stiff as if he had just seen a ghost.

You tilted your head, smirk deepening as you zeroed in. Slowly, you raised a single hand, finger raising like a loaded gun, pointing in his general direction. And then, you moved. A slow, calculated fall, lowering onto your knees with grace, eyes never leaving his. The lights shifted, bathing you in deep crimson again as you let the final words roll off your tongue, each word laced with venom. “Don’t blame me, don’t blame me, don’t blame me for what. you. made. me. do,”.

Boom.

The bass dropped, the lights pulsated, and the transition was seamless—Look What You Made Me Do crashing into the track like a strike of lightning, the guitar echoing through the air like thunder, like a second heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

The entire arena erupted.

It was an explosion of sound—cheers, screams, the electricity of bodies moving in sync with the rhythm. Every flick of your wrist, every strut across the stage was met with unrelenting energy from the crowd. This wasn’t just a performance. This was a reckoning. A return. Another statement.

The kick. The power. The sheer, indescribable high of being back where you belonged, doing what you did best. You had missed this—the stage, the heat of the lights, the deafening sound of your own name being screamed by thousands of voices.

You had starved for this moment. You had waited for this. You worked for this. From the looks on their faces, they had too. The question hung in the air, unspoken but loud—Why the hell did she disappear? Because watching you now, with all that fire, all that command, all that untouchable, magnetic presence—it was impossible to believe you had ever left.

You twisted and twirled, your dancers following in perfect sync, the dark, theatrical magnificence of the set shifting around you. Your lips formed a knowing smile, the adrenaline thrumming in your veins, pulsing with the beat, with every perfectly timed pause and drop.

And then, you reach the favorite part of your song. You mimicked a phone with your fingers, raising it to your ear as you looked out to the crowd, “I’m sorry, but the old Y/N can’t come to the phone right now,”. You shrugged, “Why? Oh…'cause she's dead!”. The bass drop that followed sent a bolt of electricity through the room, the strobe lighting, the movement of the dancers, your movements—it all came together. Those lyrics, it was a message to everyone. Bold, loud, and irreversible.

The old you, the one they all knew, she was gone. Your past was gone, and you were moving forward. The cameras caught every second—flashes of the audience, the stunned faces, the way everyone was fully, hopelessly, entirely enthralled.

And the man who supported you in getting here was watching it all. Joe stood at your table, eyes locked on you like you had personally rewritten the stars. He’d never seen anything like it before, the way you commanded the crowd with your enchanting voice, how everyone was stunned by the theatrics of the performance you’d spent hours designing with your team. His heart swelled at the sight of seeing you up there, so confident and sure of yourself, especially because he knew how nervous you had been for this. He had always believed in you, but seeing you like this? Seeing you reclaim every ounce of what was stolen from you—owning it—had him completely, utterly mesmerized.

You smiled when you saw that his phone was in his hand, recording every second of your performance which he would surely watch back with you tomorrow and give all of his adorable commentary. His jaw clenched, his lips twitching at the corners as he mouthed along to the words. The giant smile that played on his mouth displayed his pride, his awe, it was something deeper—something that made you tighten your grip around the microphone.

Then…your eyes met his directly. It was like a slow-motion collapse of everything around you, the world quieting to nothing but a faint hum, the screams and flashing lights fading into the background. It was just you and him. The man who was your anchor, your constant, and your everything. And in his eyes, you saw everything you needed to.

His heart swelled, his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and the look he gave you was filled to the brim with love, making your breath catch in your throat. Seeing how proud he was of you just made your love for him increase to a level you never thought was attainable, it physically hurt.

But in the best way possible.

After the performance — Backstage

“Oh my god! That was perfect,” Jen shrieked as she pulled you in for a tight hug, your breaths coming out in pants as you were trying to take in the moment. You had just finished the performance, your brain still hazy and legs feeling like jelly from everything that had just happened, and you had absolutely no idea how you made it backstage again, but somehow you did.

“Mm, Holy sh- shit,” you breathed out, looking around at the buzzing energy surrounding you. Everyone was beaming, clapping, celebrating like they had just witnessed history being made. And maybe they had? You couldn’t really focus on any of that right now because you were still riding the high you had from the performance. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, heart battering in your chest, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins like liquid fire.

You reached up, running a shaky hand through your hair, a breathless laugh escaping your lips as you tried to wrap your head around it. You had actually done it. You were back back, hadn’t missed a single beat, and somehow you were better than ever before. And it felt even greater than you could have ever imagined. “That was unreal,” someone said, patting you on the back. Another crew member handed you a bottle of water, which you eagerly accepted, taking a long sip to soothe your dry throat.

Jen was still gripping your shoulders, eyes lit with pride. “You owned that stage. Every single person in that room is losing their mind right now. Do you hear them?”.

You smiled at her mention of the crowd because you absolutely could hear them. Even backstage, you could hear the lingering echoes of cheers, the mere force of the crowd’s energy refusing to die down. There were probably about a million questions floating through their brains right now, and they’d all be answered soon—hopefully at least.

It sent another thrill down your spine. You let out another breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, I missed this. I really, really missed this,” you said, getting a little emotional as you felt tears start to pool in your eyes. You’d been away from the one thing that you lived for far too long, had to learn to let go of this all because it wasn’t doing you any good, but now you were back. And you were coming back so strong.

Jen grinned, her excitement oozing out of her as she gave you a gentle shake. “And this missed you,”.

Your fingers curled tightly around the water bottle, fingers rubbing against the condensation so you could cool yourself as you let the moment settle in. You could still feel the heat of the stage lights, the pounding of the bass in your chest, and the way the world had disappeared the second you locked eyes with Joe.

You knew that every time you looked into his eyes the world around you would disappear, go fully silent—whether you were quietly staring into them before you fell asleep in his arms or in moments of panic like earlier on the carpet. But you had no idea that it would happen while you were performing, thinking that the rush you would get would overpower everything else. But no, you were wrong.

He overpowered it, overpowered it all. Every single time, it was always him.

“…Joe,” you murmured absentmindedly, your mind drifting just like it had earlier when you were getting ready for the carpet. But the distant sound of the announcer’s voice snapped you out of your haze.

“And coming soon, the award for Album of the Year!”

“Oh, shit,” you muttered under your breath, not wasting another second to get back out there and with him. You knew that you wouldn’t have a lot of time with him before the final award of the night would be presented, no matter the outcome. Whether you win or lose, you’d become occupied by press, media, your team, and peers considering you would either A. announce/heavily tease your album in your acceptance speech, or B. immediately post the announcement on your Instagram page. Both outcomes meant little to no time to just exist with him, time you valued more than anything else in the world. So, after murmuring a quick, “I need to change,” to Jen, you slipped away from the commotion and made your way back toward the dressing room.

You slipped back into your dress, put all your accessories back on, and spent a few minutes adjusting your hair and touching up your makeup, replacing your black performance lipstick with your signature pink/red mix. “That really happened,” you laughed to yourself in the mirror while adding a little more lip liner to your bottom lip, “I…really…I really did it,”.

