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killerlookz · 3 days ago

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When Every Vein is Red Out of the Blue | Joost Klein

description: VAMPIRE!Joost Klein x innocent!f!reader Your roommate, Joost, was weird, there was something strange... something just not right about him, which is why you'd kept him at a distance, refusing to make eye contact, or engage in conversation, choosing to ignore the way he drew you to him, how he'd take over your thoughts... but when a storm brings a power outage to your building, you find yourself closer to him than you ever could have imagined.

warnings: 18+ NSFW, MDNI reiterating once again this is VAMPIRE! joost, of blood/blood drinking, heavy religious themes (reader is implied catholic), blasphemy, innocence/corruption kink, fingering, unprotected PiV sex, reader is a crybaby so slight dacryphilia, lots of angst. minor plot note that doesn't really come up, but perhaps may be important for later but this fic takes place in the late 90s

and of course: RPF, while highly fictionalized since joost is a vampire, i must still warn that this is STILL RPF, do not continue if you are uncomfortable with this, this fic has only been put in fic tags, so if you are here, YOU SEARCHED FOR IT

word count: 15.3k

This city is filthy. Littered with sin.

It's rainy, as it mostly always is, you figured the poor weather was a perpetual punishment for the city's wickedness. The rain brings with it fog, its thickness obscuring the view outside your bedroom window- it's nothing but a red haze, a reflection of the lights that lined the street. The area had left your living situation in less than ideal conditions- the persistent scent of sex and marijuana in the air, the chants and yells of rowdy tourists and perverts alike, gawking at the women in the windows that line the canal. Less than ideal, indeed, but a room was a room, and broke and in university you needed to live somewhere, even if you loathed the area. At least you had had a roof over your head.

You sit, perched on your window sill, watching as the fog rolls in. The rain beats down on the glass, and you're almost still surprised to still hear the chatter of people on the street. No rest for the wicked, you supposed, willing to brave the rain to indulge in their sin.

As much shame as it filled you with you had found yourself lately becoming curious about what had really been going on in the city streets below you. It made you feel dirty, tainted, thoughts of going out just for one night, just to see what it was like. Those sorts of thoughts troubled you, deeply- leaving you worried you would actually follow through on your curiosity and corrupt yourself.

The lights in your apartment flicker, startling you, a gasp falling from your lips as they shut off entirely. The storm, your power was out. You clench your jaw, finding yourself thankful, for once for the red lights outside your window, illuminating your room in the darkness. Though, it had brought with it an ominous glow, the faint red tint to your darkened apartment almost more scary than if you had been in pitch black.

You creep forward, wooden floorboards creaking beneath your feet with every cautious move. The sound makes you shiver- your body tensing, eager to get out into your living room as you grab the white prayer candle that sits on your bedside table.

You bite the insides of your cheeks, the whole scene was unsettling- the rain, the fog, the darkness, you find yourself peering over your shoulder, like you're in some sort of horror movie, unaware of who or what could be lurking in the shadows.

"Power's out?" The sudden voice startles you- you jump back slightly, jerking your head to the source of the voice. It would seem the only thing lurking in your apartment tonight was your creepy roommate. Not creepy in the way of him being a creep, but, spooky, something odd about him. Much like the rest of your living situation, this too was less than ideal, he had actually been the boyfriend of the girl you had initially moved in with, someone you had known through university who had also been looking for somewhere cheap to live- but when the two of them had broken up it was he who had stuck around in the apartment- much to your disappointment.

His name was Joost, a few years your senior- you knew he did music, though you've never heard it, and that he works at an internet cafe not far from here. You didn't know much about him outside of that, despite sharing an apartment together, and that had been the way you had intended to keep it. He freaked you out. Up at all hours of the night, yet you'd never seen him in the daytime, always bringing random people through to the apartment that you'd never see again- you presumed for sex, as he didn't seem to care much about the commotion you would often over hear, the gasping and moaning. Visually, too, you'd never seen anyone like him, tall, covered in tattoos, a strange haircut, a perpetual thick, dark ring around his eyes. His eyes, a pale blue- the most striking thing about him, there was almost a lifeless quality about them, one that sent shivers down your spine whenever he had looked at you.

You had tried your best to avoid him when you could, and it worked, for the most part, he practically locked himself in his room during the day, and at night he usually worked, or was out doing god only knows what. It was best that way, making sure you weren't around him for extended periods of time- much as the nightlife here had peaked your curiosity, Joost had too. His peculiarities intrigued you, feeling almost mesmerized whenever you had been around him. And when you weren't around him…you had found yourself thinking about him. The longer he was around, the more frequent your thoughts would become.

At first it was merely innocent, wondering what he did with his life, why he was so, for lack of a better word strange, but they would get worse. Your mere curiosity about Joost spiraling into almost obsession. Slowly your thoughts becoming lustful, staying up late, ear pressed against your bedroom wall listening in on he and whoever he had brought home for the night. It wasn't right, no, not the way your hands would roam your body as you listened, finding their way between your thighs, gently brushing over the fabric of your pajamas- though, it would never go much further than that, not as the realization of what you had been doing began to hit. You'd wind up utterly disgusted with yourself, tears welling in your eyes as you curled up in your bed, guilt swallowing you whole.

"Did I scare you?" He laughs, there's something mocking in his tone as he relaxes back into the couch, obviously much more comfortable in the darkness than you, "Sorry." He lets out another cold chuckle.

"Didn't think you were home." Your voice is meek, eyes falling to the ground, heart still racing from the startle.

"Don't sound so disappointed."

"I'm not," You mumble, your eyes flick up slightly, allowing yourself to catch another glimpse of him, before quickly averting your gaze once again.

"Lady of such few words," He starts, "You know, I'm starting to think that you don't like me…"

"That's not true." You continue to ease your way into the living room, it's more well-lit than your bedroom, large, curtainless windows letting in more light from the street. You'd much prefer being out here, but Joost's presence fills you with unease.

"Why so short with me then?"

"Sorry." You apologize, eager to just light your candle and get back to your room now.

"You're even quieter than usual," He muses, "Scared of the dark?"

"A little," You admit, clutching the white candle between your two hands, fingernails digging into the soft wax.

"Oh no," You can't tell if his sympathy is feigned or not, "Why don't you let me keep you company then?"

"No, it's ok. I'm fine." Your words are fast, short, like you're rushing to get them off your tongue. Afraid of what being around Joost for any extended period of time will do to you- already feeling as if his mere presence has corrupted your mind.

"Please?" … Is he begging?… "Come sit with me."

"Okay," You whisper, nodding slowly as you walk over to the couch. Your steps are cautious, heart pounding in your chest, wishing you could just resist him, it was so easy, beckoning you towards him with just a simple please.

You sit just about as far as you possibly could from Joost, on the opposite side of the couch, pressing yourself to its arm. You stare straight in front of you, soaking in the way the room fills with thick unease.

"You want to light that?"

"Huh?" You nearly gasp, head snapping in Joost's direction.

"The candle." He points to your lap.

"Oh-uh, could you?" You look down at the white candle, it's misshapen from use, little crescent moon shapes litter its sides from where you had dug your fingernails into it.

"Of course," He smiles, a glimmer of something in his eyes, you can't quite put your finger on it- it's almost devious, yet you can't help but smile back, like he's drawing you towards him.

Joost lifts his hips off the couch slightly as he reaches for the back pocket of his jeans, the tight fitted tank top he wears rides up his stomach slightly, exposing a strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. You bite the insides of your cheeks, noticing the trail of blonde hairs that trail from just under his belly button to below the buckle of his belt. You blink a few times, attempting to avert your gaze. How pathetic, weak, tempted by such a measly amount of flesh.

He settles back onto the couch, lighter in hand,

"Are you there?" He chuckles. You shut your eyes for a moment, embarrassed at how he always seemed to notice the small intricacies of your behavior.

"Y-eah." Your voice breaking for a moment, quickly shoving the candle away from you, eager to just have Joost light it now.

"What's the hurry," Joost extends a hand to grab it from you, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches for the candle. They're like ice, the sudden sensation causing you to suck in a small gasp, "Is something wrong?*" He asks at your clear startle.

"You're so cold," You nearly whisper, shocked, horrified even. A sudden wave of concern overwhelms you, had something been wrong with him?

Your concern is merely met with a dry laugh, and a rhetorical, "You think so?" A small smirk appearing on his face as his hand climbs further up yours, fingers snaking around your wrist. You clutch the candle that still sits perched in your hand, your tight grip preventing your fingers from trembling in Joost's icy grip.

"A-are you okay? Are you sick?" Your face drops into a frown, your worry unwavering.

"Oh," He coos, his smirk still sticking to his lips, "You're too cute, I'm fine." He shakes his head, his grip suddenly loosening on your wrist, "Let me have this, hm?" As his other hand grabs the handle from your sturdy grasp. You remain in the same position even as the object is removed from your grip, your fingers remaining in the same position as your hand remains in front of you.

You can't help but continue to stare at Joost, eyes widening in bewilderment, he was a complete and utter mystery to you, an enigma. You didn't understand a thing about him, why he was the way he was, and why you found yourself so latched on to him. He seemed to intrigue you twice as much as he terrified you.

Your breath is shaky as you inhale

"Why are you so…"

"So…?" He trails off as his thumb flicks against the metallic wheel of his lighter, a small orange flame erupting, which he presses to the wick of the candle, "Cold?" He finishes.

"Yeah…" Exhale

"You really want to know?" He leans forward, placing the freshly lit candle onto the coffee table.

You nod, slowly, concerned about why he seemed so hesitant about telling you.

Joost's eyes dart around the room, cheeks hollowing as he bites the insides of them, giving the current conversation pause. Your breath feels stuck in your lungs, the tension suffocating. You figured this had probably been the longest you'd actually hung around Joost, usually doing your best to avoid him, god, you'd basically refuse to even make eye contact with him most of the time he was around.

"I don't know," He shakes his head, "I don't want to frighten you more than you already are."

"I'm not frightened!" You respond sharply, defensively, your voice raising what feels like a few octaves, as if you had something to prove.

"Oh no?" He raises an eyebrow, challenging your statement, "How come your heart is beating so fast?"

You place a hand to your chest, feeling the thumping of your heart beneath your palm, quick, unsteady, you are frightened, but it feels so pathetic hearing it out loud, Joost's near mockery setting you back into your most vulnerable state. Not just frightened, helpless.

"It is no-" You suddenly stop yourself, eyebrows furrowing, shaking your head, "How did you know how fast my heart is beating?" Your body grows stiff, what a peculiar thing for him to say.

"Lucky guess?" He shrugs, his words drawn out, like he isn't expecting you to believe him.

You feel yourself attempting to scoot away from Joost even further, as if you already aren't pushed into the arm of the couch. Silly girl, if you really wanted to get away, you'd get up and scurry back to your room now. Yet you stay put, that subconscious part of you that remains drawn to him weighing you down, keeping you right there on that couch.

Joost frowns, "I knew you were scared."

You cross your arms over your chest, shaking your head, adamant that you were indeed not scared.

"You're being weird." Your bottom lip jutting out, forming a pout, "What is wrong with you?" It comes out with less genuine concern for Joost, and more unease than you were anticipating.

"I don't think you would believe me even if I told you," He chuckles, seemingly unaffected by your anxious state, "But I could show you…" A smirk suddenly reappearing on his lips, eyes looking as if they've suddenly glazed over.

You feel your jaw slack, as if you're about to say something, anything, but all you can do is nod, eager to know what all of this show from Joost had been about, what this mysterious thing was.

It was Joost who was moving now, shifting over slightly, inching closer to you, but not enough to close the gap between the two of you. You can feel your muscles tense, body trembling, even with the remaining space on the couch Joost had almost been too close for comfort. Yet your worst thoughts wished he'd come closer, close enough to touch. You bite down, hard enough for a dull ache to creep into your jaw, wishing to purge yourself of those urges.

"Give me your hand," Joost asks, you can tell it's more of a command than a request, even behind the softness of his voice. You don't even think to ask why, why he could possibly need you to give him your hand, you just do, arms uncrossing, muscles relaxing as he takes your hand into his, the coldness of his flesh still sending shivers down your spine, small little goosebumps littering your skin.

You stare as Joost raises your knuckles to his lips, was it not only a few minutes ago that you had sat down here under the mere presumption you'd keep each other company until the power came back on? How quickly you had let things move, you should pull your hand back, swat him away, not let him get any closer. His lips brush against your fingers before he presses a kiss just above your knuckles. You'd never been kissed before, not by a guy anyways.

Never in your life had you felt yourself so close to succumbing to temptation. The pressure of years worth of repression weighing heavy on you, the cracks in your immaculacy long been formed, you know it's only a matter of time before you crumble to pieces.

Though, perhaps this did not really count, Joost's actions seemed chaste enough, in stark contrast with the noises you had usually heard coming from his room at night. A slight smile on your face, no, this seemed too gentle, too sweet, this could not be you giving into temptation.

Yet you can't help but wonder what this all has to do with what Joost had been meaning to show you, what all this has to do with why as your hand rests in his it feels almost as if you're touching a corpse.

Joost's lower lip drags upwards against your fingers, it's almost startling the lack of warmth that emanates from him, expecting his breath to be hot on your skin, yet still, he's ice cold. Still holding onto you, Joost twists your hand, forcing your palm open, his lips now against your wrist.

Joost inhales, breathing deeply, chest rising slowly, before he exhales at an equally steady pace,

"You…" He starts, before inhaling again, eyes closing as a smile tugs at his lips, exhale, "Smell delicious."

You furrow your eyebrows, your intrigue in Joost unable to override your unease with the comment, though, you supposed it had just been an odd way of saying he liked your perfume.

"Th…ank you?" Your voice wavers slightly, the tension of the situation mingling with the discomfort Joost had often brought you, the strange mix of emotions paralyzing you. All you can do is watch as Joost presses a soft kiss to your wrist. He can surely feel the way your fingers tremble as he holds them in his own hand, and how the veins in your wrist throb with trepidation.

Joost looks up for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you had never quite seen.

"I'm sorry…" He starts, and at the two simple words you feel a pit forming in your stomach, as each second passes growing more anxious about what is to come next, "I'm sorry, I really don't want to scare you…. but you asked… and I just…don't think I can control myself."

It all feels so very strange, the way he speaks, is cryptic, like he's skirting around something, purposefully misleading you, leaving you out of the loop.

"Can't control yourself how-ahh!" A high pathetic yelp leaving your throat at the sharp, piercing sensation that enters your wrist, like nothing you had ever felt before. It's almost agonizing, eyes widening and filling with tears as you look down at Joost, teeth sinking into your skin.

If you pull your arm away he'll surely tear a chunk out of your flesh, his jaw clamped down tight, your eyes flick to your wrist, realizing he's broken more than just skin.

Your head tips back, chest rising as you suck in a sharp breath, eyes rolling backwards, your jaw tenses, you can't muster a sound, not even a scream as Joost's teeth dig into your wrist. Your body writhes, squirming uncontrollably, still careful not to make any sudden movements with your arm.

"Wh- what are you-" You manage to gasp out, breathy, guttural, sounds you've surely never made before- fitting, considering you've never experienced pain of this manner before, "Oh my god!" You're practically shrieking, you hope just this once the Lord will forgive you for using his name in vain, surely he'd understand the circumstances.

Suddenly- the pain ceases, or at the very least, eases. Your body trembles, tremors rocking you hard, yet if it wasn't for your nerves taking hold of you, you surely would have gone limp by now- your head fuzzy, you didn't even have to look down at your wrist to know you'd been losing blood. The wet, warmth that slid down to your hand was enough to alert you to the fact you were bleeding, how badly it was you were unsure of yet.

Slowly, you lift your head back up, your neck straining to maintain the weight.

You notice the way Joost looks up at you first, the sharp ache disappearing for a moment as your eyes meet his- wide, and icy blue. They're almost lifelike, but so mesmerizing in the ways that they are not, puzzled as you try to figure out what his gaze is missing, wondering how to make him whole.

Joost drops your wrist, limp, it falls to your lap, blood dripping onto the white fabric of your white, lacy nightgown. Your own injury seems so far from your mind however, not as you watch the crimson droplets slide down Joost's chin, his blood-stained lips curling into a smirk. He seems proud of himself, for goring you. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, not wanting to waste a drop of the bloody mess he's made of you.

Your teeth chatter, out of anxiety, and the lingering cold of his touch, you can still feel his icy fingers gripping into you even after he's let go.

It made so much sense now, the way Joost drew you to him, his strange behavior, why he only left the house at night, the noises you'd hear from his room, his coldness…

"The dead are meant to sleep until judgement… yet you walk among us…" You're thinking out loud more than you are talking to Joost, voice merely a whisper.

"You figured out what I am?" He finally speaks, voice low, sly. He's amused.

"Vampire."

"Very good," He nods slowly, he seems pleased but your own words echo in your ears at the accusation. Saying it out loud made it so real.

