#I clicked on this video to see the comments without having to play the thing

[iamespecter]

Oh fuck no, to hell with this clickbait shit boy

The misogyny runs deep

[kenntoria]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

[cursedyuri]

so, your best friend accidentally sent you a video of her masturbating. what now?

18+ below! smut smut smut!

ellie’s bedroom is heavy with the scent of sex, her fingers still pruned from her own wetness. she’s spent the last few minutes tense and panicked, too paralyzed with anxiety to get up and put some clothes on, and she’s considering what she’ll change her name to and where she’ll move to start a new life when you finally, finally text her back.

it’s okay. give me a second to reply, alright?

the weight on her chest eases a bit at your reassurance, but a new spark of uncertainty flares up at the second part of the message: give me a second to reply. jaw tight, she sends you a question mark, then follows up with you don’t have to respond. it’s probably better if you don’t?? again i’m so fucking sorry.

but as the minutes tick by, slow and lazed, she starts to panic again. her mind conjures every possible response you could send her next: an angry thesis statement on why ellie’s a disgusting pervert, a seething comment about how stupid she must be for sending a video like that so carelessly. would you ever look at her the same way? would things ever be the same?

all it takes is another notification from you to make every imagined worst-case scenario evaporate. ellie clicks the notification as soon as it pops up, chewing on the soft flesh of her inner lip.

it’s a video.

you sent her a video.

she hits the play button without a second thought, heartbeat thudding in her ears.

“i know you’re probably embarrassed,” you say, head tilting as you frown with sympathy. a blush paints ellie’s cheeks bright red. “but i need you to know how wet that made me.”

holding the camera up, you extend your arm outwards to reveal the rest of your body - your naked body, ellie realizes with a shock. she sits up in bed, back ramrod straight, her phone shaking as a nervous tremor strikes through her. but she can’t look away - not when you’re tracing a hand down the soft curves of your body, fingertips grazing over one peaked nipple, then moving lower, lower. ellie swears she’s forgotten how to breathe.

you release a pleased hum. “i liked watching you touch yourself,” you say, so matter-of-fact. “i hope you like watching me.”

and she does, god she does. she settles back down onto the mattress, eyes never leaving the screen as you work two fingers through your soaked folds. you moan and sigh and keen, rolling your hips down against your own hand, the wet sounds of your pussy so intoxicating, ellie can’t believe she’s gone her whole life without seeing you like this.

and it might be wrong, the way her own hand drifts between her legs to find herself still hot and wet, but she doesn’t have it in herself to care. she dips a finger inside of herself as she watches you ride your own hand, grinding down on your palm as your fingers work in and out of your cunt. she finds a rhythm that matches your own; soon enough, you’re both gasping at the pleasure building beneath your waistline. with every roll of your hips, ellie’s cunt tightens, flooding with slickness - as if she could get any wetter.

as you get closer to the edge, your grip on your phone falters and the camera starts to shake. ellie hisses and curses under her breath when your phone captures the blissed-out look on your face: eyes rolled back, brows pulled together, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

“oh - oh my god,” you stutter, panting, “i’m gonna come, ellie.”

ellie. ellie ellie ellie.

“holy fuck.” ellie’s pussy clamps down around her fingers at the sound of her name on your lips; her thumb glides over her clit just right, and she didn’t think she’d come this fast but she does, her vision exploding into blinding white as her orgasm crashes into her. it’s the only time she looks away from the video on her screen - but she certainly hears your orgasm, all high-pitched moans and ragged breaths, your cunt gushing onto your fingers.

when ellie finds the strength to open her eyes again, the video is still playing. you’re catching your breath, chest shimmering with a thin layer of sweat. you look at the camera and smile. ellie thinks she might pass out.

“thanks for the video,” you say, lifting your free hand up to wave.

when you bring your fingers to your mouth and purse your lips around them, sucking them clean of your own come, ellie’s sure she’s going to pass out.

and then, she decides, she’s going to fuck you stupid.

[heartyluv]

I've finished binge reading you Caleb fics, and oh my god. My faves are definitely the camboy!caleb series, MAKES ME THINK THAT what if their next content is that his wife made him consume aphrodisiac chocolates? I'M SO SORRY IF IT IS FILTHY but yk, what if 👀

Note: Babe….you’re a genius. I’ve been thinking about how I should do this and there was only one correct answer: SUBBY CALEB!!!! I feel like I go to a different place when I write Camboy!Caleb, too LOLL And please, nothing is too filthy around here. I LOVE IT!!! I hope you enjoy, luv. 🫶🏽

Creds to @/anitalenia for the divider!!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Word Count: 2,800

Warnings: Smut, Caleb is so needy, he unknowingly consumes the aphrodisiac (but he’s okay with it because it’s from you duhhh), you’re kinda dominating him, HE’S EATING THAT 🐱, the sex is being LIVE-STREAMED!!!

NeedyCamboy!Caleb/Reader

You sat down at your desk, getting the camera and your monitors ready to start live-streaming a game your audience has been enjoying watching you play. Even though where you and Caleb post your content is a site meant for everything related to sex, you were graced with a collective of people who loved you and your husband as people, just as much as they loved to see you two fuck.

The grin on your face was hard to contain as you clicked the bright red start button, and the number of viewers spiked rapidly. Dozens turned to hundreds and hundreds became a few thousand. The comments were flying as the people greeted you.

iluv2cum: OMG YES YOU’RE PLAYING TODAY

deepspacegirlie4Life: where’s caleb??

ima$lutandi0wnit: you look so gooddd

“Hey, guys,” you waved before adjusting your headphones. You bit your bottom lip, seeing the number of questions increase as everyone became curious about what has you smiling so hard.

“So, I did a little something…” The chat raved with anticipation. You leaned in to whisper, your mouth close to the microphone. “I gave Caleb an aphrodisiac.”

Covering your mouth with your hands, the giddiness that coursed through you was so hard to contain. They demanded the story and it was only because he was in the shower that you could deliver.

“He came home from the gym—Caleb loves chocolate, by the way. But, he came home, and I showed him the box of cute little chocolates. Immediately, he popped one in his mouth.” You threw your hands up in the air dramatically, making yourself laugh as you thought about how you were mid explanation and he plucked one in between in his lips. “I didn’t even have the chance to tell him anything about it. Most I got to say was a lie and that was that it’s supposed to help him focus. His ass is greedy.”

You let them know that you warned him to only have the one for reasons so stupid you couldn’t say without laughing at yourself. Then, you took the time to see what people were saying. Many were asking if it worked or if you two planned on recording a video for it.

“I’m not sure, honestly,” you shrug. “He ate it, went to get cleaned up, and has been in the bathroom for like twenty minutes now. It takes thirty for it to kick in, I think. As for a video, I didn’t even think about it. But it’s a whole box, so maybe we can use it in the future,” you wiggle your eyebrows mischievously.

“But enough chit-chat. Let’s get into it!”

While you were interacting with fans and enjoying yourself, Caleb was having an experience that for him, has come out of absolutely nowhere. Now, he’s used to being horny and desperate. Because of the job he does and the person he gets to do it with, those feelings weren’t foreign. Honestly, they didn’t even need to be provoked. If he thought about or is around you, his cock is just as ready as he is.

But that’s the thing. He wasn’t around you and he wasn’t thinking about you in this moment. What he was thinking as he dried himself off and got dressed, was the new aircraft he was going to put together once he finished. He couldn’t understand why his cock was hard and aching, but it wasn’t like it threw him off or anything. As a man, there were times where his dick had a mind of its own, so he figured this was one of those instances.

Caleb tried to shake it off, not wanting to interrupt your streaming because he knew how important your game was to you and felt that he could wait until you finished if the urge to come was still there.

She said those chocolates help with focusing. Maybe I could eat another one, he thought to himself as he opened the box once he walked into the kitchen. What was supposed to be one became two and two became three. Your poor husband didn’t know it yet, but he was fucked.

The throbbing in his dick only grew when he sat at the dining table. He couldn’t focus. It was impossible to when all he craved was to fuck your brains out. He’s been there for almost forty minutes, yet he’s barely touched the small blocks that were scattered across the wooden surface.

“I can’t fucking do this,” he grumbled to himself, a soft groan falling past his lips when he palmed his cock through his sweats. His sensitivity had even increased. He didn’t know what the fuck was causing this, but he couldn’t wait anymore.

He walked to your shared bedroom where your setup was, opening the door to see your pretty face laughing with everyone. You must be taking a break since the game is minimized and the only thing on the screen is you.

“Oh, hey babe,” you beamed. “Come, come, they wanna see you.” You gestured for him to get closer. One thing about your man—he doesn’t beat around the bush and he wasn’t about to do it now. While he didn’t want to pull you away from what you were doing, he needed something—anything.

Caleb walked toward you and the bulge in his pants was something impossible to miss. You pressed your lips together to suppress your amusement, but it was swiped off immediately because your husband spun your chair to face him, sunk to his knees before you, and threw your legs over his shoulders. You yelped, eyes wide as you looked between him and your screen to your left.

“Caleb!” you giggle in surprise. “Wait! I’m live—oh, fuck..” His pressed a kiss onto your panty clad pussy, pressing his nose deep between your lips and inhaling your scent like it would calm the raging desire in his chest. It only fueled it.

He was so hard that it was hurting and the fact that he instinctively knew he could get off if he ate you out, was blowing his mind. His tongue licked a long stripe up your clothed slit, using your whimpers as his indicator that you wanted more. All that teasing shit was off the table for him. He needed to come and only you were able to help him do that.

You being live only became his driving force.

The camera captured how your chest rose and fell with bated breath while your hand nestled itself into Caleb’s hair as his mouth made itself at home between your thighs. Your large diamond ring shined in the frame, showing everyone who you belong to. Impatiently, he pulled back just enough to slide the thin material down your legs, throwing them to land somewhere unimportant while he indulged himself in his saving grace.

All while he feasted on you for thousands to see, he felt how his leaking cock was only dirtying his once fresh clothes. He uttered not one word as he took your clit into his mouth, as he stuck his tongue inside your tight hole—not even when he spit on your pussy and smeared it across his canvas as he painted the perfect picture.

You moaned prettily for him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as the wet sounds of your slick and his saliva came together to curate something so beautifully erotic.

“Baby,” you whined, bucking your hips. “I’m gonna come…Hold on—”

He wasn’t waiting. Not only because he needed you to come but by some miracle, he was close himself. Caleb was a man who needed stimulation in order to finish, but he was so close as all he did was cater to your wet cunt. Whatever was going on with him, eating you out was what was about to make him come in his pants.

The chat was flying. But you nor him knew that because you were so focused on each other. You hadn’t even noticed that the 3,000 views you had jumped to almost 10,000. What made it even more crazy? People had to pay to be able to view anything on your page and being able to participate in livestreams was an extra fee. What was happening was being shared and people were so eager to see that they were paying you two for it.

At the same time that you tensed, your orgasm crashing into you and making your grip tighten in his fluffy locks, his hips stuttered as they humped against nothing but the material of his underwear for friction. You cried out, chanting his name over and over as he hummed into your sensitive flesh from contentment after having some kind of relief. Cum now made his cock sticky and yours made his face wet.

But he was still hard.

When he looked up at you, his face was soaked and lips were flushed. You smiled lazily at him as he stood, your core clenching when you saw the wet spot that formed at the front of his pants.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he panted, pulling his shirt off and tugging his pants down next. He made you stand, pulling your shirt off and got you both naked to all the people watching. “But I need you to fuck me, baby.”

It’s a different type of buzz for him to ask you to be the one to fuck him. Of course you’ll do it. But, you’re shocked that one piece of chocolate did this to him.

“It was the chocolate,” you grinned as he kissed you neck. He froze.

“The chocolate?” he questioned again and you nodded. “I ate like three more!”

“What! Why?!” you exclaimed in laughter, but his hard dick that was still needing some help, found this everything but funny. It was angry and only your sweet pussy could calm it.

“I can’t even talk,” he shook his head, curious about what was in that small treat but not enough to wait any longer. “If I don’t fuck you in the next few seconds, my dick is gonna fall off.”

You huff out a laugh. “Get on the bed,” you cooed, kissing his hard chest.

“I guess you guys are getting your video,” you teased, turning to grab your small camcorder off its holder. “I’m not posting it either, so I hope you’re recording it, you freaks.”

You tsked as you approached him and climbed into the bed to get on top of your husband. The camera catches his tall and hard body splayed out so perfectly in the bed, making you feel nothing but lust and pride that all of this was yours. Your thighs rest on either side of his hips as his cockhead brushed against your slit, making your body titter with delight.

“My naughty husband ate more than he was supposed to,” you mockingly frowned. “Now he needs me to make it all better, doesn’t he?”

He nodded, gripping your hips tightly as if you ground him—and you do. His hips jerks with the desire to be inside you already.

“Please…I wanna come, I need to..” he begs. You hold the camera in one hand, using your other to swipe a thumb across his wet lip. Slowly, you slide it inside his mouth and your pussy squeezes around nothing when he gently sucks on the digit.

“You’re so good,” you praise, your voice low and raspy. “Pretty boy…” He looks up at you with so much love, appreciation, and need.

You gently rock your hips, sliding your puffy lips back and forth around his length. “Put your dick inside me, Caleb,” you demand breathlessly, your body overwhelmed with need. While you haven’t eaten the chocolate, with the way you’re feeling, you wouldn’t be surprised if this is exactly what he’s experiencing.

You raise yourself to help him and angle the camera so that it captures the view and the sound of how he slides inside your walls like a hot knife going through butter—With ease. Already familiar with the territory, you don’t need to take a minute to become familiarized when his thick cock takes up all the space inside your velvet walls

“That’s it…” he breathes, his hand snaking up your body to grab your tits. “You’re so fucking tight…I need you to move…” he pleads.

“Yeah?” you taunt, unable to mask your own bliss despite how much you’re poking fun at him. “I can feel you twitching, baby. Let me feel how desperate you are, hm?”

Your hips rise and fall just enough, and you grind your hips to give your clit the attention she craves. Behind you on the computer, your views have doubled and the amount of love, adoration, and money you’re getting is something that could be put in a fucking history book.

“Use me,” you pant, unable to hold the camera anymore. You haphazardly position it on a nearby pillow, and you don’t even care if it’s perfect. All it needs to do is let everyone see how good you make each other feel.

Caleb doesn’t need to be told twice. He holds you in his hands as he slams into you from below, your nipples grazing against his firm chest as you take his cock with the intensity he’s delivering. As your gummy walls suffocate his dick, all that matters in this moment is the needy man beneath you.

His face shows nothing but undeniable satisfaction—All the way from his hooded gaze as he watches his cock be lathered in your juices, to his lips that he can’t stop licking and gnawing on, and the glorious sounds that he makes.

Tears prickle in your husband’s eyes from how intoxicating everything feels and you lean down to kiss them away before they can fall. You don’t care for chocolate much, but on his lips, it becomes a delicacy. He accepts the kiss like it’s his lifeline, eager to feel your soft lips move with his.

“You feel so good,” he whimpers against your mouth, his cheeks burning with love and bliss. Your walls suck him in, holding him so snuggly like you were made to keep him safe. “Just a little more, baby.. Please don’t stop…”

Your back arches when he holds you close, his strong hand pressing your head down and close to him as your foreheads press together. Yours and his breath push and pull as he ruts into you, the intimacy so mind-numbing.

Neither of you can alert the other when both of you come so hard that it makes you cry out each other’s name. Your pussy wraps around him like it never wants to let go, squeezing him with everything you have as his thick ropes of sticky cum paint your insides.

He groans deliciously, putting so much pressure on your hips to keep you close that you know it’ll bruise. Yours thighs twitch as he stays seated inside you.

You keep grinding to ride out the high, only adding to the overstimulation. Once you can’t take it anymore, you stop your movements entirely.

“You okay?” you ask him breathlessly, swiping his damp hair away from his forehead.

He nods. “Thanks to you.” He takes a moment. “Or maybe not. You gave me an aphrodisiac?”

You smile, resting yourself on top of him as he wraps his arms around you. It brings you peace as you hear his heartbeat with your ear to his chest. “You were only supposed to take one, in my defense.”

“You said they helped you focus!” he chuckled.

“I didn’t want to give it away!”

A brief moment passes before you announce the camera. “You know we’re still on live, right?”

“I do.”

“You gonna turn it off?”

“We should.”

Silence.

“But you might want to go again.”

“But I might want to go again,” you say your sentences at the same time.

“You’re doing the work this time.” You turn your head to look into his eyes, love glistening in your irises.

“Not so commanding now, huh?” he raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“Not at all. Your horny ass wore me out.”

You feel him stir to life again inside of you, making you turn to the camera. “I might just end it. You guys shouldn’t get all the good stuff.”

You can’t read the chat, but they’re begging you to keep it on.

bang4bang: PLEASE DON’T END IT

cumminroundthemountain: did anyone else just have the most intense orgasm of their life..?

itsfreaknation: i’ll literally pay double. triple.

polywoly: is your wife looking for a relationship?

c0ckluva: i volunteer to join next time..

No matter what’s being said, none of it is important when Caleb flips you like you’re as light as a feather, his cock still nestled in your cunt when he puts you on your back.

All you know is that the chocolate has now become your partner-in-crime and your worst enemy, but you couldn’t be more excited.

Tags 🏷️: @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler

[mcddyperez]

INFECTIOUS ! chris sturniolo

chris sturniolo x black!fem¡reader

in which : when chris’s girlfriend appears in videos, the fans always go crazy and immediately turn to social’s and make compilations.

warnings : infectious fluff, kissing and pda, possessive chris, swearing, suggestive dialogue

word count : 1.5k words

y/n layed in her shared bed with her boyfriend, chris, while endlessly watching different videos that popped up on her youtube recommendations.

but, as she scrolled, her eyes immediately drew to a video titled, “chris and y/n being infectiously in love for 6 minutes straight”.

a light giggle came from the girl, alerting her boyfriend who’s face was immersed in whatever was on his phone screen.

“what are you laughing at, ma?” he asked, looking up from his phone before looking at the gorgeous girl in front of him.

y/n sat up in the bed before showing her phone to him, pointing out the video that was under one of their vlogs.

without hesitation, chris clicked on the video before getting comfortable in his bed, pulling y/n close to him as they waited for the video to play.

1. when chris gets possesive !

the first clip played, the video being when the triplets were reacting to fan edits.

as nick scrolled through tiktok for videos, he stopped when an edit of y/n popped up to the song “woo” by rihanna.

the man chuckled before nudging his brothers next to him, grabbing both of their attention. “look, theirs a y/n edit.” nick said before clicking on the video.

as the video played, it showed various clips of y/n from her tiktoks, her youtube videos, and even clips from the triplets channel.

chris looked mesmerized at the video of his girl looking good, but she always looked good in his eyes.

but when he clicked the comments, he didn’t expect such things being said about the girl.

“y/n is soooo fineee”

“her body is so tea”

“give me one chance y/n PLEASEEE 🙏🏽”

“i hope chris knows how to fight 🤺”

chris read each one in disbelief. he knew that many of his fans thirsted for his girlfriend, i mean who wouldn’t, but to see them do it so shamelessly made him laugh.

“looks like you have competition, chris.” matt said as he looked at his triplet look at the thirsty comments.

chris shrugged his shoulders before leaning back in the sofa. “hey, she’s laying in my bed at night so why does it matter?” he said, being all nonchalant.

that was until nick pulled up an even thirstier edit of y/n that was with the song “wet the bed” by chris brown.

the video showcased y/n’s gorgeous face and banging body and the fans were loving it.

“SHE LOOKS SO GOOOD!!”

“forget chris, marry me queen 💍😍”

“oh sorry, i just dropped the keys to my pink mercedes benz, oh I’m sooooo clumsy! 😏”

“we’re not chris girls, we’re y/n’s girls”

chris shook his head before raising his arms to fix his hair. “she’s happy with me, they can fuck off.” he joked around (kind of).

his two brother laughed in his face before going onto the next topic, feeling like they accomplished winning the olympics.

2. chris and y/n during blind, deaf, mute cooking !

there were many cute moments between the couple during this video, considering the fact that they decided to make both matt and y/n blind.

as y/n was breaking eggs in the cake batter while nick was jamming to music in his headphones. the girl had no clue what she was doing as she cracked an egg on the kitchen counter.

though matt and nick were in their own little world fucking up god knows what for the cake, chris was focusing on his girlfriend, noticing immediately that she had accidentally cracked an egg and missed the bowl.

though he couldn’t speak, his infectious laughter could be heard from outside of the tape, confusing both y/n and nick who chris had bumped into.

“what!!!” nick screamed, a doja cat song blasting in his ears.

chris then tapped on the boys shoulder before pointing at his girlfriend who was consistently missing the bowl when cracking her eggs, now having two yolks laying on the counter.

“y/n! y/n! stop! you’re missing the bowl!” nick exclaimed, startling the girl making her accidental drop an egg on the floor.

“why didn’t no one tell me?” y/n questioned, going to feel for the bowl but accidentally touching the yolk on the counter, causing her to jolt back into the wall and gag.

chris, seeing y/n in distress, grabbed some paper towels before walking over to his girl and wiping off her hands.

“thank you, babe.” she thanked, looking around as if she could see her surroundings.

and the video continued with more chaotic mess for the four.

3. y/n meets madison beer !

y/n was a big fan of madison beer since she had her first music video with justin bieber, so when the triplets started getting close with her, chris knew that he wanted his girl to meet her.

so, when the triplets were invited to one of madison’s shows, they brought y/n along (obviously) and the girl was ecstatic to say the least.

she knew every single word to the songs, she participated in the mute trend, and was having a great time.

but, when it came to the end of the show, the girl was anxious. she didn’t know how to act or what to do.

chris stood behind the girl, his arms being wrapped tightly around the girls waist as he pressed gentle kisses all over her neck.

when the brunette finally came to talk to the triplets, the sight of the girl made madison smile. immediately, y/n froze. she didn’t know what to do or what to say. madison knew her fucking name!

“hi, n-nice to meet you!” y/n responded, beating herself up inside from hearing the stutter escape her mouth.

chris left one last kiss on the cheek to the girl before letting her go and joining his brother to the side as matt recorded the special moment unfold.

“i love your outfit, i wish i could pull that off.” madison complimented y/n while admiring her style.

“oh, I’m sure you can pull of anything, you’re stunning!” y/n said back, surprised that her voice wasn’t as shaky as before.

matt recorded the two before turning the camera to a smiling chris who was busy admiring his girlfriend as she met her favorite artist.

he truly loved this girl.

4. chris and y/n being needy !

the next clip was during their most recent car video where chris (and y/n) were sat in the back of the car.

chris was a very touchy person when it came to y/n, and he becomes very needy quickly. so, the entire video, chris’s hands roamed over her body constantly.

he would whisper sweet nothings into her ear like, “you look so good in my clothes right now”, and “just wait until those cameras turn off.”

yeah, he was very horny.

y/n’s prominent giggles and little whines in the backseat got the attention of the two boys in the front, making them groan.

“can you guys stop being rabbits back there?” matt asked in a demanding tone, causing an embarrassed y/n in the backseat. but, even with the warning, chris’s hands didn’t move.

he had continued to tease her with circling her thighs and giving her light kisses on the neck, which he knew she loved from him.

it had gotten to the point that when nick was editing, he had delayed scraping the whole car video as a whole because of the porno that was happening in the back, but he uploaded it nonetheless, giving the fans more chris and y/n crumbs to eat.

5. y/n and chris’s tiktoks !

all of the tiktoks that these two film can take up an entire section of the video. when the two film together, they are extremely silly and kind hearted and everyone loves them.

most of their tiktok videos together can be found of y/n’s account, simply because of the fact that Chris doesn’t post that much on the app, but when he post a video with y/n, it’s usually something that y/n probably wouldn’t want the internet to see.

like, there was one time where chris posted a video of himself lip syncing to a song and in the background you can see y/n sleeping. her hair was messed up, she had on a comfortable ugly face on, and she was deep in slumber.

but, no matter what, the two will always be comfortable going to tiktok and posting their silly little videos together.

and even though chris will pretend that he doesn’t like it, deep down he secretly enjoys doing it to make his girl happy.

“cutest couple ever!!”

