#and our other coworker and it was really nice to still have a few minutes with them. i love them. i miss them.

[melto]

i had a good time with my friend this past week but God i cannot wait to see my other friends. i miss them i feel crazzzyy!!!

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Part 2

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

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 15.2k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Professional boundaries being strengthened and tested, Mediterranean escapes, new haircuts that say more than words, painfully nice girlfriends, awkward charity galas, confrontations on terraces, dating apps that go nowhere because they're not him, coworkers who see too much, the specific ache of working with someone you're trying to get over, honest conversations that arrive too late, and the realization that creating distance doesn't always create freedom.

Part One

Author's Note: Part Two explores what happens when someone decides to build boundaries after years without them. It's about the struggle to reclaim your identity when you've defined yourself through someone else's orbit for so long.

I wanted to capture the delicate balance between protecting your heart and doing your job, especially when those two needs are constantly at odds. It's about the quiet courage of choosing yourself, even when it feels like loss.

After writing the slow-burn and unrequited feelings of Part One, this section is about the messy reality of what comes next - the aftershocks of realizations, the awkward attempts at distance, and the complicated emotions that remain despite our best efforts to suppress them.

Thank you for following Y/N's journey as she navigates these uncharted waters, trying to find solid ground while the tide keeps shifting beneath her feet.

There is immediately a Part 3 coming! All of this was too long for just one post. What started as what I thought was going to be a one shot is going to have at least one more part.

A Few Quick Notes:

📌 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing.

📌 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me!

📌 Requests: Open for now, but it may take a minute to get to them, I’ve got several in the inbox.

Author's Note: So here’s Part One. I’m hoping this will be a two-parter, but let’s be real, I’m long-winded so we’ll see. My goal with this section was to really sit in the unrequited part. The slow burn. The quiet ache. The years of showing up, holding back, staying professional, and still falling deeper anyway. The almosts. The not-quites. The timing that never seemed to line up.

Taglist: @honeydippedfiction

* * *

Louisville Retreat

Y/N stood on her oldest brother Matt's back deck, coffee warming her hands against the December chill. The Louisville skyline stretched before her, familiar yet distant after years in Cincinnati. Behind her, the sounds of her brothers making breakfast floated through the open kitchen window.

This impromptu trip home had been exactly what she needed – an escape from the suffocating reality of Joe's relationship with Ellie, from the professional smile she'd maintained while documenting it all.

"Coffee refill?" Aaron appeared beside her with the pot, studying her face. "You've been staring at nothing for ten minutes."

Y/N extended her mug. "Just thinking."

"About Burrow?" The directness in Aaron's voice made her tense.

"About work," she corrected automatically.

Aaron leaned against the railing, unconvinced. "Same thing for you, isn't it?"

The question hung in the air, too perceptive to brush off. Y/N had never explicitly confirmed her feelings for Joe to her brothers, maintaining the same professional boundaries in her personal life that she did at work. But four years of carefully worded stories of changing the subject when Joe's relationships came up, had apparently been transparent enough.

"Not anymore," she finally answered, meeting her brother's eyes. "I'm creating some distance."

Aaron nodded slowly. "Because of the model?"

"Because it's time," Y/N replied. "Four years is long enough to... to feel something that isn't going anywhere."

The back door opened as Lucas and Matt joined them, plates of eggs and toast in hand. "Family meeting on the deck?" Lucas asked, setting the food down on the patio table.

"Y/N's creating professional boundaries with Burrow," Aaron explained, earning a sharp look from his sister.

"About time," Matt said, handing her a plate. "You've been his shadow for four years."

"I've been doing my job," Y/N corrected, but the defensiveness in her voice betrayed her.

"Your job was to document the quarterback," Lucas pointed out gently. "Not fall in love with him."

Y/N stared at her plate, the directness catching her off guard. They'd never been this explicit about it before, always dancing around the subject with teasing questions about Joe rather than her feelings for him.

"We've watched you for four years," Matt continued, his usual brashness softened. "Every time you'd visit, every video call. The way you'd light up talking about work, but your voice would change when you mentioned him specifically."

"It wasn't exactly subtle, sis," Aaron added. "We just figured you'd handle it in your own time."

Y/N felt exposed, years of careful compartmentalization crumbling under her brothers' matter-of-fact assessment. "I did handle it. I kept things professional."

"At what cost?" Lucas asked. "Every time his relationships hit the news; you'd go radio silent for days."

Y/N looked out at the Louisville skyline, her hometown horizon a stark contrast to the Cincinnati view that had become so familiar. "I'm handling it now," she said finally. "When I go back, things will be different."

"Different how?" Matt asked.

"Professional distance. No more lunches, no more texting, no more..." she paused, searching for the words, "no more pretending we're friends when we're just colleagues who got too close."

Her brothers exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them.

"What?" Y/N demanded.

"Nothing," Lucas said. "Just... make sure you're creating boundaries for the right reasons. Not just running away."

"I'm not running," Y/N insisted. "I'm protecting myself. Finally."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics – Matt's kids, Aaron's promotion, Lucas's new house – but Y/N's mind kept returning to the decision she'd made. Professional distance. Clear boundaries. It was long overdue.

By Sunday evening, as she packed for her return to Cincinnati, Y/N had formulated a clear plan. No more direct oversight of Joe's media. No more private lunches. No more letting herself hope for something that was never going to happen.

It was time to see Joe Burrow as just another player on the team she covered. Nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

The Buffer System

"You want to delegate quarterback media coverage?" Kayla's eyebrows rose as she reviewed Y/N's proposal in her office Monday morning. "That's... unexpected. You've personally handled Joe's content since his rookie year."

"Exactly," Y/N replied, keeping her voice professionally neutral. "It's created an imbalance in our coverage workflow. We have three junior staff members who need experience with higher-profile players. This redistribution makes more sense organizationally."

Kayla studied her for a moment. "This wouldn't have anything to do with what happened before your sudden trip to Louisville. The Ellie James situation?"

"Of course not," Y/N said smoothly. "That's Joe's personal business. This is about team workflow efficiency."

After a moment's consideration, Kayla nodded. "If you think this is best from a content perspective, I trust your judgment. But Joe might have questions. He's used to working directly with you."

"I'm still overseeing all content," Y/N clarified. "Just not handling the day-to-day personally. I've prepared a transition document for the team, and I'll explain the changes to Joe myself."

Y/N had planned for every professional objection, mapped out every logistical detail. What she hadn’t accounted for was how hard it would be to actually put her buffer system into action. The first real test came that afternoon, when she spotted Joe walking toward her in the hallway, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw her.

"Y/N!" he called, quickening his pace slightly. "You're back. How was Louisville?"

"Good, thanks," she replied, keeping her tone pleasant but not warm, her pace steady. "Family time was exactly what I needed."

Joe fell into step beside her. "I tried texting you a couple times. Wasn't sure if you got the messages."

Sorry,” she said, not breaking her stride. “I was trying to stay present with family.

They reached the media suite, and Y/N paused by the door, creating a natural endpoint to their conversation. "I actually need to catch up with my team. We're implementing some workflow changes this week."

"Oh," Joe said, disappointment flickering across his features before his expression shifted to something more calculating. "Coffee later, then? We should talk about the charity event coming up."

Y/N maintained her professional smile. "I'm swamped today, but Tyler's going to be handling your media appearances going forward. He'll reach out to discuss the charity event."

Joe's eyes narrowed slightly; the shift so subtle anyone who hadn't spent four years documenting his expressions might have missed it. "Tyler? That's... interesting. Any particular reason for the change?"

"We're redistributing workload across the team," Y/N explained, the practiced words coming easily. "Tyler's very capable. You'll be in good hands."

“Right,” Joe said, after a pause that felt longer than it was. “Professional development. If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Y/N replied evenly. “Now, I’ve got a meeting starting. Tyler will be in touch about the charity event.”

She stepped into the media suite before Joe could press further, closing the door behind her and leaning against it momentarily, eyes closed. The look he'd given her – not confusion but something closer to assessment – lingered in her mind. He had for sure seen through her professional excuse. She pushed the thought aside. This was necessary. Better for everyone.

Within days, Y/N had her buffer system fully in place. Team meetings replaced one-on-ones whenever Joe was involved. She sat at the opposite end of conference tables and only spoke to him when others were present, keeping every conversation focused on media plans and strategy.

In edit sessions, she focused on technical aspects rather than making the personal suggestions that had once been their norm. "We should use more of the tunnel walk footage" replaced "That shot really captures your focus before the game."

The system worked, technically. But it didn't stop her from noticing Joe's increasingly confused glances, the way his eyes followed her across rooms, the aborted attempts to catch her alone that she carefully, systematically avoided.

* * *

Joe Tries to Reconnect

Three weeks into Y/N's new approach, Joe caught her outside the edit room as she was reviewing footage.

"Coffee this week?" he asked, the casual question belied by the intensity in his eyes. "We haven't really caught up since you got back from Louisville."

Y/N didn't make eye contact, focusing instead on the tablet in her hands. "Crazy schedule right now. Maybe next time."

"That's what you said last week," Joe pointed out, a hint of frustration breaking through his usually controlled tone. "And the week before."

"End of season push," Y/N replied with practiced ease. "You know how it is."

"Y/N," Joe's voice dropped, taking on an unfamiliar edge. "I know something's going on. This isn't just about workload."

For a brief moment, Y/N's resolve wavered. The directness in his eyes suggested he understood more than he was letting on, that his confusion in previous interactions had been at least partly performative.

"Nothing's going on," she said instead, finally looking up with a perfectly professional smile. "Just managing workflow. Speaking of which, I need to get these edits to the team."

"You've been avoiding me since Louisville," he pressed, not letting her escape so easily. "Since the Ellie thing hit the news."

Y/N froze, her heart racing. He'd connected those dots more directly than she'd realized.

 "I'm not avoiding anyone," she replied, voice carefully modulated. "I'm re-prioritizing assignments based on team needs."

Joe’s eyes narrowed slightly, less confused now than resolved. “If you say so.” He gave her space, but his voice followed her. “We’ll talk again soon.”

She walked away, jaw tight with the effort of maintaining composure, feeling his eyes on her back. Four years of documenting Joe Burrow had taught her exactly what his expressions meant. The one he wore now – not confusion but determined patience – was new territory.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked as Y/N entered the media suite, her friend's perceptive gaze taking in her rigid posture.

"Fine," Y/N replied, setting down her tablet with more force than necessary. "Just work."

Sam glanced through the glass toward where Joe still stood in the hallway, watching the media suite door with an unreadable expression before finally turning away.

"Doesn't look like 'just work' to me," Sam observed quietly.

Y/N didn't answer, focusing intently on her screen. This was going to be harder than she'd anticipated.

* * *

The Professional Mask

By the time the playoffs arrived, Y/N had perfected her professional mask. She'd created a persona specifically for interactions with Joe, polite, efficient, impersonal. The same tone she used with sponsors and press. No warmth, no inside jokes, no personal questions.

In production meetings, she addressed him as she would any player, not with the easy familiarity they'd developed over four years. "We'll need you for the promotional shoot Thursday, Joe" instead of "Thursday work for you, Joe?" The subtle shift was noticeable to anyone who'd observed their previous dynamic.

Joe had stopped trying to corner her for coffee or private conversations, but she caught him watching her during team gatherings, his eyes tracking her movements with a puzzled intensity that made maintaining her distance even more difficult.

During a staff meeting, Y/N outlined the playoff media strategy, deliberately focusing on other players and assigning Tyler to continue handling Joe's coverage.

"I'd prefer Y/N for the post-game segment," Joe interjected, the first time he'd directly challenged the new arrangement. "We have a workflow that works."

Y/N kept her expression neutral. "Tyler's been handling your segments for weeks now. Consistency is important during playoffs."

"Y/N knows my cues better," Joe persisted, eyes fixed on her. "It makes more sense."

"Tyler's done an excellent job," Y/N countered smoothly. "And I'll be overseeing all content production. The current assignments stand."

The room went quiet, the unusual tension between quarterback and media coordinator palpable. Kayla cleared her throat, quickly moving to the next agenda item, but the moment lingered.

After the meeting, Y/N escaped to her office, closing the door before allowing her professional mask to slip momentarily. Four years of working closely with Joe had created habits that were hard to break, the instinct to catch his eye during meetings, to anticipate his questions, to fall into the easy rhythm they'd established.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. Sam entered without waiting for a response, closing the door behind her.

"Okay, what exactly was that?" she demanded. "The entire room felt the ice age between you two."

"Just maintaining professional boundaries," Y/N replied, straightening papers on her desk.

"That wasn't professional boundaries," Sam countered. "That was Arctic permafrost. Even Kayla noticed."

Y/N exhaled, her voice quieter now. “It’s just… less complicated this way.”

“For who?” Sam pressed. “Because Joe’s not confused anymore. And you’re not exactly thriving.”

Y/N hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s not forever. He’ll get used to working with Tyler. And I’ll… adjust. This is what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Sam leaned against the desk; arms crossed. "Has he tried to talk to you about it?"

“He made a few attempts. I kept it professional, and that was that.”

"And you think that's a good thing?"

Y/N didn't answer immediately, the weight of the past few weeks settling heavily on her shoulders. "It has to be. This is the only way I can do my job without..." she trailed off.

"Without your heart breaking every time, you look at him?" Sam finished gently.

"Something like that," Y/N conceded.

Later that afternoon, Y/N overheard Joe's voice in the hallway outside the media suite. Instinctively, she took a different route to avoid an encounter, only to hear him ask Sam what was going on.

"Y/N's been different since she got back from Louisville," Joe said, no confusion in his voice now, just certainty and frustration. "Right after the Ellie news broke."

"Ask her," Sam replied simply, though Y/N knew her friend would never betray her confidence.

"I have," Joe's frustration was audible even from a distance. "She gives me the professional development line every time. We both know that's not it."

"Then maybe that's your answer," Sam suggested, her tone careful. "Maybe she doesn't want to talk about it."

Joe didn’t answer right away. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But I’m not done.”

Y/N slipped away before they could see her, but not before she heard him. The knot in her chest tightened. This was necessary, she told herself. The only way to protect her heart and keep her career intact.

Joe Burrow had never been hers to lose. But somehow, creating this distance hurt almost as much as watching him with someone else had.

She just needed to hold firm. Wait for the feelings to fade. Wait for the day Joe Burrow became just another player on the team she covered.

She just wasn't sure when, or if, that would ever happen.

* * *

January 2025 - Bengals Facility

The playoffs brought a different energy to the facility. Despite Y/N's carefully constructed buffer system, the intensity of postseason preparation made complete avoidance impossible. Every player was needed for content, every staff member working extended hours, every corner of the building humming with focused activity.

Y/N stood in the main corridor, clipboard in hand, directing her team as they prepared for the wildcard weekend shoot. "Marcus, I need you on locker room B-roll. Jess, player arrivals at the south entrance. Tyler—"

"Quarterback interview, conference room three," Tyler finished with a knowing nod. "Already set up."

Y/N gave him an appreciative smile. After a month of handling Joe's media, Tyler had developed a solid workflow, though she occasionally still caught hints of confusion from both of them about the abrupt change.

"Social media call time?" she asked, keeping her tone brisk.

"Thirty minutes. Burrow's already in the building though."

Y/N nodded, glancing at her watch. "Perfect. I'll be in the edit bay if you need anything. We need that hype reel finalized by three."

As the team dispersed, Y/N headed toward the edit room, mentally reviewing the shot list for their playoff content. The Bengals' late-season surge had secured a wildcard spot, turning what many had written off as a disappointing season into a potential redemption story. It made for compelling content, even as it extended the time, she'd need to maintain her careful distance.

"Y/N."

She froze at the sound of his voice, too distinctive to pretend she hadn't heard. Taking a steadying breath, she turned to find Joe standing in the doorway of the weight room, practice gear already on, tablet in hand.

"Joe," she replied, her tone pleasant but neutral. "Something you need?"

He stepped into the hallway, closing the distance between them with a few casual strides. He looked good—focused, playoff-ready, the intensity in his eyes that always emerged this time of year.

"Just wanted to confirm the gameday shoot schedule. Tyler sent it over, but there's a conflict with the offensive meeting."

"I can have him adjust it," Y/N replied, already reaching for her phone. "We're flexible."

Joe studied her face, something calculating in his expression. "You could adjust it. You've been handling the playoff schedule for four seasons."

Y/N kept her expression calm. "Tyler's got it covered."

He gave a small nod, his voice low. “Sure. If that’s the approach.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, the easy rapport that had once defined their interactions now replaced by this stilted exchange. Y/N noticed him glance at her clipboard, then back to her face.

"How was Louisville?" he asked suddenly, the personal question catching her off guard.

"Good," she answered, then added almost reflexively, "Nice to be home for the holidays."

Joe nodded, eyes searching her face for something. "Your brothers seemed happy to have you back. Saw Matt's post."

The casual mention of her oldest brother's Instagram post threw her. She hadn't realized Joe still followed her family on social media.

"Family time is always good," she said simply, glancing at her watch. "I should get to the edit bay."

Joe didn't move immediately, his tall frame still partially blocking her path. "You know," he said, voice dropping slightly, "this whole distance thing doesn't actually work if everyone notices it."

Y/N kept her expression neutral despite the small spike of alarm. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Chase asked me yesterday what happened between us," Joe continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "Says the whole offense has noticed you don't work with me directly anymore."

"I work with the entire team," Y/N countered smoothly. "Staff adjustments happen all the time."

"Not like this," Joe said quietly. "Not after four years."

Y/N felt her mask start to slip under his direct gaze. "Is there a point to this conversation, Joe? Because I really do have a deadline."

Something shifted in his expression, frustration, perhaps, or resolve. "The point is, whatever's going on with you, people are noticing. And they're asking me about it, as if I have answers." He paused. "Which I don't, because someone won't actually talk to me."

The accusation hung in the air between them. Y/N squared her shoulders slightly, reclaiming her composure.

"There's nothing to talk about," she insisted. "And frankly, if players are gossiping instead of focusing on playoff prep, that's concerning."

Joe almost smiled, though there was no humor in it. "Always deflecting." He stepped aside finally, giving her space to pass. "Good luck with the edit, Y/N."

She nodded crisply and walked past him, refusing to acknowledge the way her heart hammered in her chest or how desperately she wanted to turn back. She had nearly reached the edit bay when his voice caught her once more.

"For what it's worth," he called after her, "I miss working with you."

Y/N didn't turn around, couldn't risk him seeing whatever might show on her face. Instead, she kept walking, shoulders straight, steps steady, the shield she'd built firmly in place against feelings she couldn't afford to have.

Inside the edit bay, she closed the door and leaned against it, eyes closed, allowing herself just five seconds of weakness before straightening up and getting to work. Playoff content wouldn't create itself, and she had a job to do.

A job that had once brought her closer to Joe Burrow than almost anyone else in the organization and now served as the very structure that kept them apart.

* * *

Late January 2025 - Playoff Elimination Weekend

The season ended not with a dramatic Super Bowl run but with a tough divisional round loss that left the facility somber and subdued. Y/N moved through the locker room with her camera, capturing the quiet moments of players packing up, exchanging contact information, making offseason plans. End-of-season content was always bittersweet, but this year carried an additional weight for her, the knowledge that she'd successfully maintained her distance from Joe throughout the playoff run, and now the offseason would make that distance physical as well as emotional.

"That's a wrap for player interviews," Sam said, joining her as they finished the final exit day shoot. "Coaches tomorrow, then season retrospective editing for the next two weeks."

Y/N nodded, reviewing the footage on her camera's display screen. "Got some good reflection pieces. Uno gave us gold for the season highlight reel."

"And Burrow?"

Y/N kept her expression neutral at Sam's casual mention. "Tyler handled his exit interview. Said it went well, plenty of usable content."

Sam studied her friend's face. "You know, you've managed to go nearly two months without directly interviewing the starting quarterback. That might be some kind of record."

"Just creating opportunities for the team," Y/N replied with practiced ease.

"Uh-huh," Sam said skeptically. "And it has nothing to do with the fact that he'll be gone for months now, so your buffer system won't be necessary."

Y/N lowered the camera, meeting her friend's knowing gaze. "Does it matter? It's working. The content's solid. The workflow's efficient."

"And you're miserable," Sam pointed out quietly.

"I'm fine," Y/N corrected. "There's a difference."

Before Sam could press further, they were interrupted by the appearance of Joe himself, dressed in street clothes, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He nodded to them both, though his eyes lingered on Y/N.

"Exit interviews done?" he asked.

"Just wrapping up," Sam replied when it became clear Y/N wasn't going to. "Tyler said yours went well."

"Tyler's good," Joe acknowledged, then added with deliberate emphasis, "Different perspective."

Y/N finally met his gaze, her composure firmly in place. "Heading out already?"

"Flight to California tonight," he confirmed. "Offseason training starts next week."

California. Where Ellie frequently worked. The unspoken reality hung in the air between them.

"Have a good offseason," Y/N said, the bland pleasantry feeling woefully inadequate after four years of more personal end-of-season conversations.

Joe studied her face for a long moment, something like resignation settling in his expression. "You too, Y/N." He glanced at Sam, adding, "Both of you."

After he walked away, Sam let out a low whistle. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.”

Y/N turned her attention back to her camera, refusing to watch Joe's departing figure. "It's fine."

"It's sad is what it is," Sam countered gently. "Four years of working together, and that's how you leave things?"

"It's better this way," Y/N insisted, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears. "Clean break for the offseason."

As players continued filing out, Y/N focused on her work, deliberately pushing away the realization that for the first time in four years, she hadn't been the one to document Joe Burrow's final day of the season. Hadn't captured his reflections, his plans, his quiet determination that always emerged after a playoff loss.

That evening, as she packed up her equipment for the day, Y/N found herself alone in the media suite, most staff having already headed home. The facility had that peculiar emptiness that always followed elimination—the sudden absence of purpose after months of intensity.

Her phone buzzed with a text. She expected Sam or one of her brothers but instead found a message from Joe.