You look down into your lap, the sting of your wounds returning once your sights are set back onto the torn flesh of your wrist, the bleeding ceaseless, pooling on the white fabric below, staining- claiming the garment.

You can feel Joost's quiet satisfaction.

"You breathe… but you do not live" You shake your head, "There's no soul left in you… is there?" Your eyes widen at the realization. He's just wrong. Him. A perversion of everything you'd ever been taught, a body that lives on instead of a soul. "No soul." You repeat once again, bewildered as you shake your head, like that was the worst thing about this.

No life, no light, no redemption on the other side. You wonder about the man Joost was, who he could have been, You feel your eyes well up with tears, a quiet mourning for the Joost you never knew.

Selfishly- you're mourning for yourself too, the nights you'd stayed up, plagued with thoughts of him, delicate fingers inching closer and closer to bringing yourself to sin- it had been all for not. Your temptation now seemed almost unforgivable. Lust for a man was one thing, but lust for something so unholy, whose mere existence spat in the face of the life God had breathed from his very own nostrils into his creation. How could you repent?

Surely, you're mourning is for the purity of your soul, certainly, not for what could have been.

"No soul?" He asks. You nod. Just body, just impulse. "Who's to say?" He shrugs, "I still feel things…" He trails off for a moment before pausing, gaze meeting yours once again, forcing your breath to catch in your lungs over the intensity of his stare. It's haunting now, knowing the truth, knowing what was missing from behind those beautiful blue eyes, "… You feel them too, don't you?"

Your lips part, but words fail you, your mind a mess, the loss of blood doesn't help.

Joost picks your hand back up from your lap, your wrist limp in his grasp. He's careful not to stick his fingers near the open wounds, his icy palm simply holding your wrist.

"I know that it hurt you…" His voice grows softer, as if he's about to apologize for the carnage he caused, "Why didn't you tell me to stop?"

The simple four letter word hadn't even occurred to you, and perhaps you could blame it on the pain, the sheer agony that overtook you as his teeth tore into your flesh. But you knew what Joost had been getting at- you didn't want him to.

That thought terrifies you more than his fangs ever could, knowing if he asked you'd let him drink from you again and again.

You don't answer Joost, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting to what he already knows is true. You had already given up so much to him tonight, you needed to at least save something for yourself.

"Does it scare you?" He asks

Your head perks up at the question, confused. Lots of things scare you now, perhaps everything at this moment was frightening.

"Does what scare me?"

"That you still want it." His voice is low, teasing, "Want me."

Joost's fingers tighten around your already aching wrist, a sharp sting shooting up your arm as his fingertips graze over the bites he's left in your flesh. A moan escapes you, one you attempt to bite back, to hide that it is not entirely out of pain.

You wince, wanting nothing more than to curl up inside yourself and disappear. You're crumbling under the heavy weight of his gaze.

"You've bewitched me…" Your muttered words are nothing more than a faint accusation, a desire to blame the lapses in your piety in something other than yourself, "You did this."

"No," Joost shakes his head in earnest, "I'm a man of many talents…but mind control isn't one of them. Your thoughts are your own."

Your lip begins to quiver, the tears that had begun to well in your eyes ready to spill,

"They can't…" You whisper, "No," You blink as the small, wet, droplets finally leak down your cheek, looking up, staring into the dark of the apartment, "God, forgive me." You choke, your pleading weak as Joost remains in front of you, his mere presence slowly draining you of your desire to remain faithful.

You pull back your hand, yet the cool of his palm lingers. The candle Joost had lit flickers in your periphery, you glance toward it, the wax you'd prayed over so many times, rosary gripped tight between your fingers.

You'd lost it now, mind racing, prayer after prayer scrambles in your mind, fragments of pleas for protection, yet you cannot fully find the words.

"Why fight it?" Joost seems, almost fascinated by your state, his question raw, inquisitive.

"Because." Your face twists up as you spit the short word back at Joost, "I'm not like you."

"Like me?" He seems taken aback, almost offended, like this whole ordeal hasn't all been about how different he is than you.

"Yes, like you, a monster." Your eyes widen in terror, as it settles on your tongue, that's truly what he is. The type of creature great works of horror are written about, has been living amongst you.

"You think being human is all that makes you good?"

"Yes, Joost," His name feels oddly pleasant in your mouth, sweeter than you had expected, "Jo…" You have to stop yourself from saying it again, "My soul matters!"

"If your soul matters so much, then why do you deny what it so obviously wants?"

"I want…" You take in a deep breath, exhaling with equal force, a tingle of anger quivering beneath you, who is Joost to tell you what you want? "I want to be good. I want to be more than desire."

"So you do desire me?" A grin spreads across his lips, his teeth still marked with your blood, a stark reminder of who Joost was, and what he had done to you, making simple desire not-so-simple.

"I prayed for this feeling to pass," You whisper, "I begged for it to go away." You grit your teeth,

"And did it?"

"No," You concede, "B-but, that doesn't make it right."

"But it's real, stop denying it, it's you."

"I wish it wasn't." You shake your head, "I should be scared of you." Your voice breaks once more, tears continuing to slip down your cheeks, your head beginning to ache from the strain, "But I'm just so much more scared of myself… how finding out what you are has only made me want you more."

Joost's icy palm grazes your cheek, his thumb stretching out to wipe away a singular tear. You don't mean to, but you find yourself leaning into his touch, for as cold and as lifeless as it was, it was a comforting contrast to the heat of the moment.

"I know how it feels…" Joost sighs, continuing to brush the pad of his thumb to your cheek, "…to be afraid of yourself."

"Do you really know how to feel?" You ask in desperation, as if Joost's capability for feeling would make your predicament any more salvageable, as if falling for an undead creature of the night was made any more worthy of forgiveness merely because he could feel?

"I was once just a man."

"I wish I could have known him…" That feeling of grief returning, not for someone you lost but from someone you'll never know.

You picture him then, warm blooded, full of life. You imagine what the sun must look like in the reflection of his pale blue eyes, how they had probably made him sensitive to the light, even then- squinting, nose scrunched up with a sweet smile on his light pink lips, full of real color, not merely just stained with blood.

You wonder if that part of him is still inside, and if Joost mourns who he used to be too.

"I'm not so different now," He chuckles wryly, "Please, just let me show you."

You nod, barely a small trembling movement of permission. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, shaking your entire body. You feel it in your stomach, your throat, your fingertips as it pounds into you.

You know Joost can hear it too, its frantic rhythm calling to a more monstrous part of him. You can't help but think about how many hearts he must have had before yours, how many beat under his touch- in fear, in lust. Still, he listens as if your heartbeat is the only one he's ever known.

Joost leans forward, but before you even have a moment to catch what he's doing his lips are on yours, nearly stealing the breath from your lungs. It wasn't quite what you had imagined for your first kiss, certainly, a lot more blood than you had ever anticipated any kisses to be filled with. The bitter, metallic taste coats the inside of your mouth, you wished it had made you want to gag, to pull away, the stark reminder of what Joost is.

But you couldn't, the taste was enticing, for all of its tang, and unpleasantness, it was you, the very blood that kept you alive now being brought back to you.

You part your lips, both in surrender and in anxious curiosity- was this what Eve felt when she had tasted the forbidden fruit? The hunger, the unbearable need to know.

Joost's other hand finds its way to your waist, gripping at the soft, silky material of your slip, his tight grasp anchoring you to the couch, like you still may flee. But you won't, and you both know it.

Your lips struggle to find Joost's pace, the totality of the night working against you in keeping up with him. Yet you try, fearing if you pull away even for a moment, even just to catch your breath this will all disappear.

Joost's hand slips from your cheek down to your neck, cold fingers digging into the warm flesh just below your ear. You wonder if he feels the way your pulse throbs under his touch, if it brings out some sort of hunger within him. You can't but almost wish that it does, some sick desire within you that yearns to feel his teeth in you again, for you to be what sustains his life, at least for a little while. You need him to want you for more than just this.

You reach out a hand, placing your palm to his chest, feeling the thin fabric of his white tank top beneath you- you want to feel him really feel him, skin to skin.

"Are you still fighting me?" He asks, pulling away slightly, his bottom lip still dragging across yours, perhaps mistaking your gesture for a desire to create space between the two of you. You feel his breath on your face as he speaks from such close proximity, it's warm, it almost surprises you, half expecting his breath to be just as cold as his touch.

"I should be."

"But you aren't." Joost pulls back even farther, his lips no longer touching yours, "Look at me." His words aren't demanding, but out of a genuine desire to see the whole of your face, to take in the entirety of you.

You concede, eyes locking with his once more, a mutual desire heavy in the way the two of you gaze at each other- the longing is intense, as if Joost had been some long lost lover of yours that you had gone years without seeing, and not someone who had been practically a stranger to you.

He's more handsome than ever now, even with the dried, red stains that still hang around his lips, and disheveled hair, the moment only had made your attraction to him grow.

"Tell me you want this."

"Don't… don't make me say it." Your bottom lip pokes out, quivering as your muscles form a pout, no- once again, saying it made it real. It seemed much easier to beg for forgiveness when your sins were hypothetical, but now that the opportunity sat right in front of you…

"Yes," His voice is breathy, pathetic, almost begging, "I need to hear you say it. Need to know you want it. This could ruin you… I could ruin you."

You smile, tear streaked and trembling,

"You already have."

Joost smiles back, yet you can't quite tell if it's with pride or shame, perhaps a strange mixture of the two.

"Then why are you hesitating?" He asks, "I need to hear you say you want this."

Truthfully, you didn't know what this was- for him to feed on you again? To be turned?… Perhaps something more intimate? Did it really matter, you wanted all of the above, you wanted him.

"I want…" You inhale, holding the breath in your throat, letting it suffocate you for a moment before you finally speak, "You." Your final word shaky, filled with tension, like you've just confessed and you're waiting to receive your penance, "All of you."

Joost's expression softens into something painfully tender, "All of me?" He repeats, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Maybe not," You whisper, "But I want to find out."

Joost nods, wordlessly, rather reserving the moment to take you in, examine your state, how quickly he'd gotten you undone for him.

Not even the chill of Joost's touch can save you from the thick, humid tension that surrounds you, the only thing sharp enough to tear through it was Joost's teeth- knowing it was just a matter of time before he was sinking them into you again.

The thought sends a shock wave throughout your body, feeling a familiar tingling sensation down your legs, a warmth growing in your lower belly. It had been that same feeling that had plagued you so often late at night, the one that had you folding in on yourself, sobbing, begging for forgiveness.

But it seemed right now, now that your desire was something real, tangible, in front of you.

"Will it hurt?" Again, you're not quite sure what you're asking about, unsure of where Joost intends on leading the night- your utter inexperience with men, much less vampires, leaving you entirely in the dark on this.

"Will what hurt?" He raises an eyebrow, clearly needing clarification, "What do you want, hm?" He hums, and he's really asking, his voice low, mellow, ready to give you whatever it is you ask for.

But you don't want to say it, you don't want to ask- you wouldn't even know how to. All you knew was the deep pit that was settled in you, a hole that yearned to be filled, a craving that needed to be satisfied. You open your mouth, but the words elude you- it isn't a feeling you know how to articulate, and it feels so heavy, so wrong even if you could do so,

"I guess," You drop your gaze sinking down into your lap, it shouldn't be so hard, you'd already given everything else up tonight, why not this? A small laugh escapes you, finding humor in the awkward way your brain had found away to skirt around most of Joost's questions, "Well, I guess I was just hoping you wanted me for more than just a meal."

"Oh," He sighs, his thumb rubbing at the side of your neck, feeling the way your artery thumps below him, a sickly sweet smile on his face, like he's genuinely finding some sympathy for you, like there's something really beating in the dark cavity of his chest. "I should have known." He chuckles slightly- it's quick, dry, a small puff of air leaving his nostrils as he tilts his head, deepening his gaze towards you, "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

You grit your teeth, the small phrase feeling more like an accusation than a question. You aren't ashamed of that fact, no, before tonight you had intended to keep it that way. But the deep knowledge of your inexperience pains you in the face of Joost, who you're sure has done this time and time before. Jealousy, maybe.

Joost sees the tension in his face, his smile faltering, not entirely, but just enough to show something quieter, gentler- not that you notice.

"It's not such a bad thing, you know?" His hand slides up to your chin, fingers pushing up to get you to look at him, but even as your eyes meet his level, you avert your gaze, staring past him, out at the window that's opposite you, taking in the misty, red glow, "I'll try to be gentle," He pauses, "If that's what you want, I mean- Well, I'm hardly ever anyone's first."

You fixed your gaze, his words settling uncomfortably in your ears- a confirmation of how many times over he's done this before. You blink a few times, wondering if you should stay, for as much as you wanted him you couldn't stand the thought of this not meaning anything, of you just being another fix.

"I didn't mean it like that," He says, softer now, "It's kind of sweet, you know? If you'll let me…"

You don't speak, deep i thought about what's to happen next,

"I know what I must look like to you," His hands slipping back down to your neck, thumb brushing over your pulse again, his touch feather light. He ducks his head slightly allowing you the chance to look down at him the other way around, to be something other than a predator, "That I'm careless… I am… I've fed, and fucked, and ruined and been ruined… But I need you to know I feel too."

His words echo, he feels too, still it's hard to believe, even for how many times tonight he's repeated it. You search his face for the detachment you'd feared, trying to grasp what he really is. But you don't find it, even in the depths of those lifeless blue eyes, there's something there, something that almost makes him feel human.

"I want to know what you feel." Your voice full of longing, desperate to know what this means to him- if it's all really worth turning your back on your faith for, if he's worth forsaking everything you'd ever believed in, "If it's something more than hunger."

"I couldn't put a name to it," Joost shakes his head, "Not hunger, it's a need far deeper, less primal- I-" He stops for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows, you watch as he seems to attempt to decipher his feelings in real time, waiting with baited breath for what he says next, "This feeling… it reminds me of who I used to be."

Your eyes widen, intrigued, desperate to bring whatever life was still left in Joost to the surface, anxious that feeling within him will flee once the moment passes.

"I'm worried," You sigh, voice small, "That this is just a fleeting feeling," You bite the inside of your cheeks, unsure of how to proceed, "What if, whatever happens tonight- what if I like it, what if I want it again?"

Joost had done little more but kiss you tonight, yet still, you could feel what was beginning to burn inside you. If you had been so willing to give everything up for him, you needed him to do the same, to relinquish any desires he'd have for anyone that wasn't you. Never wanting him to spill the blood of another again, only you, you craved the feeling of being his.

"Isn't that the best part of being with a vampire?" Joost asks, his lips curling into a rigid smile, "That you can have me forever."

You swallow down Joost's words, the weight of forever sinking straight into your stomach. Forever, you know it's as much a curse as it is a gift.

"Will that be enough?" You ask, timid, "Me, forever?"

Joost's lips remain upright, still bent into a smile,

"There's only one way to find out…" He trails off, hand falling from your neck, his palm traces down your arm, you shiver, hoping one day you'll get used to the cool of his touch. Your skin pebbled with small goosebumps under where he's touched, hairs standing on end, his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, "Can I bring you somewhere more comfortable? To your room?"

You nod, slowly, allowing him to get up and lead you out of the living room. The apartment is silent, save for the creak of the floorboards beneath your anxious steps, and the heavy patter of the rain outside.

You're so caught up in what's to come next you've hardly realized you've reached your room until Joost is stopping, just before the threshold. You know by stepping in you're sealing your fate, that you'll be damning yourself by welcoming him in.

Your jaw clenches as you take the first step into the darkness of your bedroom, the streetlights outside providing enough light to just barely make out the surface of things.

You turn back at Joost, who's still standing just outside the door frame,

"I thought vampires only needed to be welcomed inside someone's home," Your statement is said half in earnest, curious about what Joost's affliction actually entailed, what rules he was bound by and what was merely a product of Hollywood's imagination.

"I don't usually wait for an invitation… but now it feels wrong not to."

"Please," You sigh, your hand still in his, digging your fingers into the valleys between his knuckles, pulling at his arm, a beg for him to join you in your room.

Wordlessly- Joost complies, stepping through the threshold, closing the door behind him. The thunk of the door echoes in your ears, signaling to you there was really no turning back now, and that the night had really only just begun.

It's like the temperature of the room shifts with him- colder now. But it only makes you all the more eager, to feel more than just his presence.

"Lay down with me?" You ask, meek, unsure of how to go about these sorts of things, but you know you want to get to your bed and to share that space with Joost.

Joost tilts his head in the direction of your bed, beckoning you to walk over, your hand still clasped over his.

As you near the edge of your bed, Joost slips his hands from yours, to reach for your waist instead, guiding you down to sit with him, the mattress giving slightly under the weight- creaking softly.

Joost hums, the sound low in his throat, as he begins to lower himself beside you, the bed once again shifting under the length of his body. You follow his movements, his hand still pressed to your waist to guide you with him. You lay at your side, head propped up on your flimsy pillows, facing him.