It took months and months of blood, sweat, and tears. But you actually did it. It was beautiful to see the difference that a year away from all of this could make in your life. For the first time, you felt at ease in every aspect—career, family, relationship, and friendships. You weren’t worried about what people were thinking, what criticism was running through their poisonous minds, you didn’t even care about if they liked the songs you just performed or not. Even better, you didn’t give a fuck about what he thought. He spent months tearing your name down in front of the same crowd you just performed in front of, and now? Now it was your turn. And this time, he would sit back and watch you reclaim the land that was always yours.

“That’s the last time I let someone take this from me,” you smiled, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress before walking towards the door, your body filled with that kind of confidence you never thought you would be able to have.

When you made your way back into the main room, the energy in the air was filled with anticipation, which only meant one thing. The final awards were being presented—important ones, no doubt—but they were just the final steps leading up to the moment everyone was waiting for. Album of the Year. The pinnacle of the night.

Navigating through the sea of tables, you felt every brush of a hand, every nod of approval, every quiet applause from your peers as you passed. The high-fives, the murmured words of admiration—it all fueled you, straightened your spine, lifted your chin higher with each step. You had done that, they all were acknowledging it, and you felt like the hottest thing in the entire city of Los Angeles right now. You had earned this moment.

And then you saw him.

Joe was right where he had been before, standing at your table, his back straight, shoulders squared, but his head turning, scanning the room. Searching. For you. The second his eyes met yours, everything about him shifted. His pink lips parted slightly, his eyes softened, but there was something else there too. Something deep. Something raw. A fire burning just beneath the surface. A fire that was lit within him from just watching you up on stage, being effortlessly you.

And just like that, the rest of the world ceased to exist...again.

You moved toward him without thinking, your pulse thundering in your ears, but for an entirely different reason now. His hands were on you the moment you were close enough—pulling you in, gripping you like it was instinct, like he had been waiting for this exact second. No words. No hesitation. Before you could even take another breath, before you could fully process the rush of everything around you—he kissed you. His lips moved against yours with a cadence that made your knees nearly buckle, as if he was trying to say everything he was feeling without uttering a single word. His fingers curled around your waist, the tight grip of his hands steadying you as the noise of the room melted into nothingness.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. “You were insane up there,”.

You exhaled a breathless laugh, still trying to process the way he was looking at you, like he had just witnessed something divine. “Yeah?” you asked him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, like he was making a promise. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You looked so…in control of everything. Like you could do anything your heart wanted. Like you had something else rushing through your veins, kinda like me when I’m out on the field. You didn’t even miss a single beat, no rust or anything. It was insane, Y/N. You were so amazing. You sounded so good, looked even hotter, and god, the way you were controlling the crowd? I’m in awe of you,”.

He had this twinkle in his eyes when he was speaking to you, like he couldn’t believe what he had seen, like he couldn’t comprehend the fact that this side of you existed. His brain was actively short-circling, and you could see it behind his pupils.

Adorable.

A blush creeped up your cheeks as you let him guide you back to your seat around the table, your hands still tangled in his for just a few extra seconds before you finally let go. But he didn’t. His arm draped over the back of your chair, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your shoulder, like he needed to keep that connection. “You feel it, don’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, just for you.

You turned to him, eyebrows raising. “Feel what?”.

His blue eyes scanned over your face, studying you like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. He didn’t have to explain. You knew exactly what he meant. That rock—the one that had been pressing down on your chest for the past year—was gone. That heaviness, the burden of expectations, of pain, of loss. It had lifted.

You weren’t carrying it anymore.

“You sound different,” he continued, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips, almost in disbelief. “Not just on stage. Right now. There’s…something in your voice,”. He paused, tilting his head, eyes flickering over your face like he was searching for the right words. “Like a breeze. Like it’s lighter. Fresh. Cool,”.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by how deeply he saw you, how effortlessly he could put into words something you hadn’t even fully acknowledged yet. But he was right, and that made your heart burst. That ache that had lived inside you for so long was gone. The feeling of everything—the heartbreak, the exhaustion, the doubt—it had lifted the second you stepped onto that stage. And of course, Joe noticed. He always did. “I missed this,” you admitted, voice softer now, more vulnerable. “I missed…feeling like this,”.

Joe’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, his thumb pressing into your skin, promising and constant. “You never lost it,” he said firmly. “You just had to remember it was always yours,”.

A lump formed in your throat as you met his eyes again, thick and unmoving. It was all there—etched into the smooth curve of his lips, the softness of his gaze. The pride, the love, the relentless belief in you. It had never once wavered, not even in the moments you had convinced yourself you weren’t enough. Not even when you had crumbled, doubted, disappeared.

You wanted to tell him something, but you didn’t think you could because if you did you’d never stop crying. But not from unhappiness, but from overwhelming joy.

Thank you.

That’s what you wanted to tell him. Thank you for loving me when I couldn’t love myself.

Thank you for seeing me when I felt invisible, for holding me when I swore I was unlovable, for standing beside me when I thought I had nothing left to give.

These past nine months had been nothing short of a dream—one you had once been too afraid to believe in. From the quiet, stolen moments wrapped in his arms, when the world outside felt like too much, to the nights he stayed up just to listen. To remind you. To tether you back to yourself when doubt became too loud. Every whispered “you got this,” every brush of his fingers against yours, every look that said, I see you. I love you. I believe in you.

Every moment had led to this.

And the truth crashed over you all at once—you wouldn’t be standing here without him. But before you could say anything, before you could even take another breath, the presenter’s voice rang through the grand hall.

“And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for—Album of the Year!”.

The atmosphere changed in an instant. The quiet murmurs silenced, the entire room holding its collective breath. This was the moment that could change the trajectory of artists’ careers…or solidify their spot amongst the greats. This was the moment when they would declare whose year it had been, and which piece of music had captured everyone’s attention since the beginning. Which artist created something so special that it was impossible to overlook?

The competition was fiercer than ever this year. It had been an outstanding year for music—one that felt like a renaissance in its own right. The category was stacked with diversity, a seamless blend of genres that painted a vibrant picture of the industry’s growth. From pop anthems to soul-stirring R&B, from country storytelling to genre-bending masterpieces—every nominee had left their mark.

This could be your moment, and the thought of that made your stomach twist, your fingers instinctively gripping the fabric of your dress as if it were a pool floatie preventing you from drowning. Your previous album, Woodvale, had won big last time, you were leading the headlines for the entirety of the following week, but the one category that it didn’t win in, was this one. Even the media was stunned that you had managed to win in nearly all the big 4 categories, but somehow missed the mark for Album of the Year.

Back then, it had all been about your rookie year, about proving yourself, about what you could do with your first real shot at greatness. It was about potential, about possibility. About making a name for yourself. But this time…this time, the meaning of it was different. Heavier. More personal. This award wasn’t just about the music anymore. It wasn’t just about the headlines, the charts, or the record-breaking moments. It was bigger than that. It was everything. It was the months spent piecing yourself back together after the breakup, the nights that stretched into mornings as you fought through the doubt, the exhaustion, the voices in your head that told you maybe you weren’t enough. It was every lyric scribbled in the margins of your notebooks, every melody born from the deepest parts of your heart.