Joe: Wish you'd done my exit interview. Tyler didn't ask the right questions.

Y/N stared at the text, her carefully constructed walls wavering. After a moment's hesitation, she replied.

Y/N: Safe travels. Good luck with offseason training.

The response came quickly.

Joe: Still shutting me out. At least you're consistent.

She could almost hear the edge in his voice, could picture his expression as he typed it.

Y/N: Not shutting you out. Just refocusing priorities.

The response was immediate.

Joe: Whatever you need to tell yourself.

Y/N stared at the text, the finality of it hitting harder than she expected. Maybe this was better - a clean break rather than lingering in uncomfortable limbo.

Y/N: Have a good offseason, Joe.

She tucked her phone away without waiting for his response, focusing instead on gathering her things. By the time OTAs rolled around, perhaps she'd have fully moved on. Perhaps these feelings would have faded enough that she could resume a normal working relationship with the quarterback.

Or perhaps, a quiet voice whispered in the back of her mind, by then she'd have found the courage to explore opportunities elsewhere, where she wouldn't have to see Joe Burrow every day and pretend, she felt nothing beyond respect.

As she walked through the empty facility toward the parking lot, Y/N allowed herself one moment of weakness—a glance back at the vacant quarterback's locker, now cleared of its contents for the offseason.

Four years she'd documented that space, the man who occupied it, the journey they'd both been on since his rookie season. Now, she was learning to document the Bengals without focusing quite so much on Joe Burrow.

She just wished it didn't feel so much like losing a part of herself in the process.

* * *

February 2025 - Bengals Facility

The offseason transformed the facility almost overnight. Where January had hummed with playoff intensity, February brought a different kind of quiet, coaches reviewing season footage, front office staff preparing for the draft, media team developing offseason content schedules. Most importantly for Y/N, it meant the absence of players, particularly one quarterback whose presence had complicated her professional life for months.

"Offseason content calendar," Y/N said, sliding a folder across the conference table to Kayla. "Draft prep, combine coverage, free agency tracking, and player highlight retrospectives."

Kayla flipped through the detailed plans, nodding appreciatively. "This is comprehensive. You've got Jess heading to Indianapolis for the combine?"

"With Marcus," Y/N confirmed. "They'll handle prospect interviews and testing coverage."

"And you?" Kayla asked, studying Y/N over the top of the folder.

"I'll coordinate from here, focus on draft strategy content, and finalize the season documentary."

Kayla set the folder down, her expression turning more contemplative. "You know, you usually request the combine assignment. Three years running."

Y/N kept her expression neutral. “Jess and Marcus deserve the opportunity.”

Kayla gave her a look. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

Y/N shrugged. “It’s true.”

Kayla leaned back in her chair, regarding Y/N thoughtfully. "The buffer system with Joe was one thing. I understood that, even if you wouldn't admit the real reason. But now you're delegating prime assignments that you've always handled personally."

Y/N maintained her professional composure despite the direct challenge. "Is there a problem with my management approach?"

"Not from a results perspective," Kayla said carefully. "The content's excellent, the team's functioning well. I'm more concerned about you."

"I'm fine," Y/N insisted, perhaps too quickly.

"Are you?" Kayla pressed gently. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're systematically removing yourself from the parts of this job you used to love most."

The observation hit closer to home than Y/N cared to admit. She had been pulling back, not just from Joe but from aspects of her role that might eventually include him, like the combine, where she would traditionally interview prospects about potentially playing with the Bengals' star quarterback.

"I'm creating a sustainable workflow," Y/N said after a moment. "One that doesn't depend too heavily on any single person."

Kayla studied her for a long beat. "Including yourself?"

Y/N didn't immediately respond, the question hanging between them. Finally, she gathered her notes, standing to signal the end of the meeting.

"The calendar has everything you need. Let me know if there are any adjustments."

As she walked back to her office, Y/N knew Kayla wasn't wrong. She was pulling back, creating space not just from Joe but from the interconnected web of responsibilities that had defined her role for years. It wasn't conscious self-sabotage, but rather self-preservation, a gradual disentanglement from the professional identity that had become so intrinsically linked to Joe Burrow.

In her office, Y/N found Sam waiting, feet propped on the edge of her desk, scrolling through her phone.

"Don't you have work to do?" Y/N asked, though there was no real annoyance in her tone.

"Probably," Sam replied, not looking up. "But this is more interesting."

She turned her phone screen toward Y/N, revealing an Instagram post. Ellie James at some luxury California workout studio, a carefully staged post-training photo with expensive equipment in the background. Joe wasn't in the image, but the location tag matched where he'd mentioned training.

Y/N gave what she hoped was a disinterested glance. "Social media stalking isn't in your job description."

"Research," Sam corrected, taking her phone back. "And don't pretend you haven't looked."

"I haven't," Y/N said truthfully. She'd deliberately avoided Joe's social media accounts since implementing her buffer system, going so far as to mute notifications and unfollow certain mutual connections.

Sam studied her friend's face. "Really? Not even once?"

"Not even once," Y/N confirmed, sitting down at her desk. "What's the point?"

"The point is staying informed," Sam said, swinging her legs down. "The gossip sites are having a field day because he's barely in any of her posts, and when he does show up, he looks completely uncomfortable. There's one from some restaurant opening where he might as well be at a funeral."

Y/N kept her expression neutral even as something fluttered unexpectedly in her chest. "And this matters to me because...?"

"It doesn't," Sam conceded. "But it's interesting that Mr. Privacy is being dragged into the influencer spotlight and clearly hating every minute of it."

Sam rolled her eyes. "It doesn't. But it might matter to you personally, as someone who spent four years working closely with Joe before suddenly implementing an Arctic buffer zone the minute his girlfriend appeared."

"I'm not having this conversation again," Y/N said, turning to her computer. "Joe's personal life is his business. My professional boundaries are mine."

"Fine," Sam relented, standing to leave. "But just so you know, he asked about you."

Y/N's fingers paused over her keyboard. "What?"

"In his latest post-workout interview," Sam explained. "Reporter asked about offseason content plans, and he specifically mentioned hoping you'd be handling the quarterback feature series again when he gets back."

Y/N absorbed this information without visibly reacting. "Tyler's handling quarterback features now."

"Yeah, I don't think Joe got that memo," Sam replied, heading for the door. "Or he's ignoring it."

After Sam left, Y/N sat motionless for several minutes, staring at her screen without really seeing it. Despite her buffer system, despite the professional distance, despite literally being on opposite coasts, Joe was still finding ways to reach across the carefully constructed boundaries she'd established.

She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small notepad, flipping to a blank page. At the top, she wrote "Professional Growth Opportunities" and began listing possibilities—conferences, workshops, industry networking events. Beneath those, she added a new section: "Career Advancement Considerations."

It was time to at least explore what else might be out there. Not running away, she told herself firmly. Just opening doors to new possibilities.

* * *

Late February 2025 - Y/N's Apartment

"You cut your hair!" Lucas exclaimed through the video call; his surprise evident even through the slightly pixelated connection.

Y/N ran a hand through her newly shortened locks, the blunt bob falling just above her shoulders. "Needed a change."

"It looks good," Aaron chimed in from his section of the screen. "Professional but edgy."

"Very 'new year, new me,'" Matt added with a knowing grin. "Any particular reason for the makeover?"

Y/N rolled her eyes at her oldest brother's transparent fishing. "Can't a woman change her hairstyle without it being some dramatic statement?"

"Sure," Matt agreed easily. "But this is you we're talking about. You've had the same haircut since college."

"Maybe I'm just embracing change," Y/N replied, adjusting her laptop on the kitchen counter as she poured herself a glass of wine. "It's already been a different kind of year."

"Different how?" Lucas asked, leaning closer to his camera. "Besides the whole Burrow-buffer situation."

Y/N shot him a warning look. "Different professionally. The team's reorganizing some workflows for the offseason, I'm delegating more responsibilities, focusing on bigger picture strategy."

"Sounds like progress," Aaron said supportively. "Taking on more leadership."

"Exactly," Y/N agreed, grateful for the positive framing. "And personally, I'm just... creating space for new experiences."

Matt's eyebrows rose. "New experiences? Like what? Or should I say who?"

"Not everything is about dating, Matt," Y/N said with exasperation. "I meant trying new things, new routines. I joined a recreational soccer league, I'm taking a photography workshop that has nothing to do with sports, I'm exploring Cincinnati beyond just the parts connected to work."

"All good things," Lucas conceded. "But also perfectly timed with a certain quarterback being away for months."

Y/N took a deliberate sip of wine before answering. "The offseason is always a good time for personal development. Slower pace at work, fewer immediate demands."

Her brothers exchanged knowing glances; a silent communication developed over decades of siblinghood.

"What?" Y/N demanded.

"Nothing," Aaron said innocently. "Just wondering if any of this personal development includes dating apps."

Y/N felt a flush rising in her cheeks. "Maybe. Just exploring options."

"Ha!" Matt crowed triumphantly. "I knew it!"

"It's not a big deal," Y/N insisted, already regretting the admission. "Just getting back out there. Meeting new people."

"Non-football people, I'm guessing," Lucas observed shrewdly.

"Preferably," Y/N acknowledged. "It's complicated enough dating in this city without the sports connection."

"Any promising prospects?" Aaron asked.

Y/N shrugged, attempting casual indifference. "A few matches, couple of conversations. Had coffee with an architect last week. Dinner with a biotech researcher tomorrow."

"Look at you go," Matt said with genuine enthusiasm. "The Y/L/N dating revival tour of 2025."

"Don't make it a bigger deal than it is," Y/N warned. "I'm just putting myself out there. Creating possibilities."

"Creating possibilities or creating distance?" Lucas asked quietly.

The question hung in the air, too perceptive to brush off entirely. Y/N took another sip of wine before responding.

"Both, maybe," she admitted. "Is that so wrong?"

Her brothers' expressions softened collectively, their teasing giving way to genuine concern.

"Not wrong," Aaron assured her. "Just make sure you're moving toward something, not just away from someone."

"I am," Y/N insisted, though even to her own ears the assertion lacked complete conviction. "This is about me taking control of my narrative. My happiness."

"Then we support you completely," Matt said firmly. "New hair, new dates, new Y/N. We're here for it."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, Matt's kids' latest sports achievements, Aaron's house renovation, Lucas's promotion. Y/N found herself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of family banter, grateful for the shift away from her personal life.

Later, after ending the call, Y/N stood before her bathroom mirror, studying her reflection. The new haircut did suit her, sharper, more sophisticated, a deliberate departure from the woman who had spent four years documenting Joe Burrow from behind a camera.

Her phone chimed with a dating app notification, the biotech researcher confirming tomorrow's dinner plans. Y/N sent a quick reply, then set her phone aside.

This was good, she told herself firmly. Creating new connections, exploring possibilities that had nothing to do with the Bengals or their quarterback. A healthy step forward, not just a retreat from complicated feelings.

She was finally putting herself first. It was long overdue.

* * *

March 2025 - Downtown Cincinnati

"To the most intimidating person at this table finally taking a vacation," Sam declared, raising her cocktail glass in a toast. "The social media world will somehow survive without you for ten days."

Y/N laughed, clinking her glass against Sam's. "The detailed content calendar I left should help with that."

"Of course you left a minute-by-minute workflow document," Sam rolled her eyes affectionately. "Heaven forbid anything be unplanned."

"Planning is what makes spontaneity possible," Y/N replied with a grin, taking a sip of her drink.

They were seated at a corner table in one of Cincinnati's trendier downtown restaurants, celebrating Y/N's imminent departure for a ten-day Mediterranean cruise, her first real vacation since joining the Bengals five years ago.

"I still can't believe you're actually going," Sam said, studying her friend across the table. "Five years of 'maybe next offseason' and suddenly you're jetting off to Europe."

Y/N shrugged; the gesture deliberately casual. "Seemed like the right time. Quiet period at work, no major content launches, draft prep well underway."

"Mmhmm," Sam hummed skeptically. "Nothing to do with creating distance from a certain situation?"

"Not everything is about Joe," Y/N said, though without the defensive edge that would have accompanied such a statement months ago. "This is about me taking time for myself."

"About time," Sam agreed, signaling the waiter for another round. "Though I'm guessing the dating experiment factoring into this too?"

Y/N made a face. "Let's just say five mediocre dates in three weeks was enough to convince me that Cincinnati's dating pool might not be my solution."

"That bad?"

"Not bad," Y/N clarified. "Just... nothing sparked. Nice enough guys, decent conversations, but no real connection."

"Because they're not—"

"Don't say it," Y/N interrupted, holding up a warning finger. "We're having a nice dinner celebrating my vacation, not psychoanalyzing my dating life."

Sam raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. To Mediterranean adventures and leaving work behind."

They clinked glasses again as the waiter arrived with fresh drinks. The conversation shifted to vacation details—island stops, excursion plans, the novel Y/N had been saving for beach reading.

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention," Sam said casually as they were finishing dinner. "There was an interesting development today."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Work related?"

"Sort of," Sam replied, stirring her drink. "Ellie James signed with a new modeling agency. The announcement went up on social media this morning."

Y/N kept her expression deliberately neutral. "And this is relevant because...?"

"The agency's based in New York," Sam explained. "According to the press release, she'll be relocating there immediately for a major campaign."

Y/N absorbed this information, carefully controlling her reaction. "Good for her career, I suppose."

"Interesting timing though," Sam observed. "Joe's still training in California for at least another month."

Y/N shrugged, feigning indifference. "Long distance relationships exist, especially with their jobs."

"True," Sam conceded. "Just thought you'd want to know before you disappear to the Mediterranean without Wi-Fi."

"I'll have Wi-Fi," Y/N corrected automatically. "Just limited access."

"The point is," Sam pressed gently, "things change quickly sometimes. Situations evolve."

Y/N studied her friend's face. "Are you suggesting I should care about Joe and Ellie's relationship status before going on vacation?"

"I'm suggesting that while you're out there finding yourself on Greek islands, remember that circumstances back home might not be exactly as you left them."

Y/N shook her head slightly. "You're reading too much into a modeling contract, Sam."

"Maybe," Sam allowed. "Or maybe I've watched you construct an elaborate professional fortress around yourself because of someone who might not even be in the picture much longer."

The statement hung between them, more direct than their usual carefully worded conversations about Joe. Y/N took a deliberate sip of her drink before responding.

"Whether Joe and Ellie are together or not doesn't change anything," she said finally. "The boundaries I've created are professional and necessary."

"If you say so," Sam replied, clearly unconvinced. "Just promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"While you're sailing the Mediterranean with your new haircut and your summer dresses, actually be present for it. Don't spend the whole time thinking about what you're avoiding back here."

Y/N smiled, a genuine one that reached her eyes. "That, I can promise. This trip is about me, not about leaving something behind."

Later that night, as Y/N finished packing her suitcase, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Ted Karras: Hey, heard you’re taking off for a bit. Just wanted to say safe travels and good luck with whatever’s next. We’ll miss having you around…won’t be the same without you.

Y/N smiled at the thoughtful message from the center before typing back a quick thank you. As she set her phone down, she wondered briefly who else might have heard about her vacation plans, whether the news had traveled to California via team group chats or casual conversations.

She pushed the thought away firmly. It didn't matter. This trip wasn't about Joe Burrow, or her feelings for him, or the careful distance she'd constructed to protect herself.

This was about reclaiming parts of herself that had been overshadowed by four years of professional dedication. About remembering who Y/N Y/L/N was beyond her role with the Bengals, beyond the camera lens through which she'd watched Joe Burrow's career unfold.

As she zipped her suitcase closed, Y/N felt a sense of lightness she hadn't experienced in months. Ten days away from Cincinnati, from the facility, from everything that reminded her of complicated feelings and professional boundaries.

Ten days to just be herself, without the weight of unrequited love or the armor of professional distance.

She was more than ready.

* * *

Late March 2025 - Y/N's Apartment

Y/N set her keys on the kitchen counter, taking in the familiar sight of her apartment after ten days away. The space felt smaller somehow, or perhaps she was simply seeing it through new eyes—eyes that had gazed upon Mediterranean sunsets and ancient ruins, that had watched waves break against unfamiliar shores.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Sam's name flashed on the screen.

"The world traveler returns," Sam declared when Y/N answered. "How does Cincinnati feel after the Greek Isles?"

"Familiar," Y/N replied, moving to open her balcony door, letting in fresh spring air. "But different too. Or maybe I'm the one who's different."

"That's usually how good vacations work," Sam said. "Get any perspective while you were floating in the Mediterranean?"

Y/N smiled, settling onto her couch. "Some. Remembered what it feels like to be completely removed from work, from deadlines, from content calendars."

"And from a certain quarterback situation?"

"That too," Y/N admitted. "Though apparently I needed to cross the Atlantic to stop thinking about it."

"But you did stop thinking about it?" Sam pressed.

Y/N considered this as she gazed out at the Cincinnati skyline. "Not entirely. But I found some clarity."

"Enlighten me with your Mediterranean wisdom," Sam prompted.

"I realized I've been letting my feelings for Joe define too much of my professional path," Y/N explained. "Creating distance, restructuring workflows, delegating assignments—all reactions to emotional complications rather than genuine professional strategy."

"That sounds remarkably self-aware," Sam observed. "What brought on this epiphany?"

"I was sitting on this perfect beach in Santorini," Y/N said, the memory vivid in her mind, "and I realized I couldn't remember the last time I made a decision that wasn't at least partially about Joe Burrow. Whether creating distance from him or manufacturing reasons to be near him, he's been this gravitational center I've been orbiting for years."

"And now?"

"Now I think it's time to make decisions that are truly about me. My career. My future. Not just reactions to complicated feelings."

There was a brief silence before Sam spoke again. "So... what does that mean practically?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "It means I'm going to return to normal professional interactions with Joe when he gets back for OTAs. No buffer system, no elaborate avoidance. Just appropriate boundaries like I have with any other player."

"That's... mature," Sam said, sounding surprised. "And you think you can maintain that without the old feelings complicating things?"

"I think I have to," Y/N replied simply. "For my own professional integrity. I can't keep restructuring an entire department around avoiding one person."

"Fair enough," Sam agreed. "Though I should probably mention that while you were gone—"

Y/N's other line beeped. "Hold that thought, Sam. It's my brother calling. Let me tell him I'll call back."

"This is actually important—" Sam began, but Y/N had already switched calls.

"Hey Matt, can I call you back in a few? I'm on the other line with Sam."

"Yeah, just checking when you're sending the pics from Greece. Mom's been asking."

"I'll send them tonight. Talk to you later." Y/N switched back to Sam. "Sorry about that. My family's been hounding me for vacation photos."

"As I was saying," Sam continued, "while you were gone, there's been some interesting movement in the Ellie situation. She's been in New York for some modeling thing while Joe's still training in California."

Y/N kept her expression carefully neutral. "Long-distance relationships exist, especially with their jobs."

“Maybe so,” Sam said. “But Uno heard from a trainer that things aren’t great. She’s still posting like everything’s fine, though.”

Y/N shook her head slightly. "I appreciate the intel, but I'm really trying not to focus on Joe's relationship status anymore."

"Fair enough," Sam conceded. "But speaking of status changes... any plans to get back on the dating apps now that you're home and refreshed?"

Y/N laughed, looking out at the Cincinnati skyline through her window. "I don't know. Five mediocre dates before vacation was enough to make me question the whole enterprise."

"The architect wasn't that bad," Sam countered.

"He spent forty-five minutes talking about load-bearing walls," Y/N deadpanned. "And the biotech researcher asked if I watched football because his ex-made him go to a game once."

"Okay, so those were duds," Sam admitted. "But there's a whole city of eligible men who aren't Joe Burrow."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Y/N said quietly, the humor fading from her voice.

After hanging up, Y/N moved to her balcony, watching as evening settled over Cincinnati. Her vacation had given her clarity about many things, but returning to real life meant confronting the same challenges with hopefully a fresher perspective.

She scrolled through her phone to the dating app she'd downloaded before her trip. Five conversations that had fizzled, five dates that had gone nowhere. It wasn't that the men were terrible—they just weren't... well, they weren't Joe.

With a decisive swipe, Y/N deleted the app. Dating as a distraction wasn't the answer. Focusing on herself and her career was what mattered now.

As the city lights began to twinkle in the growing darkness, Y/N couldn't help wondering how different her life might look in a few months. Would she finally be free of these feelings? Would she be able to work with Joe without the constant ache? Or would she always be caught in this orbit around him, never quite able to break free?

Whatever happened, she was determined to stop letting Joe Burrow be the gravitational center of her existence. It was time to create her own center.

* * *

Mid-April 2025 - Bengals Facility

"I'm going to need you to run point on the draft content next week," Kayla said, leaning against Y/N's office doorframe. "The coverage plan you put together is excellent."

Y/N nodded, making a note on her calendar. "I've got Marcus and Jess already prepped for day one. We should have comprehensive coverage across all platforms."

"Great. And one more thing, Joe's back in the building today. Earlier than expected for the voluntary workouts."

Y/N's pencil paused mid-note, but her expression remained neutral. "Thanks for the heads up."

Kayla studied her for a moment. "You good with that? You've been handling quarterback content through Tyler since..."

"Since January," Y/N supplied, keeping her voice professionally even. "And yes, I'm fine. My approach has evolved since before vacation."

"Evolved how?"

"Professional but not distant," Y/N explained. "I realized I can't reorganize an entire department around avoiding one person."

Kayla nodded, looking slightly relieved. "That's... mature. Though for what it's worth, Tyler's done well with the quarterback content. If you wanted to keep that delegation, no one would question it."

"I appreciate that," Y/N said. "But I think normal professional interactions are the healthier approach long-term."

After Kayla left, Y/N sat motionless, processing this unexpected development. Joe wasn't supposed to return until next week, after most players began trickling in for the voluntary offseason program.

She'd planned to ease back into normal interactions with him, not be confronted with his presence on her first week back from vacation. Still, this was a test of her Mediterranean resolve, her commitment to making decisions based on professional merit rather than emotional complications.