What little light seeps from the windows is just enough for you to make out Joost's features, but you can hardly take a moment to marvel at him, distracted by the way your lips ache, puffy and throbbing, eager to feel him on them again.

"Please, can I kiss you again," Your voice is hoarse, ready to plead for the opportunity.

Joost's grip tightens on your waist, pulling your hip closer to him,

"Oh," He smirks, his voice low and even, a stark contrast to the nerves in yours, "You don't even have to ask, come here." He finally pulls you to him, your hip connecting with the thick leather of his belt.

It's quick- the way his lips stick to yours, finding a perfect rhythm. Each kiss is deliberate, savoring the way the space between your lips close, as if it will be your last. That vague metallic taste remains on Joost's tongue- and for a split moment you're struck worth worry, that you'll grow to enjoy its bitterness, even as a mere mortal, on account of the way it reminds you of Joost.

Joost's fingertips dig further into the slippery silk fabric of your nightgown, pressing further into your flesh, massaging gently as he rocks you back and forth in the kiss. You push yourself into his touch, hips steadily gyrating, almost instinctively.

Joost's teeth catch your lower lip, giving it a slight pinch before returning to the kiss. A small, high pitched whimper escapes your mouth between movements at the twinge, and you can feel Joost smile into the kiss at your reaction.

Your hand snakes up his side, finally getting to really feel Joost under your touch. You want your hands all over him, for no surface of his flesh to go unscathed by your fingertips. You grip onto his shoulder, fingernails digging deep into his bicep, surely leaving little indents as you crane your neck to deepen the kiss.

Your movements begin to become sloppy, each kiss less deliberate and more hungry, tongue escaping your lips, just as eager to consume as he is. You almost don't realize how cold he is under your touch, and for a moment he seems just as alive as you are.

Joost shifts slightly, rolling you with him so your back fully hits the mattress, his body hovering over yours. He holds himself above you, forcing you to stare up at him once again. He's much more intimidating like this, as if that was even possible. He stares down at you, eyes still striking even in the dark of the room, his hunger apparent in his glassy gaze, eyes trained on your body, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

But even as Joost is damn close to feeding on you again, you can't help but feel like you need this just as much as him, that you'd let him feed on you again and again- desperate for you and you alone to satiate his hunger.

"So impolite of me," Joost's voice soft as silk as that familiar smile creeps onto his face, "Sunk my teeth into you and I never even told you…" He shakes his head, pausing for a moment, "How beautiful I think you are."

Even as Joost is ice cold, you feel yourself growing hot, the mixture of the intensity of the moment, Joost's sharp gaze, and sweet words are enough to make you feel like you are burning up. You let your lips curl upwards, reveling in his compliments as he continues.

"Really," His voice earnest, eyes staring deep into yours, "Beautiful, like nothing I've ever seen."

You almost want to turn away, to avert your gaze and cower into the pillow as the blood rushes to your cheeks, a small giggle leaving your lips, a testament to your shyness in the situation. You'd never been called beautiful in such a way before, sure, platonic compliments from friends, or cheesy remarks from family- but not like this.

Not in the way where you wanted him to see more of you, ready to bare it all just so you can hear that word again.

Joost's weight shifts as he leans down to kiss you again. Once more, his movements beginning, tender and slow. You kiss him back with equal tenderness, legs parting so he can better fit between him, his weight shifting to his knees. Your thighs stretch to either side of him, knees bending, cradling his hips, the fabric of your nightgown lifts up, pooling at your upper thighs. At the side of your head Joost holds the rest of his weight on his forearm, using his freehand to trace down the freshly exposed skin of your leg.

At first his hand remains on the outer part of your thigh, brushing back and forth, a shiver coursing through you as goosebumps litter your skin. Joost allows you a moment to get used to the chill of his touch before his hand slowly rolls down to your knee, thumb tucking in at the back of your leg, gently guiding it down more, spreading your legs further.

It's a move so small, but you can't help but gasp, messing up the rhythm of the kiss as you try to catch your escaped breath.

Joost's hand begins to trace further up your leg, and you feel a twitch in between your thighs. The sensation almost makes you gasp again, your back arching into the feeling- you'd never come so close to experiencing something like this, your nerves now exposed to something entirely new, the pulsing between your legs is almost entirely foreign. It's almost like an ache, something that desperately needs tending to.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, your body tensing with each slight move Joost's hand makes upwards,

"Tell me again that you want this," Joost suddenly breaks away from this kiss, his voice breathy- the coolness of his demeanor slipping for just a moment, revealing his utter desperation.

"Yes, please" You inhale, the pitch of your voice raising, you arch your back again, the control your body seems to have over you is startling. Your whole life you'd worked to not just deny, but overcome your flesh, but now you were held captive by it, your every move controlled by instinct and pure carnal desire, "Please," You mewl, "I want this, I want you. All of you."

Joost hums, gently nuzzling his nose against yours, lips just barely brushing against each other, his breath is cold as he exhales,

"Okay, needy girl," You can't quite tell if he's mocking you, but it's true, you are needy for him, "I'm gonna hold you to that." By now he's holding the innermost part of your thigh, right where it connects to your hip, fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear.

He's yet to resume kissing you, the only audible sound in the room are your trembling breaths, chest heaving as deep as it can, your breath surely hot on Joost's face. It's pathetic really, but you can't help yourself, far too caught up in the moment to attempt to collect yourself, or at the very least pretend to.

Joost's head suddenly dips, his lips now at your jaw, pecking lightly before beginning to place, slow, languid kisses to the bone. Your body curves into his touch, back raising off the mattress, chest raising to his. You throw your arms around Joost's back, desperate to keep him close to you, fingertips once again digging into the skin exposed by the back of his tank top.

The pace of your breathing only intensifies as Joost's lips trail down lower, leaving your jaw and beginning to suck at the throbbing artery in your neck. You tip your head to the side, allowing him greater access to you, welcoming whatever was to happen next.

It almost surprises you how well Joost can pace himself, so close to what he desires more than anything- the very thing that keeps him alive, and yet he denies himself again and again as his teeth don't even do as much as graze your neck, with kiss after kiss. That same restraint cannot be said for you, squirming beneath Joost, each kiss from his lips, or lick from his tongue only making you more, and more desperate, hips bucking in an attempt to get Joost to move his hand. Yet he doesn't budge.

At the same time you begin to feel Joost's hips pressing into you, yet from his position kneeled between your legs you can't feel much, the mere sensation of his fingertips brushing against the edge of the fabric of your underwear utterly overwhelming your senses.

Joost nuzzles his face into your neck, his cheek rubbing against you,

"You're just so warm," He sighs, "So full of life, I almost feel bad to take that from you, and fill you with anything else."

"No," You huff, "Take- take it I'm yours." You don't stutter out of anxiety but out of the way your desire begins to consume you, your brain becoming fuzzy as the only thing you can think about is him.

"Trust me," Joost purrs before pressing a quick peck to the inside of your neck, "I will."

Immediately, a breathy, high mewl escapes your throat as Joost's hand finally moves, a single finger brushing over the crotch of your underwear. The single touch, as Joost grazes your core sends a sharp, intense pang through you, your body twitching.

"Wooow," Joost muses, "You've really never been touched like this at all, have you?"

You cannot muster up a verbal reply, you only thrash your head back and forth against the pillow, bumping into his cheek a few times, signaling a no.

"Yeah," Joost breathes out, "Maybe you'll be too sensitive then… maybe I shouldn't-"

"No. Nono- I'm, please, I'm fine." The thought of this stopping now, of Joost slipping through your hands, it's all too much to bear, and all you can do is babble mindlessly, begging him to keep going.

Joost chuckles, his short laughter- dry.

"Kidding, of course," You can all but hear the smirk in his voice, "That would be evil of me. No, I wouldn't do that to you." Joost places a thumb to the soft, cotton fabric of your panties, tapping right above your clit, each short movement sending jolts down your legs, you can't even get out a sigh of relief, breath getting caught in your throat.

His tapping turns to long, gentle circles, at a pace, even for your inexperience feels agonizingly slow. Still, all you can do is grip into the back of his shoulders, savoring every drawn out touch, Joost's fingers every once and awhile tracing down the crotch of your underwear, before returning. With your head tipped back on the pillow, and your jaw slacked open, short breaths and little whimpers leave your mouth.

Perhaps Joost was right about your sensitivity, legs beginning to tremble around him despite him still only touching above fabric. Maybe you wouldn't be able to handle the real thing. But you have to try.

"More," You rasp out, anxious to take things further, "Please, more." You couldn't believe yourself, it was like someone had completely taken over your body, someone you didn't recognize. But it was you, you who was begging for sin, to indulge in this wickedness with someone who strayed so far from the divine.

"What do you want?" Joost asks, voice low, a certain liquidity to it, "This?" His finger slips into your underwear, pulling them to the side, the sudden rush of air in contact with wet skin sending a chill through you, making you feel all the more exposed. Your legs almost instinctively snap shut at the feeling of Joost's cold finger brushing between your slick, a slight yelp leaving your lips, a feeling unlike anything you ever felt before, forcing your eyes to screw shut. "Hey!" Joost chastises as your knees bump his side, a result of your legs attempting to close, "I know," He sighs, "But if you can't keep your legs open I can't go any further."

Slowly, your legs begin to part again as you nod, knees returning back to their original position. Joost continues to run a single finger up and down your folds, his motions still slow, on the brink of teasing. Nevertheless, it's enough for you to get some sensation out of, your eyes remaining shut tight as your face switches between screwing up tight, or your jaw almost becoming entirely unhinged.

Your small, soft, whines begin to build into something louder, more reactive as Joost's movements become less and less lazy and more deliberate. Nudging you with the side of his face, he knocks your head to the side, giving himself access- once again, to your neck. He returns his lips to you, laying his tongue flat against a throbbing artery before he presses a wet kiss to the same spot. The feeling of having Joost in two places at once is almost too much, but he seems to pay no mind to your squirming, almost mindlessly continuing on with what he's been doing.

You feel Joost's hand slip from where it had been, his palm suddenly pressing against your clit. He takes a moment to find where he wants to be, still preoccupied with his head in your neck. You feel a finger beginning to spread your folds, another sliding towards your entrance, circling for a moment before beginning to slip in.

The sensation is nothing like you've felt before, it's only a finger, yet the stretch is noticeable, foreign- not what you had been expecting it to be. You wince, at the sensation, Joost suddenly stopping.

"Shit-" He mutters against your neck, before pressing another kiss just below your ear, "Please, please sweetie, relax," He breathes, the simple pet name sweetie ringing in your ear, like you were something to him- you are something to him, "It will be uncomfortable if you keep being so tense."

"Oh- uh" You mumble, unsure of how to suddenly just loosen up, years of being taught to fear and prolong this very moment, were hitting you all at once. Every single echo of priests, or Sunday school teachers drilling it into you that this was meant to be saved for marriage, that it shouldn't be done out of pleasure but purely for the sake of having children rattles down the corridors of your mind. Your eyes begin to well up with tears, guilt beginning to creep back into your body.

With a sniffle, tears are beginning to spill out of your eyes, and no longer are your fingertips digging into Joost's shoulders, but you've fully wrapped your arms around him, pulling him even closer to you, his weight collapsing onto your chest.

Joost stops kissing you for a moment, clearly caught off guard for your sudden, seeming need for, a more wholesome form of affection. His hand falls from between your thighs, sliding up your leg to rest on your hip now.

"You're okay," He assures, "Let me sit up, mkay?*"

You nod, letting go of your grip on him, his free hand making your pillow dip as he uses it to prop himself back up. Resting on his shins, Joost still sits between your legs, looking down at you. You can hardly look up at him through your tear-stained eyes, for as guilty as you felt about betraying your faith, you had still felt all the more guilty for Joost having to deal with it- to make him bear the brunt of your anxieties.

"My poor crybaby," A smile pulling at his mouth, half mocking, half affectionate. He outstretches his hand, brushing your cheek with his thumb, far too affectionate for him to be genuinely mocking you, "What happened, huh?"

"Nothing," You sniffle, turning to lay your head on the side, so you don't have to look at him, "Just give me a second- it's just all so new-" You nuzzle your head against the pillow, attempting to dry your tears, "I don't want to stop… but it's just…" You move your head once again, looking back up at him, "I'm scared." You whisper, barely able to muster the confession out.

Joost nods, as if he could possibly understand. He tilts his head, lips slightly parted,

"You've been so good your whole life, haven't you?" his voice low, but above a whisper, "Scared of stepping out of line now, with me?"

You swallow hard, throat growing tight- his words cutting straight through the noise in your mind. You nod. Exactly

Joost brushes his palm against your upper thigh, rubbing affectionately, betraying the darker look in his eyes,

"You want this though, don't you?"

Once again, you nod.

"Good," He murmurs, "That's good." It isn't so much of a praise as it is approval, "Let's try again then, hm? Something different this time."

You smile slightly, blinking away the remaining tears in your eyes.

"Sit up, pretty."

You oblige, firmly planing your hands on either side of you, rising up from your spot on the bed. Joost's palm returns to your cheek after you sit up, thumb dragging down your bottom lip, an almost cruel smile on his face.

"How about you take the lead for a little bit…" He suggests, and this puzzles you- you, take the lead? As if you had any clue what you were doing.

Joost must notice your face, the way your eyebrows furrow, eyelids squinting as if you can't figure out what to do next.

"Just…" He starts, "I think you'll feel better if things start on your terms, tell me what you want, sweetie, anything."

You blink for a moment, eyes wide, like there isn't a single thought behind them. Oh but there was, your mind reeling, looking for the right thing to say,

"Anything," He repeats again, his smile softening to something more reassuring, "No shame."

"Um…" You start, "Okay," You sigh, "Well, I think I'll feel more comfortable, if we're both undressed."

"I think so too…" Joost nods, slowly, measured, "Do you want to undress me, or should I?"

You pause for a moment, but you don't really need to think about it,

"C-can I?" Your voice is meek, as if Joost hadn't emphasized there was no shame, as if he hadn't just asked if you wanted to do this.

"That's what I hoped you'd say."

Joost gets off the bed, the mattress shifting slightly as his weight lifts from it, moving to stand in front of you. He's so much taller now, his crotch just below eye-level as you move to swing your legs over the side of the bed.

"I'm all yours." Joost smirks.

You take a moment to look Joost up and down, before reaching your hands out with trepidation. Your arms in front of you, your eyes suddenly return to your wrist, almost forgetting the wound Joost had left on it, a not so subtle reminder of who he really was, what you were really dealing with. Yet it doesn't make you hesitate, not as your fingertips settle on the waistband of his jeans, feeling the rough denim beneath them for a moment before tracing down to the large metal buckle of his belt.

It's too dark to make out the design on it, but you let yourself feel its bumps and grooves, pausing for a moment, deciding how to make your move. You slide your thumb under the buckle, twisting your uninjured wrist to slowly pull the leather from the loops of his jeans. You then place the palm of your other hand against the metal buckle, steadying yourself, wincing as you apply pressure against your injured wrist. Still- you continue, tugging at the end of Joost's belt to fully free it from his jeans.

It startles you slightly, once the buckle hits the hard wood of your floor, body twitching at the high pitched sound. It calls you back to the moment, what you were doing, thumbing the button on his jeans. You don't bother to look up at Joost as you fumble with the small, circular metal, you can already feel his eyes searing into the top of your head, and you fear you'll crumble entirely under the weight of his gaze.

Finally, once the button is undone you can un-zipper his jeans, you anchor your opposite hand to his upper thigh as you tug at the zipper, sliding down its length with very little force. You hear Joost inhale deeply as your fingers brush over his crotch, feeling him beginning to stiffen under your light touch.

Once Joost's zipper is undone you finally manage to look up at Joost, eyes searching for permission to carry on, despite already knowing you had it. Still, even as Joost suggested that you take the lead you still felt like you needed him to guide you, desiring his approval at every step of this process.

Joost knocks his head back slightly, chin flicking upward to beckon you to go forward. You make a small nodding motion with your head as Joost affirms what you already knew what you should do. You push your thumbs into the waistband of Joost's jeans, fingers lightly brushing against the soft skin of his lower stomach as they hook into the thick fabric. Carefully, you begin to pull them down, careful to not catch his underwear as you do so, desiring to remove each piece of his clothing individually. You'd assumed his jeans must have been a size or two big, with the ease you were able to slide them down, even at his thighs. You finally let go once they reach his knees, dropping them so he can kick the pooled fabric to the side to be discarded along with his belt.

You trail your gaze up his legs, back to your eye line. You swallow, gaze remaining on his lower stomach, on the tuft of hair that sits just above the elastic of his underwear, avoiding your eyes making contact with the growing bulge that begins to strain against the tight fabric.

"Don't get shy on me again." Joost laughs, reaching forward to grab your arm, just below your shoulder, tugging slightly to lift it up. With the new leverage he slides his palm down the length of your arm before grabbing your wrist, moving it to stretch out your hand, "Right there," Joost sighs, placing your open palm to the fabric that clothes his cock, "Like that…" He holds his palm to the back of your hand, guiding you to rub his underwear-clad length.