“the way chris looks at her, IM SO SINGLE!! 😞”

“chris got some moves fr, he ate that up!!”

——

after the last tiktok, the video ended, leaving the two smiling at each other. “you’re so protective, it’s hot.” y/n said, smirking at her boyfriend before planting a kiss on his lips.

“yeah, but you look too good for me to not be protective.” chris justified, running his cold fingers down his girlfriend’s waist.

y/n chuckled while shaking her head before chris leaned in for a kiss. “i love you.” he mumbled once he pulled away, burying his face into the girls neck.

“i love you too, baby.” y/n said, tracing chris’s jawline as they layed there in each others presence.

maybe they were infectiously in love.

[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 ✨

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🏈 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.

[smileysuh]

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🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Look up at me for a moment, gorgeous,” Wonwoo commands, and you do as you’re told. He meets your gaze, his skin flushed from your mouth suctioning on his cock. “Just need to get your eyes right for your character,” he explains, threading his fingers through your hair and aiding you up and down on his throbbing length. “Such pretty eyes. You look so good staring up at me with your mouth stuffed full, baby.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, use of dragon knotted dildo toy, use of vibrator, multiple reader orgasms, blow job, dirty talk, slight power play/humiliation, clit sucking, overstimulation, pussy stretching, reader rides the toy then Wonwoo uses the toy to make her cum again, talking reader through it, mutual masturbation, Wonwoo strokes himself off to the reader using her toys, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby. (Wonwoo’s) puppy

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k

🍭 aus. Established relationship au, gamer!Wonwoo, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is on the shorter side, it’s pwp, but I’ve been reading shorter things lately, and I’ve been insanely busy, so I figured a short and sweet fic couldn’t hurt after last month's near 20k meanie fic :)

“I guess I didn’t really have the energy to take care of you last night,” Wonwoo admits, leaning forward to press his lips to the spot above your navel.

You let go of his hand in favour of threading your fingers through his curls, his hair teasing your sensitive skin as he presses kisses up toward your rib cage. He cups the back of your thighs, tugging you closer.

Wonwoo reaches your breasts, his tongue darting out to lick at the underside of your boob, eyes gazing up at you.

“How about a compromise?” he suggests, breath hot on your sensitive skin.

“A compromise?” Your words come out shaky as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently.

He hums against the sensitive bud, one hand lifting to massage your ass. Then, he pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with a grin. “I just wanna finish your character first.”

You let out a deep sigh, shaking your head at Wonwoo. You step away from him, but he grabs at your hand. “Kiss,” he instructs, and you begrudgingly lean down to press a chaste peck to his lips. His fingers thread through your hair, cupping the back of your skull to keep your mouth on his for a few moments longer, then he releases you. 

“Should only take five or ten minutes,” he tells you. “And I need you here to model.” 

“One second,” you groan, heading to your closet.

If he doesn’t want to fuck you right away, if he wants to prioritize his video game, that’s just fine. You can start without him.

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[moonchild9350]

Requiem of the Future

summary: in the future life is dismal as you live day to day trying to make it under the rule of the mega corporations. however, things may change as you and minho are tasked to steal data from a company called Onyx Corp. that can change the world. The only problem is you’re both enemies. in the dog eat dog world of the dystopian future, will you make amends for the sake of humanity or succumb to the feelings of hate.

pairing: Minho x fab!reader

genre: cyberpunk au, acquaintances/enemies to lovers au, sci fi au, angst, smut-18+MDNI

word count: 13.4k

warnings: use of guns, mention of blood, alcohol usage, soft dom. minho, clit play, unprotected sex (don't), creampie, multiple rounds, cum tasting, use of term kitten, teasing, other stuff I don’t want to spoil (as usual heh)

notes: my longest fic yet lol. but this was inspired by the video game Cybperpunk 2077! maybe a part two if you'd like? also i snuck hyunjin in here soo enjoy that lol. let me know! as always please let me know what you think of the fic, i love your feedback :)

If you enjoyed, please comment, reblog, and like ♡

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere (or here) without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2025)

divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

You awoke with a start to the raucous of your neighbors arguing in the hall, their loud voices cutting the dream you were having short. You blinked a few times before rubbing your eyes as you groaned. ‘This is bullshit’ you thought as you were fully awake now, any promise of sleep steadily slipping away with each passing second.

There was a rustle next to you as a body turned over, letting out a grunt as they settled in once more.

“Rub it in why don’t you,” you mumbled as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stretched your back, sighing as you heard a few satisfying clicks.

Your ex boyfriend Axel was fast asleep in your bed after a night of frivolities, the soreness between your legs a reminder of the events. Yes, you know it’s not the smartest idea to keep letting him into your bed, but hey what can you say, he just fucks you so good that you feel the effects for at least a few days after.

However, you hated when he slept over, as it was a reminder of your stupid mistake. Locating his clothes, you picked them up and tossed them at him, smirking when he let out a grunt and ‘Fuck.’

“Rise and shine asshole,” you said as Axel sat up disgruntled, holding his shirt and pants to his chest.

“The fuck you do that for?” He grumbled, as he stayed within the confines of your bed.

“Because I want you out. I got shit to do.”

You shuffled through the clothes in your closet, settling on a pair of jeans and a black crop top.

“You better be gone by the time I’m done,” you warned as you turned on your shower, not bothering to look at your ex.

You stepped in the little cube and let out a shiver, cursing under your breath at the temperature. The water was never warm, maybe lukewarm at best if you were lucky. You’re lucky you even have an apartment with running water in the first place. Oh what an extra three hundred Neuro Credits could get you.

You quickly washed up, the dingy bar of soap you rubbed over your body was almost gone, you’d have to acquire some more soon if you wanted to smell decent. You ran water and some of the suds over your hair before rinsing it out, letting out a groan as you accidentally got the suds in your eyes.

Once you deemed yourself clean enough, you shut the water off and grabbed your towel, wrapping your body in the soft fabric. As you dried off, you peeked around the corner, checking to see if Axel was still in your bed, but smirking when you saw he was gone. You slipped into your clothes and then eyed your appearance, deciding how you wanted to fix yourself today.

Your eyes roamed over your wet hair, taking in the midnight blue strands sticking to your face. You’d have to dye your hair again soon. You had modifications to your temple, the metal designs carefully framing your face, adding to your appearance. There were bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep, as you have been picking up extra jobs these days to pay your rent and other things like basic necessities.

Your favorite part of you however were your series of four piercings, set perfectly along your cleavage. You decided on this modification on a whim, the piercing itself hurting like a bitch, but it added to your appeal and have not once regretted your decision to get them.

You pressed a button on the wall, a small panel opening up with a hologram prompting you to enter your command. You chose the makeup option and opted for teal blue eyeshadow and mascara, topping it off with a plum lipstick. Your option appeared on your face, not a smudge present, but the makeup instead perfectly applied.

Satisfied with your look, you slipped into your clothes and combat boots. You made sure your windows were locked and headed out the door into the dingy hallway of your apartment building. The walls were stained, and a light was flashing. You paid no attention to the couple that was still arguing, wraths of smoke filling the air as they waved their cigarettes in each other’s faces.

You took the lift to the bottom floor, stepping out into the bright sunlight as the city moved around you. People flooded past you on their way to who knows what, most looking dejectedly at the ground, mumbling about the lack of work or Neuro Credits.

So was life in Rosora. It was pretty common to have the most recent technological modifications to your body, the best gadgets and appliances, but satisfactory food was hard to come by unless you had rare items to trade or an abundance of Neuro Credits. If you were sick or injured, medicine or seeing a doctor was near impossible unless you knew someone or was someone higher up the food chain.

Rosora was a mega city, with millions of people calling it home. The city was divided into three zones, with most apartment buildings being located in Rosora itself. The business district where the higher ups who worked for Onyx Corp. was part of zone Farlan. Most people have never even been to that zone as only those who are somebody were allowed past the security checkpoint.

The recreation zone was part of Cyberlina, an area filled with entertainment centers, clubs, modifications centers, etc. This zone was pretty popular, the people of Rosora opting to spend most of their time there, wasting the day and night away.

Lastly was Songill, not the safest area which was saying something. This zone was filled with gangs and criminals, the buildings more shabby and rundown. If you weren’t a member of any of these groups, it was best to stay away, especially after sundown as there was a high chance of you being robbed, harassed, or even worse killed.

You were on your way to Cyberlina, as you needed to trade for food, your stash running low back at home. However, you realized you left your ID at Neon Lights, a club that you frequent on a weekly basis. The walk didn’t take long, as you lived on the outskirts of Rosora.

You made your way down the dirty walkway, side stepping others who were bent over the curb, vomiting whatever drink they indulged themselves with overnight. As you came closer to the center of the area, a large purple building came into view, outfitted with a yellow neon sign that read the name of the club.

You greeted the bouncer who let you in immediately, as you were on the list of guests for immediate access. You entered the dark space, only illuminated by the dim lighting that lit the walkway. Some synth beat was blaring over the loudspeakers, even though it was mid-morning and scarcely any people present.

In the center of the club next to the dance floor and various dancing decks, was a bar, outfitted with every type of poison you could think of in this god forsaken city. Wiping down some glasses was a tall man with long black hair and muscular arms, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tried to get a stain out.

“Hey Hyunjin,” you said as you slid into a stool, placing your head on the palm of your hand.

Hyunjin looked up and smiled, setting down the glass he was cleaning. “Hey y/n, back so soon?”

You chuckled and sat up straighter, “left my ID here last night. Need it to go nab some food. Gotta fuel up before tonight’s job.”

Hyunjin frowned at your statement, his eyes immediately landing on your face.

“You still thinking about going through with that?”

“Of course Hyun. I need the Neuro Credits. I’d be stupid to pass up this job.”

The job in question was a heist with one of your acquaintances who you occasionally go on requests with. Astra was your groups arms dealer, a man who understood anything that had a trigger on it. He was perfect for this job as you two were supposed to nab a security chip from a dealer, as the chip can neutralize any opponent instantly, making it the most sought after security system in Rosora.

You’ve been doing odd jobs like these for years, since you were a teen in fact, after your family died from a virus that attacked their cyberware, rendering them brain dead. In this city, it was either fight for survival or die and the latter didn’t seem too appealing. You were recruited by Chan, the leader of your group who taught you the ins and outs of this life, making sure you knew what was important for your survival.

He also introduced you to Hyunjin, his best friend and also your age. Hyunjin has been there for you throughout the years, leaning a shoulder to cry on when things were bad, providing you a place to stay when you couldn’t pay your rent, and just being the closest thing you had left of family. He worried about you constantly, not necessarily happy with you taking on dangerous odd jobs, even if it paid the bills.

“I wish you wouldn’t, y/n, this could be dangerous. Something is telling me this one may not go as smoothly as the others.”

He slid over a glass filled with amber liquid at that time, your hand catching it instantly before giving it a swirl and draining it in one go. The bitter taste slid down your throat, leaving a burning sensation behind as it settled within you.

“It’ll be fine. We’ll grab the chip and get out. Easy peasy.”

Hyunjin was not convinced. He loved you like a sister and didn’t want to see you get hurt but he knew better than anyone that nothing changes your mind once you accepted a job. Instead of arguing, he reached behind the counter and handed over a small gray card.

You picked it up and smiled, satisfied that you had your ID back. You tucked it away in your pocket and stood up.

“Thanks Hyun. Catch you later yeah?”

Hyunjin nodded and picked up the glass he was polishing before. “Of course.”

He saluted you and went back to work. Now that you had your ID, you could get what you set out to do beforehand. Exiting the bar, you made your way through the alleys, sidestepping mysterious puddles and people lounging against the brick walls.

You eventually came to a little stall, a young woman sitting on a stool by it scrolling through a magazine. As you approached, she grinned and set the magazine down and stood up.

“Y/n! Long time no see. Came to see my wares?”

“Hey Nora,” you greeted as you began to eye her stock. “Need to replenish my food supplies.”

Nora nodded and walked over to a little pile of bars. “Here’s what I have. I’ll even give you a discount since youre a dear friend. All of these for two hundred Neuro Credits. Whadda you say?”

Shit, two hundred Neuro Credits? That would take half of your credits you had in your bank account. You quickly looked through your stash, searching for anything you could trade. It didn’t take long for you to come across an item you knew she wouldn’t refuse.

“How about all of these for fifty Neuro credits plus this medical kit?” You said as you selected the kit in question so Nora could view it.

Nora looked over your trade, her eyes widening as she took stock of what was inside. “Shit y/n, this is a top grade medical kit. Ya sure you want to part with it?”

Nora was right. This was a highly sought after medical kit with supplies that are useful for any type of illness or injury. You hated to have to part with it, but food was equally as important.

“I’m sure. So do we have a deal?”

Nora nodded quickly, not giving your trade a second thought. She accepted the medical kit and credits, before handing you the stockpile of food.

“Thanks Nora,” you said gratefully as you stored the wares in your pack.

“Of course, come back anytime friend,” Nora said as she slightly bowed.

You shouldered your bag and began to walk back to your apartment. The time to rondavoux with Astra was drawing near. You thought over what Hyunjin had said, how he felt this job would not work out how you wanted. You trusted his opinions and felt slightly nervous for tonight, a feeling you rarely felt since you entered this lifestyle. However, you pushed those feelings aside as this job would pay out well if it was successful.

Once back inside your home, you set your bag down before grabbing one of the bars that you acquired. Plopping down on the couch, you opened the packet and took a bite, savoring the shitty taste of freeze dried chicken and a mix of vegetables. Your phone went off then, the shrill tone loud in your otherwise quiet room.

You looked at the ID and saw it was Echo your group’s tech specialist calling. Sighing, you pressed accept and said, “Why if isn’t Echo.”

“Y/n,” Echo said with a chuckle, “ready for tonight’s deal?”

“As ready as I ever am,” you said as you finished off your bar.

“Well let’s go over the details one last time okay? You and Astra will be meeting with Sych at eight oclock sharp. When I say sharp, I mean it. He does not like to be kept waiting. The Neuro Credits will be in your account ready to transfer once you see the chip…only after you see the chip. Got it? Once the transfer is made, get the chip and go, no chit chat.”

“Yeah, yeah, be careful, watch your back, I know the deal Echo,” you responded as you rolled your eyes.

It was always the same spiel with him, warnings, advice, how to do your job. You knew his heart was in a good place, but after hearing it for the millionth time, it kinda got on your nerves.

“Listen, we need this chip so no fucking up. I will be with you virtually, sending you shots of the area so you know what and who’s ahead. Astra has already been briefed. He’ll be waiting for you at the meeting spot at six.”

“Thanks, I’ll be there,” you said before ending the call.

You looked at the clock and noted you had a few hours before you needed to meet Astra. Maybe you’d take a quick nap, get some sleep so you could focus tonight. As you were getting into bed, however, your plan was foiled as there was a sharp rap on your door.

You walked over and opened it, frowning as you noticed Axel was back on your doorstep.

“Hey baby, thought I’d come see you before you had to work tonight,” he purred looking at you expectedly.

Damn he knew you well. Sighing, you let him in, slamming the door behind him. You barely took two more steps in when he grabbed you by your waist, his lips slotted with yours hurriedly before spinning you around and bending you over the kitchen counter.

You let out a moan as he discarded your pants and dragged his finger through your folds and teasing your clit. You could hear the rustle of his pants as he pushed them down his legs to free his cock.

“I’ll make this quick baby don’t worry, just how you like.”

As he pushed in, spreading your walls, you both let out a groan, succumbing to the feel of each other. Axel fucked you hard and fast, not giving you time to adjust, the sting of not prepping before hand turning you even more. You gripped the counter as he hit your spot every time, bringing you closer to your orgasm with each thrust. If there was one thing axel did right, it was fuck you, as he knew what spots to hit, how to get you to your high fast.

He angled his hips so he could fuck you deeper and with this you let go, your pussy clenching around his cock as he unloaded within you with a grunt. He gave a few more thrusts before pulling out and helping you stand.

“There, better?” He asked as he helped you dress.

“Shut up,” you said as you slapped his hand away.

You walked to the door and opened it, waiting for him to leave. Axel shook his head and exited your apartment, saying “you know how to reach me,” over his shoulder.

Once the door was closed and he was out of sight, you rested your head on the door and closed your eyes. That would be the last time you told yourself. It had to be for both of your sakes.

You stole a glance at the clock and noticed you had an hour to get ready. Deciding to take another shower, you made your way to the bathroom and turned the water on. Quickly, you washed yourself off and stepped out, drying yourself and walking to your closet.

You settled on an all black ensemble for tonight’s job, sliding into your leather pants and a black bralette, finishing the look off with your studded, black leather jacket. You slid your combat boots back on and fluffed your hair.

You had a little more time before you had to leave to go meet Astra, so you made sure your cyberware was in good shape and all controls where they needed to be. You made sure to grab your gun and sheath your pocket knife in your secret pocket. Hopefully neither would have to be used tonight.

Satisfied with your look and deeming yourself ready, you placed your earpiece in your ear and switched it on, bracing yourself for the brief static it gave off once on. ‘Time to go,’ you thought as you left your apartment.

The night air was stagnant, the city quiet as many people opted to stay indoors once nightfall hit. The occasional car passed by you, music blaring as it rolled away towards its destination. The skyline was lit up, neon lights everywhere promising more than what it could offer.

You were happy for your jacket as it was chilly, a light wind present as it gently whipped around you. As you approached the meeting spot, you noticed Astra propped up against a pole, his phone in hand. He looked up when he heard your footsteps and straightened up to greet you.

“Y/n.”

“Astra.”

A simple greeting was all you two shared, neither one of you very talkative at the moment. You both understood the importance of tonight’s job and were both a little nervous as to what could come. Astra was a good partner to have, always looking out for you and he was an expert marksman. At six foot even, he towered over most opponents, who cowered away in fear but occasionally, one thought they could challenge him and that’s when his weapons would come out.

You knew he was strapped, his babies hidden in the least expected of places.

“Ready to do this?” He asked, giving you a nervous chuckle.

“Let’s do this.”

You both headed towards a parking garage and stopped at one of the cars. It unlocked as you approached, recognizing your profile. You got in the driver’s seat as Astra got in as a passenger. The car turned on and adjusted its settings to your liking before backing out of the spot and merging onto the road.

The drive to Songill was quiet, neither one of you offering up a single word. The tension was palpable, the air filled with the possibilities of how tonight could go. You watched as the buildings passed by, the lights a blur as the car sped down the street.

As you approached the destination, Echo’s voice could be heard through the car’s speakers, “you’re approaching the meeting spot. I don’t see but three people there, but of course be on your guard as backup could be hiding in the buildings. Remember the plan, do the exchange, get the chip, and get out.”

You and Astra hummed in agreement and opened your doors as you were now at the spot. As you stood up, two men approached you with scowls on their faces.

“Y/n?” The one closest to you asked. You couldn’t help but think he reminded you of a tiger, an animal ready to pounce.

“The one and only,” you responded with a smirk.

“Follow me.”

You followed the two men over to a fire, sitting down on the stump that the man gestured to. Astra sat right next to you, his eyes set on the men in front of you. There was a moment of silence as the other’s sat down, that is until a burly man walked out of the nearest building.

He seemed like one not to mess with as he was buff and his body was littered with scars, including one that ranged from his scalp to his chin. He sat down in the chair across from you with a grunt.

“Well, if it isn’t the famed y/n. Finally get to meet you.”

You narrowed your eyes at the man, not buying his pleasantries. You wanted to get this over with so you could go to bed at a decent hour tonight.

“Cut the bullshit, you got what we want or not?” you demanded.

Sych sized you up as he frowned, clearly not happy that he was ignored. “Now, now, why rush right into business. Why don’t you sit and chat a while huh? Then we can get to it.”

“Nah, we’re gonna get to business now. Unlike you, I like to get to bed early.”

Sych chuckled at this, a loud laugh that echoed in the alley you all were in. “All business and no fun huh? Relax darling, I have what you want right here.”

You watched as he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a small box. He carefully uncapped it and presented the goods inside. It took everything in you to not leap for the box and make a run for it, however, Astra placed a hand on your knee as if he could read your thoughts. You took a deep breath and let it out.

“Here it is, the most high tech security system of our time. Pop this beauty in and anyone within a fifty feet radius will be analyzed and either let through or eliminated. Now my question is, you got the funds?”

“Of course we have the funds,” you scoffed, offended that he would imply that you didn’t.

You readied the agreed amount, presenting the number to Sych. He looked over the details before smiling.

“Excellent, go ahead and transfer it over.”

You nodded and pressed send, the amount immediately leaving your account and ending up in his. As soon as he confirmed the Neuro credits were there, he handed over the chip. You grasped the box tightly and put it in your pocket for safekeeping and made to get up. The job was done so there was no need to hang around.

However, as you began to walk away with Astra in tow, you were stopped in your tracks by two of the men. You were not sure why they stopped you both, but you could feel your temper rising at their actions.

“What the fuck is this?!” You exclaimed, “get out of our way.”

“No, no, no y/n. There seems to be a problem,” Sych said.

You turned around and stared at the man, confused at his statement. He smirked at you, his face screaming ‘I caught you.’

“You thought you could infect my cyberware with that transfer didn’t you? Cause that’s what seems to be happening. Good thing I have modifications to protect against just that.”

“The fuck are you talking about? There’s no virus with that transfer,” you countered, but your voice wavered as you were unsure of yourself.

‘Echo’ you thought. This screamed your group’s tech guru all over.

“I don’t like being fucked over y/n. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to hand over that chip back and then leave or we will kill you. Sounds like a deal?”

Hand the chip over? That would not be an option, you needed the Neuro credits so you could survive, you were banking on it. You could feel Astra begging you to see reason from beside you, but you ignored him and continued to stare at Sych.

“Absolutely not. We had a deal. We trade the chip for 300,000 Neuro credits. You got the funds, we have the chip, so we can leave.”

You turned to walks towards your car when it happened. There was a brief silence and then a loud crack followed by your scream piercing the air. Another crack resounded in the area, causing you to scream again. You fell to the ground, an agonizing pain in your right leg and lower abdomen causing you to howl.

You stared at the sky as more cracks filled the air and men screamed. Your vision went in and out, the buildings above you turning fuzzy with each passing moment. You could hear a ringing in your ears, the sound so loud, it was driving you insane. Your hand went to your belly and you felt something cold and liquid. With what little strength you had, you eyed your hand, letting out a groan as you recognized your hand was covered in blood.

You laid there in agony, thinking this is the end, you were going to die. And as the night sky slowly disappeared, you slipped into the dark, your mind going black and your body relaxing as the pain dissipated. — — You heard soft music playing and you were warm and comfy. Maybe this is what heaven feels like or hell or wherever the hell you go after you die. You don’t want to open your eyes, not yet. You want to stay in this bliss for a little longer before you have to face the reality of your death.

However, you suddenly felt a presence near you, murmuring your name. That voice sounded almost like Hyunjin’s…but it couldn’t be. Not unless he died too. Your eyes snapped open and looked around, recognizing you were back in your apartment.

Hyunjin was sitting on the edge of your bed, looking at you with concern as he held a wet rag in his hand.

“Y/n! You’re awake!”

“Hyunjin?” You croaked, your voice not quite working.

“Shh, don’t talk. You just rest. I’ll get you some water,” Hyunjin said as he fussed over you.

You watched as he scampered over to the sink and filled a glass with water, just to hurry back to your side. He helped you sit up, your body stiff from lying down.

“Easy now,” he cautioned as he helped you drink.

You groaned as the water went down your throat, quenching your thirst. Once you were done, Hyunjin helped you get comfortable again, fluffing your pillows, making sure your blankets were tucked under you properly.

“Hyun, what happened?” You asked, curiosity getting the best of you. After all, last thing you remember, you were bleeding out on the street after the deal went wrong.

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment before saying, “you were shot multiple times, in the belly and leg y/n. You almost bled out but were able to be saved after reinforcements were called in. You’re patched up for the most part, but things probably won’t be the same for you due to your injuries and not really having the care you need…cause you know it’s expensive and there’s not really many surgeons here in Rosora.”

