#Build typing master game

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent things.. mostly just writing screenshots lol

[girlfailureblog]

what gets me about the Minecraft Movie trailer is that THEY COULD HAVE JUST RIPPED OF THE LEGO MOVIE WITH WAYYYY BETTER RESULTS.

Think about it:

11 year old boy wakes up in Minecraft. Sees the innate beauty of the world. Creates buildings. Is worshipped as a God by villagers. Protects said villagers from mobs. Lives in village. 11 year old boy ages up to 15 and 'beats the game'. With a frame narrative of it being on the computer and how his love of Minecraft translates to a love of the real world. Coming of age, soft environmentalism, community co-operation as themes. idk

Like 'steve' as the master builder type beat.

Instead of ripping off Jumanji but 10 times worse why don't they just rip off the Lego Movie? It's right there.

[notscarsafe]

Today on Hermitcraft:

Pearl: streams for EIGHT HOURS becoming a redstone master building a wordle-type game for her new shop

Tango: is so proud of Pearl they're both struggling for words and it's so adorable I'm gonna explode

Docm77: Shows up in the middle of the proud speech to FINALLY ORDER HIS MAILBOX at a location FIVE HUNDRED BLOCKS AWAY as measured by NETHER TRAVEL

Etho: shows up in the middle of this order (bounces in the window like an excited puppy) to assure Doc that Tango absolutely has that order covered (Tango Panik noises)

And now they're all hangin out together talking over Pearl's cool mini game and hanging out and idk my crops are watered, my skin is clear, etc etc

Bonus:

Zombiecleo: gets roped into a meeting with doc on the steps of the new courthouse that sounds serious only for doc to reveal a crazy redstone gadget that *does* celebrate pride month but might also deafen cubitos in sound range

(livestream June 5th 2024)

[willowbeesims]

Seabrook Colonial, build by WillowBeeSims

Step into this Greek Revival inspired property located in the coveted neighborhood of Sage Estates. Characteristic of its lush surroundings, the walkway is adorned with beautiful hydrangeas, towering trees, and a picnic area for your nature-loving sims.

The house itself consists of a master suite, 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, and a pool house. There is ample room to entertain guests, whether that’s hosting dinner parties, outdoor barbecues, or playing a round of tennis.

Gallery ID: WillowBeeSims

Notes:

Lot Size: 50 x 50 | Placed in Willow Creek

Residential Lot Type

Partially furnished with functional kitchen & bathrooms

CC Heavy Build

Packs used: For Rent, Cottage Living, Cats & Dogs, and Get to Work

Info and Download on Patreon (Free)

I wish I had more screenshots to share, but I was too tired to take more. Hope you don’t mind! 😅 Please tag me @willowbeesims if you end up using or decorating this build! Would love to see it in your game. :)

[mrs-delaney]

Behind The Lens | Part One

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

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 20k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Slow burn, unrequited love, emotional repression, late-night work sessions, professional boundaries being pushed to their limit, that sick feeling when you realize he’s seeing someone else, and the kind of yearning that makes you spiral in your group chat. No resolution yet, just a lot of tension, timing issues, and feelings no one wants to name.

A Few Quick Notes:

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

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

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

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

I’m also a little nervous because this is my first request and I really hope I got it right. Fingers crossed it hits the way it’s supposed to.

If you’re here for the angst, the emotional spiral, the girl who’s been in love with him for years while pretending it’s fine, this part’s for you. The heartbreak isn’t over yet, but the foundation is laid.

* * *

July 2020 - Cincinnati Bengals Training Facility

The media room buzzed with activity, camera equipment being assembled, lighting adjusted, and PR staff running through talking points. First overall draft pick. Heisman Trophy winner. The savior of Cincinnati football. The narrative had been constructed well before Joe Burrow ever set foot in the building.

Y/N Y/L/N checked her camera settings for the third time, methodically working through her mental checklist. First official shoot as a Bengals staff member, and they'd assigned her to the franchise quarterback. No pressure.

Her phone vibrated against the table. Three texts in a row from the sibling group chat that hadn't stopped since she'd landed the job two weeks ago.

Matt: Don't drop the camera when you see him

Aaron: Ask him if he'll sign my jersey

Lucas: Remind him that the Y/L/N family has survived a lot of bad quarterbacks

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling as she typed back a quick response.

Y/N: I'm a PROFESSIONAL. Unlike some people I know.

Lucas: I’m professionally jealous that you're breathing the same air as our franchise savior

Growing up with three football-obsessed brothers in Louisville had prepared her for this world in ways her master's degree in sports management never could. She'd spent her childhood being dragged into backyard games, learning to throw a perfect spiral out of self-defense, and developing an encyclopedic knowledge of plays and statistics just to hold her own at the dinner table.

"He's on his way down," announced Kayla from PR, clipboard pressed against her chest. 

"Everyone ready?"

Y/N nodded, adjusting her Bengals polo, still crisp and new against her skin, and straightened her posture. The room settled into expectant silence, cameras at the ready, the culmination of months of draft speculation about to materialize in the doorway.

When Joe Burrow entered, there was none of the fanfare his status might have suggested. He walked in with a quiet confidence that seemed to belong to someone much older than twenty-three. Dressed in Bengals gear that still looked just slightly unfamiliar on him, he surveyed the room with calm, observant eyes. His expression remained neutral, but there was something assessing in his gaze, taking in details and remembering faces.

"Good morning everyone," he said, nodding to the room.

Y/N watched through her viewfinder as PR staff introduced themselves, directing him to his mark for the initial photoshoot. She captured his handshakes, his nods, the way he listened carefully to instructions. Professional, focused, but with none of the arrogance that often accompanied first-round quarterbacks.

"We'll start with some standard shots," Kayla explained. "Then move to action poses with the ball."

As if on cue, an assistant hurried forward with a football, but in his eagerness, he fumbled the toss. The ball spiraled awkwardly through the air on a collision course with an expensive light setup.

Without thinking, Y/N stepped forward from behind her camera, catching the ball one-handed before it could cause any damage. The leather felt familiar against her fingers, a muscle memory from countless backyard games. She transferred the ball to her right hand in one fluid motion and sent a perfect spiral directly to Burrow.

He caught it easily, but his eyebrows lifted slightly, and that subtle Joe Burrow expression of being impressed without overstating it. The hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"Nice hands," he commented.

Heat rushed to Y/N's cheeks, but her voice remained steady. "Growing up with three brothers," she explained, already retreating to her camera. "You either learn to catch or get hit in the face a lot."

Something flickered in his eyes, recognition, maybe, of someone who understood the language of the game beyond the surface. He spun the ball in his hands, considering her for a moment longer than necessary before turning his attention back to the waiting PR team.

As the photoshoot continued, Y/N fell into the rhythm of her work, directing Joe through various poses with professional efficiency. However, something had shifted in their interactions, and a natural ease was developing between them. He responded to her cues without question, seeming to trust her judgment on angles and lighting in a way that surprised the more veteran staff.

"Can we get a few looking directly into the camera?" Y/N requested, adjusting her position.

Joe locked eyes with her through the lens, his gaze steady and unreadable. For a brief moment, it felt like everything else in the room had faded away, leaving just her, him, and the camera between them. Y/N swallowed hard, maintaining her composure as she captured the shot.

"Perfect," she said, her professional mask firmly in place. "Now just a slight smile, nothing forced."

The corner of his mouth lifted genuinely this time. Not the media smile he'd been giving the other cameras, but something quieter. Something real.

Click.

Later that evening, as Y/N sorted through the day’s photos from her new cubicle, she paused on the last shot. There was something in his expression she hadn’t noticed before. Focused, almost curious, like he wasn’t just looking at the camera but through it. Not vacant. Not posed. Just present.

She quickly moved to the next image, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. This was Joe Burrow, the franchise quarterback. She was just the newest media team member and was lucky to land a job during a pandemic. Whatever she thought she saw in that photograph was professional respect at best, her imagination at worst.

Her phone buzzed again.

Lucas: So... did you embarrass us or what?

Y/N glanced back at the photo on her screen, at those steady eyes looking directly into her camera, and smiled to herself.

Y/N: I was the picture of professionalism. Just caught a rogue football one-handed, saved  thousands of dollars in equipment, and threw a perfect spiral to Joe Burrow. No biggie.

The response was immediate, all three brothers texting simultaneously:

Matt: WHAT 

Aaron: YOU THREW A PASS TO JOE BURROW 

Lucas: WE'RE GOING TO NEED DETAILS. ALL OF THEM. NOW.

Y/N laughed, setting her phone aside without responding. Let them stew in their jealousy for a while.

She returned to the images, continuing to sort through them with methodical precision, telling herself that this was just the first day of many, that Joe Burrow was just another player she'd be working with, and that the way he'd looked at her through the camera meant nothing.

But as she exported the final selections, she couldn't help saving that one particular shot to her personal folder. Joe looking directly into her lens, that hint of a genuine smile, eyes alive with something that might have been curiosity.

* * *

The COVID Protocol Meeting

August 2020 - Virtual Team Meeting

“And that’s the revised media protocol for the season,” Kayla concluded, her face serious in the Zoom window. “Limited in-person access, virtual press conferences, and strict distancing during the interviews we do conduct face-to-face.”

Y/N scribbled notes, mentally calculating how these restrictions would affect their ability to connect fans with the team. Everything would be more distant, more sanitized. The exact opposite of what made sports culture thrive.

“We need to address the fan engagement problem,” the director of media relations added. “No fans in the stadium means we’re losing that community connection that’s central to the Bengals experience.”

Y/N hesitated, then unmuted herself. “I have some ideas, if you’re open to them.”

Several of the veteran staff members exchanged glances, the new hire speaking up so soon. But Kayla nodded encouragingly.

“Go ahead, Y/N.”

“First, what if we did cardboard cutouts in the stands? Fans could purchase their photos to be placed in the seats. It gives them a presence in the stadium, provides visibility during broadcasts, and could generate revenue we could direct toward COVID relief efforts in Cincinnati.”

The director nodded slowly, making notes.

“Second,” Y/N continued, her confidence building, “I know the team is planning the march to the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center and the $250,000 pledge to community programs. We could create a digital content series highlighting the social justice initiatives. In-depth interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, educational components. It’s meaningful content that connects to what’s happening beyond football.”

“And third, we need to replace in-person interactions with virtual ones. Q&A sessions with players, live-streamed limited-access practices, interactive social media challenges. The fans need to feel part of the Bengals community even when they can’t physically be here.”

When she finished, there was a moment of silence before the director spoke.

“These are solid, Y/N. Particularly the social justice series.” He looked around the virtual room. “Let’s form working groups to develop each of these. Y/N, I want you on the social justice content team, coordinating with player involvement.”

After the meeting ended, Y/N’s phone pinged with a direct message from Kayla.

Impressive first strategy meeting. The rookie quarterback is participating in the Freedom Center march. Since you’ll be handling content for that initiative, I’m making you the point person for his involvement. Virtual introduction tomorrow at 10.

Y/N stared at the message, excitement and anxiety wrestling in her stomach. Three weeks into the job, and she was already working directly with the franchise quarterback on a project that actually mattered.

* * *

August 2020 - Virtual Meeting

Y/N logged into the Zoom call five minutes early, double-checking her presentation on the Bengals’ planned social justice initiatives. She’d spent half the night researching the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center and preparing thoughtful questions about what aspects of the initiative Joe might connect with most.

At exactly 10:00, a new window appeared in the meeting. Joe Burrow sat in what looked like a home office, wearing a plain gray t-shirt, his expression attentive but neutral.

“Good morning,” Y/N began, professional despite her nerves. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N from the media team.”

“The one with the good arm,” Joe replied, that hint of recognition in his eyes. “Kayla mentioned you’re heading up content for the social justice initiative.”

Y/N nodded, momentarily caught off guard that he remembered her. “That’s right. We’re developing a content series around the team’s commitments, particularly the Freedom Center march and community programs.”

She shared her screen, outlining the proposed series – player perspectives on social justice, educational components about Cincinnati’s history with the Underground Railroad, and documentation of the team’s ongoing involvement in community programs.

“We want this to be authentic, not performative,” Y/N explained, watching Joe’s reactions carefully. “So I wanted to talk with you directly about what aspects of this initiative matter most to you personally.”

Joe leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting from polite attention to genuine engagement.

“I appreciate that approach,” he said. “A lot of teams are putting out statements, but how many are actually listening to the communities they claim to support?” He paused, considering. “My platform comes with responsibility. I want to use it to amplify voices that don’t get the same audience I do automatically.”

Y/N found herself nodding, impressed by his thoughtfulness. This wasn’t a PR-trained response; this was someone who had clearly been reflecting on his position and influence.

“What if we structured part of the series that way?” she suggested. “Instead of just documenting the team’s involvement, we could use player platforms to highlight community organizers and local leaders who’ve been doing this work for years.”

Something changed in Joe’s expression – a spark of interest, a subtle shift as he reassessed her.

“That’s exactly the right approach,” he said. “I’d be on board for that. Actually…” he hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. “I’ve been having conversations with some of the veteran players about organizing additional player-driven initiatives beyond what the team has planned. Would that be something you could help develop content around?”

Joe Burrow was a rookie, sure, but already, he was stepping into leadership. And now, somehow, he was bringing her into it.

He looked right at her this time, more serious than before.

“I might be a rookie, but I want to help create the right culture here.”

Y/N tried not to show her surprise. Joe Burrow, rookie quarterback, was already taking leadership on social initiatives and was bringing her into the conversation.

“Absolutely,” she assured him. “Whatever you guys decide to do, I can make sure it’s documented thoughtfully. Just keep me in the loop.”

Joe nodded, seeming satisfied. “Will do. Send me the schedule for the Freedom Center content when you have it. And Y/N?”

“Yea?”

“I meant what I said about amplifying other voices. That includes inside the organization. If you have ideas, bring them directly to me. I might be a rookie, but I want to help create the right culture here.”

After the call ended, Y/N sat back in her chair, processing. Joe Burrow wasn’t just another entitled athlete performing social consciousness for the cameras. There was a genuine commitment there, a willingness to listen and learn.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Lucas.

Lucas: How’s life shaping the Bengals’ social media empire?

Y/N smiled to herself.

Y/N: Just had a meeting with Burrow about the social justice initiatives. He’s actually… impressive. Not what I expected.

Lucas: Damn, they’ve got you working directly with QB1 already? Moving up fast, sis.

She didn’t respond, still thinking about Joe’s parting words. Bring ideas directly to me. It was an unusual level of accessibility from the franchise quarterback, especially to someone so new.

Y/N opened her laptop and began outlining additional concepts for the social justice series, feeling for the first time like she might be building something meaningful in this role and finding an unexpected ally in Joe Burrow.

* * *

September 2020 - Cincinnati

The morning of the team’s march to the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center dawned clear and crisp. Y/N arrived early, coordinating with the small camera crew allowed under COVID protocols. She had two jobs today: document the event and support Joe’s involvement.

Players and staff gathered in small, distanced groups, many wearing masks with “END RACISM” printed across them. Y/N moved among them with her camera, capturing candid moments of conversation and preparation.

She spotted Joe standing slightly apart, reviewing what looked like notes on his phone. Approaching cautiously, she asked, “Everything good for today?”

He looked up, recognition crossing his features. “Y/N. Yeah, just reviewing some history on the Freedom Center. Figured I should be informed if they ask me questions.”

Something about his diligence touched her. Many players showed up for PR events with minimal preparation, but here was Joe Burrow, studying historical context before a march.

“The content team put together some background materials,” Y/N offered. “I can send them to you.”

“That would be helpful,” he nodded. “I want to get this right.”

As they began walking toward the starting point, Joe asked, “You’re from Kentucky, right? Louisville?”

Y/N looked at him in surprise. “Yeah. How did you remember that?”

A slight shrug. “You mentioned your brothers when we talked about the social justice series. Said they grew up playing football in Louisville.”

Before she could respond, they reached the gathering point, and Joe was pulled into a conversation with veteran players. Y/N stepped back into her professional role, camera ready, but she couldn’t help reflecting on Joe’s unexpected recall of personal details she’d mentioned only in passing.

The march itself was powerful, players, coaches, and staff walking together toward the Freedom Center, a physical demonstration of commitment to addressing racial injustice. Y/N documented it all, but found her lens repeatedly drawn to Joe. Despite being a rookie, he walked with purpose, engaged in serious conversations with teammates and staff.

At the Freedom Center, the team gathered for a group photograph and brief remarks. Y/N positioned herself to capture reactions, smiling slightly when Joe adjusted his stance to be more visible in her frame. She didn’t think he even realized it yet, but he was already learning how to work with the camera and with her.

As the formal portion concluded, Y/N was reviewing footage when Joe approached, now carrying a Freedom Center brochure.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, nodding toward her camera.

“Plenty of good material,” she confirmed. “Thanks for being so aware of the documentation needs.”

“That’s your job, right? Making us look good,” he said, that ghost of a smile appearing briefly.

“Making you look authentic,” Y/N corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Joe considered this, then nodded in apparent approval. “You planning to go through the exhibits while you’re here?”

“I want to, but I need to get this footage back for initial editing.”

Joe glanced at the brochure in his hand. “I’m going to take a look around. Part of the point was to learn, not just be seen here.” He hesitated, then added, “Let me know what you think of the final content package. I’d like to see how this whole initiative comes together.”

“Will do,” Y/N promised, trying not to read too much into his interest in her work.

As Joe walked away toward the museum entrance, Y/N’s phone vibrated with a text.

Matt: Saw coverage of the march on ESPN. Did you meet any of the players?

Y/N smiled to herself, thinking of Joe reviewing historical notes and asking for her feedback on the content.

Y/N: Working directly with several of them on this project. They’re taking it seriously. More than just a PR move.

She tucked her phone away and packed up her equipment, reflecting on how the Joe Burrow she was getting to know differed from both the media portrayal and her own initial expectations. There was a thoughtfulness to him, an attention to detail that extended beyond football.

Y/N glanced toward the museum entrance where Joe had disappeared. The flutter in her stomach when he’d remembered details about her family, the way her pulse had quickened when he’d approached her earlier, these weren’t just professional responses to a colleague.

Oh no, she thought, the realization dawning with uncomfortable clarity. She was developing a crush on Joe Burrow. The franchise quarterback. Her literal job assignment.

Y/N forced herself to turn away, focusing intently on packing her equipment. This was exactly the kind of complication she couldn’t afford in her first real career position. She was here to document the Joe Burrow era, not catch feelings in the middle of it.

But as she headed back to the media van, she couldn’t quite shake the image of Joe studying historical notes before the march, his quiet determination to get things right. Or the way his eyes had met hers when he’d asked about her Kentucky roots, attentive and genuinely interested.

Professional boundaries, she reminded herself firmly. Just doing my job.

Even as she thought it, Y/N knew she was already in trouble.

* * *

October 2020 - Paul Brown Stadium

“This is surreal,” Y/N murmured, walking between rows of cardboard cutouts staring blankly from the stands. Her idea had turned into rows of life-sized fan cutouts, filling the empty seats with frozen smiles and silent support.

She snapped photos for social media, occasionally recognizing faces of season ticket holders who had submitted their images. The empty stadium echoed with the sounds of her footsteps and the occasional distant voice of facilities staff.

“Quite the crowd you’ve assembled.”

Y/N turned to find Joe Burrow standing a few yards away, hands in the pockets of his team-issued sweatpants. He wasn’t scheduled for any media today, and she hadn’t expected to see him.

“Tough audience though,” he added with that subtle lift at the corner of his mouth. “No matter how well I play, they never cheer.”

Y/N laughed despite herself. “But they never boo either. Built-in supportive fanbase.”

Joe moved closer, studying the cardboard faces. “This was your idea, right? Kayla mentioned it in a media briefing.”

“One of them,” Y/N confirmed, surprised he knew. “Part of our COVID adaptations.”

Joe nodded, walking slowly between the rows. “Creative solution. Kind of eerie, but better than completely empty stands.” He stopped at a particular cutout, an elderly man wearing what looked like decades-old Bengals gear. “Some of these go back generations of fandom.”

“The team means a lot to this city,” Y/N said, joining him. “Even when the seasons are rough.”

“Especially then,” Joe replied, his expression thoughtful. “Loyalty means more when it’s tested.”

They stood in oddly comfortable silence, surrounded by the two-dimensional crowd. Y/N was acutely aware that this was the first time they had been completely alone together, no cameras or meetings structuring their interaction.

“We’re setting up for a socially distanced filming session,” Y/N finally explained, gesturing to her camera. “Fan messages to play during the broadcast.”

Joe glanced at her equipment, then at the stands. “Need help?”

Y/N stared at him. “You’re volunteering to help set up a PR shoot?”

“I’ve got an hour before film study,” he shrugged. “Figured I’d see how the other side of this works. I’m usually the one being pointed at, not the one setting things up.”

Before Y/N could respond, her phone rang, Kayla from PR, probably wondering where she was with the setup.

“Go ahead,” Joe said, already picking up one of the lighting stands Y/N had brought. “I’ll start getting these positioned.”

The call was brief, Y/N confirming she was already at the stadium preparing. When she hung up, she found Joe had already assembled the lighting setup, positioned exactly where it needed to be.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, surprised.

He gave a small smile. “Enough times to know where the light should hit.”

As they continued setting up, Y/N was struck by how easily they worked together, a wordless efficiency developing as they prepared the filming area. Joe would anticipate what she needed next, handing her equipment before she asked or adjusting lighting as she checked camera angles.

“My brothers would never believe this,” Y/N muttered, almost to herself.

“What’s that?”

“The franchise quarterback doing setup work for a social media shoot,” she said, a little sheepish. “They think I spend my days chasing you around with a camera, not actually doing anything.”

Joe smiled, a real one this time, not just the hint of one. “Happy to help rewrite the narrative.”

He glanced back at the rows of cutouts. “What did they think about your idea, by the way? The cardboard fans?”

“They actually thought that was brilliant,” Y/N admitted. “They submitted their own photos. They’re around here somewhere.”

“Which ones?”

“Row 23, I think? Three guys who look suspiciously related to me, wearing vintage Boomer Esiason jerseys.”

Joe immediately changed direction, heading for Row 23. Y/N followed, amused by his curiosity. He stopped when he found them, three cardboard men in their early thirties, indeed wearing matching vintage jerseys, grinning widely at the camera.

“The Y/L/N brothers,” Joe observed, studying their faces. “I can see the resemblance.”

“God help me,” Y/N sighed.

Joe turned to her with unexpected seriousness. “You’re lucky. To have family that supports what you do like that.”