Y/N glanced at her watch. She had a content review meeting in fifteen minutes on the opposite side of the facility. To get there, she'd need to pass directly by the weight room, the most likely place Joe would be this morning.

So much for easing back into normal professional interactions. Their first encounter in months was now imminent, and it would happen without the buffer time she'd hoped for.

Y/N gathered her tablet and notes, steeling herself for the inevitable. She'd spent ten days floating in the Mediterranean finding perspective, surely, she could handle a brief hallway encounter with the quarterback.

Even if that quarterback was Joe Burrow. Even if she hadn't seen him since January. Even if her newly cultivated self-awareness was about to be tested in the most direct way possible.

* * *

Same Day - Hallway Encounter

Y/N walked purposefully down the main corridor, tablet tucked against her chest, eyes focused ahead as if her survival depended on reaching the conference room without distraction. She'd almost made it past the weight room when the door swung open.

Joe stepped out, still mid-conversation with the strength coach, a towel draped around his neck. He wore standard issue Bengals training gear, his hair slightly damp from exertion. He looked good, California training clearly agreed with him.

Their eyes met before either could pretend not to notice the other. For a split second, Y/N saw genuine surprise register on his face before his expression settled into something more controlled.

"Y/N," he said, with a slight nod, his voice betraying nothing.

"Joe," she replied, maintaining her stride but slowing just enough to be polite. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," he said, then added with deliberate casualness, "Heard you've been busy while I was gone."

The comment could have been innocuous—referencing her vacation perhaps, or the draft preparations—but the subtle emphasis made it clear he'd heard more than that. Perhaps about her dating experiments, or more likely, about her increasingly independent approach to work.

"Just the usual pre-draft chaos," Y/N replied smoothly. "How was California?"

A flash of something, frustration perhaps, crossed his features before he answered. "Productive. Good to be back though."

An awkward silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions. The strength coach, sensing the tension, murmured something about paperwork and retreated to his office.

"I should get to my meeting," Y/N said, gesturing vaguely down the hall.

"Right," Joe agreed, though he made no move to continue on his way. Instead, he studied her face with unexpected intensity. "You cut your hair."

The observation caught Y/N off guard—such a personal notice after months of distance. "Yes. Before my trip."

"It looks good," he said simply, the comment landing somewhere between professional courtesy and personal appreciation.

"Thanks," Y/N replied, unsure how to respond to this strange middle ground they seemed to be occupying, not the cold distance of recent months, but not the easy rapport they'd once shared either.

Joe shifted his weight slightly, clearly contemplating saying more, then appeared to think better of it. "Good luck with your meeting," he said finally, stepping aside to let her pass.

"Thanks," Y/N repeated, hating how inadequate the word felt. "Good to have you back."

As she continued down the hall, Y/N could feel his eyes following her. She maintained her composure until turning the corner, then let out a slow breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

One brief encounter, and all her Mediterranean perspective threatened to evaporate. Joe Burrow was back in Cincinnati, apparently aware of the changes in her life during his absence, and somehow still able to throw her off balance with nothing more than a comment about her haircut.

This was going to be harder than she'd anticipated.

* * *

Late April 2025 - Bengals Facility

"And that's a wrap on the quarterback segment," Y/N announced, reviewing the footage on her camera's display. "Looks good. Thanks for your time, Joe."

Joe nodded but made no immediate move to leave the media room. He'd been professional throughout the shoot, following direction smoothly, answering questions with his usual thoughtful precision. But Y/N had felt his eyes on her whenever the camera lowered, studying her with a quiet intensity that made maintaining her composed façade increasingly difficult.

"New workflow seems to be working well," he commented as Y/N packed her equipment. "Though Tyler's approach is different from yours."

Y/N kept her movements methodical, not looking up. "Everyone has their own style. He's been doing great work with the quarterback content."

"He has," Joe agreed. "But it's good to have you back in the mix too."

Y/N finally met his gaze, keeping her expression professionally pleasant. "Just filling in today since he's covering the offensive line segments."

Something flickered in Joe's eyes, disappointment, perhaps, or frustration. "Right. Just filling in."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them as Y/N continued packing. This was exactly the kind of interaction she'd been avoiding, loaded with unspoken tensions, complicated by history and feelings she was trying desperately to move past.

"I heard you've been dating," Joe said suddenly.

Y/N's hands fumbled slightly with her lens cap, but she recovered quickly. "Cincinnati's a small town."

"Tee mentioned something," Joe explained, his tone carefully casual. "Said you were... exploring options."

"Just getting out there," Y/N replied, striving for a neutral tone. "Nothing serious."

Joe nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Good. That's... good."

Another silence fell, heavier than before. Y/N snapped her camera bag closed with perhaps more force than necessary.

"Well, I should get this footage to editing," she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder. "Draft content won't produce itself."

"Y/N," Joe said, stopping her before she could reach the door. "Are we okay?"

The question caught her off guard, direct in a way their interactions rarely were. Y/N turned back, finding Joe watching her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher, something between concern and determination.

"We're fine," she said automatically. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"Because this is the first real conversation, we've had in months that wasn't strictly about work," Joe replied, his gaze steady. "Because you've been actively avoiding me since November. You created that buffer system, delegated all my media to Tyler, and now you're back from vacation with a new haircut and a new approach, and I feel like I'm constantly a step behind whatever's happening."

The directness of his assessment left Y/N momentarily speechless. She hadn't expected Joe, always so careful, so measured to lay things out so bluntly.

"I needed some perspective," she finally said, choosing her words with care. "The buffer system was about creating professional clarity. And yes, the vacation helped me realize some things needed to change. But that's not about you, Joe. It's about me figuring out who I am beyond this job."

"And dating random guys is part of that?" The question slipped out before Joe seemed to catch himself, a flash of something crossing his features before he schooled his expression.

Y/N felt a spark of indignation. "Who I date isn't really your concern, is it? Just like your relationship with Ellie isn't mine."

The mention of Ellie hung in the air between them, causing Joe to look away briefly.

"That's not—" he started, then stopped. "It's different."

"Is it?" Y/N replied, reaching for the door. "Look, Joe, we work together. We've always worked well together professionally. I'd like to keep it that way. Anything beyond that just... complicates things unnecessarily."

"So that's it?" Joe asked, a rare edge entering his voice. "We go back to player and media staff. Pretend the last four years never happened?"

"Not pretend they never happened," Y/N corrected gently. "Just acknowledge that professional boundaries exist for a reason. And I'm finally respecting them."

Before he could respond, she slipped out the door, heart hammering in her chest. She managed to make it to the empty edit bay before her careful composure cracked, leaning against the closed door as she drew a shaky breath.

This was so much harder than she'd anticipated. The wounded look in Joe's eyes, the direct confrontation about changes she'd made, the strange reaction when she'd mentioned her dating, none of it aligned with the carefully distanced relationship she was trying to establish.

But what did he expect? That she'd wait forever in this painful limbo while he built a life with someone else? That she'd continue putting her own needs aside to maintain whatever undefined connection had existed between them?

Y/N straightened, gathering her professional resolve once more. This conversation had been necessary, even if painful. Joe needed to understand that things had changed, that she had changed. That her Mediterranean epiphany wasn't just a temporary shift but a fundamental realignment of her priorities.

She was no longer defining herself through the lens of Joe Burrow. And painful as it was to see his confusion and frustration, it was a necessary step toward her own freedom.

A freedom that felt, for the moment, more like loss than liberation.

* * *

May 2025 - Bengals Facility

The organized team activities brought a renewed energy to the facility. Players filtering back, rookies finding their place, a steady rhythm of preparation beginning to build toward the new season. Y/N moved through this environment with calculated precision, overseeing content production, directing her team, and maintaining the professional boundaries she'd established with Joe.

Their interactions had settled into a workable pattern. Polite but not warm. Professional but not personal. She no longer actively avoided him, but neither did she seek out his company. When their paths crossed in professional contexts, she kept conversations focused on content needs, media strategies, and upcoming events.

"We need quarterback content for the season ticket promo," Kayla announced during the weekly planning meeting. "Y/N, can you handle that shoot, or do you want Tyler to take it?"

Y/N felt Joe's eyes on her from across the table but kept her attention on her notes. "Tyler's already scheduled for rookie breakout features that day. I can handle the quarterback segment."

She deliberately used the word "quarterback" rather than Joe's name, a small linguistic distance that helped maintain her professional frame of mind.

Kayla nodded, making a note. "Perfect. Joe, that work for your schedule?"

"Whatever works for the team," he replied, though his tone suggested more beneath the surface.

After the meeting dispersed, Y/N was gathering her materials when she realized Joe had lingered, waiting for the room to clear.

"You don't have to keep doing that, you know," he said quietly.

"Doing what?" Y/N asked, though she suspected she knew.

"Referring to me like I'm just a position on the team. 'Quarterback segment.' 'Quarterback content.' Like you can't even say my name."

Y/N met his gaze directly, maintaining her composure. "It's not intentional. Just professional shorthand."

"It's distance," Joe corrected, his voice low but firm. "And I get why you needed it before. But I thought after your vacation, after you said you wanted normal professional interactions, that maybe we'd at least be back to... I don't know, acknowledging we know each other?"

The hurt beneath his frustration was evident, and for a moment Y/N's resolve wavered. It had never been her intention to make him feel erased or depersonalized.

“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry.”

Joe’s expression softened just a little. “I miss how we used to talk. Not about content. Just… you and me.”

The simple admission hung in the air between them, dangerously tempting. Y/N had missed those conversations too, the easy rhythm they'd once had, the way they could communicate volumes with just a look or gesture.

“I’ve been drawing a line,” she said. “Maybe I’ve drawn it too sharply.”

Joe seemed about to say more when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression shifting as he read the screen.

Joe seemed about to say more when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression shifting as he read the screen.

"Ellie's back from New York tomorrow," he said, the statement landing with a dull finality that reset the boundaries Y/N had been struggling to maintain.

"That's nice," Y/N replied, grateful for the reminder of reality. "I'm sure you've missed her."

Joe's expression was complicated, but he merely nodded. "See you at the promo shoot."

As he left, Y/N released a careful breath. This was exactly why boundaries were necessary. Whatever confusion existed between them, whatever unnamed feelings lingered, the reality remained unchanged: Joe was with Ellie. Their connection, however deep it might have once seemed, was professional at its core.

And Y/N was finally learning to accept that truth, however much it might ache.

* * *

June 2025 - Team Charity Event

The summer charity gala had become a centerpiece of the Bengals community calendar, bringing together players, staff, and Cincinnati's elite for an evening of fundraising and relationship building. Y/N checked her camera settings as she moved around the perimeter of the elegant ballroom, documenting the event for team content. After five years with the team, this was familiar territory - capturing candid moments of players interacting with donors, coaches mingling with corporate sponsors, all while remaining professionally invisible.

"Y/N, when you're done with the general shots, we need table photos," Sam said through her earpiece. As Social Media Manager, Y/N was overseeing the team's coverage strategy, even as she handled key photography herself. "The owner wants formal shots of each sponsored table."

"Got it," Y/N confirmed, adjusting her lens as she surveyed the room. "I'll start at the north end and work my way around."

She moved efficiently, her black cocktail dress allowing her to blend professionally with the event while still being able to maneuver for shots. Her newly shortened hair was pulled back in a sleek style that kept it out of her way as she worked. Despite being on duty, she had to admit it felt good to dress up occasionally, to step out from behind her usual casual work attire.

"Looking sharp tonight, Y/N," Coach Taylor said as he passed, stopping briefly. "The team's lucky to have you documenting these events. You always catch the moments everyone else misses."

"Thanks, Coach," she replied with a professional smile. "Just doing my job."

"Well, you do it better than most," he said, nodding toward her camera. "Make sure you get my good side when you hit our table."

Y/N laughed. "I always do."

As she continued her circuit of the room, Y/N spotted Joe's arrival with Ellie. It was impossible not to notice them – Ellie in a stunning red gown that seemed designed to draw every eye in the room, Joe in a perfectly tailored suit looking every inch the franchise quarterback. His expression carried its usual hint of reserve at these public events, the carefully maintained media face Y/N had documented for years.

She raised her camera reflexively, capturing their entrance from a professional distance. Though her buffer system had evolved into something less rigid since her vacation, she still maintained careful boundaries when it came to Joe. Especially in situations like this, where Ellie was prominently by his side.

For an hour, Y/N focused entirely on her work, moving from table to table, capturing the formal group photos requested by the organization. She was professional and efficient, directing groups into position, ensuring everyone was properly arranged, getting the shots needed for team publications and sponsor recognition.

Eventually, she reached table eleven.

"Joe Burrow's table is next," Sam's voice came through her earpiece. "Just a heads up."

Y/N approached the table professionally, camera ready. "Evening, everyone. Time for the official table photo."

Joe's eyes found her immediately, a flicker of something passing across his features before he settled into his media smile. Ellie sat beside him, her own camera-ready smile warming as Y/N approached.

"Y/N," Joe nodded in acknowledgment. "Didn't realize you'd be shooting tonight."

“Last-minute call,” she replied smoothly, adjusting the strap on her camera. “We needed a few extra hands.”

Before he could say more, Ellie turned toward her with a bright smile.

“You must be Y/N,” she said warmly, extending a hand. “Joe’s told me so much about you. I’ve seen your work, it’s amazing.”

Y/N blinked, just slightly caught off guard, but recovered quickly as she shook Ellie’s hand. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

"Just try to keep it authentic," Y/N replied, a bit thrown by the compliment coming indirectly from Joe. She raised her camera, moving to the side of the table. "Actually, I'm capturing candids tonight, so everyone just continue your conversations naturally. Pretend I'm not even here."

Joe's eyes found hers as she circled the table, capturing natural interactions between the guests. Ellie laughed at something a sponsor said, the sound genuine and warm. Y/N caught the moment perfectly, Ellie's natural charisma on full display.

When Joe tried to catch her eye with a questioning look, Y/N maintained her focus on the technical aspects of the shots, moving from angle to angle without engaging directly.

"Perfect, thank you everyone," Y/N said after capturing several options. "Enjoy your evening."

As she turned to move to the next table, Ellie touched her arm lightly. "I hope we get to talk more later. Joe says you have the best stories about the team."

Y/N managed a polite smile, unsure how to respond to Ellie's friendliness. It was much easier when she could imagine Joe's girlfriend as distant or intimidating, this genuine warmth was unexpected and, somehow, worse.

"Maybe next time," Y/N replied. "I've got quite a few tables left to photograph."

"Taking a break?"

Joe's voice came from behind her, and Y/N turned to find him approaching alone, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable in the dim terrace lighting.

"Just a quick breather," she replied, automatically raising her professional shield. "Lots of photos still to get."

Joe moved to stand beside her at the railing, looking out at the city lights. "Your buffer system has evolved, I see."

Y/N glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You're actually speaking to me at public events now," he said, a hint of sharpness beneath the casual observation. "That's progress from January."

"I'm trying to be more normal about everything," Y/N replied carefully. "Like I said when I got back from vacation, appropriate professional boundaries, not complete avoidance."

“That why you practically sprinted away from our table?”

“I have other tables to shoot.”

Joe turned to her, more serious now. “Come on. We haven’t had a real conversation in months. And I’m supposed to pretend that’s normal?”

“Maybe you’re not supposed to pretend. Maybe you’re supposed to notice.”

He blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N faced him fully now, heat rising in her chest. “It means one day we’re grabbing lunch and spending time together outside of work, and the next I find out you have a girlfriend because someone broke into your house.”

Joe’s face fell. “That’s not how I meant for you to find out—”

“But that’s how I did,” she cut in, voice rising. “And then I had to walk into a boardroom full of execs and help manage the media fallout. I had to craft a strategy, prep your talking points, anticipate questions—all while pretending like I wasn’t finding out in real time that you’d been lying by omission for half a year.”

“It wasn’t lying—”

“It was hiding,” she snapped. “You hid her. Not just from the world, but from me.”

Joe’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt this time.

“You didn’t owe me the details,” Y/N said. “But you knew what we were. What it felt like. You showed up in my life every day. You let it mean something. And when it stopped meaning something to you, you didn’t have the decency to say a word. You just let me show up to work and write press releases while I pretended it didn’t feel like a slap in the face.”

Joe’s voice was low. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” she said. “Not by being with her. By making me feel like I never mattered in the first place.”

A beat passed. Joe stepped forward, something in his face shifting. “You mattered.”

“Not enough,” she said. “Not enough to be honest with.”

"There you are!"

Ellie's cheerful voice cut through the tension as she stepped onto the terrace, elegant and smiling in her red gown. "I've been looking everywhere for you, babe. They're about to do the team recognition on stage, and the owner specifically asked for you to join them."

Joe's expression froze, the moment shattered. He glanced from Ellie to Y/N, clearly caught between their interrupted conversation and his public obligations.

"I'll be right there," he said to Ellie, his voice carefully controlled.

Ellie's gaze shifted between them, noticing the tension but misreading its cause. "I'm not interrupting work talk, am I? I can tell them you'll be a minute."

"No interruption," Y/N said quickly, professional mask snapping back into place. "I was just about to head back in myself. I still have the owner's table to photograph."

Ellie smiled warmly. "Your photos have been amazing tonight. I peeked at some on the photographer's display earlier, you have a gift for capturing genuine moments."

"Thank you," Y/N managed, the sincerity in Ellie's compliment making her feel a complicated mix of guilt and confusion. "That's very kind."

Joe still hadn’t looked away. “Ellie, can you give us just a minute? We weren’t quite finished.”

Ellie blinked, surprised, but nodded. “Sure. I’ll tell them you’re on your way.”

Before she could step back, Y/N raised her camera between them like a barrier.

“I think we are,” she said. “You should go. They’re waiting for you.”

As Joe and Ellie walked away, her hand slipping naturally into his, Y/N remained on the terrace, the tension of the moment still vibrating beneath her skin. He hadn’t admitted anything—not really. But the way he looked at her, the way he’d tried to stay, it said more than he probably meant it to.

And still, it didn’t change the facts.

Joe was with someone. Publicly. Proudly. And whatever confusion lingered in his eyes didn’t undo the confusion that came before it.

More concerning, why was Ellie so genuinely nice? It would be so much easier if she were coldly dismissive or professionally distant. Instead, her warmth and friendliness only highlighted the impossibility of Y/N's situation.

Whatever that moment was, it didn’t undo the months that came before it. Joe had made his choices. Y/N had built walls around hers. And whatever crossed between them tonight would stay right here, unspoken, unfinished, and irrelevant to what came next.

* * *

June 2025 - Bengals Facility

Two weeks after the charity gala, Y/N settled into her desk chair, reviewing the content calendar for rookie development features. The confrontation with Joe on the terrace had shifted something between them, created a clarity that was both painful and necessary. She no longer avoided him completely, but their interactions had taken on a careful formality that others had begun to notice.

"Final approval on the draft recap?" Tyler asked, hovering in her doorway with tablet in hand.

"Almost done," Y/N replied, gesturing him in. "The rookie piece looks good. Strong narrative arc on Wilson's journey from D-II to first-round pick."

As they reviewed the footage together, Y/N's phone lit up with a text from Sam:

Sam: Lunch? Need to hear about your brother's new house before I explode from curiosity

Y/N smiled. Her weekend trip to Louisville had been a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable tension that had pervaded the facility since the charity event.

Y/N: Cafeteria in 15

"That's everything," Tyler said, accepting the tablet back. "Oh, heads up, quarterback's looking for footage from last season's Raiders game. Told him you'd know where to find the breakdowns."

Y/N maintained her neutral expression. "Email me the specific request and I'll have staff pull what he needs."

Tyler nodded, though his eyebrows lifted slightly at her response. Six months ago, she would have handled Joe's request personally.

After he left, Y/N leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. This was working. Professional distance without complete avoidance. Delegation without being obvious. Building a structure that allowed her to do her job without constantly inhabiting Joe Burrow's orbit.

* * *

In the cafeteria, Sam was already waiting, two salads on the table. "So," she said as Y/N sat down, "Louisville looked like it agreed with you."

"It was good," Y/N confirmed, spearing a cucumber. "Matt's new place is gorgeous, and Aaron's kids have gotten huge. Weird being the sister visiting from out of town now, but..." she shrugged. "That's growing up, I guess."

"And how's the facility vibe this week? Any more awkward terrace confrontations I should know about?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "No, thank god. We're being perfectly professional adults."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I forward his requests to staff, he acknowledges me in meetings with appropriate professionalism, and we exist in the same space without drama."

Sam took a sip of her water. "And that's progress?"

"That's reality," Y/N corrected. "It's not avoidance, just...appropriate boundaries."

Before Sam could respond, a familiar voice reached them from the service line. Joe stood with Chase and Higgins, tray in hand, laughing at something Chase had said. Y/N kept her focus on her salad, but felt the subtle shift in energy as Joe noticed her.

The three players settled at a table across the room. While Chase and Higgins continued their animated conversation, Y/N could feel Joe's occasional glance toward her table. Not obvious, not prolonged—just brief moments of awareness.

"So that's the new normal," Sam murmured, noticing the dynamic. "You both pretending not to notice each other while being hyper-aware of every move."

"It's just temporary," Y/N said quietly. "Eventually we'll find a truly neutral rhythm."

"And if that never happens?"

Y/N met her friend's gaze directly. "It has to. For both our sakes."

As lunch ended, Y/N gathered her things, deliberately maintaining her composure as she and Sam walked past the players' table. She offered a polite nod to the group, including Joe without focusing on him specifically.

"Y/N," Joe called as she passed, his voice carefully casual. "Did Tyler mention I was looking for those Raiders breakdowns?"

She turned, professional smile in place. "He did. I've got staff pulling them. Should be in your inbox by this afternoon."

Something flickered in Joe's eyes, recognition of her deliberate distancing, perhaps, or memory of what she'd said on the terrace. He gave a small nod. "Appreciate it."

That would have been the moment, before the charity gala, when one of them might have suggested reviewing the footage together, or when casual conversation would have extended the interaction. Now, they both simply nodded and moved on.

