#this has been in my drafts since december so there you go

[jjenthusee]

Enthusiasm

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Sometimes the most intimidating can be the most tender.

A/N: HAPPYYY NEW YEAR i give u soft Jason 😌 i’ve been on and off (so sorry about that) but im excited to see what stories will be posted to this account this upcoming year :D so much has happened to end December, but i powered through and i wanted to finish something that was sitting in my drafts. so please ENJOY :) comment if you’re comfortable, reblog if you like the story, and have some flowers 💐

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, i just wanna kiss his beautiful face fr, reader and jason are in competition of who can out fluff the other

Word Count: 2.5k

previous work linked here

The smell was strong.

Gunpowder and soaked clothes. Jason felt like a wet dog coming home with his tail between his legs. Holding onto the door frames, trying to not bump into the walls.

He had hoped the rain would have washed away most of the blood and burnt smell that radiated from his skin, but no matter how much he tried to rub it off, it was still there. Lingering after his every step, after every breath he took.

Each step into your apartment felt like he was contaminating more of the air, that he was diminishing the warmth you exuded so effortlessly.

His fingertips burned as he tried to grab a dry shirt and some sweats to change into, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

His mind raced and raced as he couldn’t focus enough to grab a single hanger in the closet. He already felt like he was standing underneath a beacon of light from the single bulb illuminating the entire closet and he couldn’t afford to wake you up now, you might smell him and you would find him disgusting until he would beg and beg that he could strip all the smell away.

Jason felt dizzy at the thought of you leaving. He had imagined many scenarios, all kinds of ways you would be gone. Tortured, kidnapped, or you simply walking out the door as he watched because you didn’t want to love him anymore.

It sickened him. A kind of bile that stuck to his throat when he tortured himself with the thought of you leaving him. He rubbed his face, feeling his calloused hands scratch against his skin as he tried to rub more of the smell away.

He could imagine the sound of your voice, screaming his name in fear or even quietly fading as you faded from his arms.

Sometimes the hallucinations felt so real, like you actually left until he found you at home. Living your life, perfectly fine.

“—on. Jason.”

He instinctively grabbed the knife from his utility belt, so quickly and efficiently that it felt like breathing for Jason.

He was still dizzy, but parts of your face were slowly focusing through his lashes, readjusting until your entire face was clear in his vision. He saw your wide eyes, opened because of the suddenness of him aiming a knife to your neck, but what made him feel even more sick to his stomach was the worried look on your face despite the survival instinct overpowering his brain.

It screamed how much you cared about him. The same man that pointed a blade at you.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Jason, it’s me. I’m right here.” You stood still. Watching the intense adrenaline rush from Jason. It had been a while since you’ve seen him escalate this badly.

“No, no. I‘m—you’re not real.” He pleaded, talking more to himself than at you.

“You’re home. You’re back home.” You tried to reach out with your words, giving him something to metaphorically grab onto.

“Please go away.”

Your heart pinched at his broken words.

“Everything is okay. I’m okay. I am right here.” You repeated.

As adamant as Jason was about stopping his hallucination, he couldn’t raise his voice. He was quietly whispering his pleas as you stood at arms length, confusing his reality and mental images. You didn’t waver to call out to him because he felt more wary of you than you did of him.

The blade he held to you was something he hadn’t done before and as frightened as you were in that moment, you stayed calm. Not for yourself, but from how much he shook and his disheveled appearance, Jason was just scared.

You continued to speak to him, giving him tender reassurances, explaining and truthfully telling him how safe he was and how he could relax from the anxiety plaguing him.

Jason’s eyes were relaxing as he listened to your voice, his muscles were loosening his grip from the blade the more in tune he felt with reality, and he suddenly felt all the exhaustion weigh on him. His knife felt so heavy. Every second he was growing more tired as he realized he was safe enough to finally let it go, so he threw it to the side.

The blade bounced to the floor, reflecting and shining the light from the closet back into the dark bedroom.

You took a deep breath watching the blade leave Jason’s hand, then you looked back to him, seeing his soaked hair stick to his face. His armor caked with dirt and blood blending into the fabric.

As much as you wanted to call Alfred, Jason was in no condition to see another person right now.

As you analyzed him, you saw, physically, how much the night had roughed him up. Jason’s hands were limp at his side, his head hung to your feet as you stepped closer to him, testing how close he was willing to let you get.

“Jay? You’re still in your armor, we need to get you out of your soaked clothes.” You gently spoke.

He said nothing to you, focusing on pacing his breaths in a way that didn’t cause him more anxiety. He kept his eyes closed.

“Do you need my help? I can help, but if you want to do it yourself—“

He grabbed one of your fingers, his frozen hand stinging your warm one that absorbed the heat from your blankets not too long ago. His large hand held onto your singular finger, feeling your smooth skin, trying to sink into the soothing feeling of physical touch.

You patiently waited, letting him go at his own pace to grasp that he was safe enough to ask for this much from you.

“I’m glad you made it home.” You spoke. Feeling Jason’s skin trace your knuckles and veins in your hand like he was memorizing and analyzing the living being he cared so much for.

As he continued his small rubs, he eased his touch to a feather light hover over your arm. Feeling up to press his thumb underneath the fabric of your shirt sleeve, mentally talking to himself about the feel of the fabric and its color.

You let him ground himself, taking note of how still you kept your body. All control was in Jason’s hands like a puppeteer over your entire self. He wanted to scream out to himself that he was selfishly touching you, but he was walking a very thin line of losing his mind any second and the feel of you was keeping him focused on something other than his racing head.

He was so tired that he grasp his hand onto your shoulder to gently pull you toward him, resting his head into your hair, smelling how familiar you were.

He thought you smelt so much better than the gunpowder and burning flesh from his body.

He rested his hand behind your back, slowly feeling up to cusp behind your neck, letting his fingers settle onto your pulse. Counting the thumps and feeling the repeated rhythm he memorized numerous times to fall asleep to.

Jason brought you in closer, matching his breaths to yours because if he felt like passing out, he reasoned to himself that it should be completely because he wanted to be one with you.

You settled your forehead onto his neck, taking a deep breath into his skin.

Jason flinched, feeling his skin tingle to your warm breath exhaling to his hair. He hummed before he was about to pull away from you, remembering his stench.

“I’m sorry, I…stink.” Jason apologized, fighting against himself to release you, but also grip you harder.

You pulled him back to you by his neck and arm, leaning his damp hair onto your head.

“You don’t need to apologize. Besides, I love your smell. I think I stink ‘cause I haven’t showered ever since I got back from work.” You lazily smiled up at Jason, appreciating that he was talking to you.

“You don’t smell.” He emphasized, whispering his sincerity into the small space between your bodies.

“I was sweating a lot today, so we can be stinky together if that’s what you’re worried about.” You comforted him, reaching up to cusp his cheeks. Soothing the redness on his face from his harsh rubs. “We can wash up together if you want to. It’s also okay if you want to do it by yourself. I’m always open to what you tell me, no matter what I’ll be right here until you let me know.”

Jason felt the ease in his shoulders, the voice in his head calming. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was a little quieter when you were speaking so gently to him.

“Can we wash up together?” He asked into your palm, rubbing his nose into your warm hand.

“Of course we can. I can get the water ready while you get out of your gear.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed into your touch.

“I won’t make the water too hot. I also got a new shampoo yesterday and I haven’t used it yet, so we can smell like eucalyptus together.” You could feel Jason’s frozen nose on your hands. “Hon, you’re freezing.”

Your worries were unanswered, leaving you to only furrow your brow at the man in front of you. Jason could only look up from your hands, clearly having nothing to say, but patiently waiting for you to give in to his tender gaze.

He knew you would give in, you always did and he wanted to use it to his advantage to not speak about his night.

He removed his gloves and you heard the slightly damp fabric being pulled from his fingers. With free hands, Jason reached out to rub off the furrowed look on your face, in attempt to cover his tired appearance.

“You’re lucky I’m going to be nice about this. I was about one call away to summoning Alfred or I would’ve drove your motorcycle all the way there if I had to.”

Jason chuckled as he kept kneading the line between your eyebrows. Listening to your stubborn worries that felt like music to his ears as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Threatening me now?” Jason asked. Amused, but willing to listen to your voice continuously. The way his voice teased you made your heart tingle, enough to distract you for a moment to look at the way his hair fell onto his face. His features were carved by wavy hair, elegantly placed hair strands that made you waver between frustrated and enamored, but unable to stop your heartfelt lecture.

“Maybe you can distract me, but Alfred is too experienced to even consider hesitating with you.” You tried to go move your eyebrows in defiance against Jason’s thumb, not backing down just yet. “I was about to haul you on my shoulders and dump you onto the back of your motorcycle. I didn’t go through all those lessons with you to not use it against you.“

“I knew it, you were always too excited to take it out for a drive. Can’t believe my own student was actually plotting against me all along.” Jason held onto your face, shaking his head as he traced your jaw with his fingers.

“It’s called “enthusiasm,” Jason.” You started to feel for the zippers of his jacket, moving your fingers against the leather as you slowly took it off his shoulders, carefully watching his body language to ensure you weren’t making him uncomfortable.

“Enthusiasm.” Jason repeated. In the same tone you always swooned at, hearing the familiar low roughness in his voice that was only reserved for you. A dangerous combo as he touched your face so affectionately, you could feel your face heat in the dim closet light. “I know all about enthusiasm.”

He leaned in to slightly peck your bottom lip, feeling his own lips barely touch yours. He felt how dry his lips were, but yours were soft enough to drown out his other worries and insecurities. Enough to feel the intimacy, but not enough to solidify something more.

You smiled, clearly won over by Jason’s charm. In one swoop you pulled the jacket off Jason, leaving him in his usual patrol skintight top with his emblem reflecting what little light was in the room.

You couldn’t imagine the fear that red bat symbol brought to the bad people lingering at night, realizing the bad shit they brought on themselves because that emblem was the last thing they would remember.

But you always liked what was beneath it, what it tried to protect. The part of Jason that he relentlessly tried to hide and you had the patience to slowly unveil every bit of it.

“Save that enthusiasm because we might not be able to wash up if you kiss me one more time.” You rubbed your hands into the back of his neck, feeling the tense muscles and wanting to help him relax for a bit with some warm water and rubbing some shampoo into his hair to hopefully allow him to sleep a little tonight. “Clean your gear in the morning, I wanna warm up with a shower and you can help me dry my hair.”

“Hm.” Jason agreed as he kept rubbing your lips with his thumb. You felt accomplished as you felt his hands slowly warming from your physical touch.

“I’ll get us some fresh towels. Grab the new shampoo after you remove your gear.” You released yourself from Jason and made your way to the bathroom. “It should be in the bag by the bed. I forgot to take it out.”

With some soreness, Jason removed his utility belt and picked up the thrown knife to safely secure it back in its place. He felt the weight in his eyelids as he made his way to the bathroom, hearing the water turn on.

When he pushed the door open silently, he watched the way you moved. Adjusting the heat of the water, placing freshly dried towels on the counter, and the way you were so perfectly domestic.

Jason didn’t want to disturb you, soothing himself to the sight of you after he exhausted himself from the repeated torture his mind put himself through.

When you looked back, the look you gave him almost made him melt to the tile floor. That it was unreal he was allowed this.

You pulled him into the bathroom, much like the other ways you introduced him to various simplicities he started to enjoy in his life.

He didn’t want to admit it to you, in case you would be offended, but he cherished how mundane you were. That he could feel as close to ordinary next to you. That the scars that littered him weren’t going to drive you away.

Piece by piece, clothing were removed from the two of you. It was comfortable to bare yourself, to share this intimate experience of bathing together. Washing and holding each other under warm water. Massaging and lathering soap.

The steam was filling the bathroom, slight humidity relaxing your skin and your shared scent radiating off each other.

The night was turning into dawn, but you dried each others hair. You gently laid into the bed to slowly rub at Jason’s head, easing him and yourself into another slumber.

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Part Two

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

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 15.2k

Requested: No | Yes

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

Part One

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

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

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

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

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

A Few Quick Notes:

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @honeydippedfiction

* * *

Louisville Retreat

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

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

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

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

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

"About work," she corrected automatically.

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

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

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

Aaron nodded slowly. "Because of the model?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Different how?" Matt asked.

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

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

"What?" Y/N demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

The Buffer System

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Joe Tries to Reconnect

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

The Professional Mask

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Something like that," Y/N conceded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

January 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Late January 2025 - Playoff Elimination Weekend

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

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

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

"And Burrow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Exit interviews done?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The response came quickly.

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

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

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

The response was immediate.

Joe: Whatever you need to tell yourself.

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

Y/N: Have a good offseason, Joe.

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

February 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N shrugged. “It’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Late February 2025 - Y/N's Apartment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" Y/N demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Any promising prospects?" Aaron asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

March 2025 - Downtown Cincinnati

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That bad?"

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

"Because they're not—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was more than ready.

* * *

Late March 2025 - Y/N's Apartment

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And from a certain quarterback situation?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Mid-April 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Evolved how?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Same Day - Hallway Encounter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Late April 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

May 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

June 2025 - Team Charity Event

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N laughed. "I always do."

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

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

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

Eventually, she reached table eleven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Taking a break?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have other tables to shoot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t lying—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There you are!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And still, it didn’t change the facts.

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

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

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

* * *

June 2025 - Bengals Facility

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N: Cafeteria in 15

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

"Meaning?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And if that never happens?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Questions?" she asked, concluding her presentation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

July 2025 - Training Camp Preparation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, she found herself typing a direct email:

Joe,

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

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

Y/N

The response came less than ten minutes later:

Y/N,

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

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

Joe

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

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

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

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

"What look?"

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

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

"And?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Want to leave?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still. Strange timing to mention it."

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

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

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

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

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

The response came quickly:

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

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

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

"Got a minute?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It is."

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

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

"Thank you for saying that."

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

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

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

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

Part Three

[gremlin-girly]

Just A Mission

Part of the 20s Challenge Character: Bucky Barnes Quote: "I love you. You know that, right?" Trope: Fake Dating + Only One Bed

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Tags/warnings: 18+ because of Nat's shenanigans FLUFF and SMUT (not described in detail but it happens), mutual pining, idiots in love, love confessions, fake dating, everyone wingmanning Bucky and reader lol, awkward situations because of only one bed, confessions

Summary: While on a mission, pretending to be a couple, you and Bucky are forced to admit that things between you are as simple as it seems.

Word count: 2.3k

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

A/N: this has been in my drafts since DECEMBER. I forgot about it. Found it 90% written. and yes... maybe a part 2 is squirreled away. Enjoy!

20s Challenge Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist| Navigation

You didn't want to be paired with Bucky on this mission. You'd secretly pleaded with Natasha to swap with you, who'd staunchly rejected the idea.

"You get to kiss and hold hands with your crush!" She argued, laughing as your cheeks brightened with heat.

"That's the problem!" You say, becoming more panicked. "I am so worried, Nat. This isn't funny!"

You throw a pair of socks at her when she laughs harder. You were already stressing about what to pack on your mission, more so now that you knew one Bucky Barnes would be your ride along. Long time crush, first time mission-partner.

No Hello Kitty pyjamas for you.

"You'll be fine." Natasha assures you, peeking into a drawer and pulling out a silk camisole, raising an eyebrow. "Especially if you take this."

"Get out!" You shriek, snatching the camisole from her and pushing her towards the door. "You are no help!"

The first part of the mission had gone swimmingly. You managed to hold it together when Bucky had grabbed your hand and held it tight when you walked into the restaurant and sat beside your targets and even managed to muster up the courage to press a quick kiss to his cheek as you stood from the dinner table to excuse yourself to powder your nose (aka placing bugs in the bathrooms and kitchen).

The moment your hotel room door had closed, however, you both broke apart like opposite ends of a magnet. Your heartbeat was erratic, excitable, and you knew it shouldn't be.

It wasn't real. Just a mission.

"First night was a success." Bucky says awkwardly, loosening his tie. "Well done."

"Thanks, you too." You give him a smile, taking the stupidly heavy earrings from your ears, padding towards where you believe the bathroom of the suite is. You can't wait to take your dress off, your heels, your make up and crawl into your own-

Your eyes befall a king-size bed with soft Egyptian-cotton covers. There's another door which must be an en-suite bathroom but you can't recall seeing another door in the suite.

"Bucky?" You call.

"Yeah?" Bucky's head peers around the door and he sighs. "Dammit. I'll call Sam. Take a shower, doll, I'll sort it."

Bucky had pleaded with both Sam and Steve about going on this mission alone. He didn't want you in the line of fire at all, not that you weren't capable, but because he didn't want you getting hurt.

He'd begrudgingly accepted his fate when Joaquín offered to go in his stead. You were, in Bucky's mind, ineffable. Beauty, brains, benevolent and so much more.

And now, after speaking with the receptionist of the hotel, he was stuck in the same bed as you.

He had a feeling Steve and Sam were behind this but he couldn't breathe a word of it to you. Only awkwardly offer to sleep on the couch in the suite that was too small for him.

"Don't be stupid." You huff, towel drying your hair with one of the smaller towels the hotel offered. "I'm smaller, I can take the couch."

"I need to be you be alert and ready," Bucky argues back. "I've slept in worse conditions."

It was meant to convince you but your frown deepens as you pad back to your suitcase in your towel, kneeling before it and rummaging through your clothes. Bucky studies the spectacle before him. It's almost domestic.

"We will just have to share." You say, hands on hips, cheeks red as you try to smile at him. You're putting on a brave face and Bucky can see it, and his heart aches with longing. "I'm going to get my pj's on."

You get to your feet and pad to the bathroom flashing Bucky a smile as he stands from his place on the bed. "I should put mine on too."

You close the door behind you, gripping the silk camisole tightly.

"Natasha you bitch." You mutter to yourself, unwrapping your towel and stepping into it. There was no robe in any of the rooms, so you were stuck wearing it until tomorrow, if you could jump into a department store.

The cups of the camisole had a thin lace frill as it cupped your breasts. The same lace frill sat in a V-shape from your hips where the camisole split. It was a lot shorter than you remembered.

You wanted to cry. This was embarrassing. You needed to explain to Bucky that you definitely were not trying right come onto him, even though you would really like to.

Adjusting your straps slightly, you open the bathroom door and step out. Your breath catches when you see Bucky stood in his plaid pyjama pants, his pyjama top between his palms. His whole body is well built but your brain ceases all function when you see just how well built. His chest is broad and toned, and there's a thin line of dark hair situated between his abs that disappears below the waistband of his pants. Bucky lifts his head as you open the door, smiling softly as he catches your eyes before you watch in horror as his eyes drop downward.

"Woah." You can see his body (his beautiful body!) stiffen and you panic.

"I promise I'm not a sexual predator!" You blurt suddenly, throwing your hands to your face. That was... not the right thing to say.

"Okay."

You can hear the smile in Bucky's voice and you want to curl into a ball. "Natasha took out my pyjamas and- and replaced it with this!"

"Why would she do that?"

"Because-" you catch yourself, pulling the hem of your camisole down a little, slowly dropping your hands. You swallow thickly. "She thought it would be funny. Look, I'm just gonna..."

You slide under the covers of the bed, pulling them all the way up to your neck. Bucky watches you before pulling his shirt over his head. His face is equally red as he flicks the light off and crawls in next to you.

"I could still go to the sofa." He murmurs.

"No it's... it's fine."

"Alright, well... goodnight."

"Goodnight, Bucky."

Bucky couldn't sleep.

Images of you in your camisole were etched into his mind forever more and now he had an issue that wouldn't go away.

He tried to think of Steve, coughing fits and all from before the serum, being iced, being in the same room as Sam, all of the death and destruction he had both caused and encountered in his lifetime. Yet, every time he thought he was free of you, you'd appear like a spectre at the edges of his mind, calling to him so sweetly.

You were right there. In bed next to him, sleeping soundly. Bucky could hear your soft breaths and his mind wandered, imagining what you'd sound like in other ways.

He felt awful. You were his friend and current mission partner. He knew having a crush on you was a terrible, bad, God-forsaken idea but he couldn't help it. His metal hand gripped his thigh so hard he almost tore the muscle out. He couldn't, wouldn't, touch himself in your presence. That's sick and twisted. But his issue wouldn't go away and was desperately begging for relief.

Bucky turns his back to you, biting down on his lips as his eyes squeeze shut. Had you done it on purpose to tease him? Stood looking so coy, so innocently cute, in possibly the sexiest negligé he'd ever laid his eyes upon. Your embarrassment had been real though, so perhaps Natasha was the one to thank for that.

Steve, Sam and Joaquín were to blame for the room.

Bucky's brain begins to fill with conspiracy. Was Nat working with the three musketeers? Were you? As he tries to piece together the puzzle, he eventually drifts off to sleep.

You wake suddenly. Despite the embarrassment of the night before, you slept well. The bed was cosy and soft thanks to SHIELD budget but the warmth from Bucky made your eyes flutter shut and shift in his arms. Then, realising what you're doing, realising Bucky's organic arm is weighted on your hip, fingers occasionally dancing against your navel, realising your legs are intertwined; your eyes flare open, heart in your throat.

Realising that you aren't the only thing awake.

Embarrassment creeps up your neck, heat rushing between your thighs too.

Oh, God.

Bucky mumbles incoherently but tugs you backwards so you're pressed against his hips, your camisole having risen slightly. You want to die. You knew this mission would be a living nightmare.

Bucky makes another sound, this making your flesh goosepimple, and shifts his head into your shoulder crease his lips brushing against your skin.

It's another twenty minutes before Bucky wakes up properly and you feel like you've lived in your own personal hell for eons. Every gentle roll of his hips or shift of his legs, every brush of his lips fuels your longing for him, your crush becoming something bigger and indescribable with each passing second.

The moment he's a awake, you pretend to have just woken as he practically throws himself from you with a quiet curse. You don't need him to feel embarrassed too.

"Morning." You murmur sleepily as Bucky disappears into the bathroom, heaving a sigh of relief.

"Morning!" He calls from the bathroom. "Sorry I... I didn't mean to cuddle you."

"It's just a cuddle." You say, hoping you sound nonchalant and perky instead of devastated. '"I'll get coffee and we can figure out next steps."

"Good idea."

"I, um, yeah. I'll be back." You quickly dress and sprint from the room, taking more time than needed before heading back to the suite. You don't know how you'll survive the next few days.

Strangely, acting like a couple was much easier after sharing a bed. Maybe because there were far more nerve-wracking and embarrassing things than giving Bucky a quick peck or holding his hand. The banter you both usually shared had made a comeback, and it seemed like your targets had fallen for the ruse, one of which commented how cute you both were.

"You've been together for years, I can tell." She nodded at you.

"Really?" You'd pressed with a smile. "How so?"

"The way you look at each other." She shrugged. "There's so much love in your eyes."

You'd both blushed and played coy but you hated that she was right. At least about you. Bucky was good at this sort of thing. A professional. You felt like a love sick puppy following him around, more comfortable (and eager) to touch his arms, his chest now after last night.

Getting into bed again was a lot easier now. For the next two nights you both chatted about the mission and endless nonsense, lying beside each other under the covers before falling asleep and waking up in each others embrace; each time less and less awkward.

By the fifth day of the mission, you're both climbing into bed at the same time and while you don't cuddle per se, you come as close to it without calling it cuddling.

"I have to admit," you murmur to him through the darkness. "I'm having a lot of fun."

"Really?" Bucky laughs.

"I... I kinda like being your fake girlfriend." You giggle nervously. You hear Bucky swallow next to you.

"I'd prefer to take you on a real date sometime. Rather than all of this... fearing for our life stuff." Bucky murmurs and you turn to face his silhouette next to you.

"You mean that?" You ask quietly.

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't." You can feel the bed creak as Bucky turns onto his side. Through the dark, his face begins to come into view; handsome and sincere. "I would have asked under different circumstances too. I just-"

He sighs and you shuffle closer, breathing against his chest, basking in his warmth but still not touching.

Bucky breaks first. His arm slings around your waist and tugs you closer. Your noses touch. Then your lips. Tentative turns tenacious, shy to self-confident as your bodies tangle together in the darkness.

You don't worry about what comes next. It's obvious from the way he clings to you in the afterglow that you're on the same page. Whatever was between you, whatever connection that had been brewing for months behind stolen glances and lingering touches, would last longer than a mission.

One week later, your mission is drawing to a close.

Almost two weeks of pretending, and then being, Bucky’s girlfriend had left you elated. However, the mission had taken a turn for the worse when Natasha had called you the night before with intel and new mission objective.

The intel? There was a rat amongst your new found "friends" and they had planned a shoot out at the restaurant you were supposed to attend - God-father style - to ensure no member or associate the the rival gang would be able to continue business; thereby creating a power vacuum and an opportunity to quadruple profits with the new businesses, properties and areas acquired.

Your mission was simply to stay alive.

You blinked up at Bucky the following afternoon, your hand hovering over the door handle of the sleek black SUV that had driven you to the restaurant. The next moments, maybe minutes, maybe hours could be your last and you had to get something off of your chest.

"Hey," you say softly. "I love you. You know that, right?"

Bucky's eyes widen as he looks down at you. There's a faint blush under your make up and your eyes glisten with worry for the next, possibly last, moments you will have together and your soul is bared to him. You're not lying. The words rolled off your tongue so naturally, Bucky could only wonder how long you'd been wanting to say it.

"I need you to know that." Your voice is quiet and you tear your gaze away from his, looking at the door and steeling your nerves.

He swallows, throat uncomfortably tight. "Yeah. I know. I love you too, doll."

Your face cracks as you try to hide a smile behind a nod. "Let's get this over with, then you can take me on a real date."

"I don't think I could afford such a luxurious hotel or car for after the successful date." Bucky smirks and you chuckle quietly.

He hopes, that whatever happens next, that the last thing his mind is your face lit up with a smile. With one last deep breath and a sweet kiss farewell, you both step out of the car.

End

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[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Good Omens graphic novel update: December 2024

We promised a graphic novel treat for December to send off 2024, which we have at the end of the update, so let's dive in!

Colleen has been working diligently ahead of the graphic novel going to print next month, which she discussed over on Patreon. For those looking for more behind the scenes on both Good Omens and Colleen's work more broadly, we recommend either following her Substack, or subscribing via Patreon, as she approaches the finish line.

A snapshot from our production HQ where dummy books of the graphic novel, slipcase and other editions of Good Omens have been arriving thick and fast. The graphic novel (slipcased version shown) has quite the heft to it. It's going to be such a magnificent object inside and out.

Here, we're testing out the various papers, finishes, embellishments and more – everything is falling into place!

Merch-wise, some more delights. The A.Z. Fell & Co tote bag design is in, one side in celebration of our favourite angelic bookseller, the other as if it's been purchased from the bookshop itself, so you can take your pick.

We've got more pins that will be available in the 3-pin set add ons. While the full list will be available in 2025, we're happy to share a few more to get excited about:

On the trading card front, have a look at some of the base deck designs by Steve Gregson and Kirsty Hunter in situ as this all comes together rather nicely, and causes a heated game or two behind the scenes.