It was you. All of you. This award—if it was yours—would be a symbol. A testament to the resilience, the pain, the healing, the love, the sheer force of will it took to make it back to this stage.

And now, it all came down to this moment. Would they hear you? Would they see you?

Joe’s hand slipped under the table, finding yours in the dim lighting. His fingers curled around yours, soft and assuring, lacing them together like they always belonged there. The simple gesture made your chest tighten, your eyes flicking toward him. “You got this,” he whispered, the confidence in his voice pushing out the doubt creeping into your body.

Your pulse pounded against your ribs. The envelope was in the presenter’s hands now, their fingers curling under the flap, tearing it open with deliberate slowness. Your breath felt stuck in your lungs, the anticipation stretching out unbearably, like time itself was dragging this out just to make you sweat. Joe leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, calming you in a way only he could. “I love you regardless,” he murmured, his voice softer now, threaded with something so deep it made your heartache. “You're still number one. You always have been and always will be,”.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as his words settled deep in your chest. That was all you needed to hear. Win or lose, the truth remained the same—you had already won in the ways that truly mattered. No trophy, no accolade, no industry recognition could ever measure up to the happiness he gave you, to the love that consumed you. You had already won the greatest prize of all—a life with him.

When you looked back up at the stage you saw how the presenters smiled at each other, dragging out the suspense, the golden card in their hands holding the answer that would either send you soaring or leave you swallowing disappointment.

A pause.

Your fingers tightened around Joe’s.

“And the Grammy for Album of the Year goes to…,”.

A heartbeat.

“Is It Over Now! Y/N!”.

For a moment—just one fleeting, impossible second—you didn’t react. It was like your brain refused to process the words, like you had misheard them, like they were meant for someone else.

But then the room erupted.

Cheers. Screams. Applause so loud it shook the walls. The sound crashed over you, a tidal wave of celebration, of validation, of everything you had fought so hard for. Your hand flew up to your mouth as the realization sank in, the camera capturing every second. A choked sob escaped your throat, tears instantly welling in your eyes.

Joe was on his feet before you could even move, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into him like he had been waiting for this exact moment all night. Like he had always known it would happen. “You fucking did it,” he breathed against your hair, his voice carrying that light, drunken energy that made your cheeks blush—his grip impossibly tight.

Your hands clutched at the back of his suit, clinging to him as the first tears slipped down your cheeks. “I– I can’t believe it. Oh my god,” you whispered.

But it was real.

Your name was being called. People were standing, clapping, cheering for you. Your peers, your idols, the very people who had shaped you as an artist—they were all on their feet, celebrating you.

Joe’s grip on you tightened for a second, like he didn’t want to let go just yet. His hands trembled slightly against your skin, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice nothing but a breath, a promise. “I told you this was yours,” he whispered. “I told you from the very beginning. And I will keep telling you every single day. I’m so proud of you, Y/N. I love you, superstar,”.

Your heart clenched, and for a moment, it wasn’t the flashing cameras or the roaring applause that filled your senses—it was him. His touch, his belief, the way he had always seen you, even when you couldn’t see yourself. You clung to him for a beat longer, forehead pressing against his, as you leaned in for a kiss. Before you pulled away, his hands slid down your arms, reluctant, but he let you go.

Because this moment was yours.

Jack was one of the first people you saw when you turned, hands in his hair, yelling, “I told you! I told you!” before practically tackling you into a hug. He was beaming, shaking you by the shoulders like he couldn’t believe it, like he could but still needed to make sure this was real.

Margaret was crying, again, hands clasped together in front of her mouth before she reached out to squeeze your arm, whispering, “You deserve this,”. Sabrina was standing a few feet away, eyes glassy but full of joy, nodding at you like she knew exactly what this meant. Like she understood every step it took to get here.

And then there was Taylor. She had been one of the first to rise, clapping, smiling so big her dimples showed, eyes filled with nothing but pride. The second you met her gaze, she mouthed, “Go. Go take it,”. The moment wrapped around you, overwhelming, breathtaking, years of hard work, pain, resilience, everything leading up to this.

And as you turned, taking that first step toward the stage, Joe called after you, his voice laced with everything he was feeling. “Go show them why you deserved this,”.

A breathless laugh bubbled out of you, the kind that only came when you were overwhelmed with happiness. You nodded before turning back and going toward the stage again. Your legs felt shaky, your chest tight with emotion, but every step forward felt like proof. Proof that the sleepless nights, the pain, the doubt—it all meant something. Proof that no matter who tried to break you, you had built yourself back up stronger.

And now, as you reached out to accept the golden trophy, standing under the blinding lights, the applause still booming around you…You knew for certain.

It was never over. It had only just begun.

You stepped up to the mic, “Oh my God. Oh my God,” you say as you clutch the award, trying to catch your breath, voice already shaking. “I…wow. I don’t even know what to say right now,” you laugh tearily, your eyes pooling with tears while you scan the crowd. Every single person was standing for you, smiling for you, you couldn’t believe it.

You took a deep breath, one to calm yourself, before continuing, “This album…this album came from the hardest, messiest, most painful time in my life, as you all know,” you said, watching a few nods come from people in the audience. “I didn’t know if I’d ever feel okay again, let alone be standing here, holding this. When I was making Is It Over Now?, I wasn’t thinking about awards or charts or accolades—I was just trying to…survive. I was trying to put words to the heartbreak, the betrayal, the absolute destruction of everything I thought was real. And now, standing here, looking at all of you, I realize…maybe it all had to happen this way. Maybe this was always how the story was supposed to go,”.

You raised your hand to wipe the tear slipping down your cheek as you continued, “To my team, Jen, my producers Jack and Aaron—every single person who stayed when it would’ve been easier to walk away. I love you. We made something so real, so honest, and I’m so proud of what we created,” you smiled, pointing towards Jack at the table, watching him mouth a “Love you,” back to you. “And my fans…my god, my fans,” you laughed, allowing a moment for applause before continuing. “You guys have been with me through everything. Every high, every low, every moment where I thought I couldn’t keep going, you reminded me why I do this. You screamed these lyrics like battle cries, like prayers, like you knew—you understood me in ways I didn’t even understand myself. You defended me when I couldn’t defend myself. You stood by me when the world pulled me apart. And now, we stand here together. I hope you know that this isn’t just my award—this is yours. Because without you, I don’t know if I would’ve made it here,”.

You pause for a moment, eyes searching the crowd until they find him—Joe. Standing there, his eyes glistening, his hand swiping at his cheek, trying to hide the tears that he can't quite contain. But even through the emotion, his smile is wide, brighter than anything in the room, and it’s like the world fades away when you look at him

You’ve never talked about him like this before—not on a stage like this. Not in front of the world. But here, now, it feels like the right time. The moment feels like it’s meant to be.

Here we go.

“...And Joe…oh, god, Joe,” you laugh through the tears, a smile forming on your lips again as you make eye contact with him. You see his face soften immediately, his hand swiping at his cheek, but the proud, teary smile never fades. His eyes glisten, and you swear you see a flicker of disbelief behind them—like he can’t quite believe this is real, but it’s happening.