There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet sincerity that made Y/N pause. Before she could respond, the stadium doors opened and the rest of the media team arrived, ending their private conversation.

“Thanks for the help,” Y/N said quickly as Joe prepared to leave. “Unexpected but appreciated.”

He nodded, already shifting back into the more reserved demeanor he typically displayed around staff. “Good luck with the shoot.”

As he walked away, Y/N turned back to the cardboard crowd, her eyes lingering on her brothers’ frozen smiles. You’re lucky, Joe had said, with something like wistfulness in his voice. Another unexpected glimpse beneath the composed exterior of Joe Burrow, not just the focused quarterback or careful public figure, but someone who noticed family bonds and valued them.

And despite her best efforts, Y/N couldn’t ignore how her heart had raced when he had studied her brothers’ faces with such genuine interest, or the warm flush that had spread through her when they had worked side by side, moving with that easy, inexplicable synchronicity.

This is dangerous territory, she thought, forcing herself to focus on the technical aspects of the upcoming shoot. She was here to capture the Joe Burrow era on film, not fall for it firsthand. Developing feelings for Joe Burrow would be professionally reckless and personally painful, especially when he was already in a relationship. Olivia wasn’t a rumor or a tabloid story. She was his longtime girlfriend, dating back to Ohio State. They didn’t post much, but when they did, it was enough to remind everyone where things stood. Including Y/N.

Earlier, while organizing the cutouts by section, Y/N had paused at a familiar trio in the lower bowl. Joe’s parents. And Olivia. All smiling. All submitted together.

Y/N had kept moving, pretending it didn’t sting.

Now, standing among hundreds of cardboard faces and listening to her own heart speed up at the memory of working alongside him, she reminded herself again. This wasn’t a crush. This was a complication. One she couldn’t afford.

Later, reviewing footage from the fan message recordings, Y/N found an unexpected clip at the end of the day’s files. Joe had recorded a brief message directly to camera before leaving.

“To all the cardboard fans,” he said, that subtle humor evident in his eyes, “we hear your silent cheers. And to the real fans watching from home, we feel your very real support. Stay safe, and we’ll see you back in these stands as soon as possible.”

It was perfect content, genuine, thoughtful, with just enough warmth to feel personal without being overly sentimental. Y/N added it to the editing queue, knowing it would resonate with fans.

But as she worked late into the night on the final cut, she kept thinking about Joe among the cardboard crowd, noticing her brothers’ faces, helping with equipment no quarterback would typically touch. The Joe Burrow the public saw, composed, occasionally reserved, and the Joe Burrow who noticed details, who said you’re lucky with quiet sincerity.

Two versions of the same person, and Y/N was beginning to suspect she was one of the few people who got to see both.

* * *

Early November 2020 - Virtual Children's Hospital Visit

"You're on in five, four, three..." Y/N counted down silently with her fingers, giving Joe the cue to begin.

He smiled into the camera – that media-ready smile he'd perfected over the season, warm but controlled. "Hey everyone at Cincinnati Children's! Sorry I can't be there in person this year, but I wanted to say hello and answer some of your questions."

Y/N sat behind her laptop, coordinating the virtual visit while Joe interacted with children appearing on screen one at a time. Despite the technical constraints, he managed to make each conversation feel personal, giving children his full attention, answering their sometimes rambling questions with patience.

Between children, while the hospital staff set up the next patient, Joe glanced at Y/N for guidance.

"You're doing great," she mouthed, giving him a thumbs up. "Four more to go."

He nodded, taking a sip of water. This was their fifth virtual charity event together, and they'd developed an efficient shorthand. Y/N could read the subtle shifts in his expression that indicated when he needed a break or when technical issues were frustrating him. Joe, in turn, had learned to trust her direction, responding to her non-verbal cues without question.

The final child was a twelve-year-old boy recovering from surgery, wearing a handmade Burrow jersey over his hospital gown.

"My question is," the boy began shyly, "what are you doing for Thanksgiving since things are different with COVID?"

The question caught Joe off-guard, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before his media composure returned.

"That's actually a great question," he replied. "Olivia and I are keeping it small at our place this year. She's from Ohio too, so we're staying local instead of seeing extended family. It's different, but we're making it work, just like you're making things work at the hospital."

Y/N kept her expression professionally neutral, even as something inside her deflated. Of course Joe had someone. Of course they lived together. Y/N had seen enough social media tags to know that Olivia was his long-term girlfriend from Ohio who'd supported him through his college career at LSU and his transition to the NFL.

The information wasn't new, she'd heard casual mentions of Olivia in conversations around the facility, but hearing Joe speak about her with such warmth and familiarity made their relationship suddenly more concrete.

After the call ended, Joe stretched in his chair. "Think that went okay?"

"It was great," Y/N assured him, busying herself with equipment breakdown so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. "Those kids were thrilled."

"Thanks for coordinating all this," Joe said. "These virtual events could be awkward, but you make them run smoothly."

Y/N nodded, focusing on cable management with unnecessary precision. "Just doing my job."

"Still," Joe insisted, "it makes a difference having someone who..." he paused, searching for the right words, "gets it. Gets the balance between the PR stuff and what actually matters."

The sincerity in his voice made Y/N look up, against her better judgment. Joe was watching her with that quiet intensity that sometimes replaced his more guarded expression – the look that made it feel like he was really seeing her.

"Thanks," she managed, hating the flutter in her chest. "That means a lot."

An awkward silence stretched between them, until Joe cleared his throat. "So, uh, any plans for Thanksgiving? Going back to Louisville?"

"Can't this year," Y/N shook her head. "My oldest brother's wife is pregnant, so they're being extra cautious about COVID. We're doing a big Zoom call instead."

Joe nodded, understanding in his eyes. "That's tough. First holiday away from family?"

"Yeah," Y/N admitted, surprised by his perception. "It's weird, but it's just one year, right?"

Joe seemed about to say something else when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, a genuine smile spreading across his face – the unguarded kind that Y/N rarely witnessed.

"Olivia's wondering when I'll be home," he explained, already standing and gathering his things. "I should get going."

"Of course," Y/N nodded, the professional mask firmly back in place. "Have a great rest of your day."

He hesitated for a beat at the door, like he was going to say something else. But then his phone buzzed again, and the moment passed.

She stayed seated after he left, letting the quiet settle in. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known about Olivia. But hearing him talk about her like home—that was harder than she expected.

* * *

November 22, 2020 – Paul Brown Stadium

Y/N stood frozen behind her camera as the Washington defensive lineman crashed into Joe’s planted leg. Even from her position on the sidelines, she could tell immediately that something was catastrophically wrong. The unnatural angle. The way Joe’s body crumpled.

For a terrible moment, the stadium fell silent.

Then everything accelerated into chaos. Medical staff rushing onto the field, players from both teams taking a knee, coaches huddled in urgent conversation. Y/N’s training kicked in, her hands steady on the camera despite the sick feeling in her stomach, documenting what no one wanted to see but everyone needed to remember: the moment that changed the trajectory of Joe Burrow’s rookie season.

Through her lens, she watched as players from both teams approached Joe before he was loaded onto the cart. Even from a distance, Y/N could see his face, pale with pain but somehow composed, nodding at his teammates as medical staff secured his leg.

The cart began its slow journey off the field, passing near where Y/N stood. She lowered her camera for just a moment, their eyes meeting briefly through the crowd of concerned staff. Y/N gave him a small nod, part acknowledgment, part encouragement. The corner of Joe’s mouth lifted slightly in recognition before he was driven away, disappearing into the tunnel.

Hours later, after processing footage, filing preliminary reports, and fulfilling media obligations, Y/N sat alone in her office, staring blankly at her computer screen. The official announcement had come: torn ACL, MCL damage, additional structural issues. Joe Burrow’s rookie season was over, and a long rehabilitation lay ahead.

Her phone vibrated on the desk.

Matt: Just saw the injury. Absolutely brutal.

Lucas: You were there on the sideline? Damn.

Aaron: Recovery timeline?

Y/N appreciated their concern but couldn’t find the energy to respond with more than a brief acknowledgment.

Y/N: It’s bad. ACL, MCL. Looking at 9+ months probably.

She set the phone down and turned back to her computer, focusing on what she could control, organizing footage, preparing content plans for a team that would continue without its central figure.

A knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to find Kayla standing there, expression uncharacteristically subdued.

“Crisis management meeting in ten,” she said. “Oh, and you’re being assigned to Joe’s rehabilitation documentation.”

Y/N tried to keep her expression neutral. “Documentation?”

“The team wants to chronicle his recovery journey,” Kayla explained. “Limited access, very controlled narrative. Needs someone he’s comfortable with, who understands both the football and PR sides.” She gave Y/N a meaningful look. “He asked for you specifically.”

After Kayla left, Y/N sat motionless, processing this development. Amid the pain and chaos of a season-ending injury, Joe had thought to request her for the rehabilitation coverage. Had remembered her name in what must have been a blur of medical discussions and difficult conversations.

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unexpected source.

Joe: Heard you’re documenting the comeback tour.

Y/N stared at the message, surprised he was texting so soon after the injury. She’d assumed he’d be wrapped up in medical consultations and processing the devastating news.

Y/N: If you’re sure that’s what you want. We can assign someone else if you’d prefer.

The response came quickly:

Joe: I want someone who won’t make this into a pity story. Someone who gets it.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, deliberating her response. Professional, she reminded herself. Keep it professional.

Y/N: Then I’m in. We’ll document the comeback on your terms.

Joe: Surgery’s next week, December second. We’ll get going after that.

Y/N: Got it. Focus on healing. I’ll handle the content strategy.

She watched the typing bubble flicker on and off before one last message came through.

Joe: Thanks, Y/N. For everything today.

She knew he meant her work on the sidelines, the professional documentation of a difficult moment, but there was something in those simple words that felt more personal. An acknowledgment of their brief eye contact, the small nod of encouragement she’d offered when she’d lowered her camera.

Y/N: Always. That’s what I’m here for.

Setting her phone down, Y/N turned back to her computer, already mentally outlining a rehabilitation content strategy that would balance the team’s PR needs with Joe’s dignity and privacy. This assignment would mean more direct, one-on-one work with him over the coming months. More opportunities to witness the person behind the professional facade. More chances for her inconvenient feelings to deepen.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. She should request a different assignment. She should maintain more professional distance. She should stop the flutter in her chest whenever Joe sought her out specifically.

She should do a lot of things.

Instead, she opened a new document and titled it Burrow Rehabilitation Content Strategy, already knowing she was in far too deep to turn back now.

* * *

Early/Mid December 2020 – Rehabilitation Center

“Just a few more clips today,” Y/N assured Joe, adjusting her camera as the physical therapist prepared for the next exercise. “We’ll keep it brief.”

Joe nodded, his face drawn with the familiar tension that came with these early rehab sessions. Two weeks post-surgery, every movement was still an exercise in controlled pain management. Y/N had been documenting the start of his recovery, creating carefully edited content that showed determination without exploiting vulnerability.

“Ready when you are,” she told the therapist, who nodded and turned to Joe.

“Let’s work on those quad activations again. Ten contractions, five-second hold each.”

Y/N captured the session with practiced ease, knowing when to focus on Joe’s face, when to catch the therapist’s coaching, and when to lower the camera out of respect. She’d developed an intuitive sense for the line between honest storytelling and intrusion.

After thirty minutes, the therapist called it. As he stepped out to retrieve Joe’s chart, Y/N began packing her equipment.

“How’s it look?” Joe asked quietly, nodding toward her camera.

Y/N glanced up. She knew he wasn’t asking about framing. “It looks like exactly what it is. The beginning of a comeback story.”

A hint of a smile touched his mouth. “Pretty boring content so far.”

“The best comeback stories start slow,” Y/N replied, zipping her bag. “Makes the highlight reel more satisfying when it hits.”

Joe adjusted his position on the table, wincing. “This part doesn’t make the highlight reel, huh?”

“Only the parts where you’re showing superhuman determination,” she said. “Not the ones where you’re calling the PT sadistic.”

That earned a real laugh, though it quickly turned into a grimace. “You’re honest. I appreciate that.”

Y/N paused, sensing a shift. After two weeks of filming his rehab, the professional boundaries were still in place, but the nature of the work created a certain closeness. Documenting someone’s pain, frustration, and tiny victories had a way of drawing people closer, whether either of them liked it or not.

“The team wants an update for social tomorrow,” she said, steering them back to safer ground. “Any preferences for the message?”

Joe rubbed his thigh just above the brace, thinking. “Keep it simple. No dramatic promises. Just… I’m working. Progress is happening. Grateful for the support.”

“Done,” Y/N nodded, making a note. “I’ll send a draft for approval.”

“I trust your judgment,” Joe said. “You haven’t overplayed any of this.

“That’s why you requested me, right?” Y/N asked, trying to keep the tone light, though the question had lingered since she got the assignment.

Joe’s eyes met hers. “Yes. You see the person, not just the story.”

The honesty in his voice caught her off guard. Before she could respond, her phone chimed.

Kayla: Need the rehab footage by 3pm for review.

“Work calls,” Y/N said, holding up her phone. “I should get this back to the facility.”

Joe nodded. “Same time Thursday?”

“I’ll be here,” she said, collecting the last of her gear.

As she reached the door, Joe called after her. “Hey, Y/N?”

She turned. “Yeah?”

“You doing anything for Christmas?”

She shrugged. “Staying in Cincinnati. My brother’s wife is pregnant, so we’re playing it safe.”

“That’s tough.”

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “First Christmas away from family, but honestly, not the worst thing happening this year.”

“Right,” Joe said, though something in his expression flickered. “See you Thursday.”

That evening, Y/N returned to her apartment to find a care package from her brothers: Louisville bourbon, family photos, and University of Kentucky gear to “keep her from turning into a full-time Bengals fan.” The gesture made her laugh, but it also made her chest ache. The distance felt heavier than usual this year.

While editing footage from the day’s session, she noticed again how different Joe seemed in rehab. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t polished. Just quiet, steady effort. It was more compelling than any mic’d-up segment she’d ever shot.

Her phone buzzed.

Kayla: Rehabilitation content is getting excellent engagement. Team’s impressed with how you’re handling the narrative. Authentic but respectful.

Y/N replied with a quick thanks, then sat staring at the paused frame on her laptop—Joe mid-contraction, jaw tight, eyes focused. She knew this wasn’t supposed to be personal. But somehow, it was starting to feel that way.

She closed her laptop firmly.

Joe Burrow was her subject. Not her friend. Not anything more. The fact that he trusted her with his recovery story was a professional compliment, not a personal invitation.

Even as she thought it, Y/N knew she was lying. But sometimes, professional survival required a certain amount of self-deception.

* * *

December 24, 2020 – Y/N’s Apartment

Y/N’s apartment felt too quiet on Christmas Eve. She’d decorated half-heartedly, a small artificial tree with a few ornaments, some lights strung around her living room window—but the holiday spirit was hard to capture alone in a city where she still felt like a newcomer.

She was curled on the couch watching Die Hard (a Y/L/N family tradition her brothers had insisted she maintain) when her phone buzzed with a notification from the building’s security desk.

Package delivered for Y/L/N – front desk

Puzzled, Y/N paused the movie and headed downstairs. She wasn’t expecting anything, and her family’s gifts had arrived days ago.

The security guard handed her a medium-sized package wrapped in simple brown paper with her name written in neat block letters. No address. No shipping label.

“Guy dropped it off about an hour ago,” the guard said. “Said it was important you got it tonight.”

Back in her apartment, Y/N carefully unwrapped the mystery package to find a plain white box. Inside was a Cincinnati Bengals snow globe, but not the kind sold at the team store. This one was custom-made with meticulous detail: a miniature Paul Brown Stadium filled with thousands of tiny cardboard cutout fans. When she shook it, confetti in Bengals colors swirled around the stands.

A small card rested beneath the snow globe.

Y/N – Thought you should have something to remember your first season with the team. The cardboard fans deserve a place on your shelf. – Joe

Y/N read the card twice, just to be sure she hadn’t imagined the signature. Joe Burrow had found a custom snow globe with cardboard fans—a perfect tribute to her COVID initiative, and had it delivered to her apartment on Christmas Eve.

While she was still absorbing that, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Did it arrive in one piece? The guy at the shop was worried about the cardboard details.

She saved the number before responding.

Y/N: It’s perfect. How did you even find something like this?

Joe: Custom order. Guy downtown does specialty snow globes. Took some convincing to add cardboard people instead of snow.

Y/N: I don’t know what to say. Thank you.

She hesitated, then added:

Y/N: How’s rehab going? That last session looked tough.

His reply came quickly.

Joe: Getting there. PT says I’m ahead of schedule, but it still feels too slow. Olivia’s tired of me being restless about it.

The casual mention of Olivia brought her back to earth. Of course they were spending Christmas together, Joe recuperating, Olivia looking after him.

Y/N: Well, the snow globe was incredibly thoughtful. This officially puts my Secret Santa game to shame.

Joe: Wasn’t Secret Santa. This was just… a thank you. For handling the rehab documentation the right way.

Y/N sat with that for a moment. Joe had gotten her a separate, personal gift. Something he’d commissioned, thought about, followed up on. It wasn’t part of any exchange. It wasn’t required.

Before she could figure out what to say without giving herself away, another text came through.

Joe: Merry Christmas, Y/N. See you for the next rehab session.

Y/N: Merry Christmas, Joe. Rest up, comeback next season is gonna to be epic.

She set her phone down and picked up the snow globe again, turning it over in her hands. Outside her window, snow had started to fall over Cincinnati. Her first Christmas in a new city felt a little less lonely.

Y/N knew she should guard her heart. Joe Burrow had a girlfriend he clearly cared about. This was just a thoughtful gesture from someone who noticed details and appreciated hard work. Nothing more.

But as she placed the snow globe on her nightstand before bed, she couldn’t help the warmth that settled in her chest. Couldn’t quiet the voice that whispered

He was thinking about you on Christmas Eve.

* * *

January 2021 – Rehabilitation Center

“That’s good for today,” the physical therapist said, making notes on Joe’s chart. “You’re pushing hard, but remember what we discussed about not overdoing it.”

Joe nodded, jaw clenched in a way Y/N had learned to recognize as pain management. The session had been particularly grueling, testing new movement patterns that clearly challenged his healing knee.

“I’ll send these notes to the medical team,” the therapist continued. “Same time on Thursday?”

“I’ll be here,” Joe confirmed, his voice controlled but tight.

As the therapist left, Y/N began packing her camera equipment, giving Joe a moment to compose himself. She had been documenting his rehabilitation for six weeks now, establishing a careful routine: arrive early, capture what was needed, create space for recovery between exercises, and never make him feel watched during moments of struggle.

“That looked rough today,” she said, keeping her tone neutral as she stored memory cards.

Joe exhaled slowly, adjusting his position on the treatment table. “PT says that’s good. Means we’re pushing boundaries.”

Y/N nodded, recognizing the stock answer he gave to staff and coaches. After weeks of these sessions, she had become adept at distinguishing between Joe’s responses—the media answers, the team answers, and, occasionally, the real ones.

“We got good content,” she assured him, shifting the subject. “The determination shots will play well with fans. And that moment with the resistance band tells a clear progress story from last week.”

Joe made a noncommittal sound, staring at the ceiling. Y/N continued packing, assuming the conversation was over, when he suddenly spoke.

“What if I can’t come back from this the same?”

The question hung in the air, so quietly spoken that Y/N wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it. She turned to find Joe still staring upward, his carefully maintained composure showing rare cracks.

Y/N set down her equipment and moved closer. She reached for the camera she had just packed.

“Off the record,” she said, showing him as she turned off the device completely. “Nothing recorded.”

Something in Joe’s expression shifted, relief, maybe, or recognition that she understood what he needed in this moment.

“Everyone keeps saying I’ll come back stronger,” he continued, voice low. “The team, the media, the fans. ‘Joe Burrow’s comeback will be legendary.’ But what if it’s not? What if this,” he gestured to his braced leg, “changes things permanently?”

Y/N leaned against the treatment table, giving him space but staying present. “What does your PT actually say? Not the public version.”

“That I’m ahead of schedule but have a long way to go,” Joe answered. “That most players come back from ACL tears, but it can take a full season to feel normal again.” He paused. “If normal even exists after this.”

Y/N nodded, considering her response carefully. This wasn’t a moment for empty reassurance or team talking points.

“I tore my ACL my senior year,” she said, surprising him with the personal reference. “Playing soccer at UK. Doctor said I might not play again. Six months later I was back on the field.” She paused. “Different, but better.”

Joe turned to look at her fully, genuine surprise breaking through his frustration. “You tore your ACL?”

“I did,” Y/N said. "The rehab was brutal. I used to ice my knee and cry in the training room bathroom so my teammates wouldn’t see.”

“What changed?” Joe asked, fully engaged now. “How did you get from bathroom tears to ‘better’?”

“I stopped fighting the process,” Y/N said simply. “Started respecting the injury instead of resenting it. And I learned that ‘same as before’ is the wrong goal. You don’t get the same body back. You get a new one that moves differently.”

She hesitated, then added, “But here’s what no one tells you—the mental game changes too. You become more strategic when you can’t rely on pure physicality. You see the field differently. You anticipate because you have to. Some of my best plays came after the injury, not before.”

A moment of connection formed as Joe finally met her eyes, a small smile forming. “You don’t bullshit me. That’s why I like you.”

Y/N felt that flutter but kept her composure, moving back to her equipment. “The comeback narrative isn’t bullshit. It’s just incomplete without acknowledging the struggle.” She picked up her camera bag. “And Joe? No one who’s watched you work these past weeks doubts you’ll be back. The question is just who you’ll be when you get there.”

Joe nodded slowly, processing her words. “Thanks. For the honesty. And for turning off the camera.”

“Some moments aren’t for documentation,” Y/N said. “Though if you ever want to talk about the mental side of recovery for the content series, I think it would resonate. Athletes don’t discuss that enough.”

“Maybe,” Joe said, his professional mask gradually returning. “I’ll think about it.”

As Y/N prepared to leave, Joe called after her. “Hey, Y/N? Your team ever regret drafting you after the injury?”

Y/N smiled despite herself. “I wasn’t exactly first-round NWSL material, Joe. But no. The injury made me a better player. Different, but better.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she left, aware that something had shifted between them—a new layer of understanding beneath their professional relationship. For the first time, Joe had seen her not just as the person behind the camera, but as someone who truly understood his struggle from the inside.

It was a connection she hadn’t planned for. And one that would make staying professional a little harder every week.