And, a quick admin note to wrap up that we always recommend checking the FAQ page as a first port of call for any queries. If you have questions tied to specific tiers, we'd suggest checking the last few updates if your answer can't be found on the FAQ. If there is any information required for your pledge, we will be in touch. We will be back at full steam in the New Year!

Thank you.

So, to wrap up this year's updates, we give you the draft of the full first scene of the graphic novel, artwork by Colleen Doran and lettering by Lois Buhalis. If you'd like to wait until the graphic novel publishes in Spring, skip everything after the ducks!

To 2025 🥂

Until next time.

+ post from Colleen Doran:

Good Omens: You Get...Stuff Like This

In the most recent Good Omens update at the Kickstarter, a few people got upset at the suggestion that you have to get past my paywall here to see Good Omens updates.

Except you really don't, and the post doesn't actually say you do. You get a bit more, like pics of my studio, a discussion of tools and process - but not all of that is exclusively about Good Omens.

I think the Dunmanifestin team just wanted to draw a little attention to my blogs and other works, for which I am very grateful.

As my Patreon supporters already know, Good Omens info posted here gets to the Substack and Kickstarter eventually. And since most of my posts here aren't just about Good Omens, but my other projects and personal stuff, as well as links to our weekly Virtual Art Studio sessions, I think I'm justified in keeping that material behind a paywall.

In fact, I don't think I've posted much stuff about Good Omens since the summer: pages of flats like the one you see above, a few studio photos, and color tweaks.

Also, me boo-hooing about my nerves and health.

But for those who feel left out missing even this small amount of stuff, then the screen shot above is for you.

That's called a flat.

It's a prelim color before adding final color.

Here's what the final color looks like.

So I've posted a handful of this sort of thing since this summer, but frankly, there's even more of my sketches and so on posted at my Instagram that aren't here at all.

For those who don't know, I am doing most of the color myself on the book, but I am working with assistants. I'm not sure how much the Dunmanifestin team wants out there before the big reveals, but here's a snippet of a sky.

In the first image, my flat color.

And after my assistant worked on it.

Here, I've done a repaint. Sometimes I do very extensive repaints after the assistant works on a page. Sometimes not so much. I didn't use assistants on many pages at all. About 80% of the labor on the color of the book is my work.

However, the assistants have been a big help, and I am very appreciative of them.

I will make a point to go through all my prior posts and get every single bit of art that you haven't seen and make it public for all of you in the coming weeks. I need to excise it from previous posts. As I respect the privacy of all my readers, I never make prior posts public without their permission as they may not want their comments or identities to be public.

Thanks so much for everything!

[tojiscumdumpster]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ toji fushiguro x his favorite customer (revision)

✧ summary toji has a little soft spot for his favorite customer that he can't get enough of.

✧ content warnings reader is a black woman who uses she/her pronouns. chubby!reader and inexperienced!reader. rich girl in her midtwenties, very needy! usage of profanity, standing missionary, oral - m!receiving, doggy style, mixture of praise and degradation kink, breeding kink, unprotected, creampie and squirting, terms of endearment ─ pretty girl, princess, baby, baby girl, etc. softdom!toji with rough, passionate, and filthy intercourse. told in first POV ─ toji's. i got reader calling toji TJ, and i think that’s so cute pls.

✧ author's note happy birthday to my baby daddy toji fushiguro! we've been going strong now for years. just a little something something to celebrate him. this fic has been in the drafts since December. talk about black people time, old sksk. also, if you already seen the original of this fic on tumblr, it's mine lol. this is just a revision, so don't go around saying i copied someone! my writing has changed so i wanted to redo this and add some adjustments. i hope y'all enjoy. support me by reblogging, liking, and commenting your thoughts. ♡ AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS AND/OR MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT.

 

 When it comes to women I fuck, I treat them the same because at the end of the day, they pay me good money to stuff their pussy with cock. 

 Don’t really care if they're married either. I usually get the old, desperate broads that aren’t getting any attention from their husbands at home, so it’s my job to make them feel good for the night. 

 I don’t do favorites. 

 I damn sure don’t give discounts. 

 And I definitely don’t get attached. But the moment I met Y/N that all changed. 

 My favorite customer. 

 Never did I expect a younger woman to pay me to get fucked, especially when she looks that good. 

 I’m almost positive she has a line filled with fuckers that’s desperately wanting to know what this tight, wet pussy feels like, yet here I am, living their fantasy. 

 I fucked Y/N once. 

 Then, twice. 

 Then, again.

 And again.

 And again…

 If I didn’t know any better, I’m fucking obsessed with her. Can’t even say it’s just for the money she’s paying me. Probably the best pussy I ever had.

 No. 

 It is. 

 So fucking warm, and she takes dick well, too. I usually give only an hour or two to my customers, but for Y/N? I reserved the whole night to relish her pussy. 

 The perfect fuck to end my day. 

 Those soft, sweet-sounding moans that slipped through her full brown and pink lips, having my previous cum shot staining them had me running wild. 

 But it seems like I’m not the only one who’s sex drunk. 

 Cock is all on Y/N’s mind right now. Whimpering and crying how big I am and thanking me for giving her dick. Tears pricks those chestnut-colored hues and I’m in fucking awe. She’s so damn pretty. 

 “You know how gorgeous you look taking cock like this? Being a good fucking slut for me, princess?” I ask, being met with a nod and her moaning in response. 

 Y/N’s pussy talks to me. Wet noises spreading throughout the room while I have my arms hooked under the fold of her knees, fucking her recklessly to push past any intrusion. 

 She’s jumping with me every thrust I make, causing her tits to bounce obnoxiously. I take one of her nipples into my mouth and suck on them like it’s my last dying breath, hearing that sweet whimper. 

 I belong in Y/N’s pussy, and she belongs to me, too, the way she’s gripping my cock and milking me. All of her cream and wetness drips between us and down my balls, and it feels fucking amazing. Every time I experience her velvet walls, I find myself becoming more animalistic, hungry and territorial over someone who should only be seen as a client. 

 But fuck, something in me says I would go batshit crazy if I ever found out she had other motherfuckers experiencing this. 

 Knowing how she looks when sweat coats her beautiful brown skin. How it feels to stretch her out and make her adjust to you. Just thinking about it makes me pound into her deeper and more aggressively. 

 “Toji, baby, yes. This feels so good,” she purrs. “Like that. Keep fucking me like that.”

 I hum. “Yeah? This is what you wanted, right? Paid me to please this good pussy?”

 By all means, Y/N isn’t a virgin, but she told me she doesn’t have much experience and I can tell by how tight she is. 

 Our sounds of pleasure resonate in the air, and I call her my good girl, praising how perfect her pussy is, to be met with her squeezing me and watery brown eyes. 

 “Toji… Toji… Yes. God, yes.”

 “Keep using your words, pretty girl. Tell me how much you love my dick in your pussy,” I ordered softly.

 “I love it so much. It’s so big, baby,” she tells me, slurring her words because of her lips still being on mine. “You’re going to make me cum.”

 I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. “Not yet. Come taste yourself.”

 Without hesitation, Y/N slides down to her knees and starts sucking my dick. I hiss at her swallowing me and the warmth of her mouth. She doesn’t take her time when sucking me off, immediately circling her head and throating me. 

 “Hot fucking mouth made to suck dick, huh, pretty girl?” I firmly grabbed her chin so she could look at me. “Eyes up, sweetheart. Open up your throat for me like a good girl.” 

 Y/N hollows her cheeks and bobs her head fervently on my dick, tightening her lips around me. 

 She sucks dick so fucking good, better than any other woman I’ve been with. And I just know I’m bound to bust quickly if she keeps doing this shit. 

 My hand finds the back of Y/N’s head to grip and I buck my hips deeper into her mouth, ensuring I hit the back of her throat everytime. I’m a fucking mad man when I begin fucking the gorgeous face, especially when she’s looking up at me with those big brown eyes. 

 A spoiled brat, prim and shy, who’s spending daddy’s money to get fucked and folded by an old bastard like me. Think I fucking developed a kink for this type because of Y/N.

 I pumped into her mouth more aggressively until she began choking and gagging on my cock. Drool and precum coating her mouth in the process. 

 Any type of control Y/N tries to take, I push past it because I want to use that pretty little mouth of hers how I want. She needs to get her money’s worth when fucking with me. 

 “Going to fuck my cum deep down that throat of yours, and you’re going to swallow it. Got that?” She nods and I softly tap the side of her face. “That’s it. Keep those lips tight around me.” 

 “Toji, pl—please,” she slurs, causing me to chuckle. 

 “Hm, look at you. Trying so hard to talk to me while sucking my dick. It’s cute.” I slow down my quick thrusts, but replace them with more fervent ones, pushing me and her head down until my cock outlines her throat. 

 My balls grow heavy and obnoxiously slaps Y/N’s chin, a clear indication I’m about to fucking cum. 

 Grunting, whining, gasping like a little bitch for air because head like this has a fucker like me sounding like a broken mess. 

 Blood rushes to my groin and I start getting sloppy, feeling my muscles tightening and ache burning between my thighs. I’m close, so fucking close to filling her mouth with my release, then I can finish fucking that fat pussy. 

 Everything about this damn woman is perfect. Her pussy. How she sucks cock. That fucking chubby and curvy body of hers. A pretty face with loaded cash.

 Yeah, she’s definitely mine after tonight. And I’m talking about anything lovey dovey. Meaning if I catch her being a slut like this to anyone else, I’d kill that fucker. 

 No hesitation. I-

 “Y/N, fuck!” I grunt while cumming in her mouth. This load is fucking heavy, but she’s trying her best to swallow every drop. 

 I groan at the sight of Y/N touching her tits and palming her pussy, knowing how much she’s turned on, too. It’s like the vibrations of her moans pulls more cum out my fucking dick.

 A mess I made on her face, but the joyful lust I see in her eyes tells me she doesn’t give a damn. 

 Good, because I’m not finished with her. 

 “All fours on the bed. Now,” I demanded. “Still gotta fill up your pussy.”

 Perfection is what I think when I see Y/N from behind, arched back, ass in the air and pussy dripping, ready for me to fuck. 

 I force an arch in her back and plunge my cock in her tight little pussy with one deep stroke. Y/N gasps in the air and I take the opportunity to pull her up by the throat and start pounding her cunt. 

 Why the fuck is she so goddamn wet? She takes cock well, bud shit, I abruptly slip out each and every thrust. 

 “Keep me inside that pussy, baby girl. Stop fucking letting go,” I gritted in her ear. She reaches behind her to hold my dick and push back into me with a tighter grip. “Hm, just like that. So fucking good to me, aren’t you?”

 “I need more dick, TJ. Fuck me harder, baby. I can take you,” she moans. 

 Begging for cock she’s already paying for… Shit, I get a kick out of how pathetically sexy she sounds. 

 I repeatedly slammed into her wet cunt, thrust after thrust, pussy creaming even further than before. If it’s one thing I can listen to for the rest of my life, it’s how Y/N sounds when she’s being fucked. 

 My name drips perfectly from her lips.

 Our skin smacking fills the air in the room along my hand striking her ass until I guarantee it’ll bruise in the morning. 

 “Look at this fat ass moving when I pound into this pussy. Fucking beautiful,” I growled.

 “Toji, please. I… I don’t care how much… I’ll pay more. Just keep fucking me like this.”

 I chuckle. “Atta girl.”

 I see why motherfuckers catch feelings when fucking pussy. I almost feel tempted to tell Y/N that I love her while fucking her. She has pussy that’ll make a fucker crazy… Possessive… Jealous.

 I applied more pressure to Y/N’s throat and pulled her against my chest. “You know who this pussy belongs to. Right, princess?”

 “God, yes, Toji. You… it belongs to you.” Her voice comes off as a faint cry and I know she’s on the verge of cumming. Especially with how her pussy is pulsating around me. 

 “Mhm, that’s right. Dreamed of my fucking dick pounding this tight little cunt, now I have you mindfucked. Huh?” I pinch her nipples with my free hand and increase my thrusts. “You’re about to come for me. Aren’t you, Y/N? I know you are. I can feel it. You should see the mess your slutty pussy is making between us.”

 “Fuck, I didn’t mean to, baby. It’s just… you feel good. So fucking good,” she whimpers, bouncing her ass back into me to meet with my thrusts. 

 “Maybe I should have you clean it with your mouth. Hm?”

 I release Y/N’s throat to shove her face into the bed and deepen her arch more than before. My single hand returns to her hips to grip, pulling her round ass back on my cock to kiss her center. 

 Can’t get over how wet—how tight and warm this fucking pussy is. The harder I fuck her, the louder her pussy gets and I grunt, curse underneath my breath at hearing the sound of her muffled moans. 

 I don’t give a fuck if one of us catches feelings after this. Actually, I want her to. I want Y/N to be dick hungry only for me. 

 I want her pussy to smell like I’m the only fucker that’s been running through her. I’m even fucking tempted to breed this pussy just so she’s mine.

 Why the fuck would I want to have sex with any other women after knowing what Y/N feels like? 

 “You take cock like a fucking pro. Look at you gripping me. Look at how this pussy is mine.”

 She spreads her ass cheeks to feel every inch of my dick. “Fuck me, Toji. Harder. Fuck me harder, I’m about to cum.”

 “Shit, me too, sweetheart. Such a perfect fuck toy. Going to fill you all the way up,” I rasped. “Fuck me back. Keep taking this dick.”

 My thrusts are sloppy. I throw my head back and swear into the air and moan her name. My balls grow heavier and heavier until I fucking but and empty my cum inside her pussy. 

 And she’s right there with me, crying my name and thanking me for giving her toe-curling orgasm. 

 Fucking enjoy hearing my pretty girl thank me for giving her cock. She just looks so damn pretty when she cums, too. 

 Dark brown skin sweating. The sight of her ruined makeup with mascara running down her cheeks. Moans sounding like a broken record. 

 Yeah, she’s a perfect fuck. 

 My favorite customer. 

© 2024 tojiscumdumpster Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost (sharing links is okay) anywhere. I only upload on tumblr and you will find some of my work in ao3.

[mariesmagix]

"𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧."

[golden brown; the stranglers]

˖° 𐙚  reader x knight!abby-anderson ; wlw

 ₊˚⊹ content; no y/n, angst/fluff (varies on spectrum), future smut

[sneakpeak/pre to a larger fic, if this launches well lol]

backstory; you're a princess, by blood, and you're to be declared to someone else in a short manner of time, which was entirely unprecedented-- to the both of you. abby is your devoted crownsguard, and personal knight, whom you've known since the age of 12. she doesn't want to cannot see you with anyone else.

NOTES; ok so this is like my first fic in a WHILEEE.... sooo... beware lol, but this has been gathering dust in my drafts so still dk if this will be a continued series but please do let me know in the comments or w/ anon if you think it should!! <3

It was a dark afternoon. Earlier Abby had commented that the weather 'was vociferous', indoors rather quiet, despite the rain pattering violently against the stained glass panes of the windows. The castle was cold-- tile floors unforgiving with the temperature as you slipped with grace from your vanity, hair neatly combed and styled up into a half-up, half-down sort of do. You readied yourself for a crown meeting this afternoon, which was in.. roughly an hour, you assumed, glancing at the large, ornate contraption of a clock across the room, gazing over the roman numerals sharply.

After powdering your face, and slipping on your heels to look presentable enough to address the councilmen and the crown advisor. You stood, gathering your skirt in two graceful hands, readying to open the door-- until, at the same time, knuckles rapped at the door. You turned the ornate, golden handle; met with your trusted guard, and Abigail's tall, towering gaze.

Despite her appearance, she had a rather warm expression, almost softening at the sight of you. "My princess," she began, looking at you with her sultry, deep, blue irises. "I've been sent to retrieve you, for the King and Queen's inquiry," Abigail smiled softly, you nodding to her words, "You're earlier than expected," You chuckled, and she returned your demeanor, looking at you almost with.. longing. "Better than late, no?" She humored, before reaching with an elbow to take your arm, like usual. You looped yours with hers in instinct, allowing her to escort you to the tearoom, where your parents sat soundly, awaiting your presence that they'd beckoned for.

Abigail pushed upon the handle of the ornate, floral decorated door, holding it open courteously for you, who walked in elegantly, curtsying in your parents' presence.

"We've something rather.. important, to discuss, before the council meeting this evening, darling." Your mother began, looking despondently at you. Your father; the king, chimed in, "You also, won't be attending the council meeting." He announced, and your brows furrowed together, lifting your head to make defiant eye contact with him. "..Why not? I've been present, every year, since I was of twelve." You frowned, clearly displeased, but looking upon your mother; hoping she'd speak out and take your side, all you could discern was her downcast expression. Clearly, this was something serious. Your father cleared his throat, settling in his throne and looking to you with a consequential guise.

"You'll be wed, coming this December."

He declared, your eyebrows going up in shock-- you'd only turned of eighteen three months ago; certainly, this was early. Now, you understood why Abby's demeanor was more solemn, than usual. Why she hadn't grinned stupidly at you like she normally did. You felt your world collide and crash, the crescendo of the atmosphere quickly pivoting to a nose-plant downwards. You barely remembered to breathe, inhaling deeply after finally reminding yourself, and all you could say was;

"...to whom?" You tried to reply, the tremble in your voice evident anyways. You glanced back at your trusted companion; who was standing uniform beside the door, looking at you shamefully-- with sorrow in her not as sultry, blue eyes. Your lower lip quivered, and you tried to maintain not a horribly sorrowful guise, although still looking to your parents like a kicked puppy.

DIVIDER CREDITS: @/olenvasynyt @bernardsbendystraws @/cafekitsune @/saradika

images sourced from pinterest

[pretty-little-whorror]

Rough House - Ash Williams

AvED Ash smut bc i still need him. This ones been sitting in my drafts since December ish so i thought i would finish it.

wc: 4.1k

tags: older man/younger woman(age is never specified, written in mind with a 20-something), "outdoor" sex, kinda public sex, car sex but not like normal, almost getting caught, p in v sex, oral(fem receiving), light nipple play, unprotected sex, cream pie, light fighting, mentions toward canon style violence. not completely proof read I just searched for the underlined words.

Ash sat in the aged lawn chair, watching as you grumpily worked to wash the Deadite guts off of his car. He was rather pleased with himself, finding not only a way to pawn chores onto someone else, but to ogle at your figure as you bent over the hood of his car. As for you, the hot summer weather does nothing to ease your mood. You grabbed another sponge from the bucket while you silently cursed Kelly and Pablo for running off on a grocery run before you had the mind to. 

After finishing his beer with one long gulp, he crumpled it with his metal hand and tossed it somewhere behind him. Hearing the aluminum can hit the ground, your eyes met the sky impatiently. “Really?” You sighed, his behavior only adding to your aggravation. 

“Hm?” He hummed in response as he leaned over in his chair to grab another can from the cooler placed next to him.

“Seriously? You can’t even throw your own shit out?” You turned to him, a soapy hand resting on your hip. 

“Oh please, sugar, I hardly think it matters. I’ve done worse. Pick it up if it bothers you so much.” He shrugged, a careless grin plastered across his mug. The pop of the metal tab sounded deafening as he opened up his next beer. 

“I swear to God, Ash if you don’t pick up that fucking can, I’m gonna shove it so far up your ass you’re gonna be burping aluminum for the next week.” 

He raised his hands in mock surrender as he raised himself from the chair. “Easy there, darling, no need to get all worked up.” He walked back to where the can had landed. “I’ll pick up the ‘fucking can’” he mocked. You let out a sigh, deciding to ignore him for your own sake. You turned back to the car and used the sponge to push a chunk of what was maybe brain at one point onto the gravel. You winced as it landed with a heavy ‘splat’. 

“Oh, come on now sugar, a little manual labor never hurt no one. We’ll be finished in no time, then you can go get your beauty rest.” He said as he settled back into his chair. “Or maybe do some sunbathing, I can always help with the sunscreen.” 

“We?” You snapped back toward him. “There has been no ‘we’, Ash, just you working on getting day drunk while I clean your fucking car!.” 

“Well then you can’t say I’m not working.” He winked with his trademark cocky, full-of-himself grin. “Besides, I’m supervising. Making sure everything is up to my incredibly high standards.”

“Then how about you finish this shit up then, yeah? It’s too fucking hot out for me to be dealing with you.” 

Ash feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh how you wound me with your words. Can’t you see, baby? The sweat, the heat, the hard work, that’s all part of the Ash Williams experience. I’ve got to save my hands for more delicate matters.” He wiggled his hand with a wink. “Besides, if you do a good job maybe we can go get a drink.” He bounced his brows.

“Only if I can drown you in it.” You gave him a poisoned sweet smile with a glare. 

He again rose from the chair and walked over to the car, standing next to you as you cleaned. “You just need a little bit more elbow grease, sweetheart. Once we're done we can try something else to ease those troubles of yours, hm?”

“Right now you’re my only frustration.” You remarked, turning your back to him. “Pablo should be doing this, he’s the one with the shit aim.” You sighed. 

“Yeah and I’m making him buy our provisions as punishment. Besides, you have me here for moral support and expert supervision. It would be irresponsible of me to let you miss out on all the valuable life lessons I have to offer.” 

You ignored him again, wringing the sponge out over the bucket before dipping it into the clean bucket full of suds. 

“But, if you don’t think you have the mental capacity to learn a thing or two from my noggin, I can always find someone who can.” 

“Now, you know better than to threaten me with a good time, Ashley.” You didn’t even turn to face him as you spoke. 

“Oh, come one now sweetheart, once a lady gets a taste of what Ash Williams has to offer, they always come back asking for more.” He shrugged and took a sip from his drink as he turned to walk back to his chair. 

Deciding that he had finally run your patience too thin, you let out an annoyed groan and chucked the sponge at his back. “Fuck you! Clean your own fucking car!” You shouted at him as he slowly turned around with a surprised, albeit impressed, look on his face. 

“Oh fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist, sugar cake. I can finish cleaning my baby. I’m sure she needs a gentle touch after what you’ve done with her.” 

You rolled your eyes again but continued to walk away, deciding you were done with him until you found something, a lot of something, to drink. However, as soon as you were no more than a pace or two in front of him on your way back to the trailer, you felt a heavy stream of water hit your back. The unexpected force almost pushing you forward. You snapped around to see Ash holding the hose with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. Seeing red, you quickly closed the distance between the two of you and you swiped at his feet, sending him falling to the ground, dropping the hose on his descent. 

“Jesus fucking Christ” He shouted as his back hit the gravel floor. “At least you're not throwing a temper tantrum.” He winced as he got up, wiping down his pants after his fall. You turn back around, trying again to go back to the trailer for the second time, but then his voice again grated against your ears. “Now do you have it all out of your system or did you wanna tangle a little more?”

Taking the bait, you turn around again and made the same move to knock him down again. Now prepared to use his years-honed reflexes, he sidestepped out of dodge as you lunged at him. As you went past him he grabbed your arm, using your momentum against you. He twisted your arm behind your back and pushed you up against the newly cleaned, still wet car with a firm grip. 

“Oh come on now, baby, let’s channel that energy into something physical that’s a little less violent, hm?” He chuckled, his breath fanning against the nape of your neck. 

You took a second to take in your situation, bent over the Delta by Ash and your face flushed red, however less from anger this time. Not caring for the predicament you whipped your head up, the back of your skull hitting his jaw, causing him to bust his lip open on his teeth. He stumbled back, allowing her to stand up. He raised his left hand to his bleeding lip, an expression of surprise once again painted on his face, however the corners of his mouth curled into a playful smile. 

You looked over him, not able to take in his full figure given the lack of space between the two of you. Initially, you had resented the smile that played on his lips, but you almost felt a sort of release. Finally being able to take out your frustrations, not only from Ash, but from the continuous pile of shit you had been navigating through these past few months. 

“Now where’s that spitfire when we need-”

Before we was able to finish, you bent down and grabbed the hose from off the ground and whipped it at his side. The stream of water avoiding him but spraying all over the side of the Airstream as a result. Ash yelped in surprise as he narrowly avoided his face being doused in water. He chuckled at your resourcefulness and raised his hands as a white flag. As worked his way towards you, you decided you weren’t done yet and again repeated the move to swipe his legs out from under him with your own. Only narrowly avoiding the move this time, he only tipped a little over your before regaining his balance. You balled your hand into a fist and pulled back, ready to throw a punch but he again caught your arm, pushing it flush against your chest and using it to maneuver you back to the car, the back of your legs hitting the side of the hood. 

“You’ve gotta get another move in your deck, baby.” He chuckled. “Besides, I'm getting a little tired of this. Now are we done or do you have something else you’d like to try?” He pulled back on your arm, moving your torso forward just a bit as a subtle, but surprisingly un-obnoxious show of his current power over you. You didn’t talk back, just staring up at him. Luckily you had worked yourself up during your brief spat, allowing the blush coming over your face a pliable excuse. You wanted to say your next move was nothing more than impulsive but deep down you knew better. 

You pulled against his grip, not in an attempt to free yourself, but instead to bring him down to your level. Still having to balance on your toes, you brought your lips harshly up to his, able to taste the blood you had caused to accumulate not more than five minutes ago. You could feel him smirk against your lips, but you were past getting annoyed at his hubris. His grip on your wrist loosened as he pushed into the kiss and you felt the cool metal of his right hand on your side through the dampened fabric of your t-shirt. 

“Now that’s the kinda move I’m talking about.” He spoke, barely separating his mouth from yours. 

“You’re not gonna shut up, are you?” You grumbled, completely freeing yourself from his wrist and running your hand over his clothed chest. 

“Well there’s a few other things I can do with my trap.” He winked. You rolled your eyes again, he was always gonna be this cheesy. 

“Why don’t we just focus on being quiet for now, hm?” You patted his chest as he smirked, closing the distance between your lips once again. He took the opportunity to pull at your bottom lip with his teeth, an unspoken request you granted by sighing into the kiss, your other arm wrapping around his shoulder in time. 

As his tongue pushed into your mouth, his hands falling onto either side of your waist, gently running the distance between there and the curve of your hips before he gently patted your ass, a silent signal you followed by jumping up onto the hood of the car and spreading your legs enough for him to stand between. Now settled, his hands crept up beneath your shirt, separating the wet fabric from your skin as left snaked a path up to your bra, reaching around the back to expertly unclasp the garment in a single move. 

Deciding it was well past your turn, your hands worked on undoing the first few buttons of the henley, allowing enough space for you to run a hand over his chest, your fingers lightly dancing through the dark hair peeking through. You then tugged the shirt out of the waistband of his pants. 

His hands moved down, palming yours hungrily through the fabric of your jeans. He undid them quickly and lifted you slightly off the hood in order to discard them completely. 

“Shit baby,” He murmured, his lips millimeters away from your ear, his hot breath fanning over the shell. “You’ve got no clue how long I’ve been waiting to get into your shorts.”

“Oh, I think I’ve got some sort of idea.” You teased back, undoing his belt and sliding it through the loops of his jeans. 

“So you just let me sit there like a begging dog?”

“Consider it a test of patience.” You smirked as you brought your lips back to his. While you hoped that would have silenced him, he had proven you wrong. 

“First test I’ve ever passed.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’d believe that.” You unlatched your arms from around his neck to get rid of your wet shirt and bra. “You barely passed this one.” 