“You just waltzed into my life with those signature Cartier shades on your face, looking like the coolest guy in the room, with that grin of yours that’s practically been trademarked by now, and that Joe-Cool persona that’s become a part of you over the years,” you laughed, watching him tip his head back slightly, the familiar chuckle that only he could pull off escaping from his lips. “You came into my life when I honestly didn’t even know if I had one left,”. You paused for a moment, the words catching in your throat. Joe’s eyes softened as they always did when you got emotional, his hand brushing across his jaw like he was trying to hide the way his heart was swelling at every word. “When I thought love was just another lie, when I didn’t trust anyone, especially myself. And you didn’t try to fix me, you didn’t try to change me—you just stayed. You let me fall apart, and then you showed me I didn’t have to stay broken. I will forever appreciate you for that. These past few months with you have been everything I could have ever wanted, filled with so much love, and happiness, and so much carefree energy. Energy that I never knew I needed. You’re the first person to hear every song now, the one who sits on the floor with me at 3 a.m. because I have an itch to scratch and you want to be a part of it, who listens to every rough demo, every messy lyric idea, and somehow, you make me feel like every single thing I create is magic, even if it’s unserious and deliriously written,” you chuckle, the audience laughing along with you, some of them even having their hands over their hearts because of the way you were speaking about him.

“You changed my world the second you walked into it, like literally,” you smiled, remembering the night at the white party, the way he had looked at you with that easygoing grin, as if you were the only person in the room. “You told me I didn’t need to be perfect, like that silly football joke you cracked when we first met. You said, ‘I might throw a perfect pass on the field, but I’m still trying to figure out how to land a date without fumbling the ball’,” you laughed, the memory so clear, his voice, his playfulness, like it was yesterday.

He chuckled softly, nodding at the memory. That goofy, endearing smile that always had the power to light up the room. “You were so wrong, you know,” you teased him gently, “You didn't need to throw any passes. You already had me from the moment you looked at me,”.

You continued, looking at him, your heart swelling. “You made me believe in myself again, in us. And I will spend every single day for the rest of my life thanking you for that. Everything you touch is filled with love, with light, with joy—and I love you more than I could ever find the words to say,”. Joe’s eyes softened at your words, his gaze full of warmth. You could feel his heart in every look, in the way he just was with you, always there. “You know, I’ve got a lot more to say about you...but I think some things are better kept in the music, don’t you think?” you winked, giving him a subtle nod, knowing how much he loved those little secrets. The clear allusion to your next album sends waves of murmurs throughout the audience.

“I think the next chapter will be something special,” you added, a smile creeping onto your lips as you imagined what the future would hold, “And I can’t wait to share it with you. You are everything I never knew I needed, and so much more than I could have ever hoped for. Thank you…thank you for loving me the way you do,” you finished, feeling the weight of your love for him in the air between you both. And in that moment, it wasn’t the award, the spotlight, or the applause that mattered most. It was him. Always him.

You take a deep breath, your heart still racing, but this time, from a place of defiance. “And to the people who doubted me, who called me an industry plant, a one-hit wonder, who said I was only here because of someone else…oops,” you smirk, holding up the trophy as the crowd cheers once again. The specific dig aimed at the haters, the media, and even your former record label, lands with the perfect blend of sweet satisfaction.

You took a final deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the crowd. The applause was still rippling through the room, but now, you felt something deeper—something that had been building for months. “This album, this moment, everything—it's been a journey. A journey through heartbreak, through self-doubt, through finding myself again. I disappeared for a while, didn't I? I had to. To heal. To rediscover what I wanted to say. And it wasn’t easy. But sometimes, you have to step away to step into your truth,” you paused, your voice trembling slightly but filled with conviction.

“I’ve learned that growth comes from the toughest moments. The ones that break you open. The ones that hurt the most. And you know what? I wouldn’t change a thing. Every tear, every sleepless night, every song written in the dark, it all led me here, to you. To this stage. To this award. To a place where I can finally say, ‘I’m not afraid to be myself anymore’,”.

You smiled, your heart swelling with pride and something else, something new. “This album is a reflection of everything I've been through—the heartbreak, the lies, the lessons I never wanted to learn. It’s a journey from confusion and denial, through the painful realization of what was lost, to finally finding the strength to walk away. It’s about facing the truth, no matter how hard it is, and finding a way to rise from it,”.

The crowd cheered, and you raised the trophy slightly, a subtle nod to the story you'd just shared. “But…if you think this is the end? Well, you’ve got another thing coming,” you grinned, knowing exactly what that meant, knowing what was waiting to be unleashed.

“Because just like any great story, there's always more to tell. And trust me, the next chapter is going to be...unforgettable,” your voice dropped slightly, the weight of what you were hinting at sinking in. “I’ve shed my skin. Now it’s time for you to see who I really am,”. you smirked, the audience was on edge, eager for what was to come. After that, you winked and blew a kiss into the air, stepping back from the mic. “Thank you so much for this award! I’ll see you soon,”.

And just like that, you left them wanting more.

The second you step off the stage, the world behind you simply fades away. Joe’s hands are already around you, pulling you into a tight, all-encompassing hug that nearly makes you fall back. It’s not about the flashing lights, the cameras, or the millions of people still watching from their screens—it’s just the two of you in this moment, and that’s all that matters. His warmth floods through you, grounding you, making everything feel real as he sways you back and forth. “I am so damn proud of you,” he murmurs into your hair, voice laced with emotion, as if every word is a weight he’s been carrying since she walked out there. “You fucking killed it, baby. Congratulations,”.

This was like your Super Bowl, and this was the moment when the significant other would rush on the field to congratulate the champion. He was congratulating his champion.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the tears rise again, even though you thought you’d run out. You exhale shakily against his chest, clutching the award like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. “Did that really happen, Joe?” you ask him, threading your fingers through his hair, your voice soft and shaky, asking him as if you weren’t the one out there just now.

Joe pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his hands coming to your face, like he needs to hold you still, to savor every second of this. His thumbs gently brush away the stray tears on your cheeks, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you. “Hell yeah, it did. Believe it,” he says, his voice quiet and firm. “No one deserves this more than you, Y/N. You worked so hard for this,”.

The satisfaction in his eyes makes your chest tighten, and you can’t help but smile through the tears. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’re finally home. He’s not just proud of you; he’s in awe of you. And you can feel it in every touch, every look. You’ve always known he’s your biggest fan, but hearing it from him, seeing it reflected in his gaze—it makes everything worth it. You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “I…thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. “You’ve been with me through everything. And I just…I can’t believe you’re here, with me, in this moment,”.

Joe’s smile softens, his forehead coming to rest against yours for a brief second. “I’m always here,” he murmurs, like he’s trying to make you believe it’s true, even though you already know. Then, he smirks, rubbing his hand along the curve of your hip, each press of his fingers sending a jolt of heat through your frame. “Also…that speech?”.

You giggle through your tears, wiping your eyes as you shake your head. “Too much?”.

“Too much?” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Baby, you just torched the place. Hit every topic, addressed everyone you needed to, and hit ‘em where it most definitely would hurt,” his laugh bubbles up from deep in his chest, pure joy in the sound. “That ‘oops’ line? You were perfect. I love this version of you,”.