* * *

April 2021 - Y/N’s Apartment

“They’re absolutely taking Chase,” Lucas insisted through the Zoom call, his voice slightly delayed over Y/N’s laptop speakers. “Burrow needs weapons more than protection.”

“That’s insane,” Aaron countered, his window lighting up. “They’ve got to take Sewell. What good are receivers if your quarterback is getting murdered every play?”

Matt’s face appeared in the third window. “Y/N, you literally work there. What are they thinking?”

Y/N took a sip of her beer, settling deeper into her couch as the NFL Draft coverage continued on her TV. The brothers’ traditional draft night debate was in full swing, though this was the first year they’d done it virtually instead of crammed into someone’s living room.

“I’m in media, not the front office,” she reminded them. “And even if I knew anything, I’m not sharing confidential information with you degenerates.”

“Come on,” Lucas pressed. “You’ve been filming Burrow’s rehab for months. He must have dropped hints about who he wants.”

Y/N shook her head. “Professional boundaries, remember? I document the recovery. I don’t gossip about draft preferences.”

In truth, Joe had mentioned Chase during a rehabilitation session the previous week. A casual “Be nice throwing to Ja’Marr again” while working on his passing motion. But Y/N took her role seriously. What happened in those sessions stayed there, unless approved for team content.

Her phone buzzed with a text, offering a welcome distraction from her brothers’ continued debate.

Joe: You watching?

Y/N stared at the message, surprised. It was draft night. She had assumed Joe would be watching with friends, family, or Olivia.

Y/N: Of course. Annual Y/L/N family tradition, now over Zoom.

Joe: Predictions?

Y/N thought carefully about her response, hyperaware of her brothers still arguing loudly through her laptop.

Y/N: My brothers are arguing Chase vs Sewell. Heated debate in progress. I’m staying neutral.

Joe: Smart. But off the record?

She smiled at his persistence.

Y/N: Off the record, I think your LSU connection might win out over conventional wisdom.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared.

Joe: We’ll see in about 4 picks. My phone’s been blowing up all night. Needed a normal conversation.

Something warm bloomed in Y/N’s chest at the implication, that texting her constituted “normal” for Joe, a respite from the pressures of draft night.

Y/N: Happy to talk about it like a regular person. How’s the knee today?

Joe: Good session this morning. Getting stronger. Doctor says I’m where I should be at 20 weeks.

“Y/N, who are you texting? You’re missing the debate!” Matt called through the Zoom.

“Just work stuff,” she replied absently, watching the three dots appear on her phone again.

Joe: Olivia says hi. She’s been impressed with the rehab content series.

Y/N’s fingers froze over her keyboard. The sting was immediate, the kind that crept up slowly even when she thought she’d braced for it. Of course Olivia was there. Of course they were watching the draft together. The reminder sat heavy.

Y/N: Tell her thanks and hey back.

She set her phone down and forced her attention back to her brothers and the draft coverage. On screen, the Bengals’ pick was approaching, the tension building as analysts debated the same Sewell-versus-Chase question that had divided the Y/L/N brothers.

When Commissioner Goodell announced “Ja’Marr Chase, wide receiver, LSU,” Lucas erupted in triumph while Aaron groaned dramatically. Y/N felt her phone buzz again but didn’t look right away, instead watching the coverage of Chase celebrating with his family.

Finally, she glanced down.

Joe: Like I said, LSU connections matter.

Y/N couldn’t help smiling, imagining Joe’s subtle satisfaction at the pick.

Y/N: Lucas says you’re welcome. Apparently he’s taking credit for Chase like he was in the war room.

Joe: Tell him I’ll let Chase know he’s got fans in Louisville. Heading into calls. Appreciate the breather.

Y/N: Anytime. Congrats on the reunion tour.

She set her phone aside and rejoined her brothers’ now-heated debate about the wisdom of the pick. But part of her mind lingered on that text exchange—on being the person Joe reached out to for normal amid the draft night chaos, and on the complicated feelings that continued to develop despite her best efforts to contain them.

The rehabilitation documentation had created a unique space between them. Not quite friendship. Definitely not romance. But something intimate nonetheless. Joe trusted her. Relied on her perspective. Valued her discretion.

It was enough, she told herself. And for now, it had to be.

* * *

July 2021 - Training Camp

The energy at training camp was electric, fans lining the practice fields for their first glimpse of Joe Burrow back in action after his devastating injury. Y/N moved efficiently through the crowd, capturing fan reactions and b-roll for the team’s social content.

“Y/N!” Kayla called, waving her over to the media area. “We need you on Burrow’s first team drills. Main camera, tight focus on his movement and confidence. This is the money shot everyone’s waiting for.”

Y/N nodded, adjusting her equipment as she headed to the designated position. After months documenting Joe’s rehabilitation journey, the painful early sessions, the gradual progress, the breakthrough moments, this felt like the culmination of a shared experience. Though she’d never say it aloud, she felt oddly protective watching reporters and cameras gather, knowing many were hoping to capture any hint of hesitation or weakness in his return.

When Joe jogged onto the field in full practice gear, a roar went up from the assembled fans. Y/N watched through her viewfinder as he acknowledged the crowd with a casual wave before joining the quarterbacks group. His stride looked natural, confidence evident in his movement. If he felt any apprehension about this first public session, it didn’t show in his body language.

Throughout the early drills, Y/N maintained her professional focus, capturing exactly what the team needed, Joe’s throwing mechanics, his footwork, the way he planted on the surgically repaired knee. But she couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction each time he executed a perfect dropback or stepped confidently into a throw, knowing how hard he’d fought for each of those movements.

During a brief water break, Joe glanced toward the media area, his eyes finding Y/N’s camera with practiced ease. He gave a subtle nod, something like acknowledgment or even gratitude, before turning back to his teammates. Y/N swallowed hard, refocusing her lens. That small gesture felt significant, a private recognition of the journey they’d documented together.

“Looking good out there,” commented a reporter standing nearby. “Can’t even tell which knee was injured.”

“That’s the point,” Y/N replied, not looking away from her viewfinder. “Months of work to make it look effortless.”

After practice concluded, Y/N was reviewing footage when she noticed Olivia standing near the family area, waiting as Joe finished speaking with coaches. She was stunning even in casual clothes, her easy confidence evident as she chatted with other players’ family members.

Y/N had managed to avoid direct interaction with Olivia throughout the rehabilitation documentation. Their paths rarely crossed during Joe’s recovery. Now, watching her welcome Joe with a warm embrace after practice, Y/N felt the familiar ache that she’d become adept at ignoring.

“Y/N, right?”

Y/N turned to find Olivia standing beside her, offering a friendly smile.

“Yes,” Y/N confirmed, professionalism automatically kicking in. “Nice to see you again.”

“I wanted to thank you personally,” Olivia said, surprising Y/N completely. “Joe mentioned how you handled the rehab documentation. Keeping it about the work, not turning it into some dramatic sob story. It meant a lot to him. To both of us, really.”

Y/N managed a smile, her grip tightening slightly on the strap of her camera bag. “Just doing my job,” she said, steadying her voice. “Joe made it easy. He was committed from day one.”

“Still,” Olivia insisted, “he said you understood what he needed from those sessions. Not many media people get that part right.” She paused, glancing toward where Joe was still engaged with coaches. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. It’s been a rough few months.”

The sincerity in Olivia’s voice made Y/N feel suddenly guilty for her complicated feelings. This woman clearly loved Joe and had supported him through an incredibly difficult recovery.

“He’s looking great out there,” Y/N offered. “All that work is paying off.”

Olivia nodded, relief evident in her expression. “That’s what the doctors are saying too. Though he’s still pushing too hard, in typical Joe fashion.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at that familiar truth. “Some things never change.”

“Exactly,” Olivia agreed with a knowing look. As Joe approached, she added quietly, “Anyway, thanks again. Looking forward to seeing the season content you create.”

Joe approached from across the field, catching sight of them mid-conversation. His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he smoothed it out with a nod.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Just thanking Y/N for her work during your recovery,” Olivia explained, her hand finding his naturally. “The content series has been really well done.”

Joe’s eyes met Y/N’s briefly. “She gets it right. Always has.”

The simple validation shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. Y/N nodded professionally, already stepping back. “Just capturing what’s there. You looked solid today. Confidence reads clearly on camera.”

“Months of practice,” Joe replied, the hint of a private joke in his eyes, a reference to their many conversations about perception versus reality in the rehabilitation content.

“I should get this footage back for editing,” Y/N said, gesturing to her camera. “Good to see you both.”

As she walked away, Y/N tried to sort through her conflicting emotions. The professional pride in seeing Joe’s successful return. The personal satisfaction of having been part of his recovery journey. The complicated ache of witnessing his relationship with Olivia up close, their easy intimacy, their shared experience of his injury.

Y/N had maintained appropriate boundaries throughout the rehabilitation process, focusing on the work rather than her inconvenient feelings. But seeing him back on the field, confident and strong after all those difficult sessions, stirred something deeper than professional satisfaction.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Kayla: Need the practice footage ASAP. National outlets requesting clips of Burrow’s return.

Y/N welcomed the distraction, focusing on the immediate demands of her job. There would be time later to process the complex emotions of this day, and to reinforce the professional walls that seemed increasingly necessary as the new season approached.

* * *

2022 Season – January 2023

“And Joe Burrow leads the Cincinnati Bengals back to the AFC Championship game for the second straight year.”

The announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium as Y/N captured the sideline celebrations, moving efficiently through the chaos to document the team’s triumph. After a remarkable comeback season in 2021 that took them to the Super Bowl, the 2022 Bengals had faced enormous expectations. They were meeting them with another deep playoff run.

Y/N had established herself as a key member of the media team, promoted to Social Media Coordinator at the start of the season. The role gave her broader responsibilities beyond player-specific content, though she still handled much of the quarterback and skill position documentation.

As players embraced on the field, Y/N captured Joe’s celebration with his teammates. The confident smile, the easy leadership that had developed over three seasons. When he glanced toward her camera and gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment, Y/N felt the familiar flutter she’d learned to ignore.

Their professional relationship had evolved over the past year. The intensive connection of the rehabilitation period had naturally shifted as Joe returned to full strength and Y/N’s responsibilities expanded. They still worked together regularly, but the intimate space of those recovery sessions, where vulnerability and trust had created something unique, had given way to the more structured interactions of normal team operations.

Later, in the locker room, Y/N navigated between celebrating players and capturing authentic moments for the team’s social platforms. Joe stood at the center of a media scrum, handling questions with the composed confidence that had become his trademark.

“Y/N!” called Chase, waving her over to a group of receivers. “Get this for the official account.”

She smiled and directed her camera toward their celebration. This was her world now. Trusted by players, respected by staff, the voice behind the team’s digital presence. The professional success was everything she’d worked for, even as she maintained careful boundaries with the quarterback who had once trusted her with his most vulnerable moments.

After finishing the required content, Y/N was packing her equipment when she sensed someone approaching.

“Good game to capture,” Joe said, now changed from his uniform but still flushed with victory.

“Congratulations,” Y/N replied, her smile genuine. “Back-to-back championship games is no small feat.”

“The content team has been killing it this season,” he said, nodding toward her coordinator badge. “That promotion was well-deserved.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, a little surprised he’d noticed. Since his full return, their interactions had been mostly professional. Still friendly, but nothing like the closeness they’d shared during his recovery. “Everyone makes it easy to create good content.”

Joe gave a small shrug. “Still. You’re the one shaping how it’s remembered.”

Y/N smiled at that. “Well, my job’s bigger now. I’m not just chasing quarterbacks around anymore.”

A comfortable silence settled between them. The kind that only develops between people with shared history. For a moment, Y/N felt a faint echo of their rehabilitation sessions, when conversation had flowed naturally despite the professional context.

“Olivia’s organizing a team gathering if we make the Super Bowl,” Joe said, breaking the quiet. “You should come. The whole media team is invited, but”, he paused, searching for the words, “it would be good to have you there. After everything.”

Y/N nodded, maintaining her professional composure despite the unexpected invitation. “Thanks. That would be nice.”

Joe seemed about to say something else when Chase called his name from across the locker room. “Quarterback meeting in five.”

“Duty calls,” Joe said with a quick smile. “See you around, Y/N.”

As he walked away, Y/N finished packing her equipment and tried to parse the brief interaction. There had been something in his expression. Not quite nostalgia, but recognition of their unique history. The rehabilitation journey had created a connection that, while carefully professional, had left its mark on both of them.

Y/N’s phone buzzed with the brothers’ group chat.

Lucas: Another AFC Championship! Bengals social team crushing it with the content.

Matt: They better be paying you overtime for playoff coverage.

Aaron: How close are you and Burrow these days? Still working together often?

Y/N stared at Aaron’s question, unsure how to answer. The truth was complicated. They worked together professionally, but the intensity of their connection during his recovery had naturally faded as circumstances changed.

Y/N: Professional relationship. I work with all the players in my coordinator role. But yes, still see him regularly for content.

She tucked her phone away and headed for the media room, where immediate deadlines awaited. The answer hadn’t been a lie, exactly. But it hadn’t captured the nuance of whatever existed between them. The lingering awareness, the comfortable silences, the way his eyes still found her camera in crowded moments.

Y/N had become expert at compartmentalizing these thoughts, focusing instead on her professional success and the exciting playoff run ahead. Whatever complicated feelings remained were her burden to manage. Not Joe’s, and certainly not something that would ever interfere with the career she’d worked so hard to build.

Even if, occasionally, she still caught herself watching him through her viewfinder a moment longer than strictly necessary.

* * *

February 2024 – Joe’s Home Gym

Y/N adjusted her camera, capturing Joe as he completed another set of wrist stabilization exercises. Four months into his second major injury recovery in three years, the rehabilitation routine had become familiar to them both. This session was taking place in the home gym Joe had built after his ACL recovery, a space that reflected his methodical approach to training, all clean lines and functional equipment, personal touches minimal.

“How’s that feeling compared to last week?” Y/N asked, lowering her camera as Joe finished the exercise.

“Better,” he replied, flexing his wrist carefully. “More control. Less hesitation.”

Y/N nodded, making notes for the recovery update that would be released to fans later in the week. As Social Media Coordinator, she no longer had to handle the daily documentation of Joe’s recovery, but she had still accepted his request to personally oversee the key elements of his rehabilitation content. After the success of their first recovery series, the team had readily agreed.

“The fans will be happy to see the progress,” she said, reviewing the footage. “They’ve been worried since Baltimore.”

“Four years with the Bengals and two seasons ended by injuries,” Joe commented, a rare note of frustration breaking through his composure. “Not exactly what anyone had in mind.”

Y/N looked up from her camera. “The comeback narrative plays well the first time. Second time, it reads as resilience. Those aren’t bad stories to have attached to your name.”

He gave her a small smile, the kind reserved for when she cut through the media spin to something more genuine. It was a look Y/N had catalogued without meaning to, along with his game-day focus, his press conference diplomacy, his unguarded moments of triumph. Four years of documenting Joe Burrow had left her with an encyclopedic knowledge of his expressions.

As his physical therapist entered to begin the next series of exercises, Y/N stepped back, camera ready but maintaining a respectful distance. She had perfected the art of being present without imposing, of capturing vulnerability without exploiting it.

“Y/N,” Joe called as the PT finished setting up. “The team said you’re heading to the combine next week?”

“Yeah, they want feature content on potential draft picks.” She adjusted her lens. “First time being on that side of the process.”

“Tell them to find someone who can stay healthy,” Joe said, that subtle humor in his eyes. “Someone boring who never gives the social media team anything dramatic to document.”

Y/N laughed. “I don’t know. Documenting your injuries has been good for my career. Got me this promotion.”

“Happy to help,” Joe replied dryly, though something in his expression shifted and grew more serious. “You deserve it. You always see the person beyond the player. Not everyone does that.”

The simple observation caught Y/N off guard. Before she could respond, the PT motioned that they were ready to begin the next exercise, and the moment passed.

Later, reviewing the footage alone in her apartment, Y/N paused on a frame that captured Joe mid-motion, his expression reflecting the focus and determination that defined him. After nearly four years, she still found herself studying these images longer than necessary, still felt that familiar tug of emotion she had long since accepted but never fully conquered.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Sam, a colleague from the PR department who had gradually become her closest friend on the team.

“Please tell me you’re not still working,” Sam’s voice carried the easy warmth Y/N had come to rely on. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Just finishing up the Burrow rehab content,” Y/N replied, closing her laptop. “Wanted to get ahead before the combine trip.”

“How’s our quarterback looking?”

“Good,” Y/N said, careful to keep her tone professional. “Recovery’s on track. Should be cleared well before training camp.”

There was a brief silence before Sam spoke again. “And how are you doing with all of this?”

Y/N hesitated. She had never explicitly discussed her feelings for Joe with anyone. Not her brothers, not her colleagues. But over the past year, Sam had noticed things, the way Y/N’s expression changed when Joe entered a room, how she instinctively anticipated his needs during media sessions, the careful distance she maintained in group settings.

“I’m fine,” Y/N said automatically. “Just doing my job.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam replied, the skepticism evident in her voice. “And has that job gotten any easier in the, what, almost four years you’ve been doing it?”

Y/N sighed, glancing at the snow globe still sitting on her nightstand, a reminder of a Christmas Eve long ago. “It’s not like that. We work well together. We have a professional rapport. That’s all.”

“Y/N,” Sam said, her voice gentler now. “I’ve seen how you look at him when you think no one’s watching. And I’ve seen how he seeks you out in a crowded room, how his eyes follow you. Whatever’s between you two, it’s not just professional rapport.”

Y/N felt a familiar tightness in her chest. “Even if there was something, which there isn’t, he has Olivia. Four years together. That’s not nothing.”

“True,” Sam conceded. “But that doesn’t change what I’ve seen.”

After hanging up, Y/N moved to her window, looking out at the Cincinnati skyline that had become home. Four years. Four years of building a career, of establishing herself as a respected voice within the organization, of carefully maintaining boundaries while documenting the career of Joe Burrow.

Four years of feelings that hadn’t faded, despite her best efforts.

For the first time, Y/N allowed herself to fully acknowledge the truth she had been dancing around since that first photoshoot when a rookie quarterback had caught her perfect spiral and looked at her with surprised recognition.

She was in love with Joe Burrow. Had been for years.

Admitting it felt both crushing and freeing, like finally naming something she had been avoiding for a long time. But recognition didn’t change reality. Joe was with Olivia. Y/N was his colleague. The boundaries between them were necessary and fixed.

As she prepared for bed, Y/N made a silent promise to herself. When she returned from the combine, she would create more distance. Focus on other players. Delegate more of Joe’s content to her team. For her own preservation and for the career she had worked so hard to build, she needed to step back from the center of Joe Burrow’s world, even if she had helped hold it together.

It was time to tell a different story. One where she wasn’t caught in a perpetual state of yearning for something that couldn’t happen. One where she was the main character again.

* * *

March 2024 - Bengals Media Suite

Y/N had been back from the NFL Combine for exactly four hours when the whispers reached her. Moving through the facility's open office space, she noticed the furtive glances, the conversations that hushed as she approached, the unmistakable atmosphere of gossip in circulation.

"What's going on?" she asked Sam, who was leaning against the doorframe of the media suite, phone in hand.

Sam's expression shifted to something cautious, almost apologetic. "You haven't seen the news?"

"I just got off a plane. What news?"

Sam hesitated, then turned her phone screen toward Y/N. There it was, a sports blog headline blown up for emphasis: "Bengals QB Joe Burrow and Longtime Girlfriend Split After Four Years."

Y/N felt the floor tilt beneath her, but kept her expression carefully neutral. "When did this break?"

"This morning," Sam said, watching her face. "It's been confirmed by multiple sources. Apparently, it happened a couple weeks ago, before your trip."

Y/N nodded mechanically, her mind racing to process this information while maintaining outward composure. "Well, I hope they're both okay. Break-ups are rough."

Sam raised an eyebrow at her deliberately casual tone but seemed to understand Y/N's need for discretion in the middle of the office. "The PR team's in emergency mode trying to control the narrative. You might want to be prepared for questions about the social media approach."

"Of course," Y/N replied, already moving toward her office, seeking privacy to collect herself. "Thanks for the heads-up."

Once behind her closed door, Y/N sat heavily in her chair, the news still reverberating through her. Joe and Olivia had been together since before her time with the Bengals. Their relationship had been a constant backdrop to her own complicated feelings, a fixed reality that had allowed her to keep those feelings firmly contained. With that boundary suddenly removed, Y/N felt exposed, as though a wall she'd been safely hiding behind had vanished.

Her phone buzzed with a group text from her brothers, who had clearly seen the news.

Matt: Don't think we didn't notice you've been radio silent on the Burrow news.

Lucas: Is he okay? Getting bombarded with questions as the resident Bengals expert in the family.

Aaron: More importantly, are YOU okay?

Y/N stared at Aaron's message, surprised and unsettled by his perceptiveness. Had she been that transparent all these years?

Y/N: Just got back from the combine and learning about it with everyone else. Don't have inside info. And obviously I'm fine, it has nothing to do with me.

The response was immediate:

Aaron: If you say so, sis.

Y/N was saved from replying by a knock at her door. Kayla, the head of PR, stood there with a tense expression.

"We need to coordinate on the social media approach," she said. "Engagement's through the roof, but we need to strike the right tone. Respectful distance while acknowledging the fans' interest."

"Absolutely," Y/N replied, grateful for the professional focus. "I'll draft a content strategy for the coming weeks."

"What are you thinking?" Kayla asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N considered for a moment. "Actually... I think we don't acknowledge it at all."

Kayla's eyebrows shot up. "Not even a brief statement?"

"Joe has never discussed his personal life publicly before," Y/N explained. "He's always kept that separate from his football identity. Starting now would set a precedent that his private life is fair game for public consumption."

"The fans will want—"

"The fans want football," Y/N interrupted gently. "We continue with regular football content, draft prep, team developments. We respect the boundary he's always maintained between his personal and professional life."

Kayla studied her thoughtfully. "That's... actually a solid approach. Let me run it by the team. Also, Joe's asking for you to handle his NBC Sports interview next week personally. Seems like he might be on the same page."

After Kayla left, Y/N sat motionless, absorbing this new development. Even amid personal upheaval, Joe still trusted her judgment, still sought her specific perspective. The weight of that trust felt heavier now than it ever had before.

Throughout the day, Y/N buried herself in work, drafting content plans, holding strategy meetings, responding to media inquiries. Every task provided a welcome distraction from the thought that circled her mind: Joe was single. For the first time since she'd known him, Joe Burrow was single.