"Team meeting at two," Kayla announced, passing them in the hallway. "Full staff, content planning for training camp."

"We'll be there," Y/N confirmed, continuing toward her office with Sam.

Once they were alone in the elevator, Sam raised an eyebrow. "Still think this isn't avoidance?"

Y/N pressed the button for their floor. "It's not avoidance. It's creating space."

"And how long do you plan to keep creating this space?"

Y/N watched the floor numbers rise. "As long as it takes."

* * *

The full staff meeting filled the main conference room, coaches, PR team, and content staff gathered around the long table. Y/N took notes as Kayla outlined the training camp content expectations, deliberately choosing a seat that kept her sight line clear of where Joe typically sat.

"We'll need comprehensive coverage of the quarterbacks' dynamic," Kayla continued. "Media's focused on how Burrow is mentoring Thompson as the rookie develops."

Y/N glanced up at the mention of Joe's name and found him already looking at her from across the table, that thoughtful expression she knew so well. They both looked away quickly, returning to their notes.

"Y/N will lead the content strategy," Kayla was saying. "Her team has prepared an excellent coverage plan for both fan engagement and media needs."

With professional confidence, Y/N presented the content calendar she'd developed, outlining coverage plans, key storylines, and platform-specific approaches. Four years leading the team's social presence had given her a comprehensive understanding of what resonated with both casual fans and dedicated followers.

"We're focusing on four core narratives," she explained, moving through her slides with practiced ease. "Veteran leadership, rookie development, team culture, and community connections."

As she outlined each segment, Y/N maintained eye contact with various staff members around the table, deliberately including Joe in her gaze without allowing it to linger. This was her world, her expertise. Here, she was confident and assured, regardless of personal complications.

"Questions?" she asked, concluding her presentation.

"The quarterback development piece," Joe said, his voice measured. "How are you approaching the narrative balance there?"

Y/N met his gaze directly, professional mask firmly in place. "Equal coverage of both perspectives. Your veteran experience and leadership paired with Thompson's learning curve. We'll highlight the mentorship dynamic without manufacturing competition where there isn't any."

Joe nodded, something like approval flickering across his features. "Sounds right. If you need any specific content from either of us, just let us know."

"Tyler will coordinate those segments," Y/N replied smoothly. "He's been handling the quarterback features since January."

The slight narrowing of Joe's eyes was noticeable only to those who knew him well. The deliberate distance in her response, both the delegation and the phrasing, wasn't lost on him.

"Good," Kayla concluded, bringing the discussion back to logistics. "Let's finalize the practice schedule implications with Coach."

As the meeting continued, Y/N noticed Joe watching her when he thought she wasn't looking. Not with anger or confusion, but with something more contemplative, like he was working through a problem he couldn't quite solve.

Afterward, as everyone gathered their materials, Kayla approached Y/N. "That was excellent. The coverage plan is comprehensive and thoughtful."

"Thanks," Y/N smiled. "The team's put together some great concepts."

"Great work with the content calendar," Kayla said as they gathered their materials. "Your team's really stepped up with the position-specific features, especially Tyler with the quarterback coverage."

"Thanks," Y/N smiled. "Everyone's finding their strengths. Makes delegation easier."

Kayla nodded approvingly. "The workflow redistribution you implemented back in January has really paid off. Team's more balanced now."

As Kayla moved away, Y/N gathered her materials, aware of Joe still lingering at the table, clearly waiting for an opportunity to speak with her. She deliberately engaged another staff member in conversation as she exited, maintaining the careful distance she'd established.

This was the new rhythm, professional, composed, and constantly aware of the careful orbit they maintained around each other. Not too close, not too distant. Just enough space to breathe, to think, to remember who she was beyond the pull of Joe Burrow's gravity.

It wasn't perfect. But it was working. Most of the time.

* * *

July 2025 - Training Camp Preparation

The summer heat settled over Cincinnati as training camp approached. Y/N's days blurred into a steady rhythm of content planning, staff coordination, and careful navigation of facility spaces where she might encounter Joe.

Their new dynamic had stabilized into something workable, if not entirely comfortable. Professional exchanges. Brief acknowledgments in hallways. The occasional necessary conversation about media appearances or content needs, always conducted with others present.

Y/N had stopped watching for him in rooms, had trained herself not to track his movements or anticipate his schedule. But she remained aware, always, of his presence—like a swimmer conscious of a strong current nearby, not directly threatening but requiring constant adjustment.

"Final training camp content packages," Tyler announced, dropping a stack of folders on Y/N's desk. "Player features, community initiatives, and behind-the-scenes concepts all ready for approval."

"Perfect," Y/N said, already flipping through the materials. "The rookie series looks particularly strong."

"Thanks. I still need quarterback sit-downs for the leadership feature, though. Both Burrow and Thompson. When do you want to schedule those?"

Y/N looked up, keeping her expression neutral. "You and Marcus handle those interviews. I'll review the final edits."

Tyler hesitated. "Joe actually mentioned he was expecting you to conduct his segment. Something about continuity from previous training camps?"

The comment landed like a small stone in still water. Y/N set the folders down carefully, considering her response.

"I'll reach out to clarify," she said finally. "But the plan is for you to lead those pieces."

After Tyler left, Y/N stared at her computer screen, weighing her options. Joe was deliberately requesting her involvement, pushing against the boundaries she'd established. The professional approach would be to simply clarify the new workflow and maintain her distance.

Instead, she found herself typing a direct email:

Joe,

Tyler mentioned you were expecting me to conduct your training camp leadership interview. Our current workflow has shifted, with Tyler and Marcus handling player sit-downs while I focus on overall strategy and final approvals.

Please let me know if you have concerns about this approach. Happy to discuss alternatives that meet both content needs and current team structure.

Y/N

The response came less than ten minutes later:

Y/N,

No concerns. Just thought since you've handled my camp interviews for four years, there was an established approach. Context matters in how these pieces come together, as you've always understood.

Happy to work with Tyler and Marcus if that's the new direction.

Joe

Y/N read the message twice, noting the careful neutrality that nonetheless conveyed his disapproval. The implied question was clear: why change what worked? But the answer was equally clear, at least to her. Because what worked professionally had become personally unsustainable.

Before she could respond, Sam appeared in her doorway. "Lunch? I'm starving."

Y/N welcomed the interruption. "God, yes. Let me grab my phone."

As they walked toward the cafeteria, Sam nudged her gently. "You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The 'Joe Burrow is testing my professional boundaries' look. What happened?"

Y/N sighed. "He requested me specifically for his training camp interview. I redirected to Tyler and Marcus."

"And?"

"And he accepted it but made it clear he noticed the change."

Sam considered this as they collected their food. "Maybe he just values consistency. You know how quarterbacks are with their routines."

"Maybe," Y/N agreed, though she wasn't convinced. "Or maybe he's testing whether the boundaries are real."

They found a table near the window, away from the main section where players typically gathered. The cafeteria was quieter than usual, the late July lull before the full roster returned for camp.

"You know," Sam said after a few minutes of casual conversation, "you seem more balanced lately. More yourself."

Y/N looked up from her salad. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're not constantly on alert for Joe's presence. You're not checking your phone for texts that might be from him. You're just... Y/N. Doing your job really well."

"Well, that was the point of creating distance," Y/N said, though she felt a quiet pride at Sam's observation. "To stop organizing my professional life around his orbit."

"It's working," Sam affirmed. "Whatever happened at that charity event, whatever you said to each other on that terrace, it seems to have cleared something."

Y/N thought back to that night, to the raw honesty of finally telling Joe how it felt to discover he'd hidden Ellie from her specifically. The hurt had been real, but expressing it had released something tight inside her chest.

"It helped," she admitted. "Saying it out loud instead of just thinking it."

They continued eating, conversation shifting to weekend plans and the upcoming preseason schedule. Y/N was laughing at Sam's story about a disastrous date when she looked up and froze.

Joe stood at the entrance to the cafeteria, eyes finding hers immediately. He wasn't alone. Ellie walked beside him, stunning in casual summer clothes, her hand resting lightly on his arm as they surveyed the room.

Y/N recovered quickly, returning her attention to Sam with practiced ease. But her heart hammered against her ribs, the unexpected sight of them together in her work sanctuary throwing her more than she wanted to admit.

"Heads up," Sam murmured. "Joe and Ellie, two o'clock."

"I saw," Y/N replied quietly. "Didn't realize she was visiting."

They continued their conversation, deliberately casual as Joe led Ellie to a table across the room. Y/N was acutely aware of them in her peripheral vision, of Ellie's animated gestures as she spoke, of Joe's more reserved responses.

"You good?" Sam asked, noticing Y/N's slightly too-tight grip on her water bottle.

"Fine," Y/N said with a quick smile. "Just surprised. She doesn't usually visit the facility."

"Want to leave?"

Y/N shook her head firmly. "No. This is my workplace too."

They finished their lunch without rushing, Y/N maintaining her composure through sheer determination. As they stood to leave, she nodded politely toward Joe and Ellie's table, professional acknowledgment without engagement.

"Y/N!" Ellie called, her voice warm and friendly. "How are you?"

Y/N paused, unable to ignore the direct greeting. "I'm good, thanks. Nice to see you again."

"You too," Ellie smiled. "Joe's been showing me around before everyone arrives for camp. This place is amazing."

"It is," Y/N agreed, keeping her tone light. "Enjoy the tour."

Joe watched this exchange with an unreadable expression, his eyes moving between the two women. "Y/N's been here since my rookie year," he said to Ellie. "She's documented pretty much every major moment of my NFL career."

There was something pointed in the observation, a reminder of their shared history that felt almost deliberate. Y/N maintained her professional smile.

"The whole media team has," she corrected gently. "It's been a collaborative effort."

"Not the rehab," Joe said, his gaze direct now. "That was all you."

The mention of those intimate rehabilitation sessions—hours spent documenting his pain, frustration, and determination—hung in the air between them. Y/N felt a flush threatening to rise to her cheeks.

"Well," she said, gathering her composure, "that's what made it such compelling content. Your journey back."

Ellie looked between them, clearly sensing the undercurrent but misreading its cause. "Joe mentioned how much those documentary pieces meant to fans. Your work really connected people to his recovery."

"That was the goal," Y/N replied, her professional mask firmly in place. "Glad it resonated." She glanced at her watch. "I should get back. Content review meeting in fifteen. Nice seeing you both."

As she walked away with Sam, Y/N could feel Joe's eyes following her. She maintained her stride, back straight, pace steady, the picture of professional composure until they rounded the corner toward the elevator.

"Holy awkward," Sam muttered as the doors closed. "What was that about?"

Y/N leaned against the elevator wall. "I have no idea. Why bring up the rehab documentation in front of Ellie?"

"Maybe because it was significant?" Sam suggested. "Those were pretty intense, personal shoots."

"Still. Strange timing to mention it."

Back in her office, Y/N tried to focus on the training camp content packages, but her mind kept returning to the cafeteria encounter. Joe rarely brought Ellie to the facility, and he'd never referenced their shared professional history so pointedly in front of her.

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

Unknown: It was lovely seeing you again! Joe's giving me the full tour. Mentioned you might have some photos from charity event for my portfolio? No pressure if not! -Ellie

Y/N stared at the message, surprised by the direct contact. After a moment's consideration, she saved the number and replied:

Y/N: Of course. Happy to share what we have I'll pull the files and get them to you.

The response came quickly:

Ellie: That would be amazing! Whatever you think shows my best angles 😊 Joe says you have a great eye.

Y/N set her phone down, unsure how to navigate this unexpected development. She had kept her distance from Ellie for obvious reasons, yet now Joe was apparently recommending her professional services to his girlfriend. The situation felt unnecessarily complicated.

A knock on her door frame pulled her from these thoughts. Joe stood there, alone, expression neutral but intent.

"Got a minute?" he asked.

Y/N nodded, maintaining her professional demeanor. "Of course."

He stepped inside but didn't sit, instead remaining standing near the door. "I wanted to apologize if that was awkward. Ellie wanting to see the facility was... unexpected."

"It's fine," Y/N said smoothly. "She's always welcome here. She is your girlfriend."

Joe nodded, though something flickered in his expression at her matter-of-fact acknowledgment. "She mentioned asking about photos. You don't need to handle that personally. Any of the staff can pull those."

"I already told her I would," Y/N replied. "It's not a problem."

Joe studied her for a moment, his gaze more direct than it had been in months. "You've changed since your vacation."

The observation caught her off guard with its directness. "Have I?"

"Yes," he said simply. "More confident. More... definitive about boundaries."

Y/N met his gaze steadily. "I gained some perspective. About what I need professionally."

"Just professionally?" The question hung in the air between them, more personal than anything he'd asked in months.

"That's what matters here," Y/N replied carefully. "We work together. Everything else is secondary."

Joe nodded slowly; his expression thoughtful. "If that's what you need."

"It is."

He turned to leave, then paused. "For what it's worth, I should have told you about Ellie directly. Before it became public like that. You deserved that much."

The admission, the first acknowledgment of what she'd confronted him about on the terrace, landed with unexpected weight. Y/N maintained her composure, though her heart beat a little faster.

"Thank you for saying that."

After he left, Y/N sat quietly, processing the interaction. It wasn't dramatic or emotional, yet something significant had shifted. Joe had acknowledged her perspective, had seen the changes in her approach, had even apologized for something that had hurt her deeply.

It didn't change anything fundamentally. She would maintain her professional boundaries. Their working relationship would continue in this careful new balance. But the acknowledgment mattered.

She turned back to her computer, focusing once more on the training camp content plans. She had found her footing in this new dynamic. Now she just needed to maintain it, through training camp, through the season, through whatever complications lay ahead.

One day at a time. One professional interaction at a time. Building a sustainable rhythm that protected her heart while honoring her career.

Part Three

[hotshotsxyz]

“You know me better than anyone. You always have.” for the prompts if it sparks!

(buddie) (788 words) i still have so many of these prompts left lmao, hope you like this one!

“I’m fine,” Buck says, and to his genuine surprise, he really means it.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. Rude, but fair. “You’re fine,” he echoes, flat and disbelieving.

Buck shrugs. “Yeah, man, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Eddie blinks a few times. “Is this what denial looks like? I think this might be what denial looks like.”

“Denial is a river in Egypt,” Buck replies cheerfully.

Eddie snorts. “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes.”

“Maybe not,” Buck allows. “Still fine, though.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says.

“I am!” Buck protests. “I’ll prove it. Ask me what happened.”

Eddie heaves a sigh and stands. “I’m getting a beer. Do you want a beer?”

“I mean, yeah, but not if it's a pity beer,” Buck calls after him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie tosses over his shoulder.

He comes back with a bottle of Buck’s favorite sour, which is ridiculous because the only place that sells it is a full thirty minutes farther than the closest grocery store. It’s absolutely a pity beer.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaims.

He feigns innocence. “I already had it!”

Buck narrows his eyes and takes the bottle from Eddie. “I’m choosing to believe you, but only because I really don’t want one of your godawful IPAs.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and settles back on the couch beside him. “If that’s what it takes,” he says.

“You’re supposed to be nice to me,” Buck says accusingly.

“I am nice to you,” Eddie says. He leans his head against the back of the couch and rolls it lazily to the side to look at Buck directly. “I’ll be nicer if you can find an adjective other that ‘fine’ to describe your current state of being.”

Buck blows a soft breath out through his nose. “I’m good, Eds, I promise.”

“I just—you were more broken up about Natalia,” Eddie says softly. “Why are you so okay with this?”

And that—that is the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it? Because Buck is fine. He’s not emotionless, but nothing he’s feeling is particularly painful or consuming. Being with Tommy was good and fun and nice, but breaking up with him didn’t feel like some terrible ending. It felt like finishing a chapter in a book that you can’t put down and staying up late because you just can’t wait to start the next one. He’s never really felt like that before.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I just am. You know me better than anyone. You always have. Why don’t you tell me?”

Eddie huffs a soft laugh. “Contrary to the beliefs of our friends and coworkers, I can’t actually read your mind, Buck.”

“I don’t know,” Buck teases, “I think you probably could if you tried.”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Think of a number between one and ten.”

Eleven, Buck thinks, just to be an asshole. He grins at Eddie, who stares at him in mock concentration.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Stop cheating,” he says.

Buck bursts out laughing. “See? Knew you were a little bit psychic.”

“More like fluent in Buck,” Eddie snarks back.

He feels soft and loose, and it hits him that this is what he’d never quite had with Tommy. They were never as in sync as he is with Eddie. He’s never felt so comfortable, so known as he does when he’s here. It’s an impossibly high bar to hold a partner to, but—

Buck’s jaw drops.

Eddie’s expression shifts to vaguely concerned confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” Buck says quickly.

Eddie fixes him with an unimpressed look.

“I just, uh—” Buck stalls, frantically searching for words that haven’t quite coalesced yet in his mind. “Um. I think I—”

Eddie sits up a little straighter. “Buck,” he says, soft and worried. “It’s just me.”

It’s just Eddie. Eddie who knows him. Eddie who sees him. Eddie who makes fun of him and trusts him and treasures the little pieces of him he’s handed over throughout the years. It’s just Eddie.

It’s Eddie, and all at once Buck is realizing that it’s never going to be anyone else.

“I, uh—” Buck tries again. “I have to—I forgot to feed my neighbor’s cat,” he lies, standing so quickly that he bumps the coffee table and nearly knocks over Eddie’s mostly full beer.

Eddie’s brow creases. “Okay,” he says quietly, and Buck doesn’t think for a second he believes him.

“I’m just gonna—I’ll see you tomorrow?” Buck asks desperately.

“Course,” Eddie says.

“Thanks for the—bye!” Buck squeaks.

He hightails it out the door and throws himself behind the wheel of his Jeep. Of course he isn’t upset about Tommy. How could he be?

He’s been in love with Eddie the whole fucking time.

[rebelliousstories]

Black Friday

Relationship: Eddie Brock/Venom x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Inappropriate Behavior Towards Women

Word Count: 2,098

Main Masterlist: Here

Marvel Masterlist: Here

Summary: Quite possibly the most stressful day of the entire year is here. Now, they have to really keep a leash on the symbiote.

Consider Donating: Here

“Eddie, wakey, wakey. Wake up, my love.” A soft dulcet voice caused the man to blink his eyes open finally. The sun was just starting to rise outside the window, but inside was simply blinding. His girlfriend’s gorgeous smile was above him, causing her hair to fan out.

“Hey,” he groaned with his voice still thick with sleep, “how’s my girl doin’?”

“Good, but we’ve gotta get up. I’ve got to get to work, and you promised to stay with me so we can go straight from there to shopping. They got that deal on the new tv we wanted.” Eddie rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. He wrapped his hands around her waist to bring her into his lap. Burying his face into her neck, he pressed a few kisses there, before pulling back to look at her sweet face.

“Alright, pretty girl. What time is it?”

“Five.”

“Well then, we don’t want you to be late. Now do we?”

“No, we don’t.” The deep voice of their favorite symbiote suddenly joined the party. An inky black head with large white eyes materialized upon Eddie’s shoulder, who then sighed an annoyed sigh.

“Morning, V. How are you, sweet thing?” She pressed a kiss to the slimy cheek which made the alien let out a happy rumble.

“Don’t encourage him. It’s too early,” mumbled Eddie once he dropped his head in defeat.

“Eddie, she loves me. Do not get in the way of our love.”

“Okay, boys,” she chimed in before they could start an argument, “let’s go get ready for the day.”

The couple and their unintentional third wheel went about their routine like normal. It was a pleasant morning for what was most definitely going to be a stressful day ahead. Black Friday had hit the American economy. While they did plan on taking advantage of it, they had stuff to do first. So, having the calm of the morning was lovely. Eddie spent his time trying to actually make breakfast and coffee for him and his lover. Venom tried to help in his own special way, leading to a mess that Eddie would, inevitably, have to clean. And she spent her time getting ready for work.

This was the joy of living with her boyfriend, and the symbiote. There was never a dull moment, and yet, they managed to work well together. In recorded time, she was out the door with her boyfriend, and walking down the beautiful street towards his bike. No matter what, she always wore her helmet. Eddie insisted upon it, and since Venom could not inhabit her body, he did too.

All of her coworkers knew that the revving of the bike’s engine meant that she had brought her gorgeous piece of meat with her. It genuinely made her giggle the first few times when the other women, and one of the guys, were hitting on Eddie while he was inside the cafe, with her nearby. Now, everyone just liked watching him work on his laptop in the corner as the pretty man he is.

“I’m gonna go clock in. You hang out in your spot, okay? I’ll bring your first round to you shortly,” and she gave Eddie a kiss once the helmets were gone.

She went into the cafe first, feeling the cozy heat inside, and rounding the corner to start her job. Eddie followed shortly after, even though the cafe was still technically closed for another few minutes. No one minded have him inside. He was always nice to people, and tipped them generously once it came time to pay his tab.

As soon as seven hit, the store was flooded with customers. Some people were looking for their first fix before starting their own Black Friday shifts. While others were trying to stay caffeinated and/or warm for their Black Friday shopping ahead. Either way, their little cafe was busy. She brought over Eddie’s second coffee, with a double chocolate chip cookie for Venom.

“Thanks, angel. And, um,” he leaned in just a bit, making her do the same. “The other guy says thank you too.”

“You guys are welcome.” She replied in the same tone that he had been using. As she walked away to start helping behind the counter again, she heard her lover muttering to himself.

“No, I’m not gonna tell her that. She’s working. Control yourself.”

Never a dull moment with those two. But, thanks to the holiday, there was never a dull moment the entire eight hours behind the counter anyways. Eddie watched as a steady stream of customers kept his darling girl busy. She took on different jobs, like they all did, rotating every couple of hours so no one got into too much of a rut. It was actually really lovely to see them using so much teamwork.

His favorite time was when his angel was on the register. He loved it. Eddie was seated with a perfect line of sight so that he could spend those two hours watching her. And the man was having a great time, even with the commentary from his friend in the back of his head. That was, until, some jerk came along to ruin it.