"It's hard to study when I'm hot for teacher." 

You rolled your eyes at his remark as he explored your newly exposed skin, his hands cupping your breasts, the cool metal of his right hand a stark contrast to the warmth of his other. He circled his thumbs over your hardened nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from you. He pressed his mouth to your jawline as he continued to paw and knead at your breasts, slowly trailing a path from your neck, then down to your collarbone, to the valley between your breasts. His lips eventually landing on your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardened peak as his left hand fondled the other. 

Eventually, he raised his head to bring his lips to yours again, kissing you hot and messy. His fingers moved down your stomach, undoing your shorts and pulling them down your legs, you helped to kick them off once they fell down to your ankles. He gave a quick nip to your bottom lip before pulling away. He brought his hands up briefly to gently push at your shoulders. 

"Go ahead and lay back for me, sweet thing." 

You complied eagerly, the cool metal of the car hood against your heated skin sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze was heavy as he raked over your body, taking in every curve and contour of your body sprawled out on his car. He couldn't help but smile at the sight before stepping away for a moment. You gave him a quizzical look as he made his way towards the lawn chair he had been sat in earlier. 

"Uh, hello?" You spoke up, propping yourself up on your elbows. You watched with a raised brow as he brought the chair back over to where you laid on the car. 

"Give an old guy a break, yeah?" He smirked, sitting back down. The old, beaten chair just low enough to place him right between your legs. He tugged at the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs. However, instead of tossing them aside like your shorts, he pocketed the fabric into his jeans, giving you a wink as he did so. His eyes glinted with mischief and desire as his hands ran up and down your thighs, eventually propping them over his shoulders. He lips pecked on the soft flesh of your inner thigh before settling at the apex between your legs. 

His tongue dipped into your folds, lapping at the arousal coating your core. He groaned as your taste coated his tongue, his grip on your thighs tightening. 

His motions started exploratory, paying close attention to the reactions each movement was able to elicit from you. While his ministrations has started small, they quickly matched those of a man starved; you felt his nose bump your clit as he delved into your dripping cunt, savoring every movement as if this would be his last meal. 

Your hand reached down to where his head was buried between your legs, your fingers weaving through his hair and gripping hard onto the locks.

"Goddamn, Ash." You sighed, arching your back and instinctively pushing your hips forward. You could hear him chuckle, the sound reverberating through you in a subtle vibration. His left hand that had been gently gripping at your thigh trailed up to join his tongue, his fingers dancing around your entrance, collecting the slick signs of your arousal on his fingertips.

He slowly pushed the digits in, causing your grip on his hair to tighten. He began to pump his fingers, the movements beginning as slow and tantalizing, however they quickly began to match his own impatience. The combination of his tongue eagerly lapping at your swollen clit and his fingers spreading you open causes that all too familiar and welcome tension to start tightening in your core.

"Fuck...Fuck I'm gonna cum!" Your words were breathless and whiny. His metallic hand patted your thigh encouragingly. 

"C'mon baby," He groaned, his words becoming less muffled as he withdrew his head from between your legs, replacing the attention on your clit with pressured circling from his thumb. "Cum for me baby, all over my hand, c'mon." 

It took only a few more deliberate movements before you came undone on his hand, a jumbled string of whines and curses expelling from your mouth in time. He slowed his movements, as if to help you down from the high before withdrawing his hand and standing back up, pushing the chair away with the back of his thighs. He leans down, kissing sloppily from the crook of your neck up to your lips as you came to all while muttering reassurances. 

"Such a pretty, perfect little pussy for me. Not fair for you to be hiding that, hm?" You moaned into his kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

"So pretty when you cum baby, want you to cum on my cock this time, yeah?" He pushed his jeans down, the cloth of his boxers going with them, allowing his hard and aching cock to spring free. He wasted no time positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. 

"Ash," You whined. "Stop teasing." Your plea was met in reply with a confident smirk. 

"Oh c'mon now, nothing you can't handle." 

"Please..." You whimpered, your hips bucking up in an attempt to draw him in deeper. "Just fuck me already."

"Well if you're gonna ask so nicely." He grinned, slowly thrusting forward, letting you get accustomed to his size as he pushed himself in inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. "Goddamn," He dropped his head as he hovered over you, his movements still. "So fucking good, so nice n' wet for me."

He began to move, his hips setting a steady rhythm as he pumped in and out of you, each thrust sending engulfing your nerves in red hot pleasure. As his pace increased, you could hear the car creak beneath the two of you, the sound mingling with your moans and the wet slap of skin against skin. 

Ash used his metal hand to anchor him to the hood of the car, allowing his left hand to roam your body, eventually landing on again kneading the plump flesh of your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. You moved your legs up from his hips to wrap around his waist, pulling yourself closer and allowing him to plunge into you deeper and hitting that perfect, sensitive spot inside you with each stroke. 

"Ash- fuck, right there." You gasped. "Just like that." You arched your back up, pushing your hips up to meet his each heavy thrust, tension again coiling tight in your core. He groaned in response to your words, his movements becoming more shallow but focusing on making sure he fucks you deep where you want him. 

"You gonna cum again for me? Cum all over my cock?" His hand left your chest moved down to your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he moved you in time with his thrusts, angling himself so that he was grinding against your clit every time his hips met yours. The combination of sensations pushing you closer to the edge, your body trembling as the increasing pleasure brings you to the brink of your orgasm.

"Gonna," You breathed out, "Gonna cum again, Ash." You whined, writhing underneath him. 

"Yeah baby, me too." He groaned, closing his eyes as he tried to focus on his movements, regardless his thrusts had begun to turn more erratic and less focused as his own climax approached. The cool metal of his right hand came down to the other side of your hip, allowing his other hand to again move and slide between your legs. His fingers gathering some of your slick from where the two of you connected before circling tight over your swollen and overly sensitive clit. The added sensation causing an almost pornographic moan to slip through your parted lips. Your body tensed, muscles tightening in preparation for the heavy climax his actions promised you. 

"Shit, oh my God-" Your words were cut off by a knife-sharp gasp as your orgasm hit you like a heavy wave. Your walls clamped down around him, pulsing in time with your heavy breaths. Feeling you tighten around him, Ash let out a guttural groan, almost baring his teeth. 

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight. Gonna cum." He shuddered, his final thrusts rushed and erratic before burying himself deep inside of you as he found his own release, cock pulsing as he painted your velvet walls with thick ropes of his cum. You mewled, your oversensitive cunt feeling heavy from the passing bliss of your orgasm combined with sensation of the additional fullness of his release. 

As the final moments of your climaxes subsided, Ash carefully pulled away from you, his softening cock slipping from your well-used heat, causing a quiet whine to leave your mouth, pouting from the sudden emptiness. He took a moment, still panting, before stuffing himself back into his boxers and up his jeans. 

"Goddamn, sugar. Haven't had a fuck like that in years." He said, marveling and taking in the look of you still blissed out from your orgasm as if to commit it to memory. You lolled your head to the side lazily, thoroughly fucked out. He snickered, taking pride in how tired he had made you. 

"C'mon princess, let's go inside and get you cleaned up." He patted your thigh encouragingly. You sighed, not wanting to get up but knowing he was right. 

"Yeah, just gimme a second to make sure I can feel my legs." Your words were mumbled but not inaudible. You heard him chuckle. 

"Ol' Ashley fuck you that good?" 

You rolled your eyes, deciding that was the extent of a response he would get from you, knowing his ego didn't need further stoking. You took him in as he stood a few feet away from you. You stretched out on the car hood before slowly sitting up, taking a moment to get your bearings before sliding off the Delta. You began to pick your discarded clothes off from the ground, grumbling as you noticed they had become covered in dirt and mud, likely as a result from the earlier hose fight. As you bent down to recover your bra, you heard a loud 'slap' accompanied by a sharp sting to your ass. You snapped up, immediately glaring at Ash who just grinned. 

"Don't think just because I let you fuck me that I won't kick your ass, Williams." You sneered, pointing a finger at him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, allowing you to pick up the remaining scattered garments, tilting his head and appreciating the growing red mark on your skin. 

Your head again perked up as you heard the familiar roaring of a motorcycle approaching in the distance. You quickly walked over to where your shorts had landed before hurriedly trying to make your way back to the trailerr to shield yourself from the incoming eyes of Kelly and Pablo. The fact that they had been out slipping from your mind until now. 

Before you could make it to the small set of stairs, Ash grabbed you by your waist, pulling you to his chest. 

"Why in such a rush, sweet thing?" He chuckled as you squirmed against his grip. 

"Let go!" You hissed, urgently trying to push away from his lumber arms as Pablo's bike pulled into the driveway. 

"Oh, c'mon, you'll let me fuck you out here but the thought of those two seeing a little skin from you sends you running?" He teased.

"Ash, I'm not kidding." Your voice was firm, the thought of Kelly and Pablo seeing you like this making your stomach churn. He could sense the urgency in your voice and reluctantly releasing you from his grip, but still appreciating the view of your naked, reddened ass as you streaked into the trailer, slamming the storm door shut behind you.

[kaleldobrev]

Under Control

Pairing: Moc!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean keeps reassuring you that he has everything under control in terms of the Mark. But does he really?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Cursing (3x), Smut (Insanely brief P in V), Non-Canon Elements, Talks of murder & Fluff

Authors Note: Dreams are in italics | Bold italics are the voices | I know Dean never really heard voices when he had MOC, but I thought it would be interesting to add for this fic | I’ve had this sitting in my drafts since December and I honestly have no idea why | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You were lying underneath Dean as he was peppering kisses along your neck and collarbone; every so often nipping at your skin. It wasn’t enough to leave any marks, but it was just enough for you to let out those pretty little soft sounding moans he had loved hearing so much. “Dean,” you moaned out; your nails pressing into his back. You ran them along his back, and it was his turn to let out a groan.

“Yeah Sweetheart?” He whispered, sucking on your neck a little rougher now as he wanted to leave marks now. Your hands went to the back of his head now, and you gripped his hair, slightly tugging.

He felt your lips on his earlobe, and the corners of your lips turned into a smirk. “Need your cock inside of me,” you whispered, and kissed just below his earlobe.

“Hmm,” he sat up a little, slightly straddling you; careful not to hurt you. Your hands went to his abdomen, and your fingertips started to slowly inch closer and closer to his cock that was pressed up slightly against your thigh. “Slow or rough today?”

“What do you think?” You smirked, biting your bottom lip.

He took his cock in his hand and lined himself up with your entrance, the tip barely touching you. “Rough it is,” he smirked, pressing his cock inside of you.

“Fuck…” you moaned, trailing off. You shut your eyes, and the look on your face was that of pure and absolute bliss.

Watching your face now as he pushed himself fully inside of you, he went to his side of the bed and opened up the side table drawer. “Ready Sweetheart?” He asked, pulling out The First Blade from the drawer and closing it.

“Uh huh,” you moaned, your eyes still shut.

“Gonna go on three,” he said, smirking.

“Baby don’t tease me,” you said, and you were about to open your eyes. But his hand went quickly over your eyes, covering them firmly.

“No peeking,” he grinned.

“Okay, okay. I’m ready when you are,” your voice sounding the happiest it’s been in a while.

“One…two…three…” he counted as he plunged the blade into your heart.

Dean woke up, sitting and panting, slightly covered in a thin layer of sweat. He turned to look at your side of the bed, and you were still lying on your side sound asleep.

He fell back into bed and stared up at the ceiling briefly before he turned to his side to look at your closed eyes staring back at him. He was still panting, and his heart was still racing; but it started to slow a bit as he looked at your face. You looked so peaceful, and he was so curious as to what you were dreaming about.

He caressed your cheek with his thumb, and a small smile formed on your lips. It was almost like you knew he was doing this; but he knew for a fact that you were still asleep. “Love…you…too…” you mumbled, and he smiled; now knowing that you were dreaming about him. But that smile didn’t last for long, as it quickly turned into a frown. Here you were dreaming about him telling you he loved you, but in his, he was killing you.

Dean pulled his hand away, as he felt the darkness start to creep up. “Do it,” the voice said from inside of him. “Take the blade and do it,” it continued.

“No,” he whispered. Your body started to stir a little as you readjusted to lying on your stomach now; your arms underneath the pillow.

“She’s right there,” the voice said. “She wants you to do it.”

“No,” Dean whispered again. He threw the blankets; uncovering himself, and sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing you.

“Her blood would look so pretty staining the blade…” the voice continued. “Watching the light go out of her eyes…”

“Dean?” It was your voice now, but he wasn’t sure if it was actually you talking or the voices in his head pretending to be you in order to trick him. But he felt your hands on his shoulders, your cheek pressed up against his back. “What are you doing up?” You asked, pressing a kiss on his bare shoulder. “Did you have a nightmare?” Your voice was so calm, so soft.

“Yeah,” he said, his volume just slightly above a whisper.

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, pressing another kiss on his skin.

He thought about it for a moment but didn’t want to worry you; as you already worried too much about him. “No,” he answered, and quickly got out of bed. “Gonna go shower.”

You looked over at the clock as you watched him walk toward the bedroom door. “Dean, it’s 2:38 in the morning. Come back to bed and we can watch a movie or something,” your voice slightly begging, but was still so calm.

He wanted to just crawl back into bed with you, but he needed to get away from you, slightly afraid that he would actually hurt you. “Gonna go shower,” he repeated.

“I’ll take one with you,” you offered, and without looking, he knew that there was a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Again, he wanted more than anything for you to come and shower with him, but he didn’t want to hurt you. “No,” he said. “Wanna be alone,” he continued.

Before you could comment, he walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door quickly behind him, leaving you on the bed with a slightly sad and worried look on your face.

Dean turned on the shower once he stepped inside and let the steaming hot water run down his skin. “Should have invited her in. Easy clean up,” the voice said.

The voice kept repeating, and he couldn’t stop it. The only way he knew how was to actually go and kill something. But the world had been quiet lately, which was usually a great thing, but not since he’s had the Mark and the darkness inside of him had been getting more and more dominant.

You laid back down in bed, deciding to stay on your side; your face looking at the door in case Dean decided to come back in; but you were unsure if he would given how he just was. You knew that he wanted to be alone, but you didn’t want him to be alone.

There was a lot you didn’t know when it came to the Mark and how it was affecting him. But you knew it wasn’t good. As much as you wanted to help in trying to find a cure or a way to remove it alongside Sam, you knew he was fighting a losing battle. You were pretty sure he did too, but he just didn’t want to come to terms with it just yet.

Getting out of the shower, Dean looked at himself in the mirror briefly before he started to feel the Mark slightly pulsate on his arm. “Just kill her,” the voice said. “You’ll feel so much better,” it continued. “She’ll forgive you. She loves you.”

“Won’t do it,” Dean whispered to himself.

“Why not?” The voice answered back. “You said so yourself. You need to kill something. So why not her?”

“Because I…” Dean started, but the voice simply laughed.

“See, you can’t even say the word love. Pathetic,” the voice mocked.

“Shut up,” Dean whispered to himself.

“Pathetic,” the voice repeated.

“Shut up,” Dean whispered again, more annoyed this time.

“The only thing you’re good for is killing,” the voice said.

“I said shut up!” Dean yelled, no longer a whisper as he punched the mirror in front of him; glass shattering everywhere.

About to shut your eyes, you heard what sounded like glass shattering coming from the bathroom. “What the…” you whispered to yourself. You removed the sheets from yourself, and stepped out of bed, making your way toward the bedroom door.

“Son of a bitch!” You heard Dean yell, and again, the sound of more glass shattering.

Walking out of the bedroom, you saw Sam open his bedroom door, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Is Dean okay?” He asked you, his voice half asleep.

“He’s…he’s having a rough night,” you said, slightly sighing. “I think he punched the mirror again.”

“Want me to come help?” He asked.

You shook your head. “No, don’t worry. I got it. Just go back to sleep.”

“Alright,” he nodded, closing his bedroom door again.

Walking into the bathroom, Dean was on his knees trying to pick up the glass from the multiple mirrors that he punched. His knuckles were bloodied and cut up, and it looked like his knees were slightly bloodied too, probably from the broken glass on the floor.

As he was picking up a giant chunk, he looked up at you, the two of you making eye contact. “Go back to bed,” he said, his tone slightly demanding. “I got it.”

“Let me help you,” you stated, walking over to the closet and pulling out a broom and dustpan. “It’ll go faster with this and with two people,” you added.

“I don’t need your help,” he slightly mumbled, continuing to pick up the glass. His tone was less angry now, more maybe embarrassed sounding. But he had no reason to be. You weren’t upset with him, nor was Sam, the two of you were more worried about him than anything.

“Well too bad, because I want to help you,” you said. It was now your turn to have a bit of a more demanding voice. You started working around Dean, who insisted on continuing to pick up the glass with his hands as you started to sweep up some of the pieces into the dustpan with the broom. Every so often the two of you made eye contact and you would gently smile at him, hoping that it would let him know that you weren’t upset or angry.

After a few moments, Dean sighed, and the pieces of glass that he had started to pick up, he placed into the dustpan that you were using. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” you reassured.

“I keep breaking the fucking mirror,” he added. “Second time this week and it’s only fucking Wednesday.”

“And that’s why I buy these mirrors from Five and Below,” you grinned. “Don’t worry, I have a whole stock pile.”

“Which you shouldn’t have to do,” he sighed.

“I rather you punch a two dollar mirror than kill an innocent person,” you said, throwing the glass away. “And see, it didn’t take that long to clean up at all.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“She’s not that innocent,” the voice said. “She said she doesn’t want you killing innocent people. She doesn’t count you know. You’ve seen it with your own two eyes.”

“She’s a good person,” he mumbled to himself.

“Say something Sweetheart?” You asked, closing the closet door once putting the broom and dustpan back.

He met your gaze, not realizing that he had answered the voice out loud with you in the room. “I said, can you help me patch myself up?” He lied.

“Of course,” you smiled. “Let’s go back to the bedroom and do it. That’s where my kit is.” You walked over to him, holding out your hand for him to take it, and he simply just looked at it.

“I don’t wanna get your hand all bloody Sweetheart,” he said.

“Dean, I’ve had your blood on me plenty of times. And other fluids,” you winked, trying to lighten the mood. “Your blood ain’t gonna kill me. Besides, we have a sink in the bedroom.”

“Okay,” he finally agreed, taking your hand.

Sitting on the floor of the bedroom now, you carefully started to clean the blood from his knuckles; and the stare that he was giving you was one of the most intense stares you had ever seen from him before. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you smirked.

“Sorry,” he apologized.

“Don’t be,” you reassured. “I don’t mind you staring. It’s not like you’re some creep. You’re my boyfriend.”

“Who doesn’t tell you that he loves you enough,” he mumbled.

“Dean —” you started to say, but he quickly interrupted you.

“It’s true,” he continued.

“Dean, I know you love me even if you don’t say it all the time,” you said, starting to bandage his knuckles. “Is that what your nightmare was about?”

“I killed you,” he finally admitted. “I took The First Blade and I just killed you.”

Your motions started to slow as if you were trying to process what he had just said to you. “How often do you have that one?” Your voice seemingly unfazed by his admission.

“More often than I would like.” As much as he had wanted to tell you how frequent they were, he knew that would only make you more nervous and afraid about him — two things he never wanted you to ever feel around him. But he needed you to know at least to some extent that he does have these dreams, and has them relatively often.

“Well, Crowley has the blade hidden, so you don’t have to worry about killing me with it,” you said, finishing up bandaging him.

“But we have other weapons here Sweetheart. I mean I could kill you with my —” you cut him off by kissing him, and he was slightly surprised by this action. Yes, you’ve done this plenty of other times before (he’s even done it to you a few times), but kissing him after he openly admitted that he has dreams about killing you, was something that he didn’t expect to happen.

“I know that you won’t kill me,” you said. “And if you try, I’ll kick your ass,” you grinned. “Now, let’s get back to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” he said.

“Who said we were sleeping?” You smirked.

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[buckleyx]

OBSESSION C.L

Summary: How far is too far? What if Formula One’s loving heartthrob comes entangled with the bitter taste of success? And what if you threaten to take it all away from him.

Author’s note: This has been in my drafts for a looong time, I guess I was never sure when to post it but because of last weeks race in Vegas and Charles snapping about the Carlos overtake I decided to try and post Part 1! It just fits so well with the story! I hope you enjoy!

Charles Leclerc x Driver!Reader

masterlist

It was no secret how much Charles loved to win. He liked the thrive, the attention, the indescribable feeling in his chest. He yearned to feel it, to experience it. It was like an addiction, a thrill that he couldn't get enough off. And after winning his first Formula one race in Spa, he knew that the taste will forever leave him yearning for more.

Winning was like poison to him but a good poison. A poison that he wanted to come back to no matter the cost. So you can say that after Ferrari kept letting him down, kept taking him away from tasting that bitter beautiful drug, that something inside of Charles switched.

Hushed whispers in the garages called it an obsession, an obsession towards perfection. Something that now with Ferrari seemed almost impossible to achieve. But that didn't stop the Monegasque. You see Charles kept a promise. And he was eager to live by it. He wasn't doing this for himself, atleast that's what he kept telling himself, he was doing this to prove to the people around him that he could live on a legacy.

The longer Charles was being held back from winning his championship the more impatient and infuriating he became. Charles had a great image. Had. He was caring and kind, threated people with respected and love but that version of him was long gone, he burried it six feet under together with the idea that you could ever get something done by being nice.

And then there was you. A freshly new driver. Not yet aware of the heartbreaking, money hungry world you were about to enter because you were so blinded by promises and ideas that you blissfully ignored every sign screaming towards your direction. Just like any other rookie.

After two successful starting years at Mclaren. You were quickly the new 'hot topic' for paddock talk. Your contract was coming to an end and you were being tossed around from team to team, being offered irresistible promises and big numbers left and right. "Championship talent." Is what they called you and everyone wanted a taste. Of course they did. If you were to win a championship you'd go into history as being the first woman to ever do so and everyone wanted it to be their name that you did it with.

But the best promises seemed to be coming from the red Ferrari garage. Their iconic age old logo shinning proudly on the side, reminding you off it's legacy and power. Ferrari was a dream since your early karting days. So after the winter break you traded your old orange papaya suit in for a bright new red one.

Here you were, Ferrari's new champion. New life full of ambition and joy. Just what the team needed. You were at the top of your game, ready for your new adventure. But your happiness left as quickly as it came because no one was better at bursting bubbles than your new teammate Charles Leclerc.

He mocked the term "championship talent" with so much disgust that it almost made you embarrassed to carry it. Every person could tell he felt intimidated, afraid that the team would shift their newly found focus completely on you. You had as much ambition to win as Charles and that scared him. You were not there to play second driver, no. You demanded equal pay and every little benefit the Moneqasue got too. You knew your rights and you were not afraid to remind every one of them, especially Charles.

Your first official introduction with Charles was during a guided tour of the Italian Ferrari headquarters back in December. You got shown around and recieved all the necessary information. A group of people were busily crowded around you, reporters, interns, assistants and ofcourse the big bosses of Ferrari themselves. Flashing you charming smiles and a handfull of information about the team and it's eventful history in Formula one.

"Here we have our championship wall." One of the technical directors pointed out, proudly refering to the timeline Infront of them with framed pictures and reminders of all their wins. Year numbers marked their past victorys together with accessories of their previous drivers: Schumacher's racing gloves, Lauda's helmet, Ascari's racing suit, enc. It was beautiful looking at the people whoms footsteps you were about to follow. "Soon that will be you." He nodded, watching as you stepped closer to the end of the timeline, inspecting the picture of Kimi holding the last championship trophy for Ferrari above his head.

You looked in awe, feeling a sense of pride and confidence wash over you at the trust the team so generously put into you. The group of people chatted their way into the next room, so big into their own world that they payed no mind to your short absence while you admired your early childhood heroes.

"Beautiful, no?" A familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned around, seeing your new teammate admire the wall for himself. His arms were crossed and he had a concentrated look on his face. "Very." You smiled sincere. There was no need for first introduction, since you both were well aware of who you both where. You've seen Charles countless times on the grid but this was the first proper conversation you had with him alone.

"I admire your courage." Charles remarked after a minute of silence, sarcasm dripping clear in his tone. The peaceful tension in the room suddenly shifted to a hostile one. "Not a lot of people want to be my teammate." He said cockily as he made his way towards you. You could tell from his tone that he had the intention of intimidating you and by the way you uncomfortably took a step back as he got closer he could tell it was working.

A slight nasty smile covered his lips as he looked down on you. His eye contact was strong and uncomfortable. "I'm not afraid of you." You stated out, still taken back by his rude persona but you weren't in the least bit surprised.

Carlos warned you about him, everyone did. You met Charles before, talked to him before, but that person he was 2 years ago was nowhere near the same as the one towering over you. The Monegasque was indeed unrecognisable. His shimmer was gone. The shimmer everyone fell in love with was replaced by a heartless and mean one.

"Very cute." He mocked. "I'm sure you wont last long so I'm not worried about you. Most rookies never do. And since they only hired you to make their team more diverse, I see you more as a walking mascot, a fucking joke to promote their perfect reputation. Just,-" Your teammate laughed coldly, moving his head closer to your face before whispering: "-don't get in my fucking way."

He threatened, looking you dead in the eye before flashing another fake charming smile and leaving you again alone in the room.

[lietogirlsss]

RIGHT SIDE OF MY NECK!

neteyam x fem!metkayina reader

✧ summary : a certain sully boy can't admit he's smitten by one of the daughters of the olo'eyktan, but why would he? he's calculated and discerning and she's everything he wished he was.

✧ warnings : swearing (that's pretty much it LMAO)

✧ author's note : neteyam's 15, reader is older than tsireya by a year or so, some much needed lo'ak and neteyam brotherly bonding (after the trauma inducing hellscape that was atwow), lo'ak talking like a regular teenage boy, and in honor of it being December again, may i present to you, a neteyam fic that has been rotting in my drafts since April 🤩

A gravelly groan escapes your lips as your hands managed to shield your face, almost to hide yourself from the undisputable truth that you, along with your sister Tsireya, and your older brother Ao'nung had been roped into the evident mess that was to teach the children of Toruk Makto the ways of the Metkayina.

You weren't as prejudiced as Ao'nung, sneering at the Sully children whenever he'd run into them, so meticulously influenced by your mother's dislike towards Skypeople, let alone the Omaticaya.

You weren't as welcoming as your younger sister, who had greeted them with big grins that only further accentuated her dimples and her devout willingness to help Toruk Makto's family in any way she could. While you had resorted to mirthless smiles and polite nods whenever you'd come across one of them, it was unnatural, yes, Ao'nung was quite unfair with his treatment towards them, yes, but Tsireya's overall cheer and joviality was something you could not for the life of you reciprocate.

You were fine with them being here, although you couldn't say the same for most of your people.

The only real thorn in your side was the oldest.

Neteyam.

Oh how your blood boiled whenever you'd spot him in the crowd. Always so eager to help, so eager to please, so perfect, so good, it made you want to punch the living daylights out of him... Well, only slightly, that may be an exaggeration. Your hate for him might be particularly irrational but valid in all the worst ways.