It was nearly seven when her office phone rang.

"Y/N Y/L/N," she answered automatically.

"It's Joe."

She straightened in her chair, professional mask firmly in place despite the privacy of her office. "Hi. How are you doing?"

A soft exhale on the other end. "Been better. But surviving the media circus."

"I'm sure," Y/N said, keeping her tone carefully neutral. "We've drafted a content approach that should help."

"Kayla mentioned your strategy. No acknowledgment. Keep it focused on football."

"I hope that aligns with what you want," Y/N said, suddenly uncertain. "I just thought—"

"It's exactly what I want," Joe interrupted, his voice warm with approval. "That's why I'm calling about the NBC interview. I need you there."

Y/N paused, confused. The NBC interview was a major opportunity, but not typically something that required her personal oversight. "I can assign our best team—"

"I want you there," Joe interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. "You understand that not everything needs to be a story. You respect the boundaries. That's rare in this business."

Y/N felt a rush of professional pride mixed with something more personal. "I'll be there. We'll make sure they stay focused on football."

"Thank you," Joe said, relief evident in his voice. "And Y/N? Thanks for not asking why it happened. Everyone else has."

After hanging up, Y/N sat in the quiet of her office, the lights of Cincinnati beginning to twinkle in the early evening darkness outside her window. The professional boundaries she'd promised herself felt suddenly more essential and more fragile than ever before.

Joe needed her expertise. Her professional judgment. Her ability to maintain boundaries when everyone else wanted to cross them. That's what this was about—nothing more. She couldn't allow herself to read anything deeper into his request, couldn't let hope take root where it had no business growing.

Yet as she packed up her things to head home, Y/N couldn't quite suppress the small, persistent voice that whispered through her careful defenses.

He's single now. And the first person he called was you.

The Next Day - Bengals Conference Room

Y/N arrived early to prepare for the content planning meeting, arranging her presentation materials and reviewing her notes on the NBC interview format. She'd spent half the night crafting the perfect approach, one that would allow Joe to gracefully deflect personal questions and maintain focus on football.

The door opened, and Y/N looked up, expecting to see the PR team. Instead, Joe entered alone. He was dressed casually in Bengals athletic wear, hair slightly tousled, expression calm but tired around the eyes. Without the usual buffers of coaches, staff, or other players, his presence seemed to fill the empty conference room.

"Morning," he said, setting down his coffee. "Hope I'm not too early."

"Not at all," Y/N replied, her professional demeanor instinctively taking over. "I was just setting up."

Joe nodded, taking a seat at the table, not across from her as she expected, but at the adjacent corner, close enough that she could detect the faint scent of his aftershave. "So what's the game plan?"

Y/N pulled up her presentation, grateful for the distraction of work. "I've drafted a content strategy for the NBC interview. The approach is straightforward—if personal questions come up, we have prepared deflections that redirect to football topics without acknowledging the headlines directly."

She walked through the key points, outlining potential questions and suggested responses, maintaining eye contact with the screen rather than with Joe. This was familiar territory, the professional space where she felt confident and in control.

"This is perfect," Joe said when she finished. "No drama, no personal details, just football."

"You've always kept your private life private," Y/N agreed, finally meeting his gaze. "No reason to change that approach now, regardless of the circumstances."

Joe studied her for a moment, his expression warming. "You've always understood that about me. Even from the beginning."

"It's my job to understand what players need in terms of media strategy," Y/N replied modestly.

"No," Joe countered, leaning forward slightly. "Other media staff push for personal angles, human interest stories, emotional hooks. You never have. You respect the boundaries I set, sometimes before I even articulate them."

The directness of his praise caught her off guard. "I just try to see the person behind the player."

"And that's why I trust you," Joe said simply. "You see me as a person first, not as content to be packaged."

He paused, his expression shifting to something more contemplative. "I've been thinking a lot lately about the frames we put around ourselves. The stories we let others tell about us. The parts we keep private."

"That makes sense," Y/N offered carefully. "Especially with everything going on now."

Joe nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "I've started to realize how exhausting it is to maintain those frames. To always be seen through someone else's lens. I'm starting to wonder what it would be like to just... be seen. Without the frame. Without the lens."

There was something in his voice, an undercurrent of meaning Y/N couldn't quite decipher. Before she could respond, the door opened and the PR team filed in, breaking the moment with their arrival.

As the meeting proceeded, Y/N maintained her professional focus, presenting her strategy and responding to questions. But beneath her composed exterior, her mind kept returning to Joe's words, to the strange intensity in his eyes when he'd talked about being seen without a lens.

When the meeting ended, Y/N gathered her materials, aware of Joe lingering as the others filed out.

"The NBC interview is Tuesday at ten," she confirmed, keeping her tone light and professional. "I'll have the final prep materials to you tomorrow."

Joe nodded, but seemed distracted. "Y/N," he began, then stopped, glancing at the partially open door. "Never mind. We can talk about it Tuesday."

As he left, Y/N remained in the conference room, trying to make sense of what had just happened. In four years of working closely with Joe Burrow, she had learned to read his expressions, to anticipate his needs in professional settings, to recognize the difference between his media persona and his authentic self.

But today he had looked at her differently. Spoken to her differently. As though seeing her fully for the first time, or perhaps allowing her to see him without the careful filters they'd both maintained for so long.

Y/N gathered her things and headed back to her office, reminding herself of the promise she'd made just days ago. More distance. More professional boundaries. Less emotional investment in a relationship that existed primarily through a camera lens.

Yet as she settled at her desk, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. Joe Burrow was single for the first time since she'd known him. And for reasons she couldn't yet understand, he seemed to be looking at her in a way he never had before.

Tuesday's interview suddenly felt like much more than a standard media appearance. It felt like standing on the edge of something new and unknown. Something that both thrilled and terrified her in equal measure.

* * *

March 2024 – NBC Sports Interview Setup

The NBC Sports crew had transformed a corner of the Bengals facility into a sleek interview set, complete with a branded backdrop and professional lighting. Y/N surveyed the space with a critical eye, making quiet adjustments and mental notes about camera angles as the crew finished setup.

“All set on your end?” asked the NBC producer, a woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense tone.

“We’re good,” Y/N confirmed, checking her notes one last time. “Just a reminder, football questions only. No personal inquiries.”

The producer’s smile tightened. “We’re aware of your guidelines. Though our viewers may find the personal angle relevant.”

“They’ll have to find that content elsewhere,” Y/N said pleasantly. “Joe’s here to talk about his recovery and the season ahead.”

Before the producer could respond, Joe walked in, dressed in Bengals gear, his easy confidence settling over the room. Y/N watched as he greeted the crew with practiced professionalism, calm but fully present.

“Everything look good?” he asked, joining her at the edge of the set.

“All set,” she said. “We’ve reviewed the outline and reestablished the limits.”

Joe nodded. After four years of media work together, their rhythm was seamless. Y/N knew where to stand, when to flag a break, how to redirect a question with a subtle cue. They didn’t need to talk much anymore.

“Five minutes, Mr. Burrow,” an assistant called.

“I’ll be over there,” Y/N said, gesturing to her post just off-camera. “Remember the deflections if they press."

Joe reached out, catching her arm gently. “Hey.” His voice dropped. “Thanks for handling this. For knowing what I need.”

Y/N met his eyes. “That’s what teammates do, right?”

A smile flickered across his face, referencing a conversation from years ago. “Right. Teammates.”

The interview began smoothly. Joe fielded questions about his wrist, the off-season program, and his expectations for the year ahead. The host was polished and respectful, at first.

Then came the shift.

“So, Joe, with everything going on in your personal life lately, how has that impacted your mindset heading into the season?”

Y/N tensed, ready to intervene, but Joe’s glance toward her stopped her. He had it.

“I’m focused entirely on football right now,” he said evenly. “My recovery’s on track. We’re building something special here. That’s where my head is.”

The host pressed gently. “But a change like that, after four years, has to affect your mental approach.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered, ready to call it, but Joe held her gaze. Calm. Steady.

“One thing I’ve learned is that some parts of life belong to the public and some don’t,” he said. “I’ll talk about every detail of rehab, film study, preparation. But my personal life stays personal, not because it’s secret, but because it’s mine. I hope people can respect that.”

The host, sensing the firm line and the soundbite, moved on.

Thirty minutes later, the interview wrapped. The NBC crew began packing up. Y/N was reviewing her notes when the producer approached.

“That was good television,” she said, sounding almost impressed. “We didn’t get the personal angle, but his response was better than any breakup statement.”

“He meant every word,” Y/N said.

When the room cleared, she found Joe still in his chair, scrolling through his phone.

“You handled that perfectly,” she said, sitting down across from him. “The personal boundary line, clean and confident.”

“I had a good coach,” he said with a faint grin, then set his phone down. “You free for lunch? I could use some normal conversation.”

Y/N blinked. In four years, they’d rarely had lunch that wasn’t attached to a content shoot or a meeting. “I’ve got a review at two, but I’m free until then.”

“Great,” Joe said, already standing. “I know a place where no one will bother us.”

* * *

Local Cafe – 45 Minutes Later

The place Joe picked was small and tucked away on a quiet side street, the kind of cafe that didn’t advertise and clearly didn’t care to. No branding, no social media walls — just warm lighting, scratched wood tables, and a menu written in chalk. They sat in a corner booth, out of view from the street, menus already half-forgotten between them.

“I come here when I need to breathe,” Joe said, catching the way Y/N looked around. “Owner’s son played D-II ball. He doesn’t care who I am. No photos, no questions. Just food and quiet.”

“Everyone needs one of those,” Y/N said, settling into the seat. “A spot where no one asks for anything.”

Joe looked at her, curious. “Where’s yours?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. “East side. Little cafe in the back of a bookstore. Average coffee, great scones. Nobody cares about sports. I just sit and read and pretend I’m not attached to a team account.”

Joe grinned. “That actually tracks. I can picture it. You with a book, probably judging the plot structure.”

“It’s a curse,” she said, smiling. “Comes from too much content review.”

They ordered lunch. The conversation stayed easy, lighter than it ever was at the facility. Joe asked about her brothers, recalling random details she didn’t even remember mentioning. Y/N asked about his training plans, casually weaving in suggestions for future content ideas without falling into work mode completely.

“So,” she said, nudging her empty plate away, “how’s the wrist holding up after all that expert-level pointing in the interview?”

He flexed his hand theatrically. “Strong enough to gesture with purpose.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s going on the injury report.”

Joe leaned back, relaxed in a way she didn’t often see. “This is nice. No cameras, no checklists. Just… lunch.”

Y/N nodded. “There’s a reason I didn’t bring the content kit.”

“We should do it again,” he said, casual but sincere. “Lunch. Coffee. Whatever. Just… not at the facility.”

She felt it then, that small shift. The line they’d both been quietly standing on for years moving slightly, the rules changing under them.

“I’d like that,” she said, keeping it light. “Might help with brainstorming.”

Joe tilted his head, giving her a look that was equal parts amused and direct. “Not for work. I mean just to hang out.”

Y/N blinked, a quiet flush rising to her cheeks. “Oh. Yeah, okay. That’d be nice.”

She looked down for a second, then back up, trying to play it off with a quick smile. “Not just for work, then.”

Joe smiled too, something almost teasing in his eyes. “Not just for work.”

Back at the facility, they walked side by side until the hallway split. Joe paused before they parted.

“Thanks for today. The interview. Lunch. All of it.”

“Just doing my job,” Y/N said, the reflex kicking in before she could stop it.

Joe looked at her, steady. “No. It’s always been more than that with you.”

And then he turned and kept walking, leaving Y/N standing there, trying not to replay the sentence before she’d even finished hearing it.

* * *

April 2024 – Bengals Facility Media Room

Over the next few weeks, a new pattern emerged. Joe would seek Y/N out after meetings or rehab sessions, suggesting coffee breaks or lunch outings that had less and less to do with content planning. They started talking more, not just about football or strategy, but about music, families, the random thoughts they didn’t usually share with coworkers. A friendship was forming, one that felt separate from everything else they’d been before.

“Y/N!” Sam called, poking her head into the media room where Y/N was editing draft day content. “Lunch plans?”

“Can’t today,” Y/N replied, eyes on her screen. “Meeting Joe about his charity event next month.”

Sam leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, already smirking. “That’s the third ‘meeting’ this week. Someone’s becoming a regular.”

Y/N glanced up. “We’re just talking through logistics.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Logistics. Of your friendship. That just so happens to involve daily lunch plans.”

Y/N sat back, crossing her arms. “We’re friends, Sam. Is that so strange?”

“Not strange,” Sam said. “Just new. And very different since the breakup.”

Y/N went still. “So what if it is?”

“Just… don’t act like you don’t know what’s happening,” Sam said gently. “You’ve been in love with the guy for years, and now he’s single and spending more time with you than anyone else on the team.”

“Keep your voice down,” Y/N muttered, glancing at the open door. “And no, nothing’s happening. We’ve always worked well together. That hasn’t changed.”

“Except it has,” Sam said. “You’re not just filming him in the weight room anymore. You’re texting. Hanging out. Laughing in the break room like it’s nothing. It’s something. And I just don’t want to see you get hurt pretending it’s not.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She stared at her screen, the video paused on a frame of Joe walking into a press conference, casual and calm and so familiar.

After Sam left, Y/N closed her laptop and sat with the weight of the conversation. She knew Sam wasn’t wrong. The boundaries between her and Joe had shifted. The conversations had changed. So had the silences.

Joe texted.

Joe: Still on for lunch? Found a new place with killer sandwiches.

Y/N: Definitely. Meet you in the lobby at 12:30?

Joe: Perfect. Looking forward to it.

Three simple words.

Looking forward to it.

And she was too. That was the part she didn’t know what to do with.

* * *

July 2024 – Training Camp

Training camp came in hot, literally and figuratively. The facility pulsed with energy: players returning, rookies getting loud welcomes, schedules tightening, everything moving fast. Y/N moved with it, camera slung over her shoulder, coordinating her media team between drills and pressers. This year, she had more responsibility, more people to manage, more angles to cover.

On the field, Joe looked sharp. The wrist held up. His throws were crisp, timing on point. Y/N tracked him through her lens, quietly relieved. This was the version fans had been waiting for. And she’d seen every step it took to get back here.

“Looking good out there,” she called as he passed during a water break.

“Feeling good,” Joe said, tipping the bottle back. “Might actually survive a full season.”

“Don’t jinx it,” she warned.

He grinned, and for a moment it felt like spring again, when they were texting about books and sneaking off for lunch and everything between them felt easy.

But something had shifted. Subtle, but noticeable. Their lunches had slowed. His texts, less frequent. He still sought her out during media stuff, still made space for her during press days. But the familiar rhythm had changed. More distance. A little quieter.

Y/N told herself it was camp. The pressure. The tunnel vision. Still, it lingered.

One night, after most of the building had cleared out, she spotted a familiar figure in the film room. Joe, hoodie on, eyes on the screen.

“Don’t you ever take a break?” she asked from the doorway.

He looked over, offered a tired half-smile. “Not this time of year.”

She stepped inside, sliding into the chair next to him. “Even quarterbacks need to let their brains cool off.”

Says the woman who’s been here since dawn.” He nodded toward her camera bag.

“Touché.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the room lit only by the frozen frame on the screen.

“You’ve been kind of MIA lately,” Y/N said lightly. “Everything good?”

Joe didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on the paused film. “Yeah. Just… camp mode. Lot to lock in.”

She nodded. “If you need a break from all this, I’m around. We could grab dinner, talk about literally anything but football.”

That made him smile, just barely. “I’d like that. Maybe next week? When it slows down.”

“Deal.” She stood, grabbing her bag. “Don’t stay too late.”

As she walked back through the dim hallway, she couldn’t shake the quiet knot in her chest. Something was different. Not bad exactly, just… not what it had been. And maybe Sam had been right, that the closer they’d gotten, the more it risked tipping into something unspoken.

Maybe Joe felt that too.

Still, whatever this was between them, it mattered. And if keeping it meant backing off, Y/N could do that.

She had before.

* * *

November 2024 – Late Night

Y/N’s phone lit up with an incoming call, dragging her out of a dead sleep.

Sam (2:47 AM)

She answered immediately. “What happened?”

“You haven’t seen your phone yet?”

“No, I just got in from the flight and crashed.”

Sam exhaled. “Joe’s house got broken into tonight. While we were still in the air.”

Y/N sat up, heart pounding. “Wait, what? He was on the plane.”

“I know. That’s what makes this weirder. Apparently someone showed up at his house and found a shattered window. Cops were called. No one hurt, but it’s all over the internet.”

Y/N blinked. “Who showed up?”

Sam hesitated. “A woman. Ellie James.”

The name hit like ice water.

“She told police she was his employee. But fans already clocked her. She’s a 21-year-old model. Big on Instagram, runway work, a couple of campaigns. TikTok found her instantly.”

"It's blowing up on X right now. Apparently, he's been seeing someone for months. No one had any idea, not even the team."

Y/N was already unlocking her phone.

“‘Break-in at Joe Burrow’s home while team in Texas. No injuries reported.’”

“‘Ellie James identifies herself as “employee” in police report. Fans suspect more.’”

“‘Burrow and Ellie James: timeline of a secret relationship?’”

“They’ve got screenshots, tagged photos, weird little clues going back to July. That’s when people think they started seeing each other. Which—” Sam hesitated. “Kind of lines up, right?”

It did. July was when Joe had started pulling back. When their texts slowed, when their lunches stopped, when the tone of everything between them shifted into something more careful and less open.

Sam continued, “She wasn’t living with him, but she had access. Enough to be there alone. That’s the part everyone’s running with. The whole internet’s treating it like confirmation they’ve been together for months.”

Y/N didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

“Kayla called an emergency meeting for seven,” Sam added gently. “You’ll be in the room. We’re keeping it quiet for now, no official posts, no statements, but it’s gonna be messy. Just… be ready.”

After the call ended, Y/N scrolled through her phone. Headlines were popping up faster than she could keep track: Model Found Inside Joe Burrow’s House After Security Alarm Trip. Woman Identifies as Employee. Internet Says Otherwise.

Photos from Ellie’s Instagram. Old likes on Joe’s posts. A resurfaced clip from preseason camp that now felt painfully obvious. The puzzle pieces were already being assembled by fans who needed no confirmation to draw conclusions.

Y/N dropped her phone onto the bed and stared into the dark. It all made sense now, why he’d started retreating, why the easy momentum between them had suddenly stalled. While she’d been wondering what changed, he had already been moving toward someone else.

And she hadn’t known. Not once had he mentioned Ellie. Not to her. Not in passing. Not even after everything they’d shared.

She let herself lie back down, though sleep wouldn’t come again. Her chest ached with the kind of heartbreak you can’t rationalize away. Four years of working beside him. Of being trusted. Of feeling like maybe, just maybe, she was something more than just a colleague.

But tonight made it plain. She hadn’t been the one he’d let in. Not to his house, and not to the private parts of his life he kept so fiercely protected.

Y/N blinked up at the ceiling, a tear sliding quietly into her hair. She would go to the meeting in the morning. She would do her job.

But in this quiet hour, there was no protecting herself from the truth.

He had let someone else in.

And it wasn’t her.

* * *

November 2024 - Bengals Facility, 7:00 AM

The conference room was already filled when Y/N arrived, PR staff and executives huddled around the table, phones buzzing with alerts, coffee cups scattered like defensive positions. Dark circles under eyes revealed who had been up all night tracking social media fallout. Kayla stood at the head of the table, a slideshow of current headlines projected on the wall behind her.

Y/N took a seat beside Sam, grateful for the friendly face amid the tension. She'd spent the hours since Sam's call cycling through shock, hurt, and professional resolve, finally landing on a numb determination to get through this day with her dignity intact.

"Good, we're all here," Kayla began, silencing the murmurs. "As you're aware, there was an incident at Joe's residence last night while the team was returning from Dallas. The situation has escalated with social media speculation about his relationship with Ellie James, the woman present during the break-in."

Y/N's eyes remained fixed on her notebook as Kayla continued detailing the situation: security footage being reviewed, police statements, media requests flooding in. The office was buzzing with opinions about how to handle the revelation of Joe's apparent secret relationship.

"We need a clear, consistent message," said Marcus from PR. "Confirm the relationship, express appreciation for privacy during this unexpected exposure, pivot back to football."

"We should get ahead of this," another executive agreed. "Have Joe make a brief statement addressing the speculation directly."

"No," Y/N said quietly, then louder when several faces turned toward her. "No. That's exactly what we shouldn't do."

Kayla gestured for her to continue. As Social Media Coordinator, Y/N's perspective on public messaging carried weight, especially regarding Joe, with whom she'd worked closely for years.

"Joe isn't going to want to talk about this," Y/N continued, keeping her voice steady despite the emotional undercurrent. "He's never discussed his personal life publicly before. Not with Olivia, not after their breakup, not ever. We need to let him lead and share what he wants to, if anything."

"But the speculation is already overwhelming," Marcus countered. "The internet's connecting dots, creating narratives—"

"And that's the internet's problem, not ours," Y/N interrupted firmly. "This wasn't a planned reveal. His home was broken into. His privacy was violated. And now we're sitting here discussing how to package his personal life for public consumption?" She shook her head. "He deserves better from us."

A silence fell over the room as her words sank in.

"Y/N's right," Kayla said finally. "Joe's always maintained clear boundaries between his personal and professional life. Our job is to respect and reinforce those boundaries, not erode them further."

"So what do we do?" someone asked.

"We focus on the break-in as a security matter," Y/N suggested. "We acknowledge the incident without commenting on personal details. We prepare for questions but don't volunteer information Joe hasn't chosen to share himself."

The meeting continued with logistics planning, security protocols, media management strategies. Y/N participated with professional focus, offering insights on social media monitoring, content approaches, protective messaging. No one in the room would have guessed from her composed exterior the turmoil beneath the surface, the personal devastation she was carefully compartmentalizing to do her job.

As the meeting concluded, Kayla approached Y/N. "Joe's coming in at ten for a scheduled press briefing about Sunday's game. After this, reporters will obviously try to shift focus. Can you prep him? You've got the best sense of how he'll want to handle this."

Y/N nodded, her stomach twisting at the prospect of facing Joe after last night's revelation. "I'll handle it."

10:15 AM - Press Prep Room

Y/N was reviewing notes when the door opened and Joe walked in. He looked tired but composed, dressed in standard team attire, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. For a moment they simply looked at each other, the air between them heavy with unspoken complications.

"Hey," he said finally.

"Hey," Y/N replied, professional mask firmly in place. "You okay?"