For some reason, there was a guy who, no matter how many times he got turned down, would continually make passes at Eddie’s girl. Now, she could take care of herself, but each time it was getting harder and harder to restrain the other guy. Today, this prick decided to some early Black Friday shopping it appeared.

“Hello gorgeous. How’s my favorite little barista doing today?” He leered, only to be met with her most deadpan face.

“Welcome in. What can I get started for you?” To anyone else, she sounded like a cheery, customer service worker. But Eddie knew better.

“Well, I just got this new watch,” he flashed the overtly shiny thing in her face. “Wanna know the greatest thing about it?”

“Are you going to get a coffee, or a pastry, sir?”

“It tells me exactly when to pick you up for our date tomorrow night.” Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she took a deep breath in, and out.

“Are you going to order something? There is a line, sir.” She tried once more, and yet, this guy was just not getting the hint.

“As long as you are on the menu, yes. I’ll be getting something.” This creep leaned across the counter, over the register, and into her personal space. As much as she tried to lean and get out of his way, she did not catch the hand coming up onto her arm until it had made contact. Jumping back as if she had been burned, the shiver that swept through her body could not be suppressed. Thankfully, right as Eddie started making his way over, her male coworker, Leon, had sprung to her aid.

“Hey. Uh, no way honey. You are gonna walk out of here and not come back before I call the cops and have you trespassed. We are gonna keep our hands to ourselves before I come across this counter. Come on, sugar.” Leon ushered his angel to the back to take some deep breaths before coming back out to find the creep still there.

“Go on! Shoo! If I have to come across this counter, you sure as hell not gonna like me. Go!” Finally, the man left in a huff as Eddie saw his angel poke her head out from around the corner of their dry storage. He kept murmuring to himself on the entire trip out, but no one came to his aid. As soon as he was gone, she went back to working the drinks counter while Leon filled for her at the register.

“That pathetic man put his hands on our angel.” Venom growled, letting Eddie feel the rumble deep in his chest.

“Yeah, I don’t like it either, buddy. But she’s safe behind the counter.” Before he could sit back down, the man felt his limbs go rigid as his friend took control over his muscles.

“What are you doing?” They were walking faster towards the front door and past the counter. Eddie’s laptop was still there, so everyone knew he was coming back. But as she saw the shadow of her boyfriend walk past her, a small black tendril emerged from her lover’s back and sent a salute towards her.

“Oh no.” She chuckled and went back to work.

“We are going to teach that thing a lesson about touching what’s ours.”

“What is this ‘our’ stuff you spouting off about, V? She is my girlfriend. Not yours.”

“I know she is not just mine. That is why I say ours, Eddie.” Before said Eddie could retort once again, they rounded the corner to the alleyway right next to the back door of the cafe where they would take out trash. And would you like to guess who they found lurking around?

“Let me eat his head, Eddie. Please. He’s got a Black Friday discount on life.” He had no clue whether or not the symbiote was joking. Knowing Venom, he knew he probably was not.

Inky limb like tendrils shot out from Eddie to grab at the creep that had been targeting their girl, and shoved him against the wall. Venom was not completely taking over Eddie’s body yet, but he was close. Walking up to the pinned man, another tendril slapped over his mouth to silence his screaming. Eddie tried to look as mean as he possibly could.

“Look, guy. Whoever the hell you are. Leave my- ow- our girl alone. She isn’t interested. She will never be interested. Get it through your head. Got it?” Unfortunately, he still could not take a hint.

“Oh, what. Like she’d go out with you, mister disgraced journalist? Listen pal, I’ve got connections. You try to threaten me and you’ll be in a jail faster than you can say ‘merry Christmas’. Now let me go!” He struggled once more, but Eddie just sighed.

“See, that just ain’t gonna happen. See, I’ve got a friend. And right now, he is really itchin’ to hurt you. So let’s just part ways and this all goes away, yeah?” The offer fell on deaf ears as the man struggled to break free.

“You asked for it.” In an instant, Venom’s head popped up from his shoulder like an aggressive cat. The silence that followed was beautiful.

“I would very much like to eat his head now. Human brains always taste best.”

“No, V. We’re just gonna rough him up and then go back inside. No eating heads. Don’t wanna draw attention to m- our girl.”

Their entire dialogue was being witnessed by someone who looked three seconds away from passing out, peeing himself, or screaming. Maybe all three. But as Venom showed all of his teeth and his disturbingly long tongue, turns out it was those three. But in very fast order.

“Well,” the body dropped to the floor, “that was interesting. Let’s go inside. I want some more coffee before we leave.” Eddie turned on his heels and marched back inside. Once he was within view of others, Venom retreated back into his host. “Good boy.”

“I am not a dog, Eddie! But thank you. I would like another cookie for my efforts.” The monster growled, a pleasant purr emitting from him as he saw their angel behind the counter.

“Alright. You can have another cookie.” Once he was at the register, Leon got Eddie’s, and unknowingly Venom’s order, before moving down to where his girl was making delicious treats. But he did turn back at the last moment to send a quick, “thank you,” to the man who just nodded.

“You won’t have to worry about that a-hole again, angel.” He murmured, accepting the cookie she gave him, mostly for his alien friend.

“Did Eddie talk to him or the other guy,” came her tease as she made his coffee just how he liked it.

“A bit of both. Ow, would you quit it? Fine! Mostly the other guy. You happy now, diva?” His monologue that she knew was actually a dialogue sounded hilarious right about now.

“Thank you. Both of you. I’ve got thirty minutes left, so after that we can go get that new tv since our old one is broken.” Even though he was not physically present, Eddie knew that she was staring at Venom when she said that.

“Black Friday makes people do crazy things.”

[violasghost]

Adding to the discussion about why the Chenford breakup has apparently been swept under the rug (for now), Rookie episode 7x02 discussion.

Have been reading some thoughts recently about how some think the reason Tim and Lucy are so amicable post breakup is because they are over one another, or the writers have decided to gloss over everything and ignore their chemistry and just let them stay friends instead, or simply cheapen their relationship. But I think this is where we as the fans have to pay closer attention to the actors who are showing us just as much if not more in the moments when they are not saying anything to one another, versus the moments when there is dialogue. The banter, the competition, that is where they are comfortable, but its also when they fall back in to old habits. Despite Lucy's character being pro-therapy, neither she nor Tim have ever been good at expressing their own emotions and when they were together they stumbled through most serious conversations about feelings. So that said, they likely didn't have that talk-yet.

From a personal perspective, I've had some awful coworkers over time (one or two that started out as friends) who I would have loved to poof away into oblivion, but because I like my job, I had to take the high road simply to be able to do my work well and play nice with peers, and the fact that sometimes you have to coexist with people that you don't always like or respect. So you do your job and work with those individuals when necessary, but nothing more. Not that I'm saying they cant stand one another, but more that they are simply...coping.

I think when it gets down to it, they are avoiding the BIG elephant in the room because its easier to just go with the flow for now. And they are afraid of going down that road because perhaps there may be some doubt, on Lucy's side about Tim's motivations for the breakup in the first place. And maybe on Tim's side about realizing how he hurt Lucy and worrying about how she might never forgive him. So the friendship thing is a safe crutch for both of them. They know at least this way they still have each other as a safety net. I still think its coming. The longing looks, the playful banter. Tim is trying every trick in his book to stay close to Lucy, and Lucy is taking his bait, hook, line, and sinker. And she's flirting with him too, whether she knows it or not. They just cant help themselves. Anyone who couldn't see it would likely have to be blind. Heck the whole first few minutes of the episode with the ladies in the locker room, Lopez, Harper, and Juarez tease Lucy about it so-yeah they know, and they are teasing/baiting our dear Lucy and the audience with this knowledge.

That last scene with the three TO's, Nolan, Tim, and Lucy hanging out after work for drinks and then Nolan confesses how he really respects Nyla and wants to send her more gifts of thanks and Lucy simply tosses her eyes and glances at Tim for a moment. You can see a twinkle in both their eyes and even Nolan recognizes in this moment that he's the third wheel, so he excuses himself, but Tim and Lucy don't yet want to admit that there is anything more, even though there is a long pause between them before either one speaks. I'm telling you, its about the moments 'in between.' Watch Eric and Melissa's faces. They always knock it out of the park.

Needless to say, looking forward to the long slow burn this season. I'm hoping for many more angsty, flirty, cute, hot, steamy, action-packed, sexy, and loving Chenford scenes in our future. <3

[heavenlyakin]

writing group

cw: college au, phd student suguru, masters student reader, selfship coded, heated kisses. unedited. 1.7k. 

Suguru was right. This is something you won’t admit to him, but you can to yourself at least. Writing your ideas down helped… a lot. You were able to get multiple pages out onto a document, even if they’re imperfect and messy. When you see him in class the next session, you sit beside him and he smiles at you. 

“I started writing,” this you can tell him. 

“Good!” He hands you a piece of gum and you gladly take it. 

You’d expected mint, not juicy fruit, but you’re still grateful for it since you skipped breakfast since you’d woken up late after staying up to write last night. You drop the wrapper into your pencil case for later when the gum has lost its flavor. 

“I have a writing group I have to be part of,” he tells you. “It starts tonight. If you’d like to join.” 

“Oh?” You smile at the invitation and try not to jump at it immediately. “That sounds productive.” 

“It can be,” he laughs. “I still only kind of know the others in it, but it would be nice to have a friend.” 

There’s that damn word again; friend. 

“I’ll come. You can text me the details,” then you realize you don’t have his number and vice versa. “Here,” you write down your number on a sticky note and hand it to him. 

He pulls out his phone and adds it, sending you a text with a silly emoji of pen and paper. You smile and save his contact. 

“Do you work after class?” He asks and you nod. 

“Until 5, then I’m free.” 

Before he can say anything else, the professor begins to ask a few general questions about the novel you started for class. It seems like everyone has read the book so far, it was only a third of it and we have had a week for it. If someone hasn’t caught up, they’re doing well enough to go unnoticed by everyone, including the teacher. 

When class ends, Suguru catches up to you in the hall. 

“Hey, sorry I just wanted to walk with you to the coffee shop. I need to prepare for class and you make really good coffee.” 

You smile and try to hide the fact you’re elated he wants to walk with you. “You never told me what class you’re teaching,” you tell him. 

“Oh, it’s just an intro to lit. Nothing fancy. It’s part of the grant work, I teach one semester and then the next my mentor does. The students give us reviews for our instruction based on the pedagogical methods we implement. That way we have some data to work with our theories.” 

His eyes light up as he tells you more on the walk to work. He really comes alive when he’s talking, and you can’t help but notice how shiny his hair is in the sun. He has it all down today, unlike the half up bun he had the last two times you saw him. 

“Are you going to be publishing with your mentor?” You ask and he nods. 

“Hopefully! We have been to a few conferences, but all his work was mostly done before I joined. He’s encouraging me to publish on my own, but since I’m part of the grant, his name will be on it too.” He explains further. “That’s why I’m in the writing group. To encourage myself and others to write.” 

“I appreciate you asking me to come.” You smile up at him and he grins. He holds the door open to the coffee shop and you enter in front of him. It’s busy already, and your coworkers look at you with relief when you catch their eyes. “I guess I better go. Thanks for walking with me.” 

“It’s my pleasure,” he raises his hand to your upper arm and squeezes it softly. 

You try not to melt into the floors as he releases you. Work. You need to work. The pink apron is up for grabs so you pull it on and tie it before taking your place behind the counter to take orders. About a dozen people come through the line in the next twenty minutes and you’re too busy to notice if Suguru stayed. 

That is, until he’s in front of you ordering his regular. “And a bagel with cream cheese, if it’s not too much trouble.” 

“Toasted?” 

“Please,” he smiles. 

“Oof, that is trouble. But since it’s you, I suppose I can manage.” He rolls his eyes and hands you a few bills. You open the register and hand him back his change. 

“Thank you,” his voice is so warm to you now, you can’t help but wish he spoke more. 

However, there’s a line forming behind him, so you can’t. “It’ll be out soon.” 

He moves out of the way and you take the next few orders. When it dies down, you take your break and go to sit with Suguru. He looks up and offers you half of his bagel to which you refuse. 

“I ate a croissant when Layla burned some of it.” You laugh and he grins. “You never texted me about the writing group. Don’t forget me!” 

“Oh, my bad. Let me do that now.” He sends you the details and you commit it to memory.

It’s hosted in the library study floor, there’s about a dozen private rooms of varying sizes for groups to study together. You’ve utilized it many times over the years.  

“Thank you,” you slip your phone back into your apron and lean back. “I only have a few more minutes. Do you need a refill or anything?” 

“I’m fine, thank you. I just need to finish reviewing the journal entries my students submitted after last week’s class.” He’s polite about pushing you away, at least. 

“I’ll leave ya to it! See you later.” He nods and smiles as you walk away. 

You feel a bit dumb, if you’re honest. He didn’t invite you over, and he was clearly busy. I guess you offering to refill his coffee was reason enough, since it is part of your job, but still. The rest of the shift is slow, so it gives you time to think about the writing group. 

You don’t know any PhD students other than the ones that were admitted into the MA/PhD program at the same time as you, so you wonder if it’ll be awkward. Either way, you need a good time to sit down and write. When you’re home you get distracted or only want to write late into the night. 

When it’s time to clock out, you order a sandwich and a fruity tea to have before the writing group. Honestly, this job has been a lifesaver when it comes to easy and cheap meals thanks to your discount. You have an hour until you need to be at the library, so you slowly eat and read a bit of the article you found last night about Shusterman’s Unwind. When you’ve finished you pack your stuff up and order a latte to go for Suguru and an iced coffee for yourself. 

The library is surprisingly lively, but it is still only the second week in the semester. Students are still actively participating now. You take the elevator to the third floor and find the right study room Suguru texted you. When you open the door, you find he’s already there. 

“Hey!” His eyes meet yours and you hold up the coffees. 

“Brought us drinks,” you tell him and sit beside him on the two seater couch on the far end of the room. 

The room is large with a three seat and two seat couch. A long conference table with a few swivel chairs, a small marker board on the wall, and a large TV to hook your computers to for group work. 

“That’s very kind,” he tells you as you hand him the warm to-go cup. He takes a sip. “And needed.” 

“I thought you’d need it after teaching.” You sip from yours and pull out your laptop from your bag and set it beside you on the couch. “When is everyone getting here? I thought I’d be a little late.” 

“Well, two cancelled but I think Bradley is coming in a bit. He’s still in class.” He explains and you nod. “It ends in half an hour I think.” 

You check your phone and nod. No new messages, so you drop it in your backpack. You lean back against the back of the couch. Suguru turns so he’s facing you. 

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I promised a group and now it’s just me for a while.” He seems uncomfortable and you feel it too. 

“I'd feel bad leaving you, besides I wanted to show you what I’ve written anyway. Now’s as good a time as ever.” He seems to brighten up when you tell him this. “I think I have a few good ideas at least.” 

When you grab your laptop, Suguru stops your hand with his own. “I want to try something first,” he tells you and you nod. 

His face moves closer to yours and you freeze. When his lips touch yours, you’re unable to move from the surprise of it all. You thought you were beginning to annoy him. He cups your cheek in his hand and you finally come to and you kiss him back. 

His lips taste like espresso and sweet like the gum he offered you earlier. You can’t help but sigh against him at the relief of it all and the satisfaction. He hums softly against your lips and you kiss him deeper. You hold his shirt in your hand, pulling him as close as you can. The fabric is soft like his lips. 

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you part yours slightly, just enough to let him in. He removes his hand from your cheek and places it on your hip as his other grips you too. Somehow, you end up on his lap, kissing him deeper and deeper. 

You break away to look down at him, his lips pink and swollen from kissing you. His purple eyes are wild with desire. You kiss him again, trying to ignore what you feel against your core.

A cough interrupts you. 

Mortified, you snap your head back towards the door to find you’ve been caught.

[starlightguh]

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Word Count: 1,875

Summary: The annual Akso Hospital holiday party has more to celebrate, with their head doctor newly engaged. The alcohol and festivities seem to take ahold of the couple as they celebrate.

A/N: Happy holidays! You can also find this fic on Ao3 where I will also be posting my writings for the other holiday stories for the other li! I plan on doing something similar to this where I have a scenario based on a classic Christmas song. Please enjoy!

Akso hospital throws a Christmas party every year. They weren’t over the top extravagant, but for the staff, they were always really rewarding and such a nice reprieve.

For the past two years I’ve been Zayne’s plus one as his girlfriend. Recently however, this will be my first year attending as his fiancé. His coworkers were thrilled when he proposed early December and said that they would put in extra effort to make this Christmas party a special celebration for us.

Currently I was finishing up my hair and makeup in our shared bathroom when Zayne walked in to check up on me.

“We still have an hour to leave before the party,” he placed a kiss on my shoulder.

“I know. I know. I’m just really excited for this year’s party. Plus I heard Grayson ordered us a ride to the party?”

Zayne just chuckles and shakes his head, “Apparently the whole staff thought tonight should be the night that we let loose and celebrate.”

“They’re not wrong. You’ve been quite busy since our engagement to really celebrate. But your patients are safe….So your favorite patient is giving you permission to let loose tonight.” I turn and kiss his cheek since I haven’t put my lipstick on yet.

“Alright. But I won’t get too irresponsible, I still have to look after you,” his eyes trail down my form as he surveys the skin tight red dress he bought me for this occasion.

“I think I can handle myself,” I quirk my brow with a slight pout, “Besides it’s rare for Dr. Zayne to be allowed a moment of celebration. I think your team will be happy to know all their party planning efforts didn’t go to waste.”

“We’ll look after each other,” he runs the backside of his finger down the exposed skin on my arm, causing me to shiver.

“Always,” I snatch his hand from my shoulder and placed it on my blushing cheeks.

Getting ready was an easy process, till I was nearly finished and could hardly keep Zayne off of me. His lips sent chills up my spine as his lips ghosted so softly over the nape of my neck with such a passion.

“Zayne, I’m not letting you ditch this party,” I huff as his lips meet my jawline.

“But how could I refuse a taste of such a delicious sight before me?” He whines a bit as his teeth get ahold of the top of my ear.

“Paws off mister,” I playfully shove his chest, “We’re leaving for this party in a few minutes and I intend on leaving our apartment fully clothed thank you.”

He laughs at my words and concedes as he pulls away and puts his hands up in the air as a sign of innocence. “If my wife demands it, who am I not to listen?”

“ Fiance ,” I correct him.

“That’s just another word for my wife to me,” his hazel eyes sparkle with hints of mischief in them as he smirks to retort to me.

Before he could start another onslaught of kisses, our ride to the party shows up and we grab our coats and head over.

As we arrive to the rented out conference space in a fancy five star hotel, Zayne is immediately met with excited greetings from his peers and colleagues. I think this was my favorite part about attending the holiday parties, sure I visited Zayne a lot at work sometimes, but seeing how many people respect and look up to him makes my heart warm. He works so hard, and to me, every moment and minute of his efforts have all been worth it for moments like these.

“Oh! This misses is here too, very nice to meet you ma’am I’ve been doing a rotation with your husband and he’s taught me so much,” an excited young man says as he shakes my hand with such enthusiasm I can’t help but chuckle.

“I’m glad, my fiance has been such an inspiration to you, I hope you also continue to take care of him in the workplace,” I move my hand over to block the side of my mouth that Zayne could see, “He really forgets to take care of himself sometimes, don’t let his coolness fool you.”

“I can hear you dear,” he pinches my side in retaliation.

We make our way through the decorated venue with ease after some greetings when Greyson excitedly approaches us with a bottle of champagne, “Zayne! Misses!” With his glasses askew he presents us with a bottle, “Congratulations on your engagement!”

“Thank you Greyson,” I laugh and take the bottle from him, “Shall we pour some glasses for the rest of the guests to do a toast?”

Zayne is being quiet, I peer over at him, and his ears have a red tint to them as he looks off pretending to be uninterested.

So bashful, I think to myself.

As champagne flows, a very cheerful Yvonne joins us as she seems to be on her third glass of eggnog and clinging on to my waist in a joyful hug, “It’s about time! We’ve been waiting forever for you to finally marry this woman doctor! You better not take this long to have babies either!”

Greyson panics immediately and takes Yvonne off me with a nervous chuckle and a very embarrassed Dr. Zayne. Zayne downs his champagne flute in record time to ease his nerves and I can’t help but laugh at this whole scenario.

“Thank you Yvonne, we’re very excited for the future,” I turn to my shy fiance, “Right dear?”

“Yes. I know this was a long time coming, but I wanted to ensure the timing was right for both of us,” he pauses his speech with a sweet smile, “I am very happy to have my team’s support to my future wife. Thank you guys.”

After he says this, a group of doctors squee with excited and we all clink our glasses and toast to the future Dr. Zayne and I have ahead of us.

The flute of champagne was the first drink for both me and Zayne, but the team ensured it was not the last. I immediately had an espresso martini shoved in my hand and Zayne had some cranberry cocktail that tasted delicious. He forced me to swap with him since he hated me drinking too much coffee due to my ‘heart condition.’ I did call him a party pooper, but sipped my cranberry concoction with delight.

Time seemed to drift away from me as the warm buzz of alcohol took over my system. While Zayne never once let go of my hand or waist, I knew he was drunk based off his grip on my person. He held his composure well, but I spotted the subtle signs of intoxication.

I think I should write Greyson a personal thank-you note, as he had poured the shot that had sent my poor doctor over the edge. As soon as the tequila shot hit light-weight doctor Zayne’s system, that man had his head in the crook of my neck.

I rubbed my hand up and down his back, “You alright baby?”

“Mmmm,” he purred right in my ear, “You feel so warm…”

“So do you,” I brush my hand through his dark hair.

“Maybe I’m stealing your warmth.”

“Oh? So you’re a thief now huh? What a divergence in career paths Doctor.”

He chuckles and the vibrations from his voice rumble on my body, “Guilty as charged when it comes to you.”