You can’t stop the blush that creeps up your neck, a mix of pride and embarrassment. “Good,” you tease, leaning into his chest, finally letting the tears fall freely. “I’m glad it wasn’t too much. I just had to let them know…,”.

Joe laughs softly, but there’s something in his gaze that makes your heart flutter. He’s always been so humble, but when it comes to you, he has this way of holding you with such admiration, like you’re everything he’s ever wanted. And in this moment, you know that’s how he sees you. Always.

“You were perfect, baby,” he whispers again, his voice barely audible as his hands cradle your face. His gaze holds yours, soft but filled with that familiar heat you’ve never been able to get enough of. “You know I don’t care about anything else, right? The trophies, the lights, the cameras…none of that matters. I just want you. And I’m so damn proud of you. Of us. I know it wasn’t easy for you to do this, to do this with me, but you did it anyway and for that, I say thank you. Thank you for trusting me, for letting me in, for letting me love you,”.

You lean into his touch, letting yourself get lost in him for a second because in his arms, you don’t need to pretend. You don’t have to hold it together. Here, with him, it’s just love—raw, real, and safe. “I love you,” you whisper against his chest, pressing a kiss to his neck, your voice barely more than a breath. “I love you so much, Joey,”.

Joe’s smile is soft, his lips brushing against your forehead as he presses a lingering kiss there. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know. I’m so proud of you,”. Your eyes fill with a new wave of emotion as you step back slightly to look at him. His eyes are so full of love, so tender, and you know that in this world of chaos, the spotlight, and the noise, there is no one else you’d rather have by your side. “Let’s get you out of here,” Joe says softly, pulling you back to him with easy confidence. “Celebrate properly,”.

You smirk, arching a playful brow as you run your hands along his clothed chest, “And by celebrate, you mean?”.

Joe grins, his playful glint never leaving his eyes. “You’ll see,” he teases, leaning in for another kiss, just enough to remind you of how real this love is. He pulls back just a little, his hand resting on your waist, keeping you close. “Trust me, it’s going to be our kind of celebration,”.

And with that, you realize it’s one of those rare moments—etched into your memory, a quiet but monumental piece of your shared journey. A moment that’s entirely yours, carved out amidst everything else. It’s not about the awards or the albums or the headlines. It’s about what you’ve fought for, what you’ve built together, and the future that’s still unfolding.

As Joe’s hand wraps around yours, pulling you close, you can’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. This, this is everything—the foundation of your love, the strength of your bond, the unwavering support you offer each other. No spotlight, no accolades, no applause could ever compare to the certainty that you’re in this together, through it all. And as you walk side by side, you know that this—the quiet moments, the connection, the love—is what truly matters.

And the best part? This was only just beginning.

—To be Continued—

stay tuned for part 2!

you are in love: big reputations part 1 (social media fic follow up)

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow bengals #joey b #joeburrow #nfl #nfl fan fic #nfl imagine #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #taylor swift #yail #yail asks

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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Covering the Classics Part 9 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: After Anna joins him for dinner, Bob knows he needs to accept that they really are just friends. Even though her kisses are perfection. Even though he's falling in love. But what's going to stop Anna when she realizes Bob's poems are very familiar to her?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, Bob in gray sweatpants, eventually 18+

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

Bob couldn't imagine a world in which he'd go to this much trouble to make the perfect dinner for a woman who he was falling in love with, only to hear her say the words just friends. But apparently it was the world he was living in, because he spent days comparing recipes from both Bradley and Jake, hoping to make something that Anna would find irresistible.

"You should make my lasagna," Jake said for the tenth time at work on Friday morning.

Bradley snorted. "Great idea, as long as you never want to see her again. Make my homemade pasta," he told Bob. "I already gave you the recipe."

Bob just kept nodding and agreeing with whatever they said, hoping they'd eventually be quiet. Anna was coming over tonight, and he still didn't have a solid plan in mind beyond trying to convince her he'd be worth her time. That it was okay to be more than friends.

While the guys argued, Bob got himself ready to get in the air with Phoenix. He must have looked flustered, because she rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his hand when he stood next to her in the hangar. "You seem nervous. Are you still trying to figure out what to make for dinner?"

"Yeah," he replied quietly.

"Oh, Bob. She's not going to care what you make. It could be a grilled cheese sandwich."

"I always burn those," he said with a small smile. "I just feel like this is pointless. I invited her over anyway even though I know she just wants to be friends, but I'm still standing here hoping for more. I shouldn't be doing this, even if we did makeout in her office."

Nat sighed and asked, "Do you want my grandma's recipe for bruschetta chicken? You liked it when you tried it at her house last summer, and it's not that hard to make."

His eyes lit up. "Please."

He'd only have a little bit of time to himself to prepare the meal and cook it before Anna came over, and he listened as Nat called her grandma and asked her to send it over. Before they were even called out of the hangar to start the day, he had a photo of the handwritten recipe in his phone.

"Nat, you're a lifesaver."

"Just save me some of the leftovers."

--------------------------

Friday was going so well for Anna, she almost forgot to be nervous about dinner. She met with the dean to discuss how her classes were going, and he even brought up the word tenure which sent her into a giddy spiral where she treated herself to a candy bar from the vending machine which she couldn't really afford. She carried it out to eat lunch in the quad with her friends along with her regular, uninspired sandwich and ginger ale.

She hadn't mentioned a word about going to Bob's house for dinner, but she was absolutely certain both ladies knew about it. She almost found it comical the way they were trying to get her to say something about it, but Jessica was clearly ready to boil over.

"Hi," Anna greeted, biting into her Snickers bar as she settled on the bench between them. Advanced Calculus casually offered her some carrots and hummus while Jessica's cheeks started to grow a furious shade of pink.

"When were you going to tell us Bob invited you over for dinner tonight?" she exclaimed.

Anna shrugged and said, "I was probably just going to tell you about it on Monday since it's nothing because we are just friends. It's only as exciting as it would be if I went over to your place for dinner."

"That's exciting, too!" Jessica said. "You should absolutely come over for dinner! But you're wrong, because it's not as exciting as Bob cooking dinner for you!"

"Jess. Chill out," came the voice from Anna's other side. "She'll learn soon enough that dinner cooked by one of the Top Gun boys is essentially a marriage proposal on a plate. A very sexy and delicious marriage proposal. You and he will be sleeping together in no time."

Anna chewed up the last bite of her Snickers and shook her head. "You're both wrong. Bob and I are just friends. The dinner means nothing, and we're not going to sleep together."

"Oh, please!" Jessica was back to practically shouting now. "If you think he's actually okay with all the making out, then you've lost your mind. He doesn't want it to be meaningless. He likes you."

Anna looked at her feet. "I know he does. I like him too."

"Then stop stringing him along! I don't understand what the problem is here, Anna."

She sat quietly now, no longer feeling so great as she picked at her sandwich.

"Hey, I know Jess sounds like an excitable terrier, but maybe you need a little tough love," Advanced Calculus said as she dipped a carrot into the hummus. "You can talk to us, you know. You can tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Anna whispered as her mind flooded with thoughts of Kevin and what he might be up to at the moment.