"Been better," Joe admitted, taking a seat across from her. "I'm guessing you've heard."

"It's been a busy morning," Y/N confirmed neutrally. "The team's concerned about how to handle the media today."

Joe nodded, studying her with that perceptive gaze she'd come to know so well. "What do you think I should do?"

Y/N took a deep breath, pushing aside every personal feeling to focus on what Joe needed professionally right now.

"I think what happened was an invasion of privacy in more ways than one," she said carefully. "First the break-in itself, then the public speculation. You don't owe anyone anything, Joe. Not explanations, not confirmations, not details about your personal life."

Joe's expression softened slightly. "That's what I figured you'd say."

"The reporters will try to ask," Y/N continued. "They'll find roundabout ways to bring it up. But you can respond the same way you always have when personal matters arise. Redirect to football. Maintain your boundaries. We're not confirming or commenting on anything you don't want to discuss."

"Thank you," Joe said quietly. "For understanding. For not..." he hesitated, "not asking questions yourself."

Y/N felt a flash of hurt at the implied gratitude for her professional distance, when all she wanted was to ask why he'd never once mentioned Ellie during their countless lunches, their growing friendship, their shared confidences. But she pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand.

"That's my job," she said simply. "To help you navigate the public aspects of your career while respecting your private ones."

They spent the next fifteen minutes reviewing likely questions and deflection strategies, maintaining a careful professional rapport that revealed nothing of Y/N's inner turmoil or whatever Joe might be feeling about this unexpected exposure of his private life.

As they finished their prep, Joe paused before standing. "You know, in all these years, you're the only one who's never tried to frame me according to what others want to see. Who's never pushed for more than I wanted to give."

The irony of his gratitude for her professional boundaries when she'd spent years carefully hiding how much more she wanted from him was almost too much to bear.

"Everyone deserves privacy," Y/N managed. "Even you."

Something flickered in Joe's expression, a moment of searching, before he nodded and stood. "Right. Let's get this over with."

Press Conference

Y/N stood in the back of the room as Joe stepped up to the podium, dressed in Bengals gear, posture steady, expression unreadable. The media had been buzzing since early morning, the room packed with local and national reporters, every one of them waiting for a chance to ask the question that had consumed the internet overnight.

Before they could.

Joe adjusted the mic slightly, then spoke with calm clarity.

“I know there’s been a lot of attention around my name in the past twenty-four hours. Out of respect for the people involved and for myself, I’m going to say this once. I feel like my privacy has been violated in more ways than one, and way more is already out there than I would want out there and that I care to share.”

He paused, letting the silence settle over the room.

“I’m here to talk about football. That’s what I’ll be answering questions about today.”

The room went still. Not stunned, but quieted. Everyone knew exactly what he meant. He wasn’t dodging. He was drawing a line.

Y/N exhaled slowly, a complicated ache settling in her chest. It wasn’t what they’d written together, but it was unmistakably him, measured, respectful, honest. Joe didn’t deny or explain. He simply protected the parts of his life he hadn’t invited anyone into.

A few reporters tried to pivot back toward the story, but Joe held firm, calmly redirecting every question to Sunday’s matchup, his wrist recovery, the team’s progress. He gave them nothing else.

When it ended, he stepped down from the podium and looked once toward the back of the room. His gaze met Y/N’s for half a second. A silent acknowledgment. Then he was gone.

Sam appeared beside her. "That wasn't what we prepped, but it worked."

"Better than what we prepped," Y/N agreed, her professional assessment genuine despite her personal turmoil. "No one's going to push after that."

"And how are you handling it?" Sam asked quietly, concern evident in her voice. "This can't be easy."

Y/N kept her eyes forward, not trusting herself to maintain composure if she looked at her friend. "I'm fine. It's not about me."

* * *

November 2024 - Bengals Media Office, Later That Day

Y/N sat at her desk, monitoring media coverage of Joe's press conference. His direct statement had effectively shut down the most invasive questions, though speculation about Ellie James continued across social platforms. She was crafting guidance for the social media team when a knock sounded at her open door.

She looked up to find Joe standing there, changed from his press attire into casual team workout gear.

"Got a minute?" he asked.

Y/N nodded, professional mask firmly in place despite the sudden acceleration of her pulse. "Of course."

Joe closed the door behind him and took a seat across from her desk. For a moment, he just studied her, those observant eyes taking in details in a way that had always made Y/N feel simultaneously seen and exposed.

"I went off script," he finally said.

"It was better," Y/N replied honestly. "More authentic. Set a clearer boundary."

Joe nodded, a small smile touching the corner of his mouth. "That's what I figured you'd say." He hesitated, then added, "I wanted to thank you for how you handled everything this morning. Sam mentioned you shut down the suggestions to make some official statement about... everything."

Y/N shrugged, keeping her expression carefully neutral. "I just did what you would have wanted. Protected your privacy."

"You always do," Joe said quietly. "Even when others don't."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken questions. Y/N kept her focus on her professional role, refusing to acknowledge the hurt and confusion swirling beneath her composed exterior.

"The coverage should die down in a soon," she said, gesturing to her monitor. "We'll maintain regular football content, no acknowledgment of the personal angles. The usual approach."

Joe nodded, but made no move to leave. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious.

"Look, Y/N... about Ellie."

"You don't owe me any explanations," Y/N interrupted quickly, heart suddenly pounding. "Your personal life is your business."

"I know, but given everything..." Joe trailed off, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain. "We've been friends. Having lunch, talking. It feels weird not to acknowledge it."

Friends. The word stung despite its truth. "It's really okay, Joe. I understand why you'd keep your relationship private. You always have."

Joe studied her face. "It's complicated. More complicated than what people are assuming."

Y/N felt a flicker of something, not quite hope, but curiosity, before she tamped it down. Whatever was happening between Joe and Ellie James, it wasn't her business unless it affected his public image, which was her professional concern.

"Complicated or not, it's yours to share or not share," she said carefully. "On your terms. When and if you want to."

Joe nodded slowly, seeming both grateful and somehow disappointed by her response. "Right. Well, I should let you get back to work."

He stood to leave but paused at the door. "I was thinking maybe we could grab lunch soon. Like we used to. I miss our conversations."

The invitation hit Y/N like a physical force, stirring up the complicated feelings she was trying desperately to compartmentalize. Part of her wanted to accept immediately, hungry for any connection with him. Another part knew that continuing their friendship after last night's revelation would only prolong her heartache.

"Let's see how the schedule looks," she replied, a neutral response that neither accepted nor rejected. "Things are pretty hectic right now."

Something flickered across Joe's face, disappointment, perhaps, before he nodded. "Sure. Just let me know."

After he left, Y/N sat motionless, staring at the door. That conversation had left her more confused than ever. Joe seemed to want to maintain their friendship, perhaps even explain whatever was happening with Ellie, while Y/N was still reeling from discovering the relationship existed at all.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Sam.

Sam: Just saw QB1 leaving your office. You okay?

Y/N: Fine. Just discussing press conference fallout. Professional stuff.

Sam: Available for wine and venting later if needed. No judgment.

Y/N smiled despite herself, grateful for her friend's support.

Y/N: Might take you up on that.

She turned back to her work, focusing on the tangible aspects of her job rather than the emotional complications. Whatever Joe's relationship with Ellie James was, whatever "complicated" meant in this context, Y/N needed to accept that she had been firmly placed in the "friend" category. And perhaps it was time to accept that and establish some healthier boundaries of her own.

That Evening - Sam's Apartment

"So he just showed up at your office to thank you, then vaguely called his relationship with Model Barbie 'complicated'?" Sam asked, refilling Y/N's wine glass. "What does that even mean?"

Y/N sank deeper into Sam's couch, the professional composure she'd maintained all day finally crumbling in the safety of her friend's apartment. "I have no idea. And I didn't ask."

"Why not?" Sam demanded. "After four years of pining—"

"I don't pine," Y/N interrupted defensively.

"Fine, after four years of 'professionally admiring from an appropriate distance,'" Sam amended with air quotes, "don't you deserve some answers? Especially after how close you two got this year?"

Y/N took a long sip of wine. "What would I even say? 'Hey Joe, why didn't you mention your secret girlfriend during all our lunches and conversations?' Or maybe 'Just wondering why you pulled back right when I thought we were getting closer?'"

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "Exactly those questions!"

"That's not who we are," Y/N sighed. "I've spent four years respecting his boundaries, his privacy. I can't suddenly demand explanations about his personal life just because I'm hurt."

"But that's the thing," Sam said gently. "You're not just a colleague anymore. You became friends, real friends. And friends tell each other when they start dating someone."

Y/N stared into her wine glass, confronting the truth in Sam's words. "Maybe we weren't as close as I thought."

"Or maybe there's more to the story," Sam suggested. "He called it 'complicated,' right? That's not exactly 'madly in love.'"

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said firmly. "The point is, I've been holding onto this hope that maybe, someday, he might see me as more than a friend or colleague. But the reality is, when he became single, he didn't turn to me. He found someone else. Someone completely separate from his football life."

"And you think that's what he wants? Separation?"

Y/N nodded slowly. "It makes sense. I represent his professional world, the cameras, the documentation, the public scrutiny. Ellie represents something completely different. Something private."

Sam studied her friend's face. "So what are you going to do?"

"My job," Y/N replied simply. "I'll keep doing my job excellently. And I'll start creating some healthier boundaries for myself." She took another sip of wine. "Including not accepting lunch invitations that will only make it harder to move on."

"And if he persists? If he wants to explain this 'complicated' situation?"

Y/N considered the question, recognizing both the temptation and the potential pain. "Then I'll listen. As his friend. But with no expectations beyond that."

Sam seemed skeptical but supportive. "Just promise me you'll prioritize yourself this time, not just his privacy or comfort."

"I'm trying," Y/N admitted. "Four years of habits are hard to break."

As they continued talking, Y/N's phone buzzed with an incoming text. She hesitated before checking it, already knowing who it would be from.

Joe: Just wanted to check how you're doing. Today couldn't have been easy for you either, managing all the fallout. Thanks again for having my back.

The sincerity of his concern, even amid his own privacy crisis, was quintessential Joe Burrow. Y/N stared at the message, debating whether to respond.

"Him?" Sam asked, watching her face.

Y/N nodded.

"What are you going to say?"

After a moment's consideration, Y/N typed a response that embodied her new resolution: friendly but with clearer boundaries.

Y/N: Just doing my job. Everything will settle down soon. Get some rest, we have a game to win Sunday.

She set her phone aside, ignoring the immediate notification of his reply. Tonight was about processing, about beginning to disentangle her heart from the web of hope and expectation she'd woven around Joe Burrow.

Tomorrow would be about moving forward. Professionally excellent as always, but with a new personal awareness that what she'd spent years hoping for simply wasn't going to happen.

It was time to protect her heart as carefully as she'd always protected Joe's privacy.

* * *

November 2024 - Game Day

The stadium hummed with energy as Y/N moved along the sidelines, camera in hand, documenting pre-game preparations. Despite everything, she found comfort in the familiar routines, the professional focus required to capture the right moments, the technical aspects of her job that left little room for emotional distractions.

She had successfully avoided direct interaction with Joe since their office conversation, managing team social media remotely when possible, delegating player-specific content to her staff when appropriate. The distance was self-protective, a necessary step toward accepting that their relationship would never be what she had hoped.

As players took the field for warm-ups, Y/N kept her camera trained on rookies and highlight plays, deliberately avoiding lingering on the quarterback. She was reviewing footage when a voice spoke behind her.

"Avoiding me?"

Y/N turned to find Joe standing there, helmet in hand, pre-game intensity evident in his posture but a question in his eyes.

"Of course not," she replied smoothly. "Just focusing on the content plan."

Joe studied her, that perceptive gaze seeming to see through her professional excuse. "You haven't answered my texts. Declined two lunch invitations. That's new."

Y/N maintained her composed expression despite the confrontation. "It's been a busy week. Lots of media management after everything that happened."

"Right," Joe said, clearly unconvinced. "Y/N, if something's—"

"You're about to play a game," she interrupted gently. "That's where your focus should be. Not on lunch plans or texts."

A mix of frustration and concern crossed his features. "This conversation isn't over. But you're right about the timing."

As he turned to head back toward the team, Y/N called after him. "Joe?"

He looked back.

"Good luck out there."

The corner of his mouth lifted in that subtle smile she knew so well. "Thanks. I'll need it against this defense."

Y/N watched him jog back to the quarterback group, his form perfect, his presence commanding attention without effort. She would always admire that about him—the natural leadership, the focused intensity, the quiet confidence.

But admiration could exist without expectation. Respect without romantic attachment. Professional excellence without personal entanglement.

At least, that's what Y/N was determined to learn.

As the game began, she threw herself into her work, capturing key moments, coordinating with her team, creating the content that brought fans closer to the action. This was what she excelled at. What she had built her career on. What had earned her respect throughout the organization.

And if her heart ached when the camera caught Joe celebrating a touchdown, when he glanced toward the sideline where she stood, when he gave his post-game interview with that mixture of humility and confidence she'd documented for four years—well, that was her burden to bear.

Her phone buzzed with a text as she was packing up her equipment after the game.

Joe: We need to talk. For real this time. Not about work.

Y/N stared at the message, her new resolution already being tested. Every instinct urged her to agree immediately, to hope that "complicated" might somehow explain why he'd kept Ellie a secret from her, even as they'd grown closer as friends.

But the reality was painfully clear. Joe had chosen someone else. Someone young and beautiful, someone entirely separate from his football life. Someone he'd wanted to keep private. The "complicated" aspects of his relationship with Ellie didn't change the fundamental truth: he didn't see Y/N the way she saw him.

Y/N: I'm heading out of town tomorrow. Family visit. Can it wait until next week?

It wasn't technically a lie. She had been planning to visit her brothers sometime soon, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to gain some distance and perspective.

Joe: If it has to. But Y/N, I hate how things are between us right now.

She paused, fingers hovering over her keyboard, temptation warring with self-protection.

Y/N: We'll talk when I get back. Good game today.

Putting her phone away, Y/N finished packing her equipment, her mind already planning her impromptu trip to Louisville. Maybe time with her family, away from the daily orbit around Joe Burrow, would help her find the strength to maintain a friendship with him while accepting the reality of his relationship with Ellie.

Because one truth had become painfully clear: being Joe Burrow's friend, confidant, and trusted colleague was both a privilege and a form of exquisite torture when you were in love with him.

Something had to change. And since she couldn't change her feelings, she would have to change the dynamics of their relationship, for her own sake.

Even if that meant creating distance where she'd once sought closeness.

Part Two

[kxsagi]

Hiii can I request some domestic fluff with Kaiser, Rin, Karasu, Barou, Kunigami and Shidou!! (With fem reader and preferably daughter!) Thanks!!!

“𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫”

a/n: this is so cute!!! (had a hard time choosing a header cover image it's always a struggle ugh)

(art credits go to niko2525_er on X)

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi rin, karasu tabito, barou shoei, kunigami rensuke, shidou ryusei

kaiser michael

kaiser is the type of guy that doesn't like people seeing him as "soft." but you’ve come to realize that when it’s just the two of you at home, things are different. this is his territory, and he's comfortable in it. and right now, he's sprawled on the couch, his legs stretched out, while your daughter is perched on his chest, asking him a million questions about his day. 

“daddy, did you score a goal today?” she asks with her little hands on her hips, brows furrowed in pure curiosity. 

kaiser groans playfully, his hand moving to rub her back, clearly exhausted. "liebling, i’m on break. can i not talk about soccer for like, five minutes?" but he’s already answering her, making up an exaggerated story about how he “single-handedly” saved the game for his team. she’s eating it up, of course, nodding along like he’s some kind of soccer god. 

you watch from the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “single-handedly, huh?” you ask, crossing your arms. 

kaiser rolls his eyes but gives you a mischievous grin. “what? i’m just telling her how it is.” 

you chuckle and shake your head, picking up a snack for yourself. “right. well, i’ll believe it when i see the highlights.” 

your daughter looks between the two of you, then giggles. “mommy’s laughing at you, daddy.” 

“she always laughs at me,” kaiser says, pulling her closer and tickling her under her chin. “but guess what? i’m still the coolest.” 

she giggles, squirming, and you just stand there, watching the scene unfold. for a guy who’s always putting on a show for the public, he really lets his guard down when he’s with you two. and you’re starting to realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.

itoshi rin

you’re pretty sure rin only knows two speeds: intense or completely checked out. today is no exception as he’s sitting on the couch, eyes glued to his phone, while you and your daughter are on the floor building a lego castle. you can’t help but glance up at him every now and then, noticing the slight frown on his face as he scrolls. 

“what’s up with you?” you ask, tossing a lego piece to your daughter. 

“just dealing with some stuff for work,” rin mutters, not really looking up from his phone. “they’re asking me about new training schedules. like, i have time for that.” 

you nod, pretending to listen, but your daughter interrupts by standing up and holding a lego brick in the air. “daddy, can you make the top of the castle? it needs to be big and strong!” 

rin looks at the tower of blocks, his eyes softening for a moment. “fine, fine.” he tosses his phone aside and gets down to her level, hands moving to start building the “strongest” part of the castle. “this castle’s going to be so strong no one can break it. i’m the master builder, after all.” 

your daughter’s face lights up, impressed. “you’re the best!” 

you watch the two of them, a smirk playing on your lips. “so you’re not too busy for legos after all?” 

rin gives you a brief glance, his lips quirking up in the smallest of smiles. “family first. work can wait.” 

you’re not sure if he realizes it, but you’ve already got him wrapped around your finger. well, both of your fingers, really. 

karasu tabito

it’s early evening when you hear it: karasu’s singing. you’ve come to expect it, but it always makes you chuckle. he’s not a bad singer, but he doesn’t exactly hit every note with precision. today, he’s performing 360 by charli xcx while stirring the spaghetti sauce in the kitchen. 

your daughter is standing on the counter, pretending to hold a microphone, and trying her best to mimic him. her tiny voice, though off-key, blends with his in a ridiculous harmony. karasu doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, he seems to be encouraging it, gesturing for her to hit the notes with him. you can’t help but laugh as you walk into the kitchen. 

“what are you two doing?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe with an amused look. 

“we’re having a brat concert!” karasu says, giving you a dramatic bow. “you should join us, babe.” 

you laugh, shaking your head. “do you even know the lyrics?” 

he pauses, looking genuinely confused. “am i singing 365 instead?” 

you smile and walk over, putting a hand on his shoulder as your daughter finishes her little song. “no, it sounds great. especially that unexpected high note she hit.” 

karasu looks at her, clearly impressed. “maybe we should start a band.” 

“yes! i’m gonna be the lead singer!” your daughter announces enthusiastically. 

karasu laughs, lifting her off the counter and spinning her around. “sure thing. i’m the guitarist, and mom is... our manager. deal?” 

you roll your eyes but smile. “deal. but only if i get a cut of the profits.”

barou shoei

you’re curled up on the couch with a book when you hear it: the unmistakable sound of your daughter arguing with barou. at first, it’s quiet, but then she starts raising her voice, demanding something from him. 

“daddy, i want the blue marker!” she exclaims. 

“no way. the red one is better,” barou responds, his voice a little too firm for a “marker disagreement.” 

you decide to intervene, but when you stand up, you see barou holding the blue marker high above his head, and your daughter is jumping, trying to reach it. both of them are so focused on their little back-and-forth that neither notices you. 

“guys,” you call out, trying not to laugh. 

barou glances over at you, then at his daughter, and you can see the tiniest bit of guilt flicker in his eyes. “she’s too small to appreciate quality.” 

“the blue marker is better for drawing hearts!” your daughter retorts, her arms still flailing in an attempt to reach it. 

you walk over, taking the blue marker from barou’s hand and passing it to your daughter. “there. see? problem solved.” 

barou rolls his eyes. “fine, but i’m still saying red is superior.” 

you smirk at him. “right. that’s because red is totally your ‘thing.’” 

he leans back against the couch with a huff. “don’t start with me.” 

your daughter smiles, holding up the marker like a trophy. “blue is the best.” 

barou looks at her for a second before sighing in defeat. “whatever you say, princess.” 

you sit back down with a smile. “you’re whipped, huh?” 

“shut up,” he grumbles, but there's a warmth in his voice that makes it clear he’s totally okay with it. 

kunigami rensuke

kunigami's the type of guy who’s overly organized, so you shouldn’t be surprised when you walk into the living room to see him organizing your daughter's toys. but the sight of him, sitting on the floor, glasses on, carefully arranging stuffed animals by size, still catches you off guard. he's so serious about it too, muttering under his breath as he moves things around like he's running a tight ship. 

"you know, they're just toys," you say, leaning against the doorframe with a grin. 

he looks up, not even a little fazed. "they need structure. this place is a disaster." 

your daughter, sitting on the couch with a piece of chocolate on her face, watches him in silence before turning to you. "why’s daddy organizing the toys like that?" 

you walk over and sit next to her, trying to hold in your laughter. "he’s making sure they're all in the right place so we don’t lose any, sweetie." 

kunigami stands up, dusting off his hands like he’s just completed a major project. “there. everything is in order now.” 

your daughter stands up, takes one look at the neatly organized toys, and immediately starts dumping them back out in a chaotic pile. "i think it looks better this way!" 

kunigami stares at the mess for a moment, blinking slowly. then he sighs and sits next to her. “you’re killing me.” 

“welcome to parenthood,” you say with a grin, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “it’s never going to stay perfect.” 

he lets out a long, exaggerated breath and looks at you with a smirk. “at least i tried.”

shidou ryusei

it’s one of those days when you and shidou just decide to have a lazy morning. you’re lounging in bed, half-watching tv, while your daughter is bouncing around in the living room, singing to herself. at one point, she runs in, her tiny voice high-pitched with excitement. 

“mommy! daddy! look, i made a fort!” 

you and shidou exchange a glance, both of you trying to hold in your laughter. he’s the type to go along with her crazy ideas just to make her happy, and you know he’s secretly enjoying it. 

“a fort?” shidou says, raising an eyebrow. “you know, if i’m going in there, it better be epic.” 

she drags him into the living room, where a massive pile of cushions and blankets is now a makeshift fortress. shidou crouches down, pretending to be skeptical, but you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes. 