"Can't you tell them I've been bitten by something?"

"No." Tsireya snorts.

"I've slipped collecting coconuts and dislocated my ankle."

"Stop moving so much sister, or I will mess up your hair." Tsireya says. "You are lucky I am doing you this favor."

It was like he was so anxious about keeping up the golden boy facade, what a show off, you thought. Going out of his way to help any way he could, helping carry baskets of dried fish across the village, pushing heavy boats off to sea, weaving baskets, seeing to the ilus, even the tsuraks at one point. It infuriated you. What did he had to gain?

If there was one thing you despised, it was try-hards.

And Neteyam Sully was the bane of your existence.

"Oh!" You had exclaimed, snapping your fingers. "You can tell them I have fallen off my ilu and got ripped apart by an akula!"

Tsireya laughed. "Yes, like they would believe me."

With another scoff, you stare st your sister through the mirror, so engrossed in the braiding technique you'd requested for her to do on your hair. "I don't see why you're bringing me into your affairs sister, it is clear as day you only want to help out the Forest People because you like the way that boy kept looking at you yesterday."

Tsireya tugs at your half-finished braid, making you swear and rub at your head, bringing Tsireya some amusement out of this. "Now, be quiet, be still, let me do my job."

With a sour mood, you allow Tsireya to thread the shells you requested she put in, sitting up straighter. "Your job in being an absolute nag?"

Tsireya sighs again, feeling her slump in frustration behind you. "Do you think it is so easy a job for me to constantly deal with your attitude? You're older than me, it is exhausting!"

A smirk comes to your face as Tsireya knots your braid off. "Don't worry, all your efforts will be seen by Eywa, she might even make the boy tell you your hair looks nice today."

"Enough, Y/N." Tsireya says, standing up from her seat.

You stood as well, hooking your arm around Tsireya's as you left your pod. "Oh let me have my fun."

A dozen morbid thoughts suddenly flood Tsireya's mind. "If we do that I am afraid there will be nothing left of Awa'atlu when you are finished."

When you arrive, you immediately spot both the brothers sitting on the edge of the woven platform, their long legs dangling just above the water. They looked to be so immersed in a conversation that neither of them noticed you or Tsireya approach them, only when they were about 4 feet apart was when you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

"Oh great mother, is it just the two of you?" Says you, making both the boys stand up like springs.

"No, our sisters are coming, they aren't exactly good at being early to things." says the younger one, his eyes flicking to Tsireya every now and then, making you dizzy trying to hold eye contact with the boy.

"Hey, Tsireya." He finally says, nodding at her sister who laughs again. It took everything in you not to start dry-heaving in front of them.

"Why do you sound so disappointed?" Neteyam wonders, another smirk playing at his thin lips as he looks at you.

Your forehead creases. "I am nothing of the sort, what about you? What has gotten you so chipper?"

"Nothing all that special, really." He replied, not even convincing himself.

You heftily exhaled through your nose, moving away from the group and walking up on the platform, taking one of the seaweed bands on your arm to bunch your hair up just to get it out of your face. Once you'd pull your hair through the band the final time, you turned around just to see Neteyam's head turn away, almost like it was a chain reaction.

You placed your hands over the dip of your hips, facing the odd group. "Now, where has our dear brother wandered off to? It's almost noon and he is nowhere in sight."

This makes the rest of them look around for Ao'nung, even the two brothers who you'd assumed wanted nothing to do with him after your brother had showed his blatant contempt towards them after he'd ridiculed them during their arrival.

"He must still be with Rotxo and the others, we must be patient." says Tsireya.

Your mind remained closed, throwing your hands up in the air only for them to land on her hips with a thwack. "We both know Ao'nung does not move like the tide, he is too stubborn, too hard in the head ." you found yourself saying, prodding a finger at your forehead.

"Patience, sister." Tsireya admonishes calmly, making her way towards you as you placed your hands on the identation of your woven skirt. "We must not rush things, we allow things to come to us at their own pace."

"Alright, alright." you tell her half-heartedly.

"Hey! Sorry, are we late?"

You turn her head to spot the two Sully sisters jogging up to the beach, the youngest out of all of them went straight for Neteyam, watching as he scooped her up with no hesitation. "Where in Eywa's name were you two?" Neteyam wonders, eyeing his sisters curiously.

The older girl rolled her eyes, pointing her chin at the youngest. "Couldn't decide on which skirt she wanted to wear."

The little girl pouts. "I didn't know which one I wanted!" She protested, her ears drooping down.

"She had two to choose from." the older sister groaned. Eyes finding yours as her grin widens, you chuckle to yourselves, having sisters was never a dull moment.

You two had bonded over that when you first helped her with her chores, although she seemed reluctant at first she accepted. Neither of you got anything done as you both found that snacking on dried seaweed and exchanging stories about your lives proved to be more fun.

"Maybe he isn't coming." says Neteyam's younger brother, subtly inching towards Tsireya while keeping everyone under the impression that he was trying to find Ao'nung just like she was, but in truth, all he wanted was to stand beside her. Tsireya didn't pick up on it at all, being the oblivious person she was, but Neteyam did, quietly chuckling to himself as he puts Tuk down, watching as she sprints towards the sand at full speed.

You shook your head at the sound of Tsireya's giggles and walks off the diving platform as well, making your way towards the beach to stretch your legs, walking along the coastline trying to kill time. That is until something tugs at your skirt, you turned around to see who it was but then looks down to see Neteyam's youngest sister, proudly holding a small conch shell in her hands, beaming up at you.

"They look just like the ones in your hair!" She exclaimed, a gigantic grin spreading across her face as you crouched to her level, taking the shell from her hands to study it. "It's a light purple, you don't have any purple shells yet."

"You're right, I don't have any purple shells in my hair yet do I?" You say in genuine amazement, holding it up against the sun, feeling the little girl scoot closer to you, but the shell had suddenly started to sprout 6 legs and you dropped it, startled by the animal and by the little girl's scream, you watch as it scurries back into the water, gone forever.

You turned back to the little girl who was visibly upset, another frown slowly forming on her face before you placed your hands on the little girl's shoulders. "Hey, we'll find another one around here somewhere, don't be upset."

She huffed, her shoulders rising and falling. "I didn't know there was something inside it, I really didn't."

You shook your head. "Neither did I, we both didn't know." you assured the younger girl, cupping her round face as her frown slowly started to shift into a smile. "Look, if we need to do this properly and find shells for my hair, I'm gunna need to know your name."

"Tuk!" She says. "My name's Tuk!"

"It's very nice to meet you Tuk."

"Really?" She giggled as you nodded. "What about you? What's your name?"

You beckoned her closer with a simple gesture of your fingers as you whispered your name into her ear.

"You've got a very pretty name." Tuk whispers as well, hiding her face behind her hands as she giggled.

"So do you." You had whispered all the same.

Tuk then looks back at the diving platform, and then back at you. "Y'know I think my brother is staring at you."

"Oh yeah? Why do you think that is so?"

The little girl scratches her head. "I don't know, he only stares at things he thinks looks nice or looks weird."

You grinned. "Does your brother think I look nice or weird?"

Tuk blinks. "I don't think you look weird"

"Would he think that?" Ka'leia emphasized.

"Probably" Tuk replies honestly, looking back at the diving platform again. "Why else does he keep staring at you?"

It made you think, it made your mind spiral into the bottomless void of memories in which you had caught a pair of warm amber eyes catch yours, and every time you did it made your heart stutter, however unfortunate it may be. "I'm not so sure either."

"Neteyam's weird." Tuk deduced.

You snort. "Yeah, he's weird"

Silence settles between you, but not for long as Tuk takes your hand and pulls you up. "Can we go and find shells now? Then we can put them in your hair! Then you'll look pretty!"

"Am I not pretty now?"

"No, not really." says Tuk, swinging your interlocked arms back and forth as her wide eyes scanned the sand.

"No?" You wonder almost scandalised, "alright. " you nod.

You and Tuk spent a good couple of minutes digging holes on the beach to fish out the shells that had been buried underneath the sand, conch shells, shards of shells, fossils, rocks, bits and pieces of coral, if it was pretty enough for Tuk's standards she's adding it to her pile.

5 minutes later you're following her around with an armful of tiny shells, half the beach full of holes from Tuk and her makeshift shovel that had originally been a branch, with her screaming in delight when she's spotted another one, hurriedly running to you to add it in with the rest.

Lo'ak abruptly places his hands on Neteyam's shoulders, purposefully trying to scare him but Neteyam does not flinch at all. "Yo bro, you got a staring problem or something?" He wonders in English, stepping beside Neteyam to look out into the beach too.

"You done flirting with Tsireya?" Neteyam shot back.

Lo'ak huffed. "Pfft, me? Tsireya?"

"I know your tell, your tail's a dead giveaway."

Lo'ak laughs, punching Neteyam's shoulder, finally making the older boy turn to face him. "Yo! Shut your ass up!"

Neteyam chuckles. "No one else here understands English bro, we're fine!"

Lo'ak shook his head. "I'm not worried about the Metkayina, I'm worried about that devil right there." He says, pointing at the beach.

Neteyam looks at the direction where Lo'ak was pointing. "Who? Tuk?

"She's got spot on hearing, incredible memory," Lo'ak listed. "If I'd have known how much of a tattletail she'd be I'd have abandoned her in the forest when she was a baby."

Neteyam frowns, laughing. "Yes, and when I'd get home I'd find your extra finger in my stew."

Lo'ak grimaces, almost gagging as Neteyam wiggles one of his fingers at him. "Disgusting!"

Neteyam cackles loudly, watching as Lo'ak covered his mouth. "You're overreacting!" He tells him.

"Nah bro, you don't get to fill my mind with those kinda thoughts." Lo'ak says.

Neteyam places a hand on his back. "Face it baby bro, i'm in your head."

Lo'ak pushes it away, chuckling. "Lay off!"

"Will you two ever go a day without fighting eachother?" Kiri asks, giving them a look.

"Not sure," says Lo'ak. "But I wouldn't hold my breath."

Kiri rolled her eyes and Lo'ak turns to Neteyam again. "If Ao'nung isn't coming then we might as well fetch him, if you catch my drift."

Neteyam shakes his head, his braids swishing from side to side. "No, we will do no such thing."

Lo'ak half shrugs, already moving away. "Fine, if you won't then I will."

Neteyam grabs his arm, stopping his brother in his tracks. "Hey, what did dad say?"

He pretends to think. "Not sure, something about you being the next poster boy of the clan?"

Neteyam flicks a finger on Lo'ak's forehead, making the younger boy hiss. "No, you skxawng, he wants us to be on our best behavior, and I don't want to be stopping you from pulling another shitty stunt that'll get you in trouble."

"Fine," Lo'ak says. "I'll go check up on Tuk." He tells Neteyam unconvincingly, scratching the side of his head. "What's up with you and wanting to stay on the beach?"

Neteyam's jaw tightens. "There's nothing that's keeping me here except my promise to dad."

"Uh-huh" Lo'ak nods, eyes flicking to you and Tuk. "Nothing or no one?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Lo'ak frowns, pretending he understood. "She's pretty hot."

Neteyam pays him no mind, only scoffing.

"She still avoiding you?" Lo'ak asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, and I can't seem to find the reason why." Neteyam huffed.

Lo'ak snickers. "Maybe it's cuz you're coming off a little too strong."

"I don't know how else I can get her to talk to me without her insulting every fibre of my being or making up some excuse to leave, I've tried everything." He replies desperately, causing Lo'ak's eyes to go wide, a whistle leaving his mouth. "Damn that bad??? What the hell did you do to her to make you hate her this much?"

Neteyam rakes his face with dread. "I don't know baby bro, but you have no idea what I would do to find out the reason why."

His brother was too down-bad to be saved, Lo'ak knew that much, looking across the beach as he studies you with his little sister. Neteyam looks at his brother, his eyes seemingly trained on you as it flicks up and down, he slaps his brother's arm. "It's rude to stare."

"Yeah, go tell that to them." Says Lo'ak, pointing at a handful of Metkayin boys passing by, giving you stolen glances as they talked amongst themselves, chuckling and hooting.

Neteyam's eyes narrow into slits. "They're irrelevant, we must not let ourselves become like them."

Lo'ak glances at him, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah, okay, so stop looking."

"Fine, I won't." Neteyam replies quickly, watching Lo'ak turn around and walk to the edge of the platform. But he dosen't stop looking, he hated himself for it for it and the way that it was practically eating himself alive.

Wasn't it such a simple task? To turn his head around and look somewhere else? Well it should be, but Neteyam couldn't bring himself to pry his eyes away from you, you, oh Eywa. Your eyes were the colour of the sea, your hair shiny and black, your smile making his stomach twist itself into knots, your laugh making shivers run up his back, the way you dressed alone would make people turn heads, but your attitude was what drew Neteyam in.

You didn't feel the need to keep up this respectful facade, treat him like a guest because it was expected of you as the daughter of the Olo'eyktan, no, you treated him the way you thought of him.

You were rude, you were impolite, and you were blunt, because you didn't like him. You didn't feel inclined to tolerate him just like what was expected of you. He wished he was that brave.

"'Teyam! 'Teyam look what I got!" Tuk squealed as the pair of you walked up the diving platform carrying mountains of shells on your palms. "Y/N told me she and 'Reya could put these in my hair after diving lessons! Isn't that cool?!?"

"Oh Tuk, you didn't force her into braiding your hair did you?"

Tuk looks back at you for moral support. "But she said she would-"

"-Neteyam let her be, if she wants me to braid her hair then I'd be happy to" you had jumped in, siding with Tuk whose ears flicked upwards at her statement. "I hope it isn't too infuriating that I favour your sisters over you."

Neteyam wanted to scoff, but instead stifles it with a tight smile. "Nonsense, my sisters have that effect on everyone" He tells her, looking at Tuk. "Don't you?"

Tuk simply gives him a giggle, a swift nod, and then runs to Kiri, shouting her name over and over again before the older girl groans in acknowledgement. "Here," you say, handing him a conch shell with yellow and brown patterns ruminating on its surface.

"What's this for?" He wonders.

"Your sister practically dug up the entire beach, you deserve at least one." you chuckled.

Oh. He stares at the shell in your hands, then looks back at your face. "If I take this does this mean we'll be friends?" He asks, a sly smile breaking on his face.

"Oh you wish," You reply, smirking as you narrow your eyss at the boy. "Taking this won't change anything."

"Yes it does," He replies as a matter of factly. "this is the longest conversation we've ever had without you leaving or insulting me."

"No it dosen't," You shook your head, insistent. "I'll still hate you after this."

He hums. "I think I can live with that," He smiled. "I did get a gift from the daughter of the Olo'eyktan after all." He laughs when he hears you scoff.

You leave right after he takes it and right before he could say thank you. Walking off to find a basket to store more of Tuk's shells in.

Neteyam looks at the shell in his hands, about 2 and a half inches long, smooth, shiny, perfect, it was perfect. He loves it. He closes his fist, a smile breaking on his face before he could even relent it, a light purple tinting his cheeks as he places the shell in one of his pockets.

[opiopal]

(I found this old draft from like, early December! I remember it was a practice at writing dialogue and a bit of angst? I just remember sitting in an art class and typing it out lol, But I decided to clean it up a bit and post! Since I haven’t been posting often and I have about 60 drafts lined up, lowkey I can’t tell if it’s any good or not, since idk if my skills have grown since my wattpad days. I would’ve fully rewritten it, but I knew it would’ve been a pain so I just spell checked and replaced a few sentences.)

•

•

(First scene takes place before lesson 16, second scene is during lesson 16. Also this is just a thing I thought of a while ago)

•CW: description of blood and dead body at the end.•

Mc has been staring at him for a while, hugging onto one of their pillows tightly, completely lost in thought. Mammon had brought them an extra cup of noddles, they had both just gotten back from RAD a while ago so they were reasonably hungry, and he apparently made two “by mistake” and just didn’t wanna waste it.(Mc thought it was a dumb excuse, but didn’t want to mention it and just accepted the food.) Though Mc had finished theirs a while ago, mammon was taking his sweet time, awkwardly staring down at the floor and occasionally flicking his eyes over at the human sitting no less then four feet away from him. It doesn’t cross their mind that he may be acting so awkward due to the fact that they have just been staring at him for the last ten minutes, but how could they really tell? Ever since they had made a pact with him, he’d been so awkward that it made levi look like an extrovert. As the seconds go by he wonders if he should question them, maybe there’s something wrong with them?? Why else would they be staring?? Or maybe there’s something on his face? Is his hair a mess? Is his shirt wrinkled? Why in the three realms won’t they just look away???

“do you like me?”

as they finally break the silence mammon chokes a bit, he coughs as his cheeks almost immediately get red,

“H-wh- I- What?!” “do you like me?” They asked it so casually, as if they were asking him if it were going to rain soon.

“O-of course I don’t!”

“then why do you hang around me?”

“because I HAVE to!”

“even at home?”

“yes!”

“how come?” They set their pillow to the side as they stare at him, he stammers

“I- well- because.. it’s… dangerous for you to be alone!”

Mc tilts their head slightly and furrows their brows, ”do you think your brothers would be a danger to me? Am I not safe here?”

“NO! I mean- uhm- obviously you’re safe here, I just.. you know I need to watch you!”

“but if I’m safe.. then why would you need to?”

“well-“ he pauses, his face somehow gets redder,

Mc smiles and scoots closer to him,

“you wanna know what I think?”

he side eyes them as they slowly start to smile,

“I think we’re friends,”

“PFFTT WHAAAT! NO! No. No we aren’t.”

“I think we are!”

“No” ”yes,” ”no-“ ”yes!” ”no!”

“Then I’ll ask again, How come you hang out with me?”

“I-“ as he pauses again to try and think of an excuse that wouldn’t cause anxiety or worry, he doesn’t want them to believe his brothers would hurt them- but he doesn’t want them to know the painfully obvious truth!!!! mc grins and wraps their arms around one of his,

“we’re frriendss~” they say in a sing songy voice, pressing their cheek against his shoulder. at this point he was so flushed you’d assume someone had came in and slathered red paint all other his face.

a bit of frustration creeps in as he yanks his arm from their grasp, and pulls them in for a tight hug as he avoids eye contact with them. If he can’t deny it, he might as well own it.. right??

“Well. I guess you WOULD want to be friends with the great mammon! It’s only natural!!”

a little surprised, mc giggles and wraps their arms around his torso in return,

“oh yeah, that’s totally it.”

“A- hey! Don’t be gettin all sarcastic!”

They turn their head to look up at him, at this point nearly laying in his lap. They stop giggling for a moment to smile at his face red face, they didn’t really mean to tease him, but he didn’t seem to be taking it to harshly. though still they apologize,

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Though you are a pretty good friend.”

“… really?”

his response surprises the both of them for a second, honestly he didn’t mean to say it, that was just an inside thought that managed to sneak out. He adjusts his arm to support the back of their head as he stares down at them.

“yeah, of course, I think you’re amazing mammon… and you’re doing a fantastic job�� keeping me safe, that is.”

• •

That moment almost immediately enters his mind as he stares down at them, pulling their body closer into his chest as their blood slowly begins to soak his arms and lap.

he wasn’t doing a fantastic job. He didn’t. He hasn’t. Why would he let this happen? HOW could he let this happen? He’s holding his human, his mc, as his youngest brother laughs.

He can’t look away, his mind re-memorizing their face, their eyes looked straight ahead with no sign of life, unblinking. He cups their face, shaking them gently, wanting them to do something, anything. To laugh at him being so worried, to make a comment about all the commotion, to mumble something about Lucifer, to blink, to BREATHE, To do ANYTHING. he could feel their warmth fading away, they were so cold. They didn’t deserve to be cold.

His brain was so clouded that he hardly took notice of the door being opened and his brothers arguing coming to a stop, his head finally jerking up when someone spoke their name.

[mingi-s-dimples]

Christmas Eve - Mingi

First of all.. Merry Christmas, everyone! I know I am *a bit* late to the party 😭 but school has been stressing me out so much... and I haven't had time to write nor the proper motivation to, so I decided to delay my fics a bit in order to regain some of my motivation, since I want to give my utmost best when writing ^^. Happy holidays, and this is a great opportunity to thank everyone for all the support I've been receiving since I started writing! This place is my comfort, I love writing so much.. I love you 🤍

---

pairing: bf!Mingi x gf fem!reader

genre: absolute fluff

summary: your boyfriend organised a surprise for you right in Christmas Eve.. which leaves you growing fonder of him ^^

wc: 1.3k (what a contrast between this and the ot8 one lmao)

warnings: literally no warnings, it's pure fluff ^^

Author's Note: I love writing thid tbh.. it felt like a fresh breath of air. I am all about Christmas, so y'all about to find out it took me 10 mins to write the first draft 🧍‍♀️ and 10 mins to rethink parts and finish. (pspspsps, special nye fic is coming... and it’s steamy 🫣)

The biting chill of the December night followed you home, your breath visible in small white puffs as you stepped out of the cab. Tugging your coat tighter around yourself, you couldn’t help but sigh. Christmas Eve had come at last, but work had been relentless. Most of your day had been spent organizing last-minute projects and ensuring everyone left the office in time for the holidays. The thought of warmth, home, and Mingi waiting for you was the only thing keeping you going.

However, as you approached your apartment door, something peculiar struck you. The hallway was dark—unusually so. The soft glow of Christmas lights, typically draped along the railing, was conspicuously absent. You paused for a moment, frowning as you set your keys in the lock. Had Mingi forgotten to turn them on?

Sliding the door open, you called out, “Mingi?”

No answer. The apartment was eerily quiet.

Shrugging off the odd sensation that prickled at your spine, you stepped inside. The familiar warmth of your shared space instantly melted some of the tension from your shoulders. After locking the door behind you, you shed your coat, scarf, and gloves, hanging them on the rack alongside your work bag. You glanced down at the fluffy slippers waiting patiently for you by the entrance—Mingi’s doing, no doubt. Smiling softly, you slipped them on.

The living room was just a few steps away, and as you made your way toward it, you couldn’t help but note the tantalizing scent of something delicious wafting through the air. Your curiosity piqued, you pushed open the door—and stopped dead in your tracks.

The room was transformed into something straight out of a dream.

A digital fireplace crackled warmly on the TV screen, the flames casting a golden glow across the room. The Christmas tree stood tall and regal in the corner, its ornaments twinkling like stars under the soft light of the fairy lights strung around it. Beneath its branches, a pile of neatly wrapped gifts sat waiting to be opened.

But the centerpiece of the scene was the small table in the center of the room, set up with candles, a bottle of wine, and two plates of what looked like your favorite dishes.

“Mingi?” you called again, your voice soft this time.

From the kitchen emerged your boyfriend, a grin as bright as the Christmas star adorning the tree spreading across his face. He was dressed casually in a cozy sweater that you loved on him, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’d been hurrying to prepare everything.

“Surprise,” he said, holding his arms out theatrically.

Your heart melted on the spot.

“Mingi, what is all this?” you asked, stepping forward, a hand flying to your chest.

“It’s Christmas Eve, isn’t it? Thought I’d make it special.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know how hard you’ve been working lately.”

Tears stung at your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment. “This is amazing,” you said earnestly, reaching for him. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

He caught your hands in his and kissed your knuckles softly. “You deserve it. Now sit down, let’s eat.”

Mingi guided you to the table, pulling out your chair with a flourish. As you sat, he poured you a glass of wine before serving up the dishes he’d prepared. Everything smelled and looked divine, from the roasted vegetables to the perfectly cooked protein.

“You didn’t burn anything,” you teased gently as you took your first bite.

He snorted, his face scrunching in mock offense. “Wow, no faith in me at all, huh?”

“None whatsoever,” you joked, earning a dramatic gasp from him.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, laughing and chatting about your day, your plans for the holiday, and reminiscing about past Christmases. The meal was delicious, and the warmth of the digital fireplace added to the cozy atmosphere.

Once the plates were cleared, Mingi brought out a tray of sweets he’d picked up from your favorite bakery. As you nibbled on cookies and sipped your wine, the conversation turned to your shared memories.

“Remember when we bought that tree?” you said, nodding toward the majestic pine in the corner.

Mingi chuckled. “How could I forget? You almost tackled that old lady to get it.”

“I did not!” you protested, laughing.

“You kind of did,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But it was worth it. Look how perfect it is.”

The tree indeed looked perfect, its branches heavy with ornaments you’d collected together over the years.

After a while, Mingi turned on a playlist of faint Christmas carols, the soft melodies filling the room. The two of you moved to the couch, the tree standing sentinel over you as you began to exchange gifts.

“Okay, okay, open mine first!” Mingi said, nearly vibrating with excitement as he handed you a neatly wrapped box.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “All right, all right, calm down!”

Carefully peeling back the wrapping paper, you uncovered a small velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat as you opened it to reveal a stunning white gold necklace with a matching pair of earrings. The necklace sparkled like frost in the morning sun, and the earrings were elegant, perfectly complementing it.

“Oh my God, Mingi!” you exclaimed, your voice rising with excitement. “This is gorgeous! How did you even—”

“I saw it weeks ago and knew it was perfect for you,” he said, grinning so wide it looked like his cheeks might ache. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it!” you said, throwing your arms around him. “It’s absolutely perfect!”

You leaned back, still holding onto him, and added, “Help me put it on?”

Mingi’s hands were steady as he clasped the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin lightly. When he was done, you turned to show him, and the way his eyes lit up made your heart flip.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth.

“Thank you,” you said softly, before kissing him with all the gratitude and love you could muster.

“My turn, my turn!” Mingi said, bouncing slightly as he sat back.

Laughing, you handed him your gift. He tore into the wrapping paper with childlike glee, letting out an audible gasp when he opened the box inside.

“No way!” he exclaimed, holding up the sleek bracelet he’d been admiring for months. “No freaking way!”

“Way,” you replied, laughing at his reaction.

“You remembered? I can’t believe you got this for me!” His voice was filled with awe as he slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, admiring how it fit perfectly.

“Of course I remembered,” you said, grinning. “You’ve been talking about it forever.”

He leaned over and crushed you in a hug, nearly knocking you backward. “This is the best gift ever. Thank you so much!”

“I’m glad you like it,” you said, your cheeks aching from smiling so much.

“I love it!” he said emphatically, leaning back just enough to kiss you.

The two of you spent the next hour unpacking the rest of the gifts—sweets, small trinkets, and other thoughtful items—but nothing could compare to the excitement and joy of those two special gifts.

As the night wore on, you found yourselves snuggled up together on the couch, the soft glow of the tree casting shadows on the walls. Mingi’s arm was draped around your shoulders, and your head rested against his chest.

“This is the best Christmas Eve ever,” you murmured, your voice thick with contentment.

Mingi pressed a kiss to your temple. “It’s the best because I get to spend it with you.”

And as the carols played softly in the background and the warmth of the digital fireplace wrapped around you, you couldn’t help but agree.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Joe's POV | Part Two

gif by @burrowstyles5

📸 behind the lens ✨ the full story — before joe’s side of things 👀 click here to catch up

📝 want more stories? check out my masterlist to see everything I’ve written ✨

📬 want to be the first to know when i post? join my taglist here 💌

🏈 joe burrow x reader word count: 21.6k

📩 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.