So you were shot, you thought so but in the chaos of it all you weren’t sure. And you weren’t able to get proper care, of course not, as you were on the bottom of the pole, broke, not anyone of any significance. Despite this, you wondered how the deal went wrong? You remember Sych saying there was a virus embedded in the transfer. Did someone from the group try and hack into his system?

You mind was wandering, going over everything you could remember, so much so that you didn’t hear Hyunjin call your name.

“Y/n!” He said again, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You looked at your best friend and chuckled at the face he was making.

“Don’t worry about that okay? You just focus on resting and recovering. I have to run out and check on my bar, but I’ll be back a little later. Call me if you need me okay?”

You nodded and watched him get up and head out, the door shutting softly behind him. This world was really messed up, so much so you were screwed if you weren’t rich. Your family faced this dilemma too and look how they ended up. You were fuming, your anger rising as you spent the time laid up in bed. You wished you could do something about this misery, help bring down the higher ups. But how? How could you, one person do that?

You were interrupted by your phone ringing, the ID saying it was Echo.

“Hello?” You said, waiting for the man to say something.

“Oh! You’re awake! Good, I was hoping you would pull through after that disaster of a job. It’s okay though cause I have another proposition for you. One that can pay out big and bring down the rich dogs.”

At that your interest peaked, wanting to hear more of what he had to say.

“Go on,” you said, settling in bed more.

“We need you to break in Onyx corp. and steal data, data that can be used to come up with a cure to illnesses, take care of injuries, help ailments in general for all, no matter your status. This could be a huge breakthrough if we can get our hands on this. And the payout is huge. Fifty million Neuro credits. So what do you say?”

This would be a huge breakthrough, you had to agree. A way for everyone to be able to have medical care no matter their status? You were hooked just on that prospect as you sit in your sick bed yourself. You couldn’t help but imagine what your family would be doing today if they had access to such a thing. And all it would take is a simple upload to your cyberware and you’d have instant care.

Also, the payout was a huge bonus. You couldn’t help but imagine all the things you could buy and do with that many Neuro credits. You think you would have learned from taking this high stakes deals, but there was too much riding on this one. You really could be more than a cog in the wheel with this job. You’d regret it if you didn’t take it.

“Okay, I’m in,” you said simply, excitement brewing within you.

“Excellent! I’ll let Chan know. Oh and you will have a partner for this, you haven’t worked with him yet, but he’s good at these type of things.”

A partner? And one you haven’t worked with? Maybe things were too good to be true.

“Who is it?”

“His name is Minho. He joined the group about two years ago but usually sticks to high paying job, like this one. He’ll be good for this job. Only thing is, he can be a little stubborn, but don’t worry, you’ll be able to get around that I just know it. I’ll be in touch with the details of the job soon. Oh and Minho will stop by and visit you soon so you can get acquainted with each other.”

Before you could say anything else, Echo hung up leaving you speechless. Minho. He sounded like he was going to be a pain, but what could you do. You’d have to put up with him no matter what so you can get this data and the credits.

Maybe things were looking up for you. Maybe this would be your second change at life and one to make a difference at that. And hopefully this Minho will see it the same way as you do.

A week passed with you sitting at home recovering, slowly gaining your strength back. Hyunjin stayed by your side, caring for you when he didn’t have shifts at the bar. It was nice to spend time with your best friend, especially when you were sober and not shit faced after a night out of forgetting whatever job you most recently completed.

You had yet to tell him about this new job you took on, knowing he wouldn’t be too keen to accept it. But, he’s your best friend and you’d have to tell him at some point.

Both of you were snuggled on your couch, watching some lame show while snacking on some protein bars. You felt cozy and warm, sleep threatening to take hold as time went by. However, you forced yourself to stay awake as you needed to tell Hyunjin about the job. It was now or never.

“Hyun? Can I tell you something?” You asked, looking up at his face.

He looked down at you and lightly gave you a squeeze, “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

“Well, once I’m healed, I kinda took on a job…”

You let that sink in, the silence getting longer with each passing second. Hyunjin furrowed his eyes at your statement and you’re sure he was trying to make sure you said that you were accepting jobs again.

“Y/n, you just got hurt because of one of these jobs, shot multiple times may I add. Why do you want to continue putting yourself in danger?”

You let out a sigh. Of course he wouldn’t understand but maybe you could talk it through.

“This job is really important. Especially because I just got injured and you know... given my family history. This could help out all of humanity Hyun. I have to take this.”

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment, considering your words. He knew how much this meant to you and how much your past has affected you and now this. If you believe this a job that could help not only you but humanity as a whole who was he to stop you.

“Okay…just,” Hyunjin paused for a moment before pulling you closer. “Just be careful.”

“Always Hyun,” you whispered as you held him close, burying your head in his chest, breathing in his scent that has always calmed you.

You’d come back to him. You made a promise to your best friend and it was one you’d intend to keep.

-- --

The next day, you were cleaning up your space and airing out the place. It had been a while since you had tidied up a bit, being out of commission and all. You hummed the song that was playing on the radio and wiped down the table, a soft breeze blowing through your window and cooling off the room.

Your wounds still bothered you occasionally, but for the most part they had healed, as much as they could at least without extensive treatment. You had some additional scars now to your appearance, a wicked scar present on your leg and one on your belly. The faded pink spread across the skin in a delicate pattern, adding to the aesthetic of your appearance.

As you began cleaning your shower, there was a soft but demanding knock on your door. Muttering to yourself, you set your towel down and walked to the door, opening it with a frown on your face.

On the other side was a man with purple hair, the strands long and framing his face. His brown eyes bore into yours as he stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was grimacing, almost as if he realized he was at the wrong apartment.

“Who are you?” You asked in a not so polite tone. He interrupted your cleaning after all.

“Minho,” he said simply as he continued to glare at you.

You regarded this man called Minho, eyeing his muscular arms to his toned legs. He had a scar that spanned from the right side of his scalp and ended just below his eye. He had modifications as well, the metal adorning both sides of his cheeks. He was decked out in black, his black tank hugging his torso and skinny jeans snug against his thighs. He had a couple of piercings in his ears, the silver reflecting off the light coming from your apartment.

He was beautiful, this you couldn’t deny, plus something about him made you want to jump him, squeeze him, fuck…

“Earth to Y/n, you gonna let me in?”

You snapped out of your reverie and stepped out of the way. Minho stepped into your apartment, eyeing your shitty sanctuary with curiosity. Before you could notice though, his face returned to a scowl.

“Well we’re working together and I told Echo I’d stopped by so here I am. He suggested we discuss a training schedule to get you back in the game since you know…” He said as he gestured toward your legs.

This little shit. What was he implying? That your injuries would slow you down? You felt you blood boiling, your face heating up as your temper rose.

“You little…” you began but was stopped mid-sentence as Minho held up a hand.

“He also said you’d most likely be ticked off. Listen we need to work together so we can get this done. I don’t care what happened to you, I just want to train, get this job done and then never have to see you again.”

You crossed your arms at that and huffed. You really didn't like his attitude, his sharp responses and snarky behavior getting on your last nerves. You just met the man, but you knew you hated him and seems as if the sentiment was shared.

“Fine.” You said as you turned around muttering 'asshole' as you went back to scrubbing your shower.

You imagined it was Minho’s head as you scrubbed the tiles, imagining erasing that smug look off of his face. You were lost in your own world when you felt a presence behind you.

Turning around you looked up and noticed Minho staring at your ass.

“Uhh can I help you?” You asked with a smirk.

Minho continued to look at you, not even trying to hide the focus of his attention.

“No, not at all. Keep cleaning.”

You shook your head and turned back to scrubbing, putting your all with each stroke. You decided to tease him, sticking out your ass even more so he could get a good look at something he’d never have. You wiggled your hips and arched your back, presenting for the man standing behind you.

Once you were done, you hosed the shower down and turned the water off. Turning around, you chuckled as you took in the sight of Minho. His eyes were dilated and breathing heavy. Your eyes traveled down briefly to his pants and widened as you noticed a thick bulge threatening to pop out of his pants. Damn he must be big.

Quickly you looked back to his face, blushing as you noticed he saw you looking.

“I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early kitten.”

Minho turned on his heels and exited your apartment, the door closing softly behind him.

What just happened. You stood there stunned, not sure what to think or do after that introduction. This was going to be fun you thought as you walked to your kitchen to grab a snack.

-- --

True to his word, Minho was at your door bright and early, ready to train. You weren’t as enthused, but begrudgingly grabbed your bag and followed him out the door and down the hallway to the lift.

Once on ground level, he walked over to a sleek black car, opening the drivers side and getting in.

“Well get in,” he said impatiently as you stood on the curb.

You opened the door and slid in, ogling the plush leather seats and interior of the car. Everything inside was clean, almost as if it was brand new.

The ride to the gym was silent, Minho staring straight ahead as he drove to Cyberlina. He pulled into a parking spot and got out, waiting for you to exit as well.

He walked up to the gyms door and ushered you inside, and made his way to the front desk.

“Lee,” he said to the receptionist, who nodded and walked away guiding you two to an empty but private practice room.

Minho stepped in and began prepping for your session, his back to you the entire time. Once he was done, he noticed you were just standing there.

“Why are you just standing there? Need some help kitten?”

You looked at him noticing the smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and began to unpack your bag. This man was going to be the death of you.

Practice went on and Minho helped you rebuild your strength, assisting you with stretches and various drills. You were definitely out of shape and as much as you wanted to admit he was wrong about needing to help you train, you had to say this was needed as you had lost a lot of mobility since your last job.

As practice came to an end, you could barely walk, your muscles sore and tense from the intense session. You were more than happy to sit down and catch your breath for a moment.

Minho noticed your predicament, concern on his face that maybe he worked you too hard.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his eyebrow raised as he assessed you.

“I’ll be fine,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Let’s go.”

Minho nodded and you both walked back to his car. He drove you back to your apartment in silence, focusing on the road as everyone was out and about making their way to clubs and bars to get drunk once again.

At your building, you bid him goodbye and made your way home, happy that there was a lift instead of stairs, as you’re not sure you would have made it otherwise.

Once inside, you turned on the water and stripped your clothes off and stepped under the stream. You quickly washed yourself and then got out, dressing hurriedly before collapsing in bed.

As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out, tired from exhaustion. Hopefully you’ll gain your strength back and then you’ll be back to how you were before the accident.

-- —

Training continued, Minho went hard on you and pushed you to your limits. Everyday you found yourself getting stronger, your stamina building. You didn’t arrive home exhausted anymore but now energized, ready to keep the action going.

Another thing that changed was your relationship with Minho. You both have now developed a tolerable bond with each other, both of you falling in step comfortably. He still pushed your buttons and carried the attitude, but you found a pleasurable feeling was present whenever he smirked at you, his plush lips rising up as he teased you.

The tension was so palpable at times that you felt like you couldn’t take it, needing to get some air to calm down.

Today was one of those days after Minho helped you with your aim, his soft hands helping you prop your arm how it should be. His palms were running over your hips to adjust your stance, the feeling electric as his hands touched your skin.

Your panties were soaked with your arousal, the cotton sticking to your skin. You felt your vision go fuzzy, as you stared at your target, Minho's warm breath tickling your neck as he waited for you to pull the trigger.

You refocused, needing to get him away from you as quick as possible. You squinted your eyes briefly, lining up your field of vision on your target. Taking a deep breath, you slowly let it go before pulling the trigger, your shoulder jerking slightly with the recoil as the bullet hit the center of the dummy’s chest.

“Very good kitten,” Minho whispered in your ear causing shivers to run down your spine.

You swallowed and slowly turned around to face him, blush tinting your cheeks as he stared into your eyes. You set the gun down on the table, so that way no one’s legs would get shot off.

“What’s wrong hmm?” He cooed as he stepped closer. “You’re always so feisty and have something to say, cat got your tongue?”

You shook your head no, words eluding you as he was standing right in front of you. You closed your eyes, succumbing to his scent and his warm hand as it found its way to your cheek, slowly stroking the skin as you took shallow breaths.

A moment passed and then two and then you felt his lips on yours, soft and gentle as if he was testing it out. However, the dynamic shifted suddenly as he bit your lower lip and deepened the kiss, pulling you flush to his body.

You let out a moan as his hands roamed your body and traced every curve as if he was memorizing the dips and turns of your body. He licked your bottom lip, and shoved his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours. He kissed you slow but with passion, his hard on evident within his pants as he rutted into your thigh.

You rolled your hips against him as you clutched his shirt but all too soon he pulled away causing you to let out a whine.

“Needy kitten,” he teased as he ran his thumb along the corner of his lip, collecting any spit that was leftover.

“Let’s get you home hmm,” Minho said as he turned around to pack his bag.

The car ride was tense, neither one of you speaking after your encounter. You watched the buildings pass by out of your window, eyeing the run down corners, filled with crowds of people huddled together with bottles in their hands.

However, as you stared at them, your mind went to the kiss, how his lips felt on yours, gentle yet demanding. How his hands felt on your body like a brand that was searing your skin, leaving it to feel hot and tinglingly once he removed his hand.

Your mind was still on him when you felt a hand on your knee, shaking you out of your thiughts.

“We’re here,” Minho said softly.

You looked out the window and sure enough he was right, as you recognized the tattered building that you called home. You got out of the car without saying a word and made your way to your apartment.

Once inside, you quickly changed and grabbed a glass to fix something strong and taking a sip followed by tossing back the rest, the liquor sliding down nice and easy. You filled your cup up some more right as someone knocked on your door. You knocked the drink back and went to open the door.

On the other side was Axel, smirking as he usually does when he shows up at your doorstep. Maybe it was the liquor that was sitting nicely on your belly or maybe it was just your long, complicated history with your ex or it could also have been the thought of that kiss you shared with Minho but you pulled Axel in your lips locking with his instantly in a heated kiss.

You kicked the door shut and tumbled through your apartment, both of you fumbling to get your clothes off as quick as possible. You succumbed to the lust, as Axel pleasured your body, your mind set on a certain purple haired man instead.

And as your orgasm hit, you felt an ounce of shame as you couldn’t help but wish it was Minho’s name you were screaming instead of this dead beat on top of you.

You let your ex stay the night, needing company. You knew you’d regret it tomorrow but consequences be damned. As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice how tired you looked as dark circles were under your eyes, your modifications making you look like a zombie instead of the typical you.

You splashed some water on your face, flinching as you heard Axel behind you, his arms snaking around your waist causing you to cringe.

Right as you were about to escape his grasp, there was a knock on your door. You quickly scampered over, not caring that you were only in a tank top and skimpy panties.

As the door opened, you gasped at your visitor. Minho was standing there, two coffees in hand, and his eyebrows raised at your appearance.

“Well good morning to you too,” he teased, his eyes running down your body and back up.

He stepped in your apartment, ignoring how you were silent as you were still stunned. However, he stopped short, his eyes on Axel who was frozen in place as well.

“Who the fuck are you?” Minho asked, his temper rising at the thought of another man’s hands on you.

Minho knew he had no right to be angry, it’s not like you two were together. However, over the last few weeks, he’s felt a change in his feelings. His heart raced when you walked in the room, your feisty demeanor turning him on as you clapped back at whatever he just said.

You were absolutely stunning too which was icing on the cake. And here you were, in nothing but a tank top that didn't hide anything from the imagination and panties that might as well shouldn’t be there, with a man that’s not him.

Minho glared at the asshole, taking in his piercings and tattoos and his douche bag of a look. He turned to you as he saw panic on your face. Good, you should feel like you just got caught.

“This is Axel….he’s my ex.”

Minho stared at you in shock before looking back at the man in question.

“Him? He’s your ex? Oh kitten you could do so much better.”

You stared at Minho, ready to clap back, but Axel beat you to it. You noticed the look on his face and panicked, knowing that he had quite the temper and you didn’t want a fight on your hands.

“Umm Axel, why don’t you leave?” You said cautiously, putting out the fire before it started.

“Really? Whatever whore. Should have known you were just a piece of good pussy.”

At that Minho handed you the coffees and charged at Axel, bringing back his fist and connecting it to the man’s face. You heard a crunch and a yowl as Axel clutched his nose, blood dripping down his face.

“Get the fuck out.” Minho sneered.

Axel grabbed his stuff and dashed for the door, slamming it behind him. You set the coffees down and rushed to Minho, cradling his hand to your chest.

“Are you okay?” You asked, as you began to examine his hand.

You fussed with making sure there was no swelling, tsking at the scrapes that were present on his knuckles.

“Kitten, I’m okay,” Minho chuckled, tickled that you were so concerned for him. “Are you okay?” He followed up with as he brushed his good hand down your cheek.

You looked up him, taking in his softened facial features as he gazed sweetly at you. It was almost like it was a different Minho standing in front of you.

He bit his lip, pulling at the skin there as he stepped closer to you. You held your breath as he leaned down, slowly, slowly until he pressed his lips to yours. He wrapped his arms around you and deepened the kiss and capturing your moans.

He walked you backwards until you reached your bed, your back falling on the mattress as you let out a huff. You laid there staring at him, neither one of you making a move or saying a word. Instead you both listened to the cars on the street outside your windows, the damn neighbors of yours arguing once more, and the sound of a tv in another neighbors apartment.

Your eyes roamed his body, landing in his bulge that was ever present, leaving nothing to the imagination. Minho smirked when he noticed your attention on him, watching as you squeezed your thighs together as arousal dripped out of your pussy.

Taking a step and another step, Minho reached for his shirt as he said, “Let me fuck you better than your ex ever has yeah?”

You gasped speechless and spread your legs as he lowered his body onto yours, his shirt discarded elsewhere. You placed your hands on his chest, softly drifting them over his tanned skin. His eyes burned into yours as you came to his nipples and circled your finger over the peaked bud, smiling as he let out a low groan.

“Enough kitten,” Minho sneered as he pushed your hands out of the way.

He gripped your shirt and lifted it over your head, your breasts freed and available for him to gaze at. You sighed as he cupped the flesh and messaged them gently in his hands, brushing his thumbs across your nipples occasionally.

You arched your back at the sensation, his gentle touch driving you insane. You let out a mewl and said, “need you Minho.”

“Yeah?” He said as he smirked, his hands reaching for the waistband of your panties.

He pulled them down your legs and spread them wider, his eyes on your wet pussy. He groaned as he eyed your sopping core as he did himself of his pants and boxers, his cock springing free. You held your breath at the sight of his cock, his size the biggest you’ve ever had.

“Gonna fuck you so good kitten, make this pussy mine.”

“Please,” you said as you gestured for him to come closer.

Minho shuffled between your legs, getting comfortable as he slapped his cock against your folds and clit. His eyes were trained on your entrance as he pushed the tip of his cock down and in, moaning as your walls sucked him in.

“You’re so tight kitten, ex must have not been fucking you good,” Minho sneered as he pounded into you, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as your walls wrapped his cock.

Minho was losing his mind, you were wet, your slick coating your thighs, the sound heavenly as his hips met yours. He grabbed a handful of your breasts and kneaded the flesh, his eyes boring into yours.

You hated yet loved how his cock felt, hitting your spots just right, sending shocks of pleasure through you. You moaned with each thrust, your pussy letting him know just how good he was fucking you. However, the more he fucked you, the angrier you got, furious at how smug he is and how he thinks he can just waltz in here and take you.

“Fuck me harder Minho, can barely feel you,” you teased, smirking at the shock in his face.

Your gaze faltered however as Minho’s face turned feral, his ears turning red the angrier he got.

“Oh yeah? Can’t feel me huh kitten?”

At his words, he withdrew his cock and flipped you around and maneuvered you on your hands and knees. You barely had time to register the new position as his cock breached your entrance and he began thrusting into you at a fast pace.

Skin slapping skin rang throughout your apartment, your moans so loud you’re sure the neighbors could hear you. Minho let out a grunt as he bent over you and pushed your head into the mattress and bit down on your shoulder causing you to yelp.

“Can you feel me now? Huh? Feel me in this tight pussy of yours? Take it kitten, take every inch.”

Your pussy clenched at his words and a gush of fluids leaked out of your hole, dripping onto the bed and his pelvis, making an absolute mess. You could barely breath as you felt the coil build in your belly before snapping, your orgasm hitting hard and fast as your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sensation.

“Did you come? Such a sweet kitten for me,” Minho cooed as he pressed sloppy kisses to your back.

You laid there drunk on his cock, taking what he gave you, listening to him grunt above you. It was becoming too much and you began to cry out at the overstimulation. Minho sped up before stilling his hips, spurts of his cum painting your walls white.

You could hear his moans as he emptied himself inside you, his hands drawing patterns on your back. As he came down, he pressed gentle kisses to your neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Finally, he withdrew once more and helped you lay down on your back, pulling you close to his body to cuddle.

“You did good for me kitten,” he said as he pulled the blanket over both of you.

You felt good, which honestly was an understatement, your mind hazy, your body floating as you slowly succumbed to the warmth of Minho’s body.

The next morning you awoke and rolled over while stretching, but stopped short when you ran into a body instead. Your eyes popped open in surprise, confused for a moment on who was in your bed.

But then you remembered Minho and the night you spent together and you could feel the warmth creep up to your cheeks and your pussy clench in longing for his cock. Almost as if he could feel you looking at him, Minho opened his eyes and found yours in his sleepy haze, a smirk on his face.

Minho looked even more beautiful in the early morning hours, his eyes big and filled with sleep as he gazed at you, his lashes blinking away the long strands of hair that fell into his eyes. You thought he would have been gone by the time you woke up, but here he was, pulling you closer to his body as he buried his face in your hair.

“Morning kitten,” he said, his voice muffled as he nuzzled your head.

You whimpered as you clutched onto his shirt, pushing your lower half against his erection, the thought of his length filling you up causing your slick to leak out and coat your thighs.

It’s almost as if he could read your mind because he snaked his hand down between you two, grasping his hard cock just to sheath himself within you. You let out a moan as he filled you, the pleasure and slight sting feeling so good.

You both were a tangle of breathy moans and gasps as Minho rutted against you, his cock hitting your spot just right at this angle. He kept his head buried in your hair, his arms wrapped around your body as you buried your head in his chest.

Ever so slowly, your high built within, the feeling expanding until it built to crescendo, little shocks of pleasure spreading from your pussy to your legs all the way down to your toes.

You moaned Minho’s name as he continued to thrust within you, listening to his breathing increase as he reached his high, his cum filling you up and leaking onto the sheets. As you both came down from your highs, you clutched onto each other, savoring this slow moment together before the day began.

“Kitten, we have to get up yeah?” Minho murmured as he stroked your hair.

You wanted to lay here forever, warm in his embrace, the shitty world forgotten; however, you knew you had to get up, face the world and this job that was looming in the horizon.

You and Minho shuffled around, preparing to get ready to meet with Chan and the others. Neither one of you said a word, both of you understanding the seriousness of the situation that you both would be entering into later today.

You dressed in your black pants and black tank top, pulling on your boots as well. You outfitted your eyes on midnight blue eyeshadow to match your hair, your eyes accentuated by the color.

“Ready?” Minho asked as he stood by the door.

You nodded and followed him out of the door, joining the others of Rosora. The weather was nice which was promising, as completing jobs when it was raining or storming out was not really ideal.

Minho drove you both to your groups meetings spot and joined the others who were gathered around the warehouse, quietly mingling with each other. You stood in the corner, Minho joining you, his hand resting gently on your back.

The chatter died down over the next few moments as Chan entered looking determined. He looked around those gathered before speaking.

“Okay, let’s go over the plan one more time. Echo will hack into the security system and disarm it, giving us an in into the building. However, you will need to neutralize the guards however you see fit, although if we could avoid any casualties that would be best. Echo will also be on the lookout and clear a path for you as you make your way through the building. Astra will help you with any of your enhancements before you go. Let’s get this piece of data and change humanity.”

You shared a look with Minho before Chan approached you two.

“We’re counting on you two,” he said with hope.

You both nodded and watched him walk away to speak with the others. You began to check your enhancements, making sure they were all in working order. You had a variety of different ones that came in handy depending upon the situation, such as enhanced vision, one to help you with stealth, and a cool down after firing your built in weapon-a small pistol you reserved for the most severe of cases.

Minho checked his as well, as his included enhanced vision and hearing which will definitely come in handy for this job. Once done, you both walked back to his car.