Your thighs squeeze together, your guilt once again a passing thought as you feel the way Joost throbs under your touch.

"I thought I was taking the lead…" You bite your lip, eyes flicking up to Joost.

"Back-talking me already… " He shakes his head, clicking his tongue, "Well you looked like you needed some encouragement."

You nod, agreeing, it was exactly what you needed. Perhaps even more.

Your fingertips crawl to the elastic band of Joost's underwear, eager to hook into them.

Joost hums, calling your attention back up to him, watching him shake his head,

"Not yet,"

You bite the inside of your cheeks, attempting to hide your disappointment- but you didn't mind prolonging the night, still unsure if he means it when he says this will last beyond tonight.

"Think there's a little more to take off before we get there."

You nod, placing your hands back onto the bed, steadying yourself to help you stand up.

Despite your proximity, you must admit Joost has gotten less intimidating when you've realized the power you have over him too, the bulge poking into your lower stomach a testament to the fact that he needs you too.

Your fingertips find the hem of Joost's tank top, and you're eager to get it off of him, to have your hands splayed against his chest, to really feel him. You pull at the fabric, lifting it above his stomach, and he raises his arms for you, so you can pull it above his head, allowing Joost to do the extra work to pull it all the way up the length of his arms, too far up for you to reach.

He barely has time to toss his shirt with his other discarded clothes before your hands are on him, palm resting against his chest. He's hairier than you anticipated, the small amount of chest hair that poked from his tank top had not signaled to you the extent of it. Strangely enough- it humanized him, that and the small little moles that dotted his skin, taking you out of what you thought you knew about vampires- with their almost inhumanly pale, unblemished flesh, smooth as silk. Perhaps Joost physically had seemed perfect to you, but he still had the body of a man, not of something that wasn't of this mortal plane.

Your hand slides up from his chest, to his neck, fingers brushing over the tattoo that covers it. You think it's of a cartoon character, but you can't quite recognize it, your parents hadn't really allowed you to watch television growing up, firmly believing that they would rot your brain. You feel a twinge in your chest, remembering how it felt being younger, your alienation from other kids your age, unable to wear the clothes they wore, watch the movies they watched, or listen to the music they listened to. You couldn't quite put a name to the feeling back then, but you think you understand it now, as it still lives inside you, your otherness. Maybe that was part of the reason you had become so desperate for Joost tonight- he was an other too.

"Did this hurt?" You ask softly, continuing to trace the outline of Joost's tattoo, "The tattoo?"

"I guess so, yeah" You feel him shrug, "Nothing I couldn't take though."

"I like them," You smile, it's an innocent enough comment given the situation you had found yourself in, "They're one of the first things I noticed about you."

"One of?" Joost asks, almost challengingly, "What else have you noticed, hm?" He snakes an arm around your lower back, pulling you closer to him, bulge poking further into your lower tummy.

Your face grows hot, getting put on the spot like this,

"Your eyes, I guess," You rest your head on Joost's shoulder, "I've always struggled to maintain eye contact with you because of it."

"I get that a lot," He chuckles, "Even before I was turned, but that definitely made me creep people out more."

"Well," You sigh, "I don't think you creep me out anymore."

"No?" Joost raises an eyebrow, but you don't notice from where you lay against him, "Not even if I told you I can still smell the blood on your wrist… and how desperately I'm trying not to sink my teeth into you right now."

"No," You respond simply- but it isn't indifference, it's much sweeter, an affection for him, slowly unfurling inside of you- your long-buried desires now finally allowed to breathe.

Joost is silent for a moment, and you're sure all of your willingness has surprised him tonight, after all it has surely surprised you. His breath falters against your hair.

"You shouldn't say that so easily," He murmurs, but there's no real warning, it's something more weary, something tender, "You don't know what you're offering."

You nod against his collarbone, placing a small kiss to his exposed shoulder, "I would like to, though."

He exhales slowly, like he's trying to let something go, his hand pressing into the small of your back, keeping you to him as if you might change your mind.

"Well then," He starts, his hand trailing up your back, to the thin, flimsy strap of your nightgown, flicking it down your shoulder, and he continues with the other one, "May I?" He asks like he already knows the answers as two fingers slip into the neckline of the garment, ready slide it down.

You hesitate for a moment, before stepping back, nodding, allowing Joost to slip it off of you. Slowly, the silky fabric drips down your body, exposing your skin inch by inch. You gasp slightly as the nightgown falls from your chest, first exposing your breasts. You contemplate quickly grabbing the garment before Joost fully undresses you, pulling it back up, covering yourself and cowering away from Joost- but you stay, exhaling deeply, ready for Joost to see all of you.

Joost guides the nightgown down your hips, before letting it slip down your thighs, and finally pooling at your feet. Carefully, you step out the small pile its made, gently kicking it off to the side.

Joost's hands immediately return to you, palms at your waist before they slide up to your chest. He feels cold as ever, your teeth chattering as he explores parts of you nobody else has ever laid their eyes on. Joost palms your breasts with both hands, squeezing the supple flesh before letting go, his fingers one side slipping down to your nipple, gently pinching its pebbled surface.

It's a strange feeling, like nothing you've ever felt before, you tip your head back slightly, jaw slacking as a small moan escapes your lips at the jolt that runs through you.

You feel Joost's eyes as they stare deep into you, the heat of his gaze offsetting the pure ice of his touch.

Joost pulls back, just enough to look at you, his breath catching in his throat, eyes wide with awe, like he's never seen something so human.

"Oh my God," he murmurs, almost to himself, like the words slipped out before he could stop them.

You blink, a flutter of nerves curling in your chest, a brief pause, a ghost of old instinct still haunting you. You almost flinch at the casual invocation, the wrongness of hearing "God" like that, so bare, so breathless, but it passes quickly, swallowed by the way he's still looking at you.

Joost's hand comes up, thumb brushing over your cheek, eyes wide, like he can't quite believe you're real. His jaw tightens, like he wants to speak, you expect something smooth, something teasing, a gentle mockery of how you've so easily allowed him to get away with saying the Lord's name in vain. But when Joost finally speaks his voice is hoarse, uneven.

"You're… so beautiful" He says, and it sounds almost like it's something that cost him to admit. He sounds like he's unraveling, losing control over each passing second. "I was going to take my time," he shakes his head, "Make you nervous, make you squirm." His hand slips down to the waistband of your underwear, two fingers gently pulling at the elastic, "But I-I don't think I can control myself," He stutters, "I'm starving for you." He says low, ducking his head to rest against your neck.

"Then don't." You sigh, "I think I'm ready now." You nod.

"Please forgive my lack of restraint when this is through."

Joost mumbles, and you don't have a chance to respond before his hands rest against your shoulders, pushing you back onto the bed. His sudden fierceness knocking the breath from your lungs as you attempt to get into a more comfortable position, crawling backwards to fully lay against the mattress, arms splayed out above you, knees raised.

It isn't long before Joost is on top of you, hovering over you, arms steadying himself on either side of you, pure hunger in his eyes, reminding you that you are his next meal. He lowers himself slightly, lips colliding with yours. There's no build up to it, it's pure hot, wet desire. His teeth scrape against yours, making your body shiver, a sign of the recklessness with which he kisses you.

His kisses almost suffocate you, his breath heavy in your face, lips exploring you with a fervor you have yet to experience from him. You arch your back into him, your crotch grazing against him, granting you a feeling that was now growing familiar.

"Shit," He breathes out, pulling away from this kiss, "I can't do any more of this teasing shit, fuck" He pushes himself up from his position above you, and he's standing up again.

You blink a few times as you look up at him, swallowing thickly as you anticipate what's to come. Your body trembles, watching anxiously as he taps your knee,

"Come, on put your legs down," His hand trailing up your thigh, sticking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, practically ripping at the fabric, "Let me take these off."

You oblige with a simple hum, biting down on your tongue until you nearly taste blood as the fabric slides down your thighs, leaving you entirely bare. You almost instinctively close your legs, your utter nudity leaving you vulnerable, feeling like you needed to shelter yourself. But you don't, you let him take you in as you bend your knees for him, betraying your initial reactions, and putting yourself on display.

Joost lets out a low groan at the sight, a smile of content settling on his face at how ready and willing you are for him. Joost soon pokes his thumbs into the elastic of his underwear, quickly, pulling them down.

You bite the inside of your cheeks as his length springs from the confines of the tight fabric, your body tenses, knowing what's to come next. You watch intently, propping yourself up on your forearms as Joost slides his palm up and down the shaft, his teeth gritting as he prepares himself for you.

Soon, he returns to his position above you, almost lunging at you, like you really are his prey. You fall back, body too shaken to continue to hold yourself up, head hitting the mattress.

"You're really going to have to relax for me this time," Joost's voice is suddenly a lot more serious, a lot more commanding, and you shut your eyes tight, taking a deep breath in, ready to obey. With your eyes shut you get no warning for the unexpected feeling of his tip brushing through your slick folds, the squelching sound of wet skin filling the room. You turn your head to the side, as if to look away, suddenly embarrassed by the realization that sound is you.

"Perfect," Joost mewls, lowering his head once more as he continues to slip between your folds, not yet entering you, "So wet," He muses, "So eager, it will make this easy." On reflex, you push up into him, wanting to feel more than just the tip, grinding against his length, sighing at the way the bumps of the veins of his cock provide the perfect amount of friction.

Joost's lips find your neck once more, kissing you with need, so close to everything he wants.

"Okay," He sighs, "Just focus on this, on me kissing you, okay? Relax." You know he doesn't want to wait anymore, and neither do you, and all you can do is just oblige, and try to forget about everything else in this moment besides the soft, comforting feeling of his lips on your neck. They're plush, more gentle than they should be, each kiss deliberate, calculated. You keep your neck craned to the side opposite him, allowing Joost as much access to your neck as he needs.

Yet you're suddenly ripped from that feeling, an unfamiliar stretch between your legs, one that forces your eyes to screw shut, your hands flying to Joost's shoulders' fingertips ripping into his flesh to ground yourself at the feeling. It stings for a moment, feeling like you're being torn in two, before it suddenly stops, becoming nothing more than a dull throb as you open your eyes, realizing Joost had bottomed out into you.

He doesn't pull back quite yet, instead raising his head to get a good look at the expression on your face. It's a lazy smile, head dizzy from the new sensation, you've never felt so full, it's a satisfaction unknown to you. He seems proud, or maybe he's just altogether too excited to finally have plunged into you. It doesn't matter, the satisfaction you both feel clearly fills the room, shifting the mood, your senses suddenly heightened.

Joost begins to pull out, your eyes rolling back into your head, back arching as a long, high pitched whine leaves your mouth. Your hands trail down his back, fingernails not leaving his skin, surely leaving deep scratch marks in Joost's back.

He thrusts forward again, and your breath is taken from you once more, and you struggle to regain it as he finds his pace, surprisingly slow at first, allowing you to get used to his length.

"You're so warm," He sighs, pushing himself back into you, at a pace that is almost agonizingly slow. You get the feeling that Joost misses the warmth of being human, that this is exactly what he needed. His desire for your vitality was far beyond just his lust for blood, it was a longing for life.

"You are too," You say back simply, not meaning it in the sense of temperature, but in how he makes you feel.

"You shouldn't say things like that," He groans, eyes closing tight for a moment as he speeds up his pace, his voice hiccuping, "Make me feel like there's something human left in me."

"Maybe there is." You gasp. Even as a mortal, even you have never felt so alive, you've never been so aware of the blood in your veins, the sensation that sparks each nerve with Joost's thrusts.

"I told you I could still feel," He chokes out a laugh, voice raw.

You believe him now more than ever, especially at the, drawn out groans and grunts he lets out, head hanging once more as he's finally given into your softness.

"What do you feel?" He asks, "Do I make you feel closer to death as you make me feel closer to life?"

"No, no!" You suddenly squeal as Joost slams into you, struggling to maintain a train of thought, much less a coherent response to his question, "No… s'full… so alive," It isn't the full breadth of your thoughts, but it's close enough, unable to squeak out a full sentence under the pure pleasure that overtakes your senses.

You should feel guilty, push Joost off of you and run to confession, beg for repentance- wondering how you could ever even serve any penance for this. This was pure selfish, indulgent sin- your first taste of hedonism.

"Good," Joost says, sensing your new found lust for life had been forged from relinquishing your old ways, "You needed this didn't you, to be broken open? God, I'm so glad it was me."

"Me too," You agree, holding Joost tighter, fingernails settling into his back once more at the intensity of every sensation. Joost isn't holding back now, not with the way he rocks into you, not at a back breaking pace, but fast, and deep enough for you to know this is exactly how he wants it.

You're restraining the noises that almost force themselves out of you, what would be cries nothing more than mere high pitched whines. It's all too intense, everything, all the emotions, and the way Joost buries himself so deep within you awakens something you can't even fully understand, you're not in control of yourself anymore. Your body is shaking, squirming beneath him, you can't help yourself, your pleasure possessing you, a demon you never want to be exorcised out.

"It's okay," Joost says, sensing your restraint, "Let it all out, be as loud as you want angel."

Angel, an ironic nickname, as you felt far from it. Yet compared to Joost, he must have seen you like a saint, his own slice of heaven. Like he wasn't why you had so suddenly fallen from your path of righteousness, taking your innocence, your restraint. But worse, you had given it to him so willingly, despite the guilt clawing at the back of your mind, you could never leave, not when every part of your body screamed that this was where you were supposed to be.

The realization only adds to the overwhelming sensation, and with his beckoning you finally let everything out, a loud sob ripping through your throat as Joost continues to fuck into you, tears spilling down your cheeks. Once the tears start they don't stop, and you can't wipe them away, hot and relentless. Your throat tightens painfully, strangling every breath into a ragged gasp.

Your stomach tightens with each wave, drawing your knees further inward, your whole frame curling as if to protect yourself from the rawness of it all, but you can only move your legs so far with Joost between them.

The sound is strange, foreign to your ears, the mix of your sobs with moans of pure pleasure. It's intense, nothing like the shallow gasping and whimpering you had usually heard coming from Joost's room at night. You wondered if you had just been far more sensitive than them, or if he had just been fucking you so much better than he had ever bothered for anyone else. You hope it's the latter, you don't want him to see you as weak, as just an innocent thing to ruin without another care in the world, before he returns back to old habits. No, you want to be the best thing Joost has ever had, you want him to come back for more, to be the only one, forever.

Joost begins to kiss your neck again, movements becoming slopping, losing any pace, this groans vibrating against your skin.

"I need this," He mumbles to your flesh, before returning to your neck, his kisses becoming furious, lips sucking at your veins, pulling the skin. Your breath fails to find you, short, relentless stutters falling from your lips as your body begins to tense, shaking harder than before.

You feel like you're about to burst, far too full and overwhelmed. You screw your eyes tight, expecting to pop at any moment, the tension building inside of you, your voice becoming louder and louder, despite Joost's coldness you're hot, the simmering pressure inside you about to roll over into a boil.

The feeling is cut for a moment, but by relief, but with a sharp pang, a prick. Your head falls to the side as the ache in your neck spreads, slow and warm. Joost had finally done it, he'd bitten you.

You can't keep your legs up much longer as they begin to thrash beneath you, your entire body trembling at the feeling of all the ways Joost has buried himself deep inside you.

It wasn't just a bite- you'd been claimed, the final declaration of your ruin as his hands, his mouth tethered to your skin. Your blood burns in contrast to the coldness of everything else, your neck just as warm and wet now as your cunt, which Joost still mercilessly pounds himself into.

Every nerve in your body had been woken up, the bite wasn't just in your neck, it pulsed. Your breath caught, fingernails breaking the skin of Joost's back, the very pulse Joost feeds from pounds in your ears.

You feel yourself growing weak, limbs tingling from the loss of blood, tension leaving your body along with your strength. You lay there, like a rag doll, vision becoming spotty, without a thought in your head. You were losing blood faster than your heart could pump it out, your eyes beginning to roll back in your head, body on the brink of unconsciousness.

Surely Joost was able to feel it, the way you suddenly fell limp beneath him, your sobs and moans ceasing as you lost the strength to even make as little as a squeak.

Joost pulls himself from your neck, steadying himself on one forearm above you. You can make out some of him, as you begin to nod off, eyes fluttering, vision half blacked out and blurry. You notice the crimson that stains his lips, only able to make it out in the stark contrast it has against his pale skin.

Joost's palm hits the side of your cheek, it's not a slap, nowhere near hard enough to sting, but enough to call you too him, he repeats the gesture a few more times,

"Come on," He urges, "Come back to me, baby, you're almost there."

His voice is enough to help you retain some consciousness, it's something to hold on to.

Until eventually another sensation hits you, almost out of nowhere, your adrenaline kicking in, a near scream suddenly leaving your lips as your legs begin to quiver uncontrollably.

"That's right," Joost smirks, "There you are, oh" He coos, "You're there."