Suddenly our flirty drunk moment is interupted by the nice apprentance that greeted us when we walked in, “Misses, Dr. Zayne! You guys should really do karaoke, Yvonne said you’re naturals at it!”

A flushed Zayne detached himself from my neck and stood tall in front of his underling and nodded his head, “Yeah, we are. Let’s show them darling,” he grabs my hand and pulls me on stage.

Drunk Zayne was very confident. In truth, I’ve never heard my fiance sing, he’s hummed ‘Mary had a little lamb’ once or twice in private moments, but we’ve never done karaoke together.

Suddenly the jazz swing tune of ‘Baby it’s cold outside’ starts as we’re both handed microphones. I haven’t even begun to sing, but all the Akso hospital staff is clapping and cheering as us newly engaged lovers take the stage to sing this christmas classic.

I start the song off with a gentle, “I really can’t stayy.”

And my jaw goes slack as Zayne’s deep velvety voice sings, “But baby it’s cold outside.”

He sounded like a natural jazz singer and it caused me to laugh a bit as I sang out my next line of, “I gotta go wayy.”

Zayne really got into his role as he grabbed my hands and rubbed the back of them while singing, “I’lll hold your hands they’re just like icee.”

As I sing I pretend to try and be leaving and he keeps pulling me into him to match the lyrics of the song. I honestly cannot tell if I sound amazing or terrible as my heart starts to race when he sang “Your eyes are like starlight now…” with his hazel drunken eyes boring into me as he holds my waist.

Our voices merge together as we sing the chorus, “Baby it’s colddd outsiidde.”

“You’re very pushy you know?” I say playfully reading off the dialogue within the song.

“I like to think of it as opertinustic,” Zayne delivers sarcastically with a flirtatious laugh.

The crowd in front of us feels like they’ve disappeared as me and Zayne continue to sing through this playful and flirtatious Christmas song. He begins to twirl me around as I sing out, “But maybe just a cigarette more.”

We finish the song with laughter as Zayne dips me low and lifts me up with a huge smile, he kisses me chastly, but we’re interrupted by the Akso hospital staff whistling and cheering.

“Thats our boss!”

“Go Dr. Zayne!”

“Wow I didn’t know he could sing like that.”

I then flush red and exit the stage with Zayne in hand and we’re met with the staff congratulating us once again. Someone hands Zayne another drink, but I snatch it away, “I’m cutting you off Dr. Jazz singer.”

“Are you impressed?”

“Beyond! I wish I knew sooner how well you sing, we could’ve been dominating the karaoke bars.”

“Let’s go on our next off day then,” he kiss my cheek.

“I’ll hold you to that, husband .”

His eyes widen and he takes a step back, “Finally, you’re using the word I’ve been dying to hear since we’ve been engaged.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, “I’ll be sure to use it more often, husband .”

Zayne places both hands around my lower body and says, “Maybe we should head out of here early, wife.”

I laugh and swat at his chest with a tease, “But, baby it’s cold outside.”

Needless to say, this was one of the most memorable Akso Hospital Christmas parties for us as a couple. And apparently for them as a staff as videos of me and Zayne singing would continue to float around for many Christmas’s to come.

~fin~

[noonaishere]

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - one hundred and two | time off

The shooting for Songbird was on hiatus for the next two weeks, and so its actors were trying to fill the time with other things. Jongho and Satbyeol had both visited you the first day of their hiatus to talk about their albums, neither knowing the other was going to be there, and arguing about who would get to monopolize you first. Yunho arrived about 20 minutes into a stare-off between the two, in which the tension in the room was palpable and you could not, for the life of you, understand why. He talked both of them down and the two of you convinced them to email Hongjoong for individual meetings with Crom3r. That finally got them to leave.

Yunho offered his services in keeping his coworkers at bay, by hanging out in the studio while you worked. You felt you could deal with either of them if they showed up again, but it was nice to return to form: you working on music while Yunho went over a script. He would, eventually, have to record another song for his character because of rewrites, but the lyrics had to wait until the rewrites were done. In the meantime, you and the rest of Crom3r produced the instrumentals, and waited.

A few days later the rewrites were finished and the lyrics came to the studio via one of the writers. Yunho arrived soon after and you got to recording his part.

His recording was quick, and afterwards he stuck around and talked with Hongjoong and Maddox about the show and his character. 

Your phone vibrated. You looked at the number, surprised to even see it grace the screen: it was your brother. You excused yourself from the room and went out into the hall. You sighed and answered.

“Hello?”

“T/n, thank god you picked up.”

“Hey, Intak. Why’d you call?”

“Dad’s in the hospital.”

The words hung there for a moment as you tried to figure out what they even meant. Hospital? Dad? He’s there?

“What?”

“He had a heart attack last night.”

“What? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I… you didn’t get a call from mom last night?”

“You know mom would never call me. You’re the kid who did what they wanted you to do, I’m the failure.”

“T/n you’re not--”

“I don’t think that, but I know mom does.”

He sighed. “He’s awake and doing well right now. He has to have a bypass soon; you should come visit him.”

You thought.

“T/n?”

“Are you sure my being there would really help anything?”

He sighed. “You are his child. I think you should be here.”

“You think so, but do he and mom think so?”

“Listen, he’s our dad and you should be here. I’ll talk to mom okay?”

You sighed. “So should I show up anyway?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to them about it before they get here.”

“But what if they say no by the time I get there? I’m not going all the way out there just to come back.”

“You can stay at my place.”

“You live right near them.”

“I got a new place, on the other side of town.”

That was weird, you thought he loved living next to them. You thought for a moment.

“And we can see each other and at least… catch up? Haven’t you put me off long enough?”

You sighed. “Yeah, fine.”

“Okay. Find a way out here and I’ll handle the rest.”

“Alright.”

“Can you come out tonight? I think dad would appreciate that more.”

“Shit. I need to talk to my boss and I’ll text you.”

“Okay, let me know.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You hung up the phone and sighed. You were concerned but also, maybe not? There was so much bad blood between you and your family that any other emotion could only be stained by the anger and resentment that colored your childhood and teen years. You weren’t really sure how you felt.

You walked back into the studio. Yunho said something and Hongjoong and Maddox laughed at it. It was all so normal. You held your phone in one hand and the other just hung by your side as you stood still for a few moments, deciding how to say what you needed to say.

“Hongjoong?”

He turned to look at you. “Yeah?” 

“How does ‘time off’ work?”

“Why? Are you planning a vacation?”

“My dad had a heart attack last night and my brother wants me to go see him.”

Hongjoong, Yunho, and Maddox all shared the same expression: mouths opening and their eyebrows ticking up in surprise.

Yunho stood. “Are you okay?” 

“Are you sure you want to go see them?” Maddox asked.

“Let me pull up the PDF about sick leave and time off,” Hongjoong said as he turned back to his computer screen.

You held your hands up to Maddox and Yunho. “Yes, I’m okay. Yes, I’m sure I want to see them. Thank you both for asking.”

You pulled a chair over and sat as Hongjoong looked up the regulations. Yunho pulled his chair over to your other side and sat next to you.

“Do you know how much time off you have?”

“Oh-- I used a bit because of Doyun but I hadn’t even checked since we’ve been so busy lately. I’ll sign in.”

As you pulled your phone back out of your pocket and went to the website for timesheets and payment, you could feel Yunho’s eyes on you. “Yunho,” you said, turning to him.

His eyes explored your face, perhaps looking for the tiniest bit of sadness or despair or anything, so he could spring into action and help you.

“I’m fine.”

He nodded slowly.

You put your hand on his for a moment and tried to reassure him with a smile before going back to what you were doing.

“Umm, I have… a few days of vacation time.”

Hongjoong nodded. “I have a ton that I never use, I think I can give you some days if you need them.”

“I don’t think it’ll take more than a week to visit them.”

“I can give you days too.” Maddox added.

You shook your head. “I don’t think I need all that.”

“But what if you get there and they want you to stick around longer?” Yunho asked.

You looked at him, unimpressed.

“What if your brother wants you to stay longer?”

You sighed as you thought. The fact that Intak was the only member of your family that actually tried to contact over the years you meant that he at least didn’t want you out of his life. He’d even nagged you about not calling more often... You looked at Yunho.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“You don’t need to go with me.”

“How are you getting there?”

“I… I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“What if I drive you there?”

“What? Aren’t you shooting soon?”

He shook his head. “We don’t go back for a week.”

“Don’t you have promotions or something, then?”

“We start shooting again in a week and promotions start again when we’re done.”

You sighed. 

“Let me drive you back. We can see my parents, they’ll be happy to see you again.”

You nodded. Yunho’s mom was like the mom you always wanted, you really wouldn’t mind seeing her again. “Yeah, okay.”

He put his hand on yours reassuringly.

“I know that you said you don’t want them, t/n, but please let Maddox and I give you a week each. It’s the least we can do.” Hongjoong said.

“But I don’t need almost three weeks of vacation,” you laughed.

“Consider it a present.” Maddox smiled. “If seeing your family is that bad, you can take a vacation afterwards.”

You exhaled a laugh. “Yeah, okay… Can I leave now? My brother wanted to know if I’d be able to make it there for tonight.”

“Yeah, we’re done with what we were doing. If the two of you want to go, you can.”

Yunho nodded and looked at you. You stood and put everything in your backpack. Yunho got his coat and then took the backpack from you eliciting a small protest that you let die when he smiled at you.

You turned back to Hongjoong and Maddox. “I guess we’ll see you in a few days, then.” 

“I hope your dad is okay,” Hongjoong said.

Maddox pointed at him. “What he said. I hope he’s okay too.”

You nodded again. “Yeah.”

Yunho opened the door for you and the two of you left.

  previous | main cast | masterlist | next

a/n: Well that was unexpected. I guess she’s going to see her family after about a decade. Fingers crossed 🤞

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🎵 Any comments, reblogs, or asks are appreciated! I love talking with you guys and seeing what you’re saying about the chapters, it keeps me going 🥰

@luvvvx • @iamthehotdemon • @hrts4hanniehae • @rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy • @anythingrelatingtojinyoung​ • @jaytheatiny​ •

[redrose10]

Hi, Since there are few stories about Hoseok, I would like to request #5, #21, #46. I'm curious to see what kind of story you can came up with Thanks.

This is the last request I have. Thank you everyone that sent one. I really like working on shorter stories like this. They keep my mind busy without stressing me out.

I’m sorry this one took so long. This was a good one that really stumped me. I hope this is okay!

#5 Why are you helping me?

#21 Sometimes being a complete nerd comes in handy

#46 What happens if I do this?

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I’m pretty sure recalling an email is fairly simple but for the sake of this let’s just pretend it isn’t

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The headline read, ‘Ruthless CEO, Y/N, making a name for themselves regardless of who they tear down.’ You knew it was meant to be negative or even hurtful but you saw it as motivation because they technically weren’t wrong and you would ruin whomever or whatever you had in order to benefit your company.

Amongst your team you were known for your cold demeanor, harsh words, and demanding temper. Unfortunately your assistant, Hoseok, took the brunt of that.

“Good morning Y/N, I emailed you your schedule for today. You’ll get reminders 15 minute before each of your meetings. I cancelled your lunch with Kim Namjoon just like you asked. I also dropped off your dry cleaning and will pick it up tomorrow morning. You also have a dinner party tomorrow night with Kim Seokjin”, he said before placing your usual cup of coffee down in front of you.

You took a sip before spitting out the hot liquid, “What the hell is this? This tastes like caramel. You know I hate caramel.”

“Oh I am so sorry Miss. I must’ve grabbed the wrong cup by mistake. I’ll get a new one here right away.”, he said frantically opening the app to order a new cup to be delivered.

“Just forget it. I’ll do without a coffee for today. Just get me something from the vending machine. If you can handle that.”, you glared at him.

Apologetically he backed out of the room to make a beeline for the vending machine area.

“Rough day.”, his coworker Yoongi asked walking up next to him who just nodded as he looked through the drink options.

“I don’t know why you still work here Hobi. You’re way to nice to put up with someone like that.”, Yoongi said.

“I don’t know. The pay is good.”, he chuckled, “Plus I’m kind of used to it by now. I don’t think I’d know how to work for someone who wasn’t yelling at me. And she means well. I know she just wants what’s best.” Yoongi shook his head but accepted that answer and returned to his desk.

A couple minutes later Hoseok returned to give you an iced tea from the vending machine only to find you panicking and frantically clicking away at your computer screen while mumbling about how your life was over.

“Y/N what’s wrong?”, he asked setting the drink down next to you.

“I’m such an idiot.”, you groaned, “I got this stupid email from the head of our biggest competitor about meeting for dinner and I typed up a snarky response in anger calling him a dumb stupid smelly pimple on an alligator’s butt and I was supposed to delete it but I sent it by accident. This is going to look so bad and bring so much negative press when he reads that. He’ll surely go to the media.”

You slammed your head down on the desk feeling defeated.

Hoseok chuckled before he cleared his throat, “I can help you.”

Your head snapped back up, “What?”

He smiled, “Sometimes being a complete nerd comes in handy. I can delete the email from his system like it never happened.”

He asked for permission to use your computer and after you approved he began typing away.

As you watched him work diligently to save you, you realized how horrible you had been to him over the years and yet he still didn’t hesitate to help you.

“Hoseok, Why are you helping me?”, you whispered feeling very small and apologetic.

While still working his lips curled into a smile, “I like to help others. I know that you don’t mean to come off so aggressive and you only do it because you want to be as successful as possible. Aaannnddd I don’t think I’ll get paid nearly as much elsewhere if this company were to go under because you called someone a pimple on an alligator’s butt.”

You sat back and chuckled as you watched him continue to type away.

He stood away to research something on his phone real quick which when you moved the mouse to a bright red colored box, “What happens if I do this?”

“Uhhh the computer will explode.”

Really?!”, you asked with wide eyes.

“No, it’ll just cancel out everything I just did so please don’t press it.”

A couple minutes later and he stood back proud of himself, “There! The email is deleted like nothing ever happened. Even if he managed to read it already there is no proof anywhere that it ever existed.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!”, you exclaimed wrapping your arms around him into a tight hug.

He cleared his throat making you back away instantly and smooth out your dress, “Thank you again Hoseok. How can I repay you? Maybe I can get a bonus thrown your way or something.”

He shook his head, “Firstly you can stop calling me Hoseok and call me Hobi.”

You nodded, “Okay, done.”

“And let me take you out for dinner.”, he said with a smile.

“Are you asking me on a date?”, you questioned feeling your cheeks heat up.

“We can decide what to call it when we see how we feel afterwards.”, he shrugged before walking into the hallway making you even more intrigued by your nerdy life saving assistant Hobi.

[americanphysco]

I decided to try my hand at posting some original fiction (that I may be tweaking and submitting to a local lit mag in the spring) if any of you are interested in reading it!

-

Namesake (2313 words)

Summary: 21 year-old Jesse is forced to ask his boss for a favor, a lift to work, after his car breaks down for the utmost time. They discuss potential baby names despite the awkward tension, culminating in a suggestion that hits a little too close to home for Jesse.

Notes: This is an original work exploring a transgender character's evolving relationship with his deadname, the family history behind it, and what it means to pass that name on to someone new. Mild content warnings for mentions of weed and mentions of transphobia.

Here is the story itself for those of you who prefer not to read on AO3.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Of course, on today of all days, when I had already woken up late from my afternoon nap, did my car battery have to give out. It’s the second time this month that I’ve needed to jump my car, but the $150 price tag made it a choice between groceries and a new battery, so that purchase will have to wait.

Usually I’ll ask my neighbor to help me out here. Mr. Davids is a Navy vet with an iron scowl and a heart of gold, and he’s always willing to lend his car for some juice or the occasional ride. He says I remind him of his son but, seeing as his son doesn’t come around much, I can’t tell if it’s a compliment.

Today Mr. Davids is at the senior hall for bingo night. He says it’s gonna be a hell of a tournament, and that there’s even an Applebee’s gift card on the line.

Besides him, I don’t know who to call. Most of my friends are away at colleges along the coast, the big artsy kinds of schools I could never afford, and the ones that are local have already left for their night jobs so they too could make ends meet. And my other neighbors are much less kind than Mr. Davids. Shit.

I unlock my phone and scroll through my contacts list. It’s mostly people I went to high school with, some old coworkers, a few college lab partners from projects I don’t remember doing, and - oh; There’s Craig.

Craig’s father, an angry businessman with a combover and a slew of ill-fitting suits, owns Flights, but he only ever handles the back end side of things. It’s Craig who really manages the bar, drafting up our weekly schedules and navigating customer complaints. He’s a nice enough guy, albeit a little awkward, and I know for a fact he drives through my neighborhood on his way to work each evening. Besides, the worst thing he can do is say “No”, right?

I select the contact and hit dial. He picks up after two rings.

“Hey, Jesse. Everything alright?” His voice is muffled and I can hear the faint whooshing of the wind against his car.

“Actually, no, it isn’t.” I take a deep breath, feeling my lungs struggle to inflate against the steady pushing of the binder on my chest. I can hear Craig lower the radio’s volume through the receiver. “Listen, I’m really sorry to ask and I know I’ve had a habit of coming in late these last few weeks but my car isn’t starting and I need a ride to work.”

A few moments pass where I’m alone with the muffled sound of the wind. There’s a chance he already drove past my street and was debating the pros and cons of turning around, or, worst case scenario, he was weighing the ethics of firing me over the phone.

I make my way over to the front of the building as I wait, seeking shelter from the falling rain beneath the porch awning. With my back against the building, I can feel the faintest bit of heat seeping through the exterior walls.

“Oh, that’s it?” Craig says, “Sure, I’ll be right there. You still live by the police station?”

Phew. “I do. Thank you so much Craig. I really owe you.”

He says a quick “of course” before hanging up the phone. And, true to his word, he comes rounding the corner roughly five minutes later.

His car slows to a stop in front of my apartment building, hazards already on as his tires skim the curb. He rolls down the passenger window, his eyes narrowed into thin slits as he peers between the raindrops, looking for me. I wave to him from where I’d been sitting on the porch, my knees curled underneath the fraying end of my puffer jacket, and I keep my face tucked beneath one arm as I approach his beat-up Prius.

“Thanks again, man.” I say as I slide into the seat. It’s a bit damp from the open window, but at least this car runs. “I promise this won’t happen again.”

Craig waves his hand in dismissal. “It’s no big deal. You’re practically my neighbor.”

He switches off his hazards and pulls back into the road. The radio is still playing softly, a jazz song I only recognize from his quiet humming as he helps bus tables. His fingers are tapping along the edge of the steering wheel in a pattern of pointer, middle, ring, pointer, middle, ring to match the beat.

I can't tell if the air feels thick from the humidity or the silence between us, either way it forms a hot blanket around my shoulders, pressing in on my throat and weighing down the rest of my body.

“You think it’ll be a busy shift tonight?” Craig asks.

“Maybe,” It's a Tuesday. Of course not. “We had a busy weekend.”

Craig nods. “I hope so. Helps the shift go by faster.” He taps his fingers a bit faster now, breaking the rhythm of the music. I can see his brows furrow out of the corner of my eye, lips pursed together tightly.

Craig’s father stopped by the bar a few nights ago wearing a deeper frown than usual. He’d pulled Craig into the backroom without sparing a single “hello” for any of the other employees, his knuckles streaked white around Craig’s wrist. I could only make out bits and pieces of their conversation through the heavy office door, muffled mentions of declining profits and real estate agents. Flights hasn't been doing well for a while now, and Craig’s phone calls with his dad have only gotten longer and longer with each passing week. It was only a matter of time before the property got sold to make way for something more profitable anyway, even if Craig liked to pretend that wasn't the case.

I can appreciate his commitment to the delusion, at least.

“Jesse,” Craig starts. The tail of his voice is lilted, as if my name were a question. “You know how Tina and I have that baby coming?”

“I do.” She's either six or eight months along; I can't remember which.

“Well, we've been picking out names and I wanted your opinion on one of them.”

It isn't the first time Craig’s run names by me. Sometimes, during our slowest nights when the bartenders have all pulled out their phones prematurely, he’ll ask a group of us to pick between some. James, Jack, Henry, Brian if it's a boy. Claire, Penelope, Gracie, or Jane if it's a girl. Usually he’ll jot down our responses, a collection of quick tally marks in the corner of his notepad. He never seems all that convinced, though.

“So,” he continues, “we’re going to be having a little girl.” I overheard him mentioning this to our senior server earlier in the week, but I congratulate him as if it’s my first time.

His fingers lose the rhythm of the music, instead tapping along to their own nervous pattern. If he weren't driving, Craig would be picking at the skin around his nails, a habit he's formed whenever gearing up for a conversation he’d been avoiding.

“We were thinking Juliet, but I don't know,” he says.

“Juliet?” The last time I heard that name it was being spit at me from across my family dinner table, the word cutting between my tearful attempts at explanation, my choked out promises that my mother hasn't lost her daughter. She was cycling through half-true memories of Barbie dream houses and braided hair, a mantra of Juliet, Juliet, Juliet woven throughout them. She repeated the name like a plea, as if saying it enough times made it reality.

The way Craig says “Juliet” is much softer. The name sounds nothing like a threat on his tongue.

Craig frowns. “You don't like it, do you? It was my mom’s suggestion. She wanted to name me Juliet if I was born a girl.”

“No, no. It’s not that. I just, I knew a Juliet once.”

“Oh.” Craig's frantic tapping resumes.

The night before my sixteenth birthday I caught some kind of stomach bug that had me in a cycle of waking up at odd hours to dry heave over the toilet in hopes of eventually throwing up. After my third or fourth round of almost vomiting I found my mom sitting alone in the living room, the table side lamp lit up beside her, with a sudoku puzzle sprawled across her lap. Only two numbers were filled out, and she was fiddling with our small radio, searching for a decent station through the waves of static.

“Juliet,” She didn't look up from the radio as she spoke, and her voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it made me stop and listen regardless.

“Have I ever told you about your great-grandmother?” she asked, finally settling on 101.7, a local station that plays classical music anytime past 11pm.