The office was in Farlan, the business district, where all the wealthy resided and worked. You looked out the window, watching as the scenery changed from run down and people ambling around with no purpose, to nice skyscrapers with up kept greenery and clean streets. Those who walked the street were put together, dressed nicely as they made their way to their destinations.

It amazed but disgusted you how there was a difference between the two zones, how one lived in luxury while the other lived in squalor.

Onyx corp. was located in a large skyscraper, the sign indicating so big and present. No one was coming in or out, the company being closed today, hence why today was chosen.

Minho pulled to a parking lot a few buildings away, both of you getting out and stretching your legs after the drive. Walking to the building was nerve wracking, both of you dressed in a way that seemed out of place compared to those of Farlan.

As you approached the side door into the building, you heard Echo give you both the go ahead, the door opening automatically for you. Inside the building, it was dark and quiet, the halls empty as everyone was off.

There were no alarms, the security alarms and cameras turned off. Minho gestured for you to follow him, as he walked further into the entry way, walking ahead to what seemed like a set of elevators.

However, half way there you heard a set of footsteps followed by a flash of light. Quickly, Minho pulled you behind a wall, both of you holding your breaths as a guard patrolled the area, flashlight in hand. Minho focused on the guard and took in the guards weak points using his enhanced vision.

Once locked in, Minho gestured to you that he would take the guard. You nodded and watched as he waited until the precise moment the guard approached the area you two were hiding and lounged out grabbing the guard by wrapping his arm around his neck and applying pressure.

The guard stumbled and began to make strangled sounds, his hands clutching at Minho’s arms as he fought to get free. However, Minho had the advantage and increased the pressure on the man’s neck until he slumped down unconscious.

Minho dragged him behind the wall where you both were hiding and went on your way. As you approached the elevator, you gazed around taking in the grandeur and lavishness of the room, tsking in disgust. They really have everything, you thought.

The elevator pinged, the doors opening and you two stepped in pressing the penthouse floor button. The doors slowly closed and the elevator began to ascend quietly. You both stood in silence until a thought came in your head.

“I will be the one who hacks in the system to grab the data,” you said, looking expectantly at Minho.

“Absolutely not,” Minho said not giving your demand a moments thought.

“Why not? I deserve this after everything I’ve been through.” You let out a huff and crossed your arms. Yes you were being petty, but hey you wanted to be the one who nabbed the prize. You owed it to your family and to yourself.

“Kitten, I will be the one to grab the data. Not another word about it yeah?”

You glared at the man next to you, “you son of a bitch. You don’t own me. I will be the one to steal the data.”

You looked straight ahead in defiance, proud of yourself for sticking it him. This was your job after all, he’s just a side character in all of this.

One moment you were staring at the elevator doors, a smirk on your face and next you were pushed against the wall, Minho caging your body in as he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Listen here kitten,” he murmured, his voice echoing in your ear. “You are feisty, but bad girls get punished and I don’t want to punish you. You will let me get the data and you will be a good kitten and help. Got it?”

Your breath caught at his words, warmth filling your core at his dominance. Your eyes found his, taking in his dilated pupils and look full of lust.

“No,” you said simply, a look of pure defiance on your face. You would not give into him, doesn’t matter that you slept with him.

Minho’s raised an eyebrow and breathed out a sigh. He leaned away to press the pause button, the elevator coming to a halt. He quickly walked back to you and caged you against the wall once more as he brought a hand to your pants and slipped them inside to touch you wet pussy.

He smirked as he slid his finger through your folds and lazily circled your clit, taking in your strangled gasps as you tried not to moan.

“Why are you wet kitten? You working after all,” he teased as he sped up his fingers, the glide easy as he spread your arousal around your clit.

“Minho…fuck!” You moaned as he slightly applied more pressure.

You gripped his arms as your breath came out in pants, your high approaching hard and fast. Minho bit his lips and watched you fall apart on his fingers, chuckling as you began to rock your hips.

“That’s it kitten, so naughty getting off on the job. Echo is on the other end of this line. He can hear you. Every. Single. Word. “

You mewled out as you released over his fingers, your squeals high pitched as Minho continued to circle your clit, his eyes straight on yours.

You slowly came down, resting your head on his chest and tried to regulate your breathing. Minho removed his fingers and sucked them into his mouth and moaned as he tasted you.

“So sweet kitten,” he sighed as he walked back to the panel and pressed the pause button again, the elevator moving once more.

You were quiet as it continued its ascent. You arrived at the pent house floor, the doors slowly opening revealing a long dark hallway. Minho exited first, with you following closely behind.

The floor was quiet, eerily so. You got an uneasy feeling that someone was watching you, their eyes peering from behind a corner waiting to pounce. You activated your stealth mode, your footsteps becoming light and airy.

Minho came to a sudden stop, his ears glowing as they picked up a sound from one of the many rooms. He turned to the right and coming out of the shadows was a man and woman, dressed similarly, with a belt full of knives and an assault rifle in their hands.

They must be Nyx and Strider, the other guards for the company. You held your breath as they got closer but then stopped in their tracks, guns raised at the ready.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man yelled as he adjusted his gun, ready to fire at a moments notice.

Minho raised his hands up and kept eye contact on the two guards. “We mean no harm, just strolling through.”

“Stop fucking with us, I will shoot no questions asked.”

You knew they would, they seemed more of the shoot now ask later type of people. You could hear Echo telling you and Minho to keep stalling as he worked on a solution.

“Hey now,” you said as you stepped forward, “let’s not be hostile, let’s be friends yeah? Or how about this, I’ll give you a free show yeah? I’m sure you’re interested in what I have to offer,” you cooed.

You could feel Minho bristle in anger behind you but you paid him no mind. The two guards slightly lowered their guns as you started to take your jacket off, revealing your piercings and cleavage.

Their eyes honed in on your breasts as you started to untie the tie on your shirt, areas of skin being revealed inch by inch. Right as you were about to whisk your top off, an alarm sounded elsewhere in the building, loud and shrill in the quiet building.

“Shit,” Strider cursed under his breath.

“Sorry I’m sure you had lots of offer for us sweetheart but duty calls.”

Suddenly, they opened fire causing you to shriek as a rain of bullets pelted your way. There were yellow and orange flashes of lights as the guns went off, the shooters aiming anywhere they could as they swept the area.

Minho quickly pushed you out of the way, both of you rolling slightly on the ground, but away from the parade of bullets. You huddled against him as you listened to the gunfire, your mind going back to the incident with Astra.

Minho wrapped his arms around you to cradle you to him as smoke filled the hallway, providing cover over both of you. He could tell you were scared as you trembled in his arms.

You’re not sure how long you both stayed huddled like that, but minutes passed as the gunfire ceased and the smoke lifted. Minho activated his hearing enhancement, listening for any sign of movement or chatter.

Hearing neither he sat up a little bringing you with him.

“Are you okay kitten?” He asked, concern in his voice as he assessed you.

You nodded yes and wiped a stray tear that had fallen down your face.

“Good. Now don’t ever do that again. You are mine got it?” Minho countered, his voice gruff.

“Okay,” you agreed, still a little shaken up from what just happened.

As you two sat there, Echo came on and said, “you both should be clear the rest of the way. Get the data and get out of there.”

Minho nodded and stood up, offering his hand to you. You grabbed it and pulled yourself up, dusting the soot and dust from your clothes. You tied your top back and started to walk towards Cipher’s office.

As you came to the double doors, Echo made himself known again. “Doors unlocked. Good luck.”

Minho pushed them open and stepped in with you following behind. You took in the large office, spotless and industrial seeming, no ounce of personality in the space. Along one wall was a couch with many pillows, seeming the comfiest spot in the arid room. On the other wall was a large panel with blinking lights, a soft motor running in the background.

As you both approached, you expected an alarm to go off from some invisible barrier, but nothing happened, the area quiet as ever.

“Okay, let’s do this. Kitten?”

You looked at Minho in surprise. He was gesturing for you to walk forward and started the transfer. You smiled and looked at the panel, searching for a terminal to input your device.

Once you located it, you inserted the device, a click sounding as you pressed start. In less than a few seconds, the transfer was done and you logged off and relaxed your device back in your pocket.

“Got it, let’s go.”

Minho smiled at you and took your hand as both of you quickly exited the barren office.

“Excellent work!” Echo exclaimed, “Now get out. We’ll meet back at Neon City.”

You both backtracked your steps, shockingly not running into any more personnel. It seemed strange but stopping wasn’t an option, so you continued to head for the side door.

As you both stepped out into the blazing sun, you shielded your eyes as they adjusted the the bright light. Minho led you to the car, starting it and immediately pressing the gas once you were in.

“Fuck, we did it.” You said in awe, eyeing the piece of data in your inventory.

“Of course kitten, we make a great team huh,” Minho teased.

You chuckled and looked out the window, watching as Farlan disappeared and the scenery slowly turned back into run down Rosora. Minho didn’t stop until he got to Cyberlina, parking in the spot he usually used when he trained you.

You walked to Hyunjin’s bar, smiling big as you approached him. His eyes lit up at the sight of you followed by a look of relief as he realized you were safe. He eyed Minho, sizing him up as you got closer to him. He knew of your feelings about Minho, but he wasn’t up to speed about your little night spent together yet, so you understood his hesitation.

Hyunjin pointed you to one of the private rooms and you both entered the small room to join Chan, Astra, Echo and a few others.

“Welcome back you two,” Chan said as he gave you both a wide grin.

You and Minho sat down amongst the cheers. You picked up a beer and popped the cap and took a long swig, savoring the wheaty taste on your tongue.

“Now where’s the data? Let’s crack this puppy open.”

You transferred the file to Chan who immediately got to work cracking the code to unlock the file. Echo pitched in when needed and between the both of them, the my were successful. Everyone held their breath as they waited to see what the secret was, the one that would make them rich.

However, as time went on, Chan frowned as he didn’t seem to like what he was looking at.

“There’s no code here…it’s not here!” He said, his voice getting louder with each word.

“What do you mean it’s not there?” You asked incredulously.

Chan sat in silence, his face red and eyes murderous as he considered the possibilities of what could have gone wrong. The only thing you could think of was you and Minho were duped and maybe Onyx Corp. knew you were coming, replacing the original code with a fake.

If that’s the case, then who? Who would betray the group like that?

“We will get that code, we have to…” Chan said as he now paced the small room, back and forth, back and forth.

There was silence as everyone looked at the leader, wondering what was going to happen now. The buyer would be expecting the data soon and no one had it.

Chan stopped pacing and stared out at everyone, “We will meet up tomorrow, I need to come up with a plan.”

With that, he walked out of the door, his hands balled up into fists, everyone else filed out after him…everyone except you and Minho. You both sat in silence, considering what had just occurred. What would happen now?

You looked up as the door opened and Hyunjin walked in, a couple of shot glasses and a bottle in hand.

“Figured this was called for,” he said as he sat the items down and then sat on the couch next to you.

He popped open the bottle and filled each shot glass up before handing you each one. You took yours and tossed it back, flinching as the liquor slid down your throat and settled in your stomach. Hyunjin filled your glass up once more and you tossed it back before leaning on the couch, your gaze to the ceiling.

There goes your chance at a better life, the 50 million neuro credits on your mind. You could have upgraded your apartment to a less shittier one. Food would be plentiful as you wouldn’t have to worry about how you would pay. You wouldn’t have had to work for a while if you didn’t want to.

But most of all, the future would have been bright for all, as an enhancement could have been made to help those who were injured or ill, saving their lives as they wouldn’t have to worry about Neuro credits and paying for treatment. All of that went out the window with this dupe.

At first you felt sad, your heart sinking as this dream disappeared, slowly getting further and further out of reach. How many others had to suffer at the hands of the wealthy? They sat in their fancy homes, never having to worry about where their meals would come from, or having to worry about succumbing to illness like your family did. They didn’t have to work dangerous jobs just to afford rent for a shitty apartment.

No, they didn’t care and they definitely don’t want this information getting out, to help society as a whole. Here, you could have anything technologically advanced except for the most basic needs, which definitely was fucked up.

As time passed and you sat there in silence, listening to the bass of the beat playing outside the door, you felt your rage grow, slowly and steadily, the fire lighting in your heart. You were going to get that data if it was the last thing you’d do on this miserable earth.

Turning to Minho, you crossed your arms demanding his attention. He raised his eyebrows at you, his cheeks already flushed from the liquor, as he waited for you to speak.

“We’re going to get that data. We have to. I won’t let them get away with this. Are you with me?”

Minho looked at you for a while, his expression unreadable. You could hear Hyunjin shuffle behind you and clear his throat, most likely feeling unease at your determination. You ignored him however and continued to stare at Minho, waiting his answer.

Finally, Minho let out a sigh and sat up straighter, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You didn’t dare look away, your gaze set on his as you awaited his answer with bated breath.

Minho smirked and leaned over to press a wet kiss to your lips before pulling back and saying with finality, “Absolutely. Let’s go show those bastards.”

You grinned and placed your hand over his, nuzzling your face into his palm. Who would have thought you would fall for this stubborn and demanding man? You’re happy you did and now you have a partner in crime.

You thought for a while and then turned to Hyunjin while still holding Minho’s hand. You had the future to plan revenge against Onyx corp. but tonight, you could be carefree for a little with your lover and best friend right?

“What’s up?” Hyunjin asked, seeing the question burning in your eyes.

You grinned at his response, knowing your best friend always knows what’s on your mind.

So with resolve you said, “Bring out the best stock you have. I think we need to forget what happened tonight and then tomorrow start to plan our attack against those bastards.”

Hyunjin nodded and got up to leave while Minho smirked, satisfied with your plan. Oh Onyx Corp. will not know what hit them by the time you were done.

That’s for damn sure.

taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @katsukis1wife @my-neurodivergent-world @hanniebaeee @hwanghyunjinismybae @channiesrightasscheek

[headcanonenthusiast]

Valeria Garza NSFW headcanons. 

This was made with fem readers in mind.

Also quick note, I apologize in advance if this isn't as detailed as my headcanons on some other characters. It was definitely harder for me to come up w/ stuff for Val, especially bc girlie is nowhere near one of my favorites (I'm sorry 😔) but what better way to expand on writing then doing headcanons of characters you rarely think about? So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy! 

(I completely understand that this type of content is not everyone's cup of tea, and that's ok! But, please scroll and ignore if this type of content isn't your thing as opposed to leaving any sort of negative comments.)

NSFW under the cut.

-THE brat tamer.

-Absolutely will not take your shit if you disobey her in any way, shape or form. 

-"What did you just say to me? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" 

-Gets this look of absolute disbelief on her face if you dare to act like a brat, then her eyes turn dark and she's suddenly dragging you to bed. 

-"I'm the woman who decides whether or not you get to cum every night, querida. And if you're gonna keep acting like a fucking brat, then it looks like you won't get to cum for the rest of the week." 

-Her favorite forms of punishment include anything to do with orgasms. Whether it be edging you, overstimulating you or even denying you the right to cum entirely, she loves making you squirm and beg to release. 

-Shakes her head and clicks her tongue, as if you begging to cum is the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard after you've misbehaved. 

-"Oh, so now you're sorry? Chica, a sorry isn't going to cut it. I warned you about acting like a little brat, but you didn't listen. You never fucking listen to me." 

-Proceeds to lecture you and switch between degrading you in English and Spanish as she either forces a strap down your throat or harshly plays with your clit. 

-"Perra estúpida. Never listening to me and then acting surprised when I don't let you cum." 

-Will also partake in bondage, cuffing up your wrists to the headboard before she runs a vibrator painfully slow over your pussy. 

-As rough as she is when it comes to sex, if you're genuinely feeling upset about something, her gaze will turn more sympathetic (which she refuses to show to anyone besides you.) 

-"What? What's wrong, amor?" 

-And you're welcome to tell her about all of your troubles while she gently eats you out. 

-Probably has multiple straps. Prefers buying the thickest one possible but she does have one that's much longer for when you really piss her off. 

-Is very willing to spoil you with new sex toys and lingerie. Anything to make her pretty girl happy. 

-Also, I feel like she'd switch between wanting to see you touch yourself and not letting you at all. 

-When she's not there with you, she probably encourages you to masterbate and send her tons of videos of you doing so.

-But, if she's actually there and catches you touching yourself, it won't be pretty. 

-"Oh, can I not satisfy you enough anymore? Is that it?" 

-Then she fingers you so well your legs are shaking as she rants. 

-"Look at you, cumming just from my fingers. What a slut."

-"And you really thought you could make yourself cum the same way I do? No, no, estás loca por pensar eso, querida." 

-She wants anything sexual to be completely dependent on either her or toys she picks out for you. 

-In other words, very dominant. 

-In other other words, if you ever asked or God forbid tried to make her submit, you're a dead woman. 

-"Thats it. You're getting too fucking bratty for your own good. Get over my Goddamn lap right now if you know what's good for you." 

-And when you are on her lap, she'll switch between spanking your ass and spanking your pussy. 

-Leaves hickeys on the most visible spots on purpose. 

-Smirks when you get all shy about it, gently brushing your hair away as she chuckles. 

-"Don't worry, amor. I won't make the marks too visible." 

-But then she does, so she buys you the prettiest necklace with her name engraved on it as an apology, and another reminder of who you belong you. 

-Some translations for the Spanish stuff, chica = girl, querida = darling, perra estúpida = stupid bitch, amor = love and "no, no, estás loca por pensar eso, querida" = no, no, you're crazy for thinking that, darling. 

(Also I apologize if anything in Spanish is incorrect, online translators can only get you so far 😕)

Look at me go, writing about a character I don't even like and am not even attracted to because I'm straighter than a wooden ruler 🙃

This was honestly fun to write though! Valeria takes up like 0% of my thinking space, so coming up w/ headcanons for her when I barely remember she exists nor am attracted to her at all was a bit more challenging. Hoping y'all enjoyed this! 

Rudy NSFW headcanons r coming up next, so be sure to lookout for those in the near future 🤭

[thisiscarlatrying]

modern!ellie hcs

notes/warnings: this is my first time doing something like this.. 😭😭 i hope u like it🙏 also, ellie and reader are dating and a lil of loser!ellie... that's just the way she is 😞

not proofread i think, i'll try to make it as good gramatically as i can but no promises 🙏🙏 (english is not my first language forgive me 😭😭)

| CONGO, SUDAN, PALESTINE | DAILY CLICK | DON'T BUY TLOU |

modern!ellie who cuts her own hair.. she REFUSES to go to a hair salon, she says it's a "waste of time and money"

modern!ellie who is kind of into fashion, i think she'd dress like this or like this...

also i just know she LOVES LOVES LOVES jorts, when spring starts that's ALL she'll wear

AND you guys just share clothes, you steal all her clothes and she steals yours

modern!ellie who wears a LITTLE bit of makeup, just mascara and chapstick. highlighter for special occasions

also her lips are so dry... 😭 she applies chapstick every five minutes and is constantly losing hers so you had to get her a one of those BIG vaseline things because she wouldn't stop stealing yours

modern!ellie who is a cat girl. you guys have like three cats together and they all look like the both of you

also their names are you guys' ship names until you ran out of name combinations and the names you had to choose were something like "sardine" or "chicken nugget"

modern!ellie who just loves kids cartoons like adventure time or the amazing world of gumball

modern!ellie who is CONSTANTLY daydreaming about being spidergirl and swinging around the city (spidergirl!ellie hcs coming soon... 🤭)

modern!ellie who plays minecraft and stardew valley for eight hours straight

modern!ellie who LOVES youtube and can't have a meal without watching a video

i KNOW she loves sinjin drowning. I DON'T MAKE THE RULES 🤷‍♀️

modern!ellie who has an INSANE vinyl collection.. it's all divorced dad music but she also owns a few of your favourite albums for when you come over<3

modern!ellie who is a barista. JUST HEAR ME OUT OKAY. while she's studying in college or something she works part time at a cafe... picture her with her little ponytail (like 17yo ellie) and her sleeves rolled up... UGHHH😭😭 she's so fine i can't.

talking about college... modern!ellie whose major is something nerdy like physics, astronomy or engineering... or maybe even architecture since she likes drawing so much

modern!ellie who was BEGGING you to move in with her until you finally agreed.. your apartment is the cutest thing ever, i feel like ellie's decorating style would be something like this:

modern!ellie who loves cuddling SOOOO MUCH. she's so touchy, she just IS.

modern!ellie whose burps make the entire building shake. it's actually insane and they smell so bad like.. you can smell the subway meatball sandwich she had for lunch earlier that day 😭😭

modern!ellie who constantly brags about you being her girlfriend, she never shuts up about you. and all of her instagram and tiktok posts would be about you (except from her outfit checks, of course)

modern!ellie who loves those cliche robbing movies, do you know what i'm talking about?? like those about robbing a bank or a museum and there's this incredibly unrealistic plan that comes out perfectly... THOSE kinds of movies. she eats them up EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

modern!ellie who fights with people on the internet constantly 😭😭 she sees a comment on a tiktok video with an opinion different than hers? SHE'LL REPLY. and she's going to wait for HOURS for the other person to respond

modern!ellie who secretly loves laland. i said it.

modern!ellie who either sleeps for 12 hours straight or won't sleep for two days. there's no in between.

modern!ellie whose walk is so funny 😭😭 it's almost like she's jumping while she walks

modern!ellie who carries a picture of you absolutely EVERYWHERE

and your apartment is filled or pictures of both of you

modern!ellie who loves her friends. she makes those stupid tiktok slideshow trends about friends but posts them privately because she's embarrased about it 😢😢😢

modern!ellie who has a journal and writes every single thought that crosses her mind down. and when she doesn't have her journal with her she writes in her notes app

modern!ellie who secretly fucks with taylor swift's sad songs and cries to them

okay i think that's enough.. im getting a little too carried away 😭😭 lmk if you like them or if i should make a part two!!

[vilhelios]

-; LOOK AT THE HEARTS THAT YOU'RE BREAKING !

the world may scream and cheer for "crow", the silver-tongued and charismatic lead rapper of deepsp☆ce, but it is only in your arms, his place of rest, that sylus can just be… sylus.

CW: k-pop idol/group au! fluff, fluff and more fluff! slightly suggestive (because it's sylus); not beta read, small text, all lowercase letters.

there’s nothing quite as attractive as seeing sylus on stage. The l-netizens always comment on his stage presence, flooding his fancams with comments littered with little crows, heart-eyed emojis, red hearts, black ones, and— is that… just a series of typed out barking noises…?

alright, that’s quite enough for the night (although you still shamelessly liked, saved and downloaded that fancam for later viewing—though you’d sooner die than let sylus know about that). the video still plays on a loop as it’s loosely cradled in your hands, though you’re no longer paying attention to it. your head thumps down onto the pillow you’d been cuddling with a groan. damn him, damn that harness, damn his stage presence, damn that stupid gesture and that stupid smirk—! 

as you close your eyes, drink in the sound of your speakers blasting with the screams of the crowd and sylus’ echoing voice through the speakers (the audio quality of the video was absolutely busted with how the bass reverberates in that stadium), you can see it: the new concert fancam that the hunters have currently dubbed ‘the sylus fancam.’ how could you not, after replaying the damn thing who knows how many times, and with the audio still playing? the image of sylus (sweat-slicked from the ridiculously difficult choreography of his solo song, bathed in red and blue from the spotlight) flicking away his earpiece, cupping his ear… the crooked smirk on his lips as he clearly hears every hunter in that sold-out stadium scream his name… you feel your face grow hot just thinking about it!

you’re too busy groaning and toiling in your embarrassed, flustered plight that you don’t hear the shower stop running, and the telltale signs of sylus getting dressed. when the bathroom door clicks open, you practically yelp, scrambling to turn that damn phone off, and sheepishly look up at sylus. perhaps it’s simply because he forgot to pack his bathrobe, but he’s in the sweater you picked out for him to sleep in. it softens his sharp edges, making him look like the kind and sweet soul that his features don’t convey. it’s hard not to stare at him for too long when he’s like this: the grit and sharp edge of “crow” ripped away, and sylus left in its place. 