It's almost as intense as Joost's bite, the feeling that rips through you, your pussy fluttering, clenching around Joost. You shut your eyes tight as the hot wave of pleasure washes over you, your consciousness brought back to you.

You thrash against Joost, grinding onto his cock, like you somehow want him even deeper as you ride out the final seconds of your orgasm, not wanting the pleasure to cease.

And it doesn't not quite… but it becomes something so much more intense as Joost returns to your neck, lapping at the blood that still spills from the wound he's created. Your thighs ache, your quivering pussy so much more sensitive as you come down from your high. It's far too much, as the tears continue to spill from your eyes, and you want to shove Joost off of you, unable to take it.

But you can't, you don't- you don't really want to.

"Just a little longer," He assures, his breathless voice almost inaudible against the backdrop of your ceaseless whines.

HIs tongue drags up against your neck, savoring every drop he takes from you, the feeling makes you shutter.

A string of expletives fall from Joost's mouth, he's louder now, the loudest he's been all night, and you whine once more as he pulls out of you, the sudden emptiness feeling strange.

"Fuck," He mumbles once more before you feel the warmth of his release on your inner thigh, having been mere seconds away from cumming inside of you. It some how feels filthier like this, feeling the warmth drip down your thigh, so close to your spent cunt.

Joost collapses next to you with a heavy breath, and you immediately cling to him, everything finally hitting you at once. You wrap your legs around Joost, arms held around him even tighter as you begin to sob into his chest.

Your breath comes out shallow, stuttering. The pain in your neck twinges with each heartbeat, the echo of his teeth still there, sharp, yet impossibly gentle, like the act was sacred.

But there was nothing holy about what you had done.

"It's okay, angel," He attempts to comfort, hand splayed on your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin.

And there it was, angel, so innocent, as if your blood didn't stain his lips.

Your chest heaves with another sob, something ugly that tears through you. You press your forehead to Joost's chest, afraid of what you'll see there.

"What have I done," You breathe out.

Your mind reels, knowing how far gone you were now. This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this. The fragile pieces of who you thought you were shattering in every direction.

"Nothing you didn't want." Joost responds, so casually, so assured.

And it's because he's right, you did want it, and even now, as you lie here sobbing, you'd still do it all again.

#joost klein x reader #joost klein rpf #rpf #joost klein x f!reader #joost klein fanfic #joost klein fanfiction

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softlysoul · 2 days ago

Text

back to friends ☀︎ lee donghyuck x fem!reader

genre smut, angst, fwb to lovers

a/n first time writing smut kinda nervy

── .✦

You weren’t planning on showing up. Not to this kind of party, anyway.

But Ningning pulled you into her closet, Karina lined your lips with practiced precision, and someone put on music that made the idea seem interesting, at least.

You figured it had been a while since you’d gone out with the girls, so, against your better judgement, you’d agreed to go with them.

Now you’re here, stepping through the front door of some overstuffed frat house that smells like sweat and cheap beer, and you already feel gross. This isn’t the kind of party you’d typically make an appearance at, there’s too many strangers drunk and stumbling around with sticky cups full of some drink that would probably make you hurl. You’ve always preferred the quieter parties, usually in a cramped kitchen with close friends, music low so you can actually hear yourself think, and people you actually liked being around.

Still, you look good tonight. You know that. You don’t need anyone to tell you, but they do anyway.

You walk through the crowd and you feel eyes trail after you. It doesn’t faze you. It never really has. You’re used to attention, even if you rarely care to return it. You’re looking for something that most people can’t offer, especially not in a place like this.

Karina’s already disappeared into the crowd. Ningning’s at the kitchen counter, mixing herself a drink. Giselle’s dancing. Minjeong’s flirting. You give them all a little wave, but don’t follow. Instead, you post up near the wall, one hand wrapped loosely around a red cup you don’t plan to finish, and you watch the night unfold around you.

And then you see him.

Of course you do. You always do.

Leaning against the doorway, head thrown back in laughter, his hair a little messy, rings flashing faintly in the light. He looks good—stupidly so—and he knows it. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and he’s talking to Mark and Renjun, gesturing animatedly.

You don’t let yourself look too long. Just long enough.

But he notices anyway.

His eyes find you through the crowd and there’s a flicker of surprise, quickly replaced by something smoother, more familiar. A smirk. A knowing tilt of the head. That look that makes your skin feel too tight, he’d always had a way of making you act and feel irrationally.

He starts walking toward you, slow and confident, and you fight the impulse to roll your eyes. You already know what this is going to be. The same teasing, the same game. And still, you don’t make any effort to get away from him.

"Didn’t think this was your scene," he says when he reaches you, voice warm and close. “Thought you were above this kind of thing.”

You sip your drink, shrug. “I contain multitudes.”

He grins. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

“I’m always full of surprises,” you say. “You just don’t pay enough attention to notice.”

That makes his smile grow, somehow becoming even more cocky. He glances down at your legs, then back up, unapologetically checking you out. “Oh, I’m paying attention now.”

You raise a brow, unamused. “Try harder.”

He laughs, and for a second, it’s easy, talking to him always is. You’ve known Donghyuck since your first year. You’ve had countless late-night conversations, shared playlists and secrets and beds during those nights when parties ended too late and walking home felt too far. He’s always been a flirt, always been loud and reckless and half-hidden behind that grin, but you’ve seen more than that. You’ve caught glimpses of something quieter underneath. Something careful.

And, fine — maybe you’ve always had a thing for him, but you would never tell anyone that.

“Seriously,” he says, eyes drifting back to yours, a little less teasing now. “You look good.”

You don’t blush. You don’t look away. You know you look good, you made sure of it. But coming from him, the words settle in a strange place.

“You say that to every girl at these things?” you ask, more curious than coy.

He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

You hold his gaze.

There’s a beat of silence, pressed thin between bodies and bass and the bitter taste of cheap alcohol. You’re aware of how close he’s standing, how warm the air feels now, like the room shrunk without warning.

“So why say it to me?”

He tilts his head slightly, the smirk softening into something you can’t quite name. “Maybe I say it to the ones I want to leave with.”

You almost laugh. Almost. Instead, you sip your drink again, let the drink coat your tongue, and answer with your eyes.

“You’re predictable.”

“You’re not.”

And somehow, that feels more dangerous than anything else.

Someone calls his name across the room, but he doesn’t turn. You don’t look either. You both stand there, holding something fragile and unnamed between you, both unwilling to break first.

You should walk away. You should rejoin your friends, find someone else to flirt with, keep pretending he doesn’t get under your skin. That’s what would be smart.

But smart isn’t what you’re feeling right now.

So when he leans in, eyes half-lidded and voice lower than before, asking, “Wanna get out of here?”

Stupidly, you nod, suddenly feeling reckless.

He grabs your hand and pulls you toward the door, the noise and chaos of the party already feeling like a distant storm behind you.

“Wanna Uber to mine?” he asks, voice low, eyes flickering with lust and a subtle touch of something softer.

You pause for a moment, considering it, but then shake your head with a small smile. “Actually... my place is close. We can go there.”

He blinks, surprised but amused. “Alright, lead the way.”

You push off of the wall, breaking the wall of tension between the two of you, and head outside, stepping out into the crisp night air. The city hums quietly around you, cooler than inside, less overwhelming. He falls into step beside you, his warmth a quiet promise against the chill.

── .✦

The walk is short, the streets almost empty, and the tension between you builds with every step, clouding your mind and making you sweat.

You barely get the door open before he’s pulling you inside, turning around and pressing you back against it, his body warm and unyielding. His hands find your waist, gripping just enough to ground you, while his lips land on your neck.

You catch your breath, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers grip your skin. The lock clicks behind you—he finally fumbles it shut, sealing the world out.

His mouth moves lower, trailing slow, heated kisses across your collarbone, and you can feel the sharp pulse of his breath against your skin. Your hands tangle in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, trying to get him as close as possible.

There’s no hesitation now, just the rush of wanting and needing. His hands explore your hips, each touch igniting something deep inside you, something that’s been simmering under all the teasing and banter.

You pull away, attempting to catch your breath. He takes the hint and moves to your neck again, placing open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

Your chest heaves as you gently push his head away from you, “Maybe… we should take this to the bedroom.”

His gaze flicks up, eyes dark and burning. He doesn’t say anything—just nods once, a little breathless, like he’s trying, and struggling, to hold back.

You take his hand and turn toward the hallway. Behind you, you hear him quietly shut the door, the lock clicking into place like a final answer. Then he’s following close behind, steps quick, like the anticipation is too much to carry.

You don’t make it far. As soon as the door swings shut, his hands are back on your waist, tugging you close until you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the thrum of his pulse beneath his skin.

His lips find yours again, though they’re hungrier this time, messier. There’s nothing restrained about the way he kisses you now. It’s all urgency and heat, a low noise caught in his throat when your fingers slide up under his shirt, grazing bare skin.

He pushes you backward, gently but insistent, until the backs of your knees hit the bed. One look, eyes dark, pupils blown, and he presses forward, guiding you down onto the mattress, positioning himself so he’s leaning over you.

Your body yields under him, soft and warm, and his hands are everywhere — tracing the curve of your waist, slipping under your shirt and dragging slowly up your ribs. He leans down, mouth at your ear, breath hot. “Is this okay?”

You nod, your hands insistently pulling at the hem of his shirt. “More than okay.”

He peels his shirt off, and your shirt and bra follow, tossed somewhere onto the floor. Skin against skin now — and you can feel heat blooming where he touches, where he kisses, where his fingers linger too long.

He kisses down your chest, slow and reverent like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you in real time, cataloging each breath you take, each little sound that escapes you. When his mouth closes around your nipple, your back arches without meaning to.

“Oh god,” you whisper, barely audible, and he hums in response, one hand sliding lower, sliding underneath the waistband of your pants.

You can feel the question in the way his fingers pause there, tentative. He removes his mouth from your chest and meets your eyes, searching for permission. “Please.”

You nod, and he grins, pulling your bottoms and panties off in one go. You shiver as you feel the cold air of your room on your core. His hands are warm as they travel down your skin, over your stomach and down to your thighs.

You gasp as he softly runs his fingers along your folds, featherlight and teasing, taking his time exploring you. He exhales slowly, like the sight alone is unraveling him. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, voice rough, thick with arousal.

Then his finger presses in gently, and he watches the way your pussy reacts to the stimulation, slightly twitching.

He slowly pushes in and out, enjoying the soft noises you let out as he teases you. He presses his bulge into the bed, seeking some sort of relief from how hard it was.

When his mouth replaces his fingers, it’s almost too much. He drags his tongue through you slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Your hands find his hair instantly, your hips lifting off the bed, chasing friction. But he pins you down gently, one arm flung across your stomach, holding you still. “Let me,” he whispers, breath hot against your skin. You try to force out a response, but are so consumed by the way he’s devouring you that the most you can muster is a loud whine.

He works you open with his tongue, slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to burn himself into your memory. Every swipe of his tongue and brush of his fingers over your clit feels like it’s unraveling a tightly wound string inside of you, pulling and pulling until you’re frayed at the edges, trembling beneath him.

You can’t stop the sounds that fall from your lips, soft gasps and breathy moans that seem to spur him on. He hums again, pleased, and the vibration nearly sends you over the edge.

Your head tips back, eyes fluttering shut. “Hyuck—” you breathe, voice shaky.

His name in your mouth makes him groan. “Say that again.”

You do, over and over, like it’s the only word you remember, until your thighs start to shake and your hands grip his hair tighter, and you’re right there — on the edge of something dizzying.

You reach your climax, a long moan being pulled from your lungs, white hot pleasure searing its way through you. It’s messy, desperate, raw.

You’re still trembling when he kisses your inner thigh, then your hip, then your stomach, slowly and deliberately making his way up to your mouth, His mouth brushes your lips tenderly, lips dragging over sensitive places, letting you come down soft.

The air between you crackles.

His weight shifts, body rising to meet yours, and he brings your hand up to his face, kissing the inside of your wrist before leaning in again. His eyes search yours, quiet and serious for once.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes, and the words send a pulse through your chest that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the way you’ve always wanted him to look at you, exactly like that.

You reach up, curl your fingers into the waistband of his pants, voice barely audible. “Take these off.”

He smirks at you, a teasing glint suddenly forming in his eyes, “Say please.”

Normally, you’d get flustered at his teasing, but now, you’re too lost in your own pleasure to object. “Please, Hyuck…” You whine his name, and he swears he could’ve come in his pants just from the look on your face.

You trail your hands down the plane of his chest, to the waistband of his jeans. Your touch turns bolder, rougher, driven by the burn still lingering beneath your skin. He groans as your fingers brush over him through the denim.

“You’re really trying to kill me,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours.

You smile, breathless. “I just wanna feel you.”

He doesn’t waste another second. The clumsy shuffle of jeans and a condom wrapper fills the quiet between kisses, hands moving too fast and not fast enough. When he finally settles between your legs, he pauses again — one hand resting on your face, thumb brushing under your eye.

“Still okay?” he murmurs.

You nod. “Yeah.”

When you feel the warmth of his cock on your folds, you whine, “Fuck, s’ too big.” He chuckles and brushes your hair out of your face, “You can take it for me, right?”

You hum in agreement, though it likely sounds more like a strangled moan, and squeeze your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure you feel in your core.

He smiles at your attempt at a response and kisses your forehead, “that’s my good girl.”

And then he’s pressing into you, slow and steady, the stretch sharp and stinging at first, until your body adjusts, until all you can feel is the deep burn of him filling you, inch by inch. You gasp as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, the air punched out of you in a shaky breath.

He groans, head dropping to your shoulder. His whole body is tense, clearly trying to give you time to adjust to his length.

Your back arches, hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in as you try to ground yourself. He stills for a second, forehead pressed to your neck, letting you both catch up to the moment.

Then he starts to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts at first, deep enough to make you see stars, then faster, more frantic, his control unraveling with each passing second. Your bodies find a rhythm — messy, breathless, greedy — and you cling to him as he thrusts in and out, his cock meeting that sensitive spot in your pussy with every inward movement.

His name tumbles out of you again and again, more prayer than plea, until your voice breaks and your walls clench tight around him.

“I’ve got you,” he pants, lips at your jaw, hand sliding between your bodies to rub rough circles against your clit. “Come for me.”

It crashes over you like a wave, your back moving off the mattress, a cry pulled from your lungs as your orgasm pulses through every inch of you. He follows moments after, groaning into your neck as he spills into the condom, thrusts turning sloppy before he finally stills.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, tangled together in the quiet aftermath.

He moves first, not away, not out, but just enough to ease the weight off your body and press a kiss to your shoulder. His hand lingers at your waist, fingertips brushing lazy, featherlight circles into your skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice rough from exertion and arousal.

You nod, a little dazed. “Yeah… I’m good.”

And you are. Bone-tired, muscles aching in ways that feel more satisfying than painful.

He pulls out slowly, gently, and you wince at the shift. Without a word, he disappears down the hall and returns with a warm, damp towel, crouching between your knees with a quiet focus. He’s careful as he cleans you up, hands gentle, gaze flickering up now and then to check your face.

It’s silent, but not uncomfortable. The kind of quiet that feels comfortable, easy.

He tosses the towel into your laundry basket, climbs into bed beside you, and pulls you into his chest. His skin is warm against yours, his heartbeat steady where your cheek rests over it.

Neither of you says much. Just tangled limbs, slow breathing. You fall asleep like that, bare and wrapped around each other, his hand in your hair and yours pressed to his chest.

── .✦

When you wake, it’s to sunlight creeping through the curtains and the sound of your upstairs neighbor bustling around in their apartment.

Your bed is warm, but only on one side. His side is already cold.

You blink, still groggy, reaching out as if maybe he just shifted in the night. But there’s no weight beside you, no rustle in the apartment. No open bathroom door. No footsteps.

You sit up, heart in your throat.

No note on the nightstand.

No message on your phone.

Nothing.

You check the door, only to find it locked. Your apartment, still. Everything in place.

Everything except him.

And the only proof he was ever here is the soreness in your thighs and the lingering marks on your skin. The phantom of his hands. His voice in your ear.

You’re alone.

And you don’t know what stings more, the emptiness of the room, or the fact that you’re actually hurt that he left.

── .✦

You sit on the edge of your bed for a long time, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. There’s a draft of a text in the box:

hey, did you make it back okay?

You stare at it. Backspace. Start again.

thanks for last night

No. That feels pathetic. You delete it.

The cursor blinks at you, waiting for you to type something, anything.

You finally type, you left super early this morning. everything okay?

You hit send before you can think it over, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. The little bubble appears and then… nothing.

You set your phone down, check again a few minutes later.

Still nothing.

You tell yourself it’s early. He’s probably just asleep. Maybe he left for work, or class, or something important. Maybe his phone died. You try to believe it.

But by the time the sun has fully risen and the coffee in your mug has gone cold, you’ve checked your phone a dozen times. No answer. No typing bubble. No follow-up. Not even the courtesy of a “got home safe.”