Author’s Note: I’m nervous about this one, y’all. The original was so long and it was difficult to work side by side with Y/N’s POV to get everything totally right and accurate. I really hope the work reflects how much time this took—making sure Joe’s internal thoughts matched up with what Y/N was experiencing, keeping timelines straight, and capturing his voice authentically while showing a different perspective on the same events. Thank you for your patience while I figured out how to make this work! Please send me messages, comments, talk to me—I’m in 😭

Taglist:@honeydippedfiction @harryweeniee @mruizsworld @cixrosie

December 2024 - Joe's Home

Joe stared at his phone, Y/N's last text still unanswered from three days ago. It had been about the upcoming playoff content strategy—completely professional, the kind of message that used to lead to longer conversations but now just sat there, marked as read.

The house felt different with Ellie visiting for the week. She'd been understanding about his game preparation, setting up her work station in the guest room to film content while he focused on film study. Her schedule was flexible enough that she could work from anywhere, which made these longer visits possible.

"How's the playoff prep going?" Ellie asked, appearing in the doorway of his media room with a bottle of water. She was dressed for one of her morning routine videos—athleisure that looked effortless but Joe knew was carefully chosen.

"Good," Joe said, pausing the defensive film he'd been studying. "Ravens are going to be tough, but we're ready."

Ellie nodded, though Joe could tell she was already mentally moving on to her next task. She supported his career without needing to understand the specifics, which was actually refreshing after years of people wanting detailed breakdowns of every play call.

"I'm going to film some content about supporting someone during playoff season," she said, settling her coffee on his desk. "Nothing with you in it, obviously. Just my perspective on the intensity of this time of year."

Joe appreciated that she understood his boundaries about appearing in her content. Their relationship was public now, but he kept his participation in her social media to a minimum. She got great engagement from her football girlfriend content without needing him to perform for her camera.

"That'll be good," Joe said. "Your followers seem to like the behind-the-scenes stuff."

"They do," Ellie agreed, already moving toward the door. "I'll be quiet while you finish up."

After she left, Joe returned to his film study, but found his attention drifting. The house was peaceful—Ellie working in her space, him working in his. It was comfortable, uncomplicated.

So why did he keep thinking about Y/N's unanswered text?

He pulled up his phone again, looking at the text thread with Y/N. His message about playoff content strategy from three days ago was still there, marked as read but unanswered. A simple work question that would have gotten an immediate response a year ago. Now, radio silence.

Joe set his phone aside, telling himself he was reading too much into it. Y/N was busy, playoffs were intense, everyone was focused. The slight distance he'd been sensing was probably just professional efficiency under pressure.

But something nagged at him as he tried to refocus on film. Y/N had been different since Thanksgiving, since news of his relationship with Ellie had become public. Not unprofessional—never that. But contained in a way that felt deliberate.

Ellie was upstairs in the guest room, probably filming content about playoff season or her morning routine. She was good at what she did, professional in her content creation, understanding about the demands of his schedule.

It was exactly what he needed right now—someone who supported his career without adding complications or demanding emotional energy he didn't have to spare.

Joe returned to his film study, pushing aside the nagging feeling that something had shifted in his world without him noticing when or why.

* * *

December 2024 - Three Days Later

Joe's phone buzzed with a team notification as he finished his morning workout. Group message from Y/N about updated practice schedules for the week. Professional, efficient, sent to the entire offensive unit.

He'd noticed she'd been handling most communications through group messages lately rather than direct texts. Made sense from an organizational standpoint, but it felt impersonal compared to their usual dynamic.

Ellie was in the kitchen when he came upstairs, phone propped on the counter as she filmed herself making what she called her "playoff week smoothie"—something green and instagram-worthy that she'd promote for one of her wellness sponsors.

"Morning, babe," she said, glancing up from her filming setup. "How was the workout?"

"Good," Joe said, grabbing water from the fridge. "Feeling ready for practice today."

"That's great," Ellie replied, returning her attention to the camera. "As I was saying, maintaining routine during high-stress periods is so important for mental health..."

Joe listened with half attention as Ellie wrapped up her content, marveling at how naturally she could shift between conversation with him and her professional presenter voice. She'd built an impressive following by being authentic about her life while still maintaining the polish that brands wanted to work with.

After she finished filming, Ellie settled beside him at the counter. "I'm thinking of flying back to LA tomorrow instead of Thursday. Give you more space to focus before the game."

Joe felt a flash of something—relief? guilt?—at the suggestion. "You don't have to do that. This is your routine too now."

"I know," Ellie said, bumping his shoulder gently. "But I can tell when you need full game mode. I've got meetings I could move up anyway."

The considerate gesture was typical Ellie—understanding his needs without making him feel guilty for having them. She'd adapted to the rhythms of his career without trying to change them or demanding more attention than he could give during intense periods.

"If you're sure," Joe said. "I appreciate how flexible you are with all this."

"It's part of dating you," Ellie replied matter-of-factly. "I knew what I was signing up for."

Later, as Joe drove to the facility, he found himself thinking about Ellie's easy acceptance of his career demands. She never pushed for more time or attention than he could give, never made him feel guilty for being unavailable during crucial weeks.

It was exactly what he should want—a partner who understood professional obligations and didn't create additional stress during already intense periods.

But arriving at the facility, Joe felt that familiar anticipation about seeing Y/N that he'd been trying to ignore. Not for any specific reason—just the comfortable rhythm of their collaboration, the way she understood the nuances of game preparation in ways that made his media obligations feel manageable rather than burdensome.

Walking through the halls, Joe realized he was looking forward to their usual pre-practice check-in about content needs, about his comfort level with different interview approaches, about the small collaborative details that made working with her effortless.

He just hoped whatever distance he'd been sensing lately was temporary, a function of playoff stress rather than something more permanent.

The thought that Y/N might be pulling back deliberately—Joe didn’t like that thought.

* * *

Three weeks after Y/N's return from Louisville

Joe had been watching Y/N for weeks now, cataloging the subtle changes in her behavior like he studied defensive formations. The way she'd started taking different routes through the facility. How she'd position herself in meetings to avoid direct eye contact. The careful timing of her arrivals and departures to minimize their overlap.

It wasn't random. It was strategic. And Joe was tired of pretending he didn't notice.

He found her outside the edit room, tablet in hand, completely absorbed in reviewing footage. For a moment, Joe just watched her work—the focused intensity that had always characterized her approach to everything, the way she'd unconsciously tuck her hair behind her ear when concentrating.

"Coffee this week?" The question came out more loaded than he'd intended, but Joe was past caring about subtlety. "We haven't really caught up since you got back from Louisville."

Y/N didn't look up from her tablet, her attention seemingly fixed on whatever footage she was reviewing. "Crazy schedule right now. Maybe next time."

The deflection came easily. Joe realized this wasn’t the first time she’d used that exact response.

"That's what you said last week," he said, letting frustration color his voice. "And the week before."

"End of season push," Y/N replied without missing a beat. "You know how it is."

Joe studied her face, noting the careful way she kept her eyes on the screen, the slight tension in her shoulders that suggested she was working to maintain composure. This wasn't busy—this was avoidance.

"Y/N." He let her name hang in the air, dropping his voice to get her attention. "I know something's going on. This isn't just about workload."

For a split second, Y/N's mask slipped. Joe caught the flicker of something—vulnerability, maybe, or recognition that he'd seen through her careful performance. But it was gone quickly, replaced by that same professional neutrality.

"Nothing's going on," she said, finally looking up with a smile that belonged in a press conference. "Just managing workflow. Speaking of which, I need to get these edits to the team."

The polite dismissal stung worse than anger would have. This was how Y/N dealt with difficult players, with media members she didn’t trust. Professional courtesy wrapped around steel boundaries.

Joe decided to abandon subtlety entirely.

"You've been avoiding me since Louisville," he said, not letting her step away. "Since the Ellie thing hit the news."

Y/N went very still, and Joe felt a grim satisfaction that he'd finally cut through her careful deflections. Her heart rate had picked up—he could see it in the slight acceleration of her breathing.

"I'm not avoiding anyone," she replied, but her voice had lost some of its steadiness. "I'm re-prioritizing assignments based on team needs."

Joe’s eyes narrowed. That was bullshit and they both knew it.

"If you say so," he said, stepping aside to let her pass. But he wasn't done. "We'll talk again soon."

Joe watched her walk away. She was trying to look unaffected, but he could tell his words had hit home.

He knew Y/N well enough to see through the professional act. She was protecting herself from something.

From what? From him?

Joe knew what was wrong. Deep down, he knew why Y/N's behavior had shifted right after news of his relationship with Ellie broke. The timing wasn't coincidental.

He'd been telling himself it was about professionalism, about Y/N maintaining appropriate boundaries. But that was bullshit. Joe thought about their easy conversations over the years, the way Y/N had been present for his most vulnerable moments during recovery, the connection that had been building between them before he'd gotten scared and chosen Ellie instead.

Because that's what he'd done, wasn't it? Chosen the safe option when what he felt for Y/N had started to feel too real, too complicated. He'd seen the way she looked at him sometimes, felt the charge in the air between them, and instead of dealing with it, he'd found someone else.

Y/N wasn't just maintaining professional distance. She was protecting herself from the guy who'd basically told her she wasn't worth the risk. The guy who'd picked someone else when things started to feel real.

He'd known this was coming. Had maybe even known it when he'd started dating Ellie in the first place.

* * *

Staff Meeting

Joe sat through the first half of the playoff media strategy meeting barely paying attention, watching Y/N instead. She'd positioned herself at the opposite end of the conference table, as far from him as possible. She ran through coverage plans and platform strategies like she always did, completely professional, completely competent.

But when she started assigning responsibilities, Joe's attention sharpened.

"Tyler will continue handling quarterback coverage," Y/N said, her tone suggesting this was a foregone conclusion. "We want consistency through the playoff run."

Joe's jaw tightened. Four years of working together, and she was just going to reassign him like it was nothing? Like he didn't get a say?

"I want Y/N for the post-game segment," he said, interrupting whatever conversation was happening around him. "We have a system."

The words came out sharper than he'd meant them to, but he didn't care anymore. She was cutting him out completely, and he wasn't going to just sit there and take it.

Y/N looked right at him. "Tyler's been doing your segments for weeks. We need to keep things consistent for playoffs."

She was missing the point entirely. This wasn't about Tyler. This was about her avoiding him.

"Y/N knows my cues better," Joe pressed, maintaining eye contact despite her obvious discomfort. "It makes more sense."

He watched her face, looking for something—anything—that showed this was hard for her too. Nothing.

"Tyler's done an excellent job," she replied smoothly. "And I'll be overseeing all content production. The current assignments stand."

The way she shut him down, in front of everyone—it stung. The finality in her voice, how she wouldn't even consider what he wanted, felt like she was dismissing everything they'd built together over four years. Joe noticed the room had gone quiet, people looking between them like they could sense something was off.

After the meeting broke up, Joe hung back, hoping to catch Y/N alone. But she was already packing up her stuff, moving with that practiced efficiency that meant she'd planned her escape before the meeting even started.

So this was how it was going to be. Y/N's distance wasn't about workload or being busy with playoffs. It was personal. She was actively tearing down everything they'd worked to build together, systematically dismantling four years of collaboration like it had never mattered at all.

As Joe watched Y/N leave the conference room without a backward glance, he felt the pieces finally click into place. This wasn't just about professional boundaries or protecting their working relationship.

Y/N had feelings for him. Had probably had them for longer than he'd realized.

And his relationship with Ellie had forced her to choose between her job and her heart. She'd chosen her job, built walls to keep herself safe, and now she was systematically dismantling everything they'd shared to protect what was left.

The recognition hit him like a punch to the gut. He'd been so focused on his own fear of complications that he'd completely missed what was happening right in front of him.

Joe thought about their friendship, about the easy conversations and mutual trust that had developed over years of working together. He thought about Y/N's presence during his recovery, her understanding during his most vulnerable moments, the way she'd made him feel seen and supported when everything else felt uncertain.

All those moments during his recovery, the easy conversations, the way she'd look at him sometimes—it hadn't been just professional support.

* * *

Later that day

Joe was reviewing game film when Sam's voice in the hallway caught his attention. Y/N's name made him pause the video.

"...different since she got back from Louisville," he heard someone say. Probably one of the other media staff.

Joe muted his laptop, focusing on the conversation outside his door.

"Right after the Ellie news broke," Sam's voice confirmed. "I'm worried about her."

There it was. Confirmation of what he'd already known but hadn't wanted to face. Y/N's behavior wasn't about workload or professionalism. It was about him and Ellie.

Joe sat back in his chair. Y/N had been dealing with this for weeks, keeping everything together at work while handling whatever she felt about his relationship. And he'd just gone about his business, completely clueless.

He thought about Ellie—easy, uncomplicated, safe. No messy history, no complicated feelings. Exactly what he'd thought he wanted.

But now, thinking about Y/N's careful distance and what it actually meant, Joe wondered if he'd chosen the wrong thing entirely. Chosen comfort over connection.

* * *

January 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe had been looking for this chance for weeks. Playoffs were chaotic enough that Y/N couldn't avoid him as easily, and he'd been watching her patterns, waiting for the right moment.

He spotted her in the main corridor with her clipboard, directing her team like she always did. Even from here, he could see how she'd positioned herself near the exits. Probably already planning her escape if she saw him coming.

Joe hung back in the weight room doorway, tablet in hand so he'd look like he had a reason to be there. When Y/N's team scattered and she headed for the edit bay—exactly where he'd figured she'd go—he stepped out.

"Y/N."

He watched her stop dead, saw her shoulders go rigid before she turned around. That split second told him everything—being around him was work for her now.

"Joe," she replied, her tone hitting that perfect note of polite professionalism that had become her default with him. "Something you need?"

Joe stepped closer, noting how Y/N's grip tightened slightly on her clipboard. "Just wanted to confirm the gameday shoot schedule. Tyler sent it over, but there's a conflict with the offensive meeting."

It was a legitimate concern, but Joe's real motivation was simpler: he wanted to see if Y/N would handle this personally or continue delegating everything through Tyler.

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

The immediate deflection was exactly what he'd expected. Thirty seconds of conversation, and she was already looking for Tyler to handle it instead.

"You could adjust it," Joe pressed, keeping his voice casual despite his growing frustration. "You've been handling the playoff schedule for four seasons."

He watched her face. Nothing. She gave him absolutely nothing.

"Tyler's got it covered," she said simply.

Joe's jaw tightened. Four years, and now she wanted to manage him through Tyler like he was some difficult rookie.

"Sure," he said, not bothering to hide his frustration. "If that's how you want to play it."

Silence. Y/N wouldn't even look at him directly, her shoulders tense like she was bracing for something.

Up close, he could see how tired she looked. Not playoff tired. Something else entirely.

"How was Louisville?" The question slipped out before Joe could stop it, his genuine concern overriding his strategic approach to this conversation.

Something flickered across Y/N's expression—surprise, maybe, that he'd asked something personal.

"Good," she answered, then seemed to catch herself being too brief. "Nice to be home for the holidays."

Joe nodded, filing away her admission that Louisville still felt like home after years in Cincinnati. "Your brothers seemed happy to have you back. Saw Matt's post."

He'd been following her family on social media since their second year working together, though he'd never mentioned it directly. Matt's Instagram story from Christmas had shown Y/N laughing with her nieces, looking more relaxed than Joe had seen her in months.

"Family time is always good," Y/N said, glancing at her watch with the kind of deliberate gesture that meant she was planning her exit.

Joe didn't move aside, using his physical presence to keep her engaged despite her obvious desire to escape. "You know," he said, dropping his voice slightly, "this whole distance thing doesn't actually work if everyone notices it."

For just a second, her guard dropped—he saw the alarm in her eyes before she caught herself.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she said, but Joe caught the slight acceleration in her breathing.

Time to abandon subtlety entirely.

"Ja'maar asked me yesterday what happened between us," Joe continued, maintaining eye contact despite Y/N's obvious discomfort. "Says the whole team has noticed you don't work with me directly anymore."

It was true, and he wanted her to know that people had noticed.

"I work with the entire team," Y/N countered, but Joe heard the slight defensiveness beneath her smooth response. "Staff adjustments happen all the time."

"Not like this," Joe said quietly, letting his voice carry the weight of four years of collaboration. "Not after four years."

He saw Y/N's composure start to crack under his direct challenge, watched her mask begin to slip as she realized he wasn't going to accept her deflections.

"Is there a point to this conversation, Joe?" she asked, her voice taking on an edge he rarely heard from her. "Because I really do have a deadline."

The slight desperation in her question told Joe he was finally getting through her defenses. She was feeling cornered, which meant she was feeling something beyond professional indifference.

"The point is," Joe said, letting his own frustration show, "whatever's going on with you, people are noticing. And they're asking me about it, as if I have answers." He paused, studying her face. "Which I don't, because someone won't actually talk to me."

The accusation hung between them, more direct than any conversation they'd had in months. Joe watched Y/N process his words, saw her square her shoulders as she prepared to deflect again.

"There's nothing to talk about," she insisted, but her voice had lost some of its steadiness. "And frankly, if players are gossiping instead of focusing on playoff prep, that's concerning."

Joe almost smiled at her attempt to turn the conversation back to work. Even cornered, Y/N's instinct was to protect team focus and professional boundaries.

"Always deflecting," he said, finally stepping aside to let her pass. But he wasn't done. "Good luck with the edit, Y/N."

As she started to walk away, Joe felt a moment of desperation. Y/N was slipping away from him in ways he was only beginning to understand, and his window for addressing it was closing.

"For what it's worth," he called after her, the admission coming out more vulnerable than he'd intended, "I miss working with you."

Y/N didn't turn around, but her steps hitched for just a second before she kept walking. He'd gotten to her.

Standing alone in the hallway, Joe finally let himself admit what he'd been avoiding. Y/N had feelings for him. Real feelings. The kind that made normal conversation feel dangerous, that required her to build walls just to get through the day.

He thought about Ellie—easy, uncomplicated, safe. Then he thought about Y/N's careful composure, the way she'd looked when he said he missed working with her.

Maybe he'd been choosing the wrong thing all along. Choosing easy over what actually mattered.

The thought scared the hell out of him. Because if Y/N felt something for him, and if he was finally being honest about what he felt for her, then his nice, controlled life was about to get a lot more complicated.

* * *

Late January 2025 - Bengals Facility

The locker room felt empty, drained of all the energy that had carried them through the playoffs. Joe went through his post-season routine on autopilot—packing gear, saying goodbye to teammates, trying to process that their season was over.

Y/N was there with her camera, documenting everything like she always did. For months, she'd managed to avoid him, but in the cramped locker room, she couldn't stay completely out of his way. Joe found himself watching her work, seeing how she moved to get her shots while still keeping her distance from him.

"That's it for me," Ja'maar said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "See you in a few months, man."

Joe nodded, clasping his teammate's hand. "Get some rest. We'll be back."

As players headed out, Joe realized this might be his last shot to talk to Y/N before the offseason. They'd be on different coasts for months, and ending things with nothing but work talk felt wrong after everything they'd been through.

She was by the exit with her camera bag, ready to leave. Sam was with her, and Joe could hear Tyler mentioning Y/N's name from across the room, though he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Tyler handled Burrow's exit interview," Tyler was saying to someone. "Went pretty well, got some good content."

Joe felt that familiar frustration. Even today, on the last day of the season, she'd had Tyler handle his exit interview. No final conversation, no acknowledgment of what they'd been through together this year.

He walked over as they finished packing up. Y/N went rigid the second she saw him coming.

"Exit interviews done?" he asked, addressing both women but looking at Y/N.

"Just wrapping up," Sam replied when Y/N didn't immediately respond. "Tyler said yours went well."

Joe nodded, then decided to abandon subtlety. "Tyler's good," he said, meeting Y/N's eyes. "Different perspective."

The emphasis was intentional. Tyler was fine, but it wasn't the same, and they both knew it.

"Heading out already?" Y/N asked, her tone carefully neutral as she finally acknowledged him directly.

"Flight to California tonight," Joe confirmed, watching her face for any reaction to the mention of where Ellie was based. "Offseason training starts next week."

Something crossed her face when he mentioned California. Like she'd been expecting it.

"Have a good offseason," Y/N said, and the polite dismissal hit him hard. After four years of everything they'd been through together, she was talking to him like he was just another player heading out the door.

Joe looked at her face, hoping for something—anything. But she gave him nothing. Complete professional courtesy, like they were strangers.

"You too, Y/N," he said finally, accepting defeat. He glanced at Sam. "Both of you."

As he walked away, Joe felt everything they weren't saying hanging in the air. No mention of their history, nothing about what they'd built together over four years. Like their partnership had been just another work assignment.

Y/N was letting him leave without a fight, without even trying to make it personal. The message was clear: whatever they'd had was done. Finished with the season.

* * *

That Evening - Airport

Joe sat in the airport departure lounge, flight delayed, staring at Y/N's contact on his phone. His finger hovered over the keyboard but he couldn't figure out what to say.

The whole day felt off, and it wasn't about losing in the playoffs. Seasons ended. That was football. But the way things had gone with Y/N felt wrong somehow.

He kept thinking about Tyler's exit interview. Fine, but basic. Y/N would have asked better questions, dug deeper into what he was thinking, what he'd learned. Tyler had just hit the obvious stuff—stats, team performance, surface-level bullshit.

Joe started typing before he could talk himself out of it:

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

He hit send before he could reconsider, then immediately regretted it. Now he sounded desperate, reaching out when she was clearly trying to get away from him. Which he was, but she didn't need to know that.

The response came faster than he'd expected:

Safe travels. Good luck with offseason training.

Joe stared at the message. Even over text, she was keeping him at arm's length.

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

The words came out harsher than he'd intended, but Joe was tired of this shit, tired of being treated like a stranger after everything they'd shared.

Not shutting you out. Just refocusing priorities.

The response felt like a door slamming shut.

Whatever you need to tell yourself.

Joe typed the words quickly, letting his frustration show. If Y/N wanted to pretend they'd never been more than player and media staff, fine. But he wasn't going to play along.

Have a good offseason, Joe.

Joe stared at the text thread. This might be it for months. By the time he got back for OTAs, she'd have had half a year to build those walls even higher.

He was losing her. Not just as a colleague, but as someone who actually mattered to him. It felt like losing something he couldn't replace.

Sitting in that terminal, waiting for a flight to California and a girlfriend who felt more like a comfortable routine than anything real, Joe realized he'd been fucking up for months.

Y/N had been protecting herself from feelings he'd been too scared to deal with. Ellie was safe, easy, but also empty in ways he couldn't ignore anymore.

His phone buzzed. Ellie, asking about his flight, talking about dinner plans and some content opportunity. Joe typed back the right responses, said the right things about being excited to see her.

But his head was still stuck on Y/N's final message, on the distance she'd kept all season, on how he'd chosen easy over everything that actually mattered.

Maybe it was too late to fix this. Maybe some mistakes couldn't be undone.

As they called his flight, Joe grabbed his stuff and headed toward months in California that felt more like punishment than vacation.

* * *

February 2025 - Los Angeles

Joe stepped off the plane at LAX into Southern California warmth, completely different from the Cincinnati winter he'd left behind. Ellie was waiting at baggage claim, looking perfect despite the early hour, all bright smiles and energy.

"There's my playoff warrior," she said, pulling him in for a kiss that felt like it was meant for the people watching. Who the hell talked like that?

"Good to see you," Joe replied, meaning it even as he noted the small audience that had gathered to watch their reunion.

The drive to Ellie's Venice Beach apartment was filled with her updates about modeling gigs, brand partnerships, and the projects she had lined up. Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Joe found himself only half-listening, his mind still processing the abrupt end to the season and the unresolved tension he'd left behind in Cincinnati.

"I thought we could do that couples workout class tomorrow," Ellie was saying as they pulled into her building's parking garage. "Well, I'd film some content there. You could just work out normally while I get my shots."

Joe nodded, appreciating that she understood his boundaries about appearing in her content. "Sounds good. I need to get back into a routine anyway."

Ellie's apartment was exactly what Joe had expected—bright, airy, filled with ring lights and camera equipment strategically placed but not overwhelming. They'd always stayed at hotels when he visited LA, or she'd come to Cincinnati, so this was his first time seeing her actual space. Her refrigerator was stocked with sponsored products, her bathroom counter arranged with skincare items that would appear in her content.

"I know it looks like a lot," Ellie said, noticing his survey of the space. "But I try to keep the work stuff contained. Most of my filming happens when you're training anyway."

"I get it," Joe said, and he did. He understood the business of personal branding, appreciated that Ellie respected his privacy while building her own career.

* * *

March 2025 - Malibu Training Facility

Six weeks in, Joe had his routine down. Morning workouts in Malibu, afternoons with his QB coach working on mechanics, evenings where Ellie edited content while he recovered or watched film.

The training was solid—some of the best he'd ever had access to. But he felt like he was just going through the motions, checking boxes without any real drive behind it.

"You seem distracted today," Liam, his QB coach, observed as they wrapped up a throwing session. "Mechanics are solid, but your head's somewhere else."

Joe toweled off, considering how to respond. "Just thinking about team stuff. Wonder how the new rookies will integrate."

It wasn't entirely true. Joe was thinking about the team, but specifically about whether Y/N was at the combine in Indianapolis, whether she was interviewing prospects, whether she was still maintaining the distance that had defined their final months of the season.

That evening, Joe sat in Ellie's living room while she filmed her post-workout routine in the kitchen, ring light positioned to catch the golden hour coming through her windows. He could hear her talking to her phone about nutrition and recovery, her voice taking on the polished cadence she used for content.

When she finished, she settled beside him on the couch, immediately shifting back to her natural speaking voice.

"Good session today?" she asked, curling up against his side.

"Yeah, making progress," Joe replied, though he wasn't sure what progress actually meant when he felt so disconnected from his usual drive.

"I got some great shots at the gym this morning," Ellie said, scrolling through her phone. "The lighting was perfect. My followers love the behind-the-scenes training stuff, even without you in it."

Joe appreciated that she never pushed him to be in her content. But watching her review footage from their morning—her perfectly curated version of what they'd done—made him think about Y/N. How Y/N captured real moments instead of manufacturing them.

Joe remembered their first real conversation, at a charity event in LA during his second year. Ellie had been working the event, but during a break, she'd sat beside him and asked, "Do you ever get tired of being 'Joe Burrow' all the time?"

The question had surprised him. Most people wanted more of the public version, not less. But Ellie had seemed genuinely curious about the person behind the image.

"Sometimes," he'd admitted. "It's a lot of pressure to be that composed all the time."

"I get it," she'd said simply. "Different industry, same thing. Sometimes I just want to eat pizza and watch Netflix without thinking about how it affects my brand."

That conversation had led to late-night texting, to private dinners, to the relief of being with someone who understood the weight of public expectations. Ellie had offered him something he desperately needed then—acceptance without demands for deeper emotional access.

But now, watching her create content about their relationship while he struggled to feel anything genuine, Joe realized that what had once felt like relief now felt like avoidance. Ellie deserved someone who wanted to know all of her, not just the parts that felt safe.