(sylus, who burns like a furnace on cold nights, warm and comforting and lulling you to sleep no matter how much tour jetlag gets to you. sylus, who understands the essence of every sonnet and every love song written in human history when he is allowed to be just him in the sanctuary that is your arms. sylus, who can’t sing for the life of him, but perfectly replicates those romantics of old with every track he produces meant for your ears alone.)

he raises an eyebrow at you from the hotel room entranceway, white hair still slightly wet and disheveled as he dries it off with a towel—it’s so soft and fluffy without all the hair gel to style it. “sweetie, you’re blushing.” he says, a lilt of amusement in it, and it takes only a few, long strides for him to cross the short distance between you on the couch. “whatever could be the reason, hm?”

“nothing!” you pout, a little too quick to answer him and clutching your phone tight. a huff leaves you as he ruffles your hair, and he only chuckles.

“could it perhaps…” he hums, a small smirk growing on his lips as he nods his head at your phone, “... be that my dear sweetheart was looking at something… appealing?” the smirk softens to something gentler as he sees you furrow your brows at being found out. “i could hear it from the bathroom. the walls are quite thin.”

“... i was just watching your fancam…” you admit, sighing and scooting over in the couch as he rounds it to settle beside you. when his arm is draped behind you on your shoulders, you practically melt against him and (with a hint of embarrassment) let him see what you’d been watching.

“ah.” sylus chuckles as he watches himself on the screen, red eyes glinting with amusement. even though the concert was a bit of a haze now, he clearly remembers the moment where the music guide in his ear fell away to the sheer noise of the crowd the moment he took the earpiece off. he honestly didn’t know what possessed him to do such a thing… but if it made you (and the crowd) all flustered, he wouldn’t question it. “i must say… their screams for me were… delectable.” with a final glance at the screen, your phone is clicked off and tossed to the other end of the couch.

“but… as sweet as their screams are…” he quickly adds, when he sees you huff and cross your arms. his arm gently draws you into his lap until you’re practically flush together.  the tip of his nose brushes against yours, and god he smells like the cologne he knows you like. his hand finds its way to your cheek, thumb brushing against your lower lip. sylus speaks in a hushed murmur, next, though it rumbles like thunder through your entire being. “... they are nothing compared to how sweet my name sounds on your lips, sweetie.” 

in another mood, those words may have made you splutter and grow warmer for entirely different reasons. but right now—with sylus looking down at you with the softest red eyes, the smallest smile upon his lips, and his heartbeat thrumming wildly against your hand and through the thick fabric of his sweater—all you can hope to do is grin up at him, and kiss the pad of his thumb. a giggle leaves you then, and his name comes tumbling out too, “sylus…”

“yeah, like that.” he chuckles (though it’s more like an amused huff). sylus plants a kiss to the tip of your nose, and then to the corner of your lips—it is a holy, reverent trail. “sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

a/n: idol au fun!!!! i have nothing to say other than ... sylus... large... looks larger in harness fit... heart eyes... also that i wanted to explore a softer sylus bc infold needs to show us more soft mr. crow man!

[m4iya]

──★ ˙🧷 @rindousbbg has chosen to work on social studies with Kenma, by reading their notes the night before the exam.. Let's see how that works out for them!

Kenma insists that the upcoming exam worth 30% of both of your grades will be easy. That it's 'common knowledge' and that he's more than prepared. In fact, he wont even study the night before - because he's simply that prepared.

You, who has been in a whirl of panic recently, feels like shrieking at his attitude, wondering how on earth he could be so nonchalant about this entire thing.

Kenma complains at your complaints, telling you that he's always busy with practice - a futile attempt at sneaking away from the fact that club activities are always cancelled 2 weeks before exam season. So what is he doing in this free time? You just know that he's definitely not training on his own. You, on the other time, have been trying your best to make time to study for your exam, struggling to fine small pockets of study in your already packed schedule.

You glare at Kenma from the corner of your eye in class, frustrated that he has so much free time to be studying and is instead doing who knows what.

Kenma calls you a few nights before the exam, and you attempt to rope him into a little bit of last minute studying - which he obviously denies, opting to listen to you write and recall concepts as he plays a video game instead.

You knew that a Social Studies exam wasn't something you could get by without studying. It took a lot of time to learn all the different topics - especially when you weren't consistent on studying them throughout the semester. Trends, graphs, legislations.. it went in one ear and out the other during class, so your last minute attempts at passing probably weren't going to make much of a difference. You tried your best to get in as much as you could, as this was the last time you'd be able to properly study, even if a little.

You simply couldn't focus on your studies, the feeling of stress overwhelming you to an extent that it overrode your concentration.

Kenma, in the meanwhile, clicked away at his controller, often murmuring comments about his game and sighing heavily. He seemed to have zero awareness of the upcoming exam - or maybe he was simply choosing to ignore it.

You were never able to find much time to study, begrudgingly deciding to follow Kenma's advice to read your notes before the exam. It was the least you could do to prepare.

Kenma shoots you a message the night before the exam; a picture of his notebook. No pen in sight, not an eraser or any of its shavings either. His accompanying text reads: 'See, I am studying'.

You decided to leave him on 'seen' until the next morning, where the two of you meet inside the classroom before the exam. He had nothing but his notebook, mechanical pencil and eraser in hand, while you carried a heap of notes, a couple highlighters, a ruler, a mechanical pencil, an eraser and a few other items stuffed into your pockets. Who knew what you'd need?

You both didn't speak much before the exam - you decided to keep your mouth shut, worrying that if you spoke too much, you might forget important concepts that were barely hanging on inside your head.

Kenma takes his seat and you take yours. The exam progresses, the questions being much harder than you'd imagined them to be. Answering as much as you could, you somehow managed to remain within the time limit, barely answering the final question as the timer ticked down on its last seconds.

Kenma, who sat in front of you, turned his chair towards you after the exam. Upon asking him how he went, you were surprised to hear that he not only finished early, that he also found the questions easy? You let out a deep sigh, dipping your head into your arms which rested atop the table. Despite you not having much time to study in the first place, maybe you still shouldn't have taken his advice...

From my exam season event ✩ other works

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 10

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George���but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Note: This is my very first time writing smut so i tried to make it as palatable as ever but uhhhhh idk how well i did with it. Also im starting a taglist for this series! so if ur interested just comment on this post or message me :)

Also Also if anyone wants a no smut / only suggestive version i can defs post that :)

18+ only, MDNI

content warnings: Penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, dominance if you squint, if I'm missing any let me know <33

xxx

Will and I fumble into his flat. It's all clumsy limbs and too-loud whispers, the door clicking shut behind us with a finality that makes the air shift. I brace myself for the usual bachelor-pad chaos: crusty mugs, takeout containers, the faint smell of socks and disappointment.

But… it’s not that.

It’s surprisingly clean. Like, suspiciously clean. The surfaces gleam. The shoes are lined up by the door like obedient soldiers. There’s a plant. It's alive, thriving even, not just a sad, crispy husk in the corner.

And there’s art on the walls.

Not cheesy motivational prints or movie posters still in their plastic frames. Actual art. A mix of bold colour and clean lines — a few abstract pieces, a photograph of a foggy shoreline, one that looks like it might be from an old video game reimagined as something soft and nostalgic.

I blink.

Will kicks off his shoes and glances over his shoulder at me, clocking my expression. “What?” he says, already defensive.

“I just— I didn’t expect you to live like a real adult.”

He snorts, kicking off his shoes. “I’m full of surprises.”

I trail my fingers across a framed print near the hallway. It’s surprisingly beautiful. Thoughtful. Like someone lives here who actually cares about what it means to live somewhere.

“You picked all this?” I ask, still not sure if I believe it.

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “Yeah. I like… nice things, I guess.”

For a moment, I don't say anything. I just stand there, trying to reconcile this version of him. His clean, quiet, curated space — with the chaotic, half-cocky, half-tender boy who kissed me like he meant it and then maybe lied straight to my face.

I try to play it cool, but jealousy snakes through me, fast and bitter. God, I wish I had a place like this — somewhere clean and warm, where things have a place and the silence feels calm instead of lonely. Somewhere mine. Somewhere I could just be without tiptoeing around someone else’s life.

And then I remember where I am. Who I’m with.

This man — this annoying, infuriating, stupidly sexy man is standing barefoot in front of me, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded with sleep and club haze. And I’m in his flat. On a night out. With no real plan but this.

Whatever this is.

The room hums with the kind of silence that means something.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly aware of how much I want him to kiss me again. Of how much I’m pretending not to want that.

He watches me, quiet and still, and then finally, I step further in. “Well,” I say, gesturing at the spotless kitchen and gently lit shelves. “Colour me shocked.”

He smiles, small and crooked. “Wait till you see the bedroom.”

I roll my eyes, but I follow him anyway.

It starts messy. It's all rushed and unthinking, all hands and heat and urgency. Like we’ve been holding our breath since the club and now it’s finally safe to exhale. His mouth finds mine too fast, too greedy, like he’s afraid I might vanish if he doesn’t anchor me in place.

We stumble backward toward the bed, laughing into each other’s mouths, clumsy with want. His hands grip my waist, tug at my jacket, desperate to close the distance. I press into him harder than I mean to. He groans against my neck, and my knees weaken.

It’s chaotic — the kind of kissing that feels like it’s barely holding together, like if we stop for even a second it’ll all crack open and we’ll have to face whatever this really is. So we don’t stop.

I don’t want to. Not yet.

Then we fall onto the bed, tangled and breathless, the chaos softening around the edges. His forehead rests against mine, his hands moving slower now — gentle, tentative, as if he’s trying to memorize every line and curve. There’s something almost reverent in the way he touches me, and it throws me off completely.

I want to pretend it’s still that night-out glow, that post-fight shimmer. That this is just a hook-up, a dumb, gorgeous mistake I’ll laugh about later. I want to feel powerful, irresistible, dangerous. But underneath the bravado, there’s something softer and more terrifying clawing up my spine. Something like longing.

And maybe he feels it too, because at some point it changes.

His grip loosens. His kiss slows. He pulls back just enough to look at me, really look at me, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw like it’s something worth memorising.

Fuck I still hate him. But there’s a reverence to the way he’s touching me. His hands slide down my arms slowly, breathing me in, like it might be the last time he ever gets the opportunity. This morning I would’ve been shocked he got the first opportunity, but now I question whether it would be a mistake to never let him have another.

He looks at me like I’m something he’s been trying not to want. Like this is surrender, not victory. His fingers settle at my waist, thumbs pressing gently into the dip of my hips like he’s grounding himself there. I should shove him off, say something cutting, something cruel. That’s what I do with him. That’s what we do. But right now, all I can manage is to breathe.

I’m warm, restless, and furious all at once. Furious that he’s here, and angrier still that part of me wants him to stay.

“Don’t be soft with me,” I manage to say, my voice more a plea than a command.

He pulls back just enough, his breath warm against my ear. “Why not?” he whispers, voice low and tinged with something real—curiosity, maybe even hope. In his words I can feel the crease between his brows, the way he’s searching for an answer. It’s like a shiver that runs straight down my spine, unsettling and electric all at once.

Fuck I still hate him I open my mouth, but no words come. Because I don’t trust him. Because I didn’t come here for this. Because if he’s soft, I might not know how to leave.

Because somewhere deep down, I’ve already decided to hate him again. It’s easier that way — to Armor up, to keep the distance, to tell myself I’m better off alone.

Because tonight, I’m not here for him. I’m here because I saw George — my closest friend— kissing someone who looks just like me. A perfect, cruel mirror reflecting everything I want but don’t have.

I'm here to forget.

It’s like a punch in the gut, twisting the knife in a way I can’t ignore. And now, lying here with Will, feeling the weight of him on me, I’m caught between what I want and what I’m afraid of.

I don’t want to be soft. Not when everything else feels so broken. Not when the truth I’m running from is staring me down in the form of that kiss I saw, that betrayal I didn’t expect.

So, I tug him back to me, burying my face in his neck. It’s easier to kiss him than to explain why tenderness scares me more than the fights ever did.

Then his fingers slide beneath the hem of my shirt like he’s not just undressing me, but trying to understand me. I should push him away. I want to. But my body stays still, betraying me one breath at a time.

“This isn’t supposed to feel like this,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, just kisses me again — slower this time, deeper, like we have all the time in the world. My stomach twists. This wasn’t supposed to be tender. It was supposed to be impulsive. Sharp. Regrettable.

“This changes nothing,” I mutter between kisses, tugging his shirt over his head with more force than necessary.

He huffs a laugh. His mouth finds the hollow of my throat. I close my eyes. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t belong here—not in this city, not in this bed, not with him. London still feels like a coat I borrowed from someone taller. Every room echoes. Every street is unfamiliar.

Fuck I still hate him, but there’s a softness here that tears me open, and I hate how desperately I don’t want to hate it.

“You don’t even like me,” I whisper, voice shaking with everything I’m trying to fight.

He breathes out, eyes dark and raw. “No. You don’t like me.”

The words hang heavy between us, thick with all the things we won’t say. In this chaotic, tangled mess of need and resentment, nothing is simple anymore — and somehow, it’s not hate either. Not anymore.

Then, as if sensing my hesitation, everything shifts again. The kiss grows rougher, faster. His grip tightens at my waist, and I respond, pulling him closer, needing the chaos back.

Suddenly, it’s messy again. Urgent. Like we’ve been holding this in for too long and now it’s spilling everywhere, impossible to contain.

Most of our clothes lie scattered across his bedroom floor—forgotten and tangled like the night itself. His body presses against mine, radiating warmth that seeps into my skin, chasing away the cold I’ve carried for too long. Every breath he takes is steady and close, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

He feels so close. So real. So impossibly warm.

His mouth wanders. He kisses down my neck, until he reaches my breast. He cups my breast and takes my nipple in his mouth. I want to stare at the celling and pretend it doesn’t feel good, but god it feels good. I close my eyes and hum softly. His hands are still sinking into my sides, squeezing as if I might float away.

xxx

He moves lower, kissing me all over. Each kiss sends a shooting of heat all over my body. I want to be embarrassed, I want to push him off, but no I don’t. not really. It's messy, sloppy. His teeth drag across my stomach in a way that makes my back arch. He finds his place between my thighs, hands rough, gripping.

He stops, looking up at me for approval. His eyes are dark. Holy fuck he's hot. I knew that but this… this is different. I nod at him and he uses one finger and my underwear falls to the floor. He sinks into me, his tongue moves. At first it's one long, deliberate stroke, and everything within me escaped. A breath tore out of my lungs.

I grip the sheets, head thrown back, eyes screwed shut.

Now he’s sped up — circling, then flicking with maddening precision. There’s a desperation in the way he moves, the kind that’s almost reverent, like worship dragged through the teeth of obsession. His rhythm is erratic, but not careless — no, it’s intentional in the way only someone completely consumed can be. Too hungry to be methodical, too skilled to be clumsy.

Every movement feels like it’s building to something inevitable, like he knows exactly how to unmake me, and he’s doing it on purpose. My thighs start to tremble, my breath catching in my throat as he works me apart piece by piece. And he doesn’t pause. Doesn’t even slow.

It’s relentless — that quiet kind of ruin that feels like being seen too clearly. His mouth, his hands, his focus — all of it so single-minded it borders on holy. Like he’s not just touching my body, but dragging something deeper, more dangerous, to the surface.

My spine arches. The room narrows to the heat of his mouth, the burn of my skin, the pull in mystomach like a wire about to snap. And still, he keeps going — like he needs this. Needs me. Not just the sounds, not just the shaking, but the way I'm falling apart for him. Because of him.

And it’s unbearable. And it’s exquisite.

And you’re not sure which is worse — how much I need it, or how much he already knows.

"Fuck, Will." My hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in his curls. I needed  something to hold onto, anything. I twisted hair around my fingers tugged, hard and he groaned, into me.

Holy shit. I'm close. He can tell, my breathing is uneven, my grip tighter, my thighs are squeezing so hard I am almost worried for him. Almost.

“Still hate me?” he lifts his head, eyes glittering, that maddening smirk pulling at his lips.

Fuck him. There It is, the cockiness, the arrogance the insufferable confidence I've told myself over and over I can't stand. The exact reason I swore I hated him in the first place.

“Yes,” I breathe, shoving him down again with shaking hands and no hesitation.

He lets out a breath of a laugh but it is cut off as his mouth finds me again. He slips a finger in between my folds, pumping in and out, like he's trying to undo me completely.

I let out a shaky half-strangled sound, my body arching towards him on instinct.

"Will I'm gonna —"

"Please," he cuts in, voice low, hoarse, desperate.

Like he's begging for it.

Like he needs to watch me fall apart.

And I do.

My orgasm washes over me like a tidal wave—hot, breathless, all-consuming. It crashes through me in a blinding rush, and still, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ease up. Just keeps going like he’s determined to draw every last ounce of it out of me.

It’s too much.

My skin feels too tight, nerves frayed and sparking, every inch of me hypersensitive. I gasp, shuddering, and push him off with trembling hands, half-laughing, half-panting.

“Jesus—stop,” I manage, voice hoarse and wrecked. “I can’t—”

My chest heaves. I’m flushed, shaken, undone.

He pulls back immediately, breath ragged, lips swollen, eyes dark with something that looks a lot like pride — or maybe possession. But he doesn’t say anything. Just stares down at me, like he’s still memorising the aftermath, committing every flicker of wreckage to memory.

I reach up and pull him into another kiss — desperate, deep, greedy. I taste myself on his lips, and it only makes me want more.

My hands wander to his boxers, palming him through the fabric. His cock trapped between us. I try to shift, to push him onto his back, but he doesn't let me. God he's strong.

Instead, his hands tighten at my waist, anchoring me in place. His mouth hovers near mine, breath hot and uneven.

“I can't wait,” he murmurs, voice thick with something I don’t have the words for.

I pull his boxers off, we giggle as they get tangled at his feet. His cock springs free from its confines, and its serious again. His mouth is on me — hot, insistent, like he’s starving for it. There’s no hesitation this time, no softness left. Just heat and hunger and the kind of focus that makes my head spin. He moves like he’s trying to unravel me all over again, like watching me fall apart once wasn’t enough.

His hands are firm on my hips, holding me steady, grounding me — but everything else feels unsteady, like I’m balancing on the edge of something dangerous and deep and impossibly good.

He aligns himself, and starts to push into me. He is ragged and breathless, and looks at me expectantly. He looks to me, waiting, and I nod at him, gripping his forearms. He sinks down,  the first inch makes me gasp,  and gives me a second to adjust. My body swallows him, and my whole body feels like it's on fire. Once I sigh at him, with a smile laced with enjoyment, he starts to move.

Its relentless. Gone is the sweetness of earlier, and im glad I told him off for it. His hips move in a maddening rhythm, powerful, chasing his own high. He is making the most delightful noises. Raw and guttural. Its almost not human, primal. I move my hips to change the angle, now he's reaching the most sensitive parts. I cry out, arching my back instinctively.

“Fuck, y/n," he says, "you feel so good, all for me"  his pace starts to get sloppy. I think he's going to finish when he kisses my forehead quickly, and pulls out of me suddenly. My body missing the feeling already.

He flips me onto my stomach—steady, not rough, but with a firm purpose. Before I can fully register, he props my hips up on a pillow I didn’t even see him grab. My upper body is balanced on my forearms, but then he presses my head down, making me collapse forward. Again not forcefully, but hot. God damn its hot. My hands claw at the sheets, gripping tight as the pressure pulls me deeper into the moment.

He pounds into me, the sounds of my body on his fill the room. But he doesn’t last much longer, his movements are sloppy, and softer. He finishes on my back, and he collapses on top of me, his mess sticking to his stomach.

He’s soft again, pressing gentle kisses to my face and neck, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me in the quiet, the morning after the storm. We’re both breathing heavily, the air thick with heat and something unspoken, every breath a silent confession in the dim light.

He mumbles something about getting me to cum again, but I shake the idea off. I'm content. Truly.

xxx

We lie like that for a minute, catching our breath. His hands trace softly up and down my spine, sending shivers down my body. I stare at his nightstand, the dim glow of a lone lamp casting shadows over the scattered books and half-empty water glass. The quiet between us feels heavy — filled with everything we haven’t said.

Will goes to his ensuite and returns with a towel, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the heavy silence. He wipes his mess and the sweat from my skin gently, like he’s handling something fragile. Then he leans down, kisses my forehead—quick, almost tentative—and pulls me close until I’m flush against his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat hums beneath my ear, grounding me in the quiet warmth of this moment.

We lie like that, tangled and still, the silence between us dense with everything we’re both too scared to say.

Finally, I break it, my voice low, cautious.

“So... what now?”

His breath catches. He doesn’t meet my eyes, instead tracing slow, lazy circles on my back with his fingers.

“Whatever now is... I guess we figure it out.”

I scoff, bitter but trying to hide it.

“Sounds like you’ve got it all sorted.”

He lets out a humorless laugh, the sound raw.

“Trust me, I don’t. But I’m not going anywhere just yet.”

I want to ask if “not going anywhere” means more than this—more than tonight—but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I settle for a safer question.

“You sure you’re okay with this? With me?”

He stiffens just a little before finally meeting my eyes. There’s something behind them—something cautious, almost vulnerable.

“I’m okay. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” The word tastes sharp on my tongue.

He shrugs, a wry half-smile flickering.

“There’s always a ‘mostly’ with us, isn’t there?”

His words hang between us, heavy and unspoken.

I know exactly what he means. George’s shadow lingers like a stain neither of us can scrub out—a secret that colors everything. It’s the invisible line we dance around, the unfinished chapter in my heart that I can’t—and maybe won’t—close. And maybe Will feels it too, a quiet ache that neither of us knows how to soothe.

I turn my head, resting it against his chest, listening to the steady beat beneath my ear.

“Don’t expect me to be ready for anything else anytime soon.”

He doesn’t press, just murmurs softly, almost like a confession:

“Neither am I.”

The words are soft, but the “not with you” lingers like a breath held too long—unspoken, but sharper than any truth we could voice.

I’m sure he hears it too—in the way my breath catches, in the tension coiled beneath his skin. Neither of us ready to say what that really means.

And somehow, that silent understanding makes the space between us less suffocating. We don’t have to admit the messy truth just yet. We can stay here, tangled in the quiet, holding onto this fragile moment as if it’s enough.

And in that fragile space between heartbeats, sleep finally claims us both.

xxx

Taglsit: @meglouise00 @migilini

[shaddork]

The Star That Wouldn't Die - Chapter 3

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

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Summary:

A camera flash catches Red Hoods attention, and it gives him the perfect excuse to go visit you.

Word Count: 4,707

AN: I feel like I should mention I'm cross posting this on a03 under the same username.

-------------------------------

The Wayne family definitely knew that something was up. However, they shocked Jason. Keeping their noses firmly out of his business. At least mostly. They’d made a few comments, enough that Jason knew that they thought he was acting strange, and had no clue why he was acting strange. Good, he planned to keep it that way. He’d done good at keeping them in the dark the part three weeks.  the topic the hell alone. For the most part at least, and it had only been three weeks anyways. Three weeks of checking on you after he finished his patrol and wasn’t busy with a case that needed more immediate attention. Three weeks of the stone that had lodged itself in his heart growing heavier with each time he laid his eyes upon you. 

He’d learned a lot about you in that time,  watching anybody closely for any significant period of time you were bound to learn things about them. Jason wasn’t complaining, you were mesmerizing in spite of the guilt that was continually growing. It wasn’t every day that you were up so early in the morning. Sometimes you woke up early and watched TV before disappearing into the portion of the apartment that he couldn’t see, sometimes you stayed up late, dragging a large easel, placing various sizes of canvas on it, and painting with music playing. You still drew, but that was obvious from the first night that he spotted you. You danced while you painted, danced like no one was watching, and he supposed that you didn’t think anybody was, so why would you dance like somebody was watching?

He didn’t have a damn clue what your schedule or job was. He could have looked you up online, it certainly would have been easier, but he was enjoying trying to puzzle your life together from a distance. It was satisfying, like figuring out who the murderer in a murder mystery book was before the protagonist did. Things clicking into place, faint memories rematerializing within his bruised and beaten mind. 

Sometimes while you painted you used a soft brace on your dominant hand, did you have some sort of wrist injury? If so it wasn’t bad enough to require a braced that forced your wrist into a certain position, that would’ve been extremely inconvenient for drawing and painting. You used your wrist a lot while doing so, therefore you opted for one only one that provided extra support for your wrist while painting, and you usually took it off afterwards. 