He’s not just gone.

He’s disappeared.

You try not to let it eat at you, but it does. The silence presses in like fog, dense and confusing, and all the heat from the night before starts to feel like a hallucination. Like you made it up, or read it in a book and convinced yourself it happened to you.

You change your sheets. You shower. You put on clothes that aren’t the ones you wore to the party. You pretend that it didn’t matter, that it was casual, that you’re fine.

But when your phone buzzes, texts from your friends flooding in as they question where you went last night, your heart still stutters like it’s him.

And when it’s not, the pain appears again.

── .✦

You show up to brunch twenty minutes late, sunglasses on, hoodie up, and your hair in a braid that definitely looks like it was done by a toddler. The second you slide into the booth, four pairs of eyes land on you like a SWAT team.

“Oh my god,” Giselle blurts, mid-sip. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Gigi’s right, you look like a mess, no offense” Minjeong says, lowering her sunglasses to squint at you. “Be honest, who’d you fuck last night?”

You blink. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Girl.” Ningning stares you down. “Don’t even start. You’re wearing last night’s lip gloss.”

Karina leans forward, resting her chin on her palm. “Was it Donghyuck?”

You freeze.

And that’s all they need.

“OH MY GOD,” Minjeong screeches.

“I KNEW IT,” Giselle hisses. “I knew something was up! You two disappeared like, an hour into the party.”

“I said I was getting air,” you mutter.

“You were getting railed,” Ningning says. “Don’t lie.”

You groan and cover your face. “Can we not do this here?”

“No. We have to do this here,” Karina says gently. “This is a safe space. We’ve all committed crimes at this table.”

“She’s walking funny,” Minjeong adds. “Confirmed.”

You drop your hands and sigh. “Fine. Yes. We hooked up.”

Four gasps. A collective sip of iced coffee. A shared eye contact moment of girl, finally.

“And?” Giselle prompts. “How was it?”

You hesitate.

And then you say, “Good. Like… really good.”

Another chorus of squeals.

But then you add, quietly: “But when I woke up, he was gone. No note. No text. Nothing.”

The vibe shifts instantly.

“Oh, hell no,” Minjeong snaps, sunglasses coming off entirely.

“He left?” Karina asks, tone flattening. “After sleeping with you?”

You nod slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself like you're trying to stay intact.

Ningning blinks. “Literally why would he do that?”

“I thought we had a connection,” you say, voice a little too quiet. “It felt… different.”

There’s a long pause, heavy with quiet fury and heartbreak.

Minjeong exhales through her nose like a bull about to charge. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“We’re going to ruin him,” Karina corrects calmly.

“Do we do it now or after pancakes?” Ningning asks.

Giselle is already opening Instagram. “I’m gonna text him”

“Please don’t,” you groan. You lean into Karina’s shoulder, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. Anger and disappointment swirl in your chest. But here, with your friends, you feel a little bit less alone.

Minjeong squeezes your hand tightly. “You deserve better than him anyways.”

Ningning leans forward, voice soft but firm. “He’s a bum, and you’re too hot to let him upset you.”

Karina brushes a stray hair behind your ear. “Let’s have a movie night tonight, try to forget about it.”

You manage a small, grateful smile. The pain is still there, simmering, but with them by your side, it feels less suffocating.

── .✦

Days pass, and you’re nowhere to be found around the usual places you and Hyuck’s friends used to hang out. Your absence doesn’t go unnoticed, especially by him. The guys had always been a good group of friends, close even without you, but your absence was a sharp reminder of how he’d royally fucked up.

Renjun, who shared the most classes with you and generally considered you to be a good friend, especially notices. You’ve been avoiding him too, switching seats in class to put distance between you two.

Later that day, he brings it up to Donghyuck in Jeno and Jaemin’s living room, subtle anger underneath his words.

“Hyuck, what the hell did you do?” Renjun snaps, voice low but fierce. “Y/N moved seats away from me. Like, packed up her stuff and booked it across the room without a word. And she’s been ignoring my texts.”

Donghyuck rubs his neck nervously, trying to dodge the intensity but failing. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far…”

Before he can say more, Mark steps in, arms crossed. “You know how close she was with us. She’s not just some random girl.”

Jeno shakes his head, voice sharp. “And you left her hanging. You fucked her and then left?”

Dongyhuck winces, the harsh language of his friends putting everything into perspective for him. “Don’t be so harsh. It’s not like I told her we’d be a couple or anything.”

Jaemin clenches his fists. “That’s not the point. She’s pissed at all of us now. Just because you didn’t promise anything doesn’t mean you ghost her.”

Donghyuck swallows hard, guilt crashing down. “I messed up. I know. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

Renjun’s stare softens just a little, but the frustration remains. “Just be honest with her, don’t fuck it up again. You just need to talk to her.”

── .✦

A week slips by, seven long days of silence. No texts, no calls, no sign of you anywhere. Donghyuck’s phone lights up with other notifications, but none from you. Every time he opens your chat to check if you’ve at least read his texts, his heart races, only to fall when he sees no reply.

He’s tried everything, dozens of messages full of apologies, simple check-ins, even jokes to break the ice, but nothing breaks through the wall you’ve built. His thumbs hover nervously over the keyboard as he drafts yet another message, erases it, and starts again.

“I know I hurt you. I��m sorry. Please talk to me.”

Sent.

He waits, staring at the screen, willing his phone to buzz back, but the silence stretches on, heavier with each passing hour.

His friends have noticed his darkening mood. Renjun catches him staring blankly at his phone during class. Jeno and Jaemin exchange worried glances when he skips practice. Even Mark nudges him quietly, “Man, you gotta fix this before it’s too late.”

But every unanswered text chips away at his hope, and the regret grows like a flower in his chest.

── .✦

You sigh as you look in the mirror. The tired eyes staring back at you are heavy with exhaustion and something else, a dull ache that won’t fade. It’s been a week since that night, a week since you let yourself feel something real, and then had it ripped away without warning.

Every time your phone buzzes, your heart leaps, hoping it’s him, only to drop when it’s not. And when it is, your fingers freeze. You read his messages, the apologies, the desperate pleas, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. Not yet. Not while you still feel so raw and exposed.

You tell yourself you’re protecting yourself, that distance is the only way to keep your heart safe. But each day alone sharpens the ache, and you miss the laughter, the easy comfort of the group, the way Donghyuck’s smile made things feel okay, even if he didn’t feel the same, you convinced yourself you could be ok with just being his friend.

Still, the betrayal lingers, thick and heavy. You replay the night over and over, the way he left without a word, without anything.

You bury yourself in your other friends’ company, their fierce loyalty a soothing bandage for the sting. But even they can’t fill the hollow spaces where your old friendships used to live.

You glance at your phone again, thumb hovering over his name. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe soon. You want to believe he’s worth the risk, worth breaking down your walls. But for now, the silence stays, like a fragile dam holding back the flood inside you.

── .✦

It’s been nearly two weeks of silence. Your phone remains stubbornly quiet except for the occasional unanswered texts from Donghyuck. But what you don’t know is that behind the scenes, he’s been trying everything to get to you.

He finally gets a lead, one of your classmates and mutual friends, Minji, slips him information about a possible library session. She knows how much this means to both of you, and though she’s wary, she agrees to give him a heads-up about where you might be.

You’re sitting in a quiet corner of the library later that week, lost in your thoughts, when suddenly you see someone approaching you in your peripheral vision. Your heart sinks as the chair next to you is pulled out, Donghyuck sitting down and facing you.

He waits for you to look at him before speaking, his voice low but firm as he meets your eyes. “We need to talk.”

You look around. People are starting to notice. You bite your lip and sigh, not wanting a scene. “Fine,” you say quietly, standing up. “But somewhere private.”

He nods, relief flashing across his face. “There’s a park nearby. Let’s go.”

You grab your things and head out, leaving the library behind, stepping into the cool evening air, anxious to finally confront everything between you.

── .✦

The park is quiet, the only sounds are the soft rustle of leaves and distant city hum. You both find a bench tucked away under a streetlamp’s warm glow. The space feels intimate, away from prying eyes, but the tension between you is thick enough to fill the air around you.

Donghyuck sits down first, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to organize his thoughts. He looks over at you, eyes earnest and raw.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, voice low, almost a whisper. “I never meant to hurt you. Leaving like that… it was selfish, stupid. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to handle what happened between us.”

You keep your gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He swallows hard, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating from his body. “I was scared. Scared because everything was moving too fast, scared because I didn’t want to mess things up with you, but instead, I did the worst thing possible. I left you hanging. And I… god, I can’t believe I was that selfish.”

Your throat tightens. “You left me with nothing, Hyuck. No explanation. No ‘I’m sorry.’ Just silence.”

He winces like you’ve slapped him with your words. “I know. I was a coward. I wanted to tell you so many times, but every time I tried, the words just got caught in my throat. I thought ignoring it would make it easier, for both of us, but I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, anger and hurt bubbling to the surface. “You think you can just come back after ghosting me like that and say ‘sorry’ and that’s it?”

Donghyuck’s voice cracks, raw and desperate. “No, no, I don’t expect that. I’m not asking for forgiveness just because I want it. I want to earn it. I want to fix this, even if it takes everything I have. Because losing you… that’s the last thing I want.”

You finally meet his eyes, and you see the sincerity there, the regret, the fear of losing you. For a moment, the anger softens into something else, something tender.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again, Hyuck,” you admit, voice shaking. “You left me feeling like I wasn’t worth sticking around for. Like I was just a quick fuck.”

He kneels down in front of you, taking both your hands in his. “You are so much more than that. You’re everything to me. I’m begging you, please. Let me show you that I’m better than how I acted.”

The tears spill free now, your body trembling with the release of weeks of pain and confusion. Donghyuck pulls you gently into his arms, holding you as if you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You bury your face in his chest, heart pounding, and whisper, “I want to believe you.”

He kisses the top of your head, voice soft but certain. “Then let’s start again. No games. No running.”

Slowly, hesitantly, you look up at him, and your lips meet in a kiss. It’s tentative at first, then deeper, full of all the apologies and promises words could never capture.

When you finally pull away, breathless and trembling, you rest your forehead against his. “Maybe… maybe we can try.”

Donghyuck smiles, eyes shining. “Maybe we can.”

── .✦

softlysoul perm taglist - @markkiatocafe @theozia @hyeinsveil

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juicebuck · 1 day ago

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I could always count on 911 being the type of show that doesn’t drop its storylines. There has been stuff that’s been called back that I didn’t expect to be called back, but the difference is is that back then there are some sort of conclusion? Even if there wasn’t closure, it was sort of concluded in that arc of that makes sense? Hen cheating on Karen. Karen finally being able to tell Eva (Ava forgot her name) that shes always afraid of her disrupting their lives. Athena and finally being able to find the person that killed her fiancé. Like I know this show can properly pick strings back up but when they pick the strings they were at least solid. Do I have too much hope that they’ll revisit the “you think I’m in love with Eddie”? Yea sure but any string they grab will be so flimsy. They couldn’t add something at all to the finale if that’s where they’re taking it?

yeah. and well, i mean the issue is tim and the way he runs this show. and that needs to change. or he needs to take a step back and hand the reins over. because his vision (if we can even call it that) is directly at odds with what people want. and i'm not just talking about buddie. but just, in general. the GA has been just as unhappy with his "creative decisions" as the rest of us. bobby being #1 on that list. but also, eddie and christopher being gone and the lack of normal emergencies have come up in the facebook comments a lot. he's lost what the heart of the show is. and, it's not that that heart is gone completely, it's that he doesn't seem to care to find it again in any real way. we get glimpses of it that ultimately come to nothing. and a lot of the issue is that tim doesn't plan anything. he scraps and changes things last minute, it's literally an in-joke with cast and crew that they have no idea what's going on (script tbd cocktail 😭) because they don't. they get scripts mere days, or the day before shooting. which are insane conditions to work under. he killed bobby off on a whim, even though peter hadn't expressed any interest to leave. ryan wasn't even sure whether he'd be coming back. and all of this SHOWS on-screen. because he drops threads to pick up other ones, to only then drop those and do the same. and on and on and on. and it's frustrating because we know the show CAN be good, the heart IS still there. like, the shake-up the show needed was NOT killing off bobby nash. it was better planning, it was committing to the stories you're telling, it was actually CARING about the characters. and the thing is, there are actually some really good writers on this team that DO care, and it shows in some of the episodes. that's where the heart still is. tim either needs to start listening to people other than himself or take a step back. and well, i do actually have hope for season 9. especially after the mass backlash from all corners over the past few weeks. that things could change for the better. and i'm not going to spend the whole summer dooming. i still love these characters and i still believe that many people involved in the show do too, and that they can come back from this. but things DO need to change.

#aela answers things #911 spoilers

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dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth · 5 hours ago

Text

That's a reflection on them, not you. That isn't to say it won't hurt when someone judges you, it's absolutely going to hurt. But the fact is that you need to have the confidence to know yourself and know that, no matter what people believe about you, you know who you are, what you're worth, and what you believe and think about yourself. You need to develop the confidence to understand that, no matter what anyone says or believes about you, what they accuse you of, you know yourself and that their accusations don't change this truth of you and never will. You cannot allow the judgment of another to define who you are.

I get judged constantly, I've had people tell me the most abhorrent things I dare not even repeat, calling me some of the worst shit imaginable, and one of those things was, I kid you not, over commenting on how I loved an art of Deadpool and Spiderman kissing. But at the end of the day, they can believe what they will of me. I know who I am, and it doesn't matter if they do or don't. I wish they understood me, yes, and it hurts that they never will accept the truth about me, but there are more things to worry about at the end of the day than what some random folks think of who I am when I know myself more than they ever will, and I uphold this in my actions, beliefs, daily affirmations, etc.

In ethics, there's something called the growth mindset, meaning people are willing and open to learning and changing their minds, versus a closed mindset wherein they're not willing to learn or change (you'll often see this in especially older and elderly people, for example with how many elderly folks refuse to learn technology at all and demand for alternatives to it). And if the person has a closed mindset then it's not your duty to make them change that. Chances are that no amount of teaching will ever change their mindset, anyway.

And the people who would, in your situation, assume automatically you're a cannibal or cannibalism supporter, are those who likely have the closed mindset, or at least have not received the teaching to understand that to learn most anything at all, you have to challenge your worldview.

Even if they believe you're a cannibalism supporter, so what? Is that a bad thing when put in the context of a society in which it's merely a fact of life for them? Is it bad to allow people to have traditions wherein they consume the bodies of their loved ones believing it brings them closer to them? Is it wrong to support an act of survival to keep oneself alive in desperation? Cannibalism isn't inherently barbaric.

Support of something isn't always black or white, either. You can have nuanced situations in which you'll support something or not based on context, and not just this example but for a number of things. Would you support something such as animal euthanasia for when an animal is very sick and cannot live a quality life, but if it's for the reason that a shelter or city is overpopulated by the animal you wouldn't support it? What about murder? Would you support someone killing a person who is attempting to kill them, but you wouldn't support the idea for murder just for murder's sake?

That is the thing about ethics is it forces you to realize the nuances of the world, the human experience and mind, and people who refuse to see this are those with closed mindsets who, more likely than not, would judge you as in your example. And it doesn't matter what they think of you because at the end of the day, again, you're how you define yourself. And if you'll allow hate and poor judgment to define you, if you're going to worry about what everyone thinks of you in many or all contexts, you'll never be able to challenge your own worldview to learn in your own mindset, to grow and change.

Granted, that isn't to say you should just ask a bunch of random strangers on the street for their opinions on a controversial subject. It's important that you discuss these things in open circles where others are willing to contribute to the discussion in a constructive way, such as a classroom or a mutual meeting space.

But in the end, confidence in yourself as well as understanding that others do not have the right to define you, only you do, is key.

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mrs-delaney · 16 hours ago

Text

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.

"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

#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fluff #nfl fan fic #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow series #nfl imagine #nfl x reader #nfl series

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superhoeva · 2 days ago

Text

things i noticed the third time around watching sinners, in no particular order (spoilers under the cut!!):

delta slim is the one who hands sammie his guitar before sacrificing himself to let he, smoke, and pearline escape the juke. when he handed it to him, he told sammie "remember what i told ya," and i'm certain that has to be a callback to slim talking to sammie about the blues and christianity.

there's some kind of foreshadowing happening when the guy gets his cheek cut during a game of cards (?) to the scratches that remmick leaves on sammie's cheek. yes, we are privy to the injury at the beginning of the film but i feel like it's forgotten enough to see the man's cut cheek as a sign of what's to come!

the interplay of the conversations between smoke with sammie and stack with mary has soooo much fucking intention. smoke talking about how sammie needs to either join the "proper black folks or write church music." as we all know, sammie ends up doing neither of those things–instead he takes his guitar and leaves to become one of the best blues players in the world; stack and mary are the only people from that night able to see that sammie made the best choice for himself, and that's only because mary talked stack into letting her go check out remmick and the crew–in turn, knocking down the domino that leads to her and stack becoming vampires.

there was always a bird flying overhead when a kkk member was in the scene. birds, at least in horror movies, are known to be messengers of death and bringers of doom.

during sammie's conversation with his father in church at the beginning of the movie, a cross can be seen in the background multiple times when the camera is on the preacher. however, its less common (and sometimes even blocked) by sammie.

there was also another cross present in the background when we're taken. outside with mary when she goes to talk to remmick, which i personally feels says something about christianity's impact on why remmick is the way that he is.

another thing i noticed about sammie's conversation with his father–his dad calls him boy in a similar tone to hogwood when he says it to smoke and stack. two very different circumstances but both seemed like they were intended to be belittling in some way.