* * *

April 2025 - Venice Beach

Two months in, things with Ellie had become comfortable but empty. They looked good together, supported each other's work, but it all felt like going through the motions.

"I'm thinking about staying until June," Joe said one night while Ellie edited content on her laptop. "Push back going home."

Ellie looked up, pleased. "That would be great. I have that campaign shooting in May that would be perfect timing."

Joe nodded, though he wasn't really sure why he wanted to stay. The training was incredible—better than anything he could get back home. But that wasn't really the reason.

Maybe he was just avoiding whatever was waiting for him in Ohio. Y/N, the mess he'd made of things, the fact that all his choices were finally catching up with him.

"You seem different lately," Ellie observed, closing her laptop and giving him her full attention. "More... distant, I guess. Everything okay?"

Joe looked at her—beautiful, successful, uncomplicated Ellie who asked direct questions without demanding complicated answers.

"Just thinking about the season ahead," he said. "Whether the team's going to gel, whether we can make another run."

It was partly true, but not the whole story. Joe was thinking about the team, but specifically about Y/N and whether the distance she'd created would continue into the new season.

"You miss it," Ellie said, and it wasn't a question. "The competition, the guys, the whole Cincinnati thing."

She was right, but not completely. Joe did miss football, but more than that, he missed feeling like someone actually got him.

Ellie was perfect for what she was—supportive, successful, understanding. But perfect wasn't the same as real.

As they settled into another night of working side by side—her editing content, him watching film—Joe realized he was counting down days to go back to Cincinnati. Not because he was excited about it, but because he was tired of hiding out here.

He'd picked the safe choice, but safe was starting to feel like settling. And with OTAs coming up, he'd have to face everything he'd been avoiding—including the fact that this wasn't really his life. It was just the life he thought he was supposed to want.

* * *

Mid-April 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe pushed through his third set of bench presses, sweat building despite the early morning hour. The Bengals weight room felt different after months in California—smaller, more familiar, charged with the specific energy that came from shared purpose rather than individual training.

He'd returned to Cincinnati a week earlier than planned, unable to manufacture more reasons to delay his return. The conversation with his QB coach about getting back into team rhythm had been the final excuse he needed to leave LA, though privately Joe knew he was running toward something as much as away from it.

"Looking strong, man," the strength coach said as Joe racked the weight. "California training paid off."

"Thanks," Joe replied, toweling off. The physical improvements were real—he felt sharp, powerful, ready for the demands of another season. But the mental side remained complicated in ways that had nothing to do with football preparation.

As he gathered his water bottle and prepared to head to the next station, Joe heard familiar voices in the hallway. His pulse quickened automatically, though he tried to convince himself it was just general facility energy.

But when the weight room door swung open and he stepped into the corridor, still talking to the strength coach about next week's program, Joe's attention immediately locked onto Y/N walking down the hall.

She looked different. Not just the shorter hair, though that was striking too. Something else—more confident, maybe. More self-contained. Like the time apart had changed her in ways he couldn't put his finger on.

Their eyes met before either of them could look away. Joe felt that familiar jolt, then remembered how they'd left things—polite, distant, unfinished.

"Y/N," he said, keeping his voice neutral despite the way his heart rate had picked up.

"Joe," she replied, maintaining her stride. "Welcome back."

The greeting was perfectly appropriate and told him absolutely nothing.

"Thanks," Joe said, then found himself pushing against her careful boundaries. "Heard you've been busy while I was gone."

He'd heard things, picked up information through various channels. Y/N dating, taking vacations, apparently thriving in his absence. He hated knowing that, and he knew exactly why.

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

The question was polite, professional, revealing nothing about whether she cared about his answer. Joe felt a flash of frustration at her careful neutrality.

"Productive," he said, though even as he said it, Joe realized how hollow the months in LA felt in retrospect. "Good to be back though."

The admission surprised him with its honesty. He was glad to be back, not just for football but for reasons he wasn't ready to examine.

An awkward silence stretched between them. Joe became aware of the strength coach hovering nearby, clearly sensing tension he didn't understand. The man muttered something about paperwork and disappeared, leaving Joe and Y/N alone in the hallway.

"I should get to my meeting," Y/N said, the efficiency in her voice suggesting she was looking for an exit from this conversation.

"Right," Joe agreed, but instead of letting her go, he found himself studying her face with new attention.

The haircut wasn't just different—it was intentional. Sharper, more sophisticated. Like she'd decided to become someone new while he was gone.

"You cut your hair," he said, the observation slipping out before he could stop it.

Y/N looked genuinely surprised by the personal comment. "Yes. Before my trip."

"It looks good," Joe said, meaning it. The cut suited her, highlighted features he'd somehow never noticed before despite working closely with her for years.

"Thanks," Y/N replied, and Joe caught something uncertain in her expression, like she wasn't sure how to respond to personal observation from him.

Joe felt an urge to say more, to push past the polite surface conversation and address the months of distance between them. But standing in the hallway with Y/N clearly wanting to escape, he realized this wasn't the time or place.

"Good luck with your meeting," he said finally, stepping aside.

"Thanks," Y/N said, then added with what felt like genuine warmth, "Good to have you back."

As she walked away, Joe stood there processing what had just happened. Y/N had been polite, professional—everything she should be. But it felt managed, like she was handling him instead of just talking to him.

This wasn't the same person he'd left behind in January. She'd changed while he was gone, found her footing without him. And honestly? She seemed better for it.

He'd spent months in California thinking about her, missing what they'd had, wondering if she was struggling too. Apparently not. She'd moved on while he'd been stuck in the same place, still thinking about what they'd lost.

The professional distance didn't feel like protection anymore. It felt like she genuinely didn't care.

That should have been freeing. If Y/N was over whatever had been between them, they could go back to working together without all the complications.

But walking back through the facility, Joe realized he didn't want that freedom. Not if it meant losing something he'd never properly valued in the first place.

* * *

Late April 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe had been waiting for this chance since he got back to Cincinnati. Y/N was working with him directly again instead of sending Tyler, which he'd hoped meant she was finally loosening up. But today had felt like working with a stranger—technically perfect but completely cold.

As Y/N packed up her equipment, Joe didn't want the session to end. This was the most time they'd spent together since January, and he wasn't ready to go back to avoiding each other in the hallways.

"New workflow seems to be working well," he said, watching her organize cables with practiced movements. "Though Tyler's approach is different from yours."

It was a casual observation, but Joe was fishing for something—any sign that Y/N missed their old collaborative dynamic.

"Everyone has their own style," Y/N replied without looking up. "He's been doing great work with the quarterback content."

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

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

Joe felt his stomach drop. "Right. Just filling in."

"I heard you've been dating," he said suddenly, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Y/N's hands fumbled slightly with her lens cap—the first crack in her composure he'd seen all day. "Cincinnati's a small town."

Joe felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest at her casual confirmation. "Tee mentioned something. Said you were... exploring options."

The idea of Y/N with other men, building connections with people who didn't carry the complicated history between them, bothered the fuck out of Joe.

"Just getting out there," Y/N replied, her tone carefully neutral. "Nothing serious."

"Good," Joe said, though the word felt like swallowing glass. "That's... good."

Y/N snapped her camera bag closed with more force than necessary, clearly done with this conversation.

"Well, I should get this footage to editing," she said, standing with the kind of brisk efficiency that meant she was planning her escape. "Draft content won't produce itself."

Joe felt desperation rise in his chest. Y/N was about to walk away, and he had no idea when he'd get another opportunity for honest conversation.

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

The question was more direct than anything he'd asked her in months, born from Joe's growing recognition that their professional relationship had become a careful performance rather than genuine collaboration.

"We're fine," Y/N said automatically. "Why wouldn't we be?"

The deflection was so practiced it felt insulting. Joe decided to abandon diplomatic phrasing entirely.

"Because this is the first real conversation we've had in months that wasn't strictly about work," he said, meeting her eyes directly. "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."

Joe watched Y/N's control slip for just a second. For the first time in months, he was getting to her.

"I needed some perspective," Y/N said after a moment, her words chosen with obvious 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."

The explanation made sense but felt like bullshit. Y/N was holding something back, and they both knew it.

"And dating random guys is part of that?" The question escaped before Joe could stop it, revealing more of his reaction than he'd intended.

Y/N's expression shifted, something sharp entering her eyes. "Who I date isn't really your concern, is it? Just like your relationship with Ellie isn't mine."

The mention of Ellie hit Joe like a physical blow. He'd been so focused on understanding Y/N's distance that he'd temporarily forgotten the context that had created it—his relationship with someone else, his choice to pursue safety instead of the complicated feelings that existed between them.

"That's not—" Joe started, then stopped, recognizing he had no right to question Y/N's dating life when he was with Ellie. "It's different."

"Is it?" Y/N challenged, reaching for the door handle. "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."

The dismissal stung worse than anger would have. Y/N was reducing four years of collaboration, trust, and growing connection to simple professional obligation.

"So that's it?" Joe asked, feeling something desperate rise in his chest. "We go back to player and media staff? Pretend the last four years never happened?"

"Not pretend they never happened," Y/N said, her voice gentler but no less final. "Just acknowledge that professional boundaries exist for a reason. And I'm finally respecting them."

Before Joe could respond, Y/N was gone, leaving him alone with everything they hadn't said.

Joe slumped in his chair. Y/N hadn't just kept her distance—she'd chosen it. Whatever had been between them, she was done with it.

And honestly? Good for her. She was protecting herself, building a life that didn't depend on some guy who'd picked someone else. She was dating, moving forward, doing what she should do.

But sitting in that empty room, Joe realized he'd been hoping she was as stuck as he was. That their connection mattered to her the way it had started to matter to him.

Instead, she'd figured out how to be happy without him. Had become someone who didn't need whatever complicated mess they'd had.

He thought about Ellie back in California, building content around a relationship that felt more fake every day. About choosing safe over real, easy over everything that actually mattered.

Maybe Y/N was right to cut him out. Maybe he'd lost the right to complicate her life the moment he'd decided she wasn't worth the risk.

* * *

May 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe sat through the weekly planning meeting barely listening to talk about rookie features and season ticket promotions. His attention was on Y/N at the far end of the table, as far from him as she could get while still doing her job.

Their interactions over the past few weeks had become workable but hollow. Y/N was everything she should be—professional, competent, polite. But whatever they'd had before felt like ancient history now.

"We need quarterback content for the season ticket promo," Kayla announced, and Joe felt his attention sharpen. "Y/N, can you handle that shoot, or do you want Tyler to take it?"

Joe watched Y/N's face, hoping for some sign that she might prefer to work with him directly rather than continue the delegation system she'd established.

"Tyler's already scheduled for rookie breakout features that day," Y/N said, her eyes on her notes rather than on him. "I can handle the quarterback segment."

The clinical phrasing hit Joe wrong. "Quarterback segment." Not "Joe's shoot" or even "the promo content"—just a generic position description that could apply to anyone.

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

"Whatever works for the team," Joe replied, though privately he wondered if Y/N understood how her linguistic distance affected him.

As the meeting dispersed, Joe lingered, organizing his materials slowly while waiting for the room to clear. He needed to address this pattern before it became completely entrenched.

"You don't have to keep doing that, you know," he said once they were alone.

Y/N looked up with carefully neutral curiosity. "Doing what?"

Joe studied her face, noting the slight tension around her eyes that suggested she knew exactly what he meant. "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's composure flickered for just a moment before reasserting itself. "It's not intentional. Just professional shorthand."

"It's distance," Joe corrected, keeping his voice low but letting his frustration show. "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?"

Joe watched Y/N process his words, saw something shift in her expression. For the first time in months, she looked genuinely affected by his perspective rather than simply managing it.

"You're right," she said quietly, and Joe felt a spark of hope at the admission. "I'm sorry."

The apology was simple but felt significant. Joe's expression softened, encouraged by this crack in Y/N's professional armor.

"I miss how we used to talk," he said, the words coming out more vulnerable than he'd intended. "Not about content. Just... you and me."

The admission hung between them, loaded with memories of easier times when their connection had felt natural rather than carefully managed. Joe watched Y/N's face, looking for any sign that she missed it too.

"I've been drawing a line," Y/N said after a moment, her voice carrying something that sounded like regret. "Maybe I've drawn it too sharply."

Joe felt his heart rate pick up at her acknowledgment. This was the most honest she'd been with him since his return from California. Maybe they could find their way back to something resembling their old dynamic.

His phone buzzed against the conference table, interrupting the moment. Joe glanced at it automatically, seeing Ellie's name and a message about her travel schedule.

The reminder of his girlfriend hit like cold water, immediately recontextualizing everything about his conversation with Y/N. Here he was, pushing for more personal connection with another woman while in a relationship, crossing lines he had no right to cross.

"Ellie's back from New York tomorrow," he said, the words feeling heavy as he spoke them.

Joe watched Y/N's expression shift, saw her carefully rebuilt walls snap back into place. The moment of softness disappeared, replaced by the professional distance he'd been trying to bridge.

"That's nice," Y/N replied, her tone perfectly neutral. "I'm sure you've missed her."

The polite response felt like a door closing. Y/N was reminding them both of the reality that made their connection inappropriate, however significant it might feel.

Joe nodded, though the truth was more complicated than missing Ellie. He'd been counting days until his return to Cincinnati, thinking about Y/N more than his girlfriend, questioning choices he'd made months ago.

"See you at the promo shoot," he said, accepting the boundary Y/N was reestablishing.

As Joe left the conference room, he felt torn between what was right and what he wanted. Y/N was smart to keep her distance—he was with someone else, had no business pushing for more.

But walking through the facility, thinking about how she'd softened for just a second before catching herself, Joe knew his feelings for her had only gotten stronger.

That should have been good news. Finally knowing what he wanted. But it also meant facing how badly he'd screwed everything up.

Ellie would be back tomorrow, expecting things to be the same between them. But Joe wasn't the same person who'd chosen easy over real, who'd been too scared to risk anything that mattered.

* * *

That Evening - Joe's Home

Joe sat in his living room staring at Ellie's texts about dinner plans. The house felt too big, too quiet, nothing like the spaces that actually felt like home.

He kept thinking about Y/N admitting she'd been drawing lines too sharply, about that moment when something real had passed between them before his phone had ruined it.

California had been comfortable with Ellie—training while she made content, evenings working side by side without really connecting. Exactly what he'd thought he wanted. Uncomplicated, safe, empty.

But now, thinking about Y/N and how she'd looked when he said he missed their conversations, Joe knew he'd been choosing wrong all along.

He was with someone who fit his life perfectly but didn't make him feel anything real. While the person who actually mattered was building walls to protect herself from him.

Joe typed back to Ellie about dinner, all the right words about being excited to see her. But his mind was stuck on Y/N, on whether her distance was protection or genuine indifference.

Maybe it was time to stop living the life he thought he was supposed to want and start going after what he actually needed.

* * *

June 2025 - Team Charity Event

Joe adjusted his bow tie one final time as the car pulled up to the hotel ballroom. These charity events were part of his professional obligations—smile for donors, represent the organization well, raise money for causes that mattered. But tonight felt different, weighted with the knowledge that Y/N would be working the event.

Ellie looked stunning beside him in her red gown, every inch the perfect partner for a public appearance. She'd flown in from New York specifically for this event, understanding how important team functions were for his image.

"You look amazing," Joe said, meaning it as they walked toward the entrance.

"Thank you," Ellie smiled, automatically adjusting her posture as cameras began flashing. "This is such a beautiful venue. Perfect for content, but I know tonight isn't about that."

Joe appreciated her awareness of boundaries. Ellie understood when to be his girlfriend and when to be his professional partner, never pushing for attention that might detract from the team's mission.

But as they entered the ballroom, Joe found himself scanning the room not for donors or teammates, but for Y/N. He spotted her moving efficiently around the perimeter, camera in hand, documenting the event with the professional competence that had defined her work for years.

She looked different tonight—elegant in a way he'd never seen at work. Black dress, hair sleek and styled back. She moved through the crowd with that quiet confidence, doing her job while most people didn't even notice her.

"Joe Burrow!" A major sponsor approached with enthusiastic energy. "Great to see you. How's the off-season preparation going?"

Joe shifted into public mode, engaging with practiced charm while part of his attention tracked Y/N's movement through the room. She was working methodically, capturing moments that would become the official story of the evening.

For an hour, Joe did what he was supposed to do—photos with donors, small talk about the team, all the standard stuff. But he kept tracking Y/N around the room, watching her work while staying out of his way.

When they finally sat down for dinner, Joe realized she'd have to come to their table for photos. The thought made his pulse pick up.

"Joe Burrow's table is next," he heard someone say, presumably through Y/N's earpiece.

Y/N approached their table with camera ready, her expression professionally pleasant. "Evening, everyone. Time for the official table photo."

Their eyes met immediately, and Joe felt that familiar jolt of connection before he carefully arranged his features into an appropriate smile. This was exactly the kind of interaction they'd been navigating for months—professional necessity complicated by unresolved personal tension.

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

"Last-minute call," she replied smoothly. "We needed a few extra hands."

Before Joe could extend the conversation, Ellie turned toward Y/N with genuine warmth.

"You must be Y/N," she said, extending her hand. "Joe's told me so much about you. I've seen your work—it's amazing."

Joe watched this with mixed feelings. Ellie's enthusiasm was real—she'd actually brought up Y/N before, had complimented her work. But seeing them together just highlighted how weird his situation had become.

"Thanks," Y/N replied, shaking Ellie's hand with professional composure. "I appreciate that."

Joe caught Y/N's surprise at the compliment, saw her trying to figure out Ellie's friendliness. Part of him wanted to explain why he'd talked about Y/N at all, but surrounded by all these people, with Ellie's hand on his arm, there was no way to say what he really meant.

But surrounded by sponsors and teammates, with Ellie's hand resting on his arm, those explanations felt impossible.

"Actually, I'm capturing candids tonight," Y/N said, raising her camera. "So everyone just continue your conversations naturally. Pretend I'm not even here."

As Y/N worked around their table, Joe tried to catch her eye, tried to say something without words. But she treated him like everyone else, completely professional.

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

As she prepared 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."

Joe watched Y/N's reaction—polite but careful, managing Ellie's friendliness while maintaining appropriate boundaries.

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

The whole thing left Joe feeling off-balance. Ellie's interest in Y/N just made it clearer how split his life had become—the girlfriend who knew his public face, and the woman who actually knew him.

* * *

Later - Hotel Terrace

Joe stepped onto the terrace, needing air and space to process the evening's unexpected tensions. He'd excused himself from the table conversation, ostensibly to take a business call, but really to escape the careful performance that public events required.

He found Y/N at the railing, looking out at the city lights, her camera hanging idle at her side.

"Taking a break?" he asked, moving to stand beside her.

Y/N turned, and Joe caught something unguarded in her expression before her professional mask reasserted itself. "Just a quick breather. Lots of photos still to get."

Joe studied her profile in the dim lighting, noting the tension in her shoulders that suggested she was working to maintain composure. Being around him still affected her, despite months of careful distance.

"Your buffer system has evolved, I see," he said, unable to resist pushing against her boundaries.

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, confusion flickering across her features.

"You're actually speaking to me at public events now," Joe replied, letting some of his frustration show. "That's progress from January."

Y/N's response was careful, measured. "I'm trying to be more normal about everything. 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 face her directly, tired of the careful dance they'd been performing for months. "Come on. We haven't had a real conversation in months. And I'm supposed to pretend that's normal?"

He watched Y/N's composure start to crack, saw something raw flash across her features before she responded.

"Maybe you're not supposed to pretend. Maybe you're supposed to notice."

The challenge in her voice caught Joe off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Y/N turned to face him fully, and Joe saw years of suppressed emotion finally breaking through her professional control.

"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."

The words knocked the wind out of him. He'd known Y/N had been hurt by how she'd learned about Ellie, but he'd never really understood what that had cost her.

"That's not how I meant for you to find out—" he started.

"But that's how I did," Y/N cut him off, her voice rising with months of contained pain. "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."

Joe felt sick as Y/N spelled out what he'd put her through. She'd done her job, protected him, kept everything together while he'd basically lied to her face for months.

"It wasn't lying—" he began weakly.

"It was hiding," Y/N snapped, and Joe saw tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "You hid her. Not just from the world, but from me."

Joe's jaw clenched as the truth of her accusation settled. He had hidden Ellie from Y/N specifically, had known instinctively that their connection was something he needed to protect his relationship from.

"You didn't owe me the details," Y/N continued, her voice shaking slightly. "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."

Each sentence felt like an indictment Joe couldn't defend against. Y/N was right—he'd been a coward, choosing the easy path of avoidance rather than the difficult conversation that honesty would have required.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Joe said quietly, the inadequacy of the words obvious even to him.

"But you did," Y/N replied, and Joe heard four years of suppressed pain in her voice. "Not by being with her. By making me feel like I never mattered in the first place."

The accusation cut deeper than anything else she'd said. Joe stepped forward, something desperate rising in his chest.

"You mattered," he said, his voice low but intense. "You still matter."

"Not enough," Y/N replied, and Joe saw the hurt that had been driving her distance for months. "Not enough to be honest with."

Before Joe could find words to respond, before he could explain that his dishonesty had been about protecting himself rather than dismissing her, Ellie's voice cut through the tension.

"There you are!"

Joe's heart sank as Ellie appeared on the terrace, beautiful and smiling and completely unaware of what she'd just interrupted.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, babe," she continued cheerfully. "They're about to do the team recognition on stage, and the owner specifically asked for you to join them."

Joe felt trapped between his public obligations and this moment of raw honesty with Y/N. His expression must have revealed his conflict, because he caught Y/N watching him with something like resignation.

"I'll be right there," he managed, his voice carefully controlled.

Ellie looked between them, clearly sensing 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, and Joe watched her professional mask snap back into place. "I was just about to head back in myself. I still have the owner's table to photograph."

Joe watched this transformation with something like grief. Y/N was protecting them both, maintaining the careful boundaries that kept their professional relationship functional.

Ellie smiled at Y/N with genuine warmth. "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, and Joe caught the complicated emotions crossing her face at Ellie's sincere compliment. "That's very kind."

Joe couldn't let the conversation end like this, with everything still unresolved between them.

"Ellie, can you give us just a minute?" he asked. "We weren't quite finished."

Ellie looked surprised but nodded. "Sure. I'll tell them you're on your way."

But before Joe could say anything more, Y/N raised her camera between them like a shield.

"I think we are," she said firmly. "You should go. They're waiting for you."

As Joe walked away with Ellie, her hand slipping naturally into his, he felt the weight of everything left unsaid. Y/N had finally told him how much his choices had hurt her, had laid bare the emotional cost of his cowardice.

But she'd also made it clear that understanding her pain didn't change their reality. Joe was with Ellie, publicly and proudly, and whatever feelings existed between him and Y/N would remain unspoken and unacknowledged.

Walking back into the ballroom, Joe felt like he was returning to a performance of his own life. Smiling for cameras, accepting congratulations, playing the role of successful quarterback with perfect girlfriend.

But his mind stayed fixed on Y/N's words, on the hurt in her voice when she'd said he'd made her feel like she never mattered.

* * *

June 2025 - Bengals Facility

Joe sat through the morning film session barely paying attention, still thinking about the charity gala two weeks ago. Y/N's words kept playing in his head—how she'd said he made her feel like she never mattered, how she'd looked when Ellie showed up.

Since then, things had gotten even more formal between them. Not avoidance exactly, but something colder. Like she genuinely didn't care anymore.

"Burrow, you need those Raiders breakdowns from last season," the offensive coordinator said as they wrapped up. "Study how they disguised their coverage on third downs."

Joe nodded, already dreading the process. What used to be a quick conversation with Y/N was now a formal request through Tyler.

He found Tyler in the hallway. "Can you get me the Raiders breakdowns? Third-down packages specifically."

"Sure thing," Tyler replied. "Y/N will know where those are. I'll have her pull them."

Another reminder that he and Y/N couldn't even handle simple work requests directly anymore.

* * *

Cafeteria - Same Day

Joe grabbed lunch with Ja'maar and Tee, settling into their usual table while they debated the upcoming rookie development program. But his attention was immediately drawn to Y/N sitting across the cafeteria with Sam, their conversation looking relaxed and genuine in ways Joe's interactions with Y/N no longer were.

"You listening, man?" Ja'Maar asked, following Joe's gaze. "Oh. The Y/N situation."

Joe's attention snapped back to his teammates. "What?"

"Whatever's going on with you two," Higgins said, keeping his voice low. "It's been weird for months. You know that, right?"

Joe felt heat rise in his neck. "Nothing's going on. We work together."

"Used to work together," Ja'Maar corrected. "Now you work around each other. There's a difference. And everyone's noticed, by the way."

Joe wanted to deny it, but his teammates weren't wrong. The easy collaboration that had once defined his relationship with Y/N had been replaced by careful professional choreography that everyone seemed to notice.

"It's fine," Joe said, returning his attention to his food. "Just different workflow now."

But even as he said it, Joe found his gaze drifting back to Y/N's table. She was laughing at something Sam had said, looking genuinely happy in a way that made Joe's chest tighten with something he didn't want to examine.

As lunch wound down, Joe watched Y/N and Sam gather their things, noting how Y/N's posture shifted slightly as they approached his table. Not nervous, exactly, but more controlled, like she was managing her reactions.

"Y/N," Joe called out as they walked by. "Tyler said you'd pull those Raiders breakdowns for me?"

Y/N turned with a professional smile that revealed nothing. "He did. I've got staff pulling them. Should be in your inbox by this afternoon."

"Appreciate it," Joe said, recognizing the finality in her tone.

Something flickered in Y/N's eyes, like she realized how weird this had all become. But she just nodded and kept walking.

Ja'maar and Tee exchanged looks.

"Definitely nothing going on," Higgins muttered.

Joe didn't respond. There wasn't much to say.

* * *

That Evening - Joe's Home

Joe's phone buzzed with a text from Ellie as he reviewed the Raiders footage. She wanted to visit next week, maybe do some couples workout content.

Miss you. Can't wait to see you next week. Think we could do that couples workout content I mentioned?

Joe stared at the message. A perfectly reasonable request from his girlfriend. But all he could think about was how Y/N had handled his footage request—efficient, professional, completely detached.

He typed back something appropriate about looking forward to seeing Ellie, but the words felt empty.

The Raiders footage was perfectly organized, exactly what he'd asked for. Y/N's team had delivered as always. No personal touch, no acknowledgment of their history, just competent work.

Maybe that's all they'd ever really had.

* * *

July 2025 - Training Camp Preparation

Joe had agreed to give Ellie a tour of the facility before training camp officially began, though he'd underestimated how complicated it would feel to have her in his professional space. She was enthusiastic about everything—the weight room, the meeting rooms, the state-of-the-art equipment—asking questions that showed genuine interest in his world.

"This is incredible," Ellie said as they walked through the hallways. "I had no idea it was this extensive."

"It's pretty comprehensive," Joe agreed, though part of his attention was tracking familiar sounds and movements, unconsciously mapping Y/N's potential location in the building.