“this fort better have snacks,” he says, sitting down inside it. 

your daughter nods enthusiastically. “there’s a secret snack stash!” 

you lean against the doorway, watching the scene unfold. shidou looks up at you, grinning. “maybe i’ll stay in here forever. no one can get me.” 

you laugh softly. “i don’t know if it’s big enough for both of you.” 

he leans back dramatically, wrapping himself in the blankets. “it’s a fortress, babe. it’s got room for all of us.” 

your daughter plops down beside him, proud of her creation. “we’re going to live here forever!” 

and as the two of them start bickering over who gets the “best spot” in the fort, you realize that maybe they’re right – this little fort could be their own perfect world. and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[yvvxs]

Physical Touch...‎ ‎

‎ ‎↪ ft. argenti. arlan. aventurine. blade. boothill. caelus. dan heng & imbibitor lunae. dr ratio. gallagher. gepard. jing yuan. luka. luocha. sampo. sunday. welt.

Argenti brushing your hair, making sure to gently undo any knots found in it. He would help you clean up any dirt from your skin and clothes, making sure you looked even more beautiful than you already were. You were his beloved, and he'd make sure to make you feel like it was so all the time through soft moments just like these.

Being in the infirmary with Arlan, who bandages up any wounds you got. He places soft kisses over small band-aids or bigger scars, making sure to help you feel better. He wouldn't want to let you hurt any longer than you already did. He promises that it'll be all better with him by your side.

Aventurine would hold you close to himself as you both roam the casino. Winning every single game he played, as always. Letting every other patron there know that you were the only one allowed to be so close to the luckiest man in the building. No one would be able to catch his heart just as you have with him as he places a kiss on your forehead, silently reminding you with a smile.

In between missions, Blade would hold you close to his chest, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing patterns into your back. Elio hadn't assigned him to the next thing in the script yet, so he still had time to be with you, to give you some attention before he has to set off for whatever dangers he'd be going through next.

Despite not being able to feel much, Boothill gives you so much love. An arm wrapped around your waist, tight hugs which brings you closer to himself. Whenever he feels like he wants to feel your touch, he just nuzzles his face into you, chuckling gently with a smirk on his face. Knowing you're too good for someone like him.

Caelus clinging onto you while the Crew watches a horror movie together in the Astral Express. He yelps at the smallest thing, holding you close to himself for dear life. Despite going through life-threatening things, he still was a little scaredy-cat underneath all of that, your little raccoon boyfriend would never change, not like you'd want him to.

Laying your head on Dan Heng's shoulder as he types out something on the Data Bank after your last mission. All of you were tired from what you had experienced, but he diligently writes more information for everybody. Also, gently caressing Imbibitor Lunae's horns, placing soft kisses on them as his tail wraps around your hips, silently trying to pull you closer to himself.

Bathing with Dr. Ratio, he thoroughly washes your body, touching you in places only he can. The bubbly sensation relaxing the two of you as you clean up together. Enjoying the soft, alone time, just for the both of you. With no other people to pry or disturb either of you.

Gallagher guiding your hands as you two work at the Dreamjolt Hostelry. Making sure to help you find the correct ingredients to serve to your different customers. Handing you something he was previously using, your fingers grazing over one another's and feeling the small and short touches that you two share every now and then.

Sitting in the Silvermane Restricted Zone with Gepard, as he lets you bandage his wounds he got from the battles with the Fragmentum. He wasn't fully invincible, and him getting hurt would be inevitable. He knew that his job was dangerous, but letting you at least know he was okay, and that you can make him feel better would make himself feel better.

Jing Yuan letting you sit on his lap as he works. His work was usually boring most of the time, but when you were there with him, it made it so much more interesting. He nuzzled into your neck every now and then, smirking against your skin as he inhaled your scent. He could never get sick of these times with you, and no one could take you away from him, not even the Master Diviner.

Cuddles with Luka after he wins his last match at the Fight Club. It's his little reward from you that he always looked forward to. Even if he did lose, which we all know would barely actually happen, he would always be spoiled like this. He would always love having your warmth and comfort after hard work put into his fights.

Luocha's fingers intertwined with yours as the two of you go through the Luofu together. He wasn't anyone else other than your lover when he was with you, and he'd make sure you know it. Kisses on the back of your hand or playing with your hair when the two of you were alone, or even when there was a man secretly watching from behind the scenes.

Holding Sampo's face in your hands as you gently scold him for conning another person. He just wanted to get money for you, but that didn't mean he had to get it through means like this. You remind him not to do that again, though we both know that he would do it again, all for you.

You were the only one who was loved enough by Sunday to be able to touch his soft wings, other than his own sister. He would let you clean them up, touch them up and even preen any loose feathers that stuck out from the rest. Normally, he'd do it himself, but if it made you happy to help, then he'd let you do what you want.

Laying down with Welt on the couch in the Astral Express' Parlor Car, cuddling with him after a long day of missions at your current stop. He would brush his fingers through your hair. Your head on his chest, his other arm wrapped loosely around your body. Resting for the next day that would be full of exciting adventures for the two of you.

Masterlist || Do not repost nor feed to AI. Reblogs & Comments are much appreciated.

[lesmana-enterprise-ltd]

RUMABETON, SALT WAY No.2

A Brutalist-minimalist urban home by The Lesmana Enterprise Co., Ltd. (NO CC, Copy to Tray)

Situated on the end of Salt Way Across Wharf Park, Rumabeton is a quaint 11x16 brutalist home designed by The Lesmana Enterprise Co., Ltd. Consisting of one master bedroom, one extra room (currently designed as office), one powder room and one in-suite bathroom. The Rumabeton is perfect for small sim families. Furnished with latest furnitures designed by our Interior team, rare furnitures, and art pieces curated in Champs Les Sims 2024 Auctions, Rumabeton is truly a work of art that you can live in.

Less is more, we keep things minimal.

Rumabeton is true to it's brutalist design and minimalist values. Our top architects and interior designers implements "less is more" very carefully to craft the perfect urban home for your sim.

Art in every corner of the house.

With the dedication from our curator team, rare furnitures and fine arts pieces are beautifully placed around the house.

Strategically placed in the heart of the city.

Your sim will be living in their very own sanctuary in this bustling city. Rumabeton is situated on the end of Salt Way, facing the serene Wharf Park.

TECHNICAL INFORMATION

Lot type : Residential

Lot size : 30x30

Location : Spice Market, San Myshuno

Price : §447,853

Packs used:

High School Years

Snowy Escape

Eco Living

Get Famous

Seasons

City Living

Get Together

Get to Work

Dream Home Decorator

Dine Out

Spa Day

Perfect Patio (optional for jacuzzi)

THIS BUILD USES NO CC

DOWNLOAD

Download Here

INSTALLATION

Paste everything in the folder to your tray files. Your tray folder location can be found in below location.

Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 4\Tray

IF THE BUILD IN THE GALLERY IS FLAGGED AS MODDED, JUST IGNORE IT.

This is likely due to a glass shader being used, but it should not have any effect in your game as the items are non-CC.

Sul Sul and Enjoy your New Home,

The Lesmana Enterprise Co., Ltd

[prokopetz]

"It's better to do one thing well than two things poorly" is definitely a solid rule in game design, but I have to admit a weakness for old console games that were basically two different games stacked on top of each other. Zelda II: The Adventures of Link (top-down exploration overworld which becomes a side-scrolling action platformer in dungeons), Blaster Master (side-scrolling metroidvania which becomes a top-down arcade shooter in dungeons), and The Guardian Legend (top-down action RPG which becomes a vertical shoot-'em-up in dungeons) are all titles I remember fondly, but I think my favourite example of the type is the Super Nintendo version of Jurassic Park, which has a brightly coloured Legend of Zelda style top-down overworld, then when you go inside buildings it becomes a survival-horror first person shooter. It's a game-mechanically incomprehensible choice which actually makes perfect sense in terms of emulating the source material, and it's a small disappointment to me that nobody's ever made a serious effort at elaborating on it.

[another-random-fanfic-blog]

Fates Entwined

Warnings: 18+ , mentions of sexual assault, abuse, death

Summary: You rescues 8 hybrids that are about to die.

word count: 7099

Masterlist

Next Chapter

The shelter workers dragged the beaten, bloodied, and half-conscious hybrid to a cell room, throwing him on the floor in front of 7 other hybrids.

"This was the third time he was returned," sneered the worker with greasy slick-backed hair, "that means he gets put down tomorrow. If you 7 don't agree to be adopted separately, you'll be joining him."

The shelter worker walked out of the room, slamming and locking the door while whistling cheerfully as he walked away. Meanwhile, the other 7 hybrids crowded around their friend on the floor, Seonghwa carefully lifting his head to place in his lap.

"Sannie," Wooyoung cries out, holding San's hand.

"Sannie, what happened?" Hongjoong asks, rubbing Sans arm gently.

"It was a hybrid fighting ring," San cries, refusing to open his eyes, not that he could open both, considering one his right eye was swollen shut, "I couldn't kill the other hybrids like they wanted, I'm sorry."

"It’s ok, Sannie," Yunho replies calmly.

"It's not ok, now they're going to kill you with me." San sobs uncontrollably, barely able to get the next words out, "I don't want you to die too."

"It's ok, San," Seonghwa whispers while cradling the crying man's head, not letting anyone see the tears spill from his own eyes. "Everything will work out, you'll see. We'll be ok."

The 8 hybrids stayed huddled together for a few minutes before they move to their beds, which were nothing more than flimsy blankets filled with holes. Slowly, one by one, they each begin to fall asleep, the younger 4 crying themselves to sleep while they older 4 held in their tears, too on edge to let themselves fall asleep, they flinch at every sound coming through the facility. When they heard two sets of footstep coming towards their cage, Yeosang tightens his hold on Jongho and Wooyoung while Seonghwa held San, and Yunho cradle Mingi, Hongjoong moves to sit in front of everyone, trying to block them from the view of whoever was approaching, with his small body.

Two workers appear in front of the cage, the greasy haired employee named Mike, and the employee with yellow teeth, missing his front one, called Carl. They enjoyed spending their time harassing the hybrids in the shelter, but their favorite targets were the group of 8. Mike stood by the door smirking as he looked over the huddled hybrids.

“Up front now!” Mike demands. Causing all 8 to jump and slowly line up by the door, kneeling on the ground. “I have some good news, we found homes for all of you, except San, he dies in the morning, no exception, but if you agree, you all get to live.”

“Seonghwa gets to go to a nice breeding farm or a brothel, we will let you pick,” Carl laughs as he reads off a paper, meanwhile Seonghwa grips his thighs tightly, holding back tears. “Yeosang will be going to the brothel, Ming and Yunho will be working in the mines to test for gas build up, Wooyoung, Jongho, and Hongjoong will be sent to medical labs as test subjects for new medications or some shit like that.”

“You hear that Seonghwa,” Mike says leaning down in front of the hybrid, “you’re the only one that gets a choice, now say thank you master.”

Seonghwa bit his lip, wanting to yell out and curse the two men, but not trusting his voice as he thinks about how everyone's lives will be ruined. Hybrids were made by humans, then abused, and abandoned by humans. Out of all the different types, rabbit hybrids were on of the most unique and one of the saddest hybrid stories. Scientists, for whatever reason, decided to make it so both female and males could be impregnated. It was wasn’t easy to get a male hybrid pregnant, and the pregnancies were extraordinarily difficult, but humans decided to make a game of it. They hosted insemination parties, bringing mass groups of men to try their luck at who could impregnate the poor hybrids for a prize. Then the rabbits were left to suffer through their pregnancy alone, only to go through it all again, if they survived giving birth.

Mike opens the door, walking in smugly as he looked at the hybrids kneeling on the floor, knowing that they wouldn’t attack him no matter what he did. He walks up and down the row, looking at each hybrid closely, paying attention to their features. Stopping in front of Hongjoong, Mike kneels and grabs his face, roughly turning it to each side before pushing away from him and standing. Before Hongjoong could take another breath, Mike grabs him by the hair yanking him to his feet and pinning him to the cage wall. Wrapping his hand around Hongjoongs throat, he lifts Hongjoongs small body up in the air, enjoying the feeling of how Hongjoong struggled for air, trying to free himself.

“Maybe you won’t go to a lab,” Mike laughs, licking, kissing, and biting what he could reach of Hongjoongs neck, grinding his hips against the hybrids, as he got excited by Hongjoongs whimpers and choking noises. “I think I’m going to take you to one of those sex parties, you know, the ones where a hybrid takes over 60 men in one night. What I wouldn’t give to see your broken and useless body afterwards, I wonder how squirrels compare to rabbits.”

“PLEASE STOP!” Seonghwa yells from behind them, unable to watch or listen to anything more, especially when he sees Hongjoongs face turning purple from the lack of oxygen, his grip on Mikes arm starting to loosen as his body grows limp. “PLEASE!”

Mike whips around and stares at Seonghwa before throwing Hongjoong onto the ground, kicking him in the ribs as he coughs and gasps for air. Stomping towards Seonghwa, Mike grabs Seonghwa by his ears, dragging him out of the cage and letting Carl slam the door shut before anyone could react. Pulling Seonghwa into the empty cell across the hall, Mike chains him to the wall. Carl moves out of the hybrids way so they can watch what's about to happen.

“I figured, you’re going to be used for breeding no matter what, that’s all you bunnies are good for anyway,” Mike sneers unbuckling his pants, “so I may as well get a taste of what you have to offer. Isn’t that what you wanted when you asked me to stop? You wanted to take his place, you wanted to be treated like a true bunny right.”

Mike grabs Seonghwa’s shirt and rips it open, while Seonghwa cries, unable to get his arms free from the shackles, shackles that were installed in every cage just in case a hybrid got out of control. Seonghwa opens his eyes and watches as his friends try to break their door open, crying and begging for Mike to stop, with no luck.

Mike undoes his pants and pulls himself out walking closer to the bound man.

“If you bite me, they all die instantly,” Mike laughs, lining himself up with Seonghwa’s mouth, “and after, Carl will want to take you for a spin.”

Just before Mike could touch his tip to Seonghwa’s mouth, they hear a yell from down the hall.

“Mike, Carl, we have a meeting, get your asses in here now!” Yells the owner of the shelter, leaving no room for arguing.

“That man always knows how to ruin the fun,” Mike growls to Carl while he zips himself up, “throw the bunny back in his cell, and let’s go.”

Carl unshackles Seonghwa and throws him in the cell with the others before they disappear, leaving Seonghwa to grip his torn shirt around himself while the others hug him, all of them sobbing uncontrollably.

“Maybe…maybe,” Jongho cries, unable to get his words out between sobs, “maybe death won’t be all that bad.”

No one responds at this point, understanding his feelings as they all feel the same. If they died, no more pain, torture, sexual harassment, or anything else. However, they still didn’t want to die, not really. Laying down and curling around each other, they wait for the death sentence that was coming for them in the morning.

“Wake up! Line up, standing, hands out!” Mike barks at the hybrids, waking them from their fitful sleep.

Each hybrid slowly moves into a line, dread filling their bodies as their wrists and ankles are shackled together and muzzles put over their faces. Soon, they are led down the hall to the euthanasia room, some not able to stop the sobs that rip from their throats.

“You’re going last,” Mike whispers in Seonghwa’s ear and he grabs Seonghwa’s ass. “You’re going to watch as each one of them dies, then, you’re coming home with me. You’re too good looking to not be filled every day. I’m going to make sure you have no energy to leave my bed. I’m also going to have frequent parties, 5 dollars for whoever wants to have you. But first, you have to watch all of your friends die,” he finishes laughing before locking Seonghwa in the waiting cage with everyone else, but San, shackling all the hybrids to the wall. The other 6 hybrids quickly move Seonghwa behind them as best they could, as far away from Mike as possible before turning their attention to San who is being strapped to the table, tears pouring out of his eyes as the technicians insert the needle into his arm.

“I don’t want to die,” San cries, when his muzzle is removed, eyes squeezed close tightly as tears stream down his face, his body bordering hyperventilating. “I don’t want to die and I don’t want them to die.”

“Wait!”

------------------------------------------- a few minutes earlier ----------------------------------

“I will see you in 30 minutes to an hour,” You say, parking your car outside the hybrid shelter. “It’s not a problem, don’t worry about it, I’m happy to help.”

You hang up your phone as you cross the parking lot, entering the shelter and walking to the front desk, looking down the hall to see a group of 8 hybrids crying as they are led into a dark looking room.

“How can I help you?” Asks the secretary after the door closes.

“I’m here to pick up some hybrid medication; it should be under the name Mrs. Roe.” You respond, leaning on the counter, “what was wrong with them?” You ask nodding your head towards where they hybrids disappeared.

“They’re being euthanized-“

“What the fuck?!” You ask, interrupting the secretary.

“They are being euthanized, they refuse to be adopted separately and one has been returned three times when he was forcibly adopted out.”

“How do I stop it?”

“You pay $3,000 and sign this paperwork that I already filled out, all it needs is a signature at the yellow flags,” the secretary replies hurriedly shoving a stack of papers at you.

“You were prepared,” you comment as you hand over your debit card and start signing by the flags, berating yourself for not actually reading the contract you’re currently signing.

“I’ve been hoping someone would come for them for a long time so I was prepared just in case. I’ve always been prepared just in case,” she says handing you the receipt as you pull out your phone and call someone.

“No more talking, let’s go,” you reply, gesturing for her to walk as you finish the paperwork. “Kim, how close are you to 5823 Rosedale Lane?” You ask into the phone.

“Few minutes why?” The voice, Josh Kim, answers over the phone.

“I’m calling in a favor, get your ass here now, bring backup, go past the front desk take a left, door at the end of the hall,” you say, hanging up.

Once you sign the last box, of the papers, the secretary opens the door and yells “Wait!” looking up you see a hybrid strapped to the table, crying as a man begins to attach a syringe to the needle in the hybrids arm.

“This woman adopted all 8 of the hybrids, the paperwork is signed and she already paid,” the secretary states quickly thrusting the papers at the men in the room.

“It’s too late,” the man with the syringe scoffs, as he goes back to what he was doing.

“Let me make this clear,” you growl, stepping forward, staring the man down, “you remove that needle from my hybrids arm right the fuck now, or I do, and shove through your fucking throat!”

The man glares at you and throws the syringe back on the tray before pulling the needle out carelessly. Meanwhile, you keep eye contact with the jackass as you approach the table and begin to undo the restraints on the hybrids arms and legs, helping him up. You turn around and see the other 7 hybrids still held in the cage.

“Release them and then take all 8 of them to the reception area please,” you ask the receptionist.

She nods and begins undoing the restraints to the wall of the caged hybrids, ushering them out of the room when they are freed, before a greasy haired man grabs the bunny hybrid by the ears, yanking him back and wrapping his arm around the poor hybrids throat.

“Seonghwa!” Someone yells from behind you, but you aren't sure who, and you don’t care to find out at this moment, though you can guess it was the hybrid on the table since the others are muzzled. Your eyes are glued to this man and your hybrid, that he decided to put in a choke hold.

“Get them out of here,” you say to the receptionist, as calmly as possible, not allowing your anger to get the best of you.

Once you hear the door shut, you begin to speak again.

“How many hybrids have you killed since last May?” You ask, slowly walking around, making sure to keep tabs on everyone in the room while also watching that this greasy haired bastard doesn’t hurt your hybrid. “Did you know that it is illegal to euthanize a hybrid that wasn’t terminally ill for the past year? Any hybrids euthanized since then are considered a murder charge. They passed that law last May…That means, every hybrid you fuckers euthanized, will be counted as murder. So tell me…how many have you killed?”

You stand by a door on the opposite side of the room from which you came in, grabbing the handle and opening it, only to get hit with the unforgettable smell of death and decomposition. You turn on the light and see dozens upon dozens of hybrid bodies piled up in the room before pulling the door shut.

“I count over 40 bodies in there now, which means it’s at least going to be 40 counts of murder and well as 8 attempted murders, and the police should be here any minute.”

“Fuck off bitch,” the man missing a tooth exclaims, spitting towards your feet.

Just then the door opens and multiple police enter the room, demanding everyone to freeze and put their hands in the air. You walk over to Josh, who is staring down the man holding the bunny and show him the adoption papers in your hand, pointing at the bunny’s name.

“You’re Seonghwa?” The Josh asks the bunny, earning a small nod from him. “Let him go, sir, or do I need to add assault to your list of crimes?”

“Mike, just let that damn thing go,” one of the other men yell, earning a scoff from Mike, before he throws Seonghwa to the ground.

Police quickly move in and cuff Mike, before leading everyone out of the room. You nod your head at the door, hiding the decaying hybrids, alerting Josh to go look in the room. You hear him cuss before the door slams shut, and he appears in front of you.

“Unfortunately, this is still happening,” he says. “Thanks for calling. Hopefully, I wasn’t too late.”

“Not for these ones. Thanks for getting here quickly, or I may have shot that bastard,” you reply shaking his hand, “see you later Josh.”

Josh nods and walks out of the room calling in the need for evidence teams and the counties coroner’s office to remove the bodies, leaving you to look down at Seonghwa. You look back at the table that the other hybrid was strapped to and see the keys that you used to unshackle your hybrid with. Grabbing the keys, you approach the scared bunny, keeping your hands in his view the entire time.

“I’m going to take the muzzle and cuffs off, ok?” You say, getting a small nod in reply.

Carefully, you remove the muzzle from his head, reaching behind him to undo the buckles, letting it fall to the ground as you examine the bruises beginning to form from it being bound to tight. You make quick work of the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, looking at the bruises forming there, frowning at how marked up he is. When you begin to look up, you notice his torn shirt, small tears made in it so that the front could be tied close.

“Wanna get out of here, Seonghwa?” You ask standing and holding your hand out to him. He meekly nods and shakily takes your hand, standing unsteadily.

The two of you walk out to the reception area where you see your other 7 hybrids, 6 of them still chained together and muzzled, while the one who was strapped to the table was free and hugging the fox hybrid, clinging to the fox like his life depended on it. As you approach, all seven hybrids eyes turn to you, watching you carefully.

“I’m going to take the muzzles and cuffs off,” you say holding up the key and approaching the closest hybrid, who tenses when your hand gets close to him.

Seonghwa practically clings to you the entire time you are removing the restraints from your hybrids, you assume so he can make sure you don’t hurt any of them. You notice the same problems on them that you did on Seonghwa; they are all bruised from the restraints being too tight.

“See that red SUV out in the parking lot,” you say to what you assume is a squirrel hybrid, based on the ears and tail, “will all of you go wait by it? I will be right out.”

He nods, and they exit the building, looking back at you every few steps as they walk away. You turn and walk to the reception desk, seeing the secretary sitting there looking around nervously as the police remove file after file from the cabinet. Grabbing the medication on the counter and your remaining paperwork, you give her some advice.

“Try to cut a deal with the district attorney, say you will testify to anything you can if they want.”