*the last thing we hear hogwood say i something like "i got money." being a man from the south during that time, you would expect him to call out for God, but no. the last word out of his mouth was money. this isn't only a callback to what smoke was talking with annie about but proves that that's the only thing people like hogwood really care about–money... along with power it gets them.

*the young black man on the stage playing with sammie/buddy guy during the first post credit scene is christone "kingfish" ingram–one of the most prominent faces of modern american blues singing/blues guitar–thus tying together the old (buddy) and the new (catfish) of blues

finally, i find it really touching and incredibly interesting that sammie seems to have been the most influenced not by his father or his cousins–but delta slim. he took what he said–that the blues came over with us when our ancestors were brought to america–and kept that with him the rest of his life. the very religion slim talks about being "forced upon us" is the same religion that often views blues and other secular music as evil. sammie's blues rendition of the little light of mine (a song regularly performed in church) is proof that it isn't the music that evil but rather the policing of the forms of art we use to connect with our past, present, and future...

*these two i technically got from my dad (who noticed this after his first watch???) but i wanted to add because they're very good points.

#sinners #sinners analysis #sinners 2025 #smokestack twins #ryan coogler #sammie moore #elijah moore #elias moore

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bleedingichorhearts · 23 hours ago

Note

Cause I am currently are suffering myself, how would the Primarchs (and Big E for shits and giggles) react to the Reader beeing in deep period pains? We talking arching joints, cramps and just pitiful wanting to go sleep for a year or 2.

At least if always make me want to sleep more haha. If you only feel like doing it for one Primarch go for it, choose your favurite that you want to put in this.

Summary - “Primarchs & Emperor react to your rather old enemy: your painful period.”

TW // Mild NSFW. Beta Read (Like Always)

The Emperor; “Revelation:”

This Emperor would be a lil' bastard about it, but not overly so. More like "Meh, you know how to care for yourself." Though, I do have an inkling that he cares in his own way but just... letting you have the day off, snuggle in that bed of his that he never uses, and sends a surf or custodies to check up in on you, and if you're lucky? He himself.

Lion El’Johnson; “The First:”

I think he would be a bit... indifferent about it. He sees you're in pain, yes, but so could another 1,000,000 females of baselines. He smells them everyday. Yet, you are his counterpart now so... special privileges to you, but honestly? It's only a little. Things are earned, not given. Though, if you keep up those eyes and vows? He supposes he can be swayed, but only by you or the Emperor.

Fulgrim; “The Phoenician:”

He's already on it. Hes' got you patterned down and sat down, rolled up in the sheets of his bed. You're having a week or two off, and other surfs can accompany you if you so wish. He was also deliver chocolate, heat pads, water... etc... to you, by himself. If he doesn't it because someone made him busy. So, in turn he will send one of his sons or surf. Would give kisses and cuddles any time you suggest a syllable. Lil' fanatic.

Perturabo; “Lord of Iron:”

You look like you're in pain... He observers but doesn't do much about it. He isn't going to be a servant to your needs. He will however order someone else to attend to you, but at least he's not completely disregarding you. He does like getting cuddles this time of the month and put your head under his chin when you two lay down. Thats the most you're going to get out of him beside him being like a heating pad himself.

Jaghatai Khan; “The Warhawk:”

Has the surfs attend to you, not to disregard you, but they definitely have more information on how to resolve such issues. He will however, attend to you if you would like his company more of that of the surfs. Would also bring you chocolates and snuggles. He knows at least the basics for the needy, woman body. Is rather quick not to leave you unsatisfied really.

Leman Russ; “The Wolf King:”

You’re bleeding? Why are you bleeding? Did he squish you too hard? No? It’s just a woman thing? He knows of it… or at least smelled it before and it definitely gets two heads thinking… One, he must snuggle you and spoil once more. Two? You’ll be perfect to bed afterwards. (Something like feeding your mate before actually mating.😅)

Rogal Dorn; “Praetorian of Terra:”

Is also one of the “meh” ones. He’s not thrilled or very much worried. He knows your strength, and knows how the female baseline body works. Though, again, you’re his lover and he’s not a complete fool to let you suffer the unfortunate. He will order you to stay in his quarters for the time being for… calculated reasons. He shall tend to you afterwards.

Konrad Cruze; “Dark King:”

Staring problem, staring problem. Looks at you as if you’re squirming bug. He lets you be of course, but doesn’t do too much to help. You’ll be a bit lucky if he chooses to snuggle you at night or some questionable foods… not the best at comforting you in these times…

Sanguinius; “The Angel:”

Sweet angel would offer to eat you out when he can. He knows it’s a bit of a… supply and it sedates his hunger. A win for both sides! Would get you some chocolates that you’ve been craving. Wraps you up in his wings, and just snuggles. He must make his food pretty before going all in. :)

Ferrus Manus; “The Gorgon:”

A bit… sweet about it. Tells you to have his quarters and he shall come to you when he gets the time. Once he does? He has a few chocolates to offer. Heck, maybe even some roses. (It’s an image in my head.😭) He’s treating you like it’s Valentine’s Day, not like he knows what that is… Again, he pretty sweet though.

Angron; “The Red Angel:”

Grumpy about it, always; any day. Doesn’t offer you any food, but he’s nod against to putting his hand on you abdomen and thumbing it with a scowl on his face. He enjoys the contact and the smell of you. Will he admit it? No. When sleeping his hands also just go to your abdomen outta instinct. You honestly get the best sleep.

Roboute Guilliman; “The Avenging Son:”

Is another that I think would be like it’s Valentine’s Day. He would bring you the sweets and flowers, maybe hoping for a truce durning these times. Doesn’t want to dare to not give you something during these times, and would let you sit in his lap if you so choose, but please. Allow him to work. (You don’t, and he can’t tell if he loves you more for it.)

Mortarion; “Death Lord:”

This man is a bit tricky for me, hmmm. I feel like he would give you flowers, and they smell incredible. Would snuggle you and take naps with you. I just view this man a bit like a sweet bear. I think he would just keep you close too.

Magnus The Red; “Crimson King:”

Another to let you on his lap while he reads. His hands stroking your back and occasionally going down to act as a heating pad. Would probably have some spell to “curse” you in a friendly way so your blood moon is more manageable. All he wants to do is help and improve! :D

Horus Lupercal; “The Lupercal:”

One of the best to go to for such pains. He would give you the luxury you need: chocolates, the softest and heaviest blankets, all the goodies! This includes himself too! He’s in the package! Would take the chance to bed you every night. So, the pains might disappear quickly, but something else might be gifted to you…

Lorgar Aurelian; “The Urizen:”

Already know. He worships you, and practically obeys your orders. He’s not one to pull the wrath of his wifey. So, he’s a bit of a loser, submissive. He gets you the sweets, the flowers, and becomes your person heating pad. Order him to bed you? He’s not hesitating.

Vulkan; “Lord of Drakes:”

The best heating pad ever, sweetest one too. You’re stating in his quarters, eating the best, fulfilling foods. You even get a safe, personalized lava rock heating pad! Your hubby definitely thinks about you. He’s on his way to get you some ice-creams, and hoping it doesn’t melt on him. He must not have your fury. Not like he minds…

Corvus Corax; “The Raven Lord:”

Another stare, but definitely better. Leaves a lil’ crow with you and tells you to have the day off, and the lil’ crow is honestly doing more for you than your lover. It’s amusing, and you can’t help but steal another crow for yourself. The little guy has been bringing you little trinkets along with some stolen goods. Your still in pain, but it’s more soothed by your little crow buddy. Corvus is a little jealous, but he redeems himself with hesitant cuddles and sweets.

Alpharius & Omegon; “The Last Primarch:”

One is snuggling you and the other is out getting sweets with his sons. They know where your time comes, of course they do. They know you, and the darkest secrets. They always get you your favorites and the things you love. You honestly just get bombed with Alpha Legionnaires as they try and play “who’s who” again, and you’re not having it. Snuggles are free to whoever will submit the quickest.

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000, @passionofthesith, @insanity6666, @ilovewolvezz.” - Tagged

#warhammer 40k #personalized thoughts #emperor of mankind #the primarchs #lion el'jonson #fulgrim #perturabo #jaghatai khan #leman russ #rogal dorn #konrad curze #sanguinius #ferrus manus #angron #roboute guilliman

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suzukiblu · 18 hours ago

Text

WIP excerpt for Nat behind the cut; “the Last Son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh,” Kon says, looking a little surprised by the question, so Clark thinks sitting in the armchair was probably for the best. Kon clearly isn’t sure how to respond to him either. “Uh–so like, I guess probably the jacket was tracking other people with the same DNA signature as it was programmed with, or like–usin’ us as anchors, maybe? ‘Cuz I wound up pretty much on top of, like, most of the other me’s that I met. First reality I got dumped in, that one’s me was a friggin’ Robin. Like, he called himself Superboy? But definitely the dude was a Robin. Had the mask and cape and everything. Had the utility belt, even, it was a total trip.”

“He was?” Clark asks in surprise, then laughs and lightly jokes: “What, were that Batman and Superman doing a sidekick-exchange program?”

Kon–blinks, a couple times, and looks a little–odd, maybe.

“Um . . . no, it wasn't . . . and actually, uh, I think his reality probably didn’t have, uh, a Superman in it?” Kon says, wincing a little. “Like–not anymore, I mean. I guess a lot of the realities Black Zero’d made a move on didn’t actually have a Superman in ‘em anymore. At least not the ones he was actually, like, all-out going to war on. He’d never actually met one of you, apparently. Or at least never fought one? Well–actually, technically he did meet . . . look, it’s complicated. Hypertime is weird, basically.”

Oh, Clark thinks, feeling a little struck as his chest clenches painfully.

Hell.

Well, that explains why Kon had looked odd over him making that comment.

At least that reality’s Bruce had taken their Kon in–Clark assumes that version of him had arranged something with that version of Bruce, given the nature of their lifestyles, but also that’s just the kind of thing Bruce would do for a kid who needed it either way, so who really knows–so Clark at least doesn't have to worry about who’s taking care of that Kon, but the idea that there are multiple realities where he isn't there for the kid is . . .

God, that's an awful idea.

Just–obviously it's better that Kon exists, but who's taking care of those versions of him? Do they all have a Bruce, or a Ma and Pa? Do they have–

( do they have a Lois, he thinks briefly, and then puts the thought aside.

it's not fair, to ask Lois to give up children of her own. not fair to ask her to be with him when he can't give her that. not– )

“I suppose that makes sense,” he makes himself say, offering Kon the best smile he can manage. “I'd like to think if he'd met a version of me, they could've helped him before you ever had to deal with this.”

“Uh–help him?” Kon asks, looking bewildered. “Dude, what? Like, he was literally trying to conquer literal Hypertime, how the fuck is that something you woulda wanted to help him do?”

“I–no, kid, that's not what I meant,” Clark says, softening carefully and gentling his voice. Hell, what did the people who made him put in his head? “You said he had problems. That his reality wasn't safe for him. I'd like to think one of me could've helped him find a place that was. Kept him from hurting himself, and kept him from hurting other people too.”

#clark kent #kon el #conner kent #superman #superboy #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon #nat

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nhmkhnh · 8 hours ago

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playgirl problems.

pairings: playgirl!ellie x fem!reader

preface: ellie williams has a bad habit of flirting like it’s a sport—and unfortunately for you, she just found her favorite opponent.

author's note: GYAHAHAHA IM BACK!! with our playgirl ellie <3

wrn: lowercase, messy (like the last one haha.)

navigation.

the library’s quieter than usual, save for the dull scratch of highlighters and the occasional throat-clear of a stressed grad student. you're at your usual spot, second floor corner by the window, headphones on and ankle bouncing under the table as you skim a dense psych article. you don’t notice her at first.

not until she pulls the chair out across from you and sits down like she owns the place.

you glance up. faded flannel. silver rings. that damn smirk. ellie williams.

ellie fucking williams.

you blink. “did i say you could sit here?”

she leans back like she’s been invited, legs wide, chewing on a lollipop stick with a gleam in her eye. “didn’t hear you say i couldn’t, babe.”

you pull out one earbud, slow and suspicious. “pretty sure this isn’t your usual section. lost?”

ellie taps her temple. “nope. just figured the smartest girl on campus would be worth studying.”

you freeze, then scoff. “seriously? that’s the line you’re going with?”

“i got better ones, but i didn’t want to scare you off right away.”

you stare at her. she stares back. no shame. no blinking. just those annoyingly pretty green eyes and the devil-may-care aura that has half the campus wrapped around her tattooed finger.

you go back to reading.

“studying psych?” she asks, like you're not trying to ignore her.

you sigh. “yeah.”

“cool. maybe you can psychoanalyze why i can’t stop thinking about you.”

your eye twitches.

she grins, sensing the crack. “c’mon, that was a little good, right? a solid 7.5?”

you slam your highlighter down. “ellie, what do you want?”

she shrugs, leaning forward now, arms crossed on the table. “maybe i like girls who hide behind earbuds and wear oversized sweaters like armor. maybe i think it's cute how you chew your pen when you're concentrating.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’ve been watching me?”

she smiles, infuriatingly soft this time. “only all semester.”

your heart stumbles. you don’t show it. “and you just now decided to talk to me?”

ellie tilts her head. “was waiting for the perfect opening line.”

you blink. “and that was it?”

she laughs, low and warm. “nah. that was just my excuse to get closer.”

you shake your head, trying not to smile. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re gorgeous. it’s a problem.”

you try to return to your paper. you fail. she’s too loud, even when silent. her foot taps near yours. her eyes don’t leave your face. her damn lollipop clinks against her teeth as she flips it lazily in her mouth.

you sigh again, resigning. “if i let you sit here… will you shut up?”

“sure.” she leans back, victorious. “only if i get your number after.”

you roll your eyes.

but you don’t say no.

your 8am lecture is your least favorite thing about college.

the room is cold, the professor speaks like he hates everyone, and your eyes don’t fully open until thirty minutes in. you stumble out, hoodie up, bag sliding off your shoulder, and nearly walk straight into a human wall.

or, more accurately—a plaid-sleeved, tattooed, mischief-eyed wall.

ellie. again.

she’s leaned casually against the hallway pillar, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, one foot resting back like this is her personal runway. she grins the second you notice her.

“you stalking me?” you mutter, clutching your coffee cup like a shield.

she pushes off the wall with a shrug. “maybe. or maybe i just figured this hallway needed some… visual improvement.”

you snort. “you mean you?”

“exactly,” she winks, falling into step beside you. “plus, i heard someone cute had an 8am here. had to verify.”

you roll your eyes, too tired to fight but too amused to stop smiling. “what, do you have spies now?”

“nah,” she shrugs. “just good hearing. and an unhealthy obsession with the way you say ‘fuck’ when you're tired.”

you pause mid-step. “you heard that?”

“every time.” she leans in slightly, voice dropping. “kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

you groan. “ellie.”

“what?”

“do you ever turn it off?”

her eyes flick to you, playful but soft around the edges. “only when you look like you hate it.”

you don’t. not even close. but she doesn’t need to know that. yet.

“so what, you just waited out here… alone… all morning?”

she shrugs again like it’s no big deal. “wasn’t all morning. got here like twenty minutes early.”

you stop. “ellie.”

“what?” she grins.

“why.”

“i told you. cute girl. bad class. i figured you could use some moral support. or a ride to your next one.”

you blink. “you don’t even know where my next one is.”

she pulls out her phone and taps the screen. “wanna bet?”

you stare. she grins wider.

“how—”

“you mentioned it once, like, three weeks ago,” she says, sliding her phone back in her pocket. “i remember stuff.”

your heart hiccups.

you keep walking just to distract yourself from it. “that’s creepy.”

“that’s thoughtful.”

“that’s borderline unhinged.”

she smirks. “you like it.”

you don’t respond. which is, of course, its own kind of answer.

as you reach the steps outside, she opens the door for you and bows dramatically. “after you, m’lady.”

you snort. “that’s terrible.”

“thought it might make you laugh,” she says, following behind with a lopsided grin. “i like your laugh.”

you glare at her sideways. “stop being nice. i’m tired and emotionally vulnerable.”

she gasps. “perfect. that’s my ideal dating window.”

you nearly choke on your coffee.

and ellie? ellie just watches you with that damn smirk like she’s got all the time in the world—and all of it’s for you.