She had, if only in passing. I knew that her name was Juliet. I knew that she collected and repaired broken clocks. I knew that she was the kind of woman who only ever said “I love you” to relatives on their deathbeds. Despite this, I shook my head “no” and watched as my mother pat the empty space on the couch beside her. I sat.

My mother pointed to the cuckoo clock across from us, which sat proudly atop our large box TV. The clock was stuck on 2:33am, and had been for as long as I could remember. My parents always shushed me whenever I asked why they hadn't taken it down.

“My grandma made that clock,” she said, “It was a baby shower gift.”

She placed the sudoku puzzle on the arm of the couch and turned to face me completely.

“It’s funny, actually, she never showed up to my baby shower. She gave it to my mom to give to me instead. She didn't even leave a card.” She dragged her finger through the air, tracing along the side of the clock from a distance. “She carved J. N. in the side of it somewhere. Your father thinks that’s where I got your name.”

My mother called me about a month ago, on the morning of my birthday. She brought up her grandma again, if only to tell me how much it’d kill her to see me throw away her name so easily. She wished me a happy birthday, asked how school was, and told me she missed me. I listened to the voicemail three times before deleting it.

“What was she like?”

I look up from where my gaze had settled on the dash in front of me, my eyes briefly meeting Craig’s as he juggles his focus between me and the road. “What?”

“What was she like? The Juliet you knew.” He pauses. “Was she a good person?”

My first instinct is to laugh. It’s stifled laughter, but laughter nonetheless, and the way Craig’s brow furrows at the sound makes me feel guilty.

“Sorry, sorry. I don't know why I did that.”

If you asked my mother whether or not Juliet was a good person, she’d wax poetic about the promising young woman I was before I decided to shave my head and skip class to smoke weed. Back when I would let her wrangle me into puffy church dresses and force smiles for family photos. She likes to pretend all those times I asked for Star Wars action figures and tried on my father’s ties didn't exist, as if I completely blindsided her by wearing a tux to my freshman homecoming dance.

But Craig wasn't asking her. He was asking me. And the Juliet I knew was the not same one my mother knew. My Juliet would draw all her holiday cards by hand, painstakingly picking colors to match the message inside. She would sock playground bullies in the jaw, and would keep trying to bake cookies even after burning her first few batches, and would apply to IVY League schools even if she didn't think she could get in them. The Juliet I knew watched with pride as I signed the name change paperwork at my local DMV.

“Yeah,” I say, “she was a good person.”

I can see Craig still fighting back his frown in my peripheral vision.

I continue, “I think Juliet is a beautiful name. And I think your daughter is gonna wear it well.”

Finally, his frown dissolves into relief.

“You really think so?”

“I do. And I'm not a very good liar, even if I didn't.”

Our laughter dies as Craig pulls into the lot, choosing a spot between a pickup truck and an island of brown grass and cigarette butts.

“Thank you, Jesse.” He claps me on the shoulder before either of us can leave the car. “You’re a good friend.”

“Don’t mention it. I owed you for the ride anyways.”

Craig pulls out his phone as he closes the door behind him, opening his list of baby names and drawing a red circle around “Juliet”.

Later that night, after counting the soggy wad of tips I’d stuffed into the pocket of my apron, I type my mother’s name into Facebook’s search bar. Sure enough, three accounts down, is her, her profile picture a grainy image of her and I posing in front of our lopsided Christmas tree about fifteen years ago. The picture is too small to tell here, but I’d walked past the larger, framed version enough times to know that I’m missing two teeth in it and that my mother is holding a broken ornament behind her back, slightly visible in the space between us.

I take a screenshot of the picture and block her account.

[adidastain]

i’ll have what she’s having

90s trey parker (office!au) x fem!reader

warnings: none

notes: first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.)

word count: 3424

—

“When are you gonna let me take you out to dinner?” my coworker asked me, waiting for me to finish filling my water bottle at the cooler.

“When you get your sales up, Parker,” I said, tilting my head. I tapped the knot of his necktie as I turned around to face him. Trey looked down at me, smirking. “I can’t be seen in public with a poor salesman.” 

“Says the temp,” He retorted, hurriedly pouring water into a tiny paper cup as I started walking back to my desk. Trey followed me through the kitchen to my cubicle, which was on the opposite side of the office to his. 

“Not for much longer if you don’t get those numbers up,” I grinned sweetly, leaning against my desk. Trey stood in front of me, also leaning to the side. I batted my eyelashes at him. “Keep wasting time like this and we’ll end up switching seats.”

I sat down, tidying up a stack of papers. I reached for the handset, until Trey placed his hand on mine to stop me from picking up the phone. 

“And if I get my sales up?” he proposed. 

I laughed at him as if to say, “like that could ever happen.” I tsked, shaking my head. 

“You’ll let me take you out, right?” he continued. 

I looked up at him, staring into his bright, blue eyes. I had to admit, he was quite handsome. He was funny too; he’d always do the best impressions of our other coworkers with dumb voices. I usually brought in coffee for our boss, then Trey asked me to start bringing him some, and now he’s the one who brings me coffee. 

“If you can make 20 sales before 5 o’clock, you can take me out tonight, yes. That’s an hour,” I told him, rolling my eyes slightly. “Others might consider those rookie numbers, so hop to it.”

I patted his shoulder, watching him walk away with a smile on my face. I felt my cheeks turn red. I knew it would be a challenge for him, since he always got distracted. Part of me was really rooting for him, though. The only reason I ever said no to him was to see how far he was willing to go to get me to go out with him. It was slightly cruel, I’ll admit it. But he was very determined. 

I didn’t see him for the rest of the day, and for once I was able to get a little more work done than usual. I was in my boss’ office when 5 PM rolled around. She and I had been discussing an opportunity for a permanent position at the office, since I was just a temp. However, she seemed to think that I’d make a good fit, so I was excited to be able to finally secure a job that didn’t last less than a month. 

Once I got out of her office, it was 5:02, and Trey was still on the phone. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with concern and anticipation. I could see his leg bouncing underneath the desk. I leaned against the wood, examining all of the papers sprawled across his desk, all covered in his messy handwriting. 

“I- Okay. Yes. We’ll talk tomorrow. Definitely. Thanks. Bye-bye,” Trey said, before hanging up the phone. He leaned forward, exhaling heavily with his face in his hands. 

“Three minutes overtime,” I said, tapping my index finger on his desk. 

“I only made 17,” he huffed, leaning back. Trey looked at me with probably the saddest pair of defeated eyes I’d ever seen. I honestly felt kinda bad for him; I bet he’d worked harder in that last hour than he ever had before. 

“Aww,” I said, tilting my head. “Better luck next time, kiddo.”

I reached down to rub his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt had that nice, soft texture that you only got from real expensive dress shirts. My hand lingered there for a few seconds; longer than I intended to. 

“Wanna go get some drinks?” I asked, leaning down to meet his eye level. 

His head snapped up to look at me. His whole face lit up, eyes wide and all. “What?” he choked out. 

“You heard me,” I laughed, crossing my arms. I bit my lip, watching him grin from ear to ear. 

“I guess so,” he shrugged, sighing. I rolled my eyes, standing up to put my baggy black sweater on over my blouse. I started walking towards the exit, watching Trey scramble to get all of his stuff together and catch up to me. Soon we were in the parking lot, playfully arguing about where we were headed. 

“I could do with a nice shake, I think,” I stated, following Trey to his little beat-up car. 

“There’s a diner by the mall,” he said. Two minutes ago, he was insisting we go to a pub up the street. He was such a simple creature. He just wanted to please me. 

“That is a nasty drive from my place,” I grimaced. 

“Mine too,” he shrugged, leaning against the door of his car with his hands in his pockets. “Their shakes are worth it though, trust me.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know if I should trust you,” I said, squinting at him. “You couldn’t even make 20 sales for me today.” 

Trey rolled his eyes. “Yet you’re going out with me,” he shot back, raising his eyebrows. 

I tried to smother the grin on my face. I shrugged. 

“Consider yourself lucky, Parker,” I said innocently. “I’m not an easy catch.”

“Obviously,” he grumbled, smiling. He reached up to scratch his jaw, allowing me a brief moment to examine his hand. He had a short, wide palm with long, dainty fingers and rough cuticles. It looked like he picked at them. 

“I’ll follow you. See you in a few,” I said, smiling. I started walking towards my car, turning around for a moment to yell at him. “And don’t speed!”

“I can’t help it, Y/N! My feet are made of lead!,” he shouted, defending himself. 

I giggled, getting into my car. I turned the ignition, letting the car warm up for a moment while I checked myself in the mirror. My lips were chapped and my hair had gotten a little messy throughout the day. I was honestly too exhausted to give a shit, so I just let it down. 

The drive was long. It was the middle of rush hour, so Trey and I ended up getting stuck in a traffic jam. We ended up side by side a number of times, challenging each other in our own lanes which were going two different speeds. Eventually, after almost 40 minutes, we made it, parking right next to each other. I put some chapstick on and took my blouse off, leaving my sweater on so that I was more comfortable. Trey was still in his work clothes; light blue shirt with rolled up sleeves, black tie, navy blue pants, brown belt and dark brown shoes. He wasn’t very coordinated. 

“You drive like a senior citizen,” he said, grinning at me as I walked up to his side. 

“You drive like a wanted criminal,” I shot back, turning around so I was walking backwards and facing him as he held the door open for me. 

The dinner smelled like cake and coffee. It was slightly overwhelming, but not so much that I wouldn’t get used to it. The hostess led us to a small booth next to the window, giving us a quite lovely view of the highway outside. The sun had begun to set, so the sky was painted with the most gorgeous golden-orange you could get in Long Beach. 

“I think I actually greatly prefer this over a bar,” Trey hummed, his eyes skimming over the menu while his hands rested in his lap. 

I laughed softly, looking away from him. I took a sip from the iced water that the server brought to us not long after we sat down, the cold sending a shiver down my spine.

“Now that we’re finally here,” I huffed. “Why were you so desperate to take me out?”

Trey looked up, caught off guard. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head. 

“I enjoy your company,” he said softly. “And I’m attracted to you.”

“‘Cause I’m the funniest, coolest, sexiest girl you’ve ever met?” I teased him. 

“Yup,” he grinned, biting his lip as the server came back over to our table. 

I ordered a plain vanilla milkshake with no cherry and extra whipped cream, and Trey ordered the exact same thing. He really was so simple. I made fun of him for it. 

“So what don’t I know about you?” Trey asked me, leaning over the table with his arms crossed. 

“Not much, I imagine. You spend 3 out of 8 hours hanging around by my desk, so I can only assume you know me inside and out,” I stated, furrowing my eyebrows. “But I guess… you probably don’t know that I play guitar.”

“I did… not know that,” he said, raising his eyebrows. Trey leaned back, a soft smile on his face as we both spoke. He looked suspiciously satisfied, as if this was all going according to some massive plan of his. I decided to challenge his gaze with my own, equally mischievous one. I then realized that he was probably just admiring me. 

“Come to think of it, what do you know about me?” I asked, resting my head in my palm. I snuck a glance at his neck, which had a healthy amount of stubble on it that spread up to his face as well. A day or two post-shave, maybe? Regardless, it looked good on him. He also had a lot of freckles and beauty marks all over his face and neck. Part of me wanted to spend time counting all of them. 

“I know that you like pickles, but only by themselves. Same for black olives. Oh, and you can’t seem to sit normally in any capacity. You challenge the ergonomic designs of modern chairs and refuse to conform to corporate standards,” he listed, mocking me in the last bit of his sentence. I couldn’t help but laugh. “You hate mussels but somehow love asparagus. Beavers are your favorite animal. Um… I also know that you always have your hair up, ‘cause I’m a little bit stunned right now by the fact that it’s down.”

He laughed sheepishly with those last few words. I blushed. I forgot I let my hair down. It was wavy and unruly; I usually hated having it down, but it was starting to make my headache worse throughout the day, so I just wanted to feel more comfortable. 

“It’s pretty,” he mumbled, swallowing. Trey seemed so nervous, delivering such a simple compliment. Simple, yet I too found myself made somewhat shy from his words. I guess I was just used to him being so unserious all the time. “You should wear it down more often.”

I laughed, rolling my eyes. The server came over with our shakes. The tall glasses were very elegant and very heavy. The straws were made of paper. I cringed, pulling mine out of the glass and opting for a spoon instead. 

Trey looked at me like he was watching an ape pick its nose. 

“I now know that you drink milkshakes with a spoon,” he teased me, his cheeks caving in as he attempted to suck his shake through the straw. 

“At least spoons don’t dissolve,” I said, mocking him. Trey just kept laughing at me. 

We spent a few moments in awkward silence, just enjoying our shakes. I tried to think of something to fill the quiet gap in the conversation, but I couldn’t come up with anything witty or funny, and it didn’t feel appropriate to give him a compliment. 

Eventually, Trey spoke up, bringing up the last topic I would have ever wanted to discuss on a date. Work. 

“Did Michelle clear you for a permanent position yet?” He asked me. 

I sighed slightly, trying not to let it show. 

“We’ve been talking about it. She’s just not sure where she’s gonna put me yet, but I still have like, two weeks, so… I’m not too worried,” I explained, avoiding his eyes. 

“Maybe we’ll be desk neighbors,” he said, grinning. 

“Ack,” I gagged, teasing him. To be completely honest, that didn’t sound too bad. Granted, he would probably get even less work done if he were always right next to me. He’d be too busy showing off, and I’d be so distracted that I wouldn’t get any work done either. 

“Hey, c’mon,” he laughed. “You know I’m your best friend in the office.”

“Yeah. My ‘friend,’” I repeated, doing air quotes with my fingers. 

“What, you don’t like me?” he pouted. 

“We’re on a date, Trey. Of course I don’t like you,” I said. I was being sarcastic, but I held no sarcastic tone in my words. He had to have realized that I was joking… right?

Trey’s eyes shot wide open, his lips curling into a smirk as his cheeks turned red. “So we’re dating?” he said, dragging out the last word as if he were a teenage girl. He grinned, taking another strangled sip of his milkshake. 

I shrugged, sticking the end of my spoon all the way in my mouth so I could lick it clean. 

Trey leaned back, a small smile on his face as he stared at his lap. I watched him pull himself together, biting my own lip. Seeing him happy and giddy made me feel happy and giddy too. 

After about an hour, we finished our shakes, and just sat in our little booth, talking. I learned that he had a cat named Jake and that he studied film in college, and even directed a few until he ran out of money and had to get a more permanent job. He explained that since he started working at the company, he didn’t have much time at all to do anything film related. I felt bad; I could see the way his eyes lit up when he was talking about working in film.

“You should show me what you’ve made sometime,” I said, playing with the little bit of ice cream left in the bottom of my glass. A majority of the other customers had left, leaving the diner much quieter than it had been just a few minutes ago. Now it was just me and Trey, some elderly women in the corner, and a group of teenagers on the other side of the restaurant

“Mmm. Maybe,” he hummed, cringing. 

“What, you don’t like it?” I asked.

“It’s just like, not great,” he laughed. “It’s as good as college films get, I guess. It could be better.”

“I’m sure it’s awesome, Trey. You’re a funny guy,” I said, reaching across the table to brush his fingers with mine. 

Never, since I first met him a month ago, had I ever called him by his first name. I never felt the need to, until now. I guess it just felt right. 

Trey looked absolutely stunned and speechless at the contact, his eyes staring straight into mine. I felt one of his fingers stroke the top of my hand. My stomach fluttered, his touch gentle and soothing. 

I let go of his hand as the server came back over with our check. Trey and I looked at each other, before my hand shot forward to grab the little booklet before he could even blink. 

“No,” he said, grabbing it. 

“Yes,” I grinned, yanking it away from him. He looked at me, pouting. 

“Let’s at least split it,” he pleaded. “Or let me pay you back.”

“Not necessary,” I said, shaking my head. I pulled my card out of my wallet, sticking it in the check and setting it on the edge of the table. “You can just pay for our next date.”

I smiled at him, watching his face turn from defeated to somewhat shocked. I suppose our date went a lot better than he thought it would. 

I really did like him. To be honest, I was completely flustered when he asked me out the first time. I just didn’t want to give in so easily. Plus I had only been working there for a week at the time, so I barely knew him, but after the first time he asked me, we started hanging out more, and he kept asking me out. I could tell he really liked me too. 

I sorted everything out, and once we went outside, we ended up lingering outside of our cars, still talking. The sounds of the highway nearby provided some pleasant atmospheric noise, making it infinitely less awkward than it was inside. 

“Are you free tomorrow?” I asked, my arms crossed over my chest. Trey still had his work clothes on, having taken his necktie off and unbuttoned one or two buttons on his dress shirt so he could breathe. He had a white V-neck T-shirt on underneath, and I was able to see his collarbone and some of his chest hair sticking out of the collar. 

Trey shook his head. “Lakers play tomorrow night. I’m having friends over, if you wanna come. I’m just not going out,” he laughed sheepishly. 

“Hmm… Maybe. Actually, yeah. That sounds cool,” I beamed. I wanted to meet his friends. He told me he met them all in college and from what I heard, they seemed like a lot of fun to be around. I also secretly wanted him to introduce me to his friends and brag about me when I wasn’t looking. 

“Cool,” he grinned. His eyes skimmed up and down my frame, before landing at his feet as he seemed to be at a loss for words. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I said softly, brushing his hand with my fingers. He looked at me, swallowing harshly. His eyes darted all around my face, leaving an extra long glance at my lips. 

“The usual? Green tea?” he asked. His eyelids had dropped, making him look unusually sleepy. He had a dumb smirk on his face. 

“You got it,” I said, clicking my tongue and winking. 

“‘Kay,” he laughed. He turned his body to the side, beginning to walk away from me. “See you.”

“Wait a second,” I said, raising my voice slightly. My words echoed through the dark, empty parking lot, the sound bouncing back to me as my hand grabbed Trey’s forearm. 

He turned back to face me, looking at me patiently. I grabbed his other arm, pulling him closer before standing up on my tiptoes to peck him on the lips. 

Trey leaned into it, until I pulled away, keeping my face close to his. I looked up at him through my eyelashes, staring into his blue eyes as they searched my face for any sign of uncertainty or regret. After a moment, he kissed me again, tenderly to test the waters. His lips felt so soft and warm, laid gently between mine. It was the perfect kiss. 

By the time we pulled away naturally, one of his hands had found its way to the small of my back, laying flat against it and holding my body close to him until I dropped down from my tiptoes. I slid out of his grasp, taking steps backward towards my car, unable to control the grin on my face. 

“Night, Trey,” I said. 

Trey grinned, shaking his head slightly. “Night, Y/N,” he replied, watching as I got back into my car. 

Before closing the door, I leaned forward and yelled, “You better make at least 60 sales tomorrow!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled, unlocking his car. 

And with that, I went home, barely able to think about driving while my mind was so caught up on Trey and I’s kiss. I kept thinking that maybe I made a mistake, since it was only our first date, but it just felt right. Besides, it’s not like we don’t see each other eight hours a day, five days a week. 

Regardless, I was looking forward to going to work the next day for the first time in my entire life. 

I don’t think I’d ever been so excited to watch a basketball game, either.

[rott-heresey]

— Great Pretender

Day one: Coffee Shop AU

Atsushi Nakajima gets flirted with and has no idea he’s being flirted with. This guy (Dazai) seems funny though, maybe he could learn something about his detective work?

Read on Ao3 or simply continue reading here.

It’s an August morning when Atsushi sees the detectives come down to their cafe. Just floors above them a group of individuals with supernatural abilities worked, and from the office room multiple plans had been put into motion and saved lives during crises, he always wondered what they did up there other than the commission based worked the agents would be sent on.

Today originally would have been Atsushi’s day off, but now here he is. One of the men in the group comes over to him particularly, sitting at the counter silently with a smile on his face. Normally, this man was bothering the owner’s wife or one of the waitresses with his god awful pickup lines.

“Hello there.” His voice is graceful, an air of elegance to the way he speaks despite his disheveled look. Atsushi starts when he hears it and almost knocks over a container of coffee beans with his hand.

“Um, right, what would you like to order?” Atsushi asks him nervously. Talking to the customers was never his thing really.

And of course this guy immediately jumps the gun, letting out; “your number” with a grin. This has Atsushi taken aback, reeling in surprise and shock. Lucy who had coincidentally just left the break room dropped her jaw to the floor in a mixture of shock and confusion.

Atsushi tensed, completely unsure of how to react when Lucy completely dodged the question for him, putting down a glass of water infront of the man and giving him a glare. “My god, Don’t make me tell your coworker your harassing the guys now too!”

Atsushi stands stunned as Lucy spends a good five minutes bickering with the man tirelessly, some of his coworkers who had followed him apparently wanting nothing to do with his antics and ignored him.

“Atsushi, don’t listen to his bullshit.” Lucy tells him sternly, pointing her finger in his face “men- hell even women like that aren’t always going to stick around you know!” When she notices Atsushi scribbling done a string of numbers on a paper napkin. She sees his cheeks flushed a slight pink, and the determination on his face. “What the- hey! Listen to me first at least!”

Handing the napkin to the guy across the counter, Atsushi gives her a glance. “I’m listening”

“As if!” Lucy puts her hand down on the counter “you don’t know if he could be trouble or something! What if you end up in a ditch?!”

Followed by Atsushi shaking his head disapprovingly; “you shouldn’t judge someone like that, Lucy”

And Lucy shooting back, “well I am.”

And the man at the center of their conversation, still waiting at the other side of the counter and staring at the written down phone number, surprised someone actually gave him their number, seems to take more interest in this than he did before.

“So, mister…” Atsushi is about to ask, he doesn’t even know the man’s name yet.

“Dazai,” he quickly states “Osamu Dazai.”

“Right well, if you’re free I’d like to get to know you, I think getting out of my apartment for something other than work would be nice.” Atsushi continues to ramble on, ‘his name is Dazai. I’ve got to remember his name.’