You still read comic books. Curling up on your couch with a few volumes, wrapped underneath colorful blankets until you needed to get up to go do something. He vaguely recalled you reading a comic book to him when he was young. But the memory was hazy. It was like trying to look at something through a blindfold with a few holes poked into it by a sewing needle. It was at the apartment building where he used to live, but he couldn’t recall exactly why you were reading it to him, especially since he enjoyed reading so much. Things about his past regarding you were starting to come back to him, slowly, painfully slowly and without as much detail as he’d like.

Each memory made his heart ache the more and more he saw you. 

 He hadn’t seen you touch any of the books on your shelves, did you ever read them anymore, or just comic books? If you didn’t read books that much then why did you still have so many?

You’d had a friend over one weekend at night, playing some game on the TV in the living room. He couldn’t tell what game exactly, and as far as he knew he was never that into video games in the first place. But you were animated, extremely so. Laughing loudly and pretending to fight the woman who you were playing the game with. You had to be close with her, the two of you weren’t overly touchy, but neither of you seemed afraid of touching each other. She’d spent the night in your apartment. How'd you meet her? Were you that touchy with everyone, or just people who you were considerably close with?

 He’d thought about breaking in to explore while you either weren’t home or were asleep, but that felt like a step farther than he should go. He was already pushing it with how much time he spent just watching you from afar. He wondered what you smelt like, that's such a strange thing to wonder.The more he watched you, the more questions spiralled in his head, and the harder it was getting to pay attention while on patrol. Maybe he should stop.

Tonight it was particularly difficult to focus on patrol. For one, It was a slow patrol, a few petty unplanned and unorganized crimes, and keeping an eye out for any leads on the drug case he was working. There was some new dealer, but they’d been annoyingly elusive. Hiding in the shadows rather than announcing their presence like the big names that operated within the city. Probably a good thing since that either meant they were a small time dealer or it was a bad thing and he’d have a whole pain in the ass case to deal with now.

For two, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Questions spiraling through his mind like a cat 5 hurricane. He’d even dreamed about you. He just wished he was able to recall the details of the dream. 

Really he was lucky it was a quiet night since he was so distracted tonight. He still had a few go overs left of patrol when he was assaulted with the flash of a camera while he was mid jump between buildings. The second his feet hit the rooftop of the building he was moving to he whirled to where it had come from. What the fuck? 

Reporters weren’t an uncommon occurrence, but he wasn’t nearly as popular to cover with photos as the bats. And the reporters never used a flash at night like this. It was probably a new Gotham transplant that didn’t realize exactly how dangerous the city was.

He finally spotted where it had come from. The rooftop of the crumbling apartment building he’d lived in before Bruce had found him stealing the tires off the batmobile. Bright hair.

Wait, bright hair? He squinted, he was wrong about it being a Gotham transplant. You really should have known better. It was you, camera in hand. He could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat at the vision of you with your eyes - and camera - trained on him, did you want his attention, otherwise why would you have used the flash? And then you took another photo of him before the girl he’d seen at your house grabbed your arm and started hauling you towards the fire escape. 

“Quit pulling so hard bethany!” Your voice was loud, and he was stuck there feet cemented to the rooftop, mouth parted slightly, eyes wide, watching your friend haul ass down the fire escape dragging you with. “I don’t want to damage my camera!” The camera which was now hanging from a strap around your neck and hitting your chest as you made your way down the fire escape. 

He could feel his breathing get shallow and his head get light. 

“I swear it’s like you have a death wish woman! Broken camera is better than being killed.” He could have killed the two women if he wanted to, even with the frantic running down the fire escape. That was a fucked up thought, killing you? The stone in his heart got heavier.

Then you laughed, blissfully unaware of his dark thoughts. Uncaring that he was still standing there and staring at you and your friend. You weren’t afraid. 

The sound of your laugh was melodic,  he thought it was getting harder to breathe. You managed to pull your arm out of your friend's grasp, slowing down briefly on one of the steps to shove the camera into a bag, despite your friend's protest and insistence that you needed to leave. Your eyes met his for just a moment, and you waved at him, smiled and waved. Smiled like the earth turning to reveal an astonishing sunrise peeking out just over the horizon. 

Would his smile have the same effect on you as yours had on him?

“I’m going to check you into a mental hospital one day because you are not fucking sane!” And with those last words your arm was being grabbed again and you were stumbling the rest of the way down the fire escape and towards the main road, disappearing from his stationary line of sight. 

What the fuck? Why were you back in crime alley with a camera, and taking photos of him? Did you know? No, there was no way this had to be a simple coincidence, right? With how freaked out your friend - Bethany? - was it had to be. There was no possible way that you could know about him, know that he was Jason. That he was your Jason. No fuckin way at all. But he couldn’t think of any explanation for it. A random civilian going to crime alley just to take a photo of him, nevermind the fact you used to live here, you didn’t anymore. It was…your friend had been right. It was insane. 

And it gave him an excuse.

A good excuse.

The perfect excuse to go into your apartment through the window to confront you about what the hell you were doing. An excuse to talk to you. After all, you were the one who had interacted with him first, in a sort of round about way. 

You were firmly out of sight when his feet finally decided to uncement themselves from the rooftop below him. He’d finish patrol first. Yeah, that was a good idea. Patrol first, your apartment after. Hopefully your friend had gone home by then.

Maybe talking to you would ease some of his guilt over forgetting you, over watching you from your window like he was the biggest creep in the universe. At least he wasn’t as bad as Bruce or Nightwing and hadn’t bugged your place.

-------------------------------

The rest of patrol went fine. A couple more small crimes - a store being robbed, a lady being robbed, a random street brawl - really it was unfortunate that he didn’t get any new leads on the new drug dealer, but now he got to investigate an entirely different type of lead. 

You weren’t in the living room, but the lights were on so you were most certainly home. Was your friend in the apartment with you?

 It wasn’t too difficult to get into your apartment through the window. It was locked, but it hadn’t set off any alarms. The security of the apartment was questionable, he realized now. That would have to be fixed eventually. If you were tolerant of the Red Hoods presence in your life. 

Looking around for a moment. He could see the sketches taped to the wall more clearly now, it looked like a storyboard? He wasn’t sure if that was the right term or not. Starting at the top  left corner and moving right a rough - but impressive - sketch of two characters fighting revealed itself. That was certainly interesting. Did you make comic books, were you an animator? 

The apartment was quiet as he made his way away from the living room. Two doors were present in the hallway beyond the kitchen, and the decorations remained similar throughout. Brightly colored walls, except in the hallway there were paintings and photos hung up. He looked for the Robin painting you’d done, and it wasn’t there. His heart clenched, did you get rid of it? He hoped not. He hoped you still held onto his memory like it was a treasured item. Hoarded the memories you had of him like a dragon laying atop its pile of gold.

He hadn’t done that. He hadn’t been given the chance to do that. But he would start doing that now. Burning every detail of any interaction you cared to bless him with into his mind. He wouldn’t forget again.

Not again.

The photos in the hallway mostly consisted of ones with your friends, none of him but maybe you hid those, paintings of landscapes in Gotham and then a  painting that were clearly fanarts. Fuck you’d gotten more than good at it through the years. You were downright amazing. The colors and shapes were vivid but not overbearing, it reminded him of renaissance paintings. He thought it was better than renaissance paintings.  

A painting of Geralt of Rivia atop his horse Roach was the primary painting in the hallway. He remembered reading those books actually. Couldn’t remember who recommended them. They were good, he should read them again. Maybe it had been you who got him into the Witcher.  

Only one of the two rooms had a light on in it, which made it easy to pick which one to go into. The one on the right side, the one with light peeking out from underneath it. The outside of the door was painted like a blue police box. Weird. The other door was plain. 

He hesitated at the door for a moment, was he really doing this? Going to talk to you? He couldn't let you know who he was, he couldn’t act like he knew you, could he do that? He didn’t know, and a cold serpent made its way through his veins, wrapping itself around his chest. He really hoped that he was able to pull it off, he hoped that his hands wouldn’t start shaking.  

The door opened easily, your back was to it, standing on a plastic sheet shoved underneath an easel for painting, bright hair pulled away from your face and held in place with some sort of hair clip. You had a pair of headphones on, he probably could have been making more noise and you would have been entirely unaware of his presence. Strange, he hadn’t actually thought about being quiet as he made his way through the apartment. You were humming, he didn’t know the song, and he couldn’t see the canvas you were working on.

The room was clearly your primary workspace. More sketches taped to the wall behind a mahogany desk with three different monitors on it, one of them held up in the air by an arm that looked moveable and a digital pen sitting in a holder below it. Probably something drawing related, he was certainly no expert on the topic of anything art related. There were paint splashes on the wall you were facing, various colors, not all of them bright, not all of them colorful. Canvases and various physical art supplies sitting on shelves and propped up against the floor. A stack of six large canvases propped up against a wall with a sheet thrown on top of them. The room was surprisingly tidy. And the walls hadn’t been painted anything, at least not on purpose. 

The fan was on, but even with it the room reeked of a sharp chemical smell. He had a feeling that if he didn’t have his mask on then his nose would have been burning. The mask filtered the air a lot, the fact he could smell it at all was…impressive and scary. There was no way this was healthy to breathe in for any period of time. And then there you were, casually humming and breathing it in like it was no big deal, seemingly unbothered by the smell. 

The room was small, it only took a few steps forward and he was able to grab onto your arm, spinning you around to face him. Headphones falling off your ears and landing around your neck in the process. Unsurprisingly, you squealed with the movement. Surprisingly, before anything else you were glancing back at the canvas you’d been working on. “What the fuck?! My painting you made me streak it! You-” And then you stopped, seemingly realizing who was standing in front of you. Eyes going wide and arm pulling against his grip to try and free yourself. 

He didn’t let go. 

The snake of anxiety didn’t loosen its constriction around his chest. 

“Why were you taking photos of me.” He hadn’t meant to be nice about the question, but he also hadn’t meant to be mean about it either. But his voice modulator built into his mask made it sound significantly more threatening than he’d intended it to be. Voice warping in a strange, unnatural, robotic way. 

You almost seemed to relax at the question that he had framed as a statement before going rigid again, eyes still wide and pulling back against his grip. “First off, let go, you’re being rude.” You stared at him, waiting for him to let go. At least until he thought you realized he would not be doing that. Not yet anyways. “I needed it for an art reference.”

“An art reference?” He repeated. Finally letting go of your arm, you used your dominant hand - paint brush still between two fingers to rub at where he’d been holding it. Had he hurt you? He didn’t think that he’d grabbed a hold of it very tightly. Just enough that you couldn’t get away. 

“Yes. An art reference. There is an appallingly low amount of decent photos of your boots.” You motioned over towards the paintings with the sheet thrown over them. “I’m working on a series of paintings for a gallery exhibit. This is the last one that I plan on doing.” 

At the motion he took five steps over to the paintings, pulling the sheet off of it. The first one that he saw in the pile was of Batman, because of course it was. Then Batgirl, Red Robin, Nightwing, Robin, and spoiler. So you weren’t lying about that. Not that he’d been particularly expecting your words to be a lie. He couldn’t picture you as a liar, even with his lack of memories surrounding you. But there was an act he had to keep up, one where he knew nothing about you. 

“So let me get this straight. You’re working on a series of paintings of vigilanties, and you went to crime alley hoping to spot me so you could take a photo of my boots?”

“Batfamily. Not just any vigilantes thank you very much. And yes. I did. You’re not ... you’re not gonna kill me for taking a photo of them are you?”

He had to force a laugh back down into his throat at that. He was using it as an excuse to talk to you, and here you were thinking that he was going to kill you for taking a simple photo of him. It shouldn’t have struck him as funny, a lot of things shouldn’t have, did. “No. That’s a…fine reason.” He tried to glance at the painting you were working on but you blocked it with your body. Tried to anyway. He could see right over your head so it wasn’t like you could block him from seeing it.

It was still rough, a colored pencil sketch was down, and there were base colors and some shading started. He didn’t understand how you turned the paintings from its current shape into something like the ones propped up on the wall. Let alone how you turned a blank canvas into a breathtaking piece of art. The boots were close, but not quite. He didn’t think about his words before they were coming out of his mouth. “I’ll make a deal with you. Entertain me, and I’ll let you look at my armor all you want for reference.” This was a bad idea. It could put you in danger. But it could also get him closer to you.

You squinted at him, clearly distrustful of his words. “Guns.”

“What?”

“You leave the guns and any other weapons at the door. I can’t promise to be entertaining while painting and I’m not dying for not being entertaining enough. I’ll give you a book and you can sit and read. Paintings like this aren’t a one night project, you come back to serve as my art reference until I'm finished with the painting.” You had no clue, no clue he’d been watching you from afar and found even just that immensely entertaining. He didn’t think you could be boring.

He didn’t vocally respond, but stepped towards the door and started moving some of his weapons onto the floor in a pile. He still kept some of the smaller weapons on him. He wouldn’t be completely disarming himself. It wasn’t even you doing anything to him that he worried about. He probably should have been, but he wasn’t. They were kept in case of emergencies.

You stared at him for a moment, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape. Probably shocked that he’d agreed to the terms, and shocked with yourself for agreeing. After all, he was a dangerous crime lord who had a tendency for killing. You left the room, going and grabbing a book off one of your shelves in the living room, coming bak and handing it to him.

The Odyssey. The Robert Fagles’ translation of it. The book was clearly old, fraying edges, the spine starting to come undone. Well loved, he called it. Several of his books he’d read so much that even being careful with them they ended up in this state. “Feet up please.”

He obliged,  holding his feet in the air for you while flipping the book open. There were notes in the margins, notes that were in an uncomfortably familiar handwriting. His own. And doodles in the margins of Odysseus and several other characters. That had to be you. This was…foreign. His heart twisted. You had one of his copies of the Odyssey, or you’d let him annotate your copy. He wasn’t sure which. Either way it made him feel lighter. You remembered him, still had objects in your life that he’d touched. 

He remembered and loved this book, but he didn’t remember ever annotating it. The copies he’d gotten back from Bruce weren’t annotated. “It’s annotated.”

“Mhm. Old friend of mine had a habit of annotating books. We used to trade. He’d annotate, and then I’d doodle throughout it.” You were standing by his feet now, hand finding its way to the bottom side of his ankle and lifting it up while you looked at the boot. He didn’t think you seemed scared of him despite the fact he’d broken into your apartment, but then again, you didn’t seem scared of him when you waved at him after snapping those photos of him. “By the way, somebody waving at you isn’t an invitation to break into their place.”

The smile she gave felt like an invitation. But maybe that was just because he desperately wanted it to be an invitation. And you were handling this interaction shockingly well. A true Gothamite. A strange one, but a Gothamite all the same. 

“Being out and about in public isn’t an invitation to take photos.”

You tsk’d at him. “Yet here you are offering yourself up as an art reference.”

His chest hurt. God he’d missed you. And he didn’t even really remember you. It was a strange feeling. One he doubted very many other people, if anybody, had experienced. He was relieved that you seemed amenable to interacting with him. 

He sat and read while you investigated his outfit, boots, the way his pants were tucked in, bouncing between that and painting. At some point you cracked the window open to get better ventilation with how much paint and paint thinner you were using. It didn’t take long for him to get completely absorbed in the book. The space was comfortable, he was comfortable. When had the anxiety melted away and been replaced with this contentment? This calm almost serene feeling, like the sound of waves on a beach. Even the stone in his heart had lost weight. He never thought that merely being around a person could have this sort of effect on him. 

He got absorbed enough that he was surprised when you put two fingers underneath the chin of his mask, tilting it towards you so that you could get a better look at the lenses on the mask. He wished your fingers were on his skin directly instead of on the mask he’d never be able to take off around you. 

 You didn’t say anything, letting him go and returning to your painting after a couple moments. He didn’t know how long it had been, the sun wasn’t starting to rise yet, but there had been a good amount of progress on the painting, starting to take shape as you continued to work on it. 

Your headphones had gone back onto your head, but one of the ear pieces was shoved backwards off your ear and more on your head. Presumably so that you could hear him if he spoke to you. You hadn’t stopped humming either. Not singing the songs, no lyrics, just humming. Sweet. Quiet, humming. 

More time passed before you put your brush down and stretched. “Alright, I have to go to bed. So you need to leave. Keep the book here. Come back tomorrow.”

“That counts as an invite right?”

“I need my reference, since you’ve offered I might as well take advantage of it. Use the door tomorrow. Meaning knock, not breaking into the apartment  through the front door.” You almost sounded scolding, but there was a light smile gracing your face. He felt wobbly. 

If he did that the chances of being spotted with you rose. Something that he wasn’t particularly a fan of. If he was spotted with you, then someone could come after you while trying to get him. Black Mask, Bane, deathstroke, anybody else who he’d pissed off. He had a lot of enemies. But then again, even just hanging around outside your apartment there was a chance someone realized what he was doing. 

They wouldn’t be able to connect it to you as easily. The window had the same issue as the front door he supposed. Either way he’d have to make sure that nobody was watching and he wasn’t being followed. He was putting you in danger, he knew that, but fuck this had been so nice, the weight of the guilt was starting to return. He didn’t want to have to give this up. And he’d made a deal with you to keep coming back so you could use him as an art reference. 

He was justifying this, or trying to. It was hard, emotions fought within him. But you were inviting him, and how could he turn you down? He didn’t know how. He was already hiding the fact that you knew him from you. He was supposed to be dead, he wasn’t supposed to be walking around as Red Hood. He wasn’t supposed to be re-reading a book that he’d annotated and you’d drawn in. 

The whole situation was fucked up. 

But then you pointed a manicured finger at him, “I’m serious Hood. You come back and knock on the front door, don’t go through the window like a creeper.”

…

“Okay.” He should ask your name, so he didn’t accidentally use it and have to come up with a reason for why he knew it. It would be smart. His mouth was dry, he had to force the words out. “What’s your name?”

You told him, first and last, and smiled at him. Fuck that smile. He could melt into a puddle of flesh and goo right then and there. “I figure that you won’t tell me yours.”

“Nope.”

Then he was gone, out of your front door. He was so fucked. Hopelessly devoted to a woman who he only had a few memories with. A woman who didn’t know who he was. A woman who made him feel so much with the smallest of words and facial expressions.

[magicaldice]

Synopsis: Y/n goes to a party with her bestfriend without telling her toxic boyfriend. She unexpectedly meets Chris sturniolo & things start to unravel overtime.

⚠︎ : read at your own leisure.

any feedback, likes, comments or shares, are appreciated!

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 pt 6 part 7 pt 8 pt 9

pt 10

Katie had noticed something was wrong the night she picked me up from Chris's. I didn't mention anything about what happened. I had just made an excuse that I was tired.

It's been 2 weeks of ignoring text from Madi. She had noticed I stopped coming around, texting me showing her concern. I didn't want to ignore her, I really didn't.

But I had been so disgusted with myself. I had no idea how to approach the situation that happened, so I tried to forget it happened. I tried so hard to forget.

But how could I? I couldn't forget that I had cheated on Jackson. There were no excuses, nothing I could blame it on. Which made it ten times worse.

I couldn't forget the way Chris had stared at me. The way our lips had been perfectly in sync with another, in the most natural way possible. As if our lips were meant to meet in this lifetime. As if our lips were specifically designed for one another.

Chris hadn't tried to reach out to me since that night. He hadn't texted or called. And I knew it was a good thing, but it hurt for reasons I couldn't explain.

Jackson had been coming over to my house more than I'd like. But I let it happen anyways because it was a distraction. Not a very good one, but it helped.

And for some reason Jackson had been nicer these past two weeks. Less rough, less arguing and less controlling. It confused me because I wasn't used to that type of treatment from him.

Anytime I was alone my heart would ache. I felt deep guilt and shame that wouldn't go away. I had cheated on Jackson and I couldn't forgive myself. I just couldn't.

Many, many times I had contemplated on texting Chris. I didn't even know what I could say after everything. There was nothing that could justify our actions.

It's not just the cheating that weighed on my mind. Despite hating the fact that I cheated, I had enjoyed it, I loved every second of Chris's lips on mine. Which makes me even more in the wrong.

I currently am laying in bed, trying my hardest to ignore every thought that forms in my brain. I scroll through social media, fighting the urge to text Chris.

I click on Madi's Instagram story. It's a video of her and Matt taking shots in their kitchen. And in the background, you can see Chris sitting on the couch in the living room on his phone. And a few seconds into the video a girl walks and sits on the couch next to him. The video ends.

The video was posted an hour ago.

My thoughts start to spiral.

My heart clenches against my chest. He doesn't care that I cheated on Jackson with him. He doesn't care that I had spent the last 2 weeks completely miserable. He's already hanging out with another girl.

How could I be so naive? He had spent time with me. He had gotten to know me. We had sat for hours talking about our fears, our dreams, our hopes and desires. All for nothing.

Just for me to ruin my relationship. He hadn't reached out to me the past 2 weeks because he had already moved on to other girls. The fact that I had cheated on Jackson with him obviously didn't bother him in any type of way. In fact he probably enjoyed knowing how fucking miserable I felt.

Because this was obviously his plan. He had deceived me. He just wanted to play the long game to try to get me to have sex with him. He wanted to use me. He wanted to fuck me over just for the fun of it.

I put my phone on the nightstand next to me. I felt hurt, betrayal and resentment.

Fuck this shit.

I go to Katie's room, feeling impulsive. I open her door and she smiles. "Hello beautiful" she said. "Ms. Katie. How do you feel about drinking tonight?" I asked smiling. Her jaw drops. "You must be a clone of y/n" she says jokingly.

I roll my eyes playfully. "I'm serious. You down?" I ask plopping onto her bed.

An hour later Katie and I were chilling in the living room with a couple people she had invited over. There was about 10 other people with us right now.

I had never met any of them but they were all very cool and honestly very fun to be around. They all had brought such good vibes and now that I'm a couple shots deep I finally had felt loosened up.

Another hour goes by and I'm having way to much fun.

I kept drinking, maybe more than I should of.

I had posted a video of me and Katie taking shots with some of the guys she invited. Didn't even think about it, didn't care about the consequences.

And some time went by before I feel my phone buzzing. I grab my phone out of my pocket looking at the caller ID. Chris.

He was calling. And I didn't think twice before answering.

"Helllooo stranger" I said into the phone, trying to not slur my words. "Y/n I saw your story what are you doing?" He asked sounding a little too serious for my liking. "What are you doing?" I responded.

"This isnt a game y/n. What are you doing right now?" He said. "Can you chill the fuck out bro. Im just with friends" I responded, still not fully processing what's happening as the alcohol was slowly taking over.

"You sound drunk" he said blankly. "And youuu don't sound drunk enough" I said laughing. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You don't even like to drink, and now your drunk on a random Tuesday like it's nothing" he commented.

I wasn't really registering what he was saying. I was so consumed by the alcohol in my system. I was swaying back and forth when Katie walked up right next to me.

"Who are you on the phone with?" She asked. "I have no idea" I joked. She grabs my phone out of my hand and puts it up to her ear. "Shell call you back tomorrow she's busy" she said into the phone, not even waiting for a response from Chris before hanging the phone up.

I felt sick. And Katie had noticed right away. She followed me to the bathroom. I had thrown up over and over, feeling so much at once.

I had layed on the floor next to the bathroom, body weak. I start to laugh while feeling so dizzy. Katie laughs with me as I lay across the bathroom floor.

"Pose" Katie said laughing, holding up her phone to take a picture. I couldn't move so I just stayed on the floor. I heard the camera click and we continued to laugh.

The next morning

I woke up in my bed feeling slightly hungover. I had fun last night, it felt good to be social and loosen up.

I scroll through my social media. Katie had posted me on the floor in the bathroom. I laugh, I looked hammered.

And then my stomach turned. I had completely forgot Chris had called me last night until now.

I check my messages.

from jackson: call me right fucking now.

from chris: please call me in the morning y/n. be safe.

from madi: hey girl can you call me soon.

I set my phone down and let out a breath.

And instead of letting myself overthink anything I call Madi. She never deserved to be ghosted. She didnt deserve to be ignored these past 2 weeks.