With that, you turn and walk to your car. On the way you pull out your phone and text your friend Marco, saying ‘Meet me at my house ASAP, bring your kit.’

“I didn’t expect to adopt 8 hybrids today,” you say looking at the group huddled around your car, “this only seats 7, so you two will have to sit on someone's lap until we get home.”

They nod and climb in, the squirrel and fox being the two that sit on someone’s lap. You throw your car in drive and make your way home, silently. You’ve never been good with talking to people, you never know what to say, and honestly would much rather be alone than be around others. Now you have 8 lifetime commitments sitting in your car and it’s a little daunting.

You’re unsure what to say to them, and continue to rehearse your introduction in your head. When you were about 10 minutes away from your home, you stop at a house and park the car.

“I’ll be back, I just need to drop this off real quick,” you say, holding up the box that you picked up from the shelter.

The hybrids don’t respond, and you get out of the car, approaching the house. Knocking on the door, you wait for the older lady to answer.

“Y/n, how are you,” Mrs. Roe asks as she answers the door, “thank you so much for picking this up for me. The vet called and they said that the medicine should be back in by the time it needs refilled, so you won’t have to pick it up for me again.”

Mrs. Roe motions for you to come in, and as you enter her home, you see her hybrid laying on the couch wrapped in blankets and sleeping soundly.

“He’s having a pretty bad flare-up and it doesn’t help that the doctor didn’t inform me that his medication was on back order and wouldn’t be coming in this month, which is why I had to hurry and find a place that has the medication in stock.”

“Well, I’m always happy to help. And if you need anything to help him through this flare just ask,” you respond, setting the box on her kitchen counter, smiling as you watch her adjust the blankets surrounding her hybrid. You appreciated that she treated him as though he was no different than she was and did whatever she could to make him happy. When she walks back into the room, Mrs. Roe tries to hand you cash for the medicine.

“Oh, no, I don’t need that,” you say refusing the cash, “it wasn’t that much anyway.”

“Well, then at least take this,” she replies, turning away from you to pick up a freshly baked apple pie, which from previous experience, you know is to die for. “I have to thank you some way.”

“I will be more than happy to be paid back in food, you are an amazing cook and I will never turn down a meal.” You happily take the pie from her, noticing that the pan is still warm but not hot enough that you can’t hold it with your bare hands. “I really need to get going, but thank you for this.” You say as you begin to leave.

In the car

“What’s going to happen to us?” Mingi asks, clutching Yunho’s hand in a death grip.

“I don’t know, Mingi.” Hongjoong replies, staring at where you disappeared into the house.

“Whatever happens, we will be together,” Yeosang whispers, with a slight tremble of nervousness in his voice, his lisp becoming more pronounced due to his stress.

The car quiets once again as they watch you exit the house carrying something in your hands. You carefully open the door and sit down, realizing you have nowhere to put the pie with everyone in the car.

“I can hold it,” the fox hybrid whispers to you and you just smile handing him the food, saying a quiet thank you back to him.

Once you leave, it’s as quiet as it was before. You can feel the nervousness in the air and can’t think of what to do to break the tension, so you just stay quiet. It only takes 10 minutes to make it to your house, a giant home that looks as though it stretches as far as the eyes can see. As you pull in the driveway, you see Marco sitting on your front steps waiting for you.

“Welcome home,” you say to everyone, picking up all of the paperwork and files you got from the shelter, you turn to the fox and ask, “Can you carry that inside for me?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

You walk to the front steps, letting the hybrids get out at their own pace, understanding that this is probably overwhelming to them.

“Hey Marco, thanks for coming so quickly,” you say as you approach him.

“Y/n, what is so important that you had to call me on my day off,” he grunts in reply.

“I adopted 8 hybrids, they were about to be euthanized, and they are bruised from the restraints, one has other injuries, they also look pretty malnourished. I wanted you to look them over but figured it would be too stressful to suddenly show up at a doctor’s office.”

Digging through the stacks of paper you are holding you pull out their medical records and hand them to Marco to read through. As he begins reading, you turn around and see all eight hybrids standing behind you fidgeting and looking around the front yard.

“Let’s go in,” you say, sweeping your arm forward and leading them into the house. You watch as they remove their shoes and lead them to the living room. “Marco is a doctor, he’s going to give you a checkup and treat any injuries you may have. You can sit,” you motion to the couch and chairs, “I will be in the kitchen.”

“Wait!” Seonghwa yells, stopping you, “please don’t go. Please stay.”

“Ok,” you say, smiling and nodding before sitting on a chair, “I will stay here and read while you get a checkup, if at any time you are uncomfortable, you can ask to stop.”

While Marco examined them, you open the files, they were fairly sparse with very little information. The first up was Hongjoong.

Hongjoong – Squirrel hybrid

26 years old

Found wandering the streets, emaciated, angry

Personality issues, stubborn, clumsy, not good at anything – likely unadoptable

You look up and see the squirrel hybrid, he’s blonde with grey ears and tail, and he has perfect teeth from what you’ve seen so far, pillowy lips, and a sleek nose. He stood on guard watching every movement Marco made. Looking back down you flip the page to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa – Rabbit hybrid

27 years old

Found chained to a fence, starving and emaciated, abandoned by owners for refusing to participate in an insemination party, attacked everyone that tried to touch him.

Personality issues neurotically clean – likely unadoptable

Seonghwa was also a blonde with bright white ears, his hair was short with buzzed sides underneath. He had boba like eyes and high cheekbones, with a sharp nose

Yunho – Golden Retriever Hybrid

26 years old

Rescued with Mingi, both of them were neglected by their owner and starved on the regular, both also showed signs of abuse. – co-dependent, likely unadoptable

Yunho had golden ears and the gold on his tail was matted from neglect, his hair was a dark brown and he was smiling at the others, trying to cheer them up and make them feel more comfortable.

Yeosang – Doberman Hybrid

25 years old

Found chained in a junk yard with no shelter, sick with multiple broken bones, surrendered for not being able to ‘protect anything properly.’

Personality issues, too quiet, and shy – likely unadoptable

He had a mark on the side of his face, probably a birth mark that fit him well for some reason. His hair was dark reddish brown and he had delicate features.

San – Black Jaguar hybrid

25 years old

Returned three times, the first he complained about his owner not leaving him and Wooyoung alone and trying to touch them inappropriately without their permission, the second he was adopted alone and returned because he was too clingy and the owners wanted a guard hybrid, the third time he was returned by a hybrid fighting ring for refusing to fight the other hybrids. His personality is defective and he will be euthanized.

Personality issues, too clingy, scared of everything – unadoptable

San had cat like eyes that fit the hybrid that he was, and jet black hair. He was muscular, well built, which you wondered if it was from his hybrid genetics or hard work, or a mix of both.

Mingi – Chick hybrid

25 years old

Personality issues, clumsy, scared of his own shadow, co-dependent, - likely unadoptable

Mingi had eyes that made him look like an emoji, eyes that were wide and filled with almost a childlike fear. His hair was black, and he looked to be 6 feet tall.

Wooyoung – Fox hybrid

25 years old

Surrendered with San, shelter employees were told by San that the owner tried to touch them inappropriately multiple times.

Personality issues, too loud, clingy, and rambunctious. Talks back too much, owners will not like him – likely unadoptable

He had reddish orange hair with shaggy bangs, a prominent nose, and mischievous face, though also a face that looked sweet.

Jongho – Bear hybrid

24 years old

Origins unknown, was found passed out at the front of the shelter

Personality issues, standoffish, can be aggressive, becomes lazy in winter during typical bear hibernation time – likely unadoptable

He had dark brown hair, a cute round face, and small nose.

“All done,” Marco said removing his glove and putting it in the garbage bag you gave him earlier. “We can talk outside about the results now, or you could wait until the blood tests come back.”

“I’d like to know now if everyone is ok with you telling me,” you reply to Marco before turning to the hybrids, “knowing if anything is wrong will let me know what treatments you may need.”

“It’s ok, you can know,” Hongjoong whispers for the first time to you, while the others nod.

“Right, so,” Marco starts, looking at his notes to make sure he repeats everything correctly, “Everyone is malnourished and needs more food, all also have bruises and small cuts. The only ones that have major issues are Hongjoong and San, both have bruises and contusions, possible fractured ribs. San also has a swollen knee, I think it is a soft tissue injury, just keep an eye on it for now, here are some pain meds, and if his knee is too overworked, it could give out, maybe get a brace. Then there is Seonghwa who has eczema, potentially stress induced, it’s hard to tell right now, we will have to check up later. Best treatment now would be a corticosteroid ointment or we have pills, and injectable meds. Finally, there’s Yeosang, he has a lisp and hand tremor, these could be benign or they could be something more, again, could be stress induced, just keep an eye on it and let me know if it gets worse.  Now, what kind of meds do you want for Seonghwa?”

You watched the hybrids closely as the doctor mentioned each issue. They all flinched and curled in on themselves as if ashamed of the issues.

“Seonghwa,” you say getting the rabbits attention, watching him jump at the mention of his name, “what kind of treatment would you like to try?”

“I…I don’t…what?” He asks, looking at the others for help.

“This is your body, your health, you get to choose what type of treatment you would like to have, and if it works great, if it doesn’t we will move on to the next.”

“Um…oin…ointment please.”

“Ok, then we will start with that,” You confirm, looking at Marco, who nods in response.

“I will have it delivered tomorrow and let you know when the results come in,” he says, standing and walking to the door, bidding you goodbye before leaving.

You shut the door and wait in front of it, taking a deep breath before turning and walking to your hybrids.

“So…how about I show you where you will be staying?” You ask, watching them carefully. They all fidget, and Jongho slowly nods yes. “Perfect, follow me.” You say, leading them through the house, to the kitchen, “here is the kitchen, help yourself to any and all food that you want. Outside the kitchen, beyond the patio is a pool, if you’d like to swim, and this way is where your rooms are.” You say as you lead them to the steps, San following you the closest out of everyone, when his knee seemingly gives out and he falls, you were lucky that you watched him so closely because you were able to catch him before he fell. “It’s ok,” you say softly as you drag him to the step for him to sit on while he grips his knee and whimpers in pain. “I have your pain meds. Once we get you to your room, I’ll give them to you, then get you food, ok?” You ask, earning a small nod and whimper. You turn to the rest of the boys and ask, “Can one of you get an ice pack from the freezer and another help me carry him up the stairs?”

Yeosang races off to the kitchen while both Yunho and Mingi step forward to help carry San up the stairs. You walk behind them with your arms out, ready to brace them if they begin to fall, knowing that you will be going down with them if they fall. Once you reach the top of the stairs, Yeosang comes sprinting up the stairs with an ice-pack, and you usher everyone to the room across from the stairs.

“You can stay in this room,” you say, directing San to a bed, lifting his leg, and propping it up on a pillow before getting a towel to roll the ice pack in, then placing it over his knee. “I am in the room across the hall, diagonal to this. All of you can have your own room, and you get to choose any room you want. San, you don’t have to stay in this room if you don’t want to, you can look at the others, I just ask that you wait a day for your knee to recover before you start looking.” You pull out a pill and put it in his hand before getting a glass of water from the bathroom. “All of you are welcome to bathe, in hot water, if you’d like, and I will try to get some clean clothes for you. Tomorrow, or later, we can go clothes shopping and get you your necessary supplies. I’ll go get you some rice, then cook everyone dinner, ok.”

You stand and walk to the door before turning around.

“I would like all of you to choose your own room, everyone deserves to have their own space. However, if you want to sleepover in someone else’s room, that is fine with me, I don’t care, this is your home as well, and I want all of you to be comfortable, I will be making bulgogi, broccoli, and rice tonight.” With that you walk out and go to the kitchen to cook.

Hybrids

Once you walked out of the room, the hybrids turned to each other, Wooyoung scrambling onto the bed to cuddle with San, while the others sit down around him, Seonghwa crawling to San’s other side.

“She seems nice,” Seonghwa whispers, breaking the silence.

“What if she’s just acting that way and will do something later,” Mingi also whispers, while tugging on his hair, close to having a panic attack.

“Then we’ll deal with that later,” San replies, beginning to fade away, the stress, and pain meds making him tired. “We aren’t dead, she saved us, I’m scared, but I also, don’t want to ruin a potentially good thing.”

Before anyone can respond a knock comes from the door, the hybrids just stare but it doesn’t open, finally Yunho speaks up.

“Co-come in,” he says, trying to steady his voice.

The door opens and what looks like a chair and pile of clothes with legs walks in, setting everything down in the living room.

“Ok, so here are some clothes from my closet, Mingi and Yunho, I have oversized shirts that should fit, but my pants will be capris on you. Each bathroom has shampoo, conditioner, soaps, and towels, as well as toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, and hair brushes. San, here is a chair that can be set in your shower so you don’t have to stand on that leg. Also, there are scrubbies for your body in each bathroom. Oh, about dinner, I don’t have regular beef for the bulgogi, so it will be ground beef bulgogi and should be ready in about 45 minutes. So, why don’t you clean up and I can bring it up here, or we can work to carry San downstairs, I should have some crutches around here somewhere.” As you begin to leave, you stop again and turn back to them, “My name is Y/N, I adopted you, and I’m sure you don’t trust me yet, seeing what was about to happen and reading your files, I can only begin to imagine why you wouldn’t trust me. However, you are safe here, I will never knowingly hurt you, I swear I will protect you, and I hope, that one day, you will come to understand that I truly mean that…Ok, I will get going.”

With that, you walk out, leaving the clothes and everything in their room and hybrids stunned in silence behind you.

“Let’s, uh, let’s clean up,” Hongjoong says, standing and looking through the clothes on the chair, giving the biggest ones to Yunho and Mingi, while the others look through what’s on the pile. Suddenly, Seonghwa gasps as he reaches for a shirt, snatching it quickly and pulling something from the back of it, which seems to be stuck by static.

“Do you think she’d let me wear this?” He asks, holding up a feminine shirt, hope glimmering in his eyes with excitement at the prospect.

“Yes,” Jongho states, watching the elder hybrid. “I…I don’t trust her fully, that will…take time. But I believed her when she said she wouldn’t hurt us…I…believe her.” He finishes, blushing as everyone stares at him, knowing the bear hybrid is least likely to believe or trust anyone. “I’m going to go find a room and shower.” He yells as he runs out of the room, face bright red.

“I will set the chair in the shower,” Seonghwa says, as he smiles, watching where the bear ran out of the room. He jumps up and takes the chair, placing it in a giant shower stall before looking around and playing with the dual showerheads. Walking back into the room, he clears his throat. “I’m not shy, I know some of you are, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving San alone to shower. The shower can fit all of us and has two showerheads.” He begins before turning to San, “I would like to help you, I don’t even have to face you, I just need to know that you won’t fall, that you will be ok, th-“

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong interrupts.

“No, he’s my baby, they are all my responsibility and I failed each of them now San is hurt and I can’t let him be alone,” Seonghwa says almost panicking. 

“Hyung,” San begins to say.

“What if you fall, whatifyouslipandbreakthroughtheglassandbleedoutinthebathroom, what if-“

“HYUNG,” Yeosang yells holding Seonghwa’s face in his hands as he tries to calm the older down.

“I should have protected all of you, I’m the oldest,” Seonghwa cries out, falling to his knees, hugging himself.

“You did protect us, remember how you sacrificed yourself last night to save Joongie?” Yeosang asks, rocking Seonghwa side to side, “You saved us, you always saved us.”

“You can help me hyung,” San says, “I’m really tired and don’t want to be alone, I would be happy if you help me.”

Seonghwa looks over at San and nods, drying his eyes as he sniffles and tries to compose himself. Before he can say anything, there is a knock on the door, the hybrids saying come in at the same time. You pop your head in seeing Seonghwa and Yeosang on the floor and more than one hybrid crying.

“Is everything ok?” You ask watching their reactions.

“Yes,” Yunho replies, “we were just talking.”

“Ok…if you need anything just ask,” You say, nodding as you shut the door again, “oh, I brought San my old crutches to help with his knee…I’ll just…put them here.”

You place the crutches down then walk out again, not wanting to push the hybrids into talking or making them uncomfortable.

After a few moments, each hybrid stands up, taking their clothes to the shower to clean up, while Seonghwa helps a sleepy San into his shower, standing behind him with his back turned, while both relish the feeling of hot water and soap to scrub their bodies. Feeling the grime and oil come out of their hair as they clean. What feels like hours, but is really only 15 minutes, both hybrids are drying off and applying lotion to their skin before brushing their teeth and getting dressed, after a half an hour, they enter San’s bedroom to find 8 dinner trays, with complete meals covered in the room, all with names on each tray. San hobbles over to one chair and tray and lifts the lid, salivating at the smell of food, looking at Seonghwa with pleading eyes, begging to let him start eating. Seonghwa chuckles and nods, watching San devour his food, like he’s never eaten before. Soon, the others come trickle in, their stomachs growling as each goes to their trays. All of them notice that each tray has appropriate food based on their animal needs, San has the most protein, while Seonghwa has the most veggies. Meanwhile, Jongho and Hongjoong have a large side of berries and nuts.

Once everyone finishes, they are unable to keep their eyes open, all crawling into San’s bed and configuring themselves to all fit together in the king sized bed, passing out as soon as their eyes shut.

You waited two hours before heading upstairs, you knock quietly on the door, and open it after no answer, seeing all the hybrids asleep in the room makes you smile as you take multiple trips removing their food trays. Once the trays were cleaned and put away, you head to bed, exhaling as your head hits the pillow and you your eyes shut within seconds.

A few hours later, your eyes snap open, the feeling of being watched creeping over you. As fast as you can you jump up and spin around, seeing San standing there on his crutches, looking like he doesn’t know if he should run or stay.

“San,” you ask, rubbing your eyes, relaxing your posture, “is everything ok?”

“Um…yes,” he replies, “I…um…can I…may I…can I sleep with you tonight?” he quickly says, shutting his eyes so he doesn’t have to see your face.

“Of course,” you state, moving over and patting the bed next to you, watching as he stares in awe then hobbles over to share your sleep space.

He snuggles in carefully, a smile on his face, before he falls back asleep. You watch him for a minute then drift off as well. Maybe 8 hybrids won’t be so bad.

Next Chapter

[pipthegreat]

Info Cards‼️

These took a while to make but I fairly like how they turned out. These are all ordered from the oldest to newest member of Digital Fun Park!

Welcome to Digital Fun Park, a canceled VR horror game that was brought back to life.

When the company gave up on an in-progress horror game, it was left to fade away. But a virus inside of it came to life and couldn't stand being lonely anymore, so it brought people to its digital world.

Poster:

How abstraction works:

The Adventures:

The Solar Eclipse:

First designs + lineup:

I'll edit this post when I make "important" things about the au, also please ask me questions because I absolutely love this au!!

-----------------------------------------------

Comics:

* Jax's hatred

* What could happen

* First introduction

* Gangle's comics

* A silly mistake

* The Mask

* Bonding

-----------------------------------------------

Info:

* Tadc / dfp

* Missing parts

* Outside the park

* Bubble

* Rest

* Abstracted

* Gloink Queen

* Fear of the park

* Defense

* Closed eye

* Jax.

-----------------------------------------------

"Can I make fanart?":

Of course you can! I don't mind at all and it makes me extremely happy!

"Is there any ships?":

There are no cannon ships in this au but if you want to ship the characters you can totally go for it! Self shipping is also welcome! As long as it doesn't involve minor x adult though.

"Can I make NSFW?":

You do you, just don't send it to me alright? ^^

[morallygreychaoticneutral]

Astarion doesn't ask for affection because he can't..... yet.

Ah, more tea steeping in this seeming endless sea of thoughts. This brew is a bit strong on the heart. Read with caution.

Warning for game spoilers and talk of abuse.

This perspective is from game content only. How anybody cannons their relationships or behaviors is perfectly right. No blame, no shame, it's your game.

I was always miffed at the lack of initiated affection from Astarion as a partner. YOU ask him for a kiss. YOU ask him for a hug. YOU ask him to tell you thank you after being an amazing partner and killing a massive beastie just for him! Brat...

But then I had a sudden realization. Given his past, affection is probably insanely hard to ask for. Like it can be for a lot of us.

Stay awhile and listen. (nerd)

Now when I speak of narcissistic abuse I am only speaking from what I know about it. I have no academic or phycology degree on the matter. Just good ol' tossed in the pond and forced to sink or swim experience.

Astarion spent 200 years under the crushing weight of narcissistic / psychopathic abuse. One of the things these types of abusers love to do is take what you love and make you hate it and then make you hate yourself for ever having liked it to begin with. All very nasty business that. But it's one of the main corner stones for the cage they build to control you.

They make you feel as if the request of a simple hug is the most pathetic thing you could ask for. Or the most selfish thing as it inconveniences them. They don't want it, why should they give it to you?

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

200 years with a master who used him like a tool. 200 years with siblings that fought amongst each other so much comfort was a liability. Nights coming home assaulted only to be mocked for your tears. Insulted for your need of comfort.

"Pathetic! Weak! Disgusting! "

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

Affection was nowhere to be found there, I assure you.

And for a Narc. anything given is expected to be "earned" in any way they see fit. And if you were "rewarded" with anything, it comes at high price.

And how dare you not find it fair. You ingrate!

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

Hugs are pathetic. Kisses are an intrusion. Or they become gateways to other unwanted behaviors. To be held...what are you? A baby? The only way you are going to get held, is down.

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue.. The pattern continues.

But you ask HIM for a kiss. And he says..

"There is nothing I'd like more."

And he means it.

I'd bet a mountain of gold he wants to just ask you himself. But years of conditioning to expect pain when seeking pleasure probably keeps him in a choke hold. Like rats that are shocked every time they try to eat food out of a dish. They learn it is safer to starve.

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or a hug, but they might think i'm weak. But if they ask me first then it's them who wants it and they can't degrade me for it because they asked, not me. It's safe then."

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or hug, but they might reject me for being too needy and shame and berate me for being so selfish or demanding of their time and person. But if they ask they have time and want me to kiss/hug them."

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or a hug, but my primal brain keeps telling me they might demand more than I want to give in return for it. But if they ask, I have the power of negotiating the outcome."

This leads me to believe he would view sex and affection very differently as well.

Where most find affection safe and nurturing, it's anxiety educing and unsafe. It means there are feelings and if there are feelings there is the risk and fear of rejection or judgment. It's much scarier.

Where most find sex to be connecting and intimate, it's been used so much it's lost any meaning. Something you can do a thousand times over and walk away the second it's done and feel nothing afterward.

This may even be a part of the reason why he wants to stop having sex.