Jess took a deep calming breath before she said, "There's just no good reason to put your dream man in the friend zone. And don't even try to lie and say Bob Floyd isn't perfection."

"He is," Anna whispered. Other than her infatuation with Sky Writing, Bob was the closest thing to a dream come true that she'd ever encountered before. But she did have her reasons, and she was too embarrassed to talk about it out loud. She was certain that Jess already knew her current financial state was in ruins, and it might be nice to have her friends understand where she was coming from, but she didn't want them to pity her. That was the last thing she needed right now. "You know what, I think I'm going to get ready for my next lecture."

She was on her feet and rushing away as her friends called after her, but she didn't stop walking until she reached her office. She was not going to cry over this, and she definitely didn't want to cancel on Bob. The only thing she could do to calm down was look at all of the books on her shelves, letting her gaze glide over the colorful spines. Then she read the note from Bob that was tucked in her copy of Papillon.

Freedom would feel like being so in love, you'd willingly let another person lock you to their side.

-------------------------------

Bob had a fully stocked kitchen filled with a nice set of pots and pans and sharp knives and anything else he could possibly want, but right now, it was like he'd never cooked anything before in his life. Nat's grandmother actually had atrocious handwriting, and he could barely make out the measurements in the photo he had to work with.

"Basil," he muttered to himself, grabbing the leafy greens from the cutting board and wondering why it looked like he was supposed to use three cups of them. "I didn't even buy that much!"

He took a deep breath and walked around his kitchen, trying to clear his head. Anna was going to grab an Uber. She would be arriving in about an hour with wine and dessert. He wanted to feed her the most delicious meal he could muster, but right now he was just looking at the chicken breast on the plate in front of him like he'd never seen food before.

And he just knew Jake and Bradley never had to work this hard for a woman in their lives. Jake could rely mostly on his looks if he wanted to, and Bradley was the luckiest person he knew, reuniting with the love of his life after ten years and getting married approximately a day later. "No," he whispered, "that's not fair to them." He knew he was wrong. He knew both of them worked to get where they ended up, and he shouldn't be putting himself down so much.

He glared at the chicken and picked up a knife. "This is fine. No problem." He had to fudge some of the measurements which made no sense, and he'd suggest to Nat that maybe her grandmother should take an eye exam, but the recipe really wasn't too terribly hard. Soon he had the browned chicken in the oven, and he set to work on the bruschetta topping and started boiling some water for the pasta. He was just adding another tablespoon of balsamic vinegar to the tomatoes and basil when he heard Anna's beautiful laughter.

Bob nearly knocked the bowl to the floor in his haste to get to her. After grabbing a dish towel for his hands, he rushed toward his front door and saw her on his porch. She was wearing a little sundress that he'd seen her in before with her worn out denim jacket over it, and he froze a few feet inside his screen door just so he could look at her. She was juggling a shopping bag and a bottle of wine, and that's when he realized she was talking to Suzanne.

"Oh, no, I'm not in the Navy," she was saying as she tossed her beautiful, red hair over her shoulder. "I'm a professor at San Diego State University. My name's Anna."

She stretched her hand out, and then Bob heard Suzanne's voice. "I'm Suzanne, and that's my cat, Sylvester. I must say, I had no idea Robert got himself a girlfriend. And such a pretty one!"

He desperately wanted to interrupt their conversation before he could hear what Anna's response was going to be, but he just couldn't. She was standing there in the last rays of the setting sun, blushing as she said, "Bob and I are actually just friends. Just good friends."

There was a beat of silence before Suzanne laughed. "Have you seen him? And he's even sweeter than he is handsome!"

Anna was laughing nervously, and Bob's heart was pounding, but he opened the screen door to bail her out anyway. "Hey," he greeted as naturally as he could, and then Anna's apprehensive gaze met his. God, all he wanted to do was drag her inside, push her up against his living room wall and kiss until she realized he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Bob," she whispered, taking a small step in his direction. Her eyes were wide and perceptive, like she could read his every thought on his face. She cleared her throat and said, "I brought wine and some cookies."

Helpless to do much of anything else, he smiled at her. "Dinner's almost ready." Then he leaned further out the door and said, "Hi, Suzanne."

His next door neighbor looked delighted as she glanced between him and Anna. "I was just talking to your charming friend here, Robert. Cooking dinner for someone certainly sounds romantic to me."

Bob was gripping the door frame as he watched Anna's face fill with panic. Then she blurted out, "Why doesn't Suzanne join us?"

-------------------------------

The only thing Anna could think to do was sabotage the dinner she'd been looking forward to all week. She watched Bob's face fall slightly as he realized she invited his next door neighbor to join them for a very platonic dinner. And since Bob was the sweetest man Anna had ever met, he recovered immediately, turned to Suzanne and said, "You're more than welcome."

Ten minutes later, Bob was opening the bottle of cheap wine she'd brought while Anna watched the veins in his hands. He was graceful and lovely, and Suzanne was talking nonstop as he poured three glasses. She had nobody to blame but herself for inviting a third wheel along. The older woman was really more of a safety net. Someone to prevent Anna from kissing Bob. Someone to stop her from falling completely in love with him.

The whole house smelled amazing, and she knew this dinner was supposed to be just for her. She hadn't eaten a real meal like this, other than at the cookout, in months and months. The first bite of chicken, bruschetta and pasta was delicious enough that she moaned softly. Bob watched her take a second bite, and it was incredible. The third bite left her staring at him in wonder.

"You're the best cook in the world," Anna informed him, cutting across Suzanne talking about her cat. She didn't even care if she was being rude, the food was perfect. And it would have somehow been even better if the two of them were alone.

Bob blushed and took a sip of the wine that Anna wished was better than it was. "Thanks. Uh, it was a new recipe. I've never made it before tonight."

Suzanne took a bite and said, "Robert is an excellent cook and a real gentleman. He always makes sure I have groceries, and he picks up a little something for me if he gets dinner on his way home from work."

As Bob's cheeks grew redder, Anna's heart beat faster. "A real gentleman," she echoed, knowing he'd take care of anyone who needed something.

"Yes," Suzanne said. "You don't see many of them around. Never seen many myself."

Neither had Anna, and after she blew her life to bits, she'd probably never see one again. She listened to Bob and Suzanne talk about their favorite game shows, and she cleaned her plate before either of them had finished. All of the toast and sad sandwiches she'd been eating weren't really cutting it, and she knew that. She also didn't want to get another piece of chicken and seem like a mooch.

"Can I get you more?" Bob asked as he stood on the opposite side of the table in his worn jeans and snug white shirt. "There's plenty left."

Anna shook her head, but he reached for her plate anyway. While he was in the kitchen, Suzanne quickly finished eating and downed the rest of her wine. Softly, just for Anna to hear, she said, "He is a very nice man. I hope I see you around here in a less friendly capacity." Then she called out, "Robert? I need to go. I hear Sylvester outside bugging for food. Thanks for dinner, and enjoy your evening."

"Night, Suzanne," he replied, and the older woman bustled off without another word, leaving Anna alone with Bob when he returned with two plates refilled with food. "She's a character."