“okay, if we divide up the chapters—wait, where’s the highlighter? did someone move—”

you’re mid–study group chaos when the door creaks open and a familiar voice cuts through the noise like it owns the damn air.

“yo. you guys got room for one more?”

your head snaps up. and there she is.

ellie fucking williams. standing in the doorway of your tiny library study room, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair messily tied back, grin as casual as her tone. like this isn’t the chemistry review session she has zero reason to attend.

you blink. “ellie.”

she winks. “hey, gorgeous.”

a groan comes from one of your group members. “oh my god, not again.”

someone mutters, “you’re not even in this class.”

ellie shrugs, strolling in like she was invited. “yeah, but my girl is. so.”

you nearly drop your pen.

“ellie—” you start, warningly.

she’s already sitting beside you, dragging a chair over so close your knees bump. “relax, i brought snacks.”

she unzips her bag dramatically, revealing a tragic amount of sour gummies, two protein bars, and… a capri sun.

you stare. “what are you?”

“a gift to academia,” she says solemnly, placing a gummy pack in front of you like an offering. “also? you left me on read last night. this is my emotional retaliation.”

you bury your face in your hands. “ellie.”

“what?” she says, way too innocent. “i missed you. thought i’d study. sit beside you. maybe gaze longingly in your direction until i’m kicked out.”

one of the others sighs. “can we please get back to the enzyme chart?”

ellie leans closer, whispering in your ear. “what the hell’s an enzyme?”

you whisper back, “get out.”

she grins. “not until you smile.”

you try not to. you really do. but she’s too close and too stupid and too her.

then, just when you think she’s finally focused (she’s doodling in her notebook, not actually helping), you notice her slide a folded post-it note across the table under your elbow. pink. childish handwriting.

you glance around before opening it.

“u look too cute when ur stressed. let me make it worse 💘”

you nearly choke.

she doesn’t look at you—but her smirk is criminal.

you nudge her leg with yours, biting your cheek to keep from grinning. she bumps your knee right back. like it’s your secret language.

later, when the session ends and people start packing up, ellie stretches with a fake yawn. “well. learned so much. enzymes are crazy, huh?”

“get out, williams,” someone mutters.

but she’s looking only at you now, cocking her head.

“you walking home, or can i keep pretending i know where i’m going?”

you sigh, grabbing your bag. “fine.”

she fist-pumps the air like a dork. “yes. nailed it.”

and as you walk side by side through the stacks, she reaches out, linking her pinky with yours.

no words. just that.

and somehow, it’s louder than all the flirting in the world.

you’re not even trying to flirt. you’re just being nice. the guy beside you in class—some charming pre-med with too much hair gel and not enough self-awareness—is joking about the group project and trying really, really hard to make you laugh.

and yeah, fine, he’s a little funny.

but then—

“hey, babe.” that low voice from behind you, dipped in just enough sarcasm to sting.

you freeze. the guy pauses.

you already know who it is.

ellie. standing behind your desk like she’s just coincidentally passing through this exact building, at this exact hour, despite having literally zero business in the language department.

she leans down, resting her elbow on your desk, posture casual—but her eyes? not even a little relaxed. they're fixed on mr. med school like he owes her money.

“didn’t know you were in this class,” you say, trying not to sound nervous.

she shrugs. “i’m not. just remembered someone said this building has good vending machines.”

you squint. “ellie, no one said that.”

she grins. “okay. i lied. i just wanted to see you.”

your desk partner clears his throat awkwardly. “uh, hey. i’m kyle.”

ellie doesn’t even blink. “cool.”

you cough into your sleeve.

kyle tries again. “you, uh, also taking spanish?”

ellie hums. “nope.”

“…okay.”

you press your lips together.

ellie shifts her weight, hand dropping onto the back of your chair. fingers grazing your shoulder like an accident. “anyway,” she says, eyes still not leaving him, “just came to drop this off.”

she pulls a crumpled napkin from her jacket pocket and places it in front of you. it has your name scrawled across it in marker, followed by: “don’t let weird boys distract you. – management 💋”

you glare at her. “you are so embarrassing.”

she just smiles. “but i brought gum too.”

she tosses you a pack of your favorite flavor like it’s a peace treaty.

kyle shifts uncomfortably. “well, i should—uh, i gotta go… somewhere.”

ellie watches him walk off.

once he’s gone, she slides into the empty chair beside you.

“jesus, ellie.”

“what?” she says, all innocence.

you arch a brow. “that was not subtle.”

she rests her chin in her hand. “didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

“you mean talked to me?”

“same thing.”

you sigh. “ellie, you can’t just scare off every guy who’s—”

“he wasn’t even funny,” she mumbles.

you blink. “what?”

“you laughed,” she says, pout visible now. “i always try to make you laugh. and you just—gave it to him.”

your heart trips over itself.

“you’re being ridiculous.”

she leans in, voice low, teasing. “tell me you didn’t just a little want me to get jealous.”

you go quiet.

she smirks, reading your silence like a novel she’s read too many times. “mmhm. thought so.”

you cross your arms. “you’re still insane.”

“and you still love it,” she says, voice light.

and annoyingly? she’s not wrong.

it starts with the rain. the sky cracking open in the middle of your walk across campus, your notes almost getting soaked, and ellie—ever the menace—showing up just in time with her hoodie already halfway off.

“jesus, you’re soaked,” she mutters, tugging it over your head before you can protest.

“ellie—”

“shut up. you look like a soggy cupcake.”

you don’t even know what that means, but the hoodie smells like her—clean and woodsy, with a hint of spearmint gum—and you melt into it like a traitor.

she leads you into the library, claiming one of the study couches tucked away in the back corner under the mezzanine. you’re supposed to be reviewing flashcards. you are not supposed to be curled up beside her, one leg slung over hers, sharing earbuds, as she opens a random poetry book from the shelf and starts reading dramatically into your ear.

“‘your hand—’” she begins, voice a little low, “‘—touched mine and i swore i could hear the ocean.’”

you pause your chewing on a twizzler. “…that’s not what it says.”

she grins. “i’m improvising.”

you flick her knee.

she pokes your thigh in retaliation. “come on. it’s romantic. we’re in a library. it’s raining. you’re in my hoodie. you wanna pretend this isn’t a date but baby—” she gestures around you with one hand—“this is literally a date.”

your ears burn.

you try to bury yourself deeper into the hoodie.

she flips the page and continues, this time reading the real words—but her voice softens. slows down. like she’s starting to feel what she’s saying.

“‘i never knew silence could taste like sweetness until you looked at me like that.’”

you don’t respond. you can’t. she’s not even looking at the book anymore.

she’s looking at you.

and suddenly the air feels thick and golden and fragile. like something’s about to shift.

you glance away. “you’re doing it again.”

“doing what?”

“looking at me like that.”

she tilts her head, fingers brushing your wrist. “like i’m about to kiss you?”

“…yeah.”

she hums, smile lazy. “you always say that like it’s a bad thing.”

you blink up at her, heart stupidly loud in your chest. “ellie.”

she leans in, close enough that her breath warms your cheek. “i’ll stop,” she whispers. “if you really want me to.”

you don’t say anything.

she waits.

and then—very slowly—she brushes a kiss to your temple.

it’s soft. barely there.

but you still forget how to breathe.

she pulls back, just a little, watching you with that stupid smirk that says yeah, you’re gone.

you are.

the room’s too loud.

music thudding through walls, lights flickering like lazy fireflies, bodies moving in rhythm—clumsy, drunk, careless.

and ellie? ellie’s standing against the far wall, nursing a drink she doesn’t even like, jaw tight, green eyes locked on one thing only.

you.

you, in that dress. the one that clings in all the wrong-right places. the one she knows for a fact you bought after sending her three mirror selfies like, “too much?”

she should’ve known then. you didn’t want advice. you wanted her to lose her mind.

and it’s working.

you’re laughing at something some girl said, your head tilted back, eyes lit, hips swaying to the beat as if you’re not absolutely destroying ellie’s entire nervous system.

the girl beside you leans in a little too close. touches your arm. says something against your ear.

ellie’s drink nearly shatters in her grip.

she pushes off the wall.

crosses the room like a storm dressed in black denim and sharp purpose.

you don’t even see her until her hand’s already sliding around your waist, fingers digging in with quiet, controlled force.

“ellie—” you start, blinking up at her.

“come here,” she says, voice low. tight.

you blink. “i am here.”

she pulls you closer, mouth brushing your ear. “no. i mean—outside. now.”

you don’t argue. not when her tone sounds like a promise.

you follow her out the back door and into the quiet. the cold hits you instantly. so does the heat in her eyes.

“you were staring,” you say, teasing.

ellie doesn’t even blink. “i was watching someone touch what’s mine.”

your breath catches. “babe…”

“you think i don’t notice?” she whispers, stepping into your space. “the way you smile at people. the way you wear that dress like it’s a fucking invitation.”

you bite your lip. “and if it is?”

she exhales hard, frustrated and turned on all at once.

“you wanna play that game with me?” she murmurs. “you wanna make me jealous, baby? you think i won’t remind you exactly who you belong to?”

your heart stutters. you’re already nodding.

ellie laughs softly, darkly, pressing her forehead to yours.

“that’s what i thought.”

she kisses you—hard. possessive. hot enough to erase the cold. like she’s been waiting all night to ruin your lipstick.

it’s quiet when you wake.

soft light peeking through the blinds. birds chirping somewhere outside. the smell of something vaguely burnt wafting in from the kitchen.

and then—ellie. muttering curses under her breath, clattering pans, the sound of a cupboard slamming.

you roll over, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, her hoodie drowning your frame.

she walks back in two seconds later, holding a plate that looks like… vaguely scrambled eggs? maybe?

“breakfast,” she declares proudly, even though one piece is definitely blackened beyond recognition.

you stare at the plate. “babe…”

“what? it’s edible.” she hands it to you and plops beside you on the bed, one leg slung over yours like it belongs there.

you blink at her through your lashes. “you nearly set the kitchen on fire for this?”

she shrugs, smug. “you like when i take care of you.”

you roll your eyes. “i like when you kiss me.”

she raises a brow. then takes the plate from your lap and sets it on the nightstand like it’s not the worst meal ever attempted.

“say less.”

she leans in, one hand on your thigh, the other brushing your jaw. she kisses you slow. sweet. like there’s no place she’d rather be.

you hum against her mouth. “you taste like toothpaste and smoke.”

she smirks. “you taste like you’re still mine.”

you roll your eyes again—but you’re smiling now, cheeks warm. “you’re sappy in the mornings.”

ellie leans back to look at you, really look at you.

hair messy. hoodie swallowed around your frame. bare legs tangled in the sheets. eyes soft. skin still sleep-warm.

“yeah,” she whispers. “can you blame me?”

you blink. she’s got that look again—the one she saves for when she thinks you’re not noticing. the one that says i’d do anything for you. and you realize—this is her favorite part of the day. not the kissing. not the eggs. just this. you. her. here.

you cup her cheek gently. “stay. just a little longer.”

she’s already pulling you back into her arms. “i wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

you’re in the student lounge when it happens. mind your business. drink your smoothie. scroll through your notes.

it’s chill. peaceful. until you hear your name—followed by a laugh that doesn’t sound nice.

you glance up.

two girls at the vending machine. one of them’s eyeing your outfit, whispering to the other, not very quietly.

“she always dresses like that? i mean, if i wanted attention that bad, i’d just hold up a damn sign.”

the other one giggles. “right? desperate behavior.”

you freeze. it’s not the first time. you’re used to this. people talk. you try to ignore it.

but today? today ellie’s here.

she’s rounding the corner before you can even stop her, hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets, jaw locked.

she doesn’t raise her voice. she doesn’t need to.

“what the fuck did you just say?”

the two girls look up—startled.

ellie’s standing a few feet away, eyes sharp as knives, muscles tense like a fuse about to blow. she doesn’t move closer. but the danger in her stillness is louder than any scream.

one girl stammers. “it—wasn’t about you—”

“no shit,” ellie snaps. “it was about her.”

you shift in your seat, trying to get her attention, to pull her back— but she’s locked in.

“i swear to god,” ellie says slowly, voice dropping like a storm, “if i hear either of you talk about her again, we’re gonna have a very different conversation. one that doesn’t end with you walking away.”

silence.

she doesn’t wait for a response.

just turns on her heel and walks straight back to you, fire still burning under her skin.

you’re wide-eyed. “ellie—”

“she’s lucky i didn’t slam her head into the vending machine.”

you almost laugh. “baby.”

“no one gets to talk about you like that.” her hand finds your knee, grounding herself. “you hear me? no one.”

you nod. your heart’s pounding, but not from fear. from her. her loyalty. her fire. the way she’d go full scorched earth just to protect you.

you lean in, brushing your lips to her temple. “you’re insane.”

she grins, all teeth and tension. “only for you, baby.”

you’re mid-chaos.

cardboard boxes everywhere. clothes half-folded, mugs still wrapped in newspaper, your cat hiding in the bathtub because the world is too much today.

ellie’s in your living room, sleeves rolled up, flannel loose around her waist, helping you move into your new place like she’s done it a hundred times before.

“this box says ‘misc,’” she calls out, already cutting it open.

“yeah, don’t bother,” you shout from the bathroom. “it’s just old junk i haven’t sorted.”

but ellie doesn’t listen. of course she doesn’t.

she peels the top open and freezes.

inside: a shoebox. faded. beat up. taped shut.

written on top in your messy scrawl: “do not open (or do, i guess—if you’re her)”

ellie frowns, intrigued. her heart starts drumming a little faster.

she pulls off the tape. lifts the lid.

inside: letters. dozens. folded-up pages, old notebook paper, ticket stubs, even little sticky notes. all of them addressed: to her.

she picks up the top one and opens it carefully.

"she smiled at me today. like really smiled. i think my lungs forgot how to work."

she reads another.

"if she ever kisses me, i’m gonna melt. i just know it. like actually disintegrate. she has no idea what she does to me."

and another.

"i think i’ve been in love with her since the first time she called me ‘sweetheart.’ i couldn’t sleep that night. i kept replaying it like a psycho. god, i’m so far gone."

ellie stares at the paper. it’s shaking in her hands.

she hears your footsteps behind her and turns, blinking fast.

you stop in the doorway, eyes going wide.

“oh—shit.” you freeze. “ellie, i—”

“are these about me?” she asks, voice rough.

you look down, embarrassed. “i—i wrote them before we got together. i didn’t think you’d ever—”

“they’re so about me,” she cuts in, stunned. “holy shit. you—you loved me.”

you nod, barely breathing.

her face softens like it’s breaking.

“you felt it first,” she whispers, stepping closer. “you were in love with me this whole time. and i didn’t even know.”

you look up at her slowly. “i didn��t want to ruin anything.”

she stares at you like you hung the moon. like you’re her whole timeline. she drops the letter, cups your cheeks, and kisses you like it’s day one all over again.

like she’s catching up to everything you already knew.

you’re lying on the roof of her truck, tucked in a blanket you both dragged up from the cabin. it smells like her. woodsmoke, pine, lavender from that shampoo she swears isn’t hers (it totally is).

above: a billion stars. below: her heartbeat, frantic and warm beneath your cheek.

ellie’s not talking much tonight. just stroking your back, thumb brushing slow circles like she needs to feel you breathing.

you shift slightly. look up at her.

“you good?”

she blinks. tries to smile. “yeah. yeah, just—thinkin’.”

you wait.

then you hear her inhale. deep. like she’s about to dive.

“i was gonna wait,” she says quietly. “for, like, a better time. or a cooler way to say it. i was gonna bring you somewhere fancy, maybe even try not to sweat through my damn flannel—”

“ellie—”

“—but i can’t. i can’t wait anymore.”

you sit up slowly.

her hands are trembling. her mouth is trying to form words that keep getting tangled in emotion.

“i need you to know,” she says, voice cracking slightly. “i’ve never felt like this. not for anyone. not like this. you—you scare me, honestly.”

you blink. “what?”

“you make me wanna try. like, really try. be someone better. be someone who remembers to buy oat milk because you like it even though i don’t. be someone who doesn’t shut down when things get hard because you deserve more than that.”

you just stare at her.

“i love you,” she finally says. “and not just like, hey, you’re cute, let’s make out. i mean like—sick in the head about you. want you in every version of my future. want your toothbrush next to mine. want to wake up to your stupid morning breath and make you pancakes that i’ll burn and still try to flip anyway. i want all of it. with you.”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until she’s brushing tears from your cheek.

“i want forever with you,” she whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “even if it’s messy. even if i screw it up a thousand times before i get it right.”

you kiss her like you’ve waited your whole life for this moment.

because you have.

and when you pull back, breathless, all you say is: “let’s make forever messy. together.”

she laughs, eyes glistening.

“god,” she groans, dragging you back into her arms. “you’re so fucking perfect it hurts.”

and under the stars—your stars—she kisses you again.

and again. and again.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #tlou

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