He wants to connect with you in ways denied to him. He wants the experience of being courted, treasured, nurtured. It means so much more to him than sex. It is so much more connecting.

Feeling this way is wretched and lonely. The most basic instinct is to want to seek comfort in the arms of those who love us. But it's broken. The risk is too great.

And it's hard. Because you could be the sweetest most honorable Tav in the whole of Fearun. But after being fed poised apples one too many times, all apples appear poisonous regardless of if is true or not.

I have no doubt that this prickly elf soaks up every second of non sexual affection you give him. And truly is grateful for your patience while he slowly and carefully disarms the safety measures he put in place to survive. The fact that he even allowed you to touch him like that at all was a monumental act of trust. And why not? You are incredible after all.

I'm going to go ask my elf for a kiss now. And then cry in my cup.

[noideabutsims]

Donut Co.'s Sidewalk Chalk Creations P.2

Simmers, Get Ready for Round Two of Sidewalk Shenanigans!

Donut Co. is back with another Simblreen surprise, and this time, we're doubling down on the chalk-tastic fun! We're proud to be part of Simblreen this year, bringing a touch of playful creativity to your spooky celebrations.

Donut Co.'s Sidewalk Chalk Creations P.2 is here, bringing even more fun and creativity to your Sims' world. This jam-packed expansion features 60 fresh designs, perfect for unleashing the inner artist in Sims of all ages!

From the tiniest toddlers scribbling their first masterpieces to masterful teens crafting intricate designs, there's a chalk creation here for everyone. Watch your little Sims giggle with glee as they create colorful hopscotch grids and jump rope rhymes, while their older siblings design elaborate castles and underwater worlds. And who can resist the charm of a wobbly rainbow or a lopsided smiley face drawn by your Sim's littlest artist?

With vibrant colors, playful themes, and endless possibilities for imaginative play, Donut Co.'s Sidewalk Chalk Creations P.2 will transform your Sims' sidewalks into a canvas for self-expression and pure joy. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Tiny Hiccup for working hopscotch items...

We're trying to make the hopscotch swatches compatible with the "Growing Together" hopscotch functional items, but for now, they're purely decorative. If i can find a workaround, it'll be posted ASAP. But hey, who needs frustration when you have imagination? Let your Sims create their own games and challenges with these vibrant sidewalk doodles!

So, grab your chalk and let your Sims' creativity run wild! Donut Co.'s Sidewalk Chalk Creations P.2 is here to transform your Sims' sidewalks into a vibrant celebration of childhood joy and imagination. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Most images have my reshade on*** In game images that are more blue are NO reshade. You can find images for this project with no reshade on the curseforge, or patreon. If you are interested in my reshade you can find it here: https://www.tumblr.com/noideabutsims/763209634729345024/remember-those-days-reshade-preset-guess-what?source=share ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Has 60 swatches New mesh If you cannot see all the swatches, place it down and then change the color swatch!

All of our CC can be found by typing " Donut " into the search bar! Name: Donut Co.'s Sidewalk Chalk Creations P.2 Buy Mode Description: The chalk-tastic fun continues with Donut Co.'s Sidewalk Chalk Creations P.2! This vibrant collection adds 60 new doodles to your Sims' sidewalk repertoire. From playful hopscotch grids and quirky characters to whimsical scenes and dazzling rainbows, these chalk creations are bursting with personality. Let your Sims' imaginations run wild and transform their sidewalks into a colorful canvas of creativity! Will be releasing more content soon! stay tuned! ❤️ (NOT affiliated with EA or Maxis in any way! We just make CC!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ DOWNLOAD: Curseforge: https://legacy.curseforge.com/sims4/build-buy/donut-co-s-sidewalk-chalk-creations-p-2 Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/114281443 Google Drive: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1i_FR2944HIQcYez5sXY8hbmXiTjZpNVe/view?usp=sharing ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Due to financial issues and our promise of never paywalling our content; We have to ask that you guys download on our curseforge if you are willing and able. Just using their site to download makes us be able to have at least a small income that helps us when things get tough - however no matter where you download; we genuinely appreciate every download regardless!! If you can, you can find our curseforge here!: https://legacy.curseforge.com/members/the_lady_gaia/projects

@alwaysfreecc

[phoebejaysims]

Boutique Mod - DOWNLOAD

Inspired by the sims 2 shopping for clothes system, I present a sims 3 take on buying clothes, accessories and running a thriving boutique! Set up shifts, keep the racks stocked, and you might find yourself in profit!

Required:

Ambitions

NRAAS Master Controller + Integration Module

Optional:

ITF if you want to use the clothes mannequin and some visual effects.

Late Night if you want the animations for the security guard.

Seasons for extra interactions on the mannequin.

Savvy Seller Set for some visual and audio effects.

Full Documentation is included in the download. I spent a while writing it out, so please read thoroughly!

How Stores Work:

Set up a shift

Hire Employees (bosses count as employees so stores are fully functional with only one sim!)

Link at least one rack to the register

Open for business!

Employees:

Store employees can be given three types of roles: register attendant, sales attendant and security guard.

Employees will do their jobs automatically but you can always manually tell them to do things too like: restocking, dressing up mannequins, helping customers, among other things.

Customers:

Inactive and active sims can browse through the racks and have the ability to purchase items. They'll interact differently depending on if they are shopping at a clothes rack, accessory rack, or at a mannequin.

Inactives won't purchase outfits from mannequins unless you direct them to (or you enable auto-purchasing in the XML). However, they may "fake" buy clothes.

Once finished shopping, customers hold their bags and wait to be rung up! Take too long and they may abandon their purchase.

Shopping:

Adjust prices and restrict customers by age and gender to customise your store!

Clothes Racks:

Buy Clothes for your own sim, sims in your household, or (if you're an employee) suggest clothes for customers.

Employees that suggest clothes for customers can fulfil Ambition Stylist jobs this way.

Accessories Racks:

Choose accessories to be sold by adding them to the XML in the package file. The XML comes loaded with a few base game items already plus a couple modded items (Arsil's Sunglasses and lipstick - that won't be loaded unless you have them installed).

Sell buy-mode items as well as CAS items!

Make your CAS items wearable from your sim's inventory using your own meshes or my dummy accessory (see Documentation and XML for details).

Blacklist certain categories from being shown. If you want a dedicated shoe shop or an opticians, you can have it!

Try on products before buying them to see if they suit your sim. If there's a mirror in the room, they'll check themselves out in it.

Clothing Mannequin:

Try on the mannequin outfits to see if they suit your sim.

Plan different outfits to display and even set them to be rotated through seasonally.

Let your employees be creative and choose a random outfit for the mannequin to wear.

Buy clothes for your own sim, household members, or customers.

Allow or disallow inactives from automatically purchasing display outfits.

Security Gates:

Give your security guards something to stand and look threatening by.

You can try your luck at stealing from the shop. If you're caught, you'll have to pay up. If you get past the gates (or if there are no gates), enjoy your bounty!

Boutique Door:

Cloned from the Savvy Seller doors without the annoying 'kick-every-last-person-out-the-building-come-closing-time' feature.

Link this to a register and let the open and close sign automatically flip itself. Also, close the store or rename it, straight from the door.

Phone Interactions:

Ask for time off work (paid or unpaid).

Call in sick.

Cancel vacation days.

Credits and Thanks:

@dhalsims for adding geostates to the ITF rack for me. Modders, I really recommend her if you need any 3D models made also!

DouglasVeiga for the BG rack with the geostates.

@aroundthesims for allowing me to use her objects in my mod as always!

Sims 4 for all the animations that I converted.

Simstate & merchant mods for the idea to go into a mode to link racks to the register.

The OG shop for clothes mod and pedestal by @anitmb.

Arsil and @zoeoe-sims for wearable CAS items idea that I adapted.

Ani's Candle mod & Amb. Makeover XML which I looked at for inspo on how to do accessory rack xml.

Compatibility:

All new objects so shouldn't conflict with anything really.

Removes the 'plan outfit' interaction from dressers.

Made on version 1.67.

If you would like to donate as thanks, please feel free to do so at: my kofi! I don't take your generosity for granted!

Download: - Simblr.cc - 2t3 Boutique Mod Suggested Extra CC: - Lyralei's TS2 Conversions (incl. clothes changing booth) - More ATS3 Security Gates - ATS3 Friperie Set

Known issues, prop information and the full feature breakdown are all in the documentation.

Please be patient with me if there are bugs to fix. Also, anyone who DMs me "I don't know how to create a new shift" will be immediately fined £150.

With that said, please enjoy the mod and tag me in your beautiful boutiques,

Phoebe :)

[crushmeeren]

Can you do kenma x f!reader

Story:

Reader is drunk (and honry), so she starts dirty talking to kenma, and he gets really flustered, and they end up

👉👌👉👌👉👌💦💦

Yeah 🫶😭

Hell yes I can! I’m SO happy you asked for this friend! I’ve been trying to challenge myself and write for more than MHA so this came at the perfect time.

Master List Link

Kenma / Fem Reader.

Everybody involved is aged up/18+.

Warnings; consensual drunk sex, some subby Kenma and he definitely has a praise kink, riding, unsafe sex 𓆩☠︎︎𓆪

Kuroo’s laughter abruptly crackles through Kenma’s headset and god — he wants to reach through his console and strangle the cat looking motherfucker for making them lose…again.

Kenma takes a fortifying breath and seriously considers why he even tries to play video games with Kuroo, knuckles turning white from gripping the controller so violently.

“Kuroo, why the fuck are you still so bad at this game? We’ve played it a million times!”

“Hey! I’m not that bad, I have one ultimate move and you know that!”

There’s a pout in his voice and his dramatics make Kenma’s eyes roll so hard he thinks he could catch a glimpse of his brain.

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting you’re unnecessary deadweight. I would prefer to play with Bokuto and his build is even worse.”

Kuroo’s over the top gasp and protests fall on deaf ears when Kenma notices a familiar vibration pattern go off against his thigh. His gaze flickers to where his phone rests on the couch cushion beside him and he picks it up, lips stretching into a sweet smile when your name lights up his home screen.

If Kenma’s being honest, he’d been waiting for your text all night. You’d gone out with a few friends for a girls night only and playing with Kuroo was starting to bore him considerably.

You’d let him know you’d be home in about 25 minutes. Kenma bites his lower lip as he reads, beyond amused at the multiple spelling errors and way too many spaces between words in your text.

Yeah, he’s certain you’re wasted.

He types out a quick reply, pocketing his phone in his sweatshirt and tunes back into Kuroo’s irritated voice when he asks if Kenma had been listening to a single word he’d said.

The answer is a resounding no.

You wave goodbye to your friends with a delighted laugh bubbling out of your chest as the Uber drives off down the road. A few hands stick out of the open window to wave back and you grin.

Kenma had offered to pick you up but you were drunk, and for some reason the thought of being separated from your girls in the Uber had made you want to sob.

So, there you are, squinting at your front door as you try to shove the key into the lock. Your fingers don’t seem connected to your brain and your skin is sweltering underneath your clothes. You glance up at the night sky in frustration before the key finally slides home and you sigh in relief.

Once you open the door you’re blasted with frosty air and your shoulders shake with a pleasant shiver. You’re so happy to be home.

Looking further in to the living room you spot your husband reclining on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table in front of him. He holds his phone in one hand and turns his head in your direction as you let the door fall shut behind you.

His eyes crinkle when he smiles at you and there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your breath stutter in your chest.

He looks……angelic. Kenma is dressed in an oversized cream sweatshirt with some game logo you don’t recognize on it, silky black athletic shorts and white ankle socks. So nothing new, and maybe you’re drunker than you thought because the sight is stealing the breath from your lungs.

You’re yanked towards him like a magnet, feet shuffling you across your living room before you even realize you’re moving and you smile so hard the apples of your cheeks ache.

“Hey baby, how was your night?” he asks, trying to stifle a laugh when you trip on the edge of the coffee table. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and you melt down next to him at the cute display.

“Hi,” you breathe, giggling and resting your head on the back of the couch with a dopey smile. “It was so much fun Kenma! I do wish you could’ve been there though.” The smile melts off your face and your expression morphs into a pout, lower lip pushing out. He arches an eyebrow at you.

“It was a girls night. Besides, being out in a noisy bar is not my idea of a fun time. Talking to people is exhausting enough as it is.”

You lean in close to whisper to him.

“Hmm, I know you’re an inside cat Kenma, but I still wanted to dance with you. Plus, you are pretty like a girl.”

Kenma sputters, gaze darting to the floor before focusing back on you. “You’re just drunk.”

“Well, yes but I’m not that drunk.”

Kenma snorts a laugh and pulls his feet off the table. He rests them on the floor and sits up straight, willing his blush away as he tilts his head to stare down at you with a teasing smirk. He shifts closer and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

You hum, and in lieu of an answer you pull away from him. His brows knit together and he eyes you suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes! I’m gonna straddle you because I’ve been thinking about riding you on this couch all night.”

Kenma doesn’t respond right away and when you finally manage to toe off your shoes, twisting to face him, his cheeks have finally given in and are now dusted with a blush, lips parted slightly while he watches you.

He always gets flustered when you speak so boldly.

You wink at him, maneuvering until you can throw a leg over his hips and settle down heavily in his lap. Kenma’s hands automatically grip the exposed skin your thighs where your dress bunches up.

“Have you?” He asks with a flat tone, but it’s clear your words are getting to him by the way he tilts his head back onto the couch and sneaks his hands up under the hem of your dress to paw at your fleshy hips.

You moan softly when he squeezes you and you nod, licking your top lip lazily and resting your hands on his shoulders. His cock twitches in his shorts and you can easily feel it against your inner thigh.

“You’re just so, so pretty Kenma. I missed you so much.”

His eyelids flutter briefly from the praise and he shifts his weight, tugging you closer until you place your forehead on his.

“I missed you too. Playing with Kuroo was so boring, he sucks.”

“Yeah?” You rub your nose over his. “I bet that pretty cock of yours missed my pussy too, didn’t it baby?”

Kenma’s rosy blush travels down his neck and vanishes under his collar. “Yeah, o-of course.”

You giggle, twirling a string from his sweatshirt around your finger and rolling your hips to drag your panty covered pussy along the length of his cock. He’s as hard as marble now and you reach down to adjust him until the slick tip pokes out of his waistband before continuing to tease him.

He pushes his hips up impatiently to meet your movements, applying pressure to your swollen clit that’s just right and pleasure pulses through your pelvis as you both moan. You pause briefly to push his sweatshirt up to his ribs, leering at his lean stomach and barely there happy trail.

“That’s my boy Kenma, so good for me and so beautiful too,” you say with a breathy sigh. “Should we live stream a video of you like this? You blush so sweetly and your fans deserve to know just how much of a pretty boy you are. How you get so eager for my pussy.”

Kenma squeezes his eyes shut as a lusty moan punches from his chest. “Shit — baby fuck, don’t say that. Jesus, just take your dress off please. I need to see you.” His eyes flash back open, pupils dilated wildly as he pushes your dress up and off you before you can even answer.

You weren’t wearing a bra and your tits bounce gently onto your rib cage. Your husband’s eyes widen before going half lidded, bottom lip sucked behind his teeth as he smoothes his hands up and down your sides.

He gawks at you as if he means to devour you and a thrill races down your spine. The thick alcoholic fog that was clouding your mind has cleared considerably and your only goal is to get what you’ve been craving, the thought echoes like a chant through your mind.

“I’ll never get over the way you look at me when you see my tits.”

Kenma glances up at you in surprise but then you’re kissing him in the next breath. He makes a soft sound of pleasure and tilts his head to kiss you even deeper, biting at your bottom lip and swallowing the moan you give him.

You reach down as you kiss, hooking your fingers in his waistband and tug at the material restlessly. Kenma lifts his hips, allowing you to yank his shorts and briefs down to mid thigh. His cock bobs free and you break the kiss, chest rising and falling deliberately as you squeeze his shoulders.

He traps the tip of his tongue between his teeth and slips your panties to the side when you lift up to your knees. He steadies his cock at the base with his free hand and slides his soft cock head along your clit until you jolt. It parts your lips, catching at the right angle and then you’re sinking swiftly down until your ass meets his thighs without any resistance from your drooling pussy.

The stretch curls your toes in your socks and Kenma throws his head back with a choked off gasp, strands of dark hair sticking to the side of his sweat slick temples. You shift your weight, adjusting to the sensation of being stuffed full and use his shoulders for leverage to lift up halfway before sitting back down.

“Oh! Fuck, you’re always so tight baby. I can’t believe how well you take me,” he says through gritted teeth, rolling his lithe hips up into you because he can’t bare the thought of sitting still any longer.

The first motion makes your finger tips tingle, a surge of warmth churning in your belly as his cock drags deliciously along the inside of your pussy.

“Kenmaaa,” you whine, bouncing in shallow movements on his lap. He hears your unspoken plea and grips your ass, nails creating indentations as he pushes you upwards and lets you fall back down. A low moan spills from you as you hang your head, keeping up at that steady pace with him until your thighs start to burn.

Your sensitive tonight, and a knot winds up tight in lower pelvis faster than you’d like as Kenma studiously keeps his gaze locked on where you swallow his cock whole each time.

Your pussy flutters and Kenma’s eyes flit to your face, taking note of the way your jaw hangs open and your brows pull together as you pant shallowly.

“You’re gonna cum aren’t you baby?”

You nod frantically. “Yes! Please Kenma don’t stop, your cock is so good,” you moan, falling forward to grip the couch on either side of his head.

Kenma halts your motion mid air with a strong grip and you whine at the loss of friction.

“Hold still.”

And then he’s bracing his feet on the floor and thrusting up into you at a brutal pace, one hand on your hip and the other moving down to rub uncoordinated circles into your slippery clit with his thumb.

You cry out his name and the sloppy pressure on your clit is enough to push you over the edge. The muscles in your thighs tense and your mouth opens in a silent scream, Kenma moaning brokenly as he tries to keep his pace.

You’re barely coming down from your high when he jerks you down into his lap, cock kicking and upper half curling forward to shove his forehead against your shoulder as he cums with a gasp.

You slump forward into his chest, bodily squishing him into the couch and pillowing your cheek on his shoulder.

Kenma’s heart thunders in his chest while he catches his breath, rubbing your lower back soothingly and relaxing into the post orgasmic haze settling over both of you.

It’s silent in the background, save for whatever show Kenma had playing before and an undetermined amount of time passes by before you sit up with a coy smile and lock eyes with him.

“Wow Kenma, all this time I knew you had a praise kink but I didn’t realize just how much you love being called a pretty boy. Maybe you should ride me next time?” You tease.

He scrunches his nose up and spanks the side of your thigh sharply in retaliation. You toss your head back in laughter until he huffs loudly, shoving you off his lap onto the couch and tucking himself away.

You laugh even harder, leaping up and stumbling after him with half hearted apologies falling from your lips as he stomps off childishly towards the bedroom.

[currently-dating-everything]

it's amazing that you started making headcanons!

Can you make hcs about romantic relationships with Chance?

A/N: Chance self shippers I know you're out there I'm shining a spotlight into an unruly sea

Character: Chance

Relationship: Romantic

TTRPGs are his love language, we all know this. You play G&G? He's all over it. He wants to hear ALL your opinions and all the crazy stories and hijinks you've gotten up to, all your character lore, what your favorite aspect of the game is, every single thought you've ever had about it- he could listen to you talk for hours and still want to know more, and that extends past talking about G&G.

Don't play at all? Know nothing about it? Great! He gets to explain it to you! You will regret this.

He'll try to make all his exposition easy to understand, but sometimes he gets caught up in the fixation and gets himself going on really hard to follow rants about the differences between sandbox and railroad campaigns, and the intricacies of his favorite classes (he loves playing a spellcaster, but has a soft spot for tank/fighter classes as well), and before you know it he's going a mile a minute talking your ear off, but it's always really sweet seeing him get so excited about the things he loves.

Speaking of love and tangents, he talks about you the exact same way. Every single object in the office knows everything there is to know about you because he's so easy to get going at the drop of your name. He loves talking about how smart and kind you are, how creative and funny, how much fun he has being with you and how cool you are. Lux has invested in earplugs because of this.

He's the type to wear accessories of yours if you have any. A scrunchie/hair tie/bracelet around his wrist with his various charms and dice, a necklace of yours tucked beneath his shirt, any sort of pin or clip that he can put on his collar- or even on his DM screen. He likes having a little piece of you with him throughout the day, even when you're around.

Sad to say there's no special privilege dating the dungeon master on this one. He's sweet as can be when you guys aren't playing, and even when you are he's still very considerate and attentive, but his cocky/mischievous side comes out a lot more. He's plotting to kill your character so sweetly. He wants to make your life so hard (lovingly).

Chance, at the end of a two hour long session: Wow! Wasn't that fun? You, who had your character dropped to 0 HP three times after your favorite NPC betrayed you:

Making G&G character sheets is a date activity, I stand by this. If you're not into it, he's happy to move on to other things, but there's something special about how much he lights up getting to do all the small calculations and slow sculpting that goes into building a character, and he can do it in his sleep, so he has no problem following you to other topics of conversation while he fills his sheets out. His fingers will probably be smudged with pencil led by the time you guys are done too, which is equally adorable.

It may not show all the time, but you've got him wrapped around your finger. He's such a "Yes, babe? What do you need?" kinda guy. He'll basically do anything for your attention and affection, and he's not embarrassed by it in the slightest (though he does blush super easily and very frequently because of it). There's so much he'd do with the promise of even a small kiss waiting for him, it's so bad.

He's quite physically affectionate, but struggles with knowing what you want/what's okay, and doesn't always have the courage to ask. He'll spend five minutes trying to find a subtle way to hold your hand or put an arm around you when you're not paying attention, then nearly jump out of his skin when you turn to address him. He gets better at it the longer you're together though, and appreciates you telling him upfront what's cool with you. He's also less nervous about being affectionate when he's really in the zone, or going on one of his tirades. It's a lot of grabbing you by the shoulders, squeezing your arms, looking at you with those big beautiful eyes while he talks about his homebrew ideas or the latest G&G news.

He blushes whenever you guys are playing and he has to hand something to you. "Oh...uh- you can borrow some of my dice if you need more!" Loser. Cast fireball on him and he'll get flustered handing you all those D6's.

Connected to the above, PLEASE show up him and kick his ass in-game, he finds it so ridiculously attractive. Defeat his big bad of the campaign and do a cocky one-liner and he'll drop whatever he's holding and lose the ability to speak. You'll never see his face as red as it gets when you do something cool in G&G.