Anna laughed, but she could tell Bob was hesitant to say too much now. Probably because she'd dashed the mood in the first place. "I'm sorry I suggested she join us," she told him sincerely, shaking her head. "All week long, I'd been looking forward to talking about books with you."

As she poked at her chicken, afraid of what he was going to say, he said, "Once you finish eating, I could show you my books. I don't have as many as you do, but maybe there's something you'd like to borrow in the mix. And then I'll drive you home."

"I can get an Uber," she insisted, taking another bite of the perfectly cooked dinner.

"And I can just as easily drive you."

He was a gentleman. She wasn't going to leave here in an Uber no matter what she said. "Alright."

----------------------------

"You have books in every room!" Anna exclaimed as she walked around his house nibbling on a cookie. The wine she brought was kind of terrible, and so were the grocery store cookies, but Bob didn't mind. She ate two full plates of the dinner he cooked, and now that Suzanne was gone, she seemed more herself.

"I have a system," he insisted as she sat down on his living room floor to inspect a stack of paperbacks.

"I'm not buying it," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Try me. The living room is poetry. The extra bedroom is mysteries. The dining room is true crime."

"What's in your bedroom?" she asked, flipping through a collection by Robert Frost.

Bob wanted to tell her that his bedroom was where he wrote his own poetry. And that they had begun to turn into a collection all about her. "Romance," he said.

She laughed softly, such a pretty sound. "I'm assuming you don't have any Vonnegut? No soul massacring, unhappy endings?"

"None," he promised. "You won't find any of those around here."

She was skimming a page as she muttered, "Good. I've had enough of that anyway." Then she stood and carried the Frost poems to another small pile on his coffee table. She rooted around and pulled out a volume by Walt Whitman before asking, "Could I borrow these two?"

Bob was admiring how perfect she looked in his house when she met his eyes with her pretty brown ones. "Of course," he said, dropping down onto the couch as he finished his own cookie. "Anything you want."

She stood and carried the books over to her purse before sitting down a few feet away from him. "What I want is to help you organize your books for real. Have you ever heard of a bookshelf before?"

"Never," he replied innocently. "What's that?"

She laughed and scooted a little closer. "You know those big, wooden things that were holding all the books when we met at that store in North Park? Remember that day?"

He knew she was just joking around, but as he memorized the pattern of her freckles, he said, "I will never forget that day."

Once again, Anna initiated the kiss, and once again, Bob was helpless to pump the brakes. She leaned in close with her hand on his knee and brushed her lips against his. It was so sweet, he was almost able to ask her to stop. Even though it felt too good, he was nearly able to tell her he couldn't do this. But being tortured was worth it. That was the worst part.

He let her do what she wanted, and her soft hands found their way to his face, knocking his glasses askew on their way into his hair. He wanted to touch her, but he was afraid he'd lose himself in these kisses that meant so much more to him than they did to her. He counted to ten slowly in his mind, savoring every touch and taste, letting Anna settle against his thigh. Then he broke the kiss, leaving her hovering there, surprise on her face.

She pressed her lips together, and turned her face toward his front door. "I'll never forget that day either."

He nodded as her hands fell away from his hair and his face, and he whispered, "Grab the books you want to borrow, and I'll drive you home."

----------------------------

"He's a gentleman," Anna groaned in her bed on the floor of her tiny apartment the following morning. It was Saturday, and she didn't have much she needed to accomplish today which would leave her plenty of time to think about the drive home in Bob's truck and the way he walked her to her door. She didn't kiss him again, but he always seemed to be close enough that she could feel his body heat in the chilly night air. Even now, when she grabbed at some strands of her hair, she swore she could still smell his fresh scent there.

She needed to get out. She grabbed her phone and took the longest walk imaginable. Her legs were burning by the time she stopped in a corner store for something to eat for lunch, but the sandwich was almost as bad as the ones she had been making for herself. Nothing would be as good as what Bob cooked, and he served it up last night like it was no big deal at all.

As Anna started the long walk back to her apartment, she groaned while she blasted her music. She had invited his elderly neighbor to join them for dinner, and then she had kissed him again. She was so embarrassing. She'd never been like this when she was in New Jersey, never doing the most mortifying things over and over.

She didn't go home for a long time. She walked through an enormous park and looked at a fountain while she daydreamed about all of her unfinished manuscripts. When that started to hurt too much, she watched the storm clouds that were rolling in from the coast and thought it might be nice to get soaking wet. Then a few fat raindrops started to hit her face as she realized that she wouldn't be able to replace her phone if it got destroyed.

"Damn it," she muttered, starting to run through the park under the cover of the trees. The sky was quickly getting darker as she tried to stay under awnings and overhangs as much as possible until she reached her apartment building. Her clothing was soaked, but her phone was still in working order when she ran inside, dripping all over the welcome mat in the small entryway.

She desperately wanted to cry, but that wouldn't solve anything, so she took a long shower instead. She washed and braided her hair, and then she painted her nails. When she finally picked up her phone again, she had a new message from Bob.

Bob Floyd: Taking your advice and buying one of those bookshelves? Was that what they were called? Which one do you think is better?

He had attached two screenshots of nice looking shelves from Ikea that she'd never be able to afford at the moment. She smiled as she typed back to him while she heated up a can of soup for dinner.

Yes, they are called bookshelves. Are you sure you know how to use them? I like the navy blue one better.

The flavorless chicken noodle soup went well with Anna's mood as she sat on the floor and watched a show on her phone. Part of her wanted to know what her friends were up to, but she didn't want to have to tell them about last night. She knew Bob and Jess would be going out to play Dungeons & Dragons soon anyway, but she dropped her spoon in the bowl when Bob wrote back again.

Bob Floyd: I think I'll pick it up tomorrow and make it my rainy Sunday project. Feel like helping me build it?

"Oh, Anna. Don't."

-------------------------------

Bob pulled up to Anna's building on Sunday afternoon after stopping to pick up the shelf. It had been pouring rain since last night, and he had to wrap his new furniture box in a tarp to protect it in the bed of his truck. But this would be a great way to spend the afternoon. He could make two cups of tea, and she could help him organize his books. They didn't need to kiss anymore. He would see to it that they didn't. He could handle this whole thing without issue.

He left his truck idling at the curb, and Anna came running outside like she'd been waiting for him. He grabbed his umbrella and met her halfway, shouting, "I was going to walk up and get you!" over the sound of the rain. She joined him under the umbrella, her denim jacket pretty wet as she shrugged.

"The rain's okay. It reminds me of New Jersey."

Once he opened the door and helped her scramble in, he ran around to the other side of the truck. He was barely able to find a dry spot on his shirt so he could wipe off his glasses, and when he yanked the hem up, he could feel Anna's eyes on his body. There was no sense in feeling self conscious about the way he looked now, because nothing else was going to happen. Last night had to be the end of that.

"You ready?" he asked, cranking the key in the ignition when she nodded. His wipers were going full speed as he drove her back to his house for the second visit in one weekend. "Thanks for helping with this. I kind of realized that having everything on one big shelf makes more sense. Especially if I keep borrowing books from you."