When they reached the cafeteria, Joe spotted Y/N immediately. She sat with Sam near the windows, laughing at something with the kind of natural ease he rarely saw from her anymore. The sight of her genuinely relaxed hit him harder than expected—a reminder of what their interactions used to look like before everything became careful and measured.

"Oh, there's Y/N!" Ellie said, following his gaze. "I should say hello."

Before Joe could suggest otherwise, Ellie was already calling out across the room. "Y/N! How are you?"

Joe watched Y/N's face transform in real-time—from natural laughter to polite professionalism in seconds. The shift was so smooth it was almost invisible, but Joe had been studying Y/N's expressions for five years. He knew the difference.

"I'm good, thanks," Y/N replied, standing as they approached. "Nice to see you again."

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

"It is," Y/N agreed, her tone perfectly light and professional. "Enjoy the tour."

Joe felt the need to fill the silence, to justify Y/N's presence in the conversation somehow. "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."

The words came out more pointed than he'd intended, carrying weight that felt almost territorial. Y/N's response was swift and deflating.

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

She was minimizing their connection, reducing five years of shared moments to generic teamwork. The dismissal stung more than it should have, and Joe found himself pushing back before he could stop himself.

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

The moment the words left his mouth, Joe knew he'd crossed a line. Those rehabilitation sessions had been intimate—not romantically, but in the way that pain and vulnerability create connection. Hours of documenting his lowest moments, his frustrations, his small victories. Bringing that up in front of Ellie was claiming ownership of something that wasn't his to claim anymore.

Y/N's composure flickered for just a second before she recovered. "Well, that's what made it such compelling content. Your journey back."

Ellie looked between them, clearly sensing undercurrents she didn't understand. "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. "Glad it resonated." She glanced at her watch with practiced efficiency. "I should get back. Content review meeting in fifteen. Nice seeing you both."

As Y/N walked away with Sam, Joe felt Ellie's curious gaze on him.

"She seems really professional," Ellie observed. "You two work well together."

"Yeah," Joe said, though the word felt hollow. "She's good at what she does."

They continued the tour, but Joe's mind remained fixed on the cafeteria interaction. Why had he mentioned the rehab work? Why had he felt the need to establish that connection in front of Ellie? And why did Y/N's careful deflection feel like a rejection of their entire history?

His phone buzzed as they finished touring the weight room. A text from Ellie to someone—he could see her typing on her phone.

"Just reaching out to Y/N about those charity photos," she explained. "You mentioned she might have some good shots for my portfolio."

Joe's stomach tightened. He had mentioned that, casually, during their drive to the facility. But now it felt like another complication, another way his two worlds were intersecting in ways he hadn't anticipated.

"You don't need to go through her specifically," Joe said. "Any of the media staff can handle that."

"Too late," Ellie smiled, showing him her phone. "Already sent. She seems sweet—I'm sure she won't mind."

Joe stared at the text thread, recognizing the gulf between what Ellie thought she was seeing and what was actually happening. Y/N would agree to help because it was professional courtesy, not because she was "sweet" or happy to do anything involving Ellie.

But explaining that would require explaining why the situation was complicated, which would mean acknowledging feelings he'd spent over a year trying to suppress.

Twenty minutes later, as they wrapped up the tour, Joe's discomfort had crystallized into something that demanded action. He'd been inappropriate in the cafeteria, had put Y/N in an uncomfortable position, had claimed a connection that wasn't his to claim anymore.

"I need to handle something quick," he told Ellie as they reached the parking lot. "Work stuff. Five minutes?"

"Of course," Ellie said easily. "I'll wait in the car."

Joe found himself walking toward Y/N's office before he'd fully decided to go there. The cafeteria encounter had left him unsettled—his inappropriate reference to their private sessions, Y/N's polite but distant responses, the careful way she'd maintained professional boundaries even when he'd essentially ambushed her with personal history.

He paused outside her door, watching her work. She looked focused, unbothered by what had just happened. That steady composure that used to comfort him now felt like a wall he couldn't cross.

"Got a minute?" he asked, stepping into the doorframe.

Y/N looked up, her expression shifting to professional attention. "Of course."

Joe entered but didn't sit, staying near the door. Too much distance felt wrong, but getting too close felt presumptuous. "I wanted to apologize if that was awkward. Ellie wanting to see the facility was... unexpected."

"It's fine," Y/N said smoothly, and Joe heard the practiced ease in her voice. "She's always welcome here. She is your girlfriend."

The matter-of-fact way she said girlfriend hit harder than he'd expected. No emotion, no hesitation—just acknowledgment of reality. It should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like a door closing.

"She mentioned asking about photos," Joe continued, feeling like he was navigating terrain he no longer understood. "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."

Of course you did. Y/N would never go back on a professional commitment, even if it meant spending time on something that might be uncomfortable. Joe studied her face, looking for any sign of the person who used to share inside jokes with him during long filming sessions.

"You've changed since your vacation," he said, the observation slipping out before he could stop it.

Y/N's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Have I?"

"Yes," Joe said, committing to the honesty. "More confident. More... definitive about boundaries."

Something shifted in her expression—not surprise, but perhaps appreciation that he'd noticed. "I gained some perspective. About what I need professionally."

Professionally. The word felt loaded with subtext. Joe felt himself standing at the edge of a conversation they'd never had directly, one that could either clarify everything or destroy what remained of their working relationship.

"Just professionally?" The question escaped before his rational mind could intervene.

Y/N met his gaze steadily, and Joe saw the exact moment she chose not to give him the opening he was fishing for. "That's what matters here. We work together. Everything else is secondary."

The gentle but firm redirection felt like a hand pushing him back from a line he shouldn't have approached. Joe nodded slowly, recognizing both the wisdom and the finality in her response.

"If that's what you need."

"It is."

Joe turned to leave, then felt the weight of something unsaid for too long. He paused, looking back at her.

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

The words hung in the air between them. It wasn't everything he owed her, but it was the one concrete failing he could acknowledge without opening emotional territory that would complicate both their lives.

"Thank you for saying that," Y/N replied, and Joe heard genuine appreciation in her voice.

Walking back toward the parking lot, Joe felt the strange sensation of having both gained and lost something in the same conversation. Y/N had accepted his apology with grace, had shown him exactly where the new boundaries lay, had demonstrated the kind of professional maturity that made her invaluable to the organization.

She'd also made it clear that whatever personal connection they'd once shared was permanently in the past. No anger, no drama—just a careful, definitive reset that protected them both.

Joe should have felt relieved. Instead, he felt the hollow recognition that he'd just had what might be their last genuinely honest conversation. From here forward, everything between them would be filtered through professional necessity and careful emotional distance.

Back in the car, Ellie was scrolling through her phone, smiling at something on the screen.

"Y/N already responded about the photos," she said as Joe settled into the driver's seat. "She's so professional. You're lucky to have someone that organized on your team."

"Yeah," Joe replied, starting the engine. "She's good at what she does."

But driving away from the facility, Joe couldn't shake the feeling that he'd lost something irreplaceable through his own emotional cowardice. Y/N had offered him friendship when he was too afraid to pursue something deeper. When he'd chosen safety with Ellie instead, Y/N had adapted with characteristic grace, maintaining their professional relationship while protecting herself from further hurt.

Now she was moving forward while Joe remained stuck in the recognition of what he'd given up. Ellie was beautiful, uncomplicated, and genuinely caring. She should have been everything he wanted.

But thinking about Y/N's composed professionalism and the easy laughter he'd witnessed from across the cafeteria, Joe knew that should wasn't the same as was.

He'd made his choice months ago, had prioritized emotional safety over authentic connection. Y/N had accepted that choice and moved on with her life and career.

The problem was that Joe was starting to realize his choice had been wrong. And by the time he'd gained that clarity, it was already too late to change course without devastating multiple lives in the process.

* * *

September 2025 - Regular Season Begins

The season opener against Pittsburgh had everything Joe loved about football—intensity, precision, the satisfaction of executing under pressure. The 40-yard touchdown to Higgins in the third quarter had been particularly clean, the kind of throw that reminded him why he'd chosen this profession.

But even in the middle of game action, Joe found himself tracking Y/N's movements along the sideline. She worked with the same professional efficiency she'd always shown, directing her team while capturing content herself. When he'd thrown the touchdown, his first instinct had been to find her reaction among the crowd of cameras and staff.

She'd been there, doing her job, but the easy shared celebration they might have had a year ago was gone. Instead, their eyes had met briefly during his jog toward the tunnel at halftime—a moment of mutual recognition, professional acknowledgment, nothing more.

It should have been enough. It had to be enough.

After the 24-17 win, Joe handled his postgame interviews with the usual measured responses, discussed the offensive line's protection and the receivers' route-running. But part of his attention remained on the media activity around him, aware of Y/N coordinating coverage without directly involving herself in his interviews.

The buffer system she'd implemented was working exactly as intended. Joe respected the professionalism of it, even as he missed the collaborative relationship they'd once shared.

His phone buzzed as he changed out of his uniform. Ja'Maar asking about team celebration drinks.

Heading home, Joe replied. Good win though.

You sure? Team's in a good mood. Y/N's crew killed it with the content today.

Joe stared at the text, the casual mention of Y/N hitting harder than it should have. Rain check. See you at practice.

Joe was leaving through the players' entrance when he spotted Y/N in the hallway, walking toward the exit with her equipment bag. The facility was mostly empty now, the post-game energy settling into quiet.

"Heading out?" he asked, falling into step beside her.

"Yeah," Y/N replied. "Just finished content wrap-up."

"Good game coverage," Joe said, meaning it. "Saw the touchdown sequence. Perfect timing on the sideline reaction."

"Thanks," Y/N said, and Joe caught something in her voice—surprise that he'd noticed her work specifically. "Clean game from the offense. Especially that third quarter drive."

Joe nodded, wanting to continue the conversation but unsure how to navigate the careful boundaries they'd established. "Team celebrating?"

"Meeting them now," Y/N confirmed. "Sundry and Vice, I think."

"Tell everyone good work," Joe said, then found himself adding, "Your boundary system's working well."

The observation was too direct, too honest about how much he'd been thinking about the walls she'd built between them. But it had been months of careful professional distance, and something about the successful game, the natural flow of their brief conversation, made him want to acknowledge what had developed.

"It seems to be," Y/N agreed carefully.

Joe felt himself standing at the edge of honesty again, the same place he'd been in her office months ago. This time, he stepped closer to the line.

"I don't like it," he said quietly, "but I respect it."

The admission hung between them—his first direct acknowledgment that the professional distance cost him something personal. Y/N's expression shifted slightly, surprise and maybe something else flickering across her face.

Before she could respond, his phone rang. Joe glanced at it—Ellie's name on the screen. The timing felt like the universe intervening, reminding him why Y/N's boundaries existed in the first place.

He looked back at Y/N, seeing understanding in her eyes. She knew who was calling without him saying anything.

"Should take this," he said. "Have a good night, Y/N."

"You too, Joe."

Walking to his car, Joe answered Ellie's call.

"Congratulations on the win!" Ellie's voice was warm and genuinely excited. "I watched the highlights online. That touchdown throw was incredible."

"Thanks," Joe said, settling into his car while watching Y/N walk to hers in his peripheral vision. "How was your day in LA?"

"Amazing," Ellie launched into a detailed account of her photo shoot, the creative direction, the other influencers she'd worked with. Joe listened with divided attention, making appropriate responses while his mind remained fixed on his conversation with Y/N.

"I was thinking," Ellie continued, "maybe I could come to Cincinnati for the next home game? Actually watch you play instead of just seeing highlights?"

"That would be great," Joe replied, though something in him resisted the idea. Having Ellie at the stadium would make their relationship more visible, would require navigation of her inevitable interactions with Y/N.

"Perfect," Ellie said. "I'll check my schedule and book something. Oh, and thank you again for connecting me with Y/N. She sent those charity event photos and they're gorgeous. She really does have an amazing eye."

Joe felt his chest tighten at the mention of Y/N. "She's good at what she does."

"She seems really sweet," Ellie continued. "I was thinking maybe the three of us could grab dinner when I visit? I'd love to get to know your colleagues better."

The suggestion made Joe's hands grip the steering wheel tighter. The idea of a casual dinner with Y/N and Ellie felt like emotional torture disguised as normal socializing.

"We'll see," Joe said carefully. "Y/N keeps pretty busy during the season."

"Of course," Ellie agreed easily. "Just a thought. I know how close you are with your team."

After hanging up, Joe sat in the facility parking lot as it emptied around him. The conversation with Ellie had been pleasant, supportive, exactly what he should have wanted from his girlfriend after a successful game.

Instead, he found himself thinking about Y/N's measured professionalism, the brief moment of honesty they'd shared in the hallway, the way she'd handled his admission about not liking but respecting her boundaries.

He'd told her the truth, and she'd accepted it with the same grace she brought to everything else. No drama, no demand for explanation, just acknowledgment of reality.

But as Joe finally drove home through downtown Cincinnati, past the bars where his teammates were celebrating, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight. Not dramatically, but subtly—like a door that had been cracked open just enough to let in light.

He didn't know what Y/N had been thinking during their hallway conversation, whether his honesty had surprised her or simply confirmed what she already knew about his feelings. But for the first time in months, they'd spoken to each other as more than just colleagues managing professional boundaries.

* * *

Late September 2025 - Exploring Options

Joe learned about Y/N's Giants opportunity the way he learned about most facility rumors—through Jake's casual mention during a quarterback meeting, delivered with the kind of off-hand certainty that suggested everyone already knew.

"Weird about Y/N maybe leaving for New York," Jake had said, reviewing route concepts on his tablet. "Gonna be strange if she goes. She's been here since your rookie year, right?"

Joe's pen had stopped moving across his playbook. "What about New York?"

Jake looked up, surprised. "The Giants thing? VP position or something. Thought you'd know—aren't you two always coordinating on media stuff?"

"We work together," Joe replied carefully, though his mind was already racing. "Haven't heard anything about New York."

"Huh. Maybe it's just rumors then. You know how this place gets."

But Joe knew it wasn't just rumors. Jake didn't spread bullshit, and he'd been too specific about the VP thing. Y/N was actually thinking about leaving. Leaving Cincinnati.

Leaving him.

The thought knocked him sideways, cutting through the careful routine he'd been living with. Over the past few months, Joe had grown comfortable with their new dynamic—respectful, functional, emotionally safe. He'd told himself that the boundaries Y/N had established were healthy, that their working relationship was better for being clearly defined.

But the possibility of Y/N leaving entirely forced him to confront how much he'd been taking her continued presence for granted.

That evening, Joe sat in his house, trying to focus on game film but finding his mind wandering to what Jake had said. He pulled out his phone, thinking about texting Y/N directly, asking about the rumors. But what right did he have to that information? They weren't friends who shared personal updates anymore. They were colleagues who maintained professional boundaries.

His phone buzzed with a text from Ellie, something about her flight plans for the upcoming home game. Joe read it without really processing the words, his attention still fixed on the possibility that Y/N might be planning to leave Cincinnati.

The realization hit him with uncomfortable clarity: he was more invested in Y/N's career decisions than in his girlfriend's travel plans. More concerned about Y/N potentially leaving Cincinnati than about Ellie coming to visit.

That recognition forced Joe to confront something he'd been avoiding for months. His relationship with Ellie, while pleasant and uncomplicated, had become more obligation than choice. He cared about her genuinely, appreciated her kindness and support, but he didn't feel excited about her presence the way he felt anxious about Y/N's potential absence.

Joe spent the evening researching the Giants' organizational structure and recent content initiatives. He told himself it was professional curiosity, wanting to understand what opportunity Y/N might be considering.

But really, he was trying to gauge whether New York represented something he couldn't compete with. Not that he was competing—he'd made his choice months ago. But the thought of Y/N building a new life in a different city, working with different players, creating content that didn't include him at all, felt like losing something essential.

The next morning, Joe arrived at the facility early, hoping to catch Y/N before her day filled with meetings. He found her in one of the editing bays, reviewing game footage with that focused intensity that had always impressed him.

"Morning," he said, stepping into the doorway.

Y/N looked up, professional smile in place. "Hey. You're here early."

"Wanted to get ahead of the week," Joe replied, then decided to be direct. "Jake mentioned something about a New York opportunity yesterday. Giants?"

Something flickered across Y/N's expression—surprise, maybe annoyance that rumors were spreading. "Nothing's decided," she said carefully.

"But it's real? The opportunity?"

Y/N set down her stylus, turning to face him fully. "It's something I'm considering. VP of Content Strategy position."

Joe felt something close to panic, though he tried to keep it from showing. "Big move."

"It would be," Y/N agreed. "Major market, significant creative control."

"Is this about the buffer system? About creating distance?" The question slipped out before he could stop it, revealing more of his concerns than he'd intended.

Y/N's expression sharpened. "My professional decisions aren't about you, Joe."

The response was firm, definitive, and both relieving and devastating. Relieving because it meant his complicated feelings weren't driving her away. Devastating because it confirmed that he wasn't a factor in her decision-making at all.

"Right," Joe said, trying to recover. "Of course not. It's just... you've built so much here. Five years of work."

"And there's opportunity to build something new," Y/N replied. "That's how careers work. Growth, advancement, new challenges."

Joe nodded, recognizing the wisdom in her approach even as it felt like a personal rejection. "And there's nothing keeping you here? Nothing worth staying for?"

The question was as close as Joe could come to acknowledging what he couldn't say directly. That he needed her presence in ways that went beyond professional collaboration. That the thought of her leaving felt like losing an essential part of his support system.

Y/N studied his face for a moment. "I've built a life here," she said carefully. "That matters. But so does professional growth."

The answer was appropriately professional, but Joe caught something in her expression—a flicker of recognition that suggested she understood the subtext of his question even if she couldn't acknowledge it directly.

"Well," Joe said, backing toward the door. "I hope whatever you decide works out."

"Thanks," Y/N replied, already turning back to her work. "I'm sure it will."

Walking away from that conversation, Joe realized he was facing a crisis he'd created through his own emotional avoidance. He'd chosen safety with Ellie over the risk of pursuing something real with Y/N. Now Y/N was moving forward with her life and career while Joe remained trapped in a relationship that felt increasingly hollow.

But what could he do? Breaking up with Ellie to chase Y/N as she was planning to leave for New York would be both cruel and pointless. Y/N had already demonstrated that she could build a life that didn't revolve around him. She deserved better than to be someone's backup plan or consolation prize.

That evening, Joe sat in his house, Ellie's latest text about visiting for the Ravens game still unanswered on his phone. He thought about their last conversation, her enthusiasm about meeting his colleagues, her suggestion of dinner with Y/N.

The image of that dinner—Ellie chatting brightly while Y/N maintained professional politeness, Joe caught between his girlfriend and the woman he'd been too afraid to pursue—felt like a special kind of torture. Especially now, knowing Y/N might leave Cincinnati entirely.

Joe finally responded to Ellie's text with vague agreement about her visit, though his heart wasn't in the planning. His attention remained fixed on the recognition that he was about to lose something irreplaceable through his own emotional cowardice.

Y/N would visit New York, would probably be impressed by their facilities and vision, would make a decision based on what was best for her career. And Joe would remain in Cincinnati, playing football at the highest level while feeling increasingly disconnected from everything that made success meaningful.

He'd had his chance to be honest about his feelings, to take the risk that might have led to something real. Instead, he'd chosen comfort and safety, and now that choice was leading to exactly the kind of loss he'd been trying to avoid.

Some regrets, Joe was learning, couldn't be fixed by better decision-making in the future. They could only be carried, carefully contained, while watching what might have been disappear into someone else's new beginning.

* * *

Early October 2025 - Before the Visit

The week before Y/N's trip to New York dragged by. Joe went through his usual routine—film study, practice, media obligations—but he couldn't focus, too aware of Y/N moving around the facility.

During Tuesday's media availability, Joe watched Y/N coordinate with her team from across the room. She looked confident, in control, like someone who belonged in a VP role for a major market team.

The thought made him feel sick.

"Earth to Joe," Ja"Maar said, snapping his fingers in front of Joe's face as they walked to the parking garage after practice. "You've been spacing out all week. What's going on?"

Joe refocused on his teammate. "Just thinking through game plan stuff."

"Bullshit," Ja'Maar replied bluntly. "This is about Y/N leaving, isn't it?"

The directness caught Joe off guard. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you've been tracking her movements all week like you're afraid she's going to disappear," Ja'Maar observed. "And because everyone knows you two have some kind of complicated history, even if nobody talks about it directly."

Joe felt heat rise in his neck. "We work together. Have for five years. It'll be an adjustment if she leaves."

"Uh-huh," Ja'Maar said, clearly unconvinced. "Look, I don't know what the deal is between you two, and it's none of my business. But if you've got something to say to her before she potentially moves across the country, maybe now's the time."

"It's not that simple," Joe replied, though even as he said it, he wondered if it was actually simpler than he was making it.

"It never is," he agreed. "But sometimes complicated is better than regret."

That evening, Joe found himself at the facility later than necessary, ostensibly reviewing additional film but really hoping to cross paths with Y/N. He'd heard through the staff grapevine that she was working late, finalizing content plans before her New York trip.

He found her in her office, surrounded by multiple monitors and notebooks, laptop open to what looked like presentation slides. She glanced up when he knocked on her door frame.

"Working late," Joe observed, stepping into the office when she gestured him in.

"Trying to get ahead before I'm out of town," Y/N replied, saving her work. "Don't want to leave the team scrambling while I'm gone."

Joe noted the careful way she'd phrased it—"while I'm gone," not "if I don't come back." Either diplomatic language or a decision already made that she wasn't ready to announce.

"Mind if I ask what you're expecting from the visit?" he said, settling into the chair across from her desk.

Y/N leaned back, considering her response. "Honestly? I'm trying to approach it with an open mind. The opportunity is substantial, but I want to understand the culture, the vision, what I'd actually be walking into."

"And if it's everything they're promising?"

"Then I'll have a difficult decision to make," she said simply.

Joe studied her expression, looking for any sign of what she was thinking beyond the careful professionalism. "What would make it difficult? I mean, from the outside, it seems like a clear career advancement."

Y/N was quiet for a moment, her fingers absently straightening papers on her desk. "Five years is a long time to build something. To develop relationships, understand a culture, create work that feels meaningful. Starting over somewhere else, even with better title and compensation, means giving up what I've built here."

"But?"

"But maybe that's what growth requires sometimes," she finished. "Maybe staying in your comfort zone, even when it's working, prevents you from discovering what else is possible."

The words hit Joe harder than she probably intended. He heard in them a philosophy he'd been too afraid to apply to his own life—the recognition that comfort could be its own trap, that fear of losing what you had could prevent you from gaining what you actually needed.

"That's a mature way to look at it," he said, meaning it even as it made his own choices feel increasingly cowardly.

"I'm trying to be," Y/N replied. "This industry doesn't give you many chances at opportunities like this. It would be foolish not to explore it seriously."

Joe nodded, recognizing the wisdom in her approach while hating what it might mean for his own life. "Well, for what it's worth, I hope they roll out the red carpet for you. You deserve to see what you're worth in a major market."

Something shifted in Y/N's expression at his words—surprise, maybe, or appreciation for his support despite his personal investment in her staying.

"Thank you," she said, and Joe caught a warmth in her voice that had been absent from their interactions for months. "That means more than you probably realize."

The moment stretched between them, loaded with recognition of their shared history and mutual respect despite the complications that had driven them apart. Joe felt the urge to say more, to acknowledge what her leaving would mean to him personally, to finally be honest about feelings he'd been suppressing for over a year.

But before he could find the words, Y/N's phone buzzed with what looked like a work emergency. The moment passed, replaced by the familiar rhythm of professional obligations and careful boundaries.

"I should let you get back to it," Joe said, standing. "Good luck in New York. I hope you get everything you're looking for."

"Thanks, Joe. I appreciate that."

As he walked back to his car, Joe replayed their conversation, noting how easily they'd fallen into genuine dialogue when the stakes felt clear. Y/N was preparing for a major career decision, and Joe was supporting her choice even though it might mean losing her presence in his professional life.

It felt both mature and devastating—the kind of selfless support you offered someone you cared about deeply, even when their success might mean your own loss.

Joe thought about Ja'Maar's earlier observation about regret versus complication. Maybe his teammate was right. Maybe the complicated conversation was better than watching Y/N leave without ever being honest about what she meant to him.

But sitting in his car in the empty parking lot, thinking about Ellie's upcoming visit and Y/N's pending trip to New York, Joe couldn't find the courage to risk everything for a conversation that might change nothing.

Some opportunities, once missed, couldn't be recovered. Joe was starting to understand that he might be living through one of those moments—watching something essential slip away because he'd been too afraid to reach for it when it was still possible.

The recognition felt like a weight settling in his chest, heavy and permanent. By the time Y/N returned from New York, Joe suspected his chance for honesty would have passed entirely, leaving him with nothing but the careful professional relationship they'd built and the knowledge of what he'd been too afraid to pursue.

* * *

Late October 2025 - The Breaking Point

Joe stood frozen in Y/N's empty office after she walked out, her words echoing in the sudden silence. The conversation had gone worse than he'd imagined possible, and he'd imagined it going pretty badly.

You don't get to jerk me around like this again.

The accusation cut deep, forcing him to confront the truth he'd been avoiding. From Y/N's perspective, his timing wasn't just bad—it was selfish. Cruel, even. Coming to her now, after years of emotional distance, just as she was ready to leave for something better.

Joe slumped into the chair Y/N had vacated, running his hands through his hair. He'd thought breaking up with Ellie would clear the air, would show Y/N that he was finally ready to be honest. Instead, it had backfired completely.

Y/N wasn't waiting for him anymore. And showing up now, claiming feelings he'd been too scared to acknowledge when it mattered, probably looked like manipulation rather than honesty.

His phone buzzed with a text from Ellie: Hope you're doing okay. Thank you for being honest with me. I knew something was off.

The message made Joe feel sick with guilt. Breaking up with Ellie had been the right thing to do—she deserved someone who could love her completely—but the conversation had been brutal. She'd handled it with more grace than he'd deserved, acknowledging that she'd sensed his emotional distance even if she hadn't understood its cause.

I'm sorry, he'd told her during their difficult conversation the night before. You deserve so much better than someone who can't be fully present.

It's Y/N, isn't it? Ellie had asked, her voice sad but not surprised. I could tell when we were at the facility. The way you looked at her.

Joe had confirmed it, hating himself for the hurt in Ellie's eyes even as he knew honesty was overdue. She'd cried, asked questions he'd answered as gently as possible, then packed her things with dignity that made him feel even worse about what he'd put her through.

Now, sitting in Y/N's office, Joe realized he'd hurt two people he cared about and probably gained nothing in the process. Y/N was more resolved than ever to leave for New York, and Ellie was nursing heartbreak she'd done nothing to deserve.

Joe's phone rang. Ja'Maar's name on the screen.

"How'd it go?" his teammate asked without preamble.

"Badly," Joe replied, staring at Y/N's empty desk. "Really fucking badly."

"What happened?"

Joe gave him the abbreviated version—the breakup with Ellie, the confrontation with Y/N, her accusation that his timing was manipulative rather than romantic.

"Shit, man," Ja'Maar said when Joe finished. "She's not wrong, though. About the timing."