Ring. Ring. Ring. "Hello" Madi said into the phone. "Hey" I said letting out a deep breath. "Girl I miss you what the hell" she said. I sigh, knowing I unintentionally hurt her feelings.

After talking to Madi on the phone for a little bit she asked if she could come over. 20 minutes later she was inside my house, sitting on my bed in my bedroom.

"You partied last night" she said stating the obvious. "Yeah I didn't really intend to get that fucked up last night. But shit happens" I chuckle. We talked a little bit more about me drinking way too much last night before she brought up what I hoped she wouldnt.

"Ya know- Chris is worried about you" she said. "Chris is not worried about me" I laughed. She gives me a look of confusion. "Why would you think that?" she asked.

"Did you guys party last night too?" I asked referring to the video she had posted on her insta story, of her and Matt taking a shot. "We had some people over and had a few drinks but nothing to crazy".

I nodded my head, fighting the urge to ask if Chris was with another girl. And I shouldn't even care if he was, it's not like he was mine.

"Chris told me to invite you over last night" she stated. I didn't respond. Every time she said his name it felt like my heart would tear. "Did you and him get in a argument or something?" she questioned. I shake my head no.

I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell her I had cheated on Jackson with Chris. I couldnt.

"What is it then girl? Something had to have happened" she persisted. "I'm sorry I just don't really want to talk about it" I responded, shame seeping through my words. Madi analyzed my face, trying to read my energy.

2 hours had passed of me and Madi hanging out in my room. It was comforting to be around her. And after awhile she had left. Before she left she had told me to come over later if I could. And I told her i'd think about it.

I had been on Facetime with Jackson ever since Madi left my house. He had been yelling at me over and over. He was pissed that there were guys at my house last night drinking with me and Katie. He said it made him look bad.

I had reassured him as many times as I could. But it wasn't enough. "Your a fucking slut y/n" he shouted. "Your an irresponsible selfish fucking bitch" he continued. "Im sorry" I kept repeating.

"Do you ever think about anyone but your fucking self? Or are you just fucking dumb?" He shouted. He continued to yell and lecture me for 30 minutes. And I just sat there and took it because I felt like I deserved it.

"I'm coming over" he said harshly before hanging up. I knew I was about to be screamed at. Katie wasn't home and I wanted to run. I wanted to just leave. I wanted to escape everything.

And before I knew it Jackson was pounding on my front door. I opened the door, wanting nothing more but to just disappear. He walked into my room and I followed behind him.

He stood in front of me, breathing heavily. "What is your fucking problem, huh?" He yelled. I sat on my bed, not responding. I had so much anxiety it felt like I was having an outer body experience.

"I have shown you nothing but love, I have done everything for you!" he yelled. I stayed silent, tears forming in my eyes. "Fucking respond!" he yelled pounding his fist against my bedroom door.

My heart beat fastened at his actions. "Im sorry jackson" I said quietly tears streaming down my face. "No your fucking not!" he shouted pounding onto my door with his fist again.

"You deserve better Jackson. Im sorry" I said, body shaking. Jackson towered over me before grabbing onto my wrist tightly. I had winced at how hard his grip is on my wirst. "Fuck you y/n" he said. "Let my wirst go Jackson it hurts" I whined. He gripped onto my wrist tighter.

"Your a fucking whore" he said through gritted teeth, letting go of my wrist. I grab onto my wrist and I had started violently sobbing, not being able to think clearly anymore.

Jackson went silent and watched me hold onto my own body. I felt so lifeless, so small, so fucking small. After a few seconds Jackson had sat next to me on my bed. He sighed before grabbing onto me, pulling me into his chest.

"Im fucking sorry y/n" he said quietly while holding onto me. "Im sorry. You just get me so mad sometimes" he continued. "I just wished you would make better decisions" he said.

Jackson's phone rang and within a few seconds he said he needed to leave.

After he left I couldn't move. My body felt weak and tired. The tears never stopped. I had tried so hard to just breathe and I couldn't. I wanted to call Katie. I wanted to call my mom. I didn't though, I layed on my bed until I fell asleep.

I don't know how long I was asleep but I had waken up to my house doorbell ringing and knocking on the door.

I get up quickly.

I open the door and see Chris standing in front of me. "Chris?" I say outloud. "Can I come in please".

I had let Chris in and we sat in my room together. "You don't look too good right now" he said. I nod my head, not responding with words. I held my body close to me.

"I'm sorry y/n. for everything. I don't want you to blame yourself, it wasn't your fault" he started. "I should have never pushed boundaries, I'm so sorry" he said.

"Have you been with other girls?" I asked hesitantly. Chris looked confused. "Last night. Madi had posted a video and in the background there was a girl sitting next to you on the couch".

"That was Madi's sister. Her boyfriend was there as well" he said smiling. A relief crossed my body. I shouldnt have cared either way. But I felt better knowing he hadn't been with other girls.

"Can I please hug you y/n" he asked. I shook my head and he pulled me into him. "I'm begging you to forgive me. I don't want to lose you, I was so selfish" he stated. He massages his fingers onto my scalp, stroking my hair gently.

He held onto me and I felt alive again. "You make me feel safe" I had admitted. He held onto me tighter. "I need to take a shower" I said looking at the time on my phone. 10:43 p.m. "Noo I just got here. I haven't got to spend enough time with you" he whined.

"Okay well you can stay out here while I shower so that way we can still hang out after my shower If you want" I offered. And he quickly agreed to wait for me while I shower.

As I got undressed in the bathroom to take my shower I had thought of Chris who was in the other room. I never want to lose him. In fact I felt like I needed him. He was the only man who has made me feel like this. So safe. So comfortable.

And I knew what I was about to do was so wrong. But I didn't care at this point. I needed Chris to know. I needed him to understand. And as I had finished stripping out of my clothes I turned the hot water on. I step towards the bathroom door, heart beating fast.

"Chris" I yelled out, hiding my naked body behind the bathroom door. A few seconds later I hear footsteps and then I watch as he approaches the bathroom door. "Yeah?" He asked.

I open the door completely, letting him see me completely naked. He looked at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "Please shower with me" I said quietly. And without hesitation he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

As wrong as this was, it was the only thing that felt right.

taglist:

@overlygoin @riggysworld @mattstromboli

@nessaisabelartemas333 @sturniolobananas1 @xoxbunni

[absurdthirst]

Property of Dave York {Dave York x F!Nanny!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Voyeurism, video surveillance, masturbation, kidnapping, threats of violence, coercion, dub-con, derogatory language, gun play, spanking, oral sex (male receiving ) rough sex, choking, guilt, forced cuckolding, cream pie, anxiety, break up texts, murder, fingering, pussy slapping, sex toys, anal fingering, anal, double penetration, aftercare, forced imprisonment

Comments: Carol's offer of the York family cabin for a romantic weekend away for you and your boyfriend turns dark and deadly when Dave shows up. Unhappy with how you are being fucked and deciding to take you for himself.

🚨🚨DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - this story contains dark theme of coercion, dub-con due to deadly threats, murder, imprisonment - do not read if this bothers you🚨🚨

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dave York MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Are you sure?” You ask Carol, eyes wide as she offers to let you use the family cabin for the weekend. 

“Absolutely. I'm heading out of town to see my mom with the girls. Dave will be here and we want to reward you for all of your hard work. You’re so good with the girls and do so much above and beyond. We want to reward you.” Carol offers you a sweet smile. 

You shake your head, “I don’t know what to say.” You admit and Dave smiles, “just say yes.” 

You nod, overwhelmed by how good the Yorks treat you, “th-thank you.” You reply and they both smile. It’s a reward beyond your dreams to get to spend the weekend in the woods with your boyfriend at the York family cabin. Little do you know that Dave hates the idea. 

You were hired about a year ago to be the live-in nanny to the York family. At first, they seemed like any other suburban dream but you began to notice small details that tipped off the fact that maybe Dave isn’t the man he says he is. The blood stained clothes on the floor in the mud room late one night and he told you he cut himself yet that was too much blood for an injury you couldn’t see. Then the random calls which meant Dave would disappear for days on end after. 

The weirdest thing is the man’s internet history. When trying to search the computer for Molly’s schedule, you accidentally came across a page that detailed the internet history of the house and you, being curious, clicked on some of the links. Porn. But not your average vanilla stuff. This was bondage, it was BDSM. It was rough. Fuck, that must be Dave. The time stamp was the middle of the night and you know Carol can’t survive without her sleep. 

You hate to admit it but you touched yourself to thoughts of Dave treating you like that. He’s so sexy, authoritative, and secretive. Maybe that makes him sexier. Well, certainly when compared to Johnny, your sweet boyfriend who won’t even so much as spank you. Still, you can’t get involved in any way. This is your boss and you’d be risking your job and home and a mortifying rejection since you know Dave doesn’t want you like that. No, you’ll enjoy the cabin this weekend with Johnny and maybe you can get off thinking of dirtier things while your boyfriend sweetly goes down on you.

The smile on Dave’s face is a very practiced one. One that doesn’t show the anger, that only flashes for a brief second in his eyes before he blinks it away. Carol hadn’t talked about this with him and he wants to snatch the keys away from you as his wife holds them for you to take. Instead, he smiles. “Just say yes.” He watches as you sputter and take the keys to the cabin he had bought and was normally a weekend getaway from him and the girls. Often when he needed to recuperate from a rough mission or a job had gotten too close. Why the fuck had Carol decided to give his fucking cabin to the nanny for the weekened ot use as a fucking sex room? That dipshit you were dating wouldn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Could he even build a fire? He scoffs to himself and grinds his teeth, furious as he thinks about that fucker touching you. It’s bad enough when you have weekends off and you come home smelling like sex and cheap ass beer like you were at some frat party. Probably had been. “You know how to get there, right?” He asks you, knowing he hasn’t told you where the cabin is although Carol might have. 

You nod, “Carol gave me the coordinates. Johnny is pretty good at navigating so we shouldn’t have a problem. It’s okay if I take him, right?” You ask, biting your lip. Fuck, Dave wants to say no but he knows that won’t help him. Carol can’t get suspicious of his desires otherwise you’ll be gone and he can’t allow that. “Of course you can take Johnny.” Carol promises and you grin. 

“Thank you so much.” 

Carol nods, “don’t think anything of it. It’s all set, right Dave?” 

He swallows down his annoyance, “it’s all set.” He offers you a sickly smile that has your stomach knotting and Carol pats his hand, “excellent.” She winks and you grip the keys, eager to tell your boyfriend about the weekend away.

****

“You girls be good for your mother, and grandma and grandpa, okay?” Dave winks at Alice and reaches out to tug on one of Molly’s pigtails. 

“Daddy!!!” Molly shrieks, batting his hand away as she giggles and he chuckles. 

“I mean it.” He raises his eyebrows at them before moving up to the driver’s side window where Carol is already behind the wheel. “Drive carefully, honey.” He urges, knowing that while he might not love her like he probably should, she is important to him. Plus he wants his girl’s to be safe. While he feels like there is something missing inside him, not able to really connect with his wife, he loves his children. “Call me when you get to your moms.” He leans in and presses his lips to hers quickly before he pulls away. His plans for the weekend have changed and he needs his wife to leave on time, so he had helped her pack up the Mercedes. 

**** 

“Wow. This place is sweet.” Johnny grins as you enter the cabin. He’s carrying your travel bag and you admire the decor of the cabin. It’s simple but rustic and you love it. You love being out in the woods, the sound of nature, and of course, being there with your boyfriend. He’s sweet and kind and everything you should want and this weekend you’re going to try and remind yourself of that. Johnny sets your bags down, reaching for you to pull you close, his hands squeezing your ass. “And the best thing is not having to sneak around. We have the whole weekend to do whatever we want.” Johnny kisses along your neck and you smirk, knowing he’s eager to touch you. Has been since you left the York house.

The rustic charm of the house hides the sophisticated camera system. Hidden discreetly in areas that won’t be noticed by anyone who isn’t a trained operative. Carol had never noticed. Now, Dave watches you, glaring at the screen of his laptop as your boyfriend gropes your ass and slides his hand up to cup your tit as he tries to steer you back towards the sofa. “Asshole.” He hisses, jealous that you let this fucker touch you. His cock twitches, making him reach down to palm himself through his pants as he imagines himself with you on that couch. Showing you what getting fucked should be like. 

You let Johnny lay you down on the sofa and he’s quick to remove your shirt, tossing it down and you reach behind you to unclasp your bra, exposing your tits unknowingly to Dave’s gaze until Johnny takes your nipple into his mouth, making you moan. “Fuck. That’s good.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair as he sucks but it’s not hard enough, not rough enough.

“Fuck.” Dave hisses, reaching up to slide the end from the belt buckle. His cock throbbing in his pants and he’s already decided that he’s going to jerk off, watching you get fucked by this pathetic excuse for a boy. There’s nothing really wrong with Johnny, Dave hates him solely because he wants you. Wants to use you and show you what you really want when you look at him with those searching eyes. Pulling his hard cock out, Dave spits in his hand and starts to smear it over the sensitive head. 

When Johnny slides inside of you, he’s asking if you’re comfortable and you want to roll your eyes. “Fuck.” He hisses in pleasure at how wet and tight you are and you want him to squeeze your throat. You want him to fuck you like it’s your last day on earth. You want him to ruin you but he won’t. You wrap your legs around him, trying to push him deeper. “Fuck baby. You’re so wet.” Johnny groans and you want to be spiteful and tell him you were thinking about Dave being in this cabin, imagining him fucking you, wrecking you.

Dave strokes his cock, hard and fast as he imagines how tight you would be. The squeals he would pull from you would be much better than those damn fake moans you are putting on for him. “You would cry for me.” He grunts, watching you wrap your legs around him. He wonders if Johnny actually buys your moans, if he believes that you are actually enjoying yourself. His cock is slick in his hand, gripping it harshly as he jerks off. 

“Oh my God, I’m cumming!” You cry, throwing your head back as you grip him inside of you, faking yet another orgasm. You moan, glancing up at the ceiling, letting out another fake moan as you wait for Johnny to cum inside of you. He’s grunting, his face buried in your neck, and you whimper, “cum for me baby.” You try to egg him on, squeezing his cock in your walls and you moan his name. 

“Gonna cum. Gonna cum.” He groans, thrusting into you a half dozen more times before he cums.

Dave grunts, holding his breath as he starts to cum. Ropes of his sticky seed coating the towel he had covering the steering wheel of his car as he cums. Stroking himself through the high and watching you as you lay under Johnny limply, helping him ride out his orgasm while very obviously not experiencing your own. He wouldn’t let that happen. Milking the last drops of his release before he sits back in the seat and pants, making up his mind on what he will do next. 

You are cooking when you hear the noise. Confused by the clicking sound and you turn the stove off and on again, wondering if that’s the noise. “Johnny?” You call out, wondering where he is. He isn’t usually this quiet. He’s usually annoying you by now, wanting to incessantly talk about his video games or the latest thing he read on Reddit. You turn off the stove, the pasta sauce is cooked anyway, and you will probably find Johnny lounging on the sofa. “Johnny, baby. I-” You scream, finding Johnny tied to a chair and a gag in his mouth.

A hand comes around your mouth, covering it and hot breath washes over your ear. “Ah ah ah, no screaming baby, not yet.” Dave hums in your ear, grinning at the furious expression on your boyfriend’s face. “Your boyfriend didn’t even lock the fucking door. Anyone could have wandered into the cabin.”

Your eyes widen at hearing Dave’s voice in your ear. Your heart pounds in both fear and arousal. His body is pressed against yours and you shiver against him. Your hands are gripping his wrist but it’s no use, he’s stronger than you. “Be calm and nothing bad happens.” He coos and lowers his hand from your mouth. 

“Please. Let - let us go. We will leave. I- I am sorry Mr. York.” You promise, aware to an extent of what he is capable of.

“What are you sorry for?” Dave asks you, “fucking on my couch? Or faking your orgasm.” He shakes his head. “It was pathetic, watching you moan like a whore when we both know you were counting down the seconds until he came and rolled off you.” He tuts and watches Johnny huff and tug against the ropes tying him to the chair in amusement. “So I decided I’m going to show him how you should be fucked.”

Your eyes widen even more and you step away from Dave. “Wha-what? I- Dave. I- don’t understand.” You shake your head and step towards Johnny. “I- I swear to you baby I had - I don’t know what he’s talking about.” You try to assure your boyfriend who is tied up and Dave chuckles, reaching for your wrists to grip them in his. 

“Don’t lie, baby. That’s not nice. You gotta tell him the truth. He doesn’t make you scream. He doesn’t make you writhe. I’ve seen it. I know it. You don’t soak his cock with your cum.” Dave declares and your cunt clenches at the deep words, the truth you’ve been too scared to say. Johnny laughs around the gag again and you wonder how the hell he’s so oblivious. 

“He’s not wrong.” You confess in a whisper.

Dave smirks and looks over at Johnny smugly. “Strip off your clothes.” Dave orders, squeezing your wrists before letting go. “First, I’m going to punish you for letting this boy touch you. You could have just asked and I would have bent you over my desk every night after Carol and the girls were asleep. Or maybe the washing machine in the basement. That way you don’t wake them up with your squealing.” He chuckles as he steps back and reaches for the hem of his shirt. “You cleaned his cum out of your cunt, didn’t you?”

You nod, knowing this is so wrong. It’s so wrong. You can’t fuck Dave in front of your boyfriend. “I- I showered.” You confess and swallow harshly at the sight of Dave shirtless, several scars litter his skin from his past and it attracts you to him even more. 

“I told you to strip.” Dave orders and you shake your head, “I can’t do it.” You choke, knowing this is wrong. Dave shakes his head, reaching into the back of his pants to pull out a gun. 

“If you don’t strip, I’m gonna spread your boyfriend’s brains over the carpet and no one will ever find him.” Your eyes widen, looking at Johnny’s frantic, scared look, and you know Dave doesn’t fuck around. You reach for your shirt, starting to strip off with shaking hands.

Dave watches as your plain bra is revealed, smirking when you reach behind you and shakily unclasp it. “Those are nice tits.” He hums. “Your boyfriend should have sucked on them more. Bitten them and pulled on them.” His cock twitches in his pants and grunts, “I will. Maybe I’ll get some clamps out for them. Make them really sore.”

You whimper at his words, avoiding the glare from your boyfriend who is shaking his head. He never sucks on your tits, always gets right to fucking you. Sometimes he will go down on you but it’s too sweet. It doesn’t make you gasp and writhe. You toss your bra down and hook your fingers in your leggings, pushing them down and kicking them aside so you are left in your panties. 

“Ah ah ah. All of it.” Dave tuts as he pulls his belt through the loops. You look at Johnny as you push your panties down, the gun is still in Dave’s hand so you kick the underwear aside to stand bare before Dave.

“You don’t deserve her.” Dave turns his comment towards Johnny. Shaking his head in disappointment. “She shouldn’t be able to walk, let alone make dinner after you fuck her.” He slaps the belt against his palm and smirks. “Shouldn’t be able to move.” He flicks open the button of his pants and motions to the couch. “Bend over. I’m going to spank you for fucking on my couch.”

You shake your head, glancing over at Johnny and Dave tuts, pointing the gun at the younger man. “Do you want me to blow his brains out?” You shake your head frantically and move over to the sofa, kneeling on it as you shiver in anticipation for what Dave is going to do to you, knowing it’s so wrong to already be turned on.

You shake your head, “please Dave.” You beg and he smacks your ass again. 

“Call me sir.” He demands and you nod, “sir.” He hums in delight and rubs your ass, making you arch your back. 

“Fuck. I need more.” You tell him, finally letting your desires escape, the ones you’ve concealed for so long.

He pauses for a second, grinning in triumph. “I knew you were perfect.” He groans, pulling his hand back so he can whip your ass with the belt, “you need me. Not some pussy.” He hisses, striking your ass every other work in quick succession.

You cry out. arching your back at the pain, but fuck if your cunt doesn't clench at the sensation. "Oh shit." You pant, trying to catch your breath while Dave caresses your ass. You inhale deeply. ignoring the pained look on Johnny's face as he helplessly watches.

“You like it, don’t you?” Dave asks as he draws back for another slap of the belt against your ass. “Don’t lie.”

“I love it.” You confess, unable to lie to him. He’s tearing you apart and you are unraveling for him, telling him your deepest darkest secrets. You cry out when he hits you again with the belt, your skin is on fire and you pant, trying to catch your breath.

Dave groans, smirking as he flicks the belt against your ass again. “Knew you would love it.” He hisses, his cock twitching in his pants. “You’re fucking dirty, my little whore.”

You collapse forward onto your elbows, ass aching. And you struggle to breathe, knowing it’s true. You’ve always been his. “Yes, I- I- fuck. I’m your dirty little whore.” You whimper, closing your eyes to ignore the hurt look on Johnny’s face, concealed by the gag.

Dave chuckles and drops his hand, reaching out and caressing the welts that are on your ass. “Get on your knees.” He orders you rightly, “I want you to suck my cock. Show you me how much you regret him touching you.”

It’s getting impossible to deny him, the guilt pushed aside by arousal as you shift onto your knees and hiss at the sting when your thighs press against your ass. You look up at Dave as he fumbles to pull his cock out, gun still in one hand, and when he manages to get his hard length out, your eyes widen. Fuck, he’s huge. Your mouth falls open in shock and he grips his length, playfully swiping the head along your lips until you take him into your mouth.

Dave groans as you take him deep, rolling his hips forward. “Fuck.” He hisses, watching as your lips stretch around his cock. He loves it, your eyes starting to water slightly as he pushes himself deeper.

You choke but he doesn’t pull back, continuing to push his cock down your throat, and he grabs the back of your head to stop you pulling off of him. “Take it all.” He demands and you gag but inhale deeply through your nose, concentrating on taking all of him.

You swallow and struggle but you manage to press your nose against the curls above his cock. Making him groan happily as he holds your head there for a long moment before he pulls back. Wanting to fuck your throat, use you for his pleasure, although he’s not filling your mouth with his seed. No. He’s saving that for your pussy. Wanting to replace your loser boyfriend’s seed with his and watch it drip from your folds.

You choke on your breath when Dave pulls his cock back, barely able to catch it as he pushes deep down your throat again. “Fuck. Oh fuck.” He hisses and you are dripping onto the floor as you watch him with watery eyes, loving the way he clenches his jaw. The gun is still in his hand. He looks deadly and that turns you on more than anything Johnny has ever done.

He can tell this excites you. The way that you lean into his thrusts into your mouth and the way that your thighs spread tell him how much you love this. In a few minutes he will be able to see your cunt drooling into the floor, your arousal leaking out of you and dripping down like the little slut that he knows you are.

You whimper around him, saliva dripping down your chin, and when he hisses your name, you slide your hands up to caress his thighs. He allows it, watching you with those dark eyes you’ve dreamed of far too often and you whine when he pulls his cock from your mouth after several moments.

“Get up and bend over the couch.” Dave growls, slapping his cock on the side of your cheek. “Want to cum inside you. after you’ve screamed my name so much that your throat is raw.”

You scramble onto the sofa, desperate to feel him inside of you, to get fucked the way you desperately want to get fucked. You look over at Johnny who has tears in his eyes and you mouth “I’m sorry.” It’s useless but you still want him to know how sorry you are. You’re an eager whore for Dave but he didn’t deserve to get caught in the mess.

Pushing his pants down, he kicks them off and kneels behind you. The barrel of the gun slides up your drenched slit and he chuckles when you stiffen. “I could fuck you with this gun. Click the safety off and shove the barrel in your cunt,” he coos, loving how you whimper. “But I’d rather feel you around me first.” He pulls the barrel back and presses it against your puckered hole. “Maybe next time.” He guides himself to your cunt with his other hand and only pulls the gun completely away when he snaps his hips forward and fills you up.

Your gasp echoes in the cabin, shocked at the abrupt way he fills you, stretching you out, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Equal parts painful and pleasurable. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. “Oh fuck.” You choke, unable to breath as he doesn’t give you a chance to adjust around him before he’s pulling out to set a harsh pace, pounding into you like it’s the last thing he will ever do.