Dazai gives him a knowing glance, like he’s been here before and passed these same steps a good few times. In an odd way this reassures Atsushi can’t help but feel like a whole chunk of his life is about to change. Dazai by chance had appeared before him and asked for his phone number, now suddenly he had something else to look forward to during the week.

[captain-mj]

Angels of Digitalism Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The rock star au I promised!!

Soap hadn’t felt this nervous since… highschool? Maybe? Roach had such a bright and sweet smile. After a bit of back and forth, Soap decided to let Roach drive him to the restaurant since he had no clue where it was. He didn’t speed nearly as much as he anticipated

Because Roach was trying to not scare Soap away. He was worried if he sped too much it might spook him. Roach waved at the radio and Soap got the message, immediately playing with the channels until he found a soft rock channel that he liked. 

Then, Soap started talking. 

Maybe Roach was just used to Ghost, where even if he was mute, he was still the more talkative. His other friends, Alex, Rudy and Alé, were cool and he loved talking to them, but they never rambled to him either. They politely waited for him to respond and always took his input in to consideration. He loved that about them. 

But something about Soap’s way of talking was just soothing. Roach had never thought he was one for accents, but something about Soap’s voice was so nice. He loved it. 

So he noticed the moment Soap stopped talking. Roach glanced over to see that Soap had turned red. 

“Just hit me you can’t exactly respond… With your hands on the wheel and all… Sorry for rambling.” 

Roach made a face that Soap clearly took as a scolding. He withered even more under his gaze. 

Who hurt this guy? For fuck’s sake.

Roach grabbed Soap’s hand and kissed his knuckles gently. It was really chaste, more of a way of making Soap understand it was fine. He then motioned for him to continue talking. 

Soap slowly started to talk again, glancing over at Roach to see if he suddenly would look uncomfortable or change his mind. When it was clear he wouldn’t, he stopped checking. 

Roach parked the car and opened the door, immediately shivering. Before he could grab one of the extra jackets he kept in the back seat, Soap had put his jacket around him. He went to explain but felt himself trail off. 

Soap had a muscle tee on. A proper, guns out muscle t-shirt. He had a few tattoos and he was so fit. 

Roach’s mouth watered. He loved a muscular man. 

Soap followed him, apparently immune to the cold. His jacket smelled like the cologne and body wash that he wore. It smelled really, really nice. They walked in together and Roach sat at his usual table. 

The place was… honestly a big dinghy. Nothing special. Only a step up from an applebees on the fact that it wasn’t a chain. Dim lighting that was perfect for Ghost when he took his mask off. 

Roach dug his nails into his thighs and tried to not think of his super hot friend that he had serious tension with and instead focus on the super hot coworker he could have some serious tension with. 

Soap was gorgeous. Soft around the edges in all the right places. And he was so nice. 

Roach listened to Soap as he talked about the progress he made with the art. He showed Roach the plans and explained how he wanted to approach it next. 

After a few minutes, Roach gently reached up and covered his mouth. He then typed out “no more work talk on our date, yeah?” and sent it to Soap. 

Soap choked on his drink. “This is a date??”

Roach paused and shrank down immediately. Oh no… Oh this was bad… 

“I’m on a date with you.” Soap repeated, blushing so bright. He smiled again. “Okay! That’s… yeah!” He sounded so excited that Roach relaxed a bit. “Sorry, I misunderstood but I definitely, definitely want to be on a date with you.” 

Roach smiled at him, though he still felt anxious. 

Soap hummed. “What do you want?”

Roach pointed to the items on the menu and when the waitress came, before he could even prep himself to go through the ordeal of ordering, Soap ordered for both of them. Yes, his friends always ordered for him when they were out, but he wasn’t expecting Soap to do so without him even asking. 

It felt nice. Soap smiled at him and Roach kept his phone out so they could talk more. 

“What got you into music?”

Roach started to type out the same answer he gave everyone before pausing, hesitating. The answer was that he always felt a passion for music and when he met Ghost, they seemed to fall into a band together. That Roach had always been the singer and he always had his voice. The story was cute, had merit, no way to be proven wrong and was so untrue it no longer felt funny. 

In reality, Roach never really cared about music. He listened to it, sure, but it was never an interest. And then he joined the band to be close to Simon and Tommy. Tommy left. Then everything happened. 

Roach lost his voice and had to make a vocaloid.

Ghost started wearing a mask everywhere. 

Suddenly they were successful. People loved them. It was odd after so long of having twenty consistent listeners on spotify.

“You don’t have to answer.”

Roach looked at him and shook his head before typing out something a little closer to the truth. “Simon did. He was the guitarist and I was the drummer.”

Soap smiled at him. “Cool. I’m guessing you guys have been playing for a long time yeah?”

“Years. Since high school.”

Soap got a mischievous look on his face. “Oh? How embarrassing are they?”

Roach laughed, softening a little. “Pretty bad. I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

“Can do.” Soap smiled. “I’ll get them for you. I’m sure I even have some of my old sketches.”

Roach latched on to that. “Anything embarrassing there?”

“Couple of horribly pretentious drawings but that’s about it. Been doing art a long time.” 

“Looks so effortless when you do it. Must’ve taken you forever to get that skill.”

Soap laughed. “Oh yeah. Way too long in my opinion.”

The food came and Roach observed Soap. He ate like he was starving, finishing his food in about half the time it took Roach to finish his. Roach kept sliding bits of his own food over but Soap kept refusing, even though he looked like he’d pounce on it like a hungry cat. 

Roach imagined Soap’s eyes expanding like a cats until it covered his iris and it made him giggle a little. Just the absurdity of it. Maybe some cat ears. 

Why is that attractive? 

Bad train of thoughts. 

Roach did eventually push the rest of his plate over. “I’m done. Don’t want to deal with a to-go box.” He watched Soap wolf down the rest of the food, somehow still finding time in between bites to speak. Roach could appreciate his tenacity. 

Soap hummed and got out his card to pay. He quickly pushed Soap’s hand to his chest and shook his head, taking out the card. 

“You guys have this giant running bit that you guys are poor?? I’m not going to make you pay for my food if you’re broke.” 

Roach shook his head. While it was true they had the reputation, it’s because they spent the majority of what they made on their shows. Also, they weren’t always popular. RIght now, he definitely had money to spend and he wanted to spend it on Soap. 

“On me.” He slid the card to the table and grabbed Soap’s hands, pretending to trace the lines on his palm when really he was just making sure the cheeky asshole wasn’t going to try to put his card there. 

Soap watched him, tensing a little. He looked weirdly excited. 

Roach grabbed his hand and put it to his cheek, leaning in.

With any luck, he’d be over Ghost and under Soap in no time.

[pbandjesse]

I am annoyed that I had a package lost in the mail. I got a refund and rebought the things. And it was supposed to be delivered today at the museum but the post office claims the museum was closed. Which is not true! It was 11:40am!!! I just want my package!! Ugh.

But outside of that I am having a nice day. My back hurts a bit but I am in a good mood and it's been a good Saturday.

I did not sleep great. I had heart burn and leg pain. And I was just up a lot. Including at 7am again. And couldn't fall back asleep. At least I got to see James before they left.

I would be up until the sun was fully up at 9. And fell back asleep until 1030. Thankfully most of my pains had gone away. I got cleaned up and just out soft clothes on. I would get dressed later on for work.

I had breakfast and spent the morning resting. I decided I would get a sandwich for lunch but I was not in a rush. I spent an hour sewing for my quilt. And would start getting dressed and felt pretty good.

Sylvia sits really high under my ribs. But still is absolutely on my right side and it is very comforting to be able to feel her move. I am really nervous about having her be here, but also I'm excited to meet her in a few weeks!

I packed my little bag with activities (tablet to draw) and snacks (yogurt and gummy worms) and headed out.

I'm glad I left when I did because it took almost 45 minutes to get the locust point. It should take 12 minutes. Traffic from construction was horrible. But I wasn't in a rush and I had lots of good music so I was just jamming. A lot of people around me seemed very stressed out but I was fine.

When I would finally get to Jimmy John's I got my sandwich and ate there. I would walk around the grocery store for a bit. I finally found a round brush that I liked! And then I headed to the museum.

I got there around 1:30. I was very happy to see James and a few friends. James was feeling a bit sad and frustrated by low attendance for our $5 day. But more people would come in and things were alright.

We didn't have a ton of idea of what was happening with the event. We didn't know who the catering was. And I was like. It's all good. I'll just go wait in the bay. But they wouldn't end up coming for an hour and a half. So I would bounce from back there, to the desk, and back. I chatted with some guests. I chatted with Jesse. I ate to many gummy worms and made my stomach hurt. But I drank water and tried to just be chill while I waited.

When the catering came they have been great. Super coordinated and barely needed any directions. While they haven't been with us for a while, apparently they have been here for years before for other Hopkins events. Works for me.

And it's been a nice evening. People are just starting to arrive now. I hope to get some food at some point. But I had my yogurt so I'm not starving. It's been fun talking to coworkers about baby. And this is a pediatric event so lots of attention on my baby bump for sure!!

Honestly it's great being round. This is the least self conscious I have probably ever felt about my body. I will miss it for sure I think.

Now though I'm just greeting people and drawing on my tablet. I hope all the resident doctors have a really fun party.

And I hope you all have a great evening. Tomorrow I have my first class of the year with the autism society. And I am just hoping for an excellent day.

Until tomorrow! Goodnight!

[yurislotusgarden]

Circle of complaints

ʚїɞ aka, Welt and Kunikida complaining about having to be unassuming fathers

ʚїɞ Small mentions of reader bcs they're a menace together with either Dazai or March (There's 2 readers, one for bsd universe and one for hsr universe)

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ word count: 1.7k

ʚїɞ Idea was stolen from comes from @lotus-pear <3

ʚїɞ Tw’s: None!

“Are you sure that a pure dark coffee with 4 shots of expresso is a good decision?”

“No, it's not, but I need it.”

The older man sighed, and as he had previously noticed, the younger male was sitting completely alone in the cafe, and seeing as he, himself, was in the same predicament, he decided to join.

“Mind if I sit with you? If you don’t mind, of course.”

“No no, I don’t mind, feel free to sit.”

“Thank you.”

The brunet pulled the chair out and sat down, placing his own coffee on the table. 

Pure dark coffee, with 2 shots of expresso. He wasn't much better than the blonde in front of him, but he still had less caffeine in the end.

“Are you sure that I shouldn’t ask the very same question you gave me just a moment before?”

“How about we both ignore our coffees?”

“...That’s a good idea, I suppose. I’m Kunikida Doppo, you?”

“My name’s Welt Yang, nice to meet you.”

The both of them sat in silence for a few minutes before Kunikida’s phone started to ring. Welt had to say that the ringtone, the caller ID, and the picture of the contact were… surprising, to say the least. The older man expected the younger one to accept the call, only for him to decline it, and mute his phone when the same person called again moments later.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking but, are you having a bad day that you’re not answering the call?”

“No, it’s the fact that the caller is one of the people who are the reason behind me being here, drinking this abomination.”

“Understandable, can I know what they did?”

The deep, exhausted sigh from the blonde wasn’t giving any good signs to the brunet.

“It was sand this time.”

“Sand?”

“Yes, I opened a drawer in my desk earlier this morning only to find all of my things covered in sand, nothing was spared. Everything was either covered or full of it. Dazai and [Name], the two responsible for that stunt, were either sitting on the agency couch or their desk respectively, trying not to laugh at my expression when I realized what they did.”

“Hmm… those two, Dazai and [Name], do they do things like that often? Because it sounds like they do.”

“Let me tell you, a day where nothing would happen is a day I would consider a miracle. Both of them are always planning how to get on my nerves. I cannot tell you how many pens I lost due to me snapping them in half.” 

The older one chuckled, he had to admit that it reminded him of the things that March and (Name) would often do to the other occupants of the train. He stopped counting how many times he had found things he shouldn't have in places they weren't meant to be in.

“You know, it reminds me of something my coworkers did before.”

“Really? You also have complete menaces as coworkers?”

“Yes, one time two of them, March 7th and (Name), got buckets full of sand one night when everyone else went into their rooms to sleep. The next morning when everyone left their rooms, the entire floor was covered in so much sand that it could’ve been considered a beach, only water was missing.”

“That sounds like a nightmare to clean up.”

“It was. At first, those two troublemakers were sentenced to cleaning up alone, but we all quickly realized that they'd need help if we wanted the sand out the same day. Even then, the sand continues to be found in completely random places till today.”

“How long ago did it happen?”

“Hmm…I would say that soon it'll be 7 months since then.”

“...Now I'm praying that my idiots won't get that idea.”

“You better.”

The younger man sighed. The man that sat with him definitely seemed wise, obviously more experienced with life if he was to guess his age, and unfortunately, he seemed to be on the same boat when it came to coworkers.

“Is it normal for your chaos duo to pull such things?”

“...Chaos duo?”

“It fits.”

“...I guess it does.”

Kunikida was curious, he could tell the two people Welt was talking about were ones to expect some pranks from, but just how was the older man so used it? *At least he looks like he’s used to it* the blonde told himself, slightly amused.

“Honestly, it's completely normal for the two to pull pranks, from smaller to bigger ones. Although it doesn't happen as often as it does for you.”

“After hearing about your sand incident, I think I may be lucky with those bastards doing small pranks on the agency members.”

“You sure should be thankful for small, harmless pranks, you could be having much worse. Also don't mind me asking but, ‘agency’?”

“Ah yes, I work at the armed detective agency, we basically take care of cases that are too much for the police, but still less than what should get the military involved.”

“Sounds like an eventful though dangerous job, I’m not going to lie. I cannot say what my job specializes in, but I do travel a lot.”

“Is Yokohama a work destination?”

“No actually, we decided to have a small break, short vacation, if you will, and since we were already close by, we decided that Yokohama was gonna be our stop.”

“Do you like the city?”

“It's very lovely, I can't lie, I'm a fan of the views, especially water-related ones at sunsets.”

“They're beautiful indeed, would be even better if there was no chance to fish out a suicidal maniac like he's fish himself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me correctly.”

“What do you mean by ‘fish out a suicidal maniac’?”

Welt was worried upon hearing those words, but for some reason, Kunikida seemed completely carefree. Was it so normal for him to call someone like that? Wait wasn't the picture of the caller earlier a person on a ro-

“Dazai Osamu, the person I talked about earlier, literally dreams about a double suicidal with a beautiful woman, but it's not uncommon at all to find him floating down a river as, or after, a suicide attempt.”

“I-”

“Please don't dwell on that.”

Alright so he had every reason to be worried, but he also guessed that Kunikida was way too used to that ‘Dazai’ person’s antics by now.

“...So what’s another prank you fell victim to?”

---------------

“So you're saying, that one time, you left your tea out on a table, just for one person to change it to coffee, then another person to change it to colored vodka (you added food coloring to it), after that yet another person changed it out to a very weird tasting tea, just for someone to change it to food colored water that someone else ended up drinking because the cups got mixed with your friend’s in that whole ordeal?”

“Yeah, it wasn't the first time something like that happened as well.”

Kunikida decided that he was actually lucky with how he gets pranked when he heard what sometimes March and (Reader) did to Welt. Or even someone else when they roped someone into their plan.

“Should I watch out for my drinks even more than I already do?”

“When I hear what your coworkers already have done, I would say yes because it may escalate at some point.”

“Just great-”

“Your cake is falling.”

“Oh shit-”

The cake was successfully saved from falling off of Kunikida's fork, which he was happy about as that was one of the best cakes he’s eaten till this day.

---------------

“-and so I-”

“Wait wait wait.”

“Yeah?”

“You found your paperwork on the roof, the only thing keeping it from flying being a singular pin?”

“Yes, I searched for that paperwork for a week before Ranpo took pity on me and gave me a hint.”

“The hint being?”

“He said, and I quote ‘Do you think that paperwork can fly?’. It caused me to check out all of the windows and then the roof.”

“...Your partner loves chaos doesn't he?”

“He adores it.”

“You actually reminded me of that one time that my research papers were taped all over my workplace, nothing spared, not even the floor or ceiling.”

“Hold up WHAT-”

#)+_)#)#

“And guess what? He had absolutely no remorse for that! The bastard!”

“We have way too many similar experiences…”

First the sand, then the broken things, messed up work - for Kunikida, and messed up documentation on some observations for welt, hair cut when taking a short nap, teasing comments, changed up drink when one was not looking (Welt laughed way too much at hearing that you changed Kunikida's water for vodka, and Kunikida had a hard time trying not to laugh at Welt’s tea being changed to water with food coloring), things completely going missing before being found days later in the most random spot imaginable he swears that Kunikida will have gray hair or aneurysm before 25.

“Way too many. I say we don't let those 4 meet each other, it won't be good for anyone around.”

“Pretty sure it would end up with half of the city hating them.”

“Half? I say most.”

“That's an exaggeration.”

“Not at all.”

Both of them had to say that the talk in the cafe was very pleasant. Sharing the memories problems that are so similar that it got kind of worrying at one point, but very pleasant indeed. Unfortunately for Kunikida, he noticed he was about to run behind his schedule if he was to stay any longer.

“Say, how long are you staying in the city?”

“It depends on my coworkers really, but we planned 2 weeks at the very least, we all need it.”

“How about we meet every now and then? Just to talk like we did today?”

“I would say that's a great idea. A talk like this can be very refreshing.”

“Great, let’s exchange numbers then?”

“Of course.”

Little did the two of them know that soon yet another person would join them. That, dear readers, is how their little circle of complaints came to be.

Notes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ Taglist ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

@sukiischaotic

[werewolfdog]

i got to enjoy my last time today with m working as in-home staffs before we'll be doing the day program next tuesday after the holidays. he got us passing the jianzi toy to each other for the first time and it was really nice of him to check on me with a thermometer around... six times today. he had given me a lot of life / workfield advices since i didn't feel so good sensing our other day and weekday evening coworkers gossiping about m and likely myself as well ( with the day coworker acting really cold and stiff to me despite me getting her a slice of cheesecake and a drawing of her favourite animal as a birthday gesture ), which was something i highly appreciate in his support. m also gave me half of his tangerine, making me emotional.

now the thing that had ruined me mentally and emotionally was that i had asked m if we'll be able to work closely together still, or if we'll be split into groups for certain activities the staffs will deliver for specific clients, and it was extremely painful for him to say that while he doesn't know what's going to happen, we'll still work closely together for the first few weeks to help our own clients adjust the new routines and environments ( but even then, we have more " eyes " on us of other staffs, so we can't really have personal moments as we have been experiencing anyway ), but eventually he'll have to work with other clients from different group homes.

grief doesn't seem like it's the best way to describe how i have been experiencing when i'll still at least see m at work and at the minimum occasionally work with m--- he's not gone from my life ( yet ), but if it is really true we won't get to work as being together on a personal level like puzzle building and him teaching me something to just having personal conversations as we had since late january, then i am grieving over the loss of our personal bonding times and his consistent presence in my life. i've worked with m the most and longest since early november 2024 when i got the part time program assistant role. beside m, i don't really have anyone but one regular weekend staff who i can truly see as a friend by exact definition 'cause about every staffs here do get me annoyed / uncomfortable one way or another.

i didn't realize how m would treat me like a child while he’s acting like a father figure to me until this passed january 28 just from him teasing me badly about my eyepatch with a pirate comment, but giving me shoulder pats and telling me it'll be alright regarding my eye drainage surgery. february 13 was when i really began to see him as so because, in a day before, he offered to build a snowman with me and that was my most special memory with him that made me see he' means more to me. april 16, m told an overnight colleague i was his child after she saw us entering the group home together and asked us if I was his -___- [ redacted ] once he reached my way and gave me a half a minute ride. today, i learned from him that he have only one son who's just a year older than me and it makes so much sense now with how he treats me and how our relationship shaped to be.

it's so devastating to me thinking this familial relationship we have will likely fade over time from our new responsibilities. we don't ever personally interact outside workplace and i doubt he'd be able to bond after work because he have his second job as part time and his own family that i don't want to... i don't know, intervene and bother him so much. hence, i've been having these intense thoughts and emotions, and my mom wasn't helping at all with her telling me after i told her what happened that i can't be emotional at work or i'll get bullied as saying i'm so weak in comparison to her and my grandfather / her dad, and that i can't trust anyone, especially man including m even.

but you know what, as much as i find his overly playfulness and concern annoying at times, m DOES genuinely care so damn much about me with my life and welfare that my toxic mother and absent father could never. i trust him more than anyone in my staff team and even family. he's the one who had taught me so many things like cooking, juggling, solving rubik's cubes; he's the one who let me live a little more with us solving puzzles and playing catch; he's the one who got me wanting to learn more such as me using duolingo to speak / understand vietnamese ( my mother's tongue ) and how to ride a bike when he always tell me nothing is impossible. he have only ever want me to be happy and successful and healthy. that's all he want from me.

my dad never cared about me. he left my family for his ( nowadays ex lmfao ) wife when i was thirteen. my mom never cared about me in ways of her acknowledging and respecting who i am, what i most want and need, and how i am. she had only really cared about me being an extension of herself while being her tool to build a quality familial reputation with a proof to everyone who hates us with my brothers that we're still alive thriving. m can be a lot with his concern that bothers me at times, and he tells me things that i already know as i don't need him to advice me, but at least m would be doing it out of the good in his heart in comparison to my mom who would make me feel guilty and ashamed in the end. m have always truly cared for me.

so, like. i don't know how will i be able to get by with my job in ease away from him after everything we had together over the span of five months. i don't even know how will i be able to move further into my life when he's not in it anymore. i know if my grief over our loss of consistent interactions and permanent closeness have been this intense, i am terrified sensing it'll be so much worst when he’s gone. i'm generally so incredibly easy to move on from dead connections, even those I was once very close to, but m is entirely different and has been the first and only person in this lifetime who i've really grieved over. i'll still see him, but not as much over time before i won't ever again, and i know it'll all still ache deeply, and that's okay in the end. i'll miss our frequent personal bonding so dearly much, but i hope at least occasionally, we can still make a bit more kind memories together.