"I know," Joe admitted. "But what was I supposed to do? Let her leave without saying anything?"

"Maybe," Ja'Maar said bluntly. "Maybe that would have been kinder than dropping this on her when she's trying to make the biggest career decision of her life."

The words stung because they were true. Joe had convinced himself that honesty was the right choice, but honesty motivated by self-interest rather than Y/N's wellbeing wasn't necessarily noble.

"So what now?" Joe asked.

"Now you live with the consequences," Ja'Maar replied. "You made your choices for years, and Y/N made hers. She doesn't owe you anything just because you finally figured out what you want."

After hanging up, Joe remained in Y/N's office, surrounded by evidence of her competence and dedication. Awards on the walls, thank-you notes from players, carefully organized files that spoke to five years of building something meaningful with the Bengals.

He thought about their first meeting during his rookie photoshoot, how Y/N had caught that fumbled football with ease and thrown it back to him with perfect spiral. She'd been impressive from day one, but Joe had been too focused on his own career to really see her potential.

Over the years, he'd watched her grow from a junior media coordinator to someone essential to the organization's identity. She'd documented his lowest moments during injury recovery, had been present for his biggest triumphs, had somehow become woven into every significant moment of his NFL career.

But Joe realized with painful clarity that Y/N had also built her own story during those five years. She'd earned promotions, developed innovative content strategies, gained recognition throughout the league. Her career wasn't just about documenting his journey—it was about creating her own.

The Giants opportunity wasn't Y/N running away from complicated feelings. It was her running toward something she'd earned through years of exceptional work. Joe's feelings were just unfortunate timing, not a reason for her to stay.

That recognition was both humbling and devastating. Joe had spent so long thinking about what Y/N meant to his career, his recovery, his daily life that he'd failed to consider what she needed for her own growth and happiness.

Maybe the most loving thing he could do now was support her decision, whatever it was, without adding more pressure or guilt. Let her choose New York if that's what would make her happy, even if it meant losing her presence from his life entirely.

Joe's phone buzzed with another text, this one from Y/N: I need you to know that conversation doesn't change my timeline. I'm still considering all factors. Please respect whatever I decide.

The message was characteristically professional, but Joe caught the underlying plea for space. Y/N was asking him not to complicate her decision-making process any further.

I will, he replied. And Y/N? You were right about my timing. I'm sorry.

He waited, hoping for a response that would suggest forgiveness or understanding. But none came.

Walking back to his car, Joe felt the weight of recognition settling over him. He'd spent months choosing emotional safety over authentic risk, then panicked when the consequences of those choices became clear. Y/N had every right to prioritize her career over his suddenly declared feelings.

But that didn't make losing her hurt any less.

Joe thought about the upcoming weeks—Y/N's final meetings with the Giants, her decision about New York, the possibility that their last real conversation had been an argument in her office. The idea that she might leave Cincinnati with anger or disappointment as her final impression of him felt unbearable.

Yet maybe that was the price of his years of emotional avoidance. Some opportunities, once missed, couldn't be recovered. Some honesty, when it came too late, caused more harm than continued silence would have.

Joe had finally found the courage to tell Y/N how he felt. Unfortunately, he'd found it at exactly the moment when she'd moved beyond needing to hear it.

* * *

Joe had walked into the leadership meeting with his usual focus, prepared to discuss winter content strategy and playoff scenarios. It was routine, the kind of organizational planning that happened every October. He'd expected updates on draft preparation, maybe some discussion about facility improvements during the offseason.

He hadn't expected to learn about Y/N's potential departure like this.

"As some of you may have heard, Y/N is considering an opportunity with another organization," Kayla said casually, as if she wasn't announcing the end of Joe's world. "We're in discussions about retention, but we also need contingency planning in case she accepts this new role."

The room went quiet, and Joe felt his chest tighten. Everyone was looking at Y/N, who maintained her perfect professional composure despite what had to be an uncomfortable moment. But Joe was looking at the bigger picture—Y/N might leave, and he was finding out about it in a fucking leadership meeting like some random staff member.

"Nothing's been decided yet," Y/N said calmly, and Joe heard the measured control in her voice. "I'm weighing options carefully, and regardless of my decision, I'm committed to ensuring a smooth transition if that becomes necessary."

Smooth transition. Like five years of building something together—professionally, personally, emotionally—could be smoothly transitioned to someone else. Like she was replaceable.

Joe tried to focus on the rest of the meeting, but his mind was spinning. When had she decided to explore other opportunities? How long had she been interviewing? Why hadn't she mentioned it during their coffee conversation or their brief exchange before her New York trip?

Then the answer hit him with sickening clarity: because it wasn't his business anymore. They weren't friends who shared personal updates. They were colleagues who maintained professional boundaries, boundaries he'd helped create through his emotional cowardice.

As the meeting wrapped up, Joe watched Y/N gathering her materials efficiently, preparing to leave as if she hadn't just casually mentioned potentially abandoning everything they'd built together. The unfairness of it—that she could consider leaving while he was supposed to just accept it professionally—made his composure start to crack.

She was almost to the door when something inside him snapped.

"So that's it?" The words came out louder than he'd intended, but he was past caring about discretion. "Everyone just finds out in a meeting that you might be gone next month?"

Y/N turned slowly, and Joe could see her calculating the optics of this public confrontation. "This isn't the place, Joe."

But when was the place? When had she planned to have this conversation with him specifically? When she was already packed and heading to New York?

"When is the place?" Joe pressed, aware that people were watching but unable to stop himself. "After you've already accepted? After you're already gone?"

"I haven't made any decisions yet," Y/N replied with that maddening professional calm. "And this is a professional matter I'm handling appropriately."

Appropriately. The word hit him wrong, the implication that his reaction was inappropriate while her potential departure was just good career management.

"Is it?" Joe challenged, taking a step closer. "Because it feels like you're making a major decision that affects a lot of people here without any real conversation."

"I've had those conversations with the appropriate leadership," Y/N countered, and Joe caught the slight edge in her voice. "With Kayla, with the content team. My career decisions don't require facility-wide consultation."

The dismissal stung. He wasn't asking for facility-wide consultation—he was asking why someone he'd worked closely with for five years, someone he'd shared countless conversations and moments with, someone he'd fallen in love with, was planning to leave without a word to him personally.

"So we just lose the person who's built our entire content strategy for five years, and that's supposed to be fine?" Joe heard the challenge in his own voice, recognized he was crossing lines but unable to care.

Y/N's professional mask slipped slightly, her frustration finally showing. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, the question more pointed than anything she'd said to him in months. "Why does this matter to you specifically?"

The question hung between them, loaded with everything they'd never said directly. Joe was acutely aware of their audience, of Kayla and Sam and other staff members watching this exchange with barely concealed interest. He was also aware that his answer could change everything—could destroy the careful professional relationship they'd maintained, could complicate her decision, could expose feelings he'd kept hidden for over a year.

But looking at Y/N, at the possibility of her walking away forever, Joe found he was past caring about complications.

"Because some things should matter more than titles and market size," he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. "Some connections are worth more than whatever the Giants are offering."

The word hung in the air—connections—and Joe saw Y/N's eyes widen slightly at the implication. He'd just publicly acknowledged that this was about more than professional courtesy, more than workflow continuity.

Before either of them could say anything else, Kayla stepped forward with diplomatic intervention. "Let's table this discussion. Y/N hasn't made her decision yet, and we'll have appropriate transition conversations when and if that becomes necessary."

Joe held Y/N's gaze for a moment longer, seeing surprise and something else—uncertainty?—in her expression. Then he turned and walked out, his control finally completely shattered.

In the hallway, Joe leaned against the wall, trying to process what had just happened. He'd publicly confronted Y/N about a personal matter, had essentially announced to the leadership team that her potential departure affected him more than professionally appropriate.

His phone was in his hand before he'd consciously decided to text her:

Joe: I'm sorry. That was out of line. Can we talk? For real this time.

He sent it immediately, then waited, staring at the screen. When her response came, it felt like a door closing:

Y/N: Not a good time. Need to focus on work.

Joe typed quickly:

Joe: I understand. But we need to talk before you decide. Please.

Then he waited again, but no response came.

Walking toward the parking lot, Joe felt the weight of what he'd just done. He'd destroyed months of careful professional distance in about five minutes of emotional honesty. He'd made Y/N's career decision about his feelings, had put her in an impossible position by making their complications public.

But he couldn't bring himself to regret it entirely. Because Y/N was considering leaving, and she hadn't told him personally, and the thought of her disappearing from his life without one honest conversation felt unbearable.

His phone buzzed with a text from Ellie about dinner plans, and Joe stared at it with the growing certainty that his entire life was built on lies he was tired of living.

Joe's phone buzzed again. Ja'Maar: Heard about the meeting today. You good?

Been better, Joe replied.

Want to talk about it?

Joe considered the offer. Ja'Maar was discreet, trustworthy, and had already figured out that Joe's interest in Y/N went beyond professional courtesy. Maybe external perspective would help.

Yeah. Your place?

An hour later, Joe sat on Ja'Maar's couch with a beer he wasn't really drinking, trying to explain a situation that felt impossible to articulate.

"So let me get this straight," Ja'Maar said after listening to Joe's halting explanation. "You've been in love with Y/N for over a year, but you're dating Ellie because it felt safer. Now Y/N's about to leave for New York, and you publicly freaked out about it in a leadership meeting."

"That's the summary, yeah," Joe confirmed, feeling even worse hearing it laid out so simply.

"And what exactly is your plan here?" Ja'Maar asked. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're about to lose both of them."

Joe set his beer down, running his hands through his hair. "I don't have a plan. That's the problem."

"Okay, let's think through this," Ja'Maar said, settling into problem-solving mode. "First question: what do you actually want?"

The answer came without hesitation. "Y/N. I want Y/N."

"And what about Ellie?"

Joe felt guilt wash over him. "Ellie's great. She's kind, supportive, uncomplicated. Everything I should want. But I don't love her. Not the way I love Y/N." The admission felt both relieving and terrible.

Ja'Maar nodded thoughtfully. "So you're staying with someone you don't love to avoid pursuing someone you do love. Because?"

"Because Y/N deserves better than being someone's consolation prize," Joe said. "Because breaking up with Ellie to chase Y/N as she's leaving for New York would be cruel to everyone involved. Because I had my chance and I chose safety instead."

"Maybe," Ja'Maar agreed. "But you're assuming Y/N's feelings haven't changed, that she's moved on completely. What if she hasn't?"

Joe thought about their coffee shop conversation, the carefully maintained professional distance, Y/N's composed reaction to his emotional outburst today. "She's handled everything with complete professionalism. If she had feelings, she's clearly over them."

"Or she's protecting herself from exactly this situation," Ja'Maar suggested. "From wanting something she thinks she can't have."

The possibility hadn't occurred to Joe. He'd assumed Y/N's professional boundaries meant emotional distance, but maybe they meant the opposite—maybe she was working harder to maintain control precisely because the feelings were still there.

"Even if that's true," Joe said, "the timing is terrible. She's got a major career opportunity waiting for her. She shouldn't base that decision on some guy who's been too afraid to be honest about his feelings."

"So be honest now," Ja'Maar said simply. "Before she decides. Give her all the information, let her make the choice with everything on the table."

"And Ellie?"

Ja'Maar's expression grew serious. "Joe, you can't keep stringing along someone who deserves better while pining for someone else. It's not fair to anyone."

Joe knew his teammate was right. His relationship with Ellie had become fundamentally dishonest, sustained by emotional cowardice rather than genuine commitment.

"Y/N's not answering my calls," Joe said. "After today's disaster, she's probably done with complicated conversations."

"Then you'll have to find another way," Ja'Maar replied. "Because in two weeks, she might be gone. And if you let her leave without being honest, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened."

Driving home, Joe thought about Ja'Maar's advice. Being honest with Y/N meant risking everything—his professional relationship with her, his comfortable routine with Ellie, the carefully constructed life he'd built around emotional safety.

But not being honest meant accepting that he'd let fear dictate the most important choice of his life. That he'd let Y/N leave without ever giving her the chance to choose him, really choose him, with full knowledge of what he felt.

* * *

Three Days Later

The facility felt different without Y/N's regular presence. She'd been working remotely more often, only appearing for essential meetings, clearly maintaining distance after their confrontation. Joe found himself hyperaware of her absence, noting the times when she would normally be reviewing content or coordinating with her team.

He'd kept his promise not to pressure her, hadn't sent additional texts or attempted further conversations. But the waiting was killing him. In less than a week, Y/N would need to give the Giants her final answer, and Joe had no idea which way she was leaning.

"You look like shit," Ja'Maar observed as they wrapped up Wednesday practice.

"Thanks," Joe replied dryly. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"I'm serious, man. When's the last time you fuckin' slept?"

Joe couldn't remember. Since his conversation with Y/N, he'd been existing on caffeine and restless energy, his mind cycling through scenarios and regrets whenever he tried to rest.

"She's probably going to take it," Joe said, voicing the fear that had been growing stronger each day. "The Giants offer. Why wouldn't she? It's everything she's worked for professionally."

"Maybe," Ja'Maar agreed. "Or maybe she values what she's built here more than you think."

"Even after I fucked everything up with my timing?"

Ja'Maar considered this. "You know what your problem is? You think this is all about you. Y/N's decision, her feelings, her career—you keep making it about how it affects Joe Burrow."

The observation stung because it was accurate. "So what should I do?"

"Nothing," Ja'Maar said firmly. "Let her make her choice without your emotional baggage influencing it. If she stays, great. If she goes, you deal with it and learn from how you handled this."

Joe nodded, recognizing the wisdom even as every instinct urged him to do something, anything, to influence Y/N's decision in his favor.

That evening, Joe sat in his house scrolling through social media, where speculation about Y/N's potential departure had somehow leaked despite the organization's attempts at discretion. Fans were posting about losing "the best content coordinator in the NFL," sharing favorite videos and posts from her tenure with the team.

One comment thread particularly caught his attention: She made Burrow seem like a real person, not just a celebrity. Hope she stays.

The observation hit home. Y/N had protected his humanity while managing his public image, had found ways to show his personality without exploiting his vulnerability. She'd been more than just a media coordinator—she'd been a guardian of his authentic self in a world that constantly pressured him to perform.

Joe thought about all the moments Y/N had captured over five years, the injury recovery sessions that could have been exploitative but instead showed genuine determination, the community events that revealed his care for Cincinnati, the team interactions that demonstrated his leadership without making it seem forced.

She'd helped him become the person he wanted to be publicly while never making him feel managed or packaged. And now she was considering leaving to build something new, something that didn't depend on understanding Joe Burrow's complexities.

His phone rang. His mother's name on the screen.

"How are you holding up?" she asked without preamble.

Joe shouldn't have been surprised that his parents had heard about Y/N's potential departure. News traveled fast in NFL circles, especially when it involved key personnel.

"Been better," Joe admitted. "How much do you know?"

"Enough to know you're probably beating yourself up over timing and choices," his mother replied with characteristic directness. "Want to talk about it?"

Joe found himself explaining the situation—his relationship with Ellie, his feelings for Y/N, the disastrous conversation in her office. His mother listened without judgment, asking clarifying questions but not offering immediate advice.

"You know," she said when he finished, "sometimes the most loving thing you can do is want someone's happiness more than you want them in your life."

The words hit Joe like a revelation. He'd been so focused on his own loss, his own regret, that he hadn't fully considered what would actually make Y/N happiest in the long run.

"The Giants opportunity is exactly what she's earned," he said slowly. "Even if it means losing her."

"And if supporting her decision is the last gift you can give her," his mother continued gently, "then maybe that's how you show her what she's meant to you all these years."

* * *

Early November 2025 - The Offer

Joe tried to keep his normal routine after Y/N got back from New York, but he couldn't focus. His mind kept wandering to what the Giants had offered her, whether she'd already decided.

Around the facility, she kept things strictly professional—polite nods, brief work exchanges, nothing that acknowledged what had happened between them.

Ja'Marr noticed his distraction during Wednesday's practice.

"You missed that read completely," his teammate said as they reviewed route concepts. "Thompson was wide open on the comeback."

"I saw it," Joe replied, though they both knew he hadn't.

"Where's your head at, man?"

Joe glanced toward the facility windows. "Probably where it shouldn't be."

That evening, Joe sat in his house, staring at his phone. His mother had texted: How are you holding up? Any word on her decision?

Still waiting, Joe replied. Not well.

Remember what we talked about. Sometimes loving someone means wanting their happiness more than their presence.

Joe read the message twice. If Y/N's happiness was in New York, then supporting that choice was how he could prove his feelings were genuine rather than selfish.

But the thought of losing her forever—not just romantically, but from his daily life entirely—felt like losing something he couldn't replace.

* * *

Mid-November 2025

By the middle of November, Joe felt like he was going crazy. Y/N's deadline was coming up, and he had no idea what she was thinking. She gave him nothing—no hints, no clues, nothing.

After another sleepless night, Joe got to the facility early, hoping to see Y/N before his day started. But her office was empty, computer off.

"She's in the edit bay," Sam mentioned, appearing beside him in the hallway. "Been there since early this morning. Finalizing content transitions in case she needs to hand things over."

"That sounds... definitive," Joe managed.

Sam studied his expression. "Maybe. Or maybe just responsible. Y/N always has contingency plans."

Joe spent the day distracted, going through the motions of practice and meetings while his mind remained fixed on Y/N's absence. By evening, he couldn't stand it anymore. He needed to see her, to try once more to have an honest conversation before she made her final decision.

The edit bay was one of the few rooms still lit when Joe arrived back at the facility that night. Through the window, he could see Y/N working alone, surrounded by monitors and notebooks, completely focused on her screen.

Joe stood outside for several minutes, gathering courage for what might be their last private conversation. Everything he'd been too afraid to say for five years needed to be said now, before it was too late.

When he finally knocked and entered, Y/N's immediate tension was obvious. But Joe was beyond caring about professional boundaries or appropriate timing. This was his last chance.

Their conversation escalated quickly, five years of suppressed emotion finally breaking free. When Y/N accused him of not seeing her for years, of only noticing her now that she was leaving, Joe felt something crack inside his chest.

"It's mattered to me for five years!" she'd shouted, and Joe realized with devastating clarity how much pain he'd caused through his emotional cowardice.

But when she admitted that what existed between them had always mattered, something shifted. Hope and desperation combined into action before Joe could think it through.

He kissed her.

Not gentle or tentative—urgent, desperate, like he was trying to communicate everything he'd been too afraid to say. Years of restraint broke open all at once, and when Y/N kissed him back with equal intensity, Joe felt like he was finally home.

Her hands gripping his shirt, her body pressed against his, the soft sounds she made when he kissed her neck—it was everything Joe had imagined and more. The connection that had existed between them for years finally had physical expression, and it was overwhelming in its intensity.

When Kayla's call interrupted them, Joe felt the real world crashing back with brutal clarity. As Y/N answered professionally, her voice steady despite their disheveled appearance, Joe marveled at her composure while struggling to regain his own.

"That was real," he'd told her afterward, needing her to understand that his feelings weren't just about fear of losing her. "Everything I've said, everything I feel for you—it's real."

The vulnerability of that admission, spoken in the aftermath of their first kiss, felt like jumping off a cliff. But Y/N needed to know that his declaration wasn't just desperation or poor timing—it was the truth he'd been carrying for years.

When she said she needed time to think clearly, Joe forced himself to step back despite every instinct urging him to hold her, to kiss her again, to try to convince her through touch rather than words.

"Take all the time you need," he'd said, meaning it even as it felt like agreeing to his own torture.

Walking away from Y/N in that edit bay, her lips still swollen from his kisses, was one of the hardest things Joe had ever done. But his mother's words echoed in his mind: sometimes loving someone meant wanting their happiness more than their presence.

If Y/N needed space to make the right decision for her life, Joe would give it to her. Even if that decision broke his heart.

But as he drove home through the dark Cincinnati streets, Joe allowed himself to hope that their kiss had changed something fundamental. That Y/N now understood his feelings weren't just about timing or fear of loss, but about love he'd been too afraid to acknowledge.

One week remained. Seven days for Y/N to decide between New York and Cincinnati, between career advancement and whatever they might build together.

Joe had finally been completely honest. Now all he could do was wait, and hope that honesty hadn't come too late to matter.

The recognition that he might lose both Y/N's presence and her respect—that she might leave thinking poorly of his character and timing—was almost unbearable. But at least she would leave knowing the truth about how he felt.

* * *

The Day After

Joe woke up the next morning with the taste of Y/N still on his lips and the memory of her hands in his hair. But in daylight, doubt crept in. Had kissing her been right, or just more shitty timing?

He'd promised to give her space, but he was dying to know where they stood. Had their kiss changed anything for her, or just made everything worse?

At the facility, Joe went through his routine on autopilot, trying not to look toward Y/N's office. When Sam mentioned Y/N was working remotely again, Joe felt relief and disappointment—glad he didn't have to see her today, but also desperate to gauge her reaction to what had happened.

His phone buzzed with a text from Ja'Marr: You look like you either got hit by a truck or got laid. Which is it?

Joe almost laughed despite his anxiety. Neither. Something in between.

That sounds ominous. We good?

Ask me in a week.

Honestly, Joe had no idea if they were good. He'd finally taken Ja'Marr's advice, been completely honest about his feelings. But Y/N's response was still a mystery, her decision about New York still hanging over everything.

For the first time in years, Joe had no control over something that mattered this much. All he could do was wait and hope Y/N would make whatever choice would make her happy.

Even if it killed him.

[maxxioislost]

no but imagine how sad and jealous rudy was when alejandro and valeria were dating, rudy was so angry, he thought alejandro felt the same so when alejandro told him randomly that he was dating her of all people, rudy probably couldn’t even look at him for a few days, let alone speak to him

rudy probably spent a day or so in bed, silently mourning a relationship that never even existed, probably had his ‘breakup playlist’ on repeat durning that time too

Alejandro probably notices, why wouldn’t he? his best friend just goes MIA randomly without warning, of course he would notice, he give him a day or two, rudy’s known for havin bad days, so he knows how important his alone time is to him.

Alejandro cant stand even giving him that much time before going to his room, the doors cracked open slightly, and he can hear rudy speaking to someone, most likely his older sister, from the sound of it. he can hear rudy crying slightly, can hear the pain in his voice as he says that he thought he felt the same, and that he felt stupid for falling for a straight man once again.

that makes alejandro freeze, his best friend for over 20 years fell for him?

This has been in my drafts since like December, finally releasing it to all of you

[sanguinesky-if]

[Dev Log] February 2025

Hello, I hope your winter days are going well!

This is the first dev log of 2025, which means the end of my January break and the resumption of:

▹ Patreon billing and monthly activity. ▹ Monthly dev logs.

Although I took things easier in January, I still worked on the story and have quite a bit to share about my progress.

What was done last month?

▹ Worked on the draft for Chapter 3 Pt. 2.

Since shifting the story format from a visual novel to IF, my draft has required some changes and updates. There are some scenes I'd like to include from the old version, but I hesitate due to the potential increase in workload [I discussed them on Patreon]. Even without those additions, Chapter 3 Pt. 2 is shaping up to be massive, and I already can tell it shouldn't be expected until late spring [assuming I decide against including those moments and scenes]. As usual, the most recent updates on my progress will be shared weekly on Patreon and monthly in the dev logs here on my blog.

▹ Refined stats and their distribution.

I began refining the stats distribution in December, but I also made some changes throughout January. Overall, the full list of changes includes: ▹ Refinement and redistribution of personal and hidden stats. ▹ Renaming the "Approval" stat to "Alignment" [this change will apply in the next update]. I'd like to thank this anon for the idea; I should have done it sooner. A few more words about the stats: Something about the personal stats feels… lacking. I can't quite pinpoint what it is, but I have a feeling I need to progress the story further to understand what's missing, so for now, I've decided to focus on Chapter 3 Pt. 2.

▹ Finished the shortcut to Chapter 3 Pt. 2.

I decided to take care of the shortcut feature in advance, and it took me some time to compile all the choices due to the variations readers can encounter in different scenes. While I may return to it later if I decide that some choices from Chapter 3 Pt. 1 should be included, I'm glad I finished adding all the essential parts.

▹ Improved some scenes and fixed numerous grammatical errors, as well as a few coding issues.

Here's a list of major changes: ▹ L's phone call scene [Chapter 2]: Added a reserved flirt option and made the non-romantic option available to everyone [these changes will apply in the next update].

▹ K's morning scene [Chapter 3]: The last assertive flirt option in K's scene no longer includes "I forgive you", so the reader is not forced to immediately let go of all the tension when choosing a flirt option. Small note: I have some reservations regarding the choices provided in K's scene after their apology, so I will likely post a poll on Patreon to gather feedback on this matter.

▹ Solo morning scene [Chapter 3]: Due to an oversight, the solo scene didn't include a variation where the reader decides not to talk to the MC's twin sister and immediately goes to sleep. This variation of the scene has now been added.

What will I be working on in February?

▹ Chapter 3 Pt. 2: translating the draft and outlining the files for coding.

In addition to that, the bonus content on Patreon that will be released this month will include:

▹ Morgan's NSFW Alphabet. ▹ K's NSFW Side Story POV [Interactive].

Author's note.

I'd like to extend my gratitude to everyone who took the time to send helpful error reports, asks, and kind messages! Your support and interest help me improve my story, which truly means a lot to me.

Thank you for reading to the end! Wishing you a wonderful week and days after that! ♥

[capturecharlesau]

…..Hi! ….it’s been a while :) … Guess who’s back from hibernation hehe… I’m sure your all curious where did I go- buuut

Have these doods of the emotional man himself- Danny flippin Felizima :D He’s strong no matter WHAT emotion he’s feeling :)

Look I suffered something in December and I’m gonna be honest it was so BAD… I barely could get out of bed some days and I’m finally getting over it and long story short I kept my promise I feel much better it’s a new year and I’m READY to show Stick love! Also Tumblr was being so buggy with a glitch that kept kicking me out and it seems it’s gone :D

The only bad knees is that due to me needing to pass tests and stuff I cannot show my newest comic until somewhere Mid March or April since again it depends on all the studying imma do to pass the tests hehe! BUT I WILL BE SHOWING SNEEK PEEKS until then - since legit I worked so HARD on the storyline during my hibernation and I’m super proud of my work!

What I’m gonna do:

Is show my Prequel? Finding my Path Comic staring Triple Threat in March around there that will end literally as my MAIN COMIC starts aka the one you see on my pinned post I did in 2023!

Then finally I get to show you the ACTUAL well written polished version of The Original Captured Charles Story where Terrence breaks free! Some things are CHANGED and some stuff you saw in the draft in 2023 will remain the same AND the ENDING OF the Captured Charles story has CHANGED (Terrence died another way)

I’m so happy you all loved my DRAFT for my original story and I just know with this better written and a little toned down on the exaggeration you will love it just like you all did in 2023! It means a lot ♥️

The charecters personalities and relationships are more polished now during my break I wrote everything down in a notebook! Asks will be active again on my blog! I’m so happy to be back!

HELLO STICKMIN FANDOM IM BACK ♥️