Her laugh was soft as she said, "If you don't borrow my books, then nobody will."

"Same goes for mine," he replied easily as he headed toward the beach. "But don't you dare dog ear my pages."

Now she laughed louder. "I read most of Whitman last night before I fell asleep, and there's nary a bent page in sight."

"That's what I like to hear." When he pulled up in front of his house, he handed her the umbrella and his keys. "Go ahead and let yourself in, and I'll unload the box."

She just gaped at him in response and asked, "Don't you need help carrying it?"

"Nah," he replied, popping his door open, "I can get it."

Bob struggled a little bit with the tarp before sliding the massive box closer to the edge of the truck tailgate. Every movement was made slower by the pounding rain in his face, but he managed to tip it into his arms. It was heavy, but not too bad, and his grip on the wet cardboard was good enough for him to get it inside the house. Anna was standing on the porch, holding open his screen door with the umbrella folded up at her feet, and he accidentally brushed against her with his arm as he maneuvered himself through the door.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, her voice a little breathy as she let the screen door close and helped him prop the box against the wall. "This is massive."

"I guess now I can buy more books," he said with his hands on his hips while he dripped all over the place. "I'm going to get changed quickly, and then we can build the shelf and organize it, and then I'll make dinner."

Her eyes lit up. "You'll make dinner again?"

"Yeah. I was going to see if I can attempt a grilled cheese without burning it. I'll be right back." And then he headed upstairs to his bedroom where he had clean undershirts, some sweatpants and all of his favorite books.

---------------------------

Anna was halfway through unboxing and organizing the shelf pieces on the floor when Bob walked back downstairs. She'd removed her denim jacket, and her leggings and tank top were mostly dry, and she'd settled on the floor with the instruction book. "It looks like we'll need a screwdriver or a drill...."

Her sentence tapered off when she looked up at Bob just casually standing there in one of his white shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants and neatly combed, damp hair. The ability to speak escaped her.

"I can grab my toolbox," he told her, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants before disappearing toward the kitchen. She needed to lie down. She stretched out on the floor and stared at the ceiling as rain pelted the window next to her.

"Oh my god," she whispered before biting down on her lip. She wanted him. She liked every damn thing about him, and then he had to look and smell and sound so good on top of it all. The Walt Whitman poems weren't the only thing she had read last night. Sky Writing's words from her favorite poems were also in her mind, and she couldn't shake them. Anna had just rolled into her side, staring at the instructions without actually seeing them, when he walked back in.

"Are you okay?"

"Great," she said, voice raspy. She was in fact not great. She was the opposite of great. When Bob handed her the toolbox and said he was going to make two mugs of tea, she took the time to pull herself together. Sweaty palms glided along her leggings, and she read the instructions through. It seemed simple enough, and she had the hardware in order by the time Bob returned with two steaming mugs.

"Thanks," she whispered as he settled onto the floor next to her. She knew this was how good things would be if she could date Bob. Hot tea and homemade meals and someone around who loved books. "You're really sweet."

He didn't say anything as he sipped his tea, so Anna did the same. It was raining so hard, she couldn't tell if what she heard was thunder or not, but inside Bob's house, everything was warm and cozy. "Let's get started," he finally said, leaning in front of her to set his mug on the windowsill.

They spoke quietly, mostly about the shelf, while she handed him hardware and tools. Anna found herself distracted as she watched his hair dry and lighten in color as they worked together. Every bump of his muscular arm against hers felt intentional, but she couldn't tell for sure, and she was too afraid to ruin this friendship beyond repair. Especially after what her friends had told her at lunch on Friday.

"I need the screwdriver," he said, bumping her gently with his elbow as he held two perpendicular pieces of wood in place.

"I can get it," she replied, finally refocused on the task before her. "I'll screw it in." She tried to reach in front of him, but he was too tall. When he moved his arms a little further apart, she popped up between them so she was standing between his body and the shelf. "I'll only take a second."

She could feel Bob's warm breath against her ear, and all he could think was that she would fit perfectly in his arms if he decided to just drop what he was holding and wrap them around her instead. "Take your time," he murmured, because of course his arms wouldn't get tired in this position. She fumbled the screw. His body was immaculate, and it was all she could think about as he exhaled and tickled her hair.

"I'm trying," she whispered, fumbling the screw again. Finally she had it in place, and Bob released the shelf, but he didn't move away from her.

"Think you can screw the last two in as well? Then we'll be done."

She nodded and decided to go slower, savor this tiny bit of intimacy and pretend he was hers. Then it was done.

"It looks good."

She barely had to turn to look at him over her shoulder. "It's a nice shelf. How do you want to arrange your books?"

He was still standing close as he said, "Poetry on the top? Since it's my favorite?"

"Yeah," she told him with a laugh. "Banish it to the top where nobody but you can reach it."

He cocked his head and leaned in closer. "Are you insulting the poetry or commenting on my height?"

"A bit of both," she replied right away. The living was darker now from the storm and from the time of day, but she could see his smile perfectly.

"Come on, Anna. We both know you love the poetry. You borrowed two volumes the other day."

She only hummed in response before ducking away from him and reaching for a stack of his books. She handed them to him one at a time, commenting on them like she was giving each a bad review. "Oh, this one is too flowery. Too many words and no substance." She handed him another after he shelved the first one. "This author put all their best works at the beginning of the collection. The second half is terrible."

Bob chuckled as she picked up a book that she knew was a favorite of his. "Hey, you better watch what you say about that one."

She waved it in the air, unable to reach the top shelf, and he snatched it out of her hand. "I'm going to be brutally honest," she said softly, and Bob's hand rested on her back almost like a warning. "I loved it."

He smiled and let his fingers trail along her back as he nodded toward the stairs. "Want to help me tackle the mystery books in the extra bedroom?"

"Sure," she told him, leading the way to the steps. "But first, you have to tell me why you like poetry so much."

"What's not to like?" he replied as she started up. "All of the emotions are there. You're allowed to write about any combination of emotions that you're feeling at any given time. And I think that's pretty cool."

Anna's steps slowed a little as she considered his words. "Write?" she asked, turning to look back at him as he made his way up behind her. "Did you say write?"

"Uh. I did. Yeah."

Truly, she loved reading poetry, but she didn't have much of a knack for writing it. She didn't even think she was good enough for PoetsAmongUs. "What's something you've written?"

Bob laughed, and Anna stumbled on the top step as he said, "Just some amateur gibberish like, 'Devotion woven into every breath I take. Love that knows no boundaries, no end.' Nothing amazing."

She gripped the banister to keep herself upright, and then she spun and sat down hard on the top step. Suddenly she felt like she couldn't breathe. She knew those words intimately. She knew the whole fucking poem by heart. She knew everything else he had written as well, because she'd been reading his poetry for years.

"Bob," she croaked, and he rushed toward her, hands gentle on her ankle and leg.

"Are you okay? Did you twist it?"

"Bob," she gasped, reaching for the front of his undershirt and pulling him closer so he was focused on her face. "You're Sky Writing."

--------------------------

BOB IS SKY WRITING, ANNA. What the hell are you going to do now, babe? Please, make good choices. Thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

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