Dave hisses at how tight you get, pressing his hand on your lower back when you arch it up. “Fuck, that’s it. God, you love this don’t you?” He chuckles and glances over at where Johnny is sobbing in the chair. “This is what you should have done. You should feel how fucking tight she gets every time I rock into her.” He smirks. “But you won’t, because you can’t fuck her like I can.” He slaps your ass and thrusts harder into you, the slapping of his hips against your ass filling the cabin.

You cry out, his words shouldn’t turn you on but they do. It’s true. Johnny has never fucked you like this. It’s animalistic and you’re fucking breathless, panting as he slams his hips against yours over and over again, gun still in hand as he runs the barrel along your back.

“That’s it, taking it like the little slut you are.” Dave growls, enjoying the way you clench down around him. “My slut. Your cunt needed a real cock inside it. A man who isn’t afraid to hurt you, wants to hurt you.” He groans when you squeal and concentrates on that angle as he plows into you.

“Fuck! Fuck!” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushes deep inside of you, making you fall forward onto your elbows as you can’t remain upright on your hands anymore. “Yes. You. Needed you.” You know it’s wrong but you’re lost in the haze of lust and you can’t see Johnny’s heartbroken look as you wantonly moan for Dave.

Dave growls, loving how you just admitted that in front of your pathetic boyfriend. “You look so good.” He pants out, “split open on my cock. Be a good girl and cum and then I’m really going to make you squeal.”

You can’t hold back, even if you tried, you cry out when he smacks your ass again and you cum, clamping down on his cock and soaking him. You bite your lip, trying to smother your moan because you know Johnny is still watching you.

Dave growls, pissed that you would try to muffle your moans, and he reaches back to grab your shoulder, pulling you back against his chest. “Don’t you fucking bite your lip.” He huffs. “Or I’ll shoot your boyfriend and the last thing he will ever see is you cumming on my cock,”

You hate that his words make you clamp down even more on his cock. He’s so commanding, it makes you soak him, and he grabs your jaw, forcing you to release your lip. “I’m sorry.” You gasp, to both Dave and Johnny. The fact that you are getting fucked by another man in front of your sweet boyfriend has your heart breaking but your body is aching for Dave.

Dave huffs. Sliding his gun hand down as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, the barrel nudging your clit and he smirks when you gasp and your body reacts. “No you aren’t. You love this. You wanted my cock for so long.” He tells you. “You don’t think I didn’t know you searched my history? Saw what I was into? What I imagined doing to you?”

You would be mortified that he knew you’d seen the videos but he’s making your fantasies come true right now and you can’t stop yourself from enjoying the way he fucks up into you, the cold barrel of the gun nudging your clit enough to make you moan again. “I- fuck - it was so filthy. The - the choking. The spanking. I- I want that so much.” You admit, knowing Johnny wasn’t capable of giving that to you.

“You’re gonna get it.” He promises, feeling your cunt start to relax and he pulls out of you to turn you on your back. Throwing your legs back up into his shoulders, Dave wastes no time slamming back into you to start pounding you into the couch like he imagined when he was watching Johnny fucking you, folding you over to make sure he can plunge deep.

“Shit. Oh shit.” You squeal, he’s so deep inside of you. You feel like he’s in your guts. “Fuck baby. Oh fuck.” You sob, sounding authentic, not faking it like you did with Johnny. “Oh my God.” You whine, cupping your tits as he fucks you like it’s his last day on earth.

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so slutty.” Dave hisses, loving the way your cunt just floods his cock with your juices, every time he thrusts into you more coats him. It’s dripping down his thighs and his balls. Reaching up, he slaps your cheek lightly, not enough to hurt you. “My whore.” He growls, grabbing your throat and squeezing like he had imagined so many times. He could never do this to Carol, she didn’t like anything but basic lovemaking, but you are different. You will give him what he needs.

You grip his forearm as he fucks into you, making you moan and writhe. He grips your neck a little tighter and it cuts off some of your air, making you choke but your cunt squeezes his cock. You love this. It’s filthy and everything you’ve ever wanted.

“You love this.” He coos mocking, grinning over at where your boyfriend has his eyes closed. “Open your fucking eyes.” He orders, pointing the gun back at Johnny and his pace falters slightly. “Watch her get fucked. Every second of my cock inside you, you watch. Knowing you can’t give her this.”

You gasp, hating that you’re so turned on by his authority, and you whimper when he hits something incredible inside of you. Johnny opens his eyes, the look in them is heartbroken and it kills you to know that it’s over between you. He’d never want you now and you don’t know if you would want him after experiencing Dave. “Shit. Shit. I’m gonna cum.” You squeal, feeling how close you are.

Gritting his teeth, your squeal just makes him rock into you harder. Wanting to see how hard you cum, Dave holds the gun up to your head and pulls the trigger.

Fuck, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong. But you cum when he pulls the trigger. The way your life flashes before your eyes as you wonder if he’s just killed you only to hear the click of the trigger and nothing else. It’s the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to you and you gush, soaking him with your cum as you sob his name.

Dave groans, feeling your cum soak him. Making him hiss, flexing his finger and dropping the gun as he lunges forward. Folding you over as he presses his lips to yours and buries his cock deep as he can get it, coating your walls in hot ropes of his seed.

You pant against his mouth, hands wrapping around his shoulders, and you pull him even closer, “Dave. Dave. Dave.” You whine into his mouth, his cock twitching inside of you and he pushes his cum out of you with each rock of his hips.

He practically grins against your lips in satisfaction. Feeling you pull him closer is his personal triumph, getting you to admit that you need what he gives you. Riding out his orgasm before he pulls back to see your body just sag into the couch as he admires his cum starting to well up in your abused pussy.

You open your eyes, looking up at Dave as he shifts off of you, leaning back to admire his cum after pulling out of your cunt. “That’s how you’re supposed to fuck her. That’s how she should look. Wrecked. Ruined.” Dave tells Johnny who is crying, blinking to stop himself from closing his eyes, fearful of Dave despite the gun being set aside.

Dave stands, starting to pull his clothes back on and picks up his gun. “You drove up here, so I’m going to take Johnny down to the bus station.” He tells you. “Safe to say he won’t be staying.”

You are too dazed to really think about it. You nod, knowing you will have to call Johnny and break up formally but you doubt he will ever talk to you again. "I'm sorry Johnny." You whisper, watching Dave untie him from the chair but not ungag your boyfriend who looks equal parts disgusted and scared. You know Dave will send him on his way and then you have no clue what will happen next. You can only hope that he fucks you again.

“Stay here.” Dave shoves Johnny towards the door but doesn’t give him a chance to stop and look at you. Opening the door and pushing him outside before locking it behind him. “Don’t worry.” Dave chuckles quietly as the other man starts to struggle against the rope around his hands. “I won’t leave her alone too long.”

You sigh, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. The guilt is creeping up on you but the ache in your body pushes it aside. You’ve never been so satisfied and you’re eager for Dave to return, wondering what the next steps are. Part of you worries if he will kill you. You know he’s capable of it. Part of you wonders if he will simply leave you out here to make your way home.

Dave drives Johnny five miles away from the cabin, turning down an old dirt road that leads to an abandoned property. “You don’t have to worry.” Dave chuckles as he parks the car. “Everything will be fine.” He gets out and rounds the car, pulling an increasingly frantic Johnny out. “Shut up.” He hisses, pushing him up against the car and searching for his phone. He smirks when he pulls it out of his left pocket. “You are going to break up with her. Tell her that you never want to see her again.” He chuckles and puts the now loaded gun up to his temple and urges him away from the car. “Let me show you where I’m going to dump your body.” He taunts. “There’s a very nice, dry well. Perfect for you to rot in.”

Johnny cries, sobbing as Dave pushes him towards the well and he knows he has one chance to fight. He spins around, trying to knock the gun from Dave’s hand and he succeeds, deciding to run. He sprints, his hands still bound, and he can barely breathe with the gag in his mouth. “Fucker.” Dave hisses, scrambling to pick up the gun to run after the younger man. When he catches up, he aims and shoots him in the head, watching the body fall to the ground. “Had to make it messy, huh?” Dave huffs as he drags his body to the well. No one would find Johnny.

After he’s unlocked Johnny’s phone with the Face ID, he shoves the body into the well and smirks as he flips through your texts. Frowning slightly when he sees the exchange where he had been trying to convince you to leave your job with the girls, wanting you to move in with him. “Asshole.” He hisses, angrily typing out the breakup message to you, signaling the end of your relationship permanently. After he sends the message, he blocks your number and shuts the phone down, throwing it into the well, along with his body and hums to himself as he walks back to his car. Now he just needs to deal with you.

You stumble from the bathroom, having peed and cleaned up, when you hear your phone ding. Picking it up, you frown when you see the message from Johnny and open it. 

I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Knowing you’ve been his whore and let him fuck you shows what kind of person you are. You are disgusting and I never want to see you again. I hope he satisfies your slutty needs and he’s gonna break your heart. Good luck. 

The message makes you tear up, not able to refute his claims that Dave will break your heart. You know that. He’s probably on his way back now to do just that. You pull on your shirt and panties and sit on the sofa, typing a message back. 

I’m so sorry, Johnny. I do love you. He just gave me what I needed. Can we please talk? I don’t want to end things like this. You hit send and the message never says delivered. He’s blocked you. That makes you cry, mourning the safe, yet boring relationship you had with Johnny.

Pulling back up to the cabin, Dave is happy to see your car still there. Scoffing to himself because Johnny had been happy to let you whisk him away rather than him doing it to you. Knowing it’s slightly sexist, but he doesn’t give a shit. You need a man to take care of you, and Dave is going to be that man. “I’m back.” He announces, walking back into the main room and frowning when he sees you crying. “What’s wrong?”

You sniff, wiping your eyes when you see Dave. “Johnny broke up with me.” You gesture to your phone and Dave wants to roll his eyes. 

“And that’s a bad thing?” He asks and you bite your lip. 

“I- I don’t know. I feel guilty. I- I fucked you in front of my boyfriend and now he’s - oh God. Carol. And the girls. I- shit.” You start to panic, realizing how wrong this all is.

“Don’t.” Dave shakes his head, sitting down and reaching out for you. He doesn’t care about what you are feeling but he has to pretend like he does. “Fuck that loser, or- don’t fuck him. He couldn’t make you cum. And Carol isn’t going to find out about this.”

“How do you know? I - I can’t look her in the eyes when we go back home. She- she’s gonna know. I can feel it. Oh God. This was so wrong. You shouldn’t have done this. You were supposed to be at home and now I- fuck.” You cling to him, soaking his shirt with your tears.

“Hush.” Dave insists, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. Some people just can’t have a poker face and you are one of them. Not that it matters. His hand slides down into your panties and he pinches your clit. “Don’t think about it.” He growls. “Think about what I’m going to do to you right now. In my bed.”

You choke on your sob, his fingers rubbing your clit has you whimpering. The alternations between pinching and rubbing make you moan and your tears run down your cheeks but you stop sobbing. “Fuck. Dave.” You whine, turning your head to kiss his neck.

“That’s it, concentrate on how much you want it.” He groans, his flaccid cock twitching. He always has wanted to fuck someone after he’s killed and he’s going to get to, the gunpowder still fresh on his skin. “You need it. You need what I’m going to do to you.” He bites down roughly on your shoulder, sure that his teeth will leave impressions through your shirt.

"I do. I really do." You gasp, grinding down onto his fingers. He smells like smoke, something you can't put your finger on, but you love it. It smells like Dave. "More. Need more." You whine and cry out when he slaps your cunt with his palm. 

"Patience." He demands and you whimper, "please Dave."

Dave smirks, enjoying how eager you are for him. He pushes a finger deep inside your cunt and curls it up. “When I am here, you are to wear nothing.” He orders harshly, pumping his finger before adding another. “You will be ready to take my cock in whatever hole I want to fuck.”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll be ready. I’ll be ready. I’m yours. Have been yours. Just - I need more.” You beg, lost in the pleasure to really take note of his words. You reach out to squeeze his cock through his pants, wanting more of him.

Dave growls, rocking his hips up, “take your fucking shirt off before I cut it off.” He demands, wanting to bite and suck on your tits. Eager to leave his teeth marks on your skin. To make you feel him when he leaves tonight. He pushes his fingers deep and rough. “Now.”

You scramble to follow his order, pulling the shirt over your head to expose your tits to his hungry gaze. He surges down to bite down on your nipple, making you cry out in both pleasure and pain. His fingers curl deep inside of you and you’re so close. He unravels you impossibly fast until finally, you clamp down on his digits, his teeth buried in your breast.

Dave groans in delight, feeling his teeth break the skin and the coppery tang of your blood floods his taste buds. Not enough to really do damage but from the way you clench around him, you love it.

You pant as he slows his fingers, letting you enjoy your orgasm and your eyes are still closed when he tells you to look at him. “You’re mine now.” 

You nod, “I’m yours. I- I always have been.” You tell him truthfully.

“Good.” Dave pulls his fingers out of your cunt and shoves them into your mouth, nearly gagging you. “Now, your going to go into the bedroom and spread yourself on my bed, I need to get the toy you will have in your cunt while I fuck your ass.”

You shouldn’t shake with anticipation but you’ve never done anal before. None of your boyfriends were interested in the prep work and you wonder if Dave is the same. If he’s gonna just try to stick it in. You stand on shaky legs and make your way to the bed, kneeling on it and spreading your knees to display your cunt and puckered hole.

When he had come into the cabin, he had dropped a duffel bag near the door. All the supplies he needs inside, he unzips it, removing a toy, a bottle of lube and the handcuffs. The collar and chain are left in the bottom, along with the padlocks he had brought to secure the cabin. Taking them into the bedroom, he grunts in satisfaction when he sees you kneeling. “Has anyone every fucked your ass?”

You shake your head. “No. No one has.” You admit, hissing when he smacks your ass over the welts that are still sensitive from his rough treatment earlier. “You can. I want you to. Just - just be gentle.” You plead, knowing he won’t but maybe he will consider it.

He snorts, pulling your hands behind your back and slapping the cuffs on them. “Depends on how good you are for me.” He won’t be too rough, he wants you to anticipate him fucking you rather than trying to shy away. Leaning over and grinning, Dave spits on your puckered hold and reaches out to massage it into your skin.

"Shit." You hiss at the new sensation. No one has done this to you and you already fucking love it. "Fuck Dave." You pant when he pushes his finger a little deeper inside of you.  "I'll be good." You promise, arching your back and your abused cunt clenches around nothing.

“I know you will.” Dave coos, pulling his finger out and coating it with lube so he can push it back inside you. “You know what I’m capable of. What I could do to you.” He chuckles when your tight hole clenches around his digits. “You like that I’m a killer.”

You can’t deny it. It turns you on to know what he’s capable of. “Oh fuck baby. Yes. Yes I do.” You confess, “I love it. I want you to be the one to fuck my ass.” You tell him breathlessly and you gasp when he adds another finger to stretch you out.

The sounds are slick and you aren’t pulling away as he starts to pump and scissor two fingers inside your ass. Making him groan at the sight of your clenching cunt. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you are nice and filled up.” He grins, picking up the dildo he had formed from his own cock using one of those kits. “My cock will be the last one you have inside you. Even a toy.”

You hear him squirt lube onto the dildo and you gasp when you feel the silicone press against your cunt. You moan when he starts to push the toy inside of you. “Oh fuck!” You squeal, trying to relax around the girth and you realize that the toy is as thick as Dave.

He chuckles, admiring the way your lips stretch around the toy. “You look good like this, even better when my cock is in your ass.” He taunts.

You pant as he works the toy in and out of you, his fingers scissoring your ass open and you collapse forward, resting your cheek on the sheets, your fingers flexing in the handcuffs. “Please, baby. I need you inside of me.”

He chuckles again and pulls his fingers out of your ass. “You’re ready to be full, huh?” He slaps your ass, leaving the toy inside your cunt as he slathers his cock in lube. He wants it to be slick, for himself and for you taking his cock in your ass for the first time. 

“Yes.” You whimper, making him smirk as he slaps your ass and shuffles closer.

You pant as he presses the head of his cock against your puckered hole and you hold your breath as he starts to push inside of you. It hurts, but you can handle it. His hand caresses your back, “breathe.” He orders and you exhale shakily, inhaling deeply on the next breath. He’s so thick it stings but you want this. You try to relax so you can take as much of him as possible.

Unlike the first time he pushed inside your cunt, Dave takes his time. Works himself an inch at a time. Aware that this is new, plus you still have the toy filling up the other hole on the other side of the thin skin. He can feel the ridges in the silicone and he groans as he rocks into you. “Fuck- fuck you’re going to be so good for me? Taking this cock and a toy aren’t you? You’ll let me do anything I want to you.”

You nod, “yes. Whatever you want. I love - I love it.” You tell him, groaning when he starts to move inside of you. “Yes. Oh yes baby.” You pant when he starts to move faster and he’s gripping the toy, working that in and out too. It’s more than you’ve ever felt and you are already on the edge.

“Fuck, fuck you’re so-“ Dave groans, gritting his teeth and biting off his words when you spasm around him, close to cumming already. “Shiiiit.” He hisses, rocking his hips faster, slapping them against your ass as he works up to a frantic pace.

You squeal when he picks up the pace, pushing into you over and over again. “Yes. Yes! Keep - keep going. Keep going. I - fuck. You’re gonna make me - Dave. Oh Dave!” You clamp down on the toy, squeezing it inside of your walls and you squeeze Dave, shaking as you sob into the sheets at the intensity of your orgasm.

“God, you’re such a perfect little slut.” Dave groans, slowing down and rocking his hips a lot slower than before. He wants you exhausted by the time he is done with you. He needs you to sleep while he closes up the house. “That’s good baby, fuck, you’re so tight.” He praises, caressing your spine. “Want you to cum again. You’re gonna come for me again.”

You recover against the bedsheets, trying to catch your breath while Dave caresses your spine, until he starts to fuck you again. This time, he’s slower. Not as rushed as he rocks his hips, and you try to grind back onto him, arms aching from the handcuffs but you daren’t ask him to remove them.

Looking down, he watches his cock move inside you. Aware that he is recording this very moment on the camera system to keep and watch back whenever he wants. “Gonna fuck you every week.” He groans, twitching inside you. “First you’re going to suck my cock. Kneel down and take my cock down your throat while I finish up work.” He tells you, like he’s explaining how things will go. Because he is. “Then I’m going to fuck your cunt full.”

"Oh God." His words make you burn and you want that, you want him. Every fucking day. "Yes. Yes. My pussy is yours, Dave. I belong to you." You promise, tears stinging in your eyes as your wildest dreams come true. "I need you. I need this."

“You are mine.” He groans, rocking his hips faster and he reaches around you to slap your clit and rub it harshly. “Forever. You’re mine. Mine. You’re going to give me more kids.”

You wonder if he’s just babbling or if he means it. It’s hard to not give into the fantasy. You want him to knock you up, claim you in every way. But you know that if you were lucid, you would be terrified to get knocked up by a married man. “Yes. Yes. Gonna have your babies. As many as you want.”

He snarls, closing his eyes and gripping your hips harshly as he starts fucking into you harshly again. Rubbing your clit in a desperate effort for you to cum again. His control slipping at your acceptance of what he has planned for you. “Yes, fuck, yes, cum for me.”

You can't deny him, clamping down on the toy that is still inside of you, while his cock pushes deep and his fingers play with your clit. "Oh my - fuck!" You scream, almost blacking out from the pleasure. This is what you've wanted, what you've craved since you started working for the Yorks. Now you've got it, your entire body is on fire.

He feels your body give out, collapsing against the bed and flattening out so he just follows you. Still fucking into your ass like a man possessed and his hand trapped between you and the bed, rubbing your clit. He growls out your name, burying his cock deep and filling you with another load of his cum, pulsing deep inside the other hole he had claimed.

You can't open your eyes, you can't move. Knowing he's cum inside of you again, and the way he growled your name, it's more than you can bear. "Fuck. I- I love you. I love you. I love you." You sob, knowing he won't reply but you want him to know.

He doesn’t love you. He can’t. Not when he has the girls and Carol and all the shit that he does. But he does want you. You’re his. He rides out his high and starts to slowly ease out of you once he’s done.

You sigh when he pulls out of you, slowly removing the toy too and you feel so empty. His cum drips out of you, and you want him to take the handcuffs off and cuddle you but he won’t. He will probably uncuff you and then send you on your way. “Thank you.” You murmur, knowing how good this was and you know you’ll need him again soon.

Dave caresses your ass for a moment before he moves towards the bathroom. He needs to clean you up. “I’ll uncuff you in just a second.” He promises, grabbing the toy and bringing it with him.

You watch him come back in with the rag, hissing as he cleans up your abused holes, and you sigh when he unlocks the  cuffs, rubbing your wrists. “Did you enjoy it?” You ask him softly, wanting him to have loved being inside of you.

“Obsessed.” Dave answers with an honest smirk. He knows that you are going to want reassurance and intimacy so he motions for you to get under the covers and pulls them back to get into the bed with you. “I’ll be thinking about it when I’m not inside you.”

Your eyes widen as he slides into bed beside you and you are surprised when he wraps his arms around you. You smile, shifting back to snuggle into him, breathing him in. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring but you have him tonight. He strokes along your stomach and you are lulled into sleep, exhausted from the sex and the events of the day.

He waits until you are softly snoring, slipping out of the bed and picking up your phone to type out another text message, one that would be sent to his phone. Smirking to himself as he hits send, removes your SIM card and erases it. He’s had your password for a long time and now he’s used it. Redressing and stepping out with the bag and padlocks to start shuttering the cabin windows. With you inside.

****

You blink as you wake up, confused by your surroundings until you remember that Dave had fallen asleep beside you. You sigh and turn over in bed, frowning when you feel the cold sheets beside you. He’s gone. You knew he would leave but a small part of you hoped he would stay. You get out of the bed, shrugging on your robe that you’d brought with you, and you frown when you see the cabin is in darkness. You walk over to the window to open the curtains and you gasp when you find it shut up. Starting to panic, you go through each window, finding each one boarded up, and you rush over to the front door. Screaming when you find it locked, you tug on the handle with no use. You’re locked in. “Dave! Dave! Dave!” You shout, praying he’s still here and this is some kind of joke. You rush around the cabin but he’s nowhere to be found. “Oh my God.” You panic, chest heaving as you come to realize he’s locked you in.

Watching the screen, Dave sees you panicking. He picks up his cell phone to dial the cabin. He’s set it up so that only he can dial in, there are no outgoing calls to be made. He watches you jump when the phone peels and you rush over to it. “Dave! What- what is going on? What - why are you doing this?” You cry, making him exhale slowly, keeping his patience for now. 

“You said you’re mine.” He reminds you quietly. “You didn’t want Carol to find out. So this is perfect. You will stay here, I’ll be up to see you every couple of days and bring you supplies.” He rasps into the phone. “I can see you on the cameras and I’ll call you once a day. Tell me if you need me to bring you anything. And when I come, you can have me just like you said you wanted.”

Your hands shake as you look around the cabin, trying to spot the cameras and you think you see one in the corner. “Please don’t do this. I- I wouldn’t tell Carol. It would be our little secret. I don’t - please Dave. I can be a good girl. I won’t tell anyone. Just - just come and let me out. Please. I - fucking let me out of here!” You shout down the phone, losing your cool as you start to have a panic attack at the fact that he’s locked you in the cabin.

“Ah ah ah.” Dave tuts disappointedly. “A good girl wouldn’t yell about her situation.” He tells you. “I’ll be back in three days, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll bring those cookies you love. And you don’t have to worry about Johnny.” He decides to tell you the truth. “I killed him. And you texted me, telling me that you were quitting to move in with him. So Carol won’t wonder where you’ve gone.”

You sob, hearing the truth that Dave killed Johnny. He didn’t deserve to die. He was a good man. You nearly drop the phone, covering your mouth to smother your sob but know Dave can see it on the camera. “Don’t be sad. Now we can be together. When I want. I’m gonna have you forever. You’re mine now.” Dave declares and hangs up the phone. 

You frantically try to call back on the phone but the line is dead. You press the numbers over and over with no response so you finally slump down onto the floor. Dave killed Johnny and now you are his prisoner. Your selfishness has ruined everything, Dave has destroyed everything. You cry for Johnny, for your future, and you know you won’t make it out of here alive. Dave won’t let you go now. You’ll be his